“Check it out.” Julian passes me a hand mirror, spins the chair around. I catch my reflection in the vanity and inspect the work.
Rah takes a picture with his cell and sends it to Nigel and me.
“Wow,” I say, amazed at how much it resembles Califia’s brand. “It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be.”
Nigel nods in agreement. I’m glad my boys were here to witness the evolution of Jayd Jackson. I wish my girls were also here.
“Glad you like it,” Julian says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Keep it covered for a couple of hours. You can bathe, just don’t wash the tat directly or put anything but antibacterial ointment on it until it’s completely healed.” Julian slathers
Neosporin
over the veve before wrapping it in plastic.
“How long will that take?” I ask, touching the plastic armband. Just like that, I’ve lost my tattoo virginity.
“A couple of weeks. After the scab’s all gone you’re good to go,” Julian says. He cleans the area and claims a new needle package for his next canvas.
“Jayd, you can hook up my hair tomorrow,” Rah says, running his fingers through his Afro. “I’ll pay you double since I know you wanted to take the day off and whatnot.”
“Cool,” I say, glad for the night off and extra pay. Even if I wanted to I think I’m too excited to braid.
“Yeah, let’s hit up Roscoe’s after this,” Nigel says, speaking my language.
They smoked a blunt before I got to Rah’s house. Their munchies have arrived in full effect. I didn’t even get a contact high and I could eat a number nine with a side of greens and a Lisa’s Delight myself.
“Sounds like a plan, black man.” I’m excited about my new step toward adulthood, or at least that’s what I’m going to say when my mom and Mama find out. Hopefully they won’t be too upset. It’s not like when I was thirteen and got my ears pierced without their permission. That was a bad day. I never even got a chance to sport my new earrings. When Mama saw my ears she made me take them out immediately under the threat of her removing them for me.
“Now we’re connected for life, Jayd. You know that, right?” Nigel says as he takes my place in the tattoo chair. “We’re kinfolk, girl.”
“Is that right?” I ask, eyeing myself in the mirror. All of a sudden I feel more badass than ever before.
“Yeah, girl,” Rah says. I make myself comfortable in a seat next to my long-time friend and rest my head on his shoulder. “Sharing ink with somebody’s like sharing blood, nahmean?” Rah tilts his head back on the glass and shuts his eyes, patiently waiting his turn.
I miss the ease Rah and I used to share. It would be nice if we could get back to that place after all of this madness our crew’s experiencing blows over. I begin to drift off myself but the sight of Califia and Cortez fighting over her self-brand comes to the forefront of my mind. There’s something empowering about marking your territory even if it’s on your own body. I don’t blame Califia for taking matters into her own hands. Unfortunately, it’s also how she became an ancestor.
“That’s it,” I say aloud. I look around to see if anyone heard me but Rah’s practically snoring and Nigel’s in his tattoo vibe. From what I can tell Julian’s almost done; the art looks good.
I return my head to Rah’s shoulder and contemplate my revelation. I think Rousseau’s trying to join our bloodline anyway he can: First, through biting one of Mama’s godchildren and then again by unsuccessfully chasing me down and trying to take a bite out of my ass. After all these years he knows he can’t get to Mama directly and will go through anyone—or anything—to do it. So, what’s his master plan? I’ll focus on Rousseau and our family business and let Mama handle G’s trial. It’s time Rousseau got a taste of his own medicine. If he wants a bite out of us so bad I’ll make sure he gets all that he desires and more.
“Some people want nothing more than to be loved, and will go through all types of extremes to get it.”
-Mama
Drama High, volume 8: Keep It Movin’
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN: DESPERATE MEASURES
So far it’s been a peaceful Monday allowing me to get through most of my schoolwork uninterrupted. I even studied up on the shape shifter next door for about an hour before Rah called to remind me that I needed to braid his hair. According to the spirit book, Rousseau—in one form or another—was my great-grandfather’s favorite godson and chosen apprentice. When Jon Paul died, Rousseau attempted to bring him back to life, per Jon Paul’s instructions, but instead turned himself into a shape-shifter with one foot in and one foot out of the afterlife. I guess he wasn’t that great of a student.
The most important thing I learned was that Jon Paul’s unsettled spirit can move between the spirit and physical worlds when summoned by Rousseau. No wonder Esmeralda called on her former lover to come back into her life. With my great-grandfather’s powers from beyond the grave and his highly favored servant loyal to her, Esmeralda’s paving the way to become quite the formidable adversary. Esmeralda’s after our lineage and there’s no telling what she’ll do to get a drop of a Williams woman’s blood.
Nigel and Rah have already started the special Monday chill session. The loud studio speakers shake the entire house. With both Mickey and Sandy gone Rah’s glad to finally have the space back to himself and so are we. Weekends at Rah’s house used to be like heaven for my crew and me. It’s the relief we needed after dealing with Drama High all week long. Even though Rah attends a different school we all know every high school has its share of drama no matter the name on the front of the building.
“I don’t hustle and flow, man/I hustle my flow,” Nigel says through the mic in their homemade studio booth. The fact that they converted the garage into a full-fledged work and chill space is impressive. If push comes to shove Nigel and Rah can always open a home improvement business.
“If it isn’t the young queen herself,” Rah says from his desk, focused on the hundreds of dials in front of him. His studio equipment cost more than my mom’s car. “How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s okay,” I say, touching the sensitive ink. “I almost forgot it was there.”
I nod what’s up to Chase and Alia who are into the football game on the big screen.
“That’s how the addiction starts, sis,” Rah says, giving me a kiss me on the cheek. “Next thing you know you’ll be tatted up like us.”
I laugh at Rah and place my hair bag down on the floor next to the coffee table covered with various CDs, magazines and books. I think I’ll lie across the futon while I wait for Rah and Nigel to finish up their recording session.
“It’s a verb not a noun/Don’t let me see you try and clown/I’ll turn that smile upside down because we takin’ all fake ass niggas down.”
“Nigel sounds good,” I say. Rah nods in agreement.
“Slangin’ is my job/spittin’ is my talent/I know some of you weak ass punks can’t handle it/Got the looks, got the brains/Score on average five touchdowns in a game,” Nigel says vehemently into the booth microphone. He’s the only one inside the enclosed space no larger than a shower but it sounds like he’s performing in front of thousands of people he’s so passionate. I haven’t heard him rap like this in a minute.
“We takin’ these streets back like soldiers in Iraq/Street soldiers/I told ya/We’re street soldiers.”
“That’s a wrap,” Rah says, signaling Nigel to come out of the booth. How he knows one button from the next on his massive production system is beyond me.
“Y’all should see if you can get on Bryan’s show,” I say. Bryan would be impressed by their skills, too. “New artists battle once a month.”
“I’ve heard them cats on there before,” Rah says, removing his headphones. “We got them niggas all day, sun.”
I’m not a groupie but I agree. They can hold their own with the best of them.
“Word,” Nigel says, giving his boy props. “What up, girl?” Nigel walks over to where I’m relaxing and gives me a big hug.
“I need a smoke break,” Chase says, rising from the floor where he was comfortably seated between Alia’s knees. The game must not be going his way if he’s taking a breather.
“When are you going to give up those death sticks?” I ask. I don’t know what it is with people and cigarettes. If you know something is slowly poisoning you why continue doing it?
“When death comes and gets me.” Chase thinks that shit is funny but Mama says we should never tempt Iku, the orisha over death. He’s always on the hunt for people making transition from one life to the next whether they’re ready for it or not.
“Jayd, lighten up,” Alia says, taking a pack of Newports from her hemp purse and passing it to her man. I guess they’re in the same coffin.
“You too, Alia?” I can’t say that I’m completely shocked. Most of the kids at South Bay High are into some sort of drug use, legal or otherwise. “How are you going to be a vegetarian and smoke cigarettes at the same time?”
“We’re not old ladies, Jayd,” Alia says, taking a long, menthol cigarette out of the box. “Live a little.”
Nigel smiles at me and returns to listening to the track they just recorded. I love it when my boys are in their flow. It puts us all in a good mood.
“Jayd was born old,” Rah says, making himself comfortable on the floor in front of me. I guess he’s ready for me to get to work.
“Shut up, fool,” I say, smacking him in the back of his head. “I want to live a long life if I can help it, that’s all I’m saying.” My logic is falling on deaf ears. Out of my crew, Nellie and me are the only ones who don’t drink or smoke.
“Jayd, can you hook a brotha up after you finish Rah’s braids?” Chase asks, leading his girlfriend outside. Rah doesn’t allow tobacco smoke in his house. “I’ve been growing out my afro,” Chase says, running his fingers through his wavy brown hair.
Chase will go through any measure to put his newfound blackness on display, poor thing. His hair is getting long, but unlike Jeremy’s kinky locs via his Jewish heritage, Chase’s hair is curly at best. It’ll take a whole lot of maneuvering to get his braids to stay in tact.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, focusing on Rah’s full head of hair.
Rah passes me my hair bag—a stylist is nothing without her tools. Using my favorite red comb I part Rah’s thick hair already knowing he wants ten braids straight back. He’s fully relaxed and I’m into my flow. We’re all enjoying the melodic beats courtesy of Nigel.
After a while, Chase and Alia make their way back inside. “Nice bag,” I hear Alia say before stepping inside. Who’s she talking to?
“Hey,” Trish says, walking through the back door like she lives here. Really?
“What up, Trish?” Nigel says. She looks at me without so much as a blink.
Trust, the feeling’s mutual.
“What up, girl?” Rah says. He nods at his ex, looks up at me and shrugs his shoulders as if to say he doesn’t know what the pop-up visit’s for, either.
“I got your mail,” Trish says, handing the stack to Rah. She looks me in the eye and I dare her to say something smart about me braiding Rah’s hair. She’s not his girlfriend anymore, and even when she was her hating couldn’t stop me from making my paper, tricks be damned.
“It’s about time my applications got here,” Rah says, claiming three large envelopes from the stack of mostly bills with his mom’s name on it. Too bad Carla’s constantly absent from her children’s lives. Sandy probably sees her more than her own sons do since the two of them dance at the same club. Trifling doesn’t even begin to describe Rah’s mother. It’s a wonder he’s turned out as stable as he has.
“One of those had better be from UCLA,” Nigel says over the music.
Nigel’s parents can afford to send him anywhere he wants to go even if both his football talent and his good grades guarantee him a scholarship. It must be nice to already have your college career path on lock while the rest of us pray we get in somewhere.
Trish takes a seat at the desk making herself a little too comfortable for my taste. Doesn’t she have a bitch’s convention to attend with her best friend and Nigel’s ex, Tasha? Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one without the other.
“I didn’t know you were applying to Clark?” I say, observing the first envelope.
I know Rah’s thought about moving to Atlanta for a while. He’s got family out there and it’ll be a good change of atmosphere. We’re both too young to have as much responsibility as we do.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. You know I haven’t seen my brother and the rest of pop’s family since I was a kid,” tilting his head to left. There are only four more rows left to braid.
“I never knew you had other siblings,” Trish says, out of the loop as usual. Why is she still here?
“Yeah, I do,” Rah says, causing Trish’s expressionless face to slightly crinkle. “Anyway, I also want to be closer to the music industry out there. Besides, it’s about time Rahima got to know her grandfather, and the further we’re away from Sandy the better.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I say. I’ll miss my boy but he needs to do what’s best for his family.
“I know where I’m going,” Trish says even though no one asked about her life plans. “To Spelman because my mom’s an alumnus. It’ll be so cool going to college in the same area.”
Wait a minute. Trish is applying to Spelman? What the hell?
“Well isn’t that convenient,” I say, pulling Rah’s row into place tighter than necessary. It’s the last braid and I want to make sure he feels my pain.
“You should apply to the HBCU’s in Atlanta too Jayd. Georgia’s a big place.” Rah thinks he’s slick. He can sell that shit to Chase but I don’t want to leave California and he knows it. Mama would kill me for even thinking about leaving the LA area let alone moving down south.