In My Sister's House (9 page)

T
he club was packed with an audience roaring in laughter as Flynn and Beatrice went through their routine. This wasn’t the usual response to his material, and Flynn was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake in bringing on Beatrice. Granted it had been fun playing off another comedian, especially a female, because the material and subject matter were endless. But he’d be damned if he was going to lose any of his shine to some unknown comic that
he
discovered at an open mike competition—one
he
had judged down at Larry’s Laugh House on Germantown Avenue. Yes,
he
would be cutting down
her
material and less time would be granted for
her
to do
her
thing. He wasn’t trying to be a hater or anything. He knew she was funny, funny as hell. But Legends was
his
club. He was the main comic and no matter how funny another one may be, they have to know right from jump that they’re only making
guest appearances
. Too many hard-knock years had passed, and Flynn Wilson was not playing second fiddle to anyone at Legends.

After winding down his twenty-minute act with Beatrice, Flynn introduced Princess, who danced one of the hottest salsa numbers anyone had ever seen. As the music pulsated to a Caribbean beat and lights flashed in step with the rhythm, Princess strutted, kicked, twisted, and gyrated her body with uncontrollable speed. She was
lost in the music. Princess ran and jumped, thrashing her body about like she was possessed by some unruly spirit. Locking eyes with as many people in the audience as possible, she cast a spell. The audience hooted and hollered their approval. From the third row, the ever-present Miss Shoes showed her delight by taking off one of her purple Ralph Lauren pumps and hauling it at her, barely missing Princess, who was in mid-flight. Miss Shoes screamed, “Work, bitch!”

Lovely and the other dancers watched in awe as Princess built up to a climactic ending, sliding across the floor and finishing with her head buried in the crease of her arm. As she lay stretched out on the floor, both legs straight out—
bang!
—the music concluded. A puff of smoke filled up the stage area and the lights went black, leaving the crowd in complete darkness. Their thunderous applause picked up where the music dramatically left off, completing Princess’s routine.

Watching from the sidelines, Gidget stood with her mouth open wide in shock as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wondered if anyone else could hear the sound of her heart beating over all of the hoopla taking place. Quince brought the lights back up. Princess had disappeared and all that remained were traces of smoke in the air and a few beads from her costume that lay solemnly on the dance floor. Everyone was drained! A disoriented Miss Shoes hobbled up to the front of the stage to retrieve her pump. Waving her hand high in the air and shaking her head like she was at a church revival, she weaved in and out between tables looking for where it had landed.

Grabbing the mike to address the crowd, Flynn spotted the shoe and handed it over to her. Miss Shoes couldn’t even say thank you— she was still speechless, as everyone else seemed to be. If any one of the other dancers ever doubted before tonight why Princess held the position she did at the club, they got their answer with that performance.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Settle down.” Flynn motioned to the crowd using both arms to demonstrate. He continued: “I don’t know about y’all but I ain’t never seen any dancing like that. What about you?” he shouted. The crowd erupted once more with deafening
sounds of approval. Looking toward the dressing room door Flynn shook his head and shouted, “Give it up one more time for Princess! That girl was finer than the horsehair on that woman’s weave!” He pointed to a random woman in the audience to more laughter.
This is more like it
, he thought.

Once everyone settled down, Flynn introduced a new addition to the Legend family, a new waitress, Alexia Adams. A slim, attractive, tan-colored sista with platinum blond hair, thirty-ish and about five feet eight, stepped from behind the bar, waved, and nodded to the audience. Flynn eyed her seductively. “Lord, have mercy. You are hotter than fish grease off a food truck in Harlem! You single, girl?”

Alexia just smiled and bashfully turned away.

“Don’t nobody want you, Flake! I mean Flynn!” an obviously intoxicated Beatrice shouted out from a back table.

Everyone laughed. The look on Flynn’s face showed his disapproval at Beatrice heckling him while he was onstage. He cut his eyes at her—if looks could kill, those daggers would have slayed her. He would definitely deal with her later. Beatrice, unaware she had done anything wrong, lifted her glass high as if offering a toast, nodded her head at him, and them downed her drink in one gulp.

The lights dimmed, and the cool jazz sounds of Cassandra Wilson filled the air as more patrons filed in. Waitresses descended upon tables almost in unison with pads in hand, taking food and drink orders from waiting and willing customers. Horace “Torch” Wells, a small-time thug, and Cleet James, his show monkey–acting flunky, entered the club. Not waiting to be seated by Ruta Lee, the house manager, they strolled over to a table directly in front of a dancer’s podium, where an attractive, well-dressed middle-aged couple were already planted securely in their seats, enjoying drinks and each other. As Torch stood erect to the side of the table surveying the crowd, Cleet leaned in and whispered something to the man at the table. The man’s lighthearted and upbeat expression quickly faded and was replaced by fear. Glancing over at Torch, he suddenly nudged his wife, indicating that they should probably move to another table. Torch and Cleet took their newly hijacked seats, and
Cleet tried to get the attention of a waitress while Torch made a call on his BlackBerry. A nervous Alexia approached Nettie, who was busy behind the bar.

“I hope I do everything right,” she said to Nettie.

“Girl, you’re dong fine. What are you talking about?” Nettie said. “I see how you’ve been handling folks. You know what you’re doing. Listen, you got the looks and attitude. Just don’t let any of these jokers walk all over you, because they will try to,” Nettie said and winked at her.

“Don’t get it twisted. I might be nervous as a hooker in church, but only because it’s my first night. It’s been a minute since I’ve done this type of job but I am far from being a pushover,” a confident Alexia stated. “I keep to myself, do my job, and then take my ass home!” she said as she thought about what brought her to Legends.

Alexia Adams had only been in the city of Philadelphia for about two weeks and was stressed about finding a job. She was staying temporarily with her cousin NeNe in a one-bedroom apartment in the working-class neighborhood of West Oak Lane. Not that she didn’t appreciate NeNe’s hospitality, because she did, but NeNe didn’t keep a very tidy home. In fact, she was downright nasty and trifling. The bathroom was always dirty, and no matter how many times a day Alexia washed the dishes, there were always more.

“Girl, I was going to get that,” NeNe would say whenever she heard Alexia running water in the sink.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Alexia lied.

NeNe didn’t work, either. She was on
relief
. For the life of her, Alexia could not understand why this thirty-three-year-old grown-ass woman was getting welfare and food stamps. NeNe spent most of her days on a prepaid cellphone watching the array of courtroom and talk shows on television. From
Judge Judy
to
Judge Mathis
, she watched them like she was studying law. But her favorite was Maury Povich. She didn’t miss Maury. “Girl, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said one day.

“About what?” Alexia asked.

“Chile, these crazy-ass TV people done put Maury on the same time as
The Young and the Restless,”
she sniped. That shit makes me mad ’cause now I gotta decide which one I’m gonna watch and which one to drop. Damn!”

“Maybe you could tape one and watch the other,” Alexia offered. “I see you have a VCR over there.”

“That shit don’t work!” she said, rolling her eyes at it.

Alexia thought,
Well, you don’t either so you couldn’t be but so mad
. Alexia laughed to herself.

“Matter of fact, I’m thinking about writing a letter to the network about that shit ’cause it ain’t right,” NeNe said defiantly. “Girl, you gonna have to show me how to use your computer.” She eyed Alexia’s laptop over on the kitchen table. Alexia told her, sure she could use it but she needed to sign off first because she had spent most of the morning like she did every morning, searching online for a job.

“Let me know if you see something for me on there, too” an unenthusiastic NeNe stated.

“Sure,” Alexia said as she rinsed off the last glass and put it on the dish rack. Wiping down the counter with some bleach, she saw a roach bravely crawling right out of the cloth she was using. Slamming the cloth down hard she instantly killed it. The sudden loud sound didn’t raise a look from NeNe, who was biting her nails awaiting the DNA results on the latest Maury couple’s paternity test.

“Was that another one?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Alexia said disgustedly.

“I sprayed yesterday,” NeNe proudly stated. “I believe it’s that nasty bitch Monica next door bringing all dem roaches over here. I ain’t never had
one
till she moved in. I’ma tell Gracie she gon’ have to do something about that.”

Gracie worked in the rental office downstairs but never seemed to be on call. If you wanted to know where Gracie was during the day you just knocked on 102 and she’d come to the door—with an attitude, like you were bothering her or something.

Yes, Alexia had to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Aw,
hell naw!
This bitch done had dude number nine up on here, saying he’s the father, and the shit done come back that he ain’t!” NeNe shouted as Maury read the results.

“Look at this bitch running off the stage and falling on the fucking floor like she ain’t got no damn sense.” NeNe was getting a kick out of this. “Come here, Alexia, and look at this bitch. She don’t know what to say now. Looking all stupid up in here. That’s what you get, ho!” she screamed at the girl.

Alexia appeased her by looking over at the TV where a sobbing young girl about twenty years old was laid out on the floor while Maury was consoling her. In the background a jubilant black dude was doing the Crip walk and flashing a gold-toothed mouth in front of the audience. Alexia thought of what her granny would say— “he’s just a sugar-coated coon”—but NeNe felt differently.

“And he cute, too!” she declared. Alexia shook her head in disbelief. Her cousin was a lost cause. “But she did take me in,” Alexia thought out loud. NeNe had her back no matter what anybody said. She could not forget that.

Alexia had a few extra dollars with her when she came to Philly. She wasn’t broke entirely, but her savings would not last forever. Still, she treated herself a couple of times by going downtown and enjoying a nice meal at Ruth’s Chris Steak House or Miss Tootsie’s Soul Food Café. She had even taken NeNe to Ruth’s Chris one time. However, when NeNe saw the bill for her ribeye steak, baked potato, and salad she was pissed. Never mind that Alexia was the one paying.

“Oh, no, I would never had paid this kind of money for that little bit of food they gave us,” she said, loud enough for the couple sitting in a nearby booth to overhear. “Chile, they got over on us,” she declared. “Shucks, we coulda went to the Chinese restaurant up on Germantown and Wayne and got some fried wings, shrimp fried rice, egg rolls, and a can of soda. You woulda had money left over for, like, three more days. But I appreciate it though,” she said, licking her fingers.

Alexia decided today that she’d swing by Delilah’s restaurant to
look for a job as a hostess, but only after getting her hair done. She’d recently seen an ad in the
Philadelphia
magazine she’d picked up for Zenora’s, a hair salon where you could get the full treatment—hair, manicure, pedicure, and a facial. It looked like a classy joint so she made an appointment. While waiting her turn a very attractive sista walked in. Alexia could tell by the way she dressed that this sista had a little
bank
. It seemed that all of the stylists in the shop knew her, too. Parking herself down next to Alexia, Skylar smiled.

“Were you waiting for Zenora?” Skylar asked.

“No, I believe they gave me Rocky,” Alexia said.

“Oh, well, Rocky’s good. You’ll be very happy with him.” She smiled again and picked up an
Essence
magazine with Jada Pinkett-Smith on the cover. Flipping through, she asked Alexia if this was this her first time at Zenora’s.

“Yes, it is. I saw an ad and I’m looking for a shop since I just moved here, so this looked like a pretty cool place to try,” Alexia replied, smiling.

“You’ve come to the right place. Zenora’s is the hottest salon, and sista, girl over there”—she pointed to an attractive full-figured light brown stylist—“owns four of them. But this is the only one that she actually works in. She’s so successful that she could stop if she wanted to, but she just loves doing hair.” Skylar marveled at Zenora. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Skylar Morrison.” She offered to shake Alexia’s delicate hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Alexia Adams.”

“So you’re new in the area?” Skylar asked.

“Yes, I am. I haven’t been here that long,” Alexia said, wishing that Skylar would stop with the personal questions already. She didn’t. “Oh? Where are you from?”

“Not too far from Philly,” Alexia said, planning on ending it right there.

The two conversed for the next thirty minutes or so and discovered much more about each other. Alexia found out that, like Zenora, Skylar was a successful businesswoman, who owned and operated a nightclub. Alexia confided that she was looking for employment
and having the toughest time securing any kind of job. In fact, she told Skylar, she’d be willing to do almost anything at this time because her funds were low.