Excerpt from Chapter One- "Panther Princess"

Eddie tapped some cocaine on to a tray and used a small card to make rows. He handed me the tray and a rolled-up dollar bill. “You’re so cute. I wish I’d found a straw instead of this dirty dollar," Eddie said, brushing my cheek as I leaned forward and snorted a line. “It’s okay, the money works just fine," I said, swallowing the coke dripping down my throat. "Okay, do the other nostril for balance, sweetie," Eddie said, smiling, adding, "I just want you to be careful because money is dirty." I smiled, thinking of him concerned for my balance and safety as I snorted a line in my other nostril. I looked up from the tray and said, “You’re so considerate, Eddie," as I started to touch my nostrils to clean any coke left behind. “I just want you to be safe, baby; you’re sexy and sweet," Eddie said before licking the coke that rimmed my nostrils, then kissing me passionately and squeezing my breast. My gums feel like they’re freezing. I want to rub my teeth together for warmth, I guess. I reach for my cigarette burning in an ashtray nearby. “When your cigarette is finished, it’ll be time to rinse the deep conditioner from your hair, then have some more toot before your blow-out," said Eddie, touching the conditioner in my hair. Eddie owns a hair salon in Beverly Hills halfway between my apartment and my school, Beverly Hills High. It tickles me that he calls coke “toot." I guess that’s what folks called blow when he was young a long time ago. Eddie is sixty and I’m sixteen. I know our age difference is kinda gross, but I’m not afraid of him. He knows I was a virgin until I was raped last summer. He wouldn’t do that to me, and not just because the constant cocaine keeps him limp. Even when he’s been angry or emotional, often from not sleeping for days, he watches his temper. He’d say with a laugh, “I’m an Italian Jew. I have a bad temper, but I feel guilty about it." I guess it’s funny because of stereotypes, but when I hung out at his salon, I never saw him be cruel or nasty. He treated me like a customer when he did my hair even though it was often after midnight and I never paid him. Eddie grabbed a towel for my hair as I put out my smoke in the ashtray. Even zooted on coke, I felt relaxed as Eddie tilted back my chair and began to run water and his fingers through my hair. For a moment I’m reminded of when Patsy washed my hair as a child in the dorms in Oakland. Eddie doesn’t know about my life in Oakland, but he’s older than my mother, so he’s probably heard of the Black Panthers. When we first came back to LA, Mom told me we couldn’t talk about the Party with outsiders. She told me to say we came from Philadelphia if anyone asked when I started at Le Lycee, my first school after Oakland. I knew I couldn’t tell Eddie about my family, the Black Panther Party, but as he rinsed the conditioner from my hair, an old song from The Spinners came on the salon’s sound system, and I could feel a tear in the corner of my eye, remembering the feeling of Patsy dragging a comb through my hair for cornrows.

 

“Lil’ Ericka, squirming prolongs the process," said Patsy, using her thigh to push me back into an upright position. I’d slouched between her legs while sitting on the floor as she braided my hair. “I wait until later in the evening to braid your hair so you can watch TV. The least you can do is sit up," says Patsy while placing more AfroSheen gel on the back of her hand. “I don’t even know why you like this dumb TV show, but if it helps you sit still, I’m fine with it," she continued while globbing AfroSheen on my parted hair. “ 'Eight is Enough' is a new show, Patsy. Give it a chance. Their house reminds me of the dorm because it's busy and chaotic," I said, squirming from the comb that felt like it was carving rows into my scalp. Sitting between Patsy’s giant legs left little room to move. Patsy is half Japanese, so maybe she uses sumo moves to hold us when she braids our hair before bed. “Chaotic?” said Patsy. “Why do you know that word?” she wondered aloud before answering her own question. “Uh, Donna. What is she teaching you at the school?” Patsy said, giggling. “The dorm is not chaotic. There are twenty of you, not eight like on your show. And those people are white. I don’t know what you think we have in common with them, but I’m finished with your hair, and you’re going to bed when your show is over," Patsy added. She released me from her legs so I could get up and sit on the couch next to her. “Will you watch until the end with me, Patsy?” I asked while touching my freshly greased hair. She looked at me with tired eyes and smiled. "Okay, Lil’ Ericka. I’ll give your show a chance, and then you go straight to bed. Tomorrow you all have a field trip to Wonder Bread. I don’t want to hear that you fell asleep because I let you stay up past nine," said Patsy. We watched the end of the episode together. Patsy laughed a couple of times, then gave me a hug before sending me to the girls' room for bed. “Lil’ Ericka, the other girls may already be asleep, so be considerate of your comrades when you go to bed. Don’t make a lot of noise." she said.  I crept into the girls' room and got in my bed on a bottom bunk. There are ten girls in our room and ten boys in the boys' room. I sleep in a bottom bed because I am a bedwetter, and no one wants to take a chance sleeping below me. Plus, it's easier to get to the bathroom from my bottom bunk. “Does Patsy know you’re out of bed?” whispered Sherri, a roommate who often acted like a bossy adult. She’s small but commanding, so I replied even though she’s not the boss of me. “I was with Patsy. She was finishing my hair," I said, explaining my whereabouts. Even in the dark dorm room I could see Sherri nod her head as if to say she approves of my response. In the morning I woke up startled, as usual, and immediately checked to see if my sheets were dry. I’d made it a whole week without wetting the bed. On weekends when Mai and I stay with our moms, we have our own room at their apartment where I have a calendar to track my bedwetting. I get a gold star on the calendar for each night I sleep without soaking myself. Recently, I went more than a week without a nighttime accident, and Mai and I got hamsters. They live at the apartment with my mom and Mai’s mom, Big Ericka, for whom I’m named. “Patsy, my sheets are dry!" I say as I wait my turn in the bathroom while Patsy picks and pats our afros. “Good job, Lil’ Ericka, and less work for me," Patsy says with a slight smile, adding, “I’ll be sure to let Janis know you had a good week." I smile as I unbraid my few cornrows and wait for Patsy to pick my hair. Janis is my mom’s secretary. She must be the one who gets the gold stars for the calendar in our room at Mom and Big Ericka’s apartment. “Did I hear you had a week without wetting yourself?” asked Leilah while she tried to pick her huge hair herself. She has enough hair for three atom-bomb Afros, and it’s sometimes easier for her to wear in large puffs. “I sure did," I said, proud of myself for not peeing in the bed. “Well go ‘head, Ericka. Maybe you should get an extra treat on our field trip today?” Leilah said, pondering how to get me something more than the loaf of bread we each get on field trips to Wonder Bread. “I like your thinking, Leilah," I said, giggling. “Okay everyone, the van is outside. Let’s get in gear and get to school," said Patsy, clapping her hands to get our attention. “You should each have a piece of fruit to enjoy before breakfast at school. Do not leave any fruit in the van. Repeat after me," she said while wrangling the boys from their room and guiding us all down the stairs to the street. “Do not leave any fruit in the van!” we said almost in unison. “Okay, thank you. Remember, Donna will check the van when you get to school. If it's not clean, it’s not going to Wonder Bread." Patsy said, opening the front door of the large home we used as our dormitory. Tying the clean van to the field trip caught our attention. We collectively checked each other as we ate our fruit in the van on the way to school. Sherri stood up as we rode up East 14th Street to turn into the school parking lot. “Do not leave any fruit on the van," she said, peering over her glasses like an old lady. By the time Donna opened the van door to welcome us to school, we’d gathered any peels and rinds from our morning snack. “Good morning, children," Donna said like a song as we made our way into the building.