Sister’s Pact/A Plan for My Life
by
Almalia Card
Smashwords Edition
PUBLISHED BY
Almalia Card on Smashwords
Sister's Pact/A Plan for My Life
copyright c 2007 by Almalia Card
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Acknowledgements
Well here it is, the baby I have been trying to have for, at least, twenty-five years. Can you imagine being an incubator for something this big, for that long? It wants to come out. You want it to come out, but life, and all its uncertainties, keeps impeding the due date. Then finally, one day, the time feels ripe for delivery. You push, push and push and WHA-LAH! your first novel.
I wish I could give a shout-out to everyone I know, but space will not allow for that. Plus, it would be really boring. My family and friends, each one of you have, in your own special way, made me the person I am today. I love you all, but the herein named people below, are extremely special because in some way, great or small, they helped this day come to fruition. In the sequel, I promise to shout-out to a different set of people.
To the men in my life The Most High-God, Rod, CAD and Drewski: You mean everything to me. …And I…, will always Love you, oooh I...
MOMMY: You are grace and strength personified.
Big Sista, Miche: When we were kids, one day while you were out getting into trouble, I read your poetry and listened to your Last Poet and Nikki Giovanni records and it lit a fire in me that still burns today. Thank you for not being home and for leaving your stuff out. It changed my life. If you hit me for going through your stuff, I’m telling Mama.
Quincy “Q” Norwood: Thank you, my Aries brother, for helping a sister out. You are a wizard when it comes to your mastery of the English language. Thank you for your editing expertise, being this writer’s sounding board and an unexpected friend. You know I believe in paying it forward.
To my sister/friend Elaine A., and sister/cousin Kathy B.:
Both of you know all the good secrets about me. If you ever decide to blackmail me, I will have no choice but to pay up.
J: I truly get a kick out of our Spring/Winter friendship. You know you are one of my most favorite people in the world. You are also the conduit through which I am assured that there is hope for Generation-Y. Keep striving for the mark even through life's storm. It ain't nobody but the devil trying to deter your greatness. I Got Your Back Boy! Go Spartans! (Hi Sammy!)Smooches,
Chapter 1/ Homeward Bound
Juneteenth (Tuesday, June 19, 2001) - 11:00a.m. Pacific Time
“Northwest Airline flight number 289 will be boarding at gate 16.” The announcement came over the loud speaker at LA-X. Jacqueline Stewart gathers her purse and Essence magazine in one hand and grabs her youngest son Daiquan with the other. “Here we go,” she said partially to herself. “Arty, grab the carry-on bag, let’s go get in line.”
“Mom, can you to stop calling me Arty? That’s a baby name; I turned 9 yrs-old last month. I want to be called Art.”
She stops and looks down at him, “Whoever you are today, grab that bag and let’s get in line.”
Arty grabs the paisley print Tourister bag by its long taupe straps. He drags it on the floor as he reluctantly follows behind his mother mumbling loud enough for her to hear, “I don’t know why we have to move to Detroit anyway. First, I lose my dad and now I gotta leave all my friends. What about my needs?”
After securing a place in line, Jackie spins around still holding her 3-year-old son, Daiquan, on her right hip. Her long beaded braids whip around with a snap and rattle. She grabs Arty under his chin and throws his head back so they are so they are face-to-face and with whispered anxiety said, “Look little boy, this ain’t the day for your mess, OK? I feel your pain. I miss daddy too, but he’s in heaven now and without his paycheck, we cannot afford to live in California. Now, I’ve explained this to you a million times the best way I know how. However, if you don’t stop cuttin-up, I’m going to get with you, r-right here, r-right now, in front of everybody. So, what’s it gonna be?” Tears welled up in Art’s eyes. He doesn’t dare say another word. Jackie lets go of him and he silently studies the floor the entire time they are in line.
Jackie gives the flight attendant their boarding passes and they walk down the boarding ramp. Smiling perky faces of various ethnicities greet them at the door of the plane. Once ushered inside to the coach section, Jackie begins to study the row numbers until she finds row 19 E, F, and G. “Arty, you can have the window seat.” He smirks because she called him that baby name again. He doesn’t say anything, afraid if he does, he won’t be able to have the prized window seat. She puts Daiquan in the middle seat and places her Tourister in the over-head compartment. The luggage was a gift from some friends she would miss.
California is an expensive place to live. While Arthur was alive, they could afford the house in Baldwin Hills and the two cars. She drove a silver 1999 Volkswagen Passat and him a black Jaguar XJ. Jackie never really liked California; too many weirdoes, superficial wanna be actors and models, rampant gang activity, and she could do without the earthquake tremors.
Nevertheless, when Arthur transferred out to California what could she do but supportively join him. She missed being in Michigan with the season changes and being around her family. Even while she was dealing with Arthur’s cancer, she knew after he succumbed to his illness she would sell everything and move back home. When they knew death was imminent, Jackie and Arthur started discussing “things.” She told him of her plans to move back to Detroit. “Whatever makes you happy baby,” he said as he laid on his deathbed. At the age of 32, she became a widow.
The Fasten your Seat Belt light pops on (doink!) and brings Jackie back to the present. She pats her chest to calm the tingling around her heart. “Woooo, I gotta calm down.” She makes Quan sit down in his seat and while she is fastening him in, she looks over at Arty to see if he has his belt fastened. She tugs on it to make sure it is secure. The whole time Arty just looks out the window and never says a word to her or Daiquan. “This is going to be a hard adjustment for him,” she thinks to herself, “I’m going to need lots of prayer and patience to help him deal with all this change.”
In first class of the same plane, Desmond checks on the security of his seat belt just as the fasten seat belt light goes off (doink!). As he is adjusting himself to get more comfortable in his seat, the flight attendant comes by with lunch on a cart. “Today we are having Deli sandwiches. You have a choice of turkey and Swiss, ham and Swiss or, roast beef and American cheese, chips and a soda. He thought to himself, “Soda, they call it pop at home”, a place he visited sometimes between gigs, occasional holidays, and Uncle Clark’s funeral three years ago. How many times will his people in Inkster, Michigan dog him about calling it ‘soda’ before it sinks in and he starts to call it “pop” again? “I’ll take the roast beef, a Mountain Dew, and a bag of Lays.”
She unfolds his tray from the back of the seat in front of him and places a tissue-like placemat on it. She then places the ice-cold green can, a cup of ice, his sandwich, and chips in front of him. He felt pampered. When he looked up at the flight attendant to thank her, he noticed she was a bit too close for his comfort, and she was staring intently into his eyes. He was born with the most sensual brown eyes. He was well aware of the hypnotic effect they had on women. He used them like a stun gun to paralyze his prey before he went in for the kill.
Nevertheless, he’s not feeling it today. He’s moving back home to live with his peeps for the first time in six-years and the thought alone is making him uneasy. He’s sure he wants to take a break from the road and get some stability in his life. What he is not sure about is being 30-years old and living with his mom again. “Oh Man, she can be hard to take sometimes,” he thought. He didn’t want to taint the beginning of his new life with a one-night stand so he looks back at the flight attendant and politely says, “Thank You,” and begins to eat pretending not to feel her passionate gaze.
Pissed off that he was not reciprocating her furtive advances, the flight attendant stomps off. Man was he glad none of his boys were here to witness this. Everybody knows that Dezy don’t turn down any trim. However, he had been feeling strange all day and the feeling was even stronger now that he was on the plane. There was like a tingly feeling around his heart.
“I hope this ain’t no omen or some sort of sign that this plane is going to crash.” He looks down and notices he has dripped mustard on his black denim Sean John jacket and on the matching pants as well. “Dang!” he said to himself as he rang for the flight attendant.
The horny one answers the call with rekindled hope in her eyes, anticipation in her steps, and two extra buttons on her blouse undone. She bends down so Desmond can get an eye-full of her jutting breasts.
“May I help you?”
“Yes I need a wet cloth so I can get this mustard off my clothes.”
Deflated and pissed again, she sternly points her finger in the direction of the restroom, “Just go in there and wet a paper towel and wipe it off.”
He realizes that he had better not push her any further and un-folds all 71 inches of his fine, slender, light-brown frame out of his seat. The flight attendant is so close that he brushes against her as he stands up.
“Need any help?” she asks as her hungry eyes sweep over him from head to toe.
“No thanks. I can handle it.”
In the coach section of the plane, Jackie wipes Quran's hands and mouth. He got more of his potato chips in his seat than in his mouth.
“I gotta go to the baf-froom, mommy”
“Can I bribe you to hold it, Quan”?
“Nope.I gotta go boo-boo, now.”
“Arty, take Quan to the bathroom.”
“Why I always gotta take him to the baf-froom?”
“Because I said so, now go, before he uses it on himself and then we’ll have to sit here and smell him for the next three hours. He’s only three years-old, he’s not old enough to go the toilet by himself yet.”
Arty reluctantly stands up, grabs Quan by his hand, slides past his mom and drags Quan off to the restroom so fast Quan has to run in order to keep up with his arm. The two restrooms in coach are full so he turns and drags him back past his mother, who is giving him a cross look, and takes him to the one in first class. As they reach the bathroom, a tall man with a Sean John jean hook-up is coming out. Arty checks him out; because the man is wearing the hook-up, he’s been begging his mom to buy him.
Once back in his seat Arty tells his mother, “There’s a man in first class with this bad Sean-John hook-up on, like the one I want.”
“That’s nice Sweetie.” She never takes her eyes off her magazine to look at him. That designer stuff cost too much", why get his hopes up.
“Man!” Arty mumbles to himself and falls back in his chair on something hard in his back pocket. He remembers he has his Game Boy back there, he takes it out, puts the earphones in his ears, and loses himself in a game of Mario Kart.
Doink! The seat belt lights pops on again. Jackie opens her eyes as the plane’s pilot says in a generic monotone voice, “We are about to land at the Detroit Metropolitan Airport’s
McNamara Terminal. Please fasten your seat belts. The time is 6:26 p.m., Eastern Standard Time, on this fine summer day, with a temperature of seventy-six degrees. Thank you for flying Northwest Airlines, and enjoy your stay in Michigan.
Jackie looks over and Quan and Arty are sleeping. Poor Quan was stretched out in the chair and Arty is slumped against the window, Game Boy in one hand, earphones still in his ears. Jackie fastens Quan in without waking him. She nudges Arty, “Wake up Sweetie, we’re here. Fasten your seat belt.” Arty’s eyes pop open and he sits up in his seat and fastens his belt “Is Granny coming to pick us up?” he asked.
“Yes”
“Sweet!”
In first class, Desmond fastens his seat belt. He wanted to take a nap, but the Mountain Dew kicked in and he was alert through two movies, Sister Act 1 and 2. Lauryn Hill had a major part in part two. Her career really took flight after that. He had fond memories of being on the road playing in her band; it was a nice gig. They played all the major cities in the United States and then did stints in Japan and London. She liked the way he played drums and he found her to be a down-to-earth person and a perfectionist about her art. Nevertheless, those days are over, at least for now. When Lauryn went into a funk about her love life, he decided it was a good time to take a break from touring and reflect on his life.
The plane had one of the smoothest landings he had ever experienced and he thought to himself, “Well, I don’t know what this funny feeling is about but at least I got here safely."
First class passengers were going to exit the plane first so he began to gather his things while thinking, “Dawn better have her butt outside waiting for me like I said. I got all this luggage, and my drum set, to claim. This is not the day for her to be on 'c.p.' time.” As he headed for the door, he saw the horny flight attendant smiling and thanking the exiting passengers. As he walked by, she thanked him and slipped her business card into his back pocket. He just walked up the boarding ramp and never looked back.
Jackie waited until the plane was just about empty before she and the kids prepared to disembark. She grabbed her bag from the overhead compartment and gave it to Arty along with her magazine, “Don’t drag it this time.” She gathered the sleeping Daiquan in her arms and they walked out of the plane and up the boarding ramp.
Once in the terminal, she stopped, looked around and said, “I’m home.”
Then she took one more look around, assessing her surroundings this time, “So this is the new terminal mom’s been telling me about. This place is humongous: Moving walkways and a monorail!” Just then she felt Arty tugging on her sweater, “Mom can we ride the train?” he begged, pointing up at the sleek red car just pulling in to the station above their heads. “Yeah I guess so. It probably would be easier than trying to carry this boy down to luggage pick-up. Let’s see how you get on that thing.” She looks around to spot a sign or something. Then she sees one hanging above the up escalator with an arrow pointing up, Express Tram. “Come on Arty we have to take the escalator up.”
Once on the boarding platform they didn’t have to wait long for the tram to come. They got on with the other people and found that there were no seats; everybody had to stand and use the various poles for support. She stood near a pole that was by a window so Arty could see all the people down in the terminal. She shifted Quan so his face was lying on her left shoulder. She grabbed the pole, “Arty stand in front of me and grab this pole.”
Arty obeyed his mother this time with nothing smart to say and they were off. The tram carried them the full length of the one-mile course in no time. There was an elevator right outside the tramcar that they took down to luggage claim. She summoned a skycap to gather all her luggage and then walked outside where the other passengers were waiting to be picked up by loved ones in cars.
“Where are we going Mom?”
“Granny is going to meet us out here. Quan, you are going to have to walk Sweetie, you are getting too heavy for mommy to carry.” She put his sleepy self down and then she looked around for any sign of her mother or her SUV, when she heard a familiar voice.
“Don’t be tryin to look pissed. I’m not late I was caught up in traffic. This place is a mad house!”
Jackie turned around, “Simone!” Simone put the car in park and jumped out to greet her sister. Jackie ran and the sisters hugged, “Girl what are you doing here? I thought you were on tour?”
Simone was a statuesque 5’8 to Jackie’s 5’3. They were the same complexion of spice rum, but Simone had cut her long dark brown tresses into a stylish short cut that fit her face perfectly. Her dress fit her eccentric actor persona; pale pink lipstick to match her hot pink sundress with a matching wide brim straw hat that had a flowing flowered scarf tied around the brim and sunglasses. She dressed the same flamboyant way when they were kids and this embarrassed Jackie terribly. She understands now that it is just Simone’s need to be seen, all the time. No wonder she became an actress, and a damn good one too. Arty on the other hand didn’t know what to make of the pink lady.
“Oh Arty, do you remember Auntie Nina?”
“Why you telling him to call me Nina, when you know momma is the only one that calls me by that name and that’s when she’s mad about somethin?” They laugh.
“You call me Simone like everybody else Arthur.” Simone hugs him. “Why are you still callin this boy Arty? He’s almost as tall as you.”
“I want to be called Art”, he tells his new-found auntie.
“Art? If you promise to call me Simone, then I'll call you Art, deal? They shook on it.
Jackie butts in, "You mean Auntie Simone, right? He’s not allowed to call grown folks by their first name only."
"Whatever girl." Simone fans at the air. As they put the luggage in the car, the boys climb into the back seat. Art can't believe his mom has a sister that is so cool. He likes her.
CHP 2/ INK-TOWN POSSE’
"You got too much shit, Dez. I can’t see out the back window"
"Don't worry about it Dawn, use your side mirrors. Don't start complaining, you 'spose to be happy to see your big brotha. I'm home girl! Give me some love!"
He opens his arms wide like he is expecting a hug, but she can't because she is driving. For the first time he notices his sister is coordinated from head to toe. Weave streaked honey blonde and whipped up into a ponytail that falls well past her shoulders. Her bangs swung to the left side of her head and wrapped behind her ear. Her make-up perfectly matched to her light brown skin. Her fingernails were a long swirl of orange and white, with rhinestones on the tip of both pinky fingernails. Her toes had the same orange swirls, which were fitted with strappy orange patent-leather sandals with a one-inch heel. They matched her orange denim- skirt. Her top was a simple white baby-doll blouse with French-cropped sleeves that showed off the rhinestone in her navel and her well-formed arms.
"Girl you look like a ripe orange. If I squeeze you will orange juice come out?" Desmond falls out laughing at his own joke.
Dawn tries to hold back a smile as she rolls her eyes at her older brother. She pulls her orange sucker out of her gold Fashion Fair lips with a pop! “This is not orange, it's tangerine."
“Tan ja rine! Oh, excuse me. I know I'm home now. Only in Detroit! Tangerine!"
“That's right baby you in the 'D'! While we on the subject, you gotta sleep in the den. I moved into your old bedroom upstairs and I'm not givin it up because you back home. You at home now boyee. You ain't no star-rah here. You down here on the ground with us regular folk." She smiles, blows him a kiss, “Welcome home, Boo” and shoves her sucker back in her mouth.
“How you gon’ play me? The den? I’ll be movin out quicker than I planned.”
“That’s the general idea.” This time she didn’t bother to take the sucker out of her mouth. She just kind of shoved it to the side, said what she had to say and shoved it back in place.
“How is everybody? Tell me now. I don't want no surprises when I get to the house."
Dawn pulls her sucker out of mouth again and licks her lips, "Well, Mom is always gonna be Momma. You know Diallo got married about two-years ago. His wife's name is Shaquita and his son is Diallo Jr. Shaquita does my hair."
"Oh she the one who be hookin you up. Can she give me a hair cut?"
"Ain't nobody got scissors tough enough to cut through that wooly stuff," she laughs.
"Forget you girl. Where they live?"
"On the other side of Inkster Road."
"Saigon?"
"No boy. On Sunnydale, between Avondale and Cherryhill. It's a cute little house. Shaquita do hair in the basement."
"Is 'D' still workin’?"
"Yeah. He stays drunk as hell but, he be there just about every day."
"Huh. How about Daddy?"
"Sick, getting sicker. It don't look good"
"Damn!"
Inkster is a predominantly black suburb about 20 minutes west of Detroit. Its thirty-minutes east of Ann Arbor, which is where the University of Michigan is. Back in 1857, Inkster housed a very affluent resident by the name of Robert Inkster. Not only was Mr. Inkster the owner of the city’s sawmill that furnished fuel and ties for the railroad but he was also the city’s postmaster. Back then, Inkster was known as Moulin Rouge, which means “red mill,” in French, but in 1863 it was renamed Inkster Township, after the postmaster.
In 1964, Inkster became a full-fledged city. The socio-economic make-up of Inkster today is poor to middle class people of all ethnicities but mostly blacks and whites. The various Ford Motor Company factories in the area, known as FOMOCO to the locals, employ most of the residents. During the 70’s and 80’s, when the auto plants were in recession, Inkster residents were hit hard.
Blacks and White’s from the south like to settle in Inkster and the surrounding small cities like Westland, Garden City, Taylor, Belleville, and Romulus because these cities have that southern small town kind of feel. Skunks, raccoons and fireflies, garden snakes and large backwoods mosquitoes are common. Depending on what side of town you are on you may see dirt roads, horses and roadside stands where the residents sell fruits and vegetables they grew in their backyards.
Inkster, Westland, and Garden City are more “city-fied.” Probably, because they share borders with Dearborn Heights, Edsel Ford's home. Everybody knows everybody in these little towns. Most Inkster-ites stay within the boundaries of the city, and have no interest in venturing out, not even to Detroit. However, some dream of the day they can leave, only coming back to visit family, maybe.
There is racial tension in Inkster, but unlike Detroit, the neighborhoods and schools are more integrated. In Detroit, you can live in a neighborhood and never live next to, or go to school with, whites. You grow up not knowing how to get along with people of different races. This can limit your horizons in life. In Inkster, not only could your neighbor be a white person but your first high school crush could be also.
The crime rate and drug trafficking in Inkster is on par with many other economically distressed areas in the United States. If you’re looking for it, Inkster has it. The residents call the area that lies south of Michigan Ave., before you get to Romulus where the airport is, Saigon. The heavy drug trafficking caused this area to be like a war zone with all the gunfire, turf wars, dead and wounded bodies lay about on a daily basis.
The north side of Michigan Avenue is a little more metropolitan. You can see strip-malls, clean streets, and nice brick homes with manicured front yards, mixed in with a yellow or brown lawn or two. Most homes in Inkster have huge back yards. There was an unspoken distinction between the residents of North and South Inkster. The residents of north Inkster were the ones that were called back to work after the auto-recession and the residents on the south side were not.
As Dawn cruised down Middlebelt Road headed towards home, childhood memories continued to flash in Desmond’s mind. He was born on the south side of Inkster. The summer before he was to start Inkster High, his family moved to the north side of Inkster, into the house they still live in. The move to the north side meant Desmond had to attend the predominantly white Robichaud High in Dearborn Heights. His new friends and admirers came in all hues. He was on the basketball team and played the drums in every band that was available at school, including marching band. He was popular. During his senior year, he decided he liked the drums better. Therefore, he quit sports to make sure he didn't hurt his arms and legs, but remained a total sports fan.
Dawn made a left onto Beechnut, a U shaped cul-de-sac. The Keir house was right in the middle of the curve. The red brick bungalow had a dirty-white awning hanging over the living room picture window. The front screen door was the old school kind with a raggedy screen at the top and a big encircled metal K adorning the bottom half of the door. The front door was a basic white steel door with a peephole. Dawn pulled in the driveway and pops open the hatch door with the button inside of the car. They exited the vehicle. Desmond walked around to the rear of the truck to lift the hatch door when he sees Dawn high stepping it toward the back door. “Hey Dawn, where you think you goin? You ain’t gonna help me bring some of this stuff in?” Dawn ignores him and disappears behind the back of the house. Desmond slams the door shut and runs up the driveway after her, “Dawn! Dawn!” He knows she can hear his calls.
Desmond opens the gate to the backyard and as soon as he steps through he hears, “SUR-PRISE!” He gasps and grabs the drainpipe going down the edge of the house. In the back yard, he sees all of his family, and a few people who look familiar, huddled in a corner next to the back of the house. Dawn was holding a two-layer round cake decorated like a drum. Welcome Home Dez, was written on it in swirly red icing. A banner hung above their heads that is decorated with drums and balloons that said the same thing.
“Y’all scared the shit out of me,” Desmond said catching his breath.
“California done made this boy soft,” Diallo, says as he walked toward Desmond holding two ice cold bottles of Michelob. He hands one to Desmond, “Welcome home my brother.” They gave each other dap, hugged and laughed. Everybody laughs.
“No it hasn’t. I can still whoop your ass any day.”
The music starts bumping and the BBQ pit is smoking with hot dogs and hamburgers. Desmond takes a swig of his ice-cold beer and walks through the crowd, saying hello to his guests. He sees Dawn placing the cake on the table of the patio set where his parents are sitting. He walks over to her, “Good one, you got me.”
“My pleasure” she bats her eyes at him and walks off.
“Hi Mom and Dad, I’m home,” he said, bending down to hug them both.
Mom was looking older than her 58 yrs with wrinkled cocoa brown skin. She is wearing a cheap auburn wig that looks like dog hair and wears more like a hat. Oh Lord, she don’t have her teeth in. Pops is alert but frail and losing his grip on life. Desmond remembers when his mother, Zetha, was a fine woman. A five-foot-two, slender, coca brown brick-house. His father, Dexter, was a tall, half-Scottish, light-skinned brother with wavy light-brown hair.
Zetha and Dexter met at the Ford Rouge Plant. Zetha could have any man she wanted, and she wanted Dexter Keir. He was married to someone else at the time, but she worked her way into his life and then worked him over whenever and wherever she could get him alone. When she got tired of having clandestine sex and waiting for Dexter to leave his wife she suddenly found herself pregnant with Desmond and explaining the situation to Dexter’s wife. No sooner than Dexter was divorced, he was saying, “I do” to Zetha.
Desmond’s mother ran the household from day one. That’s why his father is sick. The stress of the relationship caused him to drink which led to the liver cancer. Monday through Thursday, Zetha was a model mother. When she got home from work she would cook, help the kids with homework, clean house, etc. However, when Friday would come around the family knew they wouldn’t see her until some time on Sunday.
Yeah, Zetha said that was her time. She would leave for work on Friday morning and fall back in the house on Sunday, looking had; hair pulled back, clothes wrinkled, sometimes on wrong, smelling like liquor, cigarettes, and sex. Dexter knew his wife was hanging out with other men, but he couldn’t get her to stop. Instead of arguing with her, he would drink to numb his feelings of insecurity, betrayal, and looking like a fool to all that knew of his wife’s active social life.
Sometimes, before Dexter would get too juiced, he and Desmond would have some good times watching sports, listening to, and talking about, music, specifically jazz. It was during these moments that Desmond developed his love for music. One day, when Desmond was a teenager, he told his mom, “I don’t like when you leave on the weekend and not come home. I think it makes dad feel bad.” Without a twinge of quilt Zetha retorted, “Married people need to have time apart. Your daddy just needs to make new friends.” He resented her disrespecting his father and making him stay home to watch Dawn and Diallo so she could party. Now look at her. Look at both of them, looking at least ten-years older than they actually are.
“Dez you gon’ have to sleep in the den. Dawn took over your room upstairs so we made it nice in there for you. That’s a new couch-bed and TV and we got it hooked up to cable for you.” Zetha smiled a toothless grin.
“Thanks mom I’m just glad y’all let me move back in.” The smell of the food cooking was getting to him, “I think I’m gonna go get me something to eat.” Desmond gets up to fix himself a plate when he hears a woman’s voice he doesn’t recognize.
“I’ll get it for you” Desmond turns and looks into an attractive chubby brown, perfectly made-up, face with flawless white teeth. “Hi Desmond I’m Shaquita, Diallo’s wife. I’ve heard a lot about you, and now I finally get to meet the famous Desmond Keir.”
Shaquita was one of those pretty, big-boned girls. She, like Dawn, never stepped out of the house un-kempt. She looked well put together in her knee length denim skirt suit. Underneath the denim jacket, she wore a powder blue top. Her large breasts made the scoop neck look more like a horseshoe. She wore some kind of silver necklace that dangled and got lost in her cleavage. On her manicured feet, she wore silver rhinestone pump sandals. Her feet and her fingernails had a matching design of rhinestones and swirls. A shiny jet-black ponytail leaped off the top of her head and ended just before hitting her shoulders.
“I don’t know about famous,” Desmond said, trying to hold back a blush.
“Well, I’ll fix your plate. Go on back and finish visiting with your parents.” She sizes him up in one swoop of her eyes.
“Ok thanks.”
Desmond goes back and sits with his parents. His lawn chair was positioned so that he could see Shaquita fixing his plate. While Desmond talked with his parents, Shaquita puts a little something extra in her walk as she heads toward the food. She knew Dez could see her, but so could Diallo. He was watching his wife flirt with his brother, and he had a cross look on his face.
“Look at Diallo over there tryin to be jealous. Nigga please.” She said to herself as she sashayed back to where Dez was sitting. When she placed the plate on the table in front of him she made sure, she leaned over so he could get an eye full. “Would you like something to drink?”
Desmond turned to face her but got a face full of her chocolate mounds. The necklace she was wearing fell out of its comfortable crease, and dangled in mid-air hypnotizing him. This was the second time today that Desmond found a woman’s breasts in his face. He had dated plenty of thick women before and he had no preference regarding a woman’s size. It’s just that he wasn’t about to get busy with his brother’s wife. He would never do anything like that. He had a quick memory about the flight attendant he encountered on the plane and smiled a little. Shaquita thought he was smiling at her. “Yeah, I’ll take a so...pop, red” Whoa he almost said soda.
Shaquita strutted over to the cooler where all the pop and beer was on ice. She leaned over so that her wide behind was in Desmond’s face. She grabbed a can of Faygo Red Pop and a Mountain Dew for herself. When she placed the dripping cold can down on the table in front of him she looked dead into his intense brown eyes, “If you need n-nee-thing else, I will be more than happy to get it for you.” The way she was looking at him, Desmond knew she wasn’t talking about food.
“Thank you” was all he managed to say to her offer.
Shaquita turned to walk where Dawn was sitting at a table by the side of the garage. As she walked “D”, her two-year-old son ran up and grabbed her leg. She picked him up and kissed him on his forehead and they walked to her seat together. Shaquita sat down next to Dawn, “Thanks girls for getting my plate. I am hun-ger-ry. Look at Diallo over there trying to be jealous ‘cause I was making Dez’s plate.”
“Girl Diallo always try to get new when Dez is around. That’s just some of that sibling rivalry shit. Don’t even sweat it. He gon wait till now to try and get possessive.” Both girls start laughing and giving each other five.
“I know that’s right. Hey, where is Ishi?”
The smile quickly falls from Dawns face, “The hell if I know. She know she owe me an explanation when I see her ass too.”
“Girl, don’t sweat Shi-Shi you know how our girl is”
“Yeah. Flaky”
“Or fuckin”
“Probably both” they fall out laughing again.
“I’m really pissed though ‘cause I wanted her to meet Dez,” Dawn said.
“Oh you gon, try to hook them up together?”
“Try? It worked for you and Diallo didn’t it? We are fam-ma-lee and I want all my sistahs with me,” she sings.
“You a damn fool Dawn” Shaquita laughed.
Just then, Desmond walks up, “Hey Dawn I need to go car shopping tomorrow let me borrow the truck.”
“I’m off tomorrow I’ll just take you. You might get lost,” she smirks.
“Off? You got a job?” he teases her.
“You wanna walk to the dealership?”
“Aw’ight Sis. My bad. You right, I might get lost.”
“Yeah, but I’m not goin nowhere before noon.”
“Can I come with” Shaquita butts into the conversation.
“Yeah, but you have to leave that bad-ass ‘D’ with Momma.”
“Cool then, I’m gonna go over here and get Diallo to help me get my stuff in the house. Check y’all out tomorrow.”
As Desmond walked away, Shaquita thought to herself, “Ishi or no Ishi I’m gon get me some Desmond Keir. Hell, it won’t be the first time I shared a man with her.”
CHP 3/ Where else but... SEARS
Same Day...
"Whew!"
Jackie, Simone, and their mother Liz fall onto the new rich-burgundy pillow top couch as they drop their bags in the middle of the living-room floor. Arty plops in the matching love seat and Daiquan climbs up into the seat with him.
“Well, this is our new place kids, how do you like it?” Jackie swept her hand around the room in Vanna White fashion from her seat on the couch.
“What do you call this again,” Arty asked, too tired to get up and look around.
“It’s a two-family flat. Somebody lives downstairs underneath us.”
“Who?” asked Arthur
“A nice older lady, I haven’t met her yet.”
“Then how you know she’s nice?”
“Don’t start Arty, I’m too tired.”
“Well, you better take a look around and see if everything is the way you want it,” suggested Liz.
“Yeah, let me take a quick look-see.” She pushes herself off her new couch and grunts like an old woman. She hugs her mother and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks mom for being here to let the delivery people in.”
“No problem, Sweetie. It was smart of you to pick all your furniture out of the Sears catalog and have it delivered.”
“Well it was cheaper than having my stuff hauled here from Cali. Besides, it was worn, all of it. I was about to get new furniture anyway before Arthur got sick. After he passed away, and I made plans to move here, I felt guilty at first about throwing out the furniture. Nevertheless, I couldn’t keep it forever. I loved Arthur, but I am trying to move forward with my life. So I kept all the stuff that matters like pictures, cards, jewelry.”
“No need to explain girl. I ain’t mad at ya. You did the right thing,” Simone agreed.
The three women looked around the spacious living room where they were sitting. The carpet, throughout, was a neutral caramel brown color and the walls and ceiling were painted off-white. You could still smell the paint a little bit.
“I would have loved to have bare-wood floors but not with these kids and us being upstairs. I hope it will muffle the sound a little bit. The sofa and chair look good in here. The burgundy looks better in person than it did in the catalog. And I just love this.” Jackie flings open the French doors that lead to the veranda. “When we go shopping tomorrow I’m getting a bar-be-que pit and a patio set, because I will be spending a lot of time out here.”
“Mom! Come look!”
“I think Arty has found his room you guys.”
The women walk past her new dining room table and chairs, pass two other bedrooms to the one in the back of the house, next to the bathroom. Arty was sitting on a twin-size bed adorned with a Spiderman quilt and sheets. They matched the Spiderman curtains at the window and Royal blue carpet on the floor.
“Is this my room?”
“Yes, I guess you found it,” smiled Grandma Liz
“There’s only one bed, where’s Daiquan gonna sleep?”
“Quan has his own bedroom too”
“Sweet!” he starts bouncing on the bed.
“You got three bedrooms girl? This is big for a flat” Simone was impressed.
“That’s how they built them back in the day, you know,” added Liz. They walked back down the hall to the front two bedrooms. Jackie walked into the smallest one and flicked on the light. Blue’s Clues was on the window and the bed, with the same royal blue carpet on the floor.
“This is Quan’s room here. When we go shopping tomorrow, I want to see if I can find some matching decals or other accessories for both rooms.” Then she quickly turned to the right, “...And my room is here.” Jackie flicks the light on.
“WOOOO” all the women sang in harmony, “This is pretty.”
“I just love this canopy bed,” cooed Liz.
“It looks better than it looked in the book. The sheer curtains with the floral valence really work with that matching floral comforter. The rug is so plush. That’s a good spot for it right there laid out the long way between the bed and the door. You fixed this up so nice mom,” gushed Jackie.
“It looks so comfy, so sexy,” Simone added as she fell on the queen-size bed. “Are you thinking about getting your freak on, girl? It’s about time,” she continued.
“Girl please! My husband just died. And watch out you almost hit my glass end table!”
“Arthur died over a year ago. How long are you supposed to mourn?”
“Leave her alone Simone. She’ll do it when she gets ready. Don’t wait too long, okay Sweetie. You don’t want it to get to old and dried-up,” Liz joked.
“OOOoooo, Momma” both daughters howled.
“Oh my goodness. How you gonna play me Momma?”
“I’m just telling you what I know. I loved your father, God rest his soul. But, if me and Stella can get our groove back, I know you can.”
“You a mess Momma” laughed Simone.
Click, Jackie cuts the light out. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” She tries to look mad as she walks away, but she burst out laughing instead.
“I’m just telling you what I know. I’m just telling you what I know.”
“You gotta man, Momma?” Jackie asked jokingly
“Mind your own business.”
“Uh-huh, you started this; now I’m gon finish it. You never mentioned having a man friend before. Who is it?”
“Mind your own bizz-ness”
“I’m glad you moved home Jackie. Now you can look out for Momma. Seem like she done gone and got fast on us.” Simone pipes in adding fuel to the fire.
Liz stops dead in her tracks and whirls around with her hands on her hips, in true momma fashion, “I will take my belt off and whoop both of you.”
Jackie hugs her around the neck, “OK mom, we’re just playin with you. We just wanna know who he is.” She gives her mom the pouty-face. It always worked when she was a kid.
“You already know him. How do you think you got this place” she smirked.
“Deacon Douglas!” both girls howled in unison.
“Yesss. He’s very nice.”
“I bet. If that’s the case then why is my rent so high? Can you help a sister out?”
“I did. The rent is supposed to be $550 a month. I’m the reason you only pay $300.” The sisters just look at each other speechless.
“Well then” Simone finally manages to say. Jackie was still speechless.
8AM Saturday, the next day. Daiquan awakes and slides out of bed with soggy pajama pants and pads down the hallway to Arty’s room. “R-tee, R-tee, let’s watch cartoons.”
Arty partially opens his eyes to find Quan dead up in his face with snot running out of his nose and crusty eyes. A whiff of the urine that was all over Daiquan’s pants worked like smelling salts and woke him up completely and he was mad.
“Ukk boy! Get away from me you smell like pee-pee,” and he rolled to the other side of the bed to get away from him.
“No R-tee. I wanna watch cartoons” and Daiquan began to climb into the bed to go after his big brother, his idol.
Arty looked behind him and realized that Quan and his wet soggy drawers were climbing into his new bed on to his new sheets and quilt, “No boy get out of my bed you stink!” and with a mighty shove he pushes Quan out of the bed.
Quan hits the floor with a loud thud. “Stop boy! I’m telling momma on you!” and proceeds to wail, loud and piercing so Jackie could hear.
His crying woke Jackie up like an annoying alarm clock. She opens one eye and sighs, “Lord Jesus, some things never change.” She pulled herself out of bed and looked at the digital alarm clock on the glass end table by the bed, “8:10am, they’re right on cue.” She takes her robe off the hanger that was hanging on the front of her closet door. No sooner she stepped out of her room she met up with her mother, who had spent the night, in the hallway. “I’ll get him Mom. This happens regularly around here.”
“Oh no, I know you must be tired. I’ll get him. It’s time they really got to know their Nanna Blakely.” Liz continued her purposeful stride down the hallway not giving Jackie a chance for rebuttal.
“Nanna Blakely?” Jackie mutters to herself, “Liz is in the house and she done took over.”
Liz was rough in her day, a strict disciplinarian. Jackie goes back into her room and lies across the bed real still so she can hear what’s going on in Arty’s room. Nanna Blakely stood in the doorway of Arty’s room with her arms crossed and sized up the crime scene. She sees Daiquan splayed-out in the middle of the floor wailing and trying to look more hurt than he was. Arty is on the bed telling him to “shut up boy before you get momma in here”.
“Your mom is trying to sleep. What’s going on in here?” Nanna asked calmly.
“Oh, I thought you guys went home.” Arty was surprised to see Liz and not his mom. He didn’t know what to expect.
“Oh no, I’m still very much here. Why is your brother laying in the floor crying?”
“Umm well, he was tryin to climb up in my bed and I didn’t want him to cause he smells. So I tried to stop him and he fell.”
“R-tee pushed me,” Quan pleads his case from his position on the floor.
“I didn’t push you. Shut-up boy...”
“That will be enough out of both of you. Your mom tells me this is a regular Saturday morning ritual for you two. Well, this will be the last time. If it ever happens, again I will have your mom call me and I will personally come over here and spank both you. Nobody wants to hear all this noise when they first wake up in the morning. Quan, get up off that floor and come here. And you, young man, will get up, make your bed, and proceed to the bathroom where you will bathe and get dressed.”
“Why?” Arty didn’t like the idea of her telling him what to do.
“Don’t question me, young man. Just do what I say and get that attitude off your face and out of your voice talking to me. Start moving!” Liz didn’t like the idea of a child sassing her. She was from the old school.
Arty climbed out of the bed with a scowl on his face. He didn’t like the idea of this old woman telling him what to do. This couldn’t be the same nice old woman that would call him in California at Christmas, and birthday, time. Could she really tell him what to do? He’ll just have to talk to his mom about this. Liz was checking Quan’s wet pants as Arty stomped past her and headed for his mom’s room.
“Where are you going young man? The bathroom is right here.” Liz was becoming irritated.
“I’m goin to see my mom.” Arty stomped down the hallway with Liz following close behind. “Mom...”
“Umm little boy,” Jackie began from her place in her bed, “don’t come in here. Your grandmother gave you a direct order.”
“But mom....”
“...and if you disrespect her ever again I will whoop you myself, after she does. Now go do what she said do. Right Now!”
“Arty stomped past everybody into the bathroom and slams the door”
“Oh no he didn’t.” Liz, surprised at her grandson’s bad attitude, starts to walk toward the bathroom to fulfill Jackie’s spanking promise.
"No mom. Leave him alone for now. That’s that bad attitude I’ve been telling you about.”
“Well, we’re going to have to fix that because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a child disrespect me. That’s what’s wrong with these kids today. No respect!” Liz takes Quan into his room to help him change his pants.
“Good morning, everybody. I have to say I’m not used to this much excitement this early in the morning.” Simone says standing in the middle of the hallway looking around at everybody. “What’s the deal with Art, Jackie?”
“He’s mad at the world and starting to smell himself”
“Oh, grieving and puberty all at once. Man, I thought momma was gonna kill him.”
“Me too. She still got it goin on don’t she?” The two give each other dap, laughing.
“Poor Arty don’t know who he’s messin with.”
At that moment, Liz was walking past the door with a dry Daiquan. She stuck her head in Jackie’s bedroom and said, “Then it’s time for him to recognize” and kept on walking into the kitchen to get Quan some juice. Jackie and Simone looked at each other. “We better hurry up and get ready to go shopping before she gets with us too,” Jackie said scurrying to get out of the bed. The two sisters laugh and give each other a play on the black-hand side.
11:27am
“Dez wake-up, Dez” Desmond opens his eyes to his sister standing over his bed; hair magnificent, make-up perfect, dressed to the nines in a shorts outfit and snow-white Nike gym shoes. “What?” Desmond barked.
“What? Boy, if you want me to take you car shopping you better get your behind out the bed.”
“What time is it?”
“11:30”
“11:30, Dang! I must have been tired. It’s only 8:30 in LA.”
“But this is Inkster and if you aren’t ready by 12:30 I’m gone. I’m not waiting for you all day. I got things to do.”
“Alright I’m getting up. Give a brother a chance, there is such a thing as jet-lag you know.”
“Whatever, but in about an hour the jet ain’t gonna be the only thing laggin.”
“I feel you. Can you leave so a brother can have some privacy? Thanks.”
Dawn walks out and shuts the door behind her. Desmond pulls the covers back, swings his feet around to the floor, and sits up. He yawns, stretches, stands up and looks around the room for his suitcase. By the time all the guests left, and he had all his baggage in the house, it was well after 1am. The jet lag was workin him but he didn’t expect Dawn to understand or care about that. He took some fresh underwear and a polo T-shirt out of the suitcase. “Sean John can be worn one more day until I hang up all my clothes.”
When he stepped into the hallway, he could hear voices in the dining room. He picked out Dawn, and his mom’s voice, but there was one he didn’t recognize. He was sure he would find out soon enough and closed the bathroom door. Thirty minutes later he had done the three S’s; shit, showered and shaved, and now he was almost completely dressed. He would beat his sister’s self-made deadline in enough time to fix himself a little something to eat.
When he stepped into the hallway again, dressed this time, he looked to the left and saw his father sitting in his bedroom with the TV on but sound muted. He had his headphones on, bobbing his head to a jazz tape. Pop notices him and without missing a beat he tells Desmond, “They got something for you in the kitchen.”
“Sweet! Mom must have cooked breakfast.” Desmond hastened his steps to the kitchen to find out what it was. Once in there he looks in the stove and then the microwave to see where his plate is.
“What you lookin for Dez?” his mother asked.
“Pop said you had somethin in here for me”
“Ain’t nobody cooked nothin, but you got time for some cereal or some toast before it’s time to go” Dawn barks.
“Well, what was Pop talkin about I wonder” talking to himself.
“Dez, I want you to meet my girl Ishi” Dawn starts the introduction.
Ishi stood up so he could see how tight her jeans were. She extended her hand to him over the table so he could see how her 42C’s were almost falling out of her halter-top. “Nice to finally meet you, Desmond. Dawn talks about you all the time”
Skin the color of coffee with cream, high cheekbones, slender but curvy, tall but not too tall. Hair shoulder length and black as pitch. She was Pocahontas with a sister-booty. A Lisa Raye look-a-like. Since she was Dawn’s friend, she was probably nowhere near as smart as Lisa
Raye.
From his many years on the road, Desmond knew the type right away. He didn’t come all the way home to change his life so he could be hooked up with one of his sister’s hoochyfied friends. If he was going to do that, he could have stayed on the road and hooked-up with one that was rich and had connects in the music business. “I’m about to be served up,” he thought to himself. He walked over to greet her “Hey, nice to meet you Ishi. The bad things she said about me are not true,” shaking her hand.
She lays her other hand seductively on top of his. “Oh, it was all good and you can call me Shi-Shi.”
“Nice move with the hand,” Desmond thought, “Very sexy. Then she looked me dead in my mug when she said ‘all good.’ Yep, I’m definitely being served up.”
Admiring her dangerously long and lavishly painted nails he asked, “Does Shaquita do your nails too?”
“Oh yeah, my girls hook me up in every way. I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Well, I’m a musician. When you are creative you notice creative things.”
“Well, y’all can chit-chat in the car.” Dawn butts in, “it’s time to go.”
“OK, Let me go get my wallet and we can be out.”
“Y’all have a good time now.” Zetha instructs, “Desmond don’t buy nothin too expensive, you just got here.”
“OK, Mom. Are you cookin tonight or should I get somethin on the way back?”
“I done stopped cookin so much Desmond but I’ll whip up somethin special just because you back.”
Desmond sat in the front with Dawn who was driving. Ishi placed herself in the back seat behind Dawn.
“I’m starvin Dawn. Can we swing by someplace so I can get somethin to eat?”
“Ok, well I gotta go get Shaquita anyway. We can stop at Mickey D’s on the way.”
“Shaquita? How many people we need to come with us to pick out my car?”
“We ridin in my car and I’ll pick up as many of my friends as I want to. Dez, You been gone too long. You done forgot who running this show.”
“No wonder you ain’t got no man. Ya too damn bossy.”
“Don’t you worry about who I got. I gets my needs met and they like me bossy.”
“Oh, y’all got that sadomasochistic thang goin on, huh? Ishi do she boss you around like that?”
“Yeah.” She agrees while she laughs at their quarreling, “But that’s my girl and I kind of like it. It lets me know she cares.” Dez is too busy looking out of the window to notice the silent eye-language Dawn and Ishi give each other in the rear-view mirror.
“Yeah Dez, I’m just tryin to let you know I care.” Dawn says mocking Ishi.
“Well I’m a grown man baby, a grown man, and I’ve come a loooong way.”
Dawn picks up on the old school song by Switch Desmond is reciting, “Oooh I love that song.” She and Desmond start giving each other play and laughing.
“Y’all crazy!” and Ishi joins in on the laughter.