Harlem Girl Lost (4 page)

Jesse sighed. “Forget I asked,” she said, knowing what the answer was.

AUNTIE BIRDIE

A
s Jesse climbed the three flights of stairs of the decrepit, dimly lit tenement that she called home, Birdie, her roommate and Silver's “auntie,” greeted her at the door. Birdie was like a mother hen when it came to Jesse and Silver. He was always overly protective, and detested it when Jesse gave people in the neighborhood money all the time.

He stood waiting by the door filing his nails, wearing a green satin robe, huge pink curlers in his hair. “How much of your money you gave away today?”

Jesse only smiled as Birdie read her face.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Birdie said knowingly. “Why you always giving these no-good niggas your cash, Jesse?”

Jesse entered the apartment. “Because they're my people, and they need it.” She plopped down on the couch.

Birdie slammed the door shut and folded his bulky arms over his broad chest. “Yeah well, I wouldn't give them niggas shit! If anything …” Birdie paused and then said defiantly, “I would ve made their asses earn those dollars, if you know what I'm saying, child?”

Jesse gasped in shock. “Stop it, girl. Are you serious?” She knew very well that Birdie wasn't joking.

“I'm nasty,” Birdie said, snapping his fingers for emphasis, “but times are too hard to be just giving away ya hard-earned cash, ‘cause a buck is a buck and a fuck is a fuck, child, and I ain't getting too much of either these days.”

Looking toward the bedroom door, Jesse hushed him. “Shh, girl, Silver might hear you.”

Birdie waved her off. “Oh, child, please, she's sound asleep.” He walked to the kitchen. “Do you want any coffee?”

Jesse kicked off her boots with a weary sigh. “No thanks, girl. I gonna walk Silver to school so we can catch up, and then come back and take a hot bath and get some sleep.”

“Rough night?” Birdie inquired.

Jesse shrugged. “You know, same old same old. Damn tricks wanting something for nothing.” She sat upright as if she had an epiphany. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, it was this one trick last night—and girl, you won't believe this shit!”

Birdie rushed over with his coffee and sat down beside her. “Now don't spare me any of the details. What happened, girl?” he asked, nearly breathless with excitement.

Since Birdie had retired from hooking, his life consisted of
General Hospital, As the World Turns
, and babysitting Silver while Jesse worked at night. So when Jesse came home with tidbits of hoe stroll, he savored it and lived it through Jesse's eyes.

Birdie's real name was Benjamin Alton. When he was sixteen, thirty years ago, he'd run away from Alabama to New York after he no longer could take the repeated rapes by his
stepfather. Soon after arriving in New York, he'd fallen on hard times and begun sleeping on trains at night and spending his days at the Port Authority bus terminal. One day when Birdie was cold and hungry, an old white man had offered him twenty dollars for a blow job. He'd accepted it, and he'd been on the hustle ever since.

“Well,” Jesse continued, “I'm working Twelfth Avenue last night, out there by the water, when this big, shiny black limousine with tinted windows and everything is cruising around peeping out us hoes. Everybody knew this nigga is hunting for some pussy ‘cause he done circled the block three times. I'm thinking he's just trying to make up his mind which one of us he wanted to get with.” She paused to catch her breath. “And you should have seen all them bitches posing and profiling and shit, breakin’ their damn necks to get his attention, ‘cause you know that trick was good for at least a hundred dollars.”

“I know that's right, child,” Birdie agreed.

“Anyway, all of a sudden he starts slowing down and the motherfucker stops right in front of me.”

“Then what?” Birdie asked, brows lifted in anticipation.

“Then the passenger-side window starts to roll down and I walk over and look inside and this black dude is driving. He's wearing one of them black chauffeur outfits, and he says, ‘My boss in the back would like to know if you're interested in a date.’ I said, ‘Why can't your boss tell me himself?’ ‘Cause you know I ain't getting in no ride if I don't see how a motherfucker looks.”

Birdie nodded in agreement. “You got that right, girl, ‘cause they still ain't catch that motherfucker that been killing all them girls. You got to be careful! I just heard on the news that
he struck again and cut this girl up so bad her head was damn near off her body.”

For nearly a year, a serial killer had been killing women in the metropolitan area—primarily women of the night. The deranged killer's modus operandi was horrid. After he butchered them, he drained the blood from their bodies and thoroughly bathed them. Then he dressed them in a wedding gown and made love to them. The newspapers dubbed him “the Butcher of Broadway” and “the Groom of Frankenstein.”

Waving her hand, Jesse dismissed his comment. “Please, girl, he ain't doing nothing but killing up them white girls. He ain't interested in no dark meat.”

“Still, Jesse, that motherfucker is a sick bastard, so you just be careful. Now go ‘head and finish telling me what happened.”

“So anyway,” Jesse continued, “I ask him why can't his boss tell me himself. That's when the back window starts rolling down, and I look inside and I say to myself, ‘I be damned’!”

Birdie grew impatient with anticipation. “Come on, girl, what was it? A celebrity? Ooh, a celebrity with a big-ass dick?”

Jesse frowned. “You are fuckin’ nasty. All you worry about is dicks, hoe!”

Birdie paid the comment no mind. “Yeah, I'm a hoe, but don't forget my evil twin, and her name is Moe! Now tell me what you saw.”

Shaking her head at the outrageous comment, Jesse continued. “I look inside once again to see if I'm seeing thangs, but goddamn it, there it was again …” She enjoyed keeping Birdie in suspense, and purposely paused again to build him up till he was ready to burst.

Birdie shouted, “What, bitch? What was it?”

Moving closer, Jesse looked him straight in the eyes. “A midget!”

Birdie frowned in disappointment. “A midget?”

“Yes, girl, a midget … I look over at the driver and he has this ‘What can I do?’ look on his face. I turn and look back at this lil’ white Gary Coleman, and he has this big-ass Kool-Aid smile on his big-ass face.”

“Then what you do?”

“Fuck it, a trick is a trick, right? So long as he got money— and trust me, this little motherfucker ain't gonna be out here in no limousine without no paper. I tell him, ‘Yeah, but it's gonna cost ya two hundred.’ He says, ‘Get in!’ I get in and look around, trying to act like it ain't no thang, right? But it's hard ‘cause this bitch is laid the fuck out! Plush seats, TV's, champagne, and any kind of liquor you want. Then he peels off two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. I take it and put it inside my bra, then I tell him to tell the driver the directions to the motel, and the lil’ motherfucker says he wants to take care of business right there in the limo while we ride around.”

“No, he didn't!” Birdie said, astonished.

“Hell, yeah, girl, so I give him this leery-ass look and he begins to peel off another two hundred and holds it up in front of me.”

“What did you do?” Birdie asked.

“Bitch, what you think? I took that motherfucker!”

“No, you didn't, girl.” Birdie giggled.

“Yes, I did … shit, for four hundred dollars I would have fucked his lil’ ass in Macy's window during rush hour!”

“And you call
me
nasty,” Birdie said. They both laughed. “Then what?”

“Girl, that little motherfucker went straight to eatin’ the coochie!”

“Stop!” Birdie said, edging closer as the story got meatier.

Jesse nodded proudly. “Yep, like Pac-Man. And the lil’ motherfucker was fierce, too! Girl, he licked me from my asshole to my elbow and from the rooter to the tooter.”

Birdie placed both hands on his chest. “Stop!”

“Hell, yes, girl! I ain't never got my pussy ate like that before! Shit, that big-headed motherfucker was so good that I came about sixteen times.”

Hands over his mouth, Birdie's eyes widened. “Sixteen? Stop!”

“No shit! Sixteen … had my toes curling and everything. Hell, I should have paid
his
ass.”

“So what about the fuck? Did he fuck you? How big was his little-ass dick?” Birdie shouted, unable to contain himself any longer. “Come on, girl, tell me!”

Before she could finish the rest of the story, Silver walked into the living room.

“Good morning, baby!” Jesse said.

Silver smiled and ran into her arms. “Mommy!”

“Did you sleep well, baby?”

“No, I had another bad dream, Mommy. It was about you again,” Silver said, hugging her mother tighter.

“Aw … everything's okay, baby. You don't have to worry about Mommy,” Jesse said softly rubbing her back. She looked up at Birdie. “Anyway, girl, I'm going to change and get Silver
ready for school so me and my baby can catch up on things.” She reached inside her bra, pulled out a thick wad of cash, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Birdie. Birdie stared at the roll of bills.

“Damn, child,” Birdie whispered, “I might have to come out of retirement and show y'all bitches what a real lady can do! And none of you hoes would make any money.”

“What happened to waiting for your tall, dark, and handsome?” Jesse teased.

Birdie chuckled. “I'll settle for short, white, and big-headed…. Ooh, by the way, did you happen to get Gary Coleman's number?”

THE RULES

J
esse chose to walk uptown to Silver's school rather than take the bus because she was giving Silver the first portion of her daily education—the streets. The core of central Harlem had many decaying yet still-beautiful brownstones that were now abandoned or served as flophouses, occupied by horror-flickish addicts seeking temporary refuge to get off a quick hit or nod. As they turned the corner onto Lenox Avenue, they watched the addicts milling about, engaging in desultory conversation, while waiting for their daily methadone dose from their program. Many of these addicts were there for business purposes also. When they got their orally ingested medicine, they sometimes refrained from swallowing it, so they could sell it on the street in what they called “spit-back”

With each corner they turned, or each block they walked down, there was always something that she could teach or show her daughter. As they walked to school, it seemed everyone stopped to greet Silver and Jesse. They ran into Stickbroom Johnny, and Jesse handed him some money. Stickbroom stuck out his wrinkled, midnight-black hands.

“I sho’ tank ya, Miz Jesse,” he said, and gave her one of his famous “good Negro” shuck-and-jives.

“No problem, Stickbroom.”

Stickbroom looked at Silver. “So how ya doin’, Miz Silva?” he asked, displaying a wide, gummy smile.

“I'm fine, Stickbroom,” she answered. As they continued on, she asked, “Mommy, why did you give Stickbroom all that money when the newspaper only cost a quarter?”

“Because some people are not as fortunate as others. So as human beings, we have to help those people out because you never know when they will help you. Do you remember when I taught you about the the laws of the universe?” Silver shook her head. “Well, it is quite clear and never fails. In order for you to receive, you must first give.”

Silver pondered her mother's words. “Is that the reason why you give Mitts money all the time? ‘Cause he need it?” she asked at last.

“Well, yes.”

“But he uses the money for drugs, and you said drugs are bad.”

Jesse looked at Silver, searching for the right words. “Yeah, but people like Mitts been using drugs for so long that they can't help themselves. I'm sure they would stop if they could, but if they don't get their drugs, they can die.”

Silver stared up at her. “But you didn't die, you stopped it.”

“Yes, that's true, but some people are different. Some people are so far gone that they give up rather than stopping.”

“That's bad, but if the laws of the universe are true, you will receive something from him, right?”

Jesse smiled. “Yeah. But you don't necessarily expect something
in return from a particular person. A blessing can come from anywhere. That's why I have you.”

Arriving at the school, Jesse, as usual, drilled Silver with precious and necessary information she felt her daughter needed to know and remember. Every single day, Jesse asked Silver the same questions over and over again, until the child could say it backward if needed. She had been doing this since Silver could talk. Jesse did this for several reasons, knowledge, self-esteem, and wisdom being the most important. Jesse knew just how hard this world could be for blacks, especially a black girl. So Jesse groomed Silver with information to offset any and all misconceptions that might hinder her. She programmed her to look at things through a totally different spectrum—the notion of possibilities instead of complacency. Jesse etched these principles so deeply in Silver's mind that the girl would be forced automatically to do the right thing, because that was all she knew.

Standing at the gate of the schoolyard, they began their morning ritual. Arms folded, Jesse spoke. “Okay, Silver, who's the smartest person in your class?”

“Me, Mommy,” Silver said with all the confidence in the world.

“What kind of degree do you have?”

“I have a Ph.D. in common sense.”

“Who's the prettiest girl in your class?”

“I am.”

“Why are you in school?”

“To prepare me to become anything I want to be!”

“And what is it you want to become?”

“A doctor,” Silver said with enthusiasm.

Jesse grew stern. “Is it going to be easy?”

“No, it's going to be extremely hard and challenging.”

“Why do you expect it to be hard?”

“Because if I expect things to be hard, everything will eventually become easy.”

“What can you expect out of life?”

“The only thing to expect out of life is the unexpected!”