Muted Read online

  the campfire.

  Three girls

  now known

  lyrically

  as

  Untouched

  scatting beneath

  navy skies,

  guitar in my hand,

  D major chords on repeat,

  mulling over the question

  that loomed above our heads:

  When do we tell our parents?

  “I know Nana and Pop are old and

  low-key clueless, but I think we gotta say something.

  No more sneaking off, ya know?

  Let our folks arrange all this for us.”

  “Arrange what, Shak?” I asked.

  “Contracts? Lawyers? Don’t we need that stuff?”

  “We don’t need all that.” Dali kept humming,

  soprano sweet.

  “Merc wants us.”

  “And what if he stops?” Shak’s eyes narrowed.

  The songs of night blended with our own.

  Crickets chirping.

  Fire crackling.

  Branches swaying.

  “He won’t. He knows exactly what he wants

  from each one of us. We just gotta give it to him,”

  Dali said,

  the veins in her neck

  thick like tree roots.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My fingers stopped strumming.

  “Nothing.” Dali refilled her cup with rum,

  took a big-ass gulp.

  “Oh, come on, Say Say!

  You know it’s

  MAD one-hit wonders out there.

  All I’m saying is we need a

  backup plan if Merc loses interest.”

  “Let’s not give him a reason to,” I said,

  swallowing my own fear of the what-if.

  “Okay, Whitney.”

  Shak raised her hands in surrender.

  “You’re right, Dali. Merc’s obsessed with Untouched!”

  Shak and Dali dapped

  and laughed to the moonless sky.

  “Yeah,” I whispered softly,

  beneath D major chords.

  “We’ll tell our family … when the time is right.”

  I swear I heard angels,

  like a church chorus,

  the second we finally got the text.

  Merc was in New York,

  back from his mini tour.

  And the only thing on his mind …

  was US!

  Mannnnnn,

  we dipped off

  hella quick,

  Pocono Mountains

  fading into skyscrapers

  kissing clouds.

  Sick beats waited for

  our voices to light up the booth.

  And so we did.

  We recorded the bridge

  and outro for

  “Once in Your Life.”

  And …

  We. Torched. That. Shit.

  “Whew! That’s FIYAH!”

  Merc screamed

  as he replayed the mix.

  I checked my watch.

  We’d been there four hours.

  But it felt like four beats of a heart.

  “I’ma need y’all back next Sunday!”

  Merc walked us to the exit.

  “No doubt!” Me. Dali. Voices merged.

  “Can we come another day? Like Thursday?

  Nana and Pop will flip if I miss mornin’ service.”

  “Bless your lil’ heart.”

  Merc mocked Shak’s southern drawl.

  “I’m sure the Lord will understand.”

  Then Merc buzzed us out,

  turned his back,

  and kept it moving upstairs.

  On the ride home,

  we almost tore the roof of my Civic off

  interrogating Shak.

  “You can’t miss ONE day of church?”

  “Guys, I’ve already missed camp

  and work and church.

  I love our singing group,

  but I have a lot goin’ on.”

  “So, what are you trying to say

  about me and Denver?

  We ain’t got no life?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant!

  It’s just with senior year comin’,

  and college tours,

  the juggle is a struggle, yo!”

  “Chill with the college talk.” Dali

  rolled down the window and

  pretended like she was throwing up.

  “And I don’t know how to say this …

  but Merc creeps me out a lil’.”

  Dali snapped her head around,

  Exorcist style.

  “You two kinds of crazy tonight, chica!”

  “Look, I know! But when Meat

  escorted me to the bathroom tonight,

  one of those hallway doors was cracked open.

  And y’all know what I saw?”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Eyes. All veiny and yellow

  where the white part should be.

  Something was legit starin’ at me.”

  “Ooooooh, maybe it was El Cuco!”

  Dali said,

  which of course made me

  snort-laugh and

  almost dive right off the

  Lincoln Tunnel.

  “No, Chucky!”

    “No, Freddy Krueger!”

  Dali and I

  kept going like that

  for all of I-287.

  But Shak

  didn’t find it funny.

  From my rearview mirror,

  I saw her roll her eyes

  and coil like a snake in the back seat.

  She was quiet

  the whole ride home.

  Slammed my car door,

  raced up the driveway

  to her front door,

  slammed that one, too.

  And then Shak ghosted on us.

  H

  A

  R

  D.

  Me: Four days, no call, no text? We love you Shak Attack, come back!

  Dali: We’re sorry. We promise we’ll be more careful.

  Shak: Glad you guys understand.

  Me: Pick you up Sunday at noon, k?

  Shak: WOW.

  Dali: What you mean wow?

  Shak: I’m not going. I told you why.

  Me: So you just gonna play us like that?

  Crickets.

  01905552702: Sup, baby gurl. See u guys tomorrow?

  Me: Merc? That you?

  01905552702: In the flesh, well text, ha!

  Me: New phone?

  01905552702: I keep burners on deck. You know how it is. Gotta switch it up, keep crazy fans and the paparazzi off my back.

  Me: Ok. Well, we got a problem. Shak can’t miss church.

  01905552702: Come anyway. We’ll record and then I’m takn y’all somewhere.

  Me: Without Shak? But we need her third harmony. And where we going?

  01905552702: Just come. Will make it work.

  Old-school

  1990s R&B

  blasting behind

  the door

  of my room.

  Sisters with Voices,

  better known as

  SWV,

  singing sweetly

  about all the things

  that make one weak.

  Like this girl.

  Dalisay Gómez,

  honey and fire in human form

  topknot,

  floral sundress,

  cherry-stained lips.

  An in-the-room makeover

  of epic proportions

  for our big day with Merc.

  I tossed on

  my cut-up black jeans,

  Converse,

  pink AliExpress bag,

  scrunched my hair with

  Miss Jessie’s Pillow Soft Curls.

  “You are the epitome

  of casual-cute, muchacha.”

>   Dali’s fingers laced in mine,

  pulled me into her embrace.

  I didn’t hear the door fly open

  only saw the look on her face.

  Hands unlocked,

  music stopped.

  “Ma, what’re you doing home?”

  Two eyes,

  blue as moonstone,

  a genetic oxymoron

  against

  light brown skin.

  Her words,

  laser hot.

  “Denver, let me talk to you.”

  Dali grabbed her purse,

  said Hello, Mrs. Lafleur,

  and flew her ass straight

  down the stairs.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Girls’ date,” I chirped, stomach tingling.

  “And your third partner in crime?” Ma scanned my room.

  “On our way to get her. Sleeping at Dali’s.”

  I lied quick, easy.

  “I forgot some files.

  I’m headed back to the hospital now.

  Pulling a double.

  You get to Dali’s before midnight …”

  I took a deep breath,

  happy that was all,

  but I shoulda known

  Ma wasn’t done …

  “And, Denver?

  That little thing

  you think you’re feeling?

  It’s just a phase.”

  (noun)

  Definition (according to Webster’s):

  an aspect or part (as of a problem)

  under consideration

  Definition (according to Black folk):

  temporary disappointment,

  human hellbound

  Definition (according to Ma):

  the waiting

  for an awakening,

  sharp thrust into reality,

  that life is already hard

  carrying the weight of the world

  in this Black body,

  this Black skin …

  Why make it harder

  as a …

  lesbian?

  Definition (according to me):

  …

  Nothing.

  This thing wasn’t a phase at all.

  the place where stars

  are born

  Singing in that booth

  without Shak

  felt like

  a too-small Band-Aid

  over a too-big wound.

  Two girls,

  one new song,

  three harmonies,

  One press of a button,

  vocal magic on a track.

  Merc whipped out some Henny

  after we were done recording.

  “I’ll pass,” I said.

  Needed to be alert for the long drive home.

  Shak woulda been hella proud.

  Merc’s face went all cloudy on me.

  If the man had pearls, he woulda clutched

  them, too.

  But I just hit him with the

  “Sorry, bruh” shrug.

  Dali swooped her arm to the table,

  “I’ll take a hit!” gripped the red plastic cup,

  gulped the spicy liquid down.

  One sip,

  two sips,

  three sips.

  Eyes rolled back,

  smile grew wide,

  Dali’s ass was flying high!

  I laughed so hard, I thought

  my bladder would burst.

  “Where you going?” Merc said.

  “Bathroom.”

  “You gotta ask permission to leave the room, sweetheart.”

  I laughed again and headed for the door.

  “You’re so funny, Merc.”

  Meat,

  all six foot eight of him,

  blocked me at the exit.

  “He ain’t kidding.”

  Merc stood up, grabbed hold of my arm.

  “I’ll take her. Gotta protect my little star, you know.”

  And I swear I never felt so special.

  Merc waited for me, like a real gentleman,

  to come out the bathroom,

  slipped his hand around my waist,

  fingers pressed in the curve of my hip.

  “You feeling all right?” he asked,

  lips close enough to brush against my nose.

  The smell of his breath, a mix of Henny and heat.

  If this were one of those rom-com flicks,

  we woulda kissed and

  I’da melted right into his arms.

  But WTF was I kidding?

  I’d feel nothing.

  Like, at all.

  Not to mention, Merc was like …

  uncle status,

  no matter how fine homeboy was.

  “I’m good,” I said.

  He loosened his grip,

  that whole movie image

  just in my head, then gone

  as he fist-bumped me

  like the homey

  I knew him to be.

  And I had to laugh at myself

  for worrying about Shak

  and her stupid heebie-jeebies.

  “I got two surprises for y’all.

  You ready, lil’ sis?”

  “Always, bro,” I responded.

  Right there,

  I told myself

  I’d always

  be ready,

  with open arms,

  for whatever

  homeboy

  had up his sleeve.

  For better or better.

  Surprise #1

  I never noticed the single crack

  in the concrete floor before that night.

  It started from the entrance of the elevator

  and zigzagged its way from door to door.

  Merc led me and Dali

  down the hall,

  the light above hissed

  flick, flick, flick,

  past each door

  until we reached the one

  near the bathroom

  cracked open,

  the sinking feeling

  that someone was watching us.

  Merc gripped the knob

  and opened it fully.

  Lights on full blast.

  Three smiling ladies,

  staring back at us.

  And guess what?

  No boogey man.

  No creepy eyes!

  Instead, there were

  racks of clothes

  lined against the walls.

  Labels for days!

  Gucci

  Fendi

  Prada

  Mirrored tables

  covered in those lights

  you see on Broadway shows.

  Makeup brushes in hand,

  flat irons on deck.

  “This is my new singing group, Untouched,”

  Merc said to the stylists.

  “As you can see,

  these youngins need a little help.” He winked.

  “Give ’em the full treatment.”

  Oh yeah, Big Brother Uncle Merc

  status was in full effect!

  ’Specially with this next-level hookup!

  Dali did that nail-digging-in-my-wrist

  thing again.

  Only that time, I swear

  that pain never felt so good.

  Every  kink,

  every  curl

  sizzled  straight

  into submission.

  Bodies dipped

  in a Fendi disguise.

  Red-bottoms clicked

  against concrete,

  letting the whole world know

  Untouched had arrived!

  Two-thirds at least.

  Surprise #2

  Meat at the wheel,

  Merc in the passenger seat,

  me, Dali, and Marissa,

  sandwiched in the back.

  A ride

  in a Maybach S 650

  was like

  blue paint against navy skies
>
  matching the pants I wore

  shiny as chrome rims spinning,

  gleaming like stars and city streetlights.

  Top down,

  summer heat

  threatening the return

  of kinky curls,

  “Who cares, Denver?”

  Dali shook my mane with her hands.

  “Let that shit go!”

  And I didn’t know

  if she was talking ’bout

  my hair … or Shak.

  (or-Ma-or-Gwen-or-You!)

    But it didn’t matter.

  Nothing else did.

  Because I was

  happily riding

  in that car

  with #TeamMerc,

  blasting Hot 97

  singing every lyric

  of that old-school Jay Z,

  “Big Pimpin’,”

  with my queen (Dali)

  and the KING (Merc)!

  The ones who

  filled me with hope,

  freedom,

  and forgetfulness …

  Like the fact that

  Marissa had our phones.

  And because of that,

  there were texts I didn’t see.

  Shak: Merc called me tonight. Told me since I bailed on him, the least I could do is send him a picture … in a bikini.

  Shak: Like … really??? Yo, call me back.

  camera-flashing,

  immortal beings

  that followed Merc

  E

  V

  E

  R

  Y

  W

  H

  E

  R

  E

  !

  (and I loved ev-uh-ree second of that shit!)

  Flashing lights

  swallowed Merc whole,

  as me, Dali,

  Meat, Marissa,

  and the rest of

  Merc’s nameless,

  wordless crew

  trailed behind him

  through the back entrance

  of Club LAVO.

  Hip-hop thumped,

  shaking walls,

  bottles crowned

  with mini fireworks,

  the waitress led us to our own little corner

  of the world,

  no eyes,

  no whispers,

  no pointing

  as Merc dropped coins

  —eleven g’s—