by Erica Hilton
“Yeah, they always do at first. But you do know that he’s a drug dealer, right?” said Mecca. “Where you think he gets the money to treat you to nice things and take you to expensive places?”
“Yeah, I know. I thought about it.”
“I’m telling you this because you seem ready to get serious with him, and that lifestyle can be treacherous.”
“I love him, Mecca.”
“I know you do . . . that’s what worries me.”
Chanel’s cell phone chimed. “I gotta go. He’s waiting for me downstairs,” she said.
Chanel marched out of the apartment and met Mateo on the street, where he sat behind the wheel of his idling white Range Rover. Like routine, he got out to open the door for Chanel. He was spoiling her.
“You miss me?” she said.
“Always,” he replied.
Chanel was treated to a special dinner at the River Café in Dumbo. It was a landmark restaurant nestled under the Brooklyn Bridge with a stunning view of the New York City skyline.
Mateo pulled Chanel’s chair out for her at the table and sat across from her. He always took Chanel to places where it would be hard for him to get busted by his girlfriend. He wanted to keep Chanel far away from danger, and that danger came in the form of Nikki. She was a slick talking, rough-around-the-edges main chick. Dining in Brooklyn, far away from the Bronx, provided a safe distance.
“This is probably the nicest place I ever been to,” Chanel said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Yes. I don’t go out much. I’m a Brooklyn girl with teenage problems.”
“Well, I’m glad to be the first to treat you to a really nice restaurant.”
She smiled. “And can I be honest with you?”
“Of course,” he said.
“You’re my first boyfriend.”
“You serious?”
She nodded. “I am . . . and I already told you that I’m a virgin.”
“Curious, a pretty girl like yourself and no boyfriend—not ever? And you’re seventeen . . .”
“I know, I’m the oddball, but I have the right to be. Originally, I wanted to wait until I got married to have sex. And, yes, it does sound like a cliché, but if you know my family, you would understand why.”
“Is your family that bad?”
Chanel sighed, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “They’re the worst.”
“You care to elaborate?”
“My sisters have been using sex from the time they were young, and my oldest sister had two abortions before she turned eighteen. And it wasn’t special. When I finally have sex, I want it to be special and I want it to be with someone I love and who loves me,” she proclaimed. “And now that I’ve met you, I know you’re gonna be my first.”
Mateo was flattered—so flattered that he said, “I’m gonna marry you.”
Chanel was surprised by the statement. Why did he say it? He didn’t know why himself, but it made her happy. Yes, she would marry him when the day came.
“Would you really marry me?” she asked.
“Yes. I would.”
It was becoming the best day of her life. She beamed so brightly that she could blind the entire room. Mateo moved closer to her and they kissed. It was a brief kiss, but it was passionate. Chanel was in love. She had never been in love, and the feeling was so overwhelming that sometimes it felt like she was going to explode from it.
“I love you,” she blurted out.
He didn’t hesitate to say it back. “I love you too.”
Their dinner together was perfect. She could talk to and stare at Mateo forever. She was only seventeen, but Mateo made her feel like a woman—like she was a queen. The weeks they spent together were the best weeks of her life, and Chanel felt like she couldn’t go one day without him.
After dinner at the Riverside Café, Mateo drove into Midtown Manhattan, and they stopped at Central Park. There, Mateo paid for them to take a horse and carriage ride through the park. It was the perfect summer night for it, warm and a full moon above. During the ride through the park, Chanel nestled against him and grinned as he held her in his arms. She’d never felt so secure and so safe. She was so happy.
The following day, Mateo took her shopping on 5th Avenue.
“My Chanel should have Chanel.” Mateo beamed as he purchased his lady three very expensive handbags. And then he took her to the Dominicans in Harlem to get her hair done, where they washed, set, and blew out her beautiful long hair. They cut her bangs and evened out the back. Her hair looked like a long weave, but it wasn’t.
“Should I dye it next time?” she asked Mateo.
“Dye it?”
“Yes. I was thinking maybe red?”
“Nah, baby. I love your hair as is.”
“Really?”
“No doubts, okay?” Mateo leaned in and quickly kissed her.
Chanel looked in the mirror and drank in her new look. Mecca did a nice job, but the Dominicans did a fabulous job. She looked like a new woman—not a seventeen-year-old girl, but a gorgeous model. She was breathtaking, and Mateo couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Chanel had spent nearly three weeks in Harlem, and she knew it was time to go back home. Mateo was willing to take her back to Brooklyn in his Range Rover. He wanted to see where she lived, to see the nightmare of a place she told him about. Chanel didn’t want to go back home, but she knew that she couldn’t stay at Mecca’s place forever. The only upside was that Chanel was going back to Brooklyn in style, with a new wardrobe and a new hairdo.
She stared out the window as the Range traveled across the Brooklyn Bridge. It was another beautiful night in the city. The balmy weather thickened the traffic into Brooklyn, and they were at a standstill.
Chanel turned her attention from the East River to her man, and asked him out the blue, “What is it that you do? I know I never asked you this before, but I’m just curious.”
He said to her, “I promised that I would never lie to you.”
“So don’t.”
He sighed and answered, “I’m a hustler. But I don’t plan on staying in the game long.”
“So you sell drugs.”
“Yes, I sell drugs. Why, do you have an issue with that?”
“I don’t judge anyone. I love you for who you are, not what you do.”
“I have a plan, Chanel. I want to start my own company and go legit someday. I’m gonna invest in real estate and business. I’m even studying the stock market and some shit called cryptocurrency.”
“It’s good to have goals. I like that.”
“I promise that I’ll give you a better life, baby—a life that you deserve.”
She smiled. “I know you will.”
He took her hand in his across the console and held it in adoration. She exhaled and smiled. Her heart fluttered. God, she didn’t want to leave him, but she had no choice. She still had her life in Brooklyn and he had his in the Bronx.
The Range Rover pulled up in front of Chanel’s building. The locals were outside, and when they saw the pretty white truck come to a stop, their curiosity was piqued. Who could it be inside the SUV? Among those loitering outside the project building was Charlie hanging with a few of her girls from around the way. Claire was seated near the bedroom window and she too noticed the Range.
Chanel saw that the block was busy with people, including her sister. She sighed heavily.
Mateo noticed her apprehension. “You want me to walk you upstairs?”
“No, I’ll be okay. This is home.”
“You sure?” he said.
She nodded. “I want to keep you a mystery. They don’t deserve to see you or know anything about you. Shit, they probably didn’t know that I was gone for nearly three weeks. They don’t care about me.”
“Well, you k
now I do.”
She smiled. “I know, baby.”
Before her exit, they looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. He moved closer to her, smiled, and pulled her in for a fiery and passionate kiss. The kiss sent shivers down her back. Mateo was intoxicating and addictive. It was going to be hard to leave him and go back to her family.
When their kiss ended, she exhaled and grinned. Damn! “That was nice,” she whispered.
“It was. I could kiss you forever,” he said.
The feeling was mutual. Finally, she made her departure from the vehicle and headed toward the building carrying numerous shopping bags. Mateo stayed parked and would watch her leave until she disappeared into her building. All eyes were on Chanel, wearing a designer crop top and pants, carrying a Chanel bag, and her long hair flowing naturally down her back. At first Charlie and Claire didn’t have a clue that it was Chanel who got out of the Range, but once they recognized her, they had a million questions. Chanel ignored Charlie and marched into the apartment and ignored Claire, who was now in the living room staring at Chanel like she was an alien. The sisters became jealous of her newly noticed beauty and her straight hair. Claire accused her of having it permed, but Chanel explained it was a simple blow-dry.
Chanel went into her bedroom and went to the window. Mateo was already gone. She groaned. She was already missing him, but she knew she would see him again soon. Chanel lay across her bed and started to daydream about how her first time would be with Mateo.
Chapter Twelve
It was a beautiful day outside, but Chanel didn’t feel so beautiful. She felt forgotten, unwanted, and lied to. It was early September, and she hadn’t heard from Mateo since he dropped her off. She didn’t want to be angry, but she had strong feelings for Mateo and she thought they were mutual. He had told her he loved her. So how could he not contact her for two weeks? Every time she tried to call him, his phone went straight to his voicemail, and Mecca said she hadn’t seen him around Harlem lately. Chanel went from floating on cloud nine to misery and upset. She was back in school, but it was hard for her to focus when she couldn’t stop thinking about Mateo.
Charlie didn’t make things better. When she saw Chanel, Charlie would constantly tease, “Where’s ya baller nigga at now, bitch?”
Chanel tried to ignore her, but Charlie was persistent in trying to make her life a living hell. And Claire didn’t miss out on the verbal abuse. Although she was away at school, she would call and taunt Chanel about how dumb it was to get involved with a hustler. “I’m only going to date doctors and lawyers,” she admonished. “You see a street nigga don’t care nothing ’bout your dumb ass!”
Claire had become more egotistical since her acceptance into Harvard. It was still a hard pill for Chanel to swallow. She felt that Claire had to suck or fuck some nigga to get into such a prestigious school. Others believed it was possible, because Claire put up a front by always reading and looking like she was studying something. Though Claire wasn’t an idiot, Chanel remained skeptical, believing that her sister wasn’t Harvard-smart.
Chanel’s heart was broken. She missed Mateo so much that she would cry herself to sleep at night. She wanted to disappear. But when it rains, it pours.
***
The school bell rang. It was Chanel’s last period class and it was time to go home. The September weather still allowed her to look cute in her short skirt and white top. She rode the bus in silence, wishing she had some other place to go after school besides home.
The bus moved through the city street and Chanel stared out the window. With Claire now away in school, she had one less sister to deal with—to take abuse from. But Charlie’s boyfriend God seemed to take Claire’s place at home. Chanel hated the way God would look at her when she came into the room. His eyes lingered on her for too long and it made her uncomfortable. It almost felt like when he stared at her, he was undressing her young body with his eyes. She wanted to tell Charlie about the uneasiness she felt around God, but she knew telling Charlie about the issue would be like telling a rock. Charlie most likely wouldn’t do anything about it.
For Chanel, it truly sucked that she didn’t have a big sister to have her back. She hated to feel alone with her own family. With Mateo disappearing from her life, Chanel felt like she had no one but Mecca who gave a fuck about her.
The bus came to a stop on Ralph Avenue and Chanel got off. She minded her business as she walked two blocks to the Glenwood Housing Projects. Her area of Brooklyn was a busy place, especially on a warm September day. A few boys wanted to holler at her, catcalling to her from a short distance, but she ignored them. She wasn’t interested and they weren’t her type. They weren’t Mateo.
It appeared that no one was home when she entered her apartment. For a moment, it seemed Chanel had the place to herself. She wanted to make herself a snack and lock herself in the bedroom and start on her homework.
But then things changed. Upon walking into the kitchen, her eyes widened with shock. There was Butch, sprawled out across the kitchen floor, and he looked dead. Near his reach was a bottle of Jack Daniels that had spilled out onto the floor.
Chanel hurried to him. “Daddy!” she cried out. “Daddy, wake up!”
She tried to wake him, but he wasn’t coming to. She didn’t know what to do. She tried to give him CPR, but to no avail. She ran to the phone and quickly dialed 911. She shouted breathlessly to the dispatcher, “My father—I think he had a heart attack or something. He’s not moving! He’s not breathing!”
“Ma’am, what is your location?” the 911 dispatcher asked.
Chanel quickly gave them the address and prayed that Butch wouldn’t die. He was a drunk and treated her like shit, but he was still her father, and Chanel hoped the ambulance got there in time.
***
Butch lay unconscious on the gurney in the hospital room. Bacardi, Charlie, and God had finally made it to Brookdale Hospital to see about his condition. Chanel lingered in the hallway. She had saved her father’s life, but her family would never give her the credit she deserved. Everyone was worried about Butch. He was an unemployed drunk who was mean and abusive when he was sober, but he was family.
The doctor came into the room and he had everyone’s undivided attention. His diagnosis of Butch was simple. He had a seizure brought on by consuming too much alcohol. He would have to stay a few nights in the hospital for observation, and the family was told that if he continued to drink the way he did, then he would probably be dead within a year. But Butch not drinking was easier said than done.
Bacardi was a bit relieved, but it was bittersweet news. How could they stop Butch from drinking? Liquor and Butch went together like a horse and a carriage, and if Butch couldn’t have his liquor then he would become an unbearable muthafucka to be around.
“Someone needs to call Claire and tell her what happened,” Bacardi said.
“I’ll do it,” Charlie said.
She turned and walked out of the hospital room and moved right past Chanel without saying a word. She didn’t even have the respect to tell Chanel what Butch’s doctor had said. She marched down the hallway with her cell phone in hand to call her sister and to get everyone a snack.
Chanel stared into the room and observed Bacardi praying over her husband. She felt sickened by her mother’s action. She thought, How can a demon like her pray? Although she saved her father’s life, Chanel knew that nothing was going to change. They already ignored her and treated her like she was a plague—like her black skin was a virus inside the home. It wasn’t her fault that she was born with dark skin and her two sisters were light with hazel eyes. She was still blood—still a Brown—but yet, she was a child without a home and without love. Chanel thought that she’d found love with Mateo, but was it only a façade?
She sighed and turned and left. She would take the bus home. She would lock herself inside her room and stay there all night
. The benefit of Claire being away at college was that she no longer had to share the bedroom. The solitude she craved was granted—a minor blessing in such a hellish household.
Chapter Thirteen
Cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air of the strip club. It was a scene of debauchery. Every square foot of the club was thick with paying customers and scantily dressed women. Two naked dancers were wrapped around the poles while four other girls danced on stage. The rest of the girls paraded around the urban club while Big Sean’s “Bounce Back” thumped through the speakers.
In their element like children at a playground were God and Fingers. Both men were being entertained with lap dances by two half-naked ladies. Fingers clutched a fistful of dollars and eagerly tipped the smiling, caramel complexioned girl with a big booty and matching big tits.
God downed a bottle of champagne and grinned at his lovely company. Her name was Miracle. She was pretty, dark, and curvy in all the right places. She straddled God in the folding chair and grinded her thick body against his—arousing her customer to the fullest. She thought he was cute. And he wasn’t cheap. As she grinded her booty and pussy into his lap, he continued to make it rain on her. She smiled. He smiled. His hands roamed freely all over the dancer’s body, and tonight he wasn’t thinking about Charlie.
They looked like ballers in the club with their designer clothing and jewelry, purchasing bottles from the bar and tipping healthily. It was their way to unwind and enjoy life.
“I like you,” said Miracle to God.
“I like you too, shorty,” said God.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“It’s God.”
“God . . .” She thought it was an odd name for him. “Why do they call you God?”
“Because I make things happen and I see everything,” he said.
He was amusing, and Miracle found him intriguing. She continued to work her sexiness on him and even kissed the side of his neck as she gave him a sensual lap dance.
“Well, God, do you want a private dance with me?”
