In My Sister's House (5 page)

Skylar knew that the audience did not always take kindly to Flynn’s antics—like the time he decided to tease what appeared to be a very pregnant woman sitting at one of the front tables. He did an almost five-minute-long act on this woman, who looked like she was in her final trimester, even going into the audience and insisting the woman stand up while he told a joke about how her man could still have a little fun in the bedroom with her, despite her intrusive girth, without it harming the baby. The club roared in laughter. Even Skylar marveled that Flynn had hit a home run with this one.

But the woman wasn’t pregnant, not pregnant at all. She had just gained some unflattering weight, mostly in her midsection. When she started crying, at first Flynn thought it was one of those times when a joke had been so funny that even the person on the receiving end couldn’t resist the flow of tears. Not that he knew what that was
like, because it had never happened during any of his routines, but hey, a first time for everything, right? He poured it on thicker, telling the woman how now her stomach matched her ass. “Baby got back
and
front,” he shouted, as he twirled her around for the whole room to get a look.

At this point, her boyfriend had heard enough; he stood up and punched Flynn in the mouth and then proceeded to jump him. As pandemonium struck the crowd, Head, the buff six-foot-five 330-pound security guy, scurried across the floor and pulled the guy off Flynn. Skylar remembered how Head had effortlessly used one hand on the dude and his other hand on Flynn. She and Nettie immediately went to the crying woman and led her back to the office to calm her down, while Sidney maintained order in the crowd. The look of surprise on Flynn’s face revealed that he had no idea what had just happened.

Fortunately, the police did not have to be summoned. The couple left quietly after several apologies, including one from a bleeding and swollen-faced Flynn. Needless to say, after that night, Skylar forbade Flynn from picking on any audience member at all. He would have to come up with a new routine. Though discouraged by Skylar’s choice—and being physically beaten; his nose never did return to its original shape, even after the rhinoplasty that the club paid for—Flynn would find another way to keep this part of his act, a way in which he wouldn’t have to worry about any repercussions from his boss or an angry boyfriend or husband. He wasn’t looking for any more trouble or alterations to his face. He decided to play the dozens.

“Everybody knows that I have a habit of picking on peeps in the audience,” Flynn said as he surveyed the packed house, looking for his first victim. “So if you can’t take the heat, bounce now, ’cause it’s about to be on and poppin’ in here!” An excited but nervous audience cheered loudly. Just as Flynn was about to go on, a heavyset woman wearing rhinestone sunglasses and a skintight fuchsia spandex dress stood up. She appeared to be gathering her things to leave. Flynn noticed her immediately and flashed a sly smile toward the
audience, letting them know he’d just found his first victim. The crowd started to egg him on.

“Aw, damn!” a hysterical Flynn zeroed in on her. “Now what the hell do we have here? You know you are wrong!” By this time, no one could contain themselves in anticipation of what was about to come. The woman had a nervous look on her face and started toward the exit.

“Oh, shit, I see I may have stepped on someone’s toes!” Flynn teased. “Hey, baby, you ain’t got to go. I’ll be good to you.” Again Flynn threw a sinister smile to the audience, indicating that he was ready to let loose. But the woman had no intention of leaving yet. She had something else on her mind, like confronting Flynn. Carrying her purse, a drink, and a large envelope, she approached the stage.

“Oh, you gonna be real good, Flynn Wilson,” the angry woman snapped. Handing the envelope to him, she said, “Here, take this!” A confused and somewhat worried Flynn reached for the package and asked what it was.

“Papers from my attorney. I’m pregnant and you’s the daddy, nucka!” With that she snatched off her glasses and stared him down with her hands on her hips. A stunned and shocked audience reacted to this revelation with gasps, laughter, and outbursts of “OH, SHIT!” and “NO SHE DIDN’T!”

A speechless Flynn stuttered and stumbled over his words, trying to find the right thing to say. Skylar, with her hand over her mouth, pulled Sidney close to her side and gave him a look like, “What the hell?” Sidney shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to the stage, where all the action was taking place. Nettie stopped serving drinks and wondered what could possibly happen next.

“Peaches?” Flynn managed to spit out the name with caution.

“Naw, nigga, its Beatrice. Peaches was my sister. She’s knocked up, too!” Standing toe-to-toe with him, she waited for a reaction from a panic-stricken Flynn.

“There must be some mistake. I never slept with you!” A nervous, pop-eyed Flynn scanned the room only to immediately focus on
Beatrice. A brazen Beatrice snatched the microphone from him and bellowed, “Who said we went to sleep?” And with that the laughter reached fever pitch. The crowd couldn’t tell if this was all a part of Flynn’s routine or if it was real. Even Skylar didn’t know and she always knew when Flynn was pulling a prank. She was hoping to lock eyes with him long enough for him to give her an indication that everything was cool. But he didn’t. Flynn was a nervous wreck. He continued one-on-one with Beatrice.

“I-I-I must have been drunk,” he stuttered. “I-I don’t understand. This is all too crazy!”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Not waiting for him to respond, she continued. Tossing her head back, with weaved hair going everywhere and both hands on her hips she screamed, “Well, I never!”

With that, Flynn offered that this was his sentiment exactly. “Well,
I
never!” The audience burst into laughter, appreciating the irony. They were enjoying this comedic interchange.

Beatrice, clearly upset by what was taking place, informed Flynn that she would meet him on
The Maury Povich Show
for a DNA test. With that she started toward the door, the back of her dress rising higher and higher. As she walked, she threw one more dagger at Flynn. “You will
never
taste the fruit of my womanhood again!” She then waved her pinky finger at him, visible for all to see. “See you on the set of the show little man.” Then Beatrice swung back the door of the club and left.

A rush of hot air blew through the room. No one could tell if it was the hot air of the summer night or the heat from Beatrice’s ample body as she whizzed by. An apologetic Flynn attempted to quiet down the audience.

“Okay, okay, enough of that. Now, everyone makes mistakes, right? I mean it was only one night. She looked better under the club lights, and under the influence of that fifth of Hennessy!” He laughed. “Brothas, you know what I mean, right?”

The men in the club all started shouting “Hell, no!” and “Were you crazy, man?”

Realizing that he was alone on this one, Flynn decided to chastise
the entire audience. “Now wait a minute here. Y’all didn’t say nothing when Janet Jackson hooked up with Jermaine Dupri. And he look like Webster with glasses.” Only a few found this one funny, so Flynn continued. “Nor did y’all make any noise when Beyonce got with Joe Camel—I mean Jay Z.” This time a few more started to laugh, but no cigar. Flynn proceeded.
“And,”
he raised his voice, “nobody said shit when you found out that Condi Rice likes ‘Bush.’” He sheepishly smirked and waited for his joke to sink in. However, he got more playful boos than laughs.

Someone shouted from the audience, “BRING BACK BEATRICE!” As laughter erupted, some of the audience started to chant, “BEATRICE, BEATRICE, BEATRICE …”

Flynn pretended that he was pissed. But this scene couldn’t have pleased him more. Unbeknownst to the crowd, or Skylar, Sidney, or Nettie, “Beatrice” was part of his new act, and the entire routine was a setup. The crowd had been punked. “Oh, so you want that ol’ battleaxe Beatrice, huh?” he playfully joked. “Yeah!!!” someone shouted, and with that Flynn introduced his new comedy partner, Beatrice Boston. A much different Beatrice reemerged into the club: This time, she was stylishly dressed in a Baby Phat silver-and-gold jumpsuit that flattered her buxom and curvaceous body. A pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps fit snugly on her petite feet, and what everyone had thought was a weave had actually been a wig. It too had been discarded and she was sporting a stylish pixie haircut, reminiscent of the actress Melinda Williams of
Soul Food
fame. Beatrice was rather attractive and received several catcalls from the male audience. One full-figured sista in the audience shouted, “BIG GIRLS RULE!” and started to pump her fists in the air like she was at a rap concert. When the cheers simmered down, Flynn turned the microphone over to Beatrice, who proceeded to do a fifteen-minute routine that kept most of the crowd in stitches.

Once Beatrice finished, Flynn brought up Skylar who tearfully thanked the crowd for all of the support given to Legends and said how proud she knew Dutch must be. “I don’t take my success for granted, I want you to know. I am fully aware that in our present
economy, businesses of all sorts are folding. But your loyalty, and the fact that we abide by the unspoken, yet universal rule that ‘the customer is always right,’ is our key to success. I also have a ‘bomb’ staff, wouldn’t you say?” Waving her hand toward them she thanked all of them, especially Nettie and Head. Turning her attention to her “rock,” she asked Sidney to join her onstage. Everyone could see these two were in love. No matter how much they attempted to remain professional while standing before the crowd, they couldn’t keep their hands and eyes off each other. Before leaving the stage, Skylar reminded everyone about the new dancer auditions. That drew some catcalls from the male clientele, but not as many as when she sprung a surprise: As part of Legends’ upcoming anniversary celebrations, the club would host the official V.I.P. afterparty for an upcoming Flo Rida concert at the Kimmel Center. One overzealous fan, known as Miss Shoes because of her unique selection of stylish footwear, shot directly up from her seat, with screams of delight, and snapped her fingers in a Z formation, as she strutted across the floor in a pair of lavender Prada ankle boots. On her way back to her seat, she slapped five with several other women, who were all excited about the sexy new bad boy of hip-hop. With that Skylar and Sidney instructed everyone to continue enjoying the rest of the evening. As they left the stage a light jazz tune filtered from the speakers overhead.

T
rying to nestle into the uncomfortable single bed, Storm drifted in and out of a restless slumber. After lying on a cheap bed pad on a metal frame for three years, she thought at least she’d be able to get a little rest in the quiet of her hotel room—especially after not getting more than three or four hours’ sleep on any given night in Muncy. Inmates learned early on in the joint that you never slept too soundly. You never knew when some crazy or jealous bitch would decide to shank you for no apparent reason. Or ransack your personal belongings in an effort to steal cigarettes or a snack. She remembered one incident in particular when the nagging urge to pee awakened her late one night and she found one of her cellies, Rosa, bent over with her stank ass in the air, going through her trunk. Not caring whether she woke up Carrie Ann or Deshanna, their other two cellmates, or not, Storm sat up on her bunk and screamed at Rosa. “Bitch, what are you doing?” Normally, one would think that if they got caught red-handed doing something like that, they’d react like a deer caught in headlights and make up some kind of lie. Not these brazen hos. “I’m looking for a clean sponge,” Rosa whispered in an annoyed tone. Sponge was a term women used in the slammer to describe tampons.

“Well, did it occur to you to ask my ass for one?” Storm hissed.

“I didn’t want to wake anybody up. Sorry—damn! Now you got one or not, Mommie?” Rosa said in her thick Spanglish.

The only reason Storm decided to oblige this bitch and not make her butt bleed to death was that she didn’t want to smell Rosa’s contaminated ass till morning. “Look in the second drawer and get one!” she snapped. “And tomorrow you take your Puerto Rican ass to the commissary and get you a box!” With that Storm laid back down, still facing in Rosa’s direction, however. She had to make sure the tampon was the only thing that Rosa’s sticky fingers picked up.

“Ain’t nobody got ‘paper’ on they books like you do, Ma!” Rosa chuckled in a hushed tone as she scurried back across the room to the bottom bunk.

“Well, that’s yo broke-ass problem!” Storm spit out. “Now that’s the last one I’m giving you, so either you get your own or start using your bedsheet to stop up that big-ass hole!”

Deshanna, who obviously was also awake in the next cell, started laughing. “Damn, Storm, you a cold-ass trick, you know that?”

Rosa didn’t like being the butt of jokes and vowed to herself that she’d pay back Storm for what she’d said.

The memory of Deshanna’s laughter filled Storm’s head as she tossed and turned on the uncomfortable bed in her Libby hotel room.
Wait, were those footsteps?
Hearing a noise in the hall outside her room, Storm perked up and she strained to hear where they would stop. Had she locked her door? Not remembering, Storm got up and quietly tiptoed toward the door. Once she saw that the door was secured, she pressed her eye to the peephole, wondering if she’d see anything. A very intoxicated woman was standing in front of the room across the hall, unsuccessfully trying to find the keyhole with her key. Her cheap, foul-smelling perfume seeped through Storm’s door, almost blinding her. Deeming the woman harmless enough,
Storm retreated to her bed more wide-awake than before. Who could sleep anyway? Lying there in the complete quiet of the night, she tried to enjoy the solitude, because come sunrise, some
shit
was about to jump off that would surely be legendary. Burying her face in the pillow, she smiled to herself.