Satin Nights

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  “Well, it’s his street cred that’s gonna make sure he’s come after your ass,” Tamika said, then took a sip from her drink. “Hell, he might come after all of us.”

  “I don’t think y’all got anything to worry about. He doesn’t know your names or where you live. And I can lay low until I can figure out how to handle the shit,” Puddin’ said dismissively.

  “Well,” Regina said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about that. And I might have an idea.”

  The women looked at her expectantly.

  “Didn’t you say he’s supposed to have another listening party tomorrow night?”

  Puddin’ nodded. “Yeah, at a club in Brooklyn. Why?”

  “I say we all show up,” Regina said, smiling.

  “Get the fuck outta here. You done lost your mind, for real.” Puddin’ started laughing.

  “Girl, put down that drink,” Yvonne said with a snort. “Your ass is drunk.”

  Regina waved them quiet. “Hold on now. I didn’t say we’d show up alone. We’d show up with our secret weapon.”

  Tamika’s eyes widened. “Ooh, Regina, ooh. I know you’re not gonna say what I think you’re gonna say.”

  “Yeah.” Regina nodded. “I’m gonna say it.”

  “Well, hurry up and say it so me and Yvonne can know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Puddin’ said.

  Regina took a sip from her drink, then said, “What if we casually stroll in there with Little Joe?”

  “Get outta here,” Yvonne said in disgust. “That mighta worked back in the day, but these young punks don’t even know who Little Joe is.”

  “Uh-huh, they know who he is,” Puddin’ said slowly. “In fact, if I remember correctly, Rob-Cee even mentioned him in one of the songs they played tonight.”

  “Sure did.” Regina started wiggling her shoulders to imaginary music. “How’d it go? ‘Fuck with me, nigga, and I’ll be on you like Satan, do you up right, like Little Joe Blayton.’”

  “That was the best cut on the whole CD.” Puddin’ hit the remote button to find the song.

  “Yeah, that muthafucka knows who Little Joe is,” Regina said as she bopped her head to the beat. “Just listen to it. They idolize the old-time gangstas like him and Nicky Barnes.”

  “Will Rob-Cee recognize him, though?” Yvonne said skeptically.

  “I don’t know about that, but he will if we walk up to him and introduce them to each other,” Puddin’ said excitedly. “Rob-Cee would be scared as shit to do anything to any of us then.”

  “You think you can get Little Joe to do it?” Yvonne’s voice was a little less skeptical now, but she still didn’t sound totally convinced.

  “Yeah, Gina, you think that’s a good idea?” Tamika added, “I mean, do you fight a demon by bringing in Satan?”

  “I think I can,” Regina said, addressing Yvonne and ignoring Tamika. “In fact, I know I can. It’ll give me an excuse to call him.”

  “You still ain’t talk to him since he walked out on you last week?” Puddin’ asked. “Shit yeah, he’ll come. He’ll jump at the chance to get that pussy he didn’t get that night.”

  “You going to tell him why you want him to go to the listening party?” Tamika asked in a concerned voice. “I think you’d better, ’cause if Little Joe found out later you played him—”

  “I’ma tell him,” Regina cut her off. “But I think he’ll go for it. It’ll give him an opportunity to flex his own street cred. And a chance, in his mind, for me to be in his debt.”

  “Okay,” Tamika said with a frown. “But be careful you’re not writing a check your ass ain’t ready to cash.”

  chapter ten

  I hate going to Brooklyn, I hope you know that,” Little Joe said as they entered the crowded club with Regina on one arm, Puddin’ on the other, and Yvonne trailing not far behind. “And I hate going into clubs where I can’t even get my lady into a booth. We’re gonna have to sit on fucking bar stools.”

  As they approached the bar, Regina looked around trying to spot Rob-Cee, and noticed that Puddin’—who was wearing dark glasses and her hair tucked under a big floppy hat—was doing the same. She knew Puddin’ well enough to see that no matter how cool she was pretending to be, Puddin’ was at least a little bit nervous. Tamika was so nervous about what might happen that she had decided not to go. Regina had to admit that even she was having doubts now. What if someone got hurt? And she knew that if Rob-Cee didn’t back down, there was going to be real trouble, because there was no way Little Joe was going to be the one to back up.

  She followed Puddin’s gaze and saw Rob-Cee on a small stage at the front of the club, rapping on the mike to a music track coming out of giant speakers placed around the club. Even from the bar the knot on his head was noticeable.

  There was a no smoking rule in New York, but it seemed it was being ignored that night, at least as far as reefer. The smoke was so thick Regina was sure they were all going to get a contact high. Little Joe led them to two empty seats at the bar, ignoring the fact that there was a drink in front of one of them and a jacket strewn across the other. He picked up the jacket and threw it across his arm, then pushed the drink aside and motioned for Puddin’ and Yvonne to sit down. He grabbed Regina by the waist and squeezed against the bar between Puddin’ and Yvonne while waving for the bartender. Regina was amazed. They hadn’t been there two minutes, and already Little Joe had made himself at home.

  “That your boy on the mike?” he asked, pulling Regina in close for a quick kiss.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Puddin’ answered for her. “The fuck-faced muthafucka.”

  “Girl, you got the nastiest fucking mouth,” Little Joe said with a chuckle. “You ain’t changed a bit.”

  Puddin’ grinned. “Why fuck with perfection?”

  “Cursing like a sailor and conking people over the head with champagne.” Little Joe shook his head. “Yeah, you’re still the same old perfect Puddin’.” He stroked Regina’s face. “You need to be more like Regina. A lady.”

  “Man, I bet I can take you in the bathroom right now, and in five minutes you wouldn’t even remember who Regina is,” Puddin’ retorted.

  “Ho,” Yvonne and Regina said simultaneously.

  Little Joe threw his head back and laughed. “Damn, Puddin’. I swear to God, you are one nasty little—”

  “Yo, man, these are me and my girl’s seats,” a short dark-skinned man with a derby and ropes of chains around his neck said in a threatening voice. His uniform told Regina that he was one of Rob-Cee’s boys, but she didn’t remember him from the night before, and there was no recognition in his eyes, so he probably didn’t remember them, either. Which could only mean that, for some reason, he hadn’t been there.

  “Yeah, well, like what’s up?” Little Joe answered in a nonchalant voice. “No disrespect, man, but the seats were here, and you weren’t, and we needed to sit down. And it’s not like you had your names on the stools, you know what I mean?”

  “Man, I got my drink right there, and my girl’s jacket was on the stool, so you know we was coming back,” the man said in a growl.

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t know shit,” Little Joe said in a deeper growl. “And here’s your girl’s jacket.” He handed the man the jacket along with a look that definitely said, recognize, muthafucka, I’m not the one.

  And sure enough, if the man didn’t recognize Little Joe, he recognized the look. He stepped back and crossed his arms, as if trying to figure out his next move.

  Regina wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, and probably would have denied it if anyone asked, but she suddenly got a tingle. It started in her head and spread down to her toes, and then fled back up to give her a warm—no, a hot—tingle in her private parts. This was the Little Joe she knew from sixteen years ago, the one who turned her on so much that she wanted to take him home and ravish him, or have him ravish her. The Little Joe who was always in control and controlled every situation.

  Puddin’ chuckled and handed t
he man his drink. “Maybe some introductions are in order. Actually, we don’t give a fuck what your name is, but—”

  “I’m Benny D., Rob-Cee’s bodyguard,” the man said.

  “Yeah, well, like I just said, we don’t give a fuck,” Puddin’ stated flatly, but this”—Puddin’ pointed to Little Joe—“is Little Joe Blayton.”

  The man squinted his eyes as if trying to remember where he’d heard the name, so Yvonne decided to help him out by singing out, “Fuck with me, nigga, and I’ll be on you like Satan, do you up right . . .”

  The young man snapped his fingers and finished the lyrics for her. “. . . like Little Joe Blayton. Oh shit, man, this is a fucking honor,” he gushed. “Shit, man. Let me buy you a drink. What you having?”

  “A whiskey sour. Tell them to make it a double.” Little Joe turned to the girls. “What do you ladies want? He’s buying.”

  “Sure, man. I got it covered.” He threw a fifty-dollar bill on the bar and told the bartender, “Give my man here a double whiskey sour, and these ladies anything they want.” He pounded Little Joe on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back, man,” he said before scurrying off toward the stage.

  Regina watched as the man whispered something in Rob-Cee’s ear, and Puddin’ ducked behind Little Joe just as the rapper turned toward them.

  “Hey y’all,” Rob-Cee shouted into the mike. “I just found out we got a real celebrity in-house. Please give a big hand to one of Harlem’s original gangstas, Little Joe Blayton.”

  Oohs and aahs filled the club along with applause, and people strained their necks to get a good look at Little Joe. He simply held his drink up in acknowledgment, then turned back toward the bar as Rob-Cee started singing the song with Little Joe’s name. People came up to the bar to shake his hand, and soon a row of upside-down shot glasses were lined on the bar, signifying the number of drinks people bought for him. Little Joe seemed indifferent to the attention—he would say only a few words to his admirers, then go back to his drink, which he nursed throughout the song. One man tried to hand him a bulging piece of aluminum foil.

  “Man, I don’t do that . . . ,” Little Joe started.

  “I’ll take it for him,” Puddin’ said, snatching the coke from the man’s hand.

  “You still got a big nose, I see,” Little Joe said when the man left.

  Yvonne took a sip from her drink. “She’s like a damn elephant.”

  “I’ll sniff to that,” Puddin’ said as she tucked the coke in her pocketbook.

  As soon as Rob-Cee finished the song, he rushed over to Little Joe.

  “Yo, man, this is a real honor,” he said. “I’ve been hearing about you since I was a kid. My uncle used to run with you, man. Maybe you remember him. His name was Ricky Burnett.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember him.” Little Joe nodded slowly. “He was a good man. I heard he got shot a couple of years ago. His wife or something, right?”

  “Yeah, man. That was some wicked shit. She’s still doing time for that shit. Hey, why don’t you and your ladies come sit with me?”

  “Hey, Robbie, baby,” Puddin’ said as she took off her dark glasses and grinned at him. “How’s your head?”

  Rob-Cee stepped back as if in shock. “What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?” He advanced toward her threateningly, but Little Joe stepped between them.

  “Yeah, man, I heard you know my niece,” he said calmly.

  Rob-Cee’s mouth dropped open. “Your niece?” he finally sputtered.

  “Yeah, my niece. My favorite niece,” Little Joe continued. “I heard there was some shit that jumped off between you last night, but you know that shit’s squashed now, right?”

  Rob-Cee chewed on his lip for a minute before saying, “Look, man, I don’t mean no offense, but—”

  “Then don’t fucking offend me.” Little Joe crossed his arms over his chest as he fixed a stony stare on the rapper.

  “Man, I know you’re not threatening me.”

  “I don’t remember threatening you, but what the fuck are you gonna do if I am? Don’t try to be playing with the big boys, you punk-ass muthafucka. You’re out your fucking league. Way out.” Little Joe cocked his head to the side and gave Rob-Cee an up and down look while barely moving his eyes. “Now, get the fuck out my face before I show you what I mean.”

  Rob-Cee stared at Little Joe for another minute, then turned and walked away without saying anything.

  Puddin’ picked up her drink, slid off the bar stool, and started after him before Little Joe caught her by the arm.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” he demanded.

  “Come on, Uncle Little Joe,” Puddin’ said with a smirk. “Didn’t you hear him invite us to go sit with him?”

  “Girl, sit your ass back on that barstool and shut the fuck up.”

  “Aw, Uncle Little Joe. Is that any way for you to talk to your favorite niece?” Puddin’ said with a pout.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Blayton? I’m Tecumseh Joseph, and I was hoping we could speak for just a moment.”

  Regina looked up to see a twenty-something man wearing a dark blue suit and a closely cropped haircut extending his hand toward Little Joe.

  “Yeah, well, I’m kinda busy right now,” Little Joe answered as he took the man’s hand.

  “Well, I’ll be real quick. I’m with Fox Searchlight, and I would like to talk to you about the possibility of turning your life into a movie.”

  “A movie?” Yvonne said quickly. “Are you for real?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.” The man took out a gold business card holder and handed her a card and another to Little Joe. “I’m a producer, and while I live in Los Angeles now, I’m originally from Harlem, and I’ve heard a lot about you. I think your story would make a fascinating film.”

  Little Joe stroked his chin. “Ain’t you kinda young to be a producer?”

  “Have you done any movies?” Yvonne asked before the man could answer. “Anything we might have heard of, maybe?”

  “Well, I am a bit young, but so was Spike Lee when he made his first movie. And yes, I’ve done two feature films. Chasing It and Going for It All,” Tecumseh answered.

  “I saw those movies,” Yvonne gushed. “They were great. What did you say your name was?” She looked down at the card before he could answer. “Tecumseh Joseph. Oh man. This is really cool.”

  “Can I be in your movie, Uncle Little Joe?” Puddin’ asked, nudging Little Joe on the back. “Please? Pretty please?”

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Little Joe answered. “I ain’t doing no damn movie.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll at least think it over,” Tecumseh said calmly. “I have to get back to L.A. in the morning, but if you’re interested, I’ll be glad to fly you out there sometime next week so we can sit down and have a full discussion about the project.”

  “This is so exciting,” Yvonne said after the man walked away. “Can you imagine? A movie about Little Joe. Ooh, are you going to have someone playing Regina?”

  “Shit. Me and Regina are going to make our own movie tonight,” Little Joe said as he pulled Regina toward him. “Ain’t we, baby?”

  It was 3 a.m. by the time Little Joe and the girls left the listening party, and another hour by the time Little Joe had driven to Harlem and dropped off Yvonne and Puddin’. Regina was asleep when the car stopped again, and she was surprised when she opened her eyes to find that instead of pulling up in front of her house, Little Joe was parked on a hill overlooking St. Nicholas Park.

  She wiped her eyes and looked at him questioningly, but he seemed lost in thought. “Is something wrong?” she finally asked.

  “No.” Little Joe shook his head. “I just wanted to get out and have a smoke.”

  “Okay.” Regina settled back in her seat. It wasn’t unusual for Little Joe to pull over for a cigarette. He didn’t smoke in his car, so anytime he drove for more than an hour or so, he had to pull over.

  “Listen, why don’t you come out with me?” Little Joe
said as he turned off the ignition. “We can take a walk. How about it?”

  Regina looked over at him, wondering about his contemplative mood. “Um, sure,” she said, then opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  After beeping on the lock and alarm on his car, Little Joe walked over and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started walking but saying nothing. They walked almost a block before they stopped at a concrete inlet in the park, and Little Joe removed her hand and took out a cigarette. With one foot on the small concrete wall, he inhaled slowly and looked up at the sky, then down below the hill. Regina stood next to him saying nothing and not knowing what to say.

  “I missed this. I missed Harlem,” he said finally. “I missed the air pollution, the jazz clubs, I missed the dirty streets, the beautiful women, I missed the crime, and I missed the culture. This is my Harlem, and they took me away from it to lock me up on some bullshit tip.”

  He took another puff on his cigarette and looked at Regina. “You do know I got sent up on some bullshit, right?”

  Regina sat on the concrete wall, which was slightly damp as if from dew. “I can certainly believe it.”

  Little Joe took another puff from his cigarette, then threw it on the ground, not bothering to stub it out. “No, you can’t. You figured, and still figure, that the charges were legitimate. Tell the truth.”

  Regina looked at Little Joe but said nothing.

  “Yeah, right. Well, then, I won’t make you feel bad by making you admit it,” he said in a disgusted tone. “They sent me up for sixteen years on a bum rap. Took me away from everything I love for something I ain’t do.”

  “So you mean you weren’t involved in dealing heroin?” Regina asked, avoiding his eyes as she spoke.

  “No, I ain’t say all that. You know I’d be lying if I did.” Little Joe shrugged. “Yeah, I was down with the crew, I was even on the council, but the specific charges that they sent me up for was bullshit. They had wiretaps with everyone else on tape, but they ain’t had my voice on any of ’em. They had most of the other guys dead to right, but they ain’t had me. All they had was a bunch of paid snitches who ain’t even know me, saying I was in charge of laundering money.”