Bittersweet Chocolate (2 page)

She slammed her comb down on the dresser. Okay, she couldn’t put all the blame for her irritation on Brittany. What really frosted her ass was what her sister said coincided with current internal conflicts of Catholic morality versus friend loyalty weighing heavily on her conscience. She didn’t need family trying to show her the error of her ways.

“Enough said.” Brittany stood and headed toward the door. With her hand on the knob, she hesitated. Worrying her bottom lip, she glanced back at Marissa. “See you at lunch?”

“For sure.”

The moment the door closed, Marissa donned her blouse and uniform, grabbed her book bag off her desk, and rushed from the room. She ran downstairs, yelled “
bye”
to the house in general, stepped into the vestibule, dropped her bag on the floor, and wriggled into her hooded duffel coat. After struggling into her galoshes, she pulled a muffler snugly around her neck and shoved earmuffs into place.

Picking up her bag, she stepped out into the biting cold and gingerly navigated icy patches on the front steps. Head lowered and body hunched against the wind, she trudged along a path already turning to slush by earlier footsteps. Never breaking stride, she juggled books from one arm to the other while pulling on gloves, then shoving gloved hands into mittens. All the while, she replayed the conversation with Brittany in her mind.

Was she taking the gang mentality too far? It wasn’t that she actually belonged to the gang, but the fellas were her best friends, her guardians, and her tutors. In a combined effort, they had given her ample instructions in self-defense. When she started to develop in all the right places, Frank had acquired an umpire’s vest for protection, so the boxing was authentic, without injury. Thanks to her association with the guys, she knew her way around weapons. She could construct a zip gun.

The gang had prepared her for the rigors of increasing violence in their community, so why shouldn’t she be loyal to them? Granted, on occasion, the extent of her allegiance and how relentless she could be at sustaining her loyalty did bother her. For that last gang war, on a dare, she’d carried the weapons because male cops couldn’t search girls, and female cops rarely walked a beat or rode in patrol cars. When Frank found out, he was pissed. The guys who dared her ended up in kangaroo court. So what were a few bruises among friends?

Bruises?

Oh-kaay, the court is brutal.

In kangaroo court the offenders, forced to run a gauntlet of twenty members, were beaten with sticks, fists, chains, or anything the court deemed appropriate punishment without maiming. It could be a stomach-turner, should have disgusted her, but she never turned away, considering it her rite of passage. Proof she was cold-blooded enough to belong to the gang. It didn’t mean she’d gone over the edge.

In direct contrast to her gangbanger persona, she wore a mantle of respectability that she called her parochial school facade. A perfected disguise designed to camouflage the deviant side of her character.

But how long could she maintain her precarious balance between those two worlds without destroying herself, or worse, destroying the people around her?

Marissa—age 16

1964

Marissa bolted upright. Sitting in the center of the bed, sweat peppering her forehead, she glanced around. Okay, it’s morning―her hands flew to her chest―
phew, s
he had breasts, it was her, at sixteen.

She’d been dreaming, and what was up with that? Nothing about the past three years she wanted to relive. She’d been a juvenile idiot back then, but she’d changed, matured, was officially a grown-up.

In her family, the tradition of celebrating a girl’s sixteenth birthday signified her becoming a woman. Still basking in the glow of being an adult, she didn’t have time for kiddie dreams. Uh-uh, not today. She had plans to make for an upcoming
adult
party. Nor did she have time to feed into the psyche insight―everything has a meaning voodoo crap―her family insisted she possessed.

Geez, she had a dream, period...nothing portentous about it.

Throwing back the covers, she clambered out of bed, slipped her feet into her slippers, and shrugged into her robe. She raked her hair off her face and started making the bed.

With a vivid imagination inundated with ideas of meeting the man of her dreams, the pending party was a chance to broaden her horizons. Taking place on the eastside of North Philly, this event was far enough from her home turf to get away from the same old, same old. She’d grown up with the guys in her neighborhood. None qualified as romantic-interest material. None had permanency written on them.

“What’s this I hear about you going across town?”

Head jerking up at a velocity that made whiplash seem like slow motion, her grip tightening on the bed sheet dislodged what she’d considered a perfect hospital corner. Damn, she’d thought she was alone. Her sister must have been in the bathroom.

Living in a three-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bathroom house, she and Brittany shared a room with a bath, and a walk-in closet. The room accommodated twin beds, two small desks, and bookshelves that hung above their desks. Both girls were avid readers. Their younger sister had the single room because of the six-and-a-half-year difference between her and Marissa. It made sense for her and Brittany to share, with only a twenty-two-month difference between them.

Calming her fluttering pulse, for a few seconds, she stared at the lopsided mess she’d made of the bed, then straightened and whirled around. Hands on hips, she glared into identical amber eyes, a trait she and her sister shared with their father.

“Brie, I’m scared of you. Where
do
you get your information?”

“From Frank, as long as I don’t ask questions about the gang, he’ll talk about the dumb things you do. He thinks it’s cute.” She shrugged. “If I want answers, I’ve learned not to mention your cute antics could be dangerous, and might get you killed.”

“It’s about time you figured that out. You can’t know about the gang if you don’t belong.”

“Yeah, yeah, heard it before, but you don’t belong, either.”

“True, but I’m close enough.”

“What-
ev
-ver.” Brittany snorted, then she persisted, “What’s with the party?”

“You know Darien, lives downstairs from Janeen. Her cousin Brad belongs to Camac and Diamond. He’s taking us to one of his gang parties.”

“And how old is this cousin, Rissa?”

“Uh...”

“How old?”

“Okay! He’s twenty-one.”

“I thought you’d learned your lesson with Matthew.” Brittany turned to her bed, smoothed the bedspread, and plumped up the pillows. Without another word, she walked into their bathroom.

Recognizing the squeak of faucets and the rush of running water, Marissa knew her sister had started cleaning the bathroom. One way to avoid an argument with Marissa was to ignore her.

Brittany was the pacifist in the family. She wouldn’t try to talk Marissa out of going to the party, because it led to hostility. They’d had similar discussions before, and Marissa repetitively pointed out it was her life, and the things she did were her way of dealing with reality.

Moreover, for months, she and Darien had been badgering Darien’s cousin to take them to one of his gang party. Finally, he’d come through with an invitation. Childish misguided exploits aside, this was an opportunity she wasn’t about to forego.

Nonetheless, as much as she looked forward to the party, Brad lived across town, East Side of Broad Street near Temple University, and she needed to temper her eagerness. She was venturing into the midst of strangers, gang members, with little to no protection, she didn’t
know
her escort, and she’d only recently met Darien.

A few inches taller than Marissa’s five-foot-eight-inch frame, Darien had light skin—what some colored folkes referred to as high yellow. She had short, coarse, reddish-brown hair with more brown than red, and a figure most girls envied. With a snub nose and dark brown almond-shaped eyes peering out from beneath hooded lids, the crowning touch to round girlish features were her dimples.

Darien lived in the same apartment building as Marissa’s oldest sister Janeen. They met some months ago when Marissa had stopped by to see her sister and found Darien babysitting Janeen’s two brats. She and Darien had talked for hours while waiting for Janeen to return, and since that day, they had become practically inseparable. She was Marissa’s only female friend...uh, maybe friend was too strong a word. Darien was more like an associate. Marissa had given up on female friendships. They were too iffy.

Brittany came out of the bathroom and sat on her bed. Eyes narrowed, she stared at Marissa.

“What, Brie?”

“Frank can’t go with you, can he?”

“Nope, territorial issues, but I’ll be okay,” she insisted. “For the most part, Brad runs Camac and Diamond. Before I get to the party, you’d better believe, everyone who needs to know will be aware that Frank Gaylord, top dog of the Valley, is my cousin.” She chuckled. “You’re aware the grapevine is awesome and travels at the speed of light.”

“Uh-huh, I’ll take your word for it. But more to the point, and Frank’s notoriety aside, you have to go through Avenue territory to get across town. Those guys hassle you every time you go to Aunt Sarah’s house,” Brittany stated. “And even if you don’t use Susquehanna Avenue to cross Broad Street, you’re still traveling through Avenue turf, with a known member of Camac & Diamond.

“The Avenue and C & D are not, never have been, on friendly terms.” Nibbling her bottom lip, she said, “If I didn’t have plans, I’d go with you, to make sure
you
don’t start anything that far from home.”

“Brie, stop worrying, I’ve changed, I’m all grown up now, a woman. The juvenile gangster mentality is a done deal. I promise it’ll be okay. I won’t start any trouble.”

“Yeah, right. Clearly, you’ve mistaken me for somebody who doesn’t know you.”

The night of the party, they dressed at the Windslow’s apartment because Darien’s mother, a beautician, promised to help the girls with their hair. With that taken care of, the girls showered and dressed. By nine thirty, they were ready.

Marissa stared at her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing her navy-blue, hip-hugging jumper and a white blouse with a self-tie at the collar—
geez.
Except for hugging curves and exposing knees, the outfit screamed uniform. Would she never get away from Catholic school influences? Hmm, she
was
going for the modest look, since she didn’t know the fellas on the other side of town.

Darien wasn’t of the same mind, having managed to shimmy into a barely decent, navy-blue miniskirt that encased her full figure like a second skin. She wore a white blouse, similar to Marissa’s, and didn’t bother to button it to the top, exposing a tantalizing view of cleavage. But until recently, Darien had lived on that side of town, knew the folkes, and perhaps her relaxed dress code wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.

For the occasion, Marissa applied a light touch of eye shadow, eyeliner, and blush to her usual barebones look of lipstick only, which was all restrictive Catholic school dictates allowed. Her efforts weren’t for naught. Darien seemed impressed.

“Girl, you look too grown, and sexy.”

“Sure, don’t exaggerate.”

“Seriously, you look terrific. You should wear makeup all the time.”

“Thanks, but I go to parochial school with nuns...remember them, they would have a fit.”

“Yeah, just for a minute, looking at you with the makeup, I forgot.” Darien chuckled. “It’s easy to forget you go to Catholic school, you play that split personality role so well...good girl, bad girl. Heck. I know you as well as anyone, yet sometimes I don’t know who you are.”

Marissa sighed. “I know. Cleverly disguised, the devil in uniform and you’re not alone with that opinion. I believe the nuns feel the same, and can’t wait for me to graduate.”

“Girl, be fair. You must be annoying the hell out of someone at your private, all-girl school. You do hold the record for the most detentions, don’t you?”

“Hey...” Marissa started to protest, then giggled. “Okay, but you know it doesn’t take much to get a detention in that place. They claim I have an attitude, go figure. If they’d stopped calling me by my sisters’ names, expecting me to answer, then get bent...hey.” She threw her brush at Darien, who fell back on the bed, laughing. “What’s this, an inquisition? Confession’s tomorrow.”

The bell pealed. Pulling herself together, Darien scrambled off the bed and hurried from the room. She opened the front door and Brad entered the apartment, blowing on his hands, his lean frame bulked up by his winter coat.

“Hope you’re ready.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Don’t want to spend any more time on this side of town than necessary.” He rolled his shoulders and stared at his cousin. “Who’s going with you this time?”

“Stupid question.” Darien snorted and gestured behind her as Marissa approached the cousins, and grinned at Brad’s gaping expression.

Marissa returned his stare, her gaze roaming over his body. Brad Page was tall and lean, with pleasant features and dark brown skin. He had hazel eyes with more white exposed than color, which made him seem in a perpetual state of fright, hence, his nickname Boo. Except there was nothing apprehensive about Brad. He was one of the top dogs of Camac and Diamond.

“Marissa?”

“Brad.”

“Damn, you look different.”

“It’s the makeup,” Darien interjected. “We’ve never seen her wearing makeup.”

“Yeah...” Brad’s steady gaze remained on Marissa. “It makes you look a lot older. I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe I shouldn’t take you to this party, might not be able to protect you from the older guys.”

“Whoa, give me a break, like I can’t protect myself.”

Brad gave her a slow, appraising look. “Yeah, maybe you can, but I’ll have a word or two with the older men, just to be on the safe side.” He turned to Darien. “Okay, let’s do it.”

The party was within walking distance, and the night was clear, not as cold as expected for mid-February. Hunched beneath their winter coats, their necks swathed in mufflers and earmuffs sheltering their ears, they set out, walking in companionable silence.