Chapter Two

“Guess who I just went out with?” I asked as I stretched out on the couch in my basement apartment, feeling like I’d just won a million bucks.
“Who?” my friend Rooster asked, choking on marijuana smoke on the other end of the phone.
I kicked off my Jordan 14s, and they hit the floor with two loud thuds as I sank deeper into my couch. “The fine, fine Marsha Lindo.”
“Yuh lie!” Rooster shouted.
“As you Antiguans say,” I chuckled, speaking my best Antiguan dialect, “‘Muh nah lie!’”
“How’d you pull that off?” Rooster asked, sounding all in.
“I got her number at the party,” I replied very simply. I knew if Rooster could see me he’d tell me to stop grinning like a goofball.
“I t’ought Sheila shut that down,” he contested.
“She tried. But I still danced with her and got her number before we left.” I was beaming so hard, my face hurt.
“Wow,” Rooster gasped. “Steven know?”
“Nah, and don’t tell him. He might slip and tell Sheila.” I played with the gold pinky ring on my left hand.
“Yeah. That family is tight,” Rooster went on. “And Marsha had a reputation back home.”
“Oh yeah? She doesn’t seem like the type.” I thought about how shy and quiet she seemed.
“Not the type you’re tinking, though.” I could hear Rooster taking another pull off a joint.
“So what kinda reputation?”
“Y’know her father is Dr. Lindo, the minister of education for the whole island. Him have someting like ten or twelve kids. Marsha is somewhere in the middle. Most of them is cool, but she is stuck-up, man. She never dated back home.”
“Ah,” I said, envisioning Marsha’s pretty face. “So she had a rep for being what y’all call ‘stush?’”
“Yeah. She didn’t party too much. Didn’t talk. Only hung out with this one Spanish gyal who was there for a likkle while. She act like she was too good to socialize wit anybody, y’know? I was surprised they even t’rew her a party the other night.”
I tried to process what Rooster was saying, along with what I’d experienced with Marsha. For sure, she acted like she was above those around her, but I thought it fit her. She was beautiful and articulate, and obviously smarter than most. I couldn’t think of anyone else I knew like her.
I’d certainly seen and had my share of women. Yet, no one compared to Marsha. I didn’t know what to say when she told me that instead of having all summer to hang out, she had all summer to prepare for her new job. It was usually the other way around. I could talk any innocent girl off her parents’ doorstep, but the resistance in Marsha told me this conquest would be much harder. I’d heard plenty about her from Sheila and Steven, and a few of their other cousins. I didn’t expect her to be as intriguing as she was when we met, though. I thought she’d be boring. She wasn’t the first to play hard to get with me, but she was the first to make me feel like I had to prove myself. I appreciated intelligent women, and many of them loved to talk and put their genius on display. Other women would’ve rambled off uninteresting details about themselves and made it clear that they were willing to give me whatever I wanted. Marsha asked questions and only offered information when asked. She was a mystery that I couldn’t resist trying to solve.
On top of it all, she had that model body. I could easily tilt my head down to lean in for a kiss and wrap both arms around her. She would fit like a puzzle piece leaning into me. These thoughts flooded my mind as Rooster’s conversation drifted towards him, reminiscing about life on the island. I thought it was cool that they had fond memories of their island. My good memories of Haiti were more about the weather. Otherwise, the parliament was a mess, and the issues at the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic caused too much strife.
“Hey man, I gotta go,” I said as my phone beeped signaling a call on the other line.
“Aight, peace man,” Rooster said.
I clicked over. “Hallo,” I greeted.
“Jeremy, sak pase?” Lovelie’s strong but feminine voice cut straight to my brain.
What could she want, I thought to myself?
“Tout bagay bon. Kisa?” I could no longer relax. I sat up on the edge of my couch, ready to run down whatever my sister needed to know about the most recent deal between my family and the Dominican cartel we were dealing with.
“You didn’t call me after the meeting with Gonzalez. I need to know what’s going on so we can follow through with the plans for the newest barbershop. If I don’t know how the money is going to flow, then I can’t open the business.”
“Everything is fine,” I assured her. “Go on and do what you gonna do. I’ll be down in Miami for a few days to help set things up. They know it’s a barbershop we’re working with and everything.”
“Ah, okay,” Lovelie sounded calm.
“Everything good with you, Sis?” I asked, trying to show concern for her beyond family business.
“We good,” Lovelie said sternly.
“You need anything?” I tried a little harder.
“I need you to take care of business and not get caught up in no shit with another bitch.”
I felt a pang in my stomach. Too late, I thought as Marsha’s face again flashed before my eyes. “I never dealt with ‘bitches’ in the first place,” I assured Lovelie.
“Uh huh. Okay. I have to go. Long distance is not cheap, y’know.”
“Yeah, but you can afford it,” I chuckled.
“Bye, Jeremy.” Lovelie hung up before I could wish her farewell.
I took a deep breath and got off the couch. I wished I could call Marsha. The more I knew about her, the more I wanted to know. Sure, some of the women I’d gotten involved with before caused issues concerning the family business, but somehow I knew that would never be the case with Marsha. Her father was the minister of education in their country. There was no way he’d be caught up in anything corrupt, and therefore, Marsha herself was clean and clear. There would be no competition as there had been with the families of some of the other women. Marsha was safe.
The only benefit of a basement apartment in The Bronx is that it was always a cool refuge away from the humidity that covered New York City in the spring and summer months. Otherwise, I knew the basement was not a place I could ever confidently bring Marsha. It was tiny, dark, and almost all made up of concrete. It didn’t matter how expensive my entertainment setup was, or how plush my couch was, or how impressive my waterbed was. It was still a five-hundred-dollar-a-month basement apartment, and it was all my family was willing to do for me. While they were only willing to help me with the bare minimum, nothing I did was enough for them. I wanted to go to law school, and they only supported me through it while I was in Florida because the current family lawyer planned to step away from the business soon.
I went into my tiny bathroom that looked nothing like it smelled. Mildew and the milk-white tile did not match. One thing I loved about having Jamaican landlords was that they kept everything in top shape. They were a husband and wife duo. The husband was a contractor, and whatever went wrong, he immediately fixed. It didn’t seem like there was much he could do about the smell, though. I was sure he smelled it too, and I was sure that if he could’ve taken care of it, he would’ve.
I removed my clothes and stepped under the cool water sprouting from the wall in the shower stall. I closed my eyes as the water beat my scalp, then my face, and then down the rest of my body.
Marsha Marsha Marsha.
I thought of nothing else. Suddenly, I thought I heard the phone ringing. I popped my head out of the shower and listened. There was nothing. I had to wait for her to call. I couldn’t call her. She couldn’t call me if Sheila was around. I wondered, would she actually call, though? She would. I had to have hooked her with that candlelight dinner on Hill Avenue. The taste of home was to let her know I was interested in knowing her deeply. Food and music were solid ways to connect, and they opened doors to more. For the next date, I would surely take her out dancing. I would introduce her to Kompe music. For now, though, I just needed her to call.

*****


“This is all you, son,” Augustine said to his son as they pulled up to a small storefront on a short block in Little Haiti.
Jeremy looked the place over from the passenger seat. “What is it?” he asked his father.
“It’s a barbershop. I told you after high school, you would have your own business to run. Lovelie will run the laundromat, just over that way.” His father gestured toward a short distance away.
Jeremy nodded, almost disinterested.
“What do you think?” Augustine asked.
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know about running no barbershop,” he admitted as if his father wouldn’t know that.
“There isn’t much to know. Rent out the booths. Collect the money. Turn it in. That’s all. If you can’t handle that, I don’t know how you gonna eat.”
“I thought you wanted me to go to law school,” Jeremy said in a tone just short of whining.
“Oh yeah, you going to law school. But we have to be able to pay for it, and this is the way, son.” Augustine let himself out of the car and walked around to the entrance of the shop. He didn’t waste time waiting for Jeremy. He strolled right in, so Jeremy followed.
The place was decent. There was already some furniture scattered about, plenty of boxes, and tools lying around. “When will it be finished?” Jeremy asked.
“Another week or two,” Augustine said, rubbing his chin.
“Why aren’t the workers here now?” Jeremy said, picking up a drill. He placed it down and then flipped open the toolbox next to it. He shrugged. “I guess they can’t be too far; all their tools are here.”
“I let them have today off so I could bring you here and talk without interference,” Augustine informed him. “Nobody is going to take the tools. They know this is an Anthony business around here.”
“You act like this is Haiti. Like, you can just come to America and be a boss.” Jeremy knew he was overstepping slightly. He knew his father did not like when his authority was questioned, especially by his children.
Augustine walked up close to Jeremy. Jeremy squared his shoulders, glad to be standing eye to eye with his father, finally. Nothing solidified a boy’s feeling of manhood like being as tall as his father.
“I am a boss here. Anywhere I am, you better understand that I am a boss. This is Little Haiti in big bad America, and Americans are terrified to set foot in this area without protection. I came here from Haiti to set up shop before I blessed your mother’s womb with you, and never had a problem. Respect me as your boss and your father, and you won’t have any problems here either.” Augustine did not blink, and his eyes didn’t want for moisture or even flinch as he stared down his grown son.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “I just wanted to know if it was safe.”
“I brought you here to tell you this,” Augustine said, bypassing what Jeremy said, but not moving from where he stood. “You will manage this shop, turn the money in to me, and report to me. You will go to law school, and you will pass the bar. Then, you will head the family’s legal team. Things need to be kept in-house.”
“I understand,” Jeremy said weakly.
“And no fuckin girls,” Augustine said sternly.
Jeremy rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious. We have things to do. Now is not the time. The little Dominican one is out of the way. Now you can focus on what’s important. When you are head of the family’s legal team, then date who you want, fuck who you want, marry who you want. But for now, I don’t want any young bitches interfering. A woman is the downfall of every great empire. They too needy, and they talk too much. Every man needs a woman, but now is not the time, son.”
Jeremy nodded. “Yes, sir.”