Sugar Walls

by Brittani Williams

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Despite a tumultuous past, Sugar Alise Clark is determined to be successful. When she meets Dyna, owner and proprietor of Dymes Exotic Escort Service, she takes off down a path of easy money and fast living.

Their friendship quickly sours when Sugar decides to branch out on her own. Sugar opens a gentleman’s club called Sugar Walls and becomes involved with a new love—who happens to be the father of her sister’s child. Sugar thinks she’s leaving her past behind to forge a better future.

It’s not long before Sugar discovers that her dreams of happily ever after might not be possible. She wakes up stranded and near death, unsure of who put her there. The two people that Sugar cared about the most are on a path of revenge, determined to silence Sugar forever. When tragedy strikes and life-changing events are set into motion, Sugar soon realizes that fast money gets you nowhere fast.

Release date: September 18, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

It was cold, dark, snowing, and lonely as I lay tied up with no idea where I was. I could feel each of my limbs freezing one by one. I could barely even speak, let alone scream for help. No one could help me; no one even knew where I was except the bastard that put me here. I could hear random noises in the background—police sirens, horns beeping, music playing—but all of those sounds were distant and too far away for my weakened voice to be heard. There was a blanket over my entire body, and I didn’t have enough energy to sit up and see where I was.

The way that I had mapped out my life, I never thought that it would land me there. I had a plan A, B, and C, none of which included being beaten, tied up, and left for dead in the snow. That cold, dark night led me to reflect back to how I got there and how it all began. It also made me wonder if I could have done anything to prevent it or done anything different to make my life turn out the way that I had originally planned.

I thought back, and I should have known I was cursed from the beginning with a name like Sugar Alise Clark. I always wondered how I got a name like Sugar, and the only explanation was that I reminded her of the drugs she called Sugar. Did that mean I ruined her life? Did that mean I was that bad that I could be compared to a drug? I was born to an alcoholic, drug-addicted mother and a deadbeat, drunk-ass father. I’m surprised DHS even allowed them to bring me home from the hospital! It’s amazing how the things that you think a child should be taken away for are totally opposite of the things that they are really taken away for.

My mother Elaine was once a beautiful woman, far tucked under the tired appearance that she carried now. Pictures of her were the only proof of her past beauty, because the way that she looked now was the only way that I had ever seen her.

Elaine was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, but she moved to Philadelphia after graduating high school to attend Temple University. Her college life was short-lived when she dropped out after only two semesters. She decided that college was too hard and took too much energy to end up making less that someone with no college education. She opted to stay in Philadelphia after meeting my father Ron at an off-campus party. They hit it off quickly, but their relationship was anything but perfect. I never knew what she saw in him or even what he saw in her for that matter. They were total opposites, but they also say that opposites attract. They argued constantly, and there were numerous occasions when the police had to be called out to the apartment when their arguing escalated to blows.

Ron worked at any place he could make a quick dollar. He never had a real job, just handyman work and other things of that sort. He would cut grass in the spring and summer, rake leaves in the fall, and shovel snow in the winter—your neighborhood hustle man.

How my mom fell in love with him I’ll never know, but I do know that he was a big factor in her downfall. Soon after moving in with him, they began drinking heavily and snorting cocaine on a regular basis. Neither of them could keep a steady job, so we basically lived in poverty. My mother collected welfare from the government but never really used it to support us, she mainly used it to support her drug habits. She would sell the food stamps to buy drugs. Our parents were barely able to feed us because their drug habits were more important to them than feeding us. I was always ashamed of my mother and father, and there were many times that I wished that I had never even been born. No child should ever feel that way, but unfortunately I did.

I was their first born, with my sister Mya to follow. Mya and I were best friends growing up, close as two sisters could be. It wasn’t until I realized that she didn’t feel the same way I felt about her that our close friendship faded away.

I wasn’t fast like most young girls growing up; I didn’t lose my virginity until I was eighteen. I was never the girl that stood out; the guys in school never paid me any attention. Mya, on the other hand, received so much attention that she didn’t know how to handle it. At the young age of fifteen, Mya had her first child. Marlo was one of the unlucky men that my sister slept with—unlucky meaning the fool that got her pregnant. See, Mya had a reputation far from a good one. She was branded the “neighborhood booty” because most dudes in the hood could get some from her anytime they wanted. Especially if the money was right.

Marlo was different. He was from South Philly, so he had never had the opportunity to sit in on any conversations where Mya’s sexual favors were the topic. She met Marlo after leaving WOW skating rink on a Saturday night. Marlo noticed Mya and a group of females including me waiting on the R bus to get back home. Marlo drove up in a brand new Mazda Millennia, black with extra dark tint in all of the windows.

Mya stood about five-foot five at the time, and she wore her hair short and spiked. She lined her lips perfectly with brown lip liner and applied her cherry lip-gloss, making her lips shine. Her body was one like Halle Berry; even at the age of fourteen she mirrored that of an adult woman. Dancing in her short denim mini, there was no way that Marlo could resist.

He pulled into the gas station behind the bus stop where we were standing and beeped his horn before rolling down his window. Not calling anyone directly, Mya quickly switched over to the car, automatically assuming that he was beeping the horn for her.

“What’s up, sexy? What’s a fine-ass girl like you doing waiting at the bus stop? If that nigga you were fucking was a real man, he’d be picking you up, or better yet, he’d buy you a car so you wouldn’t have to wait on nobody’s damn bus!”

“Well, I don’t have a man, so that’s why I’m out here,” she said in a sexy tone.

“All of that can change if you want it to.”

“Oh, really!”

“Really, if you fuck with a real man and stop playing with these kids!”

“Well, I’m down for whatever! I need a real man in my life,” she said, bending over further into the car so that her entire ass was nearly hanging out of the short skirt she was wearing.

“Let me give you a ride so we can talk more. I’ll tell you all about what I can do for you on the way.”

“Cool, let me go tell my girls I’m leaving with you.”

“All right, don’t have me waiting too long!”

“I promise I won’t,” she said before walking back to where we were standing.

Angry, I spoke, “What the hell is wrong with you, Mya? You don’t even know him!”

“I will know him by the end of the night,” she laughed.

“You are so dumb, Mya! Do you even know his name? And how are you going to leave me to go home by myself. It’s ten o’clock at night.”

“You’ll be all right. I haven’t had sex in a while and I need a hook-up! Sorry, I’ll see you tonight. Cover for me with Mom.”

“As if she’ll notice you are not there anyway. She’ll be too busy getting high. And then be pissed at me tomorrow,” I yelled before she turned to walk away.

“Well then it’s settled, I’ll see you later. I promise I won’t stay out all night so she won’t even notice that I didn’t come in,” she said before running off.

“Mya!” I yelled.

Mya entered the car without even turning around to acknowledge me. I was pissed; this was not the first time that she left me hanging like that and at that moment I felt that it wouldn’t be the last time either. That night, I made it home safely though I ran fast from the bus stop, afraid that I would be attacked. Entering our small, roach infested two-bedroom apartment I found my mother asleep on the living floor. There was a glass pipe or a glass “dick” as they call it less than two feet away from her. I went into my bedroom as I usually did, put on my headphones, and drifted off to sleep. I learned after many sleepless nights to wear the headphones to block out the drunken arguments between my mother and father, or the loud-ass sexual episodes they would have after getting high. I listened to my music to block out the realities of my world. The music made it easier for me to sleep at night.

Mya never came home that night, and as usual I was the one who received the punishment. Being slapped, waking me out of my sleep was something I was used to. Since I was older, and I was responsible. My mother made sure I knew if Mya messed up, I would be punished for it.

“Mom, what are you hitting me for?” I yelled, shocked by the blow to my stomach.

“Where the fuck is Mya? She didn’t come home last night. How many times do I have to tell you to make sure she brings her ass home!” she yelled.

“Mom, I tried, but she didn’t listen.” I cried.

“You didn’t try hard enough. Next time you are really going to make sure that she comes home or I’m going to fuck you up for not doing what you were told!” she yelled, pointing her index finger in my face.

“Why do I get in trouble for her?” I asked, petrified.

“Don’t question me, I pay the bills in this muthafucker, and until you get your own, don’t ask me shit! I make the rules. Don’t you ever forget that!” she yelled, leaving the bedroom and slamming the door.

I sat there and cried as I usually did. Mya was never punished for anything, only me and I was the stand-up student, how ironic is that? I came home every night; Mya maybe came home once or twice a week. Therefore I was punished five or six days a week. I was slapped, punched, kicked, and spit on for things that I didn’t even do. The abuse had only gotten worse the older we both got. Since Mya thought that she was more of an adult each year and could get away with anything, it caused more abuse to me.

That afternoon Mya strolled in after twelve when she knew my mother would be out buying her drug and liquor supply for the night. I was in my room studying.

“Hey, did Mom notice that I was gone?”

“Of course she did. I thought you weren’t going to stay out all night. You know she came in here hitting me this morning. Mya, why do you always do that when you know what she’s going to do to me?”

“Sorry, Sugar, but I was having so much fun with Marlo and I didn’t want to leave,” she spoke, before kicking off her shoes.

“Marlo! So that’s his name? Did you have sex with him?” I asked angrily.

“Of course I did. I needed some sexual healing!” she said, laughing.

“I don’t think it’s funny, Mya!” I yelled.

“Well, I do! I enjoyed myself. And quit yelling before Mom hears you.”

“Whatever,” I said before tuning her out.

I learned early on that Mya didn’t care about anyone but Mya. Too bad for me that I cared about her. The following day I went to school as usual and to my part-time job at Bloomingdale’s afterwards. I loved my job; it was the only time I was ever able to be around designer clothing. I even tried different outfits on some days just to pretend that I was actually going to buy them.

I dealt with the rude customers, and it didn’t bother me half as bad as the treatment that I received at home. I was constantly looked down on for working in a department store, but I didn’t care because I was working to save money for my college education.

I caught the bus to work and greeted everyone as I clocked in. I felt like today was going to be a long day. I normally worked in the children’s department, but I was placed in the women’s shoe department due to a call-out.

This day was the day that would eventually change my life, and though I didn’t find out until weeks later I should have predicted it. I was summoned by a customer for help, and I instantly noticed her beauty. This woman stood about five-foot nine, perfect shape and flawless face. Her make-up was perfect as if it had been professionally applied. I tried not to stare, but I was mesmerized. I jumped at the chance to meet her even if only to get the shoes that she wanted from the stock room.

“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked nervously.

“Can I see these in a size seven?” She passed me three pairs of Marc Jacobs pumps.

“Sure, I’ll be right back!” I said, smiling before going in the back to search for the shoes. I rushed because I didn’t want her to get impatient. Once I was back on to the sales floor she was sitting down, waiting for me to return.

“OK, I’ve found all three. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

“Would you mind giving me your opinion?”

“No. Not at all,” I said anxiously.

She tried on each pair and I told her how good each pair looked on her feet. I wasn’t gay by far, but to be honest, she was the prettiest woman I had ever seen. She thanked me and ended up purchasing all three pairs of shoes, totaling $1,195.

“Thanks a lot! What’s your name?” she asked.

“Sugar!”

“Is that you real name?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever think about modeling or anything? You have a really pretty face.”

“Not at all! No one has ever told me I was pretty,” I said, shocked by the comment. My mother told me that I was her ugliest child and that no man would ever look my way.

Her predictions had been accurate thus far, because this mystery customer was the first person to ever speak those words to me.

“Well, here’s my card. Call me and maybe I can hook you up with a job, then you can afford to buy the same stuff that you sell!” She smiled.

“OK, thank you Ms . . .”

“Dyna, the name’s Dyna. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She smiled and reached out to shake my hand and give me her business card.

“OK,” I said, putting the business card into my back pants pocket.

I continued work, still in pain from the blow I received from my mother the day before. I caught the bus home and dreaded going in, afraid of what would be waiting on me when I got there. I never knew what to expect going home. Mya went to a different school than I did, so I was never sure if she went to school or not. Every night when I would come home from work I was afraid that I would be beaten if Mya had missed school that day. I entered the apartment and found Mya and my father sitting on the sofa watching the television.

“Hey, baby! How was work?” my father asked.

“Fine,” I said blandly before walking into my bedroom.

My father, unlike my mother, never abused me. Though he smoked the same amount of crack that my mother did, his attitude was totally different. I loved my father, but was always afraid to show it because of my mother’s jealous actions. If he showed us any attention when she was around, we were sure to be punished for it later. Mya was always closer to my father than I was. I guess that she wasn’t as afraid of my mother as I was, because her beatings were never as brutal as mine. I entered my room and followed my daily routine of homework and then shortly after fell to sleep.

I went to school the following day as usual. I went to all of my classes and sat and ate lunch alone waiting for Marissa to arrive. I didn’t have many friends—truthfully I only had one true friend and that was Marissa. Marissa was normal, nothing really striking about her appearance. She was raised by her mother who worked as a maid most of her life. The money that her mother made was never really enough to supply Marissa and her siblings with good clothing. They were forced to wear clothes from random thrift shops and hand-me-downs. I met her in fifth grade, and we had been best friends ever since. There were many times that we were in fights because people constantly picked on both of us. Me, I wasn’t wearing thrift shop clothing, but I wasn’t pretty and I was overweight. Plus the fact that I always had a bruised face or busted lip from my mother didn’t help. Marissa was pretty, but she . . .