For the Love of Money (45 page)

Mom said, “Now wait a minute, are you saying that she can only play a certain kind of role?”

“Not if she was ugly. If she was ugly she could play a lot of different roles.” Jason added, “Just not
leading
roles.” He was dead serious, too.

That made my father laugh even harder.

“What the hell is so funny, Dave? Our son is a chauvinist, and you think that's funny?”

“Chauvinist?
I'm just telling her what time it is,” Jason argued.

I shrugged my shoulders. “He might be right though, Mom. I mean, he
is
the perfect age for this movie,
and
the right gender. So if he thinks it's corny, then maybe it is.”

“What are you gonna do then, Tracy? Are you telling me that you're changing your mind because of what your
brother
says?”

I thought about it and looked at Jason. “How do I make it believable?” I asked him.

He broke out laughing again. “You're asking
me?
I'm not the movie writer.”

“So what? You brought it up,” I snapped at him. “I'm serious. How do I make it better?”

Jason hadn't even seen the script, but I was willing to listen to him anyway.

He said, “Aw'ight, this is how inner-city guys think. First of all, are these psychos white or black?”

I said, “White, and I'm not even supposed to be in this movie myself. I'm trying to
steal
the role,” I told him with a laugh.

“Okay, well, white guys can't fight, but they're still stronger than pretty women, and they're
wild
too. So what you need to do is have fast reflexes and attack with knives, or stun guns, or just shoot them as soon as you get a chance.

“Now
that's
believable,” he said.

“I don't believe you're even asking him this,” my mother told me.

I listened anyway. Jason had everyone's full attention. I wasn't even hungry anymore.

I asked, “What about when they catch me off guard or something?”

Jason shrugged his shoulders. “After they rough you up, I guess you play dead, like you would if a bear was after you, and then pull out another weapon on them.”

We all started laughing.

“That's ridiculous,” my mother commented.

My father said, “Go 'head, Jason, then what?” I think he was enjoying it.

Jason said, “I'm saying, psychos like seeing people dead, right? Or at least in most of the movies that
I
saw. They kill you, and then they sit there and stare at you like it's a painting or something. So you play dead and surprise them. It makes perfect sense.”

I said, “But I can't do that every time.”

“No, but you use a different weapon every time. And we can't see it beforehand, because then we would know what's gonna happen. You have to surprise us with it, like a thin, black wire to strangle one of them with, brass knuckles on both hands, a long needle inside your hair; you know, like those Ninja movies.”

I laughed again. “You're making this movie sound
extra
brutal.”

Jason said, “Wait a minute, you said
psychos,
right? Are they killing people nicely in this movie?” He had a point. “All right then,” he told me, “you get as brutal as
they
get. Now
that's
believable!

“And after the movie, guys'll be a little paranoid of pretty girls. ‘You not like that girl in
Road Kill
are you?'
That's
believable!” he insisted. “You gotta make guys think about it
outside
of the movie, like when they go back out on the street.”

“Well, how come Will Smith gets to do all of these crazy
alien
movies then? Is
that
believable?” Mom asked him.

“I'm saying, Will Smith is still a guy though. He's like my height, he started pumping weights,
and
he plays in those science fiction action movies with humor in it. That's different. This is a
mean
cop flick, with a girl, so it should
feel
like it.”

My father looked at me and nodded. “He's right,” he said. “If you really want to play this role, you have to play it like you
mean
it. It is more action in it than
Silence of the Lambs
?”

I said, “Yeah,
much
more action.”

“Well, that's what you have to do then.”

Jason nodded his head and said, “Yeah, and I would go to see that.”

I smiled and said, “Yeah, I bet you would.” I was damn sure glad that I had talked to my little brother about my next film though, because I had some major changes to make.

$ $ $

When I went next door to say my farewells to Raheema's parents, it was close to ten o'clock, and I was thinking about Mercedes again. I had to at least call her up and tell her what I planned to do about that house in Yeadon. Hopefully, there
was
a house and she wasn't scheming twelve grand out of me.

Her mother, Beth, greeted me at the door. I had called them to make sure they were home before I visited.

“Here she is! Everybody knew you would be a star,” she told me. I gave her a hug.

“Either that or in a crazy house for
trying,”
I joked with a laugh. As soon as I said that, I wanted to take my words back because of the hell that Mercedes went through, but it was too late.

Beth ignored my comment and asked me what time my plane left the next day.

“After one o'clock,” I told her.

Mr. Keith walked out from the kitchen with a Pepsi in his hand, a thicker and calmer man than he had been when we were all growing up.

He smiled and said, “I hope they pay you well for those roles.”

I guess some things never change. I said, “You mean to tell me that you wouldn't look forward to seeing Raheema in a Hollywood role like mine?”

He laughed. The younger, leaner and meaner Keith wouldn't have.

He said, “You'd get Mercedes in one of those roles before you'd get Raheema in one.”

“Stop riding Mercedes. You don't even know if she can act,” Beth responded to him.

Damn, things had changed! Beth was the biggest house mouse in the
world
when I was younger. She
rarely
spoke back to her husband then. I smiled. It was good to see both of them loosen up and sound like a normal man and woman who bickered. They had found a way to hold their family together too.

I said, “Do you guys mind if we called Mercedes up while I'm over here? I want to speak to her before I leave tomorrow.”

Beth went right for the cordless phone.

“So did Mercedes ask you for any money yet?” Mr. Keith asked me. He was as calm about it as if he was asking about the weather.

“Why, did she talk about it?” I asked him.

He started laughing again. “As soon as you came home, she started talking about getting a house all of a sudden.”

“She hadn't been looking for one before?” I figured I would milk her father for all the information I could get, since we were already on the subject.

He said, “Yeah, but she wasn't all that excited about it. Then she kept coming over here to see us every other day. I knew that something was up then. I guess she figured she would bump into you.”

I smiled and said, “Well, she sure did.”

We quieted down when we heard Beth on the phone with her.

“Yeah, Tracy's right here with us. She's leaving out for California tomorrow afternoon.”

I waited to be handed the phone.

“Hey, Mercedes,” I answered.

She whispered, “You see how they get along all peacefully now? She even talks back to him. My mom acted more like his
third daughter
instead of his
wife
when
I
still lived there.”

I held in my laugh. Mercedes was a social genius if you asked me. She could read people through
one word
or with
one look.
I just wished that she could use her talent more constructively.

I said, “I'll call you up within a week, okay?” If I got the
Road Kill
lead, I planned to send Mercedes fifteen thousand dollars with a tough-love warning to spend it well. What can I say, I still had a warm heart for her.

“A week? I sure hope that house is still for sale by then,” she responded.

I continued to smile and shook my head, thinking about Mercedes' father. Keith knew exactly what she was asking me, in code or not. Maybe she had gotten a lot of her social genius from him; I just hadn't bothered to see how cunning he could be.

I said, “I'll be calling you. I still have to pack tonight.”

“So, when will you invite me out to visit you?” she asked.

“So you can snatch up my acting roles for yourself?” I joked.

“I'm not any damn actress,” she commented.

Ain't
that
the truth!
I told myself. You couldn't
get
any more street realism than Mercedes!

I said, “I'll let you know. And I love you, girl.”

When I said that, it seemed like everything just stopped for a second.

Mercedes said, “Thank you. I love you too.” I knew that she meant it, whether she was twisted or not, because she was still human, and she was like family to me. Even through all of the bullshit Mercedes had been through
and was still going through, I just couldn't shake my love for her. So I called her up again once I had packed my things that night.

“Hello,” she answered the phone, scratchy-voiced.

“Were you sleeping?” I asked her.

“Tracy? Girl, aren't you going back to Hollywood tomorrow? Get your damn rest, girl ...just don't forget to hook me up,” she added with a tired laugh.

I shook my head and smiled again. That damn Mercedes was a
trip!
I said, “I just wanted to talk to you again before I left, that's all.”

She got quiet on me. “Thanks,” she responded. “I'm glad you still feel for me like that.”

“What, you thought that I
wouldn't
?”

“Well, when people go Hollywood on you ... shit changes.”

“And sometimes the people around you change,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, that too,” she admitted. “But, you know, you gots to do your thing and make that money, right? That's what it's all about.”

I stopped her and said, “That's
not
what it's all about. I mean, sure, you make good money and everything, but you have to love what you're doing
first
to become any good at it. That's where you were always wrong, Mercedes. You can't love money, and things, and people who idolize money, because all of that stuff will eventually fade away.”

“Not if you make enough of it and you know what to do with it,” she argued.

“And how much is enough?”

She paused. “Give me about twenty-five million, and I'd be aw'ight
for life
!”

“And what will you do to
get
that twenty-five million?”

“Whatever you
have
to do.”

“And you've started on your plan already?” I was playing her bluff, because I knew that Mercedes didn't have a clue. I hated to think it, but
her
way of getting twenty-five million would be more like seducing a basketball player. Or seducing
me
if I let her; seducing me through our lifelong sisterhood.

She said, “Tracy, I'm just saying what time it is in the world right now, that's all.”

“And that's why the world is so fucked up!” I snapped at her. I was calling Mercedes back for a peace talk, but she was getting under my skin with the ignorance. I had worked my ass off to get paid, not because I wanted to be paid alone, but because I wanted to be good at what I did,
and
gain recognition for my work,but all that anyone ever counted was the fucking dollar signs and the facade of fame, and that shit was really beginning to piss me off!

Mercedes only laughed at my temper tantrum. “Calm down, girl. It's too
late at night for that hyper shit. And I'm just gonna tell you like this: If you don't have any money, nobody gives a fuck about you. And even the people who
do
care about you, they can't do much for you
without
money. And I'm just being
real
about that.”

I said, “In other words, if
I
didn't have any money, then telling you that I love you wouldn't mean shit? Is that what you're saying?” I asked her.

“I'm not saying that it wouldn't mean shit. The thought of it is nice. But if you're on your deathbed, Tracy, and you need an operation to survive,
a thought
ain't gon' save your ass from dying. That's all that
I'm
saying.”

I could see that Mercedes and I would end up on the phone all night, and I still wouldn't get my point across to her. She was nearly middle-aged and
definitely
set in her ways, so I just decided to end our conservation.

I said, “Well, you know what, Mercedes, I
do
love you . . . and maybe that's all I should leave you with. I just hope that you're not on your deathbed right now, because I'm sorry to tell you, but money alone is
not
going to save your life.” Before she could respond, I simply hung up the phone on her, because I didn't have anything else to say on the subject.

$   $   $

“So, when will you be making your way back home again?” my father asked me. We were on our way to the airport on I-76 East.

I yawned. It had been a long night for me. I planned to get at least three hours of sleep on the plane.

“I don't know, Dad. Why, you want me to move back in?”

He smiled. “Your mother and I were thinking that
we
could move in with
you.
”