Street Soldiers (9 page)

“You have to learn to ask for help when you need it. The people who love you would be more than happy to help a sistah out when in need, ya feel me?” Nigel says, bending his head back with a huge smile across his face displaying his perfectly straight teeth.

“For real, shawdy,” Chase says, in his best southern accent. “Let’s holla at mom’s and see what she has to say about the whole thing. She’s really been on her A game since she filed for divorce, reading legal journals and studying and shit. I’m proud of her,” Chase says, overly excited about his mother’s healing. He pauses the game and stands up, towering over my five-foot frame. “I’m sure she’d love to take your case on just for the hell of it. David will have to find another job after my mom’s done with his ass.”

“If you insist,” I say, reclaiming the papers and following my boys out of the room.

We head downstairs where Mrs. Carmichael’s on the computer with piles of paper around her. It’s a welcome change from her usual stance by the bar with a glass of liquor in one hand and a cigarette in the other. There’s nothing like a cheating husband with a pregnant mistress to sober a chick up real quick. I’m glad she’s back on her grind. We need more sharp women attorneys in the world.

“Hey, sweetie. Hungry?” Mrs. Carmichael asks her son without looking up. Her red hair’s pulled back in a ponytail and she has on glasses—a look I’ve never seen on her before and it suits her well.

“Always,” Chase says, rubbing his flat stomach. “But before we eat Jayd wants to run something by you if you don’t mind,” Chase says, kissing his mom on the cheek. I guess he finally realizes that she has his back like no one else in the world ever will, blood or not.

“Oh dear, I didn’t even notice you were here,” Mrs. Carmichael says, winking at me. “Please help yourselves to dinner. I had it catered from
Boston’s Market
so there’s plenty to go around. And Nigel, don’t be shy. Our house is your home now, too.”

Wow, she’s in a damn good mood. I’ll have to let Mama know that the Loving Home tincture is where it’s at.

“Thanks, Mrs. C,” Nigel says, rubbing his hands together, ready to throw down. Nigel heads toward the kitchen with Chase right behind him.

“So, what’s up Miss Jackson?” Mrs. Carmichael asks, giving me her undivided attention.

“Well, the short and sweet of it is that Nigel’s mom is suing me for reimbursement of my couture gown she had custom designed for the debutante ball.”

“This is the same ball you did not want to attend, correct?” Mrs. Carmichael asks, flipping a page in her yellow legal pad over to a clean sheet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Carmichael points to an empty seat across from hers where I sit as directed.

She’s taking this lawyer thing seriously. Something tells me I’m in good hands with her. Mama never talked about her full association with Mrs. Carmichael outside of her trying to help her have a baby back in the day, but I bet there’s more to the story now that I know her true profession outside of being a rich housewife in PV.

“Did you at anytime request a designer gown for said event?”

“No, ma’am. I didn’t even want to participate, but she made me in exchange for her appearing at Nigel and Mickey’s baby shower,” I say, recalling the twisted agreement on behalf of Mickey.

“So, basically you entered into a verbal agreement with Teresa Esop which she initiated to benefit a third party,” Mrs. Carmichael says. “Did you fulfill your end of the bargain?”

“Yes, I did to the best of my abilities,” I say, recalling my unexpected meltdown. “I fell ill the night of the ball. The gown was ruined as a result, but I showed up.”

Mrs. Carmichael looks into my eyes and knows there’s more to the story. I can’t divulge all of the mystical events of that night; that I was taken over by my great-grandmother’s spirit, pulled into the ocean’s current and reborn as an initiate to Oshune. No, the personal details of the night in question aren’t necessary but I’m sure she catches my drift.

“Jayd, please tell Lynn Mae that I’m on the case. Don’t worry your pretty little head about Teresa Esop. I’ll get started on drafting a letter of rebuttal countersuing her for harassment and breach of contract,” Mrs. Carmichael says, flipping her
MacBook Pro
open. I wish I could afford my own computer. “Do you have the initial summons?”

“Here it is,” I say, handing Mrs. Carmichael the legal documents. She looks all too eager to help a sistah out and I’m grateful for her sassy spunk.

“Excellent. I’ll make a copy of these and of the letter once I’m done. Don’t lose any sleep over this, my dear.” Mrs. Carmichael pats my hand and smiles, reassuring me that it’s all going to be okay.

“I know you have a lot on your plate,” I say, unaccustomed to being the one in need of counseling. “I appreciate you taking the time to hear me out.” I rise from my seat ready to get back to work.

Alia should be on her way over to watch a movie. I wish I could stay and chill for the rest of the night but Mama’s requested that I spend the night at her house. We have to be up early in the morning to attend church with Daddy. She knows I’ll be late if left to my own vices. Mama has a full day of activities outlined for us tomorrow and it starts with sunrise service.

“Jayd, you’ve helped me so much. I’m going to do everything I can to help you out with your situation.”

“Mrs. Carmichael, thank you even though I know this has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, but it does, my dear. I know how sorority women work, especially when they feel betrayed. Trust me, I’ll handle this. I know I may seem like a simple housewife now, but I did attend law school and still know a thing or two.”

Mrs. Carmichael rises from her seat and hugs me tight.

“Thank you,” I say, shocked at what a sober Mrs. Carmichael can do.

“You are most welcome, Miss Jackson. Now, go eat something and let me get back to work.”

Mrs. Carmichael’s husband’s really in for it. Like the saying goes, if you lay down with dogs you’ll wake up with fleas. By now Mr. Carmichael must be itching like the little bitch that he is. By the time she’s done, Mr. Carmichael probably won’t have a pot to piss in, and that’s more than what he deserves.

“In this life, all roads are valid.”

-Mama

Drama High, volume 10: Culture Clash

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE: THE WALKING DEAD

I arrive in Compton just before ten and the block is alive with folks hanging out. It stays relatively warm throughout the year in California but it does get chilly once the sun goes down. I glance across the back gate and notice it’s busy at Esmeralda’s house. The singing is loud and the drums even louder. I swear I can hear animals in the chorus but maybe that’s just the lack of talent in the room. From what I saw the last time they had a bembe, there’s not much freethinking in Esmeralda’s house, thus the uniform hum barely audible over the pulsating percussions.

Keenan texted me four times today, each time asking when he’s going to see me again. After avoiding him all week I spoke to him briefly last night. I tried to fit him into my schedule and make up for not twisting his hair, but it took all night to finish Chrystal’s braids on Friday and today was equally packed. After finishing Nigel’s hair a little while ago, I’m no good to anyone. I had to make some hot chocolate with cayenne pepper sprinkled on top to give me the jolt I needed to make it through the day. Forget energy drinks or espresso: Netta’s Cayenne Coco is a miracle in a mug.

Speaking in miracles, I’m amazed by Mrs. Carmichael’s complete makeover without the help of a television show. I’ve known Chase for three years and his mom’s always been an alcoholic, zombie-like housewife—not the lively, smart attorney I met with this afternoon. I can’t wait to tell Mama all about the new development. I also need her advice on Mickey being back with G and how to deal with the shit before it hits the fan. I’ll open with the good news first because we could all use some, especially Mama.

When I open the door to the spirit room Lexi’s asleep in her customary spot at the threshold while Mama’s at her best in the small kitchen.

“Alaafia, Iyawo,” Mama says, greeting me in traditional Yoruba language.

“Alaafia, Iyalosha.” I kiss my grandmother on the cheek and walk over to the main room to change into my white clothes. I was hoping to go straight to bed after my long workday but not tonight. I’ve been behind on my spirit work and apparently we’re taking the chance to catch me up on that and more.

“Mrs. Carmichael said to tell you that she’s on the case,” I say, setting my purse on one of several bookshelves lining the walls of the quaint house. My clothes are draped over the Japanese room dividers used to give some privacy in the open space.

“Excellent,” Mama says. “I’m glad Lindsay’s back to life. That man had her nose closed for twenty years. It’s about time she got back to using the gifts God gave her before she married that jackass.”

“Was she a good attorney back in the day?” I ask, stepping back into the kitchen area anxious to learn more about Chase’s mom. I was very impressed with what I saw and can only imagine how she really rolls.

“Was she ever?” Mama sifts the flour and other dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. She then directs me with her eyes to claim the wet ingredients for the batter. “Lindsay was the baddest attorney in New Orleans before David came along with his New York ass. They met during a court case so unprecedented that it made the newspapers,” Mama says, her green eyes excited as she relieves the memory. “When she kicked his ass up and down Canal Street David made it his mission to have Lindsay. To men like him women are to be conquered not loved, which is exactly what he did with her.”

“I never even knew she was a brilliant attorney,” I say, cracking the first of three eggs in a small mixing bowl. I’ll add the vanilla and lemon extracts next. Mama hasn’t made pound cake in a month of Sundays, as Netta would say. I hope it’s for us and not a client. We all need something sweet to even out the bitter ever-present in life.

“That’s because Lindsay was raised to be a good, Southern girl. Her family believed women had to give up their identities once they became wives and she was no different, even if she was the sharpest lawyer I’d ever met.” Mama takes the wooden spoon off of the kitchen table and taps my bowl, ready to blend the ingredients. “Thank God she’s out of that coma she’s been living in for the past two decades. Now the healing process can finally begin.”

“She was more than happy to take on the case for us, for free at that,” I say, watching Mama blend the yellow batter to perfection. I can’t wait to lick the spoon—being the taste tester is the best part about helping out in the kitchen. That’s why my cousin, Jay and me have been Mama’s helpers since childhood. I miss him now that he’s a working adult. He opted out of college and decided to get two full-time jobs instead. All Jay wants to do is sleep and eat when he is home.

“Of course she was, dear,” Mama says, pointing at the melted butter and cake pan for me to grease. “That’s what loyal clients do. It’s a two-way street as all reciprocal relationships should be.”

“It’s a shame it had to come down to this.” I reach across the table and get to work.

“Yes, it is. But if I know one thing about women like Teresa it’s that she’s been planning this set up for a long time.”

Sounds a lot like a few chicks I know, mainly Misty. She’s always got more than one trick up her sleeve.

“Mama, why do some females make it so difficult to be friends?”

Mama turns off the mixer and looks up at me like I’m a complete stranger. I know she went through the same thing with Mrs. Esop and her sorority clique when she was in college, which is why Mama has been rogue ever since. With the exception of Netta, Mama has no friends. Associates, but not friends.

“Jayd, have you listened to a word I’ve said for the past seventeen years of your life?” Mama asks, pouring the mix into the coated pan nearby. I can’t wait until she’s finished.

“Yes, ma’am.” I say, taking a towel from the kitchen drawer and drying the clean dishes in the strainer.

“I know, baby. It’s difficult to understand why people would spend their energy plotting and scheming when they could just as easily act in kindness, but most people would rather see you cry than smile. It’s not your issue. All you need to do is cover your heart like the good book says instead of wearing it on your sleeve and you’ll be all right.” Mama and I both look at the large spirit book on the kitchen counter and smile.

“But why pretend?” I ask, tired of the games chicks play. Mrs. Esop’s so out of my league that I can’t even comprehend how to deal with her petty ass. “I have no time for fronting.”

*

Mama looks at me and rolls her eyes at my street vernacular. Satisfied with her creation, Mama opens the oven, places the cake inside and promptly sets the timer.

“Because that’s the nature of the beast, Jayd. And the beast is real.” Mama closes the oven and breathes a sigh of relief, tired from the long week. “The sooner you woman up and recognize that good intentions pave the road to hell, the sooner you can turn around and head in the other direction.”

“Mama, how am I supposed to know who to help and who to leave alone?” After placing the last dish in the strainer I take a seat across from Mama ready to devour the remaining batter.

She takes my hands palms up in hers and reads the tiny lines. Her honey brown skin’s flawless unlike a lot of people her age. “Unfortunately baby, most people don’t mean you well. The problem with y’all young folks is that you want to be everyone’s friend instead of realizing that friendship is priceless and not to be given away so easily. Love the people who love you and avoid the rest like the bad seeds that they are.”