Ghetto Girls

by Anthony Whyte

  Coco and Josephine looked at each other.

  “Oh, the contest is still on?” Josephine asked.

  “Who says it’s a contest?” Danielle retorted.

  “Ahight, stop bitching at each other. Let’s do it, yo,” Coco said as she put out her cigarette.

  “Josephine, you go first. Or do you want me to?” Danielle asked. She was eager to show her vocal range. She had taken voice lessons with a trainer and she claimed the trainer had coached a couple of famous singers. She felt that put her in another class.

  The equipment and the cameraman were ready. Danielle took the microphone and belted out “Neither One of Us,” Gladys Knight-style. Even without the Pips, Danielle did an excellent job. She received applause from a new member of the audience.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not the heat. I’m just gonna sit here and check y’all nice, talented people out,” he shouted, still clapping.

  Josephine was next. She chose a difficult number by Whitney Houston. Her enthusiasm kept her going and when she was done, it was Coco’s turn. Sitting at the edge of the auditorium stage, Coco lit another cigarette. My turn came quickly, she thought, inhaling. Well, I could try “Diana the Boss,” but there are no Supremes. She dragged on the cigarette and the microphone amplified its hiss.

  Coco held cigarette and mike in her right hand. With her left hand, she removed her sweat-laden baseball cap and tousled her hair. She was searching her mind for something. Then she found it: her mother’s favorite. Coco raised the microphone and the cigarette, and sang Billie Holiday’s “My Man.”

  The newcomer was clapping from the beginning of the first stanza. He shouted, “Yeah” each time Coco paused. She held the other girls captive with her nonchalance. She was good. They thought of Diana and the Supremes, but when the Supremes sat down, Coco became Ms. Holiday. Then it was over. The newcomer raced down the aisle to the front of the stage. He got down on his knees, begging Coco to continue.

  “Do some more for me. I’m your new Number One fan,” he shouted. Coco beamed and jumped off the stage.

  “Y’all are some talented people,” Rightchus said. “I watched and listened to you, and you—” He pointed to each of the girls in turn. Then, he turned to Cory. “And you look like you have talent too, being the bodyguard and the cameraman.” He was amused by his own joke.

  “Thanks,” the girls said. They walked toward the exit. Cory joined them, as did Rightchus.

  “You did that song, girl,” Josephine said. “I didn’t know you dug Billie Holiday like that.”

  “Well, she’s my mom’s favorite,” Coco said. She was visibly overcome by the admission.

  Danielle locked the door as they left and ran off to return the key to the maintenance staff. She had chosen that role ever since the girls got permission to use the small auditorium when it was idle.

  “So, we’ll be seeing you, yo,” Coco said to the newcomer.

  “Oh, yo. My name is Rightchus. When I do my thing, folks call me da Shorty-Wop-it Man. Hey, y’all can call me Shorty-Wop, cuz I seen y’all’s performance an’ y’all are there. Bad! Nah mean?” He raised his arm. He was only four-feet, ten-inches tall. Coco, five-ten in her boots, towered over him. He was decked out in an inside-out Free Mike Tyson T-shirt, rolled-up blue jeans, and sandals.

  “Yeah, I could sing too. I could do my thing. Can I get a cigarette?” asked Rightchus. They gathered around the car. The girls relaxed as all the pre-rehearsal tension was gone. Coco gave Rightchus a cigarette and a light. Josephine and Danielle shared a joint.

  “Anyone want a Bud”? Rightchus asked. He produced a brown paper sack. “But y’all probably don’t want this light stuff. Y’all probably want da gasoline stuff, da crooked-eye stuff.” He winked. A big smile appeared on his face. Cory moved closer and took two cans from the package. He gave Danielle a can. Rightchus moved over to Coco, offering her a can. She hesitated, and then took one. He looked at Josephine, she looked at Danielle.

  “I’m not sharing. Take a beer,” Coco said as she sipped on the now-open can.

  “Yeah, I can tell you’re good peoples. See, I know. When you’ve spent your whole day talking to people who are constantly trying to beat you outta shit, then you know good peoples,” Rightchus said. The group nodded and guzzled their beers.

  “You from around here?” Josephine asked.

  “What do you care?” Coco asked.

  “Nah, nah,” Rightchus answered. “This guy I met at a job interview told me whenever I was in da hood, jus’ stop by. He’s large in da hood. I stopped by and da muthafucka had nothing.” He grinned. Cory laughed, encouraging Rightchus. “He was begging me. I had to give him a dollar bill,” continued Rightchus. “Is she your girl?” he asked, pointing to Josephine and speaking to Cory.

  “No,” Cory said. “That’s my girl,” he added, pointing to Danielle.

  “No disrespect. I know you love her, but I’m telling you, don’t get married. When you marry, you stop growing. Two people can’t grow together. One has to stop growing and let the other, or they will wind up butting heads. I’m telling you.”

  “People make it,” Josephine said. “I mean there are a lot of successful married people out there.”

  “Yeah,” Rightchus agreed. “But they have the minds of eight-year-olds. They’ll be forty years old, acting like eight-year-olds. They’ve got the minds of children.” The group broke out laughing. Cory clapped his hands.

  “See, I knew y’all were nice people. So far, nobody tried to beat me outta shit. That’s what it’s all about. You have to enjoy life. Like me, I got crazy, Bobby Brown style. Whenever y’all ready. My name’s Rightchus, but you can call me Shorty-Wop. An’ when I do ma thing, I’ll be blowing up da spot. Peace. I’ve got to be out before da police escorts me into da cell. Y’all know how they love to fuck wid da black man cuz he’s da true an’ living god.”

  Rightchus hobbled down the street, tugging at the brim of his cap. He vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving the group with beer on their lips and smiles on their faces.

  “I’m out, yo.” Coco hurtled her empty at the trashcan.

  “We’ll give you a lift. Let’s do something, hang out for a minute,” Danielle said.

  “I’m down,” Josephine said.

  “Ahight, yo. Sounds ahight to me, too,” Coco said. She was feeling the beer. Coco and Josephine got in the backseat, Cory and Danielle sat up front. As Cory started the car, he looked back. Coco gazed out the window, and Josephine smiled at him, approvingly.

  “Where to?” Cory asked.

  “Downtown,” Josephine suggested. Soon they were on the way downtown. They passed Deja on Tenth avenue, doing his hustle; drugs, whatever.

  “Are you down for some smokes?” Danielle asked.

  “Sure, we copping? Here’s two dollars,” Josephine said, “and a dollar from y’all.”

  “Hold this, yo.” Coco gave a dollar to Danielle.

  “Get it from Deja, yo. His shit is always best,” Coco whispered.

  “Wha’ nigga, I’m a take the bank. Yeah, that’s right, muthafucka. Jus’ watch,” a player said and kissed the dice before he threw.

  “Head crack,” a chorus burst as the dice landed, showing a loss. They all laughed, picking up dollar bills.

  “Next game, try again,” the winner of a lot of singles said. It was Deja, wearing a red Pelle Pelle jacket zipped to his neck, and baggy blue Guess jeans. He went bopping over to the car. The dragging of his unlaced Timberlands made the bop seem difficult.

  “Zup?”

  “Nickel,” Cory said offering Deja a handshake with five one-dollar bills folded in his palm. Deja slipped him the small, bag of weed with the handshake. The exchange went smoothly, no fumbles.

  “Yo, Coco. Whazzup?” Deja asked peering into the car.

  “Chilling,” Coco replied with her index and middle fingers extended in the street sign.

  “Peace,” Deja said. He walked away from the car, back to the game.

  “Th
ose da honeys that be dancing and shit. Word, they kinda got it going on,” a dice-player said.

  “Roll da dice, you pimping mo’fucka. Git ready to lose your money,” Deja taunted.

  “Uh,” grunted the roller as he let the dice fly. “Mama need a new HDTV.” The dice landed and the car occupants watched a scuffle over the exchange of dollar bills.

  “Yo, there goes that preaching ass nigga,” Coco said.

  “Yep,” said Danielle as she pulled on the joint. “I heard his raps. We are nice people, an’ all that, but I bet if he were smoking an’ getting’ high, he’d be the first to jump off wid shit about what women shouldn’t be doing,” Danielle said.

  “Uh-huh,” Coco agreed pulling hard on the joint. “He be kicking shit ‘bout da true and living righteous black woman and black man, yo.” Coco knew the origin of Rightchus’ street name. They watched as he approached Deja urgently. He pulled at one arm of the red jacket.

  “Yo, whazzup Rightchus?” Deja asked. “Can’t you see I’m busting these niggas’ asses?” He saw the serious eyes of Rightchus. “You are bugging off sump’n, nigga?”

  “Yo, man, my brother, word from the snake’s mouth is you’ve been fingered to die. Your life has been jeopardized, Black man.” Rightchus was emphatic.

  “What da fuck?” Deja asked. “Fucking talk straight to me before I have my niggas do you. What’s this word-from-the-snake shit?”

  “Deja, you’re my brother. There are snakes, devils, plotting to kill you.”

  Deja was doubtful. He knew Rightchus had a history at Bellevue, smoked a lot of weed and crack.

  “Yo, everyone strapped?” Deja spoke to the three lanky teens he had been shooting dice with.

  “What you think nigga? We turned our toasts in for food and toys?” a dice player asked and laughed as he clutched his waist. “Muthafucka, hell, yeah, we strapped.”

  The laughter ceased, stalling the game.

  “Whazzup?” they demanded.

  “Chill, niggas. I’m just checking y’all muthafuckas, making sure shit is tight,” Deja said. He smirked, and gave Rightchus a small plastic vial with an orange top. Rightchus walked away at a furious pace.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout who is strapped, nigga. Just watch this strapping your ass will receive, right here. Ugh,” he grunted as the dice bounced off the wall.

  “Crack head,” shouted the girls in the car.

  “Whose dice is it?” Deja shouted.

  “Put your money down an’ find out about this C-low, nigga,” a player said.

  “Let’s go check Open-Mike. See how our competition is doing,” Danielle suggested.

  “Yeah, cool,” Josephine said.

  “I’m with it, yo,” Coco said.

  The beer and weed had relaxed her. She gave Danielle a high-five. Josephine welcomed the return of camaraderie.

  “Let’s do this, Cory,” she slapped his outstretched palm. Cory drove off, a smile on his face.

  When they arrived at the club, the girls and Cory were escorted to the head of club hoppers queue. They were announced over the club speakers, and the crowd cheered. This is annoying, thought Coco, before she entered the trance of the groove.

  All thoughts aside, the music insisted. She gave in and glided in step to the beat. The rhythm took their souls and they came alive dancing around and laughing, just having fun. All the air had been let out, and now the girls were running on beer and weed. There was an explosion when they pretended to be one another, mimicking each other’s favorite moves.

  They applauded each act that took the stage, and jeered or encouraged their attempts to sink or swim. Josephine kept a tally on the good acts, the ones the crowd liked. At their table, it was non-stop chatter.

  “They nice,” Josephine said.

  “Nah, nah. I like da other ones who wore those funky outfits. That shit was dope,” Danielle yelled.

  “I like them and the other ones, too. That lead kid was wicked, yo. He caught a body on that joint.” Coco said.

  Cory brought sodas to the table. The evening advanced and jokes spilled from the girls’ lips. Anxious frowns were replaced by smiling faces. They were in a groove and were happy.

  “Of course, the people who are favorites so far are here tonight. They are Coco and Da Crew. Let’s hear from them,” said the master of ceremonies. A beam of bright light struck the table. The girls stood, acknowledging the applause.

  “Would you like to give us a taste of y’all good stuff?”

  The emcee could not be denied. The girls walked down a short corridor and onto the stage. Coco, last to get there, hugged the other girls.

  “Yo, before we do this,” she said to the audience, “I just want y’all to know that we’re sistas. It’s me, Coco, Josephine to my right, Danielle to my left, and we started this and we’re gonna finish it. It’s no more Coco and Da Crew. We’re just Da Crew, yo.”

  “All three of us are Crew,” Danielle yelled.

  “That’s right. C-R-E-W. Crew,” Josephine yelled.

  “C-R-E-W... Crew...” Coco sang, clapping her hands.

  The girls picked up the rhythm and the club hoppers clapped, stomped and chanted. They needed something to lift them and they were caught in Da Crew’s hysteria.

  “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Deejay. Drop the beat, yo,” Coco yelled. The stage exploded with the fire of Da Crew. They began setting lightening-quick moves to the hard beat. Their first love, dancing, came as natural as the electricity in the wave of moves crashing against the audience. The ones who continued to chant “C-R-E-W... Crew...”

  The chanting continued long after the girls shared high-fives, bowed, and walked off the stage.

  “What can I say?” the emcee asked when the appluse subsided. “We asked for it, right? Another round of applause.” It came with ease. The girls were ushered back to their table. They raised their glasses of soda to acknowledge the audience’s generosity.

  “Wow! What a night. I’m worn out. Let me sit,” Danielle said.

  “It felt great up there tonight,” Josephine said.

  “Now nobody else wants to follow y’all,” Cory said. “Here comes the emcee.”

  “Yeah, he’s coming over here,” Danielle said.

  “Y’all were so bad. The people in the open-mike section don’t even want to perform behind y’all,” the emcee said. He motioned to a waiter.

  “What’s good, Busta?” Coco asked the portly, neatly denim Nehru-clad man.

  “You is up. Y’all are what’s up. Keep it up.” The waiter came. “Give them as many rounds of sodas as they can handle. Don’t give their bodyguard too much though; we don’t want him to OD.” He slapped the waiter’s back too hard and walked away. The waiter stared at Busta as if he wanted to return the favor.

  “Okay,” the waiter said.

  “That Busta is tough on you, yo?” Coco blurted.

  “Nah, it’s his jokes. He has to slap you with the punch lines. Anyway, what kind of sodas y’all having?” He had fully recovered from the joke now.

  The group partied and the feeling of camaraderie intensified a while longer. They lent their celebration to a couple more acts. Then with more hugs and kisses, the girls got up and followed Cory Williams.

  “Yo, Coco. That shit was real cool, with the intro and all,” Cory said. Danielle beamed. “What you said on stage, about the name change and all, that held the crowd. They were behind y’all. Y’all almost wrecked that whole set.”

  “Word, they were open from that point on, yo,” Coco said. She stepped into the car and took her place in the backseat, next to Josephine who gave her a smile. “What are you smiling bout, yo?” Coco asked smiling herself.

  “That was really cool, yo,” Josephine answered. After a second she assumed a smirk.

  “That’s Coco, I swear, yo,” Danielle said.

  “Well, that shit’s better than y’all wid da; ‘oh, hi, I’m cool, you know’. Because that shit be making y’all look soo foul. Little Ms. fucking Muffet,” Coco laughed loud.r />
  “Oh no, you not calling niggas Miss fucking Muffet. That’s what your whole shit is about,” Danielle said. She and Josephine clapped a high five and they stared at Coco.

  “Well, being a little fucking Muffet is all good. At least I ain’t out there chasing after niggas like chicken heads. And y’all know who I’m talking bout.” Coco eyed Josephine.

  “Huh uh, you ain’t gotta go there. You know that’s right,” Josephine said play-punching Coco’s left arm.

  “See, now you’re gonna make me dust your shit off,” Coco cautioned Josephine.

  “I got your back. Go ahead,” Danielle taunted Josephine. The girls laughed. Danielle sipped the soda she had sneaked out of the club.

  “Alright, everyone out,” Cory yelled. All three girls looked at him in serious surprise.

  “Just kidding,” Cory said. He sounded like a wimp. The girls burst into laughter. Cory headed the car uptown.

  The girls continued laughing and high-fiving one another. No team could come back to defeat them after the tremendous step they had taken tonight. They enjoyed the small victory, hugging and touching cheeks at each stop and departure. Cory dropped off Josephine first, then Coco. Cory and Danielle were now alone, riding further uptown.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Mister?” Danielle asked slyly now.

  “I’m…Baby, you wanna go home?”

  “That’s not what I asked. I want to know where you’re headed.”

  “Well, it’s still early. It’s only eleven fifteen.”

  “Damn! I was having so much fun and all; I forgot to tell them I saw that bitch Deedee.”

  “Oh don’t even think about all that.” Cory said as he pulled Danielle closer.

  “Oh, what should I do then?”

  “Let’s go chill for awhile, close to da park,” Cory said.

  “Huh, excuse me,” Danielle said with mock scorn.

  “I’m saying, do you want to go to my place or over to the park?”

  “It’s a cool night. Let’s chill by the park. Your dad is way too fucking nosey for my use.” Danielle purred. Cory leaned over and hugged her close as he drove to the park.