The Secret Council of American Negroes

Captain African America: The Winter Mistress, Pt. 2

v mistress

Secret Council of American Negroes

Season 2, Episode 2

The Saga of the “Winter Mistress”

“I think Mr. Sterling is from a different generation than I am. I think he was brought up to believe these things … segregation, whites and blacks,” Stiviano said. “But through his actions he’s shown that he’s not a racist. He’s shown to be a very generous and kind man.” — V. Stiviano to ABC’s Barbara Walters regarding the scandal

It was just another day in 1836 and Emily was cooking breakfast in a tent for General Santa Anna of the Mexican army. Since it was 1836 everything she cooked over the open coals got burnt because the coals were too hot and Emily was a horrible cook, but Santa Anna wasn’t exactly keeping this Free Woman of Color around for her burnt bacon and overly fried huevos.

“Es bueno,” he said, suffering his way through the meal while smiling up at her radiating, golden beauty. Emily sighed thinking to herself, “The strange you do for some change.”

Nearby, out of Santa Anna’s line of sight, was Turner, a militia man for the Texas. As he watched Emily do what she was hired to do, distract Santa Anna for as long as possible with her “feminine wilds,” Turner remarked his scout, Deaf Smith, “I sure hope that slave girl makes him neglect his business and keeps him in bed all day.”

If Emily, who was not a slave, but woman born free thrust into an “it’s complicated” kind of situation involving someone hiding someone’s freedom papers and someone coercing someone into working this early in the morning, had known this was how Sam Houston’s spies were talking about her she would have grumbled under her breath at their vulgarity.

Sure the “long-haired, lovely, gold-skinned girl resembling a Latin goddess” had played the piano for Santa Anna. She’d danced for Santa Anna. She modeled some dresses that Santa Anna bought her. She’d eaten some stolen chocolates from Texas with Santa Anna (seductively, of course). And she’d cooked (poorly) for Santa Anna, but Emily D. West, aka “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” doesn’t get down on the first night.

Thanks for the dresses though, sucka.

The Texans, being cheap, slave-holding Texans, didn’t pay Emily the $500 they owed her for her risk taking espionage. They also didn’t return her freedom papers and she, yet again, had to use her “feminine wilds” to get the hell out of Texas and back up north to New York City back in 1837.

There Emily wanted to leave her life as a sexy spy for Texas-loving white men behind and focus on developing her shoe line. It was then, after the Civil War, while she was working out of her somewhat successful shoe and boot strap accessory store, Dulce, she met Black Moses herself, an elderly Harriet Tubman, co-founder of SCAN. Tubman was a wily, agile, clairvoyant and overall brilliant super being who went around disguised as a disabled woman in order to not arouse suspicion. Tubman, who knew that even though slavery was over and the Civil War was done, her work to fight oppression was just beginning, and she needed people who could carry on her work, people who could move throughout society without suspicion.

People like Emily.

Emily, black and beautiful, was sort of assumed to be dumb by people because she, typically, played dumb all the time. Nobody likes a smart Negress, as her mother used to tell her. She was better off pretending like she couldn’t read, write, do calculus, play the piano, solve “unsolvable” equations, speak three different languages and do the Pickaninny Stomp. But this was exactly why Harriet had recruited her.

For you see, it was Harriet who came up with Rule #210, the rule all SCAN covert operatives live by. How else do you think she remained undetected all those years freeing slaves? She was the most wanted woman in America, yet she moved freely back and forth the Mason-Dixon because she looked like some feeble bodied, feeble minded black harridan shuffling her way back to Massa. BUT THAT’S WHAT HARRIET TUBMAN WANTED YOU TO THINK. And she was committed to the ruse.

But Emily remarked that she was “too old for this shit,” and besides, her looks were starting to fade. She really needed this shoe line to jump off if she was going to make it. But Harriet, being Harriet and smarter than you, talked Emily into joining SCAN using her mind-melding, supernatural brain powers. She then introduced Emily to SCAN’s then “Research Wing,” which featured a young, brilliant scientist who was really into peanuts and a fascinating inventor who, together, could turn back the hands of time and make West “Young Forever.”

The experience, while successful, didn’t go exactly as planned.

Emily West did return to her youthful, golden form. But the transformation was too much to take, she nearly died in the process. So Lewis Latimer had to invent cryogenics.

(Yeah. You didn’t know that did you? Racists textbooks! Latimer was the first, and only person, to figure out how to freeze someone so they wouldn’t die. He was that smart, BUT NO ONE WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT BECAUSE RULE #210!)

Lewis Latmier built a cryogenics machine that ran on peanuts. That, of course, was Carver’s idea because Carver thought a peanut was the answer to everything. (To this day, SCAN’s secret headquarters in Macon, Ga. is powered by peanuts.) Latmier then froze Emily West with the hopes that future SCAN scientists would be able to revive her and heal her from the physical and psychological damage of her transformation.

By the time SCAN agent Frank Walker was pumping up LeBron with “Super Negro Serum,” they’d perfected their science.  They knew that the same serum — based on one of Carver’s original peanut based formulas modified much later by Dr. Charles R. Drew and today’s SCAN scientists — would bring a frozen Emily West back to life and back into service.

We were ready. LeBron was ready. But was Emily, code name: “The Winter Mistress” ready?

Operation Massa

SCAN, along with more “traditional” outlets, had been trying to take down LA Clippers owner Donald Sterling for years under “Operation Massa,” an effort to rout out old bigots who had a lot of money and power. Sterling was a known racist. But groups like the NAACP and others wanted to try it their way, not SCAN’s way. Unfreezing a 199 year-old-woman really wasn’t flying with the front organizations. It seemed too risky. When Emily was rocking the mic in the 1800s showing a little ankle was reckless. How would she survive in the sophistiratceht world that created the Real Housewives of Atlanta? Today was a new day for new jack jump offs. Not old sexy, dignified mulatto mistresses of yesteryear.

“Why not go unfreeze some Buffalo soldiers while you’re at it?” said SCAN counter-intelligence director and MSNBC host Al Sharpton. “Your ideas are so crack-headed. I don’t know why I wanted to join this shit so bad. When I see Barack, maaaan. We gonna have some words.”

Sharpton, until 2010, had routinely been blocked from joining SCAN by lifetime SCAN board member emeritus Rev. Jesse Jackson because Jackson “was on some bullshit.” But after Operation Real David Palmer was such an overwhelming success — with Sharpton a part of it — SCAN really had no reason to keep him out anymore. Not with Special Agent First Class, now President Obama vouching for him. Jackson, who’d nearly derailed the whole operation by being simply a hateful, old bitter son-of-a-bitch, was reduced to being a non-voting member.

He’s really a shell of his former self. It’s sad. You’re only supposed to PRETEND to be incompetent. Pretend, Messy Jesse!

So, since being inducted, Sharpton was promoted in charge of the covert ops division. Any ideas I, Brofucious, had for covert ops, even Muppet Babies shit, had to go through him. And Rev just wasn’t feeling me or my ideas.

“But, I’m telling you! This could work!” I yelled. “Do we want to take down Sterling or not? We did it YOUR way. Housing lawsuits. We even recruited Elgin Baylor — poor Elgin Baylor — to actually work for that racist asshole in hopes HE could get the evidence needed to take him down. And he got it! And NOTHING HAPPENED? Hell, for decades Agent Abdul Jabbar told the better NBA players not play for the Clippers in hopes that if the team just would suck balls for decades Sterling would eventually get frustrated and sell. None of those plans worked, Al!”

“But your plan sounds nuts! You want to thaw out some old, half-dead wench from the 1800s!”

“WE CAN REBUILD HER! WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY!”

And that’s when I told him what I was planning to do, what I’d concocted with Captain African America. Instead of Kareem’s way of warning decent players off the team, reducing the Clippers to the being the jokes of the league, LeBron and I had a NEW strategy. We wanted to make the Clippers a GOOD team in order to finally get Sterling into the spotlight. In today’s media obsessed world, it was easy to hide the machinations of a loser, but when all you do is win, win, win no matter what?

As Magic would say, “Showtime.”

Sure, it involved pissing off board member Erving “Magic” Johnson and screwing the Lakers out of getting Chris Paul, but once Captain African America explained to Paul he was being drafted into a war against racism he was down. It, after all, is not hard to recruit folks once they realize SCAN is real. Us Negroes look like uncoordinated hot messes but, again, as Harriet would say THAT’S WHAT WE WANT YOU TO THINK.

With Paul came other recruits, other successful ballers willing to hold their tongues and go hard in the paint for a vile disgusting racist. But the lynch pin of the plan was always Emily.

In the “Post-racial” age of Real David Palmer, white folks like to pretend racism doesn’t exist. Hey, the voted in a black guy. Racism cured!

As I explained to Sharpton, housing lawsuits and Elgin Baylor’s claims would mean nothing. We needed to get this asshole on tape. And we needed someone who could get close to him, someone we could trust, someone Sterling would never see coming.

That’s right. We needed the world’s smartest “jump off.” Thanks to Emily. Mission Accomplished.

I only talked to Emily once. She mostly worked with LeBron and a few other high member “celebrity” agents. It was during her debriefing, after she got Sterling on tape, we spoke. It was my job to deliver the tapes to Harvey Levin for “Operation Media Shit Storm” and then wait for LeBron to organize his troops and play the press like suckers.  But as we went through the debriefing I had to know how Captain African America and others were able to train her. I had to know the truth. It had been my idea to unthaw her, cure her and put her back into the fight, but SCAN — as always — pushed me into the background after stealing my cool ideas. I was a lowly class 6 agent anyway. A pencil paperwork pusher. My boss got to take all the credit.

Fucking Condi Rice. She thinks she knows EVERYTHING.

But I was excited to talk to Emily. She was nothing like I’d expected.

Sitting across from me quite regally, one long brown leg crossed over the other in a pink bodycon dress and six inch Louboutins, a gold plated necklace that read “Trust No Bitch,” she flicked her long dark hair and folded her arms.

Then … she spoke …

“So, what’s the catch here? I got my wiggle on and beat the devil around the stump for you, chappies. I’m ready to throw up the sponge and go back to the Old States. What’s New York like these days? I hear they have electric wagons that go underground now. As if that don’t take the rag off,” she said, slapping her knee and grinning.

“What?”

“Oh, shit. I forget sometimes. It’s 2014, future and all. How do you fellas say this stuff now? Um …,” Emily rolled her neck and put on her best impression of Nene Leakes. “What’s the tea, bitch? Am I free to go get my freak on in the NYC, hunty? I gots THANGS to do. Sheeeeeeit … did I use that right?

“Wait? They trained you to talk like a black drag queen?”

“Yaaaasssss, hunty. Yassssss!” *finger snaps*

“Oh my God, just speak plain English,” I said.

“Fine. I did what you wanted. Now what?”

“What did you do?”

“I got him on your vocal telegraphing machine! Weird contraption, eh? But I do enjoy playing that … what’s it called? Candy Crush Saga? Highly addictive! As you chaps would say. Much better than the games in my day. Marbles and such. Wasn’t shit to do in the 1800s. Wasn’t shit to do at all but stay yella and die.”

“How did you get him to talk?”

“C’mon, hunty. I’m the Yellow Rose of Texas. I can get ‘massa’ to say anythingI didn’t even have to give his, er, sausage a handshake, if you know what I mean? Now, he made me look at it a few times. Horrible stuff. But the cars and the jewelry were nice. He was much nicer than the massas of old. Back then all you got was hard dick and a promise to free you when he’s dead. Maybe you got his wife’s old hand-me-down dresses, MAYBE. Really wasn’t nothing in it for you to stroke a white man’s cock back then, honey. Not that they asked if you wanted to do it. I was born free and I still had to stare at a few of unwanted pale sausages in my day. You just gotta go through the mill sometimes?”

“Huh?”

“You do what you gotta do, chappy.”

“So, who got you, um, up to speed?”

“Oh hunty, that wasn’t so bad at all. After they thawed me out the introduced me to this fine Negress named … is it Opal?”

“Oprah?”

“Yaaaasss, hunty. Oprah. Nice old Negra wench, like the kind who nursed me when I was young. She debriefed me on the last hundred years or so. Got me turned right around. But Opal …”

“Oprah.”

“Yes, Oprah. She told me she could only educate me on the fancy end of things and that you can’t be too fancy. That you need to be kind of dumb to do the smart stuff. The SCAN way and all.  That if I needed real training I’d need to talk to the kind of women who fancy massas or the kind of men who want to be massa these days.”

“So who trained you?”

Yeezy taught me.”

“Really?”

“Right nice, chappie too! He only hit on me once or twice. And he introduced me to this lovely quadroon, Kimberley something.”

“She’s not an ‘quadroon’ and that term is not appropriate and I also think she’s Armenian.”

“Like an Ottoman?”

“Like a couch?”

Like the empire?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you guys called them in 1835.”

“Anyway, this Kimberley lass was quite helpful and all since apparently Yeezy taught her too, you know? Plus, she was quite the expert on … how do you say it? Ballers and the like. But I think it was her mum who was the most helpful. She’s a Madame, correct? Running some sort of moving photograph whorehouse and got her daughters out there tricking massas?”

“Um …,” I said taking a long pause to think. “Sure. I’ll let you think that.”

“Anyway, she was right helpful! She knew folks who knew Massa Sterling and before you knew it, I was in, getting soaked on the Grey Goose and giving him the ol’ soft solder. Wasn’t long before he was trying to make a mash on me and … ‘smash’ … like you chaps say. But, Emily, don’t get down on the first night, hunty.”

“Could you stop mixing up old timey words with new timey words. It’s really confusing.”

“I taped Massa using my hand-held telegraph contraption. And here it is. Can I go to New York now? I wanna see if the Five Points are still dirty and as full of Negras and Irishmen as ever.”

“I think Guiliani fixed that.”

“Guiliani! That’s a right pretty name for a lass. Think I might call myself that when I start over in New York!”

“Um … you probably shouldn’t.”

After that, I put in Emily’s papers to be decommissioned as a SCAN agent, allowing her to start her life anew, in New York, probably named Guiliani despite my suggestion that she not do that shit. But before I could get that paperwork to Macon, Ga. for processing … well … that’s when it ALL WENT TO HELL.

D. L. Hughley went on a pro-wife beating rant on the radio. People thought that was just a random act, but it wasn’t. It was code, a secret code. It was NONA, SCAN’s conservative counterpart — Negroes of North America — who deciphered it and warned us. Whenever some crazy famous black guy started screaming about black women and how much they sucked it was a signal to covert agents hiding in our covert agency! SCAN had been infiltrated and Angry Black Sexist dribble was their code. We’d been infiltrated by … W.A.S.P.S. — the White American Supremacy Proliferation Society! Double agents! Everywhere! Working for WASPS! There was no way of knowing who to trust anymore. Everyone was suspect!

Everyone except Emily — since she’d been frozen for almost 200 years — and maybe  the few agents who’d left SCAN in recent months, like Kareem, upset over how the mission seemed to have changed. That SCAN had gotten lazy since Operation David Palmer went so well. That they were actually now SLEEPING on fighting real racism. Why do you think there’s been so few updates on the SCAN archives since 2009! THINK, SHEEPLE! So I did what I had to do as a pencil pusher.

I took what I’d learned from NONA and went straight to the HNIC.

But instead of a commendation, I got something else.

A termination.

To be continued …

Read part 1 of the Captain African America: The Winter Mistress here.

Image art: Jada Prather

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3 thoughts on “Captain African America: The Winter Mistress, Pt. 2

  1. spelmansnob says:

    “Wasn’t shit to do at all but stay yella and die.” Cracked me up! I LOVE the idea of ol’ V as the reimagination of the Yellow (literally) Rose of Texas. FABulous! Girl, you have some imagination. LUV it!!

  2. Pingback: Captain African America: The Winter Mistress, Pt. 3 | TheSnob

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