Flip Side of the Game (14 page)

“Humph, a hairstylist with her own salon. I'm impressed, and darlin', you being able to do hair is right up my alley. I been wanting to try those—wait a minute,” she said, stepping away from the stove and peeking down the hallway toward the living room. “Samira, what is those things I wanna try?”

“Flat twist, Ms. Betty,” Samira answered, seeming somewhat annoyed, as if she had heard that question hundreds of times before.

“Yeah,” Ms. Betty said, resuming the conversation. “Flat twist. I been wantin' to try them things, but I been scared they gonna pull my hair out.”

“They won't pull your hair out as long as you don't try combing it out.”

“What about that gel?”

“Well, I use a little gel because that's what makes the flat twist stay together, but you have to sit under the dryer.”

“Oh, one of them bouffant dryers? I got one of them, chile. Right in the other room.”

“Okay. Well, I would recommend you going to a salon and getting it done. Not unless you know someone who can do your hair and knows what they're doing.”

“My new daughter-in-law.”

“Oh,” I said to Taj. “Your brother's married?”

He shot me a look like,
Please, you have just opened a can of worms for yourself
. Then I realized it was me she was talking about.

“Oh, me,” I said, pointing to my chest. “I don't travel with my hair supplies, Ms. Betty. I'm sorry.”

“Chile, there is a Mi-Mi's on just about every corner, with all the hair products you can imagine.”

I really was outdone with Ms. Betty's forwardness. Taj seemed a little annoyed, but I could tell that I was under tight scrutiny about the way I was to handle Ms. Betty. She seemed to mean a lot to this entire family, especially since their mother had died, so I was sure that I needed to be careful how I said “I don't think so” to Ms. Betty.

Just when the “I” came out, I completed the sentence with, “can do it. I'll do it.”

“Here you go,” Taj said, handing me the keys to his Escalade.

“Taj, I don't know where I'm going.”

“I know, baby. Don't you see Ms. Betty? Ms. Betty loves to ride.”

“Sho' do,” Ms. Betty said. “I'll show you where it's at. There's one right on Bergen Street.”

Ms. Betty reminded me of Aunt Cookie, but with a little more ghetto poise. She was slick, where Aunt Cookie lay it all on the line. I was certain that if these two met, they wouldn't like each other. Aunt Cookie didn't care for women she thought always had an underlying meaning to anything they said.

When we drove down Clinton Place and cut over a side street to hit Bergen, I answered all of Ms. Betty's questions with a yes or no, including the one she asked about Taj and me living together. She was nosy as hell, and from what I could tell, she was nosy on an ongoing basis.

“How long have you and Mr. Bennett been together?” I asked, right after she had grilled me with the same question.

“For thirty-five years really. Off and on, but after his wife died, we got together all the way.”

“All the way?” I said, giving her the same,
Yes, I'm all in your business
look that she was giving to me. “That's interesting,” I said, but I was thinking,
You're an old-ass ho, Betty. Taj is only thirty-two.

“I know what you're thinking,” she insisted, “but things happen.”

“Oh, Ms. Betty, I understand.”
That you was creeping with Viola Bennett's man. Oh, I understand quite well.

When we arrived at the beauty supply place, it wasn't much different than the ones in New York. All the people in there were Chinese, with the exception of the fake-ass black security guard standing at the door.

When Ms. Betty and I returned, Taj, his father, and his brother were sitting at the kitchen table playing a game of Spades.

“My book!” Taj's brother yelled when I walked in the kitchen and placed my hand on Taj's shoulder. Taj then tilted his head to the side and kissed my hand.

“You get what you needed, baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, Vera!” Ms. Betty yelled, excited. “Let's get this started!”

I could feel Taj watching me as I washed Ms. Betty's hair, like he was thinking about when we first met. When I looked over my shoulder, Taj was peeking over his hand of cards and staring at me with a serious look—not one of anger, more like one of appreciation and love. In an effort to break the monotony of the stare, I winked my eye. He winked back and returned to his card game by saying, “Y'all know whoever has the deuce of spades gets the kitty! Don't even try it.”

For once in my life, at that very moment, I felt loved—and not just loved, but I felt in love. Here was a man that cared about how I felt, what I thought, the simple things that I had always longed for. There he sat at the kitchen table with his father and brother, laughing and joking, dealing out cards, and making me feel like the queen of hearts, all at the same time.

Miss Betty's hair needed a touch-up like you wouldn't believe, but she wouldn't hear of it. I tried to explain to her that the flat twist were not going to last for a long time as long as her roots were hit, but she wouldn't hear of it.

“My girlfriend Maxine does my relaxers.”

“I understand that, Ms. Betty, but your roots really need to be touched up.”

“Vera,” Taj's sister Samira said, with her daughter Tae-Tae sitting between her legs, “don't argue with Ms. Betty. She has to learn the hard way.”

“This is my head!” Ms. Betty snapped at Samira. She snapped more like this was an old and ongoing argument, and not one that just started over a flip comment.

“It's okay, Samira. You're right, Ms. Betty. I'll do my best.”

When I was done, Ms. Betty had flat twists going around in a circle all over her head, and a blonde ponytail (at her insistence) swinging on the side. Ghetto fabulous is what she requested. She wanted to be old and young at the same time, and although I hooked up her hair and she was wearing the hell outta this hairstyle, she still resembled an old-ass Shanaynay.

“You got it goin' on, Miss Betty!” Taj said. “My baby certainly hooked you up!”

Quite frankly, I was embarrassed, as this was not my best work. Had she allowed me to choose a style for her, I probably would have given her three goddess braids or twisted her hair into a bun.

“Baby,” Taj said, tight-lipped as Ms. Betty walked over to show off her hair to Mr. Bennett, “what the hell did you do to Ms. Betty's hair? I've never seen you do a hairstyle like that.”

“That's what she wanted,” I responded, tight-lipped. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I don't know, baby, but as soon as Ms. Betty step foot on Fabyan and Hawthorne, I'ma have to get Sharief or Samira to defend you, because all the people headed up to Valley Fair will be asking who in the hell left the gate open!”

I playfully mushed him on the side of his head.

“Give me a kiss,” he said.

“Taj, we are sitting at your father's dinner table.”

“Just give me a little one, please. They're not looking. Pop too busy lying to Ms. Betty.”

I slid him a quick brush against the lips. I saw Ms. Betty peek, but this time, she didn't say anything.

“Come on, baby,” Ms. Betty said to me. “Let's leave them in here. Let's go in the living room and talk.”

Ms. Betty, Taj's sister, and I talked about everything. I found out that Ms. Betty was never able to have any children, so when Taj's mother died, she stepped in and was able to love Taj and the twins like her own. Although she and Samira didn't seem to always get along, you could tell that they loved one another.

Samira told me that she had recently enrolled in cosmetology school and that her dream was to own her own salon as well. I gave her my card and told that when she graduated she should let me know and she could come work for me. That is, if she didn't mind working in the city.

Ms. Betty told me how much she loved Taj and that she was happy that he found someone who loved him the way that I did.

Once it started to get late, Taj was ready to go home. Ms. Betty insisted that we spend the night. “I know y'all ain't gonna be driving back over to the city in the dark. Come on and stay.”

“We can't, Ms. Betty,” Taj insisted and kissed her on the cheek. “I'm glad we all had a good time, but I have a long shift tomorrow, so I need to get home.”

“And where is home?” Ms. Betty asked, real slick, as if she actually wanted to know the street address, as opposed to who he shared a bed with.

“Avenue K in Brooklyn,” I said, more to him than to her.

He smiled and said more to me than to her, “Yes, Avenue K.”

“And who lives there?” she asked.

“I lived there first,” I explained to her. “Now Taj and I live there together.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, sounding relieved, as if her nosy-ass quest to knowing whether or not we lived together was finally conquered, not knowing that it was only at this very moment it was made official.

When we left, everybody promised that the next time, they would come to Brooklyn and visit us.

 

 

At first, I thought that sex could never express the way that I felt for this man, my man, Taj, and then I realized that there could never be enough words to describe how he made me feel and how special his whole existence was to me. We lay in the king-sized sleigh bed that was now ours, and our naked bodies were covered by the streams and strips of the moonlight that were sneaking in through the mini blinds.
Was I doing the right thing?
I thought as I took his right hand and placed it on my left breast, so he could feel my heart beating. When he took his lips and pulled the nipple soft, but with a firm grip, I knew that this was it, and this was where I wanted to be.

When we finished making love, I said to Taj, “Tell me about your mother.”

“My mother?” he asked, genuinely shocked.

“Yes. Tell me about her.”

“My mother was a lot like you. She was rough around the edges, but had silk for the core.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He chucked, as if his mind had stumbled upon a memory. “And she could cuss like a sailor!” At this point, he was completely laughing at his own thought. “One time, she cussed Ms. Betty out so bad for sneaking around with my father that Ms. Betty sat at the Madison Lounge for a night straight and drank five rounds of rum. And then, when Ms. Betty stumbled out the bar, Mommy beat her ass!”

“How'd that make you feel?”

“Excuse me?” he said, like he expected me to laugh instead of asking a question. “What is this, flip the script? I can remember having this conversation with you a couple of months ago, except you were on the other side.”

I smiled, but gave him a look to let him know that I expected an answer to my question.

“All right, baby. For a long time, I was resentful of Ms. Betty and my father, as well, but I had no one but my father. The twins were small, so they didn't understand. But me, I was old enough to know that Ms. Betty wasn't some nice lady who just wanted to be around. She wanted to take my mother's place.”

“Is that how you still feel?”

“Hell, no!” he said, losing control over his tone. “I'm sorry, baby. It's just that sometimes, I can't stand to think of my mother not being here to see me, the twins, my niece, and not being here to meet you, Vera.” He turned over and lay on top of me, not in the position of wanting to make love, but more in the position of getting me to listen.

“You have to stop hating Rowanda,” he said.

I went to say something, but he placed his finger on my lips. “Let me talk. You only get one mother, and then there's no second chance, believe me. All the memories and dreams that you have of her will not bring her back when she's gone. That'll be it, and you'll find yourself talking to yourself and wishing she were here. Believe me, baby, it's not easy.”

He lay his head on my breast, and I wrapped my arms around him, and he nestled in my breast. I could feel the cold wetness of a tear trickling down and running over my nipple.

“So, you think you wanna be wit' him forever?” Rowanda asked, walking slowly into the shop, looking around.

At first I didn't say anything. I figured what she was asking was really none of her business, but then again, she was trying. “Do I wanna be with who?”

“Taj.” She laughed. “Cookie tells me that he keeps you in check, Vee!” When she noticed that I didn't think the shit was cute, she tilted her head down and walked toward me. “May I give you a kiss on the cheek?”

“For what?”

“Because I haven't been able to laugh with you since you were seven years old and the drunk old lady was riding a kid's bike and kept hitting the curb.”

The thought of that instantly made me smile. To see the drunk old lady riding a Hot Wheels in front of the projects, hittin' the curb and cussin' at folks, saying, “What y'all motherfuckas lookin' at?”

All of a sudden, I was stretched out in laughter, and I reminded Rowanda of how the old lady said, “I will bust a nigga's ass that fuck wit' me and my ride!”

Rowanda laughed so hard that she cried. “And do you remember when she hit the curb and tilted to the side? She hit a wheelie and started signing the Dramatics' version of ‘Outside In the Rain'?” Rowanda laughed so hard you would have thought that she was bellied over in pain.

Once I wiped the tears from my eyes, I noticed how Rowanda was staring at me, how she stroked my double strand twist, and began to play in my hair. “Remember how I used to do your hair? Remember when I told you that I wanted you to be a beautician?”

“A hairstylist, Rowanda,” I said, quickly correcting her. “A beautician stands in the kitchen with a straightening comb and a hot plate, but a hairstylist is runnin' the show.”

“All right, all right. A hairstylist.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I was so proud of you when Cookie told me that you graduated from college and you had a cosmetology degree. I was never happier. When Cookie told me that you opened your shop, I used to sit across the street on the bench and watch you sometimes in the morning.”

“You did that? Why?”

“Because you're my baby. I'm your mother, and I love you.”

“I don't wanna talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“About being your baby and you being my mother. I'm not ready to deal with that.”

She didn't say anything. She stood still for a moment and then said, “What time you closing?”

“The shop is already closed. That's why nobody's here. Why?”

“I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“For what? We just spent time.”

She made a swallowing motion with her throat. “I don't wanna let go of the laughter.”

“We can't pretend that you been clean all my life, and I will not fake the funk that I wasn't left in a trash dump to make you feel better.”

“You don't have the ability to make me feel good or bad. That's for God to do.”

“Well, that may be so, but I'm just letting you know.”

“Well, let me know on the way home,” she said.

“Home?”

“Yes. Lincoln Street.”

When I parked in front of the building that Rowanda called home, I noticed that the buildings weren't as big as they seemed when I was child. I got out and looked around like a stranger in my own homeland, desperately trying to search for the feeling that I had the night before social services took me away.

Rowanda grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back and smiled. When we stepped in the courtyard, I appreciated the beauty of the projects.

Lincoln Street was lined with buildings from one corner to the next, and they all seemed to get along. The music in the courtyard was a DJ mix of dopefiends, welfare queens, some tryin' to make it, and some who just couldn't take it. But the commonality was “the struggle,” and that was what made 'em laugh, made 'em cry, made 'em die, and made 'em stay alive, and hold on tight to a building filled with untold stories, dreams, and life lessons.

Dirty and Biggie were outside in front building 251A, sitting in their ride, throwing up gang signs and listening to Fifty Cent's “Gangsta.”

Rowanda's attitude instantly changed as she walked over to the driver's side of the custom made Coupe Deville convertible and slapped the shit out of Dirty in the back of his head.

“I told y'all niggas 'bout that shit! Don't be bringing that gang shit 'round here!” The way she gave 'em that Aunt Cookie look, they knew she wasn't playing. For the first time in my life, I could see that Rowanda was strong, and it didn't take much to set her off. “Show some respect. You see Vee standin' here!”

“What up, cuz?” Dirty said. Biggie just nodded his head. “Get y'all asses out the car and come upstairs! Vee gonna stay a li'l while,” Rowanda said, ghetto as hell, sounding like the twin version to Wanda Sykes, with her hands on her hips and her mouth tooted up, reminding me of myself.

“A'ight, Ro, damn,” Dirty said, snatching his car radio out of the socket.

“And don't be cussin', either.”

I was a little taken aback by Rowanda and how she handled Dirty and Biggie like she was their mother, and not her twin, Towanda. Towanda was a nasty bitch, and nobody liked her. She got high off of everything from baby aspirin to angel dust. Towanda stayed around Lincoln Street for a little while, but she got the full pledge package and couldn't afford the cocktail. Took her three months to die, leaving Dirty and Biggie with Grandma, Rowanda, and me.

The apartment wasn't as empty as I last remembered. There was some furniture now: a futon, a table, some magazines, and a baby picture of me. The kitchen and the living room shared the same space. The small square wooden table was spotless, and it sat next to the small gas stove that contained half of Rowanda's beauty in the pilot. The refrigerator was olive green, with rust spots underneath the silver handles. The kitchen wall behind the stove had old grease spots, and some of the tile on the floor was missing in various spaces, but the apartment had improved. Somebody could call it home now, and there was no more echo to reflect the emptiness.

Biggie and Dirty flopped down on the futon and began to talk with Rowanda. It became evident that their lives had gone on without me, and that bothered me.

“I see y'all been livin',” I said with a smirk.

“Who?” Rowanda asked, taking food out of the refrigerator. “We makin' it a little. Dirty and Biggie think I'm stupid. They think I don't know they still slingin' that shit, but if I find it under that futon again, I'ma flush it in the toilet!”

“Ro, don't be flushin' my shit!” Dirty jerked his head and said, “Leave that shit alone. How else we gonna eat?”

“I'm gonna get a job.”

“Well, until you get one, I'ma continue my quest in pleasing the neighborhood.”

“Pleasing the neighborhood?” I said with an attitude. “You fuckin' it up! Nobody around here will get out of the slump they in if you keep dealing that shit.”

“Hey, I ain't make 'em get high,” Dirty said. “By the time I was born, most of them were already gettin' on.”

“Whatever.” I was beginning to feel uneasy, but I wanted to stay.

My cell phone started ringing as I went to talk to Rowanda. It was Taj on the line.

“Hey, baby!” I said, excited.

“Hey, baby!” he replied, just as excited. “Where are you?” he asked.

“On Lincoln Street.”

“Lincoln Street?”

“Yeah. It's a long story.”

“Do you need me?”

“Yes, but not now.”

I could tell he was smiling. “Tell me you love me, Vera.”

“I got one better,” I said. “I more than just love you. I'm madly in love with you.”

“That's what's up, baby. That's what's up.”

Rowanda was watching me dead in my mouth when I was on the phone with Taj. “I guess that's the one you wanna be wit'?” she said, placing raw chicken wings in a plastic bag and then shaking them in the seasoned flour.

I was blushing beyond my control. “I know that I love him, but sometimes I'm not sure if I exactly know how to love him,” I said, pouring cooking grease into the black iron pot.

“What part are you not sure about?”

“Everything. Love itself.”

“What's wrong with love?”

“It has too many sides, and as soon as you think you're on one side, turns out that you really on the flip side.”

“So, you think you on the flip side of love?” she said, dropping a chicken wing in the iron pot.

I sat down at the table and crossed my ankles. “Flip side of love. Flip side of the game. One of 'em.”

“Why don't you just take love and run wit' it?”

“Because I keep having dreams about dead fiends, and I'm not sure if I have the ability to commit with crazy shit floating around in my mind.”

“You gonna have to let some of that stuff rest, Vera.”

“And why would I do that?”

“So that you get a chance to breathe. If he a good man, keep him. Love him. Give him all that you can. True love is hard to find. Don't miss out, baby. Don't miss out.”

“I gotta go, Rowanda. I need to leave,” I said, cutting her off and pushing my chair from underneath the table. I couldn't take this any longer. I was beginning to feel sick, and being in the next room where an overdosed ghost was found dead with a lion's claw gash in her head was haunting me.

Biggie and Dirty had slipped out of the apartment and were smoking weed on the fire escape. The scent floated into the apartment, and it didn't seem to faze Rowanda one bit.

“Long as that's all they smokin', I don't mind. It's when they doin' dope, crack, crank, or angel dust that I have a problem,” she said, stepping away from the stove and peeping out the window. After she closed the curtains back, she looked at me, as if me telling her that I needed to leave had just registered.

“What's wrong, baby? What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just need to get going.”

“Wait, wait,” she said, looking as if she were holding back tears. “Take some of this food, please.” She wildly opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of corn, rice, and red beans.

“Wait, let me heat it up in the li'l microwave we have here. This a li'l somethin' that Biggie bought when I came outta detox. Wait one minute. The chicken is almost done. Tear that brown paper bag for me, and let me sit this chicken in that plate. Let some of the grease drain off.” Tears were softly flowing down her cheeks as she moved like a gentle hurricane, hustling food like a deck of cards.

By the time I made it to the door, I had a grocery bag filled with food. She assured me that she understood why I didn't want to stay. “Hell, I would leave if I could, but Biggie and Dirty, they need me. You got Cookie, you got Taj. I ain't shit in your life, but it's okay. I understand. I ain't your mother no how. I's a crackhead.”

I walked as quickly as I could down the hall. I ran down the stairs, and when I reached my truck, I was out of breath. Once I was inside my X5, I could feel my throat swelling up. I opened the door and threw up in the street. Then I felt like I wanted to cry. I closed the door, started driving, and watched the reflection of the projects disappear in my rear view mirror.

 

 

“Vera!” Aunt Cookie called early in the morning and said, “I need to see you.”

“Aunt Cookie, it's six o'clock in the morning. What's the problem?”

“Tomorrow is Boy's birthday, and I wanna give him a little small party.”

“I'll be there, Aunt Cookie. I'll be there.”

I wanted to roll over and die at the thought of having to get outta bed. For the past couple of days, I had been unable to move. I hadn't been in the shop in three days, and I hadn't eaten in four.

I told Taj before he left for his shift at the hospital that I had the flu, but he rolled his eyes and told me not to play him for a fool. All of his things were there now.

I hadn't spoken to Rowanda since the other day on Lincoln Street. I knew that Aunt Cookie gave her the number, but it was not like her to call. She usually would just wait and show up at the shop or on Aunt Cookie's stoop.

I wanted to tell Taj that my period was late, but I wasn't sure how he would react, so I called Shannon.

“Your period is what?” she screamed in my ear. “What about your birth control?”

“Don't say nothing to Lee or Angie, but I haven't been using any. I keep forgetting to take the damn pill the same time every day.”

“Well, you may as well get out of denial, 'cause yo' ass will not be able to hide a baby. Hell, you only live with a doctor.”

“I know, and I haven't told him, but I think he suspects something.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Because I'm always sick. Plus, the other day when I was gettin' my freak on, he put his fingers inside me, something he rarely does, because he usually uses his tongue—”

“A little too much information,” Shannon said, cutting me off.

“Anyway, when he put his fingers inside me, it felt weird, like he was pressing on my cervix or something. I had to tell him to stop because the shit was hurting.”

“So, let me get this straight. You were trying to bust a nut, and your man was doing a pelvic exam, peeping your whole card? And you think you got game? Girl, that nigga got you beat. Just tell his ass the truth.”