Love the One You're With (27 page)

Kevron
does
know what pitch is. If Bryant could only get him to sing like
that
on CD …

“Hello?”

“Hay, Baby.”

“Hi, Pooquie. Where are you?”

“Back at tha hotel.”

“Why? The show isn't over yet.”

“It is fuh us
,Baby.”

“Ah.”

“I can't believe them mutha-fuckas.”

“Well, I know you were rooting for Warren. And he really deserved to win both. But the Queen and Salt-N-Pepa were overdue.”

“Yeah. But at least I got ta meet him.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. He madd cool, Baby. And y'all could be twins.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. You'll see. I took a picture wit' him. He invited us ta a party at his spot later on.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. Me 'n' Malice. And his posse.”

“Mmm. You meet anybody else?”

“Yeah. Snoop, Dre, Yo Yo, Ice Cube.”

“Boy, the whole West Coast crew. I know you were in heaven.”

“And I met one of them brothas from Boyz II Men, tha real skinny one.”

“Shawn Stockman?”

“Yeah. He had his Grammy. And I ran inta that fella hostin' tha show.”

“Paul Reiser?”

“Yeah. I was comin' outa tha bathroom and he was comin' in. He is one
un
funny mutha-fucka.”

I chuckled. “I agree. He was a bad choice. I'm sure he won't ever be asked back.”

“They shoulda got somebody like Martin Lawrence.”

“Ha, he'd be too much for them. He's not tame like Paul.”

“Don'tcha mean borin'?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You still watchin' tha show?”

“Uh-huh. But with the sound down. Never know when a Negro may pop up. How did the scene go this morning?”

“It went a'ight.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Well … it ain't like all my bizness was out there fuh tha whole world ta see. My back was ta tha camera.”

“Ah. So the world will get to see Raheim Rivers's rump, huh?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“I don't think you should worry about it. It's not as if they had you all do it just because. Men do walk around nude in a locker room.”

“We'll see what ratin' they give it now. It was guaranteed a R wit' all that cussin'. But wit' us walkin' 'round butt-bootay nekkid, they prob'ly gonna slap it wit' a NC-17.”

“As many times Kevin Costner has shown his pale ass in a film? I don't see why they would.”

“C'mon, Baby. We talkin' 'bout brothas, not some white boy. They gave them folks behind
Jason's Lyric
grief over a movie poster. I can imagine what they gonna say about this.”

“Well, it's really a
man
thing, not a Black thing. They tripped over how Jada was positioned on the poster. If it were Allen Payne, they wouldn't have cared. And speaking of Allen: when
Rebound
is released on video, I'll have two of the most beautiful asses ever captured on film in my collection.” I giggled.

“I
better be number one.”

“You know you are.” I kissed into the phone. I could feel him blush. “You just have two more scenes to do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need to go over your lines?”

“Nah, cuz I only got one line in both scenes.”

“Mmm … when it comes down to it, they actually paid you to shoot hoops and walk around nude in a locker room.”

“Uh-huh. Tha easiest green I ever made. So, how was yo' day?”

“It was okay. Nothin' special. Just went to work and came home.”

“Ah. How my homie, Willoughby, doin'?”

“He's doing fine. You'll be happy to know he received the highest grade in the class this term.”

“He did?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, Baby. I know he gonna flip.”

“I'm sure the ones who will flip are the parents of some of the other students when they see their children's grades. I'm gonna get an earful tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. It's open school night.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You better not fuhget yo' Tylenol this time.”

“Ha, I already have my pouch ready. I'm not gonna be caught off guard again.”

“Jood. Any word from Jozie?”

I sighed. “Well … she didn't receive the agreement today. They said they need another week.”

“Another week?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Why?”

“As Jozie expected, it all comes down to language. They are trying to put things in a way that puts them in the best light. And, as they're no doubt discovering, that ain't gonna be easy. But Jozie told them they have to show her something by Monday so we can see what direction they are headed in—and if they are going the wrong way, point them in the
right
direction.”

“A'ight. You feelin' better about it?”

“I … I guess I am.”

“You should, Baby. They'll know better next time ta fuck wit' one of us. When I get home, we gonna celebrate.”

“How you think we should?”

“Ha, you know how.” He giggled.

“Uh-huh. Now, you know we never need a reason to do
that.
”

“Nah, we don't, but that's as jood a reason as any.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Oh, at least
your
papers came today.”

“Did they?”

“Yup.”

“Didja look 'em over?”

“I started to.”

“Whatcha think?”

“Your rental agreement looks okay. Are they really giving you the last month free?”

“Yeah, cuz I'm payin' a full year up front.”

“I just knew that was a misprint. But if they're gonna do that, they can at least do something similar with your mom's co-op. Since you're paying for it in cash, they should knock five or ten percent off the purchase price and give you some kind of break on the closing costs.”

“A'ight. Did they say when her apartment is gonna be ready?”

“The letter says you'll be able to show it to her in a couple of weeks, after they finish the bathroom.”

“Jood. You think she gonna like it?”

“She's gonna love it.”

Silence.

“Little Bit?”

“Yes?”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Pooquie.”

“Uh … how 'bout givin' me some mo.'”

“Huh?”

“Gimme some mo' of that long distance love.”

“Don't tell me you want a repeat of last week …”

“Yeah.”

“You can't make it to Sunday?”

“
Hell
no!”

I laughed. “You got enough time? What time are they supposed to be picking you up?”

“In a half hour.”

I considered it. “So … are you in your birthday suit?”

“Yeah.”

“You are?”

“Been in it all this time.”

“Hmm … you got on the Timbs and the cap?”

“Yup. And I done already assumed tha position.”

“Well … when you all oiled up and ready to go, how can I refuse?”

Now I know how
my
teachers felt on open-school night.

The last thing a parent wants to hear is that their child has done something wrong. It's not that they can't believe it—after all, I'll bet many have whooped their kids for disobeying and misbehaving—it's that they don't
want
to believe it. I get two earfuls of that disbelief during parent-teacher conferences, the most common refrain expressed being: “Oh,
no
, not
my
child!” The sisters have it down to a science: that neck starts to twistin' and those hands get to flailin' and those eyes get to jumpin' and those teeth get to knashin' and those nostrils start to flarin' and those temples get to pulsin' and that forehead gets to perspirin'—and they just
implode
. Not only could their child
never
, under
any
circumstances, talk in class, be late for class, disrupt the class, be caught doodling during class, not complete their homework assignment, not turn in their homework on time, not turn in their homework at all, cut my class, or play hooky from school altogether, but you, the teacher, are more than mistaken for even suggesting their child is capable of such things—you're insane.

“Are you crazy?” several have said in a joking manner, but I knew they weren't joking. One would
have
to be crazy to accuse their baby, their baby boy, their baby girl, their baby cakes, their cupcake, their Pooh bear, their honey bear, their sweetums, their candy cane, their candy apple, their apple tart, their apple dumpling, their cream puff, their muffin, their angel cake, their angel face, their angel, of anything. I don't like to be the bearer of bad news, but I often have to shatter that glass bubble they're living in. Some of these kids have their parents so hoodwinked, so wash-bucked, so bushwhacked, so bamboozled, so snowed that even when the evidence is presented to prove the charges, they still can't (or won't) accept it. I see just how manipulative children—and how gullible their parents—can be. But it's usually the parent that has duped themself—and they expect you to join them in the delusion.

I do temper the not-so-good news with the positive in a tone that isn't judgmental (I don't plan on being mowed down like that obnoxious teacher was by Kathleen Turner in
Serial Mom
). But that still isn't good enough for some. In addition to being personally offended, a few have the gall to demand that you admit their child is your favorite. All teachers
do
have favorites—and I am no exception. There are those students who literally light up the moment I walk into the room—their notebooks are opened, their homework assignment ready to recite to the class, and they're rocking in their seats with anticipation. It's a joy to see them so excited, and that gives
me
joy. And there are students who are a little rough around the edges, challenging me to work a little harder to reach them, and when I do, the payoff is great for the both of us. But while I may have my favorites, I don't
play
favorites; I make sure each student gets the attention and receives the adulation they need and deserve—and with three classes that each have no more than twenty students, this isn't hard for me to do. But playing favorites is exactly what I would be doing if I, like other teachers, disclosed to any parent that their child is the top—and because I don't, folks get indignant.

Too often, what should be a brainstorming session to determine how we can work together to ensure their child's performance improves or continues on its current path turns into a trial in which I, the accused, am expected to explain, justify, defend my right as a teacher to run my classroom the way I choose. Now, I can understand not understanding my technique, or the system I use to rate a student's work. But I gather some of these parents are used to teachers just rolling over and going along (that
is
, after all, how so many kids graduate from high school barely knowing how to read or write). As they throw a tantrum, one has to wonder who is the parent and who is the child—sometimes the kids act more grown-up than the grown-ups. And their parent(s) being a pain in the ass means I can always count on leaving school that night (or afternoon) with a pain above my neck.

But at least it's an ordeal that only lasts for two to three hours once every two months. In fact, it's a minor irritant considering how much I love to teach. And who would've thought that a man I despise would be responsible for providing me with what's turned out to be the opportunity of a lifetime?

IF THERE'S ONE THING FOOLIANI HAS DONE AS THE MAYOR OF
New York City that I agree with (and there's
only
one thing), it's his giving the green light to Knowledge Hall. Located just a few blocks from my apartment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, in a three-story building where New York's firefighters were trained in the 1970s, Knowledge Hall is a charter school conceived and run by Elvin Macintosh, a forty-four-year-old Black Republican and former Wall Street wiz. Many view Elvin's being crowned the “director” (principal doesn't sound important enough for him) of Knowledge Hall as a quid pro quo for the work he did on both of Fooliani's mayoral campaigns as a field organizer (not to mention the $25,000 in campaign funds he's alleged to have contributed). But it turns out that Elvin (who doesn't have children and isn't married) was so disgusted with the tales he constantly heard from friends about the education (or lack thereof) that their children were getting attending overcrowded, understaffed, underequipped public schools that he drafted and began shopping the plans for Knowledge Hall in the late eighties. But he couldn't convince either Ed Koch or David Dinkins, the former mayors, or the Board of Education to support the plan.

That all changed with Fooliani's being voted into office in 1993. Barely two months after he was sworn in, he announced that a dozen community-run schools would open around the city in the fall of 1994, and one of those would be Knowledge Hall. Many educators and liberal politicos vehemently opposed the proposed institutions, viewing the projects as a not-so-veiled attempt to privatize the school system with public tax dollars (minus a voucher program). They also warned that parents would be playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette with their children's futures, not knowing what kind of people could be teaching them since some of those recruited (such as myself) would not be accredited and have little to no teaching experience. But since each school had the backing of the community it was located in, and many parents were already very familiar with the incompetence and corruption that plagued the schools their kids already attended, they were more than willing to take a chance on something formed outside of the bureaucratic, bankrupt system.