She's Gotta Have It

Truth be told, 2016 was just a fucked-up year.

And the bogus election was the biggest fuck-up of all time.

2016, you bitch, you robbed us of Muhammad Ali,

Prince, David Bowie, Maurice White,

Rod Temperton, Leonard Cohen, Natalie Cole, George Martin,

Phife Dawg, Harper Lee, Bill "Radio Raheem" Nunn,

Afeni Shakur,

and too many more to mention in this moment of time and space.

God bless.

2016, you motherfucker.

Well, you did make me reflect on the noble folks who have inspired me,

and today, I pay homage and give thanks to them.

In closing, this pilgrimage has me thinking about my own transition.

I might get cremated, my gray ashes spread over my beloved Fort Greene Park.

I love you all dearly, except D.T.

Settle down! Okay!

All right, I appreciate all of you coming out tonight, I do.

Thank you. There is one final order of business.

So, as you may know,

some heartless thug has been defacing our homes and our businesses

with a large green "G."

For "gentrification." Don't leave that part out.

Graffiti was here before us. It'll be here after we're gone.

Say word!

Mr. Max, are you suggesting we just

accept the defacement of our brownstones?

No, I'm saying we have bigger fish to fry.

Like... why have they kicked all of the black and brown men

out of Fort Greene Park simply for playing soccer?

- There were noise complaints. - Oh, yeah, right.

However, right now, we are talking about vandalism.

- And it is clear who the culprit is. - Who?

Papo.

Naw, uh-uh! You got that wrong, okay? You got the wrong Dominican!

- Bianca, really? Come on. - Leave the man alone.

No, he clearly has an agenda to scare the newer neighbors in Fort Greene.

- Papo is a part of this community. - He's the mayor of our block.

He's not my mayor. I did not vote for Papo.

- There goes the problem. - The man is a mental case.

You're right, Bianca. Papo does have mental issues.

He's seen all kinds of horrible things in Afghanistan,

defending the red, white, and blue for everyone here,

in BK and in the US of A.

- Yes, Papo! - All right, calm down.

I hear you, Nola, and I respect anyone who serves.

- But the man's a vagrant. - No, he is an artist.

- Un artista. - Have you even seen his work?

No, I haven't, but I have smelled the mess he's made out of my garbage.

He does leave quite a mess.

We paid a lot to have our vestibule renovated,

- and to see it covered in trash... - Oh! The terror! The trashy mess!

Children starving the world over!

Patriarchy staining young minds and vaginas!

The FBI classifies Black Lives Matter as a hate group!

Black lives matter!

White lives... Sorry! All lives matter!

Black lives matter!

All lives matter!

Black lives matter!

- Stop it, please! - Can I say somethin'?

Stokes, please.

I, for one, did not come here to gang up on Miss Tate.

Thank you.

Sure, her designer panties are tightly bound.

- That's no secret. - But...

it's our differences that make Fort Greene great.

The new folks, you gonna keep on comin'.

And the old heads, well, we ain't goin' nowhere.

- That's right. - That's right.

But we have to... Excuse me. We have got to find a way to make it work.

We should have a potluck dinner, and we should use the day

to get to know each other better.

- What do you say? - I wanna ask a question. I-I just...

I-I wanna ask a question.

Yes, Mr. Darling, the floor is yours.

Okay, this'll be the last thing I'm gonna say.

To be or not to be?

That is the motherfuckin' question.

Most of the people I grew up with moved away after college.

And who can blame 'em?

You go away to get a degree,

only to come home and pay three times the rent?

And yet, you've vigilantly remained.

Brooklyn's home. I ain't leavin'.

No matter how much it changes or how broke I get.

Being broke, that ain't no joke.

What I meant to say is that you are carrying a lot on your shoulders.

Your financial struggles, your friend Shemekka...

- She's doing a lot better. - God bless.

But what about you?

- You had that tough review. - I'm okay.

Okay, I'm fine, but... it isn't just the review.

My whole art life is just in struggle mode.

I'm creating all the time, but I can't help wondering

if I'm ever gonna make it as an artist or if I'm just gonna end up like Papo.

He's my friend. He was an Afghan war vet.

Damn good artist in high school, but just couldn't survive the changes.

That's an understandable fear.

Would you feel more secure if, uh, you didn't have to juggle

your art aspirations and your many relationships?

You say that like you think they're a distraction.

But can you focus with three boyfriends?

They're not my boyfriends.

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. "Lovers," in addition to Opal.

That's... four.

I admit I may have slipped up and called one by the other's name,

but I never confuse their energies.

Is their energy feeding your voice as an artist?

- All bring something different out. - Tell me about that.

Mars makes me laugh until my sides hurt. We just have fun together, you know?

He makes me feel like a kid again.

- Greer? - Greer is spontaneous,

surprisingly cultured.

Nothing is ever the same with him. Definitely not the sex.

- Jamie? - It's a little more, um... intricate.

Oh, of course, of course. The estranged wife.

It was convenient at first.

Him taking my broke ass to The River Café?

Buying my art when no one else would?

But then... something shifted.

I care about him.

And he cares about me in a way that... no one ever has.

Not even your parents?

Jamie's grown. I like that energy. He's a very nurturing parent.

A father figure.

Same thing with Opal. She's the kind of woman I aspire to be.

Well, you'll get there, in your own time.

It sounds like, all together, your lovers make the perfect mate.

But you don't think that's smart.

- I didn't say that. - I got it all under wraps, Doc Jamison.

For one, Opal's not even a problem. I never see anyone more than twice a week,

no two lovers in one day, no sex without a condom,

and no sex if it ain't in my lovin' bed.

Got a lot of rules there.

Gotta maintain some kinda control.

Or what? Let's go back to your art opening.

- Do we have to? That was weeks ago. - I know, I know,

and I know it was tough, but I think it's a great opportunity

for us to examine your ability to maintain control.

- Or lack thereof. - How'd it feel having all your lovers

- in one space? - Bananas!

Like I was putting out a lot of fires.

And what would have happened if you just...

let the fires burn?

- I couldn't do that. - But this was your big night.

And instead of being present for your art...

I chose to put out the fires.

Fuck.

Don't beat yourself up, Nola.

You...

are a vibrant...

black and beautiful...

young female artist.

- You should be enjoying your life. - But isn't it time I grew up?

You know, responsibilities and shit?

Saturn's return means

I could be making major decisions that could impact the rest of my life,

like who I end up with.

And I'm over here putting out fires?

I don't want you to feel pressured to choose, but the reality is...

that each lover will most likely want more of your time and heart and soul.

But what will you have left for yourself? For your art?

Can I make a suggestion? Opal was always very transparent with you.

Maybe it's time to take a page out of her book.

Maybe full disclosure will help lift this burden that you've been carrying...

help you steer clear of making your male lovers a three-headed monster.

A three-headed monster.

If the truth hurts...

so be it.

Give me a big slide, my supergirl! Oh!

Oh, goodness, when did you get so big, huh?

Mmm. You know I love you more than anythin', right?

- Yeah. - I love you, Nadia.

- I love you too, Mommy. - Mm. Give me a big kiss. Mwah!

- Ready to play again? - Yes.

Okay, let's go.

Mekka!

What's good, killah?

Painting. No boys today. It's all about this work.

- Good for you. - How you feelin'?

Grindin', tryin' to get some bills paid.

Oh. If a lady named Carmelita gives you a call,

I was your assistant for, like, a year.

I was very polite, always on time, and mad stylish.

I'm glad you're... You know, I'm glad.

Come on, Nola, man. Don't get all emo on me again.

We almost lost you.

I can't be happy that my hustlin'-ass friend

is back from the dead?

Don't say "ass."

Naw, but seriously, you know I'm the bounce-back queen.

I got a baby to raise. So, if that lady calls, hook it up.

I need the shmoney, bad.

You know they're hiring lunch staff at Tubman, right?

Bitch, Harriet Tubman ain't free us

to be slingin' no sloppy joes to no bad-ass kids.

- Harriet ain't want that for me. - Black girl booty magic!

- Hello? You still there? - Black girl booty magic!

Yeah. Uh, let me give you a call right back.

A'ight.