“… You know who had the nerve to bring they ass ’round here?” Ms. Nicky stated to nobody in particular as she held her cards close to her chest. “That no-good nigga, Reds.”

“What that nigga want?” someone asked, further fueling the conversation. Another lady replied, “What they all want?”

“Pussy!” they all seemed to say in unison.

“That fool gotta one-track mind,” Ms. Nicky said. “Jus’ lika young boy. But I shut ’em down. Ain’t nuttin’ happenin’, I told ’em. Like that old song says, ain’t no romance witout finance. You gotta have a J-O-B, if you wanna be wit me … I can do bad by myself. I don’t need no lazy, grown-ass man, layin’ up in my bed and not contributin’ to my household … Shit, that nigga must be on that shit if he think he comin’ up in here wit that nonsense. …”

Ms. Nicky and her daughter, Katrina, were just alike in more ways than one. You could see, by the short and tight outfits she wore, she desperately wanted to hold on to her youth. Aside from physically looking alike, they shared the same ideology and mentality. She schooled Kat that it was better to be the user than to be used. She wanted Kat to do as she said, not as she had done.

Eric came running through the kitchen like a train. He knew better than to do that in his grandmother’s house.

“Hey! Hey!” she called out to the blur that just passed her. “Eric! You musta lost ya God damn mind, runnin’ through my house like that! … Bring ya li’l ass back here and walk like you got some sense.”

Ignoring his grandmother, Eric continued to hightail it through the house and up the steps to his room. He slammed his door shut and threw himself on the bed and cried his eyes out.

Ms. Nicky knew that something must be wrong. “I’ll be right back!” she said as she got up and left the card table. She was going to give her grandson a beating for disrespecting her in front of her company. This really wasn’t like him, though. He actually had more respect or fear for her than he did his own mother. It was she who raised him, who disciplined him.

“… Can we at least finish this hand?” someone asked. The request fell on deaf ears. Ms. Nicky kept right on going.

Marching upstairs to his room, Ms. Nicky flung his door open. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” she demanded to know. “It betta be good too! ’Cause I should beat the black off ya ass for showin’ off.”

Still sobbing, Eric rolled over on his back. His grandmother could see the hurt and pain in his face. “Nana …” He began to babble. He said somethin’ bad ’bout my momma.” “I was fightin’ him … I wanted ta kill ’im! …”