Hustlin, p.4
Hustlin', page 4
“It was cool. Other than the usual haters making my morning eventful, the rest of the day was smooth.”
Mama stops kneading the cookie dough long enough to take a good look at me. Her green eyes look slightly red this evening, and I know immediately that she hasn’t rested well or been taking her herbs. I’m too exhausted for an inquisition right now. Mama’s lock is tight on me while she reads my face as I take my backpack off and put it on the floor next to Lexi. It must be nice being a dog and lying around all day.
“How was your day?”
Sensing my fatigue, Mama stops probing my mind for the time being and returns her energy to her baking. “Oh girl, you know the holidays are my busiest times and this year is no exception. Netta’s going to help me out and I know you’re still on board as one of my best helpers, right?”
I look at Mama and simply shake my head. Normally I’d sigh my disapproval, but tonight all I want to do is eat some cookies and go to bed.
“Right, Jayd?” Mama repeats her question, waiting for my answer. Now she knows something’s up with me. “Okay, what’s wrong? Did Rah, Jeremy, or both get on your nerves today?”
“Actually, it was Mr. Adewale and Nellie. They are both tripping hard and messing up my chi,” I say, sounding more like a yogi than a descendant of voodoo priestesses.
Mama smiles at me while opening the hot oven to remove one large pan of her delicious treats before replacing it with another three dozen, ready to bake. The spirit room, Mama’s private workshop, is good for small orders. But when she has to get down like this, the house kitchen is where it’s at. She’s been complaining about our old oven for years, but Mama’s touch makes even this raggedy thing work magic.
“Chi, ashe; it’s all the same thing,” Mama says, reading my mind. I hate when she does that. “But why are they affecting it?”
“Well, Nellie’s jealousy is getting worse and she’s pimping Chance like he’s a little puppy dog, and all I can do is watch. And Mr. Adewale’s up to something, but I don’t know what it is.”
Mama looks at me and starts humming a familiar song. I think she sang it to me in the womb. Sometimes Mama can trigger memories I had when I still wore my caul. As soon as I was born, it was violently destroyed by the ignorant nurses my mom had around her, but I still wear my veil like other children born like me.
“Jayd, you can’t worry about what other people are up to. Haven’t you learned that by now? You just have to keep yourself clean, and the best way to do that is to be up front and honest about all of your moves. Now, that doesn’t mean going around and telling all of your business. It does mean that you don’t lie about it though.”
“But what if someone misinterprets your information—then what?”
Whatever Mr. Adewale knows about me has nothing to do with my life at school, that much I can tell. Still, I wonder what he’s heard. Teachers gossip just as much as the students and I know Mrs. Bennett has given him an earful and then some about her favorite students to hate.
“You can’t worry about how others are going to play their hand. You have to deal with the cards that have been dealt in front of you.”
I love it when Mama starts talking like she’s playing spades. That and bid wiz are her favorite card games, and she’s good at them both, too. She and Netta used to play with Daddy and Netta’s husband, back when Mama and Daddy acted like a couple. Now I’m usually her partner.
“That’s the art of a true hustler, baby. It doesn’t matter what tools you have in front of you. A true hustler will survive no matter if he has a paddle to get up shit creek or has to use his bare hands. Either way, he’s going to make it.”
“But this is different, Mama. There’s more at stake than losing a hand—or my pride. I can feel that whatever’s up Laura’s sleeve is big.”
Mama passes me a paper towel with two piping-hot cookies inside. I can tell these will calm me down for sure just by their sweet scent. If Mama would sell her desserts and other treats for their true worth, we’d all be on easy street.
“Well, you need to call her bluff if you want to find out what’s in her hand, baby girl.”
Mama’s right. Sometimes talking to her is like talking to an old player in the game. I guess that’s her Legba side coming out, as she calls it.
“And as far as Nellie and Chance are concerned, that’s their business. Whether you can see it or not, they are both getting something out of that relationship.”
“But what can Chance possibly be getting, except for played?” I bite into the soft sugar cookie, licking the light sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar off my lips as I chew the fragrant treat. Damn, Mama’s got skills.
“That’s between Chance and Nellie. Just be sure it’s a mutual situation between them. Everyone’s out to hustle someone or something if they’re being honest with themselves.” Mama takes an angel-shaped cookie cutter out of the cupboard and covers it with flour before she cuts into the dough. The other shapes include Christmas trees, wreaths and snowmen. “When I first met Esmeralda I thought she was a godsend. Now I know better, but that lesson came after many years of what I thought was a true friendship.”
“Yeah, but that’s different than Nellie using Chance while she’s still jocking Nigel. Not to mention the fact that in the meantime, she hates Mickey and can’t stand me being friends with Chance. Now, how am I supposed to deal with that?” Maybe I should take a batch of cookies to my friends. We could all use some serious chilling out.
“Well, Jayd, you can only save yourself, and you’d better— before your enemies take you down with them. I remember how happy I was to find Esmeralda and our former spiritual family. I thought I’d found my home. But after a few years working with them, I realized they drained people, took people’s last dime, used their vulnerabilities as weaknesses to be exploited, not to mention other ways they took advantage of our clients. I realized quickly that they weren’t really hustlers at all. They were the kind of people that hustled other people, and that’s not a hustler—that’s a pimp.” Mama places the delicate angels on the parchment paper–covered sheet as she looks through the kitchen and across the living room toward Esmeralda’s house. If she could blow Esmeralda up with her eyes, I’m sure Mama would have done so by now.
“Well I never thought I’d call Nellie a pimp, but she’s one cane away from having her lean on point,” I mutter in between bites.
Mama laughs at the thought of Nellie walking with a limp, but it’s true. Nellie’s got some kind of pimp potion working on Chance and I want some of my own to use for other reasons. Maybe there’s a class I missed somewhere in junior high. All I know is Mickey and Nellie not only signed up for it, but could charge for tutorials.
“If you want to know about pimping, Netta’s who you need to talk to. Ask her all about this tomorrow at the shop. In the meantime, go wash up and get ready to eat dinner. There’s a plate of food waiting for you on my dresser,” she says, opening the oven to check on the cookies. “You can eat in the spirit room while you study your lessons. I left your assignment on top of the spirit book.”
Didn’t Mama just hear how tired a sistah is? She looks at me as if to say she’s tired too, and I know she is. But, as Mama also says, a woman’s work is never done. I’ll definitely ask Netta about the hustle tomorrow if I have the energy to remember. Right now, I’ll gladly grub on my dinner and sneak a few more cookies after I’m done. I hope my lessons help me figure out what my next move is with Nellie, Mr. Adewale, and Laura, because I’m getting up this creek called high school with or without my paddle. If I have to crawl on my knees, I’m making it through Drama High, hating females, nosy teachers and all, because I’ve got something they don’t have: a strong lineage mixed with some serious street knowledge.
3
Netta’s Mojo
“A new religion that’ll bring ya to your knees/
Black velvet if you please.”
—ALANNAH MYLES
I’m so glad today is a short day. The only negative about it is that I didn’t get to continue my conversation from yesterday with Mr. Adewale as I’d planned. I want to grill him more about what he thinks he knows about me. He seemed like he wanted to talk to me today as well, but Mrs. Bennett interrupted our Spanish class and took up his ear for the majority of the short period. By the time she was done yapping about nothing much, I’m sure, the bell was about to ring. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to finish my inquisition.
Sometimes I wonder what we’d do without teachers’ meetings. Short Tuesdays are what get me through the week, especially now that what little free time I have during the school day belongs to drama or AP. Even so, I’m going to take some time out today and Google Mr. Adewale again. I also need to catch up with Ms. Toni sooner than later. I’ve decided to take Mama’s advice and one-up my competition by doing a little research of my own, but not before I catch up with my girls. I have to meet Mama at Netta’s shop in a little while and I can’t be late.
“Were you naughty or nice this year, Miss Jackson?” Mickey asks, teasing me with her Coach catalogue as we sit outside on the stadium bleachers. Mickey really gets into the holiday spirit when it comes to the receiving part. And this year if she plays her cards right she’ll have two Santas checking her list.
“I’m always nice,” I say, snatching the catalogue from her hand. She’s got a stack of them ranging from clothes to jewelry and beyond. This girl’s not joking about her Christmas list this year.
It’s chilly outside, but I’m grateful to be out of rehearsal. With the heat on it’s awfully stuffy and cramped in the drama room. I’ll be glad when the Fall Festival is over and we can go back to our separate spaces. Having ASB share our class until the play is over is getting on everyone’s nerves, especially Ms. Toni’s. She’s been unusually irritable—but still showing me some love, so it’s all good.
“And what you about you?” Mickey looks across me at Nellie, who’s still not really speaking to her. I guess she’s embarrassed about her failed attempt to out Mickey to Nigel on Sunday. It’s no use in hating Mickey, and I hope Nellie gets over herself soon.
“What about me what?” Nellie grabs a J Crew catalogue from the stack sitting on the bleacher below ours, and starts flipping through the pages. I’m surprised she didn’t pick up the Tiffany catalogue, which has every-other corner turned in. I guess Mickey’s dreaming real big this year.
“Naughty or nice,” Mickey says.
I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones or what, but Mickey’s being unusually cool about Nellie trying to call her out. Maybe it’s because Mickey knows she was wrong in the first place and doesn’t want Nellie to stay mad at her. But Nellie’s shoulder is colder than the sea breeze blowing across my cheek, and I don’t see it warming up anytime soon.
“What difference does it make? There’s no such thing as Santa Claus anyway.” Nellie tosses the catalogue back in the pile and claims the Tiffany one for herself. She may not believe in Santa but I’m sure she still believes in getting gifts.
“Hush yourself,” Mickey says, holding her stomach as if to cover the baby’s ears. “You don’t want Nickey Shantae to hear.”
“Who the hell is that?” Nellie asks, shocked at Mickey’s response.
Mickey used to be the main one cursing Santa out come the holidays. She always said her man was the real gift giver, so why front. Now that her maternal instincts have kicked in I guess Santa’s real again.
“That’s my daughter, fool.” Mickey’s a trip and Nellie ain’t falling for it. “In my baby books they say that the baby’s listening inside the womb and I don’t want her childhood ruined by your sour ass.”
“You already named the baby,” I say, trading my catalogue for the Target brochure. I may dream a lot, but I try to keep my wish list in perspective. We are all struggling these days and I refuse to buy in to the holiday buzz. I’d rather my money be in my wallet any day than on my ass, as Mama would so eloquently put it.
“Yeah, and don’t ask me how I know it’s going to be a girl. I just have a feeling about it. Nigel swears he knows it’s a boy.”
Nellie looks at me and rolls her eyes at Mickey’s family planning. But there’s more to Nellie’s disgust than just hating. I feel like she’s plotting in that freshly-pressed head of hers, but I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“Do you have a name picked out for a son, just in case?” I ask.
Before Mickey can answer, Nellie smirks at my question as if the answer is obvious. “Of course she does. She probably picked it out when she first met Nigel.” Nellie flips through the pale blue booklet without looking directly at her target.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mickey demands reaching across my lap to snatch the catalogue away from Nellie’s face, almost pushing me back across the bleachers behind us.
“Damn, Mickey, watch out,” I say as she sits back down. I know that was a low blow on Nellie’s part, but violence isn’t the answer, especially not for an expecting mommy.
“It means just what it sounds like,” Nellie says, straightening out the pages of her catalogue before continuing her browsing, and her conspiracy theory. “I think it’s all very convenient, if you ask me.”
“You think I planned this pregnancy?”
Mickey’s as shocked as I am by Nellie’s accusation. Ever since she was crowned Homecoming princess a couple of months ago, Nellie’s become a lot bolder in the way she carries herself.
“You are a real trip, Nellie, you know that?” Mickey says.
“Whatever, Mickey. It doesn’t even matter, right? You got the dude, locked him down in two months and can claim to be his baby-mama, maybe. You won. Now can we please talk about something else for a change?”
I don’t like the tone of Nellie’s voice. There’s still too much hating in it for me.
“No we can’t. Not until you let this go, Nellie,” I interject before Mickey has a chance to respond.
Mickey looks at Nellie like she wants to rip right into her, but resists for her baby’s sake. I look down at the bleachers below to see Misty, KJ, and the crowd laughing at our dramatic scene. We can get loud when we want to without being fully aware of just how big our mouths really are. If Mickey was still trying to keep her baby bump a secret, it’s definitely out of the bag now.
“Jayd, how can I let it go when she keeps rubbing it in my face?” Nellie sounds like a wounded little sister whose big sis got the gift she wanted.
“No one’s rubbing anything anywhere. It’s a fact, Nellie. We’re going to be aunties no matter how you may feel about it, so you need to get over your jealousy and get with the program,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. But with Misty glaring our way I don’t think we’re going to have much luck keeping the peace.
Mickey, back in shopping mode, breaks the momentary, uncomfortable silence, making Nellie’s teeth grit even tighter.
It’s going to be a long seven months.
“Jayd, what do you think of this baby crib? It converts from an infant to a toddler bed. And this crib converts all the way into a full bed, but I don’t know if we want to keep the same baby bed for that long,” Mickey says, pointing out the expensive baby beds to me in the Babies R Us catalogue she’s studying like I do my government text. She’s got every section tagged, with her favorites highlighted in fluorescent pink or powder blue. Some girls live to become doctors or models. Mickey’s dream is to be a spoiled housewife, and it looks like hers is very close to coming true.
“I think it’s too big to fit in your tiny-ass room that you share with your little sister. Where is she going to sleep?” Mickey’s family is already bigger than Brad and Angelina’s international brigade. How she thinks she and her lovechild are going to fit in that small house is over my head.
“Yeah, where are you and the baby going to live?” Nellie asks, turning her already sky-high nose up at a glowing Mickey. I’m glad she said it and not me, even if we are both thinking the same thing. “You already live with ten other people.”
“Nigel’s going to work that part out. My job is to decorate our home, and that’s just what I’m doing, starting with the nursery. Kinda like your job is to hate and, by the way, you are excellent at it. Whoever haters like you report to should give your ass a raise.” Mickey glares at Nellie, who looks like she wants to slap our girl across the face. But Nellie hasn’t completely lost her mind.
“Yeah Nellie, what’s up with you? Nigel ain’t mad so why are you still tripping?” I ask, looking at Nigel from our spot in the middle of the bleachers. He runs across the field, turns counterclockwise and throws the ball downfield to his teammate, who catches the perfect pass.
Mickey stands up and cheers for Nigel, who promptly blows her a kiss before running back up the field. Misty and the rest of the South Central black crew took up the bottom bleachers, which is where Mickey prefers to sit and watch her boo play. I don’t know if it’s because she can see him better, or because she’s farther away from the top of the stadium where her man tends to park when he comes looking for her. Either way, she’s pissed about them sitting in our seats and decides to make her way down to say something.
“What’s up, Mickey,” KJ says, glaring at her through his Gucci shades. They’re probably a gift from one of his college girls. He keeps at least one chick on the side no matter who he’s dating at school.
“What’s up is y’all are in our seats. You know this is where we chill.” Mickey looks down on the crew, focusing on Misty.
“Yeah, I guess with your baby bump starting to show it’s getting difficult to walk up the stairs, huh,” Misty says, making Shae, Tony, and KJ and his boys laugh. But Mickey’s not amused in the least. The last thing she wanted was Misty to get wind of her pregnancy, but Mickey might as well consider it news already spread.
“Yeah, my baby belly is making me a bit winded,” Mickey says, rubbing her tiny bump. “But I guess it’s difficult for you having to walk up the bleachers and clap at the same time.” I knew Mickey was going to go there. I feel bad Misty contracted gonorrhea—another gift from one of KJ’s broads that he decided to share with her—but I tried to tell Misty about KJ. Messing with him is like playing with fire, and she got burned, literally.
