Brooklyn, page 13
Stacey nodded. “Nobody’s here.” She lit a blunt she plucked out of an ashtray on the end table. She held it up, offering it to Brooklyn.
“No thanks.”
Stacey lit it and exhaled. “You can talk freely.”
“Alonzo was cheating on me.”
Stacey laughed, to Brooklyn’s surprise. Brooklyn frowned and stopped talking.
“My bad,” Stacey said, shaking her head. “Baby girl, what did you expect?”
Brooklyn felt foolish.
“How old are you? For real?”
“Seventeen.”
Stacey groaned.
“But I wasn’t lying when I said that I was turning eighteen this year. My birthday is next week.”
“You’re still too young to be fucking with a nigga Zo’s age. Guys like him do the shit they do with young girls like you because they know you’ll let them. You’ll let them fuck you for little to no benefits, let them put you to work risking your freedom.” Stacey shook her head. “They know a real woman won’t go for that shit.” She puffed her blunt again. “Zo’s dead wrong for stringing you along at your age. Got you all caught up in your feelings. So, what happened? You confronted him and he hit you?”
Brooklyn shook her head. “I tried to fight the girl,” she admitted. “Didn’t go like I planned.”
“Hm!”
“After the fight, I broke out. Zo came after me and the cops pulled him over for tints on his windows.”
“Damn!”
“He got arrested. A lady from my church saw me—”
“Your church?” Stacey tilted her head sideways, intrigued. “You’re a church girl? Man, Zo really ain’t shit!”
Brooklyn sighed. She forgot how little Stacey knew about her outside of being Alonzo’s “girl.” She searched Stacey’s face, nervously. Finally, she decided to come clean.
“I’m in trouble, Stacey. I need to lay low for a while. Zo and my family can’t find out where I am, or I’ll be in major shit.”
Stacey set the blunt down.
“Can I trust you?” Brooklyn asked with tears in her eyes.
Stacey wasn’t sure what it was about Brooklyn that endeared her to Brooklyn. Maybe it was some sisterly instinct. But there was something in her eyes, an innocence, that made Stacey feel protective of her. Brooklyn seemed like a scared little girl trying to act brave. Stacey sat forward.
“I don’t fuck with Zo like that,” she said. “He comes uptown to get money. Just like everybody else. So, yeah. You can trust me.”
Brooklyn relaxed a little.
“Having said that, I don’t want to invite unnecessary beef to my door either. So, I’ll hear you out. Depending on what you tell me, I’ll let you know if I can help you. But I won’t make any promises other than the fact that I won’t tell anybody that you came here tonight.”
Brooklyn thought about it. She nodded.
“My father runs a church. He’s the pastor. So, I grew up in a strict family. I met Zo and we started kicking it. I thought we were sneaking around because of my family and my age. But I found out that he was keeping me a secret for other reasons. I know it sounds dumb and you think I’m naive. But I cared about him. When I started making trips to Harlem for him, it was my idea. At least … he made it seem like it was my idea. I was just looking for a way to spend more time with him. But he saw an opportunity to put me to work. And I was down with that. Then I got pregnant.”
“Jesus,” Stacey muttered. She picked up the blunt again and relit it.
“I had an abortion. My parents didn’t know and I wanted to keep it like that. I couldn’t make the trips uptown for him anymore. He stopped seeing me as often. Then I found out he was cheating, got in the fight, he got arrested, and the lady from my church saw me at the scene. She brought me to my parents. My mother went through my room and found all the stuff I had hidden. They found out about the pregnancy, my relationship with Zo, everything.”
She left out the part about her outing of Amir.
“The whole family got into a fight,” she summarized. “They were gonna send me to a group home. So, I ran away.”
Stacey looked like she had been sucker-punched.
“And you came here, Little Orphan Annie?” She scoffed. “I’m not trying to get in the middle of some family court bullshit—”
Brooklyn opened up the shoebox at her feet and showed Stacey its contents.
Stacey stared at it with her mouth agape. “Where did you get that?”
“I don’t think you want to know,” Brooklyn said. “But I need to make sure that Zo and my parents have no idea where I am.”
Stacey tried to compute everything. She wondered what she should make of Brooklyn. This girl seemed full of surprises.
“How much money is in there?”
Brooklyn shrugged. “I didn’t have time to count it. But I know it’s a lot.” She left out the part about the $1,300 in the front pocket of her backpack and the $5,000 tucked in a sock among her clothes.
“You robbed Zo?”
Brooklyn didn’t respond.
“Or is this the church’s money?”
Brooklyn didn’t blink.
“Hm.” Stacey finished her blunt in silence, pondering everything.
“You have guts. I’ll give you that. Seventeen-year-old girl out here moving work, robbing hustlers, disobeying her righteous parents.”
“I’m sick of being locked down, everybody controlling me, manipulating me. I’m ready to be on my own.”
“What do you need from me?” Stacey frowned. “You have a Timberland box full of cash. Why’d you come here?”
“I don’t know where to start,” Brooklyn admitted. “I need ID, a place to sleep. I’m not planning on staying in New York for long. If it wasn’t for my brother, I would have jumped on a Greyhound bus and went anywhere. But I can’t leave without making sure he’s okay. I need to give him some money, make sure we’re on good terms.” She choked back tears at the thought of Amir. “I just need somewhere I can lay low for a few days until I connect with him. Then I’ll get out of your way.”
Stacey’s eyes were low as she sat studying Brooklyn. “You got Alonzo and your family looking for you.” Her lips spread slowly into a wide smile. “Brooklyn, girl, you wild!” She laughed, marveling at the box of money Brooklyn had set on the coffee table. She was used to seeing large sums of money. But she wasn’t used to seeing it coming from an underage runaway who had just robbed a church. She counted it mentally, estimating it to be about $8,000.
“I’m not looking for Daddy Warbucks,” Brooklyn said, still not appreciating the Little Orphan Annie reference. “I have my own money. I’m happy to pay you for your trouble, too, if you’ll help me. Please.”
Stacey wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or wary.
“You should go back home, Brooklyn. What if your parents call the cops on you? You got me out here harboring a fugitive.”
Stacey’s smirk let Brooklyn know she wasn’t too concerned about that.
“You don’t have to let me stay with you,” Brooklyn said. “I understand that I’m laying a lot in your lap right now. I just need somewhere to sleep. I need a day or two to get my hands on some kind of fake ID. But I made up my mind. I’m not going back to Staten Island. Period.”
Stacey could tell she wasn’t playing. “Okay,” she said. “Relax. I got you.”
“Thank you, Stacey.” Brooklyn let out a deep breath and shook her head. “I should have listened to you when you were giving me all that advice about men. I thought Zo was different.”
“That’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re young. But I listened to your story. And what I’ve learned about you so far is that you don’t stay down too long. You bounce back. You hit back. That lets me know you ain’t one to fuck with. So, you’ll survive.”
Brooklyn smiled.
“You can sleep on the couch for now,” Stacey said. “You look exhausted. I’ll bring you some pillows and blankets and shit like that. I got a spare room in the back. The crew stays here sometimes, and they sleep in there. Later on, I’ll clean it up for you and you can chill there until we find you something long term.”
Brooklyn rested her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. She willed herself to take Stacey’s advice and relax. It had been a very long day, perhaps the toughest one she had experienced in her life so far.
“Your life is gonna be a lot different now,” Stacey warned her. “Being alone in the world ain’t as easy as it seems. I hope you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
Stacey stood up and went to get Brooklyn some bedding.
Brooklyn stifled a yawn. She glanced at the cable clock and saw that it was 6:34 A.M. By now, her parents had discovered that she had run away. She imagined her father frantically searching for his keys and realizing they were missing, pictured her mother desperately dialing Erica’s house to see if Brooklyn had sought refuge there. She wondered if they were searching for Amir with equal fervor, and how long it would take them to discover that she had stolen the Timberland box full of Mrs. Hutchinson’s cash and disappeared for good.
As much as she tried to push thoughts of Amir to the back of her mind, he remained at the forefront. She was thrilled that she had finally escaped the clutches of her old life. But she was saddened that Amir had been an unexpected casualty. She hadn’t expected it to play out that way. She had been desperate for him to speak up, to stand up for her and for himself. She reminded herself that he was an adult and that he had what it took to make it on his own. Just like she did.
By the time Stacey returned, Brooklyn had already fallen asleep. Stacey covered her with a blanket, laid a pillow down beside her, and shut the lid on the shoebox. She looked at Brooklyn, shook her head in bewilderment, and let her sleep.
Brooklyn woke up just before noon. Typically, she’d be in school at this time of day. Or she’d be plotting to cut class to sneak off and see Alonzo. Just a day ago, she had been living a double life. Today she felt free as a bird.
Stacey let her know that she had left a towel and washcloth in the bathroom in case she wanted to take a shower. Brooklyn brought her backpack in the bathroom with her to make sure Stacey didn’t look through it. She wanted to keep the money she had tucked away a secret. At least for now. An insurance policy to ensure that she would land on her feet if things ever got rocky between them.
She thought about her little sister, alone now in the house with their parents. It was the way it should have been all along, Brooklyn decided. Hope was the only one who seemed truly willing to play the role assigned to her from birth. She would be fine. In fact, she would probably thrive in the absence of all the tension.
When she was done showering, Brooklyn dried off and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a midriff shirt she had folded inside her backpack. She stood in the bathroom mirror and brushed her hair into a neat bun. She pulled out her pouch with her name in graffiti letters emblazoned across it—a gift from her father. He had given it to her on no particular occasion, simply because he had seen it during his travels and it reminded him of her. She had filled it with her favorite things, usually resting it on top of her dresser each night. Now she retrieved her gold jewelry from it and adorned herself with it. She zipped the pouch again and tossed it aside, just as she felt her father had done to her.
She wondered if the police had been alerted or if her parents had announced her disappearance to the church. She wondered if her mother and sister had shed tears for her the way they had so openly done for Amir. The thought of him brought tears to her eyes. She briskly brushed them away and stepped out of the bathroom.
She came out of the bathroom and found that Stacey had company. She scanned the room, smiling. Wally and Roscoe waved at her.
Hassan looked at her and frowned.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, concerned.
Stacey sucked her teeth. “I just told you not to go asking her a million questions, and what’s the first thing you do?”
Brooklyn chuckled. “It’s okay.” She looked at Hassan. “I got in a fight. No big deal.”
“You’re too pretty to be fighting. Don’t let it happen again.” He winked at her.
Brooklyn smiled. Her eyes settled on the Timberland box on the coffee table, and she wondered if Stacey had told them what was inside. She clenched the backpack in her hand a little tighter.
“I set the room up for you like I said,” Stacey told her. “Grab your stuff and come check it out.” She nodded at the box for emphasis.
Brooklyn walked over and retrieved the Timberland box from the table. She followed Stacey down the hall and walked into a small bedroom with a twin-sized bed and a brown wooden dresser in the corner. On the bed sat a lockbox with two keys.
“Put your money in there. Keep the keys on you. That way you don’t have to worry about somebody stealing it.”
Brooklyn nodded. “Thank you.”
“Wally’s gonna get you an ID and Hassan said he’ll help you find a place. Depending on how long you plan on staying.”
Brooklyn thought about calling Erica. Her best friend would be the first person her parents would reach out to. She imagined a frenzy of activity as her family looked for her—not necessarily because they were concerned for her safety. But certainly, once they discovered the missing money in her father’s office. Erica would be able to provide an update on the status of things. But Brooklyn decided that it was too soon to call her. Erica’s parents were probably watching her like a hawk now that the truth about Brooklyn had been exposed.
“I’ll make some calls later on,” she said.
Stacey nodded and left the room. Brooklyn transferred her cash from the shoebox to the lockbox, counting it as she went. As she counted the last stack, she heard a knock at the door. She paused, making a mental note that the total so far was $7,849, shoved the rest of the cash in the box, and locked it.
“Come in.”
Hassan walked in and apologized for interrupting her.
“Just wanted to come and ask you if you want to go get something to eat.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want to go,” he said. “Your pick.”
She thought about it. She tucked the keys to the lockbox in her backpack, slung it across her shoulder, and nodded. “Let’s go.”
They stopped at a diner for lunch and sat at a table near the door. Brooklyn ordered pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Hassan ordered a steak and potatoes.
As they sat eating together, he turned on the charm.
“Even all bruised up, you still look cute.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Maybe it’s because you’re not like these girls uptown. You seem a little classier. You know what I’m saying? Like you’re above the bullshit, even with the black eye and all that. It’s the way you carry yourself.”
She grinned “Thanks. I think.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a compliment. I’m talking about the girls in our circle in particular. Stacey’s special. She’s the queen bee. Untouchable. We all respect her. But Carla and Missy—those are Roscoe and Wally’s girls—they’re cool and everything. Just typical Harlem girls. Flashy, fly, upscale. You’re real regular. And I like that.”
Brooklyn frowned a little. “Regular? No. There’s nothing regular about me,” she assured him. “Trust me.” She chewed her food aggressively as she spoke.
He laughed. “My bad, beautiful. You’re absolutely right. I just like your style. That’s all I’m saying.”
She shrugged it off. “Speaking of style, where can I find some clothes? I didn’t bring much with me, and I need a few things.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back. “You want me to take you shopping already? Damn. Maybe you are like these Harlem girls after all.”
Brooklyn laughed. “Nigga, I have my own money. Just show me where I can get some fly shit.”
He tossed a tip on the table and nodded. “Okay. I’ll show you where it’s at.”
Two hours later, Hassan stood watching Brooklyn bouncing toward the entrance of yet another clothing store. They had eaten lunch already and had been heading back to Stacey’s apartment when Brooklyn begged him to make “one stop” at a shoe store on 125th. That was four stores ago.
Brooklyn felt euphoric. Harlem was crawling with stores and street vendors. Normally, she had to have tunnel vision when she came here. She never had the chance to browse the stores, and even if she did, there was no way her parents would have let her wear any of the things she was buying.
“You like shopping, huh?”
“Yes! Especially because this time I’ll get to buy the stuff I really want. Not the long-sleeved, below the knee, crewneck shit I’m usually forced to wear.”
“Who forced you to dress like that? Zo?” Hassan asked.
“My parents,” she said. “The enforcers.” She browsed through a rack of dresses. “My parents were strict, kinda hypocritical at times. And I couldn’t take it.”
Hassan nodded. “You’re a free spirit then?”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t allow herself to think of home for too long. She didn’t want to imagine the storm she had stirred up and how frantic things might be in her absence. Shopping was a very welcome distraction from thoughts like those.
She led him through all the formerly forbidden stores—Mandee, Guess, Wild Pair, and Benneton. By the time she was done, she had bought two pairs of Air Max, a bunch of Tommy Hilfiger shirts with bare midriffs and baggy jeans to match, and a few curve-hugging dresses for good measure. For once, there was no one to tell her that anything was too short, too tight, or too revealing. She bought a new coat and some winter clothes, too. When she was done, both of them were juggling bagloads of items.
As they headed back to Stacey’s, Hassan tried to ask questions without being too invasive. “Been a while since I saw you. I figured Zo had you somewhere spoiling you rotten.”
“Nah. I wish!” She looked at him. “I know Stacey told you not to ask me too much. That’s because my story is kinda complicated. But in a nutshell, Zo broke my heart. Now, I’m out here doing my own thing.”
