The People vs. Cashmere 2

by Karen P. Williams

  “I asked Jada if she wanted to go with us but she said she was too tired.” She hopped in and closed the driver’s door back.

  “’Kay,” I said with a smile.

  She rolled her window down and backed out of the driveway. “See you later, honey.”

  I waved at her as she backed out of their driveway. She was such a nice woman and was always sweet to me. Made me feel a little bad about the secret I was keeping from her and Jada.

  I turned and opened the door to their house and stepped inside the living room. I called out my friend’s name. “Jada.”

  When she didn’t respond I walked toward her room. I walked quickly and nervously. Once I made it to her door, my hand reached out for the knob. But before I could grasp it I felt two hands cup both of my breasts and felt a kiss planted on the side of my neck. I closed my eyes as pleasure and shame filled me.

  “She’s ’sleep. Don’t wake her until we done,” a husky voice said in my ear.

  I was silent but I didn’t pull away from Jada’s father.

  “Why didn’t you come to my room, baby?” he asked me.

  He spun me around and kissed my lips while rubbing one of his hands between my legs. “Has someone . . . ?” He gripped between my legs aggressively.

  I shook my head.

  “Good.”

  He yanked one of my arms gently and tugged me toward his bedroom.

  I protested. “Mr. Douglas, I told you. I don’t want to do this with you anymore. I feel bad about what I’m doing to your wife. It’s wrong.”

  Still he was stronger and as a result managed to pull me into their bedroom, and closed and locked the door. Then I was at his mercy as my body betrayed me. But still I continued to tell him no as he peeled away my clothes.

  As he did he said, “Mrs. Douglas don’t give a fuck about what I do, pretty baby. She been checked out of this marriage. Now. You know I love you.” When he had me naked, he sat down on their bed and sat me on top of his lap.

  “This is wrong, Mr. Douglas. Please stop making me.”

  “Be quiet, baby,” he told me gently. I gave in again. Despite the promises to make the last time the last time.

  “If your daddy won’t be a real father to you, you know I will,” he always said to me. “You make love to me better than my wife ever could.”

  So I gave in all the way like I always did knowing I would feel guilty later.

  I stared at Mr. Douglas. He was brown skinned with a black-and-white goatee. His head was completely bald. He stood six foot four so he towered over my five foot six frame. And he was ten years older than Mrs. Douglas so he was old enough to be my grandfather. Still it didn’t stop him from taking my virginity about five months ago. He said he wanted to wait until I was a little older before taking it. And I had let him take it. I always let him take what he wanted despite the fact that I had promised myself I would no longer do this to Mrs. Douglas, to Jada, to myself. Thing was Mr. Douglas always showed me the love and attention my daddy never did. He made me feel so wanted that when he first started touching on me, when I was twelve, I didn’t see it as wrong because he said it made him feel good. And I wanted to make him feel good because that was how he made me feel. And I felt it had to stop because I always walked away feeling shame. But I loved Mr. Douglas like he was my father. And the things he did to my body felt good. But it was hard to look Mrs. Douglas in the face anymore. And if Jada had a clue she would never forgive me and I would lose my best and only friend forever.

  I stood and started grabbing my clothes when he asked, “How was school, baby?”

  “It was okay I guess.”

  “How did you do on your test?” he asked

  “I aced it,” I said with a small smile.

  “That’s my girl.” He sounded really proud of me. I went into his bathroom and washed up quickly. I then put on all my clothes and left his bedroom. Then, like I normally did, I waited in the living room and sat down on the couch like I just got there, and waited for Mr. Douglas to get dressed and go into Jada’s room and wake her up.

  A few minutes later Jada and I were watching music videos and laughing. Jada and I were so opposite. I was the shy, quiet one and she was the loud and wild one. A song came on by Young Money, “I Can Make Your Bed Rock.” “That’s my shit, girl.” She got up and started dancing. She pulled me and forced me do it with her. “Come on with all that butt!” she joked. I laughed and copied the moves she did while she continued to hit me on my butt. I laughed. One slap was so hard I screeched and fell on the couch.

  “Oh! I’m sorry!” She laughed and fell on top of me on the couch. She hugged me. “I didn’t mean to hurt my bestie!” I giggled and hugged her back. I hoped nothing ever came between us; she was my only friend.

  When she pulled away she said, “Hey, you know Nathan’s boy Manny wants to holler. And, girl, he is super fine. Puerto Rican and black.”

  I shook my head. Mr. Douglas forbade me from having a boyfriend. I couldn’t tell her this but I thought of another excuse. “I’m not ready to start dating.”

  “Why not? Come on, girl, you are no fun!”

  “What’s so fun about having a boyfriend?”

  “Nate licked on my titties and the other day he finger banged me behind the gym.” Her eyes were wide in emphasis.

  If she only knew the things her father and I did.

  Chapter 4

  Dominique

  My mom, as she normally did, made a really good meal for dinner. She made Fettuccini Alfredo with tender chunks of marinated chicken and big fat shrimps. She made broccoli spears and parmesan and garlic bread to go with it. My mom was such a great cook. She always took the extra step to make things good for my father and me. Instead of buying a bottle of already-made sauce from the grocery store my mother made hers homemade, mixing freshly grated parmesan cheese and heavy cream with real butter. Man, nothing compared to her Alfredo sauce. She would sauté her marinated chicken with Creole seasoning, onion, peppers, parsley, and garlic. She would then throw in the shrimp when the chicken was done. I knew all of this because since I was little, I would come in the kitchen and watch her cook. She ignored the phone and all distractions, even me. Well except for a few smiles and winks. Her marinara sauce took eight hours to make! I always asked her why she went through all the trouble and she would say, “I’m cooking with love, little girl. One day when you have a family you’ll understand.” My mom was the best. I 100 percent loved her. I smiled and watched her as she poured her melted butter concoction over the bread and placed it in the oven. But Daddy, he never seemed to appreciate how long my mother slaved over the oven to cook us meals after being on her feet all day.

  Dinner today was like any other day. We ate in silence. Although the food was really good, I couldn’t determine if my daddy liked it because he ate it with a frown on his face. When my mom tried to engage him in conversation he all but ignored her. When my mom rambled on about work and how this was the best the Alfredo sauce came out it got no response from him other than a shrug as he chewed on a broccoli spear. My mom looked my way but I was practically scared of my own shadow let alone trying to broach my daddy for conversation.

  “How was school, D?” my mother asked me.

  My dad gave me a sharp look that my mom saw. It made the plastered smile on my face waver a little bit.

  “Good.” I bit into my garlic bread. It was really good.

  “And you went to Jada’s house? What did you guys do?”

  Flashbacks of Mr. Douglas passed before my eyes making me drop my fork. It fell on top of my plate with a loud clatter.

  “Christ!” My dad shook his head at my clumsiness.

  “I, ah . . . We watched some music. That’s all.”

  My mom arched a brow at me.

  “You can’t watch music,” my dad snapped.

  “I mean music videos,” I said nervously.

  There was an awkward silence. Then my mother said, “Well I made homemade caramel pecan cake for dessert.�
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  I gave a little clap making my mother laugh. My mother was also good at baking. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what my mom was bad at besides not getting my daddy to be nice. He responded no way shape or form at the dinner table other than anger.

  She waited for a reaction from him about the cake. He gave none at all, didn’t even look her way.

  “Let me get it for you guys.” As my mom rose from the table and walked into the kitchen, I watched my dad wipe his mouth and drink the last of his grape juice and stand to his feet. I wanted to remind him about the cake my mother had made but when I said, “Daddy,” he ignored me and continued out the dining room.

  My mom walked back into the dining room. “Okay. Here this bad boy is.” My mom proudly set the cake on the table, along with extra plates, a knife, and forks. When she looked up and saw Daddy was not at the table she instantly looked disappointed. Her whole face crumbled. And I knew she was holding back tears.

  “The cake looks so good, Mom,” I told her. I wanted to make her feel better.

  “Thanks, D.”

  “Let’s take our pieces in the living and watch TV, Mom,” I suggested.

  She gave me a half smile and nodded. I watched her cut us both a slice and place them on small plates. I went into the kitchen and poured us both glasses of milk then I followed her into the living room. But once we were seated in front of our sixty-inch flat-screen TV to watch the new version of Sparkle, my mother didn’t eat a single bite of the cake. She just sat with a sad look on her face as I ate mine. To redirect her thoughts I asked, “Mom. How did you say you learned to bake so good?”

  She managed to give me a chuckle. “I told you when I was about your age, I dated a guy whose family owned a bakery and we baked all sorts of goodies together.” I always asked her this because no matter what she always had this far-off look with a blush, I guessed because she was thinking about the guy.

  “Mommy, how come Daddy hates me so much?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I think all his hatred is reserved for me.”

  “Mom. When I go over Jada’s house, it’s different. Jada and her father have a relationship. They spend time together, her talks to her, even gives her hugs and kisses. Jada’s dad even shows me more attention than my own daddy does. I wish thing were different. I wish my daddy loved me, Mom.”

  “Daddy loves you, Dom.”

  “Mom, I really don’t think that he does.”

  “Your dad is just dealing with a lot of things right now. He’s at odds with the both of us. Eventually he will come up out of this.”

  I used to believe that he did. But for so many years it had been like this. I didn’t want to tell my mother but I didn’t believe Daddy would ever change. He would always hate me. But why?

  “Did I do something wrong to him?”

  “No, and your daddy does love you. Who wouldn’t love Dom?” She tickled me under my chin and pecked me on one of my cheeks making me smile. And that was the end of the discussion.

  Chapter 5

  Cashmere

  I tried my best to keep my patience as I listened to my mother run her mouth on the phone. So many years had passed after all the stuff that had happened to me. I mean, we were cool. The thing was I was never super close to my mother anyhow. I was a daddy’s girl. Always had been. There was nothing like a father’s love. So I felt so bad for Dom that she couldn’t experience with Demarco the love my father had showered on me. Truth was, Demarco was taking his anger out on Dominique and me. He was also dealing with his issues with an open bottle at every opportunity. I couldn’t relate to how my child felt because I had always gotten love from my daddy. My mom loved me but growing up with her, she was too infatuated with material things. And even though Demarco and I made good money it never really meant shit to me.. So my mother and I never related and never had much in common. But we were cool. We had managed over the years to get along somewhat. Since we had reunited when I was eighteen she had consistently been there for me when I needed her. She was a decent grandmother as well, although her idea of being a good granny was showering Dominique with expensive-ass gifts, teaching her how to be superficial and materialistic, and getting on my damn nerves every few minutes. But I will say that at the drop of a hat, she was always willing to be there should I or Dominique need her.

  But today, she was asking for too gotdamned much, as she babbled on about the importance of family and forgiving since she was now a devout Christian and all. Her conversation was agitating the fuck out of me.

  “Cash? Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah, Ma.”

  “Now, honey. You know your aunt had this planned and you agreed with me over a month ago that you would come. I’m not sure why today is the day you are trying to get out of it. Yes, my sister is not the nicest person. But that breast cancer really changed her. She even started going to church with me. And she personally invited you, Demarco, and Dom.”

  I watched Dominique walk into my room. I was pretty sure she could hear my conversation. I was too pissed off to care.

  My mother just didn’t understand. Truth was, I knew my mother was right. I should have forgiven my aunt. But I couldn’t. I also didn’t want to be around her fat ass. At the age of thirteen, I was a baby! And she was the only family I had left. She put me out in the streets. I just couldn’t help but think that if she hadn’t done that to me I would have never been taken by my sister, Desiree, drugged, raped, and then pimped out by Black Mitchell. I knew what my sister had done to my aunt was wrong. But that was what my sister did. I didn’t have anything at all to do with Desiree sleeping with her husband.

  I looked at my own daughter who sat on my bed and stared at me. She was innocent, precious. A baby. And that’s what I was when I was thirteen and my innocence was taken from me and my aunt could have prevented all of that. Her jealousy and insecurity prevented this. Instead of accepting the fact that she had a dirty, nasty-ass husband she instead turned her back on her niece. And as a result I suffered mercilessly. It could have all been prevented. Yes, I was now in my thirties but the scars from what I had endured were still intact.

  There were times where I still had nightmares from being out in those streets and I woke up either screaming or crying, or simply couldn’t go back to sleep. In the past Demarco would hold me, stroke my hair, kiss my cheek, and tell me I was safe. But eventually he would just turn over in disgust. Despite this I knew I was supposed to forgive, to get past it, and I had, to a small, small, certain degree. But I just didn’t want to be in my aunt’s presence. Or her bastard husband’s.

  But when my mom kept rambling I said, exasperated, “All right! I’ll go. Damn!” I ended the call and looked at my child. “Go get dressed and do your hair.”

  “Okay, Mom.” My daughter obediently got up and went to her room.

  It was now January and still winter so I pulled on a long-sleeved top, a pair of skinny jeans, and a pair of Uggs. I tossed my hair back in a ponytail. I hoped my aunt’s bitch ass didn’t trip and I hoped if she did I would be able to keep it together. But who knew, maybe she really did change. If she did then I was sure I could completely let the past go and try to build a relationship with her. And even hopefully my child could be close to her great-aunt. After all we didn’t have much family out here and all in all I realized long ago that family was important.

  Chapter 6

  Dominique

  I had put on a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and the new Jordans my mother had bought for me for Christmas. My hair like my mother’s was thrown back in a ponytail. My mother played the new Marsha Ambrosia album as we drove to my aunt’s house. I liked it. She had a pretty voice. My mom looked at me as “With You” played and busted up laughing as I had my eyes closed, singing along with Marsha. I giggled along with my mother.

  “Seems like just yesterday you were obsessed with Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, and Raven-Symoné’s music.”

  I laughed as well. When the song switched to �
�Far Away” it instantly changed from a happy mood in the truck to a sadder one and by the bridge, “And every minute you’re gone I’m missing you so / I can’t believe that you’re far away,” my mother looked so sad. I knew why. I didn’t have to ask. The song brought her back to Daddy. It had to. And even though he wasn’t far away, meaning she saw him on a regular basis, it seemed like he was because he was so distant from her. I saw it so I knew she had to see it and feel it.

  Once we got there, I watched my mom park behind my grandmother’s Porsche truck and turn off the ignition before taking a deep breath.

  As my grandmother made her way toward the car she waved happily. I waved back but my mother ignored her.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  “Not really but come on, baby.”

  We both unsnapped our seat belts and got out of my mother’s Escalade truck.

  My grandmother may have been in her fifties but she looked easily like she was in her thirties. She wore a weave that came down to her butt and had her nose and belly button pierced. She was very pretty, and curvy like my mother, and stylish. She carried the Gucci and Louie Bags and even wore red bottoms. She had bought me Michael Kors, Louie, and Gucci bags. Once we went shopping, I told her that girls at my school wore Coach bags and shoes, and she said Coach was for hood rats and refused to purchase any Coach items for me. Every gift that came from my grandmother was name brand. Even down to socks. She told me for my eighteenth birthday she was going to take me red bottom shoe shopping. “Every girl must have a pair of red bottoms, sweet girl. And I’ll make sure you get them.” My grandmother was really something else. But I always felt that the relationship between my grandmother and mother was a little strained. Often my mother seemed like she hated my grandmother. But it seemed like all the relationships around me for some reason were. They knew the truth; I didn’t. But I loved my grandmother. She was always kind and nurturing toward me.