Page 4 of Body Language (Mind, Body, & Soul #2)

She was sprawled on the bed, mouth half open, wig on sideways. The cheap fan in the corner was rattling like it had asthma. A bottle of brown liquor sat on the nightstand, sweating in the heat just like she was.

I stepped in fully. “Ma.”

She blinked, slowly. Took her a minute to come back into her body. When her eyes finally focused on me, she smiled like she saw a memory instead of a person.

“Where Heidi?” she croaked.

“At ballet,” I said, crossing my arms. “And I just dropped Hux off at practice.”

She blinked again, like I’d just told her the news of the century. “Oh… right. That’s good. That’s good.”

She reached for the bottle and took a long swig, straight to the head like it was Gatorade.

“You should come stay at the house,” I offered, already knowing the answer. “You got a room there. A real bed. A clean kitchen. Air conditioning that doesn't sound like it’s fighting demons.”

She sucked her teeth and sat up on one elbow, wobbly and proud. “I ain’t coming to your house, Niveah. This is my motherfuckin’ house. I’m grown. Independent. I don’t live off my child.”

I tilted my head and blinked. “You live off gas station wine and expired ego.”

She squinted at me. “You tryna be smart?”

I leaned on the dresser. “No, just trying not to light a match in here and accidentally cause a funk explosion. You really in here simmering in sex and sour everything?”

She flipped me off without looking. “Fuck you.”

“Really, Ma?” I said, pulling the curtain back to let some light in. “Maybe if you’d let the sun in once in a while, you wouldn’t be acting like a depressed vampire.”

She sat up, squinting into the brightness like it offended her personally.

“I ain’t coming to your little house with all your little rules. You got a drug-free sign on the fridge like you a probation officer.”

I smiled. Big. Sweet. Petty.

“I’m glad you know.”

She shook her head and reached for her lighter. “You always think you better than me.”

“Nah,” I said, walking back to the door. “I just think I shouldn’t be like you.”

Right on cue, my phone started ringing from inside my purse.

I held up a finger at my mama. “Hold on. It’s Tyceona.”

She rolled her eyes like I’d just told her Jesus was calling and I needed a minute.

“What, heathen?” I said, answering the phone.

“Bitch, I had a dream last night that you got rich and left me for some bald nigga with a yacht and a British accent.”

I wheezed. “Not British. He sounds like tea and trust funds?”

“Yes, bitch. He had an accent and a yacht and wore linen pants with no drawers. That man had no worries.”

I laughed, turning away from the window to hide my smile. “You need to stop eating oxtails before bed.”

“Whatever, hoe. Look, I know you don’t normally work Mondays, but that new club, GivGold? They’re looking for dancers tonight for their soft opening. Apparently, some of their girls got sick.”

I blinked. “Girl, what?”

“It’s some last-minute shit. We already missed auditions ’cause you swear you're too legendary to audition for anything, but they said they need bodies and I am a body.”

“Ty,” I said, dragging her name. “I’ve been dancing at ‘ Her Majesty' for six years. Me and my regulars—and their wallets—are paying my bills just fine. I’m not out here trying to prove I can make somebody nut off a pirouette.”

“First of all,” she snapped, “that’s why you THAT bitch and not a bitch. Second, PLEASE. Ugh. I’m not saying quit our club. I’m saying we hit this one-night lick and be out. It’s woman-owned. New crowd. Bougie clientele. We ain’t gotta pull nothin’ but a look and a vibe. Just imagine the money.”

Money.

See, Ty knew the magic word. With my life, you could never have too much. Somebody always needed something. Groceries. Tuition. Bail. Therapy. Bail again.

“I don’t know…” I said.

“Please?” she begged. “Just come through. I really wanna check it out. We might end up with new clients—hell, new sugar daddies. Upgrade the roster. New meat.”

I rolled my eyes but smirked.

Me and Tyceona had been best friends since elementary.

She grew up in the next building over. Her mom was an alcoholic who couldn’t put the bottle down—not as bad off as mine, but just enough to raise a survivor.

Me and her both knew what it felt like to walk home without a parent waiting for you and cook dinner at eight.

We learned early how to laugh through pain, how to read a room, and how to get a dollar without getting undressed. Our bond was trauma-born, but grown on loyalty and stupid jokes.

“Come onnnn,” she begged. “Please. If you do this, I swear I’ll never say nothing again when you bring that weak-ass salmon dip to girls’ night.”

I gasped. “My salmon dip is elite.”

“It's an Elite Disappointment. That shit tastes like fish regret.”

I sucked my teeth. “What time do they need us?”

“Uhhh… in like 45 minutes.”

“Bitch.”

“It’s okay!” she rushed. “I already got everything you need. Fit, shoes, even your hoop earrings I borrowed last month and ‘forgot’ to give back.”

I paused. Tight-lipped. “Bitch.”

“You love me. Now hurry up, hoe. And I’ll let you pick whatever song you want.. first round.”

“Mmhm.” I unlocked my car and slid into the seat. “I want some of your cut too.”

“Done. I owe you anyway.”

“I’m on the way,” I said, hanging up.

I wasn’t planning to dance, but when life called …I knew how to answer.