Shameless Hoodwives: A Bentley Manor Tale Read online

  After a few minutes, my tears dry and I manage to get off the floor. This time, I avoid the mirror and head toward the shower. I need to make it quick and get breakfast started.

  I yank back the green shower curtain and scream at the sight of a naked body slumped in the tub. I don’t even check who it is before I race out the bathroom door. Hell, I don’t give a shit. When I smack into something hard, I think my dumb ass has just hit a wall. But then it speaks.

  “Keesh, what is it?”

  I whip my head around and I’m stunned shitless to see Shakespeare. “What the fuck?” My eyes roam over him like I’m expecting him to change into someone else.

  “What is it?” he asks again; his concerned gaze rakes over me and I remember: I’m butt-naked.

  “Shit.” I race to my bedroom. When I slam the door behind me, I quickly lock and slump against it. Pantin’, I can’t believe what just happened. Shakespeare just saw me naked. I glance across my cluttered bedroom to the dresser’s mirror and shudder with disgust.

  From the other side of the door, I hear the children cryin,’ and I remember the body in the tub and my crazy screamin’. I quickly grab some clothes from off the floor. No, they’re not clean, but nothing is since I haven’t had time to do laundry. In record time, I’m back out the door and pushin’ my way through the kids to reach the bathroom.

  “Y’all go and play,” I snap.

  Of course, nobody moves.

  Shakespeare is hunched over the tub and smacking Smokey’s face, tryna wake him up. Shit. With a racing heart, I manage to squeeze closer. There’s something about Smokey’s ashen complexion that scares me. Is this it? Has he killed himself?

  Am I finally free?

  My knees bang against the bathroom’s cheap linoleum as I also lean over and jab my finger up against Smokey’s neck for a pulse.

  “C’mon, bro. Wake up.” A few more smacks, and then Shakespeare asks, “He scored last night?”

  “Shit. I don’t know.” I can’t help but be irritated by the question. I’m doin’ the best I can. Hell, I can’t babysit Smokey’s ass twenty-four/seven. Why does he keep expectin’ me to?

  I feel a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. My body slumps, though I’m not sure if it’s relief or disappointment I feel.

  “Is Daddy dead?” Jasmine’s trembling voice reaches my ear and I turn around to see the kids are still gathered at the door, watching us like hawks.

  “No, Daddy is fine,” I say, climbin’ back to my feet. Behind me, Shakespeare keeps smackin’ and pleadin’ for his older brother to wake up. “He’s just restin’ right now.” I usher them out of the cramped bathroom and literally have to push them into the living room.

  It’s a shame they have to see their father like this; however, it’s no different than them watching their dad tremble, shake, and beg people in the street for money. Other kids tease them, but it ain’t like Smokey is the only crackhead in Bentley Manor.

  Far from it.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t stop worrying about how all this shit affects my kids. Hell, I worry about it every damn day. But again, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Leave Smokey? Let him kill himself?

  Yeah, I know. He’ll probably do that shit anyway. The real truth is: we don’t have anywhere else to go.

  Momma’s diabetes took her out a couple of years ago, and my bougie-ass sister has made it painfully clear how she feels about me and the kids staying at her crib. Bitch acts like she’s always had money.

  Fuckin’ sellout.

  “Who wants pancakes?”

  “I do, I do,” my greedy kids chorus.

  I shuffle toward the kitchen, painfully aware I still smell like piss, but I can only handle one thing at a time. When I enter the kitchen, I get another shock: the damn stove is gone.

  Fuck.

  “Thanks for buying us a new stove,” I tell Shakespeare. “I’ll get the money back to you…somehow.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job to see after you guys.” He laughs.

  “It’s not your job.”

  “It’s my job to look after my brother and his family.”

  I laugh, mainly because his is so infectious. “You’re still trying to be your brother’s keeper?”

  “It’s not such a bad job.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

  “Keisha!”

  I turn to see Afrika waving me down. “Gurl, can you fix my braids?”

  “Yeah. Just give me a minute.” I turn back to Shakespeare.

  He shakes his head. “Why don’t you go to hair school or something? Get a license so you can set up a real shop.”

  “School?” I laugh. “How in the hell am I supposed to go to school?”

  A shirtless Shakespeare flashes me a smile before loading up another box into the rented U-Haul. “Damn, Keesh. I didn’t say you should run for president. Going to school isn’t impossible. I did it.”

  “You ain’t got four kids and a crackhead husband either,” I snap. I glance around the complex, disgusted by how it looks like one huge landfill: cans, broken crack vials, beer bottles, and just plain trash everywhere. Plus, there are more cars jacked up on c-blocks than ones that actually run in this motherfucker. This place depresses me. It’s the sort of depression that gets deep into your soul and festers.

  Shakespeare places another box on the truck, and I wish like hell I was the one moving out. But like I said, I’ll probably die here.

  Just then, Jasmine walks out of the apartment building, lugging a heavy box. “Can I put this in the truck, Uncle Shakespeare?”

  We both notice the strain of her arm muscles and, bless her heart, how her knobby knees look like they’re ready to buckle.

  “Here, honey. Let me help you with that.” Her uncle rushes to her side.

  “No. No. I got it,” Jasmine protests.

  Shakespeare backs off, but shadows close behind just in case she truly does need help. I smile. He’s really good with kids.

  Why couldn’t Shakespeare have been their father?

  He flashes me another smile, and my heart flip-flops like a teenager in love. Damn. What in the hell is wrong with me? Fantasizing about this type of shit will get my ass in trouble. I know it.

  Jasmine finally sets the box on the truck and receives a fatherly peck against the forehead as a reward. Jealousy curls in my stomach. How ridiculous is that?

  Jasmine takes off back toward the building, probably to grab another box.

  Shakespeare turns his sparkling brown eyes toward me.

  “Look, Keesh. You hook up just about everybody’s head up in here for damn near pennies and sometimes for free. You have a talent. You need to try and capitalize on it.”

  There he goes talkin’ like those uppity college Negroes again. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You always make shit sound so easy.”

  “School is never easy,” he admits, his muscles flexin’ as he grabs another box. “But it’s always worth it.”

  “Uh-huh.” I jab my hands against my hips. “Schools cost money. The last time I checked I ain’t eatin’ paper and shittin’ money.”

  There’s a sudden intensity to his dark gaze and it sort of contradicts his casual shrug. “I’ll pay for it.”

  I’m completely thrown for a loop. “You?”

  Another shrug. “Why not? I got my advance check from my book contract. I’ll be happy to pay for it.”

  He’s actually serious, I realize. Still, I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Right.”

  “C’mon, Devani…”

  My head snaps up.

  “I mean, Keisha.” He laughs at the slip. “Won’t you at least think about it?”

  I’ve never liked the thought of charity, despite the fact I’m in serious need of it.

  “Please?” he adds.

  Hell, it won’t hurt to think about it, but I already know what my answer’s gonna be.

  He cocks his head and gives me his best puppy-dog expression.

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll think a
bout it.”

  “Good.”

  He leans over and plants a kiss against my cheek. It was nothing but a brotherly peck, but there’s a strange fluttering in the pit of my stomach all the same.

  “You all right?” he asks, staring curiously at my flushed face.

  “Uh, yeah,” I cover lamely. “Never better.” The minute he turns away to grab another box, I place a hand against my tingling cheek and sigh like a silly schoolgirl.

  Takiah

  I love her, but Grandma Cleo is already gettin’ on my nerves. Sure, she acts like she’s happy to see me and Tanana and all; but damn, she asks too many questions. Where have I been? How come I never called? Where did I get these bruises? Where’s my husband? When was the last time I ate?

  On and on.

  The shit is old, and it’s only been forty-eight hours. Grandma Cleo’s friend, Miz Osceola—Miz Nosceola, I call her—sure don’t look too damn happy to see my black ass back here. Every time she looks at me, her nose twitches like she smells something nasty—probably her bottom lip.

  We never did get along.

  Growing up, Miz Osceola hovered around and poked her nose in my business like she was my damn momma or something. Shit, it’s hard enough growing up knowing my own momma didn’t want jack to do with me; I didn’t need remindin’.

  Hell, being back in this hellhole is like traveling back in time. The minute I entered the apartment, I feel like a pawned-off orphan again….

  “Momma is gonna go away for a little while.”

  At five years old I stared up into my mother’s red, swollen eyes and knew this would be the last time I would ever see her.

  I wrapped my small arms around her knees. “Nooo. Don’t go.” My gaze cut to the scary man standing in Granny’s doorway. I don’t know who he is, but he had the greasiest hair I had ever seen and he wore so much black leather, he squeaked when he walked. He looked bored and ready to go.

  “Why can’t I go with you?” I asked. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Momma gotta go and see about a job. If I get it, then I’ll be able to save up enough money to get us our own place. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  The question doesn’t make sense. How come we can’t just live with Granny? She won’t mind.

  “C’mon, Ruthie,” the ugly man by the door said. “We ain’t got all night.”

  “I’m comin’,” Momma snapped over her shoulder, then faced me with a smile too big for her face. “Now, I want you to promise to be a big girl and mind your granny.”

  My vision blurred with hot tears. She was truly gonna leave me. First Daddy left to go to prison and now this. Instead of promising, I tightened my arms around her legs and sobbed.

  “C’mon, baby. Now don’t be like this.”

  Momma is getting angry, but I didn’t care. I wanted to go, too.

  Momma pulled at my arms, but when she was unable to get me to let go, another set of arms grabbed me from behind.

  “Come on, baby. Your momma has to go.”

  It’s Grandma Cleo, sounding about as sad as I felt. Surely she didn’t believe momma was coming back.

  “Ruthie,” the ugly man barked.

  “Why don’t you just leave us alone,” I screamed. “She doesn’t want to go with you!”

  The man just laughed. “I’ll go wait out in the car.” He looked up at Momma. “Just don’t have me waiting out there too long.”

  I’m glad to see him go. So much so, that I managed to escape Granny’s firm grip to race to the door and lock it.

  “Oh, baby.” Momma knelt down. “Lockin’ the door doesn’t change anything. I still have to go.” She pulled me in her arms and we hugged as if our lives depended on it.

  “You’re coming back, right?” I asked, hoping I’m wrong about it being our last time together.

  “Of course I’m coming back. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  In the end, I was right. I never saw my mother again.

  “Takiah, honey, it’s past noon,” Grandma Cleo says, cracking open my door.

  We both know that’s code for me to get my lazy ass out of bed and come take care of my baby. I groan because this bed is feeling too good and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to just sleep in like this. “Can I have just a few more minutes?” I plead.

  Hell, it ain’t gonna kill her to watch Tanana just a little while longer.

  “Honey, one of us is gonna hafta go to the store and buy this baby some food and diapers. The ones I borrowed from Angie across the way are just about gone.”

  Shit. “I ain’t got any money, Granny.”

  “Chile, I know that. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. Now, get on up so I can go to the store. I don’t have a car seat or I would take her with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, knowing any other response would get me in trouble. I ignore my body, poppin’ and protestin’ as I climb out of bed. I can barely walk a straight line as I head out of my old bedroom. When she hands Tanana over, I notice how she looks and smells brand new.

  I guess a good, hot bath will do that.

  I’m suddenly aware of my own tart b.o., and I’m thinking about begging Granny to hold up running to the store so I can splash some water on my ass, but almost immediately after handing me Tanana, she’s out the door.

  Alone at last.

  I plop down on the sofa, ignoring the scrunch of Granny’s beloved plastic. Damn, she still has this shit on here? This don’t make no kind of sense. This sofa has to be older than I am, but looks brand new. I don’t know why, but I laugh.

  As my gaze zooms around the living room, I’m struck by how nothing has changed in this small place since I moved out. Hell, since I moved in. Seriously, it’s like being trapped in some kind of time machine, but crazy shit like this is why I love Grandma Cleo.

  Life keeps throwing me bricks, but Granny stays the same. The same person. The same love. The same acceptance.

  I can’t say the same for Bentley Manor.

  Tanana squirms to get out of my lap and I let her down. Instantly, a large smile covers my child’s face and the effect is like a burst of sunshine in my soul, but just as quickly a cloud dampens my spirits.

  After all the shit I’ve done in my life, I don’t deserve such a beautiful child. Yet, here she is—perhaps a little small for six months, but she’s a happy child.

  Tanana rarely cries, the long bus ride being an exception. I’m jealous of her thick, wavy hair, large almond-shaped eyes, and curly lashes. She’s at least two shades darker than my dull clay-brown coloring and two shades lighter than Kameron’s dark chocolate.

  But with parents with souls as black as ours, what chance does my baby really have in this world?

  Unexpected tears brim my eyes and fear seizes my heart. I don’t want my baby to turn out like me. I mean, I’m a mess. Always have been. I was stealing from the local Circle K at seven, drinking at ten, smoking pot and having sex by twelve, and this was despite my grandma and her Bentley Manor spies.

  How am I going to do better by my child?

  While I’m stuck on this question, I watch Tanana crawl all over the place and suddenly I feel like I’m in over my head.

  I certainly hadn’t done any better since I escaped Grandma’s watchful eyes either. Sure, I can sit here and blame Kameron, but he didn’t put a gun to my head. Well, at least not at first. My decline into becoming a junkie had little to do with the desire to get high and everything to do with my looking for unconditional love.

  But love made a fool out of me, Kameron convincing me to let him and his boys run a train on me was just the beginning. After that, it wasn’t long before a few of his other friends wanted to try me out. Suddenly, my man was teaching me tricks, coaching me on how to guarantee his boys would keep coming back for more, turning me into a certified ho. And those girls I thought were sweatin’ for my spot were just his other hos lining his pockets, supporting our drug habit.

  I might hav
e given a fuck if I wasn’t high all the damn time. I might have done a lot of things different if that had been the case. Hell, the first time I overdosed didn’t even cure me. How pathetic is that? I woke up in the hospital jonesing for another hit.

  Kameron was right by my side, hooking me up wheneva the nurses left the room. At the time, I thought it was a sign of true love. My man didn’t want to see me hurting like that.

  Shit.

  Someone should have just stamped the word “fool” across my head and be done with it. The few times I did try to leave, Kameron transformed from the happy-go-lucky man I fell in love with to the nigga with a mile-long rap sheet who wouldn’t think twice to stomp your ass into the ground to keep you from shortening his pockets.

  Around the third time he’d broken my arm and blackened my eye, I understood: I was a piece of property and Kameron was my master.

  Grandma Cleo was wrong about one thing: I had tried to call—once. One of my johns had left his cell phone in one of the hotel rooms Kameron rented out on the regular; I’d nervously hid in the cramped bathroom, dialing my grandma’s number I knew by heart. The line just rang while my heart ticked so loudly, it sounded like something attached to explosives. It being the middle of a Saturday afternoon, I knew my granny was likely sitting out on her stoop and minding everybody’s business but her own.

  Shaking my head of those long-ago memories, I’m still stuck with my original question. How in the hell do I go about making a better life for my child when I’m so fucked up?

  “Lord, help,” I mumble under my breath. “Can’t you just send me some kind of sign?”

  A loud knock on the front door nearly causes my bones to jump out of my skin.

  Kameron!

  The sofa’s plastic rips the light hairs from my bare legs as I bolt straight up. I ignore the pain and rush across the floor and grab Tanana. Hell, I didn’t think he would be out of jail so damn fast. What am I going to do?

  There’s another fierce pounding on the door, and I scan my surroundings for a hiding place. My hold on my baby tightens as I consider making a run for the front window. It wouldn’t be so bad. The apartment is on the first floor.