Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 1

Chanel’s heart was broken. She missed Mateo so much that she would cry herself to sleep at night. She wanted to disappear. But when it rains, it pours.

***

The school bell rang. It was Chanel’s last period class and it was time to go home. The September weather still allowed her to look cute in her short skirt and white top. She rode the bus in silence, wishing she had some other place to go after school besides home.

The bus moved through the city street and Chanel stared out the window. With Claire now away in school, she had one less sister to deal with—to take abuse from. But Charlie’s boyfriend God seemed to take Claire’s place at home. Chanel hated the way God would look at her when she came into the room. His eyes lingered on her for too long and it made her uncomfortable. It almost felt like when he stared at her, he was undressing her young body with his eyes. She wanted to tell Charlie about the uneasiness she felt around God, but she knew telling Charlie about the issue would be like telling a rock. Charlie most likely wouldn’t do anything about it.

For Chanel, it truly sucked that she didn’t have a big sister to have her back. She hated to feel alone with her own family. With Mateo disappearing from her life, Chanel felt like she had no one but Mecca who gave a fuck about her.

The bus came to a stop on Ralph Avenue and Chanel got off. She minded her business as she walked two blocks to the Glenwood Housing Projects. Her area of Brooklyn was a busy place, especially on a warm September day. A few boys wanted to holler at her, catcalling to her from a short distance, but she ignored them. She wasn’t interested and they weren’t her type. They weren’t Mateo.

It appeared that no one was home when she entered her apartment. For a moment, it seemed Chanel had the place to herself. She wanted to make herself a snack and lock herself in the bedroom and start on her homework.

But then things changed. Upon walking into the kitchen, her eyes widened with shock. There was Butch, sprawled out across the kitchen floor, and he looked dead. Near his reach was a bottle of Jack Daniels that had spilled out onto the floor.

Chanel hurried to him. “Daddy!” she cried out. “Daddy, wake up!”

She tried to wake him, but he wasn’t coming to. She didn’t know what to do. She tried to give him CPR, but to no avail. She ran to the phone and quickly dialed 911. She shouted breathlessly to the dispatcher, “My father—I think he had a heart attack or something. He’s not moving! He’s not breathing!”

“Ma’am, what is your location?” the 911 dispatcher asked.

Chanel quickly gave them the address and prayed that Butch wouldn’t die. He was a drunk and treated her like shit, but he was still her father, and Chanel hoped the ambulance got there in time.

***

Butch lay unconscious on the gurney in the hospital room. Bacardi, Charlie, and God had finally made it to Brookdale Hospital to see about his condition. Chanel lingered in the hallway. She had saved her father’s life, but her family would never give her the credit she deserved. Everyone was worried about Butch. He was an unemployed drunk who was mean and abusive when he was sober, but he was family.

The doctor came into the room and he had everyone’s undivided attention. His diagnosis of Butch was simple. He had a seizure brought on by consuming too much alcohol. He would have to stay a few nights in the hospital for observation, and the family was told that if he continued to drink the way he did, then he would probably be dead within a year. But Butch not drinking was easier said than done.

Bacardi was a bit relieved, but it was bittersweet news. How could they stop Butch from drinking? Liquor and Butch went together like a horse and a carriage, and if Butch couldn’t have his liquor then he would become an unbearable muthafucka to be around.

“Someone needs to call Claire and tell her what happened,” Bacardi said.

“I’ll do it,” Charlie said.

She turned and walked out of the hospital room and moved right past Chanel without saying a word. She didn’t even have the respect to tell Chanel what Butch’s doctor had said. She marched down the hallway with her cell phone in hand to call her sister and to get everyone a snack.

Chanel stared into the room and observed Bacardi praying over her husband. She felt sickened by her mother’s action. She thought, How can a demon like her pray? Although she saved her father’s life, Chanel knew that nothing was going to change. They already ignored her and treated her like she was a plague—like her black skin was a virus inside the home. It wasn’t her fault that she was born with dark skin and her two sisters were light with hazel eyes. She was still blood—still a Brown—but yet, she was a child without a home and without love. Chanel thought that she’d found love with Mateo, but was it only a façade?

She sighed and turned and left. She would take the bus home. She would lock herself inside her room and stay there all night

. The benefit of Claire being away at college was that she no longer had to share the bedroom. The solitude she craved was granted—a minor blessing in such a hellish household.

Chapter Thirteen

Cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air of the strip club. It was a scene of debauchery. Every square foot of the club was thick with paying customers and scantily dressed women. Two naked dancers were wrapped around the poles while four other girls danced on stage. The rest of the girls paraded around the urban club while Big Sean’s “Bounce Back” thumped through the speakers.

In their element like children at a playground were God and Fingers. Both men were being entertained with lap dances by two half-naked ladies. Fingers clutched a fistful of dollars and eagerly tipped the smiling, caramel complexioned girl with a big booty and matching big tits.

God downed a bottle of champagne and grinned at his lovely company. Her name was Miracle. She was pretty, dark, and curvy in all the right places. She straddled God in the folding chair and grinded her thick body against his—arousing her customer to the fullest. She thought he was cute. And he wasn’t cheap. As she grinded her booty and pussy into his lap, he continued to make it rain on her. She smiled. He smiled. His hands roamed freely all over the dancer’s body, and tonight he wasn’t thinking about Charlie.

They looked like ballers in the club with their designer clothing and jewelry, purchasing bottles from the bar and tipping healthily. It was their way to unwind and enjoy life.

“I like you,” said Miracle to God.

“I like you too, shorty,” said God.

“What’s your name?” she asked.