"So, what's with Vanilla Ice?" Simon asked, as he regarded the white
guy setting up his speaker. It was obvious that the band's new bass player
was a white dude! With so many brothers needing work, why were they stuck
with this white-ass,
"Aw, man, don't play that, he's with it, he's cool." Brotha J-Man
crooned at him. Simon didn't know Brotha J-Man's real name, any more than
Brotha J-Man knew him as "Simon", he was called "Blak Koffy" by the band.
"What we want with a white fucker?" Simon insisted.
"Because we got a gig and need a good bass player and he's the best
one." Brotha J-Man soothed at him.
"It ought to be a brother." Simon insisted.
"When it comes to music, he is a brother." Brotha J-Man insisted. It
was a part of his on-stage persona.
"Man, don't give me that shit." Simon sneered. "Is he trying for
reggae with that hair of his?" The hair in question was a rather bright
shade of red, but not bright enough to be hair dye, it was semi-permed into
a massive bulk that bunched out on all sides, then a string of the shit
went into sideburns that crawled over his cheeks and made a dinky-ass
mustache.
"Let him play, and then you decide if you want to keep arguing."
Brotha J-Man said.
Fair enough, Simon just nodded. "He's setting up in my spot."
"I want the bass to be on my right." Brotha J-Man said. "You're second
guitar."
"That white boy better not try to sing with us."
"He's just going to play bass."
"All right then." Simon said. "We here to march for integration, or we
here to rehearse?"
"We're here to rehearse."
"Good." Simon said. "Then let's do it."
An hour later, he was ready to give the ofay a little slack. The dude
could play bass, and riff like he may have some blood in him after
all. Damned good, this guy was. He could see why Brotha J-Man felt he had
to let this bit of vanilla into the band, what with Jimmy in jail and
all. Three months and Jimmy would be out, they could let the white boy
go. Though as good as this whitey played, that may be tough shit for Jimmy,
if their music could bring in the gigs.
Brotha J-Man had to go work a night shift as a security guard, he cut
the rehearsal off at "Okay, we're good but I want to do another one
tomorrow morning. Everyone right with that?"
"I have to be there at two o'clock." Whizz 8, their drummer, said. He
worked at a Burger King, washing dishes and mopping floors.
"We'll start at ten and send for a pizza, get in three hours." Brotha
J-Man promised. "Anyone else?"
That's when White Boy spoke up. "Yeah, I need a place to crash until
we get the money for our gig. Anybody put me up?"
And Brotha J-Man and Whizz 8 both looked at Simon.
"Aw, man, don't lay that on me!" Simon whined.
"You got this place." Brotha J-Man pointed out. Simon's apartment was
their rehearsal hall. It had started life as a social center for the Mad
Tower, until those two girls got assaulted in it, now it was just another
apartment, if you overlooked the concrete walls and the busted security
mesh over the windows. Simon had had to take the entire windows, sash and
all, out of the concrete, they wouldn't open at all otherwise and this
place was hot enough as it was. The thought of practicing in mid-day was
daunting, Simon tried to avoid his own place in mid-day. It was hot enough
now.
"Why can't one of you take him?" Simon asked. But that was
hopeless. Whizz 8 lived with his mother and father and slept on the floor
in the living room along with two brothers and an sister. Brotha
J-Man and his wife had a room which was large enough to let him throw a
sleeping bag, but Brotha J-Man's wife was a flirt and Brotha J-Man was
jealous of her as all hell. White Boy would get his throat cut easy if he
went there. And while Simon didn't owe a white man any favors, he didn't
want Brotha J-Man in jail along with Jimmy, Brotha J-Man was their manager
and songwriter and lead singer.
"You got that double-wide mattress." Brotha J-Man pointed out the
stained mess standing up in one corner. "We don't even have a couch he
could use."
White Boy offered. "I don't mind the floor."
If this kept up, Brotha J-Man would be backed into a corner and offer,
and then there'd be the police again. "All right, he can stay with me."
Simon said with a sigh.
"Thanks." White Boy said. "And I got money enough for food and stuff
for a few weeks, so I won't need anything but a place to throw my bags and
a place to crash.
"Just don't bring no tail back here." Simon said. "Take it to her
place or take it on the road."
"Great." White Boy said. "How about I order in a pizza?"
Simon and Brotha J-Man and Whizz 8 looked at him and laughed. Dumb
Whitey didn't know that nobody delivered in this neighborhood after dark
and to the Mad Tower, too...? Shit! How dumb could he be?
But the offer made him like the guy. "You can go with me to Wong Foo's
across the street." Simon said. "We'll leave the pizza for tomorrow."
"Okay." White Boy said. "But I can go get it."
"Boy." Simon said. "If you're going to be living in the projects for a
few weeks, you better learn that a whitey don't go no place alone after
dark."
It took him a moment and then he said, with comprehension. "Oh."
"Yeah, right." Simon said. "Better just spot me a ten and I'll bring
it back."
Wong Foo wasn't his favorite place to pick up food, even though it was
right across from the projects. A bulletproof take-out window with a
shallow groove in the middle to let you slide your money under, like at a
bank, and a bullet-proof box with a door that wouldn't let both sides be
open at once. You couldn't even see how they were cooking your
food. Probably cooked some dog meat in there. And the thick glass meant the
women behind the counter gave him attitude. "And give me a receipt." Simon
said when he finished ordering, the total was twelve seventeen and he
didn't want Whitey to think he was keeping back any change. "And some
plates and forks and none of those chopstick shit."
He got back to his apartment and found that Whitey had stripped down
to only a pair of rather short, ragged, dark-blue sweat shorts and was
standing right in front of his stand-up fan. He was sweating heavily, not
surprising because he'd been sopping wet with sweat when they'd finished
practice. Brotha J-Man had put the fan up next to him, rank has its
privileges. The fan couldn't be fit into any of the windows, and all it was
doing was moving the hot air inside the apartment around and around, an
unsatisfying experience, but right in front of the fan was better than any
other place in the apartment. Whitey had rigged out the mattress and sheet
and laid it out for sleeping two, too. Simon used both pillows and usually
put them one on top of the other.