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Authors: Kelli London

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BOOK: Uptown Dreams
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23
ZIGGY
Z
iggy stormed through the streets of Harlem, his anger crippling his vision and hearing. All he could focus on was finding a way to pay for school and get his vending cart up and running again. Then he had to get out of his parents' house that he was expected to feel privileged to live in. He was thankful to have a roof over his head, and an occasional good meal filling his belly. But he despised his father's hate and ways. There was no family connection, only his dad's power-fueled hospitality.
“Sandman, you got anything for me yet?” Ziggy asked, walking up to Harlem's unofficial mayor aka Get-It-Anyway-You-Want-It aka Yes-If-The-Price-Is-Right. Sandman could get anybody anything, including a new sky if they had the ends to fund their dream.
Tall and lanky with a shock of white hair, Sandman turned his barely fifty-year-old self around, and grinned. He had absolutely no teeth, and swore he didn't want any. It—toothpaste—was one less hygiene product he had to buy, and, according to him, he didn't miss it. “Ziggy, my man. I know what you need, and got that indeed. Only gonna cost you five-hun'ded.”
“Sandman, you know I don't got that type of money! You know I don't. Let's barter.”
Sandman zoomed into his own head, obviously in deep thought. He nodded. “Okay. I can barter with you. I will give you a brand-new official vending license in your name, with your picture for ... five-hun'ded-dollars!” he said, laughing. “What the hell is a barter anyway? I know about the bar, gonna hit that up as soon as you pay me, but I ain't never met a ter. But I'll take that ring.”
Ziggy stretched out his hand, looked at his ring, and knew what he had to do. There was no way he'd ever give it to Sandman because he wanted it back. “Cool. I'll be back no later than tomorrow for my license, Sandman. And you better have it!”
There was a pawnshop up the street, Ziggy was sure of that. He'd passed it hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. He hadn't planned on getting rid of his ring on One-two-five, but he had to do what he had to, and it had to be, like, yesterday.
“Z!” someone shouted.
Ziggy turned his head, zipping through the crowded sidewalk, and opened his mouth to speak. “Yuck!” he said, spitting, then he wiped his tongue. A bug had flown in his mouth, and in the process of trying to get rid of it, he'd smashed it on his tongue. Sticking his shirt in his mouth, he searched the street, and saw a bodega two doors down.
The iron-barred door was under his hands before he knew it. Pushing it open with all his power, he darted to the beverage section. He slid the first refrigerated cooler door to the side, grabbed and opened whatever his hand landed on, and washed away any traces of the bug. Better, he walked to the counter, then stopped in his tracks.
Her.
“Hey, Ziggy. We still need to practice our routine ... if you want to win the competition.”
Ziggy smiled. He didn't know she worked in his playground. He remembered to stay cool. “S'up.” He set the soda on the counter. “I opened this already. How long you been here?” he asked, wondering how long she'd been working in the neighborhood.
She misunderstood his question. “About four hours. I was just getting ready to leave for the day. I'm supposed to be meeting this dude who's supposed to be partnering with me for this dance audition that's coming up.”
Ziggy perked up. “An audition. What kind?”
“Commercial stuff. Videos. Nothing you'd be interested in, Mr. Professional Choreographer. They give you moves to follow, then, if picked, you get to showcase your own.” She shrugged. “I don't know, that part might work for you.”
Ziggy nearly lost his cool. Never mind what he wouldn't do before. Now he had to do all he could. He needed cash as badly as he needed breath. “But I
am
interested. Very. Can't you just shake that dude, and partner with me instead? We—me and you—already got a flow.”
“You sure, Ziggy? It doesn't pay much. We'll only get like five bills for a lot of videos. It's more exposure work.”
He almost lost it. Almost. She'd just stood in front of him, dangled the five-hundred-dollar bait he needed, and he was going to bite. They'd be chosen, he'd see to that. “I got us. Let's go to the school and practice now. You are getting off, right?”
The walk was short, but a long one. Ziggy couldn't wait to kick off his shoes and feel the hardwood under his feet. All the way there he'd imagined steps for them. Ones for him, others for her, and a routine or two they could swing together if given the opportunity.
“Your head's nodding. What music are you hearing?” she asked.
“Hip-hop. I think we need straight hardcore rap to groove to. We can freak it with a bit of reggae, then twist them with a samba-infused number. Blow their minds, ya know?”
She nodded, walking through the door as Ziggy held it open.
“Keep quiet,” he said. “You know staff may still be buzzing around, and we're not supposed to be here after hours. Let's go to the music studio and see what type of hip-hop we can borrow, then we'll go to the dance room at the end of the hall.”
The hallway was almost eerie when it was empty. Ziggy had never really been alone in the school. He was used to it bustling with some sort of happenings going on. There was always someone singing, rapping, dancing, and acting.
Her hand was on his arm, stopping him. “You hear that? Sound like someone fell.”
Ziggy listened, but all he could hear was the beat of his own heart. He shrugged. They'd just have to take a chance because they needed the studio, and she hadn't offered for them to practice in her basement, so he assumed it was off limits. They were in front of the music room in seconds. Ziggy put his finger to his lip to signal that she should still be quiet. Carefully he pushed open the door.
“Ziggy!” Half-Dead shouted. “What up, dancer of the year?”
Ziggy's eyes widened. What the heck was Half-Dead doing in the school after hours? He was just about to speak when something else caught his attention.
Broke-Up.
“Who a dancer?” Broke-Up asked.
Half-Dead looked back and forth between the brothers. “I knew you looked familiar, Broke-Up. I told you that you look like some dude here who dances. This is him. Ziggy.”
In less than a second, Broke-Up and Ziggy were on the floor, locking horns as if they were bulls. They'd never had a real fist fight in their life, but no one would've been able to tell.
“Batty boy, you!”
“Break it up. Break it up!” Mrs. Allen said, running into the room, trying to separate Ziggy and his brother. “What's the meaning of this?” She craned her neck, then cocked it to the side. “What's that I hear? Hip-hop? In my school? Reese?! Not today, not after I just left a late meeting where I heard the school may be closing.” She clasped her hand over her mouth, obviously realizing her mistake.
“That's me and Reese's music... .” Broke-Up began proudly, still trying to fight Ziggy, then quieted when he realized the seriousness of what Mrs. Allen said.
24
JAMAICA-KINCAID
N
o. Nope. Absolutely not
. All Jamaica needed was another dictator on the scene to tell her how bad she was, then clean it up with how good she could be. Talia was like Maritzio—a walking, talking, oxymoron who was indecisive when it came to her, apparently. Either she was good at acting or she wasn't. At the moment, she didn't care. All she could focus on was getting her lines right, then shuttling off to the train station so she could meet her parents at their hotel. And Talia, for the last few rehearsals, had made acting hellish for her. She didn't know if it was because Maritzio was out of the country and couldn't change his schedule, or if the lady was just hard to work for. What she really couldn't understand was why all the investment in her. If she wasn't as good as Talia wanted her to be, and believed she could help her become, why go to the trouble? Talia could've always cast another actress, one “seasoned” enough. Jamaica shrugged. She wouldn't ask; that'd be too much like killing her own dream. She'd roll with it. Spin with it until it moved with ease.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” Talia kept saying over and over, urging Jamaica. “Aha. Aha. Aha.”
She turned, walked, said her lines until she felt she was talking in circles, did and said the exact same thing over and over as her warm-up. This was the part of the acting instruction that tickled her. Why Talia thought her idea was best was beyond Jamaica, but she did it anyway. Whatever it took to keep her part until Maritzio arrived, she'd do. Sure, it wasn't her way. It was still a means, that's what she kept telling herself. Memorizing lines, going off script to add in real-life flavor, turning on and off emotion were the easiest things to her, like breathing. Until she saw Maritzio walking in. That's when she froze.
“Where's this gift you mentioned?” Maritzio boomed with a slight smile on his face. A tinge of excitement lit his eyes, if, in fact, he could feel any.
Talia walked up to where he stood, pointed at Jamaica, then beckoned her over.
“
Her?
” he said, pointing. “Talia, you've got to be kidding, yes?” Maritzio laughed. “No. No.
No
. I won't work with her. Again.”
Jamaica couldn't help smiling. What was up with these two? Did they always triple talk? Talia had her “Yes. Yes. Yes.” and “Aha Aha Aha” and Maritzio had his “No. No. No.”
It took everything she had in her, every ounce of control she had, not to sneer at, hit, or throw a shoe at him. She'd had enough of him, of Talia too, but there was something brewing, and she would wait it out, not kill it by verbalizing her jazzy thoughts.
“Look! Just look, Maritzio. You too, Jamaica,” Talia ordered them, surfing through electronic clips of an earlier rehearsal. “Tell me she isn't
it
?” she dared Maritzio. “See what I mean, Jamaica? Either I will dislike you or love you.
Make
me love you. Look at how fantastic your scenes are.”
Maritzio ran his hands through his hair, then rubbed his beard. He looked from Jamaica to the small screen, then back at Jamaica again. “You relaxed,” he told—not asked—her, then peeled his blazer off, and snatched up a clipboard. “Stay relaxed for me. No intimidation, Jamaica. I want exactly what you gave the last director when you rehearsed, then more. Go! Go! Go!” he ordered in triplicate, rushing her to begin.
Jamaica moved right into character. Paused and tried to find her rhythm, but couldn't. She tried again and failed again.
“Stop!” Maritzio walked up to her. “What's the problem? Me?”
Jamaica shook her head. “Not you.”
“Think for a moment. What made you act like you did earlier? You were more comfortable, it showed.”
“Breathe,” Talia interrupted. “Jamaica exhaled before her scenes. I heard her. We all did. Her breathing was like music. Yes, it was like she had her own music.”
Jamaica crinkled her nose. Was her breathing that apparent? She shrugged, and guessed so. Then she smiled. “I did. Breathing is like a song playing in my head. Let's start again,” she told Maritzio, glad that she could give them what they wanted so she could hurry and leave to get to her parents.
“Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!” Maritzio praised when she'd run through her lines, and they were finally finished. “Wish we could've connected before like this, Jamaica. You”—he pinched her cheek as if she were his child—“are going to make us and you a lot of money. You are
it
.”
“Get ready. Your life is going to change.” Talia smiled.
Jamaica scooped up her book bag, waved, and ran out the door so her life could do just that, change before her parents discovered her secret and snatched it. But, it may've been too late, she feared when she read her sister's text message, and almost cried from the one Mateo sent seconds after.
EVIL SISTER: THE BEAUTY QUEEN AND GURU R ON 2U
 
MATEO: SKOOL MIGHT CLOSE BCUZ NO $$$
25
LA-LA
L
a-La tried to swallow her embarrassment, but couldn't. Ziggy stood in the doorway—in her project building—and she was sure he'd expire from the scent of alcohol and urine that assaulted her nose from where she stood, that someone, probably the knuckleheaded teenage gangbangers, had christened the hallway with. Ziggy had to smell it too, she guessed from the way he poked out his lips as if he were trying to block his nostrils. A slight smile spread on her face. With his upper lip flipped up a bit, he resembled a cute fish.
Her eyebrows rose as she admired him. She thought about asking him what he was doing there and how he'd found out where she lived, but she didn't want to be rude.
“Hi,” she said instead.
He waved as if he were down the hall instead of only inches away. “Aren't you going to let me in? Or ... you can't? Some girls' mothers don't play—”
Something sharp poked La-La in the back and made her grit her teeth. She cleared her throat, cutting off Ziggy. “Let him in, La-La,” Remi whispered from behind, jabbing her again with an ink pen. “Boom-Kesha's not here to embarrass you.”
Ziggy tilted his head, then leaned to the side, trying to zoom in on Remi. “Hello, whoever you are,” he said to her, waving and smiling.
Remi giggled.
La-La stepped to the side. “Sorry for being rude, but the place is a mess—”
“Because we're cleaning up. And, you know, sometimes you have to mess up to clean up,” Remi cut in, lying. She walked in front of Ziggy, and extended her hand like a businesswoman. Her headscarf accidentally slipped from her forehead, revealing a fraction of her hairless scalp. Immediately, she fixed it with a look of panic on her face. It was clear that she was embarrassed—horrified—but she smiled. “I'm Remi.”
La-La watched in half-horror as Ziggy's eyes stretched slightly in surprise, then went back to normal. He matched Remi's smile, and it was genuine. “I'm Ziggy.” He turned to La-La. “Are you ready for the pool party? That's why I'm here ... and to tell you about the school.”
“Cyd and Rikki told me about the school. There's gotta be something we can do. One sec, okay? I'll be back,” she said, rushing off to her room where she stripped out of her clothes, and slipped into the panties and bra that were going to serve as her swimming suit. She twirled in the mirror, stopping only to look at her butt. Rikki had been right, she did look curvier. She layered an outfit Cyd had picked out for her to wear over the faux swim gear, grabbed a small book bag, and headed to the door. A smile parted her lips before she made it down the hall. Ziggy was gaining more and more of her heart every time she saw him. Like now. He and Remi were conversing like old friends, slapping five, and giving each other a pound. He didn't seem to be the least bit affected by her sister's illness like so many others—including Boom-Kesha, their mother.
“I'm ready,” she made herself interrupt, but not because she wanted to. It was time to go, and she wanted to spend every available minute she could with Ziggy.
Ziggy gave Remi another pound, put his hat on her head, then pulled her into a slight hug. “A'ight, lil sis. Next week, that's my word. Promise.”
Before they'd made it out of the building, Ziggy stopped in his tracks. “You know your sister's a good kid. I like her. It's too bad about her dis-ease.” He pronounced disease as two separate words, making it sound better. “Because that's what she has ... some uneasiness. There's no way you can make me believe that the spunky girl I just met is sick—”
“Oh
no
?” a voice cut in that made La-La roll her eyes. Boom-Kesha. “Well, Remi
is
sick, and who are you? Bringing your fresh behind over here? Who're you smelling under? La-La?”
“What up, Pop-po?” Paco asked, coming out of nowhere with a bottle of beer in a paper bag in one hand. He gave Ziggy a pound like they knew one another.
“My mother and her boyfriend. Drunks,” La-La whispered to Ziggy. “Sorry.”
Ziggy greeted the adults, ignoring Boom-Kesha's remarks.
“You heard me? I
said
she's sick,” Boom-Kesha repeated, then uttered to Paco: “Like he can't see she's
bald
. He must think we're fools or something.” She turned to La-La, then touched her hair. “This is the one with all the beautiful good hair.”
La-La moved away from her mother, and wanted to cry. Remi stood behind her with tears in her eyes.
La-La zoomed down the street. She didn't want to look at Ziggy. Didn't want him to see the hurt in her eyes or face the truth that her decision would possibly push him away.
“Where we going?” Ziggy asked, running behind her. “La-La, wait up!” He ran up to her, and grabbed her hand.
She stopped, and took a long stare at him. “Ziggy, do you like me only because of my hair?”
Ziggy laughed. “No. It's a bonus, but that's not what I like about you, not the only thing. I like your style, drive. Why?”
“There's somewhere I want to go, something I need to do. And I want you to go with me.”
“But the party ...”
La-La shook her head. “Can we skip it?”
Ziggy shrugged. “Sure, there's another one soon. And it's a hotel indoor pool party where you can sing, and we can raise money to save the school. But you may not want to be at that one. Nakeeda's going to be there.”
La-La snaked her neck. “Eff Nakeeda.”
She looked at Ziggy for a sign, any inclination as to whether she should be concerned or not. His eyes didn't
say
anything, but they did ask if she was sure or not. She nodded her head.
 
“Don't move. Okay?” the barber said, moving the clippers along the side of her head.
Her hair, her once beautiful and thick locks, lay in her lap with rubber bands on one end of each pigtail that'd been clipped off before the actual barbering begun. She was tired of her sister suffering alone, and though cutting off her hair wouldn't make Remi's grow back faster, La-La believed she could lift her spirits. At least they'd go through the growing process together.
Ziggy raised his brows when she was finished, walking around the chair inspecting La-La's Caesar cut. “It looks good. Really good. I wasn't sure you could pull this off, but it sorta adds to you.”
La-La smiled. “You think? I'm not too skinny for this, right? I don't want to look like a corpse from an old MJ video. My teeth are bad enough. I need braces. I don't want to look like a raggedy-mouth crackhead,” she said, then covered her mouth. She didn't want him to see her teeth. Now she'd gone and drawn attention to them.
Ziggy laughed, then patted her leg. “Nothing's wrong with your teeth. Don't get caught up in the American hype. Orthodontics is an American thing. Now get up. My turn. For Remi, I'm going bald.”
She knew she liked him for a reason.
BOOK: Uptown Dreams
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