In Love with a Thug (14 page)

“Bryant, don't hang up. It's me, Juan.” The phone quickly went dead again. After trying for the third time the phone went straight to his voice mail. I didn't leave a message; instead I called Rob.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hey, Rob, it's Juan.”

“Bitch, where the hell are you? It's coming up unknown on my caller ID and you know I don't normally answer unknown numbers, girl.”

“Listen, Rob, I'm in a lot of trouble and I need your help,” I stated as quickly as I could before my call time was up. “I'm in jail and instead of opening the shop tomorrow, I need you to come down to the court at nine thirty at City Hall.”

“Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?” Rob hissed.

“I can't explain right now. So we're gonna close the shop for tomorrow and I also need you to call all of our appointments for tomorrow and reschedule.”

“Well, bitch, for one thing you're about to pick your mouth up off the floor because tomorrow is the Alicia Keys concert and she has an appointment scheduled for four-thirty. And today, after you left, two guys came in looking for you and I told them that you weren't in so they gave me an envelope with a paper in it addressed to you. Do you want me to open it?”

“No, not right now. Just call Alicia Keys' contact person and tell them you apologize for the inconvenience and tell her that we owe her one. Shit, if you have to, send her next door to Chez Sonia's.”

“Time up,” said the redneck as he stood outside the room watching me through the window.

“Okay, Rob, I gotta go. Make sure you're down at City Hall tomorrow by nine thirty sharp.”

“Okay, I'll be there,” he confirmed before the line went dead.

The redneck escorted me back to my cell where I would spend the next six hours shivering in my boxer briefs.

He closed the door behind me as I took a seat on the concrete bench where I was supposed to lie down and get a good night's rest.
I think not.
I said a prayer to God asking Him to get me out of the situation. I had to be set free because there was nothing for me to be guilty about. I had done nothing wrong. I hadn't stashed any drugs in the floorboards of my home. I decided I would lie back and think of all the good times in my life. The first thought that would always pop into my mind was when I was a child and the way my mother always would hold me in her arms and rock me back and forth with the notion that everything would be okay.

See, in my household we grew up like the kids on TV. I guess you could say that we were the Huxtables. My mother would stay home and cook and clean and take care of the house until my dad came home from work. Well, we weren't so much the Huxtables; more like the Cleavers because my dad was not a doctor and my mother was damn sure not a lawyer. And of course we didn't have all that damn money.

I'm not saying that we grew up poor either but we always had. Whenever I needed something, whether it was for school or something I wanted to have, my mother and my father would always try to make a way for me to have it. Even though it got lonely sometimes, I loved being the only child because there wasn't enough love to go around. There was only enough love for me. Those were the good old days before my dad starting flipping out when he'd come home from work to catch me playing Double Dutch with the girls instead playing ball with the guys.

One time, when I had to be about seven or eight years old, I was sitting on the steps playing with my cousins minding my own business. On that particular day I was more excited than any other day because my cousin Simone's mother had brought her the new Malibu Barbie for her birthday and she said I could play with it. I would style the doll's hair in styles that hadn't even been invented yet and I made sure that doll had on the flyest clothes to match. I had created my own fantasy in a Barbie. My Dad strolled up the street coming from work, sipping his can a beer through a straw as usual. Sipping a can of beer through a straw was my dad's MO.

“Jay, I know you're not doing what I think you're doing,” he yelled as he walked quickly to where I sat. He threw the can of beer into the street as he continued to walk in my direction. I tossed the Barbie behind me in total fear before my dad came up to me, gripped me by my neck and squeezed as hard as he could before letting me go. My body dropped back down onto the steps.

“Boy, what did I tell you about being out here playing with these girls? You're supposed to be playing with boys. Ain't no son of mine gonna be a sissy, do you hear me?” he yelled as he forcefully slipped off his thick leather belt without missing a loop.

The first whelp hurt the most as he caught me right across my chest. My eyes immediately filled up with tears as I began to holler out for my mommy. Simone dropped her doll and backed away as I got my ass whipped right there on the steps. My mother flew from the house holding a dishtowel in her hands.

“Earl, what are you doing to that boy?” she yelled.

“I caught him playing with dolls. You were here, you should've stopped him,” he yelled up to her as he continued to wale on me.

“Stop hitting him like that,” my mother demanded as she stood at the top of the steps.

“Mom, Mom,” I screamed louder and louder hoping that she would come save me from this humiliating episode.

“Brenda, shut up before I come up there and start beating on you,” he yelled. After he had gotten tired of beating me, he picked me up by my stinging arms and rushed me up the steps. He then threw me in the house on the floor and began beating me some more.

My mother walked back into the kitchen and finished doing the dishes.

After that tragic experience between my parents and me, there was no more late-night rocking in the chair with my mother. There were no more bikes and nice toys that parents give their children at Christmas. There was nothing but lonely silence in the Jiles house from my age of eight until I turned fourteen.

By the time I turned fourteen and was in middle school, I was too young to work, so I went to my father to talk about the issue of allowance. At that point I began to think that I was the reason for my family's dysfunction and that the only way I could make it right and gain allowance was to go back to my roots. Being as though he was my father there was nothing I could do but to respect him, fear him, and do what I needed to do to keep him happy.

Along with me taking health class in school he also explained to me the process of conceiving and delivering and where exactly babies come from. He explained that a baby comes from a womb that lies inside the mother but he also explained how the seed is injected inside the mother. The seed is injected into the mother through a man's penis, which in this case, that man was him. So he said I was disrespecting the root of a man by doing girlish things. Going back and making things right with the root would not only make it better but I could start receiving allowances.

The root ended up being his penis and I needed to kiss, caress, and suck it every night before bed. My duty also was to never let my mom find out about what was happening.

Four years later, after telling my psychology teacher what was going on, she then got in contact with my mother. My mother didn't want to hear any more of the lies I had been telling my teachers at school. So she immediately packed my things and set them out on the doorstep by the time I got home from school. Since then Tyrell Karan had been the one father I knew and cared about. He'd made sure I always went to school and kept clothing on my back, even if he'd have to craft them.

I remember walking my first ball. Tyrell said he wasn't gonna let me walk until I was ready; he'd never force me to walk, I would do it on my own. Back then I was flamboyant but not as flamboyant as I was now. Tyrell taught me to be myself under any circumstances and that's what I did. The flashy lights and the colors and the big crowds at the balls didn't intimidate me. I was taught to go in there and do what I had to do to win and get my trophy. It was never a jealousy thing for me because I knew I had the cutest face and I was always confident that I would win.

All around me were nothing but a bunch of faggots; I'm talking old queens, young queens, or just queens who came out to fuck or get fucked. It didn't matter to me. I started from the beginning of the runway and sashayed to the judges' panel where the famous Aiyana Kahn, John Karan, Meechie Laquai, Dwayne Milan, Mann Prodigy, Joey Revlon, and Sania Ebony sat waiting to judge my face for the first time ever. I watched her close as Aiyana waved her fan back and forth in front of her face sporting a pair of oversized Gucci glasses and a long weave giving off the Cher look.

Aiyana was the mother of the House of Kahn, which is a house that started in D.C. with her and Father Charles. Aiyana was born a male but had female organs and she was FIERCE. Her beauty could match a straight woman's any day. Mother Aiyana was known in the ballroom scene for her beautiful face and Father Charles was known for his fierce voguing. The rest of the Kahn members were known as their angels. At the end of the runway, they all sat side-by-side waiting to see how much face I had; whether or not I had any scars, moles, and being as though I was young, I didn't have to worry about them judging me on razor bumps.

I glanced across the panel as each judge took a hard look at my face, neck, and teeth. But before I knew it I had competition standing next to me—some dude from the House of Prodigy named Jason. Jason was a little shorter than me and we both had the same caramel complexion except most of mine was natural and he was painted. Jason had a lot more spunk than I did but due to my flawless looks the commentator told us both to stand to the side while the panel judged us individually.

I stood waiting while the crowd went wild over Jason's face. I watched his house members chant their house name, “P-R-O-D-I-G-Y.” But by me being a new face, I had no one tooting for me but my good ol' Father Tyrell. After the judges were finished with Jason it was now my turn. Father Tyrell had taken me under his wing so I now had the entire House of Karan chanting my name. Within a matter of minutes throughout all the noise and the cameras and the people, the judges chose me and awarded a trophy that stood almost the same height as me. I was flattered to know that my face was good for something other than putting lotion on in the morning. Then from that day forward everybody in the ballroom scene knew my name.

 

It was half past nine when the sergeant called me in for court. I was led into a small courtroom with my hands and ankles shackled as if I were some type of murderer. Rob sat in the back of the room wearing a skin-tight T-shirt and a pair of light-tinted shades with a confused look upon his face. I nodded to him, thanking him for making his appearance. At the time he seemed like all the family I had.

I walked up to the bench where a white gray-haired man sat back in his chair with his arms folded. After the clerk sat the necessary paper work down on his desk he then lifted up and placed his glasses on his face as the sergeant came and stood by my side. By that time Rob had already gotten up to search for a closer seat in the courtroom.

“State your full name, sir,” said the gray-haired judge.

“Juan Jamal Jiles,” I responded, looking him dead in his eyes with my hands cuffed to the front.

“Do you know why you're in court today?” the judge asked now sitting with his hands folded on top of the desk.

“Your Honor, I'm really not sure but I do have an idea, yes,” I responded.

“Mr. Jiles, this is an arraignment held today for the charges that were filed against you in the state of Pennsylvania. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, standing there still in a pair of boxer briefs and a pair of slip-on socks that were given to me at the police station.

“Okay, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be held against you in the court of law, Mr. Jiles. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Mr. Jiles. If you choose to give up that right, everything you say
can
and
will
go on record. You have the right to an attorney; if you choose to give up that right, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand? May I proceed?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Jiles, you're being charged today with the following…Three counts of drug possession, which is a felony and can carry a minimum of jail time of five years and a maximum of thirty. Three counts of drug trafficking, which can carry a prison term of two years to ten years. Three counts of intent to distribute, which can carry a prison term of five years to twenty-five years. One count of carrying a firearm, which can carry a prison term of five years to ten years.”

I could hear Rob gasping in the background along with the other onlookers in the court. My heart had begun to beat extra fast as the judge shifted his eyes from mine to the sergeant's.

“What were the forensics?” the judge asked the sergeant.

The sergeant stepped forward pulling out a few pieces of paper from his briefcase and placing them in front of the judge before he began to speak.

“This morning at approximately one o'clock a.m., we received a call from an unknown tipster stating that Mr. Jiles, who we have in the courtroom today, and Mr. Bryant Thompson are running a heavy drug ring between the two…”