FOUR
Nearly ten years ago Deedee entered Eric’s life. She was close to her sixth birthday. Her father, Dennis Ascot was the older brother of Eric. He was found mortally wounded, a bullet-hole to the back of his head. All the money and contracts were stolen from his attaché case. Sophia knew that the police treated the incident as a drug deal that went bad. The investigation went as far as tailing Eric around town and keeping steady watch on his apartment. Eric Ascot tried as best to clear his brother’s name but to no avail. Within six months, the investigation was officially closed despite Eric’s persistent protesting.
After that Eric Ascot became Deedee’s guardian, and then achieved sole rights to guardianship when her mother became preoccupied with crack. When Sophia met them, Eric and his niece seemed happy with each other. It was, “My uncle this and my uncle that.” Eric enjoyed the adoration of his niece, and Deedee seemed determined at first to keep her uncle all to herself.
She kept close tabs on Sophia, but Sophia’s plan was foolproof: Take Deedee shopping as often as possible. Keep her happy and win her over without trying to be her mother. She knew how much Eric cared for Deedee. Now she understood the pain that would haunt him since his niece had been assaulted. Sophia walked over and hugged Eric.
“She’s sleeping. She’s tough. She’ll be alright.”
“Yeah, I hope so, Sophia,” Eric said. He held her hand for a while then pulled her near. They kissed briefly and she watched as the pain eased away from his face, the scowl now replaced by the semblance of a smile. However, thoughts of his niece still wore heavily on his mind.
Deedee was in bed, staring into a wall of nothingness. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming, but remembered the Mercedes sitting at the end of the driveway.
Such a pretty car, she thinks. So black that it glows. The noise of the car alarm prompts her to get the keys and deactivate it. She gets in it. Maybe, I should move it closer. Or maybe I could take it around the block just one time. It won’t hurt. But she has to go downtown. Maybe check out some spots, meet up with some friends—Coco and her crew. They’ll love the ride. Everyone is happy; everything is fine. Her uncle won’t be back until the following day. He’ll never know. Pick up some cigarettes, and no drinking while driving. Her guide drank some, actually a lot. “Hey chill with the bottle, chill.” Coco and Da Crew perform. They’re fabulous, graceful, exciting. Drinking at the club stops make her sloppy. She’s trying to make it back to the car, with or without a guide. She is outside. It’s a jungle. There are wild animals chasing each other. She barely sees the Mercedes now. There’s something after her or the Mercedes. Deedee runs and screams. It’s to no avail. Her throat acts as a barrier to the sound. The man-beast catches up with her.
“I want you and da fucking car,” roars the beast. It has a face she barely recognizes.
“Back off, vultures!” yells the man-beast.
Then the beast grabs her. She screams, but fright muffles the sound. The hand begins to maul her, she tries fighting back, but she is much too small, and her limbs won’t respond. She is trying to scream, but there’s no sound. The beast clutches her and pins her to the hood of the Mercedes. Then the thing growls and enters her. Deedee fights back with long vicious scratching, her nails strong as talons. The flesh of the beast begins to fall apart. She grows stronger, and the beast retreats. But out comes the man. It is Deja, from the club. She screams violently.
“Get away! Stay away!” She yells. Her uncle and Sophia burst through the door. “Please don’t hurt me anymore,” she cries.
“Deedee it’s me. I’m here baby. It will be alright, it’ll be alright,” Eric shouted as he hugged the girl. “You were having a bad dream.”
“I’ll get her something to drink,” Sophia said. She ran downstairs, to the kitchen.
“Uncle E., Uncle E.,” Deedee cried. “He was trying to rape me again.”
“Who was gonna do that to you, baby?”
“This thing was chasing me and Deja was gonna rape me again.”
“Deja?” Her uncle asked with bewilderment. “Who’s Deja?”
Sophia carefully handed Deedee a glass of milk. Deedee gulped twice, then excused herself and went into the bathroom. She felt the scrutiny as two pairs of concerned eyes followed her there. Once inside, she washed her face and checked her body. The bruises and marks were quite visible. Deedee looked at her face close-up, and noticed all the welts and gashes under her nose and above her eyes. Scabs were already forming over the smaller wounds. She decided not to look anymore—each time she did so, more bruises seemed to appear. But Deedee knew that these smaller bruises didn’t really matter. The biggest wound would not heal. It would last forever.
“Hey what’s up?” Da Crew shouted when they met in the school hallway. They were happy to see each other. The weekend was finally over. All the girls had stayed with their families and spoken with each other on the phone. Danielle and Josephine used their parents’ phones. Coco called from the phone on the corner.
“I’ve got a test, yo. Got to go. Catch up wit y’all later.”
“Coco,” it was Mrs. Martinez.
“Yes, Mrs. Martinez.”
“Girls, I heard a report of a carjacking and rape. It happened to a student I know in this school.”
The girls stared at each other, revealing no surprise, but a lot of interest.
“It happened over the weekend,” Mrs. Martinez continued. Then the questions came. “Do you girls know anything about what happened?”
“No-o-o,” the chorus followed as the three girls walked away.
“Well the police think you do.” Mrs. Martinez had to shout to be heard.
“We told them everything,” Coco shouted back.
“We’ve got to get to class,” Danielle said. She was most famous for her variety of late excuses.
“I’ll see y’all,” repeated Coco. Her oversize denim jacket and blue jeans sagged, and the black knapsack on her back moved with a slight bop as Coco made her way to the classroom.
Damn, hope I can ace this test, she thought, taking her seat. She slipped off the knapsack and jacket with a single move. She was ready to begin the High School Regents Examination.
Coco finished the test in three hours flat. She had always been a good student, always read and did her homework, and her grades reflected that hard work. Schoolwork afforded her the perfect escape from her volatile mother.
“Good luck,” the examiner said with a smile. Coco handed her the pile of test papers. She retrieved her jacket and knapsack and nodded as she headed for the door. She made tracks down the hallway with that familiar bop.
“Peace,” someone called after her.
“Peace,” acknowledged Coco. She immediately reached for her cigarettes but put them away as she remembered the signs posted in the school’s hallways.
NO SMOKING ALLOWED
Coco spotted Josephine and Danielle and motioned for them to join her.
“Think they got the report, yo?” Coco already knew the answer.
“Yep, most def,” Josephine replied.
“How else would they know?” Danielle added.
“You know what, yo?” Coco continued. “We should stay da fuck out of this. You feel me?”
“You mean mind our biz, shut our mouths? Cool by me,” Josephine said with a wink.
“Can’t even remember what girlfriend looked like,” Coco chuckled.
“But weren’t you the one who was pledging to do something for da sisterhood?” Danielle asked.
“Okay, alright. Y’all didn’t have to go there, but you did. Ahight, I can vaguely remember some of it. I was caught up in the situation. I got emotional, so I flipped. I’m allowed to flip and talk shit, right? Okay, then that’s it, yo. Listen, I’ve got these dope lyrics.”
“Yeah right, let’s hear them, then.” Josephine and Danielle both responded with avid anticipation.
“Ahight, let’s get busy,” Coco said. “But let’s get da fuck outta here.”
The girls put their silver-rimmed dark shades on and made their way out of the school building as if paparazzi awaited them. Danielle waved and blew a kiss to someone. Coco put a cigarette to her lips and turned her back to the wind to light it. She took a drag and passed it to Danielle.
“Hold this, yo.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a carefully folded white sheet.
“Here’s some of the dopest lyrics you’re gonna hear anywhere,” she announced.
The girls paused to listen.
“It’s called ‘You Played Yourself.’” Coco began to half-hum, half-sing a slow-tempo number.
“Go ahead, go ahead girl,” Da Crew chanted. Coco continued more loudly now:
One day, one day
You’re gonna fade away
And I won’t need you
Anyway, cause you’d have
been played like the sucker punk
You showed me you are.
That day when you
Played, played yourself
You have played yourself
You’ve played yourself
Like dirty old Huggies
Boy, get off my set
I don’t want you
Fucking up my environment
Now that all your mother fucking
money’s spent.
“Yo, right there—right after ‘mothafucking money’s spent,’—y’all kick in like this, ‘Huh, yeah now all the cheddar’s gone. Wishing you was never born’, ” Coco explained to Da Crew.
“Wait up. Back da fuck up. All we say is, ‘huh now all the cheddar’s gone…wishing you was never born?’” Josephine complained. “That’s it? Well, the shit sounds like it had some potential. But we gotta be saying more than just one line. Or that’s wack.”
“I agree with Jo. And also it sounds like some kinda suicide Tracy Chapman song. Do you think people will start blaming us when they start jumping from buildings?” Danielle asked.
“I could see it now,” Josephine deadpanned. “This just in—A trio of men leaped from a thirty- story apartment building in the city after listening to the lyrics of Coco’s latest song.”
“Oh, so y’all gonna bail on the P.H. tip? Ahight, Kool ‘n’ da Gang then, yo.” Coco said.
“Seriously, it has potential, but it needs a little work,” Josephine said with mock-tenderness. “I don’t think it will sell in today’s market, anyway. All the songs that hitting are songs about lick me up and lick me down, bump and grind. Shit…you know wit sex on the platter. You feel me? You can’t even get a hit with something that is positive for sisters.” Josephine concluded.
“Uh-oh, here we go with the sister shit again. Here, smoke some more,” Danielle said as she passed the last half of the cigarette to Coco.
“Ahight yo, if y’all wanna just keep dancing and singing other people’s old stuff, then we’re a group of—”
“A group of what?” Danielle asked.
“Imitators. There’s nothing original about our stuff.” Coco said with so much disdain that the other girls took exception to the statement.
“Yeah, but damn near everyone sez we’ve got the dopest steps. Come on, we got a little sump’n, sump’n.” Josephine added.
“Yeah, well I think we’ve got more. Lots more skills than we’re showing, yo. More dance moves. It’s in us, we just gotta find a way to bring it.” Coco said.
“It takes time to happen. We’ve got to get more popular,” Josephine said.
“I thought that’s why we did the club gigs on the weekends and the talent shows at school. That’s to bring us out there to the public.” Coco took a drag on the cigarette before continuing.
“No doubt. We’ve got to establish a fan base. Then start beating ‘em in their heads with joints after joints.”
“We can’t serve up no trash. Heads will walk.” Josephine said with a stiff upper lip. “No matter who you are no one is gonna support garbage all the time.”
“We need a record deal. We could sing and do our own videos. We wouldn’t just be dancing in other people’s videos. We would be starring in our own joints, yo. Think about it,” Coco said elatedly. She took the last drag and flicked the butt away, over the heads of the other girls. They listened intently. “We need someone to make the beats for us, yo,” Coco said.
“Yeah, and some lyrics,” Danielle said.
“Get a brother who could rap and we would be in it like that,” Josephine said, snapping her fingers.
“Not just any brother. We gotta have a brother who has thug appeal and who can rhyme wit da hardcore Ghetto steez,” Danielle agreed.
“Who do we know like that, y’all?” Josephine asked.
“There’s Silky Black, Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre…” Danielle started but Coco interrupted.
“Like this and like that and this and a creep to the next episode. Niggas be creeping and they creeping and they creeping. They ain’t gonna stop trying till we let them in…” Coco sang and high-five the girls.
“Like I said before she came through the door, who do we know like that?” Josephine asked.
“We now know Eric Ascot’s niece.” Danielle said and the other girls gave her the wide eyed look. “You know the one with the ride,” she added.
“Let’s not even go there, yo. Leave it alone,” Coco said. But her plea seemed too weak and didn’t convince Josephine or Danielle. Neither said anything, but somehow the discussion ended on an unsettling note. “Let’s go get sump’n to eat and work on our steps.” Coco suggested. She turned away sharply, avoiding further discussion. Coco folded the paper with her lyrics and placed it in her Jansport. They headed for McDonald’s about three hundred feet away. She stopped suddenly as if reconsidering, and said, “Let’s make tracks to da chicken place, yo. I feel like some chicken, today.”
Both Josephine and Danielle had caught up with her. They watched Coco, who continued with her bop. She slowly reached for a cigarette and stepped into a doorway to light it. The wind was brisk on this bright and sunny Monday, blowing the litter around the sidewalk in a swirl. Each time a pile landed, the wind would blow again, and the litter would float once more, and then settle again.
The girls walked to the chicken place, hands in pockets, shades over their eyes, thoughts shrouded in silence. They ordered chicken and biscuits. Coco opted for honey with her chicken.
“Why do you always get damn honey with your chicken?” Josephine asked. “That’s some straight down south shit,” she continued.
“The fried chicken just taste a little bit better when it’s sweetened. Anyways—” Before they could fully discuss honey and chicken, a schoolmate came by and asked about the upcoming talent show and contest.
“Y’all entering the talent jump-off, that Busta be throwing urr-year?” The teen asked.
“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be on in about two weeks,” Josephine said.
“Y’all should stomp the comp, but good luck, ahight.” The teen said and walked away. He rejoined a group from the school.
“Good-looking out,” Josephine and Danielle both chorused. Coco looked up momentarily, but said nothing. She continued chewing and nodded at the questioner, who was leaving with both of his friends and said:
“Now you know these scrubs were testing their game, yo… Niggas.” She stretched out the last syllable then Coco broke out in laughter.
“They weren’t bad looking though, were they?” Josephine asked.
“Yeah, but y’all attract ‘em like honey to a bee,” Coco said.
“Well, their pickup line was kinda corny,” Josephine said.
“Speaking of pickup, I need to pick up on my calc. The test is Wednesday.” Coco said.
“Aw c’mon, Coco, you know you don’t have to study that hard. You’re one good lyric away from being a musical genius and a couple of tests from being on scholarship,” Josephine said.
“Just trying to be all I can be, yo.” Coco replied.
“Aw, listen to her,” Danielle said. “Now you trying to be modest?” There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“Not your usual ‘we-gonna-get-mad-paid,’” Josephine joked.
“Huh uh, now she’s all ‘I’ma-do-sumthin’-for-da-sista,’” Danielle laughed.
“Y’all dead wrong. You know I be on the DL, yo,” Coco said.
“Yeah, but up on stage you swear your ass is the boss, Miss Diana Ross. You be playing it,” Danielle said. She was sounding critical of Coco’s style of singing and dancing.
“That’s not true. I just do my thing, yo. I just be getting mine.”
“Yeah, yours and everyone else’s,” Danielle said. “There’s no ‘i’ in team.”
Coco faced Danielle and gave her deep, cold stare.
“Are you for real?” Coco asked at last. Her tone was over the top, serious. Danielle immediately knew she had crossed a line, but wouldn’t back down. Josephine, in the middle, grew uneasy. The silence lengthened.
“This food really sucks,” Josephine said. “I think maybe we should bounce, y’all?”
“Now, I’m gonna ask,” Coco said. “We are a group, rrright?” she purred like Eartha Kitt.
“Y’all gonna fight over some bullshit? C’mon,” Josephine said playing peacemaker.
“We a group, right, yo?” Coco repeated.
“Yeah we’re a group,” Danielle said, “and everything should be equal—including time at lead.”
“Well, it’s good that you brought it up,” Coco said. “Cuz I don’t wanna be running around with peeps who suppose to be down wid ya, yet keeping shit behind ya back.”
Josephine’s half-smile faded. Tension was at an all time high. Coco’s lips curled as if they were trying to touch her nose. Her reversed baseball cap made her look angry. She stood street fierce like someone ready to pop-off on any challenger—A bully, only a lot prettier than most.
Danielle was the hunted, caught but not fully captured. She was confident about the avenue of escape. With her light brown hair and cool dark eyes, Danielle appeared to be calm under Coco’s intense pressure. In the group, Danielle moved with athletic grace on stage. Her trained body always invited the movements, turns and rhythms of motion. Her voice was always ready to shout and share the chorus. Now Danielle wanted to be a lead, if she could weather the storm Coco was ready to bring.
“But Coco is the lead,” Josephine said. “We build off of her. I mean we can’t always change the lead. Have you ever witnessed a lead change in like say, SWV? They always have the same person singing, and they don’t do so badly.”
“Yeah, maybe she’s the only one who can really sing,” Danielle deadpanned. “Yeah what about, the Spice Girls?” She asked.
“Yeah, and what about them?” Coco demanded.
“They don’t count. They ain’t even Hip Hop you don’t stop.” Josephine opined.
“Ahight, okay yo. Cool,” Coco said reflecting, “if that’s what it’s all about then we’ll practice the routine with everyone at lead. Is that ahight with y’all?”
“Yep, me personally, I’d rather try it that way.” Danielle agreed.
“No, no. I’m cool with all that. But I’m saying, someone has to follow. That’s me. I’m not taking it personal,” Josephine said.
“It’s not a matter of taking it personal, Jo.” Danielle was about to conclude, but Coco interrupted.
“You’re taking it that way. Why else would we be sitting here arguing about this bullshit then, yo?”
“I’m just saying…” Danielle was about to speak but Coco impatiently cut her off.
“Just saying what, yo?” Coco asked and sat down.
Josephine jumped in. “You’re just saying that you want to lead sometimes, and Coco said okay. Me, I say yeah. Now, can we just end this? I’m getting a damn headache. It’s about a record deal, y’all. Right now we’ve got nothing so we just fighting for crumbs.” Josephine said and glanced at her two friends who were still ready to lock horns. “What’s the matter with y’all?” Josephine finally asked.
“Ain’t nothing the matter. I’m allowed to give my opinion on the group which I help get started, right? When are we starting these practices?” Danielle asked.
“Let’s do it now, yo,” Coco said.
The words sounded more like a challenge than an arrangement for rehearsal. They all rose. The sound of skidding chairs signaled their fate like the bell that begins a round in boxing. Suddenly Coco remembered her calculus test.
“No, I think we better wait ‘til tomorrow. I’ve really got to study and tighten up on da calculus thing, yo. We could do this tomorrow. I still wanna go to a good college for free; know what I mean, yo?”
“Yeah, cool,” Danielle said. “This kid’s beeping me, anyway.”
She checked the incoming message on the pager, worn next to her navel. Her blue jeans were a little tighter than the other girls wore. She had a slender body that connected in a voluptuous form. Danielle flaunted it, she made no attempt to hide her beautiful assets.
The fact is Danielle accentuated it by continually showing up in outrageous combinations. She was light-skinned, could have passed. Even the Spanish people would always try to converse with her in their native tongue. Danielle rushed to the pay phone. Her manicured fingers eagerly dialed the digits from the pager.
“Hi Cory,” she said.
Coco shouldered her knapsack, lit another cigarette, and headed to the door. She threw a peace sign to Danielle, whose eyes shifted just in time to catch it. Danielle nodded.
Coco and Josephine walked to the bus stop in silence. Coco puffed, her right hand clinging to the cigarette like a drunk about to throw a dart.
“What do you think it is?” Josephine asked, finally breaking the silence. She had been thinking about the incident at lunch. Coco flipped the cigarette away. It spiraled through the air and into a puddle. The water doused the fire and soaked into the cigarette butt, turning the puddle into an ashtray.
“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” Coco said.
“The little skit at the chicken place,” Josephine reminded Coco. “Or am I bugging?”
“You probably bugging, yo,” Coco said.
“No, you and that bitch, Danielle were going at it. I guess she thinks she deserves more props.”
“That bitch gets all the props from her boyfriends,” Coco said as a mischievous smile appeared.
“No, you didn’t go there like that?” Josephine rejoined. “I mean, personally if you asked me, I think she’s been drinking way too much.”
“We all have our turn when we take a nip of sump’n, sump’n.” Coco said in Danielle’s defense.
“Way too much,” Josephine said. “And when she does, it’s not like you.”
“Like me? Whatchu getting ready to say, yo?” Coco asked.
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean she can’t control herself. She always be getting wild and loud. For a while at the chicken place, I thought she had a little nip of that damn Alize.” Josephine laughed. “She’s always saying: ‘Me and my man split a glass of Thug Passion.” Josephine mocked Danielle’s way of speaking. Coco laughed easily, it wasn’t hard to tell that she had calm down after that bout at the chicken spot.
“She better check herself,” Coco said.
“And don’t wreck herself,” Josephine added. Both girls laughed as they made tracks to the bus stop.
“I’m gonna take a walk over to the library next to her place. It’s real quiet in there, yo.”
“You know you’re always welcome to study at my place. Dad is never home and my mom won’t mind.” Josephine offered.
“No, that’s okay. But thanks, Jo.” Coco said.
The bus pulled up. Both girls showed passes and took seats. Coco reached for her headphones. Josephine watched as the huge tires of the bus splattered the puddle and the water-logged cigarette. With a turn of the wheel, both became nothing. Coco and Josephine watched passengers board and leave the bus. As it moved uptown, fewer suits and ties got on and more got off. Then it was Coco’s stop.
“Don’t study too hard, girlfriend. Wednesday is rehearal,” Josephine said.
She offered her fist, pointing to Coco. Coco touched fists and left the bus. Her bop came to life as she neared the brown glass doors of the gray library. She stopped to catch a smoke.
Danielle is just being a bitch, she thought. I know she ain’t even close to me in dancing, and the bitch definitely can’t sing. All she does is swing her long hair in your face. That’s the reason I had to move up to the front. Anyway, people know I’m the lead. They know. Maybe that’s the reason she hangs out with so many boys. She trying to win a popularity contest. Well, if it’s a contest she wants, she’s coming to the right one.
Coco flicked the cigarette away. Now she wished she had-n’t put off rehearsal until Wednesday. But the calculus test was tomorrow, and she wanted to score high. Coco walked into the library, still dwelling on Danielle’s petty lunchtime outburst. She thinks she’s all that. We’ll see.
“A-h-h-h,” she breathed as she sat down and pulled her calculus book out of her knapsack. Too bad I can’t study at home, she thought. I could study and just fall asleep. This place is mad quiet. Wish I could take it home.
Calculus began. She let it take over her mind, and after a couple of hours it was over. She shouldered the knapsack and headed for the bus stop. On the way, she spotted Danielle and her new boyfriend.
“Hi. What are you doing around these parts?” Danielle asked. She already knew the answer.
“Trying to set up one of these nice apartments,” Coco said.
“Be careful. There are plenty of cops around here. You don’t want to mess around and get caught,” said the boyfriend. There was lipstick all over his mouth, but he seemed alright. And he was good looking.
“Oh, Coco, this is Cory. Cory, this Coco, my ace boon,” Danielle said sounding a little giddy.
“Hi, what’s popping, Cory,” Coco said. “I gotta bounce. Here comes my bus.”
“Wait-up Coco, I’ll give you a ride. I mean, Cory’s driving, and we just gotta go get a bottle of Alize. I’m sure—”
“Nah, that’s all good, yo. You guys go ahead and do what y’all were gonna do. I’m gonna catch this bus. Nice to see ya. Peace.”
The bus came, and she got on. Now she’s gonna get real nice, like nothing happened, thought Coco. Fuck her and her ride. That’s what that nigga getting ready to do, anyway. Lipstick all over his face
Damn! She almost said it out loud. The bus lurched forward, and Coco fell back into the seat. Her thoughts switched to home. What kind of mood is Mom gonna be in? She wondered as she got off the bus and moved toward the broken glass doors of the dirty brick building. The crack-heads lurched in and out. Home, sweet home, she thought as she pushed by them and into the building.
“Hi, Coco,” they shouted.
“Peace,” she said, without turning around. She headed for the elevator, but the sign on the door read: ‘Out of Service.’
“Shit!” Coco trudged to the stairwell and up the stairs. She reached the apartment door where a sign should be posted: You’re now entering hell, Coco thought. The peephole looked as if it was made by a stray bullet. Let’s see what the devil’s gonna cook up this evening. Maybe she’ll be too drunk to deal with life. Coco’s mind tried to enter before her body. This type of mind-game prepared her for whatever came next: Think it’s worse, maybe it’ll be better.
A door squeaked open. It was Miss Katie, the widow from 3D. Her apartment was toward the entrance of the building and from her window she could see both corners of the streets below.
“Hi Coco. How are you doing?” Ms. Katie asked. “It’s been about a month now, right Coco?”
“Yes, Miss Katie,” Coco answered politely. It was not her usual style, but Katie Patterson was different from the other neighbors. She was in her fifty’s and still looked young and bright. Her husband was killed in Viet Nam, she would say during times she allowed herself to talk about him. Coco knew him only as Sgt. Patterson. Miss Katie didn’t sit around moping; she went back to college and earned her bachelor’s degree.
Coco admired her greatly for accomplishing that. Miss Katie did this while raising and sending her children, Roxy and Robert, to none other than Princeton University. Coco smiled at Miss Katie, who deserved a lot of respect and love. The teen gladly gave it up to the elderly lady.
“Well, I’m pleased to report that she didn’t go down to the dens today,” Miss Katie reported, as if she was reciting her daily orders.
“That’s good news,” Coco beamed. She’d been getting that account since her mother came out of drug rehab a month ago and was continuing counseling on an out-patient basis.
“How’s she on the inside?” Miss Katie asked. Coco flipped her right hand up and down, wrist loose. “So-so, huh?”
“How’s school and your tests coming along?”
“Fair to fine,” Coco replied, enthusiasm in her voice.
“Good, good. Keep it up, Coco.” Miss Katie called after the girl.
“Coco, is that you?” Her mother stood in their doorway.
“Yes, yes. I’ll see you later, Miss Katie.”
“Bye, Coco. Take care, alright?”
Coco entered an apartment that was well worn. It appeared every stitch of the family’s clothing was laid out in the tiny hallway.
“I was gonna do laundry,” her mother said, “but I just couldn’t make it down them goddamn steps. Elevator still out?”
“Yeah, ma,” Coco said. “I’ll get them in a few. Just sort ‘em out.” The teen knew that it would be an opportunity to go downstairs and sit with the pay phone. “Any mail?” Coco asked.
“Girl, you constantly asking the same question. What you hoping for? Publisher’s Clearinghouse told you that you gonna be their next first prize winner? Huh?”
“No, Mom. Just checking, just checking,” Coco said and grabbed a bag of chips. She slipped a couple into her mouth and crunched.
“The mail’s over by the kitchen window.”
Coco sauntered to the window.
“Why can’t you walk ladylike? You’re getting older, and you’ve got to learn to conduct yourself proper, like a lady.”
“Mom, please save the sermon,” Coco sighed. She leafed through the mail. Bills, junk mail. No college acceptances, no record contracts. She looked down through the window. People were milling around. From above, they looked like robots, moving a few steps at a time, pausing as if trying to reach something, but never succeeding. Coco saw beggars with turned up palms stained with dirt. The working people moved faster, walking quickly with noses turned up in disgust. Just across the side of the building, a torch was sparked—a fiend had score.
Coco turned her back to the window. Her mother plopped herself down on the soiled sofa. Everything was worn out just like the sofa. A mouse scuttled from underneath somewhere and disappeared through a hole in the wall. Well, maybe not everything.
“I guess I better start the laundry.” Coco grabbed the keys, along with the cart. Just as Coco started out the door, her mother approached.
“Get me a pint of Hen,” she said and handed Coco a ten-dollar bill. All the time she was looking the other way. “You can bring it after you put the clothes in the washer, okay?” Mrs. Harvey noted in her a sincere tone. Coco noted that her mother’s demeanor was like that of a little girl asking for candy.
“Okay?” Her mother asked a second time. Coco wished her mother was more like Miss Katie. “No,” she wanted to answer. “No more candies for you.” But instead she replied with an enthusiastic, “Yeah, yeah. Ahight,”
“Don’t be giving me that ‘yeah, ahight’ street lingo. Just be careful with your mouth,” Mrs. Harvey said.
“To the dungeon,” Coco said as the door slammed shut. She stopped in the hallway outside the door.
“Nah, nah. Not yet. I need my smokes.” Coco started banging on the door. Mrs. Harvey came to the door. From the outside, Coco could see her clearly through the damaged peephole. She opened the door and threw the pack of cigarettes. Coco caught them in her left hand easily.
“We’ve got to get them to fix this hole, yo,” Coco said.
“Yeah, when you get back. Hurry. And I’m not gonna tell you again to stop da street slang. I’m not your ‘yo, yo’. I’m your mother, alright? I don’t know how many more times I’ve gotta remind you of that fact.”
Calm down mother. Cuz right now you just akkin like a little girl. You’ll have your candy soon, Coco thought.
“Okay,” she blurted out as she started for the stairwell, dragging the cart with the dirty laundry.
“Damn girl, where you going? That’s a lotta shit.” It was Deja. He had been visiting his son and his son’s mother who lived in the building.
“Yeah, what’s up Deja? What ya doing around these parts, yo?” Coco asked.
“Ya know,” Deja said. He grabbed the front of the cart and guided the wheels down the steps. Finally they reached the bottom.
“Good looking out, Deja,” Coco said, genuinely grateful. “It would’ve been hell.”
“That’s ahight. Wanna burn some weed, Coco?” She thought about the high and was tempted.
“Nah, I’m a pass, yo.” Coco said almost shocking her own self.
“You sure, now?” Deja asked, a little surprised at Coco’s answer. She had always smoked with him. “Coco, I’m telling you, this some good shit you turning down.” He held the blunt to her face. Its brown paper wrap was moist from the licking his tongue had given it.
Coco smiled. “Nah I ain’t fucking wid that, yo. I got things to do,” she said. But her mind wandered. Why don’t I just hit it a couple of times? One or two drags then chill. Just say no. I don’t know what’s wrapped up in it. It might not even be just chronic. Guided by her judgments, Coco made good her escape.
“Well that’s never stopped your ass before,” Deja yelled as he went up the stairs, leaving out of the building.
That bitch was acting nervous, he reflected. Edgy fucking bitches. One day they on one side of da edge, next they on da other mothafucking side. “That’s reason the land gave man da herb’s blessing,” he said aloud. Once he was out the building, Deja placed the brown homemade cigar between his lips. “Peace, God,” he said and squeezed a blue-tinted lighter. Its silver tip sparked and Deja inhaled deeply, pulling the flame up to the tip of the blunt. He held the smoke in his lungs, and then exhaled, extinguishing the flame’s dance on the cigar tip. Another smoker, Rightchus, moved over toward Deja.
“What’s up, Rightchus,” Deja said.
He clasped Rightchus’ hand with his right hand. They bumped shoulders and held each other’s hand in a tight-fisted embrace. They released each other’s hands, fists clashing.
“Good to see ya, Rightchus,” Deja laughed. He choked on the smoke of the weed. “So whazzup? Want some?” He passed the blunt to Rightchus.
Rightchus had never been known to turn down weed or anything else he could smoke. Rightchus never passed on a free high. They smoked and talked.
“Wow, man, this shit got some power to it,” Rightchus announced. “Yo, you know about the cosmic,” he continued.
“Cos-what?” Deja asked.
“Cosmic, kid,” Rightchus said.
“Cosmic? I hope that don’t mean Cos on da mike,” Deja laughed. He was lightheaded from the deep draws on the weed.
“Now I see. I can’t kick shit, because you ain’t ready,” Rightchus said just as two Rastafarians emerged. They shouted to the smokers.
“Jah Rastafari!”
“Peace, Jah man,” Rightchus answered. He turned to Deja who was sucking on the blunt then passed it to Rightchus.
“I’m gonna go through some degrees though—nah mean? Based on da science, mathematics states that all men are created equal. Nah mean?” Rightchus asked, puffing.
“Word is bond,” Deja agreed.
The grin on his face said he was less than serious. This situation was more beneficial to Rightchus. He figured the longer he kept talking, the more Deja would be engaged. The amount of weed smoked was directly proportional to beguiling Deja. Rightchus inhaled hard, holding his breath as he continued.
“Word is bond, indeed. Manifest in da cipher, da truth is da wisdom. Da wisdom is da wise. Take you to the sixth degree of science. Word is bond. I’m going through some degrees though, know wha’ I’m mean?” He asked then exhaled and passed the blunt to Deja.
“You trying to drop some knowledge on me now?” Deja asked. He puffed twice and passed the blunt to Rightchus. His cheeks collapsed when he inhaled.
“The degrees of mathematics ah… wisdom cipher, means: That all men are born in wisdom, know wha’ I’m saying and that’s showing and proving that truth is in da square when you manifest da cipher, know wha’ I’m saying?” Rightchus breathed and let go the blunt.
“Go ahead. Kick that shit it sounds interesting,” Deja requested as he puffed once and passed. Rightchus immediately took some tokes before continuing.
“When you manifest da truth, da truth is wisdom, which is da wise word manifested by da wise and intelligent black man, with supreme knowledge of himself. Know wha’ I’m saying?” Rightchus puffed away.
“Preach, man,” Deja added, waving the blunt on.
Rightchus kept on puffing and lecturing.
“Wisdom is the wise, where no more wise would be dumb, and the ignorant. Wisdom is also that black women secondary, but most positively necessary to God, know wha’ I’m saying? Wisdom is also H20, you know wha’ I’m saying? Water. He wisdom cipher, when he wisdom cipher, he only manifest light, ‘cuz water is the substance of light. Therefore, wisdom is bearing the seed of light or seed of the true and living god, the black man. The Black man have to build God. Know wha’ I’m saying?” Now Rightchus was inhaling and exhaling in rapid succession.
Coco heard this sermon on the way to and from the liquor store. Rightchus had drawn a crowd. Others rolled and lit blunts. Soon they were passed around until the crowd became a big puff of smoke. A patrol car casually drove by. The officers observed the smoking crowd.
An interruption came next. “Disperse now!” The cop riding shotgun announced. “Get off the street corner.”
“I’m a go to the store and get a brew. Peace,” Deja said. The others headed into other buildings. The crowd dispersed as quickly as they had formed, but not peacefully.
“Fuck da police,” Deja yelled.
The police heard him. Emergency lights flashed.
“That’s why we had Tyson in jail. Don’t move. You in the red jacket, walk toward the car.”
Evening had begun to fall. The sun emitted a yellow-and-red hue against a gray blue sky on its way down.
“Build, Black man,” Rightchus yelled as the cops frisked Deja. They both were out of the car. The engine was still running the doors were left open. Deja submitted to the search. He knew he was clean. Coco watched. She shook her head and kept going. Then the police spoke to Deja. Cuffs were out. Would he be arrested?
“Tin shields always showing out,” Coco said.
She threw the cigarette down and walked through the, now deserted, front entrance. Quickly a man reached down, picked it up and puffed desperately. His clothes were tattered and dirty: street living. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. Coco almost articulated, but decided not to interrupt the loud conversation he was having with himself.
She entered the building. There were no visible numbers, a front door that used to be a red door, with lock-and-key security. Seven years earlier, she and her mother had moved into this building after a series of welfare motels. It seemed then to be a nice living space, but not for long. Things are always broken; never fixed, she thought, as she walked past the broken elevator. Its brown doors spread invitingly.
Coco returned to her apartment and left the Hennessy on the table. Her mother shouted from the bathroom, “Coco, Coco. Is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom. I gotta check on the laundry.”
She hurried down concrete stairs to the basement that harbored four washing machines that worked when they wanted to, and dryers that invited quarters for very little heat. She had left her laundry in the dryer. A friend, Bebop, from the sixth floor, was keeping an eye on it.
“Thanks, yo.” Coco said, bursting through the door and startling Bebop, who had just settled into a comfortable position.
“Shit, Coco, slow down,” Bebop said. The twenty-three year old daughter of Jamaican immigrants was someone Coco knew she could trust.
“You scared da living shit outta me, gal,” Bebop screamed. The fright brought out her native dialect.
“Chill, Bebop.” Coco said. “How’s my laundry?”
“They should be finished. But check them. The machines are still going,” said Bebop. “I heard you were at the club dancing up a storm when they jacked that girl and raped her,” she added.
Coco went to the three functioning dryers. She watched briefly as the machines emitted squeaky sounds in rhythm with their rotations. She beat out the rhythm on the long, shaky table that separated washers from dryers.
“Yeah, we were at Genesis, but we weren’t involved with that or anything like that, yo.”
Coco turned to face an inquisitive stare. Suddenly, she realized Bebop knew something. Bebop had a way of knowing things.
“Well, we met her on our way to the club and shit. But I don’t know. I don’t really know. Maybe someone she had a beef with, someone waiting outside you know, yo. All I know is I got clocked cold.”
“I don’t know,” Bebop said, throwing her hands up and dropped them on the table. Her fingers tapped the last note to the beat. The washers churned, and then stopped. Coco moved the huge black laundry bag and cart into their receiving positions. She reached into the dryer and dumped the clothes into the bag.“Are you gonna fold?” Bebop asked.
“Are you gonna help, yo?”
“That’s a lot of folding,” Bebop said.
“Well, you don’t really have to, yo. I’ll catch ya—”
“No, no, Coco. I’ll help a little.”
“No, ya don’t have to, child. I’ll be good to ya next time. I’ll see you, yo,” Coco joked.
“You know you want me to help,” Bebop smiled.
“Ahight, yo, let’s do this and stop whining so hard,” Coco said with a smirk pasted to the corners of her lips.
Coco took the clothes out and the folding process began. Bebop waited. Coco knew there was nothing to be said. Then, on impulse, she started something.
“Yo, Bebop. Peep this, yo. What if someone called you out, to—like a performance duel, you know? Singing? Dancing?”
“C’mon, Coco. Nobody wants to do that. You’re already in videos, MTV, BET and all that shit.”
“Nah, but this person is good and they supposed to be down with your crew.”
“You mean Josephine? Nah she wouldn’t play herself like that. It’s that bitch that thinks she’s a Rican. Wanna be fly girl?” Bebop phrased the question as if she was a contestant on the television show Jeopardy.
Coco smiled, giving away the answer.
“I knew it, I knew it,” Bebop said humming in her patois. “I neva liked that dut-ty bitch. I told you she was a ‘ore,” Bebop continued. She looked over at Coco, who held the stare momentarily.
“It’s not that big a deal, yo. I’m just saying...” Her voice trailed off. Coco knew she could count on certain people, Bebop for one.
“Watch your back, Coco” Bebop said, “cause people like that cannot be trusted. Ya know?” Bebop was staring firmly at Coco.
The long folding table between them was obviously unstable; it shook with Bebop’s words, and from Coco leaning ever so slightly against it.
“It’s cool,” Coco said almost automatically. “I won’t sleep, sis.” They continued folding clothes. They heard shuffling noises. Bebop grew angry.
“Fucking rats,” she said. She lit a cigarette.
“Save me some, yo,” Coco said. “I ran out.”
They continued folding. When everything was done, Coco saw that Bebop had beads of perspiration on her forehead. She went to the dryer and dumped the contents into her laundry bag.
“Let me drop these off and I’ll be back to help you,” she said to Coco, “cuz you could stand some help.”
“Ahight. That’ll be peace, Bebop,” Coco said. She accepted without so much as a second thought. “Hurry! I wanna catch Jeopardy, yo,” she yelled after Bebop.
Bebop was out the door. The rats shuffled. Coco waited. Everybody knows about that incident at the club, she thought. Then Bebop was back. They struggled up the stairs with the heavy cart, full of clothing. When they reached the third floor, the long haul was over.
“Where’s the elevator when you need it?” Bebop asked, trying to catch her breath.
“Yeah, right,” Coco said.
“And why did you carry the cart?” Bebop asked.
“Well, this is the way Mom gave me da shit. I was gonna drag it up and down, you know.
“Yeah, you should have. Next time bring the laundry bag only. I know it was a struggle for you bringing it down alone.”
“I didn’t do it alone. Deja helped. Thanks. Next time, sis,” Coco said with a wink and a thumbs-up signal. “Ahight yo?”
“Coco, I’m telling you this once and for all. Watch your back around those so-called friends.”
“Okay. I heard you already, yo.”
“An’ try not to get thumped in your nose anymore, okay?” Bebop smiled.
“Goodnight!” Coco said.
“Coco, you should come to church with us Sunday. Try.”
“See ya.”
“Say you’ll try,” Bebop said.
“Okay, I’ll try. Now see ya. I gotta go to school in the morn.” Coco was through the apartment door. She pushed the cart in front of her. It was dark. She stumbled as she searched for the light switch, and woke her mother.
“Coco, is that you? What took you so long?” She spoke with that telltale slur.
Coco studied her mother. She must have been prettier in her youth. Right now she looked awful.
“It was a lot of clothes, mom,” Coco said.
Mrs. Harvey arose from the sofa, which retained her form long after she stood. She turned, searched, and suddenly seemed to panic. Then she felt the bottle. It was still there.
Coco left for the kitchen. She sat on the right side of the window and looked down. It’s calculus tomorrow, she thought. Coco pulled her black boots off and rested both feet on the lead-lined radiator. It was cold to her touch. She flexed her toes and watched as night fell.
The pipe-fiends, rats, and other night creatures now moved against their prey. They roamed the tiny park. Its benches provided space for the weary, as well as those on the prowl. Those benches were the rest stop for the ones who overdosed or had made their last score.
Coco gazed out the window at a view which bore the statistics on shoot-outs, drug overdoses and suicides. But those were regular re-runs. Calculus was important now. Thank God for libraries, she thought, and drifted off to sleep.
Her mother’s raging voice awoke Coco.
“Git up and go to bed, child. Who are you s’pose to be anyway, the night watchman? Cuz if you is, you’re sleeping on the job. So you might as well take your sleepy ass to its rest. Hear me, Coco?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m hearing you. So does everyone else on the street.”
“Just go to your bed. Always wit’ the smart mouth, like your dirty, singin’, travelin’ wreck of a father.”
“Okay, I’m gone.”
Coco stood up and the window displayed its scenery. It had not changed too much. The crack-heads were still stalking. The fiends were crawling, picking up anything that reflected light from the ground. The dogs were barking loudly, and the rats scampered to their holes for concealment while the night sky covered it all.
“Coco, get away from the window. Your duties for the night are over. You’re dismissed,” Mrs. Harvey said.
“Ma, I’ll go, but promise me you won’t go downstairs. You don’t need anything else. I mean—”
“Coco, go to bed,” her mother said sternly. “And stop worrying ‘bout me so much.”
Coco had been looking at her mother’s shadow, formed by the light from the window. Crack and alcohol had cooked the meat off her bones. Her appearance was disheveled from the abuse her body had taken. Hardly any liquor was left in the bottle her mother was clutching under her arm as if her life depended on it. Coco walked past the shell of her mother and headed for the bathroom.
