The Pact (5 page)

Indigo

The
bass from the music pounded in my chest as we stood in line waiting to get into the club. My first real nightclub experience—and I was so nervous. I had been to house parties before, and to teen clubs in Atlanta, but not to a real nightclub that had bouncers and a bar that served alcohol. I was afraid that once I reached the front of the line and the security person at the door took a look at my fake ID, I’d be in trouble. They would know that I wasn’t twenty-three years old and that the girl in the photo wasn’t really me. They wouldn’t hesitate to arrest me and drag my sixteen-year-old behind to the youth detention center and call my father. Or worse, call Nana. That would put an end to my life as I currently knew it. I wouldn’t be able to show my face anywhere in the state of Illinois again.

The huge security guard, with arms of steel and a body about the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, snatched my ID from my hand. A gun hung on his hip as he took a look at it and then looked at me. He never showed any expression on his face as he stood there for what seemed like a lifetime. My heart pounded, and I wondered if he could hear it. Finally, he handed me the piece of plastic back and nodded toward the entrance.

“Ten bucks at the door,” he said.

There was a woman at a booth near the doorway collecting money. I handed her the crumpled ten-dollar bill Sabrina had given me in the car. She grabbed it and said, “Go ahead.”

I almost asked if she was sure, but instead I glided inside, Sabrina behind me. The security guard had checked out her ID, demanded that she pay ten dollars and given her the same nod he’d given me.

“Come on, let’s find some sucker to buy us a drink.” She locked arms with me and we walked into the club. The smell of cigarettes was overwhelming, and instantly my eyes began to water. I’d never smelled so much cigarette smoke in my life. The lights were dim, and music was so loud that I could feel the bass in my chest. People were having loud conversations so that they could be heard over the music. Sabrina and I pushed our way through the crowd and ended up at the bar. We plopped down onto bar stools, and my eyes veered toward the dance floor, which was so crowded that people were barely able to move. The music got even louder as the deejay pumped a Beyoncé song. With headphones on his ears, Deejay Crunk, as he called himself, moved to the music, too.

“You wanna dance?” A deep voice was in my ear almost before I had blinked.

When I turned to see who it was, I was surprised to find a pair of green eyes looking back at me. He wore sagging jeans and a Sean John shirt. He had a short, fresh haircut, and when he smiled, I could see the gold grill on his teeth. He was cute, I had to admit.

“Yeah” is all I said before hopping off my bar stool.

I handed Sabrina my purse and followed Green Eyes to the dance floor.

“You come here a lot?” he asked as we both began to move to the music.

“First time,” I said.

“What?” He was shocked. “This is the place to be. You must live under a rock.”

“I live in Atlanta.”

“Oh, you from the A?” He smiled. “I knew you weren’t from around here. I would’ve remembered you with your fine self.”

“Are you from Chicago?” I asked, just so I could stop blushing.

“South Side…all day long, baby,” he said, showing that gold grill again. “How long you gon’ be here?”

“I’m here for the summer.”

“Cool, maybe I can show you around a little bit.”

“Maybe you can,” I said, and knew that wouldn’t happen. But a girl could pretend, couldn’t she?

Within the first hour, at least five guys had offered to show me around Chicago. Two had promised to take me downtown for a slice of Chicago pizza, claiming that it was the best in the world. One of them had invited me to a movie at the Music Box Theatre. And one had asked me to meet him at the Beverly Center on Sunday for a talent show. I doubted that I would be going anywhere with any of them, especially if my grandmother Nana Summer had a say in the matter. I simply smiled and told them to give me their phone numbers so that I could key them into my cell phone. It seemed that I was keying in phone numbers all night.

I found Sabrina in the club’s VIP section. She was sipping something with an umbrella in it and motioned for me to join her on a leather sofa.

“Are you okay, Indi?”

“I’m cool,” I said. “What are you doing up here?”

“Some of my friends are in a band. They perform here sometimes, and when they’re not working, they chill in the VIP,” Sabrina explained. “Sometimes R. Kelly even chills up here when he’s in town.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very…. He might even show up tonight,” Sabrina said, “but you gotta be cool when he comes in. Don’t be acting like a groupie.”

“Have you seen him in here before?”

“Yep, one time he came in with T-Pain, and they sat right there on that sofa over there.” She pointed to the leather sofa across from us, where two girls were kissing. Nobody seemed to mind, and I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never seen that type of behavior in a public place before. I’d seen gay people before. They were all over my school. And it wasn’t unusual to see them walking down the streets of Atlanta on any given day. But to see a female couple kissing each other on a leather sofa—now, that was a trip. “You want something to drink, Indi?”

The cocktail waitress stood near us, waited for my response.

“No, I’m good.”

“Bring her a club soda,” Sabrina laughed. “She’s still a virgin.”

I didn’t find her little joke funny, especially since it was true. But I didn’t sweat it; I nodded to the waitress and she disappeared. I sat there and continued to people-watch. The over-twenty-one crowd wasn’t much different from the youngsters who hung out at the teen club that I had gone to a couple of times in Atlanta. The only real difference that I could see was that at the older club, they served alcohol. The music and dancing was all the same—and guys still hit on me, just like they did at the teen club. The grown-up club was actually pretty cool, I thought as I bounced my head to the sounds of Ne-Yo.

I held the glass filled with club soda in my hand, a cherry floating around in it. It looked as if I was having what Nana referred to as a “highball.” I wasn’t old enough to drink, but it didn’t hurt to pretend that I was as I sipped my virgin highball. I had to admit, it felt pretty good to be in one of the hottest clubs on the South Side of Chicago, in the VIP section with all the important people, sipping what looked like a shot of alcohol and listening to good music. What could be better?

Sabrina knew just about everybody in the place and introduced me to so many people that I couldn’t remember any of their names. She kicked her shoes off and relaxed on the sofa as if she were at home. She pulled her Newports out of her purse, lit one and held it between her long, skinny fingers. I watched my older cousin—the girl I had looked up to all my life—and admired her at that moment. She still had it going on, I thought. Even though she’d dropped out of school, had a baby and pretty much pissed her parents off, she still had a great life. She had her own apartment and an older boyfriend, and she was a VIP at one the hottest clubs in Chicago.

It was muggy outside when we stepped into the heat of the night. Sabrina searched for the keys to Dugan’s car in her Baby Phat purse. Once she found them, she hit the power locks and we both climbed in.

“You had a good time, Indi?”

“The best,” I said, unable to contain my excitement. I wanted to call Jade so badly and tell her about my experience, but it was late—almost two o’clock in the morning and well past both of our bedtimes.

“You hungry?” Sabrina asked.

“A little bit.”

Sabrina pulled into the nearest IHOP and we went inside. We ordered plates filled with pancakes, sausages and eggs. After we ate, Sabrina paid the tab and drove us back to her place. When we stepped inside, Dugan was reclining on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the television.

“How was it?” he asked.

“It was cool,” Sabrina told him. “I think Indi had a good time. She was on the dance floor all night.”

“You had fun, Indi?” Dugan asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll get you some pillows and stuff,” Sabrina said, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

I took a seat in a chair in the corner of the room. Dugan stole a glance at me, smiled and then zeroed in on a girl shaking her booty in a rap video.

“Can you shake like that?” he asked.

I wasn’t really sure what answer he was expecting, but I was happy when Sabrina stepped back into the room carrying a blanket and two pillows.

“Indi, you can sleep on the sofa or you can make a pallet on the floor. Whichever you prefer.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Cool,” she said. “Let’s go, Dugie…so Indi can get to bed.”

Dugan followed Sabrina into their bedroom, but not before flashing his pearly whites at me one more time.

“Sweet dreams,” he said, and then shut the door.

I grabbed the remote control, turned the television to HBO and found a movie. I climbed onto the sofa, sank my head into the pillow. Before long, my eyelids became too heavy to keep open. The drive from Atlanta to Chicago in Daddy’s pickup had taken its toll on me, and I gave in to the sleep that finally took over.

The smell of burned cheese crept across my nose, and I thought I was dreaming. I raised my head and looked into the kitchen. Dugan had the place smoking as he stood near the stove. He caught me looking.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Indi. I got a little hungry in the middle of the night.” He smiled. “You hungry? I make a mean grilled-cheese sandwich.”

“Yeah, I’m a little hungry,” I said. I wiped sleep from my eyes and went to the kitchen.

A skillet was already smoking on the stove when Dugan grabbed a tub of margarine and a loaf of bread from the refrigerator. He went into the living room and turned on the stereo before returning to melt margarine over a high flame. I took a seat at the kitchen table and watched Dugan cook. I loved watching him, and rested my chin in the palms of my hands.

“You and Brina could pass for sisters, you know. Y’all both have that beautiful smile and that smooth vanilla skin.” His fingertips caressed my face.

“Everybody says that.”

“That’s why I look at you so much. I can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”

I stood and started bouncing to the rhythm of Unk, just to change the vibe in the room. I couldn’t tell if Dugan was flirting or if he was just paying me a compliment. Either way, I was uncomfortable and directed my energy in a different direction. As I walked it out, Dugan started walking it out, too. All too quickly, he was in my space—so close I could feel his energy. My heart began to pound, and I wondered if he could hear it thumping underneath the strapless tube top I’d chosen for the club. I wondered if it was the Apple Bottoms jeans that caught his attention. His cologne invaded my nose as he moved to the beat, and his braids were swinging to their own rhythm.

“Let me show you something,” Dugan said, and showed me a dance move. “You do it.”

I did his dance move, and then he showed me another. Before long, he had me doing an entire routine. I decided to let go of my inhibitions and have fun, and once the Unk song went off we bounced to the sounds of Lil Jon and then Kanye West. And in between moves, Dugan cooked us grilled-cheese sandwiches. He placed both sandwiches on paper plates and poured us each a glass of Hawaiian Punch.

While we ate, we talked about music and hip-hop artists. We debated about who had the hottest CD and which artists we thought would be the most fun to hang out with.

“I could roll with Fifty,” Dugan said. “He’s cocky, but he would probably be cool to hang out with.”

“He’s way too cocky.” I laughed. “I think I might like to hang with T.I.”

“Indi, he won’t be able to hang out with you until he gets off house arrest.” Dugan laughed. It was no secret that T.I. had legal troubles. He’d been arrested one night before the BET Hip-Hop Awards. I remembered when it had happened because it had almost brought tears to my eyes. I kept telling Jade that he had been set up, and I still believed it. But I was helpless. There was not much his biggest fan could do to relieve him of his troubles—except pray. And I had already done that.

“That’s okay, I’ll wait for him.” Dugan and I both laughed.

“I guess you’ll have to hang with Jay-Z instead,” Dugan said.

“Nah. Beyoncé might not like that. And I ain’t got time to be fighting her over no man.”

“But what if he preferred you over her?”

I contemplated Dugan’s question, as ridiculous as it was. There was no way on earth Jay-Z would choose me over Beyoncé. She was the beauty queen of hip-hop.

“She got more money, and way more booty.” I laughed, but Dugan wasn’t laughing.

“You’re just as beautiful, though, Indi. For real.”

There was that uncomfortable feeling again. And once again I was on the floor dancing to the beats of 50 Cent, a song where Akon was harmonizing in the background. Dugan noticed my discomfort and quietly finished his grilled-cheese sandwich, downed his second glass of Hawaiian Punch. Stood.