by Wahida Clark
“In the rain? Come on, yo, get in. I said I’ll take you,” Wiz reiterated a little more forcefully, because he wasn’t used to no female telling him no.
Crystal just kept walking. Recognizing him from Goldsmith, and remembering his comment about knowing her from somewhere, and because she felt the same, she avoided finding out from where. She didn’t want to meet anyone from her past life, who remembered her as she had been and would then see what she had become. So she ignored him to avoid the embarrassment.
Wiz, on the other hand, was fuming. “Yo, all this here ain’t even necessary. I was just tryin’ to be nice to your dumb ass. Fuckin’ crackhead,” he spit, and the insult was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Everywhere she went she had to put up with being treated like a feen, but she wasn’t about to be called out her name when she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Before Wiz could pull off, she turned to his car and blazed him.
“Nigguh, if I’m such a crackhead why the fuck you want me in your car?!”
Wiz hit the brakes and yelled back, “Bitch, I hope you drown out there! Mutherfucka can’t even be nice no more!”
“Nice?! You ain’t bein’ nice, you just want some pussy! It’s a shame you have to buy it from a fuckin’ feen, you lame-ass bama!”
Wiz threw the Jetta in park and leaped out in the middle of the street, leaving the driver’s door wide open. Crystal saw the rage in his eyes, and she hoped she hadn’t pushed him too far, but just in case she looked around, spotted a forty-ounce bottle and smacked it against the pavement. She brandished the jagged edge like, Nigguh, I wish the fuck you would!
Wiz stopped short, took one look at her with that sad excuse for a weapon and busted out laughing. The bottle was jagged, but it only hung together by the glue of the label. One poke and it would only crumble to the ground. Crystal didn’t see the humor, and despite the bottle’s condition she still gripped it tightly until she felt a sharp pain in her palm. She looked down and saw that her hand was dripping blood. Wiz saw a red drop hit the pavement, and without thinking snatched the bottle from her hand and inspected the cut. “You need to go to the hospital, yo.”
Crystal snatched her wrist away, wincing in pain. “I-I’m fine.”
Wiz ignored her. He ran to his car, grabbed a New Jersey Devils hockey jersey he had bought recently and wrapped her hand in it.
“I told you, I’m fine,” she repeated, but in a softer tone, allowing him to bandage her wound.
“Man, just get in the car,” Wiz told her, leading her firmly by the elbow to the Jetta. They both got in, then he whipped a U-turn in the middle of Lyons Avenue and headed to Beth Israel Hospital.
Crystal and Wiz sat silently in the half-crowded waiting room. Wiz sat back with his head against the wall and his eyes closed. Crystal looked down at the blood-soaked jersey and thanked him in her mind. She looked at his white Calvins, which were spotted with blood and wondered why he had bothered to help her. He could’ve said, “Serves your dumb ass right,” and left her leaking in the street, but he hadn’t and that thought alone made her look him in the face for the first time. The first thing that struck her was his strong facial bone structure. Wiz had the type of jawline that sculptors tried to perfect. His lips looked juicy and suckable, and his eyelashes were feminine in length, but masculine in quality. Crystal could tell he was younger than her twenty-three years, because his skin was still baby-smooth, without a trace of hair, except for his fuzz of a mustache. She decided right then she had never seen him before, because she would’ve remembered his fine ass anywhere.
“I’m a fly muthafucka, huh?” Wiz smirked, eyes still closed.
Crystal played it off and looked away. “Huh? I was just looking over there, at that, umm, painting.”
Wiz sat up and smiled, wetting her with the dimples. “Yo, every closed eye ain’t sleep,” he told her, then checked his watch. “Damn! We been here ten minutes already,” he remarked, then crossed the room to the nurses’ station to confront the old white nurse. “Yo, what a muhfucka gotta do, bleed to death before he get some fuckin’ assistance!”
“Sir, please clam down,” she replied in a nasal tone. “Where are you bleeding, and what happened?” To her it was all routine.
“Not me, dumb-ass, her! The whole fuckin’ shirt is soaked!” he exclaimed, and pointed to Crystal.
The nurse, seeing the irate young black male, called emergency. A few minutes later Crystal was escorted to the back. Forty-five minutes later she woke Wiz up and told him, “I’m finished.”
The doctor had given her eighteen stitches in her palm. Wiz stood up and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”
Wiz and Crystal sat in IHOP, talking, laughing and eating pancakes and eggs. It had been so long since Crystal last remembered laughing, and Wiz had never experienced conversation with a woman interesting enough to hold his attention. “So you nice? I mean wit’ boostin’ and shit? You say that’s your main hustle, right?” Wiz asked, because he had a situation in mind.
Crystal shrugged and took a bite of her pancake. “I ain’t never been caught.”
Wiz looked at his watch, then said, “Well dig: I need you to boost something for me. Nothin’ major, just an outfit. What you gonna charge me?”
“You mean now? This minute?”
“Yeah. You ’bout yo’ business, right?”
Crystal could see a catch somewhere, an angle Wiz was playing, but she didn’t detect any game. “Depends on the store.”
Wiz stood up. “Come on, then, I’ll show you.”
Since the IHOP was in Elizabeth, they rode the few blocks to downtown. The streets were semi-packed with early-morning shoppers, stragglers and commuters. He led her to a clothing store called Mannings. They specialized in sports apparel, but they carried name-brand jeans as well. Wiz looked around the store at the clothes until he found the Levi’s section. He picked out a pair of red Levi’s jeans that were twenty-six in the waist. He handed them to Crystal, and she arched her eyebrow. “These can’t be for you. I know you wear at least a thirty-six,” she joked.
Wiz shrugged. “Birthday gift. Help me find a top.”
“Who’s it for?”
“This chick,” was his only reply.
For some reason she didn’t understand, she felt a little salty. He was having her help him pick out some skeezer’s outfit, but business was business. “Get that.” She pointed to the matching Levi’s jean jacket and a white spandex top.
“Cool. Handle your business, yo.”
Crystal grabbed two sets of each article of clothing and disappeared into the dressing room. While she was gone, Wiz bought a pair of white-on-white K-Swiss. She returned moments later with only one set, returned it to the rack, like, It doesn’t fit, and headed for the door. Wiz took the shoe bag and followed her out. When they reached the car, Crystal pulled out the outfit and handed it to Wiz and said, “I hope she likes it,” with just a hint of female attitude.
Wiz smirked, enjoying her jealousy. “She better,” he replied, then started the car. “So what do I owe you?”
Crystal propped her elbow on the door handle and ran her hand over her ponytail, hesitant to ask Wiz for what she really wanted. How could she, after spending the last few hours in such normal things in male-female relations, like laughter, good conversation and companionship? She stuttered mentally to have to come back to reality. Wiz asked again, “Whut up? Fifty, a yard, what?”
“No, I, umm, you holdin’?”
“Huh?”
Crystal sighed. “You got work?”
Wiz just looked at her, hating his own reality check. “Yeah, yo.”
Crystal looked out the window while Wiz looked at the back of her head for a minute, then put the Jetta in drive, turning up the system.
Boogie Down productions-uctions-uctions.
Will always get paid-aid-aid…
“Could you turn that down?” Crystal asked. The monkey was on her back, and she was getting irritabl
e.
“Whut?” Wiz asked, irritable because she had a monkey.
Crystal sucked her teeth. “Never mind.”
Wiz turned it down.
“If you heard me, why you say what?” Crystal quipped.
“I was turnin’ it down so I could hear you,” Wiz lied.
Moments later, he pulled into the Newark Airport motel. The same place he had had Veronica in. He still had the key from last night. Crystal narrowed her eyes on him, feeling her blood pressure rising like mercury.
Wiz pulled up in front of 202 and cut off the car. “Come on,” was all he told her, one foot out the door.
“No. For what?” she wanted to know.
“Just come on, damn. I wanna talk to you.”
“We can talk right here.”
“You want the shit or what?”
“Go get it. I’ll wait out here,” Crystal declared, then added, “Why did you bring me here?” she asked, insulted because she hadn’t expected this from Wiz.
“You comin’ or what?”
Silence.
“Look,” Wiz began, “I ain’t tryin’ to trick with you, aiight. I get pussy like most muhfuckas get problems. I’m tryin’ to put you up on a trick.”
She turned her attention.
“What kind of trick?” she wanted to know.
“You boost, right? I was thinkin’ we could do business. Budget Rent A Car right next door. So I could rent you a car by the week so you can go out, load up, and sell it to me half price, you dig? Then I sell it and make a flip.”
Crystal studied his expression, trying to detect a catch. “What’s that got to do with the motel?”
“I figured you need a place to chill for a minute, you know? Room and board, yo… but it’s comin’ out of your check.” He smiled, making her want to stick her finger in his dimple.
Crystal giggled. “So I work for you now?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
Crystal viewed her options, of which she had none, and replied, “Aiight, Wiz Kid. I’m down.”
They shook hands and truly touched for the first time.
Wiz reached under her seat and pulled out a small Ziploc with a few clips. He gave her one. “Beep me if you get hungry,” he said, and handed her the key.
Crystal took the clip and the key, then opened the door.
“Hold up,” Wiz told her, then reached into the backseat and handed her the outfit. “You forgot this.”
Crystal looked at the outfit with a dazed expression.
“I know you like it, yo, you picked it out yourself.” Wiz smiled, letting her know he had had it planned the whole time.
She wanted to thank him, but her voice caught in her throat. She just took it and got out, feeling nothing but the weight of the gift in her arms.
THREE
For the next few weeks Wiz’s plan worked perfectly. He’d get someone to rent Crystal a car, she’d go to different spots to boost, then sell it to Wiz for her high. It kept her off the streets, but Wiz wasn’t really doing his part. He seldom sold the wares she stole. He gave them to his workers or kept them for himself. But then again, his point wasn’t to make money in the first place.
His game was booming, and his product was moving. He kept in constant contact with Veronica in Harlem. He’d go over to buy his weight, slide by, bang her out, then get her to push it back to Jersey on the bus. It was a sweet setup, but Veronica was a strict uptown chick, and had a sweeter setup in mind. She paid close attention to the weight he was moving. So when he started picking up a kilo every two weeks, which was heavy for a spot nigguh in ’86, her conniving mind began to twirl.
Crystal, on the other hand, knew she was being taken care of. Her monkey was being fed, and her womanly needs were being met, so she was content. Hell, she went shopping in the exclusive spots. Short Hills Mall for Liz Claiborne and Fendi, Secaucus, at the Gucci and Nike outlet. Not to mention Fashion Avenue, Canal Street, Macy’s and everywhere in between. The only difference was, she took what she wanted instead of paying for it. The rest of the time she and Wiz spent together. In the morning they usually had breakfast, then at night he’d come through with Chinese food, some weed and apple Boone’s Farm. Then they’d chill, get weeded and a little tipsy, getting more and more comfortable in each other’s presence.
“Why do they call you Wiz?”
“ ’Cause, when I did go to school, I was like, mad smart. I used to pass tests and shit wit’out studyin’.”
“Why you drop out?”
“Got bored and the streets was callin’.” He shrugged.
He found out that Crystal had gone to college. She even had him thinking about going back to school. “At least for your GED and doing something constructive with your money. Put it to good use, Wiz. Buy some old houses and fix them up. Things ain’t always gonna be sweet,” she jeweled him.
But the realest conversation they had was when he told her that his mother got high too. “That shit be fuckin’ me up, man. Knowin’ what that shit is about and I don’t be wantin’ to give it to her, but I don’t want her in the streets gettin’ it neither… I don’t know, it’s crazy,” Wiz mumbled, then glanced away.
Crystal felt honored that he was doing the same for her as for the woman who had given him birth. He looked back at her and asked, “Can I ask you somethin’? How you get fucked up with that shit?”
Crystal was sitting Indian-style in the middle of the bed, while Wiz lay back on both pillows with his head propped up and a half-empty Boone’s bottle in his hand.
Crystal shifted her weight and replied, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been smoking weed and drinkin’ since I was like fourteen, but I still did good in school. I sniffed a couple of times, but it ain’t really do nothin’ for me.”
She stretched her bare leg from under the long T-shirt she was wearing and dangled it off the edge of the bed for circulation.
“At the time I was in college, had a decent job and everything, but I guess when I—” She cut herself off before she said abortion. It was still a painful subject, because she had never truly dealt with it.
“When you what?” Wiz inquired.
Crystal looked at him, weighing a lie in her mind. “When I… looked at my life for what it was truly worth… anyway, it was this party on Chancellor, that my girl Tricia told me about. Some guy named Skee or Skeem or—”
“Skeet,” Wiz said for her, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.
“Yeah, Skeet. You know him?”
Wiz just nodded and got up from the bed. He wandered over to the mirror, seeing Crystal’s reflection over his shoulder’s reflection.
“They had everything. Weed, pills, cocaine and… and crack.”
Wiz focused on himself, his own reflection, his own eyes. He remembered where he had seen Crystal now, and it was crystal-clear. It was his coke that had turned her out. She continued, “I just looked at it like just another high, you know? I… I… I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Wiz in the mirror. “Wiz, you okay?”
“Yeah,” he heard his mouth say as he turned around. “I’ma jet, yo. I gotta take care of something.”
Crystal got off the bed and felt his forehead. “You sure? You look sick.”
“I’m straight,” he lied, making his way to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay,” Crystal responded, but as he opened the door, she added, “Wiz, you, um… think you could leave me a little somethin’?” with a hint of humiliation in her voice.
He quickly reached in his pants, pulled out half a clip and tossed it to her. Then left without saying a word. Had Crystal gone to the window instead of the bathroom to get high, she would’ve known his car never started. Had she not gone to sleep, she would’ve known the car never moved. Wiz sat behind the wheel, numb, knowing the monster he hated she had was his fault all along. He sat there, head back on the rest, falling asleep from mental exhaustion.
He awoke the next morn
ing, disoriented until he realized where he was at. Why he was still here. Part of him wanted to pull off and never come back, but he had never been a coward, so he decided to apologize. He decided to go in and tell her right then, so he got out before he changed his mind.
Wiz keyed open the door and went in to find Crystal asleep. She had the covers pulled up to her chest and she slept on her back, with one hand near her face. Wiz froze like a deer in a pair of headlights. He froze, gazing at her sleeping innocence. He moved slowly closer and sat on the side of the bed. He gently caressed the side of her face until her eyes fluttered open. He started to pull his hand away, but she took his wrist, putting it to her mouth, and kissed his palm. Then licked it from heel to fingertip. Crystal had wanted to initiate intimacy many nights but she was afraid that Wiz wouldn’t see past her problem to the woman she truly was. Now that he had come to her, she wanted to devour him and be devoured by him.
Inside, both their hormones were raging but they allowed the intensity to build with touches and small kisses that made Wiz break his rule and kiss her on the mouth. Their caramel and peanut butter complexions creamed into one flavor called black love, pain and pleasure, so the moans caused by either became undistinguishable from the other’s. Where sex ceases to be intercourse and becomes pure energy embodied in a total embrace…
From that moment on, they were inseparable. Everywhere Wiz went, Crystal was right there. While he handled his business, she watched his back. The only time she wasn’t with him was when he went over to New York and picked up because of his arrangement with Veronica.
Nigguhs didn’t understand why Wiz had this crackhead chick with him everywhere he went, but they had to admit Crystal looked nothing like the chick they remembered. Gone were the raggedy clothes and busted sneakers. Thanks to her boosting abilities and Wiz’s style she stayed laced in the flyest shit, bamboo earrings and rings on every finger. And her body… it was a combination of good eating and good loving that got her weight back up and she filled out her jeans nicely.
Still, nigguhs couldn’t get past her habit.
