Smooth Operator (5 page)

“Oh my God.” Arri looked out of her living room window at the school and saw the children gathering in the playground. She looked back at the clock: seven twenty-five. “When did you learn to tell time?” She grabbed Zion’s hand and they rushed into the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I can’t believe this; I’m not even dressed for work!”

T
he train shook feverishly as it rattled over the underground tracks from Uptown to Midtown, the echoes of iPods, conversations, leafing of newspapers and magazines, and the hissing of the train’s metal wheels filling the air.

Lyfe sat in his seat flipping through the pages of the
New York Times
, wondering if he would be able to stand Manhattan’s winter.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself as he placed his steamy Starbucks coffee to his lips and concentrated on an article about investments. A few minutes later he felt a hard bump, which caused his coffee and newspaper to slip from his hands to the floor. He watched his coffee cup roll along the aisle, leaving a wet zigzag trail behind it, while the newspaper lay drenched on the floor beneath his feet. “What the—?”

“I’m soooo sorry.”

Lyfe looked up. He didn’t know what pissed him off more: his day being off to a fucked-up start or that the woman staring at him and handing him napkins was absolutely breathtaking. From the apple-butter color of her skin to the thick ebony curls that fell over her shoulders, to the way her three-quarter-length, gray wool car-coat lay perfectly on her defined hips, her whole package was stunning.

Lyfe took the napkins from her hand and lightly dusted the
specks of coffee that had splattered on him. “As big as I am, you didn’t see me?” he snapped.

“I’ma try this one last time.” She arched her eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” she said matter-of-factly. “The train
is
moving, in case you missed that. I’ve walked through three cars to find a free seat and this was the only open one I saw. Trust me; had there been somewhere else to sit, I wouldn’t be here.” She plopped down next to him.

“And you still gon’ sit here?” He laughed in disbelief.

She paused and looked directly in his face. “Hell yeah, but you’re free to move.”

Lyfe stroked his chin. “You know what,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “you owe me a cup of coffee.”

“Umm-hmm.” She curled the right corner of her upper lip. “Yeah, you wait on that.”

Lyfe cleared his throat and pushed the thought of checking her ass to the back of his mind. “You look really familiar.”

“Oh … my … God,” she said, clashing gazes with him. “Are you serious?”

Lyfe looked baffled. “About what?”

“Are you trying to pick me up or some other bullshit?”

“Pick you up?” he said, taken aback.

“Pick …” she said slowly, “me … up. Because, seriously, I am not in the mood. I had a fucked-up morning and since I’ve been on the train it seems to have gotten worse.” She looked him over. “And I don’t know where you’re from, but understand this: we don’t do all of this random chit-chattin’ out here. Okay?” She stroked her hair behind her left ear, revealing a discolored birthmark that ran down the side of her neck. “And I don’t have the time nor the patience to be sitting here and wasting my time on some tired-ass suit-and-tie. So please save that for one of these other li’l bougie tricks that apparently you like to meet and greet on the train.”

Lyfe sniffed as his nostrils flared. “Apparently you have a li’l
habit of getting out of line”—he stared at her birthmark, and then back to her face—“so let me put you back in place. If I wanted to pick you up, I would simply tell you how beautiful I thought you were until you opened your nasty-ass mouth. Now, I don’t know what kind of morning you had, but it probably doesn’t top the shit I got goin’ on, so chill.” He paused. “And another thing, don’t let this suit and tie fool yo’ ass.”

“Whatever,” Arri sighed dismissively, as she sat on the train, running late for work, and next to a fine-ass brother who despite his sexy-ass swagger, had just told her off and was working the hell out of her nerves. She felt guilty about knocking his coffee from his hands but that’s where it ended. She didn’t care that he was pissed because she’d messed up his morning caffeine fix, and she was doing her damndest not to care about how beautifully black and pretty he was. Fuck him. Besides, she had a million “why mes?” of her own. And she hated sappy shit, and shit that made her feel grim, and dull, and depressed, and sorry for herself. She couldn’t stand wondering when her circumstances were going to change, because the reality was, this was her life.

Arri turned away and looked out the train’s window. The tunnel whipped by in blurry snippets as an unexpected vision of the last time she’d seen her mother danced before her eyes …

“Run them goddamn pockets!” Darlene’s voice rattled with aggravation as she peered at twelve-year-old Arri. “And hur’ up. I’m tryna be nice ’bout this shit.” She spat as she flicked a loose string of snot that slid from her nose and over the corners of her cracked lips.

Darlene repeated herself, “I
said
, I’m tryna be nice ’bout this shit, but you pushin’ yo’ luck, Arri.”

Arri watched Darlene stagger closer to where she sat on a dingy white mattress in a sea of sunflower seeds and Swedish Fish, with a mouth full of Lemonheads.

“I know you got some money,” Darlene continued, “ ’cause I saw you outside in them niggahs’ faces, so give it to me right now!”

The Lemonheads in Arri’s mouth stuck to her teeth and bathed her tongue in yellow as she watched her mother’s mahogany face dance in the flashing streetlamp’s reflection. Arri’s eyes traced the black extension cord that snaked across the floor, running electricity from the neighbor’s apartment into theirs. She studied the withered sunshine of the wall’s dingy yellow paint, and thought about the furniture that once sat sporadically around the room—at least until James, Darlene’s boyfriend, and dope, Darlene’s best friend, moved in and slowly the furniture moved out.

Arri’s eyes ran across her mother’s sagging jawline, protruding collarbone, frail arms, and sticks for thighs. She rolled her eyes, sized up Darlene’s small frame again, and figured that this time—on everything she loved—she was gon’ rock wit’ Darlene’s chicken-ass if she pushed her to it. As far as Arri was concerned, this time—out of all the times her mother had shaken her down—she wasn’t having it. To hell with this dumb shit. Today, if her mother’s hand called for it, it would be on and the fuck poppin’ in Brooklyn tonight.

Darlene cleared her throat. “Arri,” her tone softened, “Mommy need you to help her.”

Arri swallowed the Lemonheads, tasting only slightly more sour than the sounds of Darlene calling herself Mommy and letting that name fall effortlessly from her lips.

Arri wondered, was a mother supposed to love you and care whether or not you went to school, or did a mother get mad because you wouldn’t suck dick, turn tricks, and support her habit? Did a mother actually do some shit, other than spread her pink pussy lips, push you through, and then let the streets nurse you until you were old enough to understand that didn’t nobody owe you shit?

Arri twisted her lips and cracked open a sunflower seed. “Puleeze.”

Beads of sweat ran down Darlene’s forehead. “I want that money. And Samara told me that she saw some li’l niggah out there hand five dollars to you.”

“So? I got the money ’cause I braided his hair,” Arri snapped. “He gave me money for me and
I
spent it on candy.”

Darlene snorted and scratched the side of her neck. “You spent it on candy?”

“That’s what I said.” Arri cleared her throat and did her best to push the fear she felt rising in her chest back down to her stomach.

Darlene looked surprised. She studied Arri’s face and said, “You lyin’.” She looked at the water lining Arri’s eyelids. “James said you was a ho, and I believe him. So since you a ho and this is your stroll, you gon’ pay me to live here. I want that money and I want it now.” She stood over Arri and stared her down.

Darlene hated staring at Arri because it was like looking at her own reflection. “You know what? I’m sick of lookin’ at you!” Darlene grabbed a fistful of Arri’s hair and dragged her to the floor. “Always thinkin’ you better than me!” She slapped her. “Always thinkin’ you so much!”

“Stop it!”

WHAP!

Arri felt everything inside her skull thump. She wondered why she couldn’t take Darlene down like she’d planned. Her body may be frail but her strength was unmatched. “Get offa me!” Arri screamed and her voice drifted into the other room, where her sister, Samara, rushed to the doorway.

“I don’t have no money!” Arri screamed, doing her best to squirm out of her mother’s grip.

“You lyin’ … and you lyin’ because you think I ain’t shit!”
WHAP!

“Mommy,
please
!”

“Don’t Mommy me now, ’cause if I ain’t shit,”—
WHAP!
Spit flew out the side of Darlene’s mouth—“then you worse than that, because you came outta my pussy!”
WHAP!
“So ain’t neither one of us shit and don’t you ever forget that! Now I asked you for that money and I want it!”

“I don’t have it!”

“Yes you do!” Samara screamed. “I saw Ahmad give you five dollars. And Mommy, five dollars is enough for a bag of smack.”

“You need to mind your business!” Arri responded, trying to grab Darlene’s hands.

“You need to tend to yours,” Samara said. “Give up that money and stop gettin’ yo’ ass kicked. You too damn grown!”

“Shut up!” Darlene yelled as she slammed Arri against the wall, causing her to hit the back of her head and slide to the floor. “I want that goddamn money and I want it now!” She started ripping Arri’s blouse, “Where is it, I know you ain’t spend it all on candy!” She yanked her pants down and before she could pull at her underwear loose change fell from Arri’s pocket, some of it spinning on its head and others rolling across the floor. “Lyin’ ass!” Darlene snorted, wiping loose snot from her nose again. “Samara, pick up that money.” She scratched her neck.

Samara hurried to collect the change.

Street noises drifted in from the open window. “Darlene!” someone shouted from outside. Darlene huffed her way over to the window and looked. It was James, holding a taxicab’s door open. “Move ya ass,” he yelled, “you know this goddamn meter runnin’! Hell, whatcha waitin’ on?”

“Hold it a motherfuckin’ minute.” She walked away from the window, collected the change from Samara, slipped it into her pocket, and snorted again. She straightened her clothes and fluffed her aged weave. “You gon’ learn not to fuck with me!” she said while catching her breath. “Now, look.” She stared at Samara. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

The room fell silent and Samara asked, “Whatchu mean?”

“Listen,” Darlene said as she walked to the closet and started packing what little she had in a worn suitcase, “it’s a job I need to see about. Some bidness I need to take care of.”

“Ma …” Tears rolled from Samara’s eyes. “And when you gon’ come back?”

“You questionin’ me?” She set her suitcase on the floor.

“Ma, I don’t want you to go. I’ll turn tricks. I’ll take care of you.”

“You sound stupid, Samara. Shut up. You will not be turning no damn tricks!”

“Ma …” Samara wiped tears from her eyes.

“Shut up. I’ll be back.”

Samara looked at Arri. “Why you just ain’t give her the money! Now she leavin’!” She flew on top of Arri and Arri hit Samara so hard that she slammed into the wall.

“It ain’t my fault she’s leavin’,” Arri cried.

“It is!” Samara retorted, standing up. “Ma, what you need me to do?” She ran over and blocked the doorway. “Whatever you need I’ll do.”

Darlene walked toward the doorway with her suitcase in her hand and stood before Samara.

“Mommy, please.” Samara folded her hands in a prayer position.

“Don’t beg. You know I can’t stand no beggin’-ass niggahs. Now, listen, I’ll be right back. Right back. I’m just goin’ to the store.”

“You goin’ to the store?” Samara asked for assurance.

“Yeah, to the store.”

“You gon’ come right back?”

“Uhmm-hmm.” Darlene walked toward the front door, with Samara following her. “It’s gon’ take me some time but I’ll be back.” Darlene stepped into the hallway and Samara scurried behind her.

“Ma,” Samara called, but Darlene didn’t answer. She could
tell James was pissed by the look on his face. “I had to say good-bye,” Darlene snapped.

“Ma!” Samara cried.

Darlene ignored her and threw her suitcase into the back of the cab, then she and James slid in. She closed the cab’s door, looked up, and saw Arri staring at her through the window, with tears streaming from her eyes, waving ’bye. “Get yo’ ass back in that building!” Darlene yelled repeatedly until the cab blended into traffic and Samara’s image faded.

“Excuse me.” Lyfe tapped Arri on her shoulder. She didn’t answer him and he could tell that she was in a daze. “Miss,” he called out to her again, and she turned toward him. He looked into her eyes and could tell that a story sat on the brim, but shit, he didn’t know her and she damn sure didn’t know him. And besides, this wasn’t California, this was New York, and these motherfuckers tended to their own affairs. “This is my stop.”

Lyfe wasn’t sure if she heard him or not, as she exited the train and blended in with the crowd.

Arri walked around Midtown for an hour to clear her mind. She hated to be late for work but she had to get rid of the aching feeling that sat between her breasts. She caught a glimpse of her reflection as she walked into the office building she worked in and boarded the mirrored elevator to the twenty-fifth floor.

Once in the office she waved at a few of her co-workers and attempted to make her way to her cubicle, which sat outside the office of the vice president, for whom she was the direct secretary. Arri softly sucked her teeth as she remembered the VP was due in town today and her being late was not a good first impression.

“Shit.” Arri sucked her teeth again as she attempted to sneak past Khris’s cubicle and ease to her desk. “Arri?” Khris said in a
loud whisper, rolling her chair into the center of the aisle, “Where are you coming from? I left yo’ ass at least three hours ago.”