by L. Divine
“Next time you’ll have to help me prune them,” she says, returning to her gardening. I hate to ruin this bonding moment, but I am here for a purpose.
“Mickey wants to invite you to her baby shower,” I blurt out. The sooner I get it over with the quicker I can get back to chilling. The sun is setting and I don’t want to be out too late because I have to wake up early in the morning for work. Rah and I haven’t had a moment to talk and I want to keep it like that. The last time we were all here together was when I found out about his good—but stupid—deed. I don’t want to reenact that dreadful day, nor do I want to talk about it tonight.
“Is that so?” she says, continuing her clipping. “That girl is something else, isn’t she?” Mrs. Esop inhales deeply and then exhales, never ceasing her task.
“Yes, she is.” I can’t help but agree with the truth. Mickey knows she’s a lot to handle and wouldn’t change her ways for the world. That attitude alone deserves some respect.
“My sorority hosts a cotillion every year. I’m sure Nigel has told you the fun he’s had participating as an escort,” she says, looking into my eyes. Did she just change the subject on a sistah? What the hell does this have to do with Mickey’s shower?
“He has,” I say, leaving out the fact that Nigel hates going to the annual debutante ball. And from the way he describes spending an evening with a bunch of bougie, rich black folks, I’m glad I’ve never had the pleasure of participating in one.
“I think you’d make an excellent candidate for the ball this year, Jayd. Have you ever considered becoming a debutante?” Is she serious?
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” I look through the front door at my friends in the foyer, drinking water and snacking on chips while they wait for me to head upstairs, where this evening’s session will be held. Now that Sandy’s at Rah’s crib, I have a feeling we won’t be chilling there much as a group—mostly because Nigel can’t stand her ass. It’s also a given that if I have beef with a chick, then my girls automatically have beef with her, too. And Sandy and I have an entire cattle ranch between the two of us.
Mrs. Esop follows my eyes up the front steps and then returns her focus to her project and to me.
“You’re more than what you’ve become, Jayd,” Mrs. Esop says. She again looks toward Rah, Mickey, and the rest of our small crew before returning her gaze to me. “Having babies can wait until after your education.”
“I fully agree. I’m not planning on having any kids until well after college,” I say. I know I want children, but not anytime soon. Parenting is more than a notion, and an expensive responsibility I don’t want on my shoulders right now. That’s why I’ve kept my legs closed, unlike the rest of my friends.
“So you are thinking about college? Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She stands up straight, brushing the dirt from her pants and removing her gardening gloves. She’s a tall, athletic woman shaped a lot like Michelle Obama. And the way she walks around her home like it’s the White House, Mrs. Esop acts like the first lady, too. “I’ll make you a deal, Jayd.” Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of this.
“Okay,” I say, unsure I want to hear her offer, but what the hell? I’m already here. And she did give me a rose, which I’ll put in water as soon as I get back to my mom’s apartment.
“If you come to one of our informational meet and greets, I’ll consider making an appearance at Mickey’s shower. How does that sound?”
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Esop. Really, I am. But between school, work, and my family life I already have a lot on my plate,” I say, trying to get out of it. But judging from the way both she and Mickey are staring at me, I don’t think I can get out of it.
“I’m sure you’ll think about it and get back to me with the right answer,” Mrs. Esop says, picking up her tools and placing them in the straw basket on the ground next to her feet. She looks up into the foyer and shakes her head at the sight of my friends heading up the stairs without me. I guess they’re tired of waiting.
“Live your life, Jayd, not someone else’s,” she says. “Enjoy the rose.”
“Thank you, and I’ll definitely think about your suggestion.” Satisfied, Mrs. Esop walks across her yard, heading to the garage to put her gardening supplies away before going in for the evening.
Me, a debutante? I can’t even think about that right now. I don’t think Mickey will be too happy to know that Mrs. Esop will only agree to come to the shower if I attend one of her sorority meetings. I’ll leave out the details of the deal and just tell her that Mrs. Esop did agree to consider making an appearance. That should be enough to make her and Nickey Shantae happy for the time being. Maybe now I can enjoy the rest of the evening with my friends before it’s time to call it a night.
“Drivers, start your engines,” the male voice announces through the bullhorn. The crowd goes wild as we rev our engines. The spinning tires cause smoke to rise, making it hard to stay cool. I look straight ahead, ignoring the opponents on either side of me. I check out the leather interior and notice this car is familiar to me: I’m driving Jeremy’s Mustang.
“Remember what I told you about the boost button, Jayd,” Jeremy yells to me from the sidelines. “Push it when you take her at the bend.” Take who where? And why am I the one racing the hot rod? This is Jeremy’s territory, not mine.
“You’re going to lose,” a girl’s voice shouts from the car to my left. It’s Sandy, with Rahima in the backseat. I’m grateful the baby’s in her car seat, but her mama’s still a fool for driving fast with her child in the car. Even in my dreams Sandy’s actions are irrational.
“So are you,” Trish, Rah’s most recent ex-girlfriend, shouts to Sandy from the car on my right. “The prize is mine to take home.”
“Ready, set, drive!” the announcer yells, and we’re off. Sandy takes the lead and Trish is right behind her. We fly around the first leg of the lap, one car behind the other. I focus on the road ahead, letting them both think they’ve already got me beat. But slow and steady wins the race, and I’m secure in my pace.
“Jayd, catch up!” Rah yells from the finish line. He’s seated up high on a pedestal, with a crown on his head like he’s Mr. America. Is he the prize we’re racing for?
After the first lap is complete the crowd’s energy reaches an all-time high. Now I feel ready to show off what this car can really do. I glance to the right side of the speedometer, checking for the boost button just in case I need it. But I don’t think it’ll be necessary. These girls can’t drive like I can.
I ease the car into fifth gear, pressing on the clutch so smoothly the car doesn’t even jerk when the shift is complete. Then I put my foot to the floor, leaving both of my competitors in the dust.
“Yeah, Lady J. That’s what I’m talking about, baby,” Jeremy says, jumping up and down in the stands, he’s so hyped. I love driving this car. I easily take the lead in the second lap as Trish and Sandy lag behind.
“All I have to do is finish this last lap and I can claim my prize,” I say out loud. I continue driving, feeling the rush through my body as the night air hits me in the face through the open windows. I could drive at this speed all the time. There’s something about the energy of controlling a fast car that makes me feel invincible. Feeling as indestructible as I do, Sandy gets right behind me, bumping my car with her bumper. What the hell?
“Get off my ass,” I say into my rearview mirror. I know she can’t hear me, but she can read my lips. “Back off now, Sandy, before someone gets hurt.” Ignoring my warning, she bumps me again, this time causing me to slightly lose my grip on the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jayd. Rah’s mine,” she mouths back to me with a determined look in her eyes. Rahima looks scared to death in the backseat of her mother’s car. If Sandy doesn’t quit, she’s liable to cause a spinout and that could kill us all.
“Push the button, Jayd,” Jeremy shouts, reminding me that I have a secret weapon. I look at Sandy revving her engine, ready to hit me again
. As she makes contact I push the button, propelling me full-throttle to the finish line. As I cross the line, I look in my rearview mirror and see Sandy’s car spin out of control, causing Trish to run into her. When they finally stop spinning, both cars burst into flames.
“Rahima!” I yell, bringing my car to a full stop and running toward the flames. Rah jumps off his pedestal, hurting his leg as he hits the ground. In pain, he runs over to the car, freeing Rahima, but she’s badly burned. Sandy and Trish also make it out but are both badly hurt.
“I told you to stop, Sandy, but as usual you don’t listen,” I say while checking on Rahima in her daddy’s arms. Poor baby. Jeremy runs over to the tragic scene and hugs me tightly. I look at Rah and his girls. They look at the fire, unfazed by their wounds. Am I the only one who thinks it’s time to stop this insanity? Rah is not a prize to be won, and none of this is worth our lives—especially not Rahima’s.
“You’re not her mama, Jayd. I am and always will be,” Sandy says, stating the obvious.
“I’m a diva.” Beyoncé snaps me out of my disturbing dream and I am now wide-awake. I feel around the couch for my phone. I was sleeping so wild that it’s no longer in its customary place underneath my pillow.
“Hello,” I say into my cell without checking the caller ID.
“Jayd, what’s up with you?” Shawntrese’s boyfriend, Leroy, says. “You braiding today?” I prop myself up on my elbows and rub the sleep from my eyes. What time is it, anyway?
“Yeah, after I get off work this afternoon.” I’m leaving the shop early today so I can catch up on my own clients’ heads.
After last night’s session was over, I came home and crashed hard. My dream last night has been bothering me all day. I texted Rah just to make sure they were okay. Usually my premonitions come true in one way or another, and if it has anything to do with Rahima, I have to check it out.
Mama, Netta, and I really didn’t have a chance to catch up this afternoon. When I left a couple of hours ago, there were still six clients in the shop. I made sure they were all out of the washbowl and either under a dryer or in a chair before I left. Netta has it under control, even if she likes to playfully make me feel guilty for leaving early. I’m glad she’s grown accustomed to having me around instead of handling all of her clients alone, since Mama only works in the back of the shop. I don’t know how she did it, nor do I want to. Netta and Mama let me into their prosperous world and I’m here to stay.
My own business is also doing well. My clientele has doubled in the past couple of months, and with summer around the corner, I know boys and girls alike are going to be sporting braids in some form or fashion. Not only is that good for my bank account, the variety will force me to up my game, and I’m looking forward to the challenge.
Speaking of challenges, Shawntrese’s oily scalp is getting on my last nerve. I always schedule her appointments either first or last so I can spend as much time on her as possible. My neighbor’s abused crown needs the most attention.
“It’s confused, that’s what it is,” I say, carefully eyeing Shawntrese’s scalp while looking around my mom’s apartment at all of the cleaning I have left to do. “Maybe if you’d stop treating it like a stepchild and love it like your own, it’ll know how to act.” This is the most unpredictable head of hair I’ve ever encountered. It’s dry as sandpaper one day and as greasy as bacon the next.
“Aren’t you supposed to bring positive energy to my hair?” Shawntrese says, mocking my motto. I don’t care what she says; this girl knows her head needs some serious love. My cell vibrates on the table and with my hands slick from braiding I can’t pick it up.
“Shawntrese, open that for me, please,” I say. Shawntrese props the open phone between my right shoulder and ear without looking up from Chappelle’s Show reruns on the television. I usually don’t answer unidentified calls, but it might be money. So far word of mouth has been my best promoter.
“What up, Jayd?” Sandy says. What the hell is she doing calling me, and on a Saturday night? Wherever she’s calling from is loud in the background. I hope she’s not in jail again. And how did she get my number?
“What’s up?” I ask, adjusting Shawntrese’s head to form the perfect braid. I’m glad she doesn’t remember me burning out a patch of her delicate hair when I had my sleepwalking issues a couple of weeks ago because Mama, my mom and I made sure it never happened, just like all of Misty’s mess. She also doesn’t remember how vexed she was, but I do. And I never want to see that side of my neighbor and loyal customer again.
“I need you to come get Rahima and take her home for me. Rah will meet you there in a little while,” she says, like I’m the nanny. What the hell?
“Did you call the right number?” I ask, finishing up the last row in Shawntrese’s head. I wipe my hands on her towel, hand her the mirror from the dining room table and generously spray my lavender and eucalyptus braid sheen over my immaculate creation. Shawntrese runs her hand over her tightly woven scalp and smiles, obviously pleased with the finished product.
“Yes, I called the right number, Jayd. Stop playing and come get this little girl. I’ve got to be on stage in a half hour and Carla is already working. Like I said, Rah will meet you at the house.”
“Sandy, have you lost your mind? I’m not the sitter and I’m working myself,” I say, taking Shawntrese’s twenty-dollar bill and tucking it into my bra for safekeeping. Mama says if I put my money there first I’ll always have more money to come. It may sound like a silly superstition to some, but it’s working for me.
“Jayd, this is serious. Rahima can’t be at the club for much longer, and I’ve got to get this paper. Besides, I thought you wanted to play the mama anyway. Here’s your chance,” she says sourly. Did Sandy say her two-year-old daughter is at the club?
“You’ve got the baby at a strip joint, Sandy?” I yell into the phone. Shawntrese looks at me in shock, soaking up all the details to dish to the neighbors later. This trick Sandy has completely lost her mind. And I thought I was irresponsible when I left Rahima sleeping upstairs while I sleepwalked down the stairs. But that’s nothing compared to purposely taking the baby to a place where people get shot and stabbed on the regular.
“Duh, Jayd. That’s why I’m calling you. Rah had to go to Compton and drop Kamal off at their grandparents’ house before handling some business on that side of town. I called him already and he ain’t answering the phone. So can you come get her or not?”
“What’d she say?” Shawntrese asks, noticing the frown on my face. How do I explain that my friend’s baby is at a strip joint where her grandmother and mother work and that I feel obligated to go get this child? This is some ghetto bull, for real.
“Jayd, are you there?” I don’t know how to respond. How could she take Rahima to a place like that, and then ask her baby-daddy’s ex-girlfriend to come and get her baby? “Look, I’ve got to change Rahima’s diaper. Text me when you get here and I’ll have one of the other girls let you back here. Bye,” Sandy says, hanging up before I have a chance to reply. She knows how much I love that little girl and uses it to her advantage every time. I just met Rahima a few months ago, but—much like Mickey’s unborn child—my sense of responsibility for her is strong.
“Shawntrese, you will not believe where I have to go,” I say, heading to the bathroom to wash my hands. I’m working hard trying to repair the years of perm damage in Shawntrese’s hair and it seems to be paying off. But her scalp is still hella oily and always leaves my hands extra shiny. I would normally take a shower after my last client leaves, but that’ll have to wait until I get back tonight.
“I heard,” she says. I walk back into the living room and dust myself off. I’ve got hair all over me. “You want me to come with you?” Shawntrese asks, taking the towel from around her shoulders and standing up. She stretches her thin arms like a cat, and I catch a glimpse of the new tattoo on her belly. I hope she and Leroy work out now that she has his name written on her body for the w
orld to see. Sandy did that with Rah and we see where they’ve ended up. My hands still feel greasy. Damn this girl’s oily scalp. I need to wash my hands one more time before I leave.
“Would you, please?” I say from the bathroom. “I have no business going up in that club by myself,” I say, drying my hands. I walk back into the living room and check the rest of the apartment before retrieving my purse from the coatrack. I take my keys out, ready to roll.
“Sure I will. My boo is a regular at The Pimp Palace. They know me up there,” Shawntrese says as I slip on my sandals and grab my jacket off the coatrack. It’s a warm night, but I’ll take my jacket just in case.
“How did you know that’s where Sandy works?” I ask, opening the multiple locks on my mom’s front door. Shawntrese walks out ahead of me and down the stairs while I relock the door.
“Because she’s one of Leroy’s favorite new dancers. Rah’s mama, Carla, is on his list, too.” I look at Shawntrese and don’t know what to say. I’m embarrassed that she knows Rah’s baby-mama and Carla from the club, but more embarrassed that she didn’t tell me—even though I can understand why. It’s not a typical topic of conversation you have with your girl.
“I see,” I say, leading the way down the long driveway toward the parking lot. Never would I have imagined that I’d be driving my mom’s car to a strip club, but here goes nothing. Wait until she finds out about this one. I’m surprised my mom hasn’t checked in yet. She and her man, Karl, must be too busy for her to get caught up in my never-ending tragedy with Rah.
When we arrive at The Pimp Palace, there are cars wrapped around the corner trying to get into the lot. The sign above the entrance says TWENTY-DOLLAR PARKING. I’ll be damned if I spend my hard-earned money like that. Noticing my scoping eyes, Shawntrese points to an empty spot across the street. We look at each other and shrug our shoulders at the risky spot. This is not the best neighborhood to be in, especially not two young women alone at night. If I have anything to say about it, this will be a quick trip.
