A Deeper Love Inside (31 page)

“I’ll make it!” I volunteered, to break up the tension. The kid placing the order looked at me like he didn’t care who made it.

“Just hurry up,” he said. I looked towards Big Johnnie for approval. His eyes said, “Let me see you try.” I quickly scooted to the back, washed my hands, and put the sandwich together all in less than a minute and fifteen seconds. The schoolboy paid, grabbed the wrapped sandwich, and taunted Big Johnnie on the way out. “If she was ugly, I’d ask you if she was your daughter.” He laughed.

“That’s what a compliment from a fool sounds like,” Big Johnnie told me.

Our conversation was interrupted by a steady flow of customers. I used each gap in time to check things out. I acted like I wasn’t searching for anything. My eyes, used to searching and counting, caught it all, even Big Johnnie’s two guns, one big, one small.

“I’ll wake my aunt up on time. I’ll help her clean. I could make sandwiches and wrap ’em in Saran wrap so they already ready. They would be fresh. Made on the same day of business, ready to sell at 6:06 a.m. each morning. Please, Mister. It seems like you need some help in here. I noticed you don’t get along too well with nobody.” He laughed.

“For one month?” he asked me for the third time.

“One month,” I said. I already knew I would tell him a new lie later.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“How much do I get? I mean how much do you pay for jobs, my aunt’s, and for the sandwich maker?” I asked.

“One hundred a week for your aunt. For you, it depends on how the sandwiches sell. Customers might take to ’em, might not. I’ll pay you fifty cent a sandwich,” he said. I looked at him like it wasn’t enough. Then I switched my face and agreed.

“And listen . . .,” he said. “Every item in my store is counted and accounted for. If I’m missing one lollipop, one slice of deli meat, one can of tuna—”

“I don’t steal. We don’t steal,” I interrupted him.

“Good, then we have an understanding,” he said.

“Has anything been missing before I got here?” I asked.

“Only thing been missing is your aunt. She comes and goes. She’s not reliable. You look reliable,” he said.

“How much does she pay you for rent?” I asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said strangely.

“But if she earns four hundred a month are you gonna deduct—”

“I said don’t concern yourself with that. Your aunt never made four hundred dollars in one month. She never showed up four weeks in a row, Monday through Friday.”

“But if she does show up . . .,” I pressed.

“If she does what she suppose to, she’ll get what she’s suppose to get.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Can I start tomorrow?”

“You already started today,” he said, pressing a button on his register. He placed two quarters on the counter for the baloney sandwich I made. As I was leaving out, he asked me, “Kid, don’t you think you should tell me your name?”

“It’s Ivory,” I said instantly.

“Like the soap,” he joked.

As I checked out the whole block of businesses, only one store next door didn’t have a sign and was filled with old junk that I guessed needed fixing. Bernard the Butcher, Esmeralda’s Beauty Salon, World of Flowers, and The Golden Needle were clean and neat places. I wondered why the rent was something Big Johnnie wouldn’t discuss with me. I would find out from Momma when she got back. She left out last night saying, “I gotta go get something.” She wouldn’t allow me to come and she wasn’t back in the morning. I wouldn’t let it get me down. I was gonna make her living space a place she could be happy returning to, so she would come home each night and sleep beside me. I was gonna treat her like a queen.

The Golden Needle! I had been standing in front of the place lost in my thoughts. Then it dawned on me, what a pretty name for a store. I looked in. The sunlight made it impossible for me to see. When I pressed my face against the glass, I was face-to-face with a woman working her sewing machine. She looked up. Her expression soon as she saw me was like I was peeping in on her while she was doing something real personal. I pulled my face back, embarrassed, and kept it moving.
Oh, like needle and thread
, I thought to myself.
The Golden Needle, it’s a sewing shop.

As I crossed over to the apartment building directly across the
street, I decided I would buy something small from each shop and use it as an opportunity to see what I could get from it. The same way I had to meet and greet each Diamond Needle, I would do the same on my new block. Instead of bringing them each a gift to break the ice, I would just let my purchase from each of them serve as my tribute.

Six blocks down, at the dollar store, I found everything I needed for a thorough cleanup at the right price. I was ready to get started, even excited. Hell, I could’ve been mopping floors at the C-dorm for a bunch of bitches I didn’t love. Now I’m here making things sparkle for someone I did love.

As I balanced a broomstick, string mop, and sponge mop, the dustpan, three plastic bags, and a box which contained my used radio/record/CD player, it took me twice as long to reach the back alley to Big Johnnie’s store, where we lived beneath the floor and iron gate.

Listening to Junior Mafia’s joint “Get Money” got me amped. I cuffed up my jeans, tucked my tee, and threw on my rubber gloves. It took about an hour of hard work before I got dizzy. I didn’t know why. I ran up the cement stairs and pushed open the heavy iron gate. As air rushed in, my dizzy feeling began to disappear. I stood there at the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing. The bleaches and cleaning chemicals were so strong. I guess I could’ve passed out. I should have done like NanaAnna and cleaned things with lemons, limes, and lavender. I weighed the situation. If I left the iron lid open I would not faint. But, I might get robbed or raped by an uninvited creep. If I kept them closed, I would definitely pass out. So I left one side open and kept my new box cutter and my back-the-fuck-up pouch on me. If someone came down, I would see them first, blind ’em and slice ’em. I knew a lot could go wrong with my plan, so I cleaned as quickly as I could without missing a speck of dirt, grease, or crap. The minute I was done, I threw open both sides and kept them open as I sat on a crate in the alley out back, so the place could air out nicely. I was close and listening to my music float upstairs.

• • •

“A dozen roses,” I said to the woman in the flower shop.

“What color?” she asked.

“Some of all the colors that you have,” I said.

“Shall I arrange them for you?” she asked.

“Sounds good, thank you,” I said as I glanced around.

It smelled so nice in here, I thought. I wondered if twelve roses were enough to make this type of smell in the underground. The woman had disappeared into a back room, and then returned carrying three vases.

“Which one do you choose?” she asked. I pointed.

“Good selection,” she praised me.

Red, pink, white, yellow, and black were the options she had available for the beautiful roses.

“Give me five red, and five pinks. Then give me one white and one black,” I requested. “Oh and wrap the black and white separately.” I asked.

“No yellow, no problem,” she said politely.

“Get yellow for me,” Siri suggested suddenly. I don’t know how she knew that the black and white flowers represented me and Riot’s friendship.

“Have you seen these before? Would you like some?” the flower lady asked, pointing to some sticks speckled with teeny white blossoms. “They’re called baby’s breath,” she explained.

“No, thank you,” I said. “But could you give me one yellow sunflower from over there? That one.” I pointed.

“I’ll finish the roses first. Then we’ll get you the sunflower,” she said.

I smiled. Siri’s flower would be the sun that was missing in our underground.

As the flower lady arranged them nicely I asked, “Wouldn’t you like some help in here?”

She smiled. “I’ve been doing this on my own for six years now. I can handle it. As you see, there’s not a crowd of customers.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you have lots of customers. All of the businesses on this block seems pretty busy,” I said with made-up cheerfulness.

“The rent for these shops is high. Most of us are not in the position to hire. I’m lucky, my grandson helps out on weekends,” she said.

“So you don’t own this place?” I asked, looking around. I wanted her to tell me the amount of the rent. I knew she wouldn’t, so I didn’t ask. If I knew the amount maybe I could figure out from that what
amount of rent Momma should be paying, or even if she might be getting cheated.

“No, I don’t own this shop. One man owns all these shops on this block and the building across the street. He’s really nice, but business is business,” she said. “I still have to pay him every time on time.”

“Do you have someone to help you carry these?” she asked, placing the wrapped-up vase, the separately wrapped black and white roses, and the stem-wrapped sunflower on the counter.

“I don’t need any help. I’m staying with my aunt a few doors down. My name is Ivory. Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand. She seemed surprised at something.

“I figured you were new to our neighborhood. You sure ask a lot of questions. And you’re a pretty little thing, prettier than all the flowers in my shop.” She smiled, accepted my hand, and shook it lightly. “That’s $79.99,” she said, in a tone that was the same as though she was saying seven dollars. My shocked expression spread before I could hold it back. She smiled and said, “I told you the rent here is expensive.” Then she pointed to a sign on the wall, support black business. Right next to that sign was a sign saying buy black in bold letters.

I pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and laid it on the counter. She picked it up, pressed a button on her register, and handed me my change.

“Thank you,” I said. Even though I told her I didn’t need help, she walked me to the door carrying my vase with the ten roses, as I carried the other flowers.

Thinking quickly, I said, “Could you give me a chance to earn back some of the money I spent in here today? I can clean up, fold down used boxes, tie them up, water your plants, sweep your floors, even clean your windows,” I offered. “Even though the person I am buying these flowers for is really sick, I might get into trouble if I don’t have enough money left over to pay for her medicine.” I stared at the lady sadly.

“Well, you seem really smart and very well-mannered. I like that. The lesson in all of this is that you should always ask the price of something
before
you order it. Once these flowers are cut and ar
ranged at your request, they’re yours, no refunds.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Oh,” she said. “There he is.” She pointed through the front glass door of her shop.

“He owns everything. His name is Mr. Sharp. Maybe he’ll give you a little after-school job. He certainly can afford it. He works in The Golden Needle even though he certainly doesn’t have to. Ask your aunt first, if it’s okay to ask to work for him. Then, see if he agrees,” she recommended.

She pushed open the door. I understood her polite way of saying, “Get out! You’re not getting your money back.” I still forced out a smile and left. I cursed myself out all the way back. “Eighty fucking bucks!”

I could’ve got pretty flowers from the little Spanish men for eight or nine dollars. Then I thought of Lina. In my mind, she was setting me straight.

“Not little Spanish men, Latinos or Boriquas!” whatever that meant. I told myself that these expensive flowers better make Momma smile so bright, love me so much, and accept Siri, who I was gonna introduce to Momma tonight when I prepared all of us some chicken soup.

NanaAnna had taught me that soup prepared properly, with organic ingredients, healed the body. She had explained to me that garlic is a natural antibiotic and the many healing uses of garlic were in my recipe journal. Momma seemed a little sick to me. I hate hospitals. I was gonna try my best to heal Momma with foods that NanaAnna said are natural medicines.

“So this is our new place?” Siri asked me. We were underground. I had arranged all of the flowers and set them in the best places.

“It’s okay,” she said. “But will Momma like me?”

“Momma loves music. So hum and sing her your most beautiful song,” I honestly recommended.

It was almost four in the afternoon now. I had the filthy mattress cleaned up and lying up against the wall outside in the alley in the back of Big Johnnie’s store. With the living space cleaned like brand new and the stove looking like brand new, and the flowers smelling nicely, I raced down a bunch of blocks to buy sheets, pillows, a lamp,
two plates, a frying pan, and the groceries. Racing and running back and forth, I was sweating and thirsty. I didn’t eat that morning and my stomach was empty.

“A handful of almonds and raisins or three spoons filled with peanut butter to keep yourself from fainting,” NanaAnna had said to me after noticing my peculiar eating habits and fainting and collapsing spells. “If you don’t feed your body the right nutrition, your own body will attack you,” she taught me. “Poor nutrition leads to a sick body. A nutrition-starved brain leads to all kinds of psychological problems,” she once said before breaking it down so carefully, so I could understand her. “If you don’t eat right and it develops into a starved brain, then psychological problems, they’ll give you chemical medicine that will steal your smile, jumble your thoughts, then kill you.”

The smell of the healing chicken soup filled up our place. “It better work,” I said to myself. I was recalling how many blocks I had to walk to find foods that were organic: tomatoes, potatoes, garlic, ginger, onions, carrots, and celery. Not to mention, organic thyme and chili peppers. The cost of the organic vegetables, herbs, fruits, and other seasonings was so extreme that I began to panic in the expensive organic market. The money from my money tree was drifting out of my hands triple time in that store.

Siri got me to take deep breaths in the bakery aisle. She told me to smell the sugar! I inhaled the scent of organic apple pies and oven-baked cookies and cupcakes. I calmed down.