“OMG! You guys are gonna love this!” Courtney gushed as she returned to the living room, carrying a tray of some greenish concoction. “It tastes like melon and—” Courtney gasped. “What’s wrong with you, Niv? Are you sick?”
Recovering from a powerful orgasm, Nivea was collapsed on the sofa, her eyes closed dreamily. Nivea cracked an eye open. “No, I’m good,” Nivea said. She straightened up, brushed her hair from her face. “I must have dozed off. What did you make, Courtney?”
“I made Jolly Ranchers.” Courtney stared at Nivea. “Why are you breathing funny? Are you sure that you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Nivea said, her eyelids fluttering, a pleasant smile on her lips.
Sitting next to Nivea, Knox arranged his hands in his lap. Wearing a poker face, he sat perfectly erect. The only telltale sign that he’d been involved in hanky panky was the light sheen from Nivea’s juices that covered his lips.
Courtney frowned. “What’s that on your mouth, Knox?”
Knox licked his lips. “Too much ChapStick.”
CHAPTER 34
1995
Harlow’s pregnancy stubbornly refused to terminate. Though Jody estimated that Harlow was in her fourth month of pregnancy, she still held on to the hope that the baby would soon abort. Refusing to return Jody’s payment, Miss Cakie had told Jody to be patient and wait for Harlow to experience severe cramping.
Harlow had been kept out of school for over sixty days, and the truancy officers had been making routine visits, leaving citations with court dates circled in red.
Hiding out from the truancy officers, Jody and Harlow moved out of the apartment, and were hiding out at Ronica’s house. After a couple of days, Jody got antsy. “I gotta go find us a new place to live. You stay put right here; don’t be mouthing off at Ronica. You hear me?”
Ronica was a functioning addict. She usually waited until the weekend to light up her pipe. She went to work, paid her bills, and even kept food in the fridge and snacks on hand. She didn’t have a working telephone, but she had cable channels, so staying at Ronica’s was kind of nice for Harlow, like being on a mini-vacation.
Another good thing about being at Ronica’s place was that Harlow didn’t have to respond to Jody’s constant questions about cramping. “You cramping yet?” Jody asked her a million times a day. Harlow would shake her head no. “Pass any blood clots?” her mother would ask next. The words “blood clots” would make Harlow grimace and vigorously shake her head. At that point, Jody would start firing off rounds of cuss words, some directed at Miss Cakie for beating her out of her money, and others directed at Harlow for getting knocked up in the first place.
Harlow was scared to tell Jody about the little kicks she’d been experiencing—real light and fluttery sensations, like butterfly wings spreading inside her tummy. The fetus that Jody was hoping would pass through Harlow in the form of blood clots was growing and making its presence known to Harlow with kicks and the unmistakable swelling in her lower abdomen.
Her hand inside a bag of Cheetos, eyes glued to The Jerry Springer Show, Harlow was so deeply engrossed that she hardly noticed the tightening in the pit of her stomach. The next time it happened, the pain was sharper, causing her facial muscles to tense. She closed up the Cheetos bag, thinking the cheese snack might be upsetting her stomach.
The cramps grew worse, and Harlow paced the living room. When the cramping turned into unrelenting, vicious spikes of pain that shot from her stomach to her shoulders and then cruelly twisting down to her toes, Harlow thought she might be dying of food poisoning.
Wincing in agony, she checked out the expiration date on the Cheetos, and then she checked the date on the milk she’d had with her cereal. Nothing had expired. What’s wrong with me? she wondered, hunched over and gripping the back of a kitchen chair, as unbearable pain ripped through her young body.
There were four rooms in Ronica’s one-story house. Each time Harlow felt the pulsing vibration that announced the beginning of another body-gripping spasm, her legs would go into action. The pain was propelling her to sprint from room to room, but her legs refused to cooperate. Crippling pain made her movement sluggish and stumbling. There was no rationale for her desire to stay in constant motion, but her body seemed unwilling to stand still or sit quietly while what felt like a giant, torturous fist, twisted her guts, brutalizing her insides.
Groaning, she staggered inside the bedroom. She was struck by a shaft of pain so excruciating, she was thrown off balance. She caught hold of the metal bed frame, creating a racket as she shook it forcefully while releasing anguished cries.
The moment she was released from the agony, she hurried to the living room, only to be seized again by monstrous pain. This time, she kicked the wooden legs of the coffee table, trying to do anything that might help her fight off the agonizing torture. She kicked and kicked until she collapsed. Teeth gnashing, she rolled helplessly around on the floor.
She dared not roam the neighborhood looking for help. Skeeter’s friends would put cement blocks on her feet and throw her in the river. Hours passed. Harlow didn’t think her suffering could get any worse, but the pain grew stronger. The darkening sky told her that Ronica should be home from work soon. She’d know what to do.
She kept watching the door, desperate for Ronica to help her. The angry stabs of contractions grew more violent by the minute. Suddenly there was great pressure on her bladder. The cramping subsided but an unnaturally strong urge to urinate had her straining and squeezing her legs together. Tightening her muscles, Harlow awkwardly yanked her panties down, kicking them off as she rushed to the bathroom. The toilet was only a few feet from the doorway, but she had to pee so badly, she doubted if she could make it. Feeling ashamed and utterly helpless, she unclenched her vaginal muscles, expecting the hot splash of urine to hit her thighs and splatter the floor.
But what emerged from her, crashing from her vagina and dangling between her legs was so shocking, she sank to the floor. With her back propped against the bathtub, her thighs splayed wide apart, she gawked at the tiny baby that was no bigger than a doll, lying on the cold bathroom floor. Carefully, she picked up the slimy creature, and examined it. It was balled up tightly, eyes closed, lips sealed. Silent. Unmoving.
Wake up, wake up! She grabbed a towel from the rack above her head. She wrapped the towel around the little baby, trying to warm the fetus that was attached to her by what appeared to be a long slimy rope.
Desperate to give the child life, she pushed up her knit top, and held the face of the silent fetus to the immature buds that protruded from her chest. The baby remained still and silent. Harlow looked at the baby’s face, hoping to see its eyes flicker open, yearning for its mouth to pucker in response. Wake up! She thought that if she had full womanly breasts, perhaps the stiff baby would be more inclined to open its mouth.
Cradling the unmoving child, she rocked and rocked, humming a made-up lullaby, doing what she hoped might bring out the gurgling sound of contentment or even a squall of distress. The sweet tune she hummed eventually became a tuneless, mournful sound.
Rocking back and forth at a rapid pace, eleven-year-old Harlow clutched the fetus to her chest, and finally gave into long choking sobs.
She didn’t know that Ronica had come home until she heard her footsteps hurrying down the hall. “Oh, shit,” Ronica gasped, looking in horror from the expelled placenta to Harlow’s grief stricken face.
“It won’t wake up.” Harlow cried. Unsteadily, she came to her feet. “Can you go buy my baby some milk and a bottle?”
Ronica grimaced at the unmoving fetus. “You had a miscarriage.”
Harlow didn’t know what the word “miscarriage” meant, but she could hear the revulsion in Ronica’s tone.
Backing up, Harlow tightened her arms protectively around the unmoving child.
In a swift, savage motion, Ronica snatched the towel-wrapped baby from Harlow’s arms and bolted.
Screaming in outrage, Harlow
chased Ronica. But she wasn’t fast enough. The next sound she heard was the slamming door. And then Ronica’s jangling keys outside the apartment as she locked Harlow in.
CHAPTER 35
There was an expression Vangie’s grandmother used to say: act like a lady in public and a whore in the bedroom, or something like that. The expression should have been, cook and clean like a house slave and act like a slut between the sheets. Vangie laughed to herself. However the saying went, she was determined to get her ring by any means necessary—fuck, suck, cook, clean, and prance around the house dressed like a hooker.
She sauntered into the bedroom wearing the lingerie that Shawn had bought her for Christmas. A push-up bra, a garter, thigh-high stockings, a thong, and a pair of stilettos for a special hookerish effect.
Shawn was lying in bed watching TV. A gleam shone in his eyes when he saw Vangie wearing the lingerie he’d given her. “That shit looks good on you,” he said, looking her up and down. His eyes settled on her breasts. “Damn shame that it’s about to come right off. Come over here, girl. Lemme holla at you.”
Feeling confident and pleased with herself, Vangie sashayed over to the bed, but didn’t get in. She took the remote, but managed to dodge Shawn’s reaching arms. She aimed the remote and switched the TV to a music channel.
“I’m not getting in bed with you. You gotta pay for this,” she said tauntingly as she swayed her body to the music.
“Whatchu mean? I dropped a bundle on the Louie bag.”
“Get some dollars, Shawn. I don’t dance for free.” Seductively, she fondled her breasts, rubbing a thumb teasingly over her nipples.
“Alright,” Shawn agreed, eager to role play.
Sitting on the side of the bed with a wad of money, Shawn motioned for Vangie to come closer. She danced over to him. He stuck a five-dollar bill in her stocking.
“You can do better than that,” she asked breathily.
“That’s more than they get in clubs.”
“Oh, you’ve been spending money on strippers?”
“Who me? Hell, no,” he said protesting and frowning excessively. “I heard about it, though.”
“Oh, you only heard about it,” she said doubtfully. “Never paid a stripper to dance for you?”
“No, this is my first time,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well, you’re in for a treat.”
“Is that right?”
She turned around, bent over, and shook her ass. He grabbed her cheeks.
“Bouncer!” she yelled.
“Yo, why you tryna get me kicked out?”
“Watch your hands. You don’t know me like that.”
They both laughed. Then Vangie took the game to the next level. Her right hand wandered downward. Her fingers curled, pulling the fabric to the side, showing Shawn her pussy.
“Come here, baby; let me kiss it.”
“Not yet. I gotta make sure you get your money’s worth.”
“I’m good. You can have all of this.” Shawn threw a shower of bills at Vangie, making it rain. The money floated to the floor.
“I like the way you tip.”
“I like the way you look. Now get your ass in this bed.”
But Vangie didn’t move toward the bed. She remained standing, her hips swaying gently. Her middle finger found its way to the lips of her pussy, and slipped inside. Wet sounds echoed as her finger slid in and out.
Rubbing his dick, Shawn watched with fascination as Vangie masturbated.
Unwilling to be merely a spectator, Shawn gripped Vangie’s butt cheeks, pulling her closer. His face positioned at her crotch, he began licking her creamy finger each time it emerged from her pussy.
“Come on, baby. My shit is bricked up. I’m ready to fuck.”
Vangie inserted her cream-covered finger inside Shawn’s mouth. His lips puckered around it as he sucked it hungrily.
With her stilettos on, Vangie crawled up on the bed. On all fours, she crawled to the bottom of the bed and starting with Shawn’s toes, she licked and sucked her way up to his thighs.
He reached for her, attempting to pull her on top of him, but Vangie resisted. She kissed and licked his thighs until they parted. Situating herself between his legs, her ass high up in the air and her breasts pressed against the mattress, she stroked his balls. Holding and then briefly squeezing and tugging them gently before licking the flesh of his nut sac.
Vangie worked her way up to his rigid dick, slowly licking, her tongue covering every raised vein and contour from the base to the smooth crown. She pulled his hard length inside her mouth. Her tongue swirled against flesh, while her lips tugged, urging Shawn to thrust deeply inside the warmth of her mouth. His dick began to stretch and swell until the head was pushing into her throat. Tears stung her eyes as his hard thrusts threatened to choke her. She began to gag but she kept on going, taking in five, six, seven inches of dick. She could feel his balls tightening inside her palm. Another inch and she was at the base of his dick, her nose pressing into the hair that surrounded his genitals.
“Feels good. Suck it, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, as his fingers curled into her hair, gripping it tightly, and then pulling her tresses.
Driven to the edge, Shawn seemed close to the brink of ejaculation. His dick became warm and pulsed against Vangie’s tongue. His thrusts were urgent. Pumping in and out, Shawn was striving to release a splash of hot cum.
With her tongue, she pushed his steely erection out of her mouth.
“Aw, baby,” he groaned in disappointment.
“Let’s make it last.”
“I can’t. You got me going. Let me bust. I can get it up again.”
“No, we’re doing this my way.”
“Oh, you’re in charge now?”
“That’s right.” She climbed on top of Shawn.
“So you just gon’ take the dick?”
“It’s mine, isn’t it?”
“Damn right,” he said, lying back in surrender.
CHAPTER 36
1995
Jody had a new boyfriend. Another corner boy. He was about seven years younger than Jody. His name was Smoke. He was nice to Jody and Harlow. Very generous. He personally went to the cable, gas, and electric companies to pay Jody’s bills. Since Jody was on Section Eight, it would raise a red flag if someone other than her took the rent money to the rental office, so Smoke bought money orders and dutifully mailed the payment the first of every month.
Things were starting to look up for Harlow. She was back in school—a new school. Jody didn’t feel like answering a lot of questions about Harlow’s extended absence so she used a phoney address and enrolled Harlow in school in Upper Darby, which was outside of the Philadelphia School district.
Smoke bought Harlow new clothes and lots of school supplies, and he made sure that she had lunch money, and a weekly supply of tokens to ride public transportation back and forth to school.
Wearing clean and up-to-date clothes had improved Harlow’s self-image. She was no longer the girl who was pointed at—snubbed and ridiculed.
She was finally happy. Except when she thought about her dead baby. It bothered her that she’d never found out whether she’d had a boy or a girl. The baby’s legs had been clenched together so tightly, she hadn’t been able to pull them apart to find out its gender.
Harlow had one eye on the TV, and the other on the dress she was ironing for school, and her mind was on her baby. Her little girl. In her heart, she believed that the baby was female. Ronica could have verified the sex of the child, but she told Harlow that she’d had a miscarriage and that the sex didn’t matter.
Months had gone by since the ordeal of going through labor and giving birth, but she was left with a sad and hollow feeling that crept up on her when she least expected it. Like now. Solemnly, she ran the iron over the cotton fabric of her school dress.
But she was snapped out of depression when Jody suddenly banged on the front. “Open up, Harlow. I lost my keys!”
&nb
sp; Harlow’s face knotted up into a frown. Jody had left her keys at the crack house again, and Harlow refused to rush through her ironing for her irresponsible mother.
Jody knocked again, hard and urgently. “Open the goddamn door!”
“Wait a minute!” Harlow snapped. Being openly disrespectful toward her addict mother had become the norm for Harlow. Deliberately irking Jody, Harlow continued ironing her dress.
“I ain’t got time for your bullshit, Harlow. Unlock this fucking door!”
Rolling her eyes and grumbling under her breath, Harlow made a slow tread toward the front door. She wished her mother would get herself together before she lost Smoke to another woman. She’d heard Ronica warning Jody. “A good man like Smoke ain’t gon’ take your triflin’ ways but for so long. You better get it together and stop stealing his money and smoking up his shit.”
Harlow feared that if Jody lost Smoke, they’d end up ragged and dirt poor again. She was filled with resentment toward her mother. Feeling angrier than usual, she unhinged the chain and cracked open the door. Lips poked out, she was set to greet her mother with a disdainful glare.
Jody burst through the door looking like a wild woman. Dismissing Harlow’s hostile expression, Jody pushed her daughter aside. “Did the cops or anybody come around here?”
“No!” Harlow turned her nose up at her bedraggled mother. Appearance-wise, Jody had good days and bad. Sometimes she could pull off looking normal, and on rare occasions she looked really pretty. But tonight, with her eyes bugged out and shifting from side to side, and with a dirty bandana tied around her head, Jody looked like the stereotypical, neighborhood crackhead.
“We outta here,” Jody announced.
Harlow eyed Jody with disdain and then jutted out her tiny hip, placing a hand on it. “You trippin’, Jody. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Move your ass, Harlow. Grab a trash bag and throw your clothes in it. We gotta be out with the quickness!”
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