by K'wan
“Don’t start, Yoshi,” Selma said over her shoulder, never breaking from her routine.
“Girl, you’re only fifteen and trying to drop it like it’s hot.” Yoshi slapped her on the ass playfully.
Selma turned around and planted one hand on her hip. “Ain’t nobody dropping nothing. I’m just staying on top of what’s up.”
“You need to stay on top of school instead of them trick dances,” Yoshi said, flopping on the couch.
“I know you ain’t preaching. Don’t you strip?” Selma shot back.
“I’m an exotic dancer, not a stripper, smart mouth.”
“If it walks like a ho,” Selma said slyly.
“You keep playing if you want to, Selma. When I punch you in the fucking mouth, I guess you’ll be satisfied. Besides, I’m grown and you’re still a child. You need to try acting like one.”
“Whatever, Yoshi.”
“Where’s Grandma?”
Selma sucked her teeth. “Obviously she’s not here.”
“Keep running your mouth, and I’m gonna slow it down for you,” Yoshi warned her.
“I thought I heard your mouth, Yoshibelle,” Vivian said, coming out of the bedroom. Selma’s mother was a thick woman with sharp features. She was only thirty-three and had held together well after childbirth. Motherhood had slowed her roll, but once Selma got older, she’d picked up where she had left off. It wasn’t unusual to find her at the club, or other happening events, getting her swerve on. Though this sometimes irked Selma, Vivian didn’t care. She was a woman enjoying her life.
“What’s up, Aunt Viv?” Yoshi gave her a high five.
“Trying to live. What’re you two out here arguing about?”
“Selma’s smart-ass mouth.” Yoshi shot the teen a look.
Vivian turned to her daughter. “Selma, what did I tell you about respecting your elders?”
“Please, what elder?” Selma rolled her eyes. “Yoshi is only a few years older than I am.”
“She’s still your older cousin, so respect her.”
Selma turned her scornful glare on Yoshi. “You’re always starting, Yoshi. Sometimes I can’t fucking stand you.”
“You watch that damn mouth, Selma!” Vivian snapped.
“Why do I always have to get yelled at? I hate this house!” Selma shouted and stormed into the bedroom.
Vivian flopped on the sofa, worry lines etching her brow. “That girl is gonna drive me to the crazy house.”
“Selma is off the hook,” Yoshi said, eyes still on the path of Selma’s exit. “What’s gotten into the girl lately?”
“Smelling her ass. It seems like the older she gets, the harder she becomes to deal with. I’ve tried everything from being hard on her, to trying to deal with her like a friend. She rebels against it all.”
“You need to try going upside her head,” Yoshi said seriously. “Selma is getting beside herself.”
“You’re one to talk,” Vivian said, raising her eyebrow. “Yoshi, you weren’t exactly an angel.”
“True, I wasn’t, but I waited until I was at least out of high school to start acting a fool.”
“Yeah, right, Yoshi. You waited until you were out of high school to start being blatant with it. You might have fooled your mom, but not me. I always suspected you were up to no good.” Vivian giggled. “But seriously, when are you going to get it together?”
Yoshi sighed. “Come on, Viv, don’t start this again.”
“I’m serious, Yoshibelle. There’s no future in the way you’re living.”
“I can’t tell. I got money and my own crib.”
“But look how you’re getting it. Yoshi, you think you can make a career out of stripping?”
“I’m an exotic dancer,” Yoshi corrected her.
“That’s just a fancy way to say ‘stripper.’”
“Aunt Viv, why are you so down on me for dancing? You used to do it.”
“Yeah, and look what it got me. I ended up being young, pregnant, and on my own. My life ain’t easy, Yoshi.”
“Well, neither is mine. No offense, Auntie, but I ain’t trying to get caught up with none of these niggaz on some kid shit. I’m strictly about my bread. By hook or crook, I gotta get it how I get it. If stripping is what’s gonna pay my bills, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Vivian shook her head sadly. “Yoshi, you can’t make a career out of stripping. Take it from someone who knows. It’ll only be a matter of time before your breasts begin to sag a little, or your ass isn’t as firm as it used to be. Then what are you gonna do? You’re the shit now, but that’s until something younger comes along.”
“Well, by then I’ll have my own club,” Yoshi said, as if she was being witty.
Vivian touched Yoshi’s face. “Baby, how you gonna run an establishment with no type of skills? It takes more to run a club than overseeing the employees. There’s a whole flip side to the coin that you’re not seeing.”
“Listen, Aunt Viv, I’m running in the fast lane and I ain’t gonna slow down until I reap all the benefits of life. If this stripping shit was to dry up today or tomorrow, I’m still gonna get money.”
“How, by continuing to sleep around the way you do?” Vivian asked, a bit more sharply than she had intended.
“You don’t know what I do!” Yoshi snapped.
“Yoshi,” Vivian looked at her seriously, “who do you think you’re talking to? The streets talk, mami. Your name is ringing in the hood.”
“Auntie, you need to stop listening to what people say. These muthafuckas don’t have anything better to do but gossip.”
“I know what you’ve been up to, but you’re grown, so I’m not always on you about it.”
“Auntie…”
“No, Yoshi. Just listen to me for a minute. You are a beautiful and intelligent girl. You have your youth and your health. Why throw it away running around like a piece of trash?”
“I don’t have to listen to this shit.” Yoshi tried to walk off, but Vivian grabbed her by the arm.
“That’s your problem, Yoshi. You never wanna listen. Baby,” she stroked Yoshi’s cheek, “I see girls like you every day at the clinic. Beautiful young women of color, poisoned by these streets, and too bullheaded to know their own worth. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“That’s not gonna happen to me.”
“That’s what we all say when we’re out there. Do you know how many girls I see come in on a regular basis who are either pregnant or getting treated for STDs? There are some things that a shot won’t get rid of.”
“I’m careful,” Yoshi said.
“That’s the same thing my sister said,” Vivian reminded her.
Though they were only words, they hit Yoshi like a physical blow. Like all the women in their family, Yoshi’s mother Carol was beautiful. Unlike Vivian, Carol wasn’t the party girl. She was quiet and kept to herself. Yoshi’s father was the first man she had ever been with, and though he didn’t stick around past Yoshi’s fifth birthday, it didn’t stop Carol from shouldering the load of both mother and father. It was she and Yoshi against the world.
It was years after the breakup with her first lover before Carol had healed enough to take another. Let her tell it, Cash was the beginning and the end. At six foot three with light skin and curly hair, all the women went crazy over him, and Cash reveled in it. People always suggested to Carol that he was sleeping around, but she turned a blind eye to it. She convinced herself that a man was just going to be a man and let it go. As long as he held her number one above everyone else, she tolerated it.
About a year into the relationship, Carol had come down with a terrible case of the flu. She thought it would pass, but a month later it was still there. After some coaxing, she let Vivian take her to the doctor to run some tests. When they got the results back, the doctor revealed that she was HIV positive.
The news brought Carol’s whole world crashing down around her. Cash, of course, denied giving it to her, but she hadn’
t been with anyone else. The bastard even packed his things and took off after infecting her. For loving this man, Carol had condemned herself to death.
The first few weeks were the hardest for Carol and her family. With the help of the doctors, they tried to convince her that there was life after the HIV virus, but all she could think about was how she wouldn’t be around for her daughter. Though Yoshi was young at the time and didn’t really understand what it meant to have the virus, she understood that it was fatal. She tried to be there as much as she could for Carol, but nothing seemed to move her anymore. Yoshi would sometimes listen to her mother cry herself to sleep between shots of Jack Daniel’s. They say alcohol numbs the pain, but it didn’t do much to ease Carol’s.
After a while she seemed to be coming out of it. She had quit drinking and gone back to work. Everyone was glad to see her coming out of her stupor and getting on with life. This lasted until right before Yoshi graduated from junior high school. She came home one day and found the house flooded with water. She called out to her mother, but got no answer. Making her way to the back, she found the source of the flooding. Someone had left the water running in the tub.
She figured her mother had done it by accident and went into the bathroom to shut it off and begin trying to clean up. It was there that she found her mother. Carol had settled into the tub and slit her wrists. The water was pinkish from the blood that still ran from Carol’s veins. Yoshi threw up almost a half-dozen times before she was finally able to call 911. The image of her mother’s prone, nude body as the ambulance carted her away was something that would stick with Yoshi for the rest of her days.
“Yoshi,” Vivian continued, “I’m not trying to hurt you, I swear I’m not. I just want you to see what you’re doing to yourself before it’s too late.”
Yoshi looked away so her aunt wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
When she made to leave, Vivian stopped her with an embrace. “You just don’t see it, do you?” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I love you, Yoshibelle.”
Yoshi could feel the lump forming in her throat. “I gotta go,” she said, grabbing her purse off the couch. “Tell Grandma I came by.” She didn’t even wait for Vivian to answer before she made hurried steps toward the front door. By the time she got across the threshold, the tears had burst from her eyes and were soaking the front of her new blouse.
12
Marlene sat within the confines of her plush office, listening intently to the woman across from her as she explained her situation. For the last five years she had been used as a punching bag by her husband. She told the attorney how the man would go into drunken rages and proceed to beat her and her son. When asked why she didn’t go to the police about the abuse, the woman informed Marlene that her husband was a respected officer of the Thirty-second Precinct. The beatings finally stopped several days prior when their son had taken the man’s gun and shot him. Her sixteen-year-old son was now being held in the Tombs awaiting his court date.
“I’ve talked to several different lawyers and they either want to charge me a fortune or try and convince my son to take a plea bargain,” the woman said, sobbing. “The police turned a blind eye to one of their own breaking the law. Now my poor son is sitting up in the system for trying to protect his mother. Ms. Tate, I really don’t know what to do.”
Marlene studied the woman. She was a bit on the chubby side, but hardly fat. Her yellow face still bore traces of the bruises inflicted by her husband. Some were so deep that Marlene doubted they would ever heal. She felt for the woman, not because the NYPD was trying to twist another tragedy to take the heat off them, but because she, too, had been a victim of abuse.
She was fresh out of law school and living in Montclair, New Jersey. It was while working at a small firm out there that she had met Michael Brown, the firm’s junior partner. He was young, fine, and on his way to doing big things. In no time at all, Michael had managed to sweep her off her feet, and Marlene found herself abandoning her roommate to move into Michael’s condo. Her mother advised against moving in with the man so quickly, but Marlene was a girl in love. Michael played the roll of loving spouse for the first few months of the arrangement, but then came the old adage, You never really know someone until you live with them.
Marlene hadn’t noticed at first, but Michael drank quite a bit. Granted, there was no harm in having a beer after a hard day’s work, but Michael would often down a six-pack at a time. Normally, Michael was a sweetheart, but when he drank he became someone else. He would curse Marlene and shove her around if the house wasn’t cleaned to his standards or his dinner wasn’t hot enough. He had even slapped her a time or two during really heated arguments.
Marlene was never one to take abuse, but she was stuck on Michael, so she convinced herself that they would work it out. Over time, the drinking got worse and the physical abuse became more frequent. Marlene had finally had enough and notified Michael that she was leaving. His response to this was a black eye and two bruised ribs. Michael made it very clear to Marlene that the only way she would be leaving him was in a box.
Michael became very possessive, clocking Marlene’s every move. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house unless it was with him, and they worked together so there was no escape there. Marlene became a prisoner of love.
The mental and physical abuse went on for quite some time before Marlene finally got up the courage to leave. While Michael was passed out drunk, Marlene loaded the majority of her things into the back of her car and stole away. She had planned to put New Jersey and everything associated with Michael behind her. Before she left, she placed two phone calls, one to the firm and the other to her cousin Shank down in Philly. Michael was fired from the firm and slapped with an assault charge, but not before Shank and a few of his boys beat him damn near to death. Marlene managed to break the cycle of abuse, but it took years of therapy before the scars even began to heal.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Johnson.” Marlene patted her on the hand. “We’re going to do all that we can to get your son out of jail.”
“I don’t have a lot of money saved up, but I’m willing to work off the debt,” Mrs. Johnson said seriously.
“Don’t worry about the bill, Mrs. Johnson. I’m taking the case pro bono.”
“Bless your heart.” She sobbed, kissing Marlene’s hand. “I’m gonna put you in my prayers.”
“You do that, Mrs. Johnson, and we’ll call it even.”
* * *
“Hello?” Reese answered the phone in a sleep-ridden tone.
“Bitch, I know you ain’t asleep!” Rhonda said on the other end, her voice sounding like a sonic boom.
“Rhonda, what the hell are you calling me so early for?”
“Early? Reese, its almost twelve o’clock. The sun is out, let’s not waste the day.”
Reese turned her heavy eyes to the digital clock on her nightstand. “Damn, I didn’t even know it was this late.”
“You must’ve had a hell of a night. What did you do after you left us?” Rhonda asked.
Reese yawned. “I had a slide.”
“I should’ve know, with your dick-thirsty ass. Was it anybody I know?”
“Don B.,” Reese said timidly.
“Bitch, you lying!” Rhonda squealed. “You know you gotta give me all the nasty details.”
“Listen to you, nosy.”
“Nosy, my ass. You know you wanna tell it.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Reese teased.
“Well, if you tell me about your night with Don B., I’ll tell you about my morning with True,” Rhonda bartered.
“True? When did he come back into town?”
“A few days ago. Girl, it was some serious drama over here, but I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Get your stinking ass up and get dressed. I’ll be over in an hour to give you the play-by-play.”
“Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” Reese said, then hung up. Closing her eyes and taki
ng a few deep breaths, Reese slid out of the bed. When she stood up, her legs felt like noodles. Her pussy still throbbed from the wild night she had had at Don B.’s suite. Due to all the drugs and alcohol she had ingested, she could only remember bits and pieces of what had gone on.
As the haze lifted from her brain, images of what she had done flashed through her mind, causing her to hang her head in shame. Don B. and his squad took turns pounding her pussy well into the morning. She knew she had played herself, but the coke and whatever else they had given her had turned her into someone else. It was as if she was watching the whole thing from the front row as opposed to being center stage. Afterward, he had offered to take her to breakfast, but she could barely walk, let alone eat. He dropped her off in front of her building and promised to call her later. Whether he would actually keep his word or not was another story.
Reese half staggered into the hallway, where her nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of her mother’s cooking. Normally she would’ve reveled in the delicious aromas, but in the condition she was in, all it did was upset her stomach further. She had barely made it to the bathroom before the liquor and fast food she had ingested the day before came spilling out. Reese continued to throw up until her stomach was empty, then waited out the dry heaves. The cool porcelain of the toilet against her head made her feel a little better, but did nothing to help with her nausea. When she was finally able to stand, she climbed into the shower.
The water was so hot that it threatened to boil her tender skin, but she forced herself to stay under the scalding stream. The steam helped ease the throbbing in her vagina, but it would probably be a while before she was able to have sex again. She washed herself over and over, but still felt dirty.
When Reese turned the water off, she heard someone pounding on the door. Living with five people and only having one bathroom didn’t allow for a whole lot of self time. It seemed as if every time she got in the bathroom, someone else had to use it. She sucked her teeth and ignored it, while she began the task of drying herself. The banging continued, followed by the high-pitched voice of her younger sister, Sharon.
