Authors: Tracy Brown
Criminal Minded (13 page)
the exodus
1994
Zion started slipping away from me, and I was an emotional
mess. Things changed between us. Zion seemed to never have time for me. Our stays in different cities were rarely overnight ones anymore. It wasn’t long before I realized that Zion would never be mine. Then to make matters worse, Lamin decided to get out of the game. That meant that I no longer had to hustle with Zion on Lamin’s behalf. I hoped in my heart that Zion would invite me along on his trips out of state even after Lamin quit the game, but he never did. Zion’s trips became weekly rather than monthly, and I was left behind. I hardly ever saw him, and I was sick. But as much as I loved him, I wouldn’t beg him to return that love. I was too proud to lower myself to that level.
mess. Things changed between us. Zion seemed to never have time for me. Our stays in different cities were rarely overnight ones anymore. It wasn’t long before I realized that Zion would never be mine. Then to make matters worse, Lamin decided to get out of the game. That meant that I no longer had to hustle with Zion on Lamin’s behalf. I hoped in my heart that Zion would invite me along on his trips out of state even after Lamin quit the game, but he never did. Zion’s trips became weekly rather than monthly, and I was left behind. I hardly ever saw him, and I was sick. But as much as I loved him, I wouldn’t beg him to return that love. I was too proud to lower myself to that level.
My family drama raged on. Mommy was becoming more and more depressed. She seemed like a part of her had died—like the light inside of her had gone out. I was worried about her and frustrated by the fact that she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong with her. Wally was still a grumpy bastard, sitting in front of the TV all day and not speaking to anyone. The only time he opened his mouth was to eat or bark orders at my mother on the few occasions when she emerged from her room.
I thought about Lamin. He had never looked back after he left Mommy’s house. Lamin had been in the streets, but now he was pursuing his dream of running a production company. Even Lucky—she had left her parents’ house and started a life of her own. She was going
to college and living with her man. She was happy. Everyone else was happy. I was the only one still depending on my mother to take care of me. I was depressed about all of it. So I coped with my heartache by staying in bed all day and only leaving my room to eat my mother’s delicious dinners and her Sunday morning pancakes. I was drowning in my misery, and I felt abandoned by everyone but her. I still never talked to Wally. We existed in my mother’s house as if each of us were invisible. I hated the control he had over her. But I was scared; scared to venture out on my own into the big, bad world.
to college and living with her man. She was happy. Everyone else was happy. I was the only one still depending on my mother to take care of me. I was depressed about all of it. So I coped with my heartache by staying in bed all day and only leaving my room to eat my mother’s delicious dinners and her Sunday morning pancakes. I was drowning in my misery, and I felt abandoned by everyone but her. I still never talked to Wally. We existed in my mother’s house as if each of us were invisible. I hated the control he had over her. But I was scared; scared to venture out on my own into the big, bad world.
I woke up one day and found my mother in the kitchen making Wally some breakfast. She had her back to me but when she turned around to face me, I could see her swollen right eye. That nigga had hit her again, and she was still making him breakfast. I shook my head, disgusted, and left without uttering a word. Before that moment, I subconsciously worried that I’d be lost on my own. I convinced myself that I could never stand on my own two feet. I actually believed that I could not withstand the perils in my life without my mama’s pancakes on Sunday morning.
The day I saw my mother cooking with a black swollen eye was the day I realized I could make my own damn pancakes. It was time for me to get a life of my own.
I called up one of my old flames. A guy named Michael from uptown who worked in construction. He was just what the doctor ordered. Michael was fine—tall, dark, and handsome. And let’s not forget paid. Michael had spoiled me when I was in high school. He was five years older than me so when I was seventeen he spent what I thought was “big” money on my clothes and hairdos. But now that I was grown and anxious to get out on my own, I needed more than cute sneakers and a couple of outfits. I needed rent and bill money. My plan was to intoxicate him like I had before; get him wrapped around my finger and eating out of the palm of my hand. Whenever I went out with him I wore my best clothes. I always got my hair done right before I’d meet him and my nails and makeup were always flawless. Michael liked me because I could be the cool chick from
around the way around his boys—smoking weed with them and drinking Hennessy. And I could also be the sexy seductress in private, and he loved my sex. I began to realize the power of my sexual prowess, and I used it to my advantage.
around the way around his boys—smoking weed with them and drinking Hennessy. And I could also be the sexy seductress in private, and he loved my sex. I began to realize the power of my sexual prowess, and I used it to my advantage.
At first, I spent so much time at his house that I might as well have lived there. Michael didn’t mind having me around. I cooked for him and spoiled him. I served him breakfast in bed and treated his boys nicely when they came around. Soon, Michael was paying my first month’s rent and security on a place not too far from Lamin. My building was on Clinton Avenue. It was a three-story walkup with a white stone exterior trimmed in green paint along the windows and the doorways. I loved it from the moment the Realtor showed me the place. The apartment had one and a half baths, hardwood floors, a kitchen equipped with all new appliances, a large master bedroom, and a huge walk-in closet. I was sold from the moment I saw it. The day I moved in, my mother gave me a piece of advice that I felt she should have heeded herself.
“Olivia, make sure you don’t let a nigga have too much control over you,” she said. “The more money they spend, the more control they think they have over you. You don’t want a nigga to think that he can tell you what to do because of the things he’s done for you.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” I said sarcastically.
She looked at me with her eyes narrowed. “I know I haven’t always done the right thing, Olivia. But I always loved you and your brother.” She looked away and I thought I detected a distinct sadness in her voice. “As you get older, you get wiser. Sometimes you learn your lessons too late. But I know what I’m talking about, so listen to what I’m telling you, girl.”
I wanted to ask her more. Wanted to probe further into my mother’s recent unhappiness that was becoming more and more evident. But she seemed to be off-limits when it came to discussing her emotions. I wondered why she always seemed so sad; why she put up with Wally’s nasty attitude and his abuse. But I didn’t question her.
Instead, I touched her hand gently and left her home. It was time for me to show her how to be happy. And to show everyone else, especially Zion, that I could make it on my own.
Instead, I touched her hand gently and left her home. It was time for me to show her how to be happy. And to show everyone else, especially Zion, that I could make it on my own.
I started paying close attention to music videos. B.I.G. was the King of New York and I loved how the “Juicy” video showed enormous wealth and a rags-to-riches fairy tale. I wanted to be able to draw pictures with images that way. Then Wu Tang—sons of my native borough—stepped on the scene with C.R.E.A.M. The video for that shit was the grittiest, grimiest depiction of the concrete jungle called Park Hill. Without having to use words, the images in that video told a whole story of hopeless poverty. I was in awe of the art form called directing. I contacted the production company that worked with the Wu, using connections I had forged long ago with guys from Park Hill and Stapleton. Before long, I was behind the scenes on every shoot, soaking up the techniques and camera angles and trying out my own dimensions. I got the biggest thrill helping film a black-and-white hip-hop video on the roof of Park Hill’s housing complex featuring the Queen of Hip Hop Soul. I was beginning to find my way.
Then, as fate would have it, the opportunity of a lifetime landed in my lap. Zion brought one of our Brooklyn workers to see me. The kid’s name was Leo and he had just signed a deal with Ryde or Die Records. Leo was good. We had all heard him battle niggas in ciphers throughout Brooklyn, and I wasn’t surprised at all to find out that he had been signed. He was someone that I was genuinely happy to see on the come up.
Zion explained that Leo wanted to film a music video in the Fort Greene housing projects known as the Ingersoll Projects. That’s when it all hit me. This was my big break. I asked Leo what his concept was for the video, and he explained his vision.
“The name of the song is ‘Project Mentality’ and I wanna show all the shit that we see everyday in the ‘hood. The old broads sittin’ on
the bench gossipin’, the old dudes drinkin’ beer on the corner. The kids playing tag in the stairwells with the addicts zoned out from the drugs. I wanna show the pissy elevators, the garbage in the hallways, the bars on the windows and the gates surrounding it. You feel me?”
the bench gossipin’, the old dudes drinkin’ beer on the corner. The kids playing tag in the stairwells with the addicts zoned out from the drugs. I wanna show the pissy elevators, the garbage in the hallways, the bars on the windows and the gates surrounding it. You feel me?”
I smiled and nodded. “I feel you. But what’s your budget?”
Leo threw his hands up. “Right now I’m working with a pretty hefty advance from Ryde or Die. You tell me what it’ll cost, and I’ll get you the dough.”
This shit seemed too good to be true. I had never shot a video, a film—nothing. But the chance of a lifetime had fallen in my lap. I wondered if what Grandma told me about prayer was true. No one else but God could have given me an opportunity like this one. And I had no intention of wasting it. I called in some favors and put my money where my mouth was. Like every other time in my life when I was faced with a challenge, I stepped up to the plate, valiantly.
I started filming the next day.
I finished my first two semesters of school, and I felt good about myself. What was even better was the fact that Lamin put his life of crime behind him. Seven months had passed since Lamin started his film company, and I was so proud of him. He had his own humble offices in midtown Manhattan, and he had made endless contacts in the recording industry. “Project Mentality” was in heavy rotation on all the hip-hop video shows and Lamin and I couldn’t be happier. I loved him without question. Leo’s career had taken off, and it was nice to think that Lamin had played some type of role in that. We were finding our way in life and our home was filled with love, happiness, and imported furnishings. For the first time in my life, I felt completely content.
My parents began to come around. Now that they were reading about Lamin Michaels, the up-and-coming video director who every rap and R&B artist was eager to work with, they no longer hated his
guts. In my mother’s case, she had never really disliked Lamin to begin with. She was just too obedient to my father to go against his wishes. But suddenly, Daddy was calling our home to talk to me and asking how Lamin was doing. He even invited us over for dinner, although Lamin politely declined. I didn’t blame him. I wondered if my father would have approved of Lamin if he wasn’t featured in
Vibe
magazine and
The Source
. I wondered if they would have still denied me my college education if they knew that someday Lamin’s name would ring bells in the music industry. I had always believed in Lamin; had always loved him. So seeing him succeed was like validation for me. But it also made me want to tell my father, “I told you so.” He had doubted us and now we were on the brink of success. My education was in full bloom, and Lamin was on the rise. Together, I figured we would be unstoppable.
guts. In my mother’s case, she had never really disliked Lamin to begin with. She was just too obedient to my father to go against his wishes. But suddenly, Daddy was calling our home to talk to me and asking how Lamin was doing. He even invited us over for dinner, although Lamin politely declined. I didn’t blame him. I wondered if my father would have approved of Lamin if he wasn’t featured in
Vibe
magazine and
The Source
. I wondered if they would have still denied me my college education if they knew that someday Lamin’s name would ring bells in the music industry. I had always believed in Lamin; had always loved him. So seeing him succeed was like validation for me. But it also made me want to tell my father, “I told you so.” He had doubted us and now we were on the brink of success. My education was in full bloom, and Lamin was on the rise. Together, I figured we would be unstoppable.
Lamin’s physical therapy began to pay off, and the cane was no longer necessary. He was walking a sexy be-bop that turned me on more and more with each passing day. And he spoiled me. It got to the point that I wondered if I could ever be happy with another man. Lamin bought me a car—a candy-apple-red Benz. He bought me furs and diamonds. He took me on trips and kept me dressed in all the hottest designer labels. Long before rappers started talking about Versace, I had the label throughout my wardrobe. I was living the life of a queen, and Lamin was my king. I would have done anything for him.
I felt that we had been through the worst and survived it to see the best in life. I remembered the night he got shot and the anguish I felt as his life hung in the balance. I had never loved a man like I loved Lamin. I believed in us and I felt that we had survived the storm. Things could only get better.
following in footsteps
I knocked on Lamin’s door one Saturday afternoon in December
. It was the Saturday after my twenty-first birthday, and I was feeling good. Lucky answered it wearing a pair of cut-off shorts with a tank top, her hair pulled up in a bun. She looked a mess, but she was still pretty despite her disheveled look. I walked inside.
. It was the Saturday after my twenty-first birthday, and I was feeling good. Lucky answered it wearing a pair of cut-off shorts with a tank top, her hair pulled up in a bun. She looked a mess, but she was still pretty despite her disheveled look. I walked inside.
“What the hell were you doing?” I asked her, looking her outfit over with a frown.
Lucky laughed. “I was working out, Olivia. All of us are not as blessed as you, ya know? You have a body that would make Naomi Campbell jealous, and you don’t even have to work for it. I have to do crunches, squats, and work up a nasty sweat just to keep up with girls like you.”
I laughed. “Whatever!” Lamin came out of the bedroom, swaggering with his slight limp. “Hello, big brother.”
Lamin came over and hugged me tightly. “You don’t come by often enough, baby girl. How you been?”
I plopped down on their comfy couch. “I’m fine. I’m getting used to my apartment and everything.”
Lucky chimed in. “Did you get your furniture yet?”
I nodded. “Yup. I went to Maurice Villency and bought a seven-piece set. You have to come by and see what I’ve done with the place.”
Lucky seemed impressed but Lamin didn’t. “How the hell can you
afford furniture from there, and you don’t even have a job? You didn’t ask me for the money. So where did you get it from?”
afford furniture from there, and you don’t even have a job? You didn’t ask me for the money. So where did you get it from?”
I frowned. “Well, aren’t you all up in my business?” It had been months since I asked Lamin for money, so I was not surprised by his curiosity. But I was tired of answering to him.
“Yeah, I’m all up in your business.” Lamin sat next to me. “You ain’t getting it from me. You used to always come to me for money but not anymore. So where you been getting all this money from?”
“Lamin, I came by to show you my birthday present, and you’re too busy giving me the third degree. What’s up with that?”
He seemed to back down somewhat. “Let me see your birthday present, ma. What did you get?”
I smiled and gestured for him to follow me to the window. He looked out and I pointed to the silver Acura parked at the curb. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Where did you get that car, Olivia?” Lamin seemed to speak through clenched teeth.
“It was a gift …”
“From who?” His voice was getting louder.
“From a friend, Lamin!”
“What kind of ‘friend’ would spend thousands of dollars on you for your birthday, Olivia?”
“Lamin,
Brian
bought me a car so that I won’t have to keep asking him to take me everywhere I go. You need to calm down.” I tried to lighten the mood. “What are you, jealous?” I punched him playfully in the arm.
Brian
bought me a car so that I won’t have to keep asking him to take me everywhere I go. You need to calm down.” I tried to lighten the mood. “What are you, jealous?” I punched him playfully in the arm.
Lamin was getting angrier by the moment. “Why do you keep lettin’ niggas trick all their dough on you like that’s all it takes to keep you happy?”
“There is nothing wrong with a guy buying me stuff. Don’t try to make the shit sound so cheap.”
“It is cheap, Olivia.”
“How? You just bought Lucky a car. Does that make her cheap?”
“No, it doesn’t. You know why? Lucky is my girl. She lives with
me. There is love between us. The niggas that you got don’t love you, ma. They use you. They use you for what they want because they know they can afford your price tag. Your price tag is your rent money, the car outside, and the clothes you wear. You’re selling yourself short. That shit is whack. Your standards are too damn low. Just like our mother. You’re actin’ just like her.”
me. There is love between us. The niggas that you got don’t love you, ma. They use you. They use you for what they want because they know they can afford your price tag. Your price tag is your rent money, the car outside, and the clothes you wear. You’re selling yourself short. That shit is whack. Your standards are too damn low. Just like our mother. You’re actin’ just like her.”
I felt like I had been sucker punched in the gut. Silence filled the room as I stood heartbroken looking into my brother’s eyes. He had compared me to the one person neither of us wanted to be like. I felt wounded.
Lucky tried to break the ice. “Olivia, I think the car is very nice …”
I wasn’t trying to hear it. “Lamin, fuck you. If that’s how you feel then let me take my low-standards-having ass back home.”
I stormed out and took the stairs rather than wait around for the elevator. When I got downstairs, I got in my car and peeled off blaring “C.R.E.A.M.” from my car stereo. “Cash rules everything around me.” Lamin could kiss my ass.
Lucky gave me that look. The look said it all. There was no need for any words. But she started yappin’ anyway.
“Why did you say that to her, Lamin? You don’t have to be so hard on her all the time. You hurt her feelings.”
I rolled my eyes and walked out of the room, but Lucky followed me. I turned to face her. “When people leave the room that usually means that they don’t want to be followed,” I told her.
“I don’t care, Lamin!” Lucky was twisting that neck of hers, giving me a whole lot of attitude. That was the black girl in her. Sometimes when I looked at her I could see her Asian features so much that I would forget that she was half black. But when she got mad that black side came right out. “Olivia is a grown woman, and you stay treating her like a baby. So what if she’s getting money from niggas—”
“I don’t
want
her getting money from niggas!” I was pissed just
thinking about it. “She has to give up pussy for that money. She has to be somebody’s toy for money. She don’t need to do that shit. She can come to me, and I’ll give her anything she wants. These bum-ass niggas ain’t got dough like I got dough, so why can’t she come to me to get all that shit? I could give her the same clothes, cars, jewelry, and all that shit, Lucky.”
want
her getting money from niggas!” I was pissed just
thinking about it. “She has to give up pussy for that money. She has to be somebody’s toy for money. She don’t need to do that shit. She can come to me, and I’ll give her anything she wants. These bum-ass niggas ain’t got dough like I got dough, so why can’t she come to me to get all that shit? I could give her the same clothes, cars, jewelry, and all that shit, Lucky.”
She nodded. “Well, maybe she’s sick of you being her own personal ATM. Maybe she don’t want to have to come to you every time she wants something. She’s a grown woman.”
“Exactly. So she should act like a grown woman and get a fuckin’ job. Why can’t she make her own money instead of depending on me or anybody else for it? Huh?”
Lucky was at a loss for words, and to me that meant victory. I had proved my point and shut her up for once. I went back into the living room and sat on the couch, propped my feet up, grabbed the remote, and watched a welterweight boxing match on cable. Watching sports was a sure way to take my mind off the bullshit.
I got cozy and Lucky came in and sat down beside me. She took the remote from me and turned the TV off.
“What the fuck are you doin’, Lucky?”
“Lamin, I was thinking …”
“Oh, God!”
“Seriously, Lamin. Olivia might have a method to her madness.” Lucky spoke gently and held my hand in hers. “She never
had
to make it on her own. She always had you to be there for her. Or your mother was there to make sure she was alright. She never had to do for herself. Now you want her to hold her own, and that’s impossible because she’s never done that. She never had a job. Not even a part-time job flipping burgers in a fast-food spot—nothing. She has no experience doing anything, so how is she supposed to stand on her own two feet?”
had
to make it on her own. She always had you to be there for her. Or your mother was there to make sure she was alright. She never had to do for herself. Now you want her to hold her own, and that’s impossible because she’s never done that. She never had a job. Not even a part-time job flipping burgers in a fast-food spot—nothing. She has no experience doing anything, so how is she supposed to stand on her own two feet?”
I thought about what Lucky was saying. It made sense but it still didn’t make me feel better about her dealing with all them burn niggas.
Lucky wasn’t done. “Why don’t you give her a job at Shootin’ Crooks?” she said. “Olivia could help you out, and you can pay her a salary. That way she won’t feel like it’s a handout.”
I thought about it and I felt like one of those cartoon characters who gets a good idea and the imaginary lightbulb appears over their heads. It made perfect sense. I smiled. “That’s why I love you, girl. You keep a nigga on his toes.”
Lucky smiled and kissed me. I pulled her close and thanked God for giving me a woman who cared enough about my problems that she would think of ways for me to solve them. I knew in my heart that, one day, I would make her my wife.
The next day, I had a meeting at Sony. The video I shot for Leo had become kind of a ’hood classic. My style of directing and producing was unique, so I was in high demand. I used imagery to the fullest extent possible, keeping viewers glued to their seats, at least until the video went off. So suddenly, I was the nigga to see. Everyone wanted me to direct their video. I was at Sony to meet with a group called Phya. They were an R&B trio and their manager was a young black man in his thirties. He was clean cut and well dressed. But he was arrogant, shouting over the artists themselves when I asked what type of concept they had in mind for their video.
“Let’s establish the fact that
I’m
in charge here!” the manager barked at me. “If you want to talk about concepts, talk to me. I have all the concepts you need.” The singers seemed used to his attitude but I wasn’t. I stood ready to crack his faggot ass in the jaw, but the group’s A&R stepped in, right on cue.
I’m
in charge here!” the manager barked at me. “If you want to talk about concepts, talk to me. I have all the concepts you need.” The singers seemed used to his attitude but I wasn’t. I stood ready to crack his faggot ass in the jaw, but the group’s A&R stepped in, right on cue.
“Mr. Michaels, can I have a word with you, please?”
She was a pretty woman. She was a light-brown sister and stood about Lucky’s height. Her hair was in the neatest cornrows I had ever seen and they hung to her delicate shoulder blades. She wore a body-hugging black suit and heels and she carried a Coach bag. I noticed
because I had just bought an identical bag for Lucky. But best of all, she had the prettiest eyes with the curliest lashes. I was checking her out so seriously that I forgot how mad I was at the manager.
because I had just bought an identical bag for Lucky. But best of all, she had the prettiest eyes with the curliest lashes. I was checking her out so seriously that I forgot how mad I was at the manager.
She led me to a corner of the room and extended her hand. “I’m Dream Biggs,” she said. I couldn’t help laughing out loud at that one.
“Dream Biggs, huh? Well, I’m Get Money, it’s nice to meet you.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You can crack jokes all you want, but that’s really my name. My parents were a jazz musician and a dancer so they got poetic when they named me. Anyway, there’s no need for you to tell me your real name. I know who you are, Mr. Michaels—”
“Please, call me Lamin.”
“Okay, Lamin. I wanted to warn you that this guy is an asshole, but I see you found out the hard way.”
I looked in the manager’s direction. “Yeah. I was about to knock his ass out until you stepped in my path. Then, I was blinded by your beauty.” I said it all in my sexiest baritone.
She laughed at me. “Please! My name is Dream Biggs, not Born Yesterday” I chuckled along with her. She got right back to business. “I’ll be the go-between for you and the manager. That way your male egos won’t get in the way.” She winked at me.
“What if I get distracted by your beauty again?” I asked, only half kidding.
Dream looked in my eyes and licked her lips seductively. “Well then, we’ll have to call the meeting to a quick close and go somewhere a little more quiet,” she said. She walked away and began discussing concepts with the manager.
I liked the sound of that. And, just as I had hoped, it was a short meeting.
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