So, So Hood

by L. Divine

  At first I pull back, shocked by his forward advance. But when I pull away Keenan claims me by the waist, slowly kissing my neck, my left ear, and then reclaiming my lips and I let him. It’s been too long since I’ve been kissed like this and it feels good.

  “Well, hello,” my mom says, slamming the front door. I didn’t even hear her walk up the stairs let alone open the multiple bolts on the door. I must’ve really been floating.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, wiping my lips dry.

  Keenan attempts to wipe my lip gloss from his mouth, but it’s no use. MAC stays put for the long haul.

  “Hello, Ms. Jackson. I’m Keenan. It’s nice to meet you,” Keenan says, walking up to my mom in the living room and extending his right hand.

  “I’m sure,” my mom says, looking from my last client for the day to me, not pleased. Shit. The last thing I want is to hear her mouth about Keenan.

  “I was just touching up Keenan’s braids,” I say, shaking the towel out and folding it neatly. Even if we’re not done it’s safe to say we’re finished for the night.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” My mom hangs her purse and jacket on the rack while taking Keenan’s leather jacket down.

  Keenan smiles at my mom’s candor and collects his things, ready to go and I think that’s a good idea. If my mom hadn’t walked in when she did who knows what would’ve happened.

  “I’ll see you later, Jayd. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Jackson.” I wave to Keenan who touches his incomplete do. This is the first time I’ve ever left my work undone.

  “Bye, Keenan,” my mom says, slamming the door behind my new friend. Usually my mom’s not so rude to my guests but for some reason this time is different.

  “Mom, it’s not what you think,” I say, cleaning up. I guess I’ll finish his hair another time.

  “Really? Because it sure did look like exactly what I’m thinking it was.” My mom puts her hands on her slender hips and rolls her emerald eyes at me. My mom’s not happy I’m dealing with Keenan at all, but why? She’s the one who told me not to settle down with Jeremy when we first started dating.

  “Mom, please. I just got out of a relationship. I’m not looking to get into anything else serious right now,” I say, putting my hair tools in the hall closet. Going to bed early sounds like a plan tonight if for no other reason but to avoid further scrutiny.

  “Well you need to tell that to the college boy who was just in here trying to suck your pretty little face off.” My mom heads to her room for some clean clothes and I follow.

  “Mom, it was just a kiss.” And what a kiss it was. I don’t need to look in the mirror to see how flushed my cheeks are. Keenan knows how to leave a great first impression.

  “Jayd, look at you,” my mom says, gesturing my way. “You’re too hot for your own good, girl. I’d rather you lose your virginity with Jeremy than that boy,” my mom says, tossing her snakeskin pumps to the side. Is she going to be here all night? Tomorrow’s a school day and I don’t want to spend the rest of my evening getting cussed out. “At least he’s of legal age.”

  “Mom, it’s not that serious,” I say, thinking about the prospect of having more than an innocent cerebral relationship with Keenan. From the moment we just shared we both felt the potential to be more. “We’re just friends.”

  “This boy’s coming over here at night getting his hair done when you normally stop doing hair at seven. Pretty soon he’ll be setting up steady night appointments with you, girl. You’d better be careful with these college boys. They’re way out of your league.” My mom’s got a good point, even if it’s at my pride’s expense. Keenan may be slightly out of my league, but I can’t deny our vibe. “You have enough to focus on without getting mixed up with him.”

  “You’re right, Mom. I’ll chill out.” I can’t forget what Mama spent five weeks drilling into my head. I need to keep a cool head about all decisions. Getting involved with Keenan seems harmless enough, but I need to be careful of my associations, especially with Esmeralda touching so many more people through her lead position in her spiritual house. Before Esmeralda took over the ile Baba Hector, of which Emilio’s godfather and his wife had ownership, it was already the largest botanica and spiritual house in Los Angeles County. And with Esmeralda’s help, it is on its way to being the largest voodoo house in Southern California. I need to focus on helping Mama stop her and her evil army from taking over. I’ll also get Mama’s help to check Mrs. Esop once and for all. Keenan and his soft lips will have to wait until after our women’s business is done.

  12

  90220

  I won’t forget my roots ’cause I don’t worship money/

  That’s not what counts.

  —CHAM

  Wednesdays are the hardest days of the week to get through, but today was especially grueling. All I could think about was Keenan’s kiss the other night. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if my mom hadn’t walked in when she did. I’ve never felt this excited about a dude—ever. It’s something about his conscious street swag that’s irresistible. Keenan’s got confidence that borderlines arrogance—a side effect of him being a star football player for UCLA. I can’t stop daydreaming about our next encounter long enough to fold the pile of laundry in front of me.

  “Jayd, snap out of it and get to work,” Mama says, popping her head out from the office and snapping her fingers in the air. The three clients in the wash area across the shop look around for my grandmother to appear. Most of the people we work with are our neighbors and of course know Mama works here, though she rarely interacts with our patrons directly. That’s Netta’s job. Mama provides all the background support and I’m their assistant even if I’m not on my job this afternoon.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, focusing on my laundry. I have a lot to ask Mama about, starting with what to do about Mrs. Esop. All of my questions will have to wait until after work.

  “There’s someone at the door,” Netta says from the back porch. She’s blending a new leave-in conditioner to use on the women’s hair.

  “I’ll get it,” Mama says, walking over to Netta’s station and buzzing the visitor in. What we need is a camera by the door. That way unwanted guests like the one who just walked in would be stopped before entering our space.

  “So, this is your little shop, Lynn Mae. Cute,” Mrs. Esop says, turning her nose up high in the air as she enters Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Shop.

  Both Mama and Netta look like they want to throw her out on her pompous ass. Mrs. Esop had better watch herself carefully if she knows what’s good for her.

  “Can we help you?” Netta asks. She’s never one to turn down business, but we don’t need any new energy up in our sacred place.

  “Yes, actually you can,” Mrs. Esop says, stepping closer to the middle of the shop where I’m standing. “Why are you wearing all white, Jayd?” Mrs. Esop asks, distracted by my iyawo attire. When in the shop or the spirit room I have to be in my whites. Netta says it keeps me humble during this period of transformation.

  “I was initiated as a priestess,” I say, proud of my crown. She’d better recognize whose house this is. Mrs. Esop was once a proud resident of the same zip code. She may not want to admit it, but she knows where she is.

  “Oh, I see. Well, Lynn Mae. I’m not sure if Jayd informed you, but she owes me a sizable debt and I think I have a way for her to pay me back without taking on a third job.”

  Mama and Netta look at Mrs. Esop with all the fury of our ancestors. Mama’s green eyes glow fiercely. Mrs. Esop had better back up because Mama’s about to blow.

  “I owe you nothing,” I say, tossing the clean laundry into the basket and picking up another towel to fold. “You actually owe me ten thousand dollars last I heard.”

  “How did you find out about the scholarship money?” Mrs. Esop asks, not denying a thing. If nothing else, her swag remains tight as hell—just like the true Compton broad she is no matter her current address. “You’re already using your little vo
odoo tricks to do your dirty work?”

  “Actually, no,” I say, anxious to return the insult. “It was one of your debutante tricks who told.” Mrs. Esop shifts her weight from her left foot to her right, perfecting her bitch stance. She shouldn’t dish out what she can’t take.

  “No matter how you came across the information, it’s irrelevant. You still owe me for your dress, not to mention the makeup and sponsorship I provided. The balance stands and is growing with interest every day you forgo payment.” Mrs. Esop’s Chanel suit is about to go up in flames if she keeps talking.

  “Teresa, I’m only going to say this one time and you can take it however you want, but I suggest you take it right on out that front door with your trifling ass,” Mama says, folding the towel in her hand and placing it on the chair before stepping to her former sorority sister. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. So it begs the question as to why you would think it all right to come through that door and start something you know you can’t finish. Leave now before you get in too deep to escape.”

  Mama’s words still the room—even the usually preoccupied gossiping clients pay full attention. It’s not often Mama takes the time to threaten a female. And when she does it’s never empty. Mrs. Esop’s really on one if she thought she’d get away with this shit up in here. She may be running game over in Lafayette Square but this is our hood. If she didn’t know it before she certainly does now.

  “Lynn Mae, you don’t scare me,” Mrs. Esop says, lying through her teeth. “And besides, I have the law on my side. There’s nothing you can do about it. But I tell you what, when I take ownership of this shop and everything in it, I’ll let you all keep your jobs—on salary of course.”

  Mrs. Esop hands Mama a legal file. With every word she reads Mama’s green eyes slit to almost nothing she’s so livid.

  “You’re suing Jayd for the dress from the ball?” Suing me? Is it even legal to sue a minor?

  Netta takes the folder from my grandmother and reads it for herself.

  “Actually, as her guardian I’m suing you, Lynn Mae. Pretty soon, you won’t have a pot to piss in. Good day, all.”

  Mrs. Esop throws her cashmere shawl across her left shoulder and walks out of the shop. I can’t believe this is happening and it’s my fault. Really it’s Mickey’s fault, but I didn’t have to help her by risking my grandmother’s life earnings.

  “That bitch!” my mom screams into my head. “She’s going to beg for mercy once Mama gets through kicking her ass all over Compton.”

  “I didn’t see this coming,” I think back with tears in my eyes. Mama and Netta are studying the documents religiously. I wish I could do something to help get us out of the mess I’ve made.

  “It’s heffas like her you have to watch out for. She’s covered her gangster tactics under Chanel, but she’s still got a few tricks up her fancy sleeves. Mrs. Esop was comfortable with you in her nice little neat box. She thought she had you figured out and once she exposed you to the finer things in her life she just knew you’d jump at the chance to conform, but you didn’t. You, Jayd Osunlade Jackson, chose the ways of your ancestors. She hates you, Jayd, because you are that rare sistah who can be as hood as we get while staying afloat in the world at-large. You went back to your roots and that, my dear, pissed Teresa Esop way the hell off.”

  This is definitely the hottest I’ve ever seen her. Mama looks at me and I know the legal documents are real. How did I get into this nightmare and more importantly, how do I get out? Everything’s warped; I can’t see my way out. I don’t know why my haters keep finding new ways to make my life miserable, but messing with my family’s off-limits. There has to be a way to stop all this nonsense without Mama or anyone else getting hurt in the process. The only way I can think of to get an answer is purposely falling into a dream. I just hope I don’t screw that up either.

  After washing the last china dish in the sink, I place the wet cup on the kitchen towel with the rest of the clean dishes and dry my hands on the apron around my waist. I can tell from the yellow wallpaper and wooden, kitchen table I’m in Mama’s kitchen. It reminds me more so of pictures from my mom’s childhood than anything I’ve experienced lately.

  I look through the front door to my neighbor’s house, which in this case is my mom’s apartment, but not current day. The building has been there since the seventies and looks like it hasn’t had a single repair done on it since then, too.

  “Lynn Mae, hand me a towel, please,” Netta says, looking at least thirty years younger. Am I Mama?

  “Lynn Mae, are you feeling okay?” Netta walks up to me from the living room and guides me toward the couch. I look back at the kitchen feeling there’s more work for me to do but I follow Mama’s oldest friend and sit on the couch beside her.

  “Yes, just a little overwhelmed,” I say, hearing Mama’s melodic voice with every word. I haven’t been Mama as an adult in a long, long time.

  “Well who wouldn’t be overwhelmed? You’re four months pregnant with your first child, your husband’s the head of a new church that you’re responsible for organizing, not to mention getting our shop together.” Netta’s brown eyes sparkle as she helps Mama to her feet.

  “Which is why we need to get back to work. We want to have these first batches of our honey-cream oil for the ladies at the church tomorrow. They’re going to love it.” This must’ve been way back in the day because Mama and church women don’t mix.

  “Lynn Mae, your dress,” Netta says, pointing to the bottom of Mama’s housedress. “ You’re bleeding.”

  “No!” I scream, holding my stomach tightly. “Not my baby.”

  “We have to get you to Dr. Whitmore, now.”

  Before we can make it off the porch the front door of the lower unit of the apartment building opens and a man comes out. It’s Rousseau decades younger and full of life.

  “Can I be of any assistance?” he asks, leaping to Mama’s side. He reaches for the bloodied hemline, but Netta snatches the dress and my grandmother’s arm away from him.

  “We’re just fine, Rousseau. You can go back inside. We wouldn’t want your master coming to look for you, now would we?”

  “I haven’t had a master in centuries,” Rousseau says to Netta while I squirm in pain. “And believe me, he was sorry he ever tried to make me his slave.”

  “Oh, really? Isn’t selling your soul to the devil the same thing?” I ask, unable to keep silent.

  “You foolish lady. I never sold my soul to any devil, if there is such a thing.” Rousseau’s sinister grin sends chills up my spine. If there is a devil he certainly made this evil being.

  “Ha! We know all about you and Esmeralda, Rousseau. You should know better than to try and hide anything from us. This is New Orleans, after all. Nothing goes on in this city without my knowledge.” I spew the words almost spitting with every syllable. I have to get to the doctor before Mama gets any worse.

  “That may be so, Queen Jayd, but you are wrong about me. I just want to help,” he says, again reaching for Mama’s dress. Netta’s not so nice this time.

  “I said don’t touch her,” Netta says, taking out a knife and putting it up to Rousseau’s throat. “Lynn Mae, get in the car. I’ll take care of this fool.”

  “Take care of me?” Rousseau snarls, shifting from a tall, muscular man into a dog right before our eyes. Netta doesn’t seem the least bit shocked, but I am.

  “Oh, God!” I scream out in both pain and fear. What the hell was that?

  Netta, completely undeterred by the canine’s barking picks up a brick from the side of the road and throws it at him, forcing him to change shapes again, this time into a black crow like the one Esmeralda keeps around.

  “Netta, watch out!” I scream, panting heavily as more blood drips down my leg.

  “You evil creature! How dare Esmeralda bring you back to life!” Netta swings at the bird with her purse, but misses, all the while getting the shit pecked out o
f her forehead.

  I get back out of the car, take a handful of stones from the rock garden nearby and hurl them at the bird.

  “Dodge this,” I say, relentlessly flinging the stones at the crow who can’t take it anymore retreating into a nearby tree. I double over in pain propelling Netta to run to the driver’s side. We’ll bird watch later. Saving my grandmother from miscarrying with my mother is more urgent.

  “Let’s go,” Netta says, urging me back into the car and taking the driver’s seat. Gunning the engine, Netta backs out of the driveway as something mounts the roof of the car.

  “Ahh!” we scream as Rousseau climbs onto the hood, his fangs apparent for all to see. He’s shifted into a vampire and Mama’s blood is what he’s after.

  Netta slams on the brakes and Rousseau goes flying backward off the car hard onto the concrete. Thinking he’s knocked out, Netta puts the car into drive and speeds away. Rousseau leaps to his feet, shakes his head, and runs after us on all fours like a werewolf. This can’t be happening.

  “We always knew her people were good at making zombies, but how she managed to bring a shape-shifter back to life is beyond me.” What’s Netta talking about, making zombies and shape-shifters back from the dead? I can’t handle all this new information and my cramping stomach simultaneously.

  “My baby,” I pant, holding my stomach tight as the pain gets worse. “We can’t let him get to her.”

  “He won’t.” Netta speeds up with Rousseau hot on our tail. Every corner we turn he turns. The streets look familiar, but the French names don’t. I look around in the dark, knowing Rousseau isn’t far behind even if I can’t see him.

  “Shit!” Netta screams, slamming hard on the brakes barely missing the woman in the street.

  The stranger stares us down looking helpless in the road. Mama knows all is not what it appears to be.