Riding Dirty on I-95 (17 page)

Mercy thought about walking across the hall to Ms. Pat's house, but she saw her begging, junkie son over there and decided not to. Mercy plunked herself down on the leather living room sofa. She did not want to spend the night watching TV by herself, so she went through the phone book of her cell phone, looking to see if there was anybody she could call to kick it with, but there was no one. As bad as she wanted to call C-Note, she just couldn't bring herself to hit the
send
key. She was too embarrassed to call after witnessing him getting knocked out like Roy Jones, Jr. Then the way he snatched away from her like he had some ill feelings towards her just added to the reason she wouldn't, or couldn't, call.

Let me call that Herb dude
, Mercy thought to herself.
Let me see
what he's talking about.
She grabbed the phone and called up Herb.

“Yo,” Herb said, answering the phone.

“Hey, Herb, it's Mercy,” she said. “How are you?”

“Hey, Mercy,” he said, all happy. “I'm chillin'. How are you?”

“Everything is good,” she said as she picked up the remote, turned the television on, and started flipping through the channels.
Why the fuck do I even pay cable? It ain't ever a daggone thing on here. I could come up with better stories than they got on this thing. My life is way more interesting than this shit.

“I didn't think you were going to call.”

“I told you I was, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you did.” He paused, then asked, “What you gettin' into?”

What was she getting into? She hadn't planned on getting into anything 'cept some more runs for Hyena, but now that old dream of hers, that dream of making something of herself, was surfacing in her mind.

“I'm just chillin', taking it easy,” she said, “but later on I'm going to probably go out to the Literary Boutique. There's this book I need to pick up.”

“What book you trying to get?” he asked.

“I want to get this book on how to write scripts and make movies.”

“Word?” he said, sounding very surprised.

“Yup,” she said, suddenly feeling excited.

“That's cool as shit. What made you decide that's what you wanted to do?” he said, trying to kick small talk, but at the same time sounding interested.

“Reading so many books and watching movies,” Mercy replied. She felt her pulse quicken as she began to talk about her aspirations and dreams. “Whenever I go to the movies and watch
them, I always feel like I could have done so much better with the project. So, why not do it? Oprah said follow your passion, and I'm about to make it happen.”

“Look, let's do some lunch or something, and then maybe I can go to the bookstore with you.”

“Okay. That sounds cool. Where you want to meet?” she asked, glad to be getting out of the house.

Mercy and Herb agreed to meet at the bookstore. After realizing they had lost track of time in the bookstore, lunch had come and gone. They decided to have dinner and catch a movie. After the movie Mercy was even more amped about turning her dream to write, direct, and produce films into reality. The whole time over dinner, she talked Herb's ears off about how she was going to make this come true. She couldn't think about anything but how bad she wanted to kick down the door of the film industry.

“You know, maybe I will do a DVD first and hope that someone will see my work and then want to take me to the big screen,” Mercy said as they rode in the car.

“It's possible. Once your script is done, I know some people who could help you out.”

“Fo' real?” Mercy said with excitement.

“Yup.” He nodded, smiling at her. “And you know what?”

“What?” Mercy asked, focusing in on every word.

“I know you don't know me well, but I want you to know that I will support you in any way you need me to.” Herb looked over at Mercy and licked his lips. “You seem for real about your shit. You might be a good investment.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Mercy said. She had never shared her dreams with anyone before. She might have mentioned it a time or two, but no one had really paid any mind to her seemingly far-fetched dreams.

“And I mean that shit, too.”

Mercy reached over and gave Herb a hug, damn near making him wreck the car. His words comforted her and gave her that extra push she needed. Herb seemed genuine. Not for one minute did Mercy question what he might want in return. When Herb pulled up in front of Mercy's house to drop her off and didn't even try to worm his way inside, Mercy was even more convinced of his sincerity.

For the next couple of days, until she had to make her run, Mercy read the scriptwriting books she had just bought and began working on her first script, which she titled,
A Girl's Gotta Do What a Girl's Gotta Do.

Once she returned from her run, she poured her all into her script, sometimes not leaving the house for days, most of the time barely taking a shower and changing out of her pajamas. She even slacked up on handling her business with Hyena. She printed out copies of the script and sent it to Raheem and Nayshawn to get their opinions and to help them both get their minds off of the jail time.

Raheem called her right away. “Boo, this here is really good. I can practically see it in my head as I'm reading it. You keep on keepin' on.”

Nayshawn was just as encouraging.

Mercy would read excerpts to Chrissie when she was around, and Chrissie started planning the premiere party.

“Girl, we are gonna have famous rappers, and it'll be off the hook,” Chrissie told her. “And you and I are gonna stroll up in our furs. We'll have a red carpet and everything.”

Every day Herb would listen while she read her script to him either in person or on the phone. He seemed to be just as happy about her writing as she was. He encouraged her. Although it was obvious that Herb sold drugs, something about him made him seem so different from the other hustlers she had encountered.

A
fter three months of working on her script, Mercy decided that she should take a course on script writing. She had been so caught up in her writing that her work wasn't consistent, which meant her cash flow wasn't either. She would have to figure out a way to pay for the class or get someone else to pay for it for her. She made a trip to the university to look into some screenwriting courses. Tution would be forty-five hundred dollars. She had been saving for it, but it was taking too long for her to get the full amount, so she filled out some financial aid papers. However, the school's intake person was not reassuring that she would get it.

Mercy was afraid that any day someone would produce a film similar to her idea and all of her hard work would be in vain. She wanted to perfect her game and get shit rolling now. As Mercy sat in front of her computer, she tried to figure out how she could cover her tuition for the courses plus keep a roof over her head. When Deonie left she never reported it to housing, so she was still on low income, paying next to no rent, but a sistah still had to live. She was too embarrassed to ask Hyena for an advance, because the reality was that she should have had enough money in her stash to be able to pay the forty-five hundred. How could she
not? Hyena paid her a pretty penny for each run she made for him. It was just too bad that she had no control over it.

As Mercy sat on the round ottoman she had in the middle of her closet, she gazed over her designer shoe boxes, handbags, and clothes and began to sob. In her hands she held her latest bank statement. Her balance was seventeen dollars and eleven cents. After having to struggle and scrape for so long, once she'd gotten money, she had shopped as though she was ballin' out of control. Why shouldn't she treat herself? she'd thought. She had no man to surprise her with presents, so she'd showered herself with love. She'd spent like there was no tomorrow or if there was a tomorrow, she would have more work to bring in more money. In addition to wanting to treat herself to expensive clothes and jewelry, she'd wanted to be able to have something to show for it. Like most young people, Mercy hadn't thought about something to show for it being a nice fat savings account.

The reality set in that she had made many foolish decisions. She hadn't cut any corners, either. She did everything to pamper herself: manicures, pedicures, weekly facials, and hair fixed once, sometimes twice, a week. Clothes were always the best of the best. She rationalized her expenditures by telling herself,
I am a little thick, and I have to make sure my shit is ten times flyer than a little Jane Fonda bitch who can get away with that cheap shit.

Although she was taking risks up and down the highway, she had the chance to take a bad situation and turn it around to something good. But now her pockets were on empty and she had no savings. All she had was some determination and her script, but from here on out, she knew that she wasn't splurging on anything. Her prime focus would be to make money to get her film out. She knew she would need some help, though.

Just then the phone rang. Mercy got up to answer it. She
looked at the caller ID and saw that it was just the person she had been thinking of. It was as if she had thought him up.

“Hello,” Mercy said, clearing her throat, trying to pull herself together.

“Hey, lil' momma,” Herb said.

“Hey,” she said, sniffling a bit.

“What's wrong?” Herb said, concern in his voice.

“Nothing,” Mercy lied, putting her head down.

“Come on. Now you know you can tell me.”

Mercy paused. “It ain't nothing, just frustrated is all.”

“About what?”

“My script,” Mercy answered with a sigh. “I just want to be able to move forward and get it onto the screen. You have no idea how bad I want this. Before, it was just something I used to think about. But ever since I started talking about it to you and actually started to work on the script, I can taste it. I know you hear me talkin', but I'm sure those are just words to you. You can't imagine how strongly I feel about breaking into the film industry.”

“Yes, I do,” he said in such a sympathetic tone.

“I'm just feeling so overwhelmed right now, and I want this to happen more than anything.” Mercy couldn't believe she was pouring her heart out like this.

“Look, you need to get out of the house,” Herb said. “Why don't you come meet me somewhere? We can talk about it. You never know, we might be able to help each other out.”

Mercy accepted Herb's invitation, and they decided to meet at a restaurant midway from where they each lived. She got herself together and headed out to meet him. The whole drive over to meet with Herb, Mercy just couldn't get his words out of her head. “We might be able to help each other out.”

When Mercy arrived at the restaurant, Herb wasn't there yet.

She sat down anyway and waited eagerly to hear what Herb was going to say to ease her frustrations.
Is he going to turn me on to the folks he said he knew?
Mercy thought.
Is he going to spot me the money and become an investor? He might want to get legit, and this would be the perfect opportunity for him to clean up all of his dirty drug money. Or does he want to produce a little paper for a sexual favor? You never know with these types.

“How long you been here?” Herb asked as he walked up to the table where Mercy was sitting.

“Oh, I just got here,” Mercy said, looking up, catching a kiss in her left eye that was supposed to be for her forehead.

“You ordered yet?”

“No, not yet,” Mercy answered.

“I'll send your waitress right over,” the hostess said with a smile as she walked away.

“You look so down,” Herb said, putting his hand on top of Mercy's. Mercy just sat there. “Look, baby, I understand how much you want this movie thing to happen, and I want it to happen for you. Remember that I'm that nigga that encourages you. I'm that nigga that held you afloat when you felt like you were sinking. Me, Herb.”

“I know and appreciate that, fo' real,” Mercy interrupted.

“Now remember when I told you in the beginning when you first started talking about your writing and stuff that I knew some people who could help you out?”

“Yup,” Mercy answered, glad that he was getting to the point.

“I wasn't lying,” Herb said sincerely.

“Fo' real?” Mercy replied, glad that Herb wasn't just selling her a dream.

He nodded in the affirmative. Mercy began to feel anxious. Just as she was getting ready to speak, the waitress came over to take
their orders. Neither of them had even looked at their menus, so they asked her to come back in a few minutes. Just as soon as the waitress walked away, they went right back to the conversation at hand.

“Look, I'm finished with it. Now I just need it to be edited. My girl Chrissie was always the bomb in English class. She said she'll edit it for me. I want to throw her something. You know?” Mercy continued, not taking a breath. “I want to go to film school. It costs around forty-five hundred dollars, but with me paying for editing, buying these books to teach me how to write scripts, and whatnot, I ran through a lot of money, and now …,” Mercy paused. She took a deep breath. The last thing Mercy wanted to do, or any woman wanted to do with one of her male friends, was to let him know that she was broke. “I'm in a position to, and I want to, go to film school, but my money is all funny right now.”