Tyrell

by Coe Booth

  By the time I get back inside, Wayne and Rafael is now bus drivers. They moving them buses back and forth and pushing them close together in the back of the room. Wayne lean out one of the windows and yell, “Yo, Tyrell. Check me out.”

  “Least you know what you gonna be when you grow up,” I tell him.

  “Fuck you. I’m grown now.”

  Rafael start beeping his horn nonstop, trying to make a beat.

  I start laughing. “Hurry up, assholes. Y’all got more work to do.” No matter how loud I yell, I don’t think they hear me though. I can’t believe I picked them two niggas, outta all the people I know, to help me with this party. I musta been out my mind.

  Me and Dante open up the three folding tables and set them up the way my pops do, in a U shape with the opening in the back. One table is just for the equipment, and one is for the crates of records. The other one is where my pops put drinks and shit, anything he don’t want near the equipment ‘cause, like I said, my pops don’t be playing when it come to his shit.

  My cell ring. It’s Patrick. “I’m outside. Come help me.”

  Patrick driving the van he borrowed from his uncle. It’s old, brown, and got IEB PLUMBING on the side of it. Patrick is outside unloading crates of CDs and DVDs that he gonna try to sell and all the digital equipment and music I’ma use for the party. We carry everything inside.

  Then for the next hour all me and Patrick do is set up my DJ tables. Dante help out too. He put the speakers where we want them, and he use duct tape to keep the speaker wires taped down to the floor. He even tape the speaker wire to the back of the amp just in case someone bump the table and shit get knocked out. Just like my pops do.

  “Alright, Ty,” he say, when he done helping out. “You got it from here, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. I know he want me to thank him, but what I’ma thank him for? He wasn’t s’posed to have my pops equipment in the first place. I ain’t thanking him for giving back shit that ain’t even his.

  He stand there for a couple seconds then just walk out. Me and Patrick look at each other. “What’s his problem?” Patrick ask.

  “He one of my pops friends from back in the day,” I tell him. “But he the kinda friend I’ma hafta watch ‘round my moms, know what I’m saying?”

  “Do your mom like him?”

  “Nah, but he helping her and shit, giving her money to get her hair did and, like, buying my little brother new boots. Got her thinking he a good man.”

  “Your father would kill that guy if he found out what he was trying.”

  “Word.” I kneel down and duct tape all the power cords to the floor. I don’t want nothing to go wrong that’s gonna make all the music stop and kill the whole party. I seen that happen a couple times at my pops parties, and I ain’t taking no chances.

  While Patrick set up the digital equipment, I can’t help but hook up the two turntables next to the CD deck. My pops use the Technics 1200s, and he always tell me that he bought his 1200s the same year I was born and, no matter what they been through, they still work as good as when they was new. Then he usually go on and on ‘bout how all the new shit the DJs use now, all that digital shit, ain’t nothing but garbage that’s made to break after a couple years.

  Now, I don’t know why I’m really setting up the turntables when everything the kids is gonna wanna hear is on CD, but the DJ table ain’t gonna look right without them. That’s just me.

  While me and Patrick is plugging in cables and making sure everything is working right, I’m calling out orders for Wayne and Rafael. First I got them sweeping ‘cause there’s all kinds of little screws and other metal shit on the floor, ‘specially over by the work area where the broke-down buses was getting fixed. Then I got them helping to set up the lights over the DJ table.

  When all the equipment is hooked up, I put on a Tupac CD and the shit sound real nice with my pops speakers. I mean, I’m really feeling the music.

  Patrick feeling it too. He start setting up his little selling area on the third table with a smile on his face. Nigga came prepared too. He got empty cases of all the new CDs and DVDs, and he go to work displaying them so kids can see what he got. Then he put the crates on the other side of the U, near the wall so nobody can’t take nothing.

  “How much you selling them for?” I ask him.

  “CDs is one for five, five for twenty. DVDs is one for ten, three for twenty-five. How many you need?” He start laughing.

  “You make good money with that?”

  “Hell, yeah. I go to all the city office buildings in the Bronx when the workers get paid. Man, them folks love to spend they money. They payday is my payday.”

  “Nice,” I say. When my pops got locked up, I probably woulda went into the bootleg CD business myself if it ain’t cost so much to get started. I mean, there wasn’t no way I could afford all the computers and shit you need to make all them copies. Meanwhile, the MetroCard business only cost me $125 a month.

  Course now, if this party go okay, I’ma be in a whole new business, and I’ma hafta save up to buy my own DJ equipment. ‘Cause when my pops get out, I know he ain’t even gonna let me use all his stuff no more. He gonna be, like, “You grown now? You wanna play parties and make your own money? Then get your own equipment and leave my shit alone.”

  “Who ready for some warm beer?” The voice is deep, strong.

  I look up and see Regg standing in the door. Man, I ain’t seen him in a while, and to me it look like he even bigger now. If that’s possible. He not only tall, he wide, and none of it is fat neither. He, like, the size of one of them defensive linemen or something. Ain’t nobody gonna get past him in this party ‘less he let them. “Damn, man,” I say, “where you been?”

  Regg laugh. “Hot-lanta, man, where all the money is at.”

  I go over to him, and he grab me in a guy hug that kinda hurt. “Look at you,” he say. “You look more and more like your pops every time I see you. Shit.”

  I don’t really know what to say to that, so I just go, “My pops wasn’t never this fine.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Regg laugh again. The funny thing ‘bout Regg is his personality don’t match the way he look. I mean, yeah, he know how to use his size to put fear in a person, but when he ain’t trying to be threatening, he the most laid-back dude out there. That’s why my pops like him so much. He can go from kicking ass to kicking back in, like, a minute.

  Me and Regg go outside to his SUV and carry in the cooler, then go back for the cases of beer and ice. The cooler so big, it’s only a little smaller than the size of a fuckin’ coffin. Practically all the cans fit at one time. Even with the ice. We set everything up by the door where Regg is gonna be getting the money from the kids. Then Regg take Wayne and Rafael to work on the lights in the room and show them what he gonna need them to do while the party going on. I’m real glad Regg is there, ‘cause he know what he doing. Even when I don’t.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  By 9:00, the room is set up. It’s dark, but not totally black. I got lights set up over the DJ table, and Regg kept the lights on in one of the offices in the back of the room. So, people can see each other, but it still kinda feel like a club.

  Cal the first to get there, and Regg almost don’t let him in without paying. I gotta go over to Regg to tell him Cal is working the party too. “But he s’posed to be outside,” I say so Cal can hear me.

  “I’m just trying to warm up,” he tell me.

  “Why you can stand out in fronta your building in the middle of a blizzard, but you can’t keep your ass outside now, when it ain’t even all that cold out there?”

  “You know, man, you getting uptight. What happened to the Ty I used to hang with?”

  “Just stay outside, Cal. Bad enough we ain’t s’posed to be in here, but I ain’t looking to go down for selling no drugs when I ain’t even doing that shit.”

  “Dude, have a beer or something. Chill.”

  I walk away from them,
back to my table, but a minute later Cal do go back outside. I throw my pops headphones over one ear, smack another CD in the deck, and turn the music up loud enough so I can feel the vibrations in my whole body. The beat is nice, but I don’t know what the fuck the rapper talking ‘bout. It don’t matter though. It’s all ‘bout the music. That’s what gonna keep people dancing. If anybody ever come.

  So in the meantime while we waiting, I just stand up there frontin’ like I’ma real DJ. I’m playing one rap song after the other, and the music coming out the speakers is filling the huge space. Everyone standing ‘round watching me, waiting for somebody to show up.

  At ‘bout 9:30, they start coming. First a group of ‘bout twelve kids. Then, right behind them, another group of, like, ten. Course they mostly females, which ain’t helping me make no money, but least they coming. I just hope I don’t get, like, 75% females up in here ‘cause that ain’t gonna do shit for me.

  Patrick stand next to me handing me CDs when I ask for them. All of a sudden, he like my assistant or something. And I’m working that CD deck too. Slowing down and speeding up songs, trying to mix like I know what I’m doing. Funny thing is, after a couple of real fucked up mixes, I start doing alright.

  A hour later, I’m up to ‘bout a hundred fifty people. Some of them is dancing, some is drinking beer, and some is just standing there. I get on the mic for the first time, and to be honest, I don’t know what to say. But I don’t want people paying they money to be bored and shit. I want them to have fun. So I just go, “How the fuck y’all doing?” My voice come out mad loud, louder than the music. “Y’all a’ight out there?”

  Some of the girls yell something I can’t really hear, but they smiling and looking happy, so I guess they having fun.

  “Well, if y’all ready to party, I wanna see some asses shaking. And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout you dudes neither.” I start laughing on the mic.

  I throw on another song that got a nice break, and when it get to that spot, I loop it over and over. Then, so it don’t get boring, I blend in the line from that other song I heard at Patrick house—“I like it when the honeys shake it, shake it”—and together it sound hot. Like my own remix or something. To keep all that going at one time, my hands gotta work the deck, but it’s worth it. I gotta do something to make them new rap songs sound better. ‘Cause after a while, they all sound the same. Not like back in the day.

  I look over to the door and see eight hot females coming in like they a pack or something. They don’t even look like they in high school. They probably more like nineteen or twenty. Them girls go straight to the floor, and they pick guys and start dancing with them. And they kinda freaky too. If they ain’t had no clothes on, they woulda been screwing right there. Me and Patrick look at each other. We don’t know where them girls came from, but they turning the place out. With them dancing like that, the floor start to fill up, and I can tell people is starting to loosen up and have fun. For real.

  Patrick hand me a beer, like he know how thirsty I am. Me and him smile ‘cause we working good together. Then, just when I think shit is going alright, I see Leon standing near the door, over by Regg. I lean close to Patrick so he can hear me, and ask, “Why the fuck he still here? I thought that nigga woulda been gone by now.”

  Patrick shrug. If people wasn’t dancing and having fun, I probably woulda left the DJ table and let Patrick take over so I could go up to Leon and tell him he don’t gotta stay or nothing. But nah, not now. He probably just waiting to collect the $200 I still owe him. Like I’ma leave town or something without paying his ass.

  Patrick tap me on the shoulder and point behind me, to where them buses is parked. One of them freaky girls is getting in a bus with some guy. I smile, ‘cause least somebody getting some. I sure ain’t.

  The thing is, one by one, them girls get on the buses with guys. As one girl pass by the table, I know I seen her somewhere before ‘cause she look mad familiar.

  But before I can even think ‘bout it, out the corner of my eye I see a small group of people coming through the door, and I’m, like, damn. It’s Novisha and her Catholic school friends—Shanice, Ana, and them same three guys they was with on Tuesday. I can’t believe what the fuck I’m seeing. Why she gonna come here? What that girl thinking?

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Take over,” I yell to Patrick, and rip off my headphones. In a minute I’m on the other side of the room over by Novisha. “What you doing here?” I ask, leaning over so she can hear me.

  “Ana and I are sleeping over at Shanice’s house. And the boys were there studying with us. Then we just decided to come to your party to see you DJ.” She talking like things is alright between us. I look them dudes over real quick. I hope, for they sake, one of them ain’t trying nothing with Novisha. That’s all I gotta say.

  Novisha look cute in her short red jacket and them black jeans I don’t hardly get to see her in. I take her hand and move her away from her friends. “You talkin’ to me now?”

  She smile a little bit. “Yeah.”

  “’Cause after last night, I ain’t think we was together no more.”

  “We are. If you still wanna be.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I do. I mean, we still gotta talk though.”

  “I know, but let’s talk tomorrow.” She put her arms ‘round my waist. “You wanna dance?” She tilt her head to the side when she ask, actin’ all cute and everything.

  I look over to Patrick. He got my pops headphones on, and he flipping through his CD collection like a madman. But he look like he holding things down. For now. “A’ight,” I tell Novisha.

  We walk over to where everybody else is at and dance for two, three songs. The music is fast, so we don’t get to slow dance or nothing, but we having a good time. Then I see Cal coming ‘cross the floor in my direction. Why he don’t understand what the word “outside” mean?

  He come over to me and put his arm ‘round my back. He lean over and tell me, “I got the call. Tina in labor.”

  “Damn, man,” I say. “You lying.”

  “Nah, it’s going down right now.” Cal start laughing. “Her moms told me if I don’t bring my narrow Black ass over to Lincoln Hospital right now, she gonna come over my apartment tomorrow and go upside my head. And she gonna bring her own frying pan too.”

  “Your mother-in-law gonna keep you in line,” I tell him.

  “Shit, she ain’t my mother-in-law. But the woman do scare the shit outta me. I better go.” And he gone, just like that. Me, I’m standing there thinking, Cal ‘bout to be a father. Damn, that just mess with my mind.

  Me and Novisha dance a little more, then I gotta go back to the table. Patrick starting to sweat a little, and he playing some real crap now. One of the dudes Novisha came with start dancing with her, but he keeping his hands to hisself, so I’m cool with that.

  Since Patrick don’t look like he doing no business, I get on the mic and tell everybody that, if they liking the music, my new assistant, Patrick, selling CDs. A minute later, he getting some customers. Folks came with money.

  Then Jasmine show up, all late. She carrying her little duffel bag and come straight over to the table. When she try to give me a hug, I move away from her. “What?” she say.

  I get close to her ear. “My girl here.”

  “Novisha? Can I meet her?”

  “Nah,” I say. “No way.” I’ma hafta keep them two females apart.

  I expect Jasmine to give me more of a attitude ‘bout this, but she don’t. She just leave from behind the table and go over to some of the kids from her old schools. She hugging girls and guys, but there’s something different ‘bout her. She don’t look as happy as she was when me and her was promoting to them same kids. I don’t know, maybe she just tired from working all day. But I can tell it’s something else too. Damn, Emiliano probably told her she can’t move in with him.

  Two songs later Jasmine come up to me again. “When you want us girls to dance?”

  I look out on t
he floor. Most people is dancing now, not counting the people hooking up on the buses. I don’t wanna stop the music right now, but when I get a good look at her friends, I tell them to go get changed in they outfits. Them girls is pretty hot. Jasmine hand me a CD and tell me to play track three when I’m ready for them.

  “Y’all got a name?”

  “Yeah. We’re called Caliente.”

  “I hear that.”

  Five minutes after they go to the bathroom to change, two girls from my old school get in a fight on the dance floor. They pulling at hair weaves and shit, and the dude they fighting over act like he trying to break it up, but he loving it. Smile so big it look like his face ‘bout to break. And everybody else who was dancing is now cheering the girls on like they watching a fight at the Garden.

  It take Wayne and Rafael to break them females up. And even when they being dragged away from each other, they screaming and cursing and shit. One girl sweater is tore up and she showing her bra to everybody. Every dude in the place is into what’s going on. Females fighting always turn a nigga on.

  I try playing music through the fight, but by the time the girls is off the floor, nobody is dancing, so I throw that CD Jasmine gave me in the deck.

  “A’ight,” I say on the mic. “Round one is over. Now we gonna have some entertainment. Come on out, Caliente.”

  The salsa music blast through the speakers, and Jasmine and her friends come out the bathroom in the shortest shorts and what look like bikini tops. And the way they dancin’—man, they working they bodies like the females in them Spanish videos. I mean, no, they ain’t doing nothing dirty, but they moves is killing me. Jasmine was right too. Them girls know how to get the crowd going. Even other females is watching them shake they asses. And when they through, everybody clap for them.

  I mix from salsa to a rap song, which ain’t easy, and Jasmine and all her friends go into the crowd and dance with some of the guys.