by Tracy Brown
She seemed to consider it and she looked in my eyes as if wondering whether or not I was sincere. The truth was that I liked Olivia and loved her sex. But she was still forbidden fruit, and for that reason I wouldn’t let myself love her. But when it came to touching her, kissing her … I couldn’t help myself. I had to have her. But it was important to me that our thing be kept under wraps. As long as we were the only ones who knew, it would be all good. But now Olivia was catchin’ feelings and that was gettin’ in the way.
“Let’s do it, baby girl,” I persuaded her. “We’ll go get some cheese steaks, catch a movie, and lay up all night. We been on the grind so much that I ain’t had a chance to show you off yet. I’ll take you shoppin’ and everything.” I was pullin’ out all the stops, tryin’ to get back on her good side.
Her eyes twinkled when I mentioned a shopping spree, and I knew it would be alright. She strutted her sexy ass toward my house and yelled over her shoulder. “Bring a lot of money. I ain’t a tacky bitch like your Spanish ho.”
I smiled to myself at the gutsy broad who was slowly winning my heart.
I took her shoppin’ and spent a fortune on about five pairs of shoes with matching outfits. Olivia had not exaggerated. She was costly. But it was worth it to see her smile again and to see the familiar sparkle in her eye. I was beginning to realize that I had to get the situation with Olivia under control or shit could go very wrong. As much as I liked her—maybe even had the potential to love her—we could never go beyond the physical. At that point in my life, all I wanted was money. All I dreamed about was money. All I was chasin’ was money. Love and emotions would have to wait. I had no time for that. Lamin and I were on the same page when it came to gettin’ paper. Olivia, whether she was gettin’ under my skin or not, could not get in the way of that—no matter what. It was time to put the brakes on for real.
TEN
the wise man
1993
Lucky
I got comfortable in my new home and I found myself loving my newfound freedom. I no longer had a curfew, no father waiting up for me until the wee hours. No more rules. I was grown and I was with Lamin. I had never been happier. While Lamin was in the hospital, my duties were limited. But by the time he was discharged, things changed quickly. Lamin was walking with a cane, leaning heavily on his right leg—his good leg. Somehow he made that shit look fly, and his walk was still gangsta. He was pretty bad off, though. So I tried to do all I could to help him. But soon he grew frustrated and started insisting on doing more and more things for himself. Lamin and his stubborn pride. At first, I insisted on doing everything no matter how much he told me not to. But there came a point when our relationship was under pressure because Lamin wouldn’t let me help him. Still, I refused to stop trying. I gave in when he persuaded me to enroll in college.
I had given up on any college hopes. My father had cut me off since I had defied him. Gone was my trust money and college tuition. I was on my own, and Lamin could no longer hustle. I had no idea how we were going to make it. But it seemed I had underestimated the length of Lamin’s paper, because he surprised me one evening with tuition for four semesters plus money for books and college clothes! I was off to the stores as soon as the sun came up.
So I enrolled in Brooklyn College and majored in Business. Zion hired a nurse for Lamin for a few hours every day. I saw less of Olivia, Veronica, and Audrey. But my focus had shifted exclusively to making a happy home with Lamin and studying hard to prove something to myself. And perhaps to someone else as well.
I must admit that even though my love for Lamin was real, what fueled my relentless pursuit of success was my thirst to prove my parents wrong. They had doubted Lamin and doubted my love for him, and now they were holding my college education as collateral. I hated the fact that they would put me in a position to choose between the man I loved and my education. I would graduate. I was determined! And Lamin and I would show them!
Lamin
I had mad love for Lucky. I really did. She was beautiful with her pretty brown Asian eyes, long hair, long legs, and killer body. She had brains to match and our conversations were always just as stimulating as our sex. But when she moved in, I realized what a big step that was. It was great having her sleeping beside me at night and being able to snuggle up with her. It was fabulous to be able to wake up at 2:00 A.M. and fuck her brains out and go back to sleep. But some things about the new living arrangement were getting under my skin. She was sharing my closet space, insisting that I put the toilet seat down, bitchin’ because I didn’t squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom to the top. The shit was gettin’ on my nerves. I sat in the house day after day, trying to come up with ways to occupy her time, so that I could focus on getting myself back on my feet. I hit the nail on the head when I asked her if she wanted to go to college. She was happy and so was I.
I found myself enjoying my time at home alone while Lucky was at school. I knew the entire television lineup by heart. No need for a TV guide. I watched all the talk shows—Ricki, Maury, Jenny, Jerry, Regis—and I became a professional couch potato. Some days that shit was alright. But most of the time, I sat around depressed that I was the only one whose life had come to a complete standstill. While I had a nurse coming by to help me do shit I used to be able to do for myself, Olivia was hustlin’ and gettin’ money with Zion. I knew that she was doing it for me, but I still felt useless. Lucky had school. All I had was the damn remote control. I was gettin’ tired of sitting around like a burn.
One day in particular, I was feelin’ pretty fucked up about my useless legs. I could walk if I used my cane, but fuck that! I was in my twenties, not my sixties. I didn’t want no cane. I wanted to walk and stand on my own two feet. Papa called, and to my surprise he told me he was on his way to see me. I was thrilled and found myself anxious to see him. Since I had moved out of Papa’s house, I hadn’t seen him much. I was on the grind, and I didn’t want Papa to know how heavy I was in them streets. But once I got shot, there was no more hidin’ it.
Papa hadn’t visited me too often while I was hospitalized. Grandma had visited mostly on Sundays, and Papa had usually been upstate visiting Curtis at those times. I was happy that Aunt Inez and Papa had continued visiting Curtis in my absence, but I missed my grandfather. His conversations were just what the doctor ordered. When he finally pulled up, I hobbled over to the door, opened it, and stood in the doorway as he parked. I popped a Percoset in my mouth to ease the pain that I still felt in my back and forced a smile as Papa made his way up the stairs.
“Hey, Lamin.” Papa was smiling, and he seemed as happy to see me as I was to see him. I knew that I was his favorite grandchild. He didn’t have to tell me, I just knew it was true. We shook hands firmly and hugged briefly as he entered the house. Papa looked around. “I see Lucky is keeping the place nice!” he said. He looked at the fresh flowers Lucky had put in Afrocentric vases strategically placed throughout the apartment. Large oil paintings hung on walls that had been bare before Lucky moved in. A circular, knitted throw rug was now covering the hardwood floors in the middle of the living room. The shit looked like a picture straight out of Better Homes and Gardens.
I laughed. Lucky was the biggest neat freak. She was a perfectionist and always had to make sure everything was in its proper place. The shit drove me crazy! But it was nice that Papa noticed how well kept the place was. Drastic difference from when it was my bachelor pad. Papa handed me two bags. One contained a big helping of Papa’s delicious banana pudding. I loved that shit! Whenever he made it, I would drive to Staten Island to get some. The other bag contained a liter of Hennessy. I smiled when I opened it. Papa knew that was my favorite.
“Don’t be drinkin’ that when you’re on all that pain medication,” Papa warned. I thought about the Percoset I had just taken for pain, but I poured us both a drink, anyway. We got comfortable on my brown leather sectional and I began to tell Papa how glad I was to see him.
“Lucky is too much sometimes,�
� I explained. “I know I’m kinda messed up right now. I can’t walk too good and sometimes I be in a lot of pain. But I like to do for myself. I ain’t used to nobody feedin’ me and dressin’ me and all that mess.” I was making a conscious effort not to cuss in front of Papa out of respect.
He nodded. “Women like to take care of people,” Papa said. “Think about it. They take care of babies, they take care of old people. Most of the nurses in hospitals are women! If you go to a real woman’s house, she will ask if you want somethin’ to drink or if you want somethin’ to eat. She’ll ask if you’re comfortable, she’ll offer to do whatever she can to make you feel at ease. That’s just their way. Your grandmama gets on my nerves with that shit, too!”
We laughed. Papa lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke. “But one day, you’ll appreciate all that care taking. It’s a lot of no good women out there who would let you hobble your wounded ass to the refrigerator and get your own shit!”
Papa had a point. I realized that I did appreciate Lucky. I had a good woman and I made a mental note to tell her she was a blessing to me when she got home. “I’m just sick of feelin’ helpless,” I admitted to Papa. “I’m a man with pride and I feel like a cripple.”
Papa sipped his drink and nodded again. “Let me tell you a story,” he said.
Any other time, I would have cringed at the idea of listenin’ to another one of Papa’s fuckin’ stories. But I missed him and missed our conversations so much that I got comfortable and smiled. Papa had my undivided attention.
“When I was livin’ in the South growin’ up, we didn’t have no Pathmark or ShopRite, no Waldbaums like you got now. We had town stores. Little markets where you could get your meat, eggs, bread, and all that shit. Well when I was a young man, oh, I guess about ten or eleven years old, I got me a job in the town store. I had so many brothers and sisters that we all had to work—either sharecroppin’ or doing somethin’ else to bring some money in the house to help out. My job at the town store was to do minor errands. Sweepin’, moppin’, stockin’ shelves, that kinda shit. The owner of the store was a white man named Mr. Washington. Mr. Washington didn’t care too much for colored folks, but he wasn’t as bad as some of the whiteys were down there at that time. He gave me the job because he felt that my parents were ‘good colored folks’ and he knew I would work hard.
“I did work hard, too. I took that job serious. But I was still just a ten-year-old boy with a lot of energy and I would run through the shop sometimes. Instead of walkin’ to get the mop, I would run to get it. Instead of walkin’ to the storage room, I would run. And Mr. Washington would always tell me stop runnin’. ‘Stop runnin’ around here, boy!’ And I would just keep doin’ it. One day, Mr. Washington was waitin’ on a customer and I went runnin’ past. Mr. Washington had enough. He yelled at me and said, ‘BOY! If you run through here one more time I’m gon’ fire you!’
“I stopped dead in my tracks, took off my apron, and handed it to Mr. Washington. I looked him dead in the eyes and said, ‘Well, fire me now. ’Cause I’ma keep on runnin’!”
Papa lit another cigarette and I sat trying to figure out how that story related to my lack of mobility. I was frustrated that I could hardly walk, and he was telling me a story about him gettin’ fired for running around a store. Papa smiled, like he knew I was confused.
“The point I’m tryin’ to make is don’t let your physical setback stop you from succeeding. You keep on runnin’, son. Keep on runnin’ and don’t let nobody or no disability keep you from movin’.”
That shit was hot. I wondered how Papa found the perfect story to tell at the perfect time. I nodded. Now I understood.
Papa refilled his drink. “I told you once that you can’t do all that hustlin’ forever. I was in the streets, too, at one time. I had to stop when it was time for me to be a father. Now you have to make the same decision, Lamin. You coulda died. But you didn’t. And now you got a second chance to live your life. You got money, I can see that. You got a beautiful young lady in your life, and she’s making you a happy home. Stop the bullshit, Lamin. It’s time for you to get up out them streets and figure out what you want to do with your life.”
He was right. “I don’t wanna work for nobody,” I explained. “I wanna start my own business.”
Papa smiled. “Now you’re talkin’. You got the money to do it. Now you gotta have a plan. What kinda business you wanna start up?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t wanna run a store or nothin’ like that. I wanna do somethin’ big. Like run my own corporation.”
I expected him to laugh at me. Most people did whenever I mentioned my goals to them. I wanted to be a millionaire before I turned thirty. I wanted to be the CEO of something big. I wanted the lavish lifestyle of the rich and famous. But rather than laughing, Papa seemed to be thinking and then he spoke. “When you were growin’ up, what did you always tell me you wanted to be?” Papa asked me, smiling proudly.
I thought back. It had been so long since I had really focused on my past dreams and career goals that it took me a minute to recall. I smiled at the memory. “A movie director.”
Papa puffed his Pall Mall. “Yup. Why don’t you start there? Find out how you can get your foot in the door and then handle your business. You know your grandmother and I will do anything we can to help you, Lamin.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate that, for real.” I was happy to finally have something I could set my sights on. I was glad my grandfather had stopped by that day. “You’re a very wise man, Papa.”
Papa smiled, shook his head. “I’d rather have wisdom than be wise,” he said. “Any slick serpent can say wise things. But a man who has wisdom is worth his weight in gold.” Papa raised his glass as if he was proposing a toast, and I leaned forward and clinked my glass against his. We both sipped our brandy and sat back and enjoyed a wonderful conversation that afternoon. I loved that man. It was then—at that very moment sitting in my living room, sipping brandy with my grandfather—that Shootin’ Crooks Productions was born. I named it in honor of my grandfather’s hustle, and the story he told me about his life so long ago. I decided at that moment to put a plan together to get out of the game. But first, I needed Olivia and Zion to sell a few more bricks and make a few more trips so that I could do the shit right.
ELEVEN
the hustle
Curtis
September 6, 1993
Lamin,
Thanks for the package you sent me. That was right on time, cousin. Word. Lucky tells me that you’re walkin’ with a cane now. I’m just glad to hear that you are walking at all. I’m also glad to hear that your boy, Zion, handled your business for you with the niggas that shot you. If he would have been on point like he was supposed to be, you wouldn’t even be going through this shit right now. You know you never would have got shot if I would have been home, right? We always had each other’s back. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to have yours this time. Make sure Zion knows I wanna holla at him.
On another note, I think the idea of Olivia getting her hands dirty is bad. Put an end to that shit, La. Olivia is my baby cousin, and I don’t want to see her get too far ahead of herself. And she’s gorgeous. Half the guards in here and the niggas in my dorm was scoping her little body. I almost had to crack a few niggas jaws in the visiting room. Watch her, Lamin. Keep her on a tight leash. I don’t wanna have to hurt somethin’ when I get home.
Tell my moms I love her and kiss Grandma for me. Tell Papa I want a peach cobbler when I get home. You know I ain’t for all this writing letters and shit. So hurry up and limp your lanky ass up here. A nigga miss you and shit.
One love,
C-
P.S. Tell Uncle Eli I never got them cigarettes he promised me. Good thing I wasn’t holding my breath.
Lamin
I spent every day researching the ins and outs of the film industry. I wanted to be bigger than Spike Lee. Bigger than that new guy—the Boyz N the Hood nigga—John Singl
eton. I had big plans. And I had the dough to make them happen. But how? How could I get my foot in the door to make a film when I had no degree, no experience? I spent a lot of time pondering these questions to the point that I almost drove myself crazy from frustration. Zion came by one afternoon in November, and I welcomed the distraction.
He was fresh off a trip to Baltimore, and he brought my share of the money. I didn’t even bother to count it, since I knew I could trust Olivia and Zion to the utmost. But I had started noticing some strange behavior. Zion had been spending more time out of town than usual since Olivia started doing my runs with him. When me and Zion made trips to B-More, it was for an overnight visit at most. But Zion and Olivia had just spent three days away, and I wondered if they thought I was too preoccupied to notice. I wasn’t. I had nothing but time on my hands and plenty of time to think. I wondered. Would Zion ever cross me and fuck with my little sister?
Could Olivia be so naive that she wouldn’t recognize Zion’s game? As grown as Olivia was, she was still my baby sister. I would have been upset, to say the least, to find out that Zion had added her to his stable of women.