boosted from a discount store. Am I moving too fast?” she stopped to ask Yarni, who was taking notes.
“You are not moving fast enough” is what Yarni wanted to say, but she simply responded, “Not at all.”
“You know I’m about to tell you the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. You gotta believe this is what happened.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m going to give it to you, exactly the way it went down.”
Yarni turned to a clean page on her legal pad, kicked back, turned her listening ear on high, and took a ride down memory lane with her client.
“After not hearing from Chiquita for nearly four years, I got a call from Shortee,” Tangaleena started, relaying the conversation and that day’s events verbatim.
“Whadit do, cuzo?”
“Nothing much. Spumante watching TV and I’m trying to straighten up around here.”
“How baby girl doing?”
“She’s doing good, just growing big.”
“Yo, let me make this shit real quick, ’cause they be tripping ’bout the phone ’round here.”
“A’ight then, don’t worry about the small talk. What’s good? What you need?” Tangaleena figured that Shortee either needed something or had some kind of prison gossip to pass on.
“You heard about Chiquita just coming home from doing dem ten months dem peeps gave her, right?”
“I heard she was out, but you know you can’t believe half of what you hear.”
Shortee chuckled. “The word on the street is since she been out, she’s been spending a lot of energy trying to make up for lost time.”
“I’m not shocked.”
“How come you not shocked?” Shortee asked.
“I mean really, are you? Come on now—fuck milk, ten months clean in the county does the body good,” she joked, but was dead serious. “Because you know firsthand one thing about being locked down, you get plenty of rest and three meals a day.”
“Well, word is that after two hours of her being home, she had tricks throwing money. She always did know how to treat a dick. That girl is a beast.”
“Shortee,” Tangaleena interrupted. “I don’t want to hear all that.”
“I know, forgive me. A nigga in the pen gotta have some good thoughts from the streets. But anyways, let me get back to this worthless bitch. Well, within two weeks she was back getting high and I heard she’s been smoking—heroin mixed with cooked coke. Some folks call it dragon balls. When you smoke that shit you feel as if there’s nothing you can’t do.”
“So?” Tangaleena tried to get Shortee to the point. He could be really long-winded sometimes.
“I just want to give you a heads-up,” Shortee warned. “Just so you know what the word is on the street.”
After hanging up with her cousin, Tangaleena wondered why he had even called her with that senseless bullshit. Did he still love Chiquita? Whatever the reason was, she really didn’t connect the dots or care. She redirected her attention to the housework, washing dishes while Spumante sat on the couch drinking hot chocolate and watching
Shrek
for the hundredth time. The doorbell rang and Spumante came running into the kitchen. “Who’s at the door, Mommy?”
“I don’t know, baby, let’s go see,” she said as she wiped her hands on a towel.
She walked to the door and looked out the window. She saw a woman who resembled Chiquita too much not to be her. She was wearing a pair of supertight stretch jeans, black sneakers and a black leather coat.
It was definitely Chiquita, Tangaleena concluded, but what the fuck could she want? She didn’t look too bad; maybe Shortee was wrong about the drugs. Reluctantly and naively, Tangaleena undid the lock and opened the door. “May I help you?” she asked with less enthusiasm than she would’ve exuded for a vacuum cleaner salesman.
“Dang, gurl, you ain’t gotta act like that.” Chiquita and Tangaleena never really got along. Chiquita hadn’t liked the fact that Tangaleena was Shortee’s favorite cousin
“You are not moving fast enough” is what Yarni wanted to say, but she simply responded, “Not at all.”
“You know I’m about to tell you the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. You gotta believe this is what happened.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m going to give it to you, exactly the way it went down.”
Yarni turned to a clean page on her legal pad, kicked back, turned her listening ear on high, and took a ride down memory lane with her client.
“After not hearing from Chiquita for nearly four years, I got a call from Shortee,” Tangaleena started, relaying the conversation and that day’s events verbatim.
“Whadit do, cuzo?”
“Nothing much. Spumante watching TV and I’m trying to straighten up around here.”
“How baby girl doing?”
“She’s doing good, just growing big.”
“Yo, let me make this shit real quick, ’cause they be tripping ’bout the phone ’round here.”
“A’ight then, don’t worry about the small talk. What’s good? What you need?” Tangaleena figured that Shortee either needed something or had some kind of prison gossip to pass on.
“You heard about Chiquita just coming home from doing dem ten months dem peeps gave her, right?”
“I heard she was out, but you know you can’t believe half of what you hear.”
Shortee chuckled. “The word on the street is since she been out, she’s been spending a lot of energy trying to make up for lost time.”
“I’m not shocked.”
“How come you not shocked?” Shortee asked.
“I mean really, are you? Come on now—fuck milk, ten months clean in the county does the body good,” she joked, but was dead serious. “Because you know firsthand one thing about being locked down, you get plenty of rest and three meals a day.”
“Well, word is that after two hours of her being home, she had tricks throwing money. She always did know how to treat a dick. That girl is a beast.”
“Shortee,” Tangaleena interrupted. “I don’t want to hear all that.”
“I know, forgive me. A nigga in the pen gotta have some good thoughts from the streets. But anyways, let me get back to this worthless bitch. Well, within two weeks she was back getting high and I heard she’s been smoking—heroin mixed with cooked coke. Some folks call it dragon balls. When you smoke that shit you feel as if there’s nothing you can’t do.”
“So?” Tangaleena tried to get Shortee to the point. He could be really long-winded sometimes.
“I just want to give you a heads-up,” Shortee warned. “Just so you know what the word is on the street.”
After hanging up with her cousin, Tangaleena wondered why he had even called her with that senseless bullshit. Did he still love Chiquita? Whatever the reason was, she really didn’t connect the dots or care. She redirected her attention to the housework, washing dishes while Spumante sat on the couch drinking hot chocolate and watching
Shrek
for the hundredth time. The doorbell rang and Spumante came running into the kitchen. “Who’s at the door, Mommy?”
“I don’t know, baby, let’s go see,” she said as she wiped her hands on a towel.
She walked to the door and looked out the window. She saw a woman who resembled Chiquita too much not to be her. She was wearing a pair of supertight stretch jeans, black sneakers and a black leather coat.
It was definitely Chiquita, Tangaleena concluded, but what the fuck could she want? She didn’t look too bad; maybe Shortee was wrong about the drugs. Reluctantly and naively, Tangaleena undid the lock and opened the door. “May I help you?” she asked with less enthusiasm than she would’ve exuded for a vacuum cleaner salesman.
“Dang, gurl, you ain’t gotta act like that.” Chiquita and Tangaleena never really got along. Chiquita hadn’t liked the fact that Tangaleena was Shortee’s favorite cousin
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