Crazy Summer (40 page)

Summer walked into her apartment, Penthouse at the Phoenix. Jeremy had rearranged in there a lot. Lil’ Wayne was bumping through the hidden speakers in the walls. A leather circular sofa sat in the center of the living room, and that’s where Jeremy lay. He was completely naked and uncovered. He batted his eyes open when she cleared the glass table with one swipe, knocking glasses, bottles, and hydro marijuana onto the floor.

“Get yo’ muthafuckin’ ass up and get dressed,” she said angrily.

Bookie came in behind her. He went a separate direction and killed the loud music. Silence took over the house.

Jeremy rubbed his eyes and covered himself with a quilt that was on the floor. A female covered in a silk Versace robe stood at the top of the steps. Summer and Bookie both looked up at the same time.

“Get dressed, and get out,” Summer said calmly, her finger pointing to the door.

Bookie walked outside to the terrace that wrapped around the southeast corner. He lit up a cigarillo and then faced the skyline.

Jeremy stood up and looked down at his mother. “Don’t put her out, Mama,” he pleaded.

He knew Summer was serious and knew she would lay her life on the line for him. Her anger showed on her face as she stared into her son’s eyes.

“You remember what we talked about before you entered college?” she asked. “Now you’re here smoking, drinking, and popping fucking X-pills.” She reached up and jabbed her finger at his temple. “Do…you…have…any...common...sense?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, do you wanna go pro and become something in life, or do you wanna be a junkie and fall short?”

“I’ma go pro,” he responded, serious as a heart attack.

“Do I need to take you back to Augusta?”

“No, ma’am.” He didn’t hesitate with that response.

“Go upstairs and get dressed,” she commanded.

Summer eyed the beautiful female as she came down the stairs. Jeremy passed her on his way up. The girl looked young. Her face was round with glossy lips, and her skin was a smooth honey tone. Summer called her over to where she stood, and the girl came.

Summer introduced herself, even though she didn’t need to. Jeremy spoke highly of his mother, and in the streets of Augusta, she was well respected. So was Bookie. They were a ghetto fabulous Bonnie and Clyde. They sold cocaine and meth. They were still connected to the strip club and the hotel, and Red Bone was the manager of their underground escort service. The girls worked from the club and got free rooms at the hotel. They’d make the johns pay for the room and sometimes have the price jacked up just to squeeze an extra piece of bread from the sucker.

The girl knew all of this. She eyed Summer. Two beautiful women standing amongst one another.

“What’s your name?” Summer asked.

“Diamond,” she replied. “I answered the phone yesterday.”

Summer looked her up and down and then made her turn around. Her waist was small with evenly wide hips and a tight phat ass. Her pants were cut low, and Summer noticed her thong.

“Where do you dance at?”

Bookie came in from outside and headed upstairs. He looked in the direction of Summer and Diamond. Her face was familiar to him from somewhere, or at least he thought.

Upstairs, Bookie walked in the room on Jeremy, who was just stepping from the bathroom with a Polo towel wrapped around his waist. Bookie went to the dresser where there was a variety of different kinds of colognes. He picked them up and smelled them one at a time.
Cartier
, he thought to himself. He turned around and faced Jeremy, leaning against the dresser with his arms folded across his chest.

Jeremy was dressed now.

“What’s the problem?” Bookie asked. “You slipping, and it’s not acceptable.”

Jeremy rubbed deodorant under his arms. “I’ma straighten up, Bookie. Man, I’ve been having these crazy-ass dreams about getting shot, though.”

Bookie raised an eyebrow. “Well, stop dreaming and focus more on reality. Your mama is expecting you and your brother to pull through.”

“And we will. I was thinking about some cushion with the music.”

“You was thinking with yo’ dick,” he snapped. “Get off that narrow-minded shit, partna. The world is waitin’ on you…and yo’ bother. But, in order to make it out there, you got to be a thinker, and that consist of makin’ good decisions. Don’t fuck this up.” 

His voice grew harsh. His eyes never left Jeremy’s.

*****

Summer and Bookie were back inside the limousine. They rode in silence for nearly thirty minutes before she broke the silence.

“What do you think about Diamond?”

“She’s gonna be a problem,” he said. “I don’t see her lasting long.”

“Seriously? Why you say that?”

He lit another cigarillo. “She got too much influence over Jeremy.”

His response was self-explanatory. She didn’t have to ask; he didn’t have to say anything else. But, she couldn’t let it go like that.

“I think she’ll be alright,” she said.

Bookie didn’t respond. Instead, he disrespectfully exhaled a stream of smoke in Summer’s face.

Diamond was a top-notch, flamboyant gold digger that scanned the streets of Atlanta looking for lames or suckers that she could squeeze large amounts of money from, basically drug dealers and big tippers. Pee-ons weren’t allowed in her circle.

She pulled up at the Jonesboro South Apartments in a sleek black C-Class Benz. Her family lived there, and family meant just that––sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles. She belonged to a huge family that was well connected throughout the whole Atlanta.

When she parked her Benz, she noticed several guys standing in a circle amongst each other. They were probably twenty-five deep, which meant twenty-five handguns, and there was no telling how many young cats waited in the dark armed with one-hundred-drum A.K.’s. The goons were lurking.

Diamond went inside her uncle’s apartment, her Gucci handbag slung across her shoulder. Four older guys were sitting around a square kitchen table counting stacks of money. Cigarette smoke filled the room and nearly took her breath. One of her cousins was sitting at the window on the edge of a sofa arm. He wore a vest where it could be seen. Dreadlocks nearly covered his face, and he clutched a sawed-off 12-gauge that was spray-painted fatigue green.

“Whuzzup, lil’ cuz?” he said, throwing his head back as she passed.

She spoke to her cousin Pee Wee and continued moving toward the kitchen. Her father was amongst the four sitting at the table. Mo was his name. She kissed his cheek.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said to him. “Hey, Uncle Blue, Uncle James, and Uncle Tommy.”

They all spoke and continued to count the money. Nylon duffle bags were being stuffed with thousand-dollar stacks wrapped in colorful rubber bands.

She leaned into her daddy’s ear and said, “Can we talk when you get a chance?”

He looked up at her, his facial expression deadly and serious.

“It’s real?” he asked her.

That was something he asked his children to see how important it was, if it could wait or not. If it was real, it couldn’t wait.

She nodded. “It’s real.”

Without hesitation, he removed himself from the table. “I’ma step outside fo’ a minute,” he told his brothers.

They all nodded; no questions were asked. Mo stepped outside with his daughter, and he slung a huge arm around her shoulders. The complex was crawling with young cats, and marijuana smoke hung thick in the air.

They leaned against a Dooley truck with Big Mo displayed on the front tag. Obviously, it was his.

He looked at his daughter and asked, “You pregnant?”

Her head dropped, and after a slight deep breath, she whispered, “Yeah.”

He looked straight ahead and ripped off a fingernail with his teeth. Before another word was exchanged, he’d bit off every nail on his left hand.

“By who?” His rough hardened face turned toward her, and he stared through red veined eyes.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the pavement underneath her feet. “Either Cat Eye or Jeremy.”

He pulled a pack of Newport’s from his pocket, emptied one from the pack, and fired it up. Menthol smoke filled his lungs, and he began coughing almost instantly.

“Cat Eye from the houses?” 

The houses were across the street from the South, and it was rumored that the South didn’t like the houses and vice versa. Cat Eye was a major dope boy in the area.

“Yeah,” she whispered again. Then she added, “I believe I’m pregnant by Jeremy, but I know Cat Eye won’t have no understandin’.”

“Who da fuck is Jeremy?” he asked angrily.

“He plays basketball fo’ Tech. Number twenty.”

He drew on his cigarette again and nibbled on his thumbnail.

“McKey?”

She nodded, surprised that he knew of him. He thumped his cigarette to the ground, and it settled near a small puddle of water at the curb. He then grabbed her face and held it between his fat hands.

“Listen at me, Diamond. You’re my daughter, and I love da shit out of you. In my eyes, you gonna always be right, but you’ll only have one nigga, and I mean dat.”

He took a deep breath; that took a lot out of him. “You scared of Cat Eye, I’m assuming?”

She hesitated. “I jus’ know how he is.”

“And I know who he is. You know how I operate, so choose now.”

“Jeremy.”

He hugged and held onto her. She felt comfortable in his powerful arms. “As of now, you’ll have no more dealin’ wit’ Cat Eye. Is dat understood?”

“Yes.”

“Tell McKey I wanna meet him. He’ll have to meet da whole family.”

  Later that night, Cat Eye walked out of Pleasers, an exotic strip club on Cleveland Avenue, with two of his goons and one female. They waited out front until valet pulled his Navigator around. When it came, they loaded in. Cat Eye sat behind the wheel. A taxi whipped up next to him in the congested parking lot. He didn’t recognize the driver, but he had his attention by honking his horn. Frowning, Cat Eye rolled his window down.

“Whuzzup, shawty?” he asked the driver.

“Yo’ tag missing,” the cab driver shouted.

Again, Cat Eye frowned, his thick eyebrows bunched together. He threw the Navigator in park, got out, and walked around to the rear. His tag was missing.