Money Hungry Read online

  “Everything okay?” Ja’nae’s grandma asks. Every time she comes into the room she brings a little something. A pitcher of Kool-Aid. Homemade pound cake. Barbecued chicken wings.

  “Do your grandma think of anything besides food?” I ask, hot spicy barbecue sauce making my fingers stick together and coating my teeth.

  “She’s from the South. They like to feed people.” Ja’nae puts her head back, opens her mouth wide, and stuffs it with lemon pound cake.

  Ja’nae and me are trying to figure out this housecleaning thing. Two days ago, I broke down and lent her the money she took from her grandfather. Her granddad was starting to say some really mean things about her. So we agreed that any money Ja’nae earns from cleaning houses is gonna go to me, until she pays back what she borrowed.

  When Ja’nae’s grandmother comes into her room again, I tell her what we’re planning to do. She likes the idea of us helping old people. She says a little hard work won’t hurt us none. Now she’s sitting on Ja’nae’s bed, telling us how she used to clean folks’ houses for nearly nothing.

  “Gals today can make a nice bit of change if they ain’t lazy and do it right. But it’s hard work, you know. You gonna earn every dime you make.”

  Ja’nae looks at me like she wants out already. I turn around and ask her grandmother if she knows anybody that can use our help. Her grandmother twists her lips to the side and shuts her left eye for a minute. “Hmmm. Miss Neeta, next door. She would be a good one, if she’ll let you in.”

  I look at Ja’nae, and she starts laughing.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing,” she says laughing again.

  “Don’t you pay her no mind,” Ja’nae’s grandma says, lifting herself off Ja’nae’s bed. “Miss Neeta’s just different is all.” She grabs ahold of our plates and cups and starts to leave. She’s eyeing the chicken bones, and mumbling how we don’t know nothing ’bout eating chicken good. Next thing you know, she got a chicken bone sticking out her mouth. Her tongue and teeth go to work on the little bit of meat still left on the bone.

  I don’t like it when Ja’nae’s granddad takes me home. All he talks about is how bad it is up my way. “Lock your doors now. Don’t go staring too hard at folks. I’m too old to fight,” he says, soon as I jump in his ride. And for the next ten minutes, he’s going off about the loud noise and all the boys hanging out round my neighborhood.

  He leaves me off at the bottom of the hill like I ask him to. I tell him I got to pick up some stuff from the truck on the corner. It’s the only store we got around here for five whole blocks. But the real reason I wanted to be left off away from my building is to see who’s hanging out. When Momma’s at work, I’m either at Zora’s or I’m in lock-down. Once in a while I just wanna be outside like normal people.

  It’s chilly out, but not cold enough to keep people inside. Odd Job, a guy who’s always trying to make a dollar, is on his usual corner, washing car windows, and talking stuff. He yells my name, and tells his boys they better work it if they want to make some real money tonight.

  I turn the corner and wonder how much money he’ll take in today.

  “What’s shaking, Raspberry?” says Eva Jones, Sato’s cousin.

  “Nothing,” I say, checking my watch to see what time it is. Momma’s gonna call me in twenty minutes to see if I’m home yet.

  I sit down on the cracked, cold steps. Every word coming out of Eva’s mouth is funny. She’s busting on her momma, bad. Talking about the principal and his long, skinny head. She’s on everybody’s case. Next thing you know, here comes Sato. Eva don’t cut him no slack neither. She starts jumping all over him. Talking about his coat sleeves being too short, and his feet too long and flat. When she says that, I tuck my feet under my book bag so she don’t start riding my case next.

  Ten minutes before Momma’s set to call, I head for home. Sato says he’s gonna walk with me. Eva says she always knew he liked me. He tells her to shut up.

  Sato ain’t his usual big-mouth self. He’s quiet tonight. He don’t even make fun of my name or nothing. It’s nice. And for once I don’t feel like a knucklehead liking somebody who clearly don’t like me.

  When we’re almost to my place, Sato starts talking. Telling me that his aunt, Eva’s mom, borrowed some money from his parents and he had to bring it over to her. He’s asking me about homework, and talking about Ming’s new coat.

  “That coat’s nice. Real nice,” he says, leaning against the wall of my building like he’s planning to stay awhile. I smell his cologne, and his sweat. I would never tell Zora and Ja’nae and Mai, but it smells good, all mixed up together.

  I grab hold of the thick, metal door handle and put my key in the lock.

  “Your mom at work?” Sato says, like he’s trying to keep me from going in.

  “Always,” I say, pulling open the door, the smell of pee filling my nose.

  I can hear the phone ringing down the hall. I know it’s Momma checking in on me. I turn to Sato to say good night. He starts talking about something else. Looking right in my eyes when he’s saying it, too. For a minute, I swear I can’t breathe. Sato’s too close. Smelling too good. Looking too fine.

  After ten rings, the phone stops. Then it starts ringing all over again. “Bye, Sato,” I say, not turning to leave.

  Sato looks into my face with them eyes of his. I swallow hard. I tell my feet to get going. But they don’t budge. And my heart don’t slow down when I tell it to neither.

  All of a sudden, I hear somebody calling my name. “Raspberry sodaaa!” It’s Shoe talking loud. He got his head stuck out the window, and he’s pouring a cup of water out the window right over Sato’s head. Check is there, too.

  “You in trouble, girl,” Shoe says like he’s happy. “You know you supposed to be inside by dark.”

  “Yeah, Raspberry syrup,” Check says, telling me to watch out, ’cause he wants to see how long his spit will take to hit the ground.

  “I gotta go,” I say, turning my back to Sato.

  “Later,” he says, walking off. Check and Shoe’s spit just misses Sato’s head.

  “I’m gonna tell on you two,” I say, stomping up the steps.

  Before I can get my key in the lock, their grandmother is at her door, yelling down at me. Saying I know better than to be coming in late. She’s talking about how she promised Momma to look out for me at night. I finally open the door, grab hold of the phone, and listen to Momma yelling at me in one ear, and at the same time, listening to Shoe’s grandma hollering at me for leaving the key in the lock and the door wide open. I ain’t paying neither one of them no mind. I’m thinking about Sato, and how warm I felt inside when he smiled at me like he did.

  As soon as we walk into Miss Neeta’s place, I know Ja’nae and me got a lot of work ahead of us. Miss Neeta is a pack rat. She never throws nothing out. In her living room, she got old newspapers piled in stacks up to the ceiling. The kitchen ain’t no better—there’s dirty Styrofoam cups with black coffee rings on the ironing board, and circling a dead plant on the kitchen table.

  You name it, Miss Neeta’s got it. Boxes. Books. Shoes. Dirt. A thousand pieces of used foil are sitting on top her television. I want to cry.

  “My grandma’s been wanting to get in here and clean since forever,” Ja’nae whispers.

  “I wish your grandma was here now,” I say.

  Ja’nae introduces me to Miss Neeta, a little old woman with blue eyes, faded purple hair, and yellow fingernails. She says everything twice. “Come in. Come in. Sit down. Sit down.”

  Miss Neeta lets us know that she don’t let just anyone touch her things. “But with me getting up in years, I need a little help right about now,” she says.

  She looks at us without blinking. “I’m testing you. Testing you now, you hear. First, I will see how well you clean the living room over there.” She points, like we’re too stupid to figure out which room is the living room. “If you do okay, I’ll give you more work. If you screw up, no sec
ond chances. None.”

  I take a deep breath and I check out Miss Neeta’s curtains, which look older than she is. Even the air smells old in this place. I want to tell Ja’nae I’m out of here. But then I think of the money, and I keep my mouth shut.

  Ja’nae’s grandma is smart. Before we left to come here, she gave us rubber gloves, a bucket, a broom, and an extra-large box of soap powder. “There’s more where this come from,” she said.

  We been cleaning for a hour and a half, but hardly make a dent. “There ain’t enough soap powder in the world to clean this joint,” I tell Ja’nae. I wipe my forehead with my arm. I’m sweating all over.

  It would help if Miss Neeta would leave us alone. But every fifteen minutes she’s in the living room checking our work and talking.

  “So how’s school?” she wants to know. “You get good grades?”

  I’m thinking if I lie and tell her that I am an A student, she’ll stop talking. The truth is I get mostly B’s. Ja’nae gets A’s all the time.

  Lying about my grades don’t help. Miss Neeta keeps talking. She eases herself down in the chair. “Hard work is good for you,” she says. “Very good.” She goes on and on about how much she worked when she was a little kid. When she finally heads for the kitchen, I throw a wet sponge at Ja’nae.

  “Girl, we gonna be here all night,” I say.

  Ja’nae throws the sponge back at me. “Ain’t she messy. Man, we could make a million dollars just cleaning this place,” Ja’nae says, rearranging the flower she brought for Miss Neeta. “No matter how messy a place is, flowers make it look like someplace special,” Ja’nae says. I don’t see how no tiny flower gonna make a difference here. There’s too much mess for that little thing to do any good.

  Finally, three and a half hours later, we’re close to finished. It don’t look like we did much, though. There’s still two baskets in the corner piled high with clothes and a bunch of busted-up shoes underneath the table.

  “Miss Neeta, you need to throw some of this old stuff out,” I finally say.

  Ja’nae hits me in the side with her elbow, then shakes her head quick like Momma does when she wants me to shut my big mouth.

  “I never throw things away. Never. No, sir,” Miss Neeta says. She opens the door to see us out. “I will see you again next week.”

  I look at Ja’nae. Ja’nae looks at me. We walk over to the door.

  I give the place a final look before we’re about to leave, and I can see we done that place some good. The cracked mirror is shining. The wood around it looks like you could ice-skate on it. I can see the rug now, which was covered with pieces of string from all the sewing Miss Neeta does.

  Miss Neeta is smiling. Next thing I know, she’s yanking up her dress. Showing us her big old girdle. She grabs a hold of the garter belt that’s holding up her runny stockings, uncurls the money tucked inside, and shoves a fifty-dollar bill in Ja’nae’s hand, and a fifty-dollar bill in mine!

  “You come back next Wednesday. Next Wednesday afternoon,” she says.

  I nod and lick my lips. I stare at Ja’nae, then back at the money. I eyeball Miss Neeta, and rub the fifty-dollar bill over and over again. “I love making money,” I holler. “I just love it!”

  “Pay up,” I tell Ja’nae, when we get outside onto Miss Neeta’s porch. I don’t mean to be so cold-blooded, but business is business.

  Ja’nae puts down her empty cleaning bucket and stands shivering in the cold. Neither one of us is wearing a coat. “I know I still owe you money,” she says, squinting at the clouds blocking the sun up in the sky, “But I can’t pay you nothing today. I’ll give you back some of what I owe you next time we clean houses. Okay?”

  I kick that stupid bucket and send it flying into the wooden banister separating Miss Neeta’s porch from Ja’nae’s. The wet rags spill all over the porch. “See, this is why I don’t lend people money. They get all funny on you when it’s time to pay up,” I say, picking up the rags, and slapping them into the bucket.

  “I’ll pay you back, Raspberry. But I can’t give you none of today’s money. I need it for something.” Ja’nae swings one leg over the banister, then parks her big butt down on the banister like she’s riding a horse. She’s got one foot on each porch now. “I’m not trying to get over on you, Raspberry,” she’s whining.

  I don’t say a word to Ja’nae when we get inside her house. She’s showing off her money to her grandmother, putting it down on the table, in between the salt and pepper shakers. She says she’s putting it in the bank tomorrow.

  “Let me heat you up some tea,” her grandmother says, setting cups and saucers down in front of me and Ja’nae.

  Ja’nae’s grandmother tells Ja’nae to come help her get the leftover chicken out of the basement freezer. “Watch the teapot,” she says to me.

  I’m sitting there, watching the money, not the teapot. Next thing I know, that fifty bucks is in my pocket, and the teapot is blowing steam and whistling real loud, like it’s telling on me.

  My fingers are still in my pocket when her grandfather comes into the room.

  “You two made out all right at Neeta’s, huh?” Ja’nae’s grandfather says, turning down the flame under the teapot.

  “Yeah,” I say. I pick up the salt shaker, sprinkle salt in my hand, and lick it off.

  “James, we can’t get this chicken unstuck,” Ja’nae’s grandmother yells up from the basement.

  She’s gotta call him three more times before he goes downstairs to help out.

  I’m rubbing the money in my pocket. Telling myself that it’s okay to take what people owe you if they’re too selfish to give you what’s yours. So while they’re all in the basement trying to get the chicken, I put on my coat, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and walk out the door with my money.

  It’s dark and cold outside. I push my hands down in my coat pocket, and walk down the steps. The Wilsons are still in the basement. I can see their shadows through the thin, yellow curtains.

  I don’t make it past Miss Neeta’s house before I stop, unfold the fifty-dollar bill, and stare at it under the streetlight. I sit down on Miss Neeta’s steps and think about what I just did.

  “You belong to me,” I say, pushing the money back into my pocket. The cold wind on my face feels like pushpins digging my skin, so I put my head down in my lap and cover my face. When we lived in the streets, Momma would try to make me warmer by pulling me close, wrapping her arms around me, and laying her head on mine. It didn’t really do all that much good, but when you living on the streets, you do what you gotta do. Like I gotta take the money. It’s mine. And I can’t walk home and leave what’s mine behind. If I did, where would I be? On the streets again, sure ’nuff.

  I pull the money out again and wonder if Ja’nae and her grandparents know I’m gone with her cash. I hold the fifty up by one end and watch it blow in the wind like a flag. Ja’nae owes me four of these. So why shouldn’t I take one of ’em now? I think.

  “Raspberry! Raspberry!” Ja’nae screams out her front door. “Where you at, girl?” she yells.

  I jump off Miss Neeta’s steps and run before Ja’nae starts in on me.

  “Raspberry!” she calls again. Before she shuts the door, I’m standing under the street light on the corner, covering my face from the cold. Ja’nae can be such a crybaby, I think to myself. She’s probably in the house now boohooing all over the place. “So?” I say, blowing into my hands, trying to heat them up. “Let her cry.”

  When I think about the time, and how Momma’s gonna get next to me for coming in late again, I start running home. I don’t stop for three whole blocks. When I do, I’m breathing so hard I feel light-headed. But that don’t keep me from thinking about Ja’nae. “She is such a baby,” I say, holding my breath so that my heart will slow down some.

  I know I should go home. I got a test coming up, and homework to do. And besides, Momma is probably ringing the phone off the hook. But the more I think about Ja’nae, the worse I feel. I mean
, we girls. Last year, when Momma broke her ankle, Ja’nae’s grandmother cooked a week’s worth of food and gave it to us. Even slipped Momma ten dollars.

  So? I think, picking up my pace again. But before I know it, I’m standing still under another streetlight. Wondering if Ja’nae’s granddad is yelling at her for being stupid enough to leave the money out. He’ll start in on her grandmother, too. Then he’ll bring up Ming and they’ll be arguing half the night. I turn around and head back to Ja’nae’s. The whole time I’m walking back there, part of me is saying to forget about that girl, and to keep the money for myself. The next thing I know, I’m ringing the doorbell.

  Ja’nae peeks out the window, then opens the door wide to let me in. She don’t ask me why I did what I did. I don’t try to explain. I just hand her the money. She folds it up and stuffs it in her back pocket. When we’re almost to the kitchen, she turns around and smiles.

  “You could never do nothing really wrong,” she whispers, picking a bottle of perfume off the table and spraying herself. I close my eyes when she sprays it on me. We walk into the kitchen smelling like peaches.

  When Momma tiptoes into our place, and comes into my room to check on me and kiss me good night, I act like I’m asleep. I don’t need no more lectures, especially at midnight. I know she’s mad at me for not calling to tell her I was home as soon as I got in tonight, but that don’t keep her from kneeling down by my bed and praying for me, like she does every night.

  When Momma’s back in the kitchen, I kick off the covers and reach for the sucker I started yesterday. I hear the kitchen radio, and a chair scraping the floor when she pulls it out. I smile when I hear Momma slam her books down on the table, just the way I do when I really don’t want to study. Momma’s talking to herself now. Reading her work out loud. Telling herself not to fall asleep. Then the phone rings, and she seems wide awake. She’s laughing. Talking all proper.