A Street Girl Named Desire

by Treasure E. Blue

Genres: African American Urban; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

Bestselling author Treasure E. Blue returns with a gritty against-all-odds urban fairy tale set in the same unforgiving neighborhood as that of his breakout debut novel Harlem Girl Lost.

Desire was born on the streets of Harlem–literally. Her mom, a crack-addicted prostitute, delivered her on a bitter winter’s night after turning a trick and being brutally beaten by the john. Taken from her mother by the state, Desire grows up unwelcoming foster homes, until a local Good Samaritan takes her in. With Miss Hattie Mae’s love and Christian guidance, Desire gains confidence, joins the church choir, and discovers that she’s got a set of pipes–which soon attract the attention of hip-hop’s biggest exec.

But the road to superstardom is paved with dangers and temptations: drugged-out, violent rappers, untrustworthy pro athletes promising romance, and vicious drugs. Despite her phenomenal success and Miss Hattie Mae’s kindness, Desire seems destined for a fall from the top that will slam her back onto the pavement where her mama left her–until an unexpected angel picks her back up. . . .

Release date: December 24, 2008

Publisher: One World

Print pages: 336

Sample

This is the story of a girl who should have died the minute she was born, who was famous hours after she was born, who had to die and be born again countless times before she finally learned how to live. To most, she would simply be a story on the news that they could recall in casual conversation. She was that baby who had been born on that night in that way, to that mother who had let it happen. The sad part about it is, nobody ever really cared about this girl once she faded from the evening news and the morning papers. Nobody knew what happened to her after the media closed the chapter on her sensational story, after she ceased being the talk of all those people who just dismissed her as another sad sound bite on the evening news. She was just something to talk about to most people in her world. To others, she was just someone else to use up because they were trying to survive in the jungle they had all been placed in. And to some, she was someone to care about and save, a reason to love that became a reason to live. This is the story of what she came to be to herself.
 
 
CHAPTER ONE
 
February 1984. Underneath the elevated train tracks on 125th Street, outside the Metro-North station, a petite girl wearing a flimsy spandex skirt stood impatiently on the sidewalk, as scores of cars whisked by Tourists did not come to this part of Harlem. This area, the east side of Harlem, was a haven for crack- and heroin-addicted whores, and transvestites looking to turn a few tricks. This night was cold, so bitterly cold that there wasn't a whore in sight. But there would always be an exception. One who would defy Mother Nature. One who would take the stringent cold and make the intolerable seem tolerable. One who would risk everything just for an opportunity to earn some loot to hit that glass dick. One who finally lost control because circumstances in her life had been beyond her control. One who descended into a depth of pain that now seemed impossible for her to dig her way out of.
 
Crack cocaine, the deadliest and most addictive drug known to man. A drug so powerful that under its spell, it caused some women to sell their own children or made a man get on his knees to suck another man's penis. A drug so insidious, it told your brain that you had to have it no matter the cost. Not even a wretchedly cold winter night could stop those on the prowl for the substance that provided them a temporary amnesia, a momentary euphoria, a desperate escape from the reality of their lives. This part of town was a jungle. Sad, hopeless and lonely people were the only hunters. Crack cocaine was their prey.
 
A few drug dealers also withstood the harsh elements. They did not have to hunt for their victims because their victims hunted for them. They lurked in harrowed darkness, rocking back and forth in their Timbos, waiting patiently in the cut to capitalize on someone's desperation.
 
On the stroll, seventeen-year-old Nika had a virtual monopoly on the competition. Not only did she carry the burden of the freezing cold, but also a fetus in its third trimester. Though she carried small, having sprouted the type of belly that made the old folks predict a girl, her pregnancy was still visible, discouraging several potential tricks. She hadn't turned a single trick in nearly two hours. Angry, cold and beasting for crack, tears falling heavily from her eyes at the thought of surviving another minute, another second without a blast. To make matters worse, a downpour of snow decreased the possibility of her getting her hands on what she wanted. Fighting back the tears, she eyed the dealers across the street and convinced herself she could pull off the impossible—get some vials on credit. Walking toward them, her mind raced as she pondered what new lie she could tell them. Gaining confidence with each stride, she put on her game face and began smiling gleefully.
 
One dealer seemed to read her mind. He stopped her dead in her tracks. “Don't even try it, bitch!”
 
His words cut through her like a machete. Her jaw twitched in anger, for these were the same bastards she had grown up with. The same bastards who had gotten her hooked on crack in the first place. The same bastards she had made rich with all the business she brought them. But there are no loyalties in a jungle. There is only the will to survive, at any and all costs. Everyone necessarily hardened so as not to become a victim. Heartlessness was the rule and not the exception. None of them wanted to serve her. They were used to throwing off the addicts who could not pay. Business was business. They left their hearts at home whenever they stepped out onto the streets.
 
From the dealers before her, Nika couldn't even be fronted a dime piece of crack. She cursed them silently and walked away.
 
As she trudged uptown in the six-inch accumulated snow, it was then that she began to feel the bloodcurdling chill invade her soul. It was also then that she felt a sharp burning in her stomach that forced her to keel over in gut-wrenching pain. Once the pain subsided, just as suddenly as it came, she staggered for about a block until she happened upon a potential trick walking in her direction. She quickly gained her composure and wiped the frozen tears from her puffy face. As quickly as hope arrived, it was just as quick to disappear. She rolled her eyes in disgust, recognizing the elderly gentleman standing before her.
 
“God can take away your troubles right this moment, Nika, if you are willing,” he said in a soft voice while extending his hand.
 
The small, fragile man with soft reassuring eyes was Elijah Clark, founder and director of Visions, a neighborhood drug treatment center. A former addict himself, he spent many years sick and suffering on the mean streets of Harlem. After getting arrested, and nearly losing his mind, he kicked the habit in prison after he found God there.
 
“What did God ever do for me, Mr. Clark, huh?” Nika shouted. “Nothing! That's what. He never did shit for me. You hear me?”
 
Nika sucked her teeth and walked around him, not wanting to hear any of his preaching. But she wanted to make sure he heard hers. She looked back at him, screaming in a voice that made even a man who had seen it all recoil.
 
“He never did one fuckin thing for me since I was fuckin born!”
 
Elijah watched in silence as she screamed incoherently while walking off into the frozen darkness.
 
Defeated, Nika relented and walked toward her rented room on Lenox and 131st, when a tan Maxima crept up slowly behind her. The driver honked his horn and came to a stop. Her eyes glanced toward the vehicle as newfound hope overwhelmed her. She ran at almost breakneck speed, hopping in the passenger seat. Under normal circumstances she would have inspected the occupant a little closer to see if he was a potential threat, such as a vice cop, deranged freak or stickup kid. But this wasn't a normal night, so all bets were off, she thought as she stared wide-eyed at the man in front of her.
 
Smiling, she asked nervously, “Hey, honey, you looking for a date? 'Cause I … you know… ain't doing nothing, and I can take care of you.”
 
The driver, a huge man who seemed stuffed into the moderately sized car, was surprised by her carefree spirit. He returned the smile, revealing crooked, buttery coated, yellowish teeth, as he leered lustfully at her petite, youthful body.
 
“Well, goddamn, girl,” he said with excited pleasure in a thick, Southern drawl. “Now, that's exactly the type of whore I'm lookin for.”
 
She smiled as she loosened her thin coat.
 
He examined her closer, frowning, “I be damned, girl, but you look like you have a child in ya.”
 
“You ain't got to worry 'bout that, Daddy, because I can suck a mean dick, baby … I'll have you cumin in no time.”
 
She quickly reached for his zipper. “You don't have to worry about me being pregnant, I promise you you gonna cum.”
 
He shook his head, “Shit, baby, you ain't gots to worry, I loves to try me some of that pregnant pussy. From what I hear, that's the sweetest kind of pussy any ol way.” Backing into an empty parking space, he smiled at her wickedly, smacking lips that were so purple they could have been stained by blueberries. “We can handle business right in the backseat.”
 
The quicker the better, she thought, as she followed him to the rear. He immediately pulled down his trousers, and she followed suit, slipping out of her panties. As she awkwardly positioned herself for his entry, she caught a glimpse of his package. Her eyes widened as she stared in total disbelief at the size and girth of his penis—it was the size of a quarter horse's. Were she not in the throes of addiction, this would have been the moment where instinct would have kicked in and told her to protect herself. She needed the money for a hit so bad, but was she willing to risk injury to not only herself, but her baby, as well?