Push Comes To Shove Part 2

"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 princ.i.p.al, 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d burned me." She pa.s.sed 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 Plain Dealer."

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

A local b.u.m 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 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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.s. "Long time no see."

GP squatted some and leaned on the pa.s.senger 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 f.u.c.ked-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.

"G.o.d, 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 b.u.t.t. She put her hands on me first." Secret watched her brother sc.r.a.pe 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 b.u.t.ts 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.t unless you're in a hurry to get f.u.c.ked up." The metal door squealed as Jewels yanked it open. "Oh, what's up, homeboy? I thought you were somebody coming to borrow some s.h.i.t. A motherf.u.c.ker asked me to borrow my dustpan yesterday."

Their fists touched in a greeting manner.

"I did come b.u.mming."

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-a.s.s 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 alb.u.m 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-a.s.s Chang said it sat there too long, called my bucket an eyesore. Fake c.h.i.n.k 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. d.a.m.n thing ain't worth more than it'll cost to get it out the impound and fixed."

"That's f.u.c.ked up. Anything is better than footing it...unless you enjoy a good walk." She pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.t." 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 d.i.c.k. If I had been the one to give you some p.u.s.s.y, 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 b.u.mming. What your foolish a.s.s want, then?"

"I have an interview tomorrow at the Plain Dealer 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? h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.t 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. d.a.m.n suburbs are too quiet. I'll be forced to f.u.c.k 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 h.e.l.l thought of some s.h.i.t like this? Turn dead people into diamonds; come on."

"All they need is your ashes. I wouldn't mind coming back as a phat-a.s.s diamond ring. But you don't have vision; the cemetery is full of dead motherf.u.c.kers. That ain't nothing but money."

"Forget about it." He tossed the paper on the nightstand. "We're not stealing dead people."

"Cremated pets work, too."

"No, Jewels."

"Buy yourself some shoes." She counted out a hundred dollars and put it in the suit pocket. "Listen, GP, if for some reason this interview doesn't work out, I'll set you up with a few ounces to get your pockets right."

"I'm not selling crack no matter how bad it gets. I can't believe you just tried me. Every time I see somebody on it, or hear about something happening because of it, I think-"

"About how your mother was a pipehead. How she gave birth to you in prison. You forgot that I know all about you and I'm tired of hearing it." She browsed through the clothes on hangers. "When are you gonna stop feeling sorry for yourself and get over it? Anybody that had to go through what you have should be as strong as a gorilla. Sorry I tried to help." She took out a collarless dress shirt matching the cream st.i.tching of the suit. "On everything, if I come up with this money I need for this account hustle, I'm gonna do something real proper for you so you can handle your business."

"You stay in something." He pictured himself in the suit.

"What can I say but I'm a hustler. I'm thinking about changing my name to Dividends. All I need is one hundred grand, and it will yield me six hundred grand in a month's time-guaranteed. Why wouldn't I play at them odds?"

As GP neared his home, he slowed his pace and frowned upon the unusual sight. He scrutinized the other homes on his block and ruled out a power outage. Maybe Kitchie put the kids to bed early Maybe Kitchie put the kids to bed early. Then, he noticed that the porch light was out.

That light never goes out.

He burst through the front door. "Kitchie!"

"We're upstairs."

He flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs.

Nothing happened.

He climbed the stairs and stood in the entrance of his bedroom. His family was bunched together on the bed. Two candles had burned down to their base, casting small flames from both nightstands.

GP dashed out of the back door and into the garage. He dumped his tool box onto the concrete. Why is the world caving in on me all at once? Why is the world caving in on me all at once? He grabbed a monkey wrench, then went to the light meter that was fastened to the aluminum siding. With rage and frustration driving him, it only took four determined tugs to break the meter's lock. He grabbed a monkey wrench, then went to the light meter that was fastened to the aluminum siding. With rage and frustration driving him, it only took four determined tugs to break the meter's lock.

"What are you doing?" Kitchie's brown eyes were plagued with concern.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the meter out. "What does it look like?"

He removed the plastic breakers obstructing the electrical current. He shoved the meter back in place.

The house illuminated.

"There's no way in h.e.l.l we're gonna sit in the dark looking crazy at each other. I'm doing the best with what I got to work with, and I'm not willing to let the little bit of food that we have in the fridge go bad."

Kitchie folded her arms and turned to go inside but paused long enough to see her meddlesome neighbor watching them from his kitchen window. Nosy old b.a.s.t.a.r.d Nosy old b.a.s.t.a.r.d. "Come in the house, GP, and talk to your daughter." She trudged up the back stairs; GP followed.

He placed the wrench on the Formica countertop. "Who scratched you like that?" He leaned in closer, examining Secret's bruised face.