Cold As Ice (4 page)

“As long as I can remember,” he says, grabbing his backpack and sketch pad before leading the way out of the classroom. I have only four minutes and counting to make it down the hill to the drama room, so I'd better make this quick. We both wave good-bye to Mr. A, who is caught up in conversation with Misty about her tardiness. I'm glad someone else is tired of her trifling ways.

“I noticed you didn't include Oshune in the pictures. Any particular reason why, when you and I both know that without her there is no life at all?” Emilio stops in his tracks and looks down at me, thinking carefully before responding. I guess he's trying to find the right words because English isn't his first language.

“You know, Oshune is sweet, but she's also very promiscuous,” Emilio says, the words rolling from his tongue like the gospel truth it isn't. “I think we should choose a more dignified female deity like Yemoja or Oya to honor, along with the male orishas, to balance it all out.” He obviously didn't take enough time to choose his words, because he just ignited a fire in me I didn't know existed.

“What did you just say about my mama?” I don't care what Emilio's first language is—he knows those are fighting words. If it's one thing I can't stand, it's when someone talks about my mothers, both spiritual and physical.

“Jayd, I did not mean to offend you. I know how sensitive Oshune's daughters are, which is another reason I think we should choose someone else.” Emilio's thick Spanish accent has completely lost its charm. I wish he would shut up, but he's on a roll this afternoon. “We are trying to set a certain standard with the African Student Union that I don't think you understand quite yet. We can discuss this more later,” he says, leaving me shell-shocked as he walks toward his class. What kind of standard does he think we're trying to set, and why wouldn't I understand it, being that it was my idea in the first damn place? I'm so pissed that if I still had Maman's—my great-grandmother's—powers like I did when Reid came at me with his arrogant bull about the formation of the club a few weeks ago, Emilio would be squirming on the ground by now like the snake he is. Mama took my powers from me, saying that I wasn't ready to keep them, even though they were left behind from one of my dreams. But wait until I tell Mama about Misty's apparent memories of stealing my powers, coupled with Emilio's disrespect of our lineage. I know she's going to feel my fire and hopefully help me chill out before it gets out of control.

 

When I make it to the beauty shop after school, Mama and Netta are in their own world, which is the usual when it's just the two of them. Mama and Netta are like twins separated at birth; both are powerful women in their own right, but together they are unstoppable, and they know it. Mama and Netta stop their chatting to greet me and get right back to their exciting conversation about this past weekend's ceremony for Netta's son, Jeremiah. I can't help but be calm when I'm in their collective aura.

The homemade vanilla-and-almond-scented candles burning throughout the quaint yet open space soothe my frayed nerves and welcome me to the communion that is Netta's Never Nappy Beauty Shop. Emilio's pompous ass really works me up. I don't even remember what happened in my drama or my weight-lifting classes. All I could think about was my pounding headache from my dream last night, which was made even more apparent by the cold blow Emilio served up about our mother, Oshune, after the ASU meeting. I didn't even get to ask him if he's thinking about running for club president, and I hope the answer's no. That position is rightfully mine, and no matter what my haters may think of me, everyone knows I'm the best woman for the job, and I'm willing to fight for it if I have to.

“How's Jeremiah doing, Ms. Netta?” I ask while placing my work apron over my head, ready to get busy. Netta's the one in the client's chair for a change but is still in control of the conversation. She usually does her own hair like we all do, but today is a special treat for her. Mama's returning the weekly treat of having her hooked up by a talented stylist, like a real friend should—although I'm sure there's more to it than that. Usually, if Mama has to do Netta's hair, it's because of a spiritual cleansing needed for either Netta or herself.

“Girl, he's fine, except for the fact that he's always asking me for money, like I'm the Bank of Compton,” Netta says, making Mama laugh more out of empathy than because it's funny. Mama has the same issue with her children. “That boy tens-and-twenties me to death. But, hopefully, now that he has Baba Shango in his corner, he will keep up with his own money and give me back some of mine, too.”

“I know that's right,” Mama says, taking the two hot curlers and single flatiron out of the miniature oven sitting at the station next to Netta's work space. It's rare for Mama to work with hair tools anymore, unless she's cleaning them. I need to take notes, but my memory will have to do the trick. “How was your day, baby?” Mama asks, redirecting the conversation my way, and I'm grateful. I need to get today out of my head—literally. The knot from my fantasy fall is still throbbing, reminding me of today's lingering drama.

“It was okay except that I had to defend Oshune against Emilio's simplification of her as solely a sex goddess,” I say, collecting all the dirty towels near the sinks to wash. On Mama's Tuesdays—when she's the only client allowed in the shop—we're able to get the majority of our housekeeping chores done for the week, laundry included.

“Who is Emilio again?” Netta asks as Mama parts Netta's hair, ready to flatiron and curl it. Netta's got the thickest naturally auburn hair I've ever seen. She likes to keep it short, but it's still very full and looks gorgeous when it's loosely curled all over her head, like Mama's probably planning on doing now.

“Emilio is the new exchange student from Venezuela who's also a child of Orunmilla, remember?” I say, reminding her of how that arrogant boy came into my life. I have enough problems without the added pleasure of dealing with a stranger's issues.

“Oh, the little boy who had a crush on you,” Mama says, recalling our brief conversation about Emilio before I found out that he was a grandmama's boy. If his
abuelita
said the sky was orange, he'd never question it as the gospel truth.

“Well, doesn't he know that Orunmilla was one of Oshune's husbands? If she was good enough for his daddy, I know she's good enough for that little fool, talking bad about our mama like that,” Netta says, moving her head to the right so Mama can get to the hair in the back of her head. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

“Everyone always talks about Oshune being sexual and all that,” Mama says, now guiding the flatiron expertly through Netta's short tresses. It looks so relaxing to sit in Mama's chair. The last time Mama did my hair, I couldn't even speak. “That's a watered-down version of our mother, to say the least. She is pure love and joy, all the good things in life. And that, my dear, is what it's all about.”

“Not this madness that y'all young fools deal with these days,” Netta says, supporting Mama like the true homegirl she is. I wish I had one tight friend like Mama does in Netta. Where are my homies, for real?

“I'm not part of that, ‘y'all,'” I say, defending myself against the ignorance of some of the people in my generation. I call them fools, too, even if, technically, they are my peers.

“I know that, little Jayd,” Netta says, waving her hand at my necessity to speak up. “It's your little friends I'm talking about, like Mickey and Nigel, not to mention Misty and that little pretty boy she's messing with.” As a hairdresser, Netta knows about everyone's business even if most of it is secondhand information. Misty's mom's best friend still gets her hair done by Netta, although I've never run into her here, and I hope that never happens. “Boys don't know how to court girls, and girls don't know how to make boys work for it anymore. You better not turn into one of these fast-ass little girls who live with men before they get married, like—” Netta stops short of saying my mother, because she knows my mom could be listening, via my thoughts, and doesn't want to hurt her feelings, especially since she's turned her life around since she was my age.

“It doesn't always work out bad,” I say, ready to defend my mom. She always seems to be the example of what not to do, but if you ask me, my mom's done pretty well for herself, considering she's a divorced, single mother living in the hood, and she should be applauded for that. “My mom and Karl practically live together, and they're engaged.” Mama looks at me as if to say “please” but softens her stance about her eldest child's decisions in life and love, mostly because we all have a good feeling about Karl.

“There are exceptions to every story, but don't believe the hype, Jayd,” Mama says, pointing the small curlers at me, directing me to gather the towels at her station to add to the already full load in the basket I'm carrying. “Don't get caught up in other people's versions of what love is or what's right or wrong in life. You have to figure out those things on your own.”

“I know you're right,” I say, finally letting Mama win because she always does. I take the laundry to the wash area and load the linens into the machine. Thank goodness Netta's husband is a contractor. Netta has made this shop her home away from home, with a small service porch off the wash area along with a bathroom and kitchenette, too. The back of the shop is where a private bathroom and the office/shrine room are located, which is where Mama spends most of her time while customers are here. Mama doesn't like to deal with gossiping clients, especially because a lot of the talk is about her. “That's why I'm not rushing into anything serious,” I say as the memory of Jeremy and me making out comes to the front of my mind. I hope Mama didn't catch that one.

“Not yet. But when you meet the right one and it's the right time, mark my words, all bets will be off,” Netta says, eyeing her hair in the mirror before Mama puts the final touches on her style. Netta looks good and refreshed. I take the bucket of clips out of one of the cabinets at Netta's station and begin collecting the silver clips to wash. There's always something to do around here. It's a wonder they didn't hire me to help sooner.

“I hear you, Ms. Netta.” I haven't told either one of them that I'm dating Jeremy exclusively now, but I have a feeling Mama already knows, and I don't want to hear it. She's never been a fan of me dating Jeremy, for all the obvious reasons—because she has a soft spot for Rah.

“Careful with these boys, Jayd,” Mama says. “We've already seen Rah's temper, and you know where Jeremy comes from with his racist daddy and all,” she adds, reminding me that Jeremy and his brothers can date girls from different races, as long as they don't bring home any mixed babies, which is why Jeremy gave up knowing his own child by his ex-girlfriend Tania, who should be delivering their baby very soon. Unlike what Mama and Netta are saying, Tania's wealthy family made sure she was married off and living in New York. Mickey's shooting for a similar happy ending, no matter how delusional it may be. Hell would freeze over before Mrs. Esop would let that happen.

“Get to know their families better to get a more complete picture of the person you're befriending,” Mama says. I don't know how fair it is to judge a dude by his family. I know she's not talking about Rah, because Mama knows his father's parents very well, and they outweigh his mom, who's a stripper, and his father, who's a good guy but got caught up and is now serving life in prison.

“I wonder what would be said about me if more people got to know my family?” I think aloud, seriously pondering that notion. With the rare occasion that Rah and Jeremy have come over, no one really chills at Mama's house. It's never been allowed with any of her children or with me and Jay. It's not really a spoken rule as much as it's just understood that we don't bring people home unless it's a special occasion. That fact alone says a lot about what others must think of the James household. That's why Rah and I have been friends for so long, even when he acts like a complete jackass. He understands how we roll around here and never judges me.

“Who cares what your little so-called friends think. With friends like yours, you don't need any enemies,” Mama says, combing Netta's hair. I know Netta knows how blessed she is to have Mama in her head. Mama doesn't do anyone's hair anymore, not even mine, but Mama follows divinations to the letter, and if doing Netta's hair is what the orisha told her to do, it's as good as done.

“Too bad she's got those, too.” Netta's got that right. And the fact that my friends and my enemies alike are working my nerves has got me all twisted up.

“Yeah, I do. And now they all seem to be ganging up on me for one thing or another. And my friends don't even remember my birthday or care about the sacrifices I've made for them.” Mickey's really outdone herself this time.

“Girls can lust, too, Jayd. It's not just boys who want everything you're willing to give them. Lust takes and love gives. Haven't I told you that a million times?” I know Mama's right about that. Sometimes girls are worse than the boys. “And with these little frenemies you're running around with, like Misty and Mickey, it's a wonder you haven't been killed.”

“Mama, it's not that serious,” I say, running hot, soapy water in one of the three washbowls to soak the hundreds of clips I've collected. With any luck I'll get off early tonight and get some studying done. Tomorrow is our first practice exam for the English AP in second period, and I want to do well.

“Oh, but it is, sweetie,” Mama says as Netta takes the hot curlers out of the miniature oven and places them on the white towel to cool. She can't help doing her job, even when she's not technically the one working. “Emilio got close to you under the guise of friendship, and now he's turned on you, just like the other frenemies in your life.”