Promise Kept, page 3
The suit had been a mercy gift from Mouse’s cousin, Candice. One day, not long after Promise and Mouse had arrived in New York, Candice and her sister Keisha had gotten a line on something going down at Orchard Beach. Promise and Mouse were still new to the city and were anxious to get out and see what it had to offer. Promise had never been to Orchard Beach or any beach, for that matter. She was a child of North Jersey. It wasn’t that New Jersey didn’t have beaches, but most of them were in South Jersey. Kids from the North rarely went South unless it was to visit Atlantic City, and Promise had never been there either. This would be a first.
Because of the circumstances under which Promise and Mouse were forced to relocate to the other side of the Hudson, they hadn’t arrived with much more than the clothes on their backs. They were hardly equipped for the beach. Mouse, who was petite, was easy to shop for, and they were able to grab something for her at the local shops in the hood. Promise proved to be a bit of a different case. She had a little too much hips and ass for what was on the racks. Promise was fine with hitting the beach in a pair of cut-off shorts and sneakers, but Candice wouldn’t hear it. She couldn’t roll with one of them looking like a bum. Candice knew of a boutique in Brooklyn that catered to women who were on the curvier side. It was called Charlotte’s Closet. She was in and out in less than ten minutes with a bathing suit that she assured Promise would fit and was tasteful. Promise had wanted to try the suit on, but Keisha kept complaining about it getting late, so they headed to the beach. It wasn’t until Promise had changed into the suit in one of the bathrooms that she realized that she and Candice had polar opposite tastes in clothing.
The suit was actually kind of pretty. It was all black with a golden Wonder Woman–inspired stitch across the front that led a trail over the hips and down the strip of fabric that went right down the crack of her ass. If this was Candice’s idea of tasteful, then Promise could only imagine what tasteless would’ve looked like. She had only worn the bathing suit the one time at the beach. She was accosted by so many cat calls and uninvited hands of young men that, when they had come back from the beach, she tossed the suit into the bag and shoved it into the bottom of her knapsack, vowing never to wear it again. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice that night.
Promise took a minute to freshen her makeup in the dingy, oval-shaped mirror that was bolted to the inside of her locker’s door. She had never been big on makeup, but in the line of work that she had fallen into, Promise learned that a little lipstick and some eyeliner could go a long way. Promise was a girl of very fair skin. So fair, in fact, that, in the right light, you could mistake her for white, which wouldn’t have been completely inaccurate. She was the byproduct of a Black mother and a white father and had inherited most of her father’s features, including his auburn eyes. But her hips and lips had all come from her mom. Her lips were one of her most striking features. They were plump, juicy, and curved into a bow. They were the kind of lips that made you want to suck them. People of non-color paid good money for injections to achieve that look, but Promise’s were natural. Her thick, auburn curls had grown back in nicely over the last few months, almost touching her shoulders. Promise could remember a time when her hair hung down her back. That was before her aunt Adelle had made her do the unthinkable. She complained that the upkeep of the hair cost too much and insisted that it be chopped off. Promise cried like a baby that day. Her aunt Dell was a mean bitch, but she had to admit that there were times when she missed her. Adelle had her ways, but she and her daughter Brianna were the only family that Promise had. There had been times when she thought about reaching out, but to do so could potentially open a can of worms that was best left closed. At least for now.
After finishing her makeup, she stood, turning her body this way and that to see how she looked in the bathing suit. Other than the fact that the thong felt like it was cutting into her ass, it wasn’t that bad. It made her ass look like an apple, ripe for biting. The best part was that it was a one-piece, so it did a good job of hiding her slightly protruding belly. Promise was a little on the thick side. She wasn’t quite fat but had the genetics to be overweight if she wasn’t careful. She had always been insecure about her weight which is why she often hid her body under baggy clothes. Guys often complimented her, telling her that she was thick for a white girl. In Promise’s mind, she was just fat.
“I see you, fresh fish,” a feminine voice said from somewhere in the dressing room. Promise spun. At first, she didn’t see her, but then she spotted the swelling ember at the end of a blunt. It seemed to swell every time she took a pull. The flame touched her brown eyes softly, giving them a demonic look. It was almost as if they were glowing. After a beat, she pulled herself from the dark while blowing twin plumes of smoke from her nostrils, resembling a light-skinned dragon. She licked her painted-red lips while giving Promise a playful smirk.
“Donna, you nearly scared me half to death. What you doing skulking around in the shadows like some damn serial killer?” Promise asked.
“Watching,” Donna said before fully stepping out of the shadows. Donna was breathtakingly beautiful. She was tall, with banana yellow skin, and wore a long, jet-black wig that touched the center of her back without extensions. The red catsuit, with the ass cut out, hugged her shapely body. She wore a sheer black wrap that hung off her hips, which did little to hide her ass. Donna’s body was sculpted by the most skilled plastic surgeons. It wasn’t overly done where her legs didn’t match her ass, like some of the other strippers. It was just right. Donna tried to pass her body off as natural, but the girls didn’t buy it. It was too perfect to not have been paid for.
“Well, ain’t nothing to see here,” Promise told her.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Donna ran one of her red-painted nails over the gold pattern on Promise’s swimsuit. Aside from Keisha and Candice, Donna was the only girl who worked at Dirty Wine who spared Promise more than a few words that didn’t involve sending her to fill a drink order. She had started working at Dirty Wine not long after Promise but was already becoming a big draw at the spot. Some of the girls felt threatened by Donna, as they should’ve. She was a bad bitch, and she knew it. Donna extended her blunt to Promise.
“Thanks.” Promise accepted the weed. She took two pulls and started coughing. It was potent as hell.
“So,” Donna said, snatching her blunt back, “you gonna tell me what you were doing all up in Sin’s face?”
“Who?” Promise was confused.
“Sin, the pretty yellow nigga with the long braids.” Donna nodded in the direction of the main floor. Through the door, you could see the table where Larry was personally seating Sincere and Bone.
“You mean Sincere?” Promise finally caught on.
“That might be what his mama and granny call him, but the streets know him as Sin,” Donna informed her.
“I don’t know about all that. I accidentally spilled liquor on his brother, and instead of them tweaking out, Sin got Larry not to fire me and even requested that I work his table tonight,” Promise said proudly. “How the hell did you even see me talking to him from back here?”
“I see a lot.” Donna hit the weed again. “You sure you ready to swim in the deep end?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Promise asked defensively. She didn’t know the girl to be a hater like the rest of the dancers at Dirty Wine, but she thought she felt a little shade coming from her after Promise had shared her news about Sin requesting her for the night.
“Slow down, Jersey. I know that look and ain’t nobody trying to piss on your parade.” Donna read Promise’s eyes. “I know you’re still a little green to all this, so you still don’t know how to tell the dolphins from the sharks.”
“I’m from Newark. I’ve dealt with plenty of dudes who are from the streets.” Promise had grown up around killers and murderers all her life, so she knew what time it was.
“I’m sure you have, but I can guarantee you that none of them were like Sin and his bunch. Them Brooklyn niggas are cut just a little bit different. I ain’t kicking no dirt on Sin’s name, but the kinds of games I hear that he likes to play are only entertained by folks who know they ain’t long for this world and are totally fine with it. I know you’re a tough kid, Jersey, but watch yourself when standing next to those dudes.”
“It ain’t that serious. They just requested me to be their waitress for the night. I get to keep all the tips to myself, and they look like they’re handling!” Promise said. She didn’t know why Donna was trying to make it so deep. Promise wasn’t like the other girls who were trying to get chosen by the men who came in flashing money.
Donna gave Promise a sly smile. “I see you already nibbled at that carrot hanging from the end of his stick. Just make sure you don’t bite down too hard.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Promise said in the way of thanks. “Let me get back out there before Larry starts his bullshit.” She turned to head back to the floor, but Donna stopped her.
“Here, Jersey.” Donna pulled the black wrap from around her waist and handed it to Promise. Promise looked confused, so Donna enlightened her. “Show them the trailer.” She gave Promise a firm pat on the ass, making it jiggle slightly, before pulling the wrap over her hips and tying it about her waist. “If they wanna see the whole movie, then they need to pay the price of admission.”
Promise smiled up at the taller girl. This was another one of the many jewels Donna had dropped on her in their short time working together. It had been on the strength of Keisha and Candice that Promise had gotten the job at Dirty Wine, but she couldn’t have survived it as long as she had without Donna looking out for her. “You got it all figured out, huh?” she questioned, already knowing how Donna would reply.
“Nah, only the important parts.” Donna laughed softly and hit the blunt again. “Now get your thick ass out there and get that bag.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Keep risin’ to the top!” Asher sang along with Keni Burke, as the sounds of the old-school classic came through his car speakers. “Risin’ to the Top” was a song that Asher knew damn near word for word. It was one of his mother’s favorite songs, and she played it a lot. Asher once asked her why she spun the record so much, and she replied, “Because the lyrics remind me of what I need to be out in the world doing, giving it all I got.” It wouldn’t be until Asher had lived a little more that he would understand what she meant.
He rode slowly up Market Street, moving deeper into the city. He normally wore his dreads braided into two plats, but today he wore them loose, allowing them to spill over his shoulders and flutter in the breeze that came in through the partially cracked car windows. His hair felt liberated to match his mood because that’s exactly how Asher was feeling . . . free!
Both sides of the streets were lined with shops and retail chain stores, but at that hour, most of them were already closed or pulling their gates down to close shortly. Sunset always started what Asher referred to as scary hours. It was when the working class of his neighborhood would be retiring for the day and turning the reins of the city over to the hustlers and anybody else who earned their living from sundown to sun up. It was a fair exchange and kept interactions between the two classes minimal. For the most part, it worked for all parties involved, especially Asher. It was his crew who held sway at that end of town.
Asher’s passing had drawn some stares from the few people who were still milling about the shopping area. He couldn’t say that he blamed them. He might’ve had to do a double take as well if he spotted a handsome young dude, who didn’t even look old enough to drink, pushing a cocaine white Mercedes-Benz C-Class with all the trimmings. It was only a 2017, but it was his! Bought and paid for. He knew dudes who had worked all their lives and died never knowing what it was like to own a Mercedes, and here he was at eighteen with his very own. A few months ago, his primary vehicle had been an Accord that his mom had passed down to him after having it for five years herself. It was a testament to how hard work could change the fortune of a man. Hard work, and a bullet in the back of the right person’s skull.
Asher had purchased the car two weeks prior. He hadn’t wanted or needed the car at the time he dropped on it, but pride had pushed him to the purchase. His best friend Cal had been looking to buy a car because his Cherokee was on its last legs. He hit Asher up and asked him to take him car shopping, which wasn’t a problem. Things didn’t get awkward until he pulled up at Cal’s place and saw that his friend wasn’t alone. A chick he had been trying to smash was there with one of her home girls. As a part of his play to get the pussy, he had invited her to accompany him car shopping and just like that, Asher’s quick favor for his friend had turned into a double date that ended up taking up his entire day.
One of the spots they hit was a dealership on Route 22, somewhere near Springfield, NJ. Cal slid in and out of various whips, doing his due diligence while the girls trailed him. The broad Cal was courting kept throwing her two cents in while Cal nodded like he was taking her suggestions in. He could’ve given less than a fuck what she felt or thought, but acting like he did would place him one step closer to the pussy. Asher had left Cal to his devices and busied himself moving back and forth between the lot and the showroom, looking at different cars. Only a few of them really moved him, with the C-Class being one of them. A tall African salesman had attached himself to the group of youngsters, showing them the cars and answering whatever questions they may have had about the automobiles. After about an hour of Cal jumping in and out of cars but giving no real indication that he was going to buy something, the salesman got frustrated, and instead of taking it out on Cal, he turned on Asher. Asher’s questions about the C-Class were more out of curiosity than anything else, but the responses he got from the salesman were rude and dismissive. When Asher asked about test-driving the car, the salesman replied, “You boys obviously don’t have any money. Why waste both our time?”
The salesman’s words burned Asher’s ears long after they had left the dealership, with Cal still without a new car. Asher wouldn’t have accepted being dismissed by anyone, whether he had money to spend or not, but for it to come from another Black man placed an additional bruise on his already tattered ego. Asher had stayed awake that whole night thinking about how he had been treated. As soon as Asher thought they were open, he jumped in a cab and rode back out to the dealership. He had two Bravo shopping bags full of bills of different denominations and slammed them on the first table he saw inside the dealership.
“The white C-Class. I’m taking that. Get the tags and shit ready,” Asher told the young Black woman who occupied the reception desk. She gave him a confused look.
“Um . . .” she began after a few awkward moments of silence. “I’m just a receptionist. Maybe I can get one of our salesmen to help?” She waved the tall African over. The same one who had been less than warm to Asher the day before. When the African saw that it was Asher, he sucked his teeth.
“You suck them joints on some ho shit again, and I’ll make sure that you swallow them,” Asher promised. He turned back to the receptionist. “Baby girl, I don’t care if you’re the receptionist or a janitor, I just need anybody but that nigga to get the commission on this.” He stared hatefully at the African, holding the shopping bags full of money.
“Brudda . . .” the African salesman tried to begin his apology after seeing all the cash Asher was holding. By then it was too late.
“Oh, we brothers today? Yesterday you treated me like I was a shit stain on the bottom of your shoe,” Asher reminded him. “Nah, nigga. Keep that same energy.” He then turned back to the receptionist. “You gonna push this sale through, or do I have to take my money elsewhere?”
The commission from Asher’s purchase ended up going to the receptionist. It was the first sale of her career. She also ended up being the first woman he defiled in the backseat when they went out for a test drive. For the first forty-eight hours of owning the car, Asher felt like the man, but then reality set in. He had just blown half his savings on something that he didn’t really want or need. He didn’t even have anywhere to park it. If the car was left in one of the spaces at the condo he shared with his mom, it would tell everyone who was curious exactly where he laid his head. He ended up having to stash the car in the garage of one of his homies and resumed driving the Accord on the day-to-day. This C-Class was a purchase that he obviously hadn’t thought through. Another sign of his immaturity when it came to such things. He was a shot caller in the crew now but still had a lot of lingering soldier tendencies that he had been struggling to break. Engaging in prideful, materialistic bullshit was one of them.
Normally, Asher wouldn’t have even bothered with the C-Class, especially in the hood and when there wasn’t anything going on. He was in his bag that day though. He woke up that morning and felt like flexing, which was rare for him. He was a low-key kind of dude, but every so often, he found that he had to remind people who he was and how he’d gotten there.
Over the past six months, a lot had changed in the hood. After the unexpected death of their former general B-Stone, things got crazy. Right before his passing, B-Stone had pulled their hood into a war with a rival gang over a personal grudge. There were heavy casualties on both sides, but none heavier than the losses of B-Stone and his second in command, Ab. With no leadership, the hood was thrown into chaos. Asher and his boys found themselves fighting a war on two fronts: the rival gangs and members of their own crew who were seeking to stake a claim to what B-Stone had left behind.
