Black & Ugly

by Styles, Toy

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR NO RUBBER DICKS, BITCH!

  So how you get me everything I asked for?"

  "You said I could get something once I got what was on the list."

  "I said you could get something when I got everything on the list. Now, you tell me what's wrong with this picture."

  "I did cover the list ... damn. Why you actin' like that?"

  "Well how come I don't see the Dooney & Bourke purses in the box? Where are those, bitch? I got mothafuckas lookin' for shit I ain't got!" I yell with one 90

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  hand on my hip. "I tell you what you're doin'. You making me look bad."

  "Oh, guuurl, aren't you blowing things a little out of proportion?" Miss Rick says. "I mean, every other time you asked for something, I got it. So, what on Earth are you talking about?"

  "Oh, bitch, you are doin' shows. I know you lost your mind. What about the Bratz?"

  "What?" Miss Rick asks like he's confused.

  "I said what about the Bratz doll, bitch?"

  "I don't know. I don't watch that shit."

  "You were supposed to get that Bratz, bitch, and bring her back to me. That woman was calling me asking me about that thing for weeks after her daughter's birthday. And what did you do? Forget all about the Bratz doll to get some edible thongs," I rant then pause for a moment to catch my breath. "So, don't tell me this is the first time."

  "Okay , and that was the only thing I ever forgot," Miss Rick responds.

  "It is not. Today you forgot the purses."

  "I didn't forget. I couldn't find them wretched purses. You ain't getting no money for 'em no how, 'cuz ain't nobody carrying them ancient bags."

  "Sweety, I got customers who ordered them purses.

  Everybody don't like the sequins purses you be carrying around. Some people got taste."

  "Get over yourself, Miss Wayne."

  "I let you hold the credit card to get everything on the list and a few things for you once my list was T. Styles

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  cleared. What I'ma tell them hoes when they come see me and I ain't got their shit? Damn, Miss Rick."

  "I'm sorry, girl. I can go back tomorrow," he pleads, finally realizing he is wrong.

  "No, you can't go back tomorrow. Once you use a card, it's done wit'. That's all we need is the heat from Judy because you goin' back using hot-ass credit cards.

  I'll get another one tomorrow." I shake my head at the thought of the cops being after me for Miss Rick's stupidity.

  "Okay, but when you gonna put me on so I can get my own customers?"

  "When the fuck you do what I tell you to. That's when."

  "Whatever, pink bitch."

  "Look, girl, I gotta go, but next time I send you to get something, don't run to the counter to buy your toys before my list is complete. Now bye, chile." He gets on my full and complete set of nerves. He knows I need the Dooney and Burke purses for them bitches. They gonna kill me. Damn! I stomp my left foot. They've been hittin' me up ever since I started back fuckin' with this credit card shit again. See, I had to chill out for a while. Somebody hated, and the police's narrow asses were all over me. That was about six months ago, but now I'm back in business.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

  Who the fuck is that? Oh my word, please don't tell me the cops saw that bitch bring this shit to my house.

  BANG, BANG, BANG.

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  Oh no! I'm goin' to jail. Oh God, I can't go to jail.

  Please don't let me go to jail. Do you know what they'll do to me if I get locked up? Well, that won't be too bad but I still like to come and go as I please. I can visit, but I certainly don't want to make it my home.

  Here I am sitting on over twenty-five thousand dollars worth of shit. I mean, I got it all. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Tiffany jewelry sets and La Perla undies - I mean everything. Calm down, girl. Sometimes I get so worked up, and most of the time it's for nothin'. Let me look through the peephole first.

  OH SHIT! It is Judy!

  God, let me get out of this here and I'm never doing this again. Let them leave me alone and I'm never touching another credit card in my life.

  "Mr. Wayne Peterson, we know you're in there."

  "One minute please. Just 'cuz I'm in here don't mean I ain't takin' a shit."

  "We'll wait."

  I know they will. Greasy mothafuckas. I throw the goods in my bedroom and lock it with the deadbolts I had put on for added security. I've been robbed several times and the greedy mothafuckas will want my treasures the moment they find out I'm back in business. They don't wanna pay for shit around here.

  So I fixed their asses and had this special metal door put in with an alarm system and deadbolts. The rental office doesn't know shit about that door. If somebody breaks in the living room, they'll be short 'cuz the real shit is in my treasure chest and I now only fucks with T. Styles

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  out-of-town customers. No more hood niggas for me.

  "May I help you?" I ask as I open the door.

  "Yes. We'd like to ask you some questions about the death of Melony Walker."

  Whoa! That's a close call. I feel like offering them some bacon, eggs and cheese. I'm so happy. After all, I was there, but I ain't have nothin' to do with what happened to that poor chile. So I don't have anything to worry about. I mean, I do feel sorry for the young lady though.

  "Sure, officers. Come in, please." They flash their badges, walk in and sit down. They could've flashed two pictures of their bigheaded babies and I would've never known the difference. All I see is two men and I am open.

  "Thank you, sir," one of them says.

  "Can I get you some coffee or something? Maybe some potato salad and chicken?" I ask them.

  "No, sir. We just want to ask you some questions, that's all."

  "Okay ... shoot! Well ... not literally, but I am ready and willing to be as cooperative as possible. You can count on me, officers," I tease as I sit down on my sofa and cross my legs.

  It ain't even been five minutes and I already have their full and undivided attention. My silk short set from Vickie's kills 'em every time.

  "I understand you were at the party, Mr. Peterson.

  The one that Donna Samone gave in northeast Washington, DC where Mrs. Walker was killed. What 94

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  can you tell us about that night?"

  "First off, call me Miss Wayne. Mr. Peterson is so formal."

  They nod in agreement.

  "I mean, it is important to be friendly, right?" I am laying it on thick, but I want to loosen them up. They look so frustrated but boy are they edible like two sweet brown Sugar Daddies. I want to suck on and bite into both of 'em.

  "Mr. Peterson, please answer our questions."

  "Okay. No need to get all antsy. I am just bein'

  friendly."

  "Well, that's not why we're here. We're here because the night of the party, a young woman was murdered, not because we want to sit and eat potato salad or play games with you."

  As much as I want to dip my hand into a jar of Vaseline and slap the fuck out of him, he's right. I'm actin' like a slut and they're here on business. It's just that it's not often that I get two police in my house that ain't lookin' to arrest me. It's actually sort of refreshing, and I want to take advantage - or shall I say I want them to take advantage. You get the idea.

  "I'm ready to cooperate, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much. Alls I really know is that I saw Miss Parade runnin' toward the door with Miss Sky, and I knew something was up."

  "Why, sir ... I mean, Miss Wayne?" Officer D. Hurts says as he looks at his partner.

  "Well, 'cuz we had planned for that party all week, T. Styles

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&nb
sp; that's why," I explain as if the officer should've known.

  "We had these cute little shiny outfits on and everything. Well, maybe not shiny but real cute. And I know they would've never left so early if something wasn't wrong," I continue as I smack my lips.

  I'm noticing that D. Hurts is looking at my fingers when I talk. See, I'm a typical girl so I can't say a word without movin' them.

  "Sooooo, the moment I saw them leaving and saw everybody else talking, I asked somebody what happened and I found out that someone was stabbed. Miss Daffany was talking to some guy so I grabbed her, and we went to find our friends."

  "So, who did you go with?"

  "Miss Daffany, Miss Parade and Miss Sky."

  "Can you tell us where to find them?"

  "Yes. I can write their addresses down, too. We all live in the same complex."

  "Thank you. That'd be very helpful," Officer S.

  Oakly says.

  "I try, honey."

  I write down the addresses and they leave, so I am on my way to the phone to warn my girls that they are next on the list. Before I close the door good, Officer Hurts comes back to drop off his card. On the back is his cell number with the words "call me anytime." Now I'm in a whole 'notha world.

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  12

  Parade

  I'M DAYDREAMING 'BOUT WHAT HAPPENED with me and my mother last night as Carol comes over and checks my hair under the dryer.

  "You almost done, girl. Now don't fuck up your hair dis time 'cuz I almost couldn't squeeze you in," she says and places the dryer back on my head before walking off.

  I sit and think about my mother again, wondering why she hates me so much.

  ~~~~

  Last Night

  "Parade! Parade! Get the fuck up!" Like always, I popped out of the bed to see what she wanted. When I saw her sorting out dirty clothes on the floor, I got on my knees to help. She told me the day before that we had to do the wash so I figured it was time, but the moment I grabbed a red shirt to place in the color pile she had already formed, she ran over to me with a pair of filthy white underwear in her hands.

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  "What is this? You nasty bitch!" Before I could answer, I was knocked backwards and my ankle felt like it had twisted underneath me.

  "What did I do?" I asked as she continued to mush the seat of the shit-stained underwear in my face.

  "What did you do?" she yelled, straddling me.

  "What did you do? I'll tell you what the fuck you did.

  You walk around here all day like your ass don't stink and expect me to clean up behind you. Look at this shit. I know you don't expect me to wash these."

  "Ma," I said, stealing a glimpse of the drawers in her hand, "those are not mine."

  "Well, whose are they? Because they damn sure ain't mine!" She continued steadily pressing the stain up against my lips.

  "Ma, please," I said, finally able to get from underneath her, "can you listen to me for a second?" As I glanced at the underwear she dangled in her hand, I saw the size and knew immediately they were hers.

  "No," she said, getting up. "I want you to wash all of the drawers in here by hand." As she walked over to the pile of clothing, she shoved a bunch of dirty underwear in my arms. Some belonged to me but most of it was my mother and father's.

  "But Ma..."

  "Did you hear what the fuck I said, Parade?" I nodded.

  "Well, do it now!" she screamed in my face.

  "Ma, I'm not doin' that," I said as nicely as I could 98

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  without getting her upset.

  "Oh you not, are you?" she continued. "Well, you can get your shit and get the fuck out of my house." She shoved me toward the door and pushed me out.

  When it closed, I broke down crying because I could not figure out why she hated me so much. With nothing on but my bra and some pink cotton shorts, I knew I couldn't stay out in the hallway like that forever. I knocked several times before she decided to open it.

  "So, what are you gonna do?" she asked as she opened the door with the chain still on.

  "I'll wash 'em, Ma."

  With that she removed the chain and let me in.

  When I got to the bathroom, I could barely see because tears blurred my vision. My mother was starting to make me hate her and I knew if I didn't leave soon, I'd probably want to kill her or myself.

  "Hurry up, Parade," she said, bringing the dish-washing liquid in the bathroom for me to use.

  When I placed the clothes in the bathtub, she came right behind me and turned on the shower instead of the faucet. I got soaked and the hairstyle I worked so hard to keep was ruined. I heard her laughing behind me as I jumped up, trying to salvage it.

  "Looks like your little hairdo got ruined," she said, smirking. "Oh well, it didn't look like shit anyway.

  Now hurry up and do what the fuck I asked you to." I spent the next hour hating her and myself.

  ~~~~

  "Oh my goodness," an old lady says as she sits next T. Styles

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  to me under the dryer. "You are beautiful."

  "Who?" I question. "Me?"

  "Yes." She smiles. "You remind me of my daughter."

  I examine her vanilla-colored skin trying to imagine how someone so light could have a daughter as dark as me.

  "Thank you," I respond. "Carol does a really good job on my hair."

  "Sweetheart, I can't see your hair," she replies. "I'm talking about your face. You're beautiful." I sit here and listen to her but can't stop the tears from forming in my eyes. In my entire life, no one has ever called me pretty, let alone beautiful, except Miss Wayne and Daffany. And here I am, speaking to a total stranger who has nothing to gain by complimenting me.

  "I appreciate it, but I don't think I'm nowhere as pretty as you are. I wish I had your complexion."

  "Why do you say that?" she asks with her face dis-torted.

  "Well, I think light-skinned people are pretty, and I'm far from light skin."

  "Sweetheart, I don't know who you've been talking to. It doesn't matter if you're light or dark. If you're beautiful, you're beautiful. And if you haven't learned to appreciate your beauty, both inside and out, I beg you to start today."

  "I'm ready for you, Mrs. Skarlett," one of the hair-dressers says.

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  "Okay," she responds, looking away before turning back to me. "Remember, sweetheart, love yourself because if you don't, nobody else will." The dryer is extremely hot and my ears are burning, but I continue to sit here wondering if what she said could possibly be true.

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  13

  Parade

  "WHAT'S GOIN' ON, SKY?" I ask as I smooth the Proactiv mixture on my face, praying that it works.

  Today I woke up deciding to take better care of myself since nobody else would. I figured I'd start with my face. I know Sky said she knew somebody who used it and it didn't work, but I want to see for myself.

  "What you doin', girl? And why the water sounds so close? You ain't takin' no bath with me on the phone, are you?" she yells in my ear.

  "No. Just washin' my face. Let me rinse this stuff off real -"

  "What stuff? You usin' that Proactiv shit? 'Cuz I told you it don't work."

  "I know," I say, disappointed due to her reminding me that it may not work. "But I just wanna see what happens. So what's up?" I ask, trying to rush her off the phone and finish what I am doing since Jay is coming over.

  "You hear anything yet?"

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  "Oh ... 'bout that?" I ask, not wanting to discuss it over the
phone. "Maybe we should talk about this kind of thing in person, Sky. I think that would be better."

  "No need. I just want to make sure you won't betray me since we was beefin' the other day."

  "I wasn't beefin' with you. You were mad at me, Sky."

  "It wasn't that I was mad. You've been acting funny lately. Like you not being real with me or something.

  The only reason I'm calling now is to make sure you'll keep our little secret. After all, this is your fault." I sit on the toilet to let the toner work throughout my skin, failing to understand why Sky is so dead set on making me feel bad for something I already feel guilty about. She's called me six times already saying the same thing, and each time my answer is the same.

  I would never sell her out.

  "I'll never betray you, Sky. I swear it. I told you that already," I assure her, hoping the truth can be heard in my voice.

  "When you say you wouldn't betray me, does that mean with everything?" Her words hit me like an electric shock. I wonder what she means and if she knows about me and Jay after all. The only thing that allows me to brush it off is that I've never known Sky to bite her tongue for anything or anybody.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, hoping she would clar-ify.

  "You know what I mean. I need to know that you T. Styles

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  wouldn't stab me in the back after all the things I've done for you, and I'm not just talkin' about with the girl, Parade. Because if I find out you're phony, I'm neva fuckin' wit' you again."

  "I know," I say. "You don't have to worry about nothing. My lips are sealed."

  "I hope so." She ends the call.

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  14

  Markee

  "I AIN'T GOT NOTHING ON ME, I swear. Why you doin'

  this? Please don't hurt me."

  "Shut the fuck up, bitch, and open the door!" Markee yells at an unsuspecting girl entering her apartment near Quincy Manor.

  Markee had taken the hallway light out and lay in the cut waiting for his unknown victim to come along.

  He was happy to see the young black girl in her twenties going into the apartment right in front of where he stood hidden in the corner.