A Street Girl Named Desire: A Novel (11 page)

“Well, you know her uncle a deacon …”

“Exactly! That's the only reason. Carvelas, you think it's fair that she always get a solo just 'cause she can run to her uncle and complain?”

Carvelas was not one to choose sides. He liked to keep peace with everyone.

“Naw, I guess it ain't fair. But can't nobody do nothing about it.”

“You think?” Desire asked. She noticed another church program
resting on top of his piano. She opened the LV bag she had stolen when she was boosting, and pulled out a pen. Carvelas looked over her shoulder as she began writing her phone number on the program. She handed it to Carvelas. He was speechless. His heart began to flutter and he could feel his palms getting sweaty. He wanted to turn a cartwheel down the church aisle, but he had to hold on to his manhood. So he just shook his head.

“You want me to call you?” he asked, and he couldn't hold back a slight grin.

“Yeah,” Desire said. She started to walk away from him. “I gotta go to dinner with Tiah and Grandma. Call me later on tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Carvelas said, and let himself smile as wide as he could once Desire had turned her back.

Sunday's service at Bethel A.M.E. Church was packed to capacity. The junior choir was scheduled to sing that day. It was standing room only, shoulder to shoulder as the members cooled their bodies with their hand fans. Of course, Hattie Mae sat front and center to watch her girls sing God's praises. Desire was nervous as she peered at all the people in the church, but her mind was set: she was about to show everybody who the real diva was. The moment had arrived for the deacon to introduce the choir to the congregation. As the band began to play, Desire watched Chanel step from the choir and down to the microphone. Desire looked over at Carvelas. He caught her eye and nodded, then gestured toward the microphone that he had on his piano. She was ready.

Desire eyed the microphone that Chanel would be using. Tiah
stared at it too. The volume was turned down lower than normal on the microphone, and only three people in the room knew it. As Chanel began singing her song, she immediately noticed the problem. Always graceful, she continued singing with a smile as she got through her first verse. Suddenly, and to the choir's surprise, Desire stepped out of the choir and toward the microphone on Carvelas's piano. The audience simply turned their eyes to Desire, believing that this was just another surprise the young singers had in store for them. Carvelas continued playing, pretending nothing was strange about Desire using his microphone. He played his heart out for Desire. Just as Chanel was about to belt out the second verse, she heard Desire's powerful voice filtering through the speakers.

The congregation rose to their feet, clapping in unison as Desire sang the song. The choir director was thrown off balance and into shock for a moment, but he saw the crowd's response and continued leading the choir. The choir looked confused, but the director turned his back to the audience and shrugged his shoulders.

“Keep on going,” he desperately mouthed to the choir, ready to finish the song just so he could get to the bottom of the change of plans he had not been made privy to. Tiah continued to sing innocently as the director stared at her and shrugged her shoulders and started to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the song. Chanel was furious. She was thrown off, and started to sing out of key. Her out-of-key notes hit the ears of everyone in the church hard. People stared at her, but not for a good reason. She tried to get back on key, but had lost it. She was messing up the song, just as Desire was making it sound better than it had in practice.
Though angry, Chanel sang along with a fake smile. She slowly eased back into the fold of the rest of the choir, and Desire became the only soloist among them.

Desire was transcended. It was as if all the years of pain and suffering were coming out in song. Hattie Mae was in tears as she rose to her feet and praised the Lord. Carvelas played the piano as he never had before, determined to satisfy his dream girl. Desire was not nervous or scared. She had sang the song so many times and in so many different ways that she could have sung it in her sleep. Everyone else disappeared as she sank into her own world. By the end of the song, Desire had everyone on their feet, clapping, praising and worshipping the Lord in a frenzy. When Desire came out of her spiritual high and opened her eyes, she realized what she had done. She watched everyone applauding and crying out to the Lord. Even the choir director looked satisfied, relieved that what had first looked like a disaster had actually become the choir's best performance in recent memory. No longer upset, because Desire had made him look better, he nodded his head in approval and got ready to receive all the compliments that were sure to follow this Sunday's performance from the junior choir. Desire turned and looked at her sister, Tiah, who was also clapping and smiling, and then at Carvelas, who winked at her, then at Hattie Mae, who she knew was so proud of her. But the last face she saw was Chanel's, with the defeated girl's evil and wicked eyes staring at her.

Desire knew Chanel would not take being upstaged at church lying down. Desire and Chanel were like nature's perfect enemies.
For two people who were so different and who couldn't stand being in the same room together, they amazingly followed the same path. They were both in the 11th grade, were the top two in the graduating class, could throw down like their lives depended on it and wouldn't back down to anyone.

But Chanel did have an edge on Desire in two areas: looks and dress. Desire had never been the dressy type. She was more of a tomboy and preferred to wear sweats, hoodies and baggy jeans. Her only interest in fashion had been the dollar amount she could get for the clothes she boosted. Chanel, however, was a fashionista who stayed laced in all the latest clothing. She was the center of attention wherever she went. The competition between Desire and Chanel would always spill outside the classroom and into the hall or the neighborhood. Though they hated each other's guts, they never came to blows—until one day.

It was during lunchtime in the cafeteria, Desire was sitting with Tiah and the rest of her clique. Chanel and her clique sat at a table behind them, and Chanel started talking shit.

“Hey, Renee,” Chanel said loud enough for everyone to hear, “I was watching this old movie last night called … Damn, I forgot the name of it.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Oh, yeah, it was called
A Street Hoe Named Desire
.”

The girls at Chanel's table all started cracking up laughing. What nobody knew about Chanel was her mother was an alcoholic and her father was a perpetually unemployed man who walked in and out of their lives. In fits of alcoholic rage, Chanel's mother took her father's absence out on her. And she would badger Chanel with degrading insults in an effort to make herself
feel better. The only breaks Chanel found from this verbal abuse happened at church, and during the rare weeks when her father reappeared and made her mother calmer. But once he left, the ridicule Chanel's mother poured upon her started again—comments ranging from telling her that she wasn't never gonna be shit to warnings about her pretty little ass popping up pregnant. Ridicule was a tactic used to hurt Chanel, and she had learned to use it to hurt others.

Tiah looked at Desire, who seemed to not have heard what Chanel had said. She asked, “Yo, Dee, you know that bitch Chanel is talking about you?”

Desire seemed aloof and disinterested. “Yeah, I know.”

Disgusted, Tiah said, “And you ain't gonna check that bitch?”

“Chill out, yo,” Desire whispered. “You can't let a bitch like Chanel know what buttons to push,” Desire continued. “That only gives her more power to use against you. Just wait and listen and use whatever she says against her.”

“Yo,” Chanel said to her homegirls, “that bitch hair so short, she curls her hair with Rice-A-Roni.”

The whole cafeteria busted out laughing. Their reaction spurred Chanel on.

“The bitch hair so nappy, she have to take Excedrin every time she comb her hair.”

Chanel had everybody in the cafeteria on their knees with laughter. Her assault continued and Desire was the center of attention. Carvelas didn't have the same lunch period as the girls, and suddenly Desire wished he were here. He'd have her back the same way he had that day in church. She was sure of it. Tiah stared at Desire, who still remained calm, not saying a word. She
knew Desire damn sure wasn't afraid to scrap, because she'd seen back in the 42nd Street days how Desire got down. She used to rob and beat down hoes twice her size. So Tiah knew she would wax the floor with a chick like Chanel. But still, she couldn't take anybody dissing her sister.

Tiah stood up, stepped toward Chanel's table and yelled, “Fuck you, you stink-ass bitch! If I hear my sister's name come out your mouth again, I'm gonna close that shit. Now fuck around if you want!”

Everyone went “Oooooh,” instigating the situation even further. Desire closed her eyes, shook her head and stood up.

Chanel chuckled loudly, stood up, rolled her head and eyes, then spelled,

“D-E-S-I-R and a motherfucking E. Bitch. Now, what the fuck you gonna do about it, lil hoe?”

Tiah rushed toward Chanel, but Desire grabbed her by the arm and whispered, “Chill out, baby girl. Ya sister got this bitch.”

Tiah looked at the glint in Desire's eyes. She knew Desire had something in store for Chanel, so she smiled and backed away.

Desire slowly approached Chanel and her crew.

“So I'm a bitch, Chanel?” she asked.

Unfazed, Chanel stepped in her face and said, “You heard me. I ain't stutter! You a bald-headed, bummy bitch.”

Desire just chuckled.

Chanel stared at her and asked, “What you laughing at?”

Shaking her head, Desire said, “I heard you say those same tired jokes just last week when you was talking about …”

Desire's head turned toward Chanel's homegirls and smiled, then said, “Oh, never mind.”

The girls that Chanel was with stared at each other. Both of them had short, nappy hair, the kind that all the kids had learned to make fun of Long waves that hung down a girl's back was what the boys admired, and so what all the girls wanted. Nobody had taught them to think otherwise. They both caught a complex, right then—wondering which one of them Chanel had talked about.

All eyes were now on Chanel. She blurted out, “Y'all gonna believe her? Y'all know I don't talk about none of y'all behind your backs—now, do I?”

One of her homegirls said, “I don't know, 'cause you did tell me just yesterday that Jasmine needed a perm something bad.”

Jasmine's eyes lit up and stared at Chanel.

“You been talking about me behind my back, Chanel?” she asked.

Chanel sucked her teeth and said, “What, you stupid enough to believe her?”

Angry, Jasmine countered, “Who you calling stupid, you stupid bitch?”

“If I'm a bitch, slap a bitch, bitch!” Chanel shouted as she squared up to her.

“Naw,” said Jasmine, “you hit me first, and you'll see what happens.”

“No, hit me first,” Chanel said.

They went a few more times, until Desire stepped between them, presumably to end the beef.

She looked at them both as they stared each other down. Desire extended a hand to each girl. She looked at Jasmine and said,
“Here's what you do: slap my hand and I'll relay the slap to Chanel, if you want.”

Jasmine slapped her hand. Then Desire slapped Chanel, and all hell broke loose. Chanel and Jasmine started throwing down like Ali and Frasier. The gym teacher, who was in charge of this lunchroom period, rushed over to stop the commotion, but he was too late. He blew his whistle, but Chanel and Jasmine were already knuckling too hard to notice. A crowd had built up around the girls within seconds. Desire and Tiah walked away, giggling their asses off as they gave each other a pound.

A
fter school, Desire and Tiah hit the block. The Harlem streets were alive with shoppers, vendors, other kids their age and people coming home from work. Somehow, the energy and excitement of the streets was less threatening now that both girls had a place to escape from it. They were too caught up in their gossip to pay much mind to the homeless people rambling down the street, talking to themselves and asking for change. They walked past the images of lonely and desperate people staring out of windows, wanting to be with people but too caught up in their misery to do so. They walked past the gangs of boys wilding out after school, trying to lure the two girls into their folds, eyeing them as potential sex partners. Desire and Tiah would just
keep on walking, offering only a slight “Sup?” to their admirers. But they also walked past blocks of people sitting on cars with the stereos blasting, dancing in the streets. Or a Hispanic vendor here and there selling flavored ice cups. There were packs of children in uniforms leaving school as well, being led by caring and concerned parents. It had been hard for them to notice what was good about the streets when they had lived most of their lives caught up in the bad. The time after school when they walked home was their time to keep their bearings on all that they had come from.