WITH THE AFTERNOON FINALLY ARRIVING, SO
did the crowd. The quiet stoops were now beginning to draw people as the partygoers and general late-risers were finally coming out of their apartments.
Shannon sat on the stoop of his building between a pair of succulent chocolate thighs. The thighs belonged to a neighborhood tender named Shakira, who was busy braiding his hair. Shakira was nineteen years old and built like a porn star. Her breasts were so big that buying a Victoria's secret bra was out of the question for her. Niggaz on the block had been trying to hit that since she moved around the summer before, but Shannon's game had prevailed where others didn't.
Shakira played naïve but she was far from it. Growing up in Red Hook and having two aunts that sold pussy taught her a lot about getting where she needed to be. She knew Shannon was that nigga on the block and therefore the one she would let break her in. Shannon had pounded that pussy up, down, and sideways and always came back. Shakira had a shot to die for and a head game that put a lot of grown women to shame.
“Damn Shakira.” Shannon flinched as she ran the comb through a tangle of hair in the back.
“Don't get mad at me, nigga; take better care of your hair. If you would perm this bitch once in a while it might be easier to deal with,” Shakira shot back.
Shannon leaned forward and craned his neck to look at her. “What the fuck do I look like, running around with a perm in my hair? That's some Harlem shit.”
“Watch that,” Spooky said playfully.
“My fault, Harlem,” Shannon smiled. “Your brother take that shit to heart, don't he, Nate?”
“You know he do,” Nate replied. Nate was Spooky's older brother. He was six-two and had the physique of a boxer. While Spooky was raised with his mother in Harlem, Nate was raised with their father in Brooklyn. Though they lived in different boroughs and had two different mothers, their father made sure they spent time together growing up.
“Word life, y'all some cool niggaz, but you know I'm Harlem to the heart.” Spooky pounded his chest.
“So what you doing down here with these niggaz?” Shakira saw this as an opportunity to pick the mysterious Spooky's brain.
Spooky shrugged. “Ain't nothing, just kicking it with my brother.”
“I'll bet,” she said, not believing him. Unlike Nate who liked to brag on his exploits, Spooky kept his hand close to his chest.
“What's up y'all?” Yvette walked up. She was wearing a pair of royal blue pajama pants with yellow ducks on them. Her socks were crispy white, but the flip-flops she wore were dingy as hell.
“Vette, what's popping?” Shannon gave her dap.
“Just waking up from earlier,” she said, stretching. Because she wasn't wearing a bra you could clearly see her silver-dollar nipples pressing against her white T-shirt. Yvette might've been a rough chick, but her body was crazy. She had no kids, so her stomach was for the most part flat, and she had just enough ass that you could grip a fist full while hitting it from the back.
“Harlem, let me get a bone?” Yvette said to Spooky, startling him. He didn't know if she'd noticed him sizing her up, but she gave him a real mischievous look.
“This my last one.” He handed her the cigarette he was smoking.
“That's the best part.” She pressed her lips to the butt and took a deep pull. There was a challenging look in her eyes that made Spooky's groin warm. “Where the weed at?” She addressed the entire stoop.
Spooky went to say something, but Shakira beat him to the punch. “How much you got on it?” she asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. She didn't like Yvette because she was always around Shannon. Even though he wasn't her man, Shakira felt like she had papers on his dick, which was absurd.
Yvette ignored Shakira. “I know you got that good shit on you, Harlem?” She addressed Spooky.
“I keeps that Barney, ma. Go get a Dutch and we can burn something,” he said coolly.
“That's a bet.” Yvette stepped off the curb.
“Stank bitch,” Shakira mumbled, after Yvette was out of earshot.
“Fuck is up wit you and Vette?” Shannon asked.
“I just don't like the bitch,” she replied.
“Damn, Shannon, you got these hos bout to squab over you,” Nate teased.
“Nigga, I ain't no ho!” Shakira snaked her neck.
A little boy with a half moon cut into his hair ran past the stoop, with a skinny light-skinned kid on his heels. The light-skinned kid hurled rocks at the other kid, nearly hitting Nate.
“Booby, you better watch where the fuck you throwing them rocks, before I kick your little ass,” Nate grumbled.
“Nigga, you ain't gonna do shit!” Little Booby stuck his tongue out and ran off.
“I'm gonna kick your ass when I catch you!” Nate called after the fleeing little boy.
“These is some disrespectful little muthafuckas,” Shakira said, as if she were a model citizen. “They bum-ass mama need to teach them some fucking manners.”
“You better not let Shirley hear you talking about her kids. You know she be tripping,” Shannon teased her.
“Shannon, I don't know why you think it's something sweet about me? What, do I gotta lay one of these bitches out before you finally take me seriously?”
“Go ahead with that, Shakira.” Shannon waved her off as he watched Yvette jog back to the stoop. Her breasts bounced under her T-shirt, giving all the men sitting there food for thought. Shakira also picked up on it, and she only got more irritated.
“I hope you know how to roll a Dutch?” Yvette asked, tossing Spooky the cigar.
Spooky smiled, which was something he didn't do often. “You got jokes, ma. Take a seat and pay attention, you might learn something.”
Yvette shook her head. “Y'all Harlem niggaz stay popping shit. Yo, Shakira, slide over some so I can sit down.” She motioned at a spot next to Shannon.
Shakira sucked her teeth. “Damn, why you trying to squeeze all between me and my man? Nah, ain't enough room on this stoop.”
No sooner than she finished her sentence, the whole block seemed to get quiet. Everyone on the block knew Yvette to be one of the coolest chicks out, but they also knew her to be a warrior. For Shakira to come out in her face like that, she must've had a mean knuckle game.
“Excuse you?” Yvette rocked back on her heels.
“I ain't stutter. It's too tight over here for you to be squeezing between me and my man,” Shakira reiterated.
Feeling the mounting tension, Spooky stepped off the stoop and over to the side where Nate was standing. Nosy bystanders moved closer to the center so they wouldn't miss a good fight. Yvette glared at Shakira like she had lost her last mind. She gave Shannon a questioning look and he just shrugged his shoulders.
“What you looking at him for, he ain't my daddy,” Shakira said, getting up from behind Shannon and moving down a step.
“Little girl, if you step off that stoop you're going to lay on it,” Yvette said very calmly.
“Word, bitch?” Shakira took a step off the stoop, and before the
other foot hit the pavement Yvette hit her. She laced Shakira with a left hook to the cheek, knocking her into the gate. Shakira bounced off the gate and came out swinging. Yvette could fight her ass off, but Shakira was a healthy girl. She clipped Yvette on the side of the head, dazing her. Yvette moved to swing, but Shakira was a little quicker. She caught Yvette twice in the face, but couldn't lay her out. Yvette faked a right and came with a left. Before Shakira could get her head right Yvette threw a haymaker and knocked her into the trash.
“Yeah, told your ass you'd lay on it!” Yvette said, sounding winded.
It took a second for Shakira to shake off the cobwebs, but when she was able to focus she saw Shannon looking down at her from the stoop with a smirk on his face. This added to Shakira's rage as she came lunging at Yvette with a bottle in her hand. Faster than anyone's eyes could follow Yvette whipped her blade out and put it in motion. She gave Shakira a half moon across the forearm, producing a wail that sounded like a scalded child. With rage in her heart, Yvette went to cut Shakira across the face when Nate grabbed her from behind.
“Get the fuck off me, Nate!” Yvette snarled, trying to kick at Shakira.
“Chill, ma, its over.” Nate tried to sooth her.
Shakira tried to go in for a hit while Yvette was being restrained but Shannon grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Don't even go about it like that, Shakira. It's over.”
“I'm gonna kill that bitch!” Shakira struggled against him.
“No, you're not.” Shannon fished around in his pocket and came up with a fifty-dollar bill, which he placed into her palm. “You're gonna go to the hospital and get your arm looked at.”
Shakira's arm was stinging and blood was starting to drip onto her shirt. She tried to give Shannon a fierce look, but he had an unwavering coldness to his eyes that made her look away. “A'ight.” She crushed the bill in her fist. “This shit ain't over though.” Shakira stalked back down the block to her building.
Yvette waited until Shakira was out of sight before turning back to Shannon and company. “Does this mean we ain't getting high?”
Shannon just shook his head. “You Jefferson broads are something else.”
THE END OF THE SCHOOL DAY COULDN'T HAVE
come fast enough for Dena. Once again the air conditioning wasn't working and the windowless classes were hot as hell. She would've ditched her last few classes, but she had a math test in eighth period that she couldn't miss. The moment it was over she was out, end of class or not.
As she stepped out of the school's side exit the afternoon sun stroked her cheeks. Squinting, she threw her shades on and made her way to the side of the school where her team always gathered. Sure enough, Sharon was leaning against the brown brick like a ghetto Naomi Campbell.
Sharon was a Harlem chick and wore it with pride. Normally, the girls from different boroughs didn't really click, but Sharon's young ass had a swag that made Dena take to her. She was a tall drink of water with peanut butter skin and long legs and serious attitude. Sharon was young, but carried herself like a worldly woman. She was always fresh to death and seemed to know everyone in her hood. Hanging uptown with Sharon was how Dena met her man Lance, or Lazy, as they called him.
They had been sitting on a stoop off 112th and Lenox, smoking with some guys they knew, when Lazy came out of
the building. From the arrogant smirk on his chestnut face he knew he was killing em in a pair of creased, blue Pepe's and a Detroit Redwings' hockey jersey. The killer part of his fit was the red and white Nike Airs with the Big Dawg logo airbrushed on the side. He spoke to Sharon but didn't acknowledge Dena.
Two days later the location was 115th, but the cast was the same. This time Lazy came coasting up on a motorized scooter, circling Dena and Sharon. Dena stared him down as he did her, returning the vibe. He finally stopped spinning on the scooter and introduced himself. From the word go, Dena was taken with the young man and he with her. They were from two very different boroughs, but the chemistry between them was quite natural. She was a smart, streetwise chick from Brooklyn, and he was a young dude with a very bright future.
“Dena-D, what it is?” Sharon greeted her.
“Trying to keep from melting in all this damn heat.” Dena fanned herself. “I see you're dressed for the occasion though.”
“You know a bitch gotta be prepared.” Sharon did a little twirl so Dena could take in the whole fit. She was rocking a short white tennis skirt with a blue-and-white polo shirt and the matching Stan Smith's. Sharon, like her mother and sister, was blessed with a body. The most outstanding part of her outfit was the iced-out ankle bracelet.
“Somebody ass is looking like money,” Dena said, eying the ankle bracelet.
“Just a little present from one of my shorties,” Sharon said, holding her leg up so Dena could get a better look. “You like?”
“That shit is fly!”
“You know Harlem is the freshest borough; all we do is rest and dress.” Sharon snapped her fingers. “If you play your cards right I might introduce you to one of his peoples.”
“Listen to your little hot ass,” Dena teased her.
“I get it from my mama,” Sharon shot back. “Anyway, what you bout to get into?”
“I'm supposed to be hooking up with Lazy,” Dena told her.
“Romeo and Juliet, back at it,” Sharon teased her.
“Don't hate cause me and my man do more than clock the hourly rates at the Liberty.”
“Dena, don't play yourself. I ain't never been no Liberty bitch, it's the Marriot or nothing.”
“I know that's right.” Dena gave Sharon a high five. “So where the weed at?”
“You know Harlem got that
real
sticky. You ready to take that trip?”
Dena thought about it for a minute. “Nah, I can't boogie just yet. I'm trying to give Lazy the benefit of the doubt.” She dialed him on the cell, but got no answer. She hoped that he was at least on the train en route to get her.
“I'll bet. What y'all doing?”
“Probably go get something to eat after we catch
Dreamgirls,
” Dena told her.
“That shit still playing?” Sharon asked, knowing that the movie was months old.
“Only in certain spots. I went on the Internet and found a theater in the Village that's still showing it.”
“Y'all'd be better off getting the bootleg,” Sharon said. “Where that fat bitch Mo at?”
“Better watch ya mouth before she hear you and put them things on ya lil ass,” Dena teased her.
“Knock it off, D. Mo is my bitch, but you know I get busy.”
“You get busy, but I catch wreck,” Mo said as she came down the stairs. She had a burning Newport hanging from her lips and a Haitian kid named Hans on her heels.
“So what's up, baby, you gonna stop playing and come see me or what?” Hans asked in a heavy accent. His slim frame rocked from side to side making sure she saw the gold chain dangling from his neck.
“I'll think about it,” Monique said seductively. “As a matter of fact, I need you to do me a solid.”
“Whatever you need, baby, I got you.” Hans licked his lips.
Monique leaned in and began whispering into Hans's ear, letting her tongue graze his lobe. By the time she was finished Hans was on
his way up the block with his boys and Mo had two dime sacks of chocolate in her purse.
“Now, that's how you do business,” Mo said, giving Dena and Sharon high fives.
“My bitch is always on her job!” Sharon laughed.
“Somebody gotta be,” Mo capped back. “What you bitches doing standing around like you selling pussy?”
“You got the nerve, looking like you fresh off the track.” Sharon pinched the front of Monique's shorts.
“If that ain't the damn pot. Your butt is too big to be tucked up under that short-ass skirt.” Monique nodded at the skirt that Sharon had to pull down in the back every so often. Had a strong gust of wind came through, the whole world would've been able to see her panties, if she was even wearing any.
“Don't hate, bitch.”
“Whatever, ho,” Mo shot back.
“Why don't y'all cut it out?” Dena cut in, sounding a little annoyed.
“What the hell is your problem?” Mo asked.
“Lazy got her ass waiting again.” Sharon volunteered.
“Why don't you mind your damn business?” Dena snapped.
Mo just shook her head. “Dena, I don't know why you're mad at her. You need to be mad at yourself.”
“Myself? What the hell for?”
“Because you let him set you up for the bullshit every time.”
“Mo, you don't know what you're talking about,” Dena said, dialing him again and still getting no answer.
Monique folded her arms across her large breasts. “Baby girl, you and I both know that's the biggest lie ever told. Don't get it fucked up, D, I got love for Lazy, too, but the boy ain't never on time. Its like I told you before, niggaz don't do shit quick but cum.”
“Amen to that!” Sharon gave Mo a high five.
“Fuck the both of y'all.” Dena tried to front like she wasn't tight, but inside she was steaming. She hadn't seen Lazy in almost a week, but she understood he had business to handle, so she didn't complain.
Lazy was on his grind, and she was cool with that as long as she got some quality time in with him, but that seemed to have gone to the left. She had been waiting all week to see
Dreamgirls
with him and he had pulled another no-show, something he was starting to do pretty regularly. Lazy had never been the most prompt person, but he was fucking up more and more as of late. Dena's mind told her that something wasn't right, but her heart wouldn't allow her to accept it. Dena had guy friends that she allowed to spend paper on her, but Lazy was her heart. Just the thought that he might be fucking someone else made her nauseous.
“Fuck that. Y'all can stand around here all afternoon if you want to, but I'm taking my ass uptown. A bitch gotta get her sexy on, for tonight anyway,” Sharon told them.
“Tonight, what's popping uptown?” Mo asked anxiously.
Sharon looked at her in disbelief. “Damn, y'all don't get cable in Brooklyn? Stacks Green is in town shooting his video, so you know all the ballers are coming out in full force.”
“That Texas nigga with all the gold in his mouth?” Dena asked.
“It's platinum now, baby. They're gonna be in New York all week, doing it up.”
“Now you know I gotta be there,” Mo said, checking her hair in her compact mirror. “Somebody has got to show you Harlem bitches how to stunt. I gotta jet back to the crib and get fly. D, you rolling?”
Dena thought on it for a minute. Lazy was already twenty minutes late, so it was obvious that he was on his bullshit, and it made no sense to stand around and wait on his tired ass. “Fuck it, come on.”
“That's what I'm talking about,” Sharon said excitedly. “Y'all bitches hurry up though, cause the 40/40 Club is supposed to be jumping tonight, too.”
Dena gave her a confused look. “Sharon, you know damn well we ain't old enough to get into the 40/40.”
“Stop being a lame, Dena, you know I wouldn't put it out there if I didn't have a plan,” Sharon told her.
“Say no more. Lets get up outta here,” Dena said, leading her crew to the train station.
TWENTY-TWO BLOCKS SOUTH, A FAMILIAR
face was descending the steps of the two-thirty Greyhound bus, just arrived from Charlotte, North Carolina. He had long since shed his braids, and twenty pounds due to stress, but for the most part Larry Love looked the same.
For the last few months he had been selling crack out of a housing project in Greensborough. Marlene was less than pleased with the stunt Larry had pulled and had spared no expense trying to have him captured and prosecuted for it; but the hustler was always one step ahead of her. He'd sold the car and added the cash to the money he'd fleeced from her and used it to buy cocaine. Larry had a cousin who was already doing his thing down in N.C., so it was easy for him to get established; but staying that way proved to be something different. It didn't take long before some young wolves ran in the crib and put two in Larry's cousin, taking all the work and the money. If it wasn't for the fact that Larry had been out tricking on a bitch that night, he'd be dead, too. Not one to take a blessing for granted, he made tracks back north.
When Larry exited the Port Authority he almost expected Paul to be standing there waiting for him, like old times, but he wasn't. Larry's betrayal had helped to contribute to that. Never in a million years did he think that Paul would off himself, but he had. The strain of what had happened with his son, or not-son, was coupled with Larry and Marlene's betrayal. If Larry could've done it all over again, he'd have never fucked Marlene, because the price that came with it was higher than he was ready to pay. Every time he thought about how he had done his man he cried, but there was no amount of tears that could bring back the dead.
Larry hadn't even known he was crying until the warm tear hit his cheek. Wiping it away, he made his way out of the station and lost himself in the crowd.