Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble, and Coming of Age in the Bro by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc Page A
Authors: Adrian Nicole LeBlanc
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she’d say, or, “Don’t you be calling my husband.” Boy George would learn of her defiance and yell, “What are you doing beeping my girls back? You’re not allowed to beep my girls back.”
If George was in the shower, she would jot down the numbers from his beeper screen and dial the girls up a few days later. It was an old habit she couldn’t resist. “Is Georgie there?” she’d ask in her sexiest voice.
“George? Who’s this?”
“I’m his girl. He told me if I needed to reach him I could call him here.”
If a girl paged him on a beeper that he’d left at home, Jessica returned the call immediately. “Hello?” the girl asked expectantly. Jessica let the hope dangle before hanging up.
After Boy George’s exotic trips, the calls would pour in.
“Is John there?” the latest girl would ask.
“No, he’s not, may I take a message?”
“You his sister?”
“No,” Jessica would answer, pausing, “I’m a friend. ”
In phone conversations with these girls, George sounded like the George who’d whisked her away from Tremont on that first date—mannered, attentive, confident. To one girl who expressed interest in seeing him, he said coyly, “Well, if you could put up with me.” Jessica wanted to grab the receiver and scream, Bitch, if I can’t put up with him, you gotta be fucking Wonder Woman! But she just kept quiet, listening in. A girl who did confront her boyfriend was likely to be reminded that there was plenty of pussy everywhere.
Jessica knew when George had a date: he wore slacks instead of jeans. “Why don’t you just wear jeans if you going out with the boys?” she’d tentatively inquire.
“Why don’t you fucking shut the fuck up?” he’d reply.
Jessica understood the consequence of breaking George’s rules—vicious beatings—but she broke his rules fairly regularly. She knew a beating had been bad if she came to consciousness at his mother’s; George brought her there because Rita worked at a hospital. Jessica would wake to Rita’s frowning face. “What did you do this time?” Rita would whisper; she also feared her son. When there was serious damage, such as the time George cracked Jessica’s skull, he turned her over to a private doctor who was paid generously in cash. Jessica called the doctor for otherhealth-related problems, such as the time the twins had diarrhea that nothing seemed to cure. The doctor always asked after George, whom he jokingly called “the old baby.”
George threatened Jessica with worse beatings than those he’d already administered. “If I can trust you, I can kill you,” he was fond of saying. Jessica knew what he was capable of. That June, the word was that he’d set up Todd Crawford, one of his employees. As witnesses later told it, George had heard that Todd was planning to rob an old friend of George’s named Snuff. Snuff and George had been classmates at Morris High School together; now Snuff dealt crack at George’s lucrative 122nd Street spot. Snuff was one of the few people George’s own age whom he considered an equal. George arranged for a mutual friend to invite Todd and his girlfriend to King Lobster, a City Island restaurant, for dinner. While they ate, Taz, the sometime enforcer, waited in a car in the parking lot. As Todd opened the door of his car, Taz shot him four times in the back. Todd had ordered shrimp scampi for his last meal. George hired Taz full time, paying him $1,000 a week. “Being taken out for shrimp scampi” became a nervous inside joke.
Jessica cautioned her girlfriends about calling her at the apartment, since she was not supposed to give out the number. If George answered the telephone, they shouldn’t hang up; Jessica got punished for hang-ups. She instructed her friends to pretend it was a wrong number. It was tricky, because George disguised his voice as a way of testing Jessica. “Sal’s Pizzeria!” he would say, but with George, the humor always had an edge.
When Jessica
If George was in the shower, she would jot down the numbers from his beeper screen and dial the girls up a few days later. It was an old habit she couldn’t resist. “Is Georgie there?” she’d ask in her sexiest voice.
“George? Who’s this?”
“I’m his girl. He told me if I needed to reach him I could call him here.”
If a girl paged him on a beeper that he’d left at home, Jessica returned the call immediately. “Hello?” the girl asked expectantly. Jessica let the hope dangle before hanging up.
After Boy George’s exotic trips, the calls would pour in.
“Is John there?” the latest girl would ask.
“No, he’s not, may I take a message?”
“You his sister?”
“No,” Jessica would answer, pausing, “I’m a friend. ”
In phone conversations with these girls, George sounded like the George who’d whisked her away from Tremont on that first date—mannered, attentive, confident. To one girl who expressed interest in seeing him, he said coyly, “Well, if you could put up with me.” Jessica wanted to grab the receiver and scream, Bitch, if I can’t put up with him, you gotta be fucking Wonder Woman! But she just kept quiet, listening in. A girl who did confront her boyfriend was likely to be reminded that there was plenty of pussy everywhere.
Jessica knew when George had a date: he wore slacks instead of jeans. “Why don’t you just wear jeans if you going out with the boys?” she’d tentatively inquire.
“Why don’t you fucking shut the fuck up?” he’d reply.
Jessica understood the consequence of breaking George’s rules—vicious beatings—but she broke his rules fairly regularly. She knew a beating had been bad if she came to consciousness at his mother’s; George brought her there because Rita worked at a hospital. Jessica would wake to Rita’s frowning face. “What did you do this time?” Rita would whisper; she also feared her son. When there was serious damage, such as the time George cracked Jessica’s skull, he turned her over to a private doctor who was paid generously in cash. Jessica called the doctor for otherhealth-related problems, such as the time the twins had diarrhea that nothing seemed to cure. The doctor always asked after George, whom he jokingly called “the old baby.”
George threatened Jessica with worse beatings than those he’d already administered. “If I can trust you, I can kill you,” he was fond of saying. Jessica knew what he was capable of. That June, the word was that he’d set up Todd Crawford, one of his employees. As witnesses later told it, George had heard that Todd was planning to rob an old friend of George’s named Snuff. Snuff and George had been classmates at Morris High School together; now Snuff dealt crack at George’s lucrative 122nd Street spot. Snuff was one of the few people George’s own age whom he considered an equal. George arranged for a mutual friend to invite Todd and his girlfriend to King Lobster, a City Island restaurant, for dinner. While they ate, Taz, the sometime enforcer, waited in a car in the parking lot. As Todd opened the door of his car, Taz shot him four times in the back. Todd had ordered shrimp scampi for his last meal. George hired Taz full time, paying him $1,000 a week. “Being taken out for shrimp scampi” became a nervous inside joke.
Jessica cautioned her girlfriends about calling her at the apartment, since she was not supposed to give out the number. If George answered the telephone, they shouldn’t hang up; Jessica got punished for hang-ups. She instructed her friends to pretend it was a wrong number. It was tricky, because George disguised his voice as a way of testing Jessica. “Sal’s Pizzeria!” he would say, but with George, the humor always had an edge.
When Jessica
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