inside. Big Momma eyed them. Their court of opposing townhouses lived by its own code. Folks minded their own business as long as they were good neighbors. Even drug dealers: as long as they brought no drama to the court and were polite, a blind eye was conveniently taken. Them throwing the occasional barbecue spurred goodwill also.
Dragging his cooler inside, he had a chair. Walls painted white, though they required a second coat of paint to cover the graffiti of folks who'd broken in previous. He left the condo unlocked. The back door and window King secured once he moved in. Upon entering, he locked the deadbolt behind them. The water still ran, but the power and gas had been cut off. King unfurled his bedding to form what passed for a couch. In the corner a stack of books propped up a large, quite full, backpack.
The quaver of sexual ache shocked her. Her pulse quickened at his nearness and it turned her stomach. There was no mystery to boys. Simple creatures that delighted in the friction of lust. Rhianna's constant quest to bask in their attentions baffled her. To be the object of their desire, their conquest, was no difficult feat. She feared that part of her wanted — and feared even more that she needed — their attentions. Her sense of needing to belong. Perhaps to be owned. And wasn't that what relationships were? Two people owning one another, chained by the heart, the genitals, or however they chose to define love in the breathless moments between sheets. The content capture of heat and presence and temporarily satiated need. King must've stood six-six easy, half a foot taller than her. His goatee-framed lips — both pouty and sure — like a confident model. He wore his black shirt with two too many buttons undone, revealing a necklace of Mary and Jesus, except both were black. That was what she stared at when King's eyes caught hers.
'Would you like something to drink?' King asked.
'What do you have?'
'How old are you?'
'Why?'
'Had to know if I only had water and Kool Aid.'
'As opposed to…?'
'Beer.'
'I can vote, but you'd better serve me some water.'
Her contagious smile — a wide, even thing with teeth too small in her mouth — masked the pain just under her face. The pain that formed her skull. That writhed beneath her skin, a living hard thing. But her face hadn't asked for pity. It wore the veneer of an independent woman, quick to show affection in tiny ways if she felt safe. And she rarely felt safe beside any boy.
Lady G wandered around the room, the space seeming that much greater without any furnishings. All of the townhouses in Breton Court had the same basic layout: a great room — the family room/dining room combo — with a small kitchen in the rear. The stairs at the entrance led to the two-to-three bedrooms. Lady G had no interest in a tour of upstairs; however, King's library fascinated her. Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, WEB DuBois, Paul Dunbar, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison. The title of a book on film caught her eye and made her giggle. Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, amp; Bucks.
King enjoyed her laughter. 'I like to know what I'm dealing with when I watch a show. Can't just let folks brainwash you.'
'I just try to enjoy a movie. Leave the deep stuff to folks who look for deep stuff.'
'You can't just let folks slip anything they want into you.'
'That's not what I'm saying. You see, there's two kinds of folks: simple and complex. I'm a simple girl. That ain't the same as dumb. I just don't make things complicated. To me, a movie's a movie. I ain't trying to find any social meaning, not trying to look for metaphors, or any of that other stuff. I'm just looking to kill a couple hours. You complex folks like to burn yourselves up looking for hidden meaning in everything.'
Lost in his thoughts, King hadn't realized how angry he always was. The knot that clotted his stomach and congealed in his veins had become such a part of him, he'd grown used to it. If he had to name the source of his anger, he'd be hard pressed. He had grown up with it for so long, it was all he knew. His constant companion. He doubted he would have even noticed how much it defined him until the constant churning leveled. His rage suddenly quelled. The darkness which shadowed the fringes of his life receded. Around her. And the implication frightened him. And the fear was every bit as uncomfortable as the anger. Something new to get used to. The fear wasn't so bad.
Her forthrightness appealed to him. She wore a family reunion T-shirt, though it wasn't for her family, but a shirt she'd gotten from Outreach Inc. The tattoo on her shoulder was what he was staring at when her eyes caught his.
'What are you looking at?'
'The tattoo. BMG?'
'Big Money Ganger.' A regretful tone underscored her voice. She turned her shoulder from him.
'A girl like you runs in a set?'
'You have no idea what it's like to be me.' Lady G stood by the window. She pulled back the venetian blinds to take in the evening scene.
'True. You do seem to be quite the mystery.'
'Forget you.' An unbidden smile betrayed her.
'You make a brother work to talk to you.' King sat on the cooler, inching it forward but not threateningly close.
'If I don't want to say something to you, don't say nothing to me.'
'And if you do want to say something?'
'Oh, you'll know.'
He nodded at the tattoo. 'This what you saw yourself being when you were little?'
'It feels like my kid life is gone outta me… if I ever had one. I want to own my own salon one day. One without all the gang and drug money all up in it. Baylon must own half a dozen by now.'
'You know B?' King's voice grew sharp, not that Lady G acted as if she caught it or the overly familiar recognition of Baylon as 'B'. They all came with the baggage of the past, not that any of it was his business, so she simply moved on.
'He was trying to go with me, but he wasn't my type. He put that 'L' word in there, hit me too quick with that. I don't play that game. I don't put out signals and I don't read them terribly well. I feel something, I tell you. Problem with the rest of the boys I deal with, is that there's not enough truth in them. They can't just say 'I got feelings for you, I'm digging you. You kind of tight.' They can't admit that they want to treat you dirty. Do better.'
'I will,' King said as if her 'do better' was aimed at him.
'Do you believe that some people are just… connected?'
'What do you mean?' He knew what she meant.
'Like how you can think of a friend and they just show up.'
'Or how you can be in need and they just know to come over or have the right thing to say.'
'Exactly.'
'Do you want to go out sometime?'
'You ask out all the girls you rescue from a fight?'
'Only the interesting ones.' He stood up to kiss her, but she pulled away.
'I keep myself to myself. I can give you a hug, though,' she said with the crooked smile of a child who'd been caught in a lie.
King saw the little girl in her then. The light and potential, the fragility and strength, that innocent part of her she still tried to cultivate as well as protect. The one who'd been fucked over too often by life along the way. And he felt as if something in his chest was broken, as if just realizing it for the first time.
Both of them stood rigid within the embrace, as if neither knew what to do with the display of affection. He was pissed that he gave up something personal about himself within a few minutes of talking, but it happened right away like that sometimes. When he peered into those damaged almond eyes of hers, however, he belonged to her and she knew it, too. Their eyes smiled, hopeful despite themselves.
They all had to play their roles.
