Juicy (11 page)

He returned his focus on her again, not realizing how distracted he sounded. “Yesterday morning I did some work at a grocery store owned by an older couple that I know. They need me to do some light repair, clean gutters and such.” Sometimes they don’t have money to give him, but that’s cool. They give him food and things that he’d normally have to buy anyways.

Troy shrugged. “I just hang out, do stuff, make money, eat…whatever.” Think about you…

Juicy watched him with interest, and then she glanced at her watch and jumped up. “I need to straighten up the back room!”

“I’ll help you.” He followed her and he quickly and efficiently got the sink cleaned out, wiped off the shelves and straightened the bottles of shampoo, conditioners and other potions. The doorbell rang and Juicy hurried off to let her first client inside. Troy began to panic.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of people. He just didn’t like the idea of being in the way. When the woman entered the back room, chattering away with Juicy, she stopped and looked at him curiously. Troy rushed past them and out into the living room.

“I’ll be with you in a sec.” She spoke to her client before shutting the door and following Troy to the living room. “Troy-”

“Juice, I’ll come back at one.”

“You’re not going to stand outside the building are you? Because I have to tell you that my neighbors are finding that pretty suspicious.”

“No.”

“Well come back at two. Or better yet call first.” She hurried to a sheet of paper and wrote down her phone number. He took it gratefully and hurried out the door.

Damn, she wished that he wasn’t so nervous.

Troy called Juicy at two but she told him that she had fallen behind because of something to do with micro braids, but it was ok because she had charged the heffa two hundred thirty dollars.

“Did you stop to eat?”

“No time. These micro braids are whipping my ass.”

He didn’t know what a micro braid was but he wasn’t happy to hear that she’d been going non-stop since eight that morning.

“I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“McDonald’s? There’s one around the corner.” She gave him her order and then the other ladies wanted him to bring them something and soon he found that he had to go to the ATM to withdraw some cash. When he reached Juicy’s apartment he was laddened down with two large sacks and a tray of super sized drinks.

What really surprised him is that there were only two other women sitting in the backroom and he didn’t understand why three women needed two huge sacks of food and four drinks. But he didn’t ask. He had learned a long time ago that men shouldn’t comment on things like that. He doled out the food and they actually paid him with twice as much as he had spent. Wow…maybe he should be a food deliveryman for beauty shops!

Juicy didn’t actually get finished with her last client until close to five o’clock. She gave him an apologetic look, but it was filled with so much fatigue that he didn’t chastise her. He sat on the couch and rubbed her feet, watching the way her eye lids began to lower as she finally relaxed. Troy had already figured out that Juicy needed someone to take care of her despite what she thought.

***

“Juice, can I talk to you?” She had been pressing Miss Barbara Jean’s hair in her small back room. Three other customers were waiting semi-patiently. Even though it had been weeks since she’d been attacked, it seemed that she was still trying to play catch-up to get to where she had been before her attack. She over-booked but only because people begged her to do their hair, or their daughter’s hair and etc. Troy had gotten the wonderful idea to bake muffins which reduced much of the grumblings of those left waiting for hours.
"Sweetie, I'm kinda busy right now-" Juicy swiped at her sweating brow. Her back hurt and she still had a bandage over her head. She'd been on her feet non-stop for the last six hours.
"Uhm..." Troy entered the room while four sets of eyes glared at him. Having a white man breech their hair secrets was a huge no no. And though he fed them tasty baked goods, that would only get him so far.

He boldly removed the curling iron from Juicy's hand and tugged her arm until she was out in the living room. It made him nervous that it took so little effort to get her to follow.
Miss Barbara Jean’s creased face seemed to wrinkle even more as she pouted. "Juicy, girl, I been here all day. I got things to do! Don't be out there fooling around with that white man all day!"
"Give me one minute!" Juicy called over her shoulder. "You old bitch..." The latter was mumbled under her breath. "Troy! I'm really super busy-"
"Ok." He grimaced. "I know. But you're sick. You shouldn't be doing this-"
"This is how I make my money, baby-"
"I know, but you need some help."
"No shit-"
"No. I mean yes." Troy sighed. "I mean...I can help you."
"No no no. Those women aren't going to let you touch their hair!"
Miss Nita yelled from the other room. "I don't want that white man doing my hair!"
Juicy closed the door to the small room. And that's when Troy told her about the city's Urban Redevelopment plan. He and his friends had been booted from many boarded up buildings because someone had bought them for one dollar. He had discovered a way that he could take care of Juicy, and this was it.
"One dollar?

"One dollar...well...and proof that you can fix it up. Usually the city gives you a low or no interest loan-"
Juicy was already shaking her head. "I don't have any collateral. That's why I couldn't get a loan before-"
Troy placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked them gently. "I have nearly forty thousand dollars in a Trust. And I'm going to invest it in a business endeavor..." Juicy stared at him with opened mouth. "I'm investing it in you...us...our business."
She stared at him in amazement. "Jesus, Troy." Juicy flopped down onto the couch burying her head into her hands. "I can't take your savings!"
"You betta take that white man's money!" Miss Barbara Jean opened the door standing there with half straightened hair.
Troy picked up the tray of muffins from the breakfast bar and shoved them into her hands before urging her back into the room and shut the door again. She gave him an insulted ‘hmph!’ from behind the door. Troy hurried back to Juicy, kneeling down on his knees in front of the woman that he'd grown to love in just the few short weeks that he'd known her.
Juicy smiled and stroked his kind cheek. She'd grown to love him very easily; and this was exactly the reason why. He was completely self-less. What kind of woman would she be if she took money from a mentally ill person, though?
Seeming to read her mind he answered her unspoken question. "Let's face it Juicy. It will take you years to make the money to open your own shop, especially doing it by yourself. And you know that I'm not fit to work a nine to five job. We can be business owners. It's what we both want, right?"
After a moment she nodded. "Right." Then she was able to push back her fears as excitement began to take root. A partnership might work...

CHAPTER 8

He was more tense than ever. He didn’t like Juicy to see evidence of his mental illness. It made her nervous which then made him nervous. This time the source of his tension was the knowledge that in order to get the money, Troy would have to go home for the first time in seven years. He was scared. He remembered what Blue had said all of those years ago; that they could have him committed because he wouldn’t do what they wanted.

Of course, he didn’t want to worry Juicy with these facts. He knew that ‘normal’ people didn’t really want to know about mental illness. They could accept it as long as it didn’t come too close. She was a good thing in his life and he didn’t want anything to mess it up. So he told her only the bare minimum about life on the streets. He had told her about his illness and issues with the medication but downplayed the severity and frequency of his attacks. And he had never told her that he hadn’t spoken to his parents since his eighteenth birthday.

“Juice, gather information on exactly what we’re going to need to open a shop. And I mean real research using a computer, at the library. We’re going to need suppliers and equipment and a real list of prices. When I get back from Connecticut, I’m going to need phone numbers and an up to date price chart for comparisons.”

She gave him an amazed look. “Well I can get most things from the beauty supply shop-”

“Chairs, sinks, those big hair dryer things?”

“Probably not-”

“That’s what I mean. Shop around for good prices, wholesale, secondhand if possible.” He was pacing anxiously. He had a small duffel pack containing nothing more than a change of clothes and some toiletries. He expected to be gone no longer then two days.

“You okay, babe?” Juicy rubbed his arms. “You seem tense. If you’re having second thoughts-”

“No.” He said quickly. He tried to relax. “I just want to make sure that we don’t drop the ball on some small detail.” He sighed. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

Troy sat on the Greyhound bus several hours later. He hadn’t called his parents to explain that he was coming by; he hadn’t wanted anything to sidetrack him…well truthfully, he just hadn’t wanted to chicken out. If he was there, he couldn’t just walk away if things got rough.

Sighing, he reviewed the last words that he’d said to his Dad; ‘I’ll call you tomorrow…’ And that had been over seven years ago. When the train landed in the station he considered calling his Dad to come pick him up, but that would have been too weird. Instead he sprung for a cab, though under normal circumstances, he’d never splurge on such a thing.

He stared out of the window as the driver passed familiar spots, as well as spots that should have been familiar but had changed over the years. He did not want to do this. He did not enjoy being back in this place that marked a time of his life when he had been unsure and in pain. Sure, there had been pain over the years while he lived on the streets. But it was pain based on choices that
he
had made.

It was dusk when the cab stopped in front of the pretty brick house. He retrieved his duffel bag and stood there on the curb. A light shone through the front window, and it was as it always had been; Mom’s flower garden was without one weed, her roses climbing up the trellis even more plush than ever before. Dad’s Buick was still in the drive-way. He hadn’t gotten a new car in all of these years.

Before he had even taken one step forward, the front door opened and Dad was standing at the doorway straining to see him clearly. He was so old. This was not how he had remembered him. But of course he would have aged; Dad would be in his sixties now. He came forward and Mom was suddenly at his side. They stared, almost in disbelief. He continued up the walkway, stopping just a feet from them.

In just seven short years his parents had aged drastically. Mom was barely recognizable. She looked just like Grandma. Her face was rounded from weight gain and her skin was dull and pale. Her normally coiffed hair was pulled back into a hasty ponytail. Dad was thinner, haggard and there was absolutely no color left in his hair. It was completely white. Had he done this to them? The idea of it caused his stomach to plunge.

“Troy?” His mother said in a shaky voice.

“It’s me, Mom.”

“My god…” She said. “We thought you were dead.” She was holding her hand out to him in disbelief. He closed the space between them and slowly took her hand. He dropped his duffel bag and pulled his Mom into his arms when she began crying.

He looked over at his Dad who had yet to speak. Tears were gliding down his creased cheeks. Troy swallowed back his surprised sob at the sight of his parent’s anguish. What had he done? What had he selfishly done to them?

***

“Do you want something to eat, son?” Mom was moving about nervously. “We just finished dinner but I can heat you some leftovers.”

“No thank you, Mom. I’m not hungry.” He was sitting on the couch and his Dad was sitting in his reclining chair, leaning forward.

“You’re looking good, son.” He said. “You’ve taken care of yourself over the years.”

He didn’t dispute his father’s words, although he knew deep down that that had not always been the case.

His mother finally sat down opposite him in the matching reclining chair. “What happened to you, son? Where have you been all of these years?” He saw his Dad give her a warning look and was unsure what that was about.

“We thought…well that you might have gotten hurt out on the streets, especially when you never called back-”

“…or worse, that…well you know. They say that when you abruptly stop the medication it can lead to suicide.” Dad was staring at his Mother and Troy realized that this is what their fear had been. They had feared suicide; perhaps even that they had driven him to it.

He was shaking his head. “I’m so sorry that you spent all of these years wondering that.” He closed his eyes, almost overcome with emotion. “It was incredibly selfish of me.”

His father stared at him with watery grey eyes. He reached out a hand and placed it over his son’s. “Selfish?” The older man was shaking his head. “No son. It wasn’t you that was the selfish one.” He sighed and gave his son a shaky smile. “Gladys, call Bob and Lorie and tell them that Troy’s home!”

Troy smiled. He was so happy that he had come. And he couldn’t wait to see his brother and sister. Dad took him upstairs. “Are you moving back home permanently, Troy?” He asked hopefully.

Troy gave him a surprised look. “No, just for a short visit.” He didn’t tell them that he planned on leaving tomorrow.