Miss Wayne & the Queens of D.C. (Book 3 in the Black & Ugly Series)

by T. Styles

  If you would’ve seen the sight of three gay men, two in high heels, pushin’ a pregnant woman toward the woman’s bathroom in the airport while Daffany helplessly tags along, you still wouldn’t believe your eyes.

  When we make it to the restroom I open the door and yell, “EVERYBODY OUT!”

  “What…what’s goin’ on?”

  “Leave now!” I tell a woman who is in the mirror doing nothin’ that would help the ugliness that is her face disappear. “A BABY IS ON THE WAY!”

  “But I don’t understand,” the woman says.

  “Bitch, is you deaf?! The girl said everybody out! You beat that face enough and it’s still there! So Go!” Miss Tyrone screams pointin’ to an exit.

  When she scurries away, I instruct my friends to take off their shirts and jackets so that we can place them on the floor. And when I realize everything me and my friends are wearin’, outside of Daffany’s sweater, clings to our bodies… I nix that idea. I never delivered a baby but I knew the delivery had to be done by me unless the ambulance hurried.

  The bathroom was in a frenzy. Miss Parade holds her stomach with her legs wide open. Miss Daffany paces back and forth. Miss Tyrone opens the zipper on his tight jeans because he can’t breathe and Miss Adrian seems to be frozen in place with his hands on his face.

  “IT’S COMIN! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” Miss Parade screams.

  “AHHHHHHHHH!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHH!” Miss Adrian screams pressin’ his face cheeks harder.

  “Okay everybody calm down!” Realizing Miss Parade has a right to be on edge I correct myself. “Everybody but you, baby,” Directin’ my attention to the others I say, “Now, this is what we’re going to do. Miss Tyrone, you go find some sheets, clean water and some towels.”

  “Some sheets? We in an aiport!”

  “Exactly…and they pass out sheets all the time on the plane. So make use of yourself.”

  “I don’t want my baby born in this bathroom.” Parade says again.

  “Honey, I promise you, you don’t have a choice.” I tell her.

  “Miss Daffany, you go over to the sink, and get some paper towels for now. Dampen a few of them for Miss Parade’s forehead.”

  “Okay…okay, is…is…is….is….is….,” she was so nervous she can’t complete a sentence.

  “Miss Daffany, why don’t you find somethin’ you can do instead of talkin’. Start by gettin’ me the fresh paper towels like I asked you.”

  She nods and walks toward the paper towel dispenser by the sink.

  “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” Miss Parade screams again. “I can’t…I can’t…take it!”

  “AAAAHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAHHHHH! AAAAAAHHHH!” Miss Adrian screams.

  “Miss Adrian, we already have someone doing the screamin’ ‘round here. So why don’t you sashay, shontay, on out the door and find out where my ambulance is.”

  Without hesitation he does what’s asked. God bless Miss Adrian with his tender hearted self.

  I thoroughly wash my hands. “How are you doing, honey?!” I ask Miss Parade from the sink.

  “Not so good. I…I…feel the baby’s coming. I’m so scared.”

  “Everything’s gonna be okay.” I dry my hands and walk over to her. “You’re no rookie at this remember? You got two at home so you’ll be just fine.”

  “How many paper towels do I need?” Miss Daffany asks.

  When I look at her, she’s holding a pile so big, it looks like a load of clothes.

  “I think that’ll be enough, precious.”

  On the way over to us, Miss Daffany screams out in pain.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I cut my hand on the paper towel dispenser.” She examines her finger and continues to grab at the towels.

  “Well come on over here. I need you. I don’t think the baby is gonna wait for an ambulance. She’s ready to be the star of the show right now. Just like her beautiful Godmother.”

  With that said, I get in front of Miss Parade, stoop down and raise her dress. Then I help her up and place a heap of paper towels under her lap. She maintains the hold of her belly and sits on the pile. Next I remove her panties and ask her to scoot toward the edge so that her butt is halfway on the chair and halfway off. And I place a heap of paper towels on the floor right below her.

  “Good. Now listen.” I look up at her. “This baby wanna come out now, Miss Parade. So when you feel the contractions comin’ on, I need you to bear down onto the chair and push.”

  Not realizing she had the cell phone with her all this time, it drops out of her hand and I kick it away. Miss Daffany wipes her forehead with the wet paper towels trying to keep her cool.

  “I need you to hold my hand!” She says to me, inhalin’ and exhalin’ quickly out of her mouth.

  “Honey, we don’t want the baby pussy poppin’ on a hand stand. So I’ma need my hands free and I’ma need you to push.”

  “PPPPLEEEEASSSSE! HOLD MY HAND!” She screams.

  I can’t win. She wants what she wants so I switch plans a little.

  “Okay…Miss Daffany, I need you to catch the kid.” I stand next to Miss Parade and hold her hand.

  “No…No…,” she says shaking her head. “I don’t know what I’m doin’. I never delivered a baby before.”

  “Neither have I. But you have had one and nature has made it very easy. When you see a head, get ready to catch it ‘cause it’s on its way.”

  “I…I can’t do it. I’m scared.”

  “Okay,” I kick my pumps off ‘cause a girl does her best work shoeless and calmly say, “Miss Daffany,” then I pick it up a notch, “Get ya ass down there and get that fuckin’ baby!”

  She hustles to her knees eyeing Miss Parade’s box as she waits for the baby’s arrival.

  “Good.” I say pattin’ Miss Parade’s forehead with a damp towel. “Now when you feel contractions, push, honey.”

  “Okay…okay,” she says lookin’ up at me with frightened eyes. “I’ll try. Ahhhhhhh…..,” Miss Parade exerts.

  “Good. You’re doing good.” Her grip is firm on my hand.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” she screams again.

  “That’s my girl. Keep pushin’, Miss Parade!”

  “It hurts!”

  “I’m sure it does, honey, but the baby is comin’ regardless. Now push!”

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh!”

  “The head is peakin out,” Miss Daffany alerts lookin’ into Miss Parade’s snatch like somethin’s evil is gonna jump out and bite her.

  “Good. But…but…let me know when…,” My sentence is cut short by what I see and my voice temporarily cannot produce a sound. Fear washes over me.

  “Miss Daffany, why don’t you go wash your hands, and let me get the baby.” When she doesn’t move I say, “And please…DON’T…TOUCH…ANYTHING!!!!!”

  “No!!! I need you holding my hand.” Miss Parade interrupts.

  “Baby, Miss Daffany is gonna hold your hand after she comes back from the sink and I’m gonna get the baby.”

  “I’m okay,” Miss Daffany says. “I can do this. I want to.”

  “You can’t.” I say eyeing her hand so that she follows my stare. “You CAN’T do this, Miss Daffany. Now move and go to the sink.”

  When she looks at her fingers, she sees blood oozin’ from her right hand. I’m thankful that Miss Parade is in too much pain to notice. The cut from the dispenser is worse than she thought. With Miss Daffany bein’ HIV positive, this is more than just dangerous. Both Miss Parade and the baby are in a perilous situation.

  Daffany stands and I move in position to catch the baby. “Let me go…wash my hands.” She says hurriedly.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!” Miss Parade continues.

  “It’s almost here! It’s almost here!” I smile seeing the head crown.

  Miss Daffany doesn’t come back from the sink. She just stares into the mirror, shakin’ her head and cryin’. I want to console her but there’s no time and I know she’s scared that she almos
t put Miss Parade and the baby’s life in danger.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

  “Good! One more, honey! Just one more push!”

  She pushes one last time and I help the baby out. I place the baby into my left arm, umbilical cord still attached and smile. Just then, Miss Tyrone burst through the door with Southwest Airlines blankets in her hand and Miss Adrian follows with the ambulance. With a crowd of people before us, I notice my phone is on the floor with the lid wide open. The minutes counting, shows that Jay has been on the phone the entire time.

  Picking the handset up I say, “Congratulations, Jay! It’s a girl!”

  “Nigga, I’ma kill you when I see your ass!” He screams.

  Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy about the way his first daughter was born. And I can’t say that I blame him. It didn’t matter that had it not been for the hissy fit his wife threw in the airport, just seconds before she boarded the plane, that she could’ve had the baby in the air instead. He wanted her home, but she needed me to be there for her. I know how important it is to have someone you love there for you no matter what.

  Reflecting On The Younger Years

  Miss Wayne

  “Thanks for meeting with me, Mrs. Peterson.”

  Mrs. Peterson smiled lightly and said, “No…thank you for meetin’ me.” She pointed to herself. “I was surprised you called, but I figured Wayne is doin’ well in school so it can’t be nothin’ too bad.”

  “No…no,” Dora Brook, the school’s white principle assured her, shaking her head from left to right. “Wayne is a model student!”

  Mrs. Peterson smiled proudly and gripped her brown leather purse closer, which sat in her lap. “That’s good. He was so excited after winnin’ the Spelling Bee for the second time in a row for the school. He really wanted to make you proud. He’s been dancin’ around with the trophy ever since he got it. I can’t take the thing from the chile if I tried. Even sleeps with it.”

  “Dancing, huh?” There was a condescending tone aback of the principal’s response.

  “Yes. He’s a happy boy.”

  “Mrs. Peterson, I want to be frank with you.” She sat up straight in her seat and placed her folded hands on the desk…her salmon colored fingernails overlapping one another.

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “Great, because we’re concerned about Wayne here at the school.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well…he’s not like other boys. In fact, he’s not like any of them.”

  “Well we should embrace our differences shouldn’t we?”

  “Yes. But…well…uh, we’ve gotten a complaint from a student in gym. He said Wayne touched him inappropriately.”

  The smile on Mrs. Peterson’s face was removed. “What you tryin’ to say?”

  “I’m saying that one of the kids made a complaint against Wayne. And because of the terrible accusation, I have to follow up with you…the parent. I really am sorry.”

  “Touched him where, how and when?”

  “It was last week. Tuesday I believe.”

  “A day before the Spelling Bee?”

  “Oh,” she said looking through the large desk calendar before her. “I guess it was. I hadn’t noticed.”

  “So you’re tellin’ me that Wayne supposedly touched a chile a day before he won the championship for your school? Yet you allowed him to participate anyway? How convenient.”

  Mrs. Brook’s face turned red. “Like I said, I hadn’t noticed that it was a day before the championship.”

  “Sure you didn’t. What exactly happened?”

  “I’ve been told that the kids were playing a game of Tag. Our gym teacher Mr. Barry Cornheart facilitated the game. I’m told Wayne was “It” and he tagged another student inappropriately on his body.”

  “Where on his body?”

  “On the shoulder.”

  Mrs. Peterson sat up straight and eased forward, “He tagged another student inappropriately on the shoulder? Since when is touchin’ on the shoulder inappropriate behavior?”

  “Well the student said it lasted longer than it should have. He felt very uncomfortable and was in the nurse’s office for the entire day after the incident. And because I’m the Principal, I have to speak with you.”

  “You’ve already said you had to speak to me. So what does this mean for my chile?”

  “It means that we are suggesting that you seek a counselor for Wayne.”

  “My boy don’t need no shrink gettin’ in his head makin’ him feel imperfect!”

  “Mrs. Peterson, your son is….well…gay. And he needs counseling.”

  “Counselin’, huh?”

  “Yes, Marbel.”

  Mrs. Peterson shot daggers with her eyes. And suddenly, she presented a kind smile across her face. It was like she had two personalities and the principal wondered what was behind the look in her eyes.

  “Mrs. Brook, would you mind if I make two phone calls?”

  “Sure go right ahead,” she said thinking Marbel was eager to take her up on her advice to find Wayne a counselor. She pushed the black phone across the desk. “Dial 9 first and then the number.”

  Mrs. Peterson moved the hair away from her ears, picked up the handset and dialed her first number. It rang twice. When the caller answered she hit the speaker button and placed the handset down.

  “First National Bank, how may I help you?” the kind voice said from the speakers.

  “Oh yes, I’d like to check the availability of my checking account balance please.”

  “Sure. What is your account number and name?”

  Mrs. Brook looked at Marbel with a confused glare. She thought it strange considering the nature of their conversation. I mean, why would she choose now to check the availability of funds in her bank account? It was as if she’d forgotten all about the meeting and remembered something else more important.

  “185558766.” She said providing her name and information directly afterward.

  “Oh yes! I have your account right here. Your balance if $46,000. Anything else?”

  “No. That will be all. Thank you.” She ended the call.

  The look on Mrs. Brook face showed her surprise. She hadn’t expected the woman to have saved so much money. Besides, it was $45,000 more than she had in her account on a principal’s salary. What she didn’t know was that Marbel had been saving for Wayne’s college fund most of her life.

  “One last call, please.” Marbel said rousing Mrs. Brook from her thoughts.

  Mrs. Brook nodded as she dialed another number.

  “Thank you for calling the law offices of Scott Weinstein. How may I help you?” a woman’s voice bellowed.

  Now Mrs. Brook understood Marbel Peterson and she understood her very well.

  “Yes. May I speak with Scott Weinstein? This is his client Marbel Peterson.”

  “Sure. Let me see if he’s available.”

  It was a brief moment before he answered.

  “Yes, Marbel. What can I do for you?”

  “I know you are paid by the hour so I’ma get right to the point. I’m at my son’s school and the principal has suggested that I seek counsel. So, here we are. Can you help me?”

  “Sure…go right ahead. The clock is tickin’,” he joked.

  Marbel smiled at the principal who was flushed. “Great. So what were you sayin’, about my son Mrs. Brook?”

  “Uh…I…uh.” She was speechless.

  “Oh you’re at a loss for words. So let me remind you. You were harrasin’ my chile and tryin’ to make me believe that somethin’ is wrong with him because he’s different.”

  “No I wasn’t. I was just suggesting…”

  “Listen and listen good, Mrs. Brook. I been savin’ all my life for my son’s future. All my life! That boy has a good heart and I’m sick of people not seein’ him for who he really is. Now I had planned to use the money for his college fund but if you bother my son again, I won’t hesitate to spend every damn
dime on suin’ you and this fuckin’ school. ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned, his future starts right here and right now! So what you wanna do?”

  Silence.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” The principal said into the phone’s speaker. “Wayne isn’t any trouble at all. And I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “That’s what the fuck I thought.” Said Marbel smiling from ear to ear.

  House of Dolls

  Queen Paul

  It was four in the morning at Paul’s five-bedroom home in Landover Maryland. He sat behind his meticulous detailed mahogany framed desk pissed the fuck off. The golden accented desk lamp lit the dark room as he rocks back and forth in his brown leather chair.

  “What the hell you doin’, girl?” Kevin asks walking into the office door behind him. His voice heavier than the softer tone he used during regular hours. “Why you up so early?”

  When he sees five lines of coke sitting on a mirror next to a pile of unorganized papers, his mouth waters.

  “The question is, what you doin’ up?!” Paul says looking up at him. Then he takes a small nose pipe and inhales a line of coke. “I thought you were the Drag Queen Slayer or somethin’.” His large feet sit on top of the pink furry slippers under his desk as he tugs at the sides of his black nightgown, which is much too small for his muscular build.

  “Man…that Drag Queen Slayer shit is crazy ain’t it? I really hope they catch whoever’s doin’ that shit.”

  “Me too,” says Paul. He inhales another line hoping Kevin doesn’t ask for one.

  “Can I do one?”

  Paul reluctantly pushes the mirror toward him and hands him the pipe. He inhales without so much as a thank you.

  “You sure it ain’t you?” Kevin jokes wiping his nose. “Half of the queens dyin’ you got beef with.”

  “Don’t even joke like that. I’m just as scared about this shit as you are.”

  Kevin giggles and sits down in his office. “Have you been in here all night?”

  Paul faces his paperwork and throws his hands on top of the mound in frustration.

  “I’m so sick of Tyrone and Dayshawn’s bitch asses! They don’t pay rent and now they fuckin’ up the house. What kind of shit is that?”