The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah
The doctors, nurses, attendants—hell, it took the entire hospital it seemed like to hold me back. I wanted to see my mother. They kept telling me, “She’s on the operating table. She’ll be in intensive care later. Contamination, infection, blah, blah, blah.” Pizzaz and Driguez, two more of Daddy’s workers, were standing near the operating room doors. They was tryna look casual but it’s hard for two big black niggas from the streets to look casual in a hospital. It ain’t like somebody was gonna mistake them for doctors or nothing.
My mind started to clear up as I sat and sat and sat. It dawned on me to call Natalie. If something went down around our way she would definitely know a little about it. Natalie’s voice was apologetic, she said sorry so many times you’d think she pulled the trigger. I didn’t have to say nothing. Natalie just rambled on. “I know it was them niggas from the C building on the other side. They been tryna blow up around our way for some time now. On the low they’ve been shaking niggas down, looting, and terrorizing everybody. They got their little operation going on but, damn, to blast Santiaga’s woman in the face. That’s some raw unnecessary shit! The way I figure it, there are enough crackheads around here for everybody to get money. But they’ll learn. They young boys anyway. They’ll catch it. Santiaga will set them straight. It’s gonna be a blood storm in Brooklyn tonight!” She acted excited, like she was watching a heavyweight fight at Madison Square Garden or something.
“Where you at?” Natalie questioned.
“The hospital,” I mumbled back.
“Where are the kids, with the housekeeper?”
“Nah, they downstairs with Midnight.”
“Midnight! What’s he doing there?” she intruded, then continued on. “Oh it’s like that now, huh. Oh, that’s your man now’n shit?” I hung up.
Driguez motioned to me to come toward him. Discreetly he leans toward me, saying, “I’m taking you downstairs now. You won’t be able to see your mother until tomorrow. Midnight is waiting downstairs in the front. You’ll leave with him.”
“What exactly happened?” I asked. I got no response.
“Drop the kids off at Aunt Laurie’s house,” I told Midnight from the passenger seat. “I want to go check on some stuff.” He looked at me with complete defiance, told me that he already had the plans from Santiaga and I should just sit back and do as I’m told. “Just let me make one stop then,” I said, figuring I needed to be on my Brooklyn block where the shit was jumping off at. I needed to be with my girls ready to do whatever we had to do.
“That’s the problem with all you women,” Midnight said dryly, like he was forty years old instead of twenty-two. “Nobody can tell y’all shit. You never want to listen. Never want to follow instructions. Then when shit goes down, all the fuck you can do is cry.”
We crossed the state line into New Jersey. Midnight pulled into the Marriott Hotel parking lot. As many times as I had thought about me and Midnight’s hot bodies all twisted up on some crisp clean cold new white hotel sheets, I never imagined that we would be here under these circumstances.
“We’re gonna stay here tonight,” he said. A big smile spread across my lips. “No, this is serious,” he spit, as though my delight was somehow illegal. “I’ll check in for all of us. Most likely nobody will ask, but if they do, we’re one family renting a suite, last name Cooper.”
“Cooper, is that your last name?” I asked.
“See,” he said. “You don’t even know my name. Remember that.” Humph, I thought to myself, is that supposed to be some kind of fucking answer or something?
The suite was immaculate, top-of-the-line. I couldn’t of asked for more if I was on a honeymoon. There was one king-sized bed and a living room with a couch with a pull-out bed inside. Each room had its own television. The bathroom was huge marble down and looked brand new. I stepped in there, took a deep breath and figured maybe after the kids went to sleep we could room-service some Cristal and sip it while we took a bubble bath together in the Jacuzzi. I needed something to relieve all my pressure and why not get with the man I always wanted.
“You four can take this bed,” Midnight said, pointing to the bedroom. “I’ll sleep in the living room. We’ll be here for the next three days, so get comfortable, and chill. You three, don’t make a mess,” he said with a certain joking tenderness that must be reserved only for children.
“Three days!” I hollered with my hand on my hips. “Can I talk to you a minute, please?” I pointed toward the living room. He rejected my order, turned the television to the Disney Channel for my sleepy sisters and then came into the living room at his own pace.
“What is this shit about three days? I have one dress with me, the one I’m wearing. The three little bears have no clothes and already have spilled shit all over themselves. My mother’s in the hospital. I want to see her. I need to know what’s going on. I’m not down with this Mission Impossible shit. And, as for that shit you were talking in the car about women crying when shit breaks down, that’s bullshit! I’m a fighter. I’ve held heat before and I know how to use it. I can cut a bitch with my razor so fast and so clean she wouldn’t even know what happened until she bled to death. The problem with you, Midnight, is you think you know every goddamn thing. What you’re not understanding is that I can help. I can be your right-hand man. Just let me know what’s up, what’s going on?”
Nothing moved except Midnight’s jawbone, something Mama said was a definite sign of a man’s anger. He reached in his back pocket, pulled out a stack of bills. “First thing in the morning I’ll take you out to get some clothes. Don’t worry. I realize you’re a high maintenance bitch. Gotta keep you up in the style you’re accustomed to. How many fighters do you know find themselves in the middle of the goddamn war and all the fuck they think about is fashion and the clothes on their back. Hell no, you won’t ever be my right-hand man.”
I was impressed with the big stack of bills and excited about going shopping. I wondered if this was his money or if Santiaga had given it to him and he knew all along that he had orders to take me shopping. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Maybe he was using his own money, but knew Santiaga would pay him back.
“Okay, one last question,” I pushed, knowing I was aggravating him yet enjoying the attention. “What clothes are we going to wear out to go shopping in the morning when all of our stuff is dirty? … Never mind. I know—the laundry service.”
As I pushed 8 to call down to the laundry room he put his finger on the phone, disconnecting my call. With a muscular hand on my shoulder, he said sarcastically, “Think like you come from the projects. Take your clothes off and wash them in the sink. Hang ’em up by the heater to dry. You know how to wash clothes, don’t you? The laundry service is closed now. It’s almost midnight.”
After stripping the three bears and tossing their clothes in the sink, I put them under the sheets and blankets. I talked to them about the things we were going to do tomorrow and assured them that everything was okay. They knocked out to sleep one by one like clockwork. I slipped off my dress and stood checking myself out in the bathroom mirror. Thank God I listened to Mamma’s advice about always have nice clean sexy underwear. If I was a tackhead, I could of got caught out here with some beat-up drawers on my ass, with a shit stain and a big old hole in ’em. Just the thought cracked me up. I peeled off my panties, undid my bra, and put them in the sink. I stepped in the shower and let the warm water turn hotter, steaming my whole body from the tension of my crazy day.
My mind was downloading slowly. What about Momma? What would her face look like now? Would she have to get plastic surgery? Would her face be temporarily disfigured? What would Santiaga think about her face? Of course he would make sure she would get the best medical treatment and everything. How long would she stay in the hospital? Oh, my God. Would I become a professional baby-sitter, getting stuck with my little sisters? Santiaga would definitely have to hire the housekeeper full time instead of part time to help watch the kids. What about Midnight? Wha
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed two towels, wrapped one around my wet hair and the other around my body. I swerved into the living room where Midnight had positioned himself in front of the TV. His dress shirt was open. Underneath he was wearing one of those crisp white undershirts. I could see his gun on his waist, half-tucked in his pants. My eyes slid down his legs, I could see another gun he held near his ankle. The blackness, the guns, his muscle structure, that white shirt, those white teeth, and his unfiltered anger was so seductive I had to try again to get with him. “Do you want me to wash your clothes? I’m getting good at it now.”
“No that’s okay,” he said, without even taking so much as a look at me. I stepped over and into the chair opposite him.
“I’m tired,” I said, stretching my arms slowly above my head.
“Go to bed then,” he answered cruelly, as if he didn’t want to be bothered. I picked up my legs and placed them on the arm of my chair. I was now going to become the freshly showered, hair-wrapped, body-wrapped-in-a-towel Ivory girl. I started playing games with my legs, repositioning them, opening them slowly, closing them slowly. I was making it possible for him to see the hairs on my pussy, if he only wanted to. When I got excited enough, my juices would start to flow, releasing the scent of a willing pussy, definitely something he wouldn’t be able to fight.
“Are you a homosexual, Midnight? ’Cause if you are, that’s cool. To each his own and all that good shit.”
He laughed a rare laugh and, without turning around, he said, “Go to bed little girl.”
“Little girl! Do these look like little girl titties to you?” I stood up and released the towel, dropping it to the floor. I wanted him to see my 34Ds so he could take back his insult. I wanted him to see my whole body. He stayed stiff like a mummy, unaffected by my nakedness—and I mean I was butt naked, standing in the middle of a hotel suite which was designed for fucking.
Midnight leaned up, grabbed the remote, and started surfing channels.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said finally, like a father would. I sucked my teeth, picked up my towel, and returned to the bathroom.
I washed, rinsed, and twisted the clothes as if they were the source of my anger, laying each piece out to dry separately, some by the heater, some on the shower curtain. I tiptoed into the bedroom, not wanting to wake my sisters. I grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and sat my bare ass in the comfortable chair next to the bedroom window, where I slept.
In the morning, I used the hotel blow-dryer, conveniently situated on the bathroom wall, to finish drying the damp clothes. I slid into my dress, hating the idea of repeating yesterday’s fashion. Without a proper cleaning, the clothes were stiff and rough like cardboard. Brushing my hair into a French bun, I heard Midnight talking. I pushed open the door connecting to the living room. He abruptly ended a conversation he had been having on his cell phone.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Your mother is out of surgery. She’s still in intensive care but she’s gonna be alright. Montenegro and Farrara are at the hospital now looking after her.”
“Yeah right!” I mumbled. “The first people I’m sure she’ll want to see when she opens her eyes has to be the bodyguards.” I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, drive me over to the hospital. I want to see my mother.”
“Nah!” Midnight responded coolly. “Your father said you should relax. We’ll get the kids ready and all go shopping. They should like that. They can run around a little.”
“Santiaga called? You knew I wanted to talk to him. Why didn’t you call me to the phone?” I screamed.
“Take it easy, Winter.”
I don’t know how it happened, but just then I lost control. “Is it that you don’t hear me or am I speaking French, motherfucker? I want to see my mother. I want to talk to my father.”
I turned quick and grabbed the hotel phone so I could beep Santiaga. Midnight grabbed my wrist, causing me to drop the phone. I spun around wildly, asking, “What the fuck is up with you?” He didn’t answer. I pushed him. As I swung on him he used his strong body to restrain me. Stuck in his grip, I cursed him. “Get the car ready, nigga! I’m going to the hospital.” Instead of slapping the shit out of me, he hugged me even tighter. Feeling his warm body close against mine, my resistance stopped and I found myself crying into his shoulder. Over his shoulder, I saw two of my little sisters staring at us. “What’s up with you two?” the eight-year-old asked.
Midnight turned my body and face away from the girls and whispered in my ear. “It’s alright Shorty, I knew you would break down sooner or later. But, you gotta hold it together or your sisters’ gonna start bugging, too.”
When I saw my own tears fall onto my hands I got mad at myself for crying. It was not like me. But I liked the feeling of being up tight on Midnight. I liked the way he was holding me. I even liked the way he was treating me right at this moment. So I pushed it. I took a genuine situation and was about to make it work for me, cry some more, get even closer for a little longer. But then three of my sisters tried to muscle their way into my act. One by one they started crying, too. Midnight released my body, looked around the room at the four weeping willows and got a look on his face that indicated he couldn’t stand the pressure. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “Alright, whoever showers and gets dressed first gets fifty dollars.” Their tears turned to excitement as they shot into the bathroom to box each other out for the dough. The money was like smelling salts; it revived everyone.
Midnight turned toward me, “Yo Shorty-tough, two more days, that’s it. Then you’ll be back home. Try to stay cool, you know?” I couldn’t answer. I was straight in love with this nigga. I was replaying my new nickname, “Shorty-tough.”
Trying to break the spell, Midnight waved a stack of cash back and forth in front of my eyes. “Yo, you must be an impostor. Where’s Winter? Nobody has to ask her twice to go shopping,” he said, flashing a rare smile.
I laughed, grabbed my jacket and said in a sexy way, “I’m ready.”
At the mall the war of wills kicked in. I had one side of the hanger with the miniskirt I wanted to purchase while Midnight’s tight grip held the other side. My sisters ran in and out of the aisles under the clothes racks, while me and Midnight argued. With one hand on my hip, I clenched my teeth and spit, “I’ve worn skirts like this before. It’s my choice. Don’t act like you never seen me rock a mini before.” How and why did Midnight think he could tell me what I can and cannot wear? Now I’m saying, maybe if he was giving me some dick, making me feel good and relaxed, I might have considered his ideas.
“You check this out, Shorty. I’m responsible for you right now. Whatever you did before is your business. For these two days you gonna wear something decent. Come on, put this shit back.” He grabbed my hand and led me out of the boutique while my sisters traveled close behind. His touching my hand shot a sensation between my legs and through my body. Now I wanted that miniskirt. I had others like it. But him grabbing me in the rough style made me want him even more. It seemed now that he cared, I was breaking through his ice-cold ways and it was worth temporarily losing control.
He led me upstairs into Bloomingdale’s. “Now wait here.” He moved around the clothes racks with the rhythm of a leopard on a hunt. He held up an Eileen Fisher pantsuit. “Alright, this is banging. This is something I would pick for my sister to wear. Let’s go get some shoes,” he said.
Now the pantsuit was fly I’ll admit. The material was high q
“Is this something you would want Tasia to wear?”
“Who?”
“Tasia! Tasia! Your girl! ’Cause I don’t give a fuck what you would want your sister to wear. I want to know what you would want your girl Tasia to wear.”
“Tasia is not my girl,” he denied. I rolled my eyes.
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Fuck what you heard. You and them silly bitches you be with. They don’t know me. They just chickens, a bunch of chickens who ain’t got shit to do except run they mouths.”
I placed both hands on my hips. “So are you saying you weren’t fucking Tasia?”
“Is that what you want me to do to you?” he asked. “Fuck you then talk about it with some other hoe?” I weighed his words, thinking, Is this like some type of trick question or something? Yes, I did want him to fuck me. Hadn’t I made that clear? No, I didn’t want him to talk about me with some other hoe. I want him for myself. Was he calling me a hoe?
“Fuck it, wear what you want to wear,” he said, frustrated.
I got all the things he liked for me. We picked up some clothes for the kids. We ended up in F.A.O. Schwarz toy store. Midnight wanted to find me some games for the girls to play with to minimize their missing Mommy and Daddy, and most of all to stop them from asking too many questions. The more fun they had, he figured, the less questions they would ask. When we were finished, we had so much shit it looked like a late Christmas. We had so much fun we had forgotten about lunch and had worked up quite an appetite for dinner. It was clear to me that Midnight was in control for now. So I didn’t even ask where we were going to eat or try to give directions. I just sat back and waited for him to take us to the spot of his choice.
We went to the North American Lobster Company somewhere in Jersey City. I felt nothing but delight. The tables were big and round. Each one had a beautiful candle centerpiece with sexual flicking flames. The male customers wore white shirts and ties, placing their business jackets carefully on the back of their chairs. The women quietly talked to their mates, their faces soft and expressive. One hundred percent class. There was no doubt that Midnight was as smooth as Santiaga. He was made just for me. He lifted Mercedes and Lexy into their chairs, pulled the chair out for Porsche.