So, So Hood

by L. Divine

  “No, Nigel. Your mother’s right,” I say. “I couldn’t agree more that the time spent preparing for the superficial initiation into a society I never desired to be a part of in the first place was a complete waste of time and energy. Not to mention all the money I lost attending teas and rehearsals when I should have literally been minding my own business.”

  Mrs. Esop glares at me like she wants to slap the shit out of me and I wish she would. Mama would fly over in one quick swoop and kick her ass all up and down Slauson Avenue.

  “I knew you had it in you to be an ungrateful, little hoodrat like your friends, Jayd, but I had no idea you would so quickly turn on the hand that feeds you.” What am I, a puppy? She’s really got it twisted if she thinks I give a damn about her fake-ass world.

  “You don’t feed me, Mrs. Esop. What my mother and grandmother don’t provide I give myself or haven’t you noticed I’m well fed?”

  Mickey and Nellie snicker at my sass, angering Mrs. Esop even more.

  “Yes, I can see that your little business—if you can call it that—seems to be doing well and I’m glad to hear that,” she says, pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. “In that case, you should have no problem paying me back for the dress that’s mysteriously missing.”

  I pull out the receipt and itemized expense report she’s so eloquently prepared and read the list.

  “Eleven hundred dollars!” I scream. This bitch is crazy if she thinks I’m paying her back all of this money.

  “Yes, and that of course doesn’t include my expertise, which I’m going to write off as the charity you’re obviously still in need of. Good day,” Mrs. Esop says, leaving me in complete shock. What the hell?

  “Mom, you’re being ridiculous, you know that, right?” Nigel says after his mother. “You going after my friend isn’t going to bring me back home.”

  Mickey looks over my shoulder at the paper and shakes her head. This is some cold shit, for real. I knew Mrs. Esop was pissed, but I had no idea she’d come at me like this. And it wasn’t my fault Maman decided to ride me that night. How am I going to get out of this mess?

  “We’ll see about that, Nigel. You know I never lose,” Mrs. Esop says, approaching her immaculate Jaguar in front of the house. Even if she lives in a million-dollar home, she still takes her ride to Crenshaw Carwash like all the other ballers in the hood. A rich ghetto bitch is the worst kind there is, I swear.

  “Mrs. Esop, you know I don’t have this kind of money,” I say, moving from the porch toward the curb.

  “You should’ve thought about that before you decided to embarrass me and ruin my reputation,” she says, rolling her neck and waving her hood flag high. There’s the Compton girl we all knew was hiding behind her large Gucci bag Nellie’s quietly envying. We know that purse didn’t come from the swap meet.

  “It was never my intention to embarrass you, Mrs. Esop,” I say, trying to turn this situation around. Mama says you can catch more bees with honey than vinegar and I’m going to lay the sweetness on extra thick. “I’m very grateful for the opportunity you gave me and wish I could go back and do it all over again.”

  “Intentions paved the road to hell, Jayd. Maybe if you went to church you’d understand that instead of running around with that crazy grandmother of yours, doing God-knows-what with my couture gown. How dare you take my kindness for weakness? But I’ll bet you’ll never make that mistake again.”

  I knew the heffa could be mean, but I had no idea how vindictive she could be.

  “Did you just call my grandmother crazy?” I ask, now on the passenger side of her vehicle. She takes her hand off the driver’s side door handle and crosses her arms across her chest. I know she didn’t just go there. “You crossed the line calling Mama out of her name.”

  “Lynn Mae doesn’t have a name, but I do. And you abused it when you decided to go AWOL at the ball. But you will rectify the situation by paying me back every dime I wasted on you. End of discussion.”

  Mrs. Esop opens the door in an attempt to escape, but I’ll be damned if she has the last word. Defiling my family name is not how it’s going down today or ever, I don’t care what she thinks I did to her or how much money she says I owe.

  “You and I both know the power of words, and you just cursed yourself by slandering my grandmother’s name. Remember that,” I say, backing up from her ride.

  From the look in Mrs. Esop’s eyes I can tell I’ve put the fear of God in her and rightfully so. She went too far in more ways than one this afternoon, but bringing Mama into the mix was completely uncalled for. I may have ruined her dress and I’ll own that, but talking about the Williams women is her bad and she’ll regret her words—I’ll see to that.

  “Jayd, I’m sorry for all of this,” Nigel says. Mickey’s the one who should be sorry. Had she not given me the task of making sure Nigel’s mother was present at her ghetto-ass baby shower, I wouldn’t be in this mess. It was bribery, plain and simple. I never wanted to be a debutante in the first place, but for Nickey and her mama, I agreed. I was Mrs. Esop’s little ghetto pet project and she relished in turning me from what she considered a hoodrat to a lady. What about my name? How dare she use me for her own reasons and then get pissed because it didn’t work out according to her plan. What about my burden, my expenses, my time?

  Maybe I’ll compile an expense list of my own and then we’ll see who owes who at the end of the day. I’ll be damned if I’m going out without a fight, and I’m surely not giving her a dime of my hard-earned money. I worked too hard at her stupid functions to end up broke after it’s all said and done. As usual, Mama was right when she warned me about dealing with Mrs. Esop. At the end of the day, all she cares about is herself. At least that’s one lesson I can take away from this experience, that and never piss off a woman who has more designer bags than Mariah Carey. Mrs. Esop takes her time and money very seriously and in her mind I’ve wasted them both. Lucky me.

  7

  Bag Lady

  I guess nobody ever told you all you must hold on to/

  Is you, is you, is you.

  —ERYKAH BADU

  After the weekend I’ve had, I’m actually glad to get back to school even if Mrs. Bennett’s riding me harder than a cowboy rides a bull at a rodeo. Lucky me, I get to start my day with the heffa of all heffas. Maybe if I bring her uptight ass an apple every day she would get the fiber she needs to get rid of some of the shit she’s holding in. I wish I knew what I did to her so I can say sorry and get on with my life, but not a chance. She’d probably take my apology as insult to injury and throw it back in my face like Mrs. Esop did yesterday evening. Women like them don’t want apologies; they want revenge by any means necessary.

  All of this newfound tension in my life is taking its toll on my peace of mind preventing me from dreaming—good or bad. I didn’t sleep well last night and getting up this morning was even more difficult. And with Ellen and the rest of the cheer squad at the forefront of my mind this afternoon, I don’t foresee relaxing anytime soon.

  “Jayd, fancy meeting you here,” Ellen, the head cheerleader says as I enter the girls’ locker room. I haven’t been to cheer practice since my initiation and I know Mama took care of that for me no matter what that stupid letter said.

  “What’s so fancy about it?” I ask, placing my backpack and purse in the unassigned locker and removing my new Nikes. I brought some clean clothes to dress out in and don’t need an audience watching to change into them.

  “Well, you missed the last month of camp,” Ellen says, leaning her short frame up against the lockers across the bench. “We just assumed you weren’t interested in being a Lady Hawk anymore.”

  “Well, as usual you know nothing about me or my interests.” I finish dressing out and slam the locker door shut before removing the key with attached safety pin and attach it to my dance shorts. I have nothing left to say to this heffa.

  “Today’s the first day of practice before the pep rally Friday. Do you really thin
k you’re ready to perform in front of the entire school?” Ellen has a good point but she’ll never hear me say that. She could offer to help me catch up, but she’d rather try and break me down. Too bad for her I’m not weak.

  “I’ll be ready by Friday, Ellen. Don’t you worry your little blond head about it.”

  Ellen slits her gray eyes at me. “You’re the only one who thinks you belong here, Jayd. This isn’t hip-hop dance at the gym. It’s competitive cheerleading and you’re not a winner.”

  How dare this peppy pipsqueak tell me where and what I am. And I can’t even deal with the hip-hop comment without seeing red. Now it’s really on.

  “Jayd, I didn’t think you’d be here,” Ms. Carter says, stepping into the locker room from the gymnasium door promptly saving Ellen from an overdue ass whipping. “Didn’t you get my letter?”

  Ellen smiles at the confrontation she’s been waiting to see since she transferred from her high school in Dallas. From the first day Ellen and I didn’t get along because she pranced in here like the goddess of cheer and was instantly handed all the power over the squad.

  “Yes, I did, but I don’t understand it.” I open my locker and take the paper out of my backpack. “It says here the leave was unapproved, but my grandmother went through all of the right steps to validate my absence. Besides, Ellen was gone for weeks for her family reunion and she’s still on the squad.”

  “Ellen’s absence was pre-approved and she can miss days at a time. The rest of the squad needs practice.” Ms. Carter can’t seriously think favoritism is going to fly when we’re talking about school absences. I will take this up with the administration if I have to, even if I’m already hanging on by a thread with them, too.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, stopping them both on their way to practice. “So, let me get this straight. It’s okay if Ellen goes home to her family farm in Texas for the last few weeks of summer, but I don’t get the same privilege, even when mine was an emergency not a luxury?”

  “Jayd, the rules specifically state that the time off has to be pre-approved,” Ms. Carter repeats. “And personally, I think your blatantly disrespectful attitude toward our rules in the past are indicative of your future behavior. We don’t need you on the team any longer.”

  “Screw the rules,” I say, unable to control my anger any longer. “I worked my ass off on this squad and everything was fine until Little Miss Lonestar came and screwed everything up.”

  “Jayd, language, please.” Ms. Carter and Ellen look shocked by my outburst, but they shouldn’t. This is crap and we all know it. That’s why they sent me a letter over the weekend instead of telling me in person during the school week. They’d hoped I would let it go, but letting me sit on it all weekend was the worst decision they could’ve made.

  “Whatever,” I say, dismissing her request. “Ellen can cuss all day long and you barely blink at her, but when I speak the truth all of a sudden rules come up. You may think you’ve got a good case, but I’m not done—not by a long shot.”

  “You are for today. You can spend the rest of P.E. in the workout room. You’re no longer on the squad, Jayd. Accept it and move on.” Ms. Carter and her sidekick leave the locker room and join the rest of the girls on the gym floor.

  Wait until Ms. Toni gets wind of this. I haven’t made a big deal about the unfair treatment I’ve received since Ellen arrived, but I’m going to put my debate skills to use and win this battle. It’s not even that I want to remain on the squad because in all honesty I don’t care anymore. But right is right and they are definitely in the wrong for this one. I didn’t even want to try out in the first place, but now that I’m here no one’s pushing me out on a technicality. Hell no, not me. I’m going to take care of this myself and by the time I’m done, they’ll know not to mess with Jayd Jackson again.

  This afternoon’s my first official day back at Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Salon. I’ve missed working with Mama and Netta. I’ve even missed the customers and the accompanying tips. But with Netta’s sisters, Celia and Rita, still visiting from New Orleans, there isn’t as much work for me to do as usual. Their presence has even forced Netta to spend more time making hair products and doing administrative duties with Mama. I think we’re all ready for their visit to end. We don’t get to share our days like we used to. And I need their wisdom more than ever this week. It’s only Monday and I’m already in over my head.

  “Mama, what’s with all the paperwork?” I ask, eyeing the four bags full of receipts and bank statements she and Netta are carrying to Netta’s truck parked in the back of the lot. I’m sweeping the back porch since all of my other tasks have already been done.

  “It’s time to do our taxes, little Jayd,” Netta says, smiling as she pecks me on the cheek. I return the affection and walk around to the front of the shop to continue my sweeping where I see more bags.

  “Taxes?” I ask. I thought they just worked on the sly like everyone else in our hood. The IRS may only have three letters, but it’s a bad word around here.

  “Yes, child. Taxes,” Mama says, taking the last two bags and passing me by. “This is a real business, Jayd, and we’ve always run it as such. Speaking of which, how’s your bank account looking these days?” Mama asks, forever in my business. To tell the truth, I haven’t balanced my checkbook in months. As long as money comes out of the ATM when I need it, I’m cool.

  “It’s good,” I say, wishing I could leave it at that but there’s no chance Mama’s letting my nonchalant answer slide.

  “Have you thought about filing your own taxes next year?” Netta asks, coming around to the front and entering the conversation.

  “I didn’t know I could,” I say.

  Mama and Netta roll their eyes at me before claiming the last two bags and heading toward the front door. With two successful women as my mentors you’d think I’d have better financial planning, but I’m my mom’s girl when it comes to money. She spends until she can’t spend anymore. Then she checks her account balances, using whichever card she can to pay off another. And bills are on a need-to-pay basis.

  “Rita, Celia,” Mama says, entering the buzzing shop ahead of Netta and me.

  “Lynn Mae,” the two women say in unison without looking directly at Mama, who sucks her teeth as she heads to the shrine room/office housed in the back of the quaint shop.

  I know Mama will be glad when Netta’s sisters leave. They were supposed to head back to New Orleans a couple of weeks ago, but in light of my recent episode, they decided to stay and help Netta out at the shop a little while longer. Netta has been enjoying having her sisters around, but the longer they’re here the further apart Netta and Mama grow. I guess drama between women happens at any age and even to the best of friends.

  “Did we finish with the clients’ orders?” Mama asks Netta who’s now in the office filing the paperwork. There’s so much that goes into running a business when it’s done properly.

  “Yes, Lynn Mae. Rita and Celia even stayed late to help,” Netta says, ignoring Mama’s disapproving glare.

  “Good. There’s always plenty of work to go around,” Mama says, sourly. That may be true, but the last people Mama wants helping are Netta’s sisters. Mama places her bags down near the shrine and heads to the bathroom to wash up before beginning her chores. I hug Netta and follow suit after Mama.

  “Nettie, we’re out of shampoo,” Celia, the eldest sister says, entering the office much to Mama’s visual disapproval. When the shrines are open only people who respect the ancestors and orisha should be present. Rita and Celia have no love for our way of doing things.

  Mama kneels on the bamboo mat in front of the shrine to greet it before beginning her work. After washing my hands and face I join my grandmother and ignore the loud intrusion. Ever since the sisters arrived it’s been less than serene around here, mostly because of the tension between them and Mama.

  “Girl, what are you talking about?” Netta says, turning around in her swivel chair at her antique woode
n desk and peering over her reading glasses. “There’s plenty of honey-mango shampoo in the cabinets above the sink as well as the special tea tree and mint dandruff control for the clients who need it.”

  “I know that, Nettie.” Celia looks at us before continuing. I can tell she wants to get closer to Netta but she’d have to cross in front of us to do it and that ain’t happening. “I meant the shampoo we made. I think it’s better suited for our style, don’t you?” Celia asks, attempting to whisper her request but we all heard what she did and didn’t say loud and clear.

  “Celia, Lynn Mae and I have been using our products in this shop forever and all of the styles are compatible with our line.” Netta looks at her sister oblivious to the insult still in the air. Celia doesn’t want to use anything Mama’s had a hand in creating.

  “Yes, but Rita and I like the other brand better.”

  Netta looks at Mama rise from the mat and look squarely at Celia who looks like she wishes she could orb out of the room like on one of my favorite shows, Star Trek: The Next Generation. She had to know how much nerve she had coming in here and asking a silly question like that in front of Mama. Some people just ask to be checked.

  “Celia, if you don’t like our products feel free to make more of your own,” Mama says, before turning around and closing the sheer curtains covering the tall shrine. “But get it straight, this is our shop and we do things our way here.”

  Mama walks past Celia, who’s really feeling herself today. I guess she’s been here so long she’s forgotten Mama’s as much a partner in the shop as Netta.

  “Yes, but just because something’s been done one way for a long time doesn’t make it right. Now, like I said, we need more of the other shampoo. Rita and I will get on making another batch as soon as we finish the three clients in the front. Jayd, why don’t you get the broom and start sweeping up the hair, dear. It’s been a busy morning.”