The Coldest Winter Ever (23 page)

Next time I see Simone I would remember to ask her to sniff around and see if anyone in the Brooklyn neighborhood had heard from or seen Midnight. If anybody knew of his whereabouts, if anything had been said or even whispered, Natalie would know it. It would be hard to get Simone to ask Natalie about him because since me and her started hanging out Simone made it clear that Natalie gets on her nerves. Plus Natalie would know that Simone was asking about Midnight for me. You know she wasn’t tryna help me out. But I was sure if anybody would know, Natalie would. If Natalie knew, somebody else around the way knew, ’cause Natalie can’t ever keep her mouth shut!

It had been months since Midnight had left me. Santiaga’s letter brought him back to the centerfold of my thoughts. It had been weeks since I had laid there in the dark imagining his fine body on top of me. No doubt I still had mad love for him. If what Daddy wanted would lead me to being able to see Midnight again, then locating him could make both me and Daddy happy at the same time. My thoughts were interrupted by Rashida’s voice. I thought she had fallen asleep.

“Remember when you asked me to ask Souljah if she knew somebody named Midnight? Well I did. And, I think the reason you don’t like Sister Souljah is because of a man.”

“What?”
I responded, with my ears at attention. “I told you I don’t even know her.”

“Yeah, but you know this guy Midnight. From the look on Souljah’s face when I asked her if she knew Midnight, she knew him well. You know, like in a man-woman way.” I felt the heat in my body rising. I sat stiff in the dark waiting for Rashida to continue on her own. But she didn’t.

“What did she tell you?” I asked, trying to sound half interested.

“Oh, now you’re interested in what Souljah has to say!” Rashida said with a chuckle. I could tell she thought she had the upper hand on me. So I played cool.

“No, I’m just saying, Rashida, did Souljah tell you that Midnight was her man or something?”

“Don’t try to play it off, Winter. I can hear it in your voice. You’re in love with this guy and Sister Souljah is
his
girl so you don’t like her. You’re jealous!”

Needing to stab her back because she was tryna score points on me I said, “What would Sister Souljah be doing with a drug dealer as a boyfriend?” Rashida became quiet. So I continued. “Wouldn’t that make Souljah a fake, dating a drug dealer?”

“Is Midnight a drug dealer?” Rashida asked, as if she didn’t hear what I said.

“Is Midnight Souljah’s man?” I pushed, waiting on an answer.

Rashida, in a less confident tone now, added, “Well Souljah didn’t say Midnight was her man. She just had a look on her face when I mentioned his name, like there was some love there. You know she had one of those smiles you see in the movies, like Diana Ross had for Billie Dee Williams, or Jada Pinkett had for Allen Payne, or like Nia Long had for Larenz Tate in
Love Jones.
You know what I mean.”

I pictured Rashida’s dumb ass sitting in the dark trying to duplicate the smile. I decided right then and there that she’s a crazy bitch who definitely can’t be trusted to be my middleman in any negotiation. I’d squeeze her for as much as I could get out of her. Then I’d cut her ass off.

“So what else did Souljah say?”

“Well,” Rashida said reluctantly. “She got curious about how I
knew Midnight. I told her I didn’t know him but have a friend who does.”

“What did she say then?”

“She said she had spoken to Midnight recently and he was doing much better.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

My mind was listening for each little detail. What did Souljah mean Midnight was
doing much better.
Was he sick or something? Rashida, still trying to put two and two together for herself said, “So, am I right? Are you in love with Midnight? Is he a drug dealer?”

“No,” I said to Rashida, “I’m just like you. I don’t love nobody. Midnight is my first cousin. We grew up together. He moved away and I haven’t heard from him. My mother practically raised him. I need him to get in touch with my mom right away, just in case anything happens with her illness, you know?” Rashida became quiet. “He’s not a drug dealer. I just said that to shake you up a little. You should never just follow somebody the way you follow Souljah. Just think how disappointed you would have been if she turned out to be a hypocrite.”

“True,” Rashida mumbled, “but she’s not a hypocrite. She’s for the people. She’s helped me a lot personally just being able to talk to her, to know she’s actually listening and really loves me means a whole lot.”

“Do you really believe she
loves
you?”

“I’m just saying …” Rashida backtracked. “She cares about how my life turns out, how my story ends, that’s more than I can say about a bunch of people. Even people in my own family.”

“Whatever, Rashida,” I said shortly, dismissing her.

“I really wish you would come to meet Souljah or join her woman-hood class or something.”

“Not hardly,” I shot back.

Early Sunday morning I called Simone. I didn’t get no answer. Maybe she decided to give somebody some of that pregnant pussy. I couldn’t be mad at that. Simone had worked hard for her baby. She deserved a good fuck. I laughed just thinking about what type of position a dude would have to twist her up into just to get close to her stuff. I bounced out to the stores for the rest of the day. I had ideas that needed to be taken care of.

When I got back to the house late in the afternoon, seconds after I
arrived, Lashay called me to the phone. I stepped into the corridor to pick it up.

“Winter! Are you sitting down?” Simone’s voice asked.

“What,” I laughed, “are you having triplets or something?”

“I got knocked.”

“What?”

“I’m
locked down.
I been here all weekend long. I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m dying to get the fuck out.”

“What happened?”

“What happened? That stupid-ass pink dress happened, that’s what. That shit was so fly they had security guards just to watch
it!
Anyway, I need fifteen hundred dollars to make bail.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars,” I repeated. “Why so much? What ever happened to ROR [released on your own recognizance]?”

“Yeah well, they seen me down here more than a couple of times before. So the crab-ass judge tryna lock me down for a year. If these motherfuckers try to take my baby, they gonna have to upgrade my charges to murder!”

“Alright, Simone, who do you want me to see about the money? Who do I need to talk to?”

“Stop fucking around, Winter. This shit ain’t funny. Just put the loot up and we’ll make it back as soon as I walk out this dump.”

“What about your money? Where were you keeping that stashed?”

“You mean the
baby’s money?
I can’t touch it, Winter. It’s for the baby. Come on, just do me this one solid. I’ll hit you right back soon as you bail me out.
You know how we do!”

“Can’t you get it from your moms or anybody else?”

“Winter, that’s a dumb-ass question. You know the runnings. I can’t get shit that I don’t make for myself.”

“So why can’t you use the baby’s money to get yourself out? Then you could make the baby’s money back.”

“Damn, Winter! Because anything could happen with the baby. The way these motherfuckers got me stressed the shit could drop out right now. Winter, listen, I might have to use the baby’s money for a lawyer anyhow. They sent some legal aid guy with a nervous twitch and a nasty skin problem. He’s already talking about plead guilty and shit like that. This motherfucker was kicking it in the hallway with the prosecutor like they old buddies ’n shit. There’s something about this
time that got me worried.” Simone’s voice sounded serious. “Winter, I can’t have my baby in here, word up. It’s dirty, it’s cold, it’s wet. They’ll take her from me. Just come on down. I’m good for it. You know I’m good for it. I’m in the pen downtown.”

That’s one thing I hate about friends,
I thought. Now how you gonna game a gamer? How does Simone think she’s gonna trick a trickster? She purposely made that story up about the pink dress having got her arrested. Now I’m supposed to feel guilty about the situation and spend my hard-earned cash to get her ass out. How do I know that’s what really happened? Sure, she helped me to make dough in the past, but not really when you think about it. She brought the products, but I
paid
her for the products. It was all fair and square. It wasn’t her doing me a favor, it was a business deal straight up. She would have never done business with me if
she
wasn’t getting
her
cut out of it. I was the one who had to take the time to get along with all of those crazy stupid-ass females in the House of Success. I was the one who had to convince them one by one to give me their money. Them hair products and
all
that shit wouldn’t mean nothing if I didn’t have the flavor to freak the styles the right way. Besides, who was she fooling, talking about the money she saved is for
the baby.
Hell, the money I saved is for something too! She acts like that baby is supposed to mean everything to everybody, when the truth is it only means something to her! She probably ain’t even got no dough saved. She did something stupid with her money. Now she wants me to do something stupid with mine. Now I’m calculating this scene. She already told me she was planning to slow up with her boosting. Which is just one way of saying she don’t want to do it no more. Now I’m supposed to give my cash to her. She’ll pay me back, she says. But I can see it already. I’ll bail her out. She’ll get scared that the judge is really gonna put her ass away. Then she’ll give me some lame-ass excuse, like she’s too tired to boost. She keeps falling asleep. She needs to lay low until after she has her baby, just to be on the safe side. When the kid comes out, she’ll be talking about how the baby changed her outlook and she don’t wanna get back into trouble. The bottom line is, I get beat for my dough. Every way I turn this around I lose. I thought about it a second. If I leave my partner in the cold that makes me “the bitch.” But, I’d rather be a bitch with money in my hand, a sure thing. Like Santiaga said: When you got dough everybody’s cool with you. When your dough is low nobody knows your name.

I’d have to get my own hustle on now. After shopping today I only got twenty-five hundred to my name. I’d make it work to my advantage. I ain’t giving Simone shit. I laid my finger on the receiver, the call disconnected. Simone called back one more time. In exchange for two cigarettes the security guard told Simone, “Winter ain’t here.”

By Tuesday night I was in deep concentration. I had spent my day putting a package together for Santiaga. It had everything I could think of him needing inside. I had dipped in my stash to get him some Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. I bought him a crisp, white Versace dress shirt, the kind he liked. The slacks I purchased from Barney’s. I bought him a carton of cigarettes and a carton of cigars for bargaining. I placed two hundred fifty dollars in an envelope to drop in his commissary. All this with a bottle of Issey Miyake cologne would set him up lovely on the inside. A lot of people think a prisoner can’t style. They think all he can rock is a jail jumpsuit. But prisoners who ain’t suckers, who got family who ain’t been convicted yet, can chill in the best clothes. Now if a man holds position, he can keep the shit he owns ’cause niggas know better than to try to rob him for it. Santiaga wouldn’t have problems like this. After thinking about it, I knew it was important for me to get this package up to him. I needed to show that Santiaga got family on the outside checking for him.

There would be no surprises on my next visit. I set my mind up so that if Daddy refused to see me, I could handle it. ’Cause after I put the money in his commissary and dropped off the package it would only be a short time before he would welcome me in or at least drop me a new line.

Cattle on the bus was the way we rode to Riker’s Island. I caught the bus in Queens with sixty other women and children. Chemical warfare is the only way to describe what happens when cheap perfume, body splash, body spray, underarm deodorant, curl activator, hair spray, and pissy Pampers collide. I chose to stand up after I almost sat down in a seat with some red Juicy Juice drink spilled in it. My white sharkskin skirt would have been ruined. Lucky for some kid and her mother I didn’t make that mistake. ’Cause in addition to overcrowding, there would have been some ass-whipping on that bus. From the bus to the Riker’s Island waiting room, the air went from stank to stale. With all those bodies in one area … Let’s say, niggas draw heat.

I wasn’t there in the waiting room ten seconds before some armed corrections officer picked me out of the huge waiting-room crowd of women. He was over six feet tall with a chest of steel. The funniest thing about him was he still rocked a box-style haircut and that style had been played out for more than a little while. He walked stiff, like he had a pole up his ass, like a lot of cops walk. He had a confident smile on, like he was ziggy or something. Both of his hands rested by his gun, which was on his waist with all that other shit cops wear around their waists.

He said, “Now, let me guess which one of these losers you’re here to see.” I rolled my eyes, and shifted my body position away from him. “I can’t understand it,” he said, speaking in a low voice so others couldn’t peep his conversation. “I see it everyday. Y’all get all dressed up to see these animals who can’t do nothing for you. You ride one train, two trains, a bus to see these fools. You can’t touch them. They can’t touch you. A brother with a good job and benefits can’t get a play? So how ’bout it, cinnamon?” he asked, with his arms extended. “Pass me your number. I’ll call you as soon as I get off. I’ll take you to lunch, dinner, breakfast …” he suggested. “Wherever you want to go.” I wanted to scream on this asshole, but he had a gun.

So instead, I said, “No, that’s alright, ain’t nothing happening.”

“You got kids?” he asked.

“No, I ain’t got no goddamn kids,” I responded immediately. “I’m here to see my father, not my man.”