by L. Divine
Nellie’s munching on hummus and veggies, ever concerned about her size 2 figure. I still say she needs to put some meat on her plate and thicken up a bit.
“Are you serious, Mickey? We’ve only been here for a half hour,” I say, looking around. I could actually enjoy myself if they’d shut up and let me. The deejay’s cool, the food looks good, and I couldn’t care less about the hating females, because all I see are potential clients. There’s too much black hair around for me to get my hands into to leave now.
“Yes. Very,” Mickey says, downing her food and glaring Nigel’s way. Surrounded by his people, Nigel completely ignores Mickey, who’s an embarrassment. Damn, this is going to get ugly if Mickey gets any hotter. Maybe I should get her out of here before she makes a scene, humiliating us all.
“But what about Nigel?” I ask, looking at our boy enjoying his old crew. “Don’t you think we should stay and support him?”
“He’s not concerned with me and my feelings, so why should I care about his needs?”
Leave it to Mickey to make herself the victim no matter the circumstance.
“This night is about your man and his future, Mickey. Last I checked, that included you and Nickey.”
Mickey looks at me, pissed at my logic, but she has to know I’m right. “I’m ready to go,” Mickey repeats, dead set on leaving and finishing her plate.
“Me too,” Nellie says, rubbing her flat tummy like she’s six months pregnant. “I think I ate too much.”
Mickey and I look at our girl, realizing she’s got more serious food issues than we thought. Nellie gestures for Chance to wrap up his phone conversation and join us.
“Chance, let’s get out of here. This isn’t our type of party anyway,” Nellie says, grabbing her man by the arm, making me miss Jeremy even more than I already do. I’d rather hang with him than deal with my emotional friends any day. Keenan catches my attention from across the room, causing the temperature in my body to again rise to the surface. I can’t stop staring at him staring at me.
“Speak for yourself,” Chance says, grooving to Drake’s latest song blaring through the speakers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I feel that. If I’m not too tired, I might just drop these heckling heffas off and come back. With Keenan’s fine ass present, this is indeed the place to be tonight.
“Fine, then. I’ll leave with Jayd and Mickey,” Nellie says.
I look at my girls, realizing they’re serious about bouncing and I’m the chosen designated driver. Shit. Out of all the nights they choose to trip on their men, this had to be it.
Noticing the commotion, Keenan walks over to us. Butterflies flutter in my empty stomach with every step he takes. Rah follows Keenan, watching him watch me. This isn’t going to be good.
“You guys are welcome to join us,” Keenan says, speaking to the four of us but focused on me. Rah stands beside Keenan, observing the energy between us.
“Yeah, come on over and get something to eat,” Rah says, holding his hand out for me to take. Keenan looks from Rah to me, thinking he’s got it all figured out. As far as I’m concerned, the Rah and Jayd ship sailed a long time ago.
“We’re actually not staying,” Mickey says, taking my hand and unknowingly saving me from another awkward moment.
“Yeah. It’s a girl thing,” Nellie adds, holding herself by the waist. The boys look at us, bewildered, but don’t protest. These broads are going to pay for this one in a real way.
“Let’s go,” I say, pissed as all get-out. “Next time you need to bring your own car, Mickey. I’m not a chauffeur, here at your beck and call. And, Nellie, get a license.” Nellie looks at me like she wants to spit she’s so mad, and I dare her. She’ll be walking her blond ass back to Nigel’s neck of the woods. “Tell Nigel we said bye, please.” Chance nods in agreement. He, Rah, and Keenan rejoin their friends to officially get the all-boys night started. It’s going to be a long drive back to Nigel’s house.
“So, who the hell was that fine-ass dude trying to holla at you?” Mickey asks, getting right into my business before I can even get the car started. I press on the clutch, shift the gear into neutral, and turn the key. The sooner I get them back to Lafayette Square, the sooner I can get back to the W and enjoy the gratis evening. It’s almost eleven now, and the lateness is beginning to set in. Lucky for me, tomorrow’s Father’s Day and I don’t have any clients lined up as of yet, but that could change and I don’t mind if it does. Money is money no matter the holiday.
“His name is Keenan, and I don’t know who he is,” I say, pulling out of the packed lot. Nellie’s sulking quietly in the backseat, pissed that Chance isn’t her yes-man anymore. It must be weird for her sitting in the back since she’s used to riding shotgun with the three of us. Before I started driving a few months ago, Mickey was the designated driver and I always rode in the back of her classic ride. Now I’m rolling my mom’s Mazda, Mickey’s a mama, and Nellie’s in limbo between her original homegirls and the bitch brigade. The tables have turned on our little crew and will never be the same. I just hope we survive the evolution.
“Well, he sure did seem to know you,” Nellie says, joining the conversation.
It’s been a long time since me and my girls had some “us” time to talk. For the past several months, it’s been all about the baby and Nellie’s goddamn crown. I’m glad for the girlfriend chat, even if I’m the one under fire at the moment.
“It’s all innocent,” I say, turning on the congested one-way street leading to the 110 freeway. It’s a hot Saturday night, and the people are out enjoying it. “I met him at a coffeehouse this afternoon, and we got into a conversation about books and whatnot,” I say, basically repeating the same spiel I gave Chance earlier.
“Books and whatnot?” Mickey asks, disgusted. “Who the hell talks about school shit with a fine-ass nigga like that hollering?”
“You see, Mickey. That’s your damn problem right there,” I say, laughing at my girl. Nellie nods her head in approval, but I’m not sure who she’s agreeing with. “Everybody’s not like you, girl.”
“Not everybody, but most people are, Jayd,” Mickey says, checking her ringing cell.
Who’s calling her this time of night? I know it’s not Nigel because he has a special ringtone, unlike this caller.
“Mickey, please tell me you’re not up to your old tricks again,” I say, already dreading the answer. Mickey ignores my comment and quickly returns the text.
“Again?” Nellie adds. “Did she ever stop?”
I didn’t even consider the possibility that once the pregnancy was over Mickey would resume her pimping. She’s always got a dude or two on the side.
We cruise down the highway smoothly. The traffic has died down, and we should reach Nigel’s neck of the woods soon. The air smells of night-blooming jasmines, one of my favorite flowers.
“Shut up, Nellie,” Mickey says, a little too defensively for me. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Jayd and her new sugar daddy.”
“I don’t have a sugar daddy, and I don’t want one,” I say, turning on my left blinker.
“Sometimes they come to you anyway. You need to learn how to work your magic, girl,” Mickey says, pulling down the passenger’s visor and looking in the small lit mirror. “You’re not bad-looking, and you’ve got that whole smart thing going for you. All you need is someone to teach you how to work it, and Keenan looks like he might want to give you some private lessons.”
Mickey’s so nasty sometimes it’s ridiculous. It’s no wonder her ass was pregnant at sixteen. If she’s not careful, she’s going to find herself pregnant at seventeen, too.
“She’s not going to ruin her relationship with Jeremy for that fool, even if he is gorgeous and in college,” Nellie says. I can see her smiling in the rearview mirror. My girls are really tripping this evening.
“Whatever,” Mickey says, reapplying her red lipstick. “Jeremy ain’t thinking about her ass, over there hi
gh-profiling in Arabia or wherever the hell he is with that white girl.”
Mickey’s words sting; she knows she hit a sore spot. “You’re like a little devil on my shoulder poking my ears with a hot pitchfork, Mickey. You know that?” I ask, stopping at the last red light before the turn into Nigel’s hood. I’ll be glad to get them out of my car so I can get on with my night.
“And I’m the angel, right?” Nellie asks excitedly. I know she can’t be serious. “I’m even wearing all white like Lisa-Raye McCoy.”
Nellie’s got all kinds of diva role models and none of them are angels.
“Looks can be deceiving, Nellie,” I say, making both of my girls laugh. They know who they are, and that’s one thing I love about my girls. If nothing else, we keep it one hundred all day, every day.
I park in front of Nigel’s crib and pull up the emergency brake without turning off the engine.
“Seriously, Jayd. Jeremy’s not here and even if he was, you’re your own person,” Mickey says, removing her seat belt and taking her purse from the floor. “If Keenan wants to be your daddy, let him. You ain’t married.” Mickey smiles as she exits my car. Nellie pats me on my right shoulder before opening the back door and following our girl to her ride parked in front of mine.
“I’m not looking for another daddy, Mickey,” I say out of my open window. “I’ve already got one and he’s quite enough, thank you.” I reach into the glove compartment for my iPod and travel speaker. I want to go back to the party, but I think it’s best if I go home and work on my own shit, not go flirt with Keenan. He’s liable to get me into some serious trouble, and I’m not trying to go there. I’ve got enough to deal with without adding more to my plate.
“You’re welcome,” Mickey says, shutting the passenger door. “We’ll talk about it later.” Yeah, we’ll talk about it all right. Mickey will try to convince me to cheat on my man while I attempt to block her unwanted ill advice. We need to get down to the root of her sugar-daddy issues.
“I’m so looking forward to the conversation,” I say, making sure my girls get in Mickey’s classic ride okay. It looks like Nigel’s parents are home, and I don’t want to run into them tonight. I’ve had it with Mrs. Esop and the debutante ball talk this week. Between that and cheer, I can’t take any more bitchy broads in my world. Luckily, my girls and I always find our way back to the middle.
“You’re such a smart-ass sometimes, you know that?” Mickey says, starting her car and waking up the quiet neighborhood with Lil Wayne bumping loudly through her speakers. If Nigel’s parents didn’t know we were here before, they sure as hell know now.
“So I’ve been told,” I say, pulling away from the curb. “Bye, Nellie. Later, Mickey, and please give my goddaughter a kiss for me.”
“Our goddaughter,” Nellie says, checking her text messages for the umpteenth time this evening. Apparently she’s taking Mickey’s advice to heart and not her own.
“Semantics,” I say, driving out of Nigel’s neighborhood and back toward Inglewood. It’ll only take me about fifteen minutes to get home, which should put me in the house by midnight. Tomorrow I have to perform the obligatory Father’s Day duties, then the rest of the day belongs to me. Rah mentioned something about a session at his crib tomorrow evening for Father’s Day, and that might be cool, especially if the babies are there. But first I’ll have to get through greeting my daddies, and then I can have fun with my crew.
9
Insaniac
Insane in the membrane / Insane in the brain.
—CYPRESS HILL
“Madame, Madame. Regarder,” the young womansays.
I’m standing in the front parlor of an old house dressed in all white. I pick up my skirt and rush into the kitchen next to me, following after the excited girl. “Flamme! Flamme!” the girl shouts, pointing at the antique stove in flames.
“Get back,” I say, unable to process my thoughts quickly enough to translate into the French Creole my companion is speaking. I look around the large room for a fire extinguisher, but something tells me the invention wasn’t readily available in this time period. “Arroser,” I say, directing her to hand me the bucket of water used for dishes to quench the scorching flames.
We pour the water, but the growing fire seems to thrive from the liquid.
“Madame!” she shouts, pointing to my shirt, which is also on fire.
I try to pat the flames and then remember to stop, drop, and roll like they taught us in elementary school, but it’s not helping.
“Sir! Appelar, à l’aide, s’il vous plaît!” the girl shouts, running out of the kitchen toward the front door.
Just then, Keenan walks in and takes quick action. What the hell is he doing here?
“Are you okay, love?” Keenan asks after putting out both fires.
Who’s he calling “love”?
“Madame?” the young girl asks, kneeling by my side. She takes my left hand and helps me sit up on the cool floor. From the frightened look in her eyes, I can tell she’s worried about my silence and so am I.
“Marie, are you hurt?” Keenan asks, kneeling by my right side and checking me out. I’m walking through my dream as Maman again. Keenan must be my great-grandfather, Jean Paul.
“No. I’m fine,” I say, still confused. The girl rubs my hand, smiling at me. Her brown eyes are sad but sweet, hiding years of pain and abuse; she can’t be more than nine years old. I know it was hard being a black girl in the antebellum South.
“Tina, go and fetch your mother to help Madame Marie change her clothes,” Jean Paul says, helping me regain my footing. “I told you a woman in your condition shouldn’t be on her feet, especially not my wife,” he says to me. Maman must be pregnant with Mama: This is too weird.
“Sir Jean Paul,” the woman says, slightly bowing as she enters the kitchen. She looks about the same age as my mom. I touch my stomach, grateful it’s too early in the pregnancy to show. I don’t know if I can handle feeling Mama kick inside of me. That would be a little too freaky for even my strangest dreams.
“Help my wife get out of these burned clothes and into bed. I can’t have the great Voodoo Queen of New Orleans looking like a common cook who doesn’t know how to use a stove,” Jean Paul says. He’s the only one present who finds any humor in his insensitive statement.
“Oui, monsieur,” the mother and daughter team say in unison.
They guide me to the back of the spacious single-story house, where we enter a bathroom adjacent to what I assume to be Maman’s room. It’s painted yellow with a huge wall altar dedicated entirely to Oshune next to the largest of three windows in the massive space. I feel like I’ve walked into a living shrine.
“You’re going to make me the happiest father alive, Marie, starting by staying out of the kitchen. That’s what the help is for,” Jean Paul says from the hall. We look at each other and sigh. Jean Paul was a jackass, and we have the spirit book stories to prove it.
“You’re going to be fine, madame. You just need a bath to calm your nerves,” Tina’s mother says, helping me out of my dress and into the ceramic tub. Tina begins passing her mother cupfuls of cold water. “Lean forward,” she says in a commanding voice. I bend forward and grab my knees, allowing the frigid water to pour from the nape of my neck down my back. She pours it again, this time over my head, causing me to wake up in a cold sweat.
“It’s too cold!” I shout, now fully awake. I look around the dark apartment, adjusting to my surroundings.
“I’m not pregnant,” I say aloud, feeling my stomach. My dreams are getting more confused with reality every day. Dreaming about Keenan as my husband is the same kind of fantasy as my dreams of being Mrs. Adewale, and they both come from my strong attraction to these men, but I can’t keep getting this hot and bothered. My top is soaking wet, and I feel like I’m on fire. Maybe after I change and dry off I can get some more sleep. It’s way too early to be up on a Sunday morning, especially when I have no clients scheduled. I’m going to rest for as l
ong as I can. Hopefully, the realistic dreams are over for today.
After my crazy dream, I slept for a few more hours and woke up feeling refreshed and a little lazy. It’s strange having the morning to myself, which I’ve taken full advantage of. After studying my spirit lessons and my schoolwork, I decided to chill for a little while before getting dressed by watching Las Vegas reruns and eating microwave popcorn for brunch. I take a handful of the salty snack and stuff my mouth. This is an episode I’ve never seen before, where they’re in New Orleans visiting a voodoo queen. I wonder if Mama’s got it on her DVR. She loves this show. Speak of the angel, my cell rings with Mama’s special tone. She must’ve felt me thinking about her.
“Hola,” I say, singing along with the words of the Cuban music that accompanies Mama’s call. She’s the only one who used to get that type of favoritism until Jeremy came along. Now they both have their own distinctive soundtracks. Mama only uses her cell in case of emergencies or when she’s traveling, which is rare, but this is one of those times.
“Jayd, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you, baby?” Mama asks. It’s good to hear her voice, too, even if it sounds distant through her outdated equipment.
“I’m good, Mama,” I say, taking a swig of water from my cup on the dining room table to clear my throat. My mouth’s so dry I can barely speak. “How’s Miami?” I think that’s where they are. The last time Mama called, she and Netta were living it up in New Orleans. I almost didn’t recognize Mama’s voice she was so happy. I sit up on the couch, throwing the sheets off my legs, half expecting them to be on fire like my skirt in my nightmare. Maybe Mama felt that one all the way across the country.
“Hot, girl. But it’s beautiful. You’ll have to come with us next time.” I plan to take her up on that. “By the way, Netta wants you to drop by the shop and make sure the clients’ boxes are in order as well as all of the other necessary duties her sisters might forget to check on before tomorrow.” Lucky for Netta, she and her two sisters know the hair business inside and out. While her older siblings are still holding it down in New Orleans, Netta started her own shop in Comp-ton over thirty years ago and hasn’t looked back, although she misses her hometown.
