Chapters 1 3

Makayla Jenkins Chapter One Even though Makayla Jenkins had the stereo on loud, blasting the Up With Us Booty Mix on Wild 94.1 FM, the women sitting in her living room were beginning to grate on her ever-loving nerves. They were so loud and ghetto that their high-pitched voices gave her a headache. She wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up, but needed to keep her temper in check and just make some money. All they did was gossip about other people all day long, as if they even had room to talk. She inwardly rolled her eyes at the two women as she continued to braid her client’s hair.

“Did you hear about Quandanisha?” One of them asked.

“Nah. What happened? Did she get arrested again?”

“Nuh-uh, girl. She got kicked out of her apartment because she couldn’t pay.” The woman who started the gossip had a flat nose. It looked like somebody had ironed it when she was a baby. Her name was Kertisha. Her short, uneven, home-permed hair stood straight up on her head.

“What you mean, she couldn’t pay? She on Section 8 just like the rest of us, ain’t she?” Melissa asked. Everybody called her Missy Poo. She was about two hundred pounds overweight. She had long boxed braids that hung down her back. She’d worn them for three months and needed to have Makayla re-do the perimeters of her head.

“Well, Section 8 only covered $550 and she had to pay the other $50. She got so far behind that the landlord had to evict her, and they cancelled her Section 8 voucher. Now she got to stay in the Mosley Hotel.”

“That bitch too damn sorry to raise $50?” Melissa exclaimed. While she talked, she slapped at her head because the braided-in hair was causing her scalp to itch. “Shit, I’ll be damned if I fuck up my Section 8 over some bullshit like that. All them niggas that be in and out of her place, she should’a made one of them pay. If they fucking, they need to be breaking a bitch off.”

“I know that’s right,” Kertisha nodded. “Now she at that rat-infested, nasty ass, drug fiend hotel with her kids.”

“That’s fucked up.” Melissa shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to live there with my kids. I heard she ain’t got good sense though. Maybe that's why she make so many fucked up decisions.”

The women sat on Makayla’s couch and gossiped while they waited for their turn to get their hair done. Makayla tuned them out. They all got on her damn nerves. If she didn’t need the money to buy personal items and extra things that she couldn’t get with food stamps, she wouldn’t have those hating-ass hoes sitting on her leather couch sweating and stinking it up with their coochie sweat. She’d have to Lysol and Febreze it down when they left. She didn’t understand how a grown ass woman could be so damn funky. Even though Melissa was big, that was no excuse not to wash her ass. As long as she had water, soap and a wash cloth, she needed to put them to use. She had the whole apartment smelling like fried onions. The smell was causing Makayla to

get nauseous, being that she was pregnant and still in her first trimester.

“What is that smell?” Draya asked, crinkling her nose. She was sitting in the chair getting a sew-in. Melissa and Kertisha were too engaged in gossiping to hear them. Their conversation had switched from Quandanisha to the boy who’d just gotten shot at the gas station.

“That’s Missy Poo’s stank ass. That hoe always leaving out the house smelling like onions and shit. If she too big to get in the shower, she need to get somebody to hose her ass down,” Makayla said. “She got my stomach hurting.

Let me see if I can find some air freshener.”

“Okay, girl. I hope you can find some spray ‘cause that smell is really raunchy. I’m glad you almost finished with my head so I can bounce. Me and funk do not get along.”

They burst out laughing. The other two gossiping women stared across the room at them curiously then went back to running their mouths.

“Makayla, how long you got on Draya’s head? I’m gettin’ hungry. Do I got time to run up to Pineapple’s and get me a 2 Dolla Holla?” Melissa asked.

“Please run to some water and wash yo’ funky ass,” Makayla muttered low enough for only Draya to hear, causing Draya to crack up.

“Yeah, you got time. I’m about to eat something myself before I start vomiting. That shit hurts when there ain’t nothing on your stomach. Only thing come out is green phlegm.”

“Ugg. That’s nasty. Well, I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Anybody want me to pick them up something?” she asked. The other three women declined. Melissa's funk would probably overpower their food. She struggled to get up from the couch. She resembled an overturned turtle trying to flip over.

Finally, she made it to her feet. Puffing hard, she waddled out the door.

“That’s one big bitch,” Kertisha said after Melissa had left.

“Uh-huh. Can you smell her though?” Draya asked. Kertisha didn’t answer because she knew Draya was sadity and thought she was better than everybody else. She figured the woman was just trying to throw shade, and she wanted to stay out of it.

“Kertisha, you sitting close to Missy Poo, you can’t smell that funk?”

Makayla asked.

Since Makayla said something, she decided to respond. “Nah, I didn’t smell nothing. I’m kinda glad my nose is fucked up, and I don’t have a keen sense of smell. ‘Cause the way y’all faces wrinkled up, she must be funky as hell.”

Makayla and Draya cracked up again. It was hard to tell if they were laughing about what she’d said regarding her nose being fucked up or just laughing in general.

“Oh my damn. Let me find some damn Lysol. I should have told her to sit on a towel or something. It’s a good thing I don’t have cloth furniture. That funk would be hanging on like a mountain climber.”

“Girl, stop. I can’t,” Draya laughed. “You got my stomach hurting now.”

“My bad. I’m just keeping it one hundred. I might have to stop doing her hair if she don’t bathe soon. People come up in here and think it’s my shit smelling like that ‘cause her fumes be lingering. I don’t like that, ‘cause I know

I keep a clean house.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kertisha nodded. “Cleanliness is next to godliness. It sholl do be clean and smelling nice...when I can smell. Sometimes my smell come back to me,” she explained to the other women. “But I’m glad today ain’t one of them times.”

At that moment, a tall, handsome teenager opened the screen door and entered the apartment. “What’s up?’ he greeted.

“Cortez, why ain’t you in school, with yo’ Souja Boy looking ass?” Makayla asked.

“I don’t look like no damn Souja Boy. Souja Boy look like me. Fuck school.

Ain’t nobody got time fuh dat,” he said, plopping down on the couch. “What the fuck?” His nose scrunched up when the scent from the couch hit him. He hopped back up. “Y’all ain’t even got to tell me—Missy Poo big ass was here, wasn’t she? She got it smelling like hot garbage and fish in this bitch.” All three women doubled over in a fit of laughter.

“Tez, since you here, do me a favor,” Makayla said, still holding her stomach. “Can you find that air freshener and spray in here? It’s either in the bathroom or in my room.”

“Shit, that ain’t gon’ help. You need bleach for that stench.”

“Boy, stop playing. See if you can find the Lysol too and spray some on that couch and wipe it down. Missy Poo ought to be ashamed to be so rancid. I know she can smell herself if everybody else can smell her ass.”

“She probably immune to it,” Cortez said, heading out of the room. He came back a few minutes later with a wash cloth, some rubbing alcohol and the Lysol. “This all I could find. It’ll work.” He went about rubbing the couch down.

They all turned when there was a loud knock on the screen door. It was Tina the Crackhead, a thin, gaunt woman with most of her teeth missing. She wore her hair slicked back with Pro Styl Gel. It was so short and thin that the dark gel caked on her scalp showed through the balding spots.

“Makayla, is Aisha and J’Aisha over here?” she called through the screen door, not attempting to come inside.

“No, I haven’t seen them this morning,” Makayla said.

“I saw Aisha at the bus stop,” Cortez told her. “I didn’t see J’Aisha though.”

“Aiight. Thank you. That girl gon’ make me beat her ass. She always stayin’ out all night and skippin’ school. Probably out there in the streets fuckin’ and suckin’ some low-life nigga. These kids make my blood pressure rise.” She went on a rant about how hard it was raising teenage daughters. Finally, after about fifteen minutes she shut up. ”Y’all have a good morning now, ya hear?”

“You too, Ms. Tina,” Draya said. Makayla just rolled her eyes. She and Tina didn’t get along since they’d had a knock down all out girl fight a few months prior. And it was all because of Tina’s fast-ass daughter, J’Aisha.

“I bet she ‘bout to go find her a rock to smoke. That’ll make her forget all about her daughter,” Kertisha said. No one said anything because they knew she’d spoken the truth.

“Makayla, you and Ms. Tina still got beef?” Draya asked.

“Fuck that hoe,” Makayla said. “She shouldn’t have tried me like she did.

It’s not my job to watch her half-grown ass kids. If she got off crack, maybe she could be a better parent.”

Makayla’s house was known as the hangout place. Since she styled hair, plenty of people came over. Sometimes, the women’s boyfriends would stop through and smoke, drink or play cards while they waited on their lady to get her hair done. Aisha and J’Aisha had started hanging around. It wasn’t Makayla’s place to govern them. So far, she had only one child she had to be responsible for, and that was two-year-old Darrion. She couldn’t watch somebody else’s kids, and even if she could, it wasn’t like teenagers couldn’t be slick. Aisha and J’Aisha were both hot in the ass and wanted to fuck. They’d sneak off into the bathroom to give some of the neighbor- hood boys blowjobs while Makayla was side- tracked doing hair.

One particular day, J’Aisha had been missing in action longer than usual and Makayla went to search for her. She found her in Darrion’s bedroom fucking some boy. The boy jumped up, grabbed his clothes, and ran out butt naked, slipping past her before she could do anything to him. J’Aisha just sat there with a nonchalant look on her face, not even bothering to cover herself up.

“What do you think you’re doing, J’Aisha?”

“What it look like? I was tryna get a nut befo’ you busted in here like the Po Po,” she said in a bored tone.

Makayla lost it and went upside her head. “Yo’ trifling ass is in my son’s room fucking some nigga. How disrespectful is that? You can fuck all you want ‘cause I’m not yo’ mama, and can’t tell you what to do. But you won’t be doing it in my house. Get yo’ bum-ass out. You lucky my son ain’t here or I’d stomp a knot in yo’ ass.”

She had been hotter than fish grease. What the hell had made that girl think it was okay to have sex on the floor of her son’s bedroom? She must have adapted some of her mama’s crackish ways.

J’Aisha told her mom about Makayla hitting her and Tina came over supposedly to “get her straight.” The two women had ended up scrapping like two stray cats in a back alley. Makayla had told Tina to keep her whorish daughters away from her place. She’d also threatened to get a restraining order on Tina if she came back. That’s probably why Tina had stood outside and hadn’t attempted to come in. She knew Makayla was still in her feelings about the fight they’d had.

“Was Aisha at the bus stop for real, Tez?” Makayla asked. Even though they weren’t her children, she couldn’t help but to worry about them. What kind of a life did they have living with a crackhead for a mama? She felt sorry for them.

That’s why she’d let them chill out at her place. But, when they’d started disrespecting her place, that’s when she’d had to put her foot down. The only one fucking in her home would be her.

“Yep. Aisha was there talking to Ronnie. I know it was her because I tried to snatch her weaved ponytail out, and she got mad. I was about to go to school, but changed my mind. The bus was taking too long to get there.”

“Whatever, boy. You just didn’t want to go to school. Yo’ ass need to

graduate and do something with yaself. Get up out this hood,” Makayla told him.

“I ain’t gotta do shit but stay black and die. Y’all ‘hood bitches need to do something with y’all selves and get off Section 8. Y’all can star in y’all own reality show: the Real Hood Wives of Section 8.”

“Oh, no you didn’t,” Kertisha exclaimed.

“Oh, yes. I. Did,” Cortez shot back. “Women are lucky. They can screw twenty different niggas, get knocked up and have about five or six kids, with seven baby daddies, and they’re set for life. Y’all get food stamps, WIC, Section 8, got places that pay y’all electric and other shit. Hell, I almost wish I had a vagina.” He had the ladies cracking up.

“Boy, you are stupid,” Draya said. “You ever thought about being a comedian?”

“Nah. I can’t stand up on no stage in front of a bunch of people and try to make them laugh for a living.” He shook his head. “That shit is cray. I’d be broker than a joke ‘cause I can see myself getting tongue-tied. They’d probably boo my ass off the stage.” He chuckled. “Hell nah. I’ll leave that shit to Katt Williams and Kevin Hart.”

When he mentioned Katt Williams it got Kertisha started again.

“Y’all know he was supposed to be at the Tampa Bay Times Forum and was a no show. I was pissed ‘cause I had tickets and errythang. I’d arranged to have my mama watch my kids and planned to have a good time. His ass didn’t even come.”

“What happened?” Draya asked.

“They said “unforeseen travel issues.” That’s some bullshit. That nigga was probably too drunk or too high,” she said.

“Speaking of high, Kayla, can I roll one up?” Cortez asked.

“I don’t care,” she said. She finished the final stitch in Draya’s sew-in and plugged the flat iron in the socket.

“Girl, don’t even worry about flat ironing my hair. I’ll do that myself. I’m running late,” Draya said, getting up. “Thanks for hooking a sistah up.” She dug into her Coach purse and grabbed some crumbled up bills. “Here you go.”

Makayla straightened the money out, counted it then frowned. Draya had only given her forty-five dollars. The sew-in cost sixty-five. She’s shorted her by twenty. No wonder she was in such a rush to leave. She just twisted her lips, but didn’t say anything. Forty-five dollars was better than nothing. She shook her head and placed the money in her pocket. Draya always tried to stiff somebody out of something. She had money for everything else, like that Coach purse she carried on her arm and those Red Bottom Louboutin heels on her big ass feet.

“Aiight Draya, see you later.”

“Where you got to get to in such a hurry?” Nosey Kertisha asked, sitting down in the chair Draya had just vacated.

“I got to get to the WIC office and go down town to recertify so they won’t stop my food stamps.”

“You can do that online, you know that, right?” Kertisha said.

“Yes, but my internet is off. Besides, John-John pawned the computer anyway. So, I have to go down to Mirror Lake and get on theirs.”

Makayla shook her head but remained quiet. She couldn’t understand how some of these women laid up under such trifling ass men and let them fuck for free. John-John was a sorry son-of-a-bitching bastard who used women and tossed them to the side. She couldn’t stand him. Even though he was supposed to be Draya’s man, he stayed trying to get in her panties—and any other women who he could talk into letting him hit.

She eyed Draya from head to toe. She was a very pretty woman, tall with a smooth caramel-colored complexion. She wasn’t shaped like a model, but she had a nice physique. She looked similar to Whitney Houston. She could pull a man better than John-John’s rabid ass. She must be suffering from low selfesteem or something. Makayla would be damned if she’d put up with that shit.

Wasn’t no man, woman or child going to take her computer or anything else and pawn it. She worked too hard to put nice things in her house, and she wasn’t about to let some loser get his hands on it.

“Why you looking all side-ways at me?” Draya asked, rolling her eyes.

“No reason,” Makayla said, not wanting to start anything. She knew Draya had a sarcastic mouth, and she didn’t feel like getting into it with her.

“If you got something to say, just say it,” Draya insisted.

Makayla shrugged. Since Draya wouldn’t let it drop, she might as well speak her mind. “I was just wondering if you bumped your head or something.

You too damn pretty to put up with that bullshit from John-John. Why do you let him take advantage of you like that?”

Draya sucked air between her teeth. “Why don’t you just worry about who yo’ baby daddy fucking while he locked up. Just pray that the motherfucker don’t bring you AIDS when he get out. Stay out of my personal business, Makayla,” she snapped.

“Ump. You gonna take that?” Kertisha instigated. “Why she snapping and shit anyway?”

Cortez looked up from the blunt he was rolling. “Bitch, I know you ain’t getting salty with my girl. You up in her shit talking crazy. Step yo’ wack ass on up out of here before you get ya ass beat.” Since he was always acting like a comedian, it was hard to tell if he was serious or not.

“Who gonna beat my ass?” Draya placed her hands on her hip with attitude. “I know you not gonna lay one finger on me and Makayla’s pregnant ass won’t either.”

Before she knew what had happened, Makayla had stuck her with a right cross. She staggered and dropped her purse, spilling everything out.

“Bitch, you trippin’ because I gave you my opinion? What you said about Jabari was unnecessary. Get the fuck out my house and don’t bring yo’ ass back,” Makayla said.

“You ain’t have to hit me,” she complained, picking up her purse and putting the contents that had spilled out back into it. “That’s what was unnecessary.”

“If you say one more word, I swear to God I will snatch every stitch of that

sew-in I just did out yo’ raggedly ass head.”

“But—” “But nothing. Haul ass, bitch,” Cortez said. “Let ya feet hit the concrete, trick. Get to stepping hoe. Walk yo’ ass out the do’.” He laughed at his made-up rap then went back to rolling the weed in the blunt.

“Fuck all y’all,” Draya yelled and stalked out, letting the screen door slam behind her.

“She just need some dick in her life. The way John-John spreading himself all over Tampa Bay and the surrounding areas, he probably don’t have enough energy to tap that,” Kertisha, the Gossip Hound, said. “Y’all didn’t see that vibrator she slipped back in that purse real quick?”

Makayla chuckled. “Damn, you don’t miss nothing, do you Kertisha?”

“She don’t need a vibrator; I’ll fuck her. All she had to do was say something,” Cortez said. “I’d be glad to hit her with the Bop Stick.”

“Cortez, I thought you said you gonna stay a virgin until you get married?”

Makayla reminded him.

“I’m gonna try, but if she offer me that pussy on a platter, I ain’t turning it down. Draya is fine as hell. She might have a fucked up attitude, but she fine.

I’d hit that.”

“I’d be glad to break you off a lil bit, Tez,” Kertisha said, giving him a wink.

Cortez stopped licking and rolling the blunt and stared at her in disgust.

“Hell to the fuck nah, Kertisha. I ain’t letting you be the first woman I fuck. You looking like Flats that play on Spongebob and shit. Hell nah. I’d rather jack my dick until it falls off.” He closed his eyes, cringed and gave a shiver. “Ugg.” “You ain’t right,” Makayla said, laughing until tears came to her eyes. “I gotta give you your props, though. Most men wouldn’t turn down free pussy.

So, you deserve your props.”

“Now, if you offered me some, Makayla, I’d have to give in to you. You’d make me break my purity pledge in a hot second ‘cause you got a special place in my heart.”

“Get the fuck outta here with that shit, Cortez. You might be a virgin, but you full of shit just like the other niggas that’s putting their dicks in everything. I am not trying to have sex with you, Tez. You’re just a kid. I don’t even look at you like that.”

“You don’t look at nobody except that nigga you got that’s locked up. That’s why it’s so hard for me to figure out how the hell you got knocked up again.

You not quite three months pregnant, so it can’t be Jabari’s. Who did you let hit that, Makayla?”

Makayla stiffened and her face clouded over. “It’s not ya business. Go outside and smoke that shit ‘cause I don’t wanna smell it in my house,” she snapped.

“Well damn. What I did to make yo’ ass switch to bitch mode so fast?”

Cortez asked. “Y’all women, I swear y’all be on the rag one week and be needing Prozac the next. Fuck this. I’m going somewhere where I’m appreciated.” He threw Makayla an exaggerated hurt look. “And I’m giving my dick to the only woman who deserves it: Mary Jane.”

The woman burst into laughter once again, clearing the tension in the air.

Cortez swaggered to the door, opened it and said, “And I ain’t no kid. I’m eighteen. Remember that.” He stepped out and closed the screen door behind him.

“That boy is a trip. Kertisha, did you wash and condition your hair?”

Makayla asked, while parting hair away from Kertisha’s scalp with a rattail comb. She wasn’t about to braid her hair with all that dandruff and flakes swirling around.

“No. I didn’t have time,” Kertisha lied.

Too damn trifling to do it, Makayla thought. That shit looks nasty. If I have to touch her hair and scalp, she needs to wash it first.

“Well, go in the bathroom and wash it while I fix me something to eat. I should have told Missy Poo to get me something from Pineapples. I want some Chinese food, but China Star don’t open ‘til ten thirty. I don’t trust their food, though. They could be cooking anything in them woks--frying up cats, dicing up rats, throwing roaches and anything else in with that rice. I’m suspicious.”

“I know that’s right. But, if it don’t kill you, it’ll just make you fat.”

Kertisha got up and headed out of the room to go wash her hair.

Makayla let out a deep sigh. She didn’t feel like cooking, but the only food she had that didn’t need to be cooked was cereal, and she hated cereal.

She went to the refrigerator, pulled the door open and looked inside. She had a fair amount of groceries. She probably would have to go to the Walmart Supercenter and get some more before the month was over.

She decided to make an omelet with bell peppers, onions, mushrooms and cheese.

“Makayla.” She heard Kertisha calling to her and rolled her eyes. The dumb bitch probably couldn’t find the shampoo.

“The shampoo is in the shower caddy, Kertisha,” she called back.

“I got it. I just wanted to let you know Darrion woke up.”

Makayla smiled. Just the thought of her two-year-old son brought her joy.

He was her sole reason for living and breathing. If it wasn’t for Darrion, she didn’t think she’d be able to get through the months ahead.

She placed her hands on her flat stomach and prayed she’d never feel the kick of the child that was inside it. Just having such morbid thoughts made her ill and sent her rushing to the bathroom to vomit.

Sharniece Brown Chapter Two Sharniece had just finished dropping her five-year-old daughter, Shantae, and four-year-old, Alizé, off at the Jordan Park Head Start Center. Two-yearold, Courvoisier, was in the stroller acting up.

“Girl, cut out that cryin’ and shit befo’ I beat yo’ ass,” Sharniece yelled, only furthering increasing the toddler’s wails. “You gettin’ on my fucking nerves.

Shit, I wish I coulda had my tubes tied after havin’ Alizé.”

A white Cadillac Escalade with shiny spinners pulled up, slowing so the driver could let down the dark-tinted, automatic window.

“What’s up, Red?” he greeted, looking Sharniece up and down. She wore tight booty shorts, a spaghetti sleeve tank top and wedge sandals. Her hair was on point, and her nails had recently been hooked up with a French manicure.

“Ain’t nothin’ up. I’m just tryna get this cryin’ ass baby home,” she said.

“You need a ride?”

“Nah. I live right on the next street.”

Sharniece could tell he was a dope boy. Otherwise, he’d already be at work or on his way to work since it was almost eight o’clock. From what she could see, he looked good. He was a light-skinned dude with dimples and, he had a flashing gold-grill. It was real gold too, not that fake, dull shit niggas in the ‘hood fronted with.

“You ‘bout makin' some money, lil Mama?” he asked.

“It depends. How much you talkin’ ‘bout?” She knew what was up. She wasn’t new to the game. If she wanted to get out of the projects, she needed to get her money up. The only way to do that was by keeping her legs open. Dope boys paid for pussy, and she was no stranger to selling them what they wanted.

“You need yo’ electric bill paid, lil Mama?”

“Actually, I do. Duke Energy trippin’. They done already sent me a shut-off notice.”

“Well, I don’t want you and ya baby in the dark. Let me help you out.” He flashed a stack of money, baiting her. “How much you need?”

“It’s a hundred and eighty-one dollars.”

“That ain’t shit. I got you.” He’d reeled her in. She wasn’t about to turn down the offer. Why go down to the Urban League, Salvation Army or Human Services to beg to get her light bill paid when she could fuck for twenty minutes and get the money?

“I live right there.” She pointed to her apartment. “You can park and come inside,” she invited.

“Aiight. That’s what’s up. What’s ya name, lil Mama?” he thought to ask.

She didn’t feel offended because she really didn’t give a shit. She wasn’t trying to marry the nigga, just fuck him and move on to the next one.

“Sharniece, but everybody call me Niecy.”

“I’m ‘bout to beat the brakes off that fat pussy, Niecy. You sure you ‘bout

it?”

“Hell yeah. Hurry yo’ ass up and show me, nigga.”

He was talking like he could really fuck. That shit turned her on. She hurried up the steps to her house, struggling to get the stroller up them because she didn’t feel like taking Courvoisier out of it. She saw Tina the Crackhead at her next door neighbor’s house looking pitiful. Tina always looked like she was about to cry. She was forever begging, too.

“Hey, Niecy,” Tina called to her when she left Makayla’s house. “You seen J’Aisha?” she asked.

“Nah. Not today. The last time I seent her was yesterday.” She knew seent wasn’t a word, but she wasn’t in English class. She was in the ‘hood and would speak accordingly.

I hope her ass don’t start beggin’. It’s too early for that shit.

She was glad when Tina took her ashy, chapped lipped ass on down the sidewalk. A few minutes later, Draya stormed out of Makayla’s apartment looking pissed. She walked so fast that she twisted the heel on one of her Red Bottoms.

“Shit,” she swore. “Fuck this shit. Fuck that hoe. Fucking bitch is just a hater.” She ranted all the way to her car. She got in and took off like a bat out of hell, tires screeching and leaving skid marks in the road.

What the fuck is wrong with that hoe? She wondered. She really didn’t care, because she and Draya had fucked the same man. She didn’t have any animosity toward the bitch, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. John-John was community dick, but Draya acted like she couldn’t understand that. The way Niecy saw it: every dick could be borrowed. The hoes got lucky when she decided to give it back. She just hadn’t met a man that she wanted to settle down with. Until that time came, she’d continue to stick and move, getting their money and catching a nut in the process.

She went inside, grabbed a Pop Tart and Capri Sun juice box. She put Courvoisier in the bedroom after giving her the food and juice.

“Eat this and drink ya juice. Watch TV and don’t come out of the room until I say so,” she said. “If you come out, I’ma beat yo’ ass,” she threatened and shut the door. The room was filled with toys, a TV, PlayStation and everything else that kept children entertained. Courvoisier would be fine for a couple of hours.

When she went to the door to wait for the dope boy, she saw Missy Poo, AKA Stank Cooch, get out her car and head toward Makayla’s house.

She had to give Makayla her props. She got up and starting doing hair early in the morning. Ain’t no way in hell she’d be up at eight o’clock working on nobody’s head. She could braid, but she only braided her own shit. Besides, bitches in the ‘hood were always trying to get something for free. They’d promise to pay you, but would have an excuse as soon as you finished hooking their shit up. She wasn’t about to be wearing an orange jumpsuit because she had to slap somebody’s teeth out behind her money.

The dude sauntered up the sidewalk. He looked better than she’d thought.

He was about six feet four and all solid. He might have done a stint in prison

and had worked out to pass the time.

She opened the door and invited him inside. She escorted him straight to her bedroom to get right down to business.

“Put the money on the dresser,” she said as soon as she’d shut the bedroom door.

He did as instructed and dropped his pants. “That’s five hundred. I want head and everything,” he said watching her get undressed.

“You can fuck me in the ass for another $200,” she told him.

His brow rose, but he peeled another two crisp hundred dollar bills off the stack and placed them on the dresser with the rest of the bills.

“That’s what’s up. You my kinda bitch,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m glad that ass caught my attention, and I stopped you.”

“Shut up talkin’ and fuck me,” she snapped, bending over and bouncing her ass like a stripper. She reached back and parted her pussy lips with her fingers, letting two slip inside. “Come get this pussy and act like you own it.”

“Well, damn, Red. Aiight. If that’s what you want. Shit that pussy glistening.” He tore the plastic off the Magnum fast and rolled it on his dick.

“Shit. I’ma bust one befo’ I even slide it in if you keep playin’ with that monkey, Shawty.”

Almost two hours later, after getting pounded by the dope boy, Niecy could barely walk. He’d been hung like a fucking horse, and he’d liked it rough. Since he’d given her money, she couldn’t tell him no. He’d shoved his huge dick into every crevice she had. She almost thought she would end up in the ER. She was glad when he’d finally climaxed.

“Damn, you got that good pussy,” he exclaimed. “Lil Mama, I’ma hafta come back through here from time to time. That’s straight?”

“Yeah,” she said. As long as he paid, she didn’t give a fuck how often he came by. She watched as he got dressed thinking the nigga had to have a hard time getting women to let him fuck them. He could damage a bitch’s fallopian tubes, cervix and ovaries with his massive dick. Her mouth, throat, pussy and ass ached.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, catching her staring at his penis.

“Nothin’. I think I’ma have to soak in a tub of Epsom salt. You got me sore as fuck.”

“I told you I was gon’ beat the brakes off that pussy. I’m a man of my word.”

“Well, you could have taken it easy,” she said.

He finished getting dressed and gave her a smirk. “Ain’t nothin’ easy ‘bout me, lil Mama. That’s why they call me Dangerous.”

She walked him to the door and let him out. “Keep that pussy tight for me, aiight Red?” “I will, Big Daddy,” she said while she thought, Whatever, nigga. She hated being called Red. She’d told the nigga her name.

She took a shower then went to check on Courvoisier. When she saw the two-year-old had scribbled on the walls with crayons, she went ape shit. She grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on and beat the child with it.

Thankfully, it was just a Fisher-Price Laugh & Learn Puppy. Even so, Courvoisier screamed and cried, begging her mama to stop hitting her. She finally got her temper under control and left the room.

“I swear, one day, I’ma been done killed that girl,” she muttered going into her own room. She couldn’t stand that child because she looked just like her trifling daddy. For the hundredth time, she regretted her decision to let Antony go raw the last time they’d had sex. He’d promised to pull out, but hadn’t. Nine months later, Courvoisier came out screaming and Antony got ghost. She hadn’t heard from him in almost three years. She’d finally given up on thinking he’d come to his senses and want to be a part of his child’s life. She made that trek to the child support office and took the necessary steps to put him on papers. The state of Florida could deal with his ass. She hoped he still worked at the nursing home, too. Last she’d heard, he’d gone to school to become a physical therapist. Good. More money for him meant bigger child support payments for her. She couldn’t wait until they garnished those wages.

She already received $400 a month from Shantae’s dad, Shane. Since he was a drug dealer, he paid her in cash every month to keep the man out of his business. He wasn’t the best father, but he wasn’t the worst either. He got his daughter sometime, and he even treated Niecy civil when he wasn’t dating anyone.

Alizé’s dad was another story. He paid child support but that shit he’d been order to pay was wack. He was a male stripper who had about thirteen kids in St. Pete., Tampa, Sarasota, Clearwater—whatever city his dick traveled to. She received less than $20 a month from his trifling ass. He didn’t come see his daughter, call to check up on her or nothing. He had been a true sperm donor.

She regretted the night she’d ever gone backstage to help him get ready before a show. Neither of them had a condom, but she’d wanted to fuck him so bad she’d let him go in unprotected. To that day, she was thankful a baby had been the only thing he’d given her.

She picked up the seven hundred dollars she’d made that day. She spread it out in front of her face and stared at herself in the full-length mirror.

“Damn.” One of her tracks was sticking up. Dangerous had pulled on her hair and slapped her ass a few times while hitting it from the back. She hadn’t realized how hard he’d pulled. She would have to go next door and see if Makayla could sew her track back in. She couldn’t be walking around looking all jacked up. If she wanted to use her money maker, she had to be on point at all times.

Holding the money in one hand, she did a duck-mouth pose in the mirror and took a picture with her new iPhone. She sent it to her Facebook account with the caption: “You betta werk, bitch!”

Since she’d calmed down, she went back in the girls’ room and got Courvoisier. She felt kind of bad for losing her temper and taking it out on the child. After all, the crayons had been the kind that could wash right off. She took the two-year-old into the bathroom, let her use the potty and cleaned her face.

“You need your hair done. I’ma see if Makayla can braid your hair for me. I don’t feel like doing it.”

“I love you, Mama.” The little girl looked at her with expectation in her soft, brown, trusting eyes. Nicey wanted to say the words back, but they stuck in her throat. Besides, if she said them, they’d be a lie.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Feeling angry for no apparent reason, she snatched her daughter by the arm. She almost dragged the toddler, because she couldn’t keep up with her long strides. “Move yo’ ass, Courvoisier, befo’ I smack the shit outta you.” She hurried and put Courvoisier back in the stroller that she’d left by the front door and strapped her in. “Don’t start that damn cryin’,” she snapped and gave her another Carpi Sun to keep her quiet.

She had to go to Amscot to pay the electric bill and buy a money order to send to someone. She hated catching the bus, but a cab would take too long. A cab cost too much anyway. Bus fare was only $2.00.

I wish I had a car, she thought. She didn’t have to wait too long before her wish came true. She’d almost saved up enough to get the 2004 Lexus RX 330 she had her eye on. She didn’t care if it wasn’t a new vehicle. New meant she’d have to make payments. She planned to drop ten grand in somebody’s palm and own her shit. That way no tow truck could come and jack her auto up while her nosey neighbors watched and laughed.

She was on her way to the bus stop in order to catch the Route 7 headed for Grand Central Station. She hadn’t even made it down the block before a maroon-colored Chrysler with dark tinted windows slowed down. The dude inside stopped and opened the door. She almost laughed. If he had so much money, why didn’t he get his window fixed?

“What’s up, Shawty?”

“Nothin’.” It wasn’t even nine o’clock and the sun already made it feel like ninety degrees. “I’m on my way to this bus stop.”

“Where you headed?”

“Amscot.”

“I’ll give you and ya baby a ride,” he offered.

“I don’t know you like that,” she said, trying to pretend to be cautious. It was just a game she played. She’d already made up her mind to get a ride and to blow him for some extra cash if necessary.

“I’m not an ax murderer. My name’s Sean Johnson. What’s yo’ name?”

“Sharniece, but you can call me Niecy.”

“Okay Niecy. Now that we’ve become acquainted, can I offer you a ride? I don’t like seeing such a fine young lady as you walking in this hot sun trying to catch a bus.”

Sean seemed like an okay kind of guy. He got out and helped her let down Courvoisier’s stroller and put it in the trunk. Even though she fucked most of the men she met, she did keep a few as platonic friends. Sean would remain in the platonic category. He didn’t look like he knew how to fuck anyway.

“You lucked up. I even got a car seat for lil mama,” he said.

Niecy watched him put her daughter in the car seat and fasten it. She was starting to like him a bit more by the minute.

“So, you got a kid?” she asked, climbing in on the passenger’s side.

“Yeah. I got a two-year-old son, Stephon. What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Courvoisier,” she said.

“What? Like the cognac?” he asked.

“Yes. I was drunk when I got pregnant with her and with my other daughter, Alizé. You got a problem with their names?” she asked, her tone loud.

“Whoa. Hold up. I was just making conversation. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with the names Courvoisier or Alizé.” She could tell he was lying and it made her smile slightly.

“I have another daughter, too,” she said.

“Did you name her Hennessy?”

“Real funny.” She gave him a playful punch in the arm. “She has a normal name. Well, at least I think Shantae is normal.”

“Yes, it’s normal,” he agreed. “Ghetto, but normal.” She laughed again, really starting to relax. “So, how old are they? Three girls are all you have, right?” he asked, and she nodded.

“My oldest is five, Alizé is four and that one-” she indicated the one in the back seat with a nod of her head. “-is two.”

“Wow. You must have your hands full,” he said in a sympathetic tone.

“Tell me about it. I’m so glad the oldest two are in head start. If I can find somebody to babysit Courvoisier, I plan to start school in the fall.”

“Really? What do you want to be, Sharniece?”

She rolled her eyes at the use of her first name. “I want to learn hotel and motel management.”

He nodded. “That’s cool.”

“So, what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m a corrections officer at the Pinellas County Juvenile Detention Center.”

He wasn’t a dope boy after all, just liked to front in a car that looked like a drug dealer’s. That explained why he couldn’t get his window fixed. On a correctional officer’s salary, he probably barely kept his rent and bills paid.

“We’re here,” he said, pulling up in front of Amscot. “You can go in and take care of your business. I’ll make sure you daughter is safe. I won’t let anything happen to her,” he said.

Sharniece hesitated, but when she turned around in the seat to look at Courvoisier, she saw the baby was nodding off. She didn’t want to move her. It would only take a few minutes to go inside Amscot, pay the bill, get a money order and come back out.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him, getting out and heading inside the facility.

Two homeless men stood on either side of the door begging for money. She didn’t understand why the manager at Amscot let them hang around panhandling. Seeing their scraggly asses, standing there with their dusty hands out, probably scared off the customers.

For some reason, everybody and their mama seemed to show up at Amscot the minute she did. The line was pretty long and only three people worked the windows. She waited impatiently for her turn. When she finally got up to the

window, she paid her bill and asked for a money order. The dude assisting her looked like a square, but he was cute. She gave him a flirtatious smile.

“How are you today, ma’am?” he asked politely, sliding the receipt and money order under the hole in the glass partition.

“I could be better if you gave me your number-” She glanced at his nametag “-Bruce.”

His brow rose in surprise then his face broke out in a big grin. She’d probably made his day. He appeared to be Hispanic or biracial. She could tell he wasn’t used to black women hitting on him. He grabbed one of the Amscot brochures and jotted his number down on it. He slid it through the hole. “You can call me any time. I get off at six,” he said.

She smiled and put the brochure, money order and receipt into her Ralph Lauren purse. “Bye,” she said and sashayed away. She knew he was looking at her ass because every other man there was, too.

When she got back to the car, Sean had the back door on the passenger’s side open.

“I’m sorry it took so long. Did she wake up?” Sharniece asked. She stepped around the door to look at her child. She couldn’t believe that Sean had just finished changing her diaper. The diaper bag he’d put in the trunk sat on the back seat next to the baby wipes. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“She was crying because she needed to be changed,” he told her as if a grown man changing the diaper of a baby he’d just met was completely normal.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” she asked.

“Why? I know how to change a diaper. I’ve done it hundreds of times,” he stated.

Sharniece didn’t want to cause a scene in the parking lot of Amscot. She just got a weird feeling about him changing the diaper of a complete stranger’s baby. Who did that?

“Next time, just tell me,” she said, forcing herself to calm down. Maybe he was just a nice, generous person who liked to help other people. She wasn’t used to men being nice unless they wanted to fuck.

“No problem. Do you want to stop somewhere and get something to eat?” he asked. “My treat,” he added.

“Well, yeah. Okay. Some garlic crabs sound good. I think T & T is just opening right about now.”

“We’ll stop and get some on the way,” he told her. “Can you buckle her back in the car seat while I throw this smelly diaper away?”

Sharniece put her baby back in the car seat and got in on the passenger’s side. She watched Sean as he returned to the car. He was a tall, handsome, well-dressed dude. He didn’t seem like a child molester at all. She had to stop being so suspicious. She didn’t want to run him off when they’d just met.

Sean slid into the driver’s seat and looked over at her. “Sharniece, you got a man?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“I’m going to work on changing that.”

Jacqueline Davis Chapter Three Jacqueline Davis was not happy. So many things were going on in her life that she felt she had no control over. Today was the day her house went into foreclosure. She had until the end of the month to get out, but she’d already found another place. She had packed up most of their belongings; the rest would be left behind. Soon, they would be taking everything to their new place in Jordan Park. It was the last place she wanted to move, but her situation had changed causing her to have to downgrade. She felt like a complete failure.

Here she was forty-five years old. When she should have been progressing, instead, she was regressing. She didn’t know any other way to make it work.

She no longer had a job with the state because the department she used to work in no longer existed. State funding had been cut, leaving her with a severance package that amounted to peanuts.

She looked around her vacant living room which held a bunch of brown packing boxes with their entire house enclosed inside of them. Fifteen years of loving memories had gotten packed away and taped up in a matter of days. She felt the moisture enter her eyes as it hit her full force: this would no longer be the place she called home.

She spoke aloud to the empty room. "Walter, I am so glad you aren’t here to see this. It would break your heart.” She knew her husband would have taken the move harder than she. Over the years, he’d put so much time and energy into transforming it into a real home. He’d tiled every room himself, putting down each square piece with pride. He’d built the outside deck. He’d even installed all the windows, doors and ceiling fans. Being a Jack-of-all-trades, every time something needed repairing, he’d do it himself. With the exception of electrical issues, he handled all the upkeep. Every other week he’d be outside mowing the lawn, cutting limbs from trees, and pruning the hedges. He loved their home, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him it no longer belonged to them. As far as Walter knew, everything was going well, and that’s the way it would remain.

The peace and quiet shattered when three of her kids burst through the front door. Linda, Cheryl, and Tonya had wanted to stay home to help her pack up and move. Walter Jr. didn’t want to move from their nice home in Lakewood Estates to broke-down Jordan Park. In defiance, he'd gone to school. She'd pick him up later from Lakewood High school. Whether he wanted to move or not, the decision had already been made. The mortgage company had repossessed the property. She hadn’t been able to keep up with the payments on her own.

She’d tried. She’d taken on odd jobs here and there, but the income just hadn’t been enough.

"Mama, we said goodbye to all our neighbors," Linda said. She was thirteen and the youngest. She seemed to be the only one taking the move well. The other three had been moping around and pouting ever since learning they’d be moving from their childhood home.

"That's nice,” she said absently.

“I’m going to miss Mrs. Patterson the most. She always let me bake cookies with her every Sunday.” Her lip jutted out slightly when she finished the statement.

Tonya grunted. “We can bake our own cookies. Just because we’ll be moving to the projects, doesn’t mean we’re too poor to afford a stove,” she said.

“Girls, I'm going to need to have those boxes moved from the middle of this floor to the U-Haul truck," Jacqueline said. "We need to get over there to our new place and get settled in before it gets too late."

"Okay, Mama," Cheryl said. "Linda and Cheryl, let's get to it."

"You can't boss me around. I'm the oldest," Tonya told her. She stalked over to the boxes, bent and lifted one. "Let's get this over. I don't want to be here when my friends get out of school."

"They know we're moving, so what's the big deal?" Cheryl asked.

"I didn't tell them where we're moving to." She threw her mother an accusing look and walked out the door with the box.

"I hope she leaves her attitude here because we don't need it at our new address," Linda said causing her mama and sister to laugh.

It was the first time Jacqueline could remember laughing in a long time, and it felt good.

"They say when God closes one door, he opens another. Let's pray t this move will go smoothly, and we're welcomed into our new neighborhood without any problems." She gazed around the living room one last time. "Let's get these things over to our new place."

When they pulled up in the U-Haul truck, not too much was going on in the projects. They began the task of unloading the smaller pieces of furniture.

Jacqueline had hired a moving crew, and they’d brought the heavier stuff over earlier in the week. She’d had the cable, internet and phone installed, too. Just because they had to move, didn’t mean they had to be inconvenienced.

While they were carrying things from the truck into the apartment, a disheveled woman approached them. She appeared to be strung out on drugs or in great distress.

"How you doin’, ma'am?"

"Are you talking to me?" Jacqueline asked, surprised to see so much filth on one person. She gazed around to be sure no one else was nearby who the woman might be addressing. She didn’t see anyone.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm lookin’ for my daughter. She ain't come home in two days, and I done worried myself sick about about her."

Jacqueline immediately felt compassion. "I am so sorry to hear that. How old is your daughter?" she asked.

Tina let her jaundiced gaze sweep over Cheryl. "She's probably the same

age as her. Sixteen. You are sixteen, ain't you baby?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cheryl answered. She wanted to go inside and get away from the strange woman who didn’t have all of her teeth. However, she'd been raised to be polite to her elders.

"Come inside," Jacqueline invited, to the chagrin of her daughters.

"Great. Just what we need. A crackhead to steal our stuff as soon as we put it down," Tonya complained. She was almost eighteen and always moody. They expected it.

"Tonya, go on inside and get your room in order. I'm going to need you to go pick up your brother at 2:30."

"Good. I get a chance to get away from this God-forsaken place. I hate that we had to move here in ... in this ghetto," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest.

"Baby, the the way I see it, if you got a roof over your head, you happy, you healthy, you not hungry, then consider it a blessing," Tina said. “Because Lord knows tomorrow ain’t promised to nobody." Tonya just rolled her eyes and stomped into the apartment. The two women followed her.

“I guess she didn’t leave her attitude at our old address after all,” Linda said and Cheryl giggled.

“She needs time to adjust. She’ll be okay,” Cheryl told her youngest sister.

The two girls sat outside in the two wicker chairs they’d placed there. They felt like a break was in order. They’d been packing and moving stuff all morning.

"It's not really that bad," Linda said, staring around. “Why is it called the projects?”

“Because that’s what they decided to call places where a bunch of poor people live,” Cheryl said, not really knowing the answer.

“Are we really poor now?”

"Yes. We sure are,” Cheryl saw no reason to sugarcoat the truth.

“I guess us being poor is what’s making Tonya so mad.”

“Tonya has her own room so I don’t know why she’s so angry." She stopped talking when she saw a cute boy come out of the apartment next door. He eyed her with slight interest as he sat down and lit up a Blunt.

"Why are you staring at that boy, Cheryl?" Linda asked.

"Because.”

“Because what?”

“He is fine. Why don’t you go on inside and see what mama has for us to do? I'm going to go over and introduce myself."

"Cheryl, what if he's a thug?"

She shrugged. "Didn't Mama raise us not to judge?"

“Yes, she did, but she also raised us not to be no fool,” Linda reminded her.

“That boy is bad news. Look at him, sitting there in broad daylight smoking marijuana.”

“How do you know what he’s smoking? It could just be a regular cigar.”

“Whatever, Cheryl. No teenager smokes a regular cigar. I’m not as naïve as you think I am. That boy is smoking weed.”

“Maybe he has cataracts or something. Anyway, go inside before Mama comes back out here. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay, but I’m not happy about your decision to converse with a low-life.”

“Girl, you don’t even know him. You’re just assuming, and you know what they say about that.”

“I’m not making an ass out of myself. I can see with my own two eyes. But, you go on and wiggle your big booty on over there and get in his face. You just like being noticed.”

“You’re just mad because don’t nobody notice you,” Cheryl cracked, licking out her tongue.

“One day, when I get some hips and boobs, I’ll be noticed.” She glared at her older sister. “Then I’ll take your man.” She gave a neck roll and strutted inside.

Her sister had her cracking up. She got up and headed across the lawn that separated the two units. “Hi, I’m Cheryl Davis. Shouldn’t you be in school?” she asked.

“What are you, the Po Po?” he asked, taking a puff off the blunt.

“Would the Po Po do this?” she asked. She took the marijuana cigar from him and put it to her lips, inhaling deeply.

“Well, damn. You doin’ that like you a pro,” he said, impressed. “My name is Cortez.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, handing the joint back to him. “Thanks, I needed that. So, do you live here?”

“No. I live with my mom off Fairfield. I just like comin’ over here to chill. I see y’all movin’ in. You from here?”

“Yes, born and raised.”

“What school do you go to?” he asked.

“Lakewood. You?” “Gibbs.” He took a few more puffs off the blunt and extended it to her. She looked over her shoulder to make sure her mom or sister wasn’t looking. Seeing that the coast was clear, she took a long drag on it.

“So, what’s up with the dingy-looking, drugged out lady?” she asked.

“You must have met Tina the Crackhead. Ain’t too much wrong with her except she strung out on crack. Why you ask?”

“She’s inside our house with my mama. She said her daughter has been missing for two days or something.”

“Damn J’Aisha still ain’t come home? Well, I hope ain’t nothin’ happened to her,” he said.

“Do you know her?” What she really wanted to know was if he liked the girl.

“We go to the same school. We don’t really hang with the same crowd. She’s a THOT.” “A what?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“A THOT, that hoe out there,” he explained. “She’s the kind of girl that’s in the streets, chasing dick and fucking everybody, you feel me? I like a more conservative chick.”

“Oh. Conservative, huh? Can this conservative girl smoke weed?” she asked

causing him to break into a smile. She had just reached out for him to pass her the blunt again when she heard her mother.

“Cheryl, can you come inside and help your sister?” Her mother stood with the screen door cracked, peering out. When she saw that Cheryl was talking to a boy, she frowned in disapproval. “You can get acquainted with the neighbors later….after we get everything in its proper perspective inside.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Cortez.” She gave him a smile and a cute wave goodbye.

“Same here…with yo’ fine ass,” he added lowly causing her to blush and giggle. She was really feeling Cortez. For the first time since she’d been told they had to move, she finally felt excited about something.

When she got back to her place, her mother’s scowl made her smile disappear.

“We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you’ve already managed to attract the neighborhood riff raff,” she snapped. “I hope you’re not getting any ideas about seeing that boy. I can tell he’s trouble.”

“How can you tell that, Mama?”

“Because he’s sitting out there as bold as he can be smoking marijuana.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s illegal, Cheryl. Plus, he should probably be at school and he’s not. Why would you want to date a weed head that dropped out of high school?”

“He didn’t drop out. He just didn’t go today because….he had to go to the doctor for his cataracts.” She didn’t know why she was lying for a boy she didn’t even know, but once the lies started they just kept coming. “That’s why he’s smoking weed. It’s legal marijuana, and he has a permit for it.”

Her mama gave her a keen look. “Uh-huh. Get on in there and help your sister. I’m tired of hearing her mouth. Y’all need to get the rest of the items off the U-Haul truck so I can take it back in the morning.”

After they’d finished unloading the U-Haul, the girls headed upstairs to their room. Jacqueline and Tina sat downstairs at the small dinette set she’d purchased from American Freight. Their dining room in the apartment wasn’t as spacious as the one they’d had at the house, so she’d had to sell the bigger set. She was telling Tina about the house going into foreclosure, the yard sale, and how she felt about moving. She had fixed them both a cup of coffee.

Tina’s hand shook as she drank. It shook so much that the hot liquid splashed over the sides onto the oak table top.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. My nerves,” Tina explained. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I have plenty of napkins. It’s just a spill, nothing to get all bent out of shape about, sweetie.” She got up and retrieved a roll of paper towels from the top of the refrigerator, and cleaned up the spill.

“See. No big deal, Tina.” For some reason, Jacqueline had taken to the distraught woman. Even Stevie Wonder could see that Tina had a drug problem. Years of using and abusing had left her looking beat down and battered.

“I’m so worried about my daughter. We don’t get along like we did when she

was little. Ever since she became a teenager, she just turned wild. I can’t do nothin’ wit’ huh,” Tina shared. “She’s boy-crazy, too. I can’t make huh stop sneakin’ boys into huh room. We get into it all the time about huh havin’ sex, drinkin’ and smokin’ weed. She told me, “Mama, you can’t tell me shit ‘cause you ain’t nothin’ but a strung out crackhead.” It hurt my feelin’s so bad, but she right. You know? Erry body can see dat I smoke crack. It don’t take no rocket science to figure dat out.” With her shaky hand, she managed to get the mug up to her lips this time and took a sip. “But, I’m still huh mama, you understand?” Jacqueline nodded. “In my day, you respected ya parents.”

Jacqueline nodded again. “Dat chile has absolutely no respect for me, and huh younger sister is followin’ in huh footsteps.”

“So, you have two daughters?” Jacqueline asked.

“Yes, ma’am. J’Aisha, the one dat’s missin’ is sixteen. Aisha is fourteen, and I have a twenty-six year old son, too. He’s locked up. Sellin’ them drugs. He won’t be out ‘til 2017. I try to keep in touch, but sometimes my home phone be off and sometimes it’s on. I ain’t good at writin’. I know Ronnie think don’t nobody love him. He in dat place and don’t none of us go see him. We don’t write. Nothin.” Once again, she looked like she was ready to burst into tears.

“It’ll get better, Tina,” Jacqueline soothed. “Once your daughter returns, you’ll be able to think straight. Have you eaten today?”

“No, ma’am,” Tina said. “I been walkin’ up and down dese streets askin’ if anybody seen my baby girl. I got a bad feelin’ dis time. A real bad feelin’. She ain’t never stayed away dis long.”

“I’m going to fix dinner. You’re welcomed to stay and join us, if you’d like?”

Jacqueline offered.

“Yes, ma’am. I guess I will.”

“And, Tina? Can you please stop calling me ma’am?” She gave her a slight smile to let her know she meant no harm. “It makes me feel old. I’m only fortyfive,” Jacqueline said. “You can call me Jackie.”

“Oh, we ‘round the same age. I’m forty-six…I know I look older, but dat’s my age…Jackie.”

Tonya came bounding down the stairs. “Mom, I need the keys. It’s time to pick up Walt from school.”

“They’re on the coffee table. Y’all come straight home because Walt needs to unpack his things.”

“Okay.” She grabbed the keys, headed for the door then paused and turned around. “Mom?” “Yes?” Jacqueline and Tina both stared at her.

“Cheryl has been smoking weed. I smell it all over her clothes.” She smirked. “She was smoking it next door with that thug. Your favorite daughter is a weed head,” she said and walked out the door before Jacqueline could respond.

Jacqueline’s face tightened, but she didn’t lose her temper. She didn’t even storm up the stairs to confront Cheryl. Instead, she got up and went into the kitchen.

“I think I’ll make lasagna. How does that sound?” she asked.

“It sounds real nice. Can’t remember da last time I had dat,” Tina said.

“I’ll bake lasagna and serve it with a nice healthy garden salad. Walter used to love my lasagna.” She stood in the center of the kitchen with a far-way look in her eyes.

“Who’s Walter?” Tina called to her.

“Walter’s my husband.”

“Oh. I don’t see him. Is he at work?”

“No. He can’t work. He can’t do anything anymore. He’s in hospice…he’s waiting to die.”

In spite of all the drugs she’d abused, Tina could discern a hearting heart.

Jacqueline may appear to have it all together on the outside, but on the inside she was experiencing a world of pain.