Mother Lulu

by Zighana

Summary:

Lulu, reeling from the loss of her lover, finds healing through doing what she never thought was capable: Being a mother to someone who's never had one.

Chapter 1: Prequel

“And it's important to me to be the mother
'cause there's so many little kids that I have to look out for.
Although they don't listen to me and they buck my authority,
I still think I rule it pretty well. They like me.”
- Pepper LaBeija, Paris is Burning (1990)

Summer, 2018

Lulu prided herself on being classy.

She walked with her head held high, she dissolved conflicts with a soft voice and a healthy dose of shade, and she could cut someone to pieces without raising her voice.

As she walks down the block, in her finest clothes (half of which she stole in ‘96), clutching Candy’s tired and true hammer like it’s the thing to do, this isn’t her at her classiest. The looks of men, women, and children enunciate that this isn’t classy at all. This is some banji shit, reserved for the girls who ain’t got a lick of sense and will slice your face if she thought you were prettier than her.

She isn’t a girl anymore; she’s a woman. A woman with a whole identity, a career, a spouse…

Deceased spouse.

She clutches the hammer tighter.

She eyes the run-down house to her right and turns.

There, eyeing her, are men twice her size, strewn around the porch, dressed in tank tops and socks that touch their knees. They, these walking stereotypes, are smirking and whistling at her like a piece of meat.

“Ay, chica, what you doin’ with that hammer? I got a long, nail you can drive home.” One of them comments, humping the air.

She really wants to crack him upside his head. Lord knows she wants to. But she’s not here for him. She’s here for that piece of trash staring her down, thinking his tear-drop is going to frighten her.

“You,” She points the hammer at him like a gavel, “I want my shit back.”

“What shit?” He asks, jutting his chin at her.

“Don’t play dumb with me. The box. You have it. Either you give it here, or I’m cracking your head open like a coconut.”

Ooh’s and laughter erupt.

“That why you brought that old ass hammer?” He asks. He takes a sip of his Red Bull. She charges at him, only to be hoisted up by one of the men. She swings the hammer as hard as she can, connecting with flesh and hearing a satisfying shriek. She’s released, and she charges again.

She’s in his face, now. Candy’s hammer perched under her chin. Within this moment, the sounds of guns drawn feels like white noise.

“The box,” She hisses, “Now.”

The moment of truth.

He can stare at her all he wants to, he’s far from scaring her. She’s fucked drug dealers, she’d danced for men in the cartel, and she’s faced death more times than this snot-nosed punk ever could.

He doesn’t know shit about fear.

The man backs away from her and retreats to the house, slamming the door shut so loud the bars on the house rattle and the men flinch.

Lulu clutches the hammer and prepares herself when the door swings open, only to be knocked back by the force that hit her in her stomach. On reflex, she clutches the box with a vice grip, wrapping her arms around it and pulling it closer. After gaining her composure, she sucks her teeth at the man.

“Stealing out of women’s apartments, taking their jewelry and finery like you don’t have a mother or a father.”

Her Bronx accent peeks through, making the man prick his ears up.

“I’m old enough to be your mother.” Lulu muses, eyeing him up and down. It’s a Californian summer and he’s wearing a dark blue flannel, buttoned up, with black shorts that stop under his knees with crisp white socks and canvas sneakers. Despite his questionable fashion choices and lack of class, his face almost makes up for it. In another time, Lulu would find him cute. Attractive, even; give Ricky a run for his money in the Butch Queen category.

She sees his eyes for the first time and her bitterness melts away.

She sees a motherless child, staring right back at her.

Call it mother’s intuition, or Blanca’s spirit haunting her, she reaches out and to touch his face. The man slaps her hand away.

“Where is your mother?” She asks, her soft tone foreign to her. She hasn’t used a tone like that since…

“Get the fuck off my property.” The man snaps. Gone was his calmness; he’s angry, a rage in him that she knows she’d created.

She turns her nose up at him, shoving Candy’s hammer and marches off the porch, letting these hoodrats get a good view of her red bottoms as she sashays down the block to her apartment.

“I’m home,” she announces to her empty living room. She turns on the lights, sets down the box and opens it.

Newspaper clippings, photos of years that had past, obituaries that she laminated, all made way to a small Polaroid.

It’s a woman with dark skin and voluminous hair that fans over the pillow she’s on. She lies on her stomach, sleeping.

Lulu thumbs the photo, trying to bite back the tears.

“I miss you. So much,” her voice cracks. She settles for kissing the photo and sticking it to her refrigerator.

She sits at the dining room, fingers holding onto the remote. She turns to her right, greeted by an empty armchair with a crocheted doily that’s collecting dust.

Looking away, she presses play.

“I like to think that...when you come to New York, you...you reinvent yourself.” A black woman says, holding Lulu’s hand. Lulu leans on her shoulder, looking off into the distance.

“You become whoever you want to be. You can start over here and become someone new. There’s no place like New York.”

As the documentary goes through the motions, Lulu drifts off to sleep, holding onto her wedding ring like a lifeline.

Chapter 2: Chapter One

Summary:

A peek into the past.

2 Weeks Ago

Lulu stands, watching the casket sink into the plot. When the casket has been lowered, she drops a rose into the grave.

“We’ll meet again, my love.” She whispers to the grave.

“Come with me, baby. We got some good food in the repass.” A kind woman clamps a hand on Lulu’s shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’m welcome. I’ll go home.” Lulu replies, gingerly taking the woman’s hand off her shoulder.

“But you’re...her wife. I may not agree with your lifestyle but you deserve to be among family.” The woman tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Time had not been kind to her.

“Y’all aren’t my family. She was all I had left.” Lulu crosses her arms, staring at the grave.

The woman wrings her handkerchief.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” The woman says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two women eye each other. After a pause, Lulu says, “I’ll come around when I’m ready.”

“I understand. Take all the time you need.” The woman nods, squeezing Lulu’s hand.

~~~

Lulu takes the uncomfortable stroll up to her apartment, and notices her door is ajar.

“Oh, fuck no,” She mutters under her breath.

Taking out her pocket knife, she opens the door and cautiously steps inside.

Her place had been ransacked; her valuables gone, her living room in disarray and couches knocked over and gutted. She goes to her kitchen and finds her silverware missing. She steps into her bedroom and sees her mattress flipped over and bedframe moved, her dressers ripped out of their shells, and her closet torn to shreds.

Her perfumes, her furs, her jewelry and finery snatched from her.

She eyes the top of the dresser.

They had better not…

Ice falls to her stomach.

They did.

Her box is missing.

“Those fucking dope fiends.” She snarls.

2 Weeks Ago

~~~ 

“We got to be quick. In and out. Whatever you see that’s worth money, grab it.”

Spooky cracks open the door and once it’s open his men flood the home, grabbing and tearing at whatever they could access.

He keeps note of the small details, the photos strewn on the walls and bookshelves, the Hers and Hers home decor that’s being destroyed by his men. He sees the rainbow flag and one that has pink, blue, and white.

What flag is that one?

He makes his way down the hall to the bedroom, his men tearing open pillows and ripping fur coats out of the closet.

He opens the dressers and pulls out clothes, trying to find anything valuable. Nothing, save for…

His thumb hits a button and loud buzzing makes him jump and scramble to shut it off. Chucking it, he sifts through the items, and after finding nothing, shuts the top dresser. He eyes the closet and sees a wooden box perched atop the dresser, untouched.

He grabs the box, opening it.

It’s not what he expected: photos, obituary clippings, holiday cards, magazine clippings, and CD’s with the marker-written labels smeared. He pulls out a photo from the clutter, eyeing the dark-skinned black woman in red lingerie, leaning back on a heart-shaped bed, her hair tousled and her red lips showing off pearly-white teeth. Her curvaceous body and plump breasts makes his ears tingle and his neck hot.

Turning over the back, he sees the cursive title.

Valentine’s Day In Our New Home, 1996.

This woman is someone’s mother by now.

Tucking the photo in his back pocket, he closes the box and leaves, greeted by his men with arms full of furs and expensive clothing.

“Alright,” he tells his men, “Let’s head out.”

~~~

That night, Spooky sits cross-legged, eyeing the mess he’d made from the emptied wooden box.

He tries his best to sort through the box, but it’s so many papers, so many documents, so many CD’s and Polaroids...it made his eyes hurt. There’s nothing worthy in this box; he feels like a voyeur, eyeing these very intimate slices of some strangers’ life. It doesn’t stop him from pocketing risque photos of the dark-skinned woman and her lover, an exotic-looking woman with light brown hair and an ass that won’t quit.

He knows it’s wrong, but he’s a man, a simple one at that.

The video plays in the distance.

1991

“The Category is...Lesbian Femme Realness!”

Whitney Houston’s “I’m Your Baby Tonight” plays over the speakers. Lulu sits at the tables, watching and observing the lesbian women voguing and dancing with remote interest. Blanca is watching the women, giving words of encouragement as Pray Tell tears one of them, who was unfortunate enough to wear that tawdry outfit tonight, to pieces.

“Judges gimme your scores to the dyke in the banana yellow! 6, 5, 5, 3! Oof, honey. Summer must be over because that score is ice cold!”

The crowd erupts in laughter. Blanca shouts, “It’s alright, baby!” but it’s drowned out in the crowd’s laughter.

Better luck next time, Banana Yellow! Next up--” Pray Tell pauses.

The next up vogues in sharp angles towards him, her curly ponytail whipping every which-way. She’s new, it seems; Lulu’s never seen her face before.

She’s got smooth dark skin that seems to glow in the light, deep-set eyes with lips that are plump and shining like a candy apple. Her black hair is slicked down to a low ponytail, accentuated by her large bamboo door knocker earrings with the name “Sandy” stamped on each one. She’s got high waisted jeans, a jean jacket to match, and a bodice that droops low enough to give cleavage and a chunky gold chain bouncing on her chest with each movement.

Her look is different, alluring...but those ratty tatty Witch’s Brew boots kill the look.

Pray Tell notices the shoes as well.

Lulu closes her eyes and holds her head.

“Okay, Ms. Banji...looking real Banji with those Bitches’ Brew boots you got on? When did you get those? ‘76?”

“I got ‘em from your mama’s closet.” The girl replies. Lulu hears a Southern twang in her tone. Pray Tell makes a face.

“I think you got them from my mama’s casket ‘cuz them shoes look dug up!” Pray Tell retorts, mimicking her accent.

Lulu bites back a laugh.

“Judges give me your scores for the Dyke Who Lives in The Shoe...9, 8, 7, 9. Not bad. Everybody clap it up for The Wicked Witch of the South. She got heart and balls of steel.”

The woman nods her head and crosses her arms.

After Pray Tell moves on to the next contestant, the woman leaves, Lulu trailing right after her.

Present

2 weeks ago

“What do you mean you can’t find the ones responsible?”

The police officer sighs, plopping Alka-Seltzer into his water.

“You have no security cameras, no witnesses, and the people that did this left no DNA evidence-”

“-They went out my door with $50,000 worth of valuables, including some of my underwear. Whoever did this is a criminal and a pervert!”

Several police officers turn their head. Lulu deflates.

“I have personal items that were stolen from me. Specifically a box that has memories of the people I love that passed away. I just buried my wife and I come home to my house ransacked. Imagine how I feel-”

“-I understand that, but understand you live in gang territory. Any police interference, or they catch you talking to the police, and we’re going to come back to your apartment for a homicide investigation.”

The police officer leans in close.

“I’m trying to protect you. Please...drop it. We’ve done all we could at this point and as of now, the case is closed. Maybe next time, don’t live in the hood with $50,000 worth of valuables.”

Lulu smacks his desk.

“Thanks for nothing.” She spits out, storming out of the police station.

~~~

Present Day

It’s 3 in the morning when Spooky gets a phone call.

“Yeah. I’ll be on my way, what’s…what?”

~~~

Spooky stares down an old brown suitcase, clutching his nose.

Chuy managed to open it just a bit, and already the smell is spreading.

“What the fuck was that lady up to?” Chuy asks, snapping on gloves.

Taking a step back, Spooky watches the suitcase open and revealed its contents.

It’s something wrapped up in pleather, but closer inspection shows it’s a body, curled up in fetal position, drenched in blackish purple fluid.

The smell will forever be etched in Spooky’s memory for as long as he lives.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Summary:

Lulu gets involved with Oscar in the worst way.

Notes:

Heeeeeyyyyy *dodges y’all throwing tomatoes at me* it’s been…TOO LONG since I’ve updated and I’m sorry. I’ve been:
- working
- Lowkey being an influencer/content creator
- got my cosmetology license
- Considering higher education abroad
- battling depression & ADHD
- Got my hands in so many different art/writing projects (Arcane you’re next)

But I’m back. I found this chapter buried DEEP in my Google docs and decided to finish and post it.

I love y’all, bye 💕

2003

“Dearest daughter, it has come to my decision that I’m to give you...one of my most valuable possessions.”

Lulu mentally rolls her eyes. Elektra is in one of her demented fits again; they’ve become more commonplace these days given her old age.

“And what are you to give me, Mother?” Lulu asks, filing her nails.

“I give you...Paul. Take Paul with you when you leave New York. Give him...the California sun, as a thank you for keeping my secrets for so long.”

Lulu eyes the suitcase buried deep in the closet.

“Sure, Elektra. Whatever you say. It’s the least I could do for an old bitch like you.”

She snaps her fingers. Lamont, one of Wintour’s new children, comes to her aid and grabs the suitcase, grunting as he tugs it.

“Jesus, what the fuck is in here?” Lamont groans, all of his muscles straining against the suitcase.

“My secret.” Elektra answers.

“How heavy is your secret?” Lulu asks.

“Heavy enough for the grave.” Elektra’s eyes widen when she says this, staring off into the ceiling.

Lulu rolls her eyes.

“Typical Elektra, always got a flair for the dramatics. Lamont, call up Blaine and get him to get the dolly.”

Blaine and Lamont get the suitcase up and out of Elektra’s hospice room.

“Daughter,” Elektra grabs Lulu’s hand.

“You take him and you keep him safe. Understood?”

“What’s in Paul, you geriatric hag?”

Elektra pauses. Those wide eyes look at Lulu, fear etched on her face. What is she scared of?

“I love you, Daughter.” She says, sinking back into her bed.

“In time, you’ll understand.”

 

Present Day

Lulu clutches her nose, fighting the bile trying to escape her.

“What,” she bites out through her nose, “in the fresh Hell is that?”

“You tell me.” The boy Lulu had confronted grits out, covering his face with his shirt.

There in her sight is a body...a mummified one. It’s hardly recognizable if it weren’t for the fetal position and bones.

“We found this in your suitcase.”

“Suitcases that you stole.” Lulu clarifies.

“What shit you into?”

“Definitely not into the...whatever the hell this is. This smell is gonna be stuck in my Versace!”

“That will be the least of your worries because if the cops find this you’ll be doing 25 to life in prison.” The fat man huffs, slipping off his gloves for fresh ones.

“First of all, I have no involvement in this. This is Elektra’s...suitcase...named Paul—oh my fucking god, Elektra you evil, conniving, decrepit old hag!” Lulu stomps her foot so hard her heel snaps.

“Even from the grave this bitch proves to be a thorn in my side. Leave me a mess for her to clean while she goes off into the sunset in death!” She chucks her shoe at the suitcase.

“Take care of Paul, daughter. Look after him while I’m gone!” Lulu mocks Elektra’s voice. “This bitch set me up!”

“So your mom...killed this man?” The younger man asks. Lulu crosses her arms and gains her composure.

“I...I’m not sure. Murder isn’t really Mother Elektra’s...expertise. But she kept him for a while, and gave him to me. We need to take him to my friend Stacey. She’s a coroner. Perhaps she could give more information on this body.”

“We can’t take him anywhere. The smell, the fluids, and the thousands of cameras all over town is gonna land us in trouble. We need to get rid of it.” The fat man says. He opens his trunk. Lulu sees cleaning products, a plastic tote, and a bottle with a skull and crossbones printed boldly on the back.

“Don’t tell me…” Lulu begins.

“We have to get rid of it. This is your mess, too.”

“It wouldn’t be my mess if you wouldn’t have broken into my goddamn house like some classless hooligans!” Lulu says through gritted teeth.

“None of that matters now. We need to do this or we’re all going down.” The younger man says. He slips on his gloves.

Lulu sighs, unbuttoning her blouse.

“The fuck are you doing?” The fat man hisses.

“This outfit cost more than your car. I’m not getting that disgusting shit on the fabric.” Lulu answers. The men exchange looks and the younger man rolls his eyes. The fat man hands her a mask and gloves.

“I called my homie Birdie to come and supply us with the coverage. When he comes, suit up.”

~~~

Lulu wonders quietly what bad karma has she gotten to wind up in this position. The younger man, wearing a hazmat suit, is stomping the shovel into the unforgiving earth before tossing the dirt over his shoulder like it’s nothing. The fat man is guarding “Paul”, who’s currently disintegrating in a plastic tote with the lid wrapped tight with duct tape with her help.

The younger man gets done digging the hole and climbs out of it after roughly an hour. Lulu and the fat man carry the tote, which is slightly heavier with fluid sloshing in it.

“If I break a nail, you owe me a manicure.” Lulu says to the fat man. He rolls his eyes through his protective glasses. Together they drop the tote down into the hole. It makes a loud thud and Lulu jumps back, frantically looking around.

“Woman, there’s nobody here. We know this spot.” He says. The younger man starts dumping the dirt over the tote.

“Do we have…words for him?” Lulu asks. The two men exchange looks and bursts into laughter.

“Fuck no!” The younger man says. Lulu shakes her head.

“God, please forgive us for what we’ve done. May Paul, or whoever this poor bastard is that wound up in Mother Elektra’s care, rest in peace. Amen.” Lulu says, clasping her hands together and looking at the moon.

“Stop praying and help us throw this dirt over him!” The fat man hisses, tossing her a shovel. Lulu reluctantly scoops up some dirt and dumps it into the hole.

Minutes later, the younger man pats the earth back in place and covers it with some leaves and branches. The three hop into the van, with Lulu in the backseat. The younger man sits next to her.

“We good?” He asks.

“I don’t follow.” She says.

“We stopped you from doing 25 to life for having a dead body in your house. You won’t go to the cops anymore about us breaking in, right?”

“You stole thousands of dollars worth of furs and jewelry that were vintage. You violated my home and took personal things of mine, right when I left for my wife’s funeral. You didn’t do this for me because you felt bad, you did this to save your skin. No, we're not good.” Lulu says, crossing her arms.

“I won’t tell anyone what happened tonight because I’m not a snitch.” She adds. The younger man casts his eyes downward.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “About your wife.”

Lulu scoffs.

“There was love in that home. There was love in my things. Ourthings. You have stolen precious memories that I had to threaten you with a hammer just to get back. Did you think about that at all when you did what you did?” Lulu faces him. Her eyes prickle with tears.

“You didn’t just steal my riches, you stole history. Some of our jewelry was gifted to us by legends in the ballroom commemorating our marriage at a time gay marriage was illegal.” Her voice shakes.

“Those rings and bracelets I know you pawned because you didn’t see the value were the last things I had of my sister Blanca before she died of AIDS. Did you think about that?” She’s crying now, holding herself for support.

“That fucking hammer was the last thing I had of my sister Candy before she was found murdered in a dingy motel. These may be just things to you but they were all I have left of the people I love that are gone.” Her voice cracks.

“How would you feel if someone did that to you?”

No one in the van answers the question. Lulu shakes her head.

“Your generation is beyond saving.” She adds, staring out into the window.

They pull up to Lulu’s car. She slides out of the van and fishes out her keys from her skirt pocket.

She eyes the younger man before shoving her good heel into his hand.

“I guess you can pawn this, since my other heel is broken. A pair could run you $700 but a single one is $350 if you know where to look.” She says with disgust.

“Look, lady…I’m sorry…”

“Sorry isn’t going to replace the things you stole and reverse the violated feeling I get when I come home now.” She replies.

She trots to her car, wincing at the gravel and rocks digging into her manicured feet. She slides into the driver’s seat and turns on Rolls Royce’s “Wishing On A Star”. This song was playing the night her wife asked Lulu to marry her.

Her eyes burn with tears. She refused to play the song days after she had to bury her wife and now she feels the universe mocking her for it. She cries, digging her palms into her eyes. Her crying becomes wailing, screaming at God for taking the love of her life away.

“My darling Sandra,” she whispers to her steering wheel, “what has my life become without you here?”