Bell Bottom High: Book 3: Junior Jewels Read online

  BELL BOTTOM HIGH

  Book 3:

  Junior Jewels

  B.J. Williams

  Tallahassee, FL

  Copyright © July 2017

  By: B.J. Williams

  Bell Bottom High

  Book 3: Junior Jewels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer.

  Published by:

  Amani Publishing, LLC

  P. O. Box 12045

  Tallahassee, FL 32317

  (850) 264-3341

  Contact me on social media at:

  Email: [email protected]

  Facebook/Instagram: B.J. Williams

  Cover photo courtesy of: Shutterstock.com

  Cover designed by: Adrienne Thompson

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the young readers who want to know about life in the seventies compared to life today. And to the adults who can still remember those days.

  B.J. Williams

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  “Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me!” I sang to myself on Saturday, October 18, 1975. The smell of Mama’s bacon, coffee, and homemade buttermilk biscuits made my empty stomach growl. I rolled my slim body out of the twin-sized bed, planted my bare feet on the hardwood floor, and did a bouncy dance. Since it was a Saturday morning and the most special day of the year, I was as lively as the bright sun shining through my bedroom window. After all, a girl could only turn sweet sixteen once. Only I was more ecstatic about being old enough to date than I was about the actual birthday. Not that I had anyone in mind, but just the fact that I could “take company” at the house, as my parents put it, and maybe go out on a group date, was a major milestone in my young life.

  The only guy who had ever liked me, Henry Turnipseed, had graduated last semester with my youngest brother, Joshua, and moved on to the University of Arkansas in Pine Bluff. He’d gotten up the nerve to suggest we go on a date last year, but my brother and parents wouldn’t even let me entertain the idea. They still treated me like I was a lap baby. Now I’m old enough to date, and Henry is gone. Oh, well, he’s probably dating some college girl by now.

  Staring at the life-sized poster of Michael Jackson on my wall like I did every morning, I wondered what it would be like to date a superstar like him. I loved everything about the teenaged singer: the way he sounded, the way he dressed, the way he danced, the way he held his head when he talked. As the youngest member of the Jackson Five, he always stood out in front of his brothers. I liked them all: Marlon, Tito, Jackie, and Jermaine, but Michael would forever be my favorite Jackson. He has the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen on anyone except for Henry. I never realized how much they looked alike when Henry wasn’t wearing those huge, bifocal glasses.

  Shrugging off thoughts of my former admirer, I hurried to the bathroom and handled my business. It was great being the only child at home since my brothers, Tyrone and Joshua, were gone. I didn’t have to fight with them for access to the hall bathroom or worry about falling in the toilet because one of them left the seat up. It was just for Grandma and me to share now, since Mom and Dad had their own private bathroom. I looked in the mirror at my pimple-free face. Wow! That Noxzema stuff really worked. It smelled horrible, but it worked. Now I don’t have to worry about being teased so much this semester. Now, if I can just gain some weight and get rid of these super skinny legs, maybe someone will like me.

  Happy to be at the magical age for wearing make-up, I pulled out the powder compact, blusher, mascara, and lipstick I’d purchased a week ago from the dollar store but had been saving for this day. Taking my time, I applied each one like I’d seen the women do in the magazines and the older girls do at school in the bathroom between classes. Although the color of the powder was a shade too light for my face, I tried blending it in the best I could. Too bad I can’t afford that Fashion Fair make-up they show in Essence magazine. They have lots of shades for black women.

  After applying the final touches to my make-up, I entered the hallway looking like a mature young lady. At least that was what I thought until my father eyed me suspiciously, and said, “Baby, what happened to your face? You look just like a clown.”

  Filled with embarrassment, I rushed back into the bathroom and washed off every trace of the cosmetics.

  Minutes later when I emerged from my sanctuary, Mama was standing in the doorway with her arms folded across her small chest, wearing a flower-printed housedress. She was petite-sized with a large-sized voice. She was smiling at me like a mother who was proud to have a teenaged daughter trying to be grown-up for the first time. “Girl, why did you let your father get to you like that? He don’t know nothing about no make-up.”

  “Ah, I was just experimenting with it. I think I had on too much, anyway,” I replied, trying to hide my true feelings.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out after we eat breakfast.” Mama gave me a hug, and asked, “Guess what we’re going to do today?”

  I looked surprised, because I really was. “I don’t know, Mama. What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, since it’s such a beautiful day, I’m going to take you to get your hair done, and then we’re going shopping. How does that sound?”

  The expression on my face told Mom all she needed to know. “It sounds like fun. What are you going to get done to my hair?”

  Eyeing my unevenly-shaped afro, Mama replied, “I think it might be time for a good ole press n’ curl.”

  “What?” I asked, bulging my eyes. That wasn’t what I had in mind. I preferred to get my natural shaped up or get some small braids put in, not the traditional hot press with the straightening comb. The last time I’d let Mom try that, I ended up with both ears burnt and crusted for days.

  Mama seemed to sense my hesitation. “Don’t worry, Charlene knows what she’s doing. She won’t burn you like I did. Now come on and eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

  Mama turned from me and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. She’d said all there was to say, and I knew better than to say anything else. Backtalk was not acceptable in our home. But in the back of my mind, I thought, Whenever Mama says don’t worry, there’s usually something to worry about.

  Being an obedient child, I followed Mama to the kitchen, sat at the table, and prayed that it would be a good sixteenth birthday. As much as I’d dreamed about having a party on this special occasion, it was out of the question considering I only had a handful of friends, and we were almost as poor as the Flintstones.

  Less than an hour later, we were headed out the front door for a day of shopping after a stop at Ms. Charlene’s home-based salon. I had one of my favorite books in hand to keep me company in case we had to wait awhile at the shop. Sure, the kids teased me about being a bookworm, but that was fine with me, because I was going to be the next Maya Angelou. There would be at least two famous black women from the state of Arkansas if I had anything to do with it.

  As luck would have it, I was Ms. Charlene’s first customer of the day. Mom and I walked around to the side entrance at the rear of the house where the salon was located. Swinging the door open, Ms. Charlene, a full-sized lady with gray hair along her temples, greeted me
with a big hug and a happy birthday song.

  “How you doing, big girl? I haven’t seen you since you were knee high to a grasshopper,” she bellowed. I noticed how Ms. Charlene’s whole body shook when she laughed. The smell of Royal Crown hair grease and stale burnt hair filled the air.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, scratching my nose. Ms. Charlene already had the hot plate plugged into the wall and heating up for the straightening comb.

  “Yeah, your mama told me that you been doing real good in school. I’m real proud of you, baby. Come on over here and have a seat in my chair,” she said, patting the back of the salon’s chair. “Ms. Charlene is gonna fix you up real nice today.” She smiled, flashing two gold teeth. “It’s not every day that a girl turns sixteen.”

  Easing my tiny behind into the lowered chair, I watched Mom as she picked up a copy of Jet magazine and took a seat in the folding chair. I closed my eyes and tensed my shoulders as Ms. Charlene pulled the metal pick through my kinky afro. “Girl, you got a thick head of hair. It’s gone look real pretty when I’m done, though.” Ms. Charlene threw her head back, releasing a loud laugh. “You know a woman’s hair is her glory!”

  *

  I entered the house following Mama’s footsteps around five o’clock that evening with my bottom lip poked out. While I’d enjoyed the shopping trip and was looking forward to unpacking my new bell bottom jeans, baby doll top, wool sweater, and All Star sneakers, I wasn’t happy with my fresh, pressed hairstyle. Ms. Charlene had my jet black hair fried, dyed, and laid to the side in the front with candy curls in the back, but it wasn’t what I wanted. “See, I told you that Charlene wouldn’t burn you,” Mama said, smiling at me. “You look like a little princess for sure.”

  For Mama, I managed to fake a smile. She seemed so happy that I found it hard to disappoint her. After all, it had cost her a good twenty dollars to have this done. That was almost a full day’s pay from her job at the garment factory. Mama had been working there for almost twenty years and took pride in her work. She didn’t believe in throwing money away on frivolous things unless it was a special occasion like my birthday. “How do you like it?” Mama asked.

  “Ah, I like it fine,” I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back. That was what my brothers had told me to do whenever I told a lie, and then it wouldn’t be a lie anymore. I didn’t understand the logic behind their thinking, but since I didn’t want to be condemned to hell for lying to my Mama, I followed their instructions. “I’m going to take my presents to my room now, if you don’t mind,” I stated, rushing down the hall. I didn’t want to risk Mama seeing the look of disappointment on my face.

  “Okay, sweetie. I’m going to check on your grandma,” Mama replied, following me down the hall.

  I hadn’t been in my room for ten minutes before the telephone rang. “I’ll get it,” I yelled, running out of my room. “Hello, Jones residence.”

  “Happy birthday! Girl, where have you been all day? I’ve been calling you and calling you.”

  “Hi, Joyce. Mom took me to get my hair done this morning, and then we went shopping.”

  “Well, you could have called your best friend to share your birthday with you. I’ve got some news I’m dying to tell you.”

  “What news? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t tell you over the phone. I’m coming over to spend the night with you, if that’s okay with your mom. And I’m bringing your present with me.”

  “Hold on a second, and let me ask my mom if it’s all right. You know, she’s probably going to say yes, but I still have to ask.” Placing a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, I yelled out, “Mom, is it okay if Joyce comes over and spends the night with us?”

  Opening the door to Grandma’s bedroom, Mama replied, “Yes, baby, she’s welcome to come over anytime.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Did you hear that, Joyce?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way. See you in a minute.”

  I was so happy, I started clapping and doing the bouncy dance like I’d done first thing this morning. Even though Joyce and I were different and had had our share of disagreements, we were still best friends, and nothing could or would come between us. I wonder what Joyce got me for my birthday and what’s the big news that she’s got for me. Oh, well, I’ll find out soon enough.

  Just as I was returning to my room, I heard Grandma Gladys calling my name. As much as I loved Grandma, I wanted to go hang up my new clothes before Joyce made it over. But I pushed the door to Grandma’s room open and stuck my head in. “Yes, Grandma, did you call me?”

  “Hey, baby, come on in and talk to your grandma for a minute.” Grandma Gladys motioned for me to enter the room with a wave of her hand. She was sitting up in her rocking chair right in front of the television set. Since her cataract surgery had gone well last year that was her favorite place in the house, whether the television was on or not. She would sit there staring at it while rocking back and forth until she decided to turn it on.

  “I’ve barely seen you for a minute all day,” Grandma said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She wore her soft, long gray hair parted down the center with two big plaits on each side of her head. Grandma was part Cherokee and looked like it. At seventy-seven years old, her body was severely wrinkled, but her mind was as smooth as the bottom of a cast iron skillet. She remembered family stuff even I had forgotten.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Grandma. It’s just been a busy day. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” I stepped in the room, went straight to Grandma, and hugged her thin neck.

  “That’s okay, baby. I know this is a special birthday for you with you turning sixteen and all. You’re a real lady, now, and you’re beautiful just like your mama was at your age.” Grandma smiled with pride. She held on to my hand, patting it gently.

  “Thanks, Grandma. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

  “Well, what have you got to feel bad about, baby?” Grandma asked, eyeing me. “Don’t you like your new hairdo?”

  Making a squinty face, I replied, “It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but it’s what Mama wanted.”

  Grandma laughed, and said, “I knew you didn’t like it. Turn around.”

  I did as asked while she admired my hairstyle “I think it’s pretty, baby. You’ll be all right. Just wait a few days and wash it out. Your mom will understand.”

  “Thanks, Grandma, you always have my back.” I gave her another quick hug and tried to rush out the room.

  “Hold on just a minute, now. You know, Grandma got you a little something for your birthday. It’s not much, but I picked it up for you last week.”

  “Oh, Grandma, you didn’t have to do that. I know you’re on a fixed income and need all of your money just to buy medicine.”

  “Don’t you be worrying about all that, I’ve never missed giving you a birthday present since you were born, and I’m not about to start now. Look in that drawer over there, and pull out that little box sitting on top,” Grandma said, pointing a finger toward the foot of her bed at the white vanity table with a mirror and a chair slid underneath it. The antique table was Grandma’s favorite piece of furniture. She spent time sitting over there every night while brushing her long, gray hair for a hundred strokes.

  I did as she instructed and returned with a blue velvet ring box. I opened it to find an opal and sterling silver ring from Avon. My heart flooded with warmth. “Oh, Grandma, thank you so much. This is just what I wanted, a birthstone ring. It’s so pretty!”

  “I’m glad you like it, baby. I told Patsy I wanted something real nice for your birthday, and when she showed me that ring in the catalog, I knew it was yours. Go ahead and try it on.”

  I eased the piece of jewelry out of the box and slipped it over the ring finger on my left hand. I smiled and stretched out my fingers for Grandma to admire it. “Oh, that’s gorgeous,” Grandma said, smiling up at me. “Don’t forget to read the card that came with it.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I resp
onded, pulling out the tiny card. “It says here that the opal is a symbol of hope, health, and wealth.” My heart swelled up with love as the tears formed in the corners of my eyes. Although it wasn’t an expensive ring, I knew Grandma had probably used her medicine money to buy me a special gift. Dropping to my knees, I reached over and gave her a tight hug. Leaning over her right ear, I whispered, “I’ll always love you, Grandma.”

  “Well, I reckon I’ll always love you, too.”

  Grabbing the box, I stood up and headed out the room. Sweet sixteen had just gotten sweeter even without a big party.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Happy birthday to my best friend in the whole wide world,” Joyce exclaimed, strutting her shapely body through the front door. She handed me a flat, gift-wrapped box with a big white bow on it. We hugged one another and giggled like we’d done a million times before in the same spot. We would never be mistaken for sisters given that we were physically different. I was average height and thin with a brown (usually pimpled) complexion while Joyce was under average height and meaty with a dark (usually smooth) complexion. However, we would always be sisters in spirit.

  After we released one another, Joyce narrowed her eyes, pointed to me, and asked, “Is that make-up on your face?”

  “Yes,” I replied, batting my eyes. “My mom helped me put it on. It looked nice at first, but my skin is so oily, it’s starting to run off now.”

  Snatching the present with one hand, I pulled Joyce down the hallway toward my bedroom with the other hand. “Come on, let’s go to my room.”

  “Girl, I can’t wait for you to open my present so I can share my news with you.”

  Without responding to Joyce, I tore into the package as soon as I closed the door to my bedroom. In seconds, the pretty wrappings were torn and discarded on the floor. I looked at the colorful new book in my hand, and asked, “How did you know this was what I wanted?”