Dear Yvette

by Ni-Ni Simone

Reesie batted her lashes. “Oh, that was so petty, Herman.”

  Tasha looked over at Li’l Herman. “So what? You took us to the concert and? What? You want a cookie? You need a prize for that? You tried to play me with your homies, and now you think me and my homegirls should talk to you? Boy boo. Run along.”

  Li’l Herman shook his head. “Tasha, it wasn’t even like that.”

  Reesie said, “Lies. And deceit. We heard you, Li’l Herman.”

  “Yo, yo, yo!” came from behind us. We all turned around and looked. It was Lottie.

  Reesie’s eyes lit up with delight and she mouthed to me, “There goes your man.”

  I mouthed back, “No he’s not.”

  “Wassup, good people?” Lottie walked over to the table. He didn’t light my fire like Brooklyn, but he was a cutie and his gear was fly too: Guess jeans, a white tee, and an 8-ball jacket. “Hey, ladies.” He waved, then he looked directly at me and said, “Hey, stranger, wassup?”

  “Nothin’.” I smiled.

  Lottie looked over at Li’l Herman and gave him a pound. “Cuz! What’s good, homie? You hangin’ out with your girl and her crew?”

  “Negative,” Reesie said.

  Tasha added, “This is my crew. But I am not his girl.”

  Lottie chuckled. “Yo, cut my cousin some slack.”

  “For real,” Li’l Herman said.

  Tasha pointed and shook her index finger. “Oh, don’t do that, Li’l Herman. Don’t play victim. You know what you did.”

  Li’l Herman huffed. “Look, I’m sorry, Tasha. My bad. I never thought you’d really go out with me and when you said yes, I was so excited that I did somethin’ stupid. I’m asking you to forgive me though . . .’cause I miss you.”

  “Lies.” Reesie grabbed Tasha’s hand and locked into her eyes. “Look at me. He don’t miss you, girl. Don’t fall for it. Don’t. He just wanna get in yo’ drawls and brag about yo’ pop-pop-get-it-get to his team. Don’t do it, girl. Don’t.”

  “Yo,” Li’l Herman said to Reesie, “would you mind your business?”

  Reesie snapped, “This is my business, Herman! And get me? I ain’t no dog!”

  “Then you need to stop tryna sick me!”

  Reesie rolled her eyes. “You are so freakin’ corny. What you gon’ do, cry next? You really need to grow up and stop wearing panties.”

  Me and Ebony shot Reesie a look.

  “You lucky Tasha is my girl!” Reesie said, then resumed eating her food.

  Li’l Herman continued. “Tasha, if you’ll accept my apology, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

  “Awl, man,” Lottie said, looking over at Tasha, “you gotta give my cuzo another chance. He’s a changed man.”

  “For real, I am,” Li’l Herman begged.

  “You ain’t change that fast.” Tasha rolled her eyes.

  Li’l Herman popped his collar. “Girl, don’t you know they call me Superman? All I gotta do is go into a phone booth and boom, I’m somebody new.”

  Tasha tried to fight off her laugh, but couldn’t.

  Reesie smacked her lips and said to Tasha, “Superman by any other name is still Clark Kent. So nothin’ he does will make you Lois Lane. Don’t fall for that. Make him sweat you, girl.”

  “Reesie,” I said sternly.

  “What?” She shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.” She picked up her cup and shook the ice. “Know what, I’ma mind my business. People don’t appreciate it when you keepin’ it real.”

  I could tell Tasha wanted to smile, but with her pride and Reesie’s constant interruptions, she wouldn’t dare set her heart free, not at this table anyway.

  So before she could say no just to impress us, I said, “Li’l Herman, she gon’ give you this one last chance. And that’s it.”

  Tasha looked at me like I had lost my mind. “No, you didn’t just make up with him for me. I ain’t thinking about that boy.”

  I twisted my lips. “You need to quit.”

  Tasha sighed, hesitated, soaked in a thought, then said, “Okay, Li’l Herman, but if you mess up again . . .”

  “I’m not gon’ mess up.” He smiled. “I promise. So can I get another chance to take you out?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Tasha answered. “And you can start by taking us home, so we don’t have to take the bus.”

  “Y’all ready now? I’ll take y’all home,” Li’l Herman said, way too excited.

  Lottie looked over at me and said, “That’s too bad. I wanted to kick it to you a little longer, shawtie.”

  “Maybe next time,” I replied as we slid out of the booth.

  “Or maybe she can ride with you and you can take her home,” Tasha said to Lottie.

  “I’d love to take you home,” Lottie said.

  I shot Tasha a look. “I don’t think . . .”

  “And she would love it too,” Tasha responded. “So, yeah, you can take her home.” She playfully pushed me towards him.

  Lottie caught me, and with full confidence, placed an arm around my waist. He continued. “Yvette, what do you think about that? I hear your girl talkin’, but I need a yes from you.”

  “Umm . . . Yeah,” I said, taking a step back and letting his arm fall off my waist. “Yeah, maybe. I guess. Sure, you can take me home.”

  29

  Faker

  I had to admit that despite me really not wanting to be here with Lottie, his car was stupid fresh and his system was bananas!

  He drove a gleaming 1985 silver Mercedes coupe with a knockin’ Bose stereo system that rocked the Norfolk blocks we rode through, turnin’ ordinary people who’d sat on their porches when we’d first entered their block into standing spectators by the time we’d turned the corner.

  The D.O.C.’s latest hit blasted out the tinted, deep purple windows.

  Lottie nodded his head to the beat. He also had one hand on the steering wheel and the other stretched over the back of my seat.

  Maybe . . . I need to chill. Just relax. I mean, he’s ai’ight. Maybe he’s more than that.

  I glanced over at him and flashed him a smile. He shot me one back.

  He’s a cutie. Plus, he seems to be doing his thing. His car is dope. He got his own crib. And he gotta have some money. But still... he ain’t Brooklyn.

  You’re actin’ real crazy behind a dude you don’t even kick it with. Brooklyn is probably off with some baby bird, coupled up. So chill wit’ Lottie and forget Brooklyn.

  Lottie turned the music down and said, “A nickel for your thoughts.”

  I laughed. “You better come up with a dollar for each of these thoughts. ’Cause you will not get too far with a nickel, boo.”

  He smiled. “A dollar, huh? Those thoughts better be the bomb then.”

  “The bomb, like what?”

  “Like, you better be thinkin’ about how you checkin’ for me. How you gon’ let me take you out. Wine and dine you. How fine, fly, and correct I am.” He pulled up to a red light, then turned his head and looked me in the eyes. “That we gon’ chill on a regular basis. I’m hoping those are your thoughts.” He smiled and his gold grill lit up the car.

  Boy, please. No. I am not about to be chillin’ with you and them teeth on the regular. Plus, I’m tired of old men.

  I shook my head. “So what happened to my dollars? Or are your guesses the cheap way out?”

  Lottie laughed. “Come on, Li’l Ma, you have to clue me in on something.”

  “Okay, I’ll give this thought away: I think you’re okay.”

  “Okay?” he said, as the light turned green and he returned his attention to the street. “Do you know who I am? And how many chicks are checkin’ for me, and you’re tellin’ me I’m okay? What? You got a fever or something? Why are you dissin’ me?”

  “I’m not dissin’ you. All I’m sayin’ is that I have to get to know you and see what your winin’ and dinin’ consists of. ’Cause I don’t wanna be a part of no five-dollar-who-gon-get-the-drawls bet.”

  “What?” He laug
hed, making a left turn, and driving slowly down a weeping willow–lined street, where all of the houses were McMansions, framed with sprawling lawns and circular driveways. “Five-dollar-panty-bet, what is that?”

  “Just some stupid bet the boys made in school.”

  “See, that’s the difference between me and them. I’m not a boy. I’ma twenty-five-year-old man.”

  “Age ain’t nothin’ but a number. How you act will let me know if you’re a man or not. And anyway, like I said, I gotta get to know you first before I say if we can chill on a regular. Plus, I’m just movin’ down here, just gettin’ to know people.”

  “Well, the only way you’re going to get to know me is if you let me take you out on a date.” He paused. “Unless you feel like me bein’ twenty-five is a problem for you. Most chicks your age like older dudes. Plus, you already know who I am and what I bring to the table. Trust me, when the girls in your school find out you’re seeing me, they gon’ be sweatin’ you, dyin’ to be a part of your crew.”

  Oh he is really feelin’ himself.

  I said, “I don’t really trust girls all that well so, truthfully, I don’t need any more chicks in my crew. The three I hang with is more than enough. And I’m not most girls my age, ’cause half of ’em wouldn’t even know how to survive half of the things I’ve been through. So, it’s gon’ take more than you promotin’ parties to impress me.”

  He scrunched his brow. “Cut me some slack.”

  “That must be your line of the day. And anyway, I am cuttin’ you plenty of slack. You couldn’t handle me if I was all the way on.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Maybe.” I smiled. “I’m curious to know somethin’, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How long have you been promoting concerts and parties?”

  “Two, almost three, years now.”

  “And you make enough to sport a Benz?”

  “Yeah. You see I’m whippin’ it.”

  “I see that, which is why I’m askin’.”

  “Yeah, people e’rywhere get at me when they want their parties to be stupid. I started promoting when I lived in New York.”

  “Why’d you leave New York? That’s the party capital.”

  “’Cause I got the juice.”

  Boy, please.

  He continued. “And Virginia was calling my name.”

  “That’s what’s up,” I said sarcastically. “The whole state?”

  “The whole state. They know how I do it. I’m the reason the hip-hop scene is alive and poppin’ down here. You like hip-hop?”

  “I love hip-hop. I used to break dance and e’rything.”

  “Stop playin’.” Lottie laughed.

  “I ain’t playin’.”

  “Say word,” Lottie said, impressed.

  “Word,” I said. I need to chill and stop being so uptight. I continued. “Check it; when I was home in Newark, I wanted to be an MC.”

  He chuckled. “An MC. And what was gon’ be your name? Shortie?”

  “Funny. Although, that would be kind of fresh.” I did a mini approval dance in my seat. “But my name would’ve been Scratch MC. ’Cause I scratch too and beatbox.” I cupped my hand over my mouth and hit him with some sounds.

  “Ai’ight, ai’ight. I see you. Yo,” he said seriously. “You know I could get you into the studio. I produce too. Maybe we could lay down some tracks. We can head over to the studio now if you want.”

  “Nah, I have to get home. Maybe the next time, though.”

  “So it’ll be a next time? Is that a promise?”

  “Can I bring my girls with me?” I asked.

  “Umm . . . yeah . . . sure.” Lottie hesitated, looking in his rearview mirror strangely.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked and flipped the mirrored visor down. There was a cop car behind us. “They followin’ you or something?”

  “I think so,” he said. “They’ve been behind me for a minute.”

  “Maybe we need to get out of this neighborhood.”

  “Maybe so.” Lottie took another glance in the rearview mirror before making a right turn, then a quick left. “They still behind me, yo,” he said with a slight tinge of panic in his voice. “Shit.” He groaned, as the cop car’s sirens flashed and blue lights lit up the otherwise dark street.

  “Damn.” Lottie shifted in his seat, taking two bags of weed from his pocket, and shoving it into my hands. “Here. Put this in your purse.”

  Shocked, I tossed the weed back into his lap. “Hell, no! I don’t know what you think this is!”

  “Listen, I just need you to put this in your bag,” he said, watching the cop in the rearview mirror.

  “That’s yours and you need to hold it.”

  “I can’t. I’m a felon.”

  “A felon?”

  “Listen, you’re a minor; if you take this weed, all you gon’ get is a slap on the wrist. And they gon’ let you go tonight, but me, that’s gon’ be a violation of my parole.”

  “Parole?! I knew you were doing more than promotin’ parties. Yo! I’ma kill Tasha!”

  Lottie continued. “I ain’t goin’ back to jail, yo.”

  “And me either!” I snapped.

  Lottie peeked back into the mirror. “The cop’s comin’.” He slid the weed under his seat and mumbled, “I can’t believe you gon’ play me like that! You know how many chicks would love to be in your spot, including your little girlfriends.”

  “Check it; if you got another ho whose gon’ take some charges for you, then you need to call ’em. ’Cause I ain’t the one. I don’t even know you like that! You must be crazy!”

  “Be quiet, I said. Here he comes!”

  “You tell me to be quiet? That’s called immunity, which is what the state gon’ offer me when I tell on yo’ fake, promotin’, wanna-be gangster-behind. Word is bond. You lucky I don’t have my blade on me right now!”

  “Shut up!”

  “Don’t tell me shut up! Mess around and get white-chalked!”

  The cop pressed one hand on the car’s hood and the other on his gun holster.

  Lottie rolled the window down and said, like he didn’t have a care in the world, “Hello, Officer.”

  I knew I should not have let him take me home! I knew it! Dear God, please get me out of this.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Lottie asked, the left side of his mouth twitchin’ and beads of sweat formin’ on his forehead.

  Your corny behind is the problem! Tryna sound all cool, calm, and collected, but I betchu in the middle of your whitey tighties is a fresh skid mark. Punk!

  “Good evening, folks.” The officer looked over at me and nodded, then looked back over to Lottie. “I need your license and registration, please.”

  “Sure, sir.” Lottie reached into the glove compartment, retrieved his paperwork, and handed it to the officer. “Here you are. Can you please tell me what the problem is, sir?”

  You’re problem number one, and the weed under your seat is problem number two.

  The officer looked at Lottie’s license and said, “Just give me a moment, Mr. Clark; sit tight. I’ll be right back to explain the situation.” He walked away and over to his patrol car.

  Dear God. Jesus. Mary. Joseph. Oprah. Michael Jackson. Somebody. If you get me outta this, I will never again be bothered with this joker.

  I said to Lottie, while rockin’ nervously in my seat, “I promise you, son, your name might be Lottie Clark right now, but when the cop comes over here, if he has to search this car and he finds your weed, you will be goin’ to jail. And the soap-droppin’ crew gon’ be waitin’ for you. I can promise you that. And Cell Block D will be callin’ you Loretta Clink-Clink.”

  “If you don’t stop running your mouth and shut up your name gon’ be Get Out And Walk.”

  Oh no, he didn’t!

  “Okay, son,” the officer said as he returned and handed Lottie his paperwork. “I stopped you because you have a broken taillight.”
r />   “A broken taillight?” Lottie said, relieved.

  “Yeah, and you need to get that fixed as soon as possible.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  The officer tipped his cap, and a few minutes later he was gone.

  Lottie drove down the block and said, “Little girl, I swear, if you say another word, I’m pulling over and you’re getting the hell out!”

  Screech! What?! “Stop the press. You got me all the way messed up. And ‘little girl’? I wasn’t a little girl when your old behind was tryin’ to be my man.”

  “Tryna be your man? Ain’t nobody checkin’ for you like that! You ain’t even down, so you could never be one of my chicks. Obviously, you don’t know who I am!”

  I slammed my hand on the dashboard. “Know who you are?! Who are you? Are you anything more than a wet butt-crack? Stupid? Whack? Dumb as hell? ’Cause from where I’m sittin’, that’s exactly who you are. But I can tell you what I’m not. I’m not some weak li’l broad who’s shot out over you. You better come correct, ’cause I ain’t the one. Especially if you think I should not only catch a case for you, but believe you’d really show up at the police station for me; boy, please. Been there. Done that. And I ain’t goin’ back. Now this ride has ended; pull over and let me out! Now!” I pointed at an upcoming bus stop.

  Lottie kept driving and passed the bus stop.

  “Oh you not gon’ pull over! Oh, okay, watch this!” I opened the door, inches from sideswiping a parked car.

  “Yo, chill!” Lottie swerved and then yanked into an empty space, slammin’ on brakes.

  I jerked forward, then snapped, “Now carry yo’ knock-off, hustlin’ behind somewhere! S’pose to be a promoter; how about you promote my back, ’cause that’s all you gon’ see of me! Fake weed-sellin’ sucker! Chump!” I got out of Lottie’s car and slammed the door.

  He pulled off and just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the evening sky opened up and rain poured all . . . over . . . me.

  My hair was drenched, and I knew for sure by the time I found my way home I was gon’ be sick.

  I was blocks from the bus stop and even still I had no idea what bus to take. There were no pay phones in sight, so I couldn’t even call Ms. Glo.

  I noticed a dark brown Chevette riding along side of me and just as I was about to cross the street to get away from this mysterious freak, the car pulled over and the passenger side window rolled down.