“Of course. What is it that you’re looking for today?” The lady’s got a nice voice. I can tell she’s smiling without even seeing her face. I crane my neck to see her face. She’s got lovely dark hair that falls in waves around her face. Her lips are red, like the boots Dora’s monkey wears. She can’t seem to take her eyes off of Leka’s face.
I sigh and step in between the two. I’ve seen that look before. She likes Leka, but this sort of attention makes Leka feel awkward. He gets stiff and irritable. I don’t want her ruining our day because she stares at Leka’s face too long.
“We’re gonna get a dress,” I tell her.
She peers down at me. “Aren’t you…” She presses her lips together, some of that bright smile dimming as she examines my face. “Aren’t you interesting?” she says finally. “Is this your…”
She has a hard time finishing her sentences.
Leka helps her out. “Sister.” He takes my hand. “This is my sister.”
The smile comes roaring back. “Of course. Let me show you a few selections. My name is Nina, by the way.”
She gets silence in return.
“He’s Leka and I’m Bitsy. Or, actually, Elithabeth, but Leka calls me Bit or Bitsy, don’t you?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, I do.”
“You can call me Bitsy,” I tell her because the longer name is hard to say and I wanna be nice.
We ride up an elevator that looks like it’s all gold but that Nina says is brass because a gold elevator would be ob-nock-sushlee expensive. I file that away. Gold, silver, brass. Brass is nice. Obnocksush, even.
At the very top floor we get out and Nina takes us all the way into the back, her spikes making clickety-clack noises on the floor. Unlike Leka’s boots that, despite being heavy, make no sound at all. My tennies squeak if I twist them just right against the floor.
I do that a few times until Nina shoots me an angry look, one that changes to a smile when she gazes at Leka again.
“What were you thinking?” she asks.
“How about that?” He points to a white statute with hands but no head wearing a black dress. The skirt is poufy and the lace around the bottom looks like I could tear it just by blowing on it.
“I don’t know,” Nina and I say at the same time. We share equal expressions of surprise.
“Okay, how about that?” He shifts his finger, and this time, I see a dress that looks like a long T-shirt, but instead of having a kitty or bunny on the front, it’s got lots of stripes.
“I like that one,” I say.
Nina grabs one and holds it up to me. “Looks like a four will work.”
“I’m seven,” I correct her.
“It’s the dress size, not your age, dear,” she says.
“We’ll take it.” Leka reaches inside his front pocket where he keeps his money.
“Let’s go over to the register.” Her long fingernails point to a desk.
“Can she put this on?”
“You mean try it on?”
“No, um, wear it out.”
“Of course.” Nina directs us to a small hallway with little stalls that have a curtain closure. She plucks a pair of scissors off a shelf, clips a white tag off my dress and then hangs it in the first room. “Go ahead and change. I’ll ring this up.”
Leka gives me a nod and I scuttle inside. As the two move away, I hear Nina say, “Your sister doesn’t look like you.”
Leka doesn’t reply. He never does when people say that. It doesn’t matter what we look like on the outside, he says. Our insides match.
* * *
After Macy’s, we hop on the subway. We get off at a stop called Farfield. Leka is tense. One hand is curled tight around the shopping bag holding my T-shirt and jeans, and the other grips my left hand.
My right is busy holding my new toy against my chest. He saw the white bunny before I did and had the money for it slapped on the counter before Nina was done wrapping up my old clothes.
I can’t stop petting her. She’s soft and so cute. I drop a kiss on her nose. When Leka is gone at night, I can sleep in his bed with my bunny. It’ll be almost perfect.
“I’m going to name her Carrots,” I announce.
“I like it,” he says, but he doesn’t sound happy. We stop at the top of the moving stairs and he pulls me out of the way.
Crouching down, he puts both hands around my shoulders and gives me a serious look. “We’re going to Marjory’s.”
I recognize that name. “Where you work,” I supply.
“Yeah, that’s right. Where I work. These folks don’t know about us. No one does.”
I nod solemnly. When Leka took me to school, he said we had to pretend we were a family or they wouldn’t let him sign all my papers. It wasn’t hard because that’s what we are. I remind him of that. “It’s you and me.”
“Right. But I didn’t find you on a street or—”
I cut him off. “I knooooow,” I say. “We’ve been together always.” I place my own hand—the one not holding Carrots—on his shoulder. “Just you and me.”
He takes a deep breath and then blows it out before pushing to his feet. “We’re going to be okay. This is the right thing to do.”
The way he says it, though, it seems like he’s talking to himself rather than to me.
We don’t walk long. Six and a half blocks at the most. Two blocks left of the stop and then four blocks straight. We stop in front a brick storefront with a green door and a green and white striped shade pulled out over the sidewalk. There are chairs and tables under the shade. Marjory’s is a restaurant. Leka works at a good place. That makes me happy for some reason—probably because I like food.
“This is it,” he says, and again, it seems like he’s telling himself something important. But I pay attention.
Inside, the smells of spaghetti sauce and cooked meat fill my nose. My stomach grumbles in appreciation.
Leka gives my hand a squeeze. “We’ll get you something to eat, but first, let me introduce you to—oh shit.” He stops walking and talking.
I peek around his leg to see the place is empty but for one table in the middle of the wall. There is a man sitting in the booth. His eyebrows are dark and look like wings at the end. His hair is slicked back and his shirt is open. I see a glint of something—gold or maybe brass—at his neck.
It’s darker in Marjory’s. None of the sunlight from outside can be seen and the green lamps are all low, but I still make out that the man at the table is someone important.
I think it’s because of how everyone around him is acting. A really big guy with no neck stands arrow straight on the right. There’s a pretty woman, prettier than even Nina, sitting next to the seated man. She has a hand on his shoulder and her boobies are pressed into his arm.
There are two other men wearing dark clothes, their hands hanging at their sides, their feet shoulder-width apart. The seated man gestures for us to come forward.
Leka does another one of those inhale and exhales before walking slowly toward the table. I follow behind, clutching the bunny for reassurance.
“Leka, come in. Beefer was giving me a report on your heroics last night. Apparently, without you, we would have lost the shipment. Now who is this?” the seated man says. He curls his fingers, gesturing for me to come closer.
I look up at Leka for permission. He gives me a short nod. I creep forward. The man frowns. “You don’t look much alike. Different mothers or different fathers?”
“Yes,” Leka replies.
Yes, what? I wonder, but the man grunts as if Leka fully answered the question. “She’s not much to look at, is she?”
I glance around. Is he talking about me? I’m a fully-grown girl. I draw myself up and take another step forward. Maybe it’s the light. He can’t see me because of the light.
The pretty lady scratches her nails against the man’s shoulder. “I told you. God gave all the good looks in the family to your soldier. What a shame.”
“What’s
your sister’s name?”
“Elizabeth.”
He doesn’t share my nickname. I decide then and there that I won’t either. Bit and Bitsy are for just Leka and me. It’s too bad I told Nina. If I see her again, I’ll have to give her the news that she can’t use Leka’s nickname.
“Grand name for someone like her.”
Leka doesn’t like these comments. I don’t really understand what they all mean, but I get the feel of it. The man doesn’t think I’m worthy of being Leka’s family. I hug my bunny close as I press myself tight against his leg.
The man gives me another once-over before turning to Leka. “Beefer says you’re doing a good job for him.”
“I hope so. I’m trying.”
“That’s all we can ask for. Now that we’ve lost Cotton, we’ll need you to step up.”
“Whatever you need.” Leka’s stiff as a board.
“Good. I like that attitude. Beefer says you want the family to take care of Elizabeth here if something happens to you.”
“Yessir.”
“As long as you keep doing the kind of work you’ve been doing, that won’t be a problem,” the man says. “We take care of our own here at the business. Right, Beefer?”
The tall man with no neck nods stiffly.
“All right. Why don’t you take the girl into the kitchen while I get to know this young woman better. Mary, isn’t it?”
The pretty lady flips a hank of her hair over her shoulder. “It’s whatever you want to call me,” she purrs like a kitty.
The man’s eyes grow dark. “Another good attitude.” He flicks his hand, waving us toward the back.
Leka grabs my hand and starts walking quickly in that direction. I can’t resist a peek behind me, but all I see is the man’s head. The pretty lady has disappeared.
“Where’d she go?” I ask.
“On her knees,” the no-neck man mutters as he slaps the door open.
Leka closes the door and leans against it. “What’s going on, Beefer? I didn’t know the boss knew Mary.”
“He didn’t. Walked in and Mary couldn’t get her underwear off fast enough,” the one called Beefer replies.
“Damn, I’m sorry, man.”
There’s a cry in the outer room followed by a smack. Then I hear Mary’s voice. “Yes, God, yes.”
Leka claps his palms over my ears. Sadness briefly flashes across Beefer’s face before it hardens into one of those masks like the big dolls at Macy’s. I’ve heard these sounds before. Mommy used to make them in the bed above me where I hid with the bunny slipper. The mattress would squeak squeak squeak as she bounced on top of it with some man. Or men.
Even with Leka’s hands over my ears, I can still make out Beefer’s words.
“It is what it is. Whores like Mary are only interested in how fat your wallet is, and let’s face it, the boss’s wallet is a helluva lot fatter than mine.”
“Loyalty should count for something,” Leka insists.
“She’s loyal to the green. It’s something for you to remember.”
“How am I supposed to trust the business to take care of Bitsy if we’re all just loyal to the money?” Leka’s voice is as harsh and angry as I’ve ever heard it.
“We’re all brothers here, Leka. The boss said he’d take care of your girl and he will. He won’t go back on his word. Not to you, at least. Not to any one of his soldiers. Pussy, on the other hand? That’s expendable.” Beefer points toward the main room where Mary’s cries are mixed with the chairs and tables scraping against the floor.
“I don’t know, Beefer. I’d be careful around her,” Leka warns, dropping his hands away.
“She was never anything more than a warm hole,” Beefer declares. End of story. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He jerks his head toward a door behind him. “Take your sister to the back and let’s get some grub in her.”
That sounds like a good plan to me. Bunny and I aren’t big fans of the sounds going on out in the main room.
In the back, there’s a small table. Beefer brings out a bowl of noodles and sauce. Leka follows with three bowls and three glasses of milk. Once the door is closed, I realize that the other two men stayed in the main room with the one they call the boss and Mary.
I find that weird, but I keep all my observations to myself. Leka warned me to be careful. I don’t think I’ll come to Marjory’s again, if I can help it. Even though the food is real good, Leka doesn’t like me here. And I’m not doing anything to make Leka unhappy.
15
Bitsy
Three years later
“Who’s going to be there?” I ask, watching as Leka dips his head under the faucet. He came home from “work” about ten minutes ago and has been rushing around since, muttering that he has to get to Marjory’s for some event tonight.
“Not sure. Beefer said I should go, though.”
Beefer. That man runs Leka’s life. “I thought we were going to watch Lord of the Rings tonight.” I try to keep my whining to a minimum, but it still leaks out.
“I know, Bitsy. We’ll do it tomorrow night.”
He slicks his hair back with one hand and shoves the other in front of me. I slap the towel in his waiting hand.
“This sucks.”
He pauses in mid-scrub. “Don’t say suck.”
I roll my eyes, but he catches me. In the mirror, our eyes meet. His are so blue; mine are so blah brown. His hair is golden brown, a thousand different shades of yellow and caramel and wheat and wood. Mine is one color—black and coarse. I run a hand over it. It takes a lot of effort to smooth the curls down. I wish I had straight hair. The most popular girl in the fifth grade is Emma Wilson and she has the straightest, blondest hair of any girl I’ve ever seen. All the boys love her. Hell, I love her.
I sigh. “Do you think I’m ugly, Leka?”
He scowls, his perfect features scrunch up and his eyes narrow to mean slits. “No. Who called you that?”
“No one.” No one has to say it. I can see the difference. My skin’s slightly darker than everyone else. In second grade, Tommy McKenna asked me if I showered enough. In third, Wesley Holt said I reminded him of Pig-Pen. I told him he reminded me of Babe, the pig, only not as cute and that if he spoke to me again, I’d make him into bacon and eat him for breakfast.
I got detention for that. Worth it.
“First, looks don’t mean sh—sugar and second, you’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.”
“You have to say that,” I proclaim and jump off the vanity. I’m done with mirrors.
“I don’t have to say it,” he yells after me. “I say it because it’s true.”
“Whatever,” I mumble. I hate that he’s going out. I decide to eat my feelings away with a pint of ice cream. I’m pulling the lid off when the intercom rings.
“Will you get that?” he yells.
It’s the doorman announcing my babysitter. Funny how in the first years of my life when we were living in the studio apartment over on K Avenue, I stayed at home by myself. A year ago, Leka came home and announced we were moving.
Up here on 74th Street, far away from Avenue K, I have more stuff—a bed rather than a mattress and a sleeping bag, a closet full of clothes versus a milk crate and a backpack. I also have a huge assortment of bunny rabbit stuffed animals. Along with all of that good stuff are the unnecessary extras: a babysitter and a school uniform.
Life, I’ve learned at the age of ten, is half full of good shit, as Leka tries not say, and half full of actual shit.
“I’m ten. I can take care of myself.”
“Good thing you don’t have to. Now get the da—darned door,” he yells from his bedroom.
I get into my boxing stance, tucking my thumbs across my index and middle fingers like Leka taught me so long ago and stare at myself in the mirror in the front hall. I look tough and capable. Like I could take down anyone who tried to come after me.
That skinny white kid did it in Home Alone. No question that I could
defend myself. Unlike that kid, I have access to real guns. Leka has a couple that he keeps in his bedroom. I’m not sure if he knows that I know he has them. I suppose he does. There’s not much he misses.
The doorbell rings and I drop my fists. Straightening, I go to the front door and throw it open.
“Hi, Mrs. Michaelson.”
The older lady leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek. Her lavender perfume assaults my nose and I rub it to keep from sneezing.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” she mocks. “I might get my feelings hurt.”
“Sorry.” I try to keep my pouting to a minimum, but I hate it when Leka is gone. And lately he’s been gone a lot. “It’s not you.”
“I know, dear. You miss your brother, but he’s only going to be gone for a few hours.” She bustles inside. A big bag knocks against her leg. I reach over to take it. A familiar excitement stirs at the sight of its contents.
“Is this the new Cat Girl?”
Mrs. Michaelson’s cheeks glow with pride. “It certainly is. I brought you one of the very first copies.”
“Oh my God!” I clap my hands together and then race to my bedroom to get my tackle box full of art supplies. Mrs. Michaelson’s daughter is a comic book illustrator and she sends me uncolored proofs so that I can see the art strokes and copy them. I intend to draw for a living when I get older, even though, as Mrs. Michaelson tells me, it doesn’t pay more than peanuts. Her daughter works as a barista in her full-time capacity and does the art work on the side.
I’d be cool with that. I don’t mind serving coffee in order to pursue my dreams. After all, Leka works at a restaurant. There’s absolutely nothing shameful about serving people. If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.
“You look happy,” Leka remarks as he meets me in the hall.
“Mrs. M brought a new proof from her daughter.”
“Cool. So does that mean you’re done being mad at me.”
I shake my head. “No. I can do two things at once. So when will you be back?”
The light in his eyes dims. “Not sure, Bitsy. You know I don’t stay away unless I have to.”
Want You Page 8
