Chapter 13 #3
“Yeah, but I ain’t hear your voice. I gotta hear that voice, boy.”
Joe fought at Lucky’s for sixteen years before a nigga from the Southside hit him so hard that both of his retinas detached.
Senior said it only took a few hours for him to lose his sight and they couldn’t do shit but watch his ole’ lady comfort him because Dr. Borrowitz was stuck in traffic that day.
“You late, huh?” Tamryn asks, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands.
She’s got honey-colored skin just like her mama.
I could never remember her mama’s name, but I always remembered her round face and the way Beatrice glowed when she bragged about her finally enrolling in Lockwood to get her degree.
I used to call her “Honey” and neither her, Tamryn, or Beatrice ever corrected me.
“I had something I needed to take care of,” I reply, resting my foot on the top step.
Tamryn tilts her head to the side, looking behind me to get a glimpse at Slim. “Oh yeah? That’s a pretty something you had to take care of.”
She smirks, wiggling her fingers at Slim in a girlish wave.
I bite into my bottom lip, snorting as Slim’s raspy giggle floats from behind me. “Mhmm. You know they say, ‘the prettier the woman, the crazier she is.’ That’s what took me so long. Had to wrangle her crazy ass in.”
Tamryn giggles and Slim nudges me in my back with the cake box. “Hey!”
Tamryn’s giggle drifts into a snicker. “No offense, but you do got to be a lil’ crazy to wanna be friends with Pup.”
I glance over my shoulder, catching the sheepish smile on Slim’s face before she hides it.
I shrug. “You ain’t gotta worry. She don’t befriend people like me.”
“I never said that.” Slim huffs. “He said out of his own mouth he doesn’t have friends, and I’m starting to understand why with his ornery ass.”
“Yeah…Pup’s the only dog I know who don’t run in a pack, but I guess he don’t need one.
” Tamryn laughs again, flinging her braids over her shoulder and sticking the cigarette back between Joe’s shaky fingers.
“Alright, don’t forget, this your last one, Mr. Joe.
My grandma says you gotta quit for good after today. ”
He murmurs out a grunt that only she understands.
“I get it, but I don’t make the rules around here. That chart in there said, ‘October fifth—Mr. Joe’s last Newport.’ So I guess you better enjoy it.”
“Where your grandma at?” I ask.
“Inside cooking and waiting for you.”
“A’ight. I’mma go chop it up with her.”
“Mhmm. You do that.” Tamryn hums, wrinkling her eyebrows and looking out at their lawn.
“She been looking for you all day—popping up on the porch every ten minutes, asking me if I seen your truck. I told her to just call you, but you know how she be acting with that dude roaming around here—can’t do too much because she scared of stepping on his toes. ”
She snorts with a smirk. “What’s that you always saying, Pup? Men and their bitchass egos.”
My stomach doesn’t knot at Tamryn’s casual confession.
When I was little, folks were always waiting for Senior to help them with one thing or another.
He always said it was the price he paid for being the type of man he was.
I never asked him what he meant by that, but now instead of waiting for him, they’re always waiting for me.
I wave Slim up the rest of the steps and she climbs them in dainty hops in her boots. She gives Tamryn one of those girlish waves and follows behind me as I push their heavy front door open.
I catch another wide-eyed look on Slim’s face when we step into the long foyer.
The old hardwood floors creak beneath our feet as we pass by a row of wheelchairs, boxes of can goods, and medical supplies that Beatrice’s sister takes from the supply trucks at Graves every Tuesday morning before her shift in the cafeteria starts.
“I thought you said this wasn’t a nursing home,” Slim mutters out of the side of her mouth.
“It ain’t and if anybody from the state ever pull up over here, I’ll know it was you that snitched.”
“Okay, I’ll be a nerd, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I am not a snitch.” She sucks her teeth and I laugh.
“Look, the state ain’t all that friendly to poor black folks.
They been saying if Beatrice fixes all the structural deficiencies around here, she might finally pass the building inspection and they’ll give her the license to run a personal care home.
” I shrug. “So she said, ‘Fuck it.’ Niggas will be dead before they decide to stop giving her the runaround. Once all the deficiencies get fixed, she plan to clear the guys out the house and have the state come inspect it for a third time.”
“Wow. Well, whoever’s supposed to be fixing all those deficiencies should get on it,” she murmurs. “This is so illegal.”
“Damn. I’m only one man, Slim.”
“Oh! I…I didn’t know it was you. I…I mean, I guess it makes sense. You know, it’s very admirable of you to take on such a big responsibility to help out.”
“Man…whatever.”
We glance at each other and laugh together in that comfortable way I’m getting used to. I only ever laughed this much with Arnez, but it feels different with Slim.
I lead her through the entryway that separates Beatrice’s cluttered dining room from her kitchen.
Inside, Beatrice stands behind the stove with her hand on her wide hip.
It’s warm and there’s a cloud of moisture sitting in the cramped space.
The tangy scent from the chili bubbling on the stove lingers in the air even though it’s too warm outside for it, but Beatrice always said she had to cook stuff that spread for days because she had eight grown men to feed.
“Pup?” she calls out, bringing a wooden spoon to her lips and slurping a dollop of chili off it.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I ain’t think you was still coming by since it’s so late. I know you like to be out of here before seven on Saturdays, and I wouldn’t dare bother you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I had got caught up with something and then Wendell said you was looking for me. So I went ahead and came.”
“Yeah…” she mutters. “You good for that—always have been.”
Beatrice is four years younger than Senior, eighteen years older than me, and was the first woman I decided I wanted to fuck because she gave me the best hugs when she came by our house to talk to Senior when I was little.
Nothing about her is old, though. She’s built with all the features I thought were the end all be all before I met Slim—a fat ass, tiny waist, and big titties.
“You saw my grass?” she asks.
“Yeah, B.” I smile, ignoring Slim’s side-eye. “I’ll take care of it or I’ll pay DeRay to do it.”
“‘Kay… I ain’t keeping you from nothing, am I?”
“If you was I would’ve said so.”
She turns the fire down on the stove, then twirls around.
Her pert nose crinkles when she sees Slim standing next to me. “You finally brought me some more help?”
I chuckle. “Nah, this Kenny and Faye Fairchild’s niece. She brought some dessert for the guys.”
“Oh! Well, how nice of her.” She claps her hands, walking toward us and smoothing her straight hair with the back of her hand.
She’s stiff today and dark hollow bags that didn’t exist last Saturday sit along the crevice of her eyes.
She glances at Slim’s dress, boots, and face. “Faye Fairchild, huh?”
Slim nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So you must be Sonia’s baby then.” She says it matter-of-factly, and Slim’s nostrils flare. “We were classmates—all of us—me, Faye, Sonia, Kenny, and Tony.”
Slim nods, shifting her weight to one foot.
“God, you look just like Sonia.” Beatrice smiles. “She was the prettiest thing walking at Wesley… and your daddy…he…he was perfect. He was the perfect gentleman before…you know—”
“Yeah,” Slim mutters. “Mama was pretty.”
The air is stickier, and I feel the same way I felt when Smitty knew all that stuff about Slim that I didn’t—about New York and that ballplayer. Now Beatrice just talked about her mama and daddy as if she knows why they don’t exist anymore and I feel like I should already know that too.
Beatrice reaches out, taking the cake box from her hands. “Thanks for the dessert.”
She pats Slim’s cheek, smiling at her gently.
She’s acting like I’ve never fucked her in this very kitchen because time, age, and experience made it easy for her to remind me she wasn’t mine and I wasn’t hers any chance she got.
She wouldn’t tell me off for busting in her house with another woman; she’d just show me how fucked up I had her later on when it was just me and her and I wanted one of those hugs that always lead to us fucking.
“So what’s up, B?” I ask.
She sits the cake box on the table, running her finger along it. “I…I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I glance at Slim out of the corner of my eye and wait for her to excuse herself, but she’s stuck to my side in a way she shouldn’t be.
She threads her fingers together in front of her middle and tilts her head like she’s waiting for Beatrice to spit out whatever she’s been holding on to while she played nice and reminisced.
She’s acting like we’re a package and that Beatrice should wanna talk to her too.
“You wanna go out on the porch with Tamryn, Slim?” I ask her, rubbing the back of my neck.
She looks me dead in my eyes and blinks two slow, innocent blinks that make me bite my lip.
“Nope. I’ll stay here with you,” she replies in a featherlight tone.
I let out a chuckle under my breath while Beatrice watches us with a tight smile. “I think you shou—”
“It’s fine, Pup. She’s good. I doubt she wanna breathe all that smoke in and deal with all them old busters and their attitudes.”
“Everything good around here, right?” I ask. “I ain’t miss nothing last week, did I? I painted the ceilings in all the bedrooms like you wanted.”
“You know…” Beatrice scratches the back of her neck, glancing away. “I’m still kinda going through it after what happened with Aisha. You know I don’t like burdening you with this type of stuff, but it’s…it’s getting heavy these days.”