Brooklyn, p.4
Brooklyn, page 4
Brooklyn looked at her younger sister Hope and saw her praying with equal fervor. Brooklyn admired that about Hope. She was so sweet and obedient, and she gladly went along with the scam. She seemed so unfazed by the phony life they were living and the hypocrisy that surrounded them. Sometimes Brooklyn wished she could be that way, too. Immune to it all. But for her it was tough to ignore the hard lessons life in the church had already taught her.
In Brooklyn’s eyes, her mother was a laughingstock. A woman who allowed her husband to make a fool out of her with women she held hands and prayed with in her role as first lady. Brooklyn often wondered if her mother was a great actress, playing a part so well that it looked real. But if it was an act, Sabrina was nailing it with dangerous precision. It seemed that all she truly cared about was being Elias’s wife, the first lady of Promised Land, and the envy of people whose opinions shouldn’t matter.
Brooklyn didn’t want to be anything like her mother. She admired her father, though. In him, she saw someone who was unapologetic about pursuing his desires. When he stepped into a room, every man held his lady’s hand a little tighter, and every woman swooned. His car was one of the fanciest, his home was one of the biggest, and his closet looked like an atelier’s dream. He had a fine family, a thriving church, and everything he ever wanted. Brooklyn wanted to be just like him.
As church let out and the people began to drift back out into the real world, their real lives, and their very real problems, Brooklyn sat in a pew with her friend Erica and shook her head as they watched the all too familiar scene.
“How long you think it’s gonna take for them to wrap all this up so I can get back home?” Brooklyn pointed her chin in the direction of her parents standing across the room. They were deep in conversation with the pastor of the host church.
Erica chuckled. “That depends on how long it takes Mrs. Hutchinson and the rest of the gang to finish counting. Once they total up the offering and everybody gets their cut, the deacons will have our church bus loaded up in no time.”
Mrs. Hutchinson was Erica’s aunt. It always made Brooklyn laugh hearing her best friend refer to her own aunt in such a proper way. But Mrs. Hutchinson insisted that everyone besides her children address her that way. Her son and two daughters were allowed to call her “Mama.” But everyone else was instructed to refer to Erica’s aunt Mary as “Mrs. Hutchinson.” She was proud of her late husband’s last name. Like her son, he had been a hustler and a risk-taker. But he was well regarded and commanded respect. And she had loved him deeply. So, even in death, she honored him.
Brooklyn nodded and stared impatiently at the closed door to the count room—the section near the pastor’s office where the tally took place. Mrs. Hutchinson was the president of the trustee board and had proven herself loyal and trustworthy to Pastor Elias and Promised Land. In fact, Mrs. Hutchinson paraded around like she was Promised Land. Aside from the trustee board, she served on the scholarship committee and the missionary board. She had keys to the church’s doors and access to Pastor James 24-7. It wasn’t unusual for her to be the determining factor in whether a wedding or funeral service would be held at Promised Land. She was the church’s wealthiest member and its most consistent tither. For that reason, she was able to call the shots. And she knew it.
Mrs. Hutchinson wore the biggest, fanciest hats for Sunday service. She dressed in expensive clothes, designer shoes, and jewelry that would get her robbed if it weren’t for the fact that her son Alonzo was one of the biggest drug dealers in the borough.
Alonzo never graced the church with his presence. But his wealth helped fund the church’s endeavors, because his lifestyle afforded Mrs. Hutchinson a lot of disposable income. The privilege she enjoyed as a result was hard to ignore. It made some people jealous. It made her one of Brooklyn’s favorite church members.
She looked forward to seeing what Mrs. Hutchinson would wear for each occasion, how she would style her hair, and which of her hats she would wear. Watching her, Brooklyn learned that money equals power. And that it didn’t matter how she got that money. If she surrounded herself with the right kind of people, they would all look the other way.
Erica rolled her eyes.
“You know she likes to take her time and make sure she don’t leave a penny behind.”
Brooklyn laughed. She loved Erica like family. The two had practically grown up side by side in the hallowed halls of Promised Land. While Erica sang her heart out at choir practice, Brooklyn was always somewhere seated nearby, enraptured. They went to Sunday school together, vacation Bible study, and came of age confiding in one another. Erica was one of the few people Brooklyn truly trusted.
Brooklyn looked at her friend. “I need you to cover for me again tomorrow.”
Erica uncrossed her legs, shook her head, and sat upright in her seat.
“Nope. You’re trying to get me in trouble.”
“I’m not. I promise this will be the last time.”
Erica looked at her sideways. “You gonna sit here and lie in church?”
Brooklyn laughed. “I’m serious. I just need you to cover for me one more time. I’m telling my parents that I have study group tomorrow after school. I’ll be home by eight. I just need you to vouch for me until then.”
“Why? Are you sneaking off to Manhattan again?”
Brooklyn didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”
“You better not get caught,” Erica warned. “If your parents find out I’ve been lying for you, they’ll be pissed.”
Brooklyn smiled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t get caught. They have enough to worry about.”
She watched her father now standing just a little too close to Miss Nancy, the widowed deaconess who wore all her dresses just a little too tight and her hemlines just an inch too short. Everyone had heard the whispers about Miss Nancy and Pastor James. That the two of them had been messing around long before Miss Nancy’s husband died of a heart attack at his construction job.
Brooklyn’s gaze settled on her mother, condescendingly. First Lady James, always so docile, so blind, deaf, and dumb. For Brooklyn, she was a constant reminder that fairy tales do not exist. Her mother demonstrated how dangerous it was to foolishly love and remain loyal to a man and his vision. Sabrina had gotten lost long ago and, in her place, stood a shadow of her former self. A woman whose only goal was to keep perpetuating an unrealistic image of perfection. Just once, Brooklyn wished her mother would march over to Miss Nancy, snatch her weave out, and tell her to stay the fuck away from her husband.
Erica opened her mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by Brooklyn’s younger sister, Hope. She was fifteen years old and small for her age. To Erica, she resembled a sweet little fairy with a gentle quietness to match.
“Mom said to get ready to board the bus. Mrs. Hutchinson and the trustees just finished up.”
“Cool,” Brooklyn said. “Now scram. Grown folks are talking.”
Hope didn’t protest before walking off. Erica looked at her friend and shook her head.
“Why are you so mean to her? Hope is so sweet and harmless. You treat her like a gnat.”
Brooklyn chuckled. “I do not. Believe it or not, she’s my favorite in the family. Everybody else sweats me too hard.”
Erica scoffed. “I don’t really think Amir cares what you do.”
Brooklyn scanned the sanctuary until she spotted her brother standing near the exit talking to Jordan, the drummer.
“He might not,” Brooklyn admitted.
“Did he decide whether he wants to work or go to college?”
“He hasn’t mentioned it,” Brooklyn said, shrugging. “Knowing Amir, he hasn’t decided yet.” She smiled at Erica. “All I know is I’m getting out of here the first chance I get.”
Erica knew it was true. Brooklyn had always been too big for their tiny world. As they gathered their belongings and made their way out to the church van for the trek back to Staten Island, they got their story straight for the next day. Brooklyn went home and played her role in the supporting cast of her family. And behind her sweet, dimpled smile, she held her secrets. Just like all the others.
CHAPTER TWO
Drifting
In addition to attending the same church, Brooklyn and Erica attended Curtis High School, and recently they had perfected the art of cutting classes together. They shared a mutual love of mischief, fashion, and boys. Every now and then, they ditched their later classes and their after-school activities and took the ferry to Manhattan. As mature and well versed about the city as they pretended to be, they hadn’t veered very far outside of their small Staten Island community without the supervision of their family or their church. So, when they cut class and took the ferry to Manhattan, they didn’t go very far. They hung out in Battery Park or walked to the mall at the World Trade Center. Because they didn’t have much money, they mostly window-shopped, trying on things they knew they couldn’t afford. Then they would catch the ferry back home, boy-watching along the way. Most of the time, their escapades were largely uneventful.
But there was one particular day when Brooklyn cut class alone. Erica had been taking an important trigonometry test that factored heavily in her final grade. Brooklyn had decided to venture into Manhattan without her friend. She took the ferry to Manhattan and walked around the Financial District, people-watching and looking at all the holiday decorations. It was December, and the streets had been lined with fake Santas ringing bells and collecting donations. Brooklyn walked around smiling from ear to ear. There was something about the Wall Street area that excited her. It felt alive, pulsing with the energy of people making moves and getting money. Everyone and everything seemed expensive. Drivers sat behind the wheels of luxury cars waiting for their wealthy passengers to finish conducting business inside one of the many banks and brokerage firms nearby. Women strutted in high heels and men wore custom-made suits. Brooklyn wanted to be part of this crowd someday. The high rollers, the movers, and the shakers. She imagined herself wealthy, calling the shots in some powerful role. She just had to figure out how to get there.
After her excursion through lower Manhattan, she stood in the ferry terminal on Whitehall Street waiting to catch the 6 P.M. ferry back to Staten Island. It was rush hour, and the terminal was packed with commuters. Brooklyn had her headphones on, listening to Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s “Return to the 36 Chambers” album in her Sony Walkman portable CD player. It was a CD that her parents would never let her have, one of many that she kept hidden in her secret stash. As far as Elias and Sabrina knew, their daughter was listening to Hezekiah Walker & the Love Fellowship Crusade Choir on repeat.
She mouthed the lyrics to “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” and bopped her head to the beat as she stood waiting for the doors to open and boarding to begin. She didn’t notice the tall, stocky guy standing close to her, didn’t hear him when he spoke. She did feel it when he tapped her on the shoulder. She turned her head in his direction and slid her headphones off.
“Yes?” She stared up into the eyes of a familiar-looking man.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
Brooklyn squinted her eyes, trying to recall where she had seen him before. She shrugged, unsure.
“I’ve been standing here looking at you for a minute now, trying to figure it out. My friends call me Zo.” He extended his hand.
Brooklyn looked at him. He was about six feet tall, handsome, and muscular. He wore a Chicago Bulls starter jacket, dark jeans, and a pair of Timberlands. She noticed the thick gold chain peeking out around his neck and it clicked. “Zo? Is your name Alonzo?”
He nodded, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips.
Brooklyn smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Brooklyn. Me and your cousin Erica are friends.”
His eyes widened then. Erica was in high school. Surely, this curvy beauty was older than that.
“Oh,” he managed. He glanced over her again. Brooklyn had on a bomber jacket, a pair of jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and a pair of Reebok boots. She looked so good that he licked his lips absentmindedly.
“And I know your mother,” Brooklyn said. “She goes to my church. Mrs. Hutchinson.”
The dots connected for Alonzo then. “Ohhh! You’re the pastor’s daughter!”
Suddenly he recalled seeing her standing outside the church one Sunday afternoon when he had picked his mother up from church. He had asked about her then, assuming she was at least eighteen. His mother had simply said, “That’s the pastor’s daughter. She ain’t your type.”
Brooklyn hated being known by that moniker. “The pastor’s daughter” felt like a role she was forced to play. It made her cringe.
Alonzo noticed. “You don’t like that title?”
She shrugged again. “Not really. You can just call me Brooklyn.”
The doors opened and the passengers moved forward slowly as they boarded the ferry. Brooklyn and Alonzo walked side by side in the sea of people and made their way to seats near a window. They sat across from each other and Brooklyn got a good look at him. He was ruggedly handsome with a laid-back demeanor that she found appealing. He seemed sure of himself. She was flattered that he had chosen to sit with her. After all the things she had heard about him, he was respected and even revered by those who knew him. He was a popular guy, evidenced by the greetings he received from several other passengers who recognized him as they walked by.
“So, Brooklyn,” he said. “How old are you?”
She thought about lying. There was something endearing about him that made her want his attention. She wanted him to stick around and knew that the chances of that were slim if she told him the truth. She rolled the dice anyway.
“Seventeen.”
He sighed. “When you turning eighteen?”
She chuckled. “Few months from now.”
He smiled. “Okay. That’s what’s up.”
Brooklyn crossed her legs.
“You go to school in Manhattan?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’m not coming from school right now. I was window-shopping.”
He seemed surprised by that. “See anything you like?”
“Yeah. Success.” She chuckled as she said it, but she wasn’t joking. “I walked around Wall Street and saw all the…” She looked around, choosing her words carefully. “… rich people with their fancy cars, expensive clothes, and jewelry. I like all of that.”
Alonzo nodded. “I thought you church folk don’t believe in those things. Money is the root of all evil or some shit.”
“That’s what they say. But what they do is something different. The church parking lot is full of fancy cars, and the sanctuary is full of people in their finest clothes. So, what does that tell you?” Brooklyn stared out the window at the Statue of Liberty as they floated past it.
“Money makes the world go ’round,” he said.
Brooklyn looked at him and nodded. “Exactly.”
Their attraction had been instantaneous. Their conversation flowed easily. She made it clear that she knew what he did for a living. Erica had spoken of him extensively throughout their friendship. So, Brooklyn was already aware that “Zo” was the family savior. The Robin Hood who hustled by night and gave generously to the community by day. He paid the rent for relatives who were facing eviction, settled tuition accounts when unpaid balances threatened expulsion. He gave out turkeys on Thanksgiving, toys at Christmastime, and was a quiet and consistent contributor to Promised Land Church.
One of the lessons Brooklyn had learned growing up in her family was that morality was flexible. She reasoned that if the church could profit from Mrs. Hutchinson and others like her who filtered drug money through their coffers, there was nothing wrong with what Alonzo was involved in. They were flip sides of the same coin. Alonzo was selling crack. And Promised Land was selling hope.
Their romance began building slowly after that. Whispered phone calls late at night and secret meetups at the mall. He took her shopping, showering her with jewelry, clothes, and trinkets that she hid from her parents. She walked out of her house each day wearing carefully scrutinized outfits her parents had bought her. But once she got to school, she made a beeline for the girls’ bathroom, where she changed into the designer duds and flashy accessories that Zo had given her. She had the best of both worlds. Popular and revered in two dimensions. At school, she was the smart and capable young lady with a bright future ahead of her. She was one of the cool kids. She learned how to intercept the cut cards her school sent home and made deals with her teachers to do makeup assignments for the classes she missed. At church, she was the pastor’s daughter, part of the “first family.” And she enjoyed all the perks that came along with that, too. Brooklyn was living a double life and loving it.
She wasn’t bothered at all by their age difference. He was twenty-four years old, and she was seventeen. He reminded her constantly that if their relationship was revealed too soon, he could be in a lot of trouble.
“Your father would have my ass locked up in a heartbeat,” he often said.
“For what?” she asked one late spring afternoon. “We’re not having sex.”
Alonzo looked at her. He saw the sparkle in her eye and the curl at the edge of her lip as she grinned at him. He smiled despite himself.
“I keep saying we should wait until your birthday,” he said.
He wished he could make it sound convincing. But they both knew he wanted her in the worst way. They had been messing around for months, kissing, touching, coming so very close to going all the way. Each time, Alonzo tore himself away, convinced that no pussy was worth going to jail for.
She moved closer to him on the couch in his apartment. “I don’t want to wait anymore.” She brushed her lips against his ear and whispered softly. “I want you.”
