“I did say I had some cleaning to do,” was all she said to me.
“I’ll do it,” I said, sounding upbeat so Momma wouldn’t turn too sad.
“Where’s your record player?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have one when we were both just in the music store?”
“I don’t know how much money you have. I don’t have none! There’s a store upstairs. I get paid when I work. When I don’t work, I don’t get nothing,” she explained.
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Stack newspapers, tie them up, so he could put them on the curb. I sweep up the floors and dust the shelves. I wipe down the canned goods and put ’em in perfect lines, labels facing outward. I wash dishes and clean up in the back room of the store. But I ain’t been here in ten days or so. Big Johnnie be acting funny sometimes,” Momma said.
“Like what?” I asked, wanting to know everything we were dealing with.
“Sometimes he keeps that door locked so I can’t come up into the store. How am I supposed to do my job if I can’t get in?” she said.
“How come you don’t go out the same way we just came in and walk around to the front door to the store?” I asked.
“Because I’m supposed to do my job from 3:00 in the morning till 6:00 a.m. before the front door opens for business and the customers start arriving. He acts like he don’t want nobody to see me, like he don’t want to admit that I’m working for him. And one week that nigga tried to pay me with four cans of Spam and a pack of cigarettes. He lucky he keep that register empty. He takes all the money with him when he leaves every night. When I’m cleaning and working up there, there’s not a penny in the whole place! When I’m done up there, I gotta get out and stay out from when the store doors open at 6:06 a.m. every morning until it closes at 11:00 p.m. each night. So I can’t come back here till after eleven. How that sound?”
Momma was making a strange and funny face, her hands on her hips and one leg bent like she was about to leap.
“I can do that job. You don’t have to work. From what you’re saying, I go up these stairs and could be in and out. He wouldn’t even know,” I planned.
“How you gonna get up and go to school if you been working from three in the morning?” Momma asked.
I moved from the last cement step where I had still been standing still. I pulled the one wooden chair away from the one-woman wooden table and said, “Please sit down, Momma.”
I explained in detail that her daughter, Porsche L. Santiaga, is a girl gangster, a Gutter Girl and a Diamond Needle. Her daughter won’t be doing nothing official, like school, or going any place where anybody official might be looking for me. Her daughter won’t be telling anybody her real name or showing them her real feelings or sharing any information about our family or family business.
“I’m here for you, Momma. I’m gonna work till I drop. I’m gonna hustle like crazy. I’m gonna make you love me,” I said, staring up to her.
“I don’t know what you talking about. I love all my kids,” Momma said casually. I couldn’t feel her words swelling in my chest or racing through my veins and into my heart.
“Please believe in me, Momma. I’m gonna take back all our shit that got tooken.”
• • •
Early morning I came up from the underground and into the Brooklyn streets. This definitely wasn’t Bed-Stuy where the Santiagas were infamous. I was glad. The man Momma called Big Johnnie was first on my work list. I needed to take a look at him and his store. I had tried to climb up the iron stairs and through the ceiling door that led to his store at 3:00 a.m., but like momma said, it was locked down tight. My little mind was organizing my opportunities and my necessary lies.
“Do you sell peanut butter?” I asked.
“Second aisle in the back,” the man at the register said. He had to be Big Johnnie, I thought. He was big and black and serious looking. I went and got peanut butter. The price was way too high. I wanted to put it back, but I knew I had to buy something to get a decent conversation going. I got peanut butter and a loaf of bread and walked it up to the counter.
“That’s whole wheat,” the man said.
“I know,” I said without an attitude.
“Good, cause you can’t bring it back. No refunds,” he said. Then he pointed to a sign behind him that read no refunds.
“I won’t bring it back. This is for me. I’m gonna eat it,” I said, laying my five-dollar bill on the counter.
“That’s even better,” he said, and smiled.
I took the smile as an opportunity and jumped right in.
“How much for a pack of cigarettes?” I asked.
“Five-fifty but I don’t sell cigarettes to kids.” He placed my change on the counter.
“My aunt said . . .,” I started explaining.
“Who’s your aunt? She knows better. Everybody round here knows. You ain’t from around here,” he said. The store door opened. Two customers walked in.
“I’m visiting. My aunt’s the lady from downstairs.” I pointed down as in through and under the floor. His face turned sour. His eyes were following his customers as they each moved down different aisles.
“Who left a nice little girl like you with her?” he asked without looking.
“Aunt’s nice, too. She’s been down there trying to come up to work, but the door has been locked.” He placed one big long finger over his lips to signal me to stop talking. I did. He rang up the two customers and they left.
“So, you say you just visiting?” he asked with a serious face and a suspicious look.
“Yes,” was all I replied.
“For how long of a visit?” he asked.
“One month,” I said swiftly, surprising myself. Then I added, “My mother is in the hospital. Before they took her into an ambulance, she told me to go to this address and stay with her sister-in-law.”
“She gave you this address?” he asked doubtfully. “What about your daddy?” he asked. I didn’t answer, just gave him a sad stare. A few more customers came. I stayed quiet since I seen that was the game he was playing.
“Does my aunt owe you some money?” I asked after they left.
“Why would you concern yourself with that?” he asked me.
“Oh, I thought that was the reason you keep locking her out. If you don’t open the door so she can work, how can she make some money to pay you back for what she owes?” I asked sweetly, my two hands up in the air. He laughed a big laugh.
“She doesn’t owe me no money. She doesn’t want to work either. But I see that you do,” he said.
“I can help her,” I told him.
“She needs some help,” he emphasized with some disgust.
More customers came. I stood to the side watching them. Watching him. Cigarettes, coffee, chips, and candy were the main things moving.
“Let me get a baloney sandwich, hurry up, I’m late for school,” one kid disrespected.
“A baloney sandwich, please,” the man corrected the kid. “How many times do I gotta tell you? One of these days I’ll take you out back and kick your little ass like your daddy should’ve done,” Big Johnnie told him with no fears.
“I’ll make it!” I volunteered, to break up the tension. The kid placing the order looked at me like he didn’t care who made it.
“Just hurry up,” he said. I looked towards Big Johnnie for approval. His eyes said, “Let me see you try.” I quickly scooted to the back, washed my hands, and put the sandwich together all in less than a minute and fifteen seconds. The schoolboy paid, grabbed the wrapped sandwich, and taunted Big Johnnie on the way out. “If she was ugly, I’d ask you if she was your daughter.” He laughed.
“That’s what a compliment from a fool sounds like,” Big Johnnie told me.
Our conversation was interrupted by a steady flow of customers. I used each gap in time to check things out. I acted like I wasn’t searching for anything. My eyes, used to searching and counting, caught it all, even Big Johnn
ie’s two guns, one big, one small.
“I’ll wake my aunt up on time. I’ll help her clean. I could make sandwiches and wrap ’em in Saran wrap so they already ready. They would be fresh. Made on the same day of business, ready to sell at 6:06 a.m. each morning. Please, Mister. It seems like you need some help in here. I noticed you don’t get along too well with nobody.” He laughed.
“For one month?” he asked me for the third time.
“One month,” I said. I already knew I would tell him a new lie later.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“How much do I get? I mean how much do you pay for jobs, my aunt’s, and for the sandwich maker?” I asked.
“One hundred a week for your aunt. For you, it depends on how the sandwiches sell. Customers might take to ’em, might not. I’ll pay you fifty cent a sandwich,” he said. I looked at him like it wasn’t enough. Then I switched my face and agreed.
“And listen . . .,” he said. “Every item in my store is counted and accounted for. If I’m missing one lollipop, one slice of deli meat, one can of tuna—”
“I don’t steal. We don’t steal,” I interrupted him.
“Good, then we have an understanding,” he said.
“Has anything been missing before I got here?” I asked.
“Only thing been missing is your aunt. She comes and goes. She’s not reliable. You look reliable,” he said.
“How much does she pay you for rent?” I asked.
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said strangely.
“But if she earns four hundred a month are you gonna deduct—”
“I said don’t concern yourself with that. Your aunt never made four hundred dollars in one month. She never showed up four weeks in a row, Monday through Friday.”
“But if she does show up . . .,” I pressed.
“If she does what she suppose to, she’ll get what she’s suppose to get.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Can I start tomorrow?”
“You already started today,” he said, pressing a button on his register. He placed two quarters on the counter for the baloney sandwich I made. As I was leaving out, he asked me, “Kid, don’t you think you should tell me your name?”
“It’s Ivory,” I said instantly.
“Like the soap,” he joked.
As I checked out the whole block of businesses, only one store next door didn’t have a sign and was filled with old junk that I guessed needed fixing. Bernard the Butcher, Esmeralda’s Beauty Salon, World of Flowers, and The Golden Needle were clean and neat places. I wondered why the rent was something Big Johnnie wouldn’t discuss with me. I would find out from Momma when she got back. She left out last night saying, “I gotta go get something.” She wouldn’t allow me to come and she wasn’t back in the morning. I wouldn’t let it get me down. I was gonna make her living space a place she could be happy returning to, so she would come home each night and sleep beside me. I was gonna treat her like a queen.
The Golden Needle! I had been standing in front of the place lost in my thoughts. Then it dawned on me, what a pretty name for a store. I looked in. The sunlight made it impossible for me to see. When I pressed my face against the glass, I was face-to-face with a woman working her sewing machine. She looked up. Her expression soon as she saw me was like I was peeping in on her while she was doing something real personal. I pulled my face back, embarrassed, and kept it moving. Oh, like needle and thread, I thought to myself. The Golden Needle, it’s a sewing shop.
As I crossed over to the apartment building directly across the street, I decided I would buy something small from each shop and use it as an opportunity to see what I could get from it. The same way I had to meet and greet each Diamond Needle, I would do the same on my new block. Instead of bringing them each a gift to break the ice, I would just let my purchase from each of them serve as my tribute.
Six blocks down, at the dollar store, I found everything I needed for a thorough cleanup at the right price. I was ready to get started, even excited. Hell, I could’ve been mopping floors at the C-dorm for a bunch of bitches I didn’t love. Now I’m here making things sparkle for someone I did love.
As I balanced a broomstick, string mop, and sponge mop, the dustpan, three plastic bags, and a box which contained my used radio/record/CD player, it took me twice as long to reach the back alley to Big Johnnie’s store, where we lived beneath the floor and iron gate.
Listening to Junior Mafia’s joint “Get Money” got me amped. I cuffed up my jeans, tucked my tee, and threw on my rubber gloves. It took about an hour of hard work before I got dizzy. I didn’t know why. I ran up the cement stairs and pushed open the heavy iron gate. As air rushed in, my dizzy feeling began to disappear. I stood there at the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing. The bleaches and cleaning chemicals were so strong. I guess I could’ve passed out. I should have done like NanaAnna and cleaned things with lemons, limes, and lavender. I weighed the situation. If I left the iron lid open I would not faint. But, I might get robbed or raped by an uninvited creep. If I kept them closed, I would definitely pass out. So I left one side open and kept my new box cutter and my back-the-fuck-up pouch on me. If someone came down, I would see them first, blind ’em and slice ’em. I knew a lot could go wrong with my plan, so I cleaned as quickly as I could without missing a speck of dirt, grease, or crap. The minute I was done, I threw open both sides and kept them open as I sat on a crate in the alley out back, so the place could air out nicely. I was close and listening to my music float upstairs.
• • •
“A dozen roses,” I said to the woman in the flower shop.
“What color?” she asked.
“Some of all the colors that you have,” I said.
“Shall I arrange them for you?” she asked.
“Sounds good, thank you,” I said as I glanced around.
It smelled so nice in here, I thought. I wondered if twelve roses were enough to make this type of smell in the underground. The woman had disappeared into a back room, and then returned carrying three vases.
“Which one do you choose?” she asked. I pointed.
“Good selection,” she praised me.
Red, pink, white, yellow, and black were the options she had available for the beautiful roses.
“Give me five red, and five pinks. Then give me one white and one black,” I requested. “Oh and wrap the black and white separately.” I asked.
“No yellow, no problem,” she said politely.
“Get yellow for me,” Siri suggested suddenly. I don’t know how she knew that the black and white flowers represented me and Riot’s friendship.
“Have you seen these before? Would you like some?” the flower lady asked, pointing to some sticks speckled with teeny white blossoms. “They’re called baby’s breath,” she explained.
“No, thank you,” I said. “But could you give me one yellow sunflower from over there? That one.” I pointed.
“I’ll finish the roses first. Then we’ll get you the sunflower,” she said.
I smiled. Siri’s flower would be the sun that was missing in our underground.
As the flower lady arranged them nicely I asked, “Wouldn’t you like some help in here?”
She smiled. “I’ve been doing this on my own for six years now. I can handle it. As you see, there’s not a crowd of customers.”
“Oh, but I’m sure you have lots of customers. All of the businesses on this block seems pretty busy,” I said with made-up cheerfulness.
“The rent for these shops is high. Most of us are not in the position to hire. I’m lucky, my grandson helps out on weekends,” she said.
“So you don’t own this place?” I asked, looking around. I wanted her to tell me the amount of the rent. I knew she wouldn’t, so I didn’t ask. If I knew the amount maybe I could figure out from that what amount of rent Momma should be paying, or even if she might be getting cheated.
“No, I don’t own this shop. One man owns all these s
hops on this block and the building across the street. He’s really nice, but business is business,” she said. “I still have to pay him every time on time.”
“Do you have someone to help you carry these?” she asked, placing the wrapped-up vase, the separately wrapped black and white roses, and the stem-wrapped sunflower on the counter.
“I don’t need any help. I’m staying with my aunt a few doors down. My name is Ivory. Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand. She seemed surprised at something.
“I figured you were new to our neighborhood. You sure ask a lot of questions. And you’re a pretty little thing, prettier than all the flowers in my shop.” She smiled, accepted my hand, and shook it lightly. “That’s $79.99,” she said, in a tone that was the same as though she was saying seven dollars. My shocked expression spread before I could hold it back. She smiled and said, “I told you the rent here is expensive.” Then she pointed to a sign on the wall, support black business. Right next to that sign was a sign saying buy black in bold letters.
I pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and laid it on the counter. She picked it up, pressed a button on her register, and handed me my change.
“Thank you,” I said. Even though I told her I didn’t need help, she walked me to the door carrying my vase with the ten roses, as I carried the other flowers.
Thinking quickly, I said, “Could you give me a chance to earn back some of the money I spent in here today? I can clean up, fold down used boxes, tie them up, water your plants, sweep your floors, even clean your windows,” I offered. “Even though the person I am buying these flowers for is really sick, I might get into trouble if I don’t have enough money left over to pay for her medicine.” I stared at the lady sadly.
“Well, you seem really smart and very well-mannered. I like that. The lesson in all of this is that you should always ask the price of something before you order it. Once these flowers are cut and arranged at your request, they’re yours, no refunds.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Oh,” she said. “There he is.” She pointed through the front glass door of her shop.