by Sa'id Salaam
As ominous as it looked, Mrs. Lovejoy had no idea what it was.
“It’s a pipe to smoke crack cocaine,” the guard explained, answering the tacit question contorting the supervisor’s face. “This one was smoking drugs in our bathroom,” she added, thrusting a finger at Kim.
Mrs. Lovejoy gasped. “Tiffany, tell me you are NOT using drugs!”
“No. I—” was all Tiffany could get out before another guard spoke up.
“Ma’am, she is definitely using drugs,” she said solemnly. “I know the signs. My sister just passed from drug use.”
“This is going to absolutely kill your mother,” Mrs. Lovejoy announced.
“Please!” Tiffany begged. “Please don’t tell my mama.” She clasped her hands as if in prayer as she begged for respite. “Please! I’ll pay back every penny,” she pleaded.
“I’m sorry, but it is out of my hands now,” came the supervisor’s reply. She nodded her head to the guard at the door.
On cue, the guard opened the door, and in walked two Dekalb County police officers.
Tiffany had never experienced the feel of handcuffs before, but it was business as usual for Kim. The women were marched right through the store as everyone looked on.
“I am so dead,” Tiffany cried in anguish as the full reality came to her. “My mama’s gonna die, but she’s gonna kill me first.”
Kim, on the other hand, was unfazed. “Girl, you fine,” she said, trying to console her young friend. “Ain’t nothing but a Class C felony. You gonna get to sign your own bond and be home by supper,” Kim advised as the grim reality of her own situation became clear. Kim had violated her probation months earlier and had an arrest warrant waiting on her. That crack pipe in her shoe ensured that she wouldn’t be getting a bond. The best she could hope for was a lengthy stay in rehab. Of course, there was an eighteen-month wait just to get into the program. “That’s what I get for trying some new shit,” Kim whined. “Shoulda stuck to sucking dicks.”
* * *
The police cruiser pulled out of the crowded mall parking lot and onto Candler Road. It merged onto 20 East, then 285 toward Memorial Drive.
As soon as the massive jail came into view, both women began crying, albeit for different reasons. Tiffany had seen the structure almost every day of her life, but never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she’d be taken there in handcuffs.
Once inside, the women were photographed, fingerprinted, and given a cursory medical exam as part of the intake process.
They were given the opportunity to use a phone after they were booked in. Kim declined, having long ago burned all of her bridges, leaving no one to call.
Tiffany, however, jumped at the chance when her turn came. She quickly dialed most of the numbers to her house before changing her mind. “I know!” she said, dialing most of Carlos’s number before hanging up again. “Think, girl…” Then she smiled as it came to her. She dialed the numbers she’d only recently committed to memory. Tiffany was delighted when her new friend picked up on the second ring.
“Dekalb County Jail? What’d you do now, Mike?” Wanda exclaimed, assuming it was her boyfriend, who was no stranger to trouble himself.
“It’s me, Tiffany. I need some help,” Tiffany pleaded in her baby girl voice. She then gave Wanda a brief synopsis of her situation.
Wanda admonished her about the stupidity of her plan and, using a crackhead to pull it off. “Girl, I’m on the way,” she said when she heard a deputy tell Tiffany her time was up.
Both women, along with a few other recent arrestees, were taken across the street to see a judge. Like Kim told her, Tiffany was allowed to sign her own bond, but Kim herself was stuck. Tiffany was given a court date and a warning of the dire consequences if she missed it. Back a the jail, she was out-processed and released.
* * *
“Thank you so much,” Tiffany cried, hugging Wanda tightly in the jail waiting room.
“No problem, lil mama,” Wanda replied, pressing her body against Tiffany’s.
Once they got in Wanda’s new Lexus, she handed Tiffany a tightly rolled Swisher Sweet blunt. “I know you need this, girl.”
Tiffany stopped short of lighting it, remembering she had to go face her parents.
“Go on and keep it,” Wanda offered after Tiffany explained her dilemma. “Shit, you need to bring yo’ lil fine ass down to the club and get some of this money. You get cash every day and won’t have to worry ‘bout how you gon’ get high,” Wanda said as she drove. “Sure beats pulling capers with a junkie.”
Tiffany was too dark for Wanda to see her blushing at the “fine” compliment. She thought of herself as marginally cute at best, but never fine. To Tiffany, Wanda was fine, like a brown-skinned version of Beyoncé. “Girl, I may just hafta do dat,” Tiffany replied in sista girl mode. She knew she could never and would never take her clothes off in front of strange men, not even for money.
“May as well. Lawd know you ain’t got no job no more,” Wanda said, pulling next to Tiffany’s car in the mall lot.
“Thanks again,” Tiffany said, leaning in to give Wanda another hug.
Wanda sneaked her with a kiss on her lips before embracing her. “No problem, girl. Call me later and let me know how you make out,” she said.
“Okay, I will,” Tiffany replied, pulling out of the awkward embrace.
“Let me know if you wanna come down to the club,” Wanda called out as Tiffany got into her car.
“I will,” Tiffany lied, knowing full well she wasn’t. “Ima call.”
* * *
The usually short drive home seemed to take only a few seconds. Tiffany still hadn’t come up with a plausible explanation of the day’s events. Unable to come up with anything, she decided to wing it when she got there.
Tiffany was dismayed to see that her parents were waiting for her in the front room. It was a room rarely used, if ever, but it prevented her from slipping past. “Hey, Mama, Daddy,” she said meekly to her grim-faced parents.
“Have a seat, young lady,” her father said stoically.
Tiffany looked to her mother for support but got none; she averted her eyes.
“Well, Mrs. Lovejoy called us,” her father said, his statement sounding more like a question.
Oddly, Tiffany felt more irritation than fear. She hadn’t had a blast since early that morning, and father or not, the dude was questioning her.
“Well?” he asked, frustrated by her silence. “You wanna tell us what happened?”
“Calm down, Will,” Tiffany’s mom said, patting her husband’s leg.
“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Tiffany began, figuring she’d adlib as she went along.
“That’s what I thought,” her mom chimed in, eager for the whole sordid mess to be easy to explain away. “It was that girl, wasn’t it? The one with the drugs?”
“Uh huh. It was, Mama. It was that girl!” Tiffany said excitedly, happy her mother had come through with an excuse.
Her father sighed loudly as his wife began doing exactly what she had promised not to do. “Tiffany, go up to your room so your mother and I can talk for a minute,” he said, exasperated.
“Okay, Daddy,” she replied, rising to her feet. Before leaving the room, Tiffany ran over and hugged her mother’s neck. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said, cementing her support.
Tiffany’s parents began debating as to how to deal with the situation, even before she got out of the room.
She hit the stairs two at a time to make the most of the time she had. Surely I got time for a quick blast. She was long overdue and definitely deserved one after all she’d been through that day. She started to open the window and hang her head out like she used to do when she was just smoking weed. Then she remembered how the smoke would still come in, and she quickly abandoned the idea. Tiffany then decided she would just smoke in her bathroom, using the steam from the shower to mask the odor. In her haste, she forgot to lock her bedroom or bathroom door. She smil
ed, pleased with her cleverness as she turned on the vent and climbed on the toilet to blow the smoke in. One pull told her Wanda had packed the blunt to the gills. It sizzled loudly with each hearty pull she took. With each pull, Tiffany agreed to out the blunt, but every pull led to another. She was so caught up listening to the crack crackle that she didn’t hear her parents enter her room.
Her father finally got her mother to agree not to stick up for her and force her to explain herself.
“She’s in the shower. Poor thing’s had a rough day. We should wait till morning, Will,” Tiffany’s mother whispered.
“Mary, please!” her father shot back, irritated at the attempt to let the girl off the hook again.
“Okay, okay!” she agreed. “I’ll stick my head in and tell her to come to our room when she gets out.” She neared the bathroom. “Oh my!” Tiffany’s mother gasped, stumbling away from the door.
“What?” her father asked, rushing to investigate.
She was too astonished to speak, just pointing to the bathroom door.
Will pushed the door open, expecting the worst—and that was exactly what he got.
Tiffany was perched precariously atop the toilet, feverishly sucking on the cigar. She choked harshly when she finally saw her shocked parents. “Don’t you people fucking knock!?” she screamed between coughs.
“Is that marijuana?” her naïve mother asked.
“That’s freebase!” her father exclaimed, using the terminology of his era.
“Freebase?” Mary asked, still confused. “You mean…like Richard Pryor?”
“Richard Pryor, Bobby, and Whitney, O.D.B.!” Tiffany screamed, furious at the interruption. She took another pull as she climbed down, then outed the blunt on her sink.
Both of her parents were in absolute shock, speechless, staring at the stranger wearing their child’s body.
“Fuck wrong with y’all?” Tiffany asked nonchalantly. “No big thang. I get high erry now and then.”
“Not in MY house you won’t!” her father boomed indignantly.
“YOUR house?” Tiffany chuckled. “Nigga, dis OUR house.”
“Tiffany!” her mother screamed. “What has gotten into you!? Apologize this instant!”
“What?” Tiffany yelled back. “Apologize for what? This nigga don’t run shit ‘round here.”
Her father rushed over and grabbed Tiffany by both shoulders, desperately searching her face for his daughter.
“Get the fuck off me, nigga,” she spat, pulling out of his grasp.
Before he could stop it, his open palm shot up and collided with the side of her face. The sound of the slap seemed to stop time as it reverberated in the room.
They all stood for several seconds in total silence until Tiffany finally spoke up. “You ever touch me again, muhfucka, Ima kill you,” Tiffany spat with an evil smirk.
Her father moved forward to see if she could keep her word, but he was stopped by his wife.
“No, Will. Please!” she begged as she struggled to restrain the man.
“Hold up, Mary. I’m tryina see what she talking about,” he replied, trying to get around her.
“Let him go!” Tiffany challenged. “Come on, nigga.”
“I want you out my house now,” her father said calmly.
“You ain’t saying nothing,” Tiffany taunted.
“If you ain’t gone in twenty minutes, Ima toss your little ass out on your head,” he replied before turning on his heels and leaving the room.
Mary turned her head back and forth from her husband to her daughter, desperately torn as to who to defend. “Don’t you move,” she demanded as firmly as she could before rushing out to her husband.
As soon as her mother left the room, Tiffany began stuffing clothes in her bag. She gathered as much as she could with one hand, the precious blunt still tightly clutched in the other.
Mary got nowhere with her husband and returned to talk some sense into her daughter. But when she got back to Tiffany’s room, she found it empty.
* * *
Once inside her car, Tiffany debated what to do and where to go. Carlos was the first person she thought to seek refuge with, but his girlfriend’s car in the driveway killed that idea.
Her phone vibrated in her purse as she slowly pulled down her street. A quick check of the caller ID made up her mind as to her destination. “Hey, Wanda,” Tiffany answered, sounding as pitiful as she could.
“Girl, you okay?” Wanda asked, as if she was really concerned. “I was calling to see how you made out with your mama and daddy.”
“They put me out. I don’t know where Ima go,” Tiffany replied, already heading toward Wanda’s house.
“Come on over here, girl. You know I got yo’ back,” Wanda offered.
“You sure?” Tiffany asked rhetorically.
“Yeah, girl, come on. Ima have one rolled up when you get here,” Wanda said.
It was then that Tiffany realized she was still clutching the blunt in her head with a death grip. Not intending to share it, she tucked it away in the glove box for safekeeping.
* * *
The guest room in Wanda’s house was roughly the same size as the one Tiffany left behind. It contained a brass daybed, a small dresser, and its own bathroom. Tiffany set her bags down and went to join Wanda in the front room.
“Girl, you just in time,” Wanda exclaimed, holding up a tightly rolled blunt.
Tiffany watched in awe as Wanda lit it and inhaled deeply. Again, Tiffany inhaled with her.
“You…o…kay…gurl?” Wanda inquired in between gulps of air.
“No,” Tiffany whined. “I’m a mess—homeless, jobless, broke. I don’t know what Ima do.”
“You know you can come down to da club,” Wanda said, passing the blunt.
“I ain’t ready for that,” Tiffany admitted before hitting the blunt with gusto.
Wanda peeped the greedy pull and knew the girl would soon be open for anything. That, of course, would be to her benefit, and a plan crept into her mind. “I got your back. You can stay here as long as you need to, but you’ll need some income. Yer gon’ have to help out,” she announced.
“I guess I hafta find another job,” Tiffany sighed.
“A job!?” Wanda exclaimed with a chuckle. “Girl, a job ain’t nothing but work, and I can’t be waiting on you to get no check.”
“What else can I do? I can’t dance,” Tiffany said in the same whiney tone that was beginning to annoy Wanda.
Wanda knew she had her hook, line, and sinker, but she was moving too fast. She decided to pull back a little and turn her out slowly. “I’ll tell you what…” Wanda began in a more sympathetic tone. “Mike is coming over in a little while. Ima see if he got anything else you can do.” She knew just getting the young girl inside the club was half the battle. This is the other half, Wanda mused to herself as she passed the cocaine-filled blunt.
“As long as I can keep my clothes on. I aint’ no ho,” Tiffany said before taking a big pull.
Wanda flinched slightly at the insult but said nothing. She knew full well that she was a ho and much worse, but she didn’t like being called one. “Gurrl, if you did dance, you would make a killin’! You way finer than most dem chicks at the club,” Wanda said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, right.” Tiffany giggled, blushing unseen under her dark skin.
“Fo’ real, gurl. Dem hoes got bullet holes and stab wounds,” Wanda joked.
In fact, Club Chocolate had the baddest dancers in the ATL, most of them turned out by Wanda herself. All of them had been personally sampled by Mike—some even by Wanda.
“Come on. Lemme see what ya got,” Wanda said, hitting a button on the remote control. “Whose Pussy” by rapper D-lite boomed through the Bose speakers as Wanda rose to her feet. “Come on! I’m finna show you some moves,” she told a giggling Tiffany, pulling her up by the hands.
Tiffany was high as a barrel of oil and got into the vibe. She began dancing all the latest dances
as Wanda watched.
“Hold up,” Wanda announced and bolted from the room.
Tiffany was feeling the song’s heavy bass line and kept on dancing.
Wanda returned in a flash with a large tote bag in hand. “Come on and find something in your size,” she said, dumping out an assortment of lingerie.
Tiffany hesitated for a second until she saw that the undergarments were new, with the tags still attached. “This is nice,” she said, holding up a bra and thong set.
“Go on and put it on,” Wanda said, beginning to shed her own clothes to put on the set she selected.
Tiffany watched in awe as Wanda came out of her clothes. More fascination than lust had Tiffany stuck in her place.
Wanda caught it but didn’t react. She’d hoped to get to sex the girl herself, but she wasn’t sure if Tiffany would be up for it.
Tiffany finally caught herself and went to her room to change. She admired herself in the mirror for a second before going back out. “Well?” she asked, holding her arms out for inspection.
“Lemme see. Turn around,” Wanda said, coming closer. “Oh, this is nice,” she said, fondling Tiffany’s breast under the guise of adjusting her bra.
Tiffany blushed again as she soaked the thong from Wanda’s touch. I...am...not...gay, she told herself firmly, confused by her reaction to the woman’s touch.
Wanda caught the reaction and pulled back. Be easy, she warned herself, feeling moisture seeping into her boy shorts. “Lemme show you a few moves,” Wanda said, hitting the replay button on the CD player. She ran Tiffany through a regiment of stripper moves. She showed her how to make her ass cheeks clap, shake it like a salt shaker, get down and get her eagle on, and an assortment of other seductive dances.
The women were so engrossed in their revelry that neither heard the door open behind them while they danced. Mike stood there watching in silence until Tiffany caught a glimpse of him. She announced his presence with a shriek and took off down the hall.
“Girl, that’s Mike!” Wanda called behind her, laughing.