For Deedee, however, school slowed to a crawl. Classes were made up of students with inquisitive stares. After a few classes and hours of stares, Deedee wanted to do nothing but leave. She sought refuge in the girls’ room with a lit cigarette, but still felt the whispers of classmates through their looks of scrutiny. It was unbearable at times. Deedee overheard bits and pieces of conversations when she removed her headphones from the Sony CD player. What she heard made her body cringe. This shit’s awful, she thought. Her fingers shook so much that her rings rattled. Deedee wanted to cry. Be strong, she told herself. At times, she felt guilty for being the victim.
“Shit stinks,” she repeated as she left a classroom, hearing her name being called.
“Ms. D. Ascot, please report to the guidance counselor’s office immediately.”
A few minutes later, Deedee knocked on Mrs. Martinez’s door.
“Come in, please,” Mrs. Martinez said. Deedee walked in and closed the door. She stood facing the chubby, friendly woman.
“Have a seat please.”
Mrs. Martinez waved her to a row of chairs against a wall. Deedee sat, staring uncomfortably at the guidance counselor. Mrs. Martinez rushed over and sat next to Deedee.
“Our deepest sympathy goes out to you, my dear. We know what happened and we know this is not a fair world. Bad things happen to good people sometimes, but good always triumphs in the end.”
It was a nice gesture, Deedee supposed. She tried to return the woman’s smile.
“Thank you,” said Deedee, not exactly sure why she was saying it. She wanted to get up and escape the interrogation. Deedee felt that there would be more questioning, more probing. Paranoia awakened her body and gnawed at her thoughts.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Martinez asked. Deedee forced something she hoped was pleasantry.
“Ah, I’m okay. I’ll be alright.”
She struggled to find the correct response. Mrs. Martinez saw the struggle. She went to her desk and picked up an envelope with a card inside. She returned and handed Deedee the card. Deedee accepted it, fighting back the tears. She stood up. Mrs. Martinez reached forward and held Deedee by the forearm.
“If you need any kind of assistance, please feel free to call,” she said.
Deedee nodded and turned to leave. Then she looked at Mrs. Martinez’s face; it displayed a smirk, which did not seem reassuring. Mrs. Martinez was also trying to hold back her tears. The expression didn’t completely hide the pity she felt. Deedee smiled at the realization. She waved and slammed the door, heading toward the exit. This day had to end, she thought, reaching for her cigarettes.
The world is such a fucking wicked place, she almost said aloud as the tears sprung, filling her eyes with water and making her vision blurry. As she took out a cigarette, she bumped into Coco. Deedee’s head rose. She wiped her eyes and turned to apologize.
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Need a light, yo?” Coco eyed the cigarette Deedee was trying to hide. “Can’t smoke in da hall, so we gotta take it to da toilet or da streets, yo.”
“Cool. I was heading to the streets,” Deedee said. She was noticeably shaken.
Coco noticed the uneasiness immediately. Maybe this is the way all victims react, Coco thought as they walked to the exit together. As the two girls left the building, they paused. Coco gave Deedee a light. The smoke rushed to her lungs and Deedee immediately started to cough. Her eyes filled with tears.
Coco patted Deedee’s back. “Let’s get something to drink, yo.”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
The girls walked into the corner store. Deedee chose apple juice and Coco brought a soda. They moved to a bench in front of the school. Deedee felt better after a few sips. Coco lit a cigarette.
“So, how ya feeling, yo?”
“Oh, I’m better. All the initial tests were negative. That juice really hit the spot. Thanks Coco,” Deedee said. She inhaled easily now.
Damn, did she forget already? The rape was only last week, she thought, watching Deedee from the corner of her eye. How an incident could be so quickly forgotten. Coco pondered.
“Yeah, true. Da soda is on time. But I’m saying how are you really feeling, you know?” Coco gestured with her cigarette. She knew she was prying, but she felt suddenly that she was also a victim in the car-jack.
Deedee smiled. She had actually misunderstood Coco’s question. It made her cheerful, even if she had to recall a bad ordeal. Coco marveled at Deedee’s smile.
“You’re funny,” Deedee said through a chuckle. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but I’m doing better. It’s the first day back to school after about a week. It’s kinda rough, you know. You know?” Deedee surprised herself with this burst of energy.
Coco nodded. They smoked and sipped and gazed lazily at passing pedestrians. Then they spotted Danielle and Josephine hurrying their way.
“Figured we’d find you here,” Josephine said. Danielle and Deedee exchanged greetings.
“Hi, what’s up? How you feeling?” Danielle asked. She passed Coco to kiss Deedee’s cheek.
Coco stood aside as Josephine did the same. Being with these girls again renewed the feeling of innocent camaraderie for her and brought a flood of emotions. Deedee cried as the girls hugged her. She motioned to Coco, who joined the group hug. Josephine and Danielle sniffled. Coco’s eyes seemed damp. They huddled for a few more minutes, then released one another.
Coco reached for a cigarette. Danielle and Josephine sat on the bench. Coco handed the lit cigarette to Deedee. She puffed smoothly and passed it back to Coco, who took a drag and passed it to Josephine. Josephine inhaled and it was Danielle’s turn, then Deedee’s. The cycle continued until the cigarette was finished. They all stood when the green Range Rover stopped across the street. Eric waved.
“Oh, that’s my uncle,” Deedee said. “Y’all wanna meet him? Maybe get a ride to somewhere?”
“We’re gonna rehearse in da school auditorium,” Coco said.
“But thanks, anyway,” Danielle said waving at Eric Ascot.
“Yeah, thanks. You’re always looking out,” Josephine said. She gave Coco a challenging look. Coco shook her head. Eric Ascot spun the vehicle around in front of the girls.
“Hello, young ladies.” He greeted the girls from the driver’s seat.
“Oh, Uncle. I want you to meet Coco, Danielle and Josephine. They have a group called Coco and Da Crew.”
“No, not anymore. We just Da Crew, yo,” Coco said.
“Yep, Eric,” Danielle stepped forward. “It’s Coco, the crowd motivator, yo, Ms. Flamboyant Jo, and myself.”
“Love-lay Ms. Dani,” Josephine said rhythmically completing the melody. The girls laughed. Deedee opened the door and got in the van.
“Come check us this weekend. We gonna wreck shit at Busta’s Open-Mike contest.” Coco launched her verbal assault at Eric Ascot.
“I will, I will,” he said. The van pulled away and Deedee waved.
The girls raised their hands. “Peace,” they called in unison. “Let’s go rehearse,” they chimed, taking the energy of the battle cry to another level.
They walked determinedly toward the auditorium, ready to engage their talents in their high energy dance steps.
Eric Ascot tapped his thumbs to the beat of the music from the stereo.
“How’d it go?” he asked. He searched Deedee’s face, waiting for an answer.
“Okay, I guess.” She reached for the volume button. “Who are these guys? They sound kinda nice.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re nice. They’re called Chop Shop Crew. They have some good stuff,” Eric said a little excited. Deedee leaned back into the soft leather seat of the van, ready to learn all about this new rap group. She relaxed as her uncle continued. Enthusiasm shone in his voice.
“Yeah, it turns out they’re all barbers. Four of them have been working in the same barber shop all this time.”
Deedee listened to her uncle rattle off the history of the barber sho
p rap quartet. His voice communicated confidence that the group would do well. He talked for the rest of the journey. She had become his connection to her father, his silent partner. Deedee nodded as he unfolded the story. It hadn’t been such a bad day, after all.
TEN
“Ahight, ahight, yo, I think we ready to take this,” Coco said.
She fumbled to find a cigarette and lit it. She luxuriantly inhaled, well pleased with the rehearsal. The girls had bonded closer since the minor squabble between Coco and Danielle. Things had been patched up through some hard hours of rehearsal, made more intense by the scepter of rivalry. Josephine welcomed the energy, which was the by-product of the small feud, but she felt uneasy with the settlement. She was hoping there wouldn’t be any other fallout. Cory was there from the time he started to video record the act, and remained for the entire rehearsal.
“Well how’d you like it?” Danielle asked Cory after a light kiss.
“Oh, don’t even bother showing up. They could watch the videos of y’all’s rehearsals. Y’all gonna scare a lot of the comp away.” He kissed her again. Danielle held him.
He really likes the group, she thought, holding his gaze. His admiration couldn’t be directed to Coco. She’s not the attraction. It’s about me!
“Um, let’s go, lovers. Out, Out, Out.”
Josephine gently shoved the embracing couple. Coco jumped off the stage and walked out. She wiped sweat off her brow as the others approached.
“Got to go, yo,” she said. “See ya.”
“Coco. You wanna ride? We’ll all ride.”
Cory opened the car door and looked expectantly at Coco. She paused for a beat, returning the gaze.
“Ahight, since you insist on being nice, yo.”
“Save me some shorts,” Josephine said. Coco still had her cigarette. She handed it to Josephine. They got in the back seat.
“Let’s get some weed,” Danielle said.
“Yeah. Let’s go by da spot and see Deja. His shit is always on time, yo,” Coco said.
“Last time, da shit had us pumping,” Josephine said. “We had mad fun at da club after smoking that shit.”
“Remember where the spot is, honey?” Danielle asked Cory.
“Yeah,” Cory answered, heading for the Tenth Ave weed spot.
They stopped where Deja had earned his living. They did-n’t have any idea of his ending.
Deja’s decomposing body had been discovered earlier that day, after neighbors had complained about the stench coming from his apartment. When the police entered the apartment, they discovered two bodies. The police first thought what Lil’ Long had intended, that Bebop had killed her boyfriend.
The drugs and cash the police found, together with scales and other drug paraphernalia, was proof enough that the man with his face ripped open was a drug dealer. Kimberly Jones identified his body and verified that Deja was a drug dealer. However, she did not know where or with whom he had plied his trade.
Bebop’s parents went to the city morgue and confirmed her identification. The parents and friends cried immediately on seeing the body. They left completely distraught.
“Bebop is dead,” the family members cried as they went through the building. Their sadness spread through the apartment complex. Their phone rang non-stop as neighbors called to offer condolences.
“Yes, yes. She’s dead,” a family member would say and the weeping for Bebop would begin anew.
The family gave permission for an autopsy. Coroners found that the bullet that killed Bebop was not from the weapon in Deja’s hand. The police now knew that there had been at least one other person, and one other gun, in the apartment at the time of the killing.
Coco and the girls didn’t know any of this as they approached Deja’s spot on Tenth Avenue, where they witnessed Rightchus painting the colorful memorial mural.
“Oh shit,” Danielle said.
“Looks like someone’s been killed,” Josephine said.
“Yeah,” Coco said and strained for a better view. “Deja fucked around and caught a bad one, yo.”
“Oh shit! It’s the weed dealer. That’s fucked up. Where are we gonna get good weed from now?” Cory said.
They sat in the car and watched as the mural took shape on the wall. The large artwork was a testament of Deja’s standing in the hood.
In memory of Déjà vu, now macking on another level...
The graffiti inscription Rightchus had painted read. The art style was concluded with the traditional R.I.P.
Cory and the girls watched the mural as Lil’ Long and Vulcha cruised by. The music from the SUV brought the sad serenade of a drive-by. Lil’ Long rode shotgun again. Head tilted, gun in hand, he chugged from a forty-ounce bottle. The Navigator stopped and he ceremoniously poured half the beer on the asphalt. Then the SUV jerked away. The music blared, surrounding the scene with noise.
“Yo, that nigga had mad props on these streets,” Vulcha observed.
“Yeah, yeah, I saw how big that shit was, kid,” Lil’ Long said. “Vulch, wasn’t that them bitches wid that cock-deez nigga from da club?”
“I ain’t seen them. Know wha’ I’m saying, nig? I had my eyes on his boys, standing around like they had nut’n to lose,” Vulcha said.
“Fuck ‘em. They ain’t trying to do shit, dogs. They muthafucking bitch-ass drug dealers.” Lil’ Long grabbed the black Glock. “They don’t really wanna fuck around or they asses will be laid da fuck down.”
Vulcha laughed and bobbed to the beat. His action caused an erratic shaking of the vehicle.
“Chill, dogs, before you make my ass earl,” Lil’ Long said. Vulcha laughed harder and the Navigator rocked harder.
“Hey, look what da fuck you’re doing,” yelled a passing male driver. His female companion stuck her middle finger up. Lil’ Long pointed the nine-millimeter at them. They screeched away and quickly changed lanes.
“So what about this job, kid? Wanna do that shit tonight? Shoot a fat lady?” Lil’ Long asked.
“Da bitch is blackmailing this rich married muthafucka, huh?” Vulcha asked. “We should be hitting that muthafucking married mutha. He wuz da one cheating on his family. Word up.”
“Son, we getting paid to kill da muthafucking bitch. When we paid, we could discuss who should’ve been hit and all that other shit. Right now, tell me if we gonna hit da bitch tonight or not.”
“Ahight. Let’s check da strip joint. See that bitch do her thing, get a nigga’s dick hard,” Vulcha grinned.
“Ahight, cool. But I ain’t trying to sit up in that piece all night while you stare at bitches’ ass an’ all that bullshit, kid. We got work to do,” Lil’ Long said.
“A hour or so,” Vulcha said.
“Ahight, that sounds cool. One hour, muthafucka. Don’t be trying to slip away wid some bitch, saying shit like, ‘yo, I need another hour, man,’” Lil’ Long laughed. Vulcha parked near the Live Girlz neon-lit billboard and entered the club.
ELEVEN
“Let’s be out, y’all,” Cory said, moving to the car. The girls piled in, seated as before. Their faces were solemn. They had just witnessed the completion of the mural dedicated to Deja.
“Yeah, drop me at my block, yo,” Coco said.
“Take me home. I don’t feel like hanging out, y’all.” Josephine was clearly shaken by her experience at the weed spot.
“Death just seems to be waiting, huh?” Cory said.
“Cory, your father is a cop, right? I know he be seeing a lot of this shit,” Coco said.
“Aw, c’mon. Why do you need to discuss that shit, man?” Danielle asked.
“No, no, it’s cool,” Cory said.
Coco stared off into the distance. Lights flickered like fireflies. She lit another cigarette. She saw the candles at the end of the block. Deja is on this block too, she thought.
“Right here is ahight, yo,” Coco said. The vehicle stopped. She shook hands all around, and with a slam of the door she was off with a bop. Coco stopped at
the corner and looked at the picture behind the candle.
“Bebop.”
The name slipped from her lips. The cigarette fell to the ground. Coco turned and walked away quickly into the building, straight to the stairwell, eyes stinging. Tears flowing, she bounded to the roof, pushed the door open and let out a scream in the evening air.
More tears flowed as Coco released the burden of her latest discovery. She cried for Bebop, who sometimes had been that big sister to her. She became more and more confused as she pondered Bebop’s death. She heard someone approaching as she left. Going down the stairs, she felt something close to fear.
Coco knocked on Miss Katie’s door. She heard movement from within. After a metallic click, Miss Katie opened the door. Coco walked in. She was taken aback by the neatness of the apartment.
“Hi, Coco. I guess you heard, huh?” Miss Katie said in hushed, gentle tone. She motioned Coco toward the kitchen.
“Oh, Miss Katie,” Coco began. “I really don’t know what happened. May I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, go ahead, sweetheart. Then join me in the kitchen. I’m almost through with supper.” Coco hardly heard her in her rush to the toilet. She joined Miss Katie at the kitchen table.
“Here, have some Kool-Aid,” Ms. Katie said.
Coco accepted the glass and sipped. It was too sweet, but she drank it, anyway. It left a cloying sweetness. Coco was sure Miss Katie knew the facts of Bebop’s death.
“What happened? I mean Bebop...”
Miss Katie looked past Coco and glanced up at the ceiling before she spoke. “May the Lord have mercy upon our souls,” she said.
Then, registering Coco’s anxious expression, she said: “There has got to be a better way for us all.” Coco was patient she knew the story would eventually emerge from this piety.
“You know, during the war and all the other times my husband was fighting for this country, even after he met his death, God bless his soul, never ever have I gone looking at another man. I mean, never,” Miss Katie said. There was such finality in her voice that Coco began paying closer attention.
Ghetto Girls Page 14
