Chapter 20
That evening, the community room at the clinic was filled with women in skimpy summer clothes, with high heels and brightly colored hair. The union was having its first big meeting to plan strategy.
Just as Lily was about to call the meeting to order, Hibiscus strolled in.
“Look like all crab fine dey hole,” Lily said, sucking her teeth.
Hibiscus shrugged.
“Whatever it was that changed your mind, we’re glad you made it,” said Giselle, the brown-skinned Latina.
Lily walked to the front of the room. “I’m calling this meeting to order,” she said from the podium. “We just have two pieces of business. First of all the demands. Are we agreed on the following? We want a raise. We want health benefits if we work over twenty-five hours a week. We want sick days and vacation. Overtime pay for holidays. Worker’s comp, unemployment, and health insurance. No fees for dancing. Bring back the second dressing room. Plus a retirement fund. All those in favor say aye.”
“Aye!” came the loud chorus from the room.
“All those opposed say nay.”
There wasn’t a sound.
“Any abstentions?”
After a moment of quiet, one woman said, “I’m not big on abstinence.”
The room filled with laughter, but then Lily called for them to quiet down.
“So those demands passed unanimously,” she said. “But this next issue is more controversial. The question is whether or not we want to be a union shop or an open shop. That is to say, does everyone who works there need to be part of the union? So we’ll have a discussion and then put it to a vote. Raise your hand if you have a comment or a question.”
“I don’t like anyone telling me what to do or what to join,” said a girl with blue hair and several lip piercings. “That’s why I do this type of work. I say everybody should be able to choose.”
“Hear hear,” said Hibiscus.
“I disagree,” said Tara, the white union organizer with the lotus tattoo on her chest. “The whole point of the union is unity. We need to be representing everybody.”
“I agree with the idea,” a young woman in a jumpsuit and combat boots said. “But it’s a huge move to just get a union. The owners aren’t gonna like any of this. Can we go for our unanimous demands this year and negotiate for union shop next year?”
“But if we’re not a union shop, they can hire a bunch of other dancers this year who would undermine the process for next year,” said Giselle. “Just like they hired a bunch of part-timers after they fired all the activists.”
“Then that’s part of the work,” said the girl with the blue hair. “If we get guys to put twenties in our thongs by looking irresistible, then we can also get new girls to join the union by making it irresistible. But I got guys in my family in union shops that are lazy. They don’t even have to hustle for their workers’ loyalty because they have a monopoly.”
The arguments continued, and by the end, there was a decision by a slight majority to put union shop in the original demands, but be willing to take it out if there was push-back. The rest of the demands were non-negotiable. They vowed that if the owners wouldn’t meet them, they would strike.
* * *
A few days later, things had almost returned to normal. Tyesha hadn’t told Deza and Amaru about the DNA news or that she had been to Chicago. She needed time to digest it herself. Zeus, her father? Her mama moving in on Jenisse’s man? Jenisse’s hatefulness motivated by jealousy all these years? Deza and Amaru her nieces but also her sisters?
But several nights of pizza and bad reality TV with the girls had her feeling normal again. Things were moving forward with the dancers’ union. She had even taken the number of a hot guy on the subway. Not that she was gonna call him, but it felt good to know she had options.
And then, a week after her return from Chicago, Serena said she had a visitor.
“Who is it?” Tyesha asked.
“He didn’t give a name,” Serena said. “But he looks like that rapper Thug Woofer. Except dressed casually.”
Tyesha felt a clutch in her solar plexus.
“Okay,” Tyesha said. “Send him in.”
Woof walked in, and Tyesha grudgingly admitted to herself, he looked good. He had on workout clothes and they fit him nicely.
“Didn’t this used to be Marisol’s office?” he asked, looking around at all the mahogany and black leather décor. “I distinctly remember—”
“Woof, you shouldn’t have come,” Tyesha said. “I asked you not to call me. That didn’t mean to just show up at my job instead.”
He shook his head. “I’m not here to see you,” he said. “Well, not directly. I’m here to talk about Deza. I listened to the demo and it’s—she’s amazing. I want to talk business with her. But there’s no contact info.”
Tyesha nodded. “At the time, I guess she assumed the contact would go through me.”
“It’s just as well,” Woof said. “She’s really young, so I want you to chaperone the meeting. I read about all that Car Willis stuff, and if I’m gonna have a female protégée, it needs to be completely clear to everyone in the world that I’m mentoring her and not some other crazy predator shit.”
“Protégée?” Tyesha said. “Wow, that’s—that’s great. She’s gonna be over the moon.”
“I have a flight out at midnight,” he said. “Is there any way we can meet this evening?”
“I think it’s fair to say that Deza would never forgive me if I said no,” she said. “Why don’t you come by my apartment?”
“Okay,” he said. “See you tonight.”
* * *
Tyesha called Deza, and after ten minutes of shrieking, she calmed down enough for Tyesha to get a word in.
“So we’ll be meeting with him at the house,” Tyesha said. “I just need to text Woof that I’m running a little late.”
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Deza squealed.
“Uh-oh,” Tyesha said. “I can’t text Woof. I deleted his number from my phone. Maybe Marisol still has his number.”
“Why would your old boss have his number?” Deza asked.
“Long story,” Tyesha said. “Lemme jump off and call her.”
“No need,” Deza said. “I have his number.”
“What?” Tyesha said. “How’d you get Woof’s number?”
“I stole it from your phone,” Deza said. “Duh.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tyesha said. “That’s a violation of my privacy.”
“I thought I might need it someday,” Deza said. “And now here we are. You’re welcome.”
Tyesha laughed. “Shut up.”
“Oh, Auntie Ty,” Deza said, “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Now that you’re nineteen, you can just start calling me Tyesha.”
“Aww,” Deza said. “But I’ll always think of you as my auntie.”
“Of course,” Tyesha said. “But we’re gonna be peers soon—agewise, I mean. Anyway, I’m gonna text him now.”
* * *
That evening, Tyesha sat with Woof and Deza in her tiny kitchen. The orchid sat in the middle of the table, which was covered with music industry paperwork.
“So I was thinking we could start the tour off in Chicago,” Woof was saying. “Young talent is at their best with the home court advantage. It’ll be a big reunion for your fans. They’ll have missed you since you’ve been in New York. And for this first tour, you’ll need a family member as a chaperone.”
Deza turned to Tyesha. “Auntie?”
“Sorry, baby, I already have a job,” Tyesha said. “But you know who might be available? Your mama.”
“Are you kidding me?” Deza said. “In what universe?”
“I’m just saying.” Tyesha put a hand under Deza’s chin. “She’s gonna be your mama your whole life. I think she’s learned some lessons now that you and Amaru stood up to her. Not to mention that you’d be the one in the power position for the first time. Promise me you’ll think about it?”
“A chaperone isn’t optional,” Woof added.
“Fine,” Deza said. “What’s the next step?”
“We need to meet with some executives at Paperclip,” Woof said. “Again, you should have someone there to represent you. An attorney or a family member. Tyesha, I know you’re busy, but I’m glad to work with your schedule. How’s Friday?”
“Friday’s fine,” Tyesha said. “I want to check with Eva Feldman, as well. She’s an attorney.”
“Great,” said Woof. “I’ll be back in town by then and can join in.”
* * *
The next day, Tyesha and Marisol met with Teddy and Etta Hughes in advance of their meeting with the union. This time the couple came to the clinic, and the four of them met in Tyesha’s office.
“So we just want to give you a heads-up on the demands,” Tyesha said.
The husband and wife were seated on the couch, and Tyesha had offered them all drinks to celebrate. Marisol poured herself and Tyesha glasses of rum as Tyesha made a vodka with cranberry juice for Etta and a scotch for Teddy.
The four of them raised glasses and drank.
“Just to clarify,” Tyesha said, “the union wants a raise, vacation and sick leave, health insurance for full-time workers, and a 401(k) account.”
“Actually,” Teddy said, licking a little scotch off his lips, “I changed my mind. I don’t really want a union in my club.”
“What are you talking about?” Tyesha said. “We gave you the gun last week.”
“What gun?” he said. “I don’t have any gun.”
Marisol turned to Etta. “I thought you said we could trust him. That you would make sure he kept his word.”
“Teddy, what are you doing?” Etta asked. “When you threw that gun in the river, you said you’d keep your promise.”
“I finally got my club back from the mob,” he said. “I’m not about to turn it over to a bunch of chicks. I didn’t get into this business to be pussy-whipped. Not by you and not by my employees.”
Tyesha smiled. “So that’s your plan, Teddy? Backstab the women who rescued your ass?”
He shrugged. “It’s not backstabbing. It’s just business.”
“What a shame for you,” Tyesha said. “It’s really too bad that I never trusted your ass, and I gave you a duplicate gun. And the original gun is in a bank security vault somewhere in Manhattan. Feel free to look for it.”
“You’re bluffing,” he said.
“Am I?” Tyesha asked. She pulled a glossy photograph out of her briefcase of a safety deposit box with a gun in a Ziploc bag inside.
“And you know what else?” Marisol said. “If we were to turn in the gun to the cops, I can’t imagine what Uncle Viktor would do if he figured out you manipulated him into killing Ivan, his own flesh and blood.”
Tyesha shrugged. “So while we were prepared to let you negotiate with our union, now we’re just gonna own you outright. So I think you’ll be agreeing to those demands. Plus, for the 401(k), we’d like you to contribute matching funds from your profits, as well.”
“I fucking told you to play it straight with these girls,” Etta said. “But no. You can’t fucking listen. You’re just always trying to take advantage. You keep trying to fuck people over, and you just keep fucking up.”
* * *
That night, Tyesha brought home a bottle of champagne.
“Do I get some, too?” Amaru asked.
“Just enough to toast,” Tyesha said. “We’re celebrating Deza’s big break in hip-hop and the union victory on my job.”
The three of them toasted and then ate dinner.
“I gotta go out to my friend’s game,” Amaru said and headed out.
As Tyesha and Deza cleared the table, Deza asked, “So Woof broke his contract with Car Willis, and he’s obviously still into you. Why is it you’re not fucking with him?”
“He’s a rap star,” Tyesha said. “He’s not relationship material.”
“Why not?” Deza asked. “Because he’s on stage? Because he’s famous. It’s just as easy to get cheated on by some trifling nigga down the block as a superstar.”
“Yeah, but with the trifling nigga, you don’t have your whole life on blast.”
“You know who you sound like?” Deza asked. “My ex.”
“What?”
“You’re just like him,” Deza said. “Attracted to the performer, but then resentful of the spotlight. That’s how DJs are. They want to be the invisible hand that controls everything. Move the crowd from a little booth with a bunch of toys. Head down, barely even acknowledging that they’re outside they mama’s basement. Passive aggressive motherfuckers.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean we emcees have issues, but at least we’re up front about it,” Deza said. “We want attention. We ask for it. We earn it. We get it. DJs want attention but they also don’t want attention. He picked me because he thought he could control me. That I would be the cute girl who made his set hot. But I started to fill up that limelight. Then he had to find another little cute girl. Fuck him. I’m through with DJs. Never again.”
“What the hell are you trying to say about me?” Tyesha asked.
“Can I speak my mind?” Deza asked. “Now that we’re heading for being peers or whatever?”
“Please do.”
“No. For real,” Deza said. “You ain’t gonna kick me out if I say something you don’t like, right?”
“No. I might be pissed for a minute, but we’re family.”
Deza took a deep breath. “When you were in high school, and me and Amaru were living with you and Grandma in Chicago, you used to rhyme just as hard as me. But when it was time to get up in front of people, you always pushed me forward. Just like nowadays. The other night, I was rapping into a wooden spoon, and you straight grabbed it from me and started some crazy rhyme about strippers needing health insurance. And I never would have tried to rhyme ‘insurance’ with ‘prurience,’ particularly because I never even heard of that shit before, but that’s what I mean. You feel that passion for the spotlight, and you’re attracted to that passion for the spotlight, but then you turn around and hold it against Thug Woofer. Why don’t you ever get up and do your own thing in front of people, instead of trying to be the chaperone for my career?”
“Deza,” Tyesha said, “everybody in the world can’t be an emcee. Somebody’s gotta clean the studio and run the health clinics of the world.”
“See, Mama’s the same way,” Deza said. “I don’t want her on the tour with me, because she’ll be trying to live out some part of her own dreams through me.”
“You’re comparing me to Jenisse?”
“I’m saying there’s a way you both be trying to live your lives through your men,” Deza said. “She wants the money. You want the power. There, I said it.”
“You’re wrong,” Tyesha said. “You’re totally wrong about me.”
“Fine,” Deza said. “Then prove it.”
“How?”
“At the hip-hop open mic.”
“What?”
“And you’re getting on the mic.”
“No way.”
“Yes,” Deza said. “You remember that rap from when I used to stay with you in your college dorm. Your friend used to beatbox.”
“What?” Tyesha said. “Absolutely not.”
“You rapped that damn song into hairbrushes, broom handles, kitchen spoons, and flashlights,” Deza said. “Now you can rap into a fucking microphone. You do this, and I’ll perform at your clinic’s benefit after I get famous.”
“You’re gonna do that anyway,” Tyesha said.
“I’ll make some of my famous friends come along,” Deza said. “And hopefully you’ll be back with Thug Woofer, and he can spit something, too.”
* * *
Two hours later, they were standing on stage at a small Brooklyn club. It was located in the basement of a sneaker store and packed wall to wall.
The host doubled as the DJ. He was a young Puerto Rican man in a dashiki and a giant set of earphones pressing down his afro. As he faded down a Latin house remix he introduced them. “Give it up for Deza Starling and Tyesha Couvillier!”
“Wassup, New York?” Deza asked.
Several folks whistled. She was starting to develop some fans in the city.
“I been here a bunch, but this is my girl Tyesha,” she said. “She’s a little nervous so show her some love.”
The audience applauded and cheered.
“I’ll show you some love, sexy girl,” a guy in the front said.
“So this is a rhyme we wrote a while back, and we’re performing it together in public for the first time.”
The DJ put the beat on and Deza began:
“Black girl Black girl, so much to say
So many obstacles get in the way
But we ain’t scared of this big, bad world
We gonna be there for you, badass Black girl.”
Tyesha sort of murmured along in the background. The spotlight was blinding. Deza had warned her about that and suggested she use it to block all the people out. Just pretend they were alone in the apartment.
Deza did her verse, and Tyesha could feel her heart beating faster and faster as it got closer to her turn.
When it was time, she missed her cue, so Deza came in and did the chorus again.
“Black girl Black girl, so much to say—come on, Tyesha.”
Tyesha closed her eyes and chanted along with Deza.
Then after the chorus finished, she just kept going, from memory, eyes still closed:
“My name is Tyesha but you can call me T
So much of this world that I want to see
They tell me that I’m sexy, they tell me that I’m fine
But I want to be respected for the power of my mind . . . ”
As she rapped, she blocked out the audience and recalled the girl she’d been, about Deza’s age, when they’d written the piece. She was away from home for the first time in college. She hadn’t taken any of the boys seriously because she was afraid that falling for some guy would throw her off her game. That she would get distracted and not do her best in school. It was her only shot to get out of the hood, and she couldn’t fuck it up. But now she was in New York, and she had the good job. Wasn’t her position secure enough that she could take a chance with Woof?
She closed her eyes and nodded her head and the lyrics fell from her mouth, automatically. This had been her subconscious anthem for all these years. Before she knew it, she had looped back to the chorus, and Deza was singing along with her.
Tyesha opened her eyes and saw Deza alternately crouching to reach out to the audience and striding across the front of the stage. She began motioning for the crowd to chant along with them. Finally Deza stuck the mic back on the stand and swung both hands up in wide arcs, clapping above her head and pressing the crowd to yell the final lines. Deza turned to the DJ and drew her finger across her throat, cueing him to cut the music. For the final line, the crowd’s voices rang clear throughout the crowded club:
“We gonna be there for you, badass Black girl!”
“Yes!” Deza said snatching the mic back up. “Give it up for my girrrrllll Tyesha!”
The audience roared and Tyesha just stood there for a moment, grinning and blinking back tears.