Angel's Revenge (13 page)

Time on my hands, since you been away boy, I ain’t got no plans…

Nina mentally reviewed her morning. She was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on because she never played it in the morning.
She liked her mornings quiet to help her prepare for the day. She did turn on the television but only to listen to the news
and weather as she dressed.

No, she was sure she hadn’t left the stereo on. But if she hadn’t, who had? She lived alone. Despite the mystery, it was a
nice surprise to come home to her favorite song. She caught herself singing along.

Sleep don’t come easy… please believe me. Since you’ve been gone, everything’s gone wrong.

The song brought back memories as she traveled back in time to the last time she heard it.

She had been with Dutch.

Nina would never forget the night they stopped at a light in downtown Newark. Dutch had a Cut Master Cee slow jams mix CD
playing and Rolls Royce came on.

Nina reached over and turned it up.

“Damn, I haven’t heard this in years!” she exclaimed.

“What you know about Rolls Royce, little girl?” Dutch teased.

“Little girl? Please!”

Then she went into her diva routine, singing the first verse word for word.

That’s when they stopped at the red light. Dutch got out without a word and walked around to the passenger door. He opened
it and extended his hand to her.

“Show me how much you like it then.”

“What, dance? In the middle of the street? Dutch, the light just turned green,” Nina protested, feeling self-conscious about
holding up traffic. But Dutch was persistent and wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

“Fuck a light. These my streets, and I wanna see you dance in ’em,” he replied, pulling her from the car.

He slid her arms around his neck, and they danced right then and there in the middle of the street.

The memory warmed her and depressed her all at the same time. She still missed him and the feelings Rolls Royce unearthed
proved it.

What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? Please forgive me baby… and come on home.

Nina sighed deeply and told herself,
Girl, we’ve been there before. Let’s not go there again.
She knew that her inner voice was right. The song ended and she waited for the deejay to say HOT 97 or WBLS, but when another
slow song came on, she frowned and approached the stereo.

Her heart froze in her chest after it skipped a beat.

A CD was playing. She looked closer and it was the same Cut Master Cee CD she once listened to with Dutch.
Where in the hell did this come from?
she wondered. Dutch had owned that CD, not her.

An eerie feeling overcame her. She felt like she wasn’t alone. Nina shut off the music and listened to the silence of the
house.

Girl, you trippin’,
she told herself.
Did I have that CD in my collection and just forgot? Maybe I was playing the CD this morning.

Nina shook off her thoughts and attributed the oversight to her hectic schedule. There were times she didn’t know if she was
coming or going. This must be one of them. She went to the phone and called Dwight, but got the answering machine.

“You so nasty,” was the simple message she left, giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush. Nina decided to call Tamika, because
she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. The phone rang twice before Tamika picked up.

“Who dis?”

“Who dis? Must you be so ghetto?”

Tamika sucked her teeth, “Like yo ass ain’t from Pioneer Homes, bitch,” Tamika shot back.

“What’s up, Mika? What you doin’ tonight?” Nina asked.

Tamika was curled up on her couch watching Jerry Springer. “Why, what’s up?”

“I want you to go somewhere with me.”

“Where?”

“A poetry reading at the Club Paradise.”

“A poetry reading? You really on that boo-gee shit now, huh?” said Tamika, hoping Nina wasn’t serious.

“Fuck you, Mika. Poetry readings ain’t hardly boo-gee.”

“Well, where’s your broke-ass man? Why he don’t take you?” Tamika quipped, referring to Dwight. She couldn’t understand why
Nina insisted on dating a mechanic. Dick was one thing, but Nina appeared to be getting caught up.

“My man ain’t broke, okay? He has a job. What about yours? Oh, I forgot. You don’t have one!” Nina teased as she squawked
like Morris Day.

“No, dahlin’. I don’t have one. I have many.”

“Slut.”

“Hater.”

The two friends laughed.

“For real, Mika. It’ll be fun. There’ll be a lot of cute guys there,” Nina baited.

“Cute and broke, on some back-to-Africa shit. Give us free!” she said, mocking the brother from
Amistad
.

“Okay, okay. I got a deal. If you go with me, we’ll go to the club, too.”

“Now you talkin’. Gimme about an hour.”

Nina hung up the phone and looked at her watch. The truth was she’d rather go with Dwight, but he didn’t like poetry readings
either. Nina really wanted to go and hear Monte Smith, an acclaimed spoken-word lyricist. Even though she hated clubbin’,
she was willing to compromise.

Nina showered and changed into a wool cardigan and a pair of boot-cut jeans, opting for the casual look so she wouldn’t be
mistaken for a hoochie once they got to the club.

She drove for five minutes to the South Park section of Elizabeth. Despite the proximity of the two neighborhoods, they were
like night and day. The houses were two-, three-, and four-family homes, dilapidated and neglected, not quite the Projects
but close. Nina always wondered why Tamika chose to live surrounded by violence, drugs, and despair.

Wearing her man-eating red Gucci tube-dress and black faux fur, Tamika sashayed up to the car and got in. Nina loved Tamika
like a sister but sometimes felt that it was women like Tamika who gave sisters a bad name and left brothers with a bad taste
in their mouth.

“Let’s get this boo-gee shit over wit’. The rent’s due, and I ain’t wear this dress for nothing,” Tamika huffed.

Nina shook her head.

“Instead of that rose you got, you shoulda got a ‘for sale’ sign tattooed on your ass,” Nina commented, half-jokingly.

“I would have, but your mama beat me to it wit’ her old ass. Drive, ho, and don’t worry about my ass, okay?”

•   •   •

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you,” said the emcee of Club Paradise over the soft applause of the small crowd. “That
was my man, Slim Direction, deep brother. You can catch him Saturday at the Black Moon Café. Now this next brother, what can
I say? You know him from Def Poetry Slam, but he was gracious enough not to forget us little people. Seriously though, the
brother is an experience. I bring to the stage Monte Smith. Show some love, people, show some love,” chimed the emcee to the
small cheering crowd.

Everyone except Tamika applauded. Nina nudged her with her elbow.

“Stop wit’ your bony elbow,” Tamika said, sipping her drink. Nina loved the atmosphere of Club Paradise. The mellow lighting
matched the mellow mood. For her, poetry seemed to have a euphoric effect. There was nothing more relaxing for her than to
kick off her shoes, sip an apple martini, and feel the deep thrust of powerful words massage her mind.

Monte Smith, a slim, light-skinned brother, stepped to the mic. The applause died away, then he began:

I don’t know about you, but it’s funny to hear

Bush and Ridge on TV

Telling me to keep my eyes open

For the enemy at home.

If that’s the case, I’ll be watching the police.

They’re the only enemy I got.

The crowd laughed softly.

It’s been time to show

The propaganda machine. It’ll

Remain impossible to reach us

As long as his story’s in pieces

It doesn’t make sense like Mary and Jesus.

How many victims of police brutality

Do we have in the place to be?

Individuals silently acknowledged there were some in attendance.

Who remembers

Tompkins Square Park

Kent State

Or Howard Beach?

I debate.

We can’t wait on man’s laws to

Manifest justice for humanity’s sake.

These past acts

Of protectin’ and servin’

Prove the scales will remain unbalanced

Until the pigs find their rights

Burnin’ in the same fire

That’s cookin’ ours in broad daylight.

I’m tellin’ ya,

They’ll bomb ya like MOVE in Philadelphia.

Monte stepped down from the slightly raised stage, mic in hand.

Who remembers

Shaka Sankofa

The massacre at Waco

Talkin’ blues?

Sorry Bob.

Slave driver caught in the fire and threw it back

With plenty of matches, pipes, and crack

All wrapped up in a CIA party pack

With a little tag attached

Reading die blacks.

Nina’s mind pictured her brother, Trick, and then Dutch. Caught up in a game designed for their failure.

So to all the rich fraternities and sororities

Soon to be judges and DAs

Stop booking reggae bands at your keg parties.

It’s a slap in the face of the starving.

For real

Think about that the next time you’re

“jamming” till the game is through.

Off the record smoking herb with the band

But in five years you’ll be responsible

For building more death camps

To imprison the youth.

Thank you.

The crowd erupted with applause, except for Tamika, again.

“Whack! The shit ain’t even rhyme,” she criticized.

Monte caught her disapproving body language. Her style of dress expressed her state of mind, so Monte crossed the room to
address it.

“I see we have some very beautiful sisters in attendance. Give yourself a hand.”

It was the first time Tamika clapped all night.

“And you, you are definitely beautiful.”

Tamika blushed.

Then Monte recited:

Hey beautiful.

I was just looking for someone to screw

When I first met you

And your preabused blues.

And I mean…

Blue like the bruise underneath the black tattoo

Of a past lover’s name

Who came to show you shame and solitude

Rhymes with pain and attitude

And believe me I do strain to understand you

When you scream

LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

The crowd laughed hard, but Tamika subtly shifted in her chair because his words had killed her softly, singing her life with
his words.

Monte winked, then walked away.

“Don’t lie, you were feelin’ that one,” Nina said, nudging her friend once again with her elbow.

“At least it rhymed,” Tamika replied, trying to brush it off.

Next, it was time for Nina to fulfill her end of the deal.

Brick City was the club, formerly known as Zanzibar, the infamous Newark nightclub that made Tony Humphrey and Chef Pettibone
famous.

Nina hated clubs, but Tamika wouldn’t let her back out.

The spot was unusually packed for a Thursday, which only made it worse for Nina. She hated the loud, blaring music, the bumping
and touching people did to make their way through the crowd, and the way men thought every woman was an easy fuck for the
night.

Now it was Nina with an attitude while Tamika was amped.

“Hell, yeah! Now this is what I’m talkin’ about. Look at these niggas going up in there. Girrrrrrl, hurry up and park!” Tamika
urged.

Nina maneuvered through the tight parking lot full of luxury automobiles equipped with so many amenities it made her BMW look
like a Hyundai.

“Girl, how are we going to get in? Look at that line!” Nina remarked, referring to the line of people that went around the
corner of the building. “It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Please! You think I’m about to stand out in Jack Frost? I don’t think so,” she said, snapping her fingers and making an S
in the air.

“Well, how we getting in then?” Nina asked, her eyes bulging.

“It’s called Cavalli, Roberto Cavalli. Honey, with this dress I’m wearing… it’s like a VIP pass. My ass is a pass,” she said,
laughing to herself as she looked in the rearview mirror and applied some lipstick. “Shit, I rhyme better than them fake-ass
Def Poetry Slam niggas you had me up there listening to. I shoulda been up there on the stage. Maybe that’s what I need to
do.”

“You need to get some help,” Nina said, finally finding a parking space.

Nearing the entrance, Nina looked at all the people on line and frowned. Why was everybody dressed like it was 1987? Everyone
was dressed in Dapper Dan, Gucci, Fendi, and MCM velour suits mingled with beef and broccoli Tims, Guess jean suits with leather
pockets, Adidas sneakers, and Kangols. One nigga even had an 8 ball jacket on.
Where the hell did he find that
,
Nina wanted to know. The outfits were accessorized with dookie ropes, door-knocker earrings, and Cazel frames. They wore sheepskins,
shearlings, and bombers instead of leathers and furs. Nina and Tamika couldn’t believe their eyes.

“Damn, Mika. Where the hell you bring me?” Nina asked.

Tamika looked at herself. Suddenly, her dress had lost all its flair. But dress or no dress, she was still a brown-skinned
stallion, thick like Luke dancers.

She led Nina to the door where two huge bouncers stood.

“What’s goin’ on, y’all?” Tamika questioned.

“It’s a private welcome home for Angel,” he informed her.

“Well, if it’s private, why are all these people standing on line?” Nina wanted to know.

“Just that. They’re standing on line,” he replied with a chuckle. “But how can I turn away such lovely ladies?” he flirted.

He was obviously referring to Tamika, because Nina’s was a simple beauty. He removed the velvet rope and ushered the two of
them in, sparking curses from the haters on the line.

Once inside, Nina looked at all the banners that read, “Welcome home, Angel!”

“Who the hell is Angel?”