Cold As Ice (14 page)

“And who invited you?” Nellie asks. “You're not on my list.” This is the angriest I've ever seen my girl, whose dark brown skin looks radiant in her yellow shirt. I guess she figured one thing should match her new hairdo.

“I don't need no invitation. I'm the uncle. I've got rights, too, you know.” Mikey looks around Nigel's kitchen in awe of the lavish detail and state-of-the-art appliances. “How much you think I can get for that blender?”

“Nothing—now go home,” Mickey says, snatching her brother's hand away from the expensive equipment and pushing him toward the door. His homies laugh as she tries to move their boy. An eighth grader, Mikey could easily pass for a sophomore in high school. Mikey started banging with Mickey's man a couple years ago when Mickey and her man were hanging real tight. She has no one to blame for where Mikey's loyalties now lie but herself—and maybe her parents for letting her date a gangster in the first place.

“Go home? But the party's just getting started, big sis.” Mikey takes a forty-ounce of Olde English beer from the brown paper bag he's holding and begins drinking it. Mickey better hope Mrs. Esop doesn't walk in on this shit. She'll call the police in a heartbeat, no matter whose brother he is.

“Oh, my God,” Nellie says, waving her hands in the air in complete melodramatic fashion. I agree this is a mess, but acting like Erica Kane isn't going to get us anywhere.

“Look, y'all, this is a private gathering on private property,” I say in an attempt to bring some much needed perspective into the room. “I suggest y'all get out of here before Nigel's parents find out you've brought alcohol to a teenage party. They'll have no problem pressing charges against all y'all.” I know they don't care about getting caught by adults, but they do care about getting busted over something like this. Each of these four fools has a rap sheet as long as Nellie's weave.

“Hey, Jayd. You look good in them jeans, girl,” Mikey says, already faded. “When you gon' let a nigga hit?” While thinking of an equally offensive comeback to this little boy's question, I feel my mom's cool eyes begin to take over my own. I look into Mikey's thoughts and change what he sees.
You will leave this house now,
I say, before unexpectedly letting go. Mikey looks back at his crew, dressed from top to bottom in black except for the red rag they each have hanging from their back pockets, and then back at me, confused about what I know he's thinking.

“Are you wearing blue, fool?” one of Mikey's friends says to me. Mikey looks more mellow, but his boy's question seems to take him right back to where we started, and his crew is there with him.

“I'm not a fool, fool, and I can wear whatever I want.” Nellie and Mickey both look at me like I'm the baddest bitch ever, and I admit, that's exactly how I feel. My mom's powers are having a serious effect on my self-esteem.

“You got a big mouth on you for someone so little,” he says, taking a step toward me; but Mikey stops him in his tracks.

“Nah, man. She's cool. If it weren't for her, Tre would never have gotten the props he deserved at his funeral.” Mikey's friend looks like he wants to smack the shit out of me, and I wish he would. I've got several different ways I can work these salad tongs to my advantage if I need to. His friend looks down at my blue off-the-shoulder shirt and jeans with matching detail like a bull seeing red. I've never understood how someone could have so much loyalty to a color.

“Try me,” I say, picking up the wooden spoon with fork attachment, ready to work them upside his head. Mickey looks mad as hell, but not at her brother's friend. Instead she's staring at me like I sold her out. What the hell?

“Let's go, dog. There ain't shit for us to do here, no way,” Mikey says, leading the way out. I guess my thoughts did sink in after all. Nellie and I follow them out to make sure the boys leave.

“But what about honoring Tre's memory, dog? That's why we're here, ain't it?” Mikey's boy says. Tre's memory? What does Tre have to do with any of this? I know Mickey fooled around with him once or twice, but that was a long time ago, or was it?

“Get out of here now, Mikey. Damn, you have a big mouth!” Mickey shouts. I guess big mouths run in their family. Mickey pushes her brother out of the kitchen and toward the front door, but not without first taking a sip of his beer.

“All right, Mickey, damn. Can a nigga finish his drink first?”

“Drink? What kind of drink?” Mrs. Esop says, coming down the stairs and meeting the uninvited guest in the foyer.

“Oh, it's just a little Olde E,” Mikey says, not realizing he just ended the party for his sister in more ways than one. Mrs. Esop looks at Mickey with pure rage in her eyes and then back at her brother, whose friends are already out the door.

“You indignant little hoodlum. Nigel, get these people out of my house!” Mrs. Esop yells, practically running out the patio door. Mikey exits the front door, leaving me, Nellie, and Mickey alone in the room.

“This was all a part of your master plan to break up Nigel and me once and for all, I know it,” Mickey says to me, now completely irrational. Nellie silently watches us go at it, upset that she's no longer in control of today's festivities.

“Why would I do that?” I ask, heading back into the kitchen, but I've just about had it with defending myself against my own girls. “Trust me, Mickey. I want you and Nigel to be together just as much as you do.”

“Oh, please, Jayd. You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself,” Mickey says, rolling her neck. “What, you think you're white now because you got a white boyfriend and new friends, staying up all night drinking coffee and talking about books and shit? Get a grip, fool. You still live in the hood, and I know you know better than to wear the wrong colors.”

“Whatever, Mickey,” I say, ready to clock her ass. But I have to think about the baby, not her. “How was I supposed to know your brother and his gang were going to show up?” Nellie looks at me as if to say
I told you to wear yellow
but doesn't say a word. Since when did being original become a crime?

“Jayd, I know you can't wait to tell Nigel I slept with Tre. It'll support his mama's theory that I'm nothing but a slut and you're the Virgin freaking Mary,” she says, not realizing Nigel, Rah, Chance, Jeremy, and Nigel's mom have reentered the room behind her.

“You did what?” Nigel asks, dropping the liter of Coke he's carrying on the cream-colored carpet. Thank God for plastic bottles. Nigel looks around at us all, completely embarrassed and hurt. He runs past us and out the front door, with Rah right behind him. Jeremy and I look at each other in recognition that our no-sex plan is definitely the best policy for us. Chance and Nellie are already sleeping together, but, hopefully, they're having second thoughts about their love life, too.

“This is all your fault,” Mickey says with tears of fear and pain in her eyes. I can feel her daughter's panic from inside the womb, but there's nothing I can do to help my godchild. I'm not doing a very good job at protecting Nickey Shantae, but, hopefully, I can fix this mess before she gets here. “Nigel, wait!” Mickey calls after him, but if I were her, I'd let him cool off a bit before trying to tell her side of this soap opera. Before she runs down the stairs after Nigel, she turns around and takes a final stab at me. “Did you tell Rah about how you left Rahima upstairs asleep with the door wide open?” Now that was cold, even for Mickey. Misty smiles through the glass door, marveling at what I assume is somehow her work. I'll deal with her later. The deejay is still spinning, but we've become the main attraction, and not how Nellie planned it.

“Jayd, what's she talking about?” Rah asks from the bottom of the porch steps where he and Nigel are standing. Nigel looks up at Mickey and shakes his head. Before I can answer either one of them, Nigel walks off, with Rah and Mickey following behind.

“I trust you all will clean up this mess and tell the rest of your friends the party's over,” Mrs. Esop says, heading back upstairs. “And I look forward to seeing you at the debutante meet-and-greet in a couple weeks, Jayd.” She got everything she wanted without having to lift a finger or break her word. She's the coldest bitch I've ever met. We should take notes from her playbook. Mrs. Esop's swagger is so tight I know she's got haters wherever she goes. We'd better get to work putting her house back in order, as there's no fixing the mess Mickey's made. I feel sorry for my girl, but no matter what she thinks, this isn't my fault. She made her bed, and now she's got to sleep in it, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

S
ince Sunday's horrific barbecue, Mickey has been in rare hater form for the past two days. Luckily, I've been so preoccupied with my own shit it's been easy to avoid the madness. Nigel's mad at Mickey, Mickey's mad at me, and I don't know what to do. Lucky for me, Jeremy's kept me on my game academically by making sure I don't miss a single study session. The APs have provided the perfect distraction from everything else until I can find a solution to the madness.

Thank God for the regular faculty short Tuesdays, which provided an early escape from today's school bull. And Misty's still due a good cussing out, but she's been absent all week. Misty's done some evil shit in her day, but telling everyone in class about me leaving Rah's daughter alone during an incident that she indirectly caused is the epitome of low. And Mickey repeating the shit in front of Rah on Sunday was icing on the cake for the heffa. What I want to know is exactly how Misty's doing her dirty work this time. Maybe Mama can give me some insight when I get to the shop this afternoon. She's still upset with me for moving out, but Mama can never turn away from me when I need her help.

It's been interesting running errands for Mama, now that I can drive, and she's taken full advantage of it since I've moved out, too. Because of the spiritual initiation she's participating in next month, Mama's had to outsource a lot of her usual work to get ready for the festivities. The priest she's sending me to this afternoon lives all the way on the other side of town in Long Beach. At least Mama said she would reimburse me for gas money when I get to the shop this afternoon. This morning was the first time she ever called and asked about the early Tuesday school schedule. I should've known then she wanted me to do something for her with my extra afternoon hours.

When I arrive at the old house, it immediately gives me the creeps. I ring the front doorbell and see an older Latina woman in the living room. The elder doesn't move from her spot on the ancient sofa and points me to the back of the house. She must know why I'm here. I walk around the unkempt front porch and notice a raggedy chain-link fence separating the main house from a small backhouse, much like the one where Mama houses her spirit room. But unlike our yard, this grass hasn't seen the blade of a lawn mower in quite some time. There's trash strewn everywhere, and there's no clear path to get to the front door of the little house.

“Shit,” I say, realizing I've stepped in a big pile of dog mess hidden in the tall grass. How did I miss that?

“There's a tree branch and a water hose to your right. Clean your feet before stepping foot on my porch,” a man's voice says from behind the dirty screen door. I can't make out his face, but I see where he's pointing, and I follow his directions. I'm glad I wore my sneakers today because if I were in my sandals, we'd be having a totally different conversation.

I get my shoes as clean as I can and continue with my mission. I don't know what I'm picking up, but I hope it's ready to go because I am. And a sistah is hungry. There was so much food left over from the baby shower I could eat for a week off the leftovers alone.

Without coming all the way outside, the tall, slender black man with multiple scars on his face opens the screen door, hands me a large paper bag, and relocks the door. From the looks of the yard, I didn't want to come in anyway.

“Thank you,” I say, turning around to leave. Whatever's in this bag is heavy, and it's going to be a challenge maneuvering through the poopie-trapped grass and not dropping what I came here for.

“Be careful with that, girl!” the old man yells at me, causing me to jump. Damn, he didn't have to say it like that. “And tell Queen Jayd this makes us even, yeah?” It always throws me off when people call Mama by her voodoo title from New Orleans, but from this elder's thick accent that I can't place, I'd say he knows Mama from way back when.

“Okay,” I say, almost to my car parked in the driveway. I can still feel his eyes on me as I open the door and place the bag on the passenger's seat. I'm glad that's over. Luckily, I have some notebook paper to put my messed-up Nikes on. I have an extra pair of sandals at Netta's. I can't wait to get to the shop and make some money. Too bad no customers are going to be there this afternoon because it's Mama's day in the chair. But at least I'll be able to get out of work that much faster and to my study group. I already called my mom for her birthday today, and she was thrilled, mostly because her man has big plans for her tonight. I hope she enjoys it because once Mama finds out that she's ditching us for her man, her mood will surely change.

 

It took me longer than usual to get here because rather than take the side streets, I decided to jump on the 710 freeway, thinking it would be faster, which was a huge mistake. There were so many trucks on the raggedy-ass highway I couldn't move very fast. When I finally did arrive at the shop, Mama met me outside to retrieve the goods and take them straight to the back. Whatever's in that bag must be important. I'm touched that Mama still trusts me to handle serious stuff, even if she barely looked at me when I spoke. But Netta's as warm as ever, and I'm grateful for the positive energy. We've had a lively afternoon so far, and Netta looks especially radiant after Mama hooked her hair up last week. If Mama was in the business of doing hair again, we wouldn't be able to keep up with the clientele.

Because the conversation has been civilized, I think it's a good time to request that Mama and Netta show up for my speech on Sunday, even though I know it's a long shot. I also asked my mom to come, and after much begging on my part, she finally agreed. I know it'll be a sacrifice to humble themselves and make an appearance among their enemies, but I need their moral support.

“Will you be able to come to Daddy's church on Easter Sunday for my speech?” They both stop what they're doing and look up at me briefly, rolling their eyes. Mama sucks her teeth in disgust. Netta cleans her station, and I fold the clean laundry, waiting for their next move. I wish I could jump into Mama's mind, but I already know my mom's tricks don't work on her.

“Be careful what you say up on that pulpit, Jayd,” Mama says, pushing the hair drier off her head. “You know our great ancestor Tituba was burned at the stake for our ways, and no matter what the history books say, it wasn't that long ago.” Mama's always got to be so cryptic with her shit. It's just a little speech at the church, not a seminar on how to be a voodoo priestess.

“Yes, girl. They do love them some Jesus up in that little church house. Try not to say anything that will offend them,” Netta says, spraying more of her all-natural cleansing and disinfectant solution onto the booth and wiping it down before Mama takes her place in the chair. I know she's being serious because I've seen the way Daddy looks at Mama whenever she brings up him not honoring his ancestors. She blames his lack of respect for what we do for my uncles' issues, and Daddy says if she'd stayed in the church, everything would be the way it was when they first got married, which to him was all good.

“Oh, there's nothing really wrong with them loving their Jesus,” Mama says. “It's just the other folks they forget to equally love in the process that concerns me.” Me too. I'm doing this only because Daddy asked me to, and I want to make him proud. In his eyes, I'll always be his “Tweet,” and because he's the only one who calls me by the nickname, I'd be hurt if I disappointed him like I did when I got into it with my uncle Kurtis last week. I thought for sure he'd change his mind about me speaking this Sunday, but no such luck.

“Exactly. Don't you get up there and start talking about the orisha, because it'll be over their heads. They might even consider it blasphemous and build a stake right there to burn you on.” Netta can be so silly sometimes. She directs Mama to sit down in front of her so Netta can continue working her magic.

“They wouldn't need a stake,” Mama says, returning the heaviness to the mood. “They'll use their words to light a fire up under your ass.” Okay, now Mama's scaring me. Is it really that bad? I haven't been to church regularly since I was a little girl and don't remember witnessing most of Mama's drama, but I've heard about it all my life.

“Mama, I can handle it,” I say, continuing with my folding at the empty station next to where they're seated. Mama looks up at me as Netta parts her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper tresses, glaring at my remark.

“A little taste of passion, and the girl's already smelling herself,” Mama says, flipping through her Victoria's Secret catalog, reminding me of the spree Jeremy took me on on Saturday. I still haven't opened all my bags but will get to them by my birthday tomorrow. Somewhere in those bags is my birthday outfit, fancy bra included. Before I can respond, Netta gets a quick punch in, too.

“Just wait until she gets past the heavy petting,” Netta says. “She's really going to lose her mind.” Are they spying on me at my mom's house or what?

“Ms. Netta!” I say, shocked by her crass remark about my presex life. “I can't believe you just said that to me.” I place clean towels at each of the stations, starting with the driers. I may only be seventeen come tomorrow, but I deserve my privacy. That's why I moved out in the first place.

“Well, she did, and she wasn't talking to you,” Mama says, rolling her eyes at me. Her green eyes look bloodshot. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's been smoking weed with the boys, but I know her red eyes are from lack of sleep. I'm sure she's been restless ever since I left, and to tell the truth, I haven't slept much either the past couple days. It's one thing to be alone in my mom's apartment for the weekend, but all week is another thing entirely.

“Yes, womanhood is definitely creeping up on our little miss, isn't it, Lynn Mae?” They both look at me through the mirror's reflection at Netta's station, and I can't help but see the collective glow in their eyes. I stop what I'm doing and stare back, overcome by the light.

“My mother is taking over. I can see it in her eyes,” Mama says, probing my eyes with hers. Netta lends Mama her sight, and Mama goes full throttle on a sistah like never before. My body stands upright at the sheer thrust of Mama's mind into mine. What is she looking for, and how come she didn't just ask for it? I can't move I'm so caught up in their rapture. I hope she can't see my mom's powers while she's in there.

“Yes, Lynn Mae. Maman Marie is definitely making her presence known,” Netta says, brushing Mama's hair without looking down. Their connection is always tight when Netta's doing Mama's hair, but this is a bit much for me today. I've still got so much studying to do, and I've got to drive back to Inglewood tonight. Can they let go already?

“All your gifts are manifesting before your eyes, Jayd, but don't get too full of yourself, or you'll lose them just like your mother did,” Mama says as the vision of me doing Shawntrese's hair comes into focus. Instead of her hair looking radiant like it has since I've helped in her healing process, it's breaking off in my hand. If I could say something I'd scream out in horror. But all I can do is watch and wait to be released from the psychic lesson I'm being served.

“Our girl won't stray too far from home, will you, Jayd?” Ms. Netta asks, still stroking perfect waves into Mama's do. “You'll always stay close to home, no matter where you live.” Finally, they let go of their hold, and I shake my head in amazement. The dazed look leaves their eyes, and they continue with their hair session as if nothing just happened.

“I feel dizzy,” I say as they look at me like they didn't just tap into my thoughts. They both smile coyly, resuming their regular programming. I think they just put something on me, but I'm not sure. I'll have to look it up next time I'm in the spirit room, which won't be tonight. That's another thing about not living with Mama—I miss having access to our shrines and the spirit book all the time. But I can't go back to Compton—not now. Maybe after the APs are over I'll think about it. Besides, a girl can live off of leftovers for only so long. Mama's cooking is all the reason I need to move back home, but I'd never tell her that and admit defeat. A girl's got her pride, and like OutKast says, I've got to stay ice cold and on my game at all times if I want to make it through.

“Happy earthday, Jayd,” Mama says, handing me a small gold box from Netta's booth as I come to. Mama always calls our birthdays “earthdays” because she says our spirits were always in existence; therefore, the day we are physically born is not our actual birthday, just the day we make our appearance into this world. Mama has her own logic about everything, and most of the time it makes perfect sense.

I open the shiny box and notice the five green jade bangles we wear for spiritual protection inside, and there's also an oriki on a gold piece of paper lying underneath them in Netta's handwriting. I wonder what this is for. I look up at both of their reflections and don't know what to say. I want to be happy, but I'm not. I'm actually more disappointed at the inherited gift than anything. These bracelets are always on loan, so why is she giving them to me for my birthday?

“They're yours to keep now, little Miss Jayd. You'll need them now more than ever,” Mama says, answering my silent question. Now she's talking. In that case, this is one of the best gifts I've ever received. I slip the delicate jewelry onto my left arm. They feel cool against my skin, reminding me of the first time I wore them to defend myself against Misty's madness.

“And the oriki is for your protection, too, little Miss Thang. When you feel overwhelmed or powerless, chant that for Baba Shango, and he will remove all obstacles from your path.” Netta smiles as she removes the hair drape from around Mama's shoulders and shakes the excess hair onto the floor for me to sweep up later. Hopefully, they'll give me tomorrow off because it's my official special day. It's bad enough I have AP meetings during break and lunch; I shouldn't have to come in to work, too.