Duchess: Everything but Love

By D.A. Brooks

The Duchess has a sassy attitude and audible voice, commanding, respect looking for everything but love. She stands five feet six inches, with a velvety apricot skin tone that complemented her long silky black hair and stunning gray eyes. Which turned platinum depending on the placement of the sun, where her money ticket. Her bodys dainty despite her unhappy childhood and fiery temper; shes the author of her own demise. Who shows and amplifies how sad she is from the premature death of her mother.

Throughout these trials, she gives the impression of detaching herself from the streets, finding God hears and sees. She learns valuable lessons while cascading the streets of Chicago. Helping with changing her disbelief in her wretched soul. When one single person helps to cherish those times of her moms love, although still wishing for her existence. His love helps her cope with the death and makes her face this world, which comes with powerful lessons and loves vicissitudes. This urban story will give you laughter, with a few unexpected twists, bringing you to tears, feeling a gangster boo could change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483634920

D.A. Brooks

About the Author Deborah A. Brooks is a native of Chicago who’s now residing in Tennessee with her husband of twenty years, Daniel, and her son, Brandon. Deborah is the middle child and has four grandchildren. This fun-loving, outgoing fifty-five-year-old has written three books. The inspiring writer has a wild and playful imagination enjoyed by many people. To contact D. A. Brooks, e-mail her at [e-mail].

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by D. A. Brooks.

ISBN:

   Softcover   978-1-4836-3491-3

   Ebook        978-1-4836-3492-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 05/16/2013

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

T he Duchess is a biracial female. Government name, Francine Elisa Johnson. Born November 29, 1994. A blossoming young woman inheriting her angelic looks from her mother.

She stands five feet six inches, with a velvety apricot skin tone that complimented her long silky" black hair and stunning gray eyes. Which turned platinum depending on the placement of the sun, which were her money ticket. Her body is dainty despite her unhappy childhood and fiery temper; she’s the author of her own demise. Shows and amplifies how sad she is by the premature death of her mother.

Throughout these trials, she gives the impression of detaching herself from the streets, finding that God hears and sees. She learns lessons while cascading the Cold streets of Chicago.

Helping with changing her disbelief in her wretched soul.

When one single person helps cherish those times of her mom’s love, although still wishing for her existence. She copes with death and makes her face this world, which comes with powerful lessons and love’s vicissitudes.

This urban novel will give you laughter, with a few unexpected twists bringing you to tears, feeling a gangster boo may vary.

CHAPTER 1

Duchess

T hursday morning was when I decided to grace my teacher with the presence of me and went to my third-period science class. Unusual for me since I hated this class. My assigned seat was by the window. Wrote a note to Condoleeza and had it passed to her, saying that when she least think it, I was going to kick her ass. I started daydreaming about Blue, watching the trees gently move. Then the pollens flew around in the wind, making my allergies flare up, and I started sneezing. Then Mr. Freeman yells, Get in groups of four! It was my turn to dissect the damn frog. I was wishing it’s Condoleeza Patterson’s face I was slicing. She had been staring at me from the time I’d walked in. The sound of her voice sends me off. When she loudly spoke, waiting frogs jumped. After reading the note, she eyed me. Heat flushing through my body, I started cracking my knuckles, and I leaped over on her like a frog and punched her in the chest, knocking her to the floor, fist pounding her ass. Everyone was screaming. Condoleeza was getting her ass beat. My pulse was pounding somewhere in the 160 range, frowning at Mr. Freeman as he pulled me off, getting in my space. He yelled, Students settle down, everyone back up to the wall! Pressing the button for security to come. Soon as he let go of me, I went and kicked the hell out of Condoleeza again, who was still lying on the floor in a fetal position. People in the class knew that was bound to happen because we’ve been beefing since we were thirteen, and still at eighteen it has built up and she had it coming as far as I’m concerned. This heifer loves throwing shade on people, and just the sight of her face irritates me. Having a reputation as a badass and me too. We were like vinegar and oil and didn’t mix. The school resource officer comes and takes both of us to the dean’s office. She’s looking like a hot mess, bleeding from the scalp where I’d snatched that fake hair out of her head.

I can hear Auntie Dena’s speech now, how I’m on the path of destruction. The anger is like fire shut up in my bones. Saying I need love but running from it and missing my mama was the reason I fought so much. She right. I don’t want to be caught up with that shit. It broke my heart once and never again. Harold Melvin said, It took a fool to learn love. Love’s nobody. Sometimes I’m furious at my mother for leaving me just because I loved her so much. Ms. Hope, the school dean, called Dena to let her know she has to come and pick me up, that I was being suspended, pressing her lips together, sounding disgusted, blowing a deep breath, telling her it’s for fighting again and she needed a meeting with her because it’s the third time within a month. Dena asked to speak with me. The dean handed me the phone. Dena tried to scold me by slick cussing. Saying she was tired of coming up to the school and was going to send me to detention. Your stubborn black ass is way out of control! she screamed. And I am not going to deal with it any longer. I’m on my way. Then reversing her statement. She’s not coming but sending Blue. Since he is the one you’re respecting lately. She yelled, Why you hate everybody?

I yelled, Because it’s not everyone, just you! and hung up.

The dean lifted her head, raising an eyebrow, and rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers on the desk. Mumbling, "Could not be me she be talking to. Shaking her head, shoving a pass at me with her audibly brassy voice, saying, Go get your things, and wait in front of the building for your ride. Duchess, you’re out for ten days." Fiddling with her ring to avoid eye contact with me, cramming the book of passes into the desk. My abrupt movement causes the chair to tip over where it stayed as I left. Blue was an older brother/friend type. But I’m starting to have sexual feelings for him, and he, the same. But he’s the law and I’m jailbait, so we try to keep it strictly bro and lily sis related, touches of kissing cousins, and flirting.

When it comes to describing this man, it’s one word—yummy. He stood six feet six, with a rich and velvety dark chocolate color and midnight (odd blue) eyes. To complement his fade haircut and smooth, well-defined sculptured face. A slender build, but muscular, and a tight ass.

His teeth white and dimples deeper than Chicago’s Lake Michigan.

Staying dressed, his clothing is always stylish.

His voice is soothing, with a swagger and confidence as one of my other lover Denzel Washington.

A hustler on the grind to make money, he never rests on his riches. Keeps hustling for more money and investing. With his private ass always saying, Don’t tell your right hand what the left one is doing.

Once I get my things out of my locker, headed to wait for my ride by the security office. Ms. Hope calls and demands Officer Temple to reach her office when my brother comes. The moment Blue pulls up, Temple calls. As Blue signs me out, he was told the dean wanted to speak with him. Here comes Ms. Hope with her knock-kneed self and oddly unappetizing brushed-back hair, showing off her broad forehead. That’s giving a clear view of her pie-shaped face and close-set eyes underneath the wire-frame glasses sitting on that snub nose with sweat running from her dark brown skin like a pig. She huffed and puffed coming down the stairs, approaching with her somewhat-deformed hand to shake his. Opening up them liver lips using her stentorian voice to tell him I had ten days out. I butted in order to say, Let’s go! He’s one of those comely, calm, and handsome fellows.

He said, Do you have all of your books?

Rolling my eyes, I said, I reckon, master. Blue’s manner became surly. Mine was cheeky. And the two didn’t mix.

Seeing he’s getting frustrated with my behavior, pinching on his lip with a look of disappointment. Crossing his arms in front of the chest as he spoke. Making a pact with me that if I stayed out of trouble while he’s gone, he’d take me shopping when he came back. I said okay, giving a wide grin, saying, You know I don’t wear cheap shit. He smiled. Every day I fall deeper for him; there’s something inside that says he’s my soul mate. Mama used to say I’ll know, and that’s when it will be time to give up the cookie. Blue said I need counseling and that my rebelliousness is because I am still grieving over my mother’s death. He was right. I often cry for long periods of times when alone, never committing too quickly to anyone who show interest.

Three Weeks Back in School . . .

Blue called and said he needed to talk with me. I got excited. Surely he’s going to tell me how he truly feels about me. He picked me up on the corner of Ninety-fifth State, drove out to Welch’s (an urban pub by Willow Brook Mall) like we were secret lovers, and no one knew we’d be there. Grabbing two sets, playing footsie, but the news wasn’t so good. He wanted to say good-bye, leaving for six months for investigator training in Atlanta. Hearing this, I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket, clearing my throat, looking down to avoid his eyes. He made me promise to go to school. Seeing my disappointment, he reaches over to give me a long kiss, not like a brother but as a man kissing his woman, as tears fall out my eyes. I’m going to miss you, nigga, I told him.

He said, I’ll call you every night and continue to pay your cell phone bill. Take this. And he hands me a prepaid Visa card, saying he’ll put money on it every month.

Okay, taking the card, but since we are here by the mall, can you buy me a pair of shoes?

Pulling his brows in looking at his watch, tugging on his tie, asking, How much are they?

Hundred and sixty dollars.

He smiles, saying, No purse, just shoes, as he watches me pout.

I said, That’s impossible to buy, shoes and no purse. It’s like a hand and glove partnership, you can’t have one without the other.

He smiles and playfully mumbles, You’re so damn spoiled.

Hood Life

Six months pass. Blue’s due back, so this was my last night out drinking and partying. Time for me to get back on my A game. I’m sure he’ll be riding my ass about the books. Surely, Dena will have lots to tell him. Especially about the fistfight. That alone will be an hour’s speech from his ass. She and I were not on speaking terms; it happened a few weeks ago. When she viciously said to me, You should have long been done crying over your dead-ass mama. It’s been eight years. Those tears won’t bring her back, so you need to stop.

Suddenly I felt a tightness in my chest and narrowed my eyes, running my hands through my hair, biting my lip and verbalizing back to her what she said, and snapped; and a crazy rage starts to hover over me in the living room. I started sweating. Went straight Muhammad Ali on her black ass.

Balling my fist, floated like a butterfly and stung her ass like a bee with a right smack in her damn face so hard it swilled, popping a blood vessel in her nose.

Blood splashed when she banged her head against the wall.

Letting her ass fall back in the ivory chaise chair next to the glass end table.

She bounced off and hit her head on the corner of the table.

I still had my fist ready and started to shake it in her face.

Telling her those words had better not ever come out of her fucking mouth again.

The moment I walked away, Dena yells, Get out of my house!

I turned around and took three steps back over to the chair.

She was trying to keep the blood from getting there. Then I grabbed her fat ass by the collar of her damn blouse, throwing my back into spasms.

Getting in her face so she could smell my stinky-ass morning breath.

Telling her she’d better not gotten it twisted, pounding my fist against the tabletop. This isn’t your fucking house, this mine, bitch!

Her eyes were squinting as she groans from the pain and yells, I’m pressing charges, so they can take you to jail.

I stared at her for a bit, reached for her hair, and slapped her upside her head. Telling her, Since you’re calling the police, might as well beat yo’ ass. And punched her in the face again, telling her, Now you got a reason.

The phone rang, drawing my breath, releasing it before speaking, when Punch said, Whassup with you?

Moaned. Got a hangover! Damn, I have to stop drinking that sex on the beach, the last I remembered. It is being flat on my goddamn back staring at the ceiling as the room spins. Next thing the alarm clock buzzed, scaring me, and you called.

She said, It was a hell of a night, girl. I was just checking on you. Also to inform you Blue’s back.

Yeah, he’s been texting me.

Punch said, Cousin, if you weren’t interested in that nigga, I holler, he looks good, and he has gotten buffed, made my ass wet.

Oh shit! I yelled, easing out of bed. Don’t be fucking with my man! Screaming, Ouch! after stomping my damn toe on the rail. Letting out a few careless shits. I’ll call you back, Punch. I got to stop crazy-ass Somalia.

Did you forget Kevin is getting married today? She was in a shitty mood last night, taken the news hard. Cutting people off, speaking with sarcasm, with her lips flattened, just plain nasty, Punch said. So that’s whassup with her, huh.

I hung up, speed dialing, pressing number 2 for Malia. The phone rang three times. About ready to hit it off when a mournful voice said, ’Sup, Duchess.

"Get yo’ ass up and shake the shit off, you’ll be, ‘Oh right, I told her!’ Remember the damn rule in the Fuck You and Fuck You Too book. Said Slap’s a player, stomp a bitch.."

I hear, you D. She cries for a second. All right, but when will it end?

Let me go. Getting dressed, I’ve got my pistol loaded, and going to Kevin’s wedding. His lame ass never gave me a real invite.

I’m dropping off my present, then going ham on the merry fucking couple.

Don’t worry I’ll be on my best behavior and kill her first. Then him—hey, I may need backup.

You with me, D?

Bitch, don’t you lose your freaking mind over him. She laughs.

See you later, D.

You better be there and stop crying over Kevin’s sorry ass.

Uncle Duke mentioned you.

Ahem, what the old, dirty bastard want.

He said he’s been thinking of you. Called a few times and got no response. She said, Damn D, ignoring what I said.

I’ve gotten screwed over my whole, freaking life. Being hurt by men, starting with my foster brother. Somalia, I’ll tell you, as my mama used to point out, the nice ones screw you. The crummy and others don’t know how. I’m swearing off men for a while, she said.

Ooh shit, hope you not joining the licking-pussy group.

If so, bitch, I’m nipping this friendship in the bud, Somalia.

We both laughed. No, silly, I’m not talking about falling for this love crap anymore, D.

Well, we’re getting fucked up today, Malia, as my boy Ice Cube says, it’s Friday. We have no problems or shit else to do.

You not slick, you’re hoping to get a glimpse of Blue’s black ass.

Yeah, I heard he’s back, she said.

He looks good, fit as a muthafucka.

Whatever, see you later, as I giggled and hung up, turning the volume up on the TV to hear the weather.

It’s going to be 101 hot and humid with chances of showers, the newscaster announced…

I flopped back on the mattress, thought of staying in bed. Then rerouted my thoughts, got up, put on my K. Michelle CD. Sang as my voice blended in with hers. "I can’t believe it’s over. I’ve cried, five days. Straight, and I want this pain to be over. My girls say the same. It’s gonna be okay."

I headed to the bathroom, stopping to look out of the window. The overcast clouds mixed in with the occasional Indian summer here in Chicago, espically for September. When the sun hits my face at once. I’m repenting if hell is going to be seven times hotter. Lord, please forgive me for my sins. Stepped into the shower, soaping up, giving extra attention to my boo-boo kitty, remembering the time my mother told her girlfriend. If you smell your pussy, people do with that in mind, lathering up more. It would be gratifying to be held by him, but that will only create something I don’t think I’ll be able to stop laughing at myself for.

Thinking what I had that is pleasing to the eyes to wear if I saw Mr. Blue. Thinking, hell, that’s everything I’ve got! Dena scared the shit out of me, pounding on my bedroom door. With her loud nagging-ass voice yelling as a goddamn lunatic to clean the kitchen. Bouncing around naked on my tiptoes, yelling, Whatever! with no action by doing them, drying off. And starting to dress, before texting my boy Sheared, who drives a taxi, to come scoop me up and get me to the V Room. Along the way, I texted Blue. He sent one back, saying he’s working, he misses me, and he will see me later.

Fifty-seventh Street, Southside of Chicago . . .

Soon as he drove up, I was flat out the door. The moment he pulled in front, I see my BF Somalia. Babbling with Lil Jack, leaning on Uncle Duke Black two-seater Aston Martin parked. In front of Jay J’s Pool Hall and One-Stop Liquor Store.

That was right next to the V Room and the car wash. Owned by my family, on the corner of Fifty-seventh State Street.

It’s a hard-core, crime-infested, poverty-stricken neighborhood.

Full of dealers, with baby mamas’ drama shit.

They’re ready to ride shotgun for a few moments of a dude’s time before he moves to the next jump-off. We have fun though…

Somalia lit up a blunt, circulating. I said, Bitch, we caught up in this game talk on the streets, China dropping names. She takes a drag from the blunt, then a swig of the beer.

Tell me! What happen?

You remember China. Somalia looks confused. The bitch with the big head. She half nigga and Chinese, a hot mess in the face, wavy hairdo with one slanted eye. Anyhow, her fat ass were arrested for selling crack, got out of jail within hours on low bond. Trying to add it up, news is she gave police a list of names, and ours included.

I couldn’t believe my eyes as tickled looking. At Duke High, yellow no-neck senior ass out here with no damn shirt. Showing off his done-lap stomach, he calls a six-pack, looking more like a keg. With them hanging tits.

He’s always been soft on Somalia. She has really come into herself sporting a bleached, streaked blonde bob haircut and chestnut skin, with saucer-shaped hazel eyes. Her knitted eyebrows made it seem as if she is frowning with the pug nose. She carried her thick frame well, loved wearing inappropriately short skirts to show off her stubby legs and hips. A tight-fitted blouse was a must, showing off her full breast, giving off the air of being cocky. I yelled, "Nigga, go put on a shirt out here, looking like an albino gorilla"

The moment he walked up to us, dipping his chin down, curling the lips, massaging the chest, saying, Don’t hate, just appreciate a sexy man. We laughed. He and Somalia started kissing, putting his tongue down her throat, trying to pull her damn tonsils out, and she gags for breath.

I left and went to the bathroom. Once back, Spice 1 music for the hood folks. Welcome to the Ghetto starts blasting. Everyone on the street sang the lyrics. The bass bumped; it sounded good coming out of the little-ass Aston Martin with serious speakers.

The music started playing for the Stylistics.

Somalia yells, Damn Deejay Crisp Black self-spinning the hits today!

Bitch, you’re delirious, I told her. That’s the radio.

He said, Thanks for listening to WGCI 107.5. We started laughing at Duke’s fat ass.

Yelling, Ah shit! I hear my jam turn up the sound, snapping his fat-ass fingers.

The base hit harder as it started coming out. Trash man didn’t get the trash today.

Everyone on the street shouted out the lyrics.

Sounding as the First Baptist Church choir up on the corner.

The three speakers a few feet away joined.

Music continued filtering out of the pool hall. Across the street sounded like a free show out there.

Niggas, old and young, got into the middle of the streets, bringing traffic to a stop.

By this time, Uncle Boogie, Duke’s younger brother, had his deejay equipment set up.

He blew out one of his speakers, playing the Double Dutch song, trying to outdo DJ Crisp.

He started cussing out Uncle Duke.

This yo’ fault, Boogie says to him. If you hadn’t asked for the track.

I still have my speaker, you gone get me another one.

Somalia and I are blazing, just chillin’. Leaning up against the V Room.

When we hear cursing coming out of the Jewels Food Store, tripping off Big Rose’s fat-ass girlfriend Ziggy, who’s looking a hot mess with her now-pink face (from being slapped) and wild slicked, matted patch of hair. Her angry eyes tightened as she insulted Rose, sweating like a pig. We too tickled at them lesbians arguing and wrestling. Over which one lost the freaking food stamp card.

Rose yelled, Ziggy, I hope you find my damn card, or you’re not eating shit!

Screaming and jerking her head as her eyes protruded. Damn it, Ziggy. I’m hungry, don’t make a fuss out here.

And get your ass beat, so you better find the EBT card.

I’m about to pee on myself from laughing so hard. Suddenly Big Rose caught Ziggy off guard, giving her a bitch slap across the face.

She went stumbling back, falling on Uncle Duke’s car. He starts screaming like a ho getting beat by a pimp.

Get off my damn car! Take that dyke shit somewhere.

I feel good, draw a few more pulls.

Laughing and tripping on everything, seeing two of Li’l Liars and Jasper.

Their heads looked like giant apples, a few feet in front of the pool hall.

They made a makeshift table out of cardboard. Sitting on four milk crates, playing a game of spades.

Lil Liar with his nappy-ass hair and bug eyes started cheating everyone, when Zane, his stepson, jumped up and started cussing at him.

You’re cheating, mutherfucker, give me my book back. You know damn well you didn’t have the joker.

He starts cracking his knuckles and eased his arms down to grab the beer bottle on the ground and coldcocked him right upside his head.

Knocking him out cold, Z snatched up the money, weed, and cards, then took off running.

Somalia ran and stood over him, acting like Chris Tucker in the movie Friday.

Shouting, Dayum, Lil Liar, you just got knocked the fuck out!

She laughed so hard and started choking, her hand flying up to her throat, and she gasped for air. It was from the last tug on the blunt she took.

I laughed too while slapping her ass in the back.

After the excitement, I went back by Big Duke, who is a retired police officer.

His crooked ass starts preaching to the gang of thugs. Who were shooting dice, saying if they get an education, they could have a fly ride.

Uncle Duke stopped midstride, his eyes widening, raising his vocal pitch. Yells, Ah shit! turning away.

The moment he saw Ms. Madden, one of his jilted ex-lovers, parking. And there was about to be drama. She screamed, with her front tooth missing, from the car window.

Don’t believe Duke, he’s a goddamn liar and a cheater.

He yells, What you want? You know the judge said don’t come five hundred feet near me.

She lashed back in her steely voice and overbite-protruding teeth and said, Leave then, nigger!

He yelled, So you just happened to be near when my car’s tires were slashed, huh?

Stop bringing up the past! she yells.

Throwing her fuck-you finger in the air and bumping his car as she shoved her ’98 Cadillac with the dented ragtop in the parking space, jumping out of the car. Showing off her entire collection of discolored pawn store jewelry and eighties’ stretch pants and tight blouse with no bra, she starts telling his business.

Young men, come over here. And yells, "This nigger used to be one of the biggest kingpins. I bet you weren’t going to tell these kids.

Waving her hand in the air and giving him the evil eye.

They kicked him off the police force and gave a choice of taking an early retirement. Putting her hands on the hips. I must say, that was generous, she said with an attitude. "If you ask