Black & Ugly (17 page)

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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .

out-of-town customers. No more hood niggas for me.

"May I help you?" I ask as I open the door.

"Yes. We'd like to ask you some questions about the death of Melony Walker."

Whoa! That's a close call. I feel like offering them some bacon, eggs and cheese. I'm so happy. After all, I was there, but I ain't have nothin' to do with what happened to that poor chile. So I don't have anything to worry about. I mean, I do feel sorry for the young lady though.

"Sure, officers. Come in, please." They flash their badges, walk in and sit down. They could've flashed two pictures of their bigheaded babies and I would've never known the difference. All I see is two men and I am open.

"Thank you, sir," one of them says.

"Can I get you some coffee or something? Maybe some potato salad and chicken?" I ask them.

"No, sir. We just want to ask you some questions, that's all."

"Okay ... shoot! Well ... not literally, but I am ready and willing to be as cooperative as possible. You can count on me, officers," I tease as I sit down on my sofa and cross my legs.

It ain't even been five minutes and I already have their full and undivided attention. My silk short set from Vickie's kills 'em every time.

"I understand you were at the party, Mr. Peterson.

The one that Donna Samone gave in northeast Washington, DC where Mrs. Walker was killed. What
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can you tell us about that night?"

"First off, call me Miss Wayne. Mr. Peterson is
so
formal."

They nod in agreement.

"I mean, it is important to be friendly, right?" I am laying it on thick, but I want to loosen them up. They look so frustrated but boy are they edible like two sweet brown Sugar Daddies. I want to suck on and bite into both of 'em.

"Mr. Peterson, please answer our questions."

"Okay. No need to get all antsy. I am just bein'

friendly."

"Well, that's not why we're here. We're here because the night of the party, a young woman was murdered, not because we want to sit and eat potato salad or play games with you."

As much as I want to dip my hand into a jar of Vaseline and slap the fuck out of him, he's right. I'm actin' like a slut and they're here on business. It's just that it's not often that I get two police in my house that ain't lookin' to arrest
me
. It's actually sort of refreshing, and I want to take advantage - or shall I say I want them to take advantage. You get the idea.

"I'm ready to cooperate, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much.
Alls
I really know is that I saw Miss Parade runnin' toward the door with Miss Sky, and I knew something was up."

"Why, sir ... I mean, Miss Wayne?" Officer D. Hurts says as he looks at his partner.

"Well, 'cuz we had planned for that party all week,
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that's why," I explain as if the officer should've known.

"We had these cute little shiny outfits on and everything. Well, maybe not shiny but real cute. And I know they would've never left so early if something wasn't wrong," I continue as I smack my lips.

I'm noticing that D. Hurts is looking at my fingers when I talk. See, I'm a typical girl so I can't say a word without movin' them.

"Sooooo, the moment I saw them leaving and saw everybody else talking, I asked somebody what happened and I found out that someone was stabbed. Miss Daffany was talking to some guy so I grabbed her, and we went to find our friends."

"So, who did you go with?"

"Miss Daffany, Miss Parade and Miss Sky."

"Can you tell us where to find them?"

"Yes. I can write their addresses down, too. We all live in the same complex."

"Thank you. That'd be very helpful," Officer S.

Oakly says.

"I try, honey."

I write down the addresses and they leave, so I am on my way to the phone to warn my girls that they are next on the list. Before I close the door good, Officer Hurts comes back to drop off his card. On the back is his cell number with the words "
call me anytime."
Now I'm in a whole 'notha world.

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12

Parade

I'M DAYDREAMING 'BOUT WHAT HAPPENED with me and my mother last night as Carol comes over and checks my hair under the dryer.

"You almost done, girl. Now don't fuck up your hair dis time 'cuz I almost couldn't squeeze you in," she says and places the dryer back on my head before walking off.

I sit and think about my mother again, wondering why she hates me so much.

~~~~

Last Night

"Parade! Parade! Get the fuck up!" Like always, I popped out of the bed to see what she wanted. When I saw her sorting out dirty clothes on the floor, I got on my knees to help. She told me the day before that we had to do the wash so I figured it was time, but the moment I grabbed a red shirt to place in the color pile she had already formed, she ran over to me with a pair of filthy white underwear in her hands.

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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .

"What is this? You nasty bitch!" Before I could answer, I was knocked backwards and my ankle felt like it had twisted underneath me.

"What did I do?" I asked as she continued to mush the seat of the shit-stained underwear in my face.

"What did you do?" she yelled, straddling me.

"What did you do? I'll tell you what the fuck you did.

You walk around here all day like your ass don't stink and expect me to clean up behind you. Look at this shit. I know you don't expect me to wash these."

"Ma," I said, stealing a glimpse of the drawers in her hand, "those are not mine."

"Well, whose are they? Because they damn sure ain't mine!" She continued steadily pressing the stain up against my lips.

"Ma, please," I said, finally able to get from underneath her, "can you listen to me for a second?" As I glanced at the underwear she dangled in her hand, I saw the size and knew immediately they were hers.

"No," she said, getting up. "I want you to wash all of the drawers in here by hand." As she walked over to the pile of clothing, she shoved a bunch of dirty underwear in my arms. Some belonged to me but most of it was my mother and father's.

"But Ma..."

"Did you hear what the fuck I said, Parade?" I nodded.

"Well, do it now!" she screamed in my face.

"Ma, I'm not doin' that," I said as nicely as I could
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without getting her upset.

"Oh you not, are you?" she continued. "Well, you can get your shit and get the fuck out of my house." She shoved me toward the door and pushed me out.

When it closed, I broke down crying because I could not figure out why she hated me so much. With nothing on but my bra and some pink cotton shorts, I knew I couldn't stay out in the hallway like that forever. I knocked several times before she decided to open it.

"So, what are you gonna do?" she asked as she opened the door with the chain still on.

"I'll wash 'em, Ma."

With that she removed the chain and let me in.

When I got to the bathroom, I could barely see because tears blurred my vision. My mother was starting to make me hate her and I knew if I didn't leave soon, I'd probably want to kill her or myself.

"Hurry up, Parade," she said, bringing the dish-washing liquid in the bathroom for me to use.

When I placed the clothes in the bathtub, she came right behind me and turned on the shower instead of the faucet. I got soaked and the hairstyle I worked so hard to keep was ruined. I heard her laughing behind me as I jumped up, trying to salvage it.

"Looks like your little hairdo got ruined," she said, smirking. "Oh well, it didn't look like shit anyway.

Now hurry up and do what the fuck I asked you to." I spent the next hour hating her and myself.