Ghetto Girls

by Anthony Whyte

  Danielle’s mother didn’t mind her daughter being out so much, since she thought Danielle was in the library most of the time. Being more concerned with a marriage on the brink of disaster, she knew nothing of Danielle in the streets, running with the clique.

  Josephine’s parents were working professionals, and her family was the closest to what could be called a real family. She just wanted to fit in, so she was in ecstasy since she had hooked up with the other girls. They were contented to see their daughter happy and her parents always allowed her to participate freely in extracurricular activities. She was allowed time for rehearsals, but there was only one stipulation.

  “I’m good as long as my school work’s up to date,” Josephine said, whenever the topic of rehearsal schedules was brought up.

  The posse rehearsed their routine almost every evening after school and performed on weekends, usually Friday evenings, at different clubs. Each was loyal to the clique that had blossomed right under their families’ noses. The next time Coco spoke to Busta, he had congratulated her after she had won another talent show. He invited her and crew to be a contestant in his own annual talent jump off. It was now officially on for Coco and her girls.

  Headlights bounced off the paved streets, causing tiny speckled beads of reflection. The girls made their way past three older women sipping, and standing around losing their souls in the bottle.

  Coco gazed out the car window. “Why do these people keep holding on?” she wondered aloud.

  “That’s their salvation, drinking, I guess,” Deedee replied.

  “They need to just give up and git da fuck off the curb.” Danielle said.

  “That’s...that spot right there!” Coco yelled as she changed the subject to something less depressing.

  “Yeah...yeah,” Danielle and Josephine yelled as they gazed at the nightclub Genesis.

  “Let’s check this scene, yo,” Coco demanded.

  “Okay, I hear you. But can I park first?” Deedee asked.

  “Yeah, right over there. They’re pulling out,” Coco shouted.

  Deedee guided the car with some difficulty into the vacant spot. The teens standing in line turned and stared in the direction of the car.

  “Why’s everyone all up in my biz?” Deedee asked loud enough for anyone to hear. No one answered. Da Crew had performed at this club before, so Coco moved toward the front, motioning Da Crew and Deedee to follow. The girls felt like celebrities as they were escorted through the velvet ropes of the VIP entrance into the club.

  “Hey yo, check this out. We’ve got some honeys in da house,” an Afro-headed youth exclaimed as he menacingly approached the girls, his hips gyrating and arms above his head.

  “What up? What up? Ladies y’all wanna be swinging wit’ Lil’ Long, or what?” He asked. Coco stepped closer to him, pressing four fingertips in his chest.

  “We’re gonna swing wit’ you later, Lil’ Long. But for now, just cool it. We’re gonna chill. And here’s a Spearmint, yo. You might need some more, but it’s a start.” She turned to Da Crew. “Why does every stinking-breath wanna get up all on top of me, all up in my face tonight?” Coco asked as she lit another blunt.

  “You’re gonna have to put that out,” a club security officer gruffly ordered.

  “Okay, okay,” Coco said. She inhaled and then crushed the lit tip under her right boot.

  “Bitch, that’s some expensive-ass weave you’re wearing, right?” a handsome thug with braids down to his shoulders asked. He was joking around, but Deedee wasn’t having it.

  “Yeah, it’s your mammy’s,” She immediately shot back.

  “Ouch,” chorused a small crowd of club hoppers who gathered at the site.

  Coco and Da Crew were wearing headgear, so Deedee figured the voice was directed at her. She felt like she had to reply.

  “Yo, I’ll slap—”

  “Whassup, Deja? Yo chill. This is my friend, Deedee. She’s real down-to-earth once you get to know her,” Coco said. She hoped the situation wouldn’t get physical.

  “Well, as long as she recognizes that I’m not here to represent da bullshit. I’m only representing da real. Then we ahight, you feel me, ma?”

  “Watch da soundman,” the deejay roared, flipping the script. The music transformed the club into a hip-hop mass.

  “Booyakka ... Booyakka ... soundman lick some shots,” the girls yelled in unison jumping and reveling.

  Reggae groove transformed the mood of the club into a swirling, bass-heavy, resonating grind. The volume sent a quiver up the spine of even the most relaxed wallflowers. The dance floor rocked as Coco moved toward the bar, not stopping to join the party. Deedee, hot on her heels, finally caught up to her.

  “Coco, Coco, I just wanna thank you for what you did back there. That was the second time you saved my—”

  “Keep your mouth shut and stop acting like you’ve got bodyguards and there should not be a third time. Un’erstan’?” Coco growled, her nostrils flaring and her brown eyes wide open.

  “But—” Deedee’s face wore a baffled expression.

  “Nah, no buts, homey,” Coco said. “Just know that these niggas are grimy. They ain’t taking shit off no one, Ahight.”

  “Cool, I hear you…”

  “You really wanna be cool, buy me a thank-you drink.” Coco drifted toward the bar.

  “I can’t do that. I’m a minor.”

  “Exactly, save it, yo. You’re right, minor. You ain’t old enough. I’m a go holla at some major peeps.” Coco’s voice trailed off. She whirled off to the bar and came back with a drink in hand.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that stuff?” Deedee asked.

  “Okay, okay, so you gave Da Crew and me a twirl in your uncle’s rented car. Now you wanna tell me what to do?” Coco asked without even looking at Deedee. For a moment, Deedee reflected on what exactly she should say. She wanted to say ‘fuckoff, ’ but repressed the thought. Instead she pulled out her cigarettes, offering one to Coco, who quickly took it and lit it. Deedee stared at the cigarette dangling between Coco’s protuding lips.

  “You’re not even gonna offer me a light, are you?” Deedee asked.

  Coco’s face almost formed a smile, but she spotted Deja and his braids, double fisted making moves toward them and a frown quickly reappeared.

  “My bad, yo,” Coco said and gave Deedee a light.

  “Ah yeah! Ahight!” Deja shouted, caught up in a partying mood.

  He approached the girls clapping his hands. Deja’s eyes were locked on Deedee.

  “Yeah yo,” replied Coco, pushing Deedee aside and confronting Deja.

  “Yeah Coco, so you wit it now?” Deja asked with a smile.

  “Ahight, let’s ketch a wreck, yo,” Coco replied.

  Deja grabbed Coco’s hand and pulled her toward the gyrating pile on the dark floor. She was ready for the get down. After the blunt and the brew, Coco’s senses welcomed the groove.

  “Time to get busy, yo,” Coco shouted, whisking by Da Crew. The girls turned around in unison, following Coco and Deja to the dance floor. This was their world.

  Deedee watched as the trio partied with Deja. Suddenly, it seemed as if they owned the floor. They ruled the dance floor. Coco started moving precise, like a ninja anticipating a blow. The other girls took their cue.

  Before Black Moon could Enta da Stage, the girls had the spot rocking and the crowd shouting, “Go Coco, go Coco.”

  Da Crew moved in for the kill, but Coco was sharp. She was a queen in this realm and wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I’m a take a break, yo,” Coco said, leaving the celebration on the dance floor.

  She made her way past people twisting, shaking their asses, and rhythmically bopping their heads to the urgings of an excited overly excited deejay.

  “Yeah, party people, we’re gonna tear the roof off this mother-sucker tonight and if you feeling alright say all night ...” The party crowd hollered back, “All night.”

  �
�Yeah and you don’t stop. We got playas in da house tonight…”

  “I hate when they do that preaching and shit, yo,” Coco said.

  “What shit?” Deedee asked. She was still visibly awed by the way Coco had dominated the floor.

  “Wow, Coco. You’re really some kinda dancer. Were you always this nice? I wanna…”

  “No, the question is, can you shake that thing, Ms. Cool One?” Deja asked, barging into the girls’ conversation.

  “Yeah, are you ready for me now?” Lil’ Long asked and grabbed his crotch, hips still in motion, aimed at Coco. It seemed all the boys flocked to the girls. Coco moved to keep things in check.

  “Need to play around some more before I get to ya. You look kinda serious, homey,” Coco tossed back at the disgruntled face of the crotch-grabber.

  “Ahight, ahight I’m a take you up on that,” Lil’ Long said, nodding.

  “Later,” Coco said, heading away from him. “I need some air, yo.”

  “What about you?” Deja asked as he swooped down on the defenseless Deedee.

  She had let him come too near. Deedee could not back up, and did not want to push him out of her face. The drama from the earlier introduction was still fresh in her mind. His breath was hot. It smelled awful, like burnt body parts mixed with alcohol. Deedee wanted to be cool, be down with the other girls.

  “Ahight, let’s dance,” she said, reaching for his hand and directed her thoughts to the dance floor.

  He wanted to grind, she kept avoiding contact. They continued dancing, and he was able to lay his hands on her hips. He touched her small waist and breasts. Each time, Deja pretended the contact was incidental. She didn’t push it. Or, paid it no mind and the sounds took her away—the bass-line driving hard, ricocheting from her hips sweeping her body into a pelvic grind. By the second song Deedee had allowed him to grab her ass. She shook it for him and he was pleased as he got up close and personal riding her whirling posterior.

  “Alrighty, party people, as we continue on wid that rub-a-dub style…” the voice of the deejay screamed colliding with Deedee’s efforts on the floor.

  “I hate those fucking deejays,” she said, mimicking Coco. It was now her exit line. She smiled as she abruptly brought the dance to an end.

  “I gotta get some air, yo,” Deedee said as she made her escape from the floor. Deja wore a jilted look.

  “You know where to find me,” he laughed, turning and rejoining the celebration on the dance floor. The place now belonged to Josephine and Danielle. They were moving in an encore of Coco’s performance. Da Crew was clearly enjoying themselves.

  “Another one?” Deedee asked when she encountered Coco holding a cigarette and glass filled with liquor.

  “Another one of what, yo?” Coco shot back with much attitude. She showed contempt for Deedee’s meddling. “Listen,” she continued, adjusting her expression with a crooked smile. “I know my limitations,” she declared, holding the last syllable slightly longer than normal. “I do this all the time. There’s nothing’ new to this. What’s it to you? Don’t sweat me. Can I live, yo?”

  “Well, I just don’t think you should have another...”

  “Da posse is still tearing shit up,” Coco burped. Deedee stared at Coco’s crooked grin, and then put a cigarette to her lips.

  “Yeah, they doing their thing. Gimme a light,” Deedee said, attempting to absorb the situation without sounding sympathetic.

  Coco obliged with a light. Her grin had gone awry, clinging to another corner of her mouth.

  “The performance, is it... Ah?” Deedee asked awkwardly.

  “Is it what?” Coco replied.

  “Is it your salvation?” Deedee responded too quickly.

  “Never thought about it like that. Never really,” Coco’s answer was cut short by the man on the microphone.

  “Yeah party people we’ve really got a fire blazin’ up in da house tonight you hear. I can’t hear you …”

  “That deejay...” Da Crew chorused as they walked toward the smoking duet.

  “...Talks too muthafuckin’ much!” The four girls announced.

  “Save me some shorts,” Josephine requested.

  “I’m gonna get a drink,” Danielle yelled. “Whew, I’m hot and thirsty.”

  “That ain’t nothing new, bitch.” Josephine said.

  “Mind your own Bl, bi-yotch.” Danielle answered.

  “I seen you bumping an’ all up in Deja’s face.” Coco turned to Deedee and said.

  “He’s just trying to push up. Nothing else…” Deedee started to speak but Coco cut her off.

  “I’ll tell you the two things what madukes always be running, ‘don’t get friendly too quickly, and don’t trust no man,’” Coco sleepily mumbled. The alcohol had numbed her thoughts, but she was still in charge of Coco. She had been done before but Deedee had no way to know. She stared at Coco and for a moment Deedee felt nothing but pity, then a tinge of nervousness as her eyes met Deja’s stare. Coco saw her reaction.

  “Why is he clocking you so hard? What’d ya do to home-boy? He’s got that sick puppy-dog look going on, yo. He’s only trying to catch a new owner. You got him open like Seven-Eleven, girlfriend,” Coco said giddily. She even managed a chuckle.

  Deedee stared at Coco. She watched as the alcohol stimulated the meltdown of Coco’s hard edge. It made her friendly and almost childlike.

  “This must mean it’s my turn to burn,” the thug that called himself Lil’ Long said as he approached them. Coco grabbed his hand. She motioned to Da Crew. They turned and strutted back to continue their domination of the dance floor. Deedee marveled again at Coco’s moves. She was startled when she felt someone palming her ass.

  “Hey,” she said, and whirled around to face Deja. “Chill with that, please.”

  “Chill with what, honey?” Deja asked and showed his hands feigning innocence. He was full of fun but Deedee was not in the mood for his humor. “You need to stop acting so stuck up.” Deja said.

  “You need to stop trying to cop a feel,” Deedee replied emphatically. “I don’t like that,” she continued. “Most guys will buy a girl a drink and then try to kick it. Maybe that’s what you should be trying to do. Buy me a drink and talk sexy to me or sump’n other than trying to feel on my behind.”

  “You’re a spoiled and bossy bitch,” Deja said dejectedly. “That’s because you think you’re all this and that,” he continued, his voice rising and competing with the bass.

  “All right, party people. Yeah! Give it up for Coco and Da Crew. Young Ghetto celebs, in da house doing their thingy-thing. Alrighty…”

  “Oh shit, oh no he didn’t,” Coco said. She smiled, drunkenly acknowledging the onlookers.

  “Let’s get da fuck off this floor,” Josephine said.

  “Why? The deejay’s only trying to blow us up. That ain’t such a bad thing,” Danielle countered. The girls followed Coco off the floor anyway.

  “You guys can really go!” Deedee said when she caught up to Coco. Da Crew kept walking toward a booth.

  “We’ll be back in a few,” Da Crew, Danielle and Josephine said on cue.

  “They must’ve seen their boyfriends. Hey, don’t get lost, girlies,” Coco replied.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Deedee asked without warning, surprising herself and Coco. She had figured Coco wouldn’t mind talking a little.

  “Nah,” replied Coco effortlessly. Deedee had been right. She delved further.

  “Why not? Don’t you want one?” Deedee pried.

  “I don’t need one. Men shouldn’t be trusted. See men, they start out as boys. They love to beat up on girls and grow up to be men who take advantage of women. They do that because they think women are weaker. But not me, I’m not gonna be nobody’s house pet, you feel me?” Coco reached for a light and fumbled to get the last cigarette from her pack. Deedee nodded as if she understood. “And boys are no good,” Coco finally declared. She shook her head as if she was shaking her thoughts out. Deedee ju
st didn’t see her pain. She felt it. She thought of reaching out and giving Coco a hug, but decided against it. What difference would a hug make anyway? Deedee reasoned.

  “Lemme get some of that stogy,” Josephine said.

  She pointed her hands showing nails, tipped and manicured. Coco passed her the burning cigarette. Deedee considered offering another cigarette, but Coco turned and walked away. She moved clumsily under Deedee’s watchful eyes, found an empty chair and plopped down. Either due to the time, or the effect of the alcohol, Coco seemed tired and worn.

  “Looking for me?” Deja asked. He was holding two drinks in his hands.

  “No, I’m... Yeah, what time do you have?” Deedee answered.

  “I have all night and most of the morning. Got to get some shut-eye, know what I mean?”

  “I’m talking about the time on your watch, Mr. McNasty—I mean Deja,” Deedee quickly added when she saw Deja’s face folding into a grimace.

  “Its three-thirty, bitch,” Deja said, limping away.

  “I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. I didn’t...” Deedee yelled apologetically. “Oh well,” she said, hurrying back in Coco’s direction.

  Coco’s chair was empty. Where was she? Deedee wondered. Anxiety slowly crept in. Deedee felt uncomfortable. She wanted to leave. Damn! Where are these girls, she nearly said out loud, but checked herself. What a night, meeting Coco and her posse, the gunshots outside the other hangout, and now, feeling stalked by Deja for something she had said. I’m leaving, she told herself.

  “Where are you running to, honey? Still looking for me?” Deja asked, turning on the charms.

  “I’m looking for my friends, ah, Deja,” she said, using his name correctly.

  “Always looking for everyone else but me, huh?” Deja asked.

  “They’re in the blunt-smoking section. Over there in the VIP area,” he continued, motioning with a movement of his head.