Black Beauty

by Erica Hilton

  “It’s almost eight.”

  “At night?”

  “You’re a heavy sleeper,” Mecca said.

  “Shit, Mecca, I didn’t mean to sleep all day in your bed.”

  “Nah, you cool. I understand.”

  Chanel couldn’t believe she’d slept for so long. She remembered lying across Mecca’s comfortable bed and simply closing her eyes, and that was around noon. Now it was eight at night. Chanel knew it was time to take her ass home, even though she didn’t want to. Bacardi, Charlie, and Claire were insufferable, but Chanel didn’t want to wear out her welcome at Mecca’s place. For the past three weeks, she had been coming by almost every day and spending hours and hours there. Her friend’s room was cozy and comfortable. It was neat, entertaining, and with Mecca being the only child, there was some needed solitude. Chanel wished she had a bedroom like her friend’s. Shit, she wished she had a warm home like Mecca’s and a doting mother too. But it was wishful thinking.

  “I’m about to go,” Chanel said.

  “I’ll walk you to the subway station.”

  “Mecca, you don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re my friend and I wanna make sure you good. And it’s getting late.”

  Chanel smiled. Mecca was good peoples, and Chanel knew she could count on her. Chanel gathered the few belongings she brought over and placed them into her book bag. It was dusk outside, and Chanel could hear Harlem alive and buzzing on a beautiful spring evening from Mecca’s second-floor window. The neighborhood had become her stomping grounds away from home. It was a beautiful melting pot of culture and diversity, and in Harlem, Chanel felt like she could breathe again. Not to take anything away from her Brooklyn roots—but Chanel desperately needed a change in environment.

  The two teenage girls walked out of the apartment and decided to take the elevator instead of the stairs, though it was only two flights.

  “Thanks again for having me over,” Chanel said.

  “C’mon, Chanel, you’re welcome here anytime. You’re family. I know it be hectic at your crib. Shit, I seen that shit with my own eyes.”

  “I swear, Mecca, I just wanna pack my shit and go somewhere far away and never come back. I hate it there.”

  “It’s just jealousy, Chanel,” Mecca added. “Look at them and look at you. You’re pretty and fly, and hateful bitches always try to knock someone down to make themselves feel good.”

  Chanel sighed. “I’m just trying to be strong and not make any more trouble for myself.”

  “Well, you can spend next weekend with me. My mother’s going out of town. It’s not a problem. We can sit back, eat popcorn, and watch my husband on Luther and The Wire.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  They stepped out of the elevator and strolled through the lobby with their conversation still flowing. Chanel zipped up her spring jacket and they exited the lobby. Chanel wanted to take her time and not hurry toward the subway. She wasn’t in any rush to get home. Home was hell.

  As the girls walked down the pathway from the building toward the street, Chanel noticed a pearl white Range Rover parked on the curb in front of Mecca’s building with rap music bumping. It was a beautiful vehicle sitting on chrome rims. Seated in the passenger seat was a handsome Latino male who looked to be in his early twenties. Chanel noticed the New England Patriots logo cut into his fresh low haircut. From a distance, he seemed intriguing. In the driver’s seat was another Latino male dressed urban with a low haircut.

  As she and Mecca walked and talked, the passenger quickly locked eyes with Chanel. Though it was a fleeting gaze, he took in Chanel’s long, black ponytail and her clothing. Chanel was cleanly dressed in black jeans that somewhat hugged her curves and highlighted her booty and white Nikes and her purple-and-white spring jacket. She looked cute and sexy, and there was nothing trashy about her.

  Chanel couldn’t help but to flash a quick smile at the passenger. Damn, he’s cute, she said to herself. She and Mecca continued to walk right by the Range Rover toward the nearest intersection.

  The passenger, a man named Mateo, was immediately drawn to Chanel. He climbed out of the vehicle and approached her with a wide smile.

  “Excuse me, ladies!” he politely hollered at the two girls. “Can I get your attention?”

  Chanel turned around to gaze at Mateo approaching her. Mecca wanted to keep walking, but she had no choice but to stop and wait for Chanel because she wanted to stop at some nigga’s catcall.

  “Ohmygod, you’re exquisite,” said Mateo.

  Chanel chuckled at the word. “Exquisite . . . now that’s something new,” she replied.

  “But you are. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?

  “Chanel.”

  “Hello, Chanel. I’m Mateo,” he said, extending his hand. Chanel shook his hand. “I couldn’t help it, Chanel; you definitely caught my attention.”

  “Oh, really? And what about me caught your attention?”

  “Your swag.”

  She grinned. “Swag? Me?”

  “Oh, absolutely. I never saw you around here before.”

  Chanel shoved her hands into her pockets. “That’s because I’m from Brooklyn.”

  “Damn, Chanel. Don’t tell this nigga your entire life story. You don’t know him,” Mecca chimed.

  “I’m not trying to create any conflict. I’m just trying to have a nice conversation with a beautiful woman, that’s all,” said Mateo.

  Mecca rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth, but Chanel smiled. She couldn’t help but to blush in front of the male stranger.

  “So, where y’all going?” Mateo asked.

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. I thought maybe we could hang out, maybe get something to eat—”

  “We’re not hungry!” Mecca blurted.

  “And it’s getting late,” Chanel said.

  “I understand. How old are you anyway?”

  Chanel didn’t want to tell him her real age, but she didn’t want to lie to him either. Her smile was innocent. She kept her attention on him and said, “I’m sixteen.”

  “Sixteen! Wow, you’re young.”

  “I know. And how old are you, Mateo?”

  He grinned. “I’m twenty.”

  “Damn, you’re old,” Mecca blurted.

  Mateo laughed. “I’m old, huh?”

  “Yeah! What, you’re into young girls? You some kind of pervert?”

  “No. I’m into gorgeous women, like Chanel,” he smoothly countered.

  The remark made Chanel smile more, but her glorious moment of compliments and flattery was short-lived when Mateo said, “Well, it was nice meeting y’all ladies. Y’all have a nice evening.”

  His gaze lingered on Chanel and then he pivoted and walked back to the Range Rover. Chanel felt like a balloon that had been abruptly deflated. Just like that, he left without taking her number or giving her his. She was disappointed.

  “You scared him off, Mecca.”

  “He was too old for you anyway, girl.”

  “What, you’re my keeper now?”

  “No, but I know his type. He just wanted some pussy, that’s all. And his friend didn’t even get out of the truck,” Mecca said.

  “Ah, are you jealous,” Chanel joked.

  Mecca laughed. “I did it to save you. You were looking thirsty, girl.”

  “Oh, I was looking thirsty?”

  “Yes. You should have seen your face—you just went Forrest Gump on us.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Chanel laughed.

  “For real girl, you was.”

  “You got to admit it, though. He was fine, right?”

  Mecca didn’t reply right away, and then she burst out, “Yeah, he definitely was.”

  Chanel sighed. “I wonder if I’m gonna ever
see him again.”

  “Don’t even think about him, girl. He probably has like four or five women anyway, and maybe a few baby mamas,” Mecca said. “You probably didn’t need the headache in your life.”

  Chanel hadn’t thought about that. That sudden moment with Mateo was a spark for her, and it felt like it was still burning. She had him on her mind and he was going to stay there for a while.

  The girls continued their walk toward the subway. Chanel sighed with delight. He’d called her exquisite, gorgeous, and beautiful. Harlem was the bomb.

  Chapter Nine

  God stood by the bedroom window smoking a cigarette. He stared at the locals coming and going like he was the apex predator and they were all prey. Charlie was in the shower, and the place was quiet. He had permanently moved in with Charlie without asking permission since he’d been evicted from his own place. He had been walking around the apartment like it was his castle and undermining everyone. Chanel hated that he was living there, but Bacardi and Butch didn’t mind. They treated him like he was their son.

  God had to think. He was contemplating his future—their future. It had been months since they’d hit a lick. Things were too hot, and the police had been on them like white on rice. Shit was dry. Between the lawyer fees and Bacardi not working, money was really tight. God needed another come-up, and he needed one right away.

  Fingers had left town for a while to escape the fire of shooting a cop, but with the city coming alive because of the warm weather, God knew the time was now to get back into action—back to getting paid again.

  Charlie entered the bedroom wrapped in a white towel. She had just finished her shower, and seeing her man smoking by the window raised some concerns for her.

  “Baby, you okay?” she asked him.

  God turned and looked at her. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You sure? You look like you stressin’.”

  “I said I’m fuckin’ a’ight!” he barked.

  “Shit, nigga, you ain’t gotta catch no attitude wit’ me. I was just checkin’ to see if my man was good,” Charlie retorted. “But fuck you!”

  God took one last pull from the cigarette and flicked it out the window. Charlie was frowning at him, her arms folded across her chest. He had no right to snap at her after she gave him a place to stay and pussy on demand.

  “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to fight wit’ you. I just got a lot of shit on my mind, a’ight?”

  “And I don’t? What the fuck, nigga?”

  “We need to find another lick,” he said.

  “I know that. I’ve been on a mission lookin’ for muthafuckas to get got, and I think I have the perfect mark,” she lied. Charlie had been looking, but she hadn’t come up with anything concrete yet.

  “Who?”

  “Can you get in contact with Fingers?”

  “I’m always in contact with him,” he said.

  “Cool. With the heat finally dying down, it’s time for us to get back to business and shit. We need to get paid again.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby. Now that’s my bitch talking business,” said God with a smile.

  “You know me, baby—doing whatever to make us happy and get this money,” she said.

  God was pleased that Charlie had found another victim. In fact, she found the majority of their targets, scoping out potential victims to transform into a payday. Leaving a trail of bodies behind didn’t bother her. The thrill of robbing and killing had become an addiction for her. Just thinking about potential money stirred up Charlie’s sexual desire. She wanted some dick now. She opened the towel around her body and let it drop to the floor. She was hungry for her man.

  “You need to fuckin’ apologize to me, nigga,” she said.

  “Oh, you want me to apologize, huh?”

  She nodded. “Yup. And I don’t want a weak fuckin’ apology. I want an apology from you that will put a damn smile on my face.”

  God grinned, knowing what she was hinting at. Charlie positioned herself on her bed and spread her legs for God.

  “Come eat, baby,” she said.

  Chapter Ten

  Ohmygod, I can’t believe my baby is graduating today and she’s going to Harvard on a partial scholarship. You always were the smart one,” Bacardi said to Claire.

  It was graduation day, and Claire was beaming with joy. Today was her day. In a few short hours, she would be walking across the stage in her cap and gown to accept her high school diploma.

  She was the talk of the town—a local girl accepted into Harvard—how the fuck did that happen? And the main one scratching her head over her sister’s acceptance into an Ivy League school was Chanel. What was more astonishing was that she actually had a partial scholarship. Chanel wanted to ask questions. How did Claire pull it off? She even wondered who Claire fucked in high school to gain such achievements. But Chanel was happy for her sister—at least she would be out of the house and in a different state.

  The family treated Claire like she was baby Jesus on Christmas morning. They raved and celebrated Claire every minute, but there was one problem Chanel had with it all—it was her birthday. Today, she turned seventeen, but it had been forgotten and overshadowed by Claire’s festivities. What a coincidence. What a shock—no one gave a damn about Chanel. However, Chanel kept quiet about it and went along with the program.

  “After all we fuckin’ been through this year, it’s good to see something wonderful happening with this damn family,” Bacardi proclaimed.

  “Fo’ sure, fo’ sure! Let’s get it on today,” Butch chimed cheerily, the liquor already in his system.

  “Butch, don’t fuckin’ embarrass this family today,” Bacardi warned him.

  “My baby girl is graduating high school today, so we gonna party. No better day than today to drink and celebrate,” Butch replied, followed by a quick two-step. He took a swig from the flask he carried.

  Bacardi frowned at her husband.

  The family was dressed and ready for the main event at Brooklyn College. For once, they looked like a normal family, but looks could be deceiving. Bacardi was all smiles and almost looked brand new in the blue maxi dress she wore. Charlie and God looked like a loving and generous couple. Charlie wore a blue A-line dress, and God wore jeans and a button-down. Claire was glowing in her cap and gown, and Chanel played things simple in a polka dot skirt, a white camisole under a jean jacket, and a pair of high heels. She felt uncomfortable around God. His eyes lingered on her for far too long, and he was the only one that complimented her attire, saying, “You look really nice, Chanel.”

  She replied with a dry, “Thank you.”

  The family piled into a cab, but God and Charlie drove to the college in his Jeep. At Brooklyn College, hundreds of people waited to see the seniors graduate and accept their high school diplomas. It was a joyous day for everyone. The day was sunny and warm, with a blue sky that stretched for miles.

  Chanel sat quietly through the graduation ceremony with the long-winded speeches and awards. She had a few things on her mind, like Mateo. It’d been three months since that night she met him and she never ran into him again on her trips back to Harlem to hang out with Mecca. She wondered why she couldn’t stop thinking about him. They met once. It was brief, but that brief moment made a big impression on her.

  Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, Claire’s name was called and she strutted across the stage to accept her diploma. The family went crazy with cheers, clapping, and hollering.

  “You go girl! That’s my fuckin’ sister!” Charlie screamed.

  “I fuckin’ gave birth to a Harvard girl!” Bacardi shouted.

  The Browns looked ghetto fabulous and they were loud enough to wake the dead. It was like they were at a sports game. They drew enough attention on themselves that Chanel had to shake her head and sigh. After the graduation, the family w
ent out to eat.

  ***

  Claire was their spotlight, but she had a problem. Although she had a partial scholarship to Harvard, it was still too expensive. Unless she came up with the money, she wouldn’t be able to attend the school in the fall. Since she was their only student accepted to Harvard, Claire’s high school had contacted the local papers. Within days, her story being about hard work and dedication was in the papers. “From housing projects to higher education” was the topic.

  They all wanted to help Claire, and they bragged about how she had gotten into Harvard. The entire family believed that she was smart enough to get into the school. She was always reading and studying, and she was always using those big words. To them, Claire was impressive and ambitious.

  Chanel was happy for her sister—a bit skeptical, but still, she was happy. She felt the urge to do something nice for Claire, despite constantly being treated like she had the plague. Chanel thought if she could help raise the money, maybe Claire wouldn’t be such an asshole toward her anymore.

  Chanel went online and started a GoFundMe page to help Claire raise the tuition money. Chanel kept the page a secret from everyone because she wanted it to be a surprise. The page was skillfully put together. She wrote about how her sister was a poor project girl who had graduated high school with honors and was now in danger of missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime—a Harvard education. Chanel expressed sadness and guilt on the page, and she reached out to everyone. The campaign was created the day after Claire’s graduation, and by mid-July, Chanel was able to raise $30,000.

  Feeling excited about the money she’d raised, Chanel felt that it was finally time to share the good news with her sister. It was early afternoon and the house was quiet. Claire was in the living room supposedly reading. Chanel took a deep breath and with Claire’s laptop in her hands, she approached her with a smile on her face.

  “Claire, can I talk to you for a minute?” Chanel asked.

  Claire looked up at her sister deadpan. “What do you want, Chanel?” It was clear that she didn’t want to be bothered.