by Cairo
“Okey-dokey,” she says, watering the tropical plants situated around the shop.
I leave her to her task, going into my office. My cell rings. I pull it out of my bag, then glance at the screen, smiling. It’s my seventy-year-old grandmother who we lovingly call Nana. But for me, she’s more than Nana. She’s the woman who loved and nurtured me when my own mother couldn’t. Then she became the woman who would raise me after my father was murdered.
Quiet as it’s kept, because Nana refuses to admit it despite what everyone else in the family, and in the streets, has said about my father—he was a menace. Ralphie Allen, aka The Boogey Man—was a ruthless drug dealer and street bully who muscled up lower-level drug dealers, shaking them for their paper and product. And for the most part, he had niggas shook at some of his crazy antics, like tossing gasoline on someone for not coming up off their money and drugs, then setting them on fire, or biting off someone’s ear for ear-hustling in on a conversation he was having. He had gotten his street name because he was as black as night with dark piercing eyes and a menacing presence. He’d always do his dirt late at night, swooping down on his unsuspecting targets, beating, maiming and robbing them—in no particular order, instilling fear in them. Whomever he thought was caking up that week, could and would get it. So, niggas in the streets stayed strapped and ready; most of the time looking over their shoulders, knowing that The Boogey Man was somewhere lurking in the shadows. Unfortunately for him, he strong-armed the wrong niggas and ended up getting gunned down. My father died of multiple gunshot wounds to the head and chest. I was eleven.
Then, in 1999, my mother was murdered in a car-jacking incident where three men approached her at gunpoint for her ’98 Porsche 911 GT1. When the police finally recovered the car—four days later, her body was found tied up in the trunk. The autopsy showed she had been killed by two bullets to the head. I was twenty.
With no questions asked, Nana opened her heart and doors to both me and Felecia, losing both of her own children—my father, and Felecia’s mother—to drugs in one way or another. In many ways, Nana tried to shelter us and kept us in church, hoping to keep Felecia and me from becoming wayward, like our parents. Though she was strict, she was extremely fair. And, for the most part, she did a damn good job raising us.
“Hi, Nana,” I say. “How are you? Is everything okay?”
“Hey, baby,” she says in her soothing voice. “I’m fine. My knees hurt and I can’t get around like I want some days, but I’m favored and blessed. You know God is good.”
“Yes, Nana, I know,” I respond, hoping she doesn’t get into one of her mini-sermons about sinning and thieving hearts and us living on earth in our last days and needing to get closer to God. I love my grandmother dearly. But sometimes…never mind. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”
“Yes, baby. God has kept me wrapped in His grace and mercy. And He’s been good to you, too.”
“Yes, He has, Nana,” I say, bracing myself for what’s coming next.
“And you need to give Him some praise.”
“I know, Nana. I do.”
“I raised you and Felecia to be good servants of the Lord, but neither one of you have taken heed to His call. I haven’t seen either of you at service in months.”
“Nana, things have been busy at the shop and then I’m back and forth to see Jas—”
“Mmm-hmm. And the devil’s a liar. So you can keep dancing with him if you want, but he brings you nothing good. I’m gonna keep praying for you and Felecia. That’s all I can do. I’ma leave it in God’s hands. The two of you seem to have gotten so high and mighty these days.”
“Nana,” I say, offended, “why would you say something like that? That’s not true.”
She smacks her lips. “Hmmph. When’s the last time you came to fellowship in the house of the Lord?”
I roll my eyes up in my head. Felecia sticks her head in the door. I mouth to her that it’s Nana and she snickers. I shoot her an evil eye, giving her the finger. She decides to come in, plopping her ass down on the orange leather sofa. “Nana, Felecia is sitting right here. Would you like to speak to her?”
“Now don’t go trying to brush me off; I already spoke to her. And don’t try and change the subject, either. Felecia did the same thing this morning when I called her and asked her about coming out for Women’s Day. It’s the least you can do. I don’t ask much from you girls.”
I sigh. “You’re right, Nana.”
“I expect to see both of you there, for both services. It’s the second Sunday of the month. You hear? No excuses.”
“Yes, Nana.”
“Good. And you and Felecia can ride together and pick me up.”
OhmyGod, Nana is gonna drag the shit out of us, I think, shaking my head. The thought of sitting up in church—no disrespect—all morning and afternoon makes me nauseous. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” I tell her, then add, “I’m supposed to be going out of town that weekend so I’ll have to let you know. But Felecia will be around.”
“Bitch,” Felecia hisses. I smile.
“Pasha, I raised you better. After all I’ve done—putting you through school and paying for braces and dermatologists so you can walk around with that gorgeous smile and beautiful skin—the least you can do is make time for your aging grandmother. Nothing on earth lasts forever. You never know when my time is going to come and I’ll be called home to glory by my Lord and Savior to step foot through the pearly gates of Heaven.”
I hate when she starts talking like this. Her way of guilting me. I glare at Felecia as she chuckles, already knowing Nana’s work. “Nana, I have to go. My first appointment is here.”
“Uh-huh. Go on. Rush me off the phone, like I don’t know any better.”
“I’m not rushing you, Nana. I love talking to you. It’s just that I’m at the shop right now and it gets busy here.”
“Hmmph. Well, go on then. Oh, before I forget.”
“What’s that?”
“The Missionaries would love for you to be a part of next year’s Community Day. Since this year’s was such a huge turnout. You and the other girls over at the salon really made a difference giving back to the needy. You know doing the Lord’s work and giving back to the community is what keeps joy in my heart, and should keep joy in yours.”
Yeah, and giving back helped a motherfucking nut track me down, too. Donating time and staff to do hair and nails to the homeless and needy at Nana’s church’s annual Community Day is how I ended up having my face plastered all in the newspaper. At the time when I agreed, I thought it would be great publicity for the salon; not knowing it would have major consequences for me.
“Glad I could help out, Nana,” I say, half-heartedly. We say our goodbyes, then hang up. Felecia stares at me, grinning. I suck my teeth. “Bitch, what the hell you grinning for?”
“Temper, temper,” she teases. Her cell rings. She pulls it from her waist, glances at the screen, then shakes her head. “It’s Nana calling back.”
I snicker. No matter how many times Nana calls one of us, or no matter how annoying she can be at times, neither of us would ever ignore her calls. She answers, glaring at me. “Hey, Nana.…Yes, I know…Pasha reminded me…I’ll have to check my schedule…No, Nana…that’s not true…Okay, Nana…I know. I will…I promise…Nana, can I call you back? It’s getting busy here…Okay, Nana…I’ll stop by tomorrow to see you…I love you…okay, bye…”
As soon as she disconnects the call, I tease her. “What a punk. What happened to ’I’m not going to that shit’ spiel? You are so full of shit.”
“Whaaat ever,” she snaps, laughing. “You know damn well I have a hard time saying no to Nana. So kiss my natural fat ass.”
I laugh with her. “No thank you, boo. I’ll save the ass kissing for you.” I mock her. ’Okaaay, Nana. Yes, Naaaaana’. Girl, you crack me the hell up.”
She sucks her teeth. “Unlike you, Nana always makes me feel guilty.”
I roll my eyes, gettin
g up from my desk. “Whatever. You need to get over it.”
“Mmm-hmm, I’ll be sure to let her know that the next time I speak to her.”
I laugh. “Well, whatever you do. You make sure you don’t tell her it came from me.”
“Unh-huh, punk…just what I thought.”
SEVENTEEN
The following morning, I am literally surprised to see Alicia sitting in a chair in front of my desk, scowling when I come out of my private bathroom.
“Oh, hey girl,” I say, walking back over to my desk. I glance up at the wall clock. It’s ten A.M. “I see you made it in today.”
“Girl, I’m going through it right now. Sorry ’bout yesterday. I had to take a day off to get my mind right.”
“No worries,” I say, taking a seat behind my desk. “Is everything okay?”
She sighs. “It will be. You need to have a chat with Shuwanda, though, before I do. Because trust me. This time it ain’t gonna be cute.”
I feign ignorance. “What are you talking about? What happened now?”
“That ghetto bitch doesn’t know when to keep her fucking trap shut. I thought she and I were cool. But obviously we’re not. This is the second time she went back and told one of her clients some shit about me. She’s always running her damn mouth, but the bitch forgets to tell what she does.”
I will myself from rolling my eyes. If you know you hang with a bitch who can’t keep shit on the low, then stop hanging with her. If you choose to keep doing shit with her or around her, then your dumb ass deserves to get what you get. These two tricks go out drinking, then end up in some kind of situation that generally involves some stray nigga they done picked up from the bar and freaked together. And the fucked-up thing, both of these hoes have men. Not that I’m in a position to judge. But damn…at least be discreet about it.
She tells me practically the same thing Felecia did. The only thing that’s off is the fact that it wasn’t a bachelorette party after all, it was some erotic book release party a friend of Shuwanda’s was having at the Diva Lounge in Montclair. Afterwards, they went to a private after-party that consisted of strippers—four males, and two females—where Alicia got real freaky with hers and dropped down, dug her hand down into one of the stripper’s jockstraps, and started sucking him off in front of everyone. Somehow the shit ended up posted on Facebook. And are you ready for the kicker? Drum roll, please…her man done found out! And he doesn’t even have a Facebook page, but the niggas in his clique do. So of course they put him on. And this is what the world has come to: Evil social networking tactics!
I’m not sure what to think, or feel, or even say to her for that matter. The only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Damn girl. That’s fucked up.”
“Shit. Tell me about it,” she says, holding her head in her hands. “Chauncey been blowing my cell up for the last two days snapping on me, talking all crazy. I’m glad he’s out of town, though. At least that’ll give him some time to cool down.”
“Well, that’s good. How long is he gonna be gone?”
“Until Thursday night, I think.” She pauses, picking at her cuticles. “I swear, if I see that bitch today, I’m gonna light into her ass.”
I frown, trying to understand why she’s blaming Shuwanda for something she did to herself. “Umm, Sweetie,” I say, raising my eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You’re going through it, but when you piped that nigga off in front of everyone you brought that shit on yourself, boo. However, lucky for you, she’s off today.”
“Hmmph. Good for her.”
“Listen, Alicia,” I warn. “Any beef you have with Shuwanda you need to handle outside of here. Do not bring that ghetto shit up in this shop. How I see it, if you can’t handle your liquor, then you shouldn’t be tossing them—”
Felecia walks in, interrupting us. “Umm, Alicia, there’s a situation out front brewing and you need to come handle it, now. Ya man is here, and he is snapping the fuck out.”
Alicia looks at me, shocked and scared shitless, knowing it’s about to be problems. I stare back at her, giving her one of those bitch-don’t-look-at-me looks. Soon as she’s about to open her mouth to say something to Felecia, a deep male voice booms in back of her, startling all three of us. It’s Chauncey. This is my fourth time seeing him since she’s been with him. He’s a tall, strapping Mandingo-type nigga: six-feet-six inches of dark, chiseled man meat; with deep waves and a mustache and goatee. Why the hell Alicia would do anything to get on this nigga’s bad side is way beyond me. Then again, who am I to talk?
“Yo,” he says, brushing past Felecia to step up in the room, “we need to talk, now. So get ya fuckin’ ass up and let’s go.”
Alicia’s eyes pop open, clearly embarrassed by what’s about to go down. “Baby, can this wait ’til my break?”
“Bitch,” he snaps, walking up on her, “fuck outta here with that! Fuck a break! Ya ass been breakin’ every since I’ve been gone. A muhfucka can’t even roll out wit’out you gettin’ caught up in some dumb shit. I been calling ya skeezin’ ass all muthafuckin’ mornin’. And I came by ya muthafuckin’ crib and ya punk-ass didn’t come to the door, or answer ya phone. What the fuck is you doin’ all up on Facebook ’n shit on ya muthafuckin’ knees in front of some nigga?”
Alicia, poor thing…she looks like a deer caught in headlights. She looks scared as shit right now. “Baby, I…”
“Bitch, don’t fuckin’ baby me. I wanna know what the fuck you was doin’, yo. Was you suckin’ some nigga’s dick the other night?” When she doesn’t respond fast enough, the nigga starts sceaming. “Bitch, did you have a nigga’s muthafuckin’ dick hangin’ out ya mouth? And don’t muthafuckin’ lie to me.”
OhmymotherfuckingGod, this nigga looks one pill from crazy, I think, shifting in my seat. The look in his eyes tells me he’s about to go postal. And depending on how she answers—shiiit, on second thought, there’s really no answer she can give that’s going to make an ounce of sense. He’s going to beat her ass. Images of Jasper choking and beating the shit out of me come into full view. It’d be an ass whipping well-deserved, and I know it. Still, I quickly blink the images away, pulling out my cell. I dial 9-1-1.
Before I can open my mouth to tell the dispatcher what’s the emergency, he yanks Alicia by the back of her weave and in a flash my office becomes this nigga’s personal boxing ring as he starts beating her down right in front of us.
“Bitch, you try ’n play me, yo?” She tries to fight him off of her, but he is punching her all upside her face and head like she’s a nigga on the streets. She’s screaming and fighting him back, begging for him to stop. Felecia’s screaming at him to stop. Customers and other stylists are running back here to see what all the commotion is about. There are even a few bitches with their cell phones open snapping pictures. This nigga is whooping her ass like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I can’t believe this shit!
“Felecia, get them out of here,” I snap. She pushes the spectators back, shutting the door in their faces. I yell into the phone at the dispatcher and give her the details, then—when the dumb bitch starts asking me a bunch of extras—I start screaming at her to get the police here before this loon kills her. The last thing I want is a body in my shop. And the way he is punching her up, it’s bound to happen.
By the time the police arrive, my office is all tossed up. There’s blood everywhere. Alicia gets taken out on a stretcher, and he is escorted out in handcuffs. The way he beat her down, I feel so bad for her. I truly do. What happened to her could ultimately happen to me if I’m not careful. Still in all, empathetic or not, the bitch is fired!
At a quarter-to-three, Mona, Jasper’s cousin, waltzes into the shop—late and wrong for her appointment. And after this morning’s episode with Alicia getting her ass stomped out in here, then having to clean shit up, the last thing I want to do is be on my feet any longer than I have to. The only thing I want to do is take my ass home, run a nice hot bath, and soak. Lucky for her, she’s my last app
ointment for the day. Still, I cut my eye at her as she plops down into my chair, letting her know my dismay.
“Girl, I’m so sorry. I had to go over to the school to pick up Mario’s ass from school. That fool done got suspended for a week.”
I grunt, placing a cape around her neck, then fastening it. Mario is her fourteen-year-old, fine as hell, spoiled ass son who she’s been having some behavioral problems with over the last few months or so. He’s been talking slick to her and not following curfew. What he needs, if you ask me, is a foot in his ass. But she doesn’t believe in hands-on disciplining a.k.a. beating that ass. And neither does his father, so…there you have it. “Mmmph, what did he do this time?”
She shifts in her seat. “Are you ready for this?” She pauses, waiting for a response.
“Girl, will you tell the damn story,” I say, swinging her around in the chair to face the mirror. I’m glad she’s already washed and conditioned her hair. That saves me some time.
She continues as I run a comb through her hair. “This little nigga got caught in the girl’s bathroom with some fast-assed thirteen-year-old with his pants dropped around his ankles.”
“You have got to be kidding me. Were they fucking?”
“No, chile. That little bitch was down on her knees sucking his dick.”
My mouth drops open. When I tell you I’m done, I mean it. I…am…motherfucking through! Do you hear me? First, Alicia; now this. And we won’t even go into the all the dick-sucking I’ve been doing. For some reason, it seems like lately I’m being surrounded by incidences that involve swabbing a nigga’s dick. Anyway, she goes on to say how dick sucking has become the new trend in middle and high schools. How these kids think sucking the skin off of a raw dick is safer than fucking. “OhmyGod,” I gasp, feigning shock. “I don’t believe it.”
“Hmmph, believe it. I heard she was sucking his dick a mile a minute. Had his ass shaking and moaning so damn loud that neither one of them heard the security guard walk in.”
