True to the Game II

by Teri Woods

  Gena held her hand over the counter, and Ray placed the ring on her finger. Gena placed her hand in front of one of the mirrors sitting on top of the counter and examined it.

  “That one is my favorite,” he told Gena. “I made that myself.”

  “Really, it is very nice,” Gena said. She wiggled her finger, and the ring slid right off. “It’s a little big, though.”

  “I can size anything to fit you perfectly,” Ray said.

  Gena handed the ring back to Ray, who wiped it clean and placed it back inside the display case. Gena pointed to another ring in the display.

  “Wow, you certainly have good taste,” he said with a smile. “I see that you dream big, just like me.”

  “I’m shopping, not dreaming.”

  Ray Feldman removed the ring from the display case and handed it to Gena.

  “Well then, you’re my kind of customer: sixteen thousand dollars.”

  Gena placed the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, no sizing necessary. It was the one. If there was ever such a thing as The Ring of Life, this was it. It was a white gold ring, with diamonds embedded around the band, and a three-karat solitaire mounted on top. It shone in the light, like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

  “I’ll take it,” Gena told him.

  Ray choked on his saliva.

  “And how will you be paying for that?” he asked.

  “Cash. Good ol’ cash,” Gena told him.

  “That would certainly do, now won’t it?”

  Gena went into the bathroom and counted out sixteen thousand dollars. She handed the money to Ray and watched while he wrote up a receipt and an appraisal for her records. She walked out of the store feeling icy as she headed for another jewelry boutique.

  “Can I see that watch right there?” Gena asked, pointing at a diamond bezel Cartier panther.

  The salesman spied the ring on Gena’s finger and immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The display case flew open, and the salesman was snapping the watch around Gena’s wrist before she could finish her sentence. The gold and diamond watch matched her ring to a tee. The only problem was that the watch and ring would both be on the same hand, leaving her other hand bare. She spied a nice diamond tennis bracelet that would help solve her dilemma.

  “How much for that tennis bracelet?” she asked.

  “Oh, that would look so lovely on you,” the salesman gushed.

  Gena caught the lisps in his words. He was just as sweet as apple juice.

  “Let me put that on your wrist, honey!” he said.

  Gena smiled and held out her wrist.

  The salesman clasped the bracelet around Gena’s wrist and maneuvered a large mirror in front of her. “You look simply divine.”

  She had to admit it, she was working those jewels. The only thing missing was something to go around her bare neck. She looked up to ask the salesman what he thought, only to find him rushing toward her with a necklace and charm. The boy could coordinate jewelry like a motherfucker. Yup, he was gay.

  “By the way, my name is Carlos,” the salesman told her.

  “My name is Gena.”

  “Well, Ms. Gena,” he whispered into her ear, “Mr. Carlos has something here that will knock your socks off. Close your eyes.”

  Gena closed her eyes. She could feel the necklace going around her neck, and the charm resting on her chest. It felt heavy. Carlos turned her around, in the direction of the mirror, perhaps. She would know in a second.

  “Open your eyes, Ms. Gena,” Carlos told her.

  Gena opened her eyes and gasped. Carlos had placed a diamond chain around her neck, with a large, heart-shaped diamond pendant. The whole thing was breathtaking, and it left her speechless.

  “You can wear it out,” Carlos told her. “’Cause, girl, I know you will fight me if I try to take it off.”

  Gena laughed. This fool had to be the store’s top salesperson. Her suspicions were confirmed when two fifty-something, super-rich-looking white women strolled into the store.

  “Ms. Jennifer and Ms. Emily, I will be with you two young ladies in just a moment,” Carlos told them. “You are rocking that new hairdo, Ms. Emily. You go, girl!”

  The white women could not stop smiling, blushing, and gushing at Carlos.

  “Now, Ms. Gena, how will we be paying today, Amex, Visa, Discover?”

  Again, Gena smiled. Even if she hadn’t originally planned on purchasing this many items, Carlos had sold her on them. His service and salesmanship were excellent, and he made her want to give him her money. She opened her purse.

  “It’ll be cash, Carlos,” she told him. “I’m paying in cash.”

  “Girl, what is the secret!” Carlos blurted out. “I sell this beautiful jewelry to beautiful ladies like you all day long, and I can’t figure out for the life of me what I am doing wrong! Carlos wants to shop here, too!”

  Gena laughed, pulled out her money, and counted out the number on the register. She had managed to spend $130,000 in thirty minutes. She felt damned good.

  And now, it was time to go back to the car. Gena drove a few blocks, observing that no one was behind her. About time, she thought to herself. Or better yet, maybe it’s about time that I get the fuck out of this 300CE and into something a little faster. Yeah, something new, something nobody will recognize, something fast as hell. She headed out of the mall and to the Porsche dealership.

  “Hello, is someone already helping you?” the saleswoman asked.

  Gena shook her head.

  “Okay, well then.” The saleswoman extended her hand. “My name is Candace.”

  “Gena,” she said, shaking the saleswoman’s hand.

  “What can I help you find today, Gena?” Candace asked.

  “I need a car,” Gena told her. “A really fast one.”

  Candace laughed. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Is that your 300CE out there?”

  Gena nodded.

  “How much do you owe on it?”

  Gena shook her head. “Nothing, but I’m not trading it in. It was a gift from someone really special.”

  “Oh, well then, my next question is, have you ever driven a Porsche before?”

  Gena shook her head again. “No.”

  “Well, we have several different models, and several different styles,” Candace explained. “Are you looking for a convertible, a hardtop, or something in between?”

  Gena lifted an eyebrow. “Something in between?”

  “Yeah, like this, it’s called a Targa. It has a removable roof panel, so that you can enjoy the open air. Not as much as in a convertible, but still, it’s more than just having a sunroof.”

  Gena pointed across the showroom floor. “What about that one?”

  “That one?” Candace laughed at her. “You want that one? That’s a lot of car, sweetie.”

  “Is it fast?” Gena asked, not realizing the joke was on her.

  “It’s the fastest thing on the streets right now,” Candace said in all seriousness.

  A wide smile slowly spread across Gena’s face. “I like it. That’s the one that I want.”

  Candace placed her hand on her hip and shifted her weight to one side. “You want that car, right there?”

  Gena nodded, walked across the showroom, and climbed into the car. Inside, she caressed the black leather diamond-stitched seating. Yeah, this was her shit.

  “Gena, this is a convertible Porsche Gemballa,” Candace explained. “It’s a convertible 911 turbo. It’s really a convertible race car, disguised as a street car. We’re talking twin turbochargers, dry sump oil lubrication, Brembo Carbon fiber brakes, I mean . . . the works.”

  And it’s black, too, Gena thought to herself, a rich, deep, shiny dark black convertible Porsche. It could outrace any car on the streets. And it even looked the part. The fenders were flared so wide, she could easily stand on them. And the massive whale tail and side intakes told everyone that this motherfucker could move, so g
et the fuck out of the way. Gena honked the horn, causing the other people in the showroom to jump. Outta the way, mad bitch in a Porsche, coming through!

  Candace peered down at Gena. “Girl, what’s on your mind?”

  Gena smiled and shifted her glance toward Candace. “Can’t nothing on the street catch it?”

  Candace shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Gena glanced down at the speedometer, which stopped at 250 mph. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, what?” Candace asked.

  “I’ll take it,” Gena told her.

  TAKE THAT

  Paula opened the door to Gah Git’s house using her key. She peeked into the family room. “Ma, it’s me, Paula.”

  Gah Git peeked from out of the kitchen. “I’m here. Come on in.”

  Paula hurried into the house, closing the door behind her. She looked around her at the junky mess. Why don’t Mama make these kids clean up around here? That was part of the problem; no one had to do anything. Gah Git did all the work, all the time. Paula was Gah Git’s oldest daughter and was the most together sister in the family. She had traveled most of the world, had graduated from college, and had a master’s in business. She worked for AT&T as a district field manager, which was how she was able to travel and see most of the world. Paula had worked hard to get to where she was and besides herself and Michael, her younger brother, no one else in the family had achieved as much success.

  “Hi, Ma,” she said, hugging her mother.

  “Sshh, I got Malcolm on the phone.”

  “Who?”

  “Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm?”

  “Yeah, sshh,” said Gah Git as she finished listening to her firstborn son.

  Paula turned her back to her mother when she heard who she was on the phone talking to. Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm, what does he want now? Malcolm brought back a lot of pain, too much pain. Even though fifteen years had passed since he was sentenced, time hadn’t changed the past for Paula. It seemed like only yesterday. But it wasn’t for Malcolm; it was fifteen hard years served in a maximum state facility called Green in Pennsylvania.

  “Okay, so September 12? Okay, I hope it works, baby. I’m gonna keep you in my prayers, Malcolm, you hear me?”

  Paula looked over at her mother.

  “Okay, I love you too, son, bye bye,” said Gah Git as she hung up the phone.

  “So, what’s going on September 12, Mom?” asked Paula, being nosey.

  “Malcolm says he goes in front of the parole board again. They might let him out this time. That sure would be something to see; my son, free, after all these years,” said Gah Git as she started washing the dishes in the sink.

  It be something, yes it would be something, hot damn. Please God, they had me locked up too long, even Maria forgive me. Sweet Maria, I’m sorry, baby, you know that, you know I am. I didn’t mean to kill you, baby. I love you, Maria, to this day and all this time later, I’ll never love no one but you. That’s how sorry I am, I just won’t. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to hurt you. God let me out of here, please.

  “Scott!” shouted a correction officer on the block. “Scott!”

  Malcolm was so preoccupied he hadn’t even realized he was standing in the middle of a hallway.

  “Let’s go, keep it moving, time for count,” the correction officer shouted at him.

  Look at this guy, he thinks he’s so in charge. Despite being locked up, Malcolm found a way to keep his mind free. But all those years were now gone from his life and he would never get them back. He would never get Maria back. He would never get the time back. There’s a funny saying, It’s not what they give you, it’s can you give it back, and that is so much easier said than done. People don’t understand what time can do to you, and then when you under the arm of crazy crackers and their bullshit, it can’t get no worse. And escape, is you crazy? You not escaping, and even if you did, where would you go? In the middle of Redneckville? With nothing but mountains surrounding you and cascading along a never-ending skyline, where you going? And it seemed like the whole town in its entirety worked in the motherfucker. Shit was crazy. You’d have cousins, fathers, sons, and uncles all working in the same facility, all correctional officers. That’s how all the prisons were in Pennsylvania. They were set up in those kinds of towns, with a bunch of rednecks, who now all had day jobs and benefits, and they couldn’t spell cat to win a spelling bee. Can you imagine being nowhere, cut off from the world, cut off from everyone and everything that was your life? It had been the hardest fifteen years anyone could imagine, and to think of having to do another ten was pure D turmoil. No, they gonna let me go. They gonna let me outta here this time. I just know it, I just do. That’s what got Malcolm through the day. The belief that one day he would be able to go home.

  “Come on, let’s go, in your cell, boy, get on.”

  Malcolm was already at his cell when the CO ordered him inside it. He just looked at the man, who was much younger than him. You really don’t want none of this, cracker. Malcolm wanted so badly to check Mullinberry, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked into his cell and faced Mullinberry as his cell door closed.

  Let’s see if you can count today, asshole, thought Malcolm as he lay on his bed and daydreamed about the upcoming hearing. I know they’re gonna let me go this time. I just know they’re gonna let me go. The thoughts consumed him.

  “Mr. Scott, the board has approved your parole. You’re free, Mr. Scott.”

  He couldn’t believe it. He heard the words echoing through him as he looked around his cell.

  “Are you ready, Mr. Scott?” asked CO Mullinberry with a kind smile on his face.

  Malcolm picked up a photo that he kept inside a Bible his mother had given him. It was a picture of his daughter, Gena, when she was only three.

  “I’m ready.”

  He got his belongings, signed out of the facility, and was on his way back home, back to the way things were, just like they were.

  He got off the bus on Broad Street. Three blocks was nothing to walk. He pepped up his step as he passed by a small corner store.

  “How much for those flowers?”

  “Fi dahla,” said the older lady of Asian-descent.

  Malcolm walked out with flowers in his hand and made his way down the street. He walked into the high-rise tower and caught the elevator to the twenty-third floor. He unlocked the door and called out, but no one answered him. He heard a noise coming from down the hall. He set his flowers down on a side table next to the sofa.

  “Gena? Maria?” he called out.

  He walked backward, constantly looking all around him, keeping his eyes on the long narrow hallway staring in front of him. As he reached on top of a dining hutch, his hand felt the small metal .22 and his fingers gripped it. The .22 was a little something he kept in the house for that “just in case” moment in life, and he was starting to think that this was it. He moved down the hallway to his bedroom door. He pushed the door open slightly and peered into the candlelit room. It was Maria, his wife, his beautiful wife, her long hair, her long legs, her beautiful Spanish cocoa-colored skin, her voice.

  “Ooh, papi,” she breathed. “Yeah, papi, ooh,” she said to her lover, who was holding her ankles up in the air.

  It was then that out of the corner of his eye her lover saw the tall, dark figure standing by the door. “Ohh, damn!” he said, letting her ankles go and breaking the monotony of their rhythm.

  “How could you?” Malcolm screamed as he attacked Maria’s lover.

  “Malcolm, stop!” Maria screamed as she stood on the bed as both men wrestled beneath her feet. “Malcolm, please, no, I can explain.”

  Pooooow!

  The one shot of the gun seemed to echo throughout the room, and Malcolm looked at Maria’s naked body as fear set over her face.

  “What have you done? What have you done? Malcolm, look at what you’ve done.”

  He looked down at the bed, and with all the shock he had digested, his brother’s
face took him over the edge.

  “You fucking my brother, my little brother?”

  “Please, Malcolm, I can explain, I can explain,” said Maria, pleading with him.

  “I love you! Why would you do this to me?” He violently punched the wall.

  “Malcolm, I love you too . . . It’s just . . . we . . . I . . . Malcolm, please, I love you . . . I love you . . . too. I . . .”

  Malcolm grabbed his wife around her neck. He threw her up against the wall. With one hand around her neck, he used his other hand to undo his zipper.

  “Open your legs.”

  “Malcolm, no, Malcolm . . . please,” said Maria, knowing that this was not Malcolm, this was an enraged man, and he wasn’t thinking, his brother was lying dead and covered in blood on their bed.

  “Malcolm, no, please,” pleaded Maria, as Malcolm mechanically forced her against the wall and plugged into and began fucking her.

  “Oh, God, Malcolm, no, please,” said Maria, and the more she fought him, the more he forced her.

  “You’re a whore, you fuck my brother, right, you don’t want to fuck me, Maria, you’re gonna get fucked real good, you understand, you fuck me like him, you hear, I loved you, I love you and what do you do, you shame me,” and with each word a deeper breath and a stronger grip, and as he came in her, her body went limp and he let her neck go, his grip crushing her windpipe and suffocating her.

  “Daddy,” called out Gena, holding the bouquet of flowers in her hand. “I have a picture for you, Daddy. See,” said Gena reaching out her hand.

  Malcolm quickly pulled up his pants and walked over to his daughter. He closed the door behind him and knelt down to Gena.

  “Here,” said Gena, passing him a picture, the same picture that now hung on the wall in his cell.

  “Here,” said Malcolm’s cellmate, waking him. “Here’s your mail, man.”

  Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at his cellmate. Thank God he woke me, he thought to himself, taking his mail. Malcolm hated that dream. It wasn’t a dream, it was more of a flashback, so real, so like yesterday and so complicated. His life had never been the same after that. It certainly wasn’t the same for his brother, Michael. Thank God he survived the gunshot, but Maria, sweet Maria died that day. Malcolm was charged with murder and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The only thing that saved him from a life sentence was the fact that he had acted in rage and the crime wasn’t premeditated. In that regard he caught a break. But all that would change once he had this new parole hearing. His break would come. He knew it, he felt it.