Ghetto Girls

by Anthony Whyte

  The car started moving, but the driver was still a bit uneasy. He kept glancing back as if he expected something. Nothing happened. The girls remained quiet.

  “In my country people are not so disrespectful. They respect life and property. Americans, have no regard for either, especially Blacks and Latinos.”

  “Ahight, ahight be easy. Watch what you’re saying or I’ll have to let my girl Dani, jack your ass,” Josephine said.

  “That’s exactly what happened to a girl earlier. It’s not your fault you’ve been brought up in a violent world…”

  The taxi driver’s voice crackled through the tension in the air. The girls sat glowering in the backseat. Before they had playfully heeded what he was saying. Now he had their full attention.

  “Uh, what did you say?” Coco asked sounding annoyed.

  “Oh I said you’ve been raised in violence.” The taxi driver said.

  “Nah, nah, before all that, you mentioned something about a girl,” Coco said.

  “Oh yeah, I said that on the news someone call the police they saw a girl along Route eighty-seven? It was over the radio.” There was a deadly silence as the girls held their breath.

  Coco grabbed her bandaged nose as her heart sunk. It had been on her mind since she had recovered from the punch in the face. Everything seemed to hurt a little more as the driver continued with the second-hand news.

  “She was apparently raped,” the driver informed his passengers.

  “Wait up. What girl?” Coco heard the others asking.

  “Found her where? Is she dead? Ah man, damn!” Things became a blur to Coco.

  “They fucking did her, those muthafuckas,” Danielle cried in anguish.

  Coco winced from the pain. She sat erect, her back slightly arched, and held her nose. No sound came. She had just met Deedee, but the pain she felt was deep. Her head started to pound again. This was real bad. They had jacked her and the car. Why didn’t they just take the car? Coco rewound the memory of the voices outside the club prior to her getting hit. She tried to mentally sketch the faces with the voices. Her head hurt. She stopped.

  “Is ... the girl dead?” Josephine asked.

  “Nah, she’s alive,” the driver said. The girls breathed a collective sigh of relief. “She was taken to some hospital,” the driver continued. Hope returned. The girls held one another’s hands tighter. “She was badly beaten and raped. She’s the niece of Eric Ascot, some famous music producer.”

  Eric Ascot! That’s her uncle, thought Coco. The girls looked wide-eyed at each other. The mention of Eric Ascot’s relationship to Deedee was a big surprise to them. Eric Ascot was one of the most popular producers in the music industry.

  “Those muthas, whoo! I don’t believe…” Coco exclaimed.

  “I don’t believe that shit. But that’s city life for ya...man,” Josephine said as she stared straight ahead. “That’s why my dad wants to leave the city.”

  “Your dad’s a player, Jo. That’s why he wants to leave the city.”

  “They fucking did her.” The words were so final that they made the air go dead inside the taxi. The ride continued in virtual silence. Nothing said until they reached the building where Josephine and her parents lived. Coco paid the fare, and the girls walked to the entrance of the huge building.

  “Dammit. I don’t have any cigarettes,” Coco said after searching the pockets of her oversized jeans.

  “We could get some stoges off my parents,” Josephine said.

  She opened the door and the girls walked in. Coco gave an excuse for not calling home. She knew her mother would be asleep or drunk, probably both. Danielle called her mother. Josephine led the way to her room, and the girls followed in silence. Once inside the room, Josephine turned the television on. All three girls plopped down on the small bed. Josephine sprang up and tossed the remote to Coco, who began to scan the channels.

  “Nothing but reruns,” Danielle said. Coco continued to channel surf. Talk shows and religious programs. “Misty and overcast,” the weatherman reported.

  Josephine left the room and reappeared ten minutes later with milk, soda, water, cookies and cigarettes. Coco helped herself to a cigarette and soda. She lit up and took a drag.

  “This was a fucked-up evening, yo!” she proclaimed, her thoughts disappearing in the cloud as she reminisced over the still-unsettling events. The girls sat around, nodding their heads in agreement.

  “Yep,” Danielle finally said. “This was more a fright night than any thriller could bring.”

  “Shit’s foul,” Coco said, and leaned back, closing her eyes.

  The room seemed to grow smaller. Josephine had always liked to get away to this space. When she closed the door all the world’s trouble stayed on the other side—except for today. The dawn had already dragged something sinister across the threshold of her room.

  THREE

  In the emergency room, Deedee lay on a stretcher. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she could not sleep. A nurse sympathetically smiled down at her. Deedee had just retold the most horrifying saga in her young life. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought. I was just trying to have some fun, but it turned out to be the worst. She had to tell the story to the police, who had brought her here. They showed no compassion. They made her feel cheap, like it was all her fault. Then there were the doctors and nurses, who tried to get more information.

  “Did they penetrate? Was it oral, anal or vaginal?”

  Damn it, I was raped, Deedee wanted to scream at those fucking rape advocates, with their phony ass promises. Yeah sure, it will be forgotten. Deedee was lost in thought when the smiling nurse approached and began to speak.

  “Feeling a bit better? Can I get you some water?” The smile annoyed Deedee. She wanted to lash out at the next person in a white uniform. She wanted to yell, “I’ve been violated. I want my virginity back!” But she just lay on the stretcher. Finally, she sat up.

  “Water please,” she said.

  “Oh sure,” the nurse replied. She brought a cup of water to Deedee. “You may get dressed anytime you wish. The bruises will soon be gone,” she added.

  “I’m scarred for life,” Deedee said. The words poured out in a soft cry.

  “It will get better. It’s going to take some time. You’ll have to come back for a follow-up, or you may see your family doctor. Call this phone number for the results of your HIV tests. Your uncle is here.” The words sent a chill through Deedee.

  “My uncle is here?” Deedee echoed and took the card with the phone number.

  Her mind lingered. How was she gonna face him, she wondered. He was gonna be so mad at her. Deedee felt ashamed and instinctively covered her body with the hospital robe. This was not enough. She glanced around the room. It seemed everyone was staring at her, or talking about her. They all knew. She could see it in their eyes, even though they were all in the hallway, and she had a screen around the stretcher.

  “Nurse, where are my clothes?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Here you are. Your uncle brought these,” the nurse said and handed Deedee fresh clothing. They were her own gears but she didn’t feel right putting them on.

  “Thanks,” Deedee said. She sat on the stretcher, and a younger woman in a dark suit approached. Here we go again, thought Deedee.

  “Hi, I’m Maxine Singleton and I am a rape victim counselor.” Her stare made Deedee uneasy. “Here’s my card,” the woman said. “Feel free to call me. I know you’ve had an awful and scary experience. You’re going to need a lot of help. I can provide that. All you need to do is call the number on the card and I will call to check on you periodically. But you should call me whenever you need someone to talk to. Call me and I’ll try to help,” concluded the counselor. Deedee took the card and stared past the fast-talking counselor.

  “May I leave now?” she asked.

  “I think the police have some more questions. I’ll stay with you if you don’t mind.”

  As if on cue, a policeman and a woman
came around the screen. Deedee’s uneasiness returned. She lay back on the stretcher and crossed her legs.

  “My name is Officer Brown. I’m from the District Attorney’s office,” said the woman, dressed in a blue suit with black shoes. She looked more like a lawyer than a cop. She even smelled like one. Her perfumed hand was highlighting every word.

  “How’re you feeling Deedee?” the male officer asked. Deedee mumbled something inaudibly. Everyone peered at her when she cleared her throat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “We know it’s a very difficult thing for you to do, but please, you have to try and help us catch the men who did this to you.”

  Deedee was close to tears. The query made her go back to the ordeal, which she sought to escape. It assaulted her mind, and started an ache in her stomach that rose to her throat. She cried uncontrollably.

  Her uncle, standing just outside the screen, dashed in and grabbed Deedee. She sobbed into his chest. He held her close, reluctant to let go. Officer Brown interrupted.

  “We need to find out what happened, sir. Who are you?”

  Ascot kept hugging his niece. He ignored the officer.

  “Uncle, uncle. I’m sorry,” Deedee cried. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and the tears continued to flow.

  “It’ll be alright,” Eric said.

  He held Deedee, hoping she believed him. He wasn’t sure, but the phrase seemed to fit. He loved his niece. Eric had raised her since she was six years old, when her father, his brother and partner, was killed.

  “Are you the uncle?” Officer Brown asked. “I have a question about—”

  “What’s your question?” Eric interrupted her.

  “Did you loan your niece the car tonight?”

  There was a long pause. Ascot smelled the stench of the hospital and it brought back a rush of memories about his brother’s death. The police had rejected Eric’s argument that the killing took place during a robbery. His brother’s death had been labeled a drug-related incident. There was no trial. The police didn’t care enough to pursue it.

  Ascot did some research on his own, paid an informer for the information he needed, and took the information to the police. He was certain they would find and prosecute his brother’s killers. But the authorities saw no reason to reopen the case, and Eric couldn’t produce the informant. As far as the police investigation went, Dennis was just another dead drug dealer. Eric knew this was wrong. This was a dishonor to his brother’s memory, and Eric felt cheated.

  Fuck these cops, he thought and said, “I am not answering anymore questions until I speak to my lawyer,” Eric said.

  “Listen,” the officer said. “We’re asking real simple questions here. Your niece was raped and beaten up, according to this report. We’d like to catch the bastards who did this sick thing, so it would be very nice if you would just cooperate.”

  “We don’t have to do shit. As a matter of fact, we’re not gonna do shit, because you guys have never done anything to help me,” Ascot said. He turned to his niece who was staring at him, bewildered by what she had just witnessed. My uncle never gets angry, she thought.

  “Let’s go, baby,” he said, grabbing Deedee by her arm and stomping past the rape counselor.

  “We’re trying to conduct an investigation. A carjacking and rape. You can’t let the scum who did this get away,” the officer pleaded.

  Ascot wasn’t listening. He rushed out the doorway, into the hallway and out of the hospital, dragging Deedee along. They hurried to the parking lot. He quickly found the green Range Rover and helped Deedee into the passenger seat.

  Eric Ascot drove, paying close attention to the morning traffic. He tapped his thumbs frantically on the steering column. Deedee heard him breathe loudly through his nostrils, but neither said anything to the other. Her usually talkative uncle had secluded himself in the quiet of his thoughts. He didn’t even look at her. Maybe he was ashamed of her. She shuddered and looked away.

  Deedee pressed the window control and welcomed the rush of the wind. It drowned the unbearable silence, and brought the refreshing smell of fresh air to the car’s interior. Deedee had longed for the feeling of freshness, which the morning’s episode had erased. She recalled the hospital and the medical examinations. Those damn tests, she thought, just like being raped all over again. The goal of those doctors, police officers, nurses and rape advocates seemed to be to make her re-enact the whole ugly scene. They were all so cold with the exception of the advocates.

  Then she heard music. Eric had turned on the stereo. She watched as he adjusted the volume. He always asked if the volume was good. That had always been her chance to critique any of the new recording artists her uncle had recently worked with in the studio. More importantly, it gave her uncle a chance to share quality time with her.

  The moment he opened his mouth, Uncle E. would start bragging and really loosen up. She always felt he was trying to sell the new group or artist to her. Then the ‘they’re-gonna-blow-up’ discussions would begin. She felt these types of conversations had also taken place between Eric and her father before he died.

  But, this was not an ordinary drive home. There would be no discussion of recording artists. Deedee’s thoughts forced her back to the present. I was raped and he’s just driving me home. Like he just picked me up after a fight at school or something.

  “Oh, I have to take these pills. They’re like birth control pills. Morning after,” she said. “Can we stop so I can get something to help me swallow them?” Deedee was seeking verbal reconciliation, but it was to no avail. Eric guided the vehicle to the curb without saying anything. Then she started out the door. The move brought a reaction from Eric.

  “Um, I’ll get it,” he said, jumping from the vehicle and running across the street to the store.

  “Apple,” she yelled. Deedee watched as her uncle disappeared into the store. Tears clouded her vision. “I’ll take apple, uncle E.” she said, softly. Then she cried.

  Eric Ascot could not hear her. He was already across the street and in the store. As soon as he entered, he wiped his shirt-sleeve across his eyes, determined to keep Deedee from seeing his tears.

  Maybe he had let her down somehow, he thought, reaching for any juice. She likes apple, he recalled and grasped the bottle. After paying, he walked lazily out of the store. He stared in the direction of the green van. She looks so much like my brother, he thought, and probably just as tough. No mother, no father, just me.

  Deedee watched him approach. It was hard to tell, but he looked angry.

  Well, she reasoned, I did take the car without his permission. He should be angry.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle E.,” she said as he neared her side of the vehicle. But Eric had purposely walked around so he could apologize to her.

  “Sorry for what, baby? You have no reason to be.” He handed her the apple juice. Eric was overcome with emotion, no sound came from his lips. He was afraid she would see his tears.

  Deedee swallowed the tablet and gulped the juice.

  “Thanks, uncle,” she offered, her words tainted by a disheartened tone. Eric went around to the driver’s side and leaned against the hood. Without thinking, he put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. Ascot stared fiercely across the street, desperately holding his tears, as he continued to puff on that occasional cigarette. The smoke did nothing to hide the pain he felt.

  Deedee saw his six-foot frame slouched against the Range. She watched as her uncle crushed the cigarette against the side of the vehicle. He has to be really mad; she thought as he wrenched the door open and slammed it shut. He never treats his car, or any property, for that matter, this roughly. A quick reverse and they were moving forward to rejoin the flow of traffic.

  Deedee turned to watch as the hospital disappeared in the background. Eric thought he should take Deedee to the home in the Hamptons. They made a left onto the Expressway and then were on the familiar path. The silence emphasized Ascot’s heavy breathing. Deedee saw his nostrils flare in
the corner of her eyes. She wouldn’t mind staying in the Hamptons for a couple days, she thought.

  We could talk about it, Uncle E, she wanted to say. But the words never came, they remained in her thoughts.

  Ascot adjusted the volume of the radio, and Deedee closed her eyes. She awoke to find her uncle slowing down and making a right, easing the car into the driveway. Uncle must have figured I didn’t want to be in the city, she thought as he parked the Range and assisted Deedee from the vehicle. Deedee was tired and clung to her uncle’s arm. Then she shook free and walked quickly toward the house.

  “Uncle E., whenever you’re ready, we can talk about it,” she said. She didn’t fully understand why she had said it.

  “Well, maybe you should clean up. Uh, I mean, do you want to take a bath, get refreshed?” He asked in a disjointed manner. Eric Ascot was not sure of exactly what to say. Deedee stared up at him, confusion pasted on her youthful face.

  “Yeah, I think I will...” Her voice trailed off. “My mouth is getting sore from all this jawing.” She was exhausted, and on entering the house, Deedee headed immediately to her room, slamming the door behind her.

  “I’ll come and see you soon,” Ascot yelled and headed for the rear of the house to the kitchen. He checked his telephone messages. “Damn! Where the hell is Sophia?” He asked aloud over the machine. There was no message from Sophia. He decided to call her cell. The phone rang twice.

  “Sophia!” He yelled with urgency. “They found Deedee. Yeah, yeah, she’s alive, but listen. You’ve got to get here right away, honey. She was raped. I don’t know what the hell to do. I’m not equipped for this situation. This is my niece.”

  “Are you—?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” he cut her off. “We’re in the Hamptons. Get out here immediately.”

  Deedee stood in front of the oval mirror on the back of the door. She stared at her reflection. This is what happens when you take something without permission. You have to pay. But why is there such a heavy price? Tears welled in her eyes. Deedee’s chest heaved uncontrollably; then she cried hard and loud. Her uncle heard, and froze to the spot where he stood in the kitchen.