Shades Read online

  We bow our heads too. I can feel Grandma’s warm palm squeezing my hand, reminding me to be quiet, to bow my head and let the gentle beauty of prayer wash over me.

  Diane’s Daughter

  I didn’t want to be like her. I didn’t want to be like Momma. I mean, I love her and I know she loves me, but there has to be more.

  I met David at the Laundromat around the corner from our house. Momma had sent me over there to do the sheets and towels. He just came up and started helping me fold the sheets. He was such a gentleman, and so cute. Then he bought us a couple of pops, and we sat and talked while the towels dried. He wanted to carry the basket of clothes home for me, but I didn’t want to have to explain him to Momma. After all, he had to be like twenty something. I was only sixteen, and I knew Momma would pitch a fit.

  Anyway, he started coming around when Momma wasn’t home. He’d call, and I’d let him in the back so the neighbors wouldn’t see. It wasn’t about sex or nothing; at least it didn’t start out that way. David was just fun to be with, I liked listening to him talk, and we’d watch old movies on TV. We’d kiss and stuff, but he never pressured me to do anything more. In fact, it was me who suggested we go back to my room that first time, but of course, he got right into it. From then on, we’d watch TV while we snuggled up on a pallet of quilts in the living room. Sometimes he would bring me presents—a skirt and a blouse, or some colored underwear. I had to hide them in the bottom of my closet so Momma wouldn’t find them. On days when he was busy and couldn’t come over, I’d take them out and try them on.

  The first time David picked me up from school, I didn’t know who he was. He came riding up in this old-school blue Caddy, blowing his horn. Me and some of my friends were standing near the cornerstone talking. We ignored him because we figured he was just some old man trying to pick one of us up. Then he got out of the car. He looked good in his dark suit and baby-blue shirt with the collar open. He took off his shades, looked right at me, and called my name. I said bye to my friends and ran over to the car.

  He started picking me up almost every other day after that. It was my junior year so I had an early program. I’d get out about two o’clock, and Momma would be on her way to work, so me and David would ride out to Belle Isle. He’d always have a cold bottle of wine, a couple of joints, and we’d stop and pick up some fried fish or some burgers along the way. He kept this old Indian blanket in his trunk. We’d find a shady spot under a tree and have us a picnic right on the bank of the Detroit River with the Windsor skyline just across the way looking like a postcard.

  I thought he was cute, but he looked too young and was way too smooth for me. And anyway Verna let everybody know from the get-go that he was going to be hers. He wore dark sunglasses all the time, didn’t even take ’em off in the bar. Maybe he wanted to hide what he was thinking, or maybe he didn’t want nobody to see how red the weed made his eyes. When he was at the pool table or having a shot at the bar, the fellas would grin at him and say, “Hey cool!” or “You need to lighten up on the shades, man.” But he would just laugh it off and take it as the friendly teasing it was. So we all just started calling him Shades. His shades had black squarish frames that matched his skin. And he always wore dark-blue, gray, or black tailor-made suits. He looked like a musician, one that would play moody jazz one minute and a crazy, spastic rhythm the next. When he talked, his voice had a low, pushy tempo like Mingus on bass when it got good to him, but Shades didn’t talk much. With him it was like words was money, and he wasn’t giving nothing away.

  He didn’t stand around in groups like some of the other men. If he was standing with another brother or two, it was quick, a few quiet words as something little passed between slapped hands. But mostly, he was by hisself slipping in an out of this or that bar, stopping to chat with the owner, or having a beer while he checked his watch and scoped out the place. You couldn’t really tell how old he was because he kept those shades on all the time. But the skin on his face was tight and smooth, and his step was light and quick. Some folks said that the streets had been his home since he was ten and that he’d been dealing longer than that. You can’t always believe what you hear, but from the way he carried hisself you could tell he’d been around awhile, and he was still young and good-looking enough to catch women’s eyes.

  Anyway, Verna let it be known that she wanted some of that “little black Negro.” She was always smiling up in his face and talking about how she wouldn’t even charge him for it. By that time, I didn’t have the heart to compete with all the young girls crowding the block, and the streets were getting way too dangerous. Even though I’d never really been one to work the streets, the few tricks I could still turn weren’t enough to pay the bills so I got a job tending bar at Ernie’s. Besides, Persia was coming of age and I had to set an example.

  Verna and some of the girls used to come in to get warm in the winter, or for a cold one in the summer. For the most part, they treated me like I was they momma, sometimes asking advice, but mostly just hoping I’d listen when they needed to talk. When they made good on the streets, they left good tips. And if it was tight out there, I’d give ’em a drink on Ernie. On nights when the bar was jumping, it was fun watching the girls flirting and acting crazy while the dudes tried to act like big shits.

  Verna would put on a show whenever Shades came in. She would cross her legs and hike her skirt up extra high to give him a look at that long line of thigh. Then, it didn’t matter who she was with, a possible trick or another one of the girls; she’d get to talking loud about how “dark men are so sexy” and how all they had to do was look at her to make her come. Most of the time, he would ignore her. He’d take care of his business and get the hell out of there. Verna would let out a belly laugh, and I’d shake my head at her nerve.

  The first time Verna and Shades came in together, it shocked me shitless. When she came up to the bar to get their drinks, she looked up at me with bright eyes and a shit-eating grin on her face. Then she had the nerve to stick her tongue out at me. I just shook my head. Giggling like she’d been smoking weed, she switched her little ass back to the table. They sat back there awhile, him sipping his Bud and her talking and nibbling at the extra maraschino cherries I always gave her with her Champale grenadine. She was leaning all up in his face, and he was looking straight ahead like he was casing the joint. I wanted to tell her to quit throwing herself at that man, but I learned a long time ago to mind my own business when it came to things like that. Finally, he said something to her, and she got up and left. He went back by the pool table. Look like he was shaking hands with a couple of the fellas, but I knew what was going down. After that, he split.

  From then on, he came in with Verna on a regular basis and later with other women. They’d talk, but he still didn’t stay long, and he always made his trip back to the pool table. Verna was working through the week now, and she hardly ever came in to sit and talk with me. I missed her loud talk and crazy stories.

  David had promised to pick me up from school, but he didn’t show. I was glad I hadn’t told my friends because I would have been embarrassed. I hung around school with them longer, and when I couldn’t think of any more reasons to stall, we started walking home. I kept looking back hoping he was just late, but he never showed.

  I didn’t see him for about a week. He didn’t call, but then one night he came scratching at my bedroom window. I was angry with him and decided to pout, but when I let him in he was all quiet, not at all like himself. So I got quiet too and waited. He took off his shoes and stretched out on the bed with all his clothes on. I went to turn on the radio, but he said, “Don’t!” Then he patted a place on the bed next to him. I sat down and leaned against the headboard. He took off his shades, laid them on the table next to my bed, and rubbed his eyes. But he still didn’t say anything, and I was getting tired of waiting.

  So, I asked him where he’d been, and he said, “Trying to make some money.”

  “You could have called,” I said
, starting to fuss despite myself.

  He shot back with, “Some of us have to make a living.”

  I wasn’t used to him snapping at me like that. Checking himself, he slid up next to me and put his arm around me. I put my head on his chest and mumbled something about missing him.

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just uptight cause I been hustling hard and don’t seem to be getting nowhere,” he whispered as he smiled down at me.

  I felt better as he rubbed my arm and started to talk.

  “See I owe these people some money, and they don’t believe in no payment plan.” He laughed, “Sometimes, I wish I was a woman. They born with moneymakers.” He touched my thigh, and we both laughed.

  Then he turned to me like he just got the best idea in the world and started telling me how I could help him out of this situation. How it wouldn’t even hurt me, probably do me some good, might even be fun. He spoke as he stroked my arm. At first, my feelings were hurt to think that he would want me to do it with somebody else, but he kept talking about how it wouldn’t be for long, just until he got over the hump. He would show me what to do, and he’d always be there when I needed him. He promised he’d make it up to me if I just helped him out this once. Then, holding me tight, he told me how beautiful I was, that he’d never felt this close to anyone, and that one day he’d be able to give me anything I wanted. I told him I’d think about it. That seemed to make him happy. He kissed my forehead, my nose, both cheeks, then my lips. And as he made love to me, he breathed promises of our future together into my hair, ears, and neck.

  Verna slid onto a barstool. She looked tired, and she wasn’t smiling. I knew something had to be wrong because Verna always had a smile on her face. I fixed her a drink, and she showed a little teeth when I set the saucer of cherries next to her glass. She said thanks, and I went on down to the other end of the bar to take care of another customer. I laughed and joked a little bit with the man, rang up his drink, got my tip, and went back to putter around Verna. I could tell she wanted to talk. She was sipping her drink slow, and she hadn’t touched her cherries.

  She peeked up at me from under her false eyelashes and started to say something, but somebody pushed through the door, and she turned to see who it was. It was one of the regulars. He headed to the back room where a couple of other guys were playing pool. She looked relieved.

  Then she leaned over and said, “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m just gon let it out. David is turning your daughter out.”

  At first, I didn’t understand what she was saying. It was like she was speaking Russian or some shit. My brain wouldn’t take it in. I asked, “Who the fuck is David?”

  She said, “You know, Shades.”

  I asked her how she knew, and she said, “He brought her to me for some pointers.”

  “Look,” she said to me, “her name is Persia, right? She sixteen and go to Central, right?”

  I was mad now; I asked her why she telling me this crazy shit. And she looked down at the floor and said, “Cause he spending too much time with her, and besides I thought you should know.”

  I asked Verna where Persia was right now. She said she didn’t know because Shades had picked Persia up from the hotel a few minutes ago. Verna was hot because he had collected her earnings and rode off with Persia. Left Verna standing in front of the hotel without bus fare, told her to go earn it, checked her with a look when she asked if she could ride with them, and didn’t say shit about where they was going or why.

  I wanted to die right there; it hurt so bad. Instead, I went in the back to Ernie’s office where he store the liquor and where he sometimes sit at a big wooden desk to read the paper. I told him I had to go, that he better get somebody to cover for me. Then I grabbed my purse and left him standing with part of the paper in his hand and his mouth open. Didn’t even give him a chance to ask me why or if I was coming back.

  When I got home, I headed straight to Persia’s room, but she wasn’t there. So I started looking through her stuff for a clue, a reason for her to do some crazy shit like this.

  The Cinderella pencil case I bought her when she was about ten sat on top of her civics and English books, and below them was a neat stack of spiral notebooks. Next to them, on the top of the dresser, was a couple of bottles of fingernail polish, a bottle of remover, and a couple of emery boards. Underneath them was a clean white napkin. Some actor from one of those teen movies stared out from one wall, and tucked into a loose side of the poster was the dust jacket from some book called A Wrinkle in Time. I had to sit down on the bed cause for a minute my head started spinning and I couldn’t breathe.

  I started looking through her dresser, but I didn’t find nothing but some EZ Widers and a little weed in a piece of tinfoil. I didn’t get too upset cause I figure kids are bound to do a little experimenting, and if this was all the drugs she was doing, I was glad. Then I realized that Shades probably gave it to her. So I squeezed that tinfoil up tight as I could, tore the cigarette papers up into little pieces, and stashed ’em in the kitchen garbage under the bits of rotting tomatoes and potato peelings.

  Frustration and anger tore at me, so I started throwing the stuff out of her closet, looking for what I didn’t know. After a minute or so, I found a Hudson’s shopping bag. It was packed all neat in the bottom of her closet behind her winter boots. I figured, this is it. I didn’t know what, but I knew it was something. So, I took the bag and set down on the bed. I pulled out a couple of blouses that still had the tags on ’em. Then I dumped the whole bag out on the bed. A couple more skirts fell out, and then all this sexy-colored underwear tumbled out. At first, I thought she had gone to stealing too. Then I saw these little note cards that they give you when you get a gift wrapped. They all said, “Love, David.” I started tearing it all up; flimsy little brassieres and see-through blouses was flying everywhere. Then I just sat there and cried.

  David parked his car a block over. We walked up the alley and tried the back entrance, but somebody had put on the chain lock. David said he would wait, but I figured it wouldn’t matter just this once, so we went around to the front.

  I felt really good. David had taken me riding over in Canada by Lake St. Clair. We rode way out past all these really big houses with yards for days, and then we just cruised awhile enjoying the lake and listening to the smooth jazz that David likes. I wanted to keep the mood as long as I could, so as soon as I got in the house I put on something slow and made David dance with me. He pursed his lips at me like I was being silly, and then he took me in his arms and started singing to me as we slow danced. That’s when I saw Momma out of the corner of my eye.

  At first, I didn’t recognize her because she looked all shrunk up standing there in the dark. She was holding something, and she looked so sad, so strange, I didn’t even think about her probably being mad cause David was there. I stopped dancing and called to her. “Momma?” But she didn’t say anything, so I cut the light on so I could see what was wrong.

  That seemed to do it because she just swelled up all of a sudden, and then she threw the bundle of clothes she had been holding in my face and started hollering.

  I was about to make up something about David when I saw that she had thrown my colored underwear at me. Now she was pointing her finger in my face, asking me was I a fool loud enough for the folks that live down the block to hear. I looked to David, and she got real mad. Started screaming about how “that niggah better not say shit,” I was her daughter and a minor. And if he didn’t leave me alone, she was “gon have him put under the jail.” Then she was hitting me upside my head. I ducked and landed on the floor, covering my head. I’m steady hollering, “Momma, what’s wrong with you?” and she just hitting and cussing.

  I started crying and wondered why he didn’t pull her off me. Finally, she got tired and just plopped down on the floor next to me. I felt bad because I hurt her, but I was mad because she embarrassed me like that in front of David.

  Then David said, “You don’t have to st
ay here and take this shit. You can come with me and be treated like a woman.”

  Momma looked up at him. “Yeah, you can go make him some more money.”

  She looked at me and wiped some of the tears off my face.

  “What he tell you, baby? That it’s just for a little while? Just ’til you two get on your feet? I bet he didn’t tell you about the other three girls he got working for him.”

  I looked up at David, and he shook his head sad-like. “She saying that shit cause she scared. Probably been scared her whole life. That’s why she ain’t got nothing and ain’t never gon have nothing. You wanna be like her?”

  “See baby, I been there.” Momma kept talking. She was looking at me, right in my face, close. “Your daddy was just like this niggah. All street, pushing dope and dealing women. But I was in love, and I believed it was all for us. When I found out for myself that he was a selfish son of a bitch like that mothafuckah”—she pointed to David—“I picked you up from the babysitter’s house and kept stepping.”

  “She just mad cause yo’ daddy didn’t come through for her. Just cause he wasn’t shit don’t mean all men like that. You know me. You know what I can do for you, what we can have together,” he said, and then he held his hand out to me.

  I didn’t move. For some reason, I thought of that girl Verna standing in front of the hotel, looking miserable as we drove away. When I didn’t take his hand, he licked his lips like they were dry, and then he let his hand fall back to his side.

  But Momma kept talking, a rush of words like when she prays. “Babygirl, you got more in you than just making some mothafuckah’s car note. You smart, baby, and you can be something, something big. I know it. I know it.” Momma was holding me and rocking me, and I was crying because something in me knew she spoke the truth and that she really loved me.