She's Gotta Have It

The black female form.

Wide-hipped and honey-dipped under the sun

and under the constant gaze

of "mennnnn-y."

Many.

I've always wanted to paint Shemekka,

that special brand of Brooklyn brown, BK all day.

Never apologizing for the suck of her teeth,

the snap of her neck,

or how she moves her black female form through the world.

Zero fucks given.

- - Remember? 2006.

Crown Heights house party.

Mad niggas! DJ was fiyah.

I was on the dance floor,

- winin', killin' it... -

...when this crazy broad spilled her drink on me.

I did not. You bumped into me. Now, pose.

I almost bust that ass.

But I took mercy on you, and look at us now.

You nostalgic ass! Enough memories, dance hall queen.

Make me look amazin'.

So Nadia's father, he can see what he missin'.

What?

I'm serious. Pussy all act

like I'm crazy just 'cause I don't want my child

around his big-booty-havin' freak of the week.

"Freak of the week"? Didn't they just move in together?

So? Ain't official till she take his last name.

Even then, my daughter is not calling that bitch "Mommy."

Ooh!

Maybe this little painting

can be my little "fuck you" housewarming gift, right?

- Let me see. - Not yet.

- "Not yet." - Oh, God.

I finally get painted by the one and only Nola Darling,

and she won't let me see that shit

that's gonna make a nigga wish

- he ain't jet for no big booty bitch. - You need to cut it.

Maybe "Iyanla: Fix That Anger,"

and I told you, this painting is for the Catlett Prize.

The what-let prize?

Elizabeth Catlett. It's a grant for visual artists.

They usually go for more feminist work, hence the portrait.

They only choose three artists,

but it's 15 stacks if they choose me.

Wow.

But ain't nobody choosing me

if your ass don't keep still. Shit.

- Fine. Just remember to... - I know, long and silky. I got you.

Can't get my silky sewn till next week.

Winny wanna be givin' me umpteen jobs to do,

and it be one damn check.

Maybe when you get your 15 Gs...

No, no, no, no, no.

If I get it, I'm payin' five months' rent in advance,

and then I'm paintin' all damn day and night.

I'm tired of this hustle.

- Let's go. - Are you serious?

"My name ain't damn sure ain't no Muthafuckin' Black Bit..."

What the fuck?

Defacin' shit, man.

Catch this motherfucker, man.

You can always be artistic down at the Hot N Trot.

Ay!

Ow!

- Cramp? - No. This is where he grabbed me.

- Fuck. Bad enough he bruised you. - Mm.

- You got cloves? - In the cabinet.

I already put ice on it. Oh, my goodness. I can't.

We need to preserve that hand, ma.

- That's 15 stacks right there. -

No, seriously.

You okay? You ain't said nothin' since it happened.

I'm fine. It's like I told Clo, I'm moving forward.

Mm-hm?

I am.

You tell these dudes you seein' what happened?

I will, eventually.

You should tell 'em.

If they're not just some jump-offs, they should know.

Ah!

It's not finished.

- It's beautiful, right? - Look at my eyes.

What?

You couldn't make my ass a little bigger?

Are you for real?

I already agreed to this fake phantom-ass weave.

I agreed to pose. That's the least you could do.

The least I could do is paint something realistic.

What the fuck that mean?

Did I, um... make a mistake

confidin' a certain bit of information to you?

If I'd known you'd have been all judgy...

Hold the fuck up.

You're not going through with it, though.

I told you, I'm thinkin' about it.

Look, it's not like I said

I was gonna sign up for She Ass'd For It!

- - And this is TV's only competition

where contestants get to compete

for a complete booty overhaul.

- - Yes!

What?

Don't make that face.

I told you I wasn't gonna do it.

Good.

The show, I mean.

Oh, my God. You do not need to do that shit to your body.

- It's not up to you, boo. - But you're already gorgeous.

I never said I wasn't. I just...

Wait. You mean to tell me

that if I had a magic wand

and I change anything about your body,

that you wouldn't want nothin' tweaked?

- No. - Blood clot.

I'm serious. I accept what I got and what I don't got.

I got no ass.

Me come from yard, land of big batty gyal,

and God come and take my damn Jamaican birthright.

Why don't you do some squats?

If one more person tellin' me to do a damn squat...

It doesn't work.

If you've got a flat ass like me,

it just makes your ass flatter.

- It just seems so unnecessary. - To you.

- What about Nadia? - What about her?

It's hard enough for little black girls

bein' told they're ugly and they're not pretty enough.

What if Nadia sees you changing your body

and starts to think something's wrong with hers?

I told you it was somethin' I was thinkin' about,

- but if you can't support me... - Oh, my goodness!

Chill. Don't be so dramatic.

I may not agree with this shit,

but you're my girl for life. Right?

From womb to tomb?

Birth to earth.

- Salty ass. - And don't tell Clo neither.

I won't.

Don't need her nosy, uppity ass in my biz.

Yes, right there.

Pardon me. Pardon me, miss.

Uh, I-I'm sorry. Do you live in this brownstone?

Yeah, I mean, no, but I live in Brooklyn.

Who are you here to see?

You the bouncer of the block or some shit?

I just asked you a simple question.

- Don't take a tone. - I don't even know you, a'ight?

You ain't even from Brooklyn. I'm from Brooklyn.

- You're from Jersey, right? - Excuse me. No, I live in Brooklyn.

I am a new homeowner in the new Fort Greene.

What? In the new Fort Greene?

This shit ain't new. This is still the same Fort Greene.

- Y'all motherfuckers just decided... - You have no manners,

- incredibly rude! - ...wanted to partake!

But we're still here. Stop comin' at me like that.

Take you and your twin, and keep walkin'.

How the fuck you look like your dog?

- Go to hell! - Hi, Bianca.

- Bye, Bianca. What up, Nola? - Talk to your friend.

I wanna see where she live. Look. Yup! Right next door.

Yo, Bianca! I might come knockin' on your door. A'ight?

Hope you got fuckin' wine and cheese.

Well, she just bought the brownstone next door,

but why are we talkin' about her? I missed you.

- Yeah? - Yeah.

- For real, for real? - For real.

Yo!

Whoo! "My name isn't Ay Yo Ma."

That's dope. That's you?

- Mm-hm. - Yo, ma, can I cop one?

Don't you "Ay, yo, ma!" out in them streets?

Yeah, I have, like, once or twice. A dozen times, I don't know.

But me coppin' one means

I'm a conscious black Boricua man, right?

They're not for sale.

Sharpie to black book, duly noted.

Matter of fact, could you please not tell anyone I made them?

- Why not? - Um, because it's illegal and...

it's personal. I made them and put them up after some...

- guy grabbed me up down the block. - What?

My God, Nola. I knew you were angry with me,

but you should've called.

- When did this happen? - When did this happen?!

You gotta call the cops.

You gotta learn jiujitsu!

You gotta let me beat his ass.

See, that's why I didn't want to say anything.

I knew you were gonna blow it way out of proportion.

Wh-What were you doin' outside, at night, alone?

Yo, who is this trick-ass motherfucker?

First off, I'm allowed to walk home alone,

at night, by myself, thank you.

And second, I don't know, just some asshole

who kept yelling, "Ay, yo, ma!"

Yo, if I ever see that fool...

I'm sorry this happened.

You gonna be a'ight?

Yeah.