Flirt (13 page)

“I’m telling you, Slim, if you start this shit, Johnny Law is gonna finish it,” I warned him. From the defeated look on his face, I thought the rational side of his brain was starting to take over and the threat kicking in, but I should’ve known better. Crazy people don’t tend to think logically, and Slim’s ass was nuts.

When whatever reasoning that had been keeping him off my ass finally gave, Slim rushed me. With my broken heel, I was like a wounded animal when the wolf came barreling down on me. He deflected my awkward swing and grabbed me by the biceps. The pizza shop owner was still spewing threats, but it was action that I needed to save my ass, not words.

Slim’s lips were white, and he was breathing heavily when he hissed at me, “Princess, you better get your ass in the car before I cave the side of yo pretty-ass face in.” I looked into the eyes of that deranged-ass young man and knew if he got me in the car I sure as hell wouldn’t be getting out again, at least not on two legs. I had never been very religious, but whenever I found myself up shit creek, I called on God for a miracle, and as always he was right on time.

“Yo, fall back with that shit, son, you making the block hot right now,” One of the corner boys was approaching. His was a face that required a special kind of love, but he was the most beautiful thing in the world to me at that point.

Slim glanced over at the young boy, giving me the chance to make my move. I shot my head at him like a bullet, aiming for
his nose, but colliding with his bottom lip, cutting my forehead on his teeth. It probably hurt me more than it did him, but it made his crazy ass let go of me, which was all I needed. One heel or not, I tore around the corner and up toward Lenox Avenue as fast as I could. I heard Slim calling after me, but shortly after that, I heard the sound of glass breaking. He would have his hands full for a minute, so I didn’t have to worry about him getting on my trail too soon.

Now here I was, bobbing and weaving up the block like I’m at a football combine, tits swinging and not really knowing where I was headed. One thing I did know was that if the corner boys didn’t beat Slim too bad, he’d be on my ass sooner than later. It was a big city, and I knew all Slim’s habits, so I could avoid him if I put my mind to it—but for how long? I needed to get my ones up so I could blow town. Luckily, I still had Slim’s five thousand to get the ball rolling.

I
could hear raised voices all around me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the ringing of my own ears. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I ended up sprawled out on the floor, damn near under the card table. From the searing pain in the back of my head, I knew just what Michael Jackson must’ve felt like when that Pepsi commercial went to the left. Loose strands of hair were all over the front of my blouse, while a thick clump of it lay on the floor next to me. I touched my hand to the back of my head, and thankfully there was no bald spot, but it felt thin as hell.

Still dazed, I tried as best I could to gather myself. When I moved to get up, it felt like my kidneys shifted. I didn’t have to see the bruise to know it was there; I’d had enough of them to know the dull ache just before the swelling. I managed to pull myself to my knees and peered over the table at my once-beautiful living room. The card table was now on its back, with beer and God only knew what else soaking into anything that could absorb it. Bilal was picking himself up from the floor, right next to the patio door. There was a slight gash over his eye that looked as if it would start leaking at any minute. He moved in my direction, and for a minute I thought he was coming for me, but his murderous rage went over my shoulder at Jackie. . . . My Jackie, who was smack-dab in the center of the chaos, with José restraining him.

“Nigga, don’t you ever try to puff up on me in my spot!” Jackie foamed at the mouth, struggling against José’s grip, with little success at getting free.

“Jackie, you’re bugging the fuck out, word up.” José was ushering Jackie toward the kitchen.

“Yeah, Jackie, this shit is bogus. First you slug your old lady and then you steal on Lal, what the fuck is your problem?” Moe stood between Jackie and Bilal, keeping the young boy in check, at least for the moment. Jackie was out of pocket, and he was surely going to let Bilal get a fair shake, but he didn’t want it to go down in front of me.

Bilal stalked back and forth, trying to figure a way around Moe to tap Jackie’s chin. “You got that one off, Jackie, but this
shit is far from over.” He touched the cut above his eye. “That shit was cute, but I ain’t no bitch, homey. I’m gonna make you wear this shit.”

“Word, you wanna get it popping, Lal? Yours ain’t the only gun that works,” Jackie threatened.

“Hey, the both of you niggaz watch that funny talk,” Moe said seriously. “If you wanna shoot the fair one”—he raised his hands—“that’s what it is, but it ain’t gonna be no extra shit, so you might as well forget it.” Both combatants stared at Moe, but they knew not to test the old head.

José stepped in front of Jackie and turned him so that they were eye to eye. “Jackie, you outta pocket right now. Look at what you did to your house—shit, look at what you did to your wife.” He shoved Jackie in my direction. I looked for regret in his eyes, but saw only pity.

“Yo, this shit is real whack, fam,” Bilal said. He was still pacing, but some of the tension seemed to have drained away from his body. “Every time you get drunk, you get on ya bullshit, Jackie, and one of these days a muthafucka ain’t gonna wanna reason with you.”

“Yo, Lal, you know who I be and where I be—” Jackie spread his arms. “—so quit kicking that gangsta shit like I’m supposed to be impressed. You always trying to call somebody out and then try to backpedal with the shit. You don’t be knowing what to say out of your mouth.”

“Both of y’all muthafuckas is faded, so ain’t neither one a you gonna wanna see your own wrongs. Jackie, you need to slow up on that bottle, and Lal”—Moe turned to the youngster—
“that slick shit ain’t gonna get you nowhere, know when to be easy.”

If hadn’t been for José reaching down to help me to my feet, I might’ve forgotten I was on the floor. Watching the scene unfolding between Jackie and his boys was surreal. Had it not been for the intense throbbing in my side and the pinpricks of pain shooting through my scalp, I could’ve easily been front row at the premiere of an action movie, but the embarrassed looks I was getting from everyone except Jackie were real.

“You okay, Gina?” José asked once I was standing on my own again.

My living room was a wreck, my blouse was torn, and I had managed to break one of the heels on the damn sandals. Was I okay? Hell no, but my pride wouldn’t let me say so. “Yeah, I’m cool,” I said, lying through my teeth. I watched Jackie scornfully as the reality of what he’d done seemed to soak in and his face finally softened.

“Baby girl.” He reached out to me, but I moved away.

“Don’t,” was all I could say. I was angry and embarrassed. Had I been my mother, I would’ve picked up one of the tipped-over bottles and gone upside Jackie’s head, but I didn’t have that kind of willpower. Instead, I tucked my tail between my legs and headed upstairs to my bedroom.

With measured steps, I walked into my bedroom and closed the door. Against my better judgment, I went over to the vanity mirror to assess the damage. My hair was sticking up at an odd
angle, and in some sections barely holding on by the roots. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but I’d have to get it cut so you couldn’t tell where Jackie had pulled it out. On the lower portion of my jaw, there were three red welts that were about the length of a man’s fingers. In an attempt to make myself feel better, I told myself that it could’ve been a closed fist, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I managed to keep my game face on in front of Jackie’s company, but when I got a good look at the horror staring back at me through the looking glass, I broke down.

“This is not how your mother raised you,” I said to the ugly duckling in the mirror. All my life, the importance of being an independent woman had been drilled into me like mental conditioning, but that all flew out the window when it came to Jackie. First there were the wayward friends whom he just couldn’t seem to keep his dick out of, and then there was the occasional ass-whipping that I took for the team. I knew he didn’t mean to hurt me, but Jackie had a bad temper. Whenever we would get into it, he’d feel bad and try to buy back my affection. I always said that the next time he hit me, I was going to leave, but I never did, at least not for more than a day or two, before I caved in and went back to him.

I’d heard older people say most marriages went sour in the first few years because young people didn’t have the patience to work through their problems, but I’ll bet the ones who started that bullshit weren’t getting their assess kicked by the men who claimed to love them. Still, it gave me something to wrap my mind around in the hopes that Jackie would change, though I
was starting to get the feeling he wouldn’t. Every rational fiber of my body told me to leave his ass and go for the jugular in the divorce, but I couldn’t do it. Jackie was my husband, and I’d vowed to stand by him for good or for bad, in sickness and in health. This is the mantra I repeated over and over so I wouldn’t feel like such a fool. The truth of the matter was that I was a silly girl in love, and Jackie was the cross I’d chosen to bear.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Gina?”

Tap-tap-tap.

“Gina, open the door, baby.”

I stood under the steaming water with my head pressed against one of the colorful swans carved into my porcelain shower tiles, listening to my husband requesting an audience with me. He had been out there for the last ten minutes, but I wasn’t ready to receive him.

José had called me on my cell to find out if I was all right and to tell me that he’d cleared everyone out of the house. Thank God, because I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of looking in their faces again today.

“Gina, I know I fucked up, baby, and I’m sorry. Can we please talk about it?” he continued to plead.

First he wanted to be Joe Frazier, and now he wanted to talk all nice? Nigga, please! I took my sweet time getting out of the shower and wrapping my hair in a towel. I had thought about trying to do something with it, but decided I didn’t even want
to see the damage. I’d just rock a scarf until I could get Mercedes to bless me at the shop. I knew that my sudden hair loss would be the topic of conversation the moment I left the salon, but I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t let just anybody play in my hair.

Trying my best to ignore Jackie’s insufferable pleading, I placed a hand towel over the commode so I could sit on it and dry off. The moment I bent over to dry my feet, I felt the pain shoot up through my side. My breath caught in my chest as I slowly sat back up to assess the damage. My ribs had turned a nasty shade of purple, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had been cracked. It wouldn’t have been the first time. If it was broken, I’d have to just deal with it, because the triage nurse had already made it clear that the next time I dotted that door, she was going to call the police on Jackie. She was a no-nonsense woman, and I wasn’t ready to call her bluff.

“Baby girl.”

See, he had to go there.
Baby girl
is what he used to call me when we first started trying to build together. He called me that because he said he was going to raise me in the business like a father would his daughter, so that I knew the ins and outs of the game and could carve my own notch in the world. Well, if this is how he treats his other daughter, then his ass was an ACDC case waiting to happen. Still, when he called me baby girl in that silky voice, it did something to me.

“Baby girl, you don’t know how sorry I am for what happened.” He scratched at the door like a wounded cat. “Between
Bilal’s mouth and that fucking purple haze, I just snapped. Gina, you know that haze is the damn devil in a dime bag, especially that shit from Uptown.” He was trying to get me to laugh, and my dumb ass had the nerve to even crack a smile. “Baby girl, I know what I did was fucked up, but when you sided with that nigga, I just saw red and snapped.”

No the fuck he didn’t. With the towel wrapped around my waist and my breasts swinging freely, I stormed across the bathroom and snatched the door open. “Sided . . . I sided with Bilal?” I snapped at him. “Jackie, it was a freaking sandwich, and I extended the offer to everyone in the living room, including you!” I jabbed my finger into his chest.

“Gina, look—”

“No, you look!” I dropped my towel. “Look at my side—” I pointed at the bruise. “—look at my face—” I pointed to the throbbing point on my cheek. “Look at my hair!” I snatched the towel off my head so he could see the mess he’d made of my new hairdo.

For a while, Jackie just stared at me as if my bruised body were someone else’s handiwork. He reached at me, but I backed away. I tried to storm around Jackie, but he grabbed me by the arm. When he tried to spin me around, I slapped him across the face, surprising both of us. Jackie’s eyes flashed rage as he pulled me to him, and I tensed up for the blow that I was sure was going to follow, but Jackie didn’t hit me. Instead, he hugged me to him and kissed me. He started with my head and moved to the bruise on my face before kissing a trail down my body.

“Get off me, Jackie, I hate you!” I said harshly, trying unsuccessfully to pull away from him. “I hate you for what you did to me,” I sobbed.

“I hate me for what I did to you, too, baby girl.” When Jackie looked up at me and I saw the lone tear twinkling in his eye, I was in love all over again.

I’m still not sure how it happened, but I ended up lying on the floor while Jackie planted soft kisses on my face. With one hand, he held both of mine pinned above my head while he explored me with the other. Every spot on my body that Jackie touched came alive with the intensity of a hundred suns, and I soaked it all in. When his fingers slipped inside me, I almost bit my tongue off. His prodding was aggressive, but not clumsy like a man looking for change in the couch. Jackie could be a brute with most things, but he knew my body and what it took to please me.