Chocolate Sangriaby Tracy Price-Thompson
Juanita Lucas is a young woman living in a housing project in Brooklyn. Although she has a very light complexion, she is proud of her blackness, even as she takes a beating from the very sistahs she tries so hard to emulate. Her only friend, Scooter Morrison, is an upwardly mobile brother who also happens to be young, gifted, and gay. Then a chance encounter with two fine Puerto Rican men changes Juanita’s and Scooter’s lives in ways they could never have imagined. There is Conan, a hardworking man who wrestles with both his love for Juanita and his guilt over his brother’s death; and Jorge, an unscrupulous bad-boy thug who has no problem using what he’s got to get what he wants, until he comes dangerously close to getting scorched by his own flames.
Fast-paced, suspenseful, and unpredictable, Chocolate Sangria explores the hearts of two lovers who get caught in the great cultural divide—
and the devastating consequences of keeping secrets, telling lies, and betraying those you love.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
—ZANE, author of Nervous
“[A] HEART-WRENCHING TALE OF LOVE AND FAMILY . . . A fable on the consequences of keeping secrets and betrayal.”
“Vivid, striking prose, heartfelt and authentic. Chocolate Sangria is a thought-provoking book that examines sensitive issues among people of color.”
Author of 4 Guys and Trouble
“Chocolate Sangria is a wonderfully-written novel that demands attention from page one. Tracy Price-Thompson delivers a powerful sophomore effort, proving she has a literary talent that will entertain readers for generations to come.”
Author of The Heat Seekers
- Random House Publishing Group
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- 2 MB
Read an Excerpt
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK JULY 1983 That thar boy’s got half a bag of sugar in his tank,” Herbie Lucas declared upon setting eyes on Socrates for the very first time. He and his sister, Hattie, watched from their fifth-floor window as their neighbors Jeo and Dorothea Morrison stepped out of a camel-colored Brougham with their five-year-old grandson and his small cardboard suitcase in tow.
“Herbie, hush!” Hattie glanced over her shoulder and snapped her fingers twice. “You see Miss Nita setting over there pretending to fuss with that doll baby’s hair when she really listening at us. You know she repeat everything she hear! Besides”—she tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear, then turned back to the window and nodded toward the slender boy who shuffled down the pathway nestled between his grandparents—“the poor chile just saw his mama slit his daddy from neckbone to navel, then they make him ride all the way from Alabama to Brooklyn with that crazy-ass Jeo when everybody knows he’s blind in one eye and can’t see out the othern.” She grunted. “And all you can talk about is how sweet he look.”
“Ah-yeah.” Herbie coughed and touched the corners of a starched white handkerchief to his lips. “I reckon old J.J. did go out and get hisself gutted like a fish, and I’m glad Jeo and that old struggle buggy didn’t tear up the road none too bad, but that thar boy is sweet. Mark my words.”
Hattie peered closely as the trio approached the entrance to the building. She studied Scooter’s willowy walk and the way his lean body seemed to move naturally against the soft summer wind.
“Ain’t sweet,” she determined. “He small for his age is all. Look a bit like Diana Ross to me. With all that pretty peanut-brittle skin and them big ol’ eyes, I thank he kinda cute. Plus, Nita got her somebody to play with now. Be good for her to be around another chile.”
Herbie coughed again, this time hacking up a thick wad of phlegm. Leaning out the open window he pressed his index finger to the opening in his throat and hock-spit down into the littered grass below. He rasped, “Don’t know ’bout that. They say the boy mute, too. Jeo say the po-lice found him sucking his fanger and settin’ in four days’ wurf of his own mess. I bet that’s why he cain’t talk. Stuff like that gotta do somethin’ to a boy. Make him turn ’round inside hisself and ball up in his own shit.”
Hattie stepped away from the window and loosened the tails of her apron. She draped it over the back of a kitchen chair before shaking her head. “You can set there and stare all you want, but I’ma go meet them at the elevator. After all that driving, they gots to be wore out.” She lifted a tin pan from a cooling rack and covered it with a glimmering sheet of foil. Despite herself, she moved back to the window for another peek. “C’mon, Nita.” She looked down at the pigtailed little girl who had squeezed herself between the two adults and now stood watching the new arrival in silence. “Let’s carry one of these-here pecan pies to Sister Dot and help her put on some tea.”
When the elevator opened its doors, Hattie stumbled against Juanita’s small shoulder and nearly cried out. Dorothea Morrison had gone down home a spry woman of sixty who made regular visits to the salon to maintain her ebony hive of spiral-curled hair. The woman who stepped off the elevator clutching the hand of a thin boy with miles of eyelashes and a blank stare was stooped in the back and had a head full of snow-white strands.
Sitting in the neat kitchen decorated in tones of tangerine and lime, Dorothea shook visibly as she spooned too much sugar into her teacup and accepted a slice of Hattie’s pie. Her grandson, Socrates, had fallen into an exhausted heap in the first chair he’d come across, and Juanita stood hovering over him, her green eyes roaming his face with undisguised curiosity.
Hattie snapped her fingers. “Come ’way from him, Nita, afore you stare him awake.” Then to Dorothea: “Dot, that baby shole look tired. Didn’t he sleep any all that way up here?”
Dot nodded. “That all he do is sleep!”
“He talk any yet?”
Dot sighed and shook her head. She raked a few large crumbs from the table and into her open palm. “Ain’t opened his mouth. Act like he trying to leave us. Doctors say his mind went so deep he won’t never remember none of it, and when he gets older we should just tell him both his folks died in a car accident.” She squeezed her hands into fists and her bottom lip quivered. “That damn demon oughtta die! Oughtta fry in the ’lectric chair!” she whispered. “Goddamn her wicked soul! Jeo Junior was my onliest son, Hattie! You hear me? My onliest son!”
Hattie stood and retrieved a stiff dishrag from a rack above the sink, then held it out to accept the pie crumbs. She patted her old friend’s back and rocked her the way you would comfort a colicky baby. “Trust Jesus, Dot. He don’t make no mistakes. ’Sides, you got that baby over there to worry about now. J.J. was a man, but that’n there is still a chile. You gots to concentrate on him.”
Dottie nodded and wiped her hands on the dry cloth, sobbing softly as she reached into her dress pocket and blew her nose into a crumpled white handkerchief. “That’s what the doctors say too. They say to leave him be and he’ll quit sleeping and start talking when his mind and his heart is ready.” A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks and she let go of a quiet sob. “I just don’t know if’n my poor little Scooter is gon’ ever be ready.”
It took four-year-old Juanita Lucas three months to chip away the wall of silence surrounding Scooter Morrison. Precocious and determined, each morning after breakfast she marched two apartment doors down and, with her green eyes sparkling and flashing, announced to Dot Morrison, “I’m here to save Scooter.”
And save him she did. Juanita pestered Scooter like a gnat, asking him a million questions and answering every one of them for him. She bossed him around like a prison warden, forced him to play with her dolls, fixed him peanut butter and cheese sandwiches, and demanded he lick his plate clean.
She had no mercy.
While the adults in the building clucked over Scooter, fed him candy drops, and called him “poor baby,” Juanita harassed him like a hornet and left no room in his life for either sorrow or solitude. Every morning she jerked a narrow-toothed comb through his coarse hair, painfully tearing out patches and snapping it off at the roots, slathered his arms and legs with a stick of cocoa butter to get rid of his “skeeter-bites,” and insisted he open his mouth and let her scrub his teeth and gums with wet baking soda and a frayed toothbrush.
After a typical morning of Juanita asking endless questions and then supplying Scooter with the answers, he’d finally had his fill. “Why is your bottom lip so much bigger than your top lip?” Juanita inquired, and just as innocently answered in a voice she assumed would sound like his. “ ’Cause one day when I was down Souf, way back in Ally-bammy, I fell out of a pecan tree and bumped my lip on a rock. Then I sucked all of the blood out of it and filled it back up with tobacco juice and that’s why I have such a big, fat liver lip!” With a burst of laughter she tossed her hair in his direction and leaned against the bright blue card table that was cluttered with finger paints and colorful sheets of construction paper.
Scooter lunged. A strangled cry tore from his throat and he extended his hands like claws. Crazed, he knocked over a child-size yellow chair and snatched ferociously at his green-eyed tormentor.
Bracing herself, Juanita sidestepped Scooter’s assault, and with a heavy thrust sent him crashing into the card table before tumbling to the floor, landing flat on his tear-streaked face.
Scooter recovered swiftly. Oblivious to the mess of paints that splattered his clothing and colored his rage, he scrambled to his feet. Leaping, he sailed forward and sank his nails into Juanita’s face, clawing her left cheek. His skinny arms flailed wildly as he windmilled into her and buried his hands in her tangles down to her scalp, swinging her around by her endless bulk of hair.
Recklessly, they tussled and scrapped and pinched and clawed, until a triumphant Scooter, with tears pouring from his eyes and a slice of red war paint streaking his chin, found himself sitting astride Juanita’s heaving chest. As he stared down into her face he saw no malice and no fear. Whereas he was wild and crazed, Juanita seemed accepting and calm. He pulled back his tiny fist to smash those steady green eyes to Kalamazoo, and then hesitated. Instead of striking, Scooter peered at Juanita closely, tilting his head from one side to the other.
And then he uttered his first words in more than three months.
“You got a big green booger in your nose.” He belched, then grinned. “It’s even greener than your ugly, bugged-out kryptonite eyes!”
And with that, the fighting children burst into uncontrollable laughter, rolling and frolicking in the paint-and-litter chaos of the floor, Scooter’s high-pitched peals ringing and blending with Juanita’s childish chimes and both filling the air with the unabashed glee of two very small children who have suddenly discovered that life can be happy and carefree.
From the Hardcover edition.
Meet the Author
Tracy Price-Thompson is a highly decorated Desert Storm veteran and the author of the Essence and Black Expressions bestseller Black Coffee. A Brooklyn native and retired Army engineer, she is a member of the Alpha Delta Mu Honor Society of Rutgers University and a Ralph Bunche Graduate Fellow who holds degrees in business administration and social work. Price-Thompson was recently a finalits for the a Zora Neale Hurston/Richard Wright Award for literary excellence, and is currently completing her third novel, A Taste of Hunnie. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and their children and would love to hear your thoughts on Chocolate Sangria. You can e-mail her at firstname.lastname@example.org or write to her at P.O. Box 187, Fort Dix, NJ 08640.
From the Hardcover edition.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Chocolate Sangria would be the perfect book for you if you love dealing with drama, suspense, and love stories. The author Tracy Price-Thompson has created this story to be one of her best novels since her last novel Essence and Black Expressions. Even though Black Coffee was the bestseller. To me I think that Chocolate Sangria should have got that place. There are a lot of important characters in this novel but the main character is Hattie. She was living in a time for need of help. Her family wasn¿t really there for her because they were also struggling with their money. Hattie only could find work at domestic jobs working part time as a stripper during the night and during the day she was struggling as a waitress. Although she was making good money at her stripper job it still wasn¿t enough for her and her children. Hattie felt left out when she would go out with all her friends. She was the only one that wasn¿t married and was hard at finding a well paid job. All of her other friends were working as doctors and were happily married. All Hattie really wanted was those three things in life to have a nice marriage, good children, and a well paid job. But for Hattie it seems like she could never get to those three things in life and whenever she would try to do good for herself and her son everything would go wrong and she would end up with nothing. Until one day Hattie found the perfect man that can change everything that¿s going wrong in her life and make it perfect. Jorge was his name and he didn¿t have much in his life either but when they got together Hattie just forgot about everything she is struggling with like paying her bills and finding something for her son to eat every night. Hattie and Jorge only known each other for three weeks and Jorge have already moved in. Hattie thought there relationship was going to move on to better and bigger things now like them even getting married. She had a lot of plans for them but those plans were about to change.
This book will take your breath away. It tells a story of love, hardship, and personal struggles. The characters are phenomenal and well brought out. You will love this book, and the love story it tells. I am still bewildered by this book!!!
Chocolate Sangria, Tracy Price Thompson 4 NODS Nita, is a young woman dealing with many issues. Being a sister that is so fair skinned that her heritage is constantly questioned, she develops a tough outer shell. Growing up, she develops a friendship with Scooter Morrison. Scooter is as much an outcast as Nita is. He is a boy that is confused about his sexuality and it¿s obvious to everyone else. Nita and Scooter have been avoiding love for so long that when it happens they don¿t know what to do. Nita finds a real prince charming in a young, Hispanic brother named Conan. Conan is a great guy but he is dealing with some demons from his past. Scooter is not as lucky. He falls for Jorge, Conan¿s best friend. Unlike Conan, Jorge is full of rage and jealousy. He is so bitter that he doesn¿t even realize that he can still fall on his own sword. Chocolate Sangria tackles African American issues that have been passed down over time. Inter racial relationships, sexuality and color. Well written and thought provoking it will cause one to dig within and work out their own demons. Readincolor Reviewers Angie Pickett-Henderson/Moderator
Chocolate Sangria, written by Tracy Price-Thompson, is a contemporary love story that encompasses the trial and tribulations people go through when trying to grow up and find themselves. Set in modern-day New York, heroine, Juanita Lucas has not had an easy life. Never knowing her parents and living with her aunt and uncle, Juanita has encountered discrimination from those she only wanted to befriend . Conan Lopez, the knight-in-shining armor, is strong, intelligent, and just trying to survive and move away from a life that seems to be taking him down. Scooter Morrison, Juanita¿s best friend, has also had a hard life. Witnessing the tragic deaths of both of his parents, Scooter is trying to find himself and finally accept the lifestyle he has started to explore. Jorge, roommate of Conan, is depicted as the character readers love to hate. Conniving, manipulative, and full of rage, Jorge has a chip on his shoulder that ultimately causes him to lose everything. A good fiction that gives readers another perspective on life and love, Chocolate Sangria offers young adult readers a plot with which they can connect. The irony of Juanita¿s origin and her aunt¿s prejudice against Conan, helps readers see the mentality different people have towards interracial relationships. Thompson¿s use of descriptive scenes and the narration of pain and self-discovery experienced by Juanita, provides readers with a sense of empathy for the heroine. The novel has audiences hoping that Juanita can finally find self-confidence, strength, and happiness within herself so she can live the life she has been wishing for since childhood. Readers also get embroiled into story while reading about the physical and emotional pain Scooter goes through as a young, African-American, and¿ gay man. Audiences will become so entangled in the romantic relationships throughout the book that painful scenes in the novel will quickly be read over to get to the next romance scene. Suspenseful, fast moving, and containing surprises on each page, Chocolate Sangria explores the blossoming love between Juanita and Conan, as she comes to terms with her past and the secrets lurking around her.
Tracey digs deep into many of society's issues today regarding sex, race and unconditinal love. Outstanding novel! Her literature is perfect for the big screen.
First of all, I am always amazed and excited when I can witness a writer's growth. As a reader, I can tell when the craft has been honed. Tracy Price-Thompson evidently studies and writes in her sleep. She is an author to be reckoned with. Chocolate Sangria is a page turner from word one. I love the beginning where the imagery of childbirth, racism, and the customs of black people are painted through scenery and dialogue. Little Juanita and Scooter are two flawed individuals thrown together by ugly circumstances, that are not of their doing, but have life-time consequences and orders their paths up to adulthood. Other reviewers have focused on the story; a story that is wonderfully written and without a doubt could be the seed for many disorderly lives. I'd like to focus on the writing. This story could be told by anyone, but written on a page to capture the soul of a reader by only one....Tracy Price Thompson...a writer's writer.
CHOC-O-LATE: 1)a food prepared from ground roasted cacao beans 2) a variable color averaging a brownish gray SAN-GRIA: 1) a punch made of red wine, fruit juice, and soda water CHOC-O-LATE SAN-GRIA: 1) Tracy Price Thompson's delightful sophomore novel 2) a page-turning tale of romance and intrigue between a young, light skinned black woman and a young Puerto Rican male 3) an intelligently written, carefully plotted, highly characterized tale of what happens when a young latino man and a young black woman happen upon one another; a chronicle of their struggles to find love and happiness when at every turn their own doubts and a wicked anti-hero ( Jorge, the thuggish ruggish latino you'll love to hate) threaten their relationship TRA-CY PRICE THOMP-SON: 1) a writer with fire in her pen instead of ink