by Leo Sullivan
apartment and didn’t even bother to call. I was in a bad mood, like
the fetus inside of me was turning me into the Exorcist, that girl
in the movie that was turning her head all backward and puking
in people’s faces.
Marcus’ friend Stan answered the door. I could have sworn the
damn man rolled his eyes at me as he walked away without speak-
ing. All of Marcus’ buddies were kind of peculiar and anti-social.
Of course, all of them attended Florida State, so naturally I figured
that was where the friction came from. As I walked in, Marcus and
his pals were eating pizza, drinking beer and watching the game.
Their glares unnerved me. I could tell Marcus was not happy to
see me. For some reason, when he got around his friends he would
change just like that. They all came from aristocratic, well off fam-
ilies. They all drove BMWs and nice SUVs. I guess they thought
FAMU college was nothing more then a welfare college for impov-
erished Blacks.
“Marcus, I need to speak to you,” I said evenly while tr ying to
keep my temperament in check. Without looking up from the tel-
evision he waved his hand like I was some annoying fly and mum-
bled something about wait until half time. I thought I heard one
of his buddies snicker at that.
“Marcus, it’s important.” I raised my voice.
He waved for me to be quiet. Stan glared at me with so much
disdain, I was tempted to ask him what his damn problem was.
The whole time a sista was trying to be polite but I could feel my
hormones raging inside my body like a time bomb.
“Marcus, please!”
“Hope! Can’t you see that it’s almost two minutes before half-
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time in the damn game!”
No he didn’t just curse at me
, I thought as red flashed behind
my eyes. Stan and the rest of his friends turned as if following his
lead; they stared at me like I was an alien invading their territory.
I was as close as a Black woman could get to becoming a socio-
pathic bitch. Here I was, pregnant, with this man’s child and don’t
want the bastard, and he is treating me like I am gum stuck on the
bottom of his shoe. If he only knew I was thinking about killing
his child, and possibly his ass too. Calmly, I strolled over to the tel-
evision, snatched the plug out of the wall so hard that it sent
sparks flying. Walked over to the door, flung it open with all my
might, and one of the pictures on the wall came crashing down.
The scowl on my face was carved like granite stone. My nostrils
flared, eyes bugged, as I screamed at the top of my lungs, “All ya’ll,
get the fuck out!”
Marcus stood up with a beer in his hand, eyebrows knotted
together in dismay.
“Hope! What’s wrong with you girl?”
“Boy, I told you I need to talk to you. When you get around
your damn friends you want to get all brand new and don’t want
to give me no respect!” I turned to one of his friends, eyes blazing
with fury. “I told ya’ll asses to get out!” I said belligerently. They
all looked at Marcus. He slumped his shoulders. “Yo, fellas, let me
holler at her.” They gr unted and shot me a few cold looks, but
reluctantly they gathered their things and left. As Stan walked by
he gave me a mean and evil look. A look that I would see again
and it would cause my whole world to come crashing down
around me.
One by one they left as I stood at the door. Outside, I heard
Stan say just loud enough for me to hear, “You can take a nigga
out the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out the nigga.”
“Stan, kiss my ghetto ass!” I yelled and slammed the door.
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you coming in here actin’
like you done lost your damn mind?” Marcus said hotly.
I stalked over to him, more than willing to engage his ass in
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battle. I was not myself and we both knew it. I was over the edge.
“Marcus, I’m pregnant.” I threw the words at him like they
were some evil curse. He considered me for a moment, eyes nar-
rowed like his brain was trying to decipher what I just said. I could
not read his stoic expression, but I will never forget it. I saw infu-
sions of something in his eyes, like a boy not really sure of his
manhood. I watched his demeanor because a woman needs the
complete suppor t of a man, not a boy unsure of himself. Then he
grinned at me and that grin said I had fallen victim to his game. I
wanted to slap that silly grin off his face. He smiled and had the
nerve to try to hug me.
“Hope, we’re having a bay-bee,” he lullabied happily. I shoved
him away from me.
“We ain’t having shit!” I snorted.
I saw something wash over his face, something between hurt
and dejection. Marcus got down on one knee. “Hope, please don’t
kill my baby … our baby,” he said somberly as he wrapped his
arms around me pressing his face tightly against my stomach. I
tried to peel him off of me but he clung to me for dear life. He
dug into my resistance with his poignant pleading, “Hope, please
don’t kill the baby. I’ll take care of it and support you while you
go to law school. I have enough money saved up for a home, at
least a nice down payment, plus I have nine acres of land.”
“You do?” I asked dumbfounded as my mind changed lanes
on a highway of life’s young indecisions fueled by a new impetus
to survive, the life that I now bore within me and a woman’s intu-
itive instincts for her baby.
“Hope! Please! Please! Marr y me,” Marcus said sentimentally.
It’s amazing all the damage a penis full of semen can do. OK, I
can’t lie, Marcus’ financial status along with an unexpected baby
played a big factor in my decision to marry him.
*****
A month later, using Marcus’ family’s money, I had a big
African-style wedding. Nandi designed all the clothes. My sorori-
ty sisters, the Deltas, were my bridesmaids. We had a ball. Even
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though none of Marcus’ family came except his querulous-ass
mother, she could have stayed home. It seemed like nothing I did
was right for her and the old bat made no secret about her con-
tempt for me. And to make matters worse, my father arrived with
his young girlfriend. He was dead drunk and embarrassed the hell
out of me. However, for the first time in my young life, I had some
semblance of happiness. About eight months later I gave birth to
a healthy six-pound baby boy. It was the most painful experience
of my entire life. It felt like I had shitted out a bowling ball. It was
Nandi’s dumb-ass idea to have a natural birth. Hello! Girlfriend
might be taking this Afrocentric thing too damned far.
Lawd have mercy, when the nurse pulled the covers back
showing my son, Marcus Jr., I damn near fainted. The baby was
dark as coal with a head full of hair, with them little beady eyes
&nb
sp; just like his father. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. I
had just given birth to another man’s child. There was no doubt in
my mind who the real father was. The thug, Life Thugstin, was a
father and didn’t even know it. The next time I would hear of him
would be in a crowded cour troom where I would be a prosecutor
and he would be on trial fighting for his life.
*****
100
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
“All in the Name of the Game”
– Life –
Nightfall. I crept into Frenchtown on a real mission to find Nina
Brown. I needed to talk to her. If she knew where Trina was I was
going to force her to tell me.
I wore dark blue Dickies with a matching shirt and black
Timberland boots. I had my best friend, Jesus, tucked safely in the
small of my back.
Strategically, I entered from a back street not wanting to risk
detection. The streets were clogged with traffic. I heard a gun shot
up ahead. I stood in the shadow and watched. This place was like
the Wild Wild West. A fight or something broke out up ahead in
the pool hall. That’s when I spotted Nina Brown. She had on the
same clothes. I walked right up to her and tried to blend in with
all the commotion. I made a crucial mistake. Hustlers always rec-
ognized new faces. That’s part of their business. Nina Brown
looked up at me horrified.
“Boy, what you doin’ huh? You crazy, that’s lil Stevey D over
there. They been lookin’ all over for you. They just jumped on a
boy from Miami, damn near kilt him, took his dope and his car.”
As on second thought, she squinted at me, pulled my shir t.
“You shot that boy so many times, almost kilt him too, and
where is my dope you promised me nigga?”
“I gottcha.” I handed her the hundred-dollar bill I had for her.
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“Where is Trina at?” I asked.
Nina Brown was not paying me the least bit of attention, as
nervously she looked up the street to a money green Chevy doing
the smooth creep in our direction. She danced her eyebrows, a
warning. Four or five dudes were headed our way and they walked
with a purpose. They had my full attention. Nina whispered that
it was Stevey D and his henchmen. When I saw the little runt with
them I knew that I was busted. “That’s him,” she said pointing at
me, just as niggas in the Chevy piled out four deep. One thing I
can say about Nina Brown, she stood her ground. I noticed one of
the cats that got out of the Chevy ducked down. I couldn’t see
where he was, shit was happening so fast, my mind raced to keep
up.
“Watch the Chevy to your right, watch the four men going up
on you to your left.” Quickly, I decided Stevey D was not the real
threat. I needed to keep my eye on the possible shooter hiding
behind the car.
“Nigga you jacked my man,” Stevey D said pulling out his
strap at exactly the same time I pulled out Jesus, cocked it and
carefully aimed it at his chest. Shock registered in his face, I saw it
in his eyes. I walked out into the streets in order to see where the
shooter was. I saw him squatting down with a gun in his hand.
When he saw me he stood. The other three cats were gingerly
walking toward me.
“Yo, my nigga. I ain’t jack nobody! That chicken head bitch
lying,” I said looking back and forth.
One thing about power, whether it be the United States Army
or an army of thugs embattled in urban warfare, power will only
acknowledge counter power, and thus, gangsters are born. I posi-
tioned myself between two cars, gun still level at Stevey D, and
prepared for a blood bath. Kill or be killed. This had all the ingre-
dients for murder and I honestly had no intention of dying alone.
I was out-numbered about nine to one.
“Nigga you got a lot of balls coming in here. You could get
fucked up. Lose your life,” Stevey D threatened.
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“Look playa, I ain’t lookin for no drama,” I said respectfully,
but my body language made it perfectly clear I was prepared to
throw some hot balls with Jesus.
“Want me to shoot dat nigga?” I heard someone say with
courage that they did not feel, or else they would have shot with-
out asking permission.
“Naw,” Stevey D said, raising his hand as they inched closer
trying to surround me. Shit was starting to get out of hand like I
was going to have to fire a shot.
“Look man, lemme talk wit you,” Stevey D said, inching clos-
er.
“I ain’t tryin to rap right now,” I said easing backward. Them
niggas wanted to pounce on me like a pack of wolves.
“Yo, your name Stevey D?” I asked, tr ying to keep the fear out
my voice. He did not answer. “I’ma break bread witcha.”
My voice was a plea bargin that hung in the air, as the seconds
of my life tucked in the crevice of my mind. Any moment I was
expecting shots to ring out.
“In a few days I’ma come back and give you something to
make money off of,” I said, as I eased into the streets, my gun still
leveled at his chest. A car came screeching to a halt nearly missing
me. Nina Brown watched me intensely, eyes glazed with suspense.
Ghetto chicks see this kind of stuff all their lives, gunplay, killed
or be killed. I was just trying to stay alive the only way I knew
how, keeping it gangsta!
I continued to walk backward, gun pointed at Stevey D. The
silent message was if I was going to die, I fully intended to take
someone with me. Once I felt that I was at a safe distance, I took
off into a trot. They did not pursue me, and if they did, I took so
many shor tcuts and back ways they would have needed blood-
hounds to keep up with me.
*****
The next morning I sat by the pool in one of them uncom-
fortable-ass chairs, smoking a cigarette, thinking about Trina
touching me for my stash and what I was going to do with her ass
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if I ever caught her. The whole time I was watching white folks
like a hungry lion tr ying to get close to his prey. I was just trying
to pick one to rob. I was on my dick doing bad. After paying two
hundred for rent, and giving Nina Brown the hundred-dollar bill,
I had less than two hundred dollars to my name.
I took a sip of the beer that I bought earlier at the poolside bar.
It was hot, the sun was sweltering. I had my T-shirt wrapped
around my head. I looked up into the blaring sunlight to see two
gorgeous sistas strolling poolside headed straight for me. I thought
I was seeing a mirage. One was wearing a leopard skin two-piece
thong bathing suit. Her body was sleek, wide hips, nice ass, point-
ed breasts, full with erect nipples, the kind that make men drib-
ble.
I was sitting straight up in my seat now. Her friend was just as
fine. She wore a stunning white french cut one-piece bathing suit.
It showed everything including her coochie lips and they were fat
to death, and I stared wondering if all that was her down there.
The symmetr y of her body was God’s gift to a Black woman.
Together the two women seemed to put on a show as the entire
pool quieted. The one with the leopard skin suit looked just like
Lisa Raye, sophisticated and sexy. I noticed that they were holding
hands, then it dawned on me that they might be lovers, a lesbian
couple, as they sashayed right up to me. This was the one moment
in my life I was happy to be a Black man. The one with the leop-
ard skin suit asked if they could sit next to me in the vacant chair.
I looked up into the glaring sun between her legs; the gap in
between her thighs caused an eclipse of the sun, all that hair run-
ning down her thighs. Thank God for lesbians! To this day I do
not know why women shave down there. If Black women only
knew how sexy it looked to brothas.
“Does a bear shit in the woods? Hell yeah ya’ll can sit down,”
I said playfully. They giggled and took the seats next to me. I was
instantly intoxicated by their sweet perfume. There’s something
that intrigues the hell out of men to imagine two beautiful women
fucking, especially these two chicks. I was feeling aroused just by
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their nearness and the scent of their perfume mingled with the air.
We were the only Black people at the pool. I watched as little kids
ran wild playing and occasionally splashing us with water. The
adults lingered at the poolside covered with oil; white folks trying
to get Black, torturing themselves for a suntan. I just ogled the
two women like eye candy as they chatted and then turned to me.
“My name is Tomica, this is Evette,” the one with the leopard
skin suit said.
“I’m Leonard,” I said dr yly. Lust had me lockjawed so bad I
could hardly lie with a straight face as I made up the fake name. I
was feining on both these chicks.
The waiter came around and I offered to buy them drinks.
Drinks that I really could not afford. Of course, being sistas they
ordered the most expensive drinks. By dawn, I was drunk, and
