BOMAW Vol. 10-12 (167 page)

Bradley chuckled as he drove, "Yep, you and that imagination, so dramatic, you definitely are a Pippa. And your mama, by the way, is too much of a lady to even consider such a thing, having an affair. Now, as for you and your need to, how can I say this? Run off to the hood to play, as it stands, you have lost your precious car that you worked long and diligently on, you have irreversibly injured yourself, and have dropped out of college, for the what is this? Fourth time? Either way, fact is, you could have been killed. It is that event, dear Ms Pippa that has lost you your freedom."

"I am an adult! I have a mind to move out once again!"

Bradley chuckled once more, "Yes, well - anyway, will you behave yourself now? When we arrive, I believe you are to shower and change into more ladylike attire, your father has invited his friend and family, the Faichney's over, that includes Francis."

Chaka rolled her eyes, sighing, dreading the evening.

William Ezra Wentworth was holding a meeting in his home office. It was a habit simply because, his employee's always enjoyed coming out because they knew at the conclusion of it, they were allowed to stick around, have dinner, enjoy his games room, the pool, the theatre, whatever he allowed for that evening. William, or Bill, had known wealth his entire life. His wife had come from a similar background after they'd met at one of the many cotillions traditionally thrown over the years to introduce the young women of black elites to the society in which they circulated. In truth, his wife was English - born in England, daughter of an African mother and a white, English aristocrat, her father - from old money and great wealth.

Bill kept listening for Bradley's return, his daughter's return, instead of being completely focused on what was being presented by his managers from his chain of successful restaurants; which were not the means of his wealth; that, his wealth had been passed down to him from eight previous generations - so he was already rich in his own right, aside from his chosen profession; which gave his life a greater challenge and reason to circulate among people not as rich as himself. He felt that it kept him grounded, in tune with that world where the populations were spiraling out of control. His chain of restaurants provided hundreds of jobs - that was one of his contributions to this economy and the middle classes. His children, all five - well, four, were the source of his greatest pride. His eldest two, were both ivy league graduates, his son, Edmond Pierce Wentworth, an officer in the air force, his daughter, Erin Rosalyn Wentworth-Harris, was married with a career in fashion design. His younger two, were as well in exceptional order, another daughter of the three, his youngest, Vanessa Ohiroyo Wentworth, attended college for media and arts and his son, Gregory Preston Wentworth was still in high school - class president, and running the school newspaper.

However, his middle child, daughter - was something else entirely.

He supposed one out of five wasn't too bad, after all he suspected every family had one, at the very least, one. That one that tried all those within the household in one form or fashion. He should have known, when at her birth, his wife decided to give her that African name, yes it had been her mother's name, however, this was America, not Africa, in the end, he'd accepted her choice, but still and yet, he wasn't sure what had come over her with that particular pregnancy. It obviously hadn't stopped there, because in the subsequent years that followed, he was certain the effects were powerful enough for the child she carried to manifest that peculiarity, which only attested to the fact that something had gone terribly wrong. He just couldn't be sure of what that was. She'd finished school but dropped out of one college after another for whatever were her reasons, the last because of the shooting.

She dressed, in his opinion, highly inappropriately, especially considering all the clothes that she had; instead of wearing attire that made her look like one of lesser means, in garish loose fitting ghetto get-ups, looking like a urchin who'd been shopping at the outdoor markets and sidewalk sales. Baggy pants, hanging off of her rump, sloppy jersey's, at times, ridiculously hideous gold chains, or "bling" and choosing to work in the garage, fixing on cars, doing auto body custom designs to churn out a low rider to cruise in the midst of those with chaotic lifestyles and habits guaranteed to get her killed. How many times had he stared at her roaring down the drive heading off wondering, 'Where did she come from?' Because she looked so much like his sister, he knew that she was his - so he couldn't blame an affair.

That long ago day, when they'd gotten the news that she'd been involved in a gang shooting, had in fact been shot, the panic she'd sent through them still made him dizzy just thinking about it. That he loved his errant daughter was without doubt, she was unpredictable, scoffed at their wealth, her own wealth and as she put it, wishing to connect with her real, "peops" - he groaned. He didn't know what the draw was, a bunch of lazy welfare junkies with 'give me more' on their minds, instead of getting up, standing on their own two feet, and being more of a credit to their race - they bred children like roaches, whom of which none were equipped to raise, mentally, financially or emotionally - for them to be set loose upon society taxing the system to the breaking point and filling the prison system. And his daughter was enamored by them, why? Especially considering they'd almost killed her. He'd been sure that would be the end of that nonsense. How wrong he had been. She was right back into the midst of them again and really pushing it with him now - either she do an about face, or she could permanently kiss her allowance goodbye and get a real job like the common people she chose to waste her time with, he was getting fed up.

Chaka made it to her room un-noticed by her father. There, she shed the clothes he hated seeing her in, pulled the black and white bandana from her medium length hair, shaking it loose with her fingers and dropped over her head, one of her nice dresses she wore when at home among her family. At that moment, her sister Vanessa, barged into her room; Bradley was right, she was not happy.

"Ah! So you are back! I just want you to know, thanks to you, I missed a very important interview!"

"Should've taken the bus!" Chaka returned, putting on some stockings.

"Have you lost your mind? Me, on a bus? A public vehicle? Waiting on a corner? Riding around with people I don't know, they could have anything!"

"Bradley's back, why don't you go now?"

"It's too late!"

Chaka stood pulling her panty hose over her hips, "I'm certain there will be more interviews, or whatever that was. Now get out of my room, I have to make a phone call."

"A phone call to whom?" Vanessa asked walking to the chaise lounge in Chaka's room, sitting pretty, crossing her legs in that perfect etiquette way that drove Chaka crazy.

"None of your business, as if I would tell you anyway!"

"Hmmm, it must be about that Maxwell! Can't believe you're still after him."

"I've never been, after him!"

Vanessa leaned to the side, propping her head on her hand, "Liar! I've read your diary, you're gonna give him your virginity, only problem, he sees right through you! I read just about everything, hurry up and update it, your last entry was last week."

Chaka stood staring at her tempted to roll out a few street epithets to shock her into departing her room, "Get your prim and proper ass, up off of my furniture, and out of my room! And you can be glad, that my hip is bothering me too much to put my foot where it needs to go for reading my diary! What you've read, is all you will - because as of now, I'll be blogging online, and no, you can't have the address."

Vanessa stood, "I don't want it, you're a bore. I can't believe you're still a virgin! How pathetic! Is it any wonder, parading around like a lesbo, you probably are one. Anyway, I'll be telling daddy that you're home. And I'll also be using this incident to get him to buy me a car - so I thank you."

"Why can't you buy your own car?!" Chaka asked, her eyes following her sister towards the door.

"Out of my own money? Why would I want to do that, when daddy has so much of his own to buy me one, don't be ridiculous!"

Chaka turned away heading for her vanity, where she sat, picking up a brush to brush out her hair, looking at her face in the mirror wondering if she should put on a bit of make-up, as she contemplated that, her mobile rang. Snatching it up, "Hi sis, was about to call you." She started right away, as her older sisters name, Erin showed on the display.

"I couldn't wait any longer, did you do it?"

"I didn't have to, he ended up coming to the park where I was hanging out, trying to work up my nerve to ask where he lived. And bam, there he was."

"And, so, did you tell him?"

"I told him! I spilled my guts to him, I laid it all out."

"You told him you were still a virgin?"

"I did."

"Pippa I told you not to tell him that! Hell, or that you loved him."

"There was no way of telling him a bit of the way I felt without the rest, so I spilled it, everything - at least they know I'm not gay anymore."

"They? What do you, mean they?"

"Well, a few of the other guys were there at the time, and it just came out sorta, kind'ah, I don't know. But anyway, it's done and that's that. And will you please stop calling me Pippa! You guys know I don't like being called Pippa."

"Everybody calls you Pippa! It's your name, and besides, you look and act like a Pippa!"

"Chakadayayami - Chaka for short, or Shorty, that's what I prefer."

"Don't try to change the subject Pippa - we were discussing your giving this hoodlum license to take advantage of you."

"I beg your pardon, how do you figure that?"

"Telling him you love him, and that you're a virgin. Even if he doesn't want you Pippa, he'll be after you just to say he had you first!"

"I'm not going to let him get away with that one, he'll have to jump through hoops to get me."

"I still say, you shouldn't have told him, what is it about him anyway? What's wrong with Francis?"

"Daddy, likes Francis. He's a stuffed shirt and a bore; he's materialistic, shallow and thinks he's better than other people, like Vanessa, like Gregory, like daddy."

"Daddy is not like that Pippa."

"So you say - I think different. He believes being charitable and hiring people to work for him is good enough."

"Pippa whether you like it or not, people who have not, cannot be friends with people who have - they clash, always have, always will. Does he know you have money?"

"No."

"Why not Pippa? You dangled your virginity before him, why not your money too, make sure to reel him in. In fact, does any of those you hang with, know you come from a filthy rich background? Well?"

Chaka sat quiet, and in low tones muttered, "No, they don't."

"Why do you suppose that is? Huh?"

"It just - never came up."

"Bull! You know, if they knew - exactly what would happen! They'd be all over you, asking for loans, asking for favors, and goodness knows what else, the only way to help them, is through charities set up for just that purpose and scholarships, which daddy does."

"I have to go, daddy is buzzing me - Vanessa couldn't wait to go down and stir up mess for me."

"We'll talk later after dinner, Ian and I will there after a while."

"Maybe, if I'm in the mood to talk."

"Pippa don't be such a brat - stop always trying to be difficult - and accept who you are, black and filthy rich, it's not a crime! Stop acting guilty about it, and if you ask me, I honestly think, that's the only reason you want this Maxwell - because he's from the hood and a thug, does he even have a job?"

"Yes - he - does!"

"Doing what Pippa?"

"Goodbye Erin, talk you later, or not."

Clicking her mobile off, Chaka turned on her bench looking for her cane when a knock sounded at the door. Taking a deep breath, "Come in."

The door opened to her father, who stared at her a moment as if gathering his thoughts, as if trying to make sure what he said was worded right, in the end he gave up all logic because he realized he was dealing with a daughter where logic wasn't helping.

"What is it going to take with you, Pippa? Tell me please - I look at you, and for all intents and purposes, you seem to be a perfectly normal, intelligent young woman, yet - your actions seem to defy all of that. I cannot believe, that once more - you're back to seeking those people-..."

"You make them sound like they're from another planet daddy, from another world."

"You have no place among them Pippa, you should not be trying to make a place for yourself there. I thought surely, after what you went through, you would turn your back, walk away and accept that this is your life, this is where you belong. Is this some form of suicide Pippa?"

She stared at her father a moment, tears began stinging from the back of her eyes forcing her to look to the floor. They'd had this argument so many times, very heated arguments when she first starting venturing there. Gregory was the one who blew the whistle on her, and since then, she'd defied her father and gone despite his disapproval. She'd tried to calm the urge, but there was one person that kept taking her back, Maxwell. He filled her mind, every other thought, her dreams, her desires as no man she'd ever seen had. She'd tried to distance herself from even him - to give a space of time to get over him. She'd gone to parties, to meetings, to all the restaurants her father owned, and at school she sought the interest of others, had even gone out on a few dates here and there. She'd even gotten as close as she ever had to letting a guy make love to her, take her virginity. It didn't happen because Max came to her mind and right away she knew, if she let the act continue, that precious gift she'd been holding for him, would be gone forever. What if, down the road, things changed and there was a chance for them? She would no longer be that sole woman for him she'd always dreamed of being. She'd backed out of it and never saw the guy again, and he'd been really nice. It was at that point she decided to wait it out. It was at that point she knew that she loved him and it wasn't going to change. Slowly, she began showing up again, and then a few months later, the shooting. In the hospital, when he had visited, because he was there too, she thought then he would have seen that she followed him, saved that white woman - all because it was what he directed them to do. She considered herself, one of his homies, they'd all had walkie talkies to sort of keep tabs on each other, report what the eyes saw happening in their territory and watch each other's back. That night of the shooting, they'd lost them, she wasn't sure if the police confiscated them or not. The event had broken them up for a spell, because many were afraid of police harassment, or being arrested even though they'd had nothing to do with it, other than save her life.