Brooklyn, page 21
When she wasn’t helping Candy and Laray cook meals or shopping and lunching with Missy and Stacey, Brooklyn was working her way through the 1,000 hours of course study required to obtain her cosmetology license in New York City. The license would allow her to legally operate a salon within the city limits. She enrolled in a school in downtown Brooklyn and began working toward a new goal.
She made new friends in the borough she was named after. People from all walks of life studying for careers in the same field. Most were girls with ambitions of making a name for themselves in a competitive industry. There were a few men, too, who she bonded with over fashion, hair, and makeup styling. They taught her to take chances with her wardrobe, encouraging her to buy coveted pieces that they wished they could afford to buy for themselves. They never asked where Brooklyn got her money from. They assumed she was from a wealthy family with all her talk of piano lessons and professional dance, as well as her poise. They just accepted her, and she did the same in return. Without realizing it, Brooklyn had dazzled her way into the center of a whole new circle of friends. All of their outings to bars, parties, and shopping sprees revolved around her. She could feel her dreams becoming a reality, and life felt fuller than it had before.
She got a tattoo on her wrist to commemorate Amir. She chose a Gothic cross with Amir’s initials in the middle. Each time she looked at it, she smiled, imagining him by her side where he belonged.
It took months. But Brooklyn finally amassed the 1,000 hours of training required to obtain her cosmetology license. Now all she needed was to find the ideal location and she could start her own business. She started pressing Hassan to help her search. She was disappointed to discover that he wasn’t as enthusiastic about the idea as he had once been.
“My mother thinks we’re moving too fast,” he said flatly the next time she brought it up.
Brooklyn frowned. “Really?” She had always been given the impression that Candy appreciated her drive. Whenever she brought up the subject of owning her own business, Candy had applauded her.
“She’s scared that I’m jumping out the game too soon,” Hassan explained. “Giving you too much say over my decisions.”
Brooklyn thought about that. She had to admit that she had cemented herself as Hassan’s confidante. She chided herself for not anticipating how envied that would make her.
“I’m not trying to persuade you to do anything bad, though. If anything, I’m working hard to give you a way out of this life. So, you don’t have to look over your shoulder all the time. As a mother, she should be happy about that.”
Hassan agreed. “I think she’s a little jealous, honestly. She used to be the one I went to for advice. The first person I blessed whenever I got a windfall of cash. You’re the first girl I’ve been with in a long time. Definitely the first I’ve lived with and shared my space with. She’s probably just trying to get used to being in second place.”
Brooklyn forced a smile and pretended not to notice when he quickly changed the subject. They celebrated her achievement with a bottle of tequila and the wildest sex she had ever experienced in her young life.
Brooklyn didn’t forget that conversation. She wondered what was going on with Hassan’s mother and what her true motivations were for questioning the trust he had placed in Brooklyn. She didn’t bring the subject up again, but Brooklyn kept the thought of Candy’s disapproval in the back of her mind as the weeks wore on.
She rarely reached out to Erica anymore. Once her best friend in the world, Erica was now a faint memory that snuck back into Brooklyn’s thoughts from time to time. An old song they liked to sing would come on the radio or a movie they had watched together, and Brooklyn would be reminded of the friendship she had left behind.
She found herself immersed in a whole different world from the one she once imagined for herself. As a little girl, she had always pictured her future vividly. She saw herself as a boss, managing a group of people in a business capacity. She reminisced sometimes about the days she had spent walking around lower Manhattan people-watching as a teenager. She had envied the wealth, access, and luxury those people enjoyed. Now she was enjoying those things for herself, thanks to the hard work she was putting in and the determination she had to succeed.
Nearly a year had passed since she made that first trip to Baltimore on a Greyhound bus. Since then, she had made the trips more times than she could count, each time loaded down with more and more work for Stacey’s southern clientele. In addition to Chance, Brooklyn had encountered several other hustlers who got their cocaine from Stacey’s Harlem connection. She traveled throughout the area known as the DMV—DC, Maryland, and Virginia—with her luggage loaded down with narcotics. There, she met up with her contacts, made her sales, and carefully maneuvered around the town until it was time to head home.
The length of her visits in each town varied. Most of her contacts bought kilos that they broke down into smaller quantities in order to maximize their profits. Those sales were typically quick and easy. Brooklyn would be in and out of town within twenty-four hours in most cases. Other hustlers preferred to buy the product prepackaged for sale. Instead of paying in full for the entire package up front, they spent a few days selling $20 to $50 bundles until they made enough to pay Stacey her portion. Those transactions required a longer stay in town before the money was made and their business was done.
Stacey was wise enough to know that sending Brooklyn alone on trips like that was too risky. She sent Wally and Roscoe on those longer assignments, and limited Brooklyn’s stop in each town to a maximum of three days.
Brooklyn met a new friend during one of her trips to Baltimore. She had gone down to meet Chance, as she had countless times before. By then she had made enough money to rent good rooms at ritzier hotels in the area and used the rooms Stacey secured at the Days Inn only to conduct her business. Brooklyn had gotten familiar with the town. She knew where all the best restaurants were, where the good hair and nail salons were located, and which areas to avoid after dark.
Brooklyn had time to kill one Saturday while she was in Baltimore and she asked Dawn, the front desk clerk at the Days Inn, for a reference.
“Every time I see you, your hair looks so good! Where do you go?”
Dawn was incredibly flattered and thanked her profusely for the compliment.
“I go to Miss Molly’s over on East Chesapeake Avenue in Towson.”
Brooklyn resisted the strong urge she felt to laugh. “Miss Molly’s” and “East Chesapeake” sounded like the countriest things she had ever heard. She smiled at the girl and thanked her.
“Who should I ask for when I get there? Who’s the best stylist?”
Dawn seemed tickled by every word Brooklyn uttered in her New York accent.
“Ask for Angel.”
Brooklyn took her advice and caught a taxi to the next town over. Miss Molly’s salon was located in a tidy little strip mall just off the highway. Everything was so much neater and more polished on this side of town. There was no litter on the streets, little graffiti on the walls, and the atmosphere felt far more suburban. Baltimore even seemed gritty by comparison. The pink and black sign above the door had Miss Molly’s name written in flowy script.
Money was no object, so she tipped her driver generously and went inside.
As she entered, Brooklyn looked around. The space was well lit and open. Several hairstyling stations were scattered across the room. But only one was occupied. A pretty woman with shoulder-length hair and a bright smile greeted Brooklyn.
“Hello. Welcome to Miss Molly’s!” She had a client in her chair who was getting a relaxer. The client smiled at Brooklyn, too.
“Thank you,” Brooklyn said. “Are you Molly?”
The stylist chuckled. “No,” she said. “Molly is the owner. I’m just one of the stylists. My name is Angel.”
Brooklyn’s eyes widened. “Good! You’re just the person I’m looking for!”
They hit it off right away. Angel was two years older than Brooklyn but was far less experienced. They made small talk while Angel finished up her client. Then they chatted in depth while Angel styled Brooklyn’s hair in flat twists.
“You grew up here—in Maryland?” Brooklyn asked. She thought she detected the hint of a southern twang.
“Yes. In Baltimore. My whole family’s from here. But now my parents moved to Silver Spring.” Angel angled Brooklyn’s head to the side and parted her hair with the tail of a comb. “Baltimore changed a lot over the years. It’s not as safe as it used to be. Soon as they retired, my parents got up out of here.”
“Silver Spring is a lot nicer.”
“Yes! It’s quieter. They worked their whole lives. My sister lives close to them—in Tacoma Park—and she has twins. So, my parents go over there and spoil them every chance they get.” Angel giggled. “What about you? Born and raised in New York City?”
“Yup.”
“Sounds so exciting! I always imagined what it would be like to live there. Do you know anybody famous?”
Brooklyn laughed. “No. Don’t believe everything you see on TV.”
“What brings you to town?” Angel asked.
“I’m visiting family.”
“How nice!”
Brooklyn quickly moved on to avoid further questioning. “You said you grew up in Baltimore, so you must know where the best clubs are out there.”
“Uh-uh, girl. You don’t want to go to any of the clubs out in Baltimore. Two college kids just died a few weeks ago hanging out at a spot out there. Five other people got shot, too, but they survived. Thank God. You should be careful if you decide to hang out there. I know New Yorkers are tough. But nobody’s bulletproof.”
“I hear you,” Brooklyn said. “But I like a little adventure. So, where do I find it?”
Angel laughed. “Okay! Umm … there’s Club Trilogy. The Gallery.”
“Okay! I’ll check them out.”
“What type of adventure are you looking for?” Angel asked.
“I want to spread my wings a little. Explore, you know? Find out what the party scene is like outside of New York.”
“I hear you. I guess no matter where you live, it’s good to explore a little.”
“That’s all I’m trying to do.”
Brooklyn looked around at the handful of women in the salon having their hair done by other stylists. They all seemed like regulars, engaged in deep conversations about their relationships, kids, and other personal details. It all sounded pretty mundane to Brooklyn. She thought about what it would be like at the salon she planned to open someday. It would certainly be far more upbeat, and the conversations would be a lot more interesting.
“What do you do for fun?” Brooklyn asked.
“Hang out with my man.” Angel smiled as she said it. “His name is Josiah.”
“Aww shit!” Brooklyn teased her. “You sound like you’re in love.”
“We’ve been together for almost two years. Met him at a seafood restaurant called Phillips. Has your family taken you to eat there yet?”
“No. Not yet. I haven’t been in town too long.”
“Well, you have to go! The crab cakes are legendary. Baltimore Harbor has the best seafood in the world. Make sure you take advantage of it while you’re here.”
Angel spun her around in the chair to inspect her work. “What do you think?”
Brooklyn turned her head from side to side examining her work. “Nice!”
“I know the stylists in New York are a lot better. I see all the music videos and pictures in the magazines. That’s where all the stylists down here get our inspiration from.”
Brooklyn smiled. “You did great!” She took the handheld mirror Angel offered her and used it to check out the back. “I love it.”
“I’m so glad! I won’t lie to you. I was nervous. I’m always a little edgy when I work on a new client. But I definitely wanted to impress you. I’ve always wanted to go to New York. Everybody from there seems so cool and everything.”
Brooklyn was immediately drawn to the warmth that radiated from Angel. She was a constantly smiling beauty with flawless cinnamon-hued skin and deep-brown doe-shaped eyes. She wore her own hair in a sleek ponytail and wore minimal jewelry. Despite her outward beauty, it was her welcoming energy that Brooklyn found most appealing.
Brooklyn followed Angel to the front desk and paid her bill. She handed her a fifty-dollar bill as a tip and waved her hand modestly as Angel thanked her exuberantly.
“Oh, my goodness! This is too much!”
“You earned it,” Brooklyn insisted. “Let me get your number,” she said. “I’ll call you later on and see if you feel like tagging along with me to Club Trilogy tonight. When’s the last time you went out and shook what your mama gave ya?”
Angel laughed. “Um … I don’t know. Yeah! Okay.” She wrote her home phone number down for Brooklyn and the number to the salon beneath it. “That sounds like a plan.”
Brooklyn got to the club before Angel that night. She had been bored in her hotel room. Her money was locked securely in the safe. Her bus back to New York was leaving the following afternoon and her bags were already packed. She felt restless, so she had gotten dressed early, slipping into a pair of tight jeans and a black top with spaghetti straps. She did her makeup and opted for minimal jewelry. She was, after all, a woman on her own in a rough city. She put on a pair of Gucci stiletto boots, grabbed her winter white-wool trench coat and headed out.
It only took her driver about twenty minutes to arrive at the club on Eutaw Street. The wind howled around her as she trotted toward the venue. Brooklyn pulled her coat tighter around her and ignored the catcalls of the men outside as she rushed through the nightclub’s heavy doors.
She found a packed house of people crowded around the bar and moving on the dance floor. The music was loud, and the deejay was spinning a mix of hip hop and R&B. Brooklyn checked her coat and headed straight to the bar. She had to wait a while before she got the bartender’s attention. When she did, he came over smiling at her cleavage rather than looking her in the eye.
“Let me get a rum and coke please.” She watched and waited as he made the drink and brought it back to her. She handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change. She knew from her occasional nights out with Carla and Missy that tipping the bartender well ensured better service.
She turned her back to the bar and sipped her drink through the tiny straw as she eyed the crowd. It was a lot different from the party scene in New York City. When she went out with her friends to parties in the city, she could always expect eclectic crowds of people dressed in varying styles, bold hairdos, and flashy jewelry. The club scene in New York was about posturing, sitting in VIP, popping bottles of expensive champagne, designer labels everywhere. In Baltimore, the scene was much grittier. The partygoers weren’t particularly interesting according to Brooklyn’s standards. The women weren’t dressed provocatively, no towering heels or expensive bags. And all the guys looked gritty, as if they had just walked in from off the block. Baggy jeans, oversized T-shirts, sneakers, and unsmiling faces were the uniform that all the men present seemed to wear. Everyone appeared to be posing, standing around looking bored.
She took her drink and headed to the dance floor. An Aaliyah song was playing and Brooklyn winded her hips to the beat and sang along. She smiled, swept up in the music. She didn’t need a dance partner, didn’t need any friends or any man to help her be happy. She was high off life.
She twirled around and caught sight of a pair of women dancing together nearby. They were whispering to each other and eyeing Brooklyn jealously. She laughed and kept dancing. She wasn’t going to give them the benefit of interrupting her good time.
The song ended and the deejay mixed in the next hit. She kept dancing, now purposely hoping to piss off the two haters watching her every move. She danced until she finished her drink, and the deejay played a song she didn’t like. She headed to the bar in search of a refill. As expected, the bartender came right over and gave her another one. She slid him another $20 but he slid it back across the bar to her.
“The guy right there said he’s got you covered.”
Brooklyn turned and saw a tall, brown-skinned man with a Baltimore Orioles fitted cap standing at the end of the bar. He lifted his glass in her direction and nodded. She smiled and raised her glass in gratitude. She walked over to where he stood.
He was slightly taller than six feet, stocky, and cute. He smiled as she approached.
“Thank you,” she said, gesturing at the glass in her hand. “I thought guys only sent drinks to girls in movies.”
He laughed, revealing his perfect teeth. “You walked in here looking like a movie star. So, it’s only right.”
She blushed a little.
“My name is Chris.”
“I’m Brooklyn,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised. The second you walked in, I could tell you’re not from around here,” he said. “Hearing you speak was a dead giveaway.”
“Seems like every time I open my mouth around here, people automatically know where I’m from. I never thought New Yorkers sound so different from everybody else.”
“That’s a good thing,” he said. “Makes you stand out even more. Not that you need any help in that area. Like I said, I noticed you the second you walked in the door.” He took a sip of his cognac. “What you doing in town?”
“Visiting,” she said. “Thought I would come out and see what the nightlife is like.”
“By yourself?” He seemed surprised. “That’s bold for a woman in a town like B’more.”
“You’re here by yourself,” she observed.
“No, I’m not.” He nodded toward four guys dressed in baggy streetwear and sneakers looming large around the perimeter of the dance floor. They looked rough and rugged, none of them smiling. “My crew is in here.” He looked at her. “Where’s your crew?”
