Culture Clash (18 page)

“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” I say. I wish I could cheer him up. “Mrs. Bennett isn’t that bad. Her bark is worse than her bite,” I lie. We both know Mrs. Bennett’s the one broad up here who can get in our way.

“We can pray for justice and work toward it,” he says, reminding me of his lineage’s gift. Mr. Adewale fights for justice and I know he’s going to have his ancestors all over this one. I’ll worry about fighting Misty and her evil ways and leave the rest to the warriors in Mr. A’s lineage. It’s about time he showed us what he can do.

Trying to get the club in order before next week’s celebration has proven to be no easy task. Monday’s bombshell from Mrs. Bennett put it all into perspective for us: if we’re serious about the African Student Union being a viable, productive group we have to get our personal issues in check, and I think we’ve done well. Misty has been rather quiet since the meeting, but she’s not fooling me. I know she’s trying to sabotage the group and I will prove it one way or another.

Friday came so quickly I didn’t even realize the week had come and gone. We have to wait until next week to find out if our club proposal was accepted. Until then we’re going to walk as if it has been, per Mr. Adewale’s example. He’s convinced that justice will prevail, with Ms. Toni as our senior club adviser—not Mrs. Bennett’s conniving self, no matter how bad she thinks she is. And by the way he’s wearing his confident crown, I have nothing but faith in Mr. A.

When we decided to meet over at Nigel’s house for tonight’s session I thought we’d be in for the night which is our usual mode of operation. The guys smoke, the girls listen to music while a good movie plays on the wide screen. But apparently our crew has other plans. After school, I worked at Netta’s until closing, where I also touched up my Uncle Bryan’s braids. Rah also came in and got his head washed and braided, not saying a word about seeing me and Jeremy together last weekend. It was nice to get back in Rah’s head. No matter what type of relationship he may have with Trish and Sandy, I know I’ll always be his stylist and I’m always thankful for the dough.

“So where are we going?” Mickey asks, waddling to Nigel’s king-sized bed and lying down. Nigel’s so lucky to have a room as nice and spacious as this. Nigel and Rah are putting on their Timberland boots, ready to work. They look so cute in their matching mechanic jumpsuits and white T-shirts, but I’d never tell them that. Mickey yawns loudly as she stretches out like a cat across the foot of the king-size bed. She looks exhausted. “I can’t move too fast these days.” She’s right about that. It took her damn-near five minutes to make it up the flight of stairs that lead to Nigel’s room. That baby’s finally slowing our girl down.

“We have to go work in the pit for Trish’s brother, at this race in your neck of the woods,” Rah says to Chance, making light of the fact that he’s going to kick it with Trish and her kin again. We haven’t hashed out all of our issues, but decided to make peace with each other for the time being. However, I’m still not cool chilling with either one of his exes.

“Ask me if I give a damn,” I say, sucking on the sour lemon in my iced tea. Nellie and Chance look at me, Nellie rolling her eyes at my response. I’m too tired to be tactful.

“We’re all going together. Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rah says, walking over to me and rubbing my bare arms with the back of his hands. The subtle scent from his Egyptian musk lotion rubs off on my arms slightly. I hope I don’t end up mad at him by the end of the night because every time I catch a whiff of my arm he’ll be on my mind, smelling good.

“Okay, let’s get going. I don’t want to miss a thing,” Nellie says, more excited than I thought she’d be about going to a street race. I drove Chance’s car and felt the rush. But I’m not sure about going to an actual race on a Friday night. Not only is it dangerous, but we could also get into some real trouble should the police decide to raid the spot. Mama would kill me if I ended up in jail or dead.

“Will I have somewhere to sit down?” Mickey asks, making her way up off the bed. “I wouldn’t mind watching those white boys drive. They always have nice whips.” I feel my girl on that one. After driving the flyy-ass Benz Jeremy’s friend let him roll last weekend I can see why they do what they do. But I’m still not the one to get caught up drag racing. I respect Nigel’s and Rah’s ability to hustle on the side, but just once I wish they’d pick something that involved a little less risk on their behalf.

“Yeah, baby. You can sit in the stands with everyone else while we work,” Nigel says, opening the bedroom door and leading the way out. We head out, ready for tonight’s festivities, even if I’m not so sure about this one.

“Coming?” Rah asks, offering me his hand. I reluctantly take it and rise from my post on the futon. Rah smiles at me as I walk out. He knows I like fast cars as much as anyone. The first time I drove Rah’s Legend I was sprung on speed. And driving my friends’ cars hasn’t helped my looming addiction.

When we make it down the stairs and into the foyer, ready to leave, Mrs. Esop comes through the front door from what looks like an expensive shopping trip.

“Good evening,” Mrs. Esop says, greeting us all as she walks inside.

“Hi, Mom,” Nigel says as the rest of us say our hellos in unison. Nigel and Rah instinctively help her with her bags. Mickey, Nellie, and I watch in awe as the boys put the Prada, Louis Vuitton and Gucci bags down in the living room before rejoining us by the front door. Chance doesn’t bat an eye: I guess he’s used to the name-brand regulars in his household.

“What a busy day,” Mrs. Esop says, removing her hat and fanning herself with it. “Shopping always takes the breath out of me. But I must look fabulous for the sorority picnic tomorrow,” she says, winking at me. I don’t know how to tell her, but I can’t see myself ever fitting into her world.

“I know what you mean, Mrs. Esop. The mall takes a lot out of me, too,” Mickey says, trying to make small talk. Mrs. Esop sneers at Mickey, interrupting her.

“My dear, I don’t shop at malls,” Mrs. Esop says with her nose as high up in the air as it can possibly get. Mickey lowers her head in shame as Mrs. Esop walks past her without batting an eye. What a cold broad.

“Mom, you’re going to have to show Mickey some respect, especially once she and the baby move in,” Nigel says, trying to land the bomb and run—but not a chance his mom is going to let that one sit. Mrs. Esop stops in her Prada tracks before she reaches the living room and looks at her son like he’s a stranger. As she places both hands on her hips, we all stay put. I knew there was a hood girl behind her expensive, holier-than-thou demeanor.

“Tell me my son was the only person you were sleeping with when you found out you were pregnant,” Mrs. Esop says directly to an already shook-up Mickey. The accusation catches my girl off guard and she doesn’t know how to respond. “In all honesty, Mickey, you should’ve had an abortion if you didn’t know who the father was. And son, what the hell is wrong with you? Where do you think you live, Nigel? In the projects somewhere? We don’t allow baby-mamas or their little bastards to live in our home,” she says, cutting her teeth and lowering her tone. I think it’s safe to say Mrs. Esop won’t be attending the shower after all.

“Hey, I’ve got my baby-mama living with me, and we don’t live in the projects—and my daughter’s no one’s bastard,” Rah says, standing up to Mrs. Esop. But his situation is not a very helpful example.

“Yes, Rah, and that is unfortunate,” Mrs. Esop says, softening her look and tone, but not by much. “Your parents are not here to guide you properly, and that’s different. And I’m also convinced that the child Mickey’s carrying belongs to someone else, unlike your daughter.” Rah backs off, satisfied with her justification for the time being. Besides, this really isn’t our fight so we shouldn’t get too involved.

“Mama, how many times do I have to tell you this is my baby?” Nigel says, holding a teary-eyed Mickey by her wide waist. I feel for my girl, but they did put this on themselves. I can’t really blame Mrs. Esop for reacting. She’s protecting her baby just like Nigel’s protecting his, even if I don’t agree with how either one of them is going about it.

“I don’t care how many times you say those words to me, Nigel Esop. I’ll never, ever believe that the baby in that girl’s stomach belongs to you,” she says, barely acknowledging Mickey’s presence or her feelings. “We can’t force her to have a paternity test before the baby is born, but we can sure as hell insist on it as soon as that child comes out,” she says, pointing at Mickey. “But I don’t need a blood test to prove a damn thing. I know you’re not the father and I also know you’re not stupid,” she says, still pointing her perfectly manicured finger at Mickey and Nigel, who both feel the wrath of her words. “Enjoy the good life now, little missy, because your fantasy is going to end when that baby of yours is born.”

“Mom, that’s enough,” Nigel says, holding a now sobbing Mickey in his arms. I’ve never seen my girl this upset before. Mrs. Esop collects herself, checks her hair in the large foyer mirror where we can all see our reflections, and walks into the living room without another word. She’s a cold bitch, no doubt.

“Let’s get going before we’re late,” Nellie says, setting us back on our mission. We move out the front door, but all of us are still stuck in Mrs. Esop’s tongue lashing. Mickey looks completely humiliated, and I’m positive that was Mrs. Esop’s intention.

“Can you really blame her?”
my mom says in my head.
“If Nigel were my son, I’d be suspicious of some fast girl trying to latch on to him, too.”

“Mom, that’s not what happened,”
I think back. I get into my car and my friends get into theirs. Since Rah’s going to be working tonight, I’m driving him around for a change. Besides, it’ll be good for Trish to see that we’re still hanging tight while she’s only hanging on by a thin thread.

“Girl, please. Mickey found herself a winner in Nigel. She’d better hope that baby is his, or else his mama’s going to have her ass in a sling. Later,”
she says, leaving me to focus on the road ahead.

“That was brutal back there,” Rah says, breaking the silence as we head toward Redondo Beach. I don’t know if he could tell my mom just dropped in for a psychic visit, but I was thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, she didn’t have to call Mickey out like that. She’s a woman, too.”

“Not like Mickey she’s not, or at least not anymore.” We all know the story of how Mr. and Mrs. Esop wanted to move their children out of Compton to a more upwardly mobile community. “And no matter what happens, Mrs. Esop will always remind Mickey that she’s not the kind of woman she wants her son to marry. Mark my words, whether or not the baby belongs to Nigel, she’ll never let Mickey have their last name.”

Poor Mickey. I’m not one to give up on something I really want, but if fighting a losing battle, I say retreat while you still can. Mickey needs to consider all of her options instead of depending solely on Nigel making it work out with his parents. This is quite a mess she’s created and she’s got to be the one to clean it up.

W
hen we get to the empty football field, the stands are packed. The cars are parked on the field, each fabulous in its own way. We park in the lot above the field and walk down. Mickey’s still visibly upset about her lashing, but the excitement in the air is getting to her, too.

“We’ve got to get to the pit. The race is about to start,” Rah says, walking off toward the other side of the field with Nigel right behind him. Nigel looks like he doesn’t want to leave Mickey alone. I walk over and take my girl by the arm, letting them both know I’ve got her.

“I’ve got this. Go handle your business,” I say as Nigel follows Rah down the the bleachers. Mickey slowly follows Nellie toward a seat. The bleachers are packed, and there are a few faces here from school, but the majority are folks I don’t recognize. Watching our boys run down the bleachers, I notice Jeremy and his beach crew on the field. What are they doing here?

“Hey, I’m going down to the field,” Chance says as Nellie and Mickey take a seat.

“I’m going, too,” I say, making sure my girl is settled before I go check the scene out. I want to see all the fast cars up close and personal. I also want to check out Jeremy without tipping Rah off. The last thing I need is to hear his mouth about some shit.

“Y’all can’t just leave us here,” Nellie says. “Come on, Mickey, we can sit farther down.” Mickey looks like she wants to cuss Nellie out for making her move, but instead she gets up and follows us.

When we make it down to the field, Jeremy and his boys are admiring their fancy rides. Jeremy walks over to me and gives me a hug, glad to see me at their illegal gathering.

“A 1969 Camaro Yenko Clone 427, red leather interior to match the paint job. Sweet,” Chance says, and by the mesmerized look on Jeremy’s face, he’s just as excited about the new addition as his boy is. Nellie looks anything but impressed with the old car. Mickey sits down on the last row of bleachers and makes herself comfortable.

“Man, I was going to get one of these, but the truck was a necessary evil,” Jeremy’s older brother Justin says, walking around their eldest brother Mike’s latest acquisition like a wolf eyeing its prey. All the dudes are salivating over the hot ride. I’m not a hater like Nellie, but I don’t get the love affair between men and cars.

“Check that one out. A 1968 SS 396,” Jeremy says, eyeing another classic arrival. “I want to take that car on the bend, but I guess I’ll settle for racing this piece of shit,” Jeremy says, pointing to his own car.

“You’re not seriously going to race, are you?” I ask. Jeremy and Chance look down at me and smile. I guess I’m the baby of the crew, in more ways than one. How come I didn’t know about this side of our boys?

“Time to burn out, dude,” Terry, one of Jeremy’s beach friends says. I watch as everyone lines up behind the sidelines, ready to witness the race. Trish’s brother parks his tricked out Mazda in line with the other cars, ready to win. I must admit, Rah and Nigel worked their asses off on that car. I can’t wait to see them all in action.

“This is the best birthday ever,” Maxi, one of the freshman ASB members says, walking toward the starting line where the five hotrods line up, including Jeremy’s classic Mustang and Chance’s Nova. Nellie and I take our seats next to Mickey, who’s eating a bag of pretzels. Nellie takes a compact mirror out of her purse and eyes her perfect curls, as if that’s the most important thing going on around her.

“Nellie, how can you concentrate on your hair when your man is about to street race—illegally, might I add?” Usually Nellie’s the prude, but ever since she and Chance consummated their relationship, my girl’s become a bit more laid back and stuck up at the same time, if that’s even possible.

“Relax, Jayd. It’s all business,” she says, not taking her eyes off her hair. “Do you know how much money they get if they win?”

“Money? So they’re gambling, too? We’re all going to jail.” I throw my hands up in the air for dramatic effect but she’s not feeling me. “I just wanted to watch a movie, maybe hang out a little bit,” I say, voicing my view of how I thought the evening would turn out. If Mama knew I was here she’d shit a brick and then throw it at me.

“We are hanging out and you can pretend you’re watching a movie. Here, stand next to me,” she says, rising from her seat and hanging over the rail separating the stands from the field.

“Drivers, show me your stuff,” Maxi says, waving the two yellow flags in the air while all the drivers rev their engines. The tires spin, burning tracks into the virgin dirt and officially starting the race. “Staging set,” she yells out. The cars get into a straight line, the drivers all focused on the finish line up ahead. I look around, paranoid that any minute the cops are going to show up and haul all our asses away. No one else seems worried about getting caught. If we were in Compton we’d be in booking by now.

“This is my favorite part,” Nellie says. I see she’s become quite the groupie. It’s one thing to drive fast for fun and another to do it for money. “One day I’m going to get my chance to wave the flag.” Being the pretty girl who starts the race is another type of crown for Nellie. No wonder she’s suddenly so interested in drag racing.

The cars stop spinning their tires and get ready to race. Jeremy looks up at me from his ride and winks, sending a flush of energy up from the middle of my stomach through the front of my shirt. Something about seeing Jeremy behind the wheel under these circumstances is more exciting than usual. I hope Rah didn’t see that from where he and Nigel are posted on the other side of the field in the makeshift pit. Maxi quickly brings the flags down to her side and the cars take off on both sides of her. I wonder if other girls in her position ever get hit.

“Doesn’t that look fun?” Nellie asks, her eyes glued to the fast scene. Maxi turns around, jumping up and down and screaming for her man to win the first round. After the first lap, we all get into the race. Jeremy and Chance are holding their own, but this race is between the Mazda and the Mustang. All the other cars are just filling.

“It’s the last lap. Come on, Chance,” Nellie says, rooting for her man. But it’s no use. Trish’s brother’s got this race in the bag.

“The Mazda wins!” Maxi yells, hyping the crowd even more. Nigel and Rah give each other dap for their good work and I’m proud of my boys. When it comes to cars, basketball, and music, Rah knows what he’s doing. I wish the same were true when it comes to us.

Me and my girls head down to the field to greet our boys, even if two of them did lose.

“Chance, why do you drive that old thing?” Nellie’s never been any good at showing empathy. Chance just lost the race and the money, but she couldn’t care less about that. All Nellie’s really worried about is her image. Rah waves at me from his and Nigel’s post next to Trish’s brother. I guess Trish didn’t come after all. Noticing us across the field, Trish’s brother, Lance, looks in our direction and smiles at Nellie, who smiles back. I don’t like the look in either of their eyes.

“Okay, I’m out. I have a long day tomorrow and it starts early,” I say, leaving them to their mess. I have to be in Compton by seven in the morning, which means if I get home in the next thirty minutes I can manage a good six hours of sleep.

“It’s the weekend. Where are you going in such a rush?” Jeremy asks, getting out of his ride and walking over to me, looking disappointed. I’m not happy about it either, but work is work and when it comes to my lineage, there are never any excuses.

“I have to work, but you looked good out there, Mr. Weiner,” I say, trying to avoid his kiss—but I can’t. Jeremy kisses me soft and slow, just how I like it. If it keeps feeling this good we might get ourselves into some serious trouble before it’s all said and done.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Be safe,” Jeremy says, letting me go and walking back to his car. I was hoping Rah didn’t see that, but from the smoke I can almost see coming out of his ears, I’d say he saw it all. I’ll deal with his jealousy issues tomorrow. Right now I have to get home and rest up for a busy workday tomorrow. I wave to the rest of my friends and head back up the bleachers and away from the field. I have money of my own to get, and it starts with proper sleep.

This weekend proved to be one of our busiest weekends to date. It got a little tense for a moment when the clients had to wait longer than usual to get their heads done by Netta, but with a touch of Mama’s lavender spray everything was calm for the rest of the weekend. Last night I went straight to bed without answering Rah’s calls or Jeremy’s texts. They both know the deal once I get on my hustle. And today was just as busy, leaving me no time to myself this weekend.

I did talk to Jeremy briefly. He was excited about surfing his Sunday away. Rah’s pissed about seeing Jeremy and me kiss, but what can I say? Now he knows how I feel every time Trish touches him. Jealousy is a bitch, or two in Rah’s case, and I’m tired of dealing with both of them, especially when I can put all that energy toward a healthy relationship with Jeremy.

By the time I get back to Mama’s this evening, Mama and Daddy are at it again. I could hear them shouting on my way down the block and it’s only gotten louder since I walked in the front door. I was looking forward to a quiet night of studying, but I can see that wish has gone to hell.

“Another heffa or the same one?” Mama asks, holding a sock in her hand and shaking it in Daddy’s face. Daddy towers over her five-foot-eight frame, but looks like a little boy in her presence once Mama gets hot. “Answer me! It’s important, and don’t you dare lie to me,” Mama says, vigorously shaking the balled-up clothing at my grandfather. Jay and Bryan are watching the scene from their bedroom. We all feel helpless to stop it.

“Hey,” I say, quickly passing them by in the dining room. Before I make it to Mama’s room, Mama speaks to me.

“Jayd, as soon as you put your things down, go in the spirit room and get to work. Your assignment’s on the kitchen table. I’ll be there in a second,” she says. I can feel her eyes intently focused on her husband, even with my back to her. Mama must’ve found out about Daddy’s visitor last weekend. I’d hate to be him right now.

“What difference does it make, Lynn Mae? All you know is that a church member came by to see me. You don’t know anything else.” Daddy knows he’s lying through his teeth. Mama knows everything. She just wants the confession for ammunition.

“Church lady? Church ladies make juju bags, too, fool. This little gift of yours was given to you by someone, and if it was that same heffa who brought you that stiff-ass cake a few months ago, you need to tell me.”

“Tell you for what? So she can come up missing?” Daddy asks. I can see the fear in his face as he waits for Mama’s response. You shouldn’t ask a question you don’t want to know the answer to.

“I don’t work like that and you know it,” Mama says between her teeth. She’s so pissed I can feel her heart pounding as I walk past her and into the kitchen. I want to get out of harm’s way as soon as possible, because this feels like one of those throwing-objects kind of fights. And I don’t want to be anywhere near the two of them when shit starts flying.

“Yes, Lynn Mae. It’s the same woman,” I hear Daddy admit, defeated yet again by Mama’s will. “Are you happy now?” Daddy asks, sitting down in one of the four dining chairs around the table.

“Happy?” Mama asks, her voice quivering. “Who the hell would be happy living like this?” I look back at Mama before I step out of the kitchen door. If she’s not happy, then why does she put up with this shit? Mama’s such a powerful woman, with her own money in the bank. If I were her I would’ve been gone a long time ago. I know she says it’s because no one’s driving her out of her own home, but it has to be more than that. What sensible person would want to stay in a burning house?

“Don’t get it twisted, Jayd. Mama loves that man. She’ll go to bat for him any day,”
my mom says, answering my thought as I walk through the backyard and into the spirit room.
“I remember when Daddy had a heart attack when I was in high school. I thought Mama was going to die, her nerves were on edge so bad. Netta stepped in and took care of the household while Mama sat by Daddy’s bedside day and night until he made a full recovery. You know she petitioned the orisha and ancestors every minute so that Daddy would heal. Don’t let their act fool you. My parents were in love from the moment they met and are still in the thick of it, no matter how much they despise each other.”
My mom’s right. Mama must love Daddy to put up with all of his shit.

“Yes, Jayd, I still love your grandfather very much and tell your mama I said hi,” Mama says, opening the door to the backhouse while simultaneously reading my mind. “I’m not mad at the other women in his life, either. I’m in no position to judge anyone,” she says, claiming the mixing bowl already full of yellow batter and stirring it. “Life is untidy, to say the least. And nothing’s ever what it seems. Your daddy’s not a bad man. Just stupid.” Mama smiles but I know she’s serious.

“Why does Daddy cheat on you? Doesn’t he know what he’s got in you?” Mama stops mixing the batter and looks at her reflection in the silver bowl. I hope she sees the same thing I see: a beautiful black woman any man would be lucky to be with.

“Jayd, your grandfather is out there with those other women because they give him a sense of pride. They make him feel good in a way that I ceased doing long ago.” Damn, Mama’s so straight about the shit. I thought she’d break down and cry at the mention of her husband having other women, even though she has confronted them face-to-face on more than one occasion. I can learn from Mama a thing or two about controlling my emotions. I can’t even stand the thought of Rah being with Trish or Sandy.

“If you know the problem, why don’t you just fix it?” I ask, reading the directions on the kitchen table and gathering the ingredients needed to make the red hot water cornbread recipe for the festival on Friday. I asked Mama to show me how to make her special cornbread for my contribution to the club’s menu, if we’re able to participate. When I told Mama about Mrs. Bennett putting up a fight she assured me that Mr. Adewale’s got everything under control. She also told me about this recipe and that if Mr. A eats this bread it’ll fuel his fire, which will help us all prevail against our common enemy.