One day I’ma fuck this bitch up was one of a million thoughts that ran through Jaise’s mind as she looked into Al-Taniesha’s face. She shoved the tray of cupcakes into her hands. “You give ’em to ’em,” Jaise said as she spun on her heel, stormed past the partying guests, and strode into the kitchen. She slid the double mahogany pocket doors closed and leaned against them.
An iron fist wedged its way into her throat as waves of pissed-off anxiety washed over her.
I need to get out of here.
Just for the hell of it she clicked her heels together, but when she opened her eyes and realized that she wasn’t in Kansas, she was still in Brooklyn dealing with the same downtrodden bullshit, she took a deep breath, freed it from the side of her mouth, and whispered to no one in particular, “Fuck it.”
She rose and moved off the doors, and as she turned to slide them open she heard the knob on her back door twist. She turned back around, leaned against the counter, and watched Jabril slowly stick one Timberland over the threshold and then the other. He eased in through the doorway and looked directly into her face. “Ma.” He shot her a nervous smile. “Wassup?”
Jaise dipped one brow and arched the other. “Wassup? Good question. Wassup with yo’ ass and where the fuck have you been?”
He hesitated. “Ma, I, ummm, had to get a kit replaced on my Beemer.”
“A who on your what?”
“I had to get some work done to my car.”
“That’s my damn car and who paid for that?”
“I paid for it.”
Jaise stared at Jabril as if she could’ve smacked the shit out of him. “Shut up telling lies. You don’t have a job.” She flung invisible sweat from her brow. “Jabril, if some li’l girl is spending her welfare check on you—”
“Why does she have to be on welfare?”
“Because that’s what you like. Down-and-out. Destitute. Downtrodden. That’s the shit that turns you on. Now, back to the matter at hand: It makes no sense that you’re late to your son’s party.”
“Look, I know I’m late. My fault.”
“Your fault. You’re right. You should’ve been out buying your son something for his birthday.”
“I did get him something. He is my son.”
“Where is it, Jabril?”
“In my car.”
“You’re a liar.” She walked up close to him.
“I can’t win. If I didn’t buy him a gift you’d cuss me out. I bought him a gift and you’re still cussing me out!”
“Jabril, you already knew that I bought him gifts.” She pushed her left index finger into his chest. “And you also knew that I put your name on the motherfuckers. So don’t give me that!”
“You need to stop cussing at me and let me buy what I want to for my son.”
“But he deserves more than your slop, Lawrence—” Jaise stopped in her tracks, realizing she’d just called him his father’s name.
“My name isn’t Lawrence!”
“Well, you act just like the motherfucker,” Jaise snapped. “As soon as I put hope and faith in you that you’ll change or that you’ve changed, you fall right back into the trap of same-ole-same-ole. It’s liked being fucked-up is in your DNA! Damn, I need a cigarette.” She snatched a drawer open and searched frantically through it. After coming up empty she slammed it shut.
“You’re going a little to the left. And I don’t appreciate that. I think you owe me an apology,” Jabril said.
“Really?” Jaise blinked in disbelief. “An apology? An apology?” She tapped the ball of one stiletto. “An apology? Really. Well, how about you owe me an apology for the hours and hours of labor to deliver you and nineteen years later you’re still a pain in my ass! Have you even seen your son today? Christina dressed him in sagging-ass jeans, boxers over his Pampers, Tim’s, a wife beater, and a blue bandanna wrapped around his head. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or be scared he was going to rob me. I mean, really, is he a Crip now? I give him a Disney ball, and he comes dressed as a gang member!”
“You should’ve come at her like you’re coming at me. She dressed him like that!”
“It’s inappropriate.”
“I didn’t do it, so why are you yelling at me?”
“Because this is what happens when you don’t spend time with your child!”
“I spend time with him.”
“When, Jabril? When? Because you’re never here and Christina is always calling me crying, complaining, and looking for your ass! You know what it’s like not to have a father, and this is the shit you pull? Do you know how it looks that everyone else is here but you?”
“That’s all you’re concerned about! How things look to everybody else! Just like this ridiculous party is for everybody else! I didn’t want to be a part of this! Damn. Why you always sweatin’ me? Can I breathe? Got Christina sweatin’ me, ‘Come get your son, do this, he needs that,’ and then you steppin’ on my jugular. A man needs a break, not a nag.”
“A man?” Jaise took a step back. Now she knew for sure she was in the Twilight Zone. Hell, she wanted him to be a man, but his manhood had yet to manifest itself. And certainly manhood went beyond beauty. Yet beauty was all Jabril had. He stood five eleven, with sparkling hazel eyes, and a single dimple in his left cheek. He was naturally cut, and his chest had delicious definition. His skin was the color of milk chocolate, and he had a smooth, seductive deep voice.
Jabril was more pretty than handsome, and not only did he know it, but every girl who laid eyes on him knew it too. But what the girls didn’t know, while his mother clearly did, was that Jabril being so fine only complicated things.
Clouds filled Jaise’s eyes. “I’m soooooo sick of you!” Her heels stabbed the wooden floor as she stormed over to the refrigerator. “What you better do is get in there and act like this is the best goddamn party you’ve ever been to in your life! You understand me?”
She opened the refrigerator, took out the Mickey Mouse–shaped birthday cake, and placed it on a small rolling cart. “Why am I always sweatin’ you?” she mocked. “I should’ve been sweatin’ you to do better in school! Sweatin’ you to get a better fuckin’ attitude!” She tossed two candles on the cart.
“Sweatin’ you to put a condom on when you were out there dickin’ these goddamn hood-hoes in the street! Then I wouldn’t be a grandmother before the age of forty.” She reached for a bottle of wine on the counter, uncorked the top, and took a sip. “Sweatin’ you to be a fuckin’ man, because right now—” She took another sip. “—you’re driving me to fuckin’ drink! I’ma put your ass outta here! That’s what I’ma do for you since I’m sweatin’ you!”
“What the hell is going on in here?” Jaise’s husband, Bilal, stomped into the kitchen.
Usually his six-foot-four, beautifully honey-colored presence, with Egyptian eyes etched into his clean-shaven face, was enough to calm Jaise down, but at this moment she didn’t give a damn. “What’s going on in here,” she screamed, “is that I’m tired of being the mad black woman and the pissed-off black bitch!”
“You need to calm down,” Bilal said sternly.
“No, what I need to do—” She spat with such venomous rage that a spray of saliva flew from her mouth. “—is leave y’all motherfuckers alone!”
Bilal scolded. “Do you realize that everyone can hear you? You need to save this argument for later! Not in the middle of a party!” His chiseled jaw tightened and his lips were stiff. He turned to slide the doors closed, but before he could Bridget ran in.
“Pause!” Bridget said to Jaise and Jabril. “You—” She pointed to one of the cameramen. “Stand by the back door. And you—” She pointed to another. “You stand here, in case she hauls off and slaps one or both of them! Now, Jaise.” Bridget nodded. “Continue.”
Jaise was stunned. She was so engulfed in disgust that she’d forgotten about Bridget, the cameras, and the microphones. She stood frozen in her spot as Bridget smiled and mouthed, “Go ahead, continue.”
This was not how today was supposed to unfold. Bilal had warned her before the party to rein in her temper and keep her cool no matter what. Because the last thing she needed was for life and its unpredictable malfunctions to come along and fuck things up.
But it had.
And now in nine months when this episode aired she was sure she’d have to defend herself from half of America slandering her ass … again.
Damn.
She shot Bilal a plastic smile, then turned to Jabril. “Sweetie.” She placed two candles on the cake—one for the baby’s age and one for good measure—lit them, and said, “I want you to roll out the cake while you sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the baby.”
Jaise wrestled with the knot in her throat. She entered the living room while Jabril rolled the cake in behind her. Her legs felt like willow branches as Jabril began to sing “Happy birthday to you” in a baritone voice that was a dead ringer for Johnny Gill. A voice that could easily melt the sun. Jaise soon found herself genuinely smiling. His beautiful voice was the one thing she knew for sure he’d gotten from her.
Jabril rolled the birthday cake to the center of the room, where Christina held the baby. The guests gathered around and everyone fell silent as Jabril continued his stunning performance.
When he finished his tune, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Christina held the baby over the cake and helped him blow out the candles.
Jaise proudly cut the cake and handed the first slice to Christina, who smeared a smidgen of icing on the baby’s nose, causing everyone to chuckle. Jabril slid his arm over Jaise’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ma,” he whispered.
Before Jaise could respond, a heavy pounding on the front door startled her. “Who’s that?” Jaise looked around and directly into Al-Taniesha’s face.
“Oh, hell, no,” Al-Taniesha spat. “That sounds like the po-po.” She looked into the camera. “This is the part where Al-Taniesha gets her fam and leaves.”
“I can’t stand that hussy,” Jaise mumbled as she walked toward the doorway with Bridget and one of the cameramen on her heels. “And you’d think us having a grandchild in common would somehow make her tolerable.” Jaise turned to the camera. “Next season if she comes back I’m done!” She snatched the door open to see four uniformed police officers standing on her brick stoop. She thought one of them looked familiar but wasn’t sure. After all, she’d invited some of Bilal’s co-workers with small children to come and celebrate, but none of these officers had children with them, and none of them seemed like they were here to party.
“Yes?” Jaise looked them over.
“Ma’am,” one of the cops said. “We’re looking for Jabril Williams.”
“Why?” Jaise asked defensively.
“Is he here, ma’am?” The officer stepped closer to the door and looked behind Jaise.
“Why are you asking for Jabril?”
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Is Mr. Williams here?” the officer persisted.
“Why do you need Mr. Williams? Bilal!” Jaise tossed over her shoulder. “Bilal! Come here, hurry!”
“What’s wrong?” Bilal said in a panic as he rushed to the door with Jabril and a few guests behind him.
“Ma, you aight?” Jabril asked.
Bilal walked to the door and stood in front of Jaise. “Hi, I’m Lieutenant Asante of the 66th precinct. Can I help you officers with anything?”
“Sir,” the lead cop said. “I’m Officer Bryson and we’re from the 84th precinct. We have a warrant.” He handed the warrant to Bilal. “For the arrest of Jabril Williams.”
“A warrant?” Jaise turned toward Jabril and he stood frozen.
Bilal looked at Jabril and said, “You didn’t take care of this?”
“He didn’t take care of what?” Jaise snapped at Bilal. “You knew about this?”
“I knew he had a warrant, and I told him to take care of it. He told me he did.”
“And you didn’t tell me? I’m this child’s mother!”
“He’s a grown man!”
“It takes more than a hard dick to make a child grown!”
“Back up and take it down.” Bilal gave Jaise a warning look.
Jaise snatched the warrant out of Bilal’s hands and quickly read it. “Child support?” She looked over at Christina, who stood next to Jabril. “You took him to court for child support!” Jaise screamed. “How fuckin’ dare you!”
“You don’t speak to my goddamn daughter like that!” Al-Taniesha spat.
Tears filled Christina’s eyes. “I didn’t do that! What is this about, Jabril?”
“This is about my daughter!” A five-foot-three, petite woman stormed up the steps, stood in front of the door, and pointed behind Jaise and Bilal. “This is about my daughter needing to be taken care of and instead of being a father, this motherfucker—” She pointed to Jabril. “—is over here throwing birthday parties and shit with this trick!” she yelled at Christina.
“Hold this, Chrissy.” Al-Taniesha took one earring off. “ ’Cause I’m ’bout to cut a bitch! Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Jaise couldn’t believe it. For a moment she thought she was dreaming. But no. She was still here, with police at her door, her son stood behind her with no place to run, and a woman screaming about a baby—another baby—that Jaise knew nothing about. “Who the fuck are you?” Jaise asked the belligerent woman on her stoop.
“Nicole,” the woman spat. “And I’m his worst goddamn nightmare! My girlfriends told me not to fuck around with no li’l young boy—”
“Young boy?” Jaise said, taken aback.
“Young … boy,” Nicole said. “And I don’t have time for this playground bullshit he’s trying to pull!”
Jaise’s mouth fell open. She walked over to Jabril, looked him directly in the face, and said, “Who the hell is this old bitch, Jabril?”
“Old?” Nicole said. “I’m only twenty-nine!”
“Twenty-nine!” Jaise screamed and rushed back to the door. “He’s only nineteen!” She spun back around to Jabril. “You fuckin’ wrinkled pussies now, Jabril?”
“Wrinkled pussies!” Nicole tried to pass the police, but they wouldn’t let her in, so she shouted, “This pussy wasn’t wrinkled when he was eatin’ it!”
“I will beat your fuckin’ ass!” Jaise headed out the door, but Bilal pulled her back in.
“You cheated on me with this chick, Jabril?” Christina screamed. “Oh, this is who you’re choosing over me?”
“I know you didn’t just say no dumb shit like that,” Al-Taniesha said to Christina. “I told you he was a sorry sack of shit. And all you could say was how much you loved him. Well, you see what love has got you? You see? It’s got you standing here looking stupid, while Li’l Wayne is over there being a goddamn asshole and not saying shit! So, yeah, that’s who he wants to be with.” She pointed to the door. “Another trick, and after that trick it’s sure to be another and another—”
“Wait a minute—” Jabril said.
Nicole interjected, “I’m no trick, and I don’t want his ass. He ain’t shit. You can have him.” She looked at Christina, “ ’Cause I don’t wanna babysit—”
“Then why the hell are you here?” Jaise snapped.
“Because he has a daughter and he needs to take care of her!”
“A daughter,” Jaise said, as if a lightbulb had just gone off. She walked back over to Jabril and said, “You have a daughter?”
He didn’t answer.
“Say something!” Jaise screamed, and smacked him on one side of his head. “You’re standing here with another fuckin’ baby, and you weren’t going to say anything? You think I’m supposed to keep taking care of motherfuckin’ babies? Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” She turned back to Bilal and spat, “And you knew about this and didn’t say anything to me?”
“Listen to me,” Bilal said sternly. “I knew about the warrant, but I though
t it was dealing with J.J., not some new baby. I didn’t have the details of the case.”
“That’s not his fuckin’ baby!” Jaise screamed at Nicole. “You’re just a triflin’ get-money old bitch who wants his trust fund. That’s not his goddamn baby!”
“Puhlease, that blood test came back 99.999, okay? As a matter of fact, your granddaughter looks just like you! So think of something else! Now, I don’t know what’s going on here, but this niggah has a warrant and he needs to be arrested. Unless,” she said to the officers, “since you found out his stepfather’s a lieutenant and his mother’s on reality TV showing her ass, they don’t have to abide by the law. And if that’s the case, maybe I need to get some street justice for their asses and Internal Affairs for yours!”
“Listen,” Bilal said quietly to the officers, “is there any way I can have him turn himself in? I’ll drive him to the station.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said, “but we can’t do that.”
Bilal swallowed, turned to Jabril, and shook his head with regret.
“He’s not going anywhere!” Jaise blocked the door.
Bilal looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You are way out of line,” he said.
“Ma,” Jabril said, “it’s cool.” He walked to the door. “I got this.”
Jabril stepped onto the stoop and Jaise watched the officers cuff him and read him his rights. She felt like someone had taken a knife, sliced her heart out, and stomped on it. Everything was spinning. Everything was fucked-up. Nothing and no one were as they seemed. She watched Jabril be escorted to the patrol car and pushed into the backseat. She wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. She knew she needed to do something, she just didn’t know what. She turned away from the door as the patrol car and Nicole disappeared into the distance. She walked into her home office, grabbed her purse, and headed back toward the door, where her husband and most of her guests remained.
Money Never Sleeps Page 3
