The Coldest Winter Ever (7 page)

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Your mother is out of surgery. She’s still in intensive care but she’s gonna be alright. Montenegro and Farrara are at the hospital now looking after her.”

“Yeah right!” I mumbled. “The first people I’m sure she’ll want to see when she opens her eyes has to be the bodyguards.” I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, drive me over to the hospital. I want to see my mother.”

“Nah!” Midnight responded coolly. “Your father said you should relax. We’ll get the kids ready and all go shopping. They should like that. They can run around a little.”

“Santiaga called? You knew I wanted to talk to him. Why didn’t you call me to the phone?” I screamed.

“Take it easy, Winter.”

I don’t know how it happened, but just then I lost control. “Is it that you don’t hear me or am I speaking French, motherfucker? I want to see my mother. I want to talk to my father.”

I turned quick and grabbed the hotel phone so I could beep Santiaga. Midnight grabbed my wrist, causing me to drop the phone. I spun around wildly, asking, “What the fuck is up with you?” He didn’t answer. I pushed him. As I swung on him he used his strong body to restrain me. Stuck in his grip, I cursed him. “Get the car ready, nigga! I’m going to the hospital.” Instead of slapping the shit out of me, he hugged me even tighter. Feeling his warm body close against mine, my resistance stopped and I found myself crying into his shoulder. Over his shoulder, I saw two of my little sisters staring at us. “What’s up with you two?” the eight-year-old asked.

Midnight turned my body and face away from the girls and whispered in my ear. “It’s alright Shorty, I knew you would break down sooner or later. But, you gotta hold it together or your sisters’ gonna start bugging, too.”

When I saw my own tears fall onto my hands I got mad at myself for crying. It was not like me. But I liked the feeling of being up tight on Midnight. I liked the way he was holding me. I even liked the way he was treating me right at this moment. So I pushed it. I took a genuine
situation and was about to make it work for me, cry some more, get even closer for a little longer. But then three of my sisters tried to muscle their way into my act. One by one they started crying, too. Midnight released my body, looked around the room at the four weeping willows and got a look on his face that indicated he couldn’t stand the pressure. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “Alright, whoever showers and gets dressed first gets fifty dollars.” Their tears turned to excitement as they shot into the bathroom to box each other out for the dough. The money was like smelling salts; it revived everyone.

Midnight turned toward me, “Yo Shorty-tough, two more days, that’s it. Then you’ll be back home. Try to stay cool, you know?” I couldn’t answer. I was straight in love with this nigga. I was replaying my new nickname, “Shorty-tough.”

Trying to break the spell, Midnight waved a stack of cash back and forth in front of my eyes. “Yo, you must be an impostor. Where’s Winter? Nobody has to ask her twice to go shopping,” he said, flashing a rare smile.

I laughed, grabbed my jacket and said in a sexy way, “I’m ready.”

At the mall the war of wills kicked in. I had one side of the hanger with the miniskirt I wanted to purchase while Midnight’s tight grip held the other side. My sisters ran in and out of the aisles under the clothes racks, while me and Midnight argued. With one hand on my hip, I clenched my teeth and spit, “I’ve worn skirts like this before. It’s my choice. Don’t act like you never seen me rock a mini before.” How and why did Midnight think he could tell me what I can and cannot wear? Now I’m saying, maybe if he was giving me some dick, making me feel good and relaxed, I might have considered his ideas.

“You check this out, Shorty. I’m responsible for you right now. Whatever you did before is your business. For these two days you gonna wear something decent. Come on, put this shit back.” He grabbed my hand and led me out of the boutique while my sisters traveled close behind. His touching my hand shot a sensation between my legs and through my body. Now I wanted that miniskirt. I had others like it. But him grabbing me in the rough style made me want him even more. It seemed now that he cared, I was breaking through his ice-cold ways and it was worth temporarily losing control.

He led me upstairs into Bloomingdale’s. “Now wait here.” He
moved around the clothes racks with the rhythm of a leopard on a hunt. He held up an Eileen Fisher pantsuit. “Alright, this is banging. This is something I would pick for my sister to wear. Let’s go get some shoes,” he said.

Now the pantsuit was fly I’ll admit. The material was high quality and all that good shit. But Midnight’s comment had reduced me to the level of his sister.

“Is this something you would want Tasia to wear?”

“Who?”

“Tasia! Tasia! Your girl! ’Cause I don’t give a fuck what you would want your sister to wear. I want to know what you would want your girl Tasia to wear.”

“Tasia is not my girl,” he denied. I rolled my eyes.

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Fuck what you heard. You and them silly bitches you be with. They don’t know me. They just chickens, a bunch of chickens who ain’t got shit to do except run they mouths.”

I placed both hands on my hips. “So are you saying you weren’t fucking Tasia?”

“Is that what you want me to do to you?” he asked. “Fuck you then talk about it with some other hoe?” I weighed his words, thinking,
Is this like some type of trick question or something?
Yes, I did want him to fuck me. Hadn’t I made that clear? No, I didn’t want him to talk about me with some other hoe. I want him for myself. Was he calling me a hoe?

“Fuck it, wear what you want to wear,” he said, frustrated.

I got all the things he liked for me. We picked up some clothes for the kids. We ended up in F.A.O. Schwarz toy store. Midnight wanted to find me some games for the girls to play with to minimize their missing Mommy and Daddy, and most of all to stop them from asking too many questions. The more fun they had, he figured, the less questions they would ask. When we were finished, we had so much shit it looked like a late Christmas. We had so much fun we had forgotten about lunch and had worked up quite an appetite for dinner. It was clear to me that Midnight was in control for now. So I didn’t even ask where we were going to eat or try to give directions. I just sat back and waited for him to take us to the spot of his choice.

We went to the North American Lobster Company somewhere in Jersey City. I felt nothing but delight. The tables were big and round.
Each one had a beautiful candle centerpiece with sexual flicking flames. The male customers wore white shirts and ties, placing their business jackets carefully on the back of their chairs. The women quietly talked to their mates, their faces soft and expressive. One hundred percent class. There was no doubt that Midnight was as smooth as Santiaga. He was made just for me. He lifted Mercedes and Lexy into their chairs, pulled the chair out for Porsche.

“Do you have any kids, Midnight?” Silence. “Answer the question,” I insisted.

“You ever seen me with a kid?” he asked, now aggravated.

“That’s not the point. A lot of niggas got kids everywhere but you never see them.”

“Yeah well, I’m not a lot of niggas! If I had a kid everybody would know.”

I felt easy again. “How old are you, anyway?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“You starting to sound like the police.”

“Not hardly,” I said, smiling real sexy-like.

“I’m twenty-two.”

Without missing a beat and without being asked I responded, “I’m eighteen in three weeks.”

He looked at me serious like: “Lying sure comes easy to you. You don’t have to take a breath, blink, twitch, nothing. The lies just roll straight off your tongue.”

“How old do you think I am?” I asked Midnight.

Porsche jumped in, “She’s sixteen. She’ll be seventeen in January.” I pinched her leg under the table.

Back in the hotel room, we played Go Fish, Pitty-pat, I Declare War, Old Maid, Candy Land, Trouble, and Sorry before the three little ones passed out. Everything was less tense than yesterday evening and for me this meant an opportunity. Before I could organize my approach, however, Midnight grabbed the remote and clicked on CNN News. I got up and stood in front of the television. He had entertained the kids, it was time for him to entertain me. He got an instant look of disgust on his face.

“Why don’t you do something with yourself,” asked Midnight, annoyed.

I glanced up toward the mirror to check my appearance. I looked good to me. So I asked, “Something like what?”

“I don’t know. What do you do? What are you into?” My mind drew a blank. “So what’s up Shorty, what’s the answer?”

I smiled, liking the fact that he was playing with me.

“The answer to what?” I asked. He shook his head, as though I was frustrating him or something. “What? Is there something you want to hear, something I’m supposed to say? What?”

“I asked you a question. What are you into? What do you like to do?” My mind started clicking.

“I like to enjoy myself,” I said with much attitude. “What do you know about that Midnight? I like to feel good, relax, get high, fuck, dance, shake my ass, shop. I like to be turned on and I love to turn another motherfucker on.”

“What do you read?” he asked. “What’s the name of the last book you read?”

“I like movies, I like chillin’ with my girls. Matter of fact, if I wasn’t stuck here with you I’d have plenty of good shit to get into.”

“What you gonna be when you grow up, Winter?”

“Whatever. Maybe I’ll get a job like yours,” I said, cutting back at him and letting him know me and him are the same kind of people.

“I got plans,” he said, going back into himself. Midnight went over to his leather bag, unzipped it, and said, “Here, pick out a book or tape. Do something with yourself. Just stay out of my way.”

The Art of War, The Wretched of the Earth, The Judas Factor
were a few of the books Midnight had in his case. They didn’t look interesting to me and I wasn’t gonna read some shit I didn’t like just to get his attention. I went for the tapes. He had Sade, Al B. Sure, Stephanie Mills, En Vogue, and Blackstreet. Mainly the old cool-out shit. I snatched up his Walkman. The wire for the headphones was twisted in between Midnight’s wallet flap. When I pulled the Walkman wire, the wallet flipped opened. With my back to him, I went through his stuff. He had a picture of a dark-skinned older woman. She looked about thirty-something. She had dark eyes and was wearing a scarf. The next window was a picture of a girl. She seemed about fourteen years old, with a cute little face and big innocent eyes. I figured it must be his sister. She seemed way too young to be his girlfriend. She was dark just like him. Also inside the wallet was a piece of paper folded twice over. It was old and worn. I opened it carefully trying not to make noise. It was a flyer advertising a Sister Souljah speaking event. Covering most of the
page was a picture of her. The voice from the radio and the face on the picture didn’t match. I had pictured her to look like a man, rough hands and veins popping out of her neck. In the picture she looked normal, young, with a decent face. She looked like a regular uptown Harlem girl. You know in the picture she had her mouth wide open. On the bottom of the page was an event address: Brooklyn Friendship Baptist Church, on Herkimer Street. I quickly folded it up and slid it back into the wallet. I laid the wallet back into his overnight bag and went back to my room, closing the connecting door. Taking one of the pillows from the bed, I set up the corner chair for myself once again. I turned on an old Al B. Sure jam and drifted out to: “All I do is think about you night and day.” I can’t say that I remember my entire dream that night. But I do remember a vision of me and Midnight’s children. There were three of them. The oldest was a nappy-headed, rugged-looking boy, my son. Rough the way I like ’em. The girls had good hair like me, they were the color of hot caramel with diamond earrings. All of them were styling in complementary colors, Pelle Pelle jumpers with some kicks so fly they ain’t even been invented yet!

When I pushed the door open the next morning, Midnight was stretched out on the floor doing push-ups in his undershirt and under shorts. He was breathing and sweating. My eyes raced across his body.

“I’ll drive you home at about ten tonight,” he said. Inhale exhale. “Everything’s straight. Santiaga will be there. We just need to find something to do with the girls today. You know, to keep their attention.”

At the count of one hundred and fifty, he dropped and rolled over on his back. He curled up his fist in his undershirt, exposing the solid six pack in his stomach.

“What you think we can get the shorties into today?” he asked. I didn’t respond. “Winter, what up? You in there.” I smiled. He looked into my eyes and smiled. “You always looking for trouble, some shit you can’t handle.”

Midnight delivered us home at 10 P.M. sharp. My handsome father was standing in the doorway waiting. His white linen suit gleamed in the light from the moon. His big hands rested in his pockets. He embraced Midnight as if he was family. He held my younger sisters in his arms one by one and gave me the warmest, securest hug back into my safe home. The house was extra clean. The music, an old
Earth, Wind and Fire album, played softly in the background. Santiaga took Midnight into the den. Midnight came out a short while later, offering a general good night without so much as a glance in my direction. Santiaga sent my sisters off to bed with the idea that Mommy was away, as if on a trip, and would be home next weekend with candy and presents for everyone.

Daddy followed me to my bedroom. I knew to be quiet. Santiaga looked more peaceful than he did on the day of the shooting incident. I switched on the lamp on my vanity table, and the added light revealed a strange scar on the right side of my father’s head. There was a maroon-colored dent hidden close to the right side of his hairline. The scar just made him more masculine than ever, just tough, sexy, unstoppable.

“Alright Daddy, just fill me in. Whatever you need me to do. I’m down for you. You just let me know the plan!” He smiled. “How’s Mommy?” I asked.