The People vs. Cashmere 2

by Karen P. Williams

  “Bitch, wake up.” Splash.

  I blinked rapidly as cold water was thrown in my face. I coughed, wiped my face, and opened my eyes. I sat up and looked around me as loud music played. I saw a bunch of guys and even girls hanging out. Some were seated on the couch and others stood around. Some danced and held cups in their hands while some stood around and looked at me and laughed. I knew I was sobering up.

  I looked down and saw I was naked. I gasped and covered my breasts and vagina with my hands. I was the only one in the room with no clothes on.

  “Just ratched,” one of the girls said, looking at me in disgust.

  My dress was callously flung at me by one of the guys: the one I had propositioned. The same one who had thrown the water in my face. Grateful I pulled it on. My flip-flops were also near me so I pulled them on as well. I couldn’t find my underwear or my bra.

  “Go on and get the fuck out. You ain’t staying for the kickback,” he said.

  The girls continued to look my way and laugh. In that moment I no longer felt so invincible. I no longer felt pretty, fine, sexy, charming, mature, and a good dancer all at the same time; it all faded with the high. That was normal for me. And then I would feel bad. Even a little ashamed. When I would tell Meka this she would remind me that I was doing this for a greater cause: for my father. She reminded me that he needed the money. That he was trying to get a lawyer to fight his case so he could get out and be there for me. So that always wiped the shame and bad feelings away.

  Moments like these were pretty often, where I felt gross. Because that was the way they were now all looking at me. I attempted to run out of the living room, my destination the door but I was tripped and fell to the floor.

  Then the guy came yet again: “Man, do you know how to get the fuck out? I’ll help you.”

  I screamed in pain when he pulled me by my hair and dragged me toward the door. He opened it and pushed me out so hard I fell from the steps into some rosebushes.

  He turned and walked back into his apartment. I started crying tears of humiliation as the thorns from roses poked me. I crawled out as best I could and continued to get poked in the process. I walked over to Meka’s car. She was waiting outside for me, parked on the street.

  I hopped in and wiped my tears away.

  “Damn I didn’t know this was going to take you this long! Shit I went and got something to eat, shopping and all that.”

  I ignored her. “Please don’t make me have to work out of their houses again,” I pleaded. I cried again thinking how humiliating that was. Those guys said it would only be them. They never said they were going to invite other people. I felt humiliated. Even though I shouldn’t have cared what they all thought of me, I should have only cared what my dad thought, but still. It was embarrassing and I hated how the guy had treated me. I didn’t deserve that. But I was in their home so obviously at their mercy.

  I wiped the thoughts of what happened the night before out of my head as we waited for my father to come out for our visit. As Meka rattled on, I pondered over my situation. It was crazy to still think about the fact that Demarco was dead. Although he wasn’t my real father, it did hurt me that Demarco was dead. Yes, he always treated me like I meant nothing to him. But he always meant something to me. I loved him.

  But after I found out he wasn’t my daddy, this may sound crazy, but I felt relief just as much as I felt pain. It’s obvious why I felt pain. But not so obvious why I felt relief. I realized I felt relief because if he wasn’t my father that meant there was a chance that the love and attention Demarco was never able to give me if I could find my daddy he could. And Black, that was what he did.

  Truth was, I would never like who I was and what I did but I accepted it. He said what I was wasn’t a bad thing. That in life once you accept your role it all makes sense. And he accepted me for who I was. He accepted me as his daughter, something Demarco never did when I was always doing well: making straight As and whatnot, making honor roll, performing in ballet recitals, looking all adorable. I played the cello, and even played basketball. I excelled at everything and still it got not a single response from Demarco. He never cared. And he was in my face daily. Crazy that even though Black was locked up he showed me more attention, affection, and love than Demarco ever did. So what does that tell you? Should I have gone by the fact that Black was locked up and label him a bad guy, or by what he shows me?

  My mom wasn’t locked up but she had been lying to me all my life. Telling me that a man who wasn’t really my daddy was and never telling me about Black. And allowing Demarco to treat me with hatred. She belonged in jail for that. And Demarco hating me because of who my daddy was? Why did I have to be hurt? Like I had something to do with who created me. I wanted to feel like I mattered to not just my mom but to my daddy as well. And finally I had that. I wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up. Black would smile at me, hug me, kiss me, say he missed me and he was proud of the money I made for him. He even wrote me! Therefore, no matter how hard it was or how horrible it made me feel, I would continue working for my daddy. I would do anything for him. I already loved him. And he said he always loved me. How crazy was that? I couldn’t thank Meka and my aunt enough for taking me to my father. Sometimes I even serviced some of Meka’s clients for free when she was too tired just to pay her back.

  But crazy part was, it would always just be one parent I had active in my life. Because now I no longer mattered to my mother because she was so sad about Demarco, first being gone and now being dead. And now my mother was on her depression because Demarco was no longer with us. She wasn’t going to work, cleaning, or cooking. His death made her even worse. I thought back to the night of the funeral.

  I couldn’t leave to go with Meka because there were far too many people at the house paying their condolences. And Bev and my grandparents wanted to stay forever and a day. So I went to my room pretending I was just too upset to be around anyone. When Meka texted me at midnight I thought surely everyone would be gone by then and I could sneak out. To be on the safe side I changed into my pajamas and tiptoed past my mother’s room to make sure she was asleep. If she was I planned on racing back to my room, changing, and leaving. But as I brushed past her room, like I was going to the bathroom, the image I saw before my made me jump. My mom was seated on the edge of her bed with a gun pressed against her temple.

  When my mother saw me she jumped and hid the gun behind her back. “Dominique, why you not ’sleep?” Her eyes were wide like she was asking herself if I had seen her.

  But I rubbed my eyes and pretended I didn’t see what I saw. “Mom, what are you doing up?”

  “Nothing.” She stood and rushed toward me wiping her tear-soaked face. She wouldn’t even look in my eyes just slammed the door in my face. It was better that way. That way I didn’t have to be fake and hug on her when I was really mad at my mother. I’m not saying I wanted my mother to kill herself but right now she wasn’t exactly my favorite person in the world. When I crept back toward her room an hour later, I opened her door and saw her sprawled across her bed with a Grey Goose bottle and knocked out asleep. I shook my head, removed the gun from her bed, and put it back in Demarco’s office.

  Then I went back to my room to throw my clothes on and leave.

  After that my mother and I never even talked about that night and what I saw. She continued to mope like her life was over and I supposed it was for her. That, that’s how she really felt. It enabled me to do what I wanted. Matter of fact, every night I would sneak out of the house and she had no idea.

  I was going with Meka to see my dad every weekend. When school was out all my free time was reserved for working. There were clients I had accumulated on my own, and some I got from Meka. Meka said Black refused to have me working on street corners. I was glad of that. I would be so afraid out there. What if someone picked me up and stabbed me to death?

  “Are you listening to me little girl?” Meka demanded snapping me out of my thoughts.

&n
bsp; “Sorry what?”

  “Your daddy said for you to keep your focus that’s what!”

  “I am.”

  “Hey. I’m just curious. Do you even like having sex?”

  Good question, I thought as I nodded absently. I never really gave much thought to whether I liked sex or would ever like it. From the moment I first started having sex it was for the exchange for something not solely for the act. From Mr. Douglas to now. The exchange always went back to the same thing: love. But say I met a nice guy one day, you know, fell in love. I wondered would I want to have sex with him and if I did would I enjoy sex with him after all the partners I’d had? I never gave much thought to the way it made me feel. I guess I just thought it was my duty to do it. It was for the better good of my daddy. A man who obviously cared about me. So, no, I didn’t enjoy it. Some of the men were disgusting. Old, fat, and some ugly. Even the handsome ones managed to make my skin crawl. Meka told me it would feel like that. She was right. This was the reason I became acquainted with using something.

  “Now when you just feel like you can’t hang with a nigga, like you just too through, pop a molly.” Now the molly thing . . . Initially, the only time I had done that was that day at Starz and after that, when Meka would offer it to me I would tell her no. I didn’t want to get hooked like Meka had revealed that my mother was hooked on Ecstasy. But one time I had a client who was hurting me so bad I needed a way out. I remember the day. He was older like in his fifties. He was six foot four, really husky with a gigantic thing.

  I was in the shower soaping myself down. I had worked all day and I was so sore. As I soaped my body I suddenly saw the bathroom door open. “Meka?” I called.

  “No. Not Meka.” Before I could say anything else, the shower curtain was slid back and the huge guy, naked, stepped in the tub. I instantly knew he was one of Meka’s regulars. He snatched me up.

  Alarmed, I protested, “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “Meka said it was cool. I seen you here a couple times.”

  “But. But. But. I’m tired. No!”

  He didn’t take that for an answer. “I already paid for you shit so it ain’t no, no.”

  I cried out in pain from the impact of what he was doing to me.

  I couldn’t take it. And this man was showing me no mercy. So I started crying like a baby and continued to yell out, “Meka! Meka!”

  She came in the bathroom quickly and said, “I told him it was okay, Dominique.”

  “But he’s hurting me,” I said with sobs in my voice.

  “I got you.” Her head disappeared. And seconds later she came back with a pill. She dropped it on my tongue and left the bathroom. I swallowed it eager for this pain to stop. Within fifteen minutes I could feel the effects of the molly because he still was not done with me.

  But I never got a chance to answer her question because my daddy was walking our way. As soon as he did I smiled and stood to my feet. I hugged him.

  “Dominique,” he whispered in my ear. “You get more prettier each time I lay eyes on you.”

  I blushed. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  He released me and turned to Meka. She giggled and hugged him. “Hey, daddy,” she purred in his ear.

  “How is business going?” he asked her once he pulled away.

  “It’s going, daddy. Your little princess here is making her rounds at Starz and at the pad.”

  He eyed me proudly as he sat down. Meka sat down as well. “I tell you, baby, I couldn’t be prouder of you,” my dad said zapping me out of my thoughts. “Meka said you out here really handling things.”

  I looked down shyly. “Thank you, D—”

  “No!” he said sharply. “Never put your head down when I give you a compliment. Own that shit.”

  I kept my head up and eyed him nervously. “Okay.”

  “So how are things at home?”

  “Well Mom is still upset about Demarco’s death.”

  My dad showed no emotion at that. I couldn’t expect him to. But he did ask me, “You never told me how you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know. For forever I thought he was my daddy. And he’s not. And he never treated me with love. So it’s hard to describe how I feel.” But I did feel some sadness; it hurt. I had shed tears because although he had treated me the way he did, I loved Demarco. And although angry I felt bad for my mom because she loved him. But my father’s next choice of words caused me to reevaluate the way I thought about them both.

  “A life lost is never good. But don’t expect sympathy or a hug from me for that shit! That motherfucker was given a gift.” He placed his palm up. “And he rejected you! Treated you like you were shit lying in the street. I will never forgive that! He had my baby girl and he denied you what a man never should. So you gonna look like a fool and anger me if you sit here in my face and tell me you feel anything besides triumph.” His fist hit the table making me jump.

  He was right. Demarco had rejected me my whole life so I shouldn’t feel bad he was no longer here. And I had every right in the world to be upset with my mother. The only one I could actually trust was my dad.

  “How is your mother?”

  “She is really sad, Daddy.”

  He smiled and looked into my eyes. “You know in all my years, I only been in love twice. Cashmere is the second one I ever came to love. And trust me I been around so many women in my lifetime. But no one could ever hold a candle to that woman. She had something special. That no other women, hoe, or bitch could compare to. You just have that in the world. Some women have a special quality and some are just generic. Someday a man is going to feel that way about you. And you better trick him for all he’s worth.” He cracked up laughing at that.

  I glanced at Meka and she had a hurt look on her face.

  “Now daddy may be having some good news to tell you soon.”

  “What?” I asked eagerly.

  “Now it’s a surprise, baby girl. You’ll know soon enough. I don’t want to say nothing until I know for sure dealing with this expensive-ass lawyer. But just know that if it rings out to be true you won’t be working for much longer.”

  That made me happy because I hated what I was doing and was only doing it for him.

  “Now let me talk to Meka. For a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Meka quickly turned her frown upside down and they moved to another table. I placed on my ear buds and listened to the new J. Kole CD. My dad always had me do this when he handled business with Meka. He said it wasn’t for my ears to hear. I was curious as to what they were talking about but I didn’t want to be nosy.

  On the way out to the car, I noticed Meka was visibly quiet. “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “Don’t motherfucking worry about it!” she snapped. And she usually never snapped at me.

  I had a sharp intake of breath at her snapping at me. But I kept quiet and when she unlocked the door to her Regal I as quietly as possible slid inside. I didn’t want to make her angrier. I wondered what she was so mad about. But I thought twice about asking.

  Once she got inside the car and closed the door, Meka turned to me and out of nowhere she punched me in my face so hard I cried out in pain.

  I held my face confused. But she continued her assault on me. Her hits were harder than Mrs. Douglas’s and Jada’s. I continued to cry as she hit me. I knew my mother has always raised me to fight back but I had always been scared to actually fight back. I was weak and I knew it and accepted it.

  “I’m out here grinding for his motherfucking ass since I been twelve. Working at a nasty fish place putting every single paycheck I get from there on that nigga books, and what’s left of the money I make selling my pussy after paying all my bills. I’m driving a fucked-up car, live in a fucked-up building, and can’t even take a day off! And on top of all of this, I’m putting up with your weird ass”—punch—“and that motherfucker”—punch—“got the nerve to say he still love your mama? What the fuck.” Another punch. “It’s enoug
h I gotta look at you every day and you look like that gray-eyed bitch. But I still gotta hear him talk about her! Hell the fuck no.” She held my chin in a death grip and slapped me upside my face.

  I cried out loudly.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

  She gripped my hair in between her hands and delivered more blows to my body. I continue to bawl. Finally when she started breathing hard she shoved me away roughly.

  “I wish they had never let that bitch out of jail.”

  She tried to catch her breath. All the while I curled up in a ball and cried as quietly as I could. She did this because she hated my mother. How could I look at Meka the same? I thought I could trust her. She had hurt me all because of my mother.

  She then pulled out of the parking structure and drove down the street. When she got to a red light, she grabbed me by my hair again and pulled me toward her. “Listen and listen well,” she hissed. “You better not tell Black that I attacked you. Or I will get in Black’s head and make him hate you forever! Trust me I’ve done it before. You got it?”

  “Yes!”

  She shoved me away again. “Fuck you and your mom, Dominique. Don’t ever think I like you and I definitely don’t like your bitch-ass mother.”

  I nodded through my tears and stared out the window.