Flip Side of the Game (5 page)

“Hey, Shannon.”

“Hey, boo. What's up?”

“Nothin', chile. Men, girl.”

“Men? Oh, hell no,” she said. “I know the playette can't be complaining about men.”

“Who said I was complaining?” I snapped.

“Your nasty-ass attitude.”

“Well . . .” I decided to just spill it. I had to talk to somebody. “Taj was over here, and I was talking to Roger on the phone.”

“He caught you?”

“Yeah, girl,” I admitted.

“Then yo' ass was dead wrong.”

“Dead wrong? I'm not married to him!”

“And you won't be getting married doing dumb shit.”

“Dumb shit?”

“Dumb shit,” she said. “Stupid moves.”

“So what should I do?”

“Apologize.”

“Oh, hell no! He wanna play tough, two can play at that game.”

“Yeah? Well, you do that and see how far that gets you. And when you got another bitch sneaking in during your in-between time of playing a game, take your beating like a champ.”

“I really didn't call you for this,” I insisted.

“Yeah, you did. You knew what you were going to get when you called here. That's why you called me, as opposed to Lee or Angie. You knew they would pacify yo' ass, and you needed to be knocked in the head with the truth.”

“Bye, Shannon.”

“Love ya, girl, but I gotta go anyway. I'm 'bout to get my swerve on!”

Fuck it. I called Taj at his apartment, and his voice mail came on. “Hey, Taj. Vera. Hope all is well. Call me when you get a chance.”

Then I slammed the pillow over my head and felt stupid.
Fuck him. I think it's some ice cream in the refrigerator
.

In between the first swirl of caramel and chocolate chunk, the phone rang. I peeped the caller ID and saw it was Taj. I didn't answer the phone.

“Hey, Vera,” he said into the answering machine. “Figures you wouldn't answer the phone. I'm sure I peeped your card, but anyway, when you're done—”

I snatched the phone off the receiver. “You didn't peep no card of mine.”

“Hello?”

“You heard me,” I said, tight-lipped.

“Hey, baby!”

“Don't ‘hey, baby' me!”

“Damn, lots of attitude. Do I suspect a problem?”

“No, no problem. No problem at all. As a matter fact, I have to get up and go to the shop right about now.”

“It's seven o'clock in the morning.”

“It sure is. Great answer.
Ciao, bella.
” I hung up on the mu'fucka!

 

 

Now, when the morning's rush came into the shop, the old ladies, the gossip mouths, and some of Aunt Cookie's girlfriends, the last thing I needed was to hear how Aunt Cookie was creeping. It almost made me sick. How the hell was she getting extra dick when I hadn't had any in three days, not to mention she lives with my Uncle Boy?

And to make matters worse, Aunt Cookie's girlfriend Ms. Janet told me that somebody needed to talk to Uncle Boy, 'cause all he seemed to be doing was crying and explaining to anybody who would listen that Gladys Knight had a midnight train for him to catch, and as soon as daybreak hit, he planned to be on the next thing smokin'. This shit couldn't have come at a worse time.

Immediately, I called Uncle Boy and whispered into the phone in an effort to keep the shop out of my business. “Don't cry, Uncle Boy. Don't leave. Don't do that.”

“Uncle Boy, don't do that? Naw, you misunderstandin' yo' Uncle Boy. I'm tired of yo' Aunt Cookie.”

“Uncle Boy, Aunt Cookie loves you and you know that.”

“Well, if lovin' me is wrong, then goddamnit, don't be right.”

“Uncle Boy, you been drinkin'?”

“Naw, baby,” he said with a slur. “I been caught up.”

“Caught up in what?”

“A one-night love affair!”

I couldn't take it anymore, so I made a few phone calls, one to Shannon's mother and the other to Lee's mother, who in turn, informed me that they left Aunt Cookie on Utica at Ms. Carol's house, hosting an all-night card party, and if I wanted to catch the last game, I needed to hurry.

I hung up the phone and asked DeAndre to please finish my client's hair while I went to see about Aunt Cookie.

When I arrived at Ms.Carol's, I could hear Chaka Khan's “Whatcha Gonna Do for Me” blasting down the hallway. I knocked on the door and Ms. Carol yelled, “It cost two dollars to get up in here!”

“Ms. Carol, I just came to see my Aunt Cookie.”

“That's what they all say, and the next thing I know, they got a hand goin'. Cough it up, honey chile!”

“I got the two dollars!” Aunt Cookie yelled from behind the door.

Aunt Cookie, Ms. Carol, and two other women all had men counterparts sitting around the small card table. None of them seemed to mind that I was there and knew for a fact that each of them, including Ms. Carol, had their own live-in boyfriends.

So they sat with their sister-girl, young-looking forty-nine- and fifty-year-old faces, with hot red and mellow pink lipstick on, big wigs, and hoop earrings, all the while chewing gum and taking turns slamming down cards and yelling, “Six, no uptown!”

Aunt Cookie had on a tight catsuit with her stomach poked out just a little. Her makeup was flawless, and her blue eyeshadow hadn't missed a beat. She had one of the biggest asses in Brooklyn, which always got attention, and she was workin' it as she walked around the room introducing me as Babygirl.

“Whatcha workin' wit', Babygirl?” Aunt Cookie asked, sounding slightly drunk and making googly eyes at Earl Gatling.

“I'm workin' with a drunk-ass old man crying on my phone, talking about how he taking a midnight train to Georgia!”

“Who? Boy?”

“Who else?”

“Hell, Boy ain't from Georgia, his ass from Uptown.”

“Whatever,” I said, “but word on the street is that you over here,” I said, pointing to Earl Gatling, “screwing around with what's-his-name.”

“Oh, wait a minute, Babygirl. Step off now. This is grown folk bidness.”

“Aunt Cookie, you need to get home!”

“I will. Earl just stopped by to see me. He be gone in the morning, because his wife be back in town.”

“His wife?”

“Yeah, baby. You know how I do it. Aunt Cookie ain't stupid now. Ain't nobody like Boy, and if I'ma creep, then the next nigga got to have as much to lose. Now, you go 'head to the shop, and I'll meet you there. Let Aunt Cookie take care of Uncle Boy, 'cause what I can do, you can't handle.” She winked her eye, threw her hips to the side, and strutted her stuff.

Marvin Gaye was banging the hell outta the high note of “Let's Get It On” as I was leaving.

 

“What the hell?” DeAndre was saying as I walked in the shop, frowning his nose up. “You smell like Black Love incense. You been hittin' a joint?”

“Please, DeAndre.”

“Then what's your problem?” Shannon asked, untangling her double strand twist.

“Aunt Cookie cheating on Uncle Boy.”

“That's why you smell like blue lights and wooden beads?”

“Whatever. But can you believe that Aunt Cookie is cheating on Uncle Boy, and she think the shit is all good?”

“What's the problem?”

“She lives with Uncle Boy, and she's cheating with a married man. She, of all people, has no business cheating!”

“Oh, no you didn't, diva!” DeAndre said. “What about yo' sugar daddy?”

Sugar daddy? Oh, hell. I practically forgot about Roger, but I wouldn't let them know that. “But still, my Aunt Cookie and my Uncle Boy?”

“Gettin' they groove on!” DeAndre said.

“Hey-hey now!” Aunt Cookie said, coming in, throwing her hips around and having the nerve to be glowing! “Show me whatcha workin' wit'!” she said to everybody in the shop. “How y'all?”

All the women in the shop were making plans to go to dinner, a church function, or to see a man, and they seemed to be having a good time getting themselves hooked up. All the overhead dryers were filled, and the three weave operators had been sewing on hair for over an hour. The manicurist seemed to be making mad loot, 'cause there were already two women with their nails drying, one woman in the chair, and another one with her feet soaking for a pedicure.

Fifty Cent's “Get Rich or Die Trying” was banging in the background, leading nobody to notice how Rowanda came in well dressed, pretending to be clean. I ignored the hell outta her. I was embarrassed, and if it weren't for the memory of the ass-beatin' I got from Aunt Cookie when I spit in Rowanda's face, I would've done it again.

“Hey, Cookie!” Rowanda said.

“Hey, chile! What you doin' here?”

“Yesterday was my birthday.”

“That's beautiful, baby. Happy birthday,” Aunt Cookie said.

“Well, I don't have two dollars!” I said, trying to shut Rowanda down before she even got to the part where she needed two dollars for something to eat, or two dollars for something to drink, or to get to a job, or any other shit that the typical fiend would create.

“She ain't asked you fo' two dollars!” Aunt Cookie snapped. “Yesterday was your mother's birthday. Show some respect.”

“My mother? Please.” Then I rolled my eyes and proceeded with handling my client's hair.

“I ain't come for no trouble,” Rowanda said. “I just was wonderin' if you would do my hair. See, I got money. I got a whole ten dollars.”

“Well, the ten dollar doobie shop is down the street and around the corner.”

Aunt Cookie shot me the evil eye. “Step to the side for a minute, Vera,” Aunt Cookie said in a demanding tone.

“What is it?” I snapped.

“Now, look. That there is yo' mama. Treat her nice for once. She trying, Vera.”

“Be nice? Be nice? That chickenhead put me in a drawstring garbage bag and placed me on the street like overnight trash!”

“You gonna have to get over that.”

“Really? Well, until I do, she won't get her hair done up in here.”

“Hey, baby,” Taj said, walking into the midst of commotion. Now, personally, this mu'fucka had a lot of nerve, but I was relieved as hell to see him.

“Where did you come from? Your hair appointment is not until tomorrow.”
Now, take that, put it in yo' pipe and smoke it! Teach yo' ass not to call me for three days.

He shot my ass such a look that I instantly took it down, but I still ignored the hell outta Aunt Cookie and Rowanda.

“Taj,” Aunt Cookie said, “speak with Vera! She acting like she don't have no Christianity!”

“What's up, baby?” he had the audacity to say, sounding as if something was wrong with me.

Well, wasn't a damn thing wrong with me! Didn't nobody in there know what it was like to have a dopefiend for a mother. Nobody knew what it was like to wanna eat but have to wait until everybody had their dope. Nobody knew! And here Taj came, who hadn't called me in three days, and he thought that I should what, pour my heart out to his ass? Hell, no. Not Vera.

“Ain't shit up!” I said, taking the cape off my client and winking my eye to let her know she looked good. “But I'm not doing Rowanda's hair. Understand?”

I felt my knees about to break, but there was no way I would let any one of these mu'fuckas see me cry. I cleared my throat, wrote out my ticket for my client to pay the cashier, and then I planned to keep on steppin'.

Instead, Taj handed the cashier the ticket and stepped into my personal space. I could feel the cool peppermint on his breath.

“Let's talk,” he said.

Reluctantly, I stepped to the back of the shop, where my small office was. I practically fell down in my oversized brown leather chair, placed my head on my desk and began to cry. How could Rowanda come in here and humiliate me? And how could Aunt Cookie let her? Why was it that I had to accept Rowanda? I hated the bitch! I hated the sound of her voice, and the way she reminded me of broken elevators, lion claw tubs, and blood.

“Look, baby,” Taj said, “ease up a little bit. Cut Rowanda some slack.”

“Cut Rowanda some slack? What about cutting me some slack?” I said, with snot dripping.

At this point, I didn't care what he thought. Hell, he wasn't my man. I was my own man. I ain't need him for shit!

“You got a lot of fuckin' nerve, Mister Yuppie-ass emergency room doctor! What do you know about being born in hell? You never came from a crackfiend's pussy. You've never seen dope being slowly released from a bloody needle and yo' grandma moanin' about how it feel good, and all the while you wondering if she shootin' up the rent money or the food stamps! You know what it's like to starve, Taj? I didn't think so!” I opened my office door and said, “Get the fuck out!”

Taj turned around and grabbed me by my forearm. “Vera, throwing me out is no issue. I'm a cocky-ass black man from Newark, with a doctorate degree in medicine. I've been thrown out by the best of 'em, but you have to live with you. You must stop all of this self-defeating madness or else you will be strung out on a damn nervous breakdown.

“Now, I'm here because you need me here. I'm already in your heart, so you can stop faking like throwing me out is easy. When you're ready to stop throwing a tantrum, we'll talk.” And he slammed the door behind him.

I leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, feeling as if my chest would cave in. I wanted desperately to run after Taj and beg him to come back, but my pride wouldn't let me. Instead, I pulled my knees up to my chest, tilted my head down, and cried. I cried so much that when I lifted my head up, my vision was blurry. I wiped my eyes, placed my head back down, and while the whistle of the breeze came through the window, thoughts of Rowanda raced through my mind.