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Authors: Kelli London

Boyfriend Season (11 page)

BOOK: Boyfriend Season
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She was nervous, but she went anyway. What other choice did she have? She guessed she could've questioned it, but didn't see the point. How many times would she have like this in her life with a posse of people who were there just to cater to her? No one else. Just her. She disrobed, turned on the shower, and stepped under the spray.
Take this, Bishop. You're wrong; every boy doesn't just want the cow's milk. I believe this one wants the cow.
10
SANTANA
S
antana gripped her real-looking faux Gucci silencer bag next to her side. It'd been a minute since she and Meka had been boosting, and her summer wardrobe was a dead giveaway. She'd worn two shirts from last season, and it was putting a major dent in her swag. Her eyes darted around as they headed to the glass-enclosed bank of elevators in the underground parking lot. Phipps Plaza had too much security and undercover officers to be a quick and easy hit, and she felt it in her soul.
“I don't know about this, Meka. Something don't feel right.”
Meka strutted and tossed back her lace-front wig as if she'd grown the hair herself. “Girl, it's good. You just feel like that because we doing higher-quality stores this time. You just godda have a higher-quality attitude. You deserve this, you own this,” she encouraged, pushing open the glass door and hopping on an awaiting elevator.
Santana huffed. “Okay. I'm gonna trust you, Meka.”
Meka side-eyed her and puckered out her pouted glossy lips. “You always do. And why wouldn't you? I gotcha back! Come on. Gucci first, then Louis.”
Santana reluctantly followed Meka. She slowed her usual walk, and took her time. She was in no rush to go to jail, and the smell of barred cells and fingerprints was in the air. Gucci awaited them with a wide door, a moderately filled room, and overfriendly staff. Santana watched as Meka zeroed in on a cute sales guy with a bright smile and warm demeanor. From a distance they looked like friends, but Santana knew better because she knew Meka. And Meka didn't socialize—especially when she was boosting. If anything, they knew to keep attention off them.
“Ooh, can I see that one?” Meka asked, pointing to a bag.
The guy nodded, turned, and grabbed the purse, handing it to her. “That'll be on sale . . .” He stopped, looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening. “. . . . tonight,” he whispered.
Santana averted her eyes, then drifted out of the store to answer a call. “'Ey Baby!” she cooed into the phone, “I'm almost ready. Just here at the mall picking up a few new 'fits for the trip. What time are we leaving?”
“Soon as I finish up some bidness, about seven-somethin'.”
Santana looked at her watch. She had almost eight hours to shop and pack. “Cool. I can't wait!”
“Me too, shawty. You got yo man all to yo'self for four whole days. What you gone do wit that?”
Santana smiled. “Wait and see. I'll call you back when I'm ready, baby.”
“You on the phone having a make-out session?” Meka quizzed, laughing. “That Pharaoh got you on straight lock. If I was you, I'd pick me up a lil somethin'-somethin' sexy wear. Ya heard?” Meka said, headed toward Louis Vuitton. “You can pick up something in the store connected to it. They have some pretty stuff.”
Santana smirked, following behind Meka. Picking up some cute lounge wear was exactly what she would do. She guessed coming to Phipps wasn't a bad idea after all. “I'm gonna go in here and cop some cute pieces.”
Meka nodded and headed toward the Louis store. “Meet me in here if you finish first, and vice versa. Ooh,” she cooed like she was in love. “My girl's working in here today. I'm gonna clean up!”
Santana walked through the store until she made it to the juniors section. She yawned, bored with the little-girl gear they offered. Didn't they know that teenagers liked luxurious wear like grown-ups? Everybody didn't do pink and frilly.
“Whatever,” she said aloud, turning toward the women's section, sure she'd find something there. She felt fabrics, fingered the lace, and found she didn't like their stuff either. Maybe it was just the store, she thought, then headed out to meet Meka in Louis.
Before she could step foot inside the store, she spotted Meka in the back by the luggage. She seemed to be in deep conversation with a female sales associate.
She's racking up,
crossed her mind as she wondered how much Meka would have to pay the girl for whatever it was she was getting.
“They didn't have nothing. . . .”
Meka whipped her head toward Santana and made a face. Santana drew her eyebrows together.
What's she saying?
Again, Meka screwed her face, then slightly turned her head.
“What?” Santana whispered, watching her best friend. “Oh . . .” Now she got it, Meka didn't want her to mess up her play. Santana turned around to leave and ran smack dead into a huge policeman's chest.
“Her, too!” someone said. “I saw them come in together. She's an accomplice.”
“Happy it ain't me.” Santana looked around for the person they were talking about, glad it couldn't be her because today she hadn't stolen anything. But a quick grab of her shoulder and the double clink of handcuffs being slapped on her wrists, told her three things: She didn't know what she was talking about, you didn't have to steal to be taken into police custody, and there was nothing fly about crime. She was guilty by association.
 
Her head hurt, and her butt felt flat as a pancake. She'd been sitting in the hard plastic chair for a short eternity. After being asked her name and parents' information, she'd been held in a room that looked like something she'd seen on a cop show on television. Dull beige concrete walls, two-way mirror, table with three chairs, tape and video recorder, and WANTED Crime Stoppers posters on the back of the closed door. She shook her head, then placed it in her hands. She didn't know how she'd gotten here, not today. She'd gone boosting, sure, but she hadn't stolen anything and wasn't able to find out what Meka had taken. In fact, she hadn't been allowed to see or talk to Meka.
The door opened and a female officer walked in. She grabbed one of the chairs, slid it to her, and straddled it.
“What have you learned, Santana?” The officer's tone was dry.
The watch on the officer's arm read 4:47.
Good
. If they let her go now like she thought they would, that meant she had enough time to make it to Pharaoh.
“Do you hear me?” the officer repeated.
Santana just looked at her. The woman must've been out of her tree, or just didn't know any better. There was no way Santana was going to talk to her. People didn't talk where she came from. That was the code of the streets.
Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil.
Santana was sure the “no evils” came from somewhere else—she'd heard about them at school—but they also applied to the hood. If you heard something, you pretended you didn't. If you knew of someone doing wrong, you didn't speak on it. And if you saw something, you turned a blind eye. So Santana decided she'd be deaf, mute, and blind.
“All right,” the officer gave in, rising off the chair. “You'll be back, trust me. I see girls like you come in here all the time. You get to go today, but we have a revolving door.” She waved her hand, beckoning Santana. “Come on, your family has come to get you.”
Santana got up and sucked her teeth as loud as she could. How dare the officer assume she'd be back?
That's what's wrong with the system,
she thought. Authority always condemned, then wondered why you couldn't be saved.
“I betcha a dollar to a dime, you won't see me again. Did it ever cross your mind that I didn't do anything wrong—that's why I was held and not charged?”
The officer waved her away. “You did something wrong, even if it was just picking the wrong friend to hang out with. Go pick up a book.”
To Santana's surprise, Gully was waiting for her. He had his face in his hands, but she could spot him anywhere. The same leather loafers minus socks, shorts above the knees, and a crisp polo shirt were three giveaways.
“Gully?” Santana called out to him. “What're you doing here? I thought I had to have an adult sign me out.”
Gulliver stood, straightening the creases in his shorts. Worry was etched in his face. “An adult did—your mother. She had something to do so she asked me to wait for you and take you home.”
Something to do?
Santana was angry and relieved. Upset because everything was more important to her mother than Santana, and she was relieved because she didn't want her mother to slap her teeth on the jailhouse floor for embarrassing her.
“Okay, and before you ask, I don't want to talk about it. I didn't steal nothing or break any laws.”
As Santana unlocked her front door, she wondered why Gully was behind her. Just as she requested, he hadn't said a thing to her on the entire ride home. But he did keep looking at her as if he wanted to, and his stare had made her uncomfortable because she felt see-through.
“Come in,” Craig said, sitting on the middle seat on the sofa. “Gulliver, please wait on us in my office. This will only take a minute.”
Santana's eyes rolled in her head. First her mother had appointed Gully as her ride; now she'd somehow given Craig stepdaddy rights. She could just feel a father-daughter talk brewing. But there was a problem. She didn't have a father, and unless Craig had gone half on a baby girl with some other woman, he certainly didn't have a daughter.
Sure enough, he patted the seat next to him. “Let's talk, Santana. Come have a seat.”
Because he'd been respectful to both her and her mother, had given her room back, and had gone out of his way to make the trio feel like a family, Santana sat. Just not next to him. She tossed her purse on the floor, and plopped down in the chair.
“What's up?” she asked, then stared at a spot over his head to avoid his eyes.
He paused and exhaled. “I volunteered to talk to you for your mother. Look at me, Santana. . . . As I said, I volunteered because your mother's upset and we're both highly disappointed.” He threw up his hands, and laughed a little. “But you know what, Santana? This isn't your fault, not entirely.”
Her eyes zoomed in on him. Finally, someone understood.
“It's your environment. Where you live, go to school, who you hang out with.” He nodded in agreement with himself. “But all that's going to change. Today while you were in Phipps or jail, I was in my attorney's office closing on a house for us. A house in a wonderful, safe neighborhood, in one of the best school districts—but that doesn't count because you'll be going to a very elite, year-round preparatory school to ready you for college.”
“Huh?” Her jaw went south again, but not because someone had taken her bedroom furniture and moved it. It hung because they were trying to take away her life. “Huh?”
Craig nodded and smiled. He was clearly pleased with himself. “Yes, you heard right. We're a family now, and as a man it's my job to take care of my family.”
Santana just stared at him.
“And that's why your mother and I've decided that you're on punishment. So wherever you've packed your bag to go, you can consider cancelled. Oh, and that computer that was in your room—it's gone. My guy Gulliver is going to help you build your own computer. That's how you can redeem yourself and prepare for your new school.” He held out his hand. “And your mother wants your phone.”
11
DYNASTY
“
R
ufus, I'm telling you, those girls were squabbling!” Dynasty's voice rose as she punched her fist in her palm. “Straight getting it in. It was like one minute, yo”—she put her fist in her hand again—“then the next . . .
word
.”
She sat on the bench of the raggedy picnic table telling him about the fight she'd seen when she and City went to the barbecue while Sheeka, an almost mute neighborhood kitchen beautician who could hear, but couldn't speak, braided her hair. She shook her head despite Sheeka trying to make her be still. It was just hard to believe the nice girls who'd sold City the clothes he'd bought her could be so brutal. As soon and she and City pulled into the park looking for a parking space, out of nowhere the girl named Santana blew by them and punched some girl in the face.
“I swear, Rufus, the way Santana was beating up that girl you'd swear she had batteries taped to her palms. Then her home girl jumped in when the other girls tried to jump Santana. After that”—she waved her hand in front of her neck in a cutting motion—“dead. Santana and Meka deaded that. Then some dude named Pharaoh—Santana's boyfriend—went to beat up somebody's daddy. He was cute too—Pharaoh, not the daddy.”
Rufus made a face. “You stupid.”
Dynasty looked at Rufus, and would've kicked herself if she could. Every time she tried to be nice to him, show him some attention so he wouldn't have to fake a heart problem to get noticed, he pulled a turncoat move on her.
“You know what, Rufus? You got two faces, and ain't neither one of them cute. You're just jealous.” She turned away from him and picked up her dictionary while Sheeka made a sound indicating she was laughing and popped her in the head with the comb as a way of telling Dynasty to stay still. Dynasty flipped the pages and scanned through the
A
s. “Asinine: stupid.” She slid her fingers, swiping the paper until she reached
F
. “Foolhardy: stupid.”
“I know you ain't talking about me, Dynasty. You're the stupid one. You're so stupid you forgot how to be yourself. Ever since you started hanging with City, you talk like him. When did you get excited about a fight? And start saying ‘yo' and ‘word' and ‘deaded'?”
She shut the dictionary, then deadpanned him when Sheeka finished her last braid. Without taking her eyes off Rufus, she paid Sheeka, and gave her a big hug as a way of saying thanks. “I'll see you in a couple of weeks to get the front tightened up, okay?”
Sheeka nodded, pocketed the money, and began collecting the leftover fake hair and braiding supplies.
Dynasty flung her braids over her shoulder. “So, I sound like City now? Well, better than sounding like you, Dufus. So since I sound like City, let me use one of his words when I say this. Here's your
gem
—that's City's word for a gift of wisdom—gem, pearl, jewel. You get it. Your gem: Asinine—stupid. Foolhardy—stupid, and Rufus is—guess what?—stupid, too.”
Sheeka made her laughing sound as she made her way down the walk. She stomped her foot to get both Dynasty's and Rufus's attention, then waved.
Rufus put his hand on his hip, then pretended to toss hair over his shoulder. He was mocking her. “Well at least I'm in good company, 'cause you're stupid, too. ‘Least I'm not the one acting like I got this and that 'cause I got some new books and clothes—that I'm gonna have to pay for . . . without cash, but something that rhymes with it!”
Dynasty's head almost fell off from Rufus hitting her with his nonsense again. “I don't have to sleep with anybody, Rufus! Are you serious? Is that all you think about?” She shrugged. “I guess you'd have to 'cause don't nobody—especially me—want you.”
“I'm telling you this 'cause we're
friends
. People don't do stuff for you for nothing. What you expect from him? He's Pork Chop's grandson, so you know he probably gonna be greasy and sleazy just like Pork Chop. That's why Pork Chop's name is
Pork Chop
. He a big old greasy, sleazy pig.”
“And that means what? My momma's name is Lipstick 'cause she outlines her lips
way
outside of her natural lip line and wears more lipstick than Maybelline wears makeup. But do you see me doing the same thing—wearing a ton of paint on my mouth?”
“If I'm stupid, you're naive. Betcha you didn't think I knew that word. But you watch! He's gonna hurt you or run game on you. City is slick just like the city,” he said, getting off the table and shuffling toward the sidewalk. “And you better not tell him I said so. . . .”
“Why, you scared?” yelled Dynasty, looking at her dollar-store watch. City told her he'd be by at four o'clock, and she needed to get dressed. There was no way she was going to make him wait, especially after he invited her to an overnight getaway party being held at a cabin. She didn't know how she was going to pull it off, but she had to. He'd also alluded to having a job for her. A real one.
Rufus raised a power-to-the-people fist into the air, then flipped up his middle finger. “Bet you'll need me first . . . and
stupid
me won't be there. Watch yourself, your Aunt Makeup—oops, I mean Maybelline—is on her way, and she has a beer in each hand and mismatched shoes on. Maybe City can buy you a medicine dispenser to keep her brain tight.”
Dang
. She saw her aunt waiting by the corner of the building, peeking around like she was spying on someone. She jumped back, then looked again. Then did it a third time. Dynasty knew Rufus was right. Her aunt couldn't have taken her medicine, and Dynasty was starting to suspect her aunt was more than bipolar.
“Dynasty! Get over here and bring my shoes,” Aunt Maybelline yelled, walking into sight.
Dynasty looked down at her feet like she'd forgotten what shoes she had on, and sure enough, her tennis shoes were still there. “Ma'am?” she called, walking toward her aunt, and figuring out a way to go with City. “Do you need me to help you find your shoes before I go to school?” She figured she might as well have fun.
Aunt Maybelline waited for her, then worked her heft to their apartment steps. She looked back at Dynasty, and she saw that her aunt's eyebrows were drawn on crooked. One was in a high arch, the other was a straight line. She put an unlit cigarette to her lips and inhaled, held in the nonexistent smoke, then blew.
“School? It's summer.” She stepped into the apartment.
Dynasty followed her aunt inside. “You know I'm going to sleepaway camp for the weekend with the Winchester Hills Prep School—the one I've been trying to get into. You signed the permission slip
last
week. And if I don't go”—she shrugged—“there may not be any prize money or lifetime supply of beer. You know the Beer for Life contest?”
Aunt Maybelline held her face down, then looked sideways at Dynasty under the high-arched brow. Her superlong fake lashes fluttered.
“Prize money . . . prize money . . . a Beer for Life . . .” She smiled, then pulled on the unlit cigarette again. “That's right. I almost forgot. A Beer for Life just like the lottery, Win for Life! Well, you better hurry up then.” Then her aunt froze as if something had registered. “Wait, how are you gonna get beer if you're only thirteen. Didn't you just turn thirteen?”
Dynasty's breath caught in her throat, but then she remembered who she was talking to. Opening her mouth wide, she forced herself to laugh. She reached over and kissed Aunt Maybelline on the cheek, hoping none of the cream rouge rubbed off on her lips. “Ma'am you are too funny! I'll take that as a compliment, though. You know I'm eighteen, I just look thirteen. But, we got good genes. Huh? Don't worry about it. Remember the permission slip said you'd win and have to sign for the beer at Mr. Curtis's store. No one's giving me alcohol!” She jogged up the stairs and made her way through the maze of stuff on the floor, so she could pack her bag. City wouldn't have to wait.
 
The drive had taken a while, but finally they'd made it. Stepping out of the car, Dynasty looked around just as she did on the way. She couldn't believe people lived like this. Everything was so quiet and peaceful. There were no corner boys, drugs addicts, or homeless people with signs. She'd never ventured out this far. The farthest she'd been was to Alpharetta, and that was only because of City.
“You ready, Dynasty?” he asked, taking a duffel bag from the backseat. “We got work to do, people to meet, places to go. Time for us to get this money, honey.” He licked his lips, and made her wonder if they tasted like chocolate, the way his skin looked. “You can leave your bag in the car—we got everything we need right here.” He patted the bag. “Oops, can't forget my magic.” He popped the trunk, went into it, then closed it. He held up a bottle with gold foil on top.
Champagne?
The door opened before they could knock. Pharaoh, Santana's boyfriend, gave City a pound, then ushered them inside. It took all Dynasty had in her not to ask him where his girlfriend was. She wanted to see her, show off the hundred-dollar jeans and strapless shirt Santana had picked out. They'd bought the outfit from her, so she felt styled by her. In the corner, she spotted Meka, and was glad that she had someone other than City to talk to. There seemed to be dozens of guys in the house, and she knew City would wind up hanging with them, though she hoped not. But if that did happen, at least there was one familiar face besides Pharaoh's in the house.
City kept the duffel bag close to his side, patting it every now and then as he spoke to Pharaoh. Dynasty stood by his side, not knowing what else to do. She nodded hello over and over again as people made their way over to them. She could tell Pharaoh was the host of the party, but City was the celebrity.
“So what y'all drinking on?” Pharaoh asked as some girl slid under his arm.
Dynasty's eyes bulged, then shot toward where Meka was standing. Meka gave her a knowing look and a crooked smile. She could tell neither could believe what they were seeing. The girl was the one Santana had beaten up at the park.
City held up his bottle, popped the cork, then took it to head, guzzling it down. He handed it to Dynasty, nodding for her to do the same. Was he crazy? she wondered. She didn't drink alcohol.
“Oh, I forgot. . . .” Pharaoh said. “You always come prepared with your drink of choice,” he teased in TV commercial voice.
City winked at her. “That's not alcohol, Dynasty. It's imported sparkling cider. Real hustlers don't drink or do drugs.” He shot a playful look at Pharaoh. “I'll be right back. Dynasty, walk with me.”
She walked next to him, and snuck a whiff of the bottle. Sure enough, he hadn't lied. “What's up?”
He pointed out a few guys. “See them? I got something for them. That's the real reason we're here. We're in and out—we're not spending the night. We don't get down like that. We here to make this paper. Broaden our connections so we can build the dynasty I told you about.” He unzipped the duffel, then retrieved a paper bag. “Nod at them, and when they nod back, give them the peace sign. If they nod again, then they're in. We got two for twenty, a set for thirty, and one for five hundred jumping off in here. And now you, miss. You wanted to know how you'd have to pay me back. Well, this is it. You are now into distribution.” He patted the top of her head. “I'll be over there talking to my people. You remember Meka?”
Her jaw fell toward the floor. Her stomach turned. She felt like she needed to pee. She couldn't believe Rufus was right. City had only brought her to the party to engage in something illegal. But what could she do? She was with him in the woods, in the middle of nowhere.
BOOK: Boyfriend Season
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