by L. Divine
“I feel you wanting to save money, but it’s not the best idea to park outside of the lot,” Shawntrese says as I carefully maneuver the compact vehicle into the tight space. Parallel parking with a clutch is tricky, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. I feel her, too, but this shit isn’t worth twenty of my dollars.
“The radio’s already gone and there’s nothing else to steal,” I say, turning the engine off, unlocking the doors and exiting the little ride. Shawntrese gets out and walks around to where I’m standing near the curb.
“What about the car?” she asks, looking both ways before crossing the busy intersection. Jaywalking is a serious violation in Los Angeles, and a dangerous one at that. Most drivers don’t seem to have any sympathy for people who choose to walk outside of the designated pedestrian area, including us.
“I doubt anyone will steal the whip,” I say, running across the intersection and joining her on the other side.
The Pimp Palace takes up the majority of the corner. Other small stores nearby are closed for the evening. The ballers are out tonight and apparently ready to spend money. The parking lot is full, with many more cars waiting in line to get in. The sign on the door also reads TWENTY DOLLARS PER PERSON. By the time you get up in the spot you’ve already spent forty dollars. I wonder how much the clients spend on the girls?
“Try not to look too pretty, Jayd. They might think you’re here to work,” Shawntrese says, touching her braids. “I’m already too flyy to do anything about it.” She is so crazy. I reach inside my purse and send Sandy a one-word text letting her know I’m here. I’m going to kill Rah when I see him for letting this heffa back in our lives.
Shawntrese leads the way to the front door and informs the hostess seated at the table that we’re here to see Sandy. The girl looks us over and then asks us to open our purses for a weapons check.
“Do you have any knives, guns, pepper spray?” the hostess asks, meddling through my junky Lucky Brand bag. I’m slightly embarrassed at the state of disarray the purse is in. There’s a big-ass dude posted behind the hostess, watching her feel us up. I guess he checks the dudes out and watches the girls.
“No, I don’t. Do I need some?” I ask. Shawntrese laughs as the hostess checks her next. I know she thinks I’m being a smart-ass, but I’m serious. I don’t know what to take when frequenting a spot like this. Once we’re all clear, the male guard lets us through the black velvet curtain separating the waiting area from the inside of the club.
Girls. Everywhere I look there are barely dressed girls who look about my age, dancing or walking around. There are other women who look slightly older, but none over thirty. I wonder how old Rah’s mom—Carla—pretends to be?
“Sandy’s downstairs in the locker room,” the same hostess says, pointing at the door to our left. “You’ll have to pay if you want to see the show.”
“We’re good,” Shawntrese says, pulling my arm toward the door. I’m glad she’s here because I think I’m in a state of shock. How can Sandy and Carla work like this? And how can the supposed gatekeepers just let my sixteen-year-old self walk up in here, no ID or anything? I hope it’s only because Sandy said something, and not their normal mode of operation.
“Jayd, are you okay?” Shawntrese asks, holding on to my arm and guiding me down the stairs. What little fresh air we had in the waiting area has been replaced by a thick funk. I look at the girls passing us by in the stairwell and notice that some of them look younger than I do. I wonder how many of them are mamas already.
“Are you girls here for the job?” another male security guard says to us as we approach the locker room at the bottom of the stairs. The stench down here is worse than the smell in the school locker room after gym class.
“Say what?” I automatically reply. “Do I look like a stripper?” I ask, completely offended. I’m wearing my hip-hugger sweats, a T-shirt and the yellow bebe sandals Jeremy bought me months ago. Shawntrese is dressed in a Nike sweat suit. Neither of us looks ready for an audition.
“No,” Shawntrese says, taking over the conversation before I go completely off. “We’re here to see Sandy.” I look around and notice the dancers watching us like the fresh meat that we are. I am totally out of my element and they know it.
“Oh, y’all must be here to pick up that baby,” the guard says, suddenly less interested in us, and I’m glad for it. “She’s back there.” He gestures behind us toward the locker room and returns to reading his newspaper. Behind his post is an exit sign and the only other way out of the building from what I can see. The locker room takes up the rest of the stuffy space.
“Sandy,” I say, entering the locker room while trying to ignore the loud women all around us prepping for the stage. This is nothing like opening night of any play I’ve ever performed in.
“Hi, Jayd,” Rahima says, smiling up at me as I pick her up from the chair she’s seated in. She smells fresh, like baby powder and Desitin. I told Rah to stop putting that diaper rash cream on her and start potty training the girl. But I can’t give her mother the same advice, no matter how right I may be. I’m not the mama and I’m reminded of it every time Sandy’s around.
“Hey, baby girl. You ready to go home?” I ask, picking up her diaper bag with my free hand while Shawntrese claims her car seat, ready to go. I don’t know how Mickey’s going to manage all the stuff babies come with, with her long nails—I almost broke one just now, and my nails are nowhere near as long as the claws my girl sports.
“She already ate dinner,” Sandy says off the rip. No hello, no thank-you—nothing. This trick’s got her nerve and then some. Shawntrese looks at me and then at Sandy, rolling her eyes hard. I would’ve told Sandy off by now, but I’m trying to stay cool for Rahima’s sake.
“You’re welcome,” I say with much attitude. I hope she doesn’t mistake my kindness for weakness, because I will check her ass in a minute if it has to go down like that.
“Oh, please, Jayd. You ain’t doing this for me or my daughter. You’re doing this for Rah,” she says, sucking her teeth and wiping her brow with her arm. The way she’s sweating she must’ve just come off-stage. There’s cash sticking out of every possible place it can on a woman. Rather than stand here arguing with this broad, I follow Shawntrese out, but not before I claim some reimbursement for my time. I reach for a twenty-dollar bill hanging out of the garter around Sandy’s left arm and snatch it from its holding place.
“This is for parking,” I say, turning around to head back out of the stuffy room and up the stairs before she can protest. Rah’s going to hear about this when I see him tonight. This is not how I get down at all, and he knows it.
I send Rah a text telling him to meet me back at his house and he dutifully replies. I’m sure he’s retrieved all his messages by now. If picking children up from strip clubs at night is the way he’s living nowadays, I’m definitely out of the equation. Last night’s dream about racing for him was yet another warning about what will happen if I keep dealing with Rah and his broads. And I’ve got too much work to do to deal with this shit on the regular.
“Jayd, what are you doing, picking up Rah’s baby from a strip club? Girl, what’s the matter with you? I told you Rahima’s not your responsibility,” my mom yells into my head as we cross the busy intersection. I guess she’s not too busy to check in on me after all. I feel special, but her anger isn’t helping my concentration. The last thing I need is a distraction with this thick toddler on my hip.
“I couldn’t just leave her there,” I think back, unlocking the car doors with the remote. I step onto the curb while Shawntrese puts the car seat securely in the backseat. I don’t know what they’ve been feeding this girl, but she’s getting heavy.
“The hell you couldn’t. No matter how much you may love Rah, you’re not married to that little boy. Stop acting like it.” As usual, my mom’s right. The last time I babysat Rahima, her daddy stayed out all night long, leaving me to dream some crazy shit about being his next baby-mam
a. That wasn’t a good feeling. And by acting like Rahima’s stepmother I’m taking on all of the responsibilities of being a mother without the respect of being a girlfriend first. This bull will end tonight.
By the time I drop Shawntrese off at home, Rahima’s fast asleep. It’s been a long night for all of us. I hope Rah gets here soon, because I want to pass out, too. There’s a car parked in Rah’s driveway, but it’s not his Acura. Pulling into the driveway, I can clearly see Trish’s car.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask Trish, pulling up next to her and turning off the car. I look back at Rahima, who looks so peaceful. I hate to take her out of the car. Only her daddy knows how to keep her asleep while in transport.
“I’m here to watch Rahima. Sandy sent me a text saying she was being dropped off and there was no one here, so I came,” she says as Rah pulls up behind me. His look of sheer surprise can only mean one thing: Sandy set us all up. What an expert bitch move. I give Nellie my blessing if she wants to greet Sandy as a bitch all day long.
“That was really sweet of you, Trish. But as you can see, we’ve got it all under control,” I say, exiting my mom’s car and gently closing the door.
“I’ll wait for her daddy to tell me I’m not needed, if it’s all the same to you.” I look at Trish’s blank expression as she steps out of her Accord and feel sorry for her bland ass. She really thinks she can stay in Rah’s life by being his call girl—the chick he can call on when he needs money, a sitter, and anything else she can give. Doesn’t she know that guys get tired of having their desires met that easily?
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Rah asks, peeking through the back window of my ride and checking on his daughter like the good daddy he is—most of the time.
“Sandy asked me to be here when Rahima got here because no one was home and you both had to work,” Trish says, walking up to Rah and giving him a hug. He pats her on the back and looks at me uncomfortably. This is exactly why he can never say shit to me about my relationship with Jeremy.
No matter what he says about them just being friends, he’s always got Trish on the side. Trish misses Rah, and if it weren’t for his connection to her brother, she’d have no excuse to be at his house all the time. Sandy calls her just to vex me, and Trish is probably clueless that she’s being played by Sandy.
“I’m sorry Sandy dragged you into this, but Jayd’s got Rahima and I’m in for the night,” he says, backing away from Trish and returning to my ride to get his baby girl out of the backseat. I reach through the open window and grab the diaper bag. Why isn’t Trish moving?
“I’m not leaving until I hear from Sandy,” Trish says, locking her car and walking toward the front door. If she’s listening to anything Sandy’s got to say, this girl is crazier than I thought. Instead of telling her to hit the road, Rah agrees to let her wait in the house. Am I the only one who sees this is insane? I can’t take anymore of this twisted reality. I follow them into the house and back to Rah’s bedroom where he lays his daughter down on his bed without disturbing her. I’m impressed with the way he handles Rahima. The way he treats me is the problem I’m having.
“Rah, who am I to you, for real? Because you come at me like I’m your girl, but we all know that’s not true. And as much as I love Rahima, I’m not her mama. Trish has more of a say in her life than I do.” Rah looks at me, putting his finger up for me to lower my voice.
“Jayd, that’s not true,” he says, leading me into Kamal’s bedroom next door to his and closing the door. This is the first conversation we’ve had in a week, and just like the last time we spoke, we’re arguing. “I know that picking up Rahima from Sandy’s job was a bit much, but you came through, baby. And I appreciate you,” he says, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me in close to him.
“Trish is in the living room, in case you forgot,” I say, pushing him away. “And this isn’t a competition. I couldn’t care less how much you appreciate me dealing with your shit. Do you appreciate me for who I am, not for what I can do for you? That’s the question.”
“Jayd, you know I need you in my life. Yes, I appreciate you for you. You’re my best friend,” he says, trying to kiss me, but the last thing I want is Rah touching me. I don’t care how good his chiseled chocolate arms look popping out of his Adidas T-shirt. This brotha’s not getting any love from me tonight.
“Yes, and Sandy’s the one you live with, and Trish is the one you sleep with. I got the roles down in my head,” I say, walking toward the door. Rah steps in front of me, blocking my way. I look up into his dark brown eyes and wish we could go back to the two twelve-year-olds in love we were over four years ago. But we can’t go back there and I don’t know where we’re headed.
“You’re the one I love, girl. You know that,” he says, not denying Sandy and Trish’s functions in his life. He could’ve at least said he wasn’t sleeping with Trish, but I guess he didn’t want to get caught in a lie. That’s as good as a confession to me.
“You can have your love, because from where I’m standing it’s highly overrated,” I say, pushing Rah out of my way and opening the bedroom door. I walk down the hallway and into the living room where Trish is seemingly posted up for the night. Sandy’s busy shaking her ass at work and won’t get to her cell for a while.
“Jayd, please stay,” Rah calls after me. “We can work this out.” I can’t take it anymore. My head is pounding and it’s late. Trish can buy into this tired-ass Jerry Springer family drama if she wants to. I clean my hands of the whole mess.
Saving Rahima from having another crazy-ass teenage parental figure in her life is the most important thing I can do for that little girl. And I can only do that by first saving myself.
7
Survivors
“Can only sing the words/
It’s up to you to listen.”
—ANGIE STONE
By the time I got back to my mom’s apartment last night, all I had the energy to do was take a much-needed shower and pass out on the couch. I look down at my cell and see that I’ve missed fifteen calls, all of which are from Rah, I assume. My growling stomach urges me to get up from my makeshift bed and walk into the kitchen to see what I can whip up for breakfast, but not before I wash my face.
On the way into the bathroom I hear someone walking up the stairs outside the apartment. It had better not be another pop-up visit from Jeremy.
“Jayd, unlock the chain,” my mom says through the door. How come she didn’t give a sistah a heads-up she was coming home? The place is a mess, and I don’t want to hear her mouth about it.
“Fancy seeing you here this morning,” I say, unlocking the door and letting her into her own apartment. My mom kisses me on the cheek, kicks off her sandals, and speed-walks to her bedroom. She must’ve run out of clothes at Karl’s house and came home to restock.
“How’s your weekend going, other than frequenting a strip club?” my mom asks, dumping her overnight bag full of dirty clothes on the floor to make space for clean ones. She needs to do her laundry.
“It’s going cool. I made a lot of money and got to drive Chance’s car on Friday. That was the highlight,” I say, sitting on the corner of her bed. I love it when my mom’s home. Ever since she and Karl started dating I rarely spend any time with her. I’m not hating, but I think she should fit me into her schedule. We only have the weekends together and I’m lucky if I get to see her at all.
“Chance has the Chevy, right?” my mom says, quickly sifting through hangers and tossing dresses onto the bed next to me. I need to start taking advantage of her closet more often.
“Yes, and it’s so nice to drive.” I can feel the engine purring just thinking about it.
“And fast,” my mom says, her green eyes sparkling. “I had a boyfriend with one of those. I was hot shit when I would drive that car. Feels good, huh?” my mom asks, smiling at her memory.
“It sure does. I can’t wait to get behind the wheel again,” I say. I’m flattered that Chance t
rusts me to drive his classic vehicle. He’s spent a lot of time and money on his car, and it’s worth every ounce of both. He and Jeremy like to work on cars, but it’s not a passion like it is with Rah and Nigel, who fix up cars like they ball: constantly. Jeremy and Chance know a lot of people who they pay to do the work that Nigel and Rah do simply for the love of it. Either way, they all have nice rides.
“You’re only young once, Jayd. I say live it up.” I agree with my mom. I plan on driving all of Jeremy’s friends’ cars and Rah’s people, too. Whoever lets me behind the wheel—I’m going for it. I also want to drive Jeremy’s Mustang. Although I’m no expert, I think Jeremy’s car is faster than Chance’s.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I see a text message from Rah. My stomach growls, reminding me that I still need to eat. Maybe Trish can make him breakfast this morning, because I know the broad is still there.
Hey, baby. I’m sorry about last night. And I promise I’m not doing anything with Trish. She left right after you did. I’ll give you some time to cool off, but please call me. I love you.
I told Rah what he could do with his love last night, and I meant it.
“Oh, no. What’s wrong now? Or should I say what did Rah do this time?” my mom asks, moving on to her underwear drawer.
“It’s just the usual insanity that is Rah’s life,” I say, erasing the text and closing the phone. My mom zips her bag shut and sits down next to me for a moment before we both start our day.
“Jayd, what is it about Rah that keeps you holding on to him no matter how unhealthy the situation becomes? And don’t say that baby, because I will scream in your head if you do.” I know my mom’s serious if she’s threatening to hurt me on a psychic level.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I say, thinking about her question. Is there anything good about us other than our long friendship?
