Second Chance by L. Divine Read Free Book Online Page A

eagerly answers for Mama. “Some people say that if you want to put a curse on someone, you get a strand of their hair and pin it to the doll’s head. This will make the person lose their mind.” Netta continues, almost in a whisper, “That’s why your mama couldn’t get no more clients. Everybody in New Orleans knows your mama’s a very powerful queen.” As Netta says this, I picture Mama with her scarf wrapped tight around her head, like a crown. “Nobody would take the chance on becoming her next victim. They didn’t want to end up like the senator’s mistress, who wound up with a mysterious brain tumor that made her speak in tongues for the rest of her life.”
    â€œNetta, how you gone remember all that but can’t remember what kinda spray to use in my hair?” Mama says, trying to change the subject. “Stop all that nonsense before you scare the poor child.”
    Netta ignores Mama and continues with her story. “Jayd, your mama put all them Louisiana Catholic Creoles in their places when she left with your granddaddy. She didn’t look back not once,” she says, spraying Mama’s hair without missing a beat.
    â€œThey thought they would ruin her. No, not your mama. She stopped right in front of the shop we worked in on her way to meet your daddy, put her bags down in the doorway, untied her scarf, and let her long hair hang down, representing the Williams’ royal legacy proudly.”
    Mama pretends to be bothered by the story, but she looks like she’s smiling behind the frown.
    â€œIt’s still considered ill luck to utter the name Queen Jayd, aka Lynn Mae Williams-James, in New Orleans to this day.”
    â€œQueen Jayd? I ain’t never heard this part of the story before,” I say, hoping to get another good story out of Netta. The last time she told this story I found out more about Netta’s past too—that she and her husband, Lester, came to Compton in the late 1970s, same time as everyone else from Mama’s generation. Netta and Lester started their businesses—he’s a mechanic—and wanted to get pregnant, but couldn’t. That’s when Netta went to Mama for help, and she made it happen.
    â€œPeople back home never thought it was a coincidence that like Marie the First, your mama named her first-born daughter after her.”
    â€œThat’s common in the South, Netta. You making something out of nothing, as usual.”
    â€œAnd then,” continues Netta like Mama never spoke, “your mama names you, her first-born granddaughter, after her spiritual name, Jayd, the green-eyed voodoo priestess and conjure woman.”
    â€œNetta, shut the hell up with all that talk and concentrate on my hair.” Netta has wrapped Mama’s hair in an immaculate French twist while telling the story.
    â€œYou need to go back under the dryer and let the spray stiffen,” Netta says, leading Mama to the hair dryer. While Mama’s under the dryer, Netta continues to tell me about the rumors that were spread about Mama in New Orleans, or as they say it, “Nawlins.”
    â€œYour mama’s mama was said to be this French woman from Paris herself. She fell in love with this dark Haitian fella named Jon Paul Williams. His mama was a voodoo priestess in Haiti, and he a priest.
    â€œYour mama was pulled toward the priesthood, but wanted your grandfather more. Besides, she was getting tired of people’s envy. She left her legacy in Louisiana to become the first lady of First AM E of Central Compton. Your mama never did like that title, though.”
    â€œAll right, Jayd, that’s enough for today. See you next time, Netta,” Mama says, surprising us both as she takes off her hair cap, pulls the cotton from behind her ears, and grabs her purse from the lounge area.
    â€œAll right, Queen Jayd, and little Jayd too. See y’all next week.”
    While Mama and I walk