“Hey, Elite, can’t speak?” she asked as her Supremes stood behind her and twisted their necks to confirm she’d asked me a question, shooting me looks like I’d better answer.
“Exactly,” I snapped. “I can’t speak.”
“Whatever,” she flicked her hand as her phone rang. “Typical behavior of a hater…hello?” she answered while staring at me. “Hey, Jahaad…”
Jahaad? This bitch was trippin’.
“Jahaad?” Naja looked at me. “Is that your Jahaad?”
I tried to play it off because truthfully I didn’t know. “Girl, please. Does Ciera look as if she want it wit’ me. Heck no, that’s not my Jahaad. Besides, he’s too stuck on me to even go the skeezer route.”
“Don’t sleep on hos and tricks,” Naja warned.
“Whatever. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m not stealing,” I whispered.
“It’s borrowing, and what if you make it onstage with Haneef? You doggon’ well got to be beyond fly, and not some average everyday mall fly, but bebe-va-va-voom fly. Especially if you wanna get selected to sing.”
“Naja…I just don’t know.”
“Hold it. I know you not gon’ let this rainbow shop skeezer play you? Come on, Elite, you gotta come better than that.”
She had a point.
“And look at that heifer—” she carried on.
“I’ma get this,” Ciera said. “And I’ma rock this with my Fendi heels and bag—”
“And on top of that you gon’ let that ho steal yo’ man?” Naja continued. “She’s already put the moves on Jahaad, so you know you beat for Haneef if she gets next to him.”
She had a point again. “So if I borrow it, you think Thelma will notice?” I asked reluctantly.
“No, just bring it back the next day and act as if someone returned them.”
“True.”
“All I’m saying is don’t get played to the left by some ghetto bird.” She nodded toward Ciera, who was eyeing the very outfit I had wanted all week.
“Ooule, I like this.” Ciera held up the hip hugging jeans and champagne halter with the braided strap. “Oh, this is fly.”
“Now what you gon’ do?” Naja twisted her lips.
“I’ma borrow it,” I said, still unsure.
“Ai’ight, cool, so let me go collect your gear.” Naja walked over to Ciera. “Oh, my God, girl. This stuff is irregular, you don’t need this. If you wear this, it’s gon’ turn you into even more of a hot barnyard ass mess. Let me take this from you.” She snatched it out of Ciera’s hand and then proceeded to remove the rest of the clothes from the rack and take them in the back.
Ciera stood there stunned. “What in the—know what, I don’t have to take this. I can go someplace else.” And she stormed out of the store.
“Bye!” I waved. “See you at the concert!”
SPIN IT…
Track 4
I was always welcome at the Throwbacks, a.k.a the Joneses. Naja’s house. Where the only place time changed was on the outside. True story—Naja’s family were the nicest people on the block, but I always thought somebody, somewhere along the lines, jacked them up. All her dad, who everybody called Nephew (why? I don’t know), said was “Yup-Yup,” “Word up,” and “You gots to chill.” And her mother, Neecy—could you say leg warmers, spandex, tube tops, and two-tone jeans? She was the black version of Cyndi Lauper, the ancient eighties in the flesh.
And her grandmother, Mom-Mom, made everybody call her Delicious, was senile, and told everybody she was a retired stripper. Oh, and she thought everybody on TV was real.
“Ma!” Naja screamed. “Come and get Mom-Mom. She’s screaming at another repeat!”
“They keep doing the same things to me!” Mom-Mom screamed. “Over and over again! I swear to Gawd, I’m ’bout to straight Crip on a fool!” She threw her fingers in the air and started crossing them. For a moment it looked as if her hands were having a seizure. “East side!”
Neecy pushed Naja’s room door open, “Come on, Mom-Mom.”
“My name is Delicious, and I’m a retired stripper.”
“Come on, Delicious,” Neecy said, shaking her head.
Immediately, Mom-Mom dropped down and started getting her eagle on. “Where is a pole when you need one?”
“You’re embarrassing Naja,” Neecy said as she grabbed Mom-Mom’s hand and ushered her out of the room.
“Naja,” I whispered as Neecy closed the door behind them. “Has your grandmother always been like that?”
“Like what?”
“You know, senile.”
“Oh, she’s not senile, she’s from North Carolina. She crazy as hell, but she’s not senile.”
Why did I bother? “Can I use your phone?”
“Yeah,” Naja said as she proceeded to get dressed. I dialed my house and Sydney answered. Mica was screaming in the background. “Syd, what is wrong with him?”
“Aniyah did it. He asked her was there was really a Santa Claus and she told him no, Santa got capped last year. And the next thing I know, he’s all tangled up in that Superman sheet he wears, having a nervous breakdown.”
“Let me speak to him.”
“Mica!” she yelled. “Elite on the phone.”
“Si-si-sistah,” he sniffled as he spoke into the phone. “Santa—Santa—Santa…”
“Mica, it’s October. Why are you worried about Santa?”
“Oh God—oh God—he got shot.”
“He did not!” I said sternly. “Now you stop crying and get yourself together. You’re a big boy.”
“Yeah, Mica,” Aniyah said in the background. “Santa didn’t get shot. He’s in a halfway house.”
“Aniyah! Put Aniyah on this phone!”
“Yeah?” she said, getting on the line.
“You better stop! Now look, Ny’eem should be home any minute. I’ma be home late.”
“Okay. Should we put the extra lock on the door to keep Mommy and Gary out until you come back?”
I looked at the calendar before I answered the question. First of the month. “Mommy won’t be home for a minute, so you’ll be alright. Just remember what I said, and stop teasing Mica.”
“All right,” she snickered. “I will.”
Once I hung up, I proceeded to get dressed in my fitted bebe jeans, champagne colored halter, open toe stilettos, and instead of flat-ironing my hair, I let it drape over my shoulders in an abundance of ocean waves. I was too fly for words. And I decided to heck with the disguise. Jahaad will just have to live with me going to the concert and gettin’ my groove on!
Naja placed her hands on her hips. She rocked a pair of fitted Juicy jeans with a matching rhinestone hoodie, and heels. We pranced out of her room and stopped in the living room.
“Daddy,” she said, “How do we look?”
“Yup-Yup.”
“That means,” her mother chimed in, “that you