The People vs. Cashmere (23 page)

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Authors: Karen Williams

BOOK: The People vs. Cashmere
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He ate another shrimp. “How about yours?”
“My Daddy and Mama are dead.” I lied.
“Sorry to hear that.” He cracked a crab leg open and chewed on it. “How did you get that name?”
My mouth was stuffed with pieces of the succulent lobster. I placed my hand over my mouth and asked saucily, “What's wrong with my name? How you get yours, Demarco?”
“You are feisty as hell, girl.” He smiled. “And I just asked because I think it's a nice name and it suits you.” He looked back at the water at the end of that comment then back at me.
“I don't know. Daddy said some shit about my skin being so soft, it reminded him of Cashmere.”
I popped a shrimp in my mouth. “Your name mean anything?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I'm named after Mama's pimp.”
I almost choked on the shrimp.
“Mama was a prostitute in Honduras. That's why I don't know my Daddy. She did it for as long as she could before moving out here. She opened a little restaurant, and that's how we survived. When she died, she left it to me. I turned it into a hair salon because I thought it would be more profitable.”
I nodded.
“So tell me something about Cashmere. Where you from, girl?”
“I'm from California. I grew up in Compton.”
“With who?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said your parents were dead. So who raised you?”
“My aunt, but we don't talk too much anymore.” I pulled my bottom lip in, hoping he wouldn't pry any further.
He just studied me.
I made a face. “Boo!”
He smiled at me.
“What, boy? What are you thinking?”
“That your face has a lot of beauty on it.”
If you only knew what that beauty did for me—Nothing. Not shit. But it still felt good to be complimented.
“Don't worry, I'm not going to go any further into your business. I probably couldn't anyway. You on the defense. And you probably won't believe this, but I don't want anything from you, Cashmere. But I do like you. And, believe it or not, it's for the right reasons. And I know these are just words, but if you will allow me to, time will show you that I'm sincere and not out to get you.” He stared at me intently.
I smiled in return. Then I looked down at the wood planks beneath my feet, saw the water peeking through. Thinking I could have opened up about my past, this was as good as it was gonna get for confessions, but for some odd reason, I didn't.
That wasn't the last time I saw Demarco. He would come by the salon almost every night and take me home, and since I was comfortable with him, I let him.
“When can I see you again?” he asked me one night when he was walking me to my doorsteps.
“You seeing me right now, silly.”
“No, I mean, like out on another date.”
He slipped behind me and spun me around so I was all up in his arms. If the shit didn't feel good, I would have pulled away.
“When do you wanna see me?”
He reached over and kissed my lips softly, and I returned the kiss.
“Tomorrow.” He kissed me again. “The day after that.” Another kiss. “And the day after that 'cause I like you, Cashmere.” He kissed me again.
I pulled away, still playing the “rude girl” role. “Boy, go home.”
I woke up the next morning to find some pink roses sitting on my doorstep, so I definitely gave him a date after that, and another after that.
Chapter 31
I got a pretty big tip from some lady that came into the salon, so I treated myself to a new outfit to wear for my date with Demarco took me to the movies. I was looking at some skirts when I heard, “Hey, beautiful.”
I smiled, thinking it was probably Demarco, and turned around, only for my smile to be replaced with immediate shock. It was Black. I scanned his face and stood as still as a statue. Black looked the same. He had on some slacks, a button-down shirt, and gator shoes.
“Aren't you gonna give daddy a hug, Cashmere?”
I stayed immobile and shook my head slowly, but he came over and hugged me anyway. “You get out and don't come see me, Cashmere? After—”
“I have a new life now. I'm not hooking no more, Black.”
And if you loved me like you said you did, why is it that I don't recall ever getting a letter, a card
—
not shit
—
from you?
“I missed you.”
I looked away.
“I thought you would come home.”
“I told you. I don't hook anymore, Black.”
He chuckled and reached for one of my hands, but I drew back like he was poison.
His smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at my coldness. “Well, you know once you get a pimp, you married to the game, right? Ain't no such thing as retiring . . . unless you dead.”
That shit made me shiver inwardly. What was he trying to say?
Then some young chick yelled, “Daddy, I'm ready,” and gave me an evil-ass look. She had the same look I used to have—young and impressionable.
Bitch, you don't want it with me
was the expression on my face. Then the look instantly faded when I realized I wasn't that same temperamental girl who fought her way out of stuff, so I let it slide.
I took the diversion to duck out of the store. Once I did, I ran down the other side of the street, giving myself distance from Black, his ho, and that store. But I knew I was in for some shit now. Like he said, once you a get a pimp, you married to the game.
Instead of a movie, Demarco took me to this nice restaurant. He was spoiling me to the point that I never ate at home anymore. Afterwards he took me to the park, and we walked and fed bread to those greedy-ass ducks, something I had mentioned to him that me and Daddy used to do together when I was a kid. I guess he really did listen to me.
“Here you go again.”
“What?” I asked as we walked hand in hand through the park.
“It's like one minute we havin' fun. Then you go and get depressed again.” He tapped me on my head. “Why won't you let me in here?”
I shook my head. “I'm cool, Demarco. I just miss my parents.” I smoothed the long sleeves on my dress, hoping he didn't catch sight of them scars when the wind blew, 'cause some hadn't faded.
He nodded like he understood. “I just wish you would open up to me more.” Then he lightened the conversation. “Are you bipolar?”
I shoved him. “No, fool!”
When he tried to grab me, I playfully pushed him away until he gripped my waist and kissed me quickly. Then he broke the kiss. “Seriously, though, I shared my past with you. You can do the same. I'm only asking 'cause it seems like you have some unresolved issues, baby.”
And you'd drop me like a bad-ass habit once I do
. I shook my head. “I'm not ready.”
To ward off any more questions, I kissed him, not the regular peck, but a tongue-action-filled kiss. His eyes grew wide, and he returned the kiss and slipped closer to me.
Usually I slapped his hands away and said, “Back up, fool,” but this time I didn't. I had been pushing him off for some months, so why not let him get a kiss? I slipped him the tongue and said, “Let's go to your crib.”
When I got to his lavish-ass house, and after all that damn kissing and rubbing, I freaked the fuck out and couldn't do it, so I told him no. He didn't trip either. Just laid with me and stroked my hair while I cried and went to sleep. But I did hear him mumble, “Why won't this girl trust me enough to let me in?”
I didn't have an answer for him, nor did I have an answer for the question in my head that stopped him from making love to me. That question was: Could I do the shit without feeling dirty?
The next morning, I was in a rush. I shook Demarco awake and reached for my clothes, but he pulled me back down next to him.
“Boy, move,” I said in an irritated voice. “I have to go home and change so I can get to school. On time.”
“Quit school.”
“And do what?”
“Stay here with me.”
I looked at him like he was crazy.
“I'm serious. Cashmere, you don't ever have to go. You can stay here, and I'll take care of you. I almost feel like the shit is my duty. To protect you. Make sure no one else does anything to hurt you.”
“And what makes you think someone has done something to hurt me?”
“I know someone has. And if I were your man, no one else will ever get the chance to. All you have to do is just be, Cashmere. Believe me when I say I'll take care of the rest. I just want you here with me. I wanna keep you safe. Seems like someone ain't done that for you in a long time.”
I blushed at that and damn near shed tears. It was sweet to hear him say that.
And for the first time, I looked down and noticed that the sleeves on one arm of my dress was pushed up to my elbows and his fingertips were running back and forth across my scars as he talked to me.
I waved at Demarco before he drove away. It was still early, so I unlocked my door, stepped inside, set my purse down, and stepped back out to go get my mail. As soon as my feet touched my welcome rug, a bat swung forward and knocked me upside my head. I flew back into the door and gasped at the pain I felt in my head.
Before I could see my attacker, they swung it again at my back. I crouched over then felt pressure in my chest as it connected with it also. I was too weak to move and hoped they were done with their assault. They swung again and hit me on the back side of my head.
I screamed and slumped over. I moved my head an inch to see the person walk away. I got a glimpse of the gator shoes and the back of their profile. It was Black.
I moaned and crawled back into my door. I tried to stand but collapsed on the floor. Then I felt myself slip slowly into unconsciousness. The last thing I remember was all the pain.
The phone was ringing. That's what got me. I touched my swollen head and felt dried blood in my hair. I dragged myself up to my feet and grabbed the phone. I winced at the pain in my chest and all over my body. “Hello?” I clutched the arm of my couch when I felt my legs tremble like they were gonna give out underneath me. My head continued to throb, so I winced again.
It was Bev. “Cashmere, where you been, baby girl? You know we do our shopping for supplies every Monday.”
“I—”
“It's not like you to call off. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Then get your behind up here now. Someone is here to see you. And they said they not leaving the shop until they do.”
The visitor was probably my aunt, but nevertheless, I was happy to see her. Maybe she wanted to apologize for what she had done. It was cool. Maybe I could confide in her about what just happened with Black. And she could advise me on what to do.
I also needed to do something about the throbbing in my head. A little more blood was leaking out of it.
“I'll be there, Bev.”
I went into the kitchen, dropped two Tylenol down my throat and chased them down with water. Then I held a cold cloth on my head to stop the blood.
I walked into the salon out of breath. I'd paused a couple times during the walk 'cause I was still in a lot of pain. Once I walked further in the salon, nothing could prepare me for who I saw sitting back and staring at me. It was Mama!
I grabbed a hold of one of the salon chairs to steady my balance.
She smiled and stood her arms outstretched. “Hi, baby.”
Baby?
I stepped away from her and crossed my arms under my chest that was still sore.
Bev was standing there too, but in all of this I didn't notice her. She winked at me grabbed her purse. “I'll leave you ladies alone. Cash, I gotta get those supplies. I'll see you later, baby.”
My eyes jumped back to Mama.
Mama wrung her hands together. She looked the fucking same, maybe even better—No bags under her eyes, no war marks or scars like the ones I had on my wrist and hands.
“You turned out so pretty, Cash.”
Anger was pouring from me. I'm surprised I didn't sprout horns. I winced again at the pain I was feeling. I tried to keep my face clear of any emotion, other than anger.
“Would you believe, baby girl, that I had a hard-as-hell time trying to find you? I went to the last place I ever expected to go. Your aunt's.” Mama clutched her chest and burst out laughing. “That damn woman is still bitter.”
I didn't laugh. In fact, I didn't smile either.
“I see Mama got a lot of making up to do.”
Her hands were now shaking, and her eyes watered. Come to think of it, her whole body was much like mine.
“Your aunt told me you worked here. She also told me about the other”—she cleared her throat, and a hand went to her chest again—“I went back to school, Cash. Decided to take up a trade. I do fingerprinting and background checks on criminals. Would you believe Mama works for the police department? And look”—she wiggled her left hand in front of me—“I'm engaged to a commissioner there.”
Still I didn't respond.
“Listen, I know you pissed at me. You probably hate me.” She stepped closer again and put her hand underneath my chin. “But, baby. I love you
sooo
much. And I'm sorry for what I did. If I hadn't—if I hadn't . . .”
My eyes teared up again, and some tears slid right into the palm of her hand. I snatched my face away. I was breathing hard as well and my cheeks were popped out.
She started sobbing, and her shoulders shook. She tried to touch me again.
I snatched her hands off of me.
She yelled out and continued crying.
“I'm-so-sorry-Cashmere. About your Daddy and your sister.” Then she yanked open her purse. She pulled out a pen and a small notepad. “Here is my number and address. She laid the pad on a workstation and wrote something down, tore the piece off, and reached her hand out to place the paper in mine.
I didn't grab it, so the paper floated to the floor.
I kept my hateful glare as she bent over to retrieve it and attempted to hand it back to me once again. I eyed her up and down, her expensive shoes, pants and top, her flawless makeup, nails, and hair. The old Mama before the accident. The one daddy couldn't get enough of. Smelling good too.
When she saw I wouldn't reach for it, she laid the paper on the counter and reached out to stroke my cheek. “I love you, baby.”
I pushed her hand away yet again.
She nodded slowly. “If you need anything or want to talk, call me anytime, baby. I'm in a position where I can help you with pretty much anything, money, a place to stay, the law, anything.”
She walked slowly out the salon. When she got to the exit, she paused and looked back at me. “I love you,” she whispered.
And for a moment I was gonna let her walk away. Then I thought to myself,
Naw, fuck that
! “You love me Mama?”
She turned to face me. “Yes, baby.”
“You love me?”
“Yes, with all—”
“Hold the fuck up! You love me?”
Mama started sobbing.
“Did you love Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“When you left him to take care of himself so you can fuck another nigga in his house? Or did you love me when you left me and Desiree to take care of ourselves, huh? Auntie hate us 'cause of you! So we had to sell fuckin' crack!”
Her face crumbled.
“And strip to take care of ourselves. And her husband wanted to fuck me. He tried to rape me. But Desiree fucked him because she just like you!”
Her shoulders shook.
“Then we got thrown out. The one person that I loved, Desiree, fucked 'cause she just like you! Then she sold both our souls to the devil. A pimp! I was a ho, Mama, 'cause of you. And 'cause Desiree was just like you, she cut the plug on Daddy. And, well, you know the rest. I went to jail for murdering—”

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