by Mitzi Miller
“Yeah, um, I have an aunt who lives here.”
“I see.”
“He’s a really nice guy—how do you know him?”
“Who, Jermaine?” Brandi asked, chuckling. “Oh, we go way back. We grew up here together, even dated for a minute or two.”
Lauren nearly choked on her Crystal Springs.
“What?—you didn’t think he had females before you?” Brandi asked coolly as she sipped her soda. “Oh, there’ve been plenty others. Let’s just say that Jermaine is one of the hot boys around here. But it ain’t just because of his looks, you know.”
Now just what in the hell was that supposed to mean? Lauren asked herself (she knew better than to say that out loud). She took another sip of water and kept quiet. Under normal circumstances, on her own turf, she might have had a few choice words to say, but, most def, she needed to feel this chick out. Oh, who am I fooling? Lauren asked herself. This broad would beat my ass. Let me shut up.
“He used to always go around talking about how he was going to get up out the hood and do some things didn’t nobody expect from him,” Brandi continued. “From the looks of things, he sho wasn’t lying,” she said, rolling her eyes at Lauren and turning back to her Coke.
“I’m sorry?” Lauren said, swizzing her neck.
“Don’t be sorry, honey, Jermaine is a catch,” Brandi snapped. “But I’m just letting you know that there were a lot of girls before you and there will be a lot more after you so don’t think you’re going to get comfortable on the West End because bitches like you come a dime a—”
Lauren’s eyes grew wider with every word that tumbled from Brandi’s lips, but when she called her a bitch, it was on.
“Look here, I don’t know who you callin’ bitch, but I do know you need to watch how you speak to this bitch,” Lauren practically growled, getting up from her stool. “I’m not from around here, but you not gonna sit up here and talk to me any ol’ kinda way, I know that much…”
Lauren kept going, curses flying every which way from her mouth—words that she wasn’t quite sure she could back up but sounded good anyway. Must have, because with every tidbit that tumbled from her lips, Brandi’s eyes grew wider and wider. Lauren wasn’t sure if she was reading her nemesis’s face right, but she could have sworn on her grandmother’s grave that Brandi looked, well, scared. Lauren, all at once surprised and pleased by Brandi’s reaction, was ready to go in for the kill—to stand up and stick a finger or two in Brandi’s face for emphasis. But just as she raised her hands, she realized that Brandi’s fearful eyes weren’t focused on her; Brandi was looking past Lauren—over her shoulder and toward the door.
It was exactly at that moment that Lauren felt the chill through her sweater. She turned around to see who was walking in the door, sure that she was about to be hurt by someone presenting himself to rob the club and everyone in it. But what she saw was worse. Much worse. Her eyes settled on Altimus, who was right in the middle of telling somebody off. She considered rubbing her eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on her, but she didn’t need to: Her stepdad, the epitome of grace, elegance, and composure, was in the hood straight looking like a gangsta all up in some old man’s face.
“Look here, mufucka, I ain’t gonna say this but one time, so listen good…” Altimus said through his teeth, pushing his fingers into the face of a man who was sitting a few stools away from Lauren. Just as he was about to really lay into the guy, he caught a glimpse of Lauren out of the corner of his eye. He straightened his shoulders; his eyes, narrowed like slits, locked with his daughter’s.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked her through clenched teeth.
Busted. Unsure whether to answer Altimus’s question, or ask him one, Lauren settled on stammering. “I-I-,” she started.
“I—I hell. I asked you a question, Lauren. Who you with up in here?” he demanded, looking at Brandi and then the crowd of teenagers gathered in the area around the pool table. A hush fell over the club; not one person in the place so much as blinked. Lauren could hear two things: Altimus’s breathing, heavy with anger, and her own heartbeat. Jermaine took a small step forward, but Don put a firm hand on his shoulder, a silent warning not to get in the middle of this mess.
“You know what? I don’t even want to hear that shit right now. Get your ass up and go get in the car.”
“But—” Lauren started.
“I. Said. Get. Your. Ass. In. The. Car. Lauren,” Altimus said through his teeth, grabbing Lauren by the arm and practically pulling her off the stool. Lauren lost her footing as she stepped down, making her left heel topple over. It hurt like hell, but she resisted yelping—just limped through the door. Altimus’s fingers gripped her arm so tightly, she thought for sure he’d stopped its blood flow.
The door slammed behind the two, the rattling of the glass and the chimes on top of it making everyone in the place jump.
After a few seconds, Brandi got up and peeped out the window, watching as Altimus practically threw Lauren into the front seat of his gunmetal-gray 7 Series. She didn’t take her eyes off the scene until Altimus screeched away.
“Oh, shit—Jermaine? What you done did?” Brandi yelled, turning on her heels to face the sea of white T’s that had gathered just beyond her. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“For real, dude, you know who you messin’ wit?” Don asked, shaking his head, murmurs of “yo,” and “oh, shit” filling the air.
“Come on, man, I know who she is,” Jermaine shrugged. “It ain’t no thang.”
“I know you know who she is, son. Do you know who her daddy is, that’s the question,” Don said.
“I know who he is, too, you ain’t sayin’ nothin’ right now,” Jermaine said confidently.
“Oh, I ain’t sayin’ shit, huh? You know who he is, huh? You know that he is the biggest gangsta in the West End? And you messin’ with his fam—his baby girl? Yo, I gotta give it to you nephew, that’s gangsta. But you ain’t no gangsta. Best leave that up to your big brother, baby boy. Unless you ready to deal with that gangsta shit, fo real,” Don said, raising his hands in surrender.
“I keep tellin’ you, ain’t no thang,” Jermaine said, almost as if he were trying to reassure himself, as much as his friends. “Me and Lauren cool. I ain’t worried about Altimus Duke.”
Don just looked at Jermaine and then his boys and shook his head. He stared at Jermaine some more. “I tell you what, nephew—you best to worry. For real. That man right there? You ain’t ready for him.”
17
SYDNEY
“So, any idea when your dad is going to give back your driving privileges?” Marcus asked hesitantly as he turned off the ignition. With only a few minutes until first bell, the parking lot was crowded with cars and students.
“He’s my stepfather,” Sydney countered as she pulled the collar on her heavyweight Catherine Malandrino cardigan tighter around her neck. At 7:45 in the morning, the sun hadn’t been up long enough to burn off the fall chill in the morning air. The last thing Sydney wanted to do was fool around and get a sore throat right before Homecoming week. “And no, I don’t. Why? What’s the problem, you already tired of driving me? ‘Cause if there’s someone else that you need to be picking up…”
“I’m just asking a question, Sydney. You don’t have to be so defensive,” Marcus replied as he grabbed his black suede jacket from the backseat. “I know you’re upset because of what happened at dinner, but I told you that I don’t want to fight with you. I’m on your side, remember?”
“I guess,” Sydney mumbled miserably as she looked out the window. Karina and Karma Bedders, one of Brookhaven’s three sets of identical twins, waved in greeting as they passed Marcus’s car on their way into the building. Sydney smiled weakly in return.
“So what do you think your mom is going to do, now that she knows?” Marcus questioned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that angry. And not to be judgmental, but do you really think it’s a good idea
for you to be hanging out with a—”
“With a what, Marcus? An ex-con? A gun smuggler? My biological father?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. I want you to get to know your dad, but I don’t want you to get hurt in the process.”
“I can’t even believe you right now, Marcus. You of all people know how long I’ve wanted my father to be in my life and now you say all of this?”
Marcus rubbed his chin as he contemplated his next words. “All I’m saying, Syd, is that it’s one thing to send the man letters. It’s a whole other thing to be hanging out in the hood. Is it really worth it?”
As Sydney watched Marcus rifle through his book bag, she felt like she was looking at a complete stranger. Marcus was the only person whom Sydney had ever trusted enough to tell her complete family history. How could he even question whether it was worth it?
“Hey, like I said, I’m on your side,” he insisted, cutting off her thoughts with a quick peck on the lips. “Anyway, before I forget, my mom is being honored by the Association of Nuevo Black Socialites the fifteenth of next month.”
“Well, isn’t that just special,” Sydney deadpanned as she thought about how much her own mother aspired to belong to the exclusive group of affluent, well-connected, and extremely powerful Atlanta housewives. Unfortunately, all the money in the world couldn’t hide the hood in Keisha, and the Nuevo Black Socialites weren’t having it.
“I guess. She expects us to be there so mark your calendar. Oh, and why don’t you wear your hair up in twists? I like it so much better that way,” he stated as he turned to open the driver side door.
“Yes’m, boss,” Sydney muttered under her breath.
“What’d you say?” Marcus questioned as he turned around.
“Nothing, nothing. I said fine,” Sydney offered as she started to open her own door and suddenly sat back in her seat.
“You coming, Syd? We’re going to be late and you know I have Dr. Daniels for first.” Marcus impatiently beckoned.
“Actually,” Sydney started slowly as she formed the story in her mind. “I really need to go get something that I forgot at home.”
“Huh? You wanna go home? Sydney, what are you talking about?” Marcus asked with a facial expression caught somewhere between annoyance and confusion.
“I, um, I just remembered that I have a presentation this afternoon and I left my note cards at home. I really need to go get them. Can I please borrow your car?”
“What about your first period? Are you just going to cut class?” Marcus asked incredulously.
“Marcus, please. Re-lax, I’m coming right back. Besides, I’ve got independent study with Ms. Korkow for two periods this morning. You act like I’ve never driven your car before. It’ll be fine,” Sydney explained as her voice became more assertive. “I promise.”
Marcus paused and looked across the parking lot as the number of remaining students steadily decreased. The first bell sounded. “Fine,” he sighed, holding out the keys. “Just hold on to the keys until I see you at lunch.”
As she leaned across the driver seat to grab the keys, Sydney pulled Marcus back into the BMW. “Love you,” she whispered as she gave him a quick kiss.
“Uh-huh, just be careful with my car. I don’t need both of us to be without wheels,” he replied as he pulled away and started jogging toward the school’s entrance without a backward glance.
“Blah, blah, blah,” Sydney muttered as she hopped over to the driver’s side and closed the door. At the moment, Sydney didn’t have the time or energy to pay Marcus’s comment any attention. She had exactly an hour and a half to get across town to her Aunt Lorraine’s house and back before third period began. She couldn’t afford to skip a single AP Geometry class if she wanted to keep her GPA above a 3.8 this semester.
Thirty minutes later, Sydney pulled into her Aunt Lorraine’s driveway. Although it was almost eight-thirty in the morning, all the shades were tightly drawn. Clearly no one in this house started his or her day before noon.
As she hurried up the walkway, Sydney stepped lightly over the uneven and crumbling pavement. The sound of Jerry Springer blasted out of the neighbor’s bedroom window. Sydney crinkled her nose in disgust as she passed a fresh pile of steaming dog crap.
“Who dat?” her Aunt Lorraine called out as Sydney rang the doorbell for the third time.
“It’s me, Aunt Lorraine. It’s Sydney,” she replied in relief. For a second, Sydney worried that she’d come all the way across town for nothing.
“Chile, where you been? You know your poor daddy was worried sick when he hadn’t heard from you all these days. You ain’t in no trouble is you?” Aunt Lorraine scolded as she opened the door. “No matter, just come on in and have a seat. I’ll go fetch him from the back bedroom right quick.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lorraine,” Sydney answered as she headed into the living room. She could hear her aunt banging on the bedroom door and telling her father to get up because his daughter was waiting to see him.
Moments later, Dice walked into the living room wearing a pair of red-and-green-plaid pajama bottoms, a white Sean John logo T-shirt, and the pair of leather slippers Sydney had sent him a couple of years ago for Christmas. He immediately headed over to Sydney and scooped her up in a tight hug. “Where ya been, Ladybug? I was starting to get worried about you. I sent you a bunch of text messages but none of them were returned. So then I called your cell, but it said that the number was temporarily out of service. Everything straight?”
“Oh, Dad, everything is all messed up. Dara slept with Marcus and Lauren knew about it, so I told everyone about Lauren’s video ho tryout and Dara’s boobs, then that backstabber told Mom that I’d been coming here to see you, so Altimus put me on punishment after I outted gay-ass Donald at dinner,” Sydney exclaimed breathlessly before she burst into tears.
“Whoa, whoa, Ladybug, slow down. Now, who slept with Marcus? And Lauren’s a video what? When did Keisha get fake boobs? And why is Altimus putting his hands on my child?” Dice asked, clearly confused. He rubbed Sydney on the back to try and soothe her sobs.
“No, Dad, Mom didn’t get fake boobs,” she said in between sniffles. “Lauren’s slutty best friend slept with Marcus. I think. I mean, obviously he’s denying it. Shoot, he even denied that they were hanging out together and I found proof of that. Anyway, I’d never give her the satisfaction of admitting that I think my man would ever stoop to her level, but something just ain’t right between the two of them. And I’m pissed.”
“Seems like you have every right to be mad, Syd,” Dice answered knowingly as he steered her toward the couch. He stopped on the way to grab a handful of Kleenex from a box by Aunt Lorraine’s easy chair and handed them to Sydney.
“Well, what made me really, really, pissed is that if Dara did get with Marcus, Lauren totally knew about the whole thing,” Sydney said as she loudly blew her nose into the tissue.
“Whoa. You sure about that?”
“Positive,” she asserted. “So since they both stabbed me in the back, I figured I’d get them back where it hurts. I sent an e-mail to this blog that like everyone in the whole world reads, about the fact that Lauren didn’t make the cut at a video tryout and that Dara’s mom used child-support money to get Dara a boob job.”
“Hold up now—what exactly is your sister trying to do in videos? And what in the world is a blog? You lost me, babe…”
“Oh, please, Lauren is such a wannabe tramp,” Sydney blurted out. “She’s been hanging out with Dara, sneaking around doing crazy things like, forever. I don’t understand how our parents—I mean Mom and Altimus—haven’t figured out her Little Miss Cheerleader act yet, but whatever. Don’t even worry about the blog. Let’s just say I put Lauren and Dara on major blast. So to get back at me, Lauren told Mom that I’ve been coming over here to see you.”
“Damn,” Dice muttered. He may not have understood much of anything else, but he damn sure knew wh
at that last statement meant.
“Exactly,” Sydney said with a frustrated frown as the tears started to well up once again. “She put me on blast in the middle of dinner right in front of her stupid boyfriend, Donald.”
“Who’s gay?” Dice questioned, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Yep, pretty much. But that’s nothing compared to how Mom and Altimus lost it when they heard about you and me. Mom was ranting and raving like a lunatic. I swear if looks could kill, I’d be dead right now.”
“Yeah, I remember those cut eyes your mother used to give me.”
“Which, to be honest, I totally don’t understand the reason for. Why is Mom so hell-bent on keeping me away from you? And P.S., why does Altimus care so much all of a sudden? He went off and punished me like I’d crashed one of his vintage cars or something. Oh, wait, Lauren already did that last year.” Sydney snickered evilly as she wiped her runny nose. “You know what? Even then, all he did was ground her for a week. I, on the other hand, am grounded indefinitely.”
Dice took a deep breath as he reached out for Sydney’s trembling hand. “The more I listen to you, the more convinced I am that this whole situation is rigged all the way around. There are a lot of things that you can’t understand because you don’t know your past,” he said slowly.
“Huh? What are you talking about, Dad?”
“Listen, Syd,” he said. “You know I’ve always said that I was innocent of the charges that I was convicted of, right? But I wasn’t an innocent man. Back in the day, I was definitely in the streets…in a big way. I made a lot of enemies, apparently even among those people that were the closest to me.”
“Okay…” Sydney encouraged him to continue.
“It’s…” Dice paused. “You just have to believe me when I tell you that everything you’ve been told about me, my relationship with your mother and why things turned out the way they are—isn’t necessarily true.”
“Well, I knew that,” Sydney started. “But that doesn’t explain why Mom gets so crazy. What does she think is gonna happen if I spend time with you?”
