Let That Be the Reason

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Let That Be the Reason Page 6

by Vickie M. Stringer


  We both laughed. Just like pieces of a puzzle, we fit so easily, like we had known each other forever. I hadn’t felt this comfortable with anyone since I met Chino years ago. Delano was handsome and had beautiful eyes. They weren’t beautiful because they were another color besides brown; they were beautiful because they were full of sparkle. The eyes are the windows to the soul. He was so much more than his outward appearance, and his vibe just felt right to me.

  “Hey, that’s a nice reggae tape,” I whispered.

  “Don’t tell me you like reggae.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I know a reggae spot that’s open late on Fridays and Saturdays. You want to go tonight?”

  “D, it sounds good, but no thanks.”

  “No?”

  “Yes,” I looked at him with a puzzled expression on my face. “Have you not been told no before?”

  “Yes, I have, but when it’s something I want, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Time to change the topic. “Where are you from? You drive like a maniac.”

  I clutched the dented door panel as he glided around the corner with one hand on the wheel and replied, “Brooklyn.”

  “I knew it. You drive like a wild New Yorker.”

  “What do you have against New Yorkers?”

  “Nothing,” I said defensively.

  “Do you want me to come and pick you up?” He pulled up to the curb in front of the salon and the car backfired loudly. Neither one of us said a word for a minute.

  Reaching for the door, I responded, “No, I’ll get a cab or call T-Love for a ride. Thanks.”

  “Page me when you’re done.”

  “I’m okay, really. Thanks. Drive safely.”

  I gave him a wave, then dashed across the street, already twenty minutes late for my appointment. I prayed that nobody saw me get out of that death trap.

  Three hours later, I was under the hair dryer reading a magazine when my hairdresser, Tiki, came over. “I think you’re finished and you have a phone call.” My first thoughts were of my son. T-Love would have paged me, though, if something were wrong. As I walked to the phone, I checked my pager: no messages from T.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Carmen, almost finished?”

  “Who is this?”

  “You know who this is. I’m on my way to pick you up, so don’t call anyone.” Click!

  I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to hang up on me, but it felt good to be waiting for someone to come get me. My hair looked great, every strand in place. I decided to put makeup on, but I changed my mind because this time around I wanted a man to accept me as I was, this time around. If he can take me at my worst, then he will appreciate me at my best.

  Delano finally arrived, and his entrance into the salon caused collective murmurs and heads to turn in his direction. He walked over to me, admiring my hair, and said, “Carmen, you look good, girl.”

  The patron seated to my right leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Girl, where did you get him at? He got a brother? Is that a sock in his pants or what?”

  I blushed and responded to Delano, “Thanks.” I turned to my hairdresser. “Tiki, how much I owe you?”

  Unexpectedly, Delano said, “Don’t worry, I got ya. How much, Tiki?” In my peripheral vision, I noticed women applying lipstick and walking, no, sashaying past Delano to the magazine rack attempting to catch his eye. However, this gentleman kept his eyes on me. Tiki did a pretend calculation of my bill.

  She taxed him. She charged him $95. Delano flipped out a crisp $100 bill and added a $50 bill on top of it for a tip. Tawanna, Tiki’s assistant, and Tiki gave each other the eye and looked at me like, Damn, can I be you for a day?

  Tiki Baytops, a hair designer from Jersey, was the best stylist in town, and she knew it. You paid for her expertise and she cut and styled your hair like no other. I even purchased the same sort of hair comb she used, trying to duplicate the style at home. Tiki styled hair with soft, flattering layers that framed your face and complemented your personal look. My appointment was standing twice a week, on Tuesday and Saturday, and I had a guaranteed three-hour wait. Insanity, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

  During my wait, it was business as usual. I would sit in the reception area, telephone and notepad in hand, answering calls and arranging dates. G would come up to the shop and bring me lunch, then we would sit in the parking lot rappin’ about getting money while I sported a shower cap getting my locks deep conditioned. I definitely did not do split ends, dry hair or curls out of place. G would say, “Damn, Carmen, it takes all this to look good? You need to get a fro or some damn braids. You live up in this piece.”

  Beauty is pain sometimes. But I got the absolute best fashion tips from Tawanna, who was from Detroit. During my wait, she would try to sell me something or up me on the latest styles. Tawanna would shampoo me wearing her Gucci boots and Prada jeans. She kept me laughin’ while I waited my turn in Tiki’s chair. But if they smelled drug money, they upped the prices. Who could blame them? Everyone wants a piece of the pie. If D wanted to be Big Bank, then he could be Big Bank.

  “Delano, thanks for my hair. You didn’t have to.”

  “I know I didn’t, but I wanted to do it. Your hair needed some help, girl.” We smiled as we walked to his car. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know where we can get some delicious food made like Mom makes it.” Wow, is he asking me out on a date? Courtship isn’t dead, huh? In his presence, I feel special.

  “Now, that’s good because my mom can cook. Let’s go.”

  “They also have good music. One concern, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s in the hood. Is that a problem?”

  “No, just as long as I don’t get shot.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  The food at Boopsey’s was great and the music was good. They had a jukebox that pumped the latest in R & B. There was a row of booths for seating to the left and a bar equal in length to the right. They also had pool tables toward the rear of the building near the restrooms. It was a smoking environment, and I got a breathful of indo. The tables were equipped not only with salt and pepper shakers but with all the necessary condiments for the soul-food menu—hot sauce, mustard and ketchup. D and I played a few games of pool, and he gave me some quarters to play the jukebox. I felt like a schoolgirl on a date. He led me to our table.

  “Well, you already know from my driving that I’m from New York. I’m also the proud father of two sons. They’re by two different women from my younger heyday.” I knew it was too good to be true. Not one, but two baby mamas. “I have a nice friendship with them, and I spend a lot of time with my sons. I’m single and have been for some time. I’m looking for Ms. Right. Well, not actually looking, but I asked God to bring her to me. Carmen, I see something in you that I like.”

  “Oh, really?” I gave him a screwed-up face and raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, really, despite your attitude.”

  Keep your guard up and keep your heart locked.

  “Life has taught me that the things worth having come with a challenge, and I’m very patient,” said Delano confidently.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  Great, a man with a little bit of wisdom. “Well, I’m not interested in being chosen.” I needed him to understand where I was coming from.

  “You always talking fly. Carmen, you need to understand that I’m in the streets on a mission, but I’m not classified by baller, player—none of that stuff. So talk to me like you talk to a man because that’s what I am, and in turn, I’ll always talk to you like you’re a woman.”

  “Will you stop talking so I can eat, sir?” I don’t want to like him, but I do.

  We sat, ate and talked for hours before I realized I’d been gone from home longer than I wanted. It was my first time being out on anything close to a date since Chino and it was fun. D dropped me off at my condo
. I told him I would call him, though I knew I would not. Well, I knew I didn’t want to. I was on a come-up, and love wasn’t in the equation.

  I walked into my den a little after 9:00 p.m. and found T-Love and my son asleep. Music videos were playing low on the TV. I took my son in my arms and kissed him as I walked him to my bedroom. He never really slept in his room. We always slept together. My son was my life, my force and my motivation. For me, he represented all the good in the world. He was my blessing from God. I just wanted his life to be better and wanted to give him the best.

  I went downstairs to talk business with T. I really didn’t know what to say to him. Although I had been exposed to it, I knew nothing of the dope game. I knew G purchased O-Z’s. That was it. I had an outlet and was determined to find a resource. That resource was T-Love. I touched his shoulder.

  “T, wake up. I thought you had a date.”

  “Yeah, I did, but you jetted. You were gone forever.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to be late. Thank you again ’cause I really needed to get out.”

  “Watch yourself with Delano. He has a lot of women interested in him. Plus, I hear his babies’ mothers are crazy.”

  “Don’t worry. I will. It’s still early if you wanted to use the Jeep to go out. Were you at least able to make some runs?”

  “Yeah, but Abdullah and ’em are coming over, and I need to be here at the house to get his page and give him directions to your new, fly-ass condo.”

  “T, I’m going to stay up and watch a movie. I can get his page, return the call and give them directions for you. I can wait up for them, get them settled and squared away. You leave your pager and take mine. I’ll page you when they get to the house. Go out and enjoy yourself. You go back home to your wife in two days and you know you wanna get your freak on. Besides, I need to take some calls and make some money.”

  The more I talked, the faster he moved. All T saw was ass and all I saw was opportunity.

  “Mmmmm, T,” I said as I followed him around the house, “you know I’m a single mom and out there hustlin’.”

  “Right, right.” He nodded in agreement.

  “Well, I need to buy some girl. Can you help me?”

  “No way!” He looked at me and shook his head in disbelief. “Keep your service.”

  “I need a house for my son and me.”

  “You living nice, you’re making money. Shit, I want to leave my wife for you. What’s up?” he said, smiling sheepishly.

  “Yeah, silly, but I spend a lot of money, and I’m renting. I need security.”

  I quickly saw that I could not get any sympathy over my situation, so I went for the jugular: his pocket. “I’m talking about making real dollars.” Aw! A raised eyebrow. Now I had his attention. “Listen, whatever you’re movin’, I can help you move double.”

  “I’m moving a kilo to a kilo and a half in a week, no problem,” he stated proudly.

  “Next week, bring me one,” I pleaded.

  “Umm. I need some money up front,” T responded, staring me in the face.

  Damn, he’s sleepin’ in my den, driving my Jeep, and I’ve never asked for anything. I was hurt and about to cry because all this time I was thinking that we were closer than that. I knew he didn’t get money up front from the other people he dealt with, so why me? At that moment, I vowed to get independent, so I’d never need anyone.

  My anger brought out both strength and weakness. In my strength I said, “No problem, but tax me and I’ll tax your ass.”

  “A’ight, next week it’s on, and I’ll see what you can do.”

  With that we exchanged pagers. I handed him my car keys and waved good-bye. Yeah, T can bounce my Jeep around town and make it hotter than a firecracker, tryin’ to use me. Okay, T-Love, everyone gets a chance, and my chance is coming. As I ended that thought, I turned my phones on and settled on my couch watching TV with my pencil and notepad. I paged some of the girls for their locations, then got down to business.

  Ring… ring.

  “Hello, may I help you?… Yes! Renaye is 36–24–38… Outcalls are $175… No problem. She’ll be there in thirty minutes.” I verified his number and address.

  Click!

  I called Renaye to set her appointment, as something on TV caught my attention. A video by Janet Jackson had come on. It was the same song that I heard in Boopsey’s when I was with Delano. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard I tried. I paged him, even though I told myself earlier that I wouldn’t.

  In fifteen minutes, he called back.

  “Someone call a pager?” He sounded anxious as if this were a call for a potential buy.

  “Hi, it’s me. You don’t recognize my number?”

  “No, but I recognize your voice.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking of you,” he smoothly responded with that Brooklyn accent.

  “Yeah, right.” I twisted the cord of the phone as I was mesmerized by his soothing voice.

  “No. I really was, but hey, I’m at Boopsey’s playing pool and I’m at the outside pay phone. It’s cold.”

  “Well, I can call you later.” I didn’t want him to hang up the phone, but I couldn’t let him know that.

  “Can I come over?”

  “No. I just wanted to call and say hi. Maybe we can do lunch this week. I’ll call you.”

  “Carmen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good night.”

  I smiled. “Good night, Delano.” His Brooklyn accent sent chills up my spine, and I longed for him to be sitting beside me on the couch talking to me as I laid my head in his lap.

  My phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “Hey, G.”

  “Can you help a brother out? I’m pressed.”

  “Yes, it’s on for next weekend. I’ll see you then and we will discuss more about it.”

  “Thanks, C.”

  Now, how in the hell could I sell a kilo? More research was needed. It would all work out somehow. It had to. If not, I’d be out of my savings and on skid row again with enough coke to snort for a year. The deck was definitely stacked against me. I had come so far, and the escort and fencing were slow-roll hustles. The potential earnings thrust me into belief in the unknown. I had to take a chance and ball. The come-up is always the greatest challenge, and I loved a challenge.

  “Oh, shit!” The beeping of T’s pager startled me. “It’s them.” I’ll never forget it. Abdullah and the fellas from New York—my entry into the dope game.

  Six

  “Hello, Infa, this is Carmen. T asked me to give you directions to my home.”

  “Where he at?” asked Infa.

  “Where else?”

  “On a booty call.” We faded in like a rap group.

  “You got anything to eat?”

  My grocery bills alone supporting this crew were in the four figures. Damn!

  “Yes. My fridge is full. Want me to fix you something?” I knew he did. They always wanted service.

  “Yeah. Do dat,” said Infa.

  “How about some Philly cheesesteak sandwiches with onions, peppers and mushrooms with some Heinekens to wash it down?”

  “Sounds good,” he told me. I gave him directions and the line went dead. They were on their way.

  I grabbed my cordless and went to check on the baby. I enjoyed just watching him sleep. I gave him a tender kiss on the side of his face as I traced the outline of his eyebrow, down the middle of his little nose and over his lips, where I noticed his first teeth coming in. I smelled his scent on his neck.

  After going downstairs to the kitchen, I got all the items out of the fridge. I got a bowl and put some chips in it, then got some blankets, linens and pillows, and stacked them by the stairs.

  I saw the lights from the kitchen window as they pulled into my garage. It felt like déjà vu because I had gone through this with Chino and all the fellas. I did the same things for them; the
n they turned around and cut my throat. I was not about to forget that. I told myself this go-around would be different. I would not get hurt this time, nor would I be forgotten. Carmen would make sure of this. It was all about me and stacking some dollars to buy us a new home.

  For a split second, I was standing in my old kitchen, Chino’s and mine. I could see a pile of tennis shoes next to the door to the garage off the kitchen. I really missed the fellas.

  They would watch basketball game after basketball game. There was Rock, the athlete of the crew. Wherever you saw him, a basketball was nearby. He would dribble and talk, talk and dribble. Getting down on the court was his thing. Chris J, the tallest of the team, standing six-four, was thin, gentle and a definite follower. Ant, the model type, had good looks that only handicapped and confused him. All he wanted was some money. Cory, nerdy, reared for more out of life, chased the excitement of the streets. And my Chino, the leader of the pack. Talk about some niggas looking good ridin’ five deep in a 500 SEL.

  Just when I began to feel a sudden sadness inside of me, Carmen popped back in and greeted Infa at the door and took control of the night. Infa was sexy. He was half-black and half-Panamanian. His skin was smooth and cocoa brown, and his jaw was outlined by a thick, trimmed beard. His thick mustache accented his thick, kissable lips. I thought, Ooh wee, when I saw him. He was also married to a Spanish mami who would definitely kick your ass for thinkin’ about her man. So I left that one alone and gave him the utmost respect because of her. All the women lusting after Infa were afraid of mamacita.

  They came, and we kicked it, hitting the club. We arrived in a white Lincoln Navigator limo with chromed-out rims, black piping on the seats, TVs in the headrests complete with PlayStation and a fully stocked bar and fridge. We were flossin’ and profiling as we pulled into the valet section for drop off. Infa handed me his nine to place in my purse to get past the security pat down. Problem was, my shoulder-strap purse was too small.

  Infa started cursing. “Why in the fuck you carry such a small-ass bag? You know the drill. How am I gonna get my piece up in the spot?”

  I ignored his complaints and looked at Abdullah, whose nine was now sitting in his lap as he thought about how he would get it up in the club. “Okay, my fault, but do you got beef with anyone? Y’all from Uptop, and we in Ohio. Let’s just stay for a couple of hours.” I convinced them it was cool. This was a new nightclub that didn’t have a notorious rep for violence yet. They stashed their nines underneath the seats.

 

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