How to Lose Your Soul In Three Easy Steps
Envy Part Six: Best Friend
“It’s Showtime,” a tall street performer said. His voice echoed through the subway car. He politely requested straphangers to step aside to make way for him and his dance crew. A few protested but most acquiesced. Prim had always found the performances an annoyance. The sweaty shirtless dancers always looked like they were about to kick someone in the face.
Prim usually did her best to avoid contact with the showtime performers less they demand payment for her enjoyment.
Prim remembered Genesis 14:20 when Abraham gave a tenth of his war spoils to Melchizedek as a blessing.
“No way would I give them four hundred for their deranged pole dancing. They’d be hard pressed to get a twenty out of me,” she thought.
"Honor me with your wealth, with the first fruits of all your crops; then your barns will be filled to overflowing, and your vats will brim over with new wine."
Prim rolled her eyes. She guessed she would have to tip.
She sat up straighter in her seat and prepared to get her money’s worth.
Tinny music filled the subway car as a pair of dancers overtook the subway poles flipping and spinning to the sound of an unknown eighties rap percussion beat. The tall man and short man duo pop locked and breakdanced all over the place.
When they finished, they received a few lackluster claps after begging for them.
A tiny female dancer was up next. Her bare young face and the bright yellow cap on her head and her baggy boy clothing didn’t look like much. And when she began her routine, she moved slowly and wasn't as athletic as the men.
While their muscles strained with exertion as they twisted and twirled like spiderman on the scaffolding. Her pole dancing was limited to spins and basic tricks but the way she moved her body made you take notice.
The song switched from a no name production to “Back that Azz Up,” by Juvenile featuring Manny Fresh and Lil Wayne.
“Aww, shit,” Prim thought. She grooved in her seat along with several other passengers once the bass line hit.
The girl began to shimmy and shake. When she threw her ass in a circle her little booty bounced but didn’t have the momentum to really clap. Prim was unimpressed.
She reconsidered giving the dancers the twenty-dollar bill from Sean. She wasn’t going to just give them her money. They would have to earn it.
Then the girl lifted her shirt to show off her belly dancing skills. Her undulations and hip thrusts on her firm abdomen oozed sex. Shimmy. Shimmy. Pop. Pop. Prim leaned forward and drank in the sight of her.
Miss Hips Don’t Lie rounded out the performance with a twerk jump. She popped over backwards while twerking into a series of high-flying flips. When the girl was finished, she gasped in shock and clutched at her heaving chest. An energy surged around her proclaiming, “You know you want this.”
Prim was mesmerized. Miss Hips Don’t Lie raw sensuality caused a stirring. “If I could dance like her my body would be a magnet for all the men.” She raised her hands into a slow clap.
She reached into her bra to give the twenty to Miss Hips Don’t Lie, but Mr. Tall Street Performer extended a black top hat, and she dropped it in that instead.
“Hail Clauneck.”
Mr. Tall Street Performer shrugged. “You got to love him.”
For The Showtime Dancers the bill was a significant figure. It stuck out as a win amongst the dollar bills and coins that were their typical offering.
“Thank you, beautiful lady,” Mr. Short Street Performer said to Prim.
Prim smiled at the men. “You’re welcome.”
“Give honor to whom honor is due."
She wanted to tell them they were average, and it was Miss Hips Don’t Lie who made the show. And though the words were on the tip of her tongue she stopped them from falling.
Standing there swallowed in her clothes Miss Hips Don’t Lie looked like a child. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.
Prim felt sorry for her. At least when she was her age, she had college, her mother’s apartment and hope.
Already in the trap shaking her butt with broke men, poor thing.
“Go and make disciples of all nations.”
Prim thought of doing more for Miss Hips Don't Lie. Like giving her a hundred or telling her about the call center. But then she looked at the girl again. She had years to get her life together and Prim was no longer in the helping business.
Mr. Tall Street Performer held up the bill to his short friend. They crowded around Prim wishing her good luck, god’s blessings and safe travels.
They exited the train without Miss Hips Don’t Lie high fiving each other.
Prim basked in the praise and felt cleansed. Her past deeds had been transmuted into something that brought joy to another. She no longer worried about being punished, she had done good. When the train whizzed by, Prim caught Miss Hips Don’ t Lie's eye. “I wish I never saw her. Now I know my dancing skills aren’t up to par,” Prim thought.
Prim exited the 6th Ave street station to transfer to the uptown 2 train feeling like a new woman. She hummed to herself as she scooted down the street.
It was 12pm. Prim decided to skip the gym and head to the bank. She would walk around after checking into the hotel and get her 10,000 steps in.
The line at the bank was long. Weary customers queued up waiting their turn. Prim’s heart began to race when she caught the eye of the off-duty police officer guarding the bank’s door. He listened to a message on his walkie talkie and then looked over at her. Prim lifted her chin and scowled at him hoping to deter any further interaction.
He started towards her.
Prim held her breath.
He stood directly in front of her. “Why do you look so mad? You should smile more.”
Prim flashed him the perfunctory grin all men think they are entitled to when they ask for it.
The officer nodded. “That’s better.”
Typical.
When she reached the counter, she held her breath as the teller completed her transaction. She had silly thoughts of marked bills and being arrested. But nothing happened. She took her deposit slip and marveled at the $4,000 bank balance. Prim had never held that much money in her account. Her meager paycheck was already spent as soon as it was deposited.
This money was the beginning of her wealth. She would get that job and spend this $4,000 as mad money. She would treat herself to facials, microneedling and another bag.
Prim sidestepped tourists marveling at the sights on her way to the hotel. The streets were crowded and the bright lights announcing restaurants and attractions were a dazzling array of wonderment for all ages. This was not the Times Square Prim knew as a child. Gone were the peep shows and the strip clubs, the area was now dedicated to wholesome family fun.
When she arrived at the hotel a mixture of families and working girls sat in the courtyard planning their next sightseeing trip and waiting for their next trick.
Prim welcomed the sight of the women dressed in high heels, red lipstick, heavy black liner and tank dresses amongst the strollers, giggling teenagers and flustered parents.
As much as things change, the more things stay the same.
The addition of the old New York allowed her to feel at home. She was part of the herd. Each member’s presence in the city fitted their individual agenda. She belonged.
She checked into the hotel without incident. The pimply faced blue-eyed early twenties clerk barely registered her presence.
She took the elevator with a man and woman. The man looked down the whole ride and the woman’s heavy rouge and cloying perfume said she was open for business. Prim pitied her. Miss Face Paint looked like she was kissing forty and still doing something strange for change.
Miss Face Paint rolled her eyes at Prim. “We all get it how we live it.”
Prim entered the 300 sq ft with relief. The room wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. There were no mints on the pillow but there was complimentary body wash, and it was Dove.
Prim opened her suitcase and pulled out outfits that were suitable to wear for the interview. The job description on the website was vague. The instructions were to present yourself as you want to be seen. First impressions were crucial and would determine your trajectory.
“I will look at your outward appearance for I know not of your heart.”
But before you could even be interviewed you had to perform a ritual. Prim thought about taking a nap and just showing up.
“Bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings or you will not be accepted.”
Prim pulled out a Ralph Lauren navy blue sheath dress with gold accents and a back zipper. She tried it on. The dress accented her curves but at two inches above the knee was a tad short. The gold Franco Sarto sandals, she had swiped paired beautifully. She nodded her head at her reflection in the closet door mirror. She looked like a brick house. She took a dry run in the room. As she walked, she felt the dress ride up just under her backside.
Not the one.
A Banana Republic cream-colored linen pant suit was the next contender. The outfit was a stretchy eight and she had to lay down to pull up the zipper. The material strained in the front accentuating her lower stomach. She shrugged the jacket on and buttoned it. It was tight at the arms but fit well at the waist. Her gut was concealed with the jacket, but the pant legs clung to her legs like sausage casings and made what should have been a relaxed fit look like leggings.
This wouldn’t do. Skinny cut pants were so last season.
Prim rifled through the clothing until she found a pair of size ten pants. The satin pleated tab pants also from Banana Republic flattered her figure beautifully. With a matching black shell tank top and the gold sandals she was a coordinated woman who knew how to present herself.
She rummaged through the jewelry selection she had helped herself to and settled on small gold hoops, a thick gold herringbone necklace and a Pandora charm bracelet to accessorize her look.
She knew her lips would be Dior Addict Stellar Shine in 857 Iconic Red. They would be her standout feature. The rest of her makeup would be a clean girl beat muted in the background.
That settled. Prim scrolled through Tik Tok and learned all she could about Ozempic. The drug curbed your appetite and if you ate too much you would become nauseous. Prim planned to get in a few good cheat meals before she injected herself and started her new eating plan.
She redressed in a pair of black Nike One biker shorts and an oversized Nike t-shirt and slipped on some white ankle socks and fresh white Air Force 1s courtesy of Sean’s small feet.
She slid her wallet into the Celine bag and set off to the hotel’s business center where she logged onto a computer to print out the ritual instructions from the Rawthchild website.
Butterflies fluttered in Prim's stomach as she read the paper. Seven figures would appear and guide her through the ritual. She wondered who these people would be and what they would do to her.
The ritual had to be held at a park in full sight. Prim walked two and half miles down Broadway to Central Park. Her mind was surprisingly silent, her steps felt sure. She stopped at stores along the way and gathered the necessary materials: candles, flowers, a bag of rice, a knife and some water.
Prim found a spot next to Central Park lake. The area teemed with power walkers, joggers and people enjoying the afternoon in the city’s oasis of nature. Prim ignored the distractions: the clickety clack of the carriage pulling horses, the buzzing and whirring of the cyclists, the cries of the children and focused on her ritual.
She poured the bag of rice into a circle and stood inside of it. She said the words, “Clauneck I beseech you. This is my body partake of it as you will.”
Prim expected the earth to move under her feet, but she felt nothing.
The next step of the ritual required her to shed blood. She tightened her eyes and grimaced and sliced the top layer of her index finger with the knife’s blade until a rivulet flowed. She doted the circle with drops of her crimson essence. Seven in total.
“Hail to the guards of the North, Clauneck is here.” She lit a green candle and stuck it into the mossy ground. It had rained earlier, and the earth yielded.
She repeated the words for each cardinal direction moving counterclockwise.
At the end she lit a black candle and held it. “Clauneck the spirit of wealth and power I call on you. Bless me with your riches, guide me with your hand.”
She recited the words like a mantra over and over seventy-five times until she fell into a kind of trance. Her vision lost acuity along the edges and the background sounds of the park grew quiet and the color of the lake and the trees became crisper.
Her voice faltered as she said the words, but she was loud. A cyclist on a Bianchi bike stopped short in front of Prim. Another man walked by wearing a black T-shirt imprinted with Jordan 23. Prim was startled by the men’s appearance but quickly recovered and gave them a, “Hail Clauneck.”
Mr. Bianchi Bike nodded.
Mr. Jordan 23 scowled at Prim and kept walking. “You doing witchcraft in public? You need Jesus, girl.”
Prim fully expected to be swallowed up after his admonishment but then she remembered The Heckler.
He had come.
Prim’s body surged with anticipation. Something was happening. The world around her shone in technicolor and everything moved slightly in slow motion. The park surged with life and its energy was ripe for her doing. She threw her arms up and drank in this force. She could not lose.
She sat in the middle of her circle with her eyes closed. She breathed in patterns of six. She inhaled for the count of six. Held her breath for a count of six. And then exhaled for a count of six. After six rounds of this breathing her mind quieted and fell silent.
Mr. Bianchi Bike had taken a seat up a nearby hill and sat watching her. The Watcher. He was here.
“Now you must get your price.”
The ritual was closed with an offering of money. She had to use her gifts and talents to attract a donation. The larger the sum given the greater the wealth she would build.
With her eyes still shut, she visualized hundreds of dollars pouring around her. She opened her hands ready to receive her gift. She originally planned on dancing, but at the last minute she decided to sing. She chose to sing “I Will Always Love You,” by Whitney Houston. A difficult selection but a sure-fire crowd pleaser.
She sang to the best of her ability, which wasn’t much. But the instructions said to go out of your comfort zone and really challenge yourself. The energy of Clauneck mixed with the energy of your desire would create a force that could not be denied. You would be able to do things you couldn’t normally do.
She waited for a powerful tone to join in with her voice. She waited to hit high notes and do difficult runs at ease. But it was only her singing warbly and off key. But somehow, she remembered all the words and she sang the bridge and chorus with gusto and feeling.
When she opened her eyes, the man was gone.
He had left before giving her anything, Prim groaned. She was supposed to consider the ritual a failure and go home and forget about any further interaction with Clauneck and the interview.
When she walked by where The Watcher had sat, a quarter shined between the blades of grass. Prim snatched up the coin. It wasn’t the money shower she visualized but it was something. Her determination burst through any emotions of disappointment or rejection. She would make it do.
She flipped the coin in her hand. The ritual said to buy something you loved with the offering. She ducked into store after store until she found a dusty bodega on 9th Avenue that sold her a single tootsie roll.
She tried her best to savor the candy, but it tasted like it came from the Clinton era. But it was chocolate and she loved that.
On her way back to the hotel, Prim looked for signs of Clauneck. She wanted the assurance that everything had gone well. Instead, she received a text message from Sean “Call me now,” followed by an emergency emoji.
She hadn’t blocked him. She didn’t want to lose tabs on him. She ignored his message and the follow-up call, regulating his phone number to be silent.
Sean was The Forgotten.
She wasn’t worried about him anymore. If push came to shove, she would say he gave her the items in exchange for sex.
It was 3pm, and Prim was hungry. She decided to stop Joe’s Pizza for two slices and a soda. The line for the famed pizzeria stretched around the block. A swarm of hungry customers waited patiently for the thin crisp slice with the tangy sauce and melted just right mozzarella.
After about ten minutes of waiting Prim’s stomach began to protest its emptiness. There were plenty of restaurants in the area, so Prim contemplated going somewhere else.
A toddler seated in a stroller dropped her toy without her mother noticing. Prim stepped out of line to retrieve the toy goat for the child. An action that surprised her.
"Thank you," the child said. Prim smiled at the child and felt good.
Goats were Clauneck’s symbol, and she considered the appearance of one as a sign. She quieted her mind to connect to his presence.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a woman walked by and talked loudly about her upcoming 75th birthday. 75. Clauneck’s number.
Prim told her she was fabulous.
Miss Fabo looked pleased and replied she hoped Prim had a smashing day.
The Innocents had said hello.
“If you pass the same tree twice in a forest you are lost.”
“What?” Prim thought and before she could ask another question, she heard someone calling her name.
“Prim. Prim.”
She didn’t have to crane her neck to find out who that voice belonged to. It was Jerome. Prim hadn’t heard from him for weeks. And if she had any sense, she would have walked away to send him a message and preserve her dignity. Instead, she floated towards him to the front of the line. With her hands on hips she called out, “Where have you been?”
“Easy, ma,” he said. He gestured with his hands to turn down the volume. His lazy smile revealed sharp white teeth. His baby oil coated biceps glistened in a white wife beater. He reached over and pulled her into an embrace. Lord, did he smell good. The pressure of his body against hers and the scent of his Creed cologne made her forget she was supposed to be mad at him. She contemplated asking him to come with her back to her hotel room so they could reconnect.
On the restaurant's radio, “Ex Factor,” by Lauryn Hill played. Prim sang along to the lyrics as she looked at Jerome. She made a silent wager. If he doesn’t offer to pay, then she’s through with him.
When it was their turn to order, Jerome stepped up first. He ordered two slices and a soda for himself. He paid the cashier and stepped aside for Prim to do the same.
Prim huffed. “That’s it,” she muttered but then he put his arm around her and the feel of his velvety brown skin against hers made everything all better.
There was seating across the street in the Broadway Pedestrian Plaza. With a motion of his head, Sean gestured for Prim to follow him. And she did. Prim took a seat in the shadiest area she could find. She bit into her slice of pizza and sipped her Welch’s grape soda. The perfectly charred slice and the crisp sweet soda tasted just right.
After a few minutes of silent chewing Jerome finally spoke. He was never good with words, he usually let his body do the talking for him. “I know I’ve been MIA. But I’ve had some family issues, and I needed to take some time for myself.”
“Whack ass Negro,” Prim thought.
Whenever she needed him, someone else’s pull was stronger, or he was going through something worse himself. She was prepared to hear that his grandmother had woken up and died again.
Or like the time she had been locked out in the rain and called him for help because he lived two blocks away, he told her later he had had a bad stomachache and couldn’t answer the phone.
And this time, Prim had been explicit. She had left several detailed messages explaining the dire straits of her situation.
You know who’s there for you in times of trouble and Selena was late and Jerome was nonexistent.
“All you fair weather friends have skipped town without giving you a second thought.”
Prim heard that. Jerome was no one to rely on except for that one thing. She had an hour to spare, and he was quick. Breakup sex is the best sex, and she needed it. An image popped in her head of tangled sheets and sweated out weave. Her pulse quickened and her thighs moistened. Her body craved him.
Jerome looked her up and down. “You look good. That’s why I didn’t worry about you. I knew you would figure it out. You’re a strong independent black woman.”
"Mules and oxen are strong, and they are beasts of burden, nothing to be cared for."
Jerome took note of her new Apple Series 8 watch, bag and sneakers. “How did you get yourself out of that situation? I’m kind of in a jam myself. You think you could help a brother out?” His hand traveled up her bare thigh and stopped right at her spot a move that would usually say game, set, match.
Her thighs parted and she was ready to say let’s go.
“Listen with your mind and not your body.”
But then he kept talking about her come up and how much he needed a woman like her on his team.
Her attraction to Jerome fizzled with each word. He no longer felt sexy and charismatic. He was slimy and receptive.
Jerome’s body danced as he spoke. With his hands clasped in front of him while biting his lower lip he nailed the coffin into their relationship. “If you just hold me down until payday. That would be what’s up.”
“For each shall carry their own load.”
Prim had heard enough. Clauneck was right. Here she was risking it all and this vulture came upon her talking about helping him out. She stood up, brushed the crumbs off her dress and threw the peace sign. She was out.
Her posture lengthened. Her back was ramrod straight. She tucked her butt in. She didn’t even want him to have the pleasure of watching her behind jiggle and sway as she did her walk away. She didn’t have to explain herself. There was no need to apologize. Or do any other people-pleasing tactic to make his discomfort in his actions hers.
"Well done, my faithful servant. Your appearance is pleasing to Me.”
Jerome was The Discarded. Only one more energy to confront and the ritual was complete. Next up was either The Damned or The Famed.
Prim had almost faltered with Jerome. Would Prim master this energy or will she stumble and be swallowed?
Stay Tuned…