Push Comes to Shove (4 page)

“My daughter? Why?”

“I thought we could discuss this over dinner. I’m in the process of launching an internet magazine, and I’d love to use your
daughter as a model in an issue or two. She’s beautiful; you two look just alike.”

“Thank you. When you’re ready, come back and my husband and I will see what you have and consider it.”

“Keep the change.” Blue Eyes took the shirts and blended into the sidewalk traffic.

Kitchie stuffed the money in her pocket and rose up on her toes to kiss GP. “What did they say?”

He began setting up the airbrushing equipment. “We can’t get another extension. The bank’s attorney said if I come up with the principal, penalty charges, and his fees, he’ll stop the foreclosure proceedings. Other than that, foreclosure is final and we have five days to be out.”

Kitchie pulled the bill from her pocket. “I’ve been standing out here all morning and this is what I made.” She waved the money. “Papi, you tried but this ain’t panning out.” She motioned to the Street Prophet items around the booth. “I know your dream is to give this character a life; I’ve supported you in everything. It’s time to give it up because these twenty dollars can’t pay our bills. We’re past the point of do-or-die.” She scrutinized the money closer. “
Vete pal carajo
!” She turned in the direction that she’d last seen Blue Eyes.

“What’s the matter, Mami?”

“That bastard burned me.” She passed GP a dollar bill with the corners of twenties glued over the numeral one.

A Korean woman hung the pay phone up next to GP’s booth and it soon began ringing. She went to answer it.

“Excuse me, ma’am; that’s for me.” GP stepped away from the tables, unconsciously glanced at the street sign, then lifted the phone from its cradle. “Ninth Street Artwork, home of the Street Prophet. How may I help you today?”

“May I speak with Greg Patterson?”

“He’s in the art room with a customer. Can I tell him who’s calling?”

“Tracy Morgan. I’m an acquisitions editor for the
Plain Dealer
.”

“Hold on a minute, I’ll get him.” GP covered the phone and gave Kitchie a thumbs-up.

A local bum strolled up with a cup in hand. “Spare some change, GP?”

He shoved Blue Eye’s pseudo-twenty into the cup, then placed the phone on his ear. “Greg speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Patterson. I’m Tracy Morgan with the
Plain Dealer
. You filled out an application with us some time ago. Sorry I’m just getting back with you.”

“It’s cool. What’s up?”

“Your sample work has impressed quite a few people in my department. If you’re still interested, I’d like to interview you. I have a comic column available that I believe you’ll do great in.”

GP wanted to say hell yeah; instead he chose to keep things professional. “I’m interested. When would you like to meet?”

Kitchie had worked pedestrians moseying the sidewalk; GP had solicited various motorists who had been delayed by a stoplight near the booth’s curb. At the end of the day, they had earned a little over ninety dollars, which barely covered the booth’s weekly rental fee.

Due tomorrow.

“I sure hope they give you that column. It’ll help out a lot; plus it’ll get your foot in the door.” Kitchie cleared a table, stuffing merchandise inside a duffle bag.

“Keep your fingers crossed.” He packed the airbrushing guns.

A 2005 Chrysler 300C with mirror-tinted windows stopped at the red light near the booth. The car wasn’t moving, but the chrome rims appeared to continue spinning.

The window was lowered.

“The starving artist who thinks he’s gonna draw his way to financial freedom.” Squeeze looked past GP and studied Kitchie’s round ass. “Long time no see.”

GP squatted some and leaned on the passenger door of the Chrysler. A gorgeous woman sat there, snuggled with a dozen roses. GP nodded at the woman, then addressed Squeeze. “It’s been a while. What’s up with it, Squeeze?” He admired the man’s diamond-studded pinky ring. “I see you stepped it up a few notches from knocking over candy stores. What is it, you poison people for a living now?”

Kitchie was now standing beside GP, caressing his shoulder.

“I’ll be the first to tell you that crime pays the bills. Candy stores were just a stepping stone, though. I’m the neighborhood loan officer now. Got fucked-up credit but need some cash? Holler at your boy.” He stared at Kitchie’s crotch, pulled her pants down with his eyes, and had his way with her. When he was done, he turned his attention back to GP. “I see you still holding on to all that woman. I never could figure out why she chose you. I must not have been square enough.”

“Don’t act like I’m not sitting here,” the woman holding the roses said.

Squeeze hit her with a backhand across the mouth. “Stay in your place.”

A car horn sounded off. Squeeze ignored it and pulled out a business card. “Don’t be bashful; if you ever need a loan, I’m sure I can work it out for an old friend.” He gave GP the card, then
took a long-stem rose from his date’s bundle. “Give this to Kitchie. I’m sure you haven’t bought her any in a while.” He winked at Kitchie.

The window was raised and Squeeze sped away.

“God, I can’t stand him.” Kitchie took the rose from GP and dropped it in the curbside drain.

“What are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?” Junior squashed a caterpillar that was crawling on the porch steps.

“Shoot, that I had to kick her butt. She put her hands on me first.” Secret watched her brother scrape the bug from the bottom of his shoe. “You think Daddy will ever get us all that stuff we named last night?”

Junior ran the question through his head, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know…Nah, not all of it.”

“Go in the house and get us something to drink.”

“I ain’t; you go.”

Secret nudged him. “Scaredy-cat, you’re too old to be afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not thirsty. Go get your own drink.”

“Chicken.”

“You must be scared yourself.”

She smirked. “No, I’m not.”

“Go get something to drink, then, with your ugly—”

Kitchie pointed to the light pole while coming up the driveway. “What did I tell y’all hardheaded butts about being outside when them street lights are on?”

“It’s lighter out here than it is in there.” Secret aimed a thumb toward the house.

Junior skipped to Kitchie. “Something’s wrong with the lights. They broke, Ma.”

Kitchie sat the duffle bag down, looked at the dark interior of their home, and began to cry.

GP climbed a steep hill that led to Cliffview Apartments. He never understood why they were called apartments when they ranked as no more than drug-infested projects.

He went into the building and held his breath to avoid inhaling the thick cocaine smoke as he passed a group of addicts smoking crack on the stairwell. He reached the third floor and pound on his best friend’s door.

“Don’t be banging on my shit unless you’re in a hurry to get fucked up.” The metal door squealed as Jewels yanked it open. “Oh, what’s up, homeboy? I thought you were somebody coming to borrow some shit. A motherfucker asked me to borrow my dustpan yesterday.”

Their fists touched in a greeting manner.

“I did come bumming.”

Jewels turned away from the door. “You don’t count.”

She wore brush waves and dressed better than any man GP had ever known. Beneath today’s expensive urban wear was an average-looking woman. She was built like Serena Williams but much stronger.

She lay back on the weight bench and pumped 225 pounds effortlessly. “I didn’t hear that raggedy-ass car of yours pull in the lot doing the beat box.” She racked the iron after ten reps.

“You got jokes. It broke down yesterday. I went to check on it before I came here, but it was gone.” GP plopped down on the
designer couch in front of a McFadden and Whitehead album cover littered with marijuana.

Jewels sat up and stuffed a rolling paper with marijuana while looking at him from the corner of her gray eyes.

He shrugged. “I had to leave it in Chang’s Chinese Food parking lot. Ignorant-ass Chang said it sat there too long, called my bucket an eyesore. Fake chink could’ve left my ride alone, you know?”

Jewels nodded and put a flame to the joint.

GP kicked a foot up on the coffee table. “He had it towed. Damn thing ain’t worth more than it’ll cost to get it out the impound and fixed.”

“That’s fucked up. Anything is better than footing it…unless you enjoy a good walk.” She passed GP the joint. “Chang do got more Black in him than me and you, fronting like he grew up in China.”

“Rent-A-Center stuck me up yesterday. I got five days to pay the bank or the foreclosure is final.” He choked on the smoke, then released it. “And the list goes on. Junior wants a bike—which he deserves. Secret needs, and wants, new clothes to keep up with the Joneses. She’s a good kid, too.”

“You need some money, homeboy. It’s cool to have big dreams and shit.” She tugged at his Street Prophet shirt. “But you got a good wife and kids, too. They don’t deserve to get dragged through a mud puddle while you chase your rainbow.” She averted her gaze to her kickboxing trophies lining the top of the entertainment center. “It’s not about you no more, GP. You need to come up or do something to start contributing to your social security. Do your cartoons on the side. Fool, you ain’t young no more; you got real responsibilities.”

“Twenty-seven ain’t old.”

“It’s too old to be dead broke.” She pointed the remote at the flat screen. “You lucky I ain’t never been on dick. If I had been the one to give you some pussy, for real, I’d do something vicious to you if you didn’t take care of me and mine right.” Jewels pulled out a nice-size bank roll. “How much you need?”

“I didn’t come over here for money. I’ll ask if I need it.”

“You the one who said you came bumming. What your foolish ass want, then?”

“I have an interview tomorrow at the
Plain Dealer
. I need to borrow something to wear.”

“Get out of here.” She made a huge fist and tapped his chin. “Greg Patterson, Senior, a job interview? Hell must be below zero. Not only can you borrow something, you don’t ever have to bring it back.” Jewels led him to her immaculate bedroom.

GP fell back on the oversized bed. “As nice as you put this place together, why don’t you move somewhere…more fitting, like Cleveland Heights or Shaker?”

“This stolen shit ain’t nothing.” She motioned toward her elaborate furnishings. “Wait till I come off with this account fraud. I’m strictly hood, though. Ain’t no place like it. Damn suburbs are too quiet. I’ll be forced to fuck up the noise ordinance.” She slid the closet open and selected a garment bag. “This should fit you nice.” She laid a tan Christian Lacroix suit beside him. “It hasn’t been altered yet.”

“You’re really a jewel. I promise you, one day I’m gonna buy you a big diamond because I appreciate you.”

She picked up a newspaper from her nightstand. “Check this out. Technology is a beast.”

GP took a moment to examine the article. “FamilyGewels? Who the hell thought of some shit like this? Turn dead people into diamonds; come on.”

“All they need is your ashes. I wouldn’t mind coming back as a phat-ass diamond ring. But you don’t have vision; the cemetery is full of dead motherfuckers. That ain’t nothing but money.”