The Royal Family (98 page)

Hey, I’m
speakin’
to you, Dom, you skanky white bitch. I said, what the fuck you on?

One time on lithium I got so shitfaced, Domino continued rapidly, glaring at the tall
man out of the corner of her eye, and you know I was around all you fucked up people doing what you fucked up people normally do, so I should have been sad. But I couldn’t get this shiteating grin off my face. I kept saying, hey, I’m sorry, I know I should be sad but I’m happier than shit.

So what’s the plan, now, Justin? Tyler interrupted.

Whatever it takes.

Where do you want me to drop you?

Where the fuck you think?

Strawberry, Domino, you want to work or you want to hang with the Queen?

Strawberry cleared her throat and said: I, uh—

Stay the
fuck
out of my business! the tall man screamed, rubbing his leg.

I get it, Tyler said sarcastically.

The tall man continued not to look at him, and Tyler, suddenly furious, concluded that it must be true what Domino was always sneering into his ear—namely, that the tall man had no love for him whatsoever and therefore used him and mocked him as the cruelest of johns mock their whores. Months ago, Tyler had thought he knew how to deal with him. The Queen was
a very big bitch,
the tall man used to self-importantly whisper. This was the only sort of lying in which Tyler had ever caught him, this weak struggling to be glamorous. He could have told Tyler that he was a bigshot himself, or even that he was friends with bigshots, but he didn’t set his sights so high. His boss, the Queen, whom he loved and perhaps feared, was glorious enough. But he had never really gotten along with any members of the royal family except for Strawberry, off and on, and of course Maj herself who was now so frequently to be seen walking down the street with her arm tightly about Tyler’s waist and his arm around her shoulder with his fingers gripping her upper arm and her dark face turned toward him as he clung to her, watching the street with his right hand in the pocket of his jacket. To the tall man, Tyler looked shy, maybe even ashamed. He seemed to be gazing away from her.

Tyler said: Justin, I have a question.

What?

Why is it that when I try to be polite and respect you and do you favors like picking you up at the goddamned hospital and ask about how you’re feeling and what your plans are, you don’t even say what’s up? Are you that selfish? Are you that far gone?

He’s
sick,
Henry! whispered Strawberry nervously. By the way, I found this tape player in the women’s bathroom. I’m gonna give it to the Queen . . .

Ignoring her, the tall man leaned forward and said in tones both earnest and bland, and maybe contemptuous also: You think you can see the agony of the black man?

What are you talking about?

How come you never invite me over? You been in all the Queen’s tunnels and you never took me anywhere.

Well, I didn’t know that you—

You got a place?

Sure, Justin. Sure I do.

Probably some million dollar white man place.

Oh, give me a break, said Tyler narrowing his eyes.

A concrete-hued fog protected the Tenderloin from unnecessary light, like some grey rock beneath which bugs and worms could safely crawl, to say nothing of the Tenderloin’s wheelchair kings who rolled beneath those elegant old white skyscrapers, yes,
white against a silver-white sky, and the chin-up street kings who stalked the filthy sidewalks, watching the men in crutches approach to do them reverence, and meanwhile the cars snored in between it all, ignored by everyone unless their windows were down for business. The silhouette of a garage mechanic in coveralls bent over a truck hood on Olive Street, and a black girl in a white wool cap and a white quilted jacket approached him. Then they were gone, and so was the rain forest mural on the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell Theater. If Tyler didn’t put on the brake soon, they’d be all the way to Frenchy’s adult bookstore.

I said, you think you can see the agony of the black man? Hell, no. Not even you. I like you, Henry. You my friend. You don’t talk down to me. But you can’t never understand—

Don’t I bear the Mark of Cain, too? asked Tyler, staring into the tall man’s face and narrowing his eyes. Don’t you think that I—

Strawberry cleared her throat and said: I, um, I heard they’re gonna put up a big red fence at the end of Haight Street so that the homeless people can’t sleep there in the park no more. Don’t you think that’s fucked? I mean, I really really—

Cut that Mark of Cain shit, the tall man told Tyler. We
all
disgraced on this world. I don’t even care about that no more. But you ain’t never been treated like I been treated. You ain’t never felt the agony that every black man feels.

What’s that supposed to mean? said Tyler. How can you know what the
agony of the black man
is? Are you that cocksure a sonofabitch, that you can speak for all black men? What can
you
see?

I can see this, motherfucker. I can see the burning buildings and the crack-addicted babies and—

Who burned the buildings down? Who addicted those babies? Was it me? Was it my mother? If some tart like Chocolate gives birth to seven babies and they’re all addicted, why is that my fault? Why’s that the agony of the black man? Why isn’t it your fault or Chocolate’s fault?

You disrespectin’ me, Henry? I
know
you disrespectin’ Choc, an’ she’s a sister. If you wasn’t dickin’ the Queen right now, you just might be dead.

All right, fine. Let’s forget it.

You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve to talk
shit
to me.

Come on, Justin, whispered Strawberry, he’s your friend . . .

Shut the
fuck
up, bitch! he screamed, and punched her in the face. Domino, who was sitting in the front seat, looked away. Tyler bit his lip and wiped tears out of his narrowed little eyes.

I’m happier than
shit,
Domino mumbled.

I’m glad you’re happy, said the Queen, who was squat, dark and perfect like some tarnished bronze crocodile figurine from ancient Nubia. Now you can go back to your partyin’ . . . An’ if you want anything—

I want Sapphire’s little
booty!
the blonde screeched.

Ah, said the Queen.

Above Seventh by the V.D. clinic there were two jet trails, and the sunglare was so white upon the gilded diamonds of the church dome.

Sir, you’re too close to the counter, said the woman. Please step back behind the yellow line.

The tall man pushed his wool cap up and silently obeyed her. He felt afraid.

Sir, we can’t track you with the name you gave us, the woman went on. You have to give us your real name. We’re completely confidential. No one can release any information without your approval . . . —and she slid a clipboard toward him with a worksheet on it, requesting date of birth, full name, and suchlike personal matters. She nodded at him to pick it up.

He took his waiting slip in his hand—letter
U
, it was—and laid it gently down beside the clipboard.

OK, thank you very much, he said. His leg ached.

You mean you don’t want your test results?

That’s right.

OK, fine, she said with a shrug.

Maj, I want to talk you, the tall man said. His sunglasses were as big and dark as a skull’s eyesockets.

About what?

About this problem that I have.

Shoot, said the Queen.

In private.

You gals go over there behind those cars. An’ Domino, you take Sapphire. Chocolate, you too. Don’t lemme catch you listenin’. That’s a good gal. You all go an’ have a good time, smoke yourselves out . . . Allrightie now, Justin, what is it? You know I can’t fault you for sayin’ whatever it is you gotta say. You was never a liar nor a coward. An’ remind me to get Sapphire some shoes. You doin’ okay?

No.

I figured. You wanna quit me?

I don’t know.

Same old
same
old! she laughed bitterly. Sometimes I feel like it almost be
scandalous,
you know, me out here for everybody an’ no support. An’ without me an’ my rep
*
you’d all be—

We’d all be
what?
said the tall man.

Smiling grimly, the Queen fell silent, and they stood gazing across the corner at Strawberry and Chocolate in front of the Cinnabar, Chocolate in white shorts with her dreadlocks rich and shiny as she stood crossing and uncrossing her long brown legs at the passing cars while Strawberry sipped at a sodacan; then before the Queen knew it her
two girls were chuckling and dancing round each other whispering and hugging and then a small packet changed hands.

They say that the ten percent we gotta give you, you don’t give it all back. They say you featherin’ your own nest, Maj.

So it’s about bread. That what it’s about for you, Justin?

They say you took that bread.

Myself, huh? All by myself?

But just then Beatrice came running from Larkin Street, on her face a radiant look, and she did not know that the Queen and the tall man were having a private conversation and she was too happy to comprehend the other women’s warning cries because the old man who’d been with her had adored her and given her three hundred dollars all good cash money without any retribution at the end so that Beatrice felt at long last proven
sweet as a pastry, hot as a candle, bright as the sun!
just as the death’s-head the master of ceremonies had cried out in Merida so long ago, in words which Beatrice had snipped down to fit her shyly uncovered self so that she could dance in the air forever without anyone’s sufferance or legal permission and she was so filled and swollen with love that her joyousness outswelled the edemas in her abscessed varicosed legs and she could soaringly strut like all the Mayan girls who by virtue of the three stripes of floral embroidery on their long white dresses (which is to say, their Marks of Anti-Cain) had long since become angels. The Queen smiled and made a kissing face. Beatrice flew into her arms. Absently stroking the other woman’s long, greying hair, the Queen said to Justin: So. You want to quit? Or you want to bring me down?

Justin swallowed, scanning the streets for vigs and rival beaver-traders. —I’ve heard it said, he finally told her, that you—

That I what?

That you’re in this thing with the cops.

And what have you heard it said that I do with cops, Justin? Flatback ’em?

This bread you take from us . . .

So I pay protection money. Of course I do. You want me not to do that?

I heard a lot about that, said Beatrice. But you’re doing a favor for us, you know. If that money exists, who pay you for that? Nobody does. I doan care for the money. Nobody paid our Mama the Queen to do a favor for us.

The tall man smiled slightly, embarrassed.

Who says all this, Justin?

He would not answer.

So it’s Domino as usual, said the Queen. She needs a man to give her guidance. She needs to get off the streets. That Domino’s always in trouble. She’s so blonde and beautiful the men always be hittin’ on her, tryin’ to bridle her down with some pimp. And she won’t do it, ’cause she has me and we have each other, so she don’t need no pimp. An’ you believe her?

Timidly Beatrice took hold of the tall man’s sleeve and even though his eyes were as angry and orange-red as the neon glare of the Queen’s Bar down on Harrison Street he did not dare to throw her off because the Queen was watching and she said to him: Please, Justin, you know in Tijuana there used to be a policewoman who used to hurt us by the hair, used to pinch us. If we want to get out of the jail, we have to pay twenny, twenny-five dollars. And if they get you out, if you come back to her street to do your business, if you doan have no more money, you go back to the jail. And even in this
America it is not always all right, But we must say thanks to God for our Queen, for helping us with the police and with those others, those bad street men who used to rape us and hurt us. Now even the main street is correct now. The police they doan hurt us any more.

Take my cigarette, darling, said the Queen. And go give some money to your sisters. Maybe you can buy Sapphire some shoes. Bea, you’re my special angel now.

When they were alone again the Queen took the tall man’s hand and said to him: You’re not greedy. You got heart. I know that. Now what’s this thing really about? Is it about what I did to Domino?

Hell, no, you got the right to do more to that bitch than make her come—

Then what is it?

Shit.
What am I doin’ this for?

It’s up to you, said the Queen flatly. You don’t have to do nothin’.

Maj, I want us,
together,
to keep on comin’ up. An’ you keep sayin’ we gonna go down. When they gonna get us?
Why
they gonna get us? I wanna drag ’em under Henry’s car, take that gun of his an’ blow they heads right off they necks. And you—