The life im in, p.13
The Life I'm In, page 13
“It’s late. Time for you to go to bed.” Maleeka sound like my mom and JuJu.
We both laugh. “Okay, big sis.”
“Yeah, Char. Listen to your big sister. I’m the most responsible and mature.” It’s supposed to be a joke. Not funny, I wanna tell her. But I got other things to do. Like go to work.
I pull up the window and stick my head out, yelling for Solomon to bring my baby home. I wanna kiss her before I leave. He gonna babysit tonight. We made a deal. She can hang out with him, and he gets to keep anything extra she helps him make.
* * *
Never enter through the front door, Anthony told me. “Employees working under the table use the one in the rear.”
No one ever called me an employee before.
When I pass by the fountain at The Fount, the wind blows the water and my hair. Old men whistle. Tongues jump out. Anthony picked out my outfit—bloodred short shorts with super-high heels to match and a top with no sleeves or back. The temperature dropped, so I’m chilly, freezing. But I walk like its summertime, warm, with me crossing the sand on the beach, my shoes in my hand. The whole time, I’m thinking about a girl I seen earlier. She laughed at me, then took my picture. Girls like her want to be girls like me. They too scared, is all.
I’m late. In a hurry. Which is why I took my shoes off. Walking through the parking lot, I run by green bushes with red berries growing in between ’em, and a row of faded white flowers that make the air smell like candy. Men in their twenties or thirties, standing around drinking beer, eye me on my way by. One dude asks how much. By the time the floodlights come on, I’m at the back of the hotel, knocking on a dingy gray metal door, looking back.
He told me to ask for Carolina. “I don’t ask for your brother?” I said. “Give me his name anyway in case she make me mad or something.”
If I did that, it would be disrespectful, he said, and ruin his reputation. He rubbed the back of his hand against my cheek. “You wouldn’t want to do that to Daddy, would you?”
“No … Anthony. I mean, Daddy.”
He kissed my forehead. Said he know my father is up in heaven happy that another man is looking out for me. I been wanting a father for a long time. Only, you can’t tell nobody that. Your dad or mom dies, and people forget about them quick. I know Anthony ain’t perfect. But he’s here—making sure me and Cricket’s stomach is full. That we ain’t living in no alley or on the street. Ain’t that what fathers do?
While I’m waiting, I go in my purse—redo my lip gloss and chew on a mint. My finger gets poked by the Phillips screwdriver I brought with me just in case. Men at the party can look, even say more than I want ’cause I’m being paid. But if they touch me, I don’t care what Anthony think, I will stab somebody.
Someone buzzes me in. I need both hands to pull open the door. It’s dark inside. I stand in front the door, giving my eyes time to adjust. Walking slow, I see trash dumpsters lined up against one side of the hall. Boxes up to the ceiling on the other side. The stink make me hold my nose. “Miss Carolina. Miss Carolina. It’s me. Char … I mean Charlie.” Looking in front of me and behind, I call her again, then start walking up another hall like I know where I’m going.
She come out of nowhere—like a bat. Sneaking up behind me, mad, she says, “What the fuck are you yelling about?”
CAROLINA’S GOT ON a tight red skirt and red-bottom shoes. Her hair is red as fire, tight in a bun at the back of her neck, straight and shiny. She didn’t polish her nails. But they neat and clean, low cut. She ain’t got on much jewelry. Just a gold chain, white posts in her ear. She look important, out of place in this part of The Fount just like the stains on the basement rugs and the walls that they never bothered to paint.
She walk by the freight elevator, past the steps, past a double-decker washer and dryer and a vending machine that sell pink and purple condoms. She writing on a sheet of paper. Checking things off when she say I don’t got to worry about buying condoms ’cause they provide me with ’em.
I quit walking. “Huh? Hold up, what?”
It’s a requirement, she say. People are pigs, nasty—them her words, not mine. “You get an infection, we don’t make money.”
I walk until I’m ahead of her. Standing in front of her, facing her, I tell her she musta made a mistake. Got me confused with somebody else. “I’m Char.” I got my hand on my hips, my back straight. “Charlese. I’m supposed to work the bar, make the drinks. Not—” I look at the machine. “I don’t do that.”
“Do I need to call Anthony?” She walking again.
I try to keep up again, explain again. “No … no, ma’am. But Anthony told me—I’m doing him a favor. Some girl ain’t show up, he said. I’m supposed to serve drinks. That’s all he asked me to do. I don’t know nothing about doing nothing else. That ain’t me.”
We turn up another hall that only got two light bulbs, no covers. There’s about forty rooms on this floor. And it smells … foul. I hear noises coming from behind them doors, men who sound like bears.
A dungeon—that’s what this remind me of. The kind that castles sit on top of. Mr. Bobbie gave me a whole coloring book full of ’em once. I drew in snakes and crocodiles, colored the water so black it looked like the devil lived in it. JuJu said that wasn’t my best work.
I turn around and start running. Maybe she ran track, the 400 like JuJu. ’Cause when she catch up to me, she still in her heels, not even out of breath. Before I know it, she turn into one of them guards at county. So, I do what she wants. She got the pistol, not me.
JuJu always said I never knew when to be quiet. This time I keep my mouth closed and my eyes open. I try to remember every room number I pass, every person that go by. Some of ’em work here. Wear uniforms. Empty trash. They listen to music, walk, push carts. Act like they don’t see me.
She stick the key in the lock, chains the door once we inside. Room 387 got double beds, a brown pullout couch, a flat screen, and orange rugs that went out of style a long time ago. My back’s against the door when she put her things away, tells me to sit.
“I … I can make … rum and Coke, gin with vermouth … uh … uh …” I can’t think up nothing else I’m good at making.
This room is for her, Anthony, and the driver, I hear her say. If I feel unsafe in the room next door, knock twice on the wall. She put her hand out. “And give me your purse and phone.”
“No … I got a baby. If she get sick—”
“I tell him all the time. No kids with kids. But he— Never mind.” She mumbling something about family.
She rolling her eyes. Taking my purse. Going through my phone. Asking where I hang out online. I don’t know why she need to know. But I tell anyhow. Then she tells me that whatever the customer wants is what I’m supposed to do. I think about noises in the hall, men in the parking lot. Before I know it, I’m in the bathroom throwing up in the toilet—twice.
She good at showing up without you hearing her coming. “Do that again and”—she whispers in my ear like somebody else might hear her—“I’ll tell him. You want me to tell him? He likes you … says you are the smartest, prettiest girl he knows.”
Sour spit dribbles down my chin when I stand up. “Don’t. Please.” I turn on the faucet, splash water on my face, in my mouth.
She open the bathroom cabinet. Takes out toothpaste and squirts it on the brush. “Here. And quit crying. Girls like us—”
“Like us?”
“I worked my way up. Started at thirteen. Now I got a Benz. A kid in Catholic school. Don’t you want nice things?”
I do.
Her face get so close to mine, I see glue on her lashes. “You should be glad you ain’t gotta give it away for free no more.”
“I’m a virgin.”
She smiles. Says at least Anthony done one thing right.
Carolina watches me brush. Once I’m done, I follow her into the bedroom. She takes a seat at a computer on the desk next to the wall across the room. My eyes go from the chain on the door, to the window, to the balcony, then back to her. “Anthony said I’m like his daughter.”
“Anthony is a businessman. All he cares about is making money.”
“But—”
She coming my way again. Standing over me, she seem taller … a giraffe looking down on grass. “He lent you money?”
“No. He gave me that money.”
“That means you owe him money.”
“But he said—”
“You owe him money, yes or no?”
“Yes … I guess.”
She got a smirk on her face, her arms crossed when she say, “Then pay up. Two thousand dollars plus interest. You pay now, you can leave now.”
I don’t got it, I tell her. Plus, it wasn’t no two thousand, not even a thousand, I don’t think. “And he didn’t say nothing about interest or paying it back.”
She sitting next to me when she run her finger down that yellow paper on her clipboard. She stop when she finds my name. There it is, Carolina tells me. In black and white. What I owe circled in red.
My name seem wrong there, misspelled when it ain’t. But what choice do I got but to give her what she want—my full name, plus the middle one, my social security number, address, and where I went to middle school. They need to know everything about me, she say, ’cause if I run, they coming for me.
I KNOCK TWICE. “Anybody in there?”
Carolina standing outside the room next door. “Go on. Open it.”
It take a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark after I walk in. Then I see him. Running like I’m thirsty and he the only water around, I wrap my arms and legs around him, cry on his shoulder.
He let me get it all out: the tears, everything Carolina said and done to me, how much I want to go home. It don’t take him long to say he’s disappointed in me. I seemed so mature, he tells me. So responsible. “Did I make a mistake choosing you, Charlie?”
“No, Daddy. It’s just that—”
It’s a little thing he’s asking me to do, he say. “The first time is the hardest.” He holding on to both my hands. “After that it’s a piece of cake.”
Breathing in and out, fast and hard, I tell him I think I might faint. He rub my back till I calm down. My throat dries up like I swallowed dirt, so I ask for a drink of water.
“Charlie, you want to make me happy, right?”
I nod.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Daddy. I want to make you happy, Daddy.”
“Then do what you’re told.”
All of a sudden, I start shaking all over. Like I’m in a cold shower. He hold me close, tells me everything is gonna be all right. I believe him. He believes I can do it. That I’ll earn a lot of money for him and me. I’m still shaking after he leave.
HOW MANY ARE there? I don’t know. I’m in the bathroom with the door locked, standing on the toilet holding a hanger like a bat. Somebody knocks again. He drunk, I think. Cussing when he tell me he about to go get Anthony.
I say the first thing that come to my mind. “I’ll be out soon as I pee.”
That’s funny to them. They say they want refunds if I come out stinking. I jump down. Throw the hanger in the tub. Unlock the door. It’s hardly open when they come for me, black-haired lions, cows, and snakes.
They black and white, friends here for a bachelor party. The one getting married is already wasted, so they walk him over to the bed while he unzips.
In kindergarten, kids fought to be first in line. Nobody wanted to be last. It’s the same here. They stand around the room and argue ’bout who gonna follow the one who’s getting married. Somebody drags me to him. “I’m in seventh grade.” I close my eyes when his hand goes up my skirt. “Somebody call my sister. Tell her I want to go home.”
There’s five of ’em. One is on the balcony sitting on a lounge chair, smoking a cigar. Two got their backs against the wall, sipping something brown on ice, watching me. The other one asks the groom-to-be if he need some help. When the door opens, everybody look surprised.
“Shit.” He closes the door quick. “I told you, no underage girls.” His feet and legs move fast as wheels. They all agreed, he says, to each pay their share. “But, man … look at her. She’s a kid.”
The man on the bed tries to stand up. “She wants to be here. Tell him.” Grabbing for my hand, he fall down on the bed.
“Mister, I wanna go home.”
Sam is his name. He pull out his wallet, drops bills on the floor like he at the club. “Do whatever you want with her. But leave me out of it.” The man on the balcony shaking his head. Another man’s face is red.
The door squeaks when it opens this time. Everything happens fast after that. The one who’s gonna get married stands up and falls again. But this time he end up on the floor. I kick him. He grabs hisself and yells. His friends back up like I got a straight razor or gun in my hand. Running for the door, I scream. They got good jobs, didn’t ask for no drama, I hear some of ’em say following me out.
I hear Anthony yelling my name. See doors up the hall open, Carolina coming for me. I scream some more. “Don’t stop. Keep going,” I can hear JuJu say.
Skipping steps. Falling. I run and run. In the lobby, I remember what my sister taught me: “If somebody’s after you, don’t be quiet. Let the whole world know.” So, I scream all the way home.
I CALL MY sister and leave another message. Her voice mail say she ain’t there. That she’s on a retreat, the kind where you leave your phone locked in a drawer in a room all weekend. “Call me,” I say again. “I want to come home.”
I got money to take a bus. There’s one that leaves five in the morning, while it’s still dark. “You want these, Solomon?” I’m holding Cricket, standing in the kitchen with all the cabinets open. I don’t have much left but who don’t like noodles and fruit drinks, eggs, white bread, and cheddar cheese?
He nods his head and says his grandmother might let me stay. “You know, until you can reach your sister.” He try to take her from me.
I hold her tighter, turn my back on him. “That’s okay.” Using one hand, I start packing his things in a brown shopping bag.
He ask why I’m so stubborn. I’m used to doing things for myself. Not asking for nobody else’s permission or help. ’Cause you can’t trust people, really. “Cricket,” I whisper in her ear. “I told you. People are janky. Especially men. Don’t trust none of ’em.”
He takes it personally, what I said. For a minute, me and him argue. I got a ketchup bottle in my hand, ready to throw it at him right before he brings up his dad. “He’s in jail for being a stand-up guy.”
“Bet Anthony say that every time he end up in jail.”
He come in closer. Tickles her chin. Makes it so I got no choice but to look him in his big brown eyes. His father was an accountant, so he say. At a small company. Right after they hired him, he seen that something was wrong with the books. He told his boss. His boss said he’d look into it. Six months later, he called the police on his dad. “He doing five to seven right now.”
I don’t like it when boys cry. It don’t seem right. So soon as his tears start, I hand her over. And keep on packing. “Guess everybody’s got problems,” I say.
“He needs things—money for cigarettes, phone cards, a new lawyer.”
“That why you read those law books?”
He lifts her up. Sits her on his shoulders. Cricket drools on his head, pats it like a drum. “Yeah. He’s not a gangster, a crook. But they’re treating him like one anyhow.” He keep talking. I’m half listening, half thinking about what to do next. Maybe I’ll catch the bus home anyhow. Maybe when JuJu see Cricket, she’ll love her as much as I do.
Before I know it, he FaceTiming his grandmother. Holding the phone my way, he force me to wave at her. She’s gray, but got no wrinkles, brags about being “a young seventy-eight.” Solomon lies for me. Tells her I was in a group home that kicked me out because the state quit paying for me to be there. Right away, she offering me her basement to stay in awhile. She don’t care if I got a baby. “We’ll be good company for each other.” She smiles.
I’m nice when I turn her down. He don’t say that what I did was a bonehead move, but it show in his eyes. Anthony is probably at the bus station already, he says. I never thought about that. I do think about my sister, though, my grandmother. If I had gone to Alabama like they wanted me to, none of this woulda happened.
At the window, watching out for him, I remind Solomon about the first day we met and how mean I was to him. “But you always been nice to me. Why?”
Him and his grandmother ain’t doing me no favors, he say, walking up to me. “She got eight cats. They live in the basement.”
We laugh, get real quiet, then listen to music from the club next door. Luther, I think. My mother’s favorite. We get the same idea at the same time, it seem. Leaning in close, our lips almost touch. Then he stop, lifts Cricket off his shoulders careful as a Christmas bulb from a tree. She on the floor with her toys when I say, “I always mess up, Solomon. Watch. Something else bad will happen. Keep yourself and your grandmother away from me.”
He remind me of Maleeka. They both the kind of people who see the best in you until it’s too late. If he wasn’t sad about his father, he wouldn’t even want to kiss nobody like me. And if I wasn’t scared and sad, I wouldn’t want to kiss him neither. He so corny, I could boil and butter him.
I use his phone to dial my grandparents’ number. They don’t answer either. It’s late. They got church in the morning. Plus, they wouldn’t recognize this number. I try again anyhow. The third time I dial, somebody knocks on my door. Solomon gets the broom. I take a butcher knife out the drawer.
“Char. It’s me, April. Open up.”
“April?”
“He’s outside. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me, girl.”
“I’m not. I promise. Let me see my baby. She okay?”
