Assata: An Autobiography (16 page)

At times some real freaks and weirdos hung out there. There was one guy who had bought the panties of almost every woman who worked at Tony's, paying them each $15. I asked him what he did with them. He laughed and told me he hung them on the walls of his apartment. When i told one of the other girls, she laughed.

"Girl, you believe that? That guy takes them home and holds them over his nose. He's a sniff freak."

But any woman at Tony's had to be careful. Some of the men who came around were real dangerous. On nights when things were slow and there were no customers in the place, the women would tell horror stories about all the crazy men they had run into.

I was big for my age and well built and, with all the makeup i wore, i could usually pass for eighteen. I told everybody i was nineteen. The white people never questioned my age, but the Black people would, sooner or later, realize i was younger than i let on. Some of them even guessed i had run away and would take me to the side and encourage me to go home. After a while, all the women who worked at the place teased me about not having a boyfriend.

"This girl don't like men and she don't like women. Here's a girl that let's her fingers do the walking!"

When they teased me i wanted to crawl into a crack somewhere and hide. The more embarrassed i became, the more they laughed. A new bass player came to work for the band and i developed an instant crush on him. I was convinced i was in love. In a short time, everybody knew about my crush. But the bass player paid me no mind at all. I did everything i could think of to attract his attention, but he just ignored me. Near closing time, his white girlfriend would come and they would leave together. I hated her. She looked so smug. One weekday night, it was pouring rain outside and the place was empty. The bass player said to me, "I'm writing a song for you. You want to hear it?" I could have fainted. I was grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes, i'd like to hear it."

Da da da ta ta da da de de.
Da da da ta ta da da de de deJailbait! Da da da ta ta da da de de,
Da da da ta ta da da de de de Jailbait!"

The rest of the group chimed in, "Jailbait, jailbait," and the whole place cracked up. I could have died right then and there. That was the end of my crush. When i thought about it later, though, it was funny.

A lot of the Black men that i met in the Village were hung up on white women. Some of them would come right out and tell you, "Man, i can't dig no spade chick. Gimme an ofay every day." When i asked them why, they said white women are sweeter, Black women are evil; white women are more understanding, Black women are more demanding. One of the things that really infuriated me was when they called Black women sapphire. "You know how you nigga women are, sapphire, evil." A lot of these guys would have trampled over my face just to get to a white woman.

At times, i really got sick of being around so many grown people. I'd either sneak back into my oId neighborhood or hang out with Pat and Ronnie. One night they were going to a party uptown. I was dying to be with kids my own age, so i told Chuck i was taking the night off. When we got to the party, it was dull and tired, so Pat and Ronnie went off to find some reefer. They loved the stuff, but i was scared of it. I waited and waited for them to get back. I started to talk to a boy, who seemed really nice, about how dull the party was. He said he knew of a boss party that was going to be happening later. I waited for Pat and Ronnie to come back, but they never did.

"Why don't you come to the party with me?" the boy asked. "It's at my house and I'm sure you'll have a good time."

Finally i said i would go. He seemed so nice. He lived in some projects near Spanish Harlem. When we got to his house, no one was there. I started to leave, but he said his friends were all at a ball game and they would be there afterward. In a little while, the doorbell rang and, sure enough, all these people came in. After a minute i noticed they were all boys.

"Excuse me," the boy said. Then they all went into another room for a minute. When they returned they were whispering and talking under their breaths and i could tell that they were up to something.

"Where are the girls?" i asked. "Oh, they're coming." One came and sat next to me. He put his hand on my leg. I moved it away.

"Come on, baby, why you wanna act like that?"

"Come here, man," one of them said. I could sense that something was wrong. I didn't know what they were up to, but i knew they were up to something. I picked up my pocketbook and my sweater.

"I'll have to be going.”

"No, baby, you ain't goin' nowhere.”

"I've got to go." I started walking toward the door. One of them grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the door.

"Sit your ass down, bitch. We've got plans for you.”

I knew it now. They were going to rape me. I had heard people talking about "trains," but i had never thought it would happen to me. I sat still for a minute. Then i made a wild break for the door. They tried to grab me and i fought like hell. The fight didn't last too long, though, because in a minute they had me held down on the floor. They were pulling up my skirt and taking my blouse off. I cried and screamed.

"Shut up, bitch," one of them said, slapping my face. I begged them for mercy. I told them i was a virgin.

"There's always a first time, baby," someone sneered. I begged and pleaded. I cried and cried. I couldn't believe they could be so heartless. But they were. The boy who brought me there was arguing with another boy about who would be first. I couldn't believe it. It was a nightmare. They were arguing and carrying on as if i wasn't even human, as if i was some kind of thing. I felt so scared and betrayed. I had trusted this boy. The argument between them was heated. I hoped they would fight and kill each other. I kept begging for mercy, pleading with them. They paid me no attention. One of them came over to me as if he felt sorry for me.

"Don't worry, baby, it won't hurt. You'll see. You'll like it."

"Okay," i heard the boy who had brought me there say, "you can go first, man," and the other boy started toward me. I jumped up and tried to run, but i was cornered. One tried to grab me and, in the process, he knocked over an ashtray.

"Be careful, man," said the boy whose house it was. "My mother will kill me if the house gets messed up."

That was my cue. I picked up a vase and threw it at the wall. I picked up a lamp and something else, crying and screaming at the same time.

"You might get me, but i'm gonna mess up your mother's house before you do."

The boy who was supposed to go first made a leap for me and missed. I kicked over the table and knocked over a plant that was on the stand.

"Get back! Get back!" i screamed.

The boy whose house it was grabbed the boy who was sup posed to go first.

"Come on, man, my mother will kill me."

"Get back! Get back!" i screamed. "I'm gonna throw this lamp straight into that mirror." There was a big mirror hanging behind the couch. "Get them out of here. Get them out of here or i'll fuck this house up." I was shaking and crying, but i was serious as hell. I was gonna mess that boy's house up so bad no one would recognize it. "Get them out of here," i said, kicking the table over.

"Come on," the boy said. "Y'all got to get out of here. My mother's gonna have a fit."

"You crazy bitch," one of them said to me. "Come on, let's jump on her, man, she can't do that much damage."

"It's the man's house," one of the others said. "Come on, let's go."

"Get 'em out of here," i screeched at the top of my lungs.

"That's okay," one of them said. "We'll wait for you outside, baby."

Slowly, in what seemed forever, they left. Only the boy who had brought me remained. I could see that he was trying to figure out some way to jump me.

"Don't come near me. You better stay back." I didn't know what i was gonna do next. They were all waiting for me outside. I couldn't call the police because the police were looking for me.

"Get back," i told the boy who looked like he was trying to ease up close to me. "All right, get away from the door." I still had the lamp and something else in my hands. "Get back there," i told him, indicating the back of the apartment, "or i'll smash your house up." When he moved back i looked through the peephole. There was nobody in the hallway. "They must be waiting down stairs," i thought. "All right," i yelled, "get over by the door." He moved to the door. "Now get out in the hallway and knock on one of your neighbor's doors and bring a grownup back here."

"What? “

"You heard me, sucker. Now move.”

"It wasn't my idea. I didn't want to do it. I had to.”

"I don't want to hear that shit. Just get your ass out in that hall or i'll mess up your house so bad your mother won't even think it's her house."

"Please," the boy said.

"Please, my ass," i screamed. "If you don't get out there and knock on one of those doors, you can forget about your mother's house."

He went outside into the hallway. I slammed the door after him and watched through the peephole as he knocked on a door. A lady answered, and i opened the door and started begging her to help me.

"Please, miss, help me. They're trying to get me," i screamed, crying all over again. I still had the lamp in my hand. "Please walk me downstairs to the subway or to a cab."

"What happened, honey?" she asked.

"They tried to do it to me," i cried.

The woman looked at me and then at the boy. "You wait there for a minute, honey," she said. Then she and her husband came out. "Don't worry, nothin's going to happen to you now." They brought me downstairs and put me into a cab.

I thought a lot about those boys after that night. I hated them, but what i couldn't understand is why they hated me so much. Everybody was always saying what a dog-eat-dog world it was. There were all kinds of people in the world and most of them seemed unhappy. Everybody seemed to be in their own bag and few seemed to care about anybody else. I had read this play by Sartre. The play ended with the conclusion that hell is other people, and, for a while, i agreed.

Back then, when i was growing up, boys gang-banging or gang-raping a girl was a pretty common thing. They called it pulling a train. It didn't happen to any particular kind of girl. It happened to girls who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. The boys talked about it like it was a joke or a game, like they were "only" out to have some "fun." If a girl was caught on the wrong side of a park or in the wrong territory or on the wrong street, she was a target. It was a common thing back then for boys to down grade girls and cuss at them in the street. It was common for them to go to bed with girls and talk about them like dogs the next day. It was common for boys to deny they were the fathers of their babies. And it was common for boys to beat girls up and knock them around. And then the girls would get hard too.

"If the nigga ain't got no money, I don't want to be bothered." "If the nigga ain't got no car, then later for him.”

The more i watched how boys and girls behaved, the more i read and the more i thought about it, the more convinced i became that this behavior could be traced directly back to the plantation, when slaves were encouraged to take the misery of their lives out on each other instead of on the master. The slavemasters taught us we were ugly, less than human, unintelligent, and many of us believed it. Black people became breeding animals: studs and mares. A Black woman was fair game for anyone at any time: the master or a visiting guest or any redneck who desired her. The slavemaster would order her to have six with this stud, seven with that stud, for the purpose of increasing his stock. She was considered less than a woman. She was a cross between a whore and a workhorse. Black men internalized the white man's opinion of Black women. And, if you ask me, a lot of us still act like we're back on the plantation with massa pulling the strings.

After my close call uptown, i became more skeptical of every body. I was much more careful about the situations that i let myself fall into. I would talk to the men at Tony's but, more and more, i became "strickly business." The more i saw of street life, the uglier it was.

One day, as i was walking down 8th Street, i saw one of my aunt's friends. Her name was Abbie or Addie or something like that and she was as big as a truck. I turned my head hoping she wouldn't recognize me.

"Joey, Joey!" i heard her cry out. I kept walking. She kept calling. I kept walking. Then i felt her grab my arm.

"I know you," she said. "You're Joey. Your aunt and your mother are worried to death about you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," i said. "My name is Joyce and i don't know you or anyone else that you're talking about."

"Come off it, Joey," she said. "You're not fooling me. Come with me while I call your aunt." She had my arm in an iron grip. I thought of making a run for it, but she was too big to play with. She took me to some bar and told me to sit at the counter while she made the call. As soon as she started dialing i made a beeline for the door. She was right on top of me, grabbing me with that iron grip. "You're not going anywhere until your aunt gets down here." In half an hour, Evelyn was on the scene throwing questions at me left and right.

"Where have you been? What have you been doing? Where have you been staying? What have you been doing for money? How have you been eating?" she asked-and a million questions more. When Evelyn questioned me, she sounded like a lawyer cross examining a witness. In about an hour i had broken down and told her everything. She demanded that i take her to the hotel where i was staying. After i had packed my things, she told the guy behind the desk, "Do you know that you've had a thirteen-year-old girl staying here? I could have you prosecuted for contributing to the delinquency of a minor." The guy looked at me like he just couldn't believe it. I could have crawled under the floor. Then she called up Tony's and told him the same thing. I was dying of embarrassment, but in a way i was glad it was over. I was getting tired of the streets. I was tired of being grown and i wanted to be a kid again.