On the Line (23 page)

The moment Juice first kissed her, Shalonda felt the guilt of being raised in a middle-class home, spoiled with name-brand clothes, Disney vacations and a college fund. His sad brown eyes endeared him to her and she wanted to be there for him, to support him, to love him. When the phone rang, it startled her.

“Hello,” she mumbled, after picking up the receiver.

“Hey, Londa!”

Shalonda's eyes shot open when she heard her baby sister's voice.

“Mimi? Is that you?”

“It's me. How are you?”

“I'm fine, Mimi. What are you doing? Where did you get my number?”

“Donetta gave it to me at the mall. She said she didn't know if it was the right number anymore because she hadn't talked to you in a while, but I'm glad it is.”

Shalonda frowned. It was Donetta who had set everything up for the fake slumber party that night. It was Donetta who had arranged for the false ID's so that they could hang out at the club. As a matter of fact, it was Donetta who had wanted to meet Juice, and when he showed an interest in Shalonda, she was obviously jealous. And somehow it was Donetta who had graduated from high school last year and was now attending college.

“I'm so glad you called me, Mimi. How is school? How're Mama and Ben?”

“I'm going to be in fourth grade next year. I can't wait. My teacher says I read real good, but I don't really like reading that much. I like math better.”

“You should like reading. Reading is a good thing to do, but math is important, too.” Shalonda swallowed hard. “It is so great to hear from you, Mimi. Have you grown taller?”

“Daddy said I'm taller than you were at ten. But Mama told him not to mention your name. I wish you could come home, Londa.”

“I'd like to, Mimi, but I can't. Things are complicated and I don't think it's a good idea right now. But I'm glad you're doing good in school. And I miss you very much.”

“Mama won't let me watch the videos on BET because she says that's the garbage that ruined you. Londa, what does she mean when she says you're ruined?”

Shalonda thought for a minute, but couldn't come up with an answer. Maybe she
was
ruined. Maybe that was the perfect description of her life. “It really doesn't matter, Mimi,” she finally replied. “What does matter is that I'm going to come and see you as soon as I can. I promise.”

“I hope so. I got glasses now, but I don't wear them a lot. I don't like the way they feel on my nose.”

Suddenly Shalonda heard muffled voices over the phone. She sat up straight in the tub.

“Mimi, are you okay? Are you still there?”

“No, Shalonda. She's not here. Why would you call her? What's wrong with you! You've already messed up your life. Do you want to screw up your sister's life, too? Just stay away from her! Don't call, don't try to see her, don't encourage her to follow you into the gutter!”

“Mom, why do you always have to—”

“Don't act like I did something wrong, Shalonda. We gave you everything and you threw it all away. Your daddy was stupid and you're just like him. As a matter of fact, your whole generation is fucked-up. A bunch of ignorant niggas bling-blinging themselves to death.”

“Mom, I'm sorr—” At the sound of the dial tone, Shalonda threw the phone across the room.

She lay back in the tub and took a deep, long breath. That was her mother, always judging other people. If you didn't do things her way you were wrong—and despite a serious Christian upbringing, there was no room for forgiveness. So high and mighty, yet Ben, Mimi's father, her second husband, was a hustler from way back. He kept a string of women throughout their marriage. And each time, her mother wouldn't forgive, but she would turn her head and let him in the back door. Ben had two other kids by two different women. One was the same age as Mimi.

Shalonda lifted a vase of lavender and vanilla potpourri up to her nose. The scent was almost gone. In the beginning it was all fabulous. Juice was like a local celebrity in town. He was treated well wherever he went and that meant she was treated well when she was with him. It was easy to get caught up in such an exciting lifestyle. Riding around in his hundred-thousand-dollar Hummer, attending private parties with politicians and popular media folks she had seen on television. When Juice asked for it, she gladly gave up the only thing she had to offer: her virginity.

When things started to change, she wasn't paying attention. Shalonda sometimes blamed it on the Baker blood, a family myth on her father's side. The blood of Baker women ran a few degrees higher than normal and as a result they loved much too hard. There was an aunt who stayed with an abusive husband for twenty years until he eventually beat her to death. And a cousin who died of AIDS a couple of years ago found out that she got the disease from her unfaithful fiancé, but married him anyway. Shalonda knew that Juice used women, but she truly didn't know how she had become one of them. Maybe it was the Baker blood.

The appointments were supposed to be a temporary thing. Juice said he was having financial difficulties and he needed her to show him how strong her love was. He said only a strong woman could stand by his side. Shalonda slowly waved her hand through the rippling water. It sounded like bullshit now, but somehow it didn't then.

The first time a stranger mounted her for money, Shalonda had held her breath. Now it was as if the act of not breathing could move her out of her body and into another realm. Weeks later she welcomed the fantasies that came. Fields of flowers were followed by deep blue skies and then sandy white beaches gave way to vast ocean waves. In her own mental paradise the men became a blur of contrasting sizes, peculiar smells and distinctive sounds. When temporary turned into permanent, one day she begged Juice to stop and was stunned to hear Mimi's name come out of his mouth. She watched the curve of his lips as he talked about how pretty Mimi was. And her heart sank when he clearly described Mimi's purple lace dress blowing in the wind on their backyard swing set.

A knock at the door alerted her to Rodney's arrival. He always used one hard rap, then four quick ones. Shalonda jumped out of the tub, bypassing her towel. A light spray of Fendi, followed by a soft, silk robe clinging to her wet body, was all the preparation she needed. When she opened the door, she smiled softly. Rodney was holding a single red rose in his hand.

“For you,” he said, handing her the rose.

She giggled and took it. “Thank you.”

Rodney was an average-looking man. He had big ears, big feet and a big smile. He cared about her, and Shalonda needed someone to care.

“What you got for me today, pretty lady?” he asked with a wink.

She opened her robe and allowed him to survey her thin, tan body. The smooth caramel skin and full red lips beckoned for him to take all he wanted. As he picked her up with little effort and carried her to the bed, Shalonda let it all go. This was one of the few times she would open herself up to enjoy a man's love. Rodney's kindness and compassion was as close to true love as she had ever been. Afterward, they lay together, her head on his chest, the palm of his hand on her hip and he talked about the wonderful places he wanted her to see. San Diego, Phoenix, Atlanta, the Bahamas, Belize, even Costa Rica. The first time he talked like that, she remembered waiting for a punch line, but Rodney continued to shape a dream of the two of them together until she kissed him passionately. Now Shalonda could see a life traveling with this man. She dreamed that someday he would ride in on a white horse and prove his love just like LL Cool J in
Deliver Us From Eva.

Before he left, Rodney paid the thirty dollars, then he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her. “This is for you,” he said, and with one last kiss he was gone.

Shalonda lay across her bed, imagining the possibilities until the slamming of a door next door followed by Snoop Dogg rapping about his ability to turn bitches out, snatched her back. She was irritated. Not because of the song, but because she used to play that kind of music. She used to love that kind of music. When her mother once asked how she could support the negative things they said about women, she would shake her butt to the beat and reply, “They're not talking about me.”

She covered her head with the pillow, but the obtrusive beat forced her to get up. Stuffing all of the money from the drawer into a brown envelope, she pulled on a pair of jeans, a wrinkled T-shirt and jacket to start the short walk down the street to Juice's apartment. The extra twenty went into the side pocket of her purse.

Juice actually owned three apartment buildings on the block and was trying to buy a fourth. Shalonda lived and worked in one of the efficiencies along with about twelve other women. Juice called them his rainbows, and the money they made between their legs went into his pot of gold.

She rode the elevator to the third floor, also the top floor of his building. Juice had knocked out the walls between three apartments to expand his living space to the entire left side. He did everything big: oversize black leather furniture, a big-screen television with surround sound, and a huge master bedroom that included a Jacuzzi and sauna. His newest recruit, sixteen-year-old Kristine, opened the door when she knocked. Shalonda handed over the sealed envelope, turned and walked away.

“Shalonda!” Juice called down the hall after her.

“What?” she answered reluctantly. The tears were right there just behind her eyes, but she cut them off with the skill of a samurai warrior.

Juice stepped out of the doorway. “Come on back for a minute.”

Trudging up the hall, Shalonda stopped outside the door listening to the macho swagger of his wannabe-playa friends in the back room. Her body suddenly went limp. She didn't feel like dealing with the bullshit tonight.

Juice stepped closer. “What's wrong with you?” he asked. “You don't want to see me? You don't love me no more?”

“I'm just tired, I wanna go back home.” She turned to leave.

He grabbed her by the arm. “Excuse me, but I'm talking here. Don't forget I'm the one paying for your home.”

Shalonda yanked her arm away. “What do you want, Juice?”

He thought for a moment. “I want you to go to my bedroom, get in the shower and wait for me,” he finally replied.

When she heard his request, Kristine leaped up from the nearby chair where she was eavesdropping.

“Juice, what are you doing?” she whined.

He scowled in her direction. “Sit your stupid ass down and shut up!” Then smiling at Shalonda, he continued. “Go on. I'll be there soon.”

Shalonda moved slowly down the hallway, choking back determined tears. His bedroom still looked the same. A custom-made king-size sleigh bed with a brown and mauve comforter, two dresser drawers and a matching chaise longue. It was in this bedroom that she first read
The Coldest Winter Ever
by Sister Souljah sitting on that same chaise longue. It was in this bedroom that she gave away her virginity to the man she wanted to love forever. It was in this bedroom that her life had changed drastically.

Shalonda undressed and stepped into the warm shower. The water cloaked her head and back and legs like liquid fire. She watched through the glass as he entered the room, then sucked in a deep breath when the door slid open and he took her in his arms.

“You need Daddy, don't you?” he asked seductively.

Her body shivered, remembering how she used to feel when his hulking muscles engulfed her.

Juice moaned in her ear. “You want some of this good lovin' I've been saving for you?”

Before she could answer, he pushed her up against the wall and licked the trickling water from her neck and ears and back. Then, as if on cue, he bent her over and entered from behind. This was what she used to think love was all about: embracing the heat from his pulsating body; absorbing as much as she could of his powerful presence; inhaling the very essence of him. There was a time when she thought all she needed was this man's love to sustain her, to satisfy her. The head will only hear if the heart listens.

“You like this? Is this what you needed, baby? Is this what you needed, baby? You like this, don't you?” he repeated the lines as part of his sexual motion.

Shalonda told him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I love it, Daddy. You know you're everything I need.”

As the water flowed in a steady stream down their bodies, Shalonda tried to resist, but the rhythm of their movement became so succinct that she climaxed with him. Before he left, Juice kissed her gently and whispered, “I don't want you to ever forget how much I love you, Shorty.”

Shalonda stood in the shower and cried violent tears when he was gone. She wanted desperately to understand what she did wrong. Everywhere she looked, she saw it. How could she not eventually buy into it? Images of hard, black men and their sexy, hoochie mammas were a normal part of black culture. In music, on television, through movies and magazines, the thug life was the life to choose. With a deep, painful breath, Shalonda realized that she hated that life now, as much as she had loved it then.