Project Queen

by Teresa D. Patterson

  PROJECT QUEEN

  By

  Teresa D. Patterson

  Edit Again Publications

  P. O. Box 35475

  St. Petersburg, FL 33705

  www.editagainpublications.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Project Queen © 2010 by Teresa D. Patterson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Edit Again Publications, P.O. Box 35475, Saint Petersburg, FL 33705.

  ISBN#: 978-0-982-65700-3

  Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Shae Byrts stepped outside to retrieve the newspaper. She just knew she’d read another headline about something happening on the south side. If it wasn’t police brutality, then someone had shot or stabbed somebody else.

  Things had just died down from the recent riots fueled when a white cop shot a black teenager and got off free. They had set the city on fire. Those crazy Negroes had actually burned up a news helicopter. The state ended up sending in the S.W.A.T. to calm things down. The racial tension could still be felt. The black youth of Saint Petersburg were consumed with an inner rage.

  The ghetto-acting family in the apartment to the right of Shae stood out in the yard arguing. There had to be at least nine people living in a cramped two-bedroom apartment. So many people came in and out at all hours of the night. Somebody was always getting into an altercation. Last week it had been because somebody smoked up someone else’s weed. Today, it was over the aunt sleeping with one of her niece’s baby’s daddy. Tomorrow, it would probably be over who drank all the red Kool-Aid or ate all the collard greens.

  The aunt vehemently denied that anything took place, but the other niece insisted that she’d seen it with her own eyes.

  “Auntie, you is lyin’.” the girl yelled. The gold teeth she tried to pass off as a grill gleamed. “I saw Danny Boy comin’ outta yo room, zippin’ up his pants.” Her hair, braided in platinum plaits, hung down her back. They swung as she argued.

  “You’s a damn lie.” The aunt rolled her neck and put her hands on her hips. “If you seent him, you musta been high or drunk.” She looked her niece up and down while she moved her hand over her “waterfalls” hairdo. “And knowin’ you, you was probably both.”

  “No I wasn’t. I mighta been a lil tipsy but I still know what I saw.” They pointed and got in each other’s face.

  “Auntie, you ain’t nothin’ but a hoe,” the other girl said. “You don’t be actin’ like nobody’s auntie. But dat’s aiight. Danny Boy ain’t no damn good anyway. You can have his ole limp dick ass. And I hope y’all used a condom ‘cause I heard he gave his baby mama a STD.”

  “I ain’t got to worry ‘bout dat ‘cause I told you I didn’t mess with no damn Danny Boy. Now, y’all know me betta dan dat. I am not dat hard up for some dick. Come on now.”

  “You is dat hard up,” Jookie Shorty shouted out. He was a known crack head who fixed old bicycles and sold them to feed his addiction. “You know ya ugly ass gotta sneak up on some dick and catch it. Ain’t none comin’ ya way voluntarily.”

  What is you tryna say?” The aunt forgot about the disagreement with her niece and turned on Jookie Shorty.

  “You heard me. Ya ass is ugly. Ain’t nobody gonna sleep with ya ugly ass willingly. In dat aspect, I don’t believe Danny Boy was ever in ya room.”

  “And how the hell do you know?” the niece that had started the argument asked. “Was you there?”

  “Hell nah. I don’t mess around with big ol’ hambeasts like ya aunt. Hell nah, I wasn’t there.”

  “Then shut ya damn mouth and stay outta our business.”

  “I get in whoever business I wanna get in. I’m Jookie Shorty.”

  “Like somebody supposed to be scared. You ain’t nobody Jookie Shorty, with ya broke, crack smokin’ ass.”

  “You ain’t nobody either. None of y’all.” Jookie Shorty yelled. “Y’all just a bunch of food stamp bitches.”

  “Don’t end up getting ya ass stomped by these food stamp bitches,” the aunt threatened. All the women glared at him, itching to fight.

  “Fuck all y’all,” he said. “I been done went upside one of y’all head with this monkey wrench,” he mumbled to himself. Ignoring them, he went back to the bicycle he’d been working on.

  Drama all the time. Shae was so used to it that she didn’t even bother to show any interest. Besides, one of the girls, Tia, couldn’t stand her or her mama, Bertha. Bertha Byrts got into an altercation with her at a bar one Friday night. It was rumored that Bertha cracked Tia across the head with a barstool. Even though Tia had clearly been beat, the drunken woman insisted upon taking the fight outside. Once outdoors, Bertha hit her with her high heel shoe and threw her into the bushes. Tia lost her wig and had to walk home looking tore up. It had been the talk of the projects for weeks.

  Tia glanced at Shae and curled her lips. Shae did the same, showing that she wasn’t the least bit concerned.

  Hoes love to hate she thought. If Tia wanted a piece of her, she could bring her fat ass on. Just because Shae was cute, didn’t mean that anyone could disrespect her and get away with it. Shae had an attitude and a temper to match. She inherited them both from her mama. She wouldn’t back down from anybody. The bitches of the projects knew not to mess with her if they didn’t want to catch a beat down. She fought at the drop of a dime. She’d even fought some of the disrespectful boys when she was younger. The same ones were trying to get at her now. They still didn’t know how to show respect, so she wasn’t interested.

  Project people made her sick. The projects made her sick. Shae hated everything about Jordan Park. The city had recently renovated the apartments, but in her opinion, it was still ghetto. No matter what they did, Jordan Park was located in the hood. Therefore, it attracted hood rats.

  The majority of the women who lived in Jordan Park was younger than twenty-five and had at least one child. If they had more than one, they had different baby daddies. The baby daddies were locked up or didn’t take care of their children. That left the women depending on the government for a check and food stamps. Jookie Shorty had been right in his assessment of the women: a bunch of food stamp bitches. He should have called them Section 8 bitches. A Section 8 voucher took care of their rent because they didn’t work to earn a paycheck.

  Usually, by the fifth of the month, most of the women would be sporting fancy hair styles and acrylic nail tips. They’d show up at Something Dif’erent or Kizmet wearing new Apple Bottom, Baby Phat or South Pole outfits, trying to act all new. Rainbow and Cititrends would have made a major profit.

  Shae didn’t just think she was better than those women, she knew she was better. The only thing they had in common was their living situations. And she blamed that on her mama. She didn’t pop out illegitimate children just so she could collect a government check each month. She didn’t hang in hole-in-the-wall clubs, trying to catch some broke pimp’s eye. Most of the men she knew, she tolerated them for one reason: they gave her money. She didn’t spread her legs or lay on her back for one red cent because she had it like that. She wasn’t a whore. But, if she had to be one, she’d never be a broke one.

  “Damn Red,” someone shouted, spotting her on the porch.

  “What’s up, Red?” came from another person.

  “That’s one hot piece of ass.”

  Laughter and snickers rang out. Tia and her family members rolled their eyes, but didn’t say anything. Shae knew they just wanted what she had, jealous co
ws. No way could their two hundred plus pound bodies compete with her hourglass figure. She was sexy and petite, while they stood there looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy ready to pop out of their tight clothing.

  Once she’d overheard Tia bragging to someone about being a cheerleader in high school. She must have cheered for Hostess Cupcakes. Shae couldn’t picture her big ass at the top of a human pyramid.

  Shae smiled at all the men making fools out of themselves, trying to get her to acknowledge them. Not one of them had a chance in hell. She had to admit that she loved the attention, though.

  Just to get a wilder reaction from the crowd, she bent to scoop up the newspaper that lay in the yard. She made sure to turn just so- to give the guys a sneak-peek of the black, lacy underwear she wore under her revealing, mini-skirt. This gave the envious women who were watching her every move something to talk about. Shae didn’t give a damn about them or their opinions. They could go tell the white people for all she cared.

  She knew the men had been looking and that was her plan. She took her time straightening up. Then, her steps were slow and deliberate as she headed back toward the apartment. She paused to shake her long, thick, shoulder-length hair.

  Shae was beautiful and she knew it. She’d discovered that at an early age. At eighteen, she’d filled out in all the right places. She possessed the body of a woman and it complemented her face. She had natural, fine, curly hair and hazel eyes, which added to her bi-racial beauty. She’d learned to use her looks to get anything she wanted. Her beauty would be her way out of her poverty-stricken lifestyle.

  She knew it was only a matter of time before she made her escape from the hood. Her mother might be content to be poor, however, she refused to be stuck with nothing but rats and cockroaches for the rest of her life. Low-income housing would be a thing of the past. She just had to save up enough money to get a place of her own.

  Somebody else’s money.

  “I saw ya hot tail out there teasin’,” her grandmother said as soon as Shae entered the apartment. “You gonna get ya self in a lot of trouble one of these days. Mark my words.”

  Her eighty-six-year-old grandmother sat in a rocker by the window. She wore a colorful housedress and sported a stylish black wig with gray highlights. She rocked gingerly as she knitted an afghan to match the scarf she’d already made. She did it to pass the time, doubtful that either of her grandchildren would appreciate such things. They were too picky. They wanted to wear that garbage they saw the rap stars on TV wearing. Fubu or Hoodoo, Sean Thumb, or whatnot. Well, she was going to finish it anyway.

  She’d knitted every day since she’d moved in with them three months earlier. It had become a routine. Maybe one day somebody would appreciate her efforts. Knitting took time, and it was painful due to her arthritic hands. She wasn’t going to stop, though. Not until her time on earth was up. She’d give up knitting when she gave up the ghost.

  “Aw, Ma Violet, shut up,” Shae said rudely. “You ain’t got nothing better to do than sit in that raggedy chair and be nosey all day long. Stay out of my business.”

  “Fast behind lil heifer. You too hot at the mouth just like you hot between the legs. Gonna been done caught somethin’ one of these days,” Ma Violet huffed, paused her knitting, and glared at Shae.

  “Just shut up, you old goat.” Shae stomped into the kitchen. “You get on my last nerve.”

  “Watch how you talk to me, you high-yellow wench,” Ma Violet warned. “Jus’ plain disrespectful. You cuttin’ ya blessings short and jus’ don’t know it. God don’t like ugly.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered under her breath, thinking that Ma Violet had been nothing but a pain in the ass since she’d moved in. She wished the old woman would hurry up and die or something.

  Shae immediately felt guilty for thinking such thoughts. Ma Violet couldn’t help being old. It wasn’t her fault that she’d fractured her hip and couldn’t live on her own. She’d been forced to sell her home and move in with them. Shae knew that Ma Violet hated depending on anyone for anything. Maybe that’s why she stayed in such a sour mood. All she ever did was crochet and complain.

  It hadn’t always been like that. Years before, Ma Violet had been the best grandmother that a child could ever want. When her parents would take them to visit, Ma Violet would always have a special treat, just for her. She’d either have a bag of root beer flavored candy or some delicious jellybeans. For some reason, Shae liked the black ones best.

  Ma Violet used to keep large containers filled with potato chips on top of the bureau in her bedroom. Shae and Toby would sneak into her room while she was in the kitchen, open up the containers and grab a handful of barbeque and another filled with plain. They’d hide behind the couch and secretly eat them, giggling because they figured Ma Violet would never find out. By the time she had dinner on the table, neither would have much of an appetite.

  They would never hurt Ma Violet’s feelings by not eating her cooking, though. Instead, they’d take turns throwing most of it out the window where their dog, King, greedily gobbled it up. Ma Violet never knew the difference. If she’d ever caught them, she’d probably have gotten a switch off the tree and tore their legs up. She believed in the philosophy, “waste not, want not.”

  Shae’s favorite memory of Ma Violet was of her being the flip lady. Shae would watch as she poured different flavored fruit juices into Styrofoam cups. Ma Violet would place them in the deep freezer so they’d harden. She would sell them for extra cash. Every summer, the neighborhood kids raced to Ma Violet’s house with a pocket full of change. Ma Violet made the best pineapple flip in all of St. Petersburg.

  Ma Violet’s house had been filled with love and laughter. Everybody showed up on Thanksgiving and Christmas to celebrate family and togetherness.

  On Thanksgiving Day, the smells of turkey, ham, pies, and cakes would have your mouth watering and your stomach grumbling. Everyone would gather around and join hands. Ma Violet would bless the food then everyone would dig in like there was no tomorrow.

  After dinner, the women would clean up the kitchen and put all the leftovers away. The men would stand around sipping on eggnog laced with brandy or rum. Before everyone headed separate ways, the entire family would help to put up the Christmas decorations.

  Shae could remember standing out in the front yard and watching the Christmas lights in the windows blink. It had become such a wonderful tradition.

  Christmas had been a repeat of Thanksgiving with the exchanging of gifts included in the celebrations. Shae, Toby, and their oldest sister would receive so many toys they’d have to carry them home in a Hefty garbage bag.

  Everything changed when their father left, and Mrs. Byrts began drinking. The visits to Ma Violet’s house dwindled to once a month, and then quickly became nonexistent. They rarely heard from Ma Violet after moving to the projects. From time to time, she came over and tried to talk some sense into her daughter’s head. Many times, after being severely beaten, her sister Vivian ran away and went to stay at Ma Violet’s house. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in years, though. It wasn’t until her accident that Ma Violet reentered their lives.

  Now, there she sat, rocking and giving Shae the evil eye.

  “Shae, ya yellow ass ain’t done nothing I done told you to do,” her mother yelled from upstairs. She jumped and the past memories scattered and floated away like bubbles. “When you gonna wash these smelly ass clothes and change them pissy sheets on ya brothers’ beds? You gonna have me get on ya ass, that’s what you gonna have me do.”

  “Shit. You’d think I was a slave around here,” Shae griped. She slammed some dirty dishes into the sink and turned on the water. “I hate washing dishes. I get tired of cleaning up all the time. But it’s not like yo big ass gonna do it.”

  “What the hell you did you say?” Her mother ambled down the stairs, her feet heavy on each step. She wore a deep frown as she glared at her daughter. “Mumbling to ya self gone get you hit in ya fucking mouth. Get ya
ass up there and get busy.”

  Mrs. Byrts was a big, strong, no-nonsense type of woman. Her complexion was pale like her daughter’s, and she had the same pretty face, hazel eyes, and naturally curly hair. Even though she weighed about a hundred pounds more than she should, her attractiveness still showed. If she wanted a man, she could pull one. She just saw no use for limp dick motherfuckers. All they’d ever left her with was a wet spot on the mattress in the morning and a feeling of disappointment. She could have had a V8. She had enough trouble dealing with four hard-headed children. She didn’t need to borrow more.

  “Why I got to do everything?” Shae complained.

  “Girl, don’t start with me. This house better be clean when I get back from grocery shopping. Tell Toby to get his sorry ass up and clean out that refrigerator. If he can’t go to school like he supposed to, then he can get out and get a fucking job. That go for you too, Miss Beauty Queen.” Shae rolled her eyes. “You can stand there cutting ya fucking eyes all you want, but when I get back the shit better be done. You know you’ll catch hell from my big ass if it ain’t.” She turned to Ma Violet. “Mama, you want something from the sto’?” She ignored Shae’s huffing and puffing. “How ‘bout some powdered donuts?”

  “That’ll be fine and some Maxwell House coffee, if it ain’t too much trouble,” Ma Violet said sweetly.

  “Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Shae sucked air through her teeth. “Right,” she muttered. Mrs. Byrts threw her daughter a sour look, said nothing further then slammed out the front door.

  “Clean up this damn yard,” they heard as she made her way down the sidewalk.

  Shae knew that her mother wouldn’t be back until some time after dark, if she made it home at all. Mrs. Byrts loved to frequent the High Hat Liquor Lounge. If she wasn’t there then she was at Tom’s Game Room or at the George Washington Bar. Lately, she’d been hanging out at Ike’s Liquor Lounge #2.