Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“No, I purposefully did not ’cause I don’t want no media attention and no court case. Just did enough to make him go away.” She put her car in drive to see if she could finish her route, shave off a few seconds. She could, but she heard a lot of reverberating, knocking, and dragging from her ride. “He damaged my car real bad, but I can still drive it I think.”
“No, stay right there. Officer Duncan will meet you, assess the situation and damage, and go from there.” Nadia could hear the sirens now. “Another officer has already been sent to find the person in question. It’s okay, darlin’. Everything is fine. Help is on the way.”
“Help was already here.” She glanced at her gun now lying on her lap, and smiled sadly. “But I appreciate you all the same…”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she wiped a tear from her cheek. A tear born of pure rage and misery.
…A short time later
It was a little after three in the morning and Nadia found herself on Nana’s porch. Nana was a notorious night owl. Tonight, she was happier than ever about that. She needed the woman’s warm arms around her. She needed an angel on earth.
Nana didn’t ask any questions when that doorbell rang. She looked out the peephole, opened the door, and welcomed her grandchild inside. Now they were once again sitting on the porch while rap music played from next door. They enjoyed the blanket of blackness and stars, the insects singing a tune, and the balmy night air, with a nice breeze passing through every so often.
“Well, you filed the police report so it’ll be only a matter of time fo’e they get him.”
She sensed a trace of irascibility in her tone.
“I’m done, Nana.” Nadia took a sip from the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice her grandmother had given her.
“Done with what, baby?”
“Done with it all.” Nadia waved her hand, her jaw tightening in disgust. “I asked for a sign, a true sign to be finished with this career, and this was it. I have been followed home many times over the course of my dancin’ career. It’s not that within itself—it’s the energy it attracts to me. Dancing can be beautiful but what it attracts ain’t so pretty all the time.” Nana nodded in understanding. “I have had bodyguards from the club I worked at in Atlanta escort me so I’d make it home safe.
“I’ve had men somehow get my number and harass me. I’ve had one guy try to rob me while I was still at work. He saw me comin’ out of the restroom and tried to hem me up against the wall. I kneed him in the nuts and got away. I’ve had to help other dancers not get their asses beat by crazy boyfriends or some pimp that had gotten his hooks into them.” She placed her juice glass down and shook her head.
“You were a friend.”
“Well, that’s another dark side to this. Nana, I ain’t got many friends.” She lifted her hands in the air, then let them fall against her thighs. “I know plenty of folks. Got a whole lotta associates. But friends? Naw. Some women are intimidated by me because of what I do. I do it well. I ain’t the prettiest, but I’m one of the best. I’m a foodie, but I work hard on my body, and I practice what I’m doing. I keep my mind sharp. I do what needs to be done. I don’t have a drug or drinkin’ problem like some of them do, and this isn’t me thinkin’ I’m better than nobody, ’cause I’m not. I’m just sayin’ that I’m not as broken as some folks, and it makes things easier for me. Women can be funny acting sometimes.”
“Well, when you live in a world that tells girls they ain’t worth nothin’ if they not married and got babies, that’s bound to happen. We see ourselves through the eyes of men, baby. Read a magazine, and the cover say, ‘How to drive yo’ man crazy in bed!’” Nana chuckled. “Or, what do men like?’ And then it gives a long list of the perfumes they like on us, the makeup, the hairstyles.”
“It’s called male centered.”
“Huh? Male centered?”
“Yeah. What you described, Nana, is what my mama found out is called ‘male centered,’ and she told me about it. It’s when we hurt ourselves, our best interests or other women, just to get or keep the attention of men. Some folks in the black community call ’em mammies, or Pick-Me. Another variation of that term, is a Pick-Me-Esha.”
“Hmph!” Nana shook her head and crossed her ankles. “I ain’t know they had a name for it.”
“Yes, they sure do, and it keeps us women apart from one another. Makes us compete with one another, for scraps. Like gangs over streets that we don’t even own. I think I have a friend, one minute, you know? And then she starts acting strange. Think I’m going to take her man, so then all of a sudden, they don’t want to hang with me no more.” A flush of heat consumed her. The thought of that reality made her madder than what had happened that evening—the whole stalking and police situation.