The Royal Family (127 page)

He replaced the headpiece’s hard strange double breasts in the cradle, stood up smiling, and cried:
Justin,
my man! How’s life?

Passing, said the tall man. Did Lily ever pay you off?

Yes, she settled her account if that’s what you mean. Case closed. How’s she doing?

Dead.

Dead? Well, uh, I—so who’s in the clutches of 850 Bryant today? Domino? No. Let me guess. Strawberry?

Beatrice.

Beatrice D. Lorenzo, as I recollect, said the bail bondsman, delighted with himself. Let me call Room 201. Just Beatrice, huh?

And the Queen.

The Queen! cried Mr. Cortez in amazement. She’s
never
gotten touched!

Tell me about it, said the tall man.

A cop carrying an envelope, his pistol loose against his hip, wandered slowly up to his doubleparked black-and-white, waving to the meter maid who would long since have ticketed anyone of another occupation. Then he looked over at the tall man and the bondsman, cheerily calling: Hey, Mr. Cortez, what’s up?

Peace, brother, said Mr. Cortez.

Look, guy, said the tall man. We got a serious situation here.

What’s her real name?

Africa.

Africa what?

Just Africa. Maybe Africa Johnston. Just Africa, I s’pose.

Mr. Cortez made a telephone call, shaking his head.—They have Beatrice, he said. But the Queen, well, they don’t know anything about her.

And all that night the ripples of desperation widened with the Queen’s girls scattering in the rain, long naked legs in high heels rushing or slowly gliding into the rain; and Tyler sat in the driver’s seat hopelessly trying to figure out what to do next as rain descended his windshield so that the parking garage sign slowly vanished under the white ovals.

•

If you do not presently meet the standard, now is the time to take action.

 

“Getting Ready for the Physical Ability Test” (San Francisco police recruitment pamphlet), 1998

•

I remember somewhere in the Bible it says that
dead flies make the perfumer’s ointment give off an evil odor.
I memorized that ’cause that just about sums it up. An’ it also says:
He who digs a pit will fall in it.
Makes me so depressed. Makes me wanna kill myself. I’ve been fallin’ so long it’s like I can’t never see the sun, maybe ’cause I do my work at night time, but maybe that’s bullshit since I can also remember too much light that I be tryin’ to hide from like a bug. At least that lady I bought the sofa from, back when I still had a house, when I got evicted I got my money back, ’cause I went to her house an’ stole it, just for my own self-respect. Now I don’t got shit. I look like a fool. Know what end I shoot for? All ends, honey. Front an’ back an’ up an’ down. I know I got more at stake. I may act poor but I was born rich. God will make diamonds fall from Heaven. Do I believe that? I don’t even know. I’m tryin’ to act like a big shot but I’m just a sole survivor. I don’t wanna have to do anything crappy like pick up a nigger. But I do. What the fuck. My own grandmother was a nigger. I got nigger blood. Here I am, stuck with obstacles. Oh, I had riches. I had fruit inside me. I guess I was seven months along an’ then this drunk fucker tried to play with me. I wasn’t really his, but he didn’t accept that, so my baby died. Is that why I’m driven to drink? Why shouldn’t I be? I got receipts; I’m legal; I’m a certified washup. Sometimes I do what I gotta do but I ain’t no street woman. I do it ’cause I wanna find a gentleman to save me, an’ they know it. But they get on my damn nerves. Always want me to give ’em hits. I work hard for my medicine. I need it as much as they do. Everytime I go over to them for friendship, I have to fuck up my cunt an’ smoke up my money just for them. I got one john, I was living with him an’ his girlfriend. But I always had to fuck them both, day an’ night, just to get a little weed. He always wants me to party with him an’ her, suck on his . . . I don’t like that. All of them, they always want me suckin’ on his dick. An’ his girlfriend, even though I eat her stinkin’ pussy she gets jealous. After the fact, she wants to argue with me. An’ I say, look, honey, I’m just a toy. I got no plan of my own. I’m just a rapeseed tryin’ to grow any old way. I’m just a tumbleweed, rollin’ an’ rollin’ through the desert, tryin’ to get away, but there ain’t no away. This is drivin’ me crazy. I be wantin’ to kick back an’ relax, find my patch of shade, enjoy gettin’ high all by my lonesome. But most times I can’t. I try to get friends. They tell me come by, I come by with my own cunt, ready to work. I do it ’cause they drive me crazy an’ I give up. They don’t care, an’ they always be stoppin’ me, in between me an’ my pleasure. They say: Someone’s at the door. It’s like someone’s come to hunt me down. But ain’t never nobody there. It’s just their way to kick me out, when they done come already on my face or between my tits or in my ass or on my belly or in my sweet little cunt that works so hard for me an’ gets so tired. An’ most times I can’t never even wash, because just when I want to wash off their jizz or piss or whatever, they say: Kitty, someone’s at the door. They kick me out. That’s why I got no friends I can
trust. They all smoke. They all freaky-dealin’ with me an’ with each other. Me now, I just wanna relax. Why do we always got to have that freaky thing goin’? I’m serious. I want to get the fuck out of here. But Heaven won’t take me an’ I’m not sure Hell is any better than here.

I remember when we lived in L.A., I used to be with a man that used to scare all the men in the streets. They called him the six o’clock man, ’cause by six o’clock he’d always have been in at least one fight. Oh, he used to beat me so bad. Thanks to him I even got shot in the back. Some drive-by shooting was goin’ on because everybody wanted to ex
*
him; he was so hated. It was on the freeway, an’ then this gangstermobile pulled up an’ fired one gunshot into our car. It hit me down under my shoulderblades. I started feelin’—oh, how can I even tell you? I don’t wanna discuss it. Well, I passed out. My six o’clock man wouldn’t let me go to the hospital ’cause he said that was
snitching.
So I laid on my tummy for about two weeks an’ then I . . . Sometimes it still hurts. That was about three years back. An’ one night he put a Mark on me so if I run away he could always find me an’ catch me. See it here, on my forehead? It’s invisible in the wrong light, but it says I’m his. It says that I’m just his kitty, an’ he can sell me or punish me or kick me out. When he got behind, he traded me so he could catch up. He traded me to a nigger that every day woke me up by spittin’ in my face an’ yellin’:
Hey, white trash!
I was too scared of him even to scream. But one morning when he had drunk himself to sleep I ran out. I always knew I was gonna do it. But by night time my Mark was burnin’ red on my forehead like a whole city on fire, an’ it felt like a big ironworks or something like that where it gets so hot that metal turns red like blood an’ burns you so bad you can’t even live. An’ so the six o’clock man found me easy. All he had to do was look out the window. I was like some fire runnin’ an’ runnin’. I thought I was gonna die. His face was like darkness eatin’ me. But there was a sweep just then, an’ for once the cops helped me. So I got away from him. An’ I went out an’
worked
my little cunt ’till I had enough to run run
run,
an’ I came up here, all the time prayin’ to God because I believe in Him. Believe in God, baby, ’cause he keeps us pure an’ he keeps us safe. (No, I don’t go to church but I believe.)

Well, I’m sellin’ my candy right in the Tenderloin, an’ one night this ho on Taylor Street she tells me about the Queen. Is it the truth or is it a lie? I know I would go to find out, so I go to where I see this big flock of girls standin’ under the streetlight, an’ I look an’ I look an’ I can’t hardly believe it ’cause I see no pimps. An Chocolate here, she says to me, am I happy? I tell her: You wanna hear about me an’
happy?
Huh. Last time I was happy I can’t even remember. Ain’t that a shame, she says. An’ I say, that’s a shame. Well, bein’ introduced to Maj, that was the happiest time I can . . . I guess the way I’m built, I just need to feel the power helpin’ me. In Narcotics Anonymous they say trust your higher power. We seen with our own eyes that Maj is
Queen.
Our Queen is our higher power. An’ she is also just my fun friend. Just a fun-loving friendly person that loves me an’ cares for me. You know what? You very rarely find people that is
deep inside their own heart.
There’s nobody else.

Yes, I did have a boyfriend. ’Bout a month ago I got rid of him. He was no good for me, same like all of ’em here. Maybe I dream of some man sometimes, not a nigger but a decent black man. I’m attracted to black men. (Actually, I haven’t dreamt in I don’t
know how long, ’cause I haven’t slept in a while.) But why should anybody be attracted back to me? I don’t feel that special. ’Cause now my Queen’s gone. I don’t want ’em to look at me. Even when I be out there on streets in a skimpy dress an’ no underwear just for my business an’ their cars slow down to give me the once over, I wanna cry out
Why do they keep lookin’ at me like that?
Then I know. It’s not my booty they wanna be lickin’ with their eyes. It’s that they see my Mark burnin’ an’ flamin’ so they can’t miss it even if they want to. That’s why sometimes even women drivers slow down to look me over from my head to my toes. I want to say I’m sorry. Everybody’s just thinkin’ we’re fucked up. Well, they’re right. I can only say I—I—I’m enticed by your acknowledgements.

The entire time that Kitty was talking, she kept pulling condoms out from between her breasts, and milking herself unconsciously.

•

. . . and whoever does not fall down and worship shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace.

 

D
ANIEL
3.6

•

Past the buzzer, a revelation: Authority, in an ecstasy of sanctimonious prayer, would until the end of time keep busy destroying monsters. Tyler saw phony-wood desks, an industrial tape dispenser; staplers, and staple-removers everywhere. A vending machine’s front comprised a rectangular glass eye. Everywhere he looked, some poster or other explained how sad and tricky this world was:
PARENTING IS DIFFICULT—TO HELP YOU COPE, TALK ABOUT IT
. No wonder so many parents made mistakes, then.

That’s a nice poster, said Tyler to the secretary.

Sir, I’m actually quite busy this morning, the secretary said, adjusting her headset (that microphone should be closer to your mouth, Tyler wanted to explain).

Why, what a
coincidence!
cried Tyler heartily. So am I!

Well, then, said the secretary, how about if you do your job and I’ll just do mine.

Your job must be difficult, too, said Tyler, pointing to the poster.

Excuse me? the woman said.