The Glamorous Life 2: All That Glitters Isn't Gold Page 9

“A few weeks,” he confessed—some of the air removed from his cocky chest this time. The interrogation far from over, she asked, where he got the drugs. Somehow, she felt she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

  Compton tried dodging the question. “Why does it matter where I score from?”

  “Is it Jean?”

  Tight-lipped.

  But not denying the accusation was confirmation enough for Calliope. She let out a deep sigh. “Is he forcing you to sell for him?”

  “It’s not like that, sis. Don’t nobody and can’t nobody force me to do nothing. Jean’s like the big brother I never had. He holds me down and gives me advice. He holds me accountable and makes sure I’m good the same as he does for Moo-Moo.”

  The truth of the matter was that Jean didn’t want that life for his brother either. However, what was he going to do? He tried to talk the boys out of their decision to trap, but once their minds were set in concrete, he insisted in the best way he knew how. Boys will be boys. He hoped that it would be a phase that he would grow out of.

  Killing the vibe, Juanita marched back into the room. “Time’s up, patient needs her rest,” she said in a manner of a drill sergeant.

  Locking eyes with her brother, Calliope told him, “Please be careful.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and, with a smile about the size of the Biscayne Bay washed over his face, said, “I got this. I got us.”

  13

  Calliope paced the floor back and forth, watching the entryway to the door, hoping and praying that everything would fall in place. She couldn’t believe that Compton had gotten himself caught up and wasn’t for sure how things would turn out. Finally she saw Mabel’s lime green outfit making its way through the door. Calliope exhaled before she could thank God that Mabel had finally made it there. “Where the hell is my money?” Mabel came out of her face then extended her hand with her palm up.

  Calliope shot her a look and if she was anybody other than her great-grandmother by blood—and that was alleged—she would have cussed her out. But out of respect she didn’t. Instead she took a deep breath, bit her tongue, counted to five, then went into her Gucci purse and handed Mabel the two hundreds and a fifty-dollar bill.

  Mabel looked at the three bills as if something was wrong, and in her eyes it was. “Look, lil’ girl, run me my cash. Ain’t nobody got time to be playing with you. It’s too early in the morning for this mess and I’m going to mess around and miss bingo down here with this foolishness here! Didn’t I tell you on day one, when I picked y’all up that this was business? Now, I want the rest of my money.”

  Before Calliope was about to blow her top, she counted to herself again and then took more air into her lungs, locked eyes with Mabel, and said, “And you will get the rest of your money as soon as you do what you are supposed to do. Now that’s how business work.… You get half now, and half when your task is completed.”

  Mabel stared at her for a good thirty seconds and Calliope didn’t break her look either. “All right then,” she said, and sucked her teeth, leaned into Calliope, and said to her in a tone above a whisper, “And I don’t want no shit out of y’all some when it come to my damn money.” She put her hand on her hip and was using the other to point at Calliope to let her know that she was jiving.

  Calliope said, “Do what you are supposed to do then, and rest assured, it’s plenty more where that came from. Now maybe you should go to the bathroom and get that lipstick off your teeth.”

  Mabel was a tad bit embarrassed that she had her red Revlon lipstick on her teeth. “I will do just that, and see you in court.”

  As Calliope made her way into the actual courtroom, the bailiff was beginning the proceeding with, “All rise.”

  A gavel jockey, sporting a pair of granny glasses on the tip of his nose, balding head, and gray mustache, wearing a black robe, took the stand as if he were a king among his subjects. The judge milked the moment for everything it was worth.

  “You may be seated,” he informed his citizens.

  She copped a squat on the row bench, legs crossed at the knees. The guy beside her couldn’t stop eyeballing her or her Seven jeans that were molded to her toned calves and shapely thighs. It had been over six months since her near-death experience and Calliope had recovered unblemished. In fact, her body had filled out more. At seventeen, legally she was still jailbait, but dangerously drop-dead gorgeous.

  To the thirsty creep sitting next to her, she said, “Stop fish bowling me before something accidently gets stuck in your eye.”

  “Don’t flaunt it, if you don’t want it.”

  “Perve,” followed by a slender middle finger and she was done with him.

  Two cases went by before she shuffled Compton out. “Your Honor.”

  The prosecutor stood. “Mr. Conley, you were apprehended with five hundred and twelve baggies of crack cocaine, totaling the weight 100.6 grams. Along with one thousand dollars in cash.”

  This was the first time that Calliope had heard the actual accusations. The prosecutor, in her mind, was making Compton to be Nino Brown, Jr., of the South. Meanwhile in her peripheral vision, she glimpsed a familiar face among the people in the gallery. When she turned to be sure that it belonged to the person she thought it did, he winked.

  Jean. Why the fuck was he here? It was all coming together. It was his fault that Compton was selling drugs in the first place anyway. Calliope’s thoughts were interrupted when the judge asked, “Do you have anyone representing you, son?”

  Calliope was about to stand, but a dapper, middle-aged man from the front row beat her to the punch.

  “Yes, sir, Michael Weikenstein, and I’m Mr. Conley’s attorney.”

  His appearance alone played a major part. The suit the lawyer wore was so expensive, it seemed that one would have to be either famous or a major drug kingpin to even afford his retainer.

  The judge tried to disguise his surprise. “I see.”

  What broke out was a good old fashioned prison-yard knife fight but in a courtroom. In place of hardened convicts were two fork-tongued rival Ivy League litigators. The prosecutor had drawn first blood. Now it was time for the defense.

  “First of all, Your Honor, my client is only thirteen.”

  “He will be fourteen in less than thirty days, Your Honor,” the prosecutor interjected.

  “We are not talking about thirty days, Your Honor, we are talking about today, right now at this minute.”

  “You have a valid point, Mr. Weikenstein.”

  “As I was saying before interrupted, my client is only thirteen years old and prefers to be called by his first name Compton. Mr. Conley is Compton’s father, a man he hasn’t seen since he was four but that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to discuss the merit of the charges.” The judge’s gleaming head bopped up and down. “That’s why we are here,” the Jewish Ivy League defense lawyer said. “Yes, five hundred and twelve baggies of coke, totaling one hundred point six grams in weight was found. But not on my client. The coke was found in a drainpipe in the Pork and Beans Projects. My client lives with his great-grandma in Miami Lakes.”

  The prosecutor didn’t take the potentially fatal blows sitting down. “Then what’s he doing hanging out less than twenty feet away from the drugs in Pork and Beans Housing Projects then?”

  As if he’d been waiting for the outburst, Compton’s well-paid attorney said, “Visiting a friend. No crime in that. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have friends who only live in the suburbs.”

  Snickering in the gallery.

  “And the money,” the defense attorney continued as if the explanation was simple, “a gift from his great-grandmother. To go school shopping, if I may add, and get a couple of money orders for her various bills.”

  “How convenient,” the prosecutor snorted. “I’m sure he had a reason for running from the police also.”

  Weikenstein flashed a set of gleaming white teeth as if he predicted that he
’d be asked. “I do,” he said. “He was afraid. The police in question were undercover, wearing plain clothes. My client had no way of knowing who was chasing him. The painful truth is that Pork and Beans Projects is a dangerous place at times, people sometimes run to stay alive. May I add, not being from around those parts can be even harder.”

  He’s good, Calliope thought to herself. She wanted to stand and clap for the lawyer’s performance, his final blow a coup de grâce.

  “Well,” the judge decided, “if the great-grandmother can vouch for the money, your client can be released to your custody. If not, it’s the home.”

  Where the fuck is Mabel? Calliope wondered anxiously. She had been so caught up in Mr. Weikenstein’s performance that she had not noticed that Mabel hadn’t entered into the courtroom. Calliope knew good and well that Mabel had better not have left and been at bingo jacking off the money.

  “Is there a funeral going in dis here place or something? So damn quiet.” Mabel made a grand entrance into the courtroom, making the judge do a double take at her lime top, and the lime beret she had cocked to the side with a rhinestone broach in the middle of it.

  The judge slammed the gavel, ordering silence in the court. “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Mabel. “Nothing like a bit damn little order. That’s how I run my house, with order, sir.”

  The judge seemed flabbergasted, and confused. “Who are you, ma’am? And how may I help you?” Then he looked for the bailiff for help. She shrugged the bailiff off her.

  Mabel put her hands on her hips. “I am Mabel Moon and I’m the great-grandmother of that there boy that you got all shackled up like he’s some kind of criminal. It just doesn’t make any kinds of sense how you people try to criminalize these kids at such a young age. Talking about y’all some want them to be multi-cultural and getting along with chill-ings from all walks of life and when they venture to the other side of town, you locks ’em up.”

  “Miss,” he interjected. The judge pushed his granny glasses farther up his long nose. “You are the great-grandmother?”

  “I just said that I was, didn’t I? But I prefer to be called Two Gs Mabel.” Big pockets of laughter came from the gallery.

  “One question, uh, Mabel. Your great-grandson had a thousand dollars on his person,” the judge stated. “Do you by any chance know where he came by that much money?”

  If Mabel answered the question incorrectly, everything that the lawyer had achieved would have been out of the window. The room became devoid of oxygen as the entire courtroom waited for the answer.

  Mabel asked incredulously, “A thousand dollars? Did you just say that that boy had a thousand dollars on him?”

  The judge became impatient. “Yes, Ms. Moon, I did. Do you know where he could have come by so much money?”

  “All I know is,” Mabel said indignantly, “is that one of yo cricked-ass po-pos must of stole some of it and that just doesn’t make any senses either. Judge, I’m expecting you to make them accountable. Because I gave that boy fifteen hundred before he left home, clothes these days are expensive as I don’t know what. Can’t get nearly nothing anymore, then the gas bill, light bills, I mean Power and Lights, someone need to do something about that. I try to pay on time; my feet bad and I can’t stand in those lines because my two dogs hurt me so bad. That’s why I’m Two Gs Mabel, you heard me?”

  Pandemonium broke out. People couldn’t stop laughing, the bailiffs cracking up themselves.

  “Order in the court.” The judge wanted the laughter to come to a halt, but was trying to hold his own in.

  Then the prosecutor spoke up, “Now what about the curfew charge because he was out after one in the morning.”

  Before Mr. Weikenstein could get his two cents in, the judge ruled. “Mr. Conley will be released to Ms. Two Gs Mabel Moon and an ankle bracelet will be placed on his ankle until his fifteenth birthday to ensure that he will be in the house every day before dark, unless with his great-grandmother.”

  Once outside the courtroom, Mabel collected her other two fifty and announced that she was late for bingo and hoped they had bus fare home.

  Calliope watched as Jean shook Compton’s attorney’s hand. She waited for Jean to finish up with the attorney before she approached Jean.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. His cologne was something special to smell. The aroma screamed rich.

  “Listen, thank you for the attorney and all that but at the same time, I don’t want Compton caught up in your,” she said in a whisper, “drug enterprise.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Cut the bullshit with me.”

  “Can I take you to dinner so we can talk it over?”

  “Nothing to talk about,” she shot back at him, then realized that she should probably humble herself a little because Jean had been a lifesaver—hers at that. “Listen, I thank you for helping my brother rescue me, and for you having Juanita the nurse take care of me. I’m so grateful to you, and this attorney, he was really a class act. But I need you to understand that my brother is all I have. And he has his whole life in front of him and I don’t want him caught up in the system and throwing his life away.”

  “I understand and agree totally.”

  “Then why then?” she asked.

  “I promise you I feel the same way about my little brother, but the two of them once they put their heads together and decide to do something, it’s nothing nobody can do to stop them. You know that.”

  She knew what he was saying was true about Moo-Moo and Compton. She only nodded in agreement.

  “So, all I do is try to accommodate what they are going to do and make sure they are not in harm’s way. Now what I’m thinking what we can do is stay in touch, compare notes, and this way we are not sideswiped when it comes to those two.”

  “You are so right.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to call you and swing by on a regular. Is that okay?” Jean asked.

  “Fine by me.”

  For the hours it took for them to process the necessary paperwork for Compton’s release, Jean kept her company. The two went for lunch and then came back, and the procedure turned into an all-day process, but getting acquainted with her new friend made time fly. Before they knew it, Compton was finally home and settled. Though Jean had left Compton with some cash, Compton still had a long look on his face. “What’s wrong Comp?”

  “Just wondering what we going to do for money, now that I’m on this house arrest bullshit.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I will come up with something. Don’t I always?”

  14

  Calliope opened up the mailbox and saw the letter from the Florida Board of Education. She couldn’t help but to rip it open, and there it was: she was in possession of her GED. She was overjoyed and couldn’t wait to tell Jean. Before she was back in the door good, she had grabbed her phone to call Jean to tell him of the good news. He was happy and said four words, “This calls for celebration.”

  Jean and her had been together over nine months now. In the beginning, he tried to convince her to stop dancing and he would take care of her, but she would hear nothing of it.

  Then he came up with a better plan: if she took GED classes, he’d give her an allowance so that she wouldn’t have to be up all night working and could focus on school. So this was just as much of his accomplishment as it was hers.

  For the first time in her life, things were going great. Compton was attending a good school, making Bs and excelling to the top of his class. He was voted best dressed. Though Compton hated the fact that she was seeing Jean, he couldn’t mind too much since he wasn’t any of those dirty old men that Rusty had her scamming, and at least Jean kept her off the pole.

  The relationship between Calliope and Jean was growing and the two were inseparable. Shortly after court, Mabel had a stroke and Calliope stepped up to the plate to take care of her. She was appreciative to Calliope and realized that Calliope was the only f
amily that she had. She couldn’t believe that things were finally looking up.

  Jean had come over to take Calliope and Compton to dinner to celebrate. He was proud and very happy for her but she could tell that it was something heavy on his mind. After they got back from dinner, she asked him, “Is everything all right, baby?”

  He didn’t give her a straight answer. Instead he asked, “So, do you love me?”

  “Yes,” she quickly said not even having to think. “You know I do. Why would you ask me such a stupid question anyway?”

  He ignored her question and then asked her another question. “How much?”

  “A whole lot.” Her eyes confirmed as they lit up.

  He wanted to believe her, but he simply said, “Okay, we will see.”

  “And just how do you plan to measure my love?” she asked, interested to know the details of his measuring cup.

  “Time, baby … only time will tell.”

  “Okay,” she said, wanting to go into depth but not rustle his feathers. She knew him well, and was sure that he was going somewhere with his line of questioning. Where? She didn’t know but knew he’d reveal it soon. She reminded him, “Whenever you are ready to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

  “Look, real talk, baby girl, been wanting to talk to you about something for a few days now but didn’t know how to, but I’m going to just put my cards on the table.”

  She was puzzled when she observed the look of seriousness on his face. “Baby, what is it?” she asked as sympathetic as she could.

  He was quiet for a few minutes and then she fell into his arms. “Baby, talk to me, you know whatever is on your mind is safe with me.”

  He searched her face and all he saw was sincerity. He shook his head. Calliope grabbed his hand. “Talk to me, baby,” she insisted.

  “Man, you know how when shit is going good, shit just be too good.”

  “I know that feeling, I’m feeling it now, finally after all the stuff I have been through. But we solid, right?” she asked.