Woman on Top Page 7

  It wasn’t easy moving around in her house, as it was filled with mementos of Malik at every stage in his life: from elementary school, high school, college, law school, and his political accomplishments. The largest picture (poster size) in her dining room was of Malik when he took his oath of office.

  The top of her china cabinet held Malik’s trophies, while across the room on her server were photos of his parents and his diploma from both Clemson and Harvard Law. She’d even framed his Magna Cum Laude certificate.

  As much as I teased her, I could imagine doing the exact same thing for Nylah.

  “Daddy, I helped cook, and I set the table, right Nanny?” Nylah proudly told us when I noticed they were both wearing aprons.

  “Yes, you did, baby.”

  “And Daddy can’t wait to eat.”

  Before Malik came to the table, he went into the kitchen to take a call and to peek inside the refrigerator, as was his habit anytime he came in her house.

  The dining room table was still covered with a Christmas tablecloth, and set for four, with Nanny’s treasured Dresden china, which included solid gold silverware and matching bowls of various sizes and patterns.

  This afternoon, they were filled with cabbage, candied yams, and a fully dressed ham, complete with pineapples and cherries. And as she did every Sunday, Malik’s beverage of choice, cherry Kool-Aid, overloaded with sugar and sliced lemons, sitting in its original Kool-Aid pitcher she’d had since he was a kid. I had no idea how he drank that syrup.

  “I see you put out the good china again,” I told her.

  “What I’m saving them for? All this gonna be yours anyway so you better make some room.”

  I kissed her plump cheek and said, “I love you, Nanny.”

  “Tiffany, sit down,” she told me, never one for too much affection.

  “You need me to do anything.”

  “Nothing, chile. Sit down before this food gets cold,” she scolded.

  Not having had a grandmother on either side of my family made it easy for me to love Nanny, but she’d initially been cautious of my relationship with her grandson, that is until she met my parents. When Nylah was born, I’d been skeptical about having her babysit, but Malik reassured and reminded me that she’d raised him since birth with those same eyes.

  Coming into the dining room, Malik went over to Nanny and gave her a bear hug. “Nanny, sweetie, what you got for me?”

  “Get off me boy, c’mon and eat. I know you wanna get back home to the game.”

  After taking his place at the head of the table, Nylah jumped in her father’s lap to steal one more kiss. Watching the two of them, I told myself there was no way she could be Haney’s child. My daughter was long and lean, and her complexion a unique blend of me, and Malik, coloring her a toasty brown.

  “What’s this I hear about you went away to get a massage or something? Ain’t that what husbands are for?” Nanny asked, while spooning potato salad onto Malik’s plate.

  “Your grandson insisted. It was all his idea.”

  “Malik, honey, slice that ham up,” she said to him before she turned back to me. “My grandson is a good man, that’s why you married him, right? Now bless the food, Malik.”

  “I wanna do it,” Nylah offered, and then rushed through, “God is good, God is great and we thank Him for our food, Amen.”

  Malik pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “Good girl.”

  “She knows how to use that computer you left here, had me playing games with her.”

  “I taught Nanny how to play ABC Mouse hunt,” Nylah proudly announced.

  “See Nanny, it’s not that bad. You might get used to it,” Malik reassured her.

  “I ain’t got time.”

  “Did you get to the doctor’s last week?” he asked her since she always had an excuse not to go.

  “You just won’t let me be. I been to every doctor you sent me to. You see I’m wearing these big ole ugly glasses, don’t make no sense to be worried about cataracts, can’t see anyway.”

  “If you want, Nanny, I could get one of my guys to bring you a few joints, it’s legal now.”

  Smacking him with a serving spoon, she said, “Boy stop talking like that, you the mayor.”

  “Nanny ain’t gonna beat you, Daddy, don’t be scared.”

  “Nylah, what did I tell you about the word, ain’t,” I said.

  Together, her and Malik responded, “It ain’t a word.”

  Nanny’s house was always busy with neighbors and extended family, so it was no surprise when the doorbell chimed. Before anyone could get up to answer, it opened.

  “What’s up y’all!” said Tootie, Malik’s childhood friend who lived three doors away.

  “C’mon in here, Tootie, Malik’s here. Get a plate,” Nanny told her, all the while getting up to fix her a plate.

  Playfully punching Malik on the shoulder, she asked, “What’s up, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Tootie, you just getting off?” I asked, since as always, she was wearing her Septa Railroad uniform, with its belt pulled tight around the waist of her blue pants and a white shirt whose buttons were begging to be set free against her large breasts.

  “Yeah, Tiff, Happy New Year,” she answered, kissing me on the cheek before taking a seat next to Nylah.

  “Hi, Nylah girl.”

  “Toot! Toot!” Nylah exclaimed, while pulling on an imaginary horn with her hands.

  “Where’s Sheema?” Nanny asked, referring to Tootie’s four-year-old daughter, a constant playmate for Nylah when she visited.

  “Baby Daddy. He’s bringing her home today. So, Mr. Mayor, I saw your tweet last night about the Mental Health Urgent Care place. You think City Council gonna pass that?”

  Nanny responded before Malik had a chance. “They need to, ’cause these crazy people killing folk. If they’d had somewhere to go besides the emergency room, it might save a few lives. Might’ve helped that couple who killed themselves New Year’s.”

  “I agree with you, Nanny,” I added.

  “Tiffany, how’s that place of yours coming along?” Tootie inquired, while using her finger to stir the lemon in her Kool-Aid. I didn’t say anything when I watched Nylah do the same.

  “Still a few months before we open, but it looks good for us.”

  “Count me in to hug some babies.”

  “You got plenty to hug with,” Nanny murmured.

  “Tootie, any word from Wesley?” Malik asked, while cutting up Nylah’s ham.

  “I told you when you were here New Year’s that he ain’t been responding to my texts.”

  “You were here New Years?” I asked, wondering how with a murder-suicide in Germantown, he’d managed to come to South Philly. My husband never knew when to call it a night.

  Tootie’s eye cut to Malik, then me, like she’d spilled the beans.

  “I was out on patrol, so we stopped by here to check on Nanny and the neighborhood,” Malik explained.

  “I keep telling you, I don’t need checking on. I got my 45 under my mattress,” Nanny told us.

  “Well, I was glad you came by,” Tootie said. “Them niggas was acting crazy for real. Shooting for no reason.”

  I could see Malik getting agitated. Tootie was his friend, but she was rough around the edges. He put up with it because they’d grown up together and she was one of the people who looked after Nanny, along with some of his other shady friends from Point Breeze. Me, I rather enjoyed Tootie’s antics.

  “No New Year’s party for you?” I asked her.

  “I had to run them trains for the Mummers Parade in the morning.”

  “You should’ve come to the Mayor’s party,” I teased.

  “Not my thing. Too bougie, but I saw you all dressed up on the news, real niggas in Paris.”

  Nanny and I chuckled, but Malik didn’t find it funny.

  “Anyway I can’t stay, my baby daddy on his way. See y’all later,” she said, taking the two plates Nanny had wrapped in foil.

>   After dinner, while Malik and Nylah were in the basement rummaging through his old stuff for more junk to bring home, I helped Nanny clear the table.

  “You know the old DA, he’s doing a decent job around here cleaning up the neighborhood. The boys aren’t hanging on the corners as much. He’s got patrols and everything. Says he’s gonna look into all these delis popping up, selling beer and who knows what else.”

  “You mean Mr. Haney?” I asked, surprised at yet another revelation of his involvement. “How’s he planning to do that?”

  “He’s living not too far from here so he’s been coming to our town watch meetings. Told us he plans to save Point Breeze from City Hall. Might run for ward leader.”

  Before I could ask another question, Malik and Nylah came up the steps.

  “All right ladies, time to pack up; it’s almost game time.”

  “I know, I know. Here, I packed up some food for y’all and there’s some lemon pound cake sliced up,” Nanny said, handing Malik a shopping bag full of containers that probably included all of her leftovers.

  By the time we said our goodbyes, it had begun snowing, hopefully without much accumulation because that would mean a day home from school for Nylah and I had too much to do after being away.

  Once we were settled in the back seat of the SUV, I couldn’t help but ask if Malik knew what Nanny had told me.

  “Nanny says Haney is doing a lot more than working on the eminent domain stuff.”

  He nodded, while being totally engulfed with checking emails, and I’m sure tweeting about the Super Bowl.

  “Do you really think he can be that instrumental without any real power?”

  “As long as he doesn’t break any laws, he can do whatever he wants,” he said, still without looking at me.

  “She said he wants to run for ward leader. Can he do that with a record?”

  “Like I said, he can do what he wants as long as it’s not illegal.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  With Nylah bouncing up and down in the seat between us, she blurted out, “Mommy, Daddy says we’re going to have a little brother.”

  “Nylah, your father and I are talking right now. Malik, are you really okay with Mr. Haney in your grandmother’s neighborhood?”

  “But Daddy said. . .”

  “Nylah, be quiet!”

  Malik’s jaws tightened and he spat out, “Why are you snapping at her?”

  “She knows to say ‘excuse me’ when someone is talking.”

  Wrapping his arm around her, as she whimpered out of pure manipulation, Malik said, “Nylah, Mommy’s sorry.”

  Laying his iPad on the seat, he added, “Listen Tiffany, I’m tired of hearing about Haney from you. I don’t understand why you feel so threatened.”

  “I’m looking out for you.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Well, I can look out for myself,” he exclaimed then returned to his iPad.

  Chapter 8

  Happy Birthday

  It snowed for two days, enough to be a nuisance, but not enough to close schools. Malik had been up earlier than usual preparing for his speech to City Council, facing a battle with Council President Evelyn Gillman, who was blocking council approval on the minimum wage hike.

  My morning had been busy, there’d been a breakfast meeting with Mark Carter, the CEO of Carter Crafted, who’d agreed to become a sponsor by donating their services to the landscaping of BBWC property, including erecting a children’s garden. Next up, I needed to go home and pack for our trip to New York, a birthday present from Malik.

  If anybody could slow the pace of my hectic day, it was my brother, Julian, better known as Huli, who was home for a visit prior to Spring Training; he was a short stop for the Los Angeles Angels. Huli was 100 percent Dominican and played right into it by learning the language from his teammates, dabbing in the culture and cuisine and most recently having purchased a beachfront condo in Puerto Plata.

  Huli was never shy about being a momma’s boy and often spoke about his gratitude for having been adopted. At the end of his first year in the league, he’d received the Rookie of the Year award at the ESPY’s. He’d dedicated the trophy to our parents with a speech that brought the audience to tears as he spoke on how blessed he was to have been chosen as their son.

  All of us benefited from Huli’s success. Last Christmas, he’d surprised our parents with a customized RV for them to travel at their leisure, and that was only because they wouldn’t let him buy them a house in some expensive Florida retirement community. For Kamille and me, there was a monthly stipend that even Malik wasn’t aware of, and for his niece and nephews there was always an abundance of gifts and overpriced toys, but he’d also established a family college fund, naming it, In Johnson We Trust.

  Today, the three of us were meeting for lunch at Halfway House Café. I’d dropped off my car with the parking valet and was walking down Walnut Street when I saw Huli’s long legs climbing out of a very expensive Mercedes SUV. Before I had the chance to call out to him, a man, probably on his lunch break, approached him for an autograph. It only took that one fan and within minutes there were ten people, men and women wanting to take pictures, get autographs and, of course, women trying to seduce him. I thought it was hilarious that my little brother, who I’d had to force to take a bath, was now one of the world’s most recognized athletes and eligible bachelors.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “If I don’t get you inside, there’s gonna be a riot.”

  He stepped away from the crowd, his face breaking into a big smile.

  “Big sis, what’s up?” he asked, pulling me in for a hug. My brother had the best arms for making a sister feel safe. “Where’s Kamille?”

  “Inside, I hope. C’mon, it’s freezing out here.”

  “Sis, this is Jose,” he said introducing his bodyguard. “This is my big sister, Tiffany, married to big time Mayor Skinner.”

  “Shut up, Huli. Hi Jose, nice to meet you.”

  “I’m gonna go for a walk, if it’s all right with you, boss.”

  “Go ’head, man, do some shopping, pick up some ladies while you’re at it. I’ll hit you when I’m ready.”

  Kamille came to the door and yelled, “Git your butt in here, the food is getting cold.”

  And not to disappoint his fans, he threw them his signature kiss, and we headed inside the restaurant. Before sitting down, he took pictures with Chef Haak and the cleaning staff, passing out tips to everybody, which made me wonder exactly how much money he carried with him. All of this, I was sure, would make its way onto social media.

  With the restaurant closed for the day, Kamille had a table set up for us and a lunch spread of my brother’s choosing that included lasagna, fried whiting, Spanish cabbage, candied yams and banana pudding for dessert.

  “All this for me?” he said, regarding the spread my sister had prepared.

  “You’re the one that called the meeting,” Kamille reminded him.

  “C’mon, let’s sit down,” I suggested, with Kamille and I on one side of the booth and Huli on the other.

  “Season about to start soon. Had to see my family,” my brother said, before snapping a picture of the food and posting it to Instagram.

  “We know, just make sure we have tickets for Phillies, Yankees, and the Nationals,” Kamille told him.

  “I got you covered, just let me know how many. What’s up with my big head nephews anyway? When you gon’ let them come out for a few days?” he asked Kamille, while I fixed everybody’s plate.

  “Right, and who’s gonna watch them? I don’t want them little tricks you run around with molesting my sons,” she told him, since his relationships were duly noted on TMZ and YBF.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll have fun. I’ll hire a nanny. C’mon sis, you know I wanna show them off.”

  “Let me talk to Brandon. And by the way, they love those Monster headphones you sent,” she said, pressing her face against mine to take another selfie. Meanwhile, Huli
stole a chicken wing from her plate and she snapped a picture of him taking a bite.

  “You two are crazy,” I added as they took more pictures and posted them to Instagram.

  “Seriously though, I flew out here ’cause I need to talk family business. I know you heard I’m about to sign a new contract.”

  “Of course we heard. It’s all over the news,” my sister acknowledged since she kept up with my brother’s every move through her sons and husband.

  “I’m talking quarter of a billion, if I stay healthy and out of trouble.”

  “Why would you be in trouble?” I asked, always concerned about his lifestyle.

  “I’m not, but you know they have a clause for everything. Why you think I’m so damn careful?” he said before stuffing a huge forkful of lasagna in his mouth.

  “What’s your agent saying? Is it going to happen?” my sister asked, as she poured ice tea in our glasses.

  “Next week. Signing bonus is going to be crazy. Accountant says I need to spend some money and Mom won’t let me buy them anything.”

  As good as he was on the baseball diamond, my parents made certain that Huli wasn’t another dumb jock. All throughout high school, they instilled in him that he needed a plan post baseball and for that he was currently working on his Masters Degree in Business Management.

  “Well you can buy me a house,” Kamille told him.

  “If I thought you were serious, I would. Damn this food is good.”

  “Like Brandon would let you do that?” I asked, wondering if she were indeed serious.

  “Uh, my husband is not insecure; if his brother-in-law wants to buy us a house, he’ll be all for it.”

  “What about you, Tiff?”

  “You already know what I have going on, BBWC.”

  Releasing his fork long enough to slide an envelope out the front pocket of his backpack, he said, “That’s why I got this for you.”

  Having already discussed his contribution to Blessed Babies, I didn’t expect to be surprised when I opened it. However as always, my brother went over the top. The check was for twenty-five thousand dollars.