Lipstick Diaries Part 2

by Anthony Whyte

  “No.” Paris quickly answered and placed her helmet on top of the counter.

  “Yo, Neal!”

  They both looked toward the front door. A 13 year old kid came rushing in. “Whose bike is that? That shit is crack, yo.” His eyes focused on Paris and saw her helmet on the counter. “That’s your bike, shorty?”

  “Shorty?” Paris said.

  “I didn’t meant it like that, shorty.”

  “Her name’s Paris,” Neal said, cutting in. “And Paris, this pain in the ass is Scratch.”

  “You got a man?” Scratch said.

  Paris had to laugh. “Boy, if you don’t get away from me…”

  “Don’t come in here harassing my new employee, Scratch.”

  “She’s working here? Everybody’s going to be coming up in here, now.”

  “If you ain’t buying nothing beat your feet,” Neal said.

  Scratch swiped the new Don Diva and Street Literature Review Magazines off the rack. “I’ll take these.” He pulled out a wad of bills and peeled off a twenty. He put it in Paris’s hand. “Keep the change.”

  “Scratch-” Before Neal could finish his sentence, Scratch was out the door.

  Scratch must have ran his mouth off to everyone he knew. Two hours later, mad dudes came into the bookstore to see the new eye candy. Three hours later, Neal had to kick dudes out in order to close.

  “If I would’ve known that a pretty face would boost my sales two hundred percent, I would’ve hired one a long time ago.”

  “Sales went up two hundred percent?”

  “Listen, there were dudes in here who brought books who don’t even know how to read.”

  “Stop playing.”

  “I’m dead serious.” Neal looked out the window. Paris followed his gaze. Two tricked out vehicles coasted by the store. The first vehicle was a white Tahoe with tinted windows, sitting on twenty-fours. The second was a burgundy Lexus with a gold stripe running down the middle. When they got to the corner, they made a U-turn and parked in front of Paris’s bike.

  Paris watched a slim guy hop out of the Tahoe. She chuckled as the baggy jean, Timb wearing diamond in the ears having hustler dramatically looked around before bopping toward the bookstore.

  The kid in the Lexus got out and leaned against the hood of his car. His woman stepped out and slid under his arm.

  The slim dude knocked on the door. “Yo Neal, what up?”

  “We’re closed.”

  “C’mon I know you ain’t going to do me like that.”

  Neal dug in his pocket and pulled out his keys. Slim smiled when Neal opened the door. “What up?” He slapped Neal five.

  “Same ol’, same ol’…”

  “That’s not what I’m hearing.” He looked at Paris. “I’m Cyrus.”

  “I’m -”

  “Paris, I know.”

  “Word travels fast,” she said.

  “This is a small town,” he smiled.

  “It’s getting late, Cyrus, so…” Neal started to say.

  “I won’t keep y’all any longer. I just stopped by to say hi to our new neighbor.”

  Paris grabbed her helmet. “I got to go.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Neal said.

  “I’ll be looking for you at the lounge tonight,” Cyrus said.

  “Don’t bother; I won’t be there.”

  “You don’t hang out?” Cyrus asked, getting a good look at her as she walked from behind the counter.

  “Goodnight, Neal.”

  “Ouch, it’s like that?” Cyrus said.

  Paris walked outside.

  “What up?” The girl snuggled up under her man’s arm said to Paris as she walked by.

  Paris acknowledged her with a nod before putting on her helmet. She started her bike and revved it. She locked the front brake and popped the clutch. She made a donut in the street before peeling off.

  “That was hot,” Ramel said.

  The girl under his arm, Tee, elbowed him in the ribs. “I saw you looking at that dyke bitch’s ass.”

  “She got a fat ass,” Ramel laughed.

  “And you about to have a fat lip.”

  Over the next couple weeks, Paris realized Hudson, the little town right outside of Albany, wasn’t the rural place she remembered. There were a lot more Blacks here, drugs and cliques were slowly taking over.

  Cyrus’s gang was by far the biggest. They were from Albany, but were here to sell drugs and recruit young kids. Cyrus’s thugs came into the bookstore on a regular, kicking their weak game. Paris would smile and politely shoot them down. The chicks in Cyrus’s clique definitely weren’t feeling all the attention their men were giving her. Paris just shrugged off their glares and jealous remarks. She didn’t want their wannabe, hood-rich boyfriends.

  Besides, she was having too much fun working a real job. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, and Neal was good company. He wasn’t trying to get with her. Paris pulled up to the bookstore bright and early one morning. She stopped in her tracks. Neal was in the center aisle, stacking books on the shelf. His G-Unit tank top was fitting him right.

  “Hey,” he said, looking up. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “I woke up early this morning, couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I come on down.”

  “I don’t have a particular dress code. If you want to wear short sleeves or a tank or whatever, I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t like my blouse?”

  “Yeah, I like it. I just noticed that you wear long sleeves a lot. I didn’t know if you did because you thought I wanted you to or…”

  “I prefer to wear long sleeves when working.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Neal finished stacking the books and walked over to the counter.

  “Hand me that log book right above you.”

  When Paris reached overhead to grab the book, her sleeve slid back to the middle of her forearm.

  “Is that a tattoo?” Paris quickly pulled her sleeve back down. “It looks like it goes up your whole arm.”

  Paris handed him the book and pulled out her Game boy.

  “What does it say?”

  Paris continued to ignore him.

  “Is that why you wear long sleeved shirts?”

  “You don’t quit, do you?”

  “My bad... Sometimes, I don’t know when to shut up.”

  Paris continued playing the game.

  “I see you have a different Game boy.”

  “There’s like twenty of these things in the basement, and that’s not counting the Play Stations and X-Boxes.”

  “Emma’s house used to be the neighborhood hangout spot. All the kids would go there after school.”

  “I was wondering why kids kept hanging around the house.”

  “I guess they miss hanging out in the basement, but they must be too scared to ask you if they can.”

  “Too scared…?”

  “You’re the ‘biker broad’; that’s what the kids call you.”

  “Biker broad…? That sounds so…rough.”

  “It’s just a name. I’m sure they’ll stop calling you that once they get to know you.”

  “Umm, hmm, I hear you.”

  When Paris pulled up to her house, she noticed two boys, no more than 9 years old, sitting on her porch. They immediately jumped off and started playing by the curb. Paris walked by them and stuck her key in the front door. She looked back at the boys and sucked her teeth.

  “Hey, did y’all know Emma?”

  Both boys nodded.

  “When is she coming back?” One of the boys asked.

  “She’s gone, she’s not coming back.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because…” Paris felt a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t cry when she first heard that Emma passed away, but having to tell the kids that she was dead made it more real for her. “Y’all want to come inside and play in the basement?”

  “Yeah,” both boys said at the same ti
me.

  A couple weeks later, the neighborhood kids had their hangout back.

  “Peace to my peoples,” Scratch said, as he walked into the bookstore.

  “What’s happening?” Neal asked.

  “Ain’t nothing. I just came in to get some CDs for the throwdown. You stopping by later on, Paris?”

  “The barbecue…?”

  “Where else…?”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “If you need a date…” Scratch started to say. Paris tried to snatch him up and punch him, but he was too quick.

  “You’re going to make me go upside that coconut head of yours, boy.”

  Scratch purchased five CD’s and left.

  “You should head over to the barbecue after work. Every one’s going to be there, including me,” Neal said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m just saying, if you think you won’t know anyone…”

  “I knew everyone in this small-ass-town the second day I got here.”

  “You got jokes.”

  “Besides, I don’t want the townspeople to think the ‘biker broad’ is crashing their party.”

  “Check this out, as your boss, I’m ordering you to go to the barbecue and have a good time.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Paris rode into the park and pulled up along Neal’s car.

  “Glad you could make it,” Neal said, eyeing her brown leather pants and cream shirt.

  “You gave me an order, remember?”

  Neal got out of his car as Paris was getting off her bike. “People might think we came together,” he said.

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “Heck nah.” He held his arm out. She intertwined hers with his.

  “A lot of people are here,” she said.

  The kids ran up on them. “Paris, can you ride me on your bike?” A young girl asked her.

  “Maybe later, baby.”

  “I see you got a little following,” Neal said, looking at the kids trailing them.

  “What can I say, biker chicks are cool.”

  “Yo, yo,” Scratch called out to them. He left the crew of youngin’s he was with. “I knew y’all were coming.” He slapped Neal five and bumped fists with Paris. “Y’all want something to eat? I’ll get my little soldiers to get y’all something.”

  “Your little soldiers…?” Paris echoed.

  “Yeah,” Scratch said, pointing to the boys he just left.

  Paris recognized a lot of them from hanging out in her basement.

  “I’ll get my own food,” Paris said.

  “Whatever. I’m a holler at y’all later, deuces.”

  “Kids today,” Paris said shaking her head.

  She peeped Cyrus and his crew in a corner of the park they had locked down. That was the area Scratch and his little soldiers were heading. Cyrus and his crew were corrupting the youth of the town, but she didn’t seem to care. Now she was becoming emotionally attached to some of the kids.

  “Leon,” she called out to one of the boys in Scratch’s group. The little boy turned around. “Come here.” He looked at Scratch and then at Paris. “Boy, you hear me calling you, get over here.”

  He ran up to her.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  Leon shrugged.

  “What you doing with them boys?”

  “Nothing…”

  “Well, being that you’re not doing anything with them, you can hang with me.”

  “Yo, Leon,” Scratch called out to him.

  “He’s hanging with me,” Paris shouted.

  Scratch shrugged and herded his crew, ages twelve and under, toward Cyrus’s side of the park.

  “Can you hold on to this for me?” she asked Leon, handing him her helmet.

  He nodded and took it.

  “This town wasn’t always like this,” Neal said.

  “No town ever is,” Paris said. “What’s up with the sheriff?”

  “Why’d you have to talk him up?”

  Paris looked to her left and saw the sheriff heading right for them. “Good afternoon.”

  “Sheriff,” Neal said. Paris nodded.

  “You must be the pretty little thing who moved into Emma’s house,” he said to Paris.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself before now. My name’s Ernest Krupp, pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Paris said, shaking his hand.

  “You ah…work with Neal at the bookstore?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is.” She stared into Neal’s eyes.

  “Y’all enjoy the festivities.”

  “We will, sheriff,” Neal said.

  “Like I was saying, what’s up with the sheriff?”

  “You see what’s up with him. He’s an old white man who’s probably making more money on Cyrus’s payroll in one week than he sees on three of his paychecks.”

  “And I bet it’s safe to assume that his deputies are just as corrupt.”

  “It’s safe to say that.”

  “And I can’t believe people are just sitting back and not doing anything.”

  “What are they going to do, go against a drug dealer, his gang and the police?”

  “Fuck it. If they don’t care, I don’t care.”

  They hung and tried to enjoy the atmosphere of the barbecue.

  Paris pulled into her driveway and started to head inside.

  “I remember you.”

  Paris stopped and looked over on her neighbor’s porch and saw an old lady rocking back and forth in a chair.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Emma used to have to beat your behind every other day. Ooh you were a little bad ass.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “You broke her heart when you ran away. No matter how many kids came and went, she always talked about you.”

  Paris walked over to the old woman’s porch. “Who are you?”

  “I used to say to Emma, ‘Don’t you worry none, Emma, that child is going to find her way back home, you’ll see and she’s gonna take care of the children.”

  “Ma, you okay?” A young woman came to the front door. “I thought I heard another voice out here.”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Paris said to the young woman. “Your mother was just telling me -”

  “Don’t pay her any mind. She has Alzheimer’s; she just rambles on and on about any and everything.”

  “Alzheimer’s? But she remembers me from when I used to live next door.”

  “My mother can’t even remember her own name. It’s time to go inside Ma.”

  “Okay mommy.”

  “See? I’m the daughter and she calls me mommy.”

  Paris watched the young woman help the frail woman up and walk her into the house.

  She remembered me, Paris whispered to herself. She went home, undressed and got into bed. She racked her brain trying to remember the old woman next door. She said she remembered her, remembered when Emma had to beat her butt. She was right about that. Paris couldn’t remember a day Emma didn’t have to slap, hit, or punch her.

  “Miss Belle,” she said out loud. “Oh shit, I remember you, Miss Belle.” She was the dentist assistant who held her hand when the dentist was putting on her braces. “Damn, Miss Belle, you got real ah... old.”

  Paris was staring at the ceiling, thinking of her family. The one she left down in the city. She was missing them something terrible. She reached for her cellphone on the table and stopped. She wasn’t ready to talk to them yet. She kicked off the sheets and put her clothes back on. Paris decided to go out.

  She walked into the lounge and immediately regretted coming. Tee and four girls from her clique were sitting at a table tucked in a corner. She rolled her eyes at them and headed to the bar.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender asked.

  “Five shots of vod
ka,” she replied.

  The bartender arched his brow. “Five?”

  Paris held her hand up. “Five.”

  “Coming right up…”

  “I thought you didn’t hang out,” Tee said, walking up on Paris.

  “I don’t.”

  “It looks like you’re hanging out to me.”

  “I’m just having a drink.”

  “Here you go,” the bartender said, placing five shots in front of her. Paris threw back the first two right off the bat.

  “Damn, you an alcoholic or something?”

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  Tee put her hand on her hip. “I just wanted to let you know to stay away from Ramel.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I see the way you be looking at him when he comes into the bookstore.”

  “Bitch you bugging.”

  “Bitch…? You sure you want to go there with me?”

  Paris downed her third shot. She pulled out a twenty and placed it under one of the empty shot glasses. When she got up to leave, Tee blocked her way.

  “Where you think you going, bitch?”

  Paris shoved her out the way and left. She didn’t get half way down the block before Tee rushed out of the lounge with her four girl crew.

  “Where’s your bike, Dyke?” The girls laughed at Tee’s remark. “Hey, Dyke, I know you heard me.”

  Paris stopped walking.

  “Yeah, bitch, that’s what I’m talking about,” Tee said, walking up on her. Her girls surrounded Paris.

  “You need to grow the fuck up,” Paris said.

  “You need to shut the fuck up.”

  Tee swung on her. Paris deflected the blow and backed up into one of Tee’s crew. The girl pushed her back into Tee. Tee got a punch off to Paris’s cheek. Paris got off three. One to Tee’s jaw, another to her forehead, and the last one to her temple. Tee backed up and looked at Paris in shock.

  “Gena,” Tee yelled out to one of her girls. “Shoot this bitch.”

  Paris looked at the girl Tee was talking to and watched her pull a .25 out of her jacket pocket. Gena looked no more than seventeen years old.

  “Yo, put that away!” Gena saw Cyrus and immediately stuck it back in her jacket.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked Tee.

  “This bitch disrespected me.”

  “Go back inside, now.”

  Tee sucked her teeth and headed back to the lounge.