In My Hood (9 page)

“Yeah. Take me home, man.”

After pulling up in front of Ishmael’s one-family home, Ishmael gave Derrick dap and hopped out of the truck. He watched Derrick round the corner, then turned and walked up his driveway. He pressed the automatic garage opener button on his key-chain remote, and the door opened to reveal his Lincoln Navigator Unlimited, his BMW K1200GT motorcycle, and his silver CLK320 Mercedes Benz. He jumped in his truck and backed it out of the driveway. Tapping the button again to close the door, he headed for IHOP to get a quick bite to eat.

D
esiree was taking her break in the back room of the IHOP restaurant. She had been there for five hours, and she was beat. She still had a few hours to go before punch-out time. She didn’t get much sleep because of all the noise that went on in the apartment. Beverly’s kids ran in and out of the house, slamming the door constantly, and every time they slammed the door, Beverly would yell at them.

“What the fuck is wrong with y’all niggaz? Y’all know Rae-Rae in there tryna sleep.”

As if it wasn’t bad enough that they made noise, the neighbors were yelling in the hallways or outside in front of the house, so most of the time she only got a few hours of sleep.

She sat in the chair at the table with her head on her forearms. She had asked her coworker Darrell to wake her up at the end of her break.

Meantime, Ishmael pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. He sat there for a few moments contemplating whether he should go in. He didn’t know if Desiree was working or not. Finally deciding to take the chance, he got out of the vehicle.

Walking into the restaurant he headed to the front register.

“Welcome to IHOP. Table for one?” the woman asked.

Ishmael nodded, wondering why she would ask that question when he was the only one standing there. The waitress grabbed a menu and a place mat and asked him to follow her.

“Right this way, sir,” she beckoned.

Ishmael followed the tiny woman through the restaurant to a rear corner booth that sat two people.

Ishmael sat down and looked out the window at his truck. He had a good clean view of his baby.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“Um . . . I’ll take a 7-Up,” he stated while looking over the menu. “Um, excuse me, is Desiree working tonight?”

“Yeah, she here. She on break though,” she said with a crooked smile.

“Well, I’ll wait until she gets off break to order.” He winked at her.

The waitress smiled. “Well in that case you need to sit over in her section.”

Ishmael moved over to the next row and continued to view the menu.

“Desiree, Desiree.” Darrell shook her awake.

“Hmm.”

“It’s that time. You got three minutes left on your break,” he stated.

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Thanks.”

She stood and took a deep stretch. Desiree went into the bathroom to rinse her mouth out and washed her face and hands. Exiting the bathroom, she swiped her employee card, punching in from break. As soon as she appeared at the station, the short waitress informed her that she had a customer.

Desiree rolled her eyes at the hostess. She knew she was on break, so why would she seat a customer at her section?

There were two other couples in the restaurant. It was slow for a Friday morning. Their busiest nights were from Thursday to Sunday, and of course on the holidays. But that night seemed eerie. It was like a ghost town in the place. Normally Desiree liked it when it was slow, but that evening she needed to keep busy in order to stay awake.

“How long has he been here?” she asked while peering down at the customer who had the menu covering his face.

“He just got here.”

Desiree snatched a piece of peppermint candy that sat in a bowl at the register. She grabbed her pad and pen and headed for the customer to see if he was ready to order.

“How are you today, sir? I am your waitress and my name is...” Desiree stopped in mid-sentence when Ishmael lowered the menu.

He looked up into her green eyes and smiled.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered to him, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

“Ordering me something to eat. What are you doing here?” he asked as if he didn’t know she worked there.

“You know why I’m here. I’m working. As if you didn’t know.” She rolled her eyes, placing her hand on her hip.

“You work here?”

She sucked her teeth at him. “You know I work here. Don’t play yourself.”

“What a coincidence.” He continued to smile at her.

Ishmael looked her up and down, almost undressing her with his eyes. She had on a pair of black fitted stretch pants that hugged her curves, a white low-cut shirt that showed her cleavage, and an IHOP apron.

She began to feel uncomfortable, and she tugged at her clothing.

“Are you going to order something or not?” she asked with attitude.

“Easy, Rae. I haven’t decided yet,” he toyed with her.

“Well, I’ll come back when you’re ready.” She walked away.

Once back at the station, the short hostess approached her.

“Mmm, I see somebody got an admirer,” she said, smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm. The way that baller was checking for you, I know you know what I’m talking about. Besides, he asked for you personally.”

Desiree sucked her teeth and went to stand out of Ishmael’s view.
These people are so damn nosy
, she thought.

“Go take his order. You can’t keep a customer waiting all night.” The short hostess snickered.

“Who y’all talking about?” the manager named Hazel asked, walking up to them.

“About that fine mother father sitting in Desiree’s section.”

Hazel looked in the direction the short waitress was pointing. “Hot damn! I’d like to ride his pony. Umm, umm, umm!” Hazel said with a little too much enthusiasm for a woman in her early fifties.

“I told her to get with him. He is all that. Plus, he asked for her personally.” The tiny woman elbowed Hazel.

“A request, huh? What be your problem, gurl? You better nab that tenderoni.” Hazel continued to gawk.

“Hazel, you just a horny old woman,” the short hostess said, laughing.

“Call me what you want, but if baby gurl over here don’t get with that, then he’ll be calling the Lord’s name laid out on his back by the time I’m done with him.” She snapped her fingers.

Ishmael watched the women in their huddle and knew they were talking about him. He watched Desiree’s disgusted expression as she stalked toward him.

“What’s wrong, ma?”

“Nothing. What do you want?” she said, irritated.

“Now is that the way to treat a customer?” He smiled.

“Listen, Ishmael, I’m at work, and I don’t have time for games.”

“A’ight, ma, I see you’re not in a playing mood. I’ll have the steak and eggs,” he said, placing the menu down on the table.

“How do you want your steak?” She sounded rehearsed.

“Let’s see—” he took a sip of his soda—“well done.”

“How would you like your eggs?” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Rae, I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I just want to talk to you.”

“How would you like your eggs?” Her attitude reappeared.

“I want eggs whites only, scrambled well.”

“Egg whites are extra.”

“Do it look like I’m beat for money?” He leaned back, staring at her blankly.

“I don’t know what you’re beat for,” she said, snatching up the menu and storming off.

Hazel watched the interaction and decided to take it upon herself to approach Ishmael’s table.

Desiree watched Hazel from a distance, at the way she giggled and performed like a high school kid. Hazel was overweight and ghetto fabulous. Her big belly jiggled every time she laughed as she playfully hit Ishmael.

Several minutes went by while Desiree gawked as the two conversed. Hazel waddled her wide hips, adding a little too much swing to them over to Desiree.

“Desiree, I just had a conversation with your customer. He is quite the gentleman. He’s informed me that he’s been tryna talk to you for several weeks now and you won’t give him the time of day. What’s the problem?”

This pissed Desiree off that Hazel had the nerve to get all up in her business.

“First of all, Hazel, I’m a grown woman. Secondly, I don’t need you in my business.” Desiree rolled her eyes. “Lester, is that food ready yet?”

“Coming up in a minute, Desiree,” Lester the cook shouted.

“Listen, Desiree,” Hazel said, pulling her over to the side, “why don’t you at least see what he wants? He really sounded sincere to me, and I can tell a player when I see one. He don’t strike me to be a man of games. I think it would be a good look for you, gurl. Give the man a chance. If you not feeling him, then drop his ass like a bad habit, but at least try,” Hazel reasoned.

“Why are you doing this?” Desiree asked.

“Doing what?”

“Helping me—you know, being nice to me.”

Hazel looked off into the distance before she spoke again.

“Because you remind me of my little sister. She was just like you. I wanted nothing but the best for her, but she died at the age of twenty-five. Her life was taken for no good reason. She worked hard and went to school to better her life, just like you. I miss her, and when you got hired here, I felt a certain closeness to you because of her.”

Desiree was taken back. She didn’t know how to quite decipher what Hazel had just said to her. She couldn’t understand what Hazel’s sister had to do with her when they barely had conversations with each other while they worked. But for whatever reason she was doing this, Desiree felt she was sincere and she wanted to give Ishmael a chance to see what he wanted. But he was a drug dealer, and she wasn’t having that. Although in the back of her mind, she longed for him secretly, she would never outright admit it to anyone—especially Beverly.

I
shmael was sitting on his bed counting his money. Something wasn’t right. He knew he had a certain amount that he kept on the shelf behind the wall panel.

“Sixty . . . eighty . . . Two thousand five hundred and eighty?”

He sat back and looked at the grip he held in the palm of his hand. He knew he kept an even five G’s on his shelf for easy access—his “play money” is what he called it. He would replace any play money that he took at the end of each week. Lately he had been coming up short on his count. But he would just chalk it up to the amount of haze with which he had been indulging himself lately.

He opened his safe and put in the grip from the block he collected. He removed the money he had in his pocket and replaced that shy of his play money. He then put everything back in its original place and closed the safe, replacing the wall panel. When he came out of the closet, Zola was standing in the room. Ishmael was startled and pulled out his gun, aiming it at her.

She threw up her hands. “Shit, Ishmael,” she yelled.

“Why the hell you creeping round here for?” he asked, jamming his gun back in his waistband.

“I wasn’t creeping. I walked into the bedroom.”

Ishmael walked back over to the bed and sat down to remove his Timberlands.

“Where you been, Ish?” Zola asked.

“What you mean where I been?” He frowned at her.

“I mean what I said. Where you been?” She stood there with her hands on her hips.

“I been working. Where the hell you think I been?”

“You ain’t never stayed out the way you have been the past few weeks. I hardly see you anymore.”

He didn’t say a word. He continued to get undressed quietly.

“So you not going to say anything?”

“Go ’head, Zo. I’m not for this shit today. I wanna try and get a few hours of sleep.”

“Oh, I see what’s up. You sticking another bitch?” She laughed. “You think it’s sweet like that. But trust she can have yo’ ass ’cause yo’ shit is straight garbage anyway.”

Ishmael looked up at her with evil eyes. “Trust, if I was
fucking
somebody else, yo’ ass would be history. Although that don’t sound like a bad idea.” He smiled back at her. “If my shit is garbage then bounce.”

Zola rolled her eyes at him and stormed out of the room. He laughed to himself. It felt good to see her being on the receiving end for a change. Although he wasn’t sleeping with Desiree, he still enjoyed seeing the jealousy seep through Zola’s pores.

It was 10:00 a.m. when he finally laid back on the bed after getting undressed. He had dropped Desiree off at home earlier that morning. Since that day two weeks ago in the restaurant, they had become quite close. They did a lot of talking. Nothing intimate yet, but a lot of good conversations came out of the time they spent together. Desiree also made it real clear that she didn’t like his occupation of choice.

He would pick her up from work at the end of her 7:00 a.m. shift, and they would drive to her house and sit out front talking sometimes for hours. He adored her more each time they were together. She had street smarts and intelligence. Desiree had asked him on several occasions if he would leave the game and get a real job. He told her he’d plan to, but if she became his lady he would drop it like a bad habit, but he didn’t even believe what he told her.

On one occasion she had asked him about his acquired taste for violet candy. He told her that it kept his breath fresh. She asked him if he wouldn’t mind stop eating the candy. It reminded her of a day she’d like to forget. She didn’t go into detail about it, so he stopped eating the candy although he had a certain addiction to it.

His feelings for Zola were giving way to the newfound friend he acquired in Desiree. The more he thought about her, the less he thought about Zola. He had asked Desiree out on a date that evening since she didn’t have to work. She’d accepted his offer. He thought about the night’s plans and went over them in his head.

Zola stormed back into the room, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ishmael, I need some money,” she demanded.

He didn’t respond.

“Do you hear me talking to you?”

“Zola, what do you need the money for?” he asked with a blank expression.