The Glamorous Life 2 (12 page)

Once outside the courtroom, Mabel collected her other two fifty and announced that she was late for bingo and hoped they had bus fare home.

Calliope watched as Jean shook Compton’s attorney’s hand. She waited for Jean to finish up with the attorney before she approached Jean.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. His cologne was something special to smell. The aroma screamed rich.

“Listen, thank you for the attorney and all that but at the same time, I don’t want Compton caught up in your,” she said in a whisper, “drug enterprise.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Cut the bullshit with me.”

“Can I take you to dinner so we can talk it over?”

“Nothing to talk about,” she shot back at him, then realized that she should probably humble herself a little because Jean had been a lifesaver—hers at that. “Listen, I thank you for helping my brother rescue me, and for you having Juanita the nurse take care of me. I’m so grateful to you, and this attorney, he was really a class act. But I need you to understand that my brother is all I have. And he has his whole life in front of him and I don’t want him caught up in the system and throwing his life away.”

“I understand and agree totally.”

“Then why then?” she asked.

“I promise you I feel the same way about my little brother, but the two of them once they put their heads together and decide to do something, it’s nothing nobody can do to stop them. You know that.”

She knew what he was saying was true about Moo-Moo and Compton. She only nodded in agreement.

“So, all I do is try to accommodate what they are going to do and make sure they are not in harm’s way. Now what I’m thinking what we can do is stay in touch, compare notes, and this way we are not sideswiped when it comes to those two.”

“You are so right.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to call you and swing by on a regular. Is that okay?” Jean asked.

“Fine by me.”

For the hours it took for them to process the necessary paperwork for Compton’s release, Jean kept her company. The two went for lunch and then came back, and the procedure turned into an all-day process, but getting acquainted with her new friend made time fly. Before they knew it, Compton was finally home and settled. Though Jean had left Compton with some cash, Compton still had a long look on his face. “What’s wrong Comp?”

“Just wondering what we going to do for money, now that I’m on this house arrest bullshit.”

“Don’t worry about that. I will come up with something. Don’t I always?”

14

Calliope opened up the
mailbox and saw the letter from the Florida Board of Education. She couldn’t help but to rip it open, and there it was: she was in possession of her GED. She was overjoyed and couldn’t wait to tell Jean. Before she was back in the door good, she had grabbed her phone to call Jean to tell him of the good news. He was happy and said four words, “This calls for celebration.”

Jean and her had been together over nine months now. In the beginning, he tried to convince her to stop dancing and he would take care of her, but she would hear nothing of it.

Then he came up with a better plan: if she took GED classes, he’d give her an allowance so that she wouldn’t have to be up all night working and could focus on school. So this was just as much of his accomplishment as it was hers.

For the first time in her life, things were going great. Compton was attending a good school, making Bs and excelling to the top of his class. He was voted best dressed. Though Compton hated the fact that she was seeing Jean, he couldn’t mind too much since he wasn’t any of those dirty old men that Rusty had her scamming, and at least Jean kept her off the pole.

The relationship between Calliope and Jean was growing and the two were inseparable. Shortly after court, Mabel had a stroke and Calliope stepped up to the plate to take care of her. She was appreciative to Calliope and realized that Calliope was the only family that she had. She couldn’t believe that things were finally looking up.

Jean had come over to take Calliope and Compton to dinner to celebrate. He was proud and very happy for her but she could tell that it was something heavy on his mind. After they got back from dinner, she asked him, “Is everything all right, baby?”

He didn’t give her a straight answer. Instead he asked, “So, do you love me?”

“Yes,” she quickly said not even having to think. “You know I do. Why would you ask me such a stupid question anyway?”

He ignored her question and then asked her another question. “How much?”

“A whole lot.” Her eyes confirmed as they lit up.

He wanted to believe her, but he simply said, “Okay, we will see.”

“And just how do you plan to measure my love?” she asked, interested to know the details of his measuring cup.

“Time, baby … only time will tell.”

“Okay,” she said, wanting to go into depth but not rustle his feathers. She knew him well, and was sure that he was going somewhere with his line of questioning. Where? She didn’t know but knew he’d reveal it soon. She reminded him, “Whenever you are ready to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

“Look, real talk, baby girl, been wanting to talk to you about something for a few days now but didn’t know how to, but I’m going to just put my cards on the table.”

She was puzzled when she observed the look of seriousness on his face. “Baby, what is it?” she asked as sympathetic as she could.

He was quiet for a few minutes and then she fell into his arms. “Baby, talk to me, you know whatever is on your mind is safe with me.”

He searched her face and all he saw was sincerity. He shook his head. Calliope grabbed his hand. “Talk to me, baby,” she insisted.

“Man, you know how when shit is going good, shit just be too good.”

“I know that feeling, I’m feeling it now, finally after all the stuff I have been through. But we solid, right?” she asked.

“Depends,” he said.

“On?” she asked, wanting him to just let it all out what exactly “depends” meant.

“On how you deal with it. Only you will be able to keep us on solid ground.”

“Stop talking in circles and share what’s on your mind. Just kick it, for real.”

“It’s like this: I got to go turn myself in and do nine months on this assault charge.”

“When?” she asked.

“In two days.”

She was quiet for a few minutes. “Okay. Can’t you call me?”

“I can call.”

“And I can come and visit, right?”

“I get visits. But I don’t want to get my hopes up high of you saying you going to come, and I go get a haircut, up ready for my visit with you and you don’t show up, having me look crazy and all that shit. I ain’t on that kind of bullshit.” She tried to cut him off.

“I would never—”

But he continued with his tangent.

“Seen it too many times. That’s what chicks say in the beginning. They would be there and then things change gradually.”

She became offended and felt that she needed not only to put him in place but also take up for herself. “Look, it’s like this. I ain’t never had much of shit, but through all the things I went through, I always reminded myself that those things didn’t affect who I was and one day I’d be the shit. And I’ve always believed that if my word ain’t shit then I ain’t shit. And me not being the shit in any aspect of the word, isn’t happening.” She locked eyes with him. “So I said, I’d ride these nine months with you and that’s what I plan to do.”

He gazed in her eyes and saw nothing but love, concern, and sincerity. She wasn’t sure if it was the intense way he looked at her or the realness of the conversation that made her want to cry. The fact of the matter was her friend, her confidant, her boo, the guy who owned her heart and the man she had lost her virginity to was going to be physically removed from her for the next nine months. She tried like hell to hold back her tears to be strong for him, and he could see the water in her eyes and that’s when he was convinced and took her in his arms.

When he did, she whispered, “I will be there for you faithfully, while you do them nine months.… I promise.”

15

Calliope definitely didn’t make
any promises just to break them. She held up her end of the bargain. She went to visit every single visiting day, wrote letters and sent cards practically every day. When he called she was always available for his phone calls. It did help that he had left her ten grand to take care of her and Compton, and his boy Jacques was supposed to bring her money weekly, which in the beginning he did and after a month or so after her ten grand ran out, Jacques changed his number.

“What the hell you mean, this motherfucker avoiding you?” Jean asked from the other side of the glass in the visitation room.

“My friend Casha told me that Jacques was in Lil Haiti and I went down there to see him.”

“Okay … and. He came off that paper right?”

“Not hardly, baby. The minute he saw my car bend the corner was the minute that he disappeared around the next corner.”

“Two minutes, until visits over,” the guard running visitation said.

“Here write these numbers down, and call these folks. They owe me money too,” he said to her before saying their good-byes. “Call you later on tonight, baby.”

When she got in the car, she began to start making the calls and the clowns started giving her the runaround, talking about how they were going to call her back. As she put her car in reverse, she caught a glance of herself in the rearview mirror, and then she got a call, a wake-up call from herself, with a strong message.

Listen … what the fuck you doing?
she asked herself, then told herself,
You must be out your rabbit-ass mind acting just like Shelly. You around here depending on a nigga … to figure out shit for you, to make sure you and Compton got y’all next meal. Bitch, is you crazy? You don’t chase nobody for no nigga’s money—or wait for no nigga to break you off when he sees fit. You get own money—always have and always will. Now make yo money! That’s who you are, and that’s what you do.

Though she faithfully kept the visits coming and letters pouring in, she did what she did … kept her word to her man and got
her
money!

16

The Double Life

The cocaine-white drop-
top Mercedes cruised up and stopped smack dead in front of the club at 10:15
P.M.
The real action didn’t take off until well after midnight but Cinnamon always liked showing up early, to get a feel for the crowd and to observe exactly where the money was.

From the passenger seat, she grabbed her Chanel purse and Gucci overnight bag, then slid out of her whip. “Take care of my baby.” She flashed a smile to Tony, the head valet attendant and the guy who always opened the door and helped her out of the car. She gave him a big smile along with a twenty.

“Thanks, Cinnamon.” Tony winked. “American Airlines ain’t got nuttin’ on yo fly ass. You do know I’m single, right?” He was always flirting, hoping one day that she’d take him up on his offer.

“You’ve only told me about a thousand times,” she said. “Don’t forget to put the top up for me, baby.” She loved riding at night with the roof back. It was just something about the wind whipping through her long Brazilian weave that cleared her mind and made her feel free.

“You got it, Your Flyness.”

The entire club’s movement of making money was achieved by the same principles of a Super Bowl–winning football team working as one. The valet’s responsibility began with getting the customers inside quickly, so that the offense could go to work relieving them of their do-re-mi.

“What’s up, Cinnamon?” The bouncer annoyed a few that were waiting in line when he allowed her to skip the line and rushed her in.

Inside, compared to a lot of the bigger-named spots, didn’t meet expectations, décor wise.

She often thought about how deceiving this place could be—glamorous on the outside, but a hole-in-the-wall inside. That didn’t stop either the patrons from coming or the workers from making that paper by the boatload, though.

Booty shaking was always in the full effect, almost around the clock, twenty-three hours out of the day.

Half-dressed, buck-naked daughters and baby mamas—most sporting at least one variation of pierced pussies, inflamed-asses from bootleg butt shots, or huge breast implants—strutted their stuff throughout the club. The circled stage, with three tall poles where at least two or three chicks performed at all times, danced for tips. The bartenders, all women, all hot, made great drinks and better tips, and were usually either retired dancers or girls who auditioned to strip and didn’t make the cut.

By 1:30 the VIP room was turned all the way up. As for broads the ballers were checking for to make it rain on them, Cinnamon had that part on lock. She was hands down the most popular dancer there. In her zone, she took the art of pussy popping to another level. Sexy. Limber. And in complete control of all her body parts. Dancing came natural to her and seducing anybody male or female with her eyes was second nature to her.

Other chicks (dancers and civilians alike) shot nasty, envious glares at her but that never intimidated her. Hating don’t make dollars or sense, she thought with a winning smirk, watching weak-willed men show their appreciation for her talents with mountains of one-dollar, twenty-dollar, fifty-dollar, and hundred-dollar bills. There was no denying money floated like confetti when she took the main stage and not to mention when she made an entrance to the VIP room.

A light layer of perspiration coated her well-toned body from the intensity of her dancing and demonstration of her contortionist abilities. Time for a costume change, she thought as she was about to make her way to the dressing room.

That’s when she seen him. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She had only taken her daily shot to the head to jump-start her night off and a twelve-hour energy drink, so she wasn’t drunk. Had she caught some kind of contact from all the weed smoke that filled the air and her mind was playing tricks on her?