“Nappy No More. How can I help you?” Felecia says, answering the phone. She looks over at me and mouths it’s Jasper. I tell her to give me a minute to get to my office and then to transfer the call. I strut to my office, closing the door behind me, then pick up the phone.
“Hey, baby,” I say, sitting on the edge of my desk.
“How you, beautiful? What you been doing with ya sexy-ass self?”
“Thinking about you,” I tell him, closing my eyes to shut off the images from the other night. I press my thighs tightly together.
“Yo, thanks for droppin’ off those things. I ’preciate that. You got ya man lookin’ right, baby.”
“And so you should. Did you put me on the visiting list yet?”
“Nah,” he says coolly.”
“Why not?” I ask with attitude. Maybe it’s not warranted because of the shit I’m doing behind his back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my man and I want to be able to see him.
“I’m only gonna be here for thirty, maybe forty-five, days at the most. Once they finish all these bullshit-ass assessments, I’ma be shipped outta this muhfucka, feel me?”
“Mmmph, if you say so.”
“Yo, c’mon, baby.”
“’Cmon’ nothing. All of a sudden you getting brand new, acting like you don’t want visits.”
He laughs. “Aye, yo, knock it off. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m sayin’, baby. You already know what it is. You the only one I’m tryna see, real talk. You should know that shit. How the fuck you think I made it the last four years? You’ve been ridin’ this shit out wit’ a muhfucka faithfully. And that shit says a lot. Those visits kept me sane, baby. They got me through all this shit, feel me? But I’m tired of ’em. I wanna hold you in my arms. Tongue ya sexy ass down, and not have a muhfucka cock-blockin’ me. This shit is almost over, baby. And the next time I see you I want it to be you picking me up at the halfway house so we can slide off and get our fuck on. Period. Thirty days, baby; that’s all. Then it’s on. It’ll go by fast, feel me?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I finally agree half-heartedly.
All of a sudden my mind starts racing, thinking up crazy shit. Like maybe he’s trying to get brand new ’cause he has some side bitch on his team. I know how niggas do once they’ve finished a bid. They’ll have one chick riding out his whole sentence with him, gassing her ass up to think he’s coming home to her. So she plays her position to only find out that her ass’s been played; that the joke’s been on her all the time. Because the nigga’s got another plan and her ass isn’t a part of it. I feel myself about to go off, feeling the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. But I’m smart and sane enough to know that all the messy shit I’m conjuring up is all in my head because of my own guilty conscience. I take a deep breath.
“You know I love you, right?”
Ohhhhkay, where is this going? I wonder, sitting further back on my desk. I nod as if he can see me through the phone. “Yeah,” I reply, pausing. “I know that. And I love you, too.”
“Yo, no secrets, aiight?”
“I wasn’t aware we were keeping any,” I say coolly. I silently hold my breath, anticipating the direction this conversation is headed.
“For better or for worse…we in this, right?”
I know this man loves the hell out of me. “Jasper, do you even have to ask?” I ask indignantly. “Of course we are. We’ve been through too much not to be.”
“No doubt,” he says, pausing. “Yo, so keep it gee, baby. Am I comin’ home to a tight pussy, or am I gonna haveta snap out?”
“Excuuuse me?” I say crossly, trying to act like I didn’t hear what he’s asked. “What did you ask me?”
“I wanna know if you let any muhfuckas run up in that good shit while I been behind the wall?”
I roll my eyes up in my head, sucking my teeth. Prepare myself for the staged theatrics I’m about to go into. “OhmyGod, I can’t believe you asked me some shit like that. How many times do we have to keep going over this? You keep asking me the same shit, and I keep giving you the same answers. Yes, it’s tight. No, I’m not getting fucked. I’ve been waiting for you. Damn. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“’Cause I know how chicks do, that’s why.”
“And I know how niggas do. And I know how you used to do, but you don’t constantly hear me bringing the shit up. Damn.”
“Aye, yo, why you gettin’ all defensive ’n shit? I’m only askin’ a simple question.”
“I’m not getting defensive,” I snap.
“Sounds like it to me.”
“Well, I’m not,” I huff. “But what I’m getting is sick of you asking me the same shit over and over, like you doubt me or something. What if I started asking how many bitches you’ve been writing and calling? Or how many bitches have been coming to see you on the days I don’t?”
“You can ask me that shit all you want. And I’ma keep the shit one hunnid.”
“Oh, like you used to when you were out here fucking around on me?”
“Yo, hol’ up. You not ’bout to flip this shit on me. I fucked up when I was out on the bricks, but that shit’s in the past, yo. I deaded all that lyin’ and cheatin’ shit the last time you caught me out there.”
For some reason my mind drifts back to the last time I caught Jasper’s ass cheating. I was on South Orange Avenue on my way to Livingston Mall, stopped at the traffic light, when I spotted a black Range Rover stopped at the other side of the light facing me. At first I didn’t pay it much attention because there was a chick behind the wheel, but then I glanced at the license plate as it was making a left turn onto South Munn Avenue and realized that the SUV this chick was driving was definitely Jasper’s. I snatched up my cell and started to call his ass, but quickly dismissed the idea and decided to follow her to wherever she was going instead. Ironically, as I’m following his truck, he called me.
“Hello,” I answered, trying my damndest not to start interrogating him.
“Hey, baby,” he coolly replied, “where you at? I called the shop but Felecia said you left already.”
“Yeah,” I told him, keeping a nice distance between me and the truck. Even though I was ready to go off, I kept my tone even; kept my eye on the truck as it stopped at a home in the Vailsburg section of Newark. “I’m on my way to Livingston Mall. Why?”
“Just askin’. What time you gonna be home?”
I glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. I decided to tell him I wouldn’t be home until after seven. I stopped a few houses down, turned off the engine, and watched this chick get out of my man’s ride—like she owned the shit! She opened the backseat and pulled out several bags. The bitch had been shopping, probably spending his money. “Why? As a matter of fact, where are you?”
“Oh, uh…I’m in Maplewood wit’ Stax.”
“Oh, tell him I said hey. What, ya’ll getting into? Visiting your grandmother?”
“Yeah, she got us painting and moving shit for her.”
“Awww, how cute,” I told him. “That’s real nice of ya’ll. Are you riding with Stax?”
“Nah, I’m driving,” he lied.
“So what time are you gonna be home?”
“Uh, I’m not sure; late most likely.”
“What’s late?”
“Like ’round midnight or so.”
I peeped the house the broad went into, waited a few minutes, then got out of my car. I popped open my truck, pulled out my ice-pick, then started walking toward his truck. Yes, in broad motherfucking daylight, I dropped down low and punched up his tires.
“What are you driving?”
“My truck, why?”
“Oh really? That’s amazing.”
“Why you say that?”
“’Cause motherfucker, I’m standing outside looking at the shit as we speak.” I rattled off the license plate number.
“Say whaaat?”
“You heard me the first time, nigga. I said, how the fuck you driving your truck when I’m outside looking at it? I just finished ice-picking two of your motherfucking tires so you had better hurry up and get your black ass out here right now before I stab up the other two.”
“What the fuck? Say what?!”
I started counting, “Ten, nine, eight…bring your motherfucking ass…seven, six, five…out of that goddamn house…four, three, two…NOW! Or I’m gonna start busting out your motherfucking windows, nigga…one.”
I saw someone looking out an upstairs window, then heard him say, “Oh, shit.” Then I heard scrambling around; someone running down stairs, then the front door flung open. And out came Jasper’s ass, pulling his shirt over his head. His jeans were unbuttoned and his Timbs were unlaced. Clear signs that the nigga had been undressed. His eyes were wide as saucers when he looked down and saw his truck slumped over on one side.
“Motherfucker, you better explain what the fuck you’re doing over here when you’re supposed to be in Maplewood with Stax. And what the fuck was that chick doing driving your truck?”
“Damn, Pasha…what the fuck, yo?”
“Ain’t no Pasha ’what the fuck’ nothing, nigga. I wanna know what the fuck you doing over here and why the fuck you have some bitch driving your shit.”
“I ain’t have no bitch driving my shit. Yo, you buggin’ for real. Why you flatten my tires?”
“Nigga, you’re a motherfucking liar. I know what the fuck I saw. So don’t try ’n switch it up on me. I asked you a motherfucking question, but since you can’t seem to give me a straight answer, I’ll go to the source.” I started walking toward the house. Jasper ran up on me, snatching me by the arm.
“Aye, yo, you buggin’. It’s not what you think for real, yo.”
“Oh, really? Nigga, I followed some bitch driving your mother-fucking truck, you give me some bullshit-ass story about being with Stax in Maplewood, then come running out of another ho’s house trying to put your goddamn clothes back on. Nigga, the only one bugging is you!” He tried to calm me, but I wasn’t having it. “Tell that bitch to bring her ass outside, now.” She must have been listening at the window because when the door opened she stepped out onto the porch. “Bitch,” I yelled, “how long you been fucking my man?”
Before she was able to open her mouth to respond, Jasper ordered her back into the house. And like an obedient, dick-whipped bitch she went back in. And that only pissed me off more, causing me to smack his face and punch him in the chest for not allowing her to speak.
Anyway, come to find out, he’d been fucking the chick for close to six months and lacing her with wears and money and shit. So, basically, his ass was not only creeping, but in a whole ’nother relationship. Trust and believe, I boxed and bagged all of his shit and dumped it off on that bitch’s porch. Then I went to Home Depot and bought new door locks, changed the code to the alarm system, and blocked his numbers from my cell. He begged and pleaded and made promises to cut all of his extracurricular hoes off. But I wasn’t trying to hear it. I was through! And when I got tired of him coming here to the shop, I took out a restraining order on him. Of course that shit only lasted for three months before I went back to court to have it dismissed and he was right back where he belonged—in my bed and in between these legs.
“…the only person I’ve been fuckin’ wit’ is you,” he says, bringing my attention back to the conversation. “And that’s what it is. You’re all I need and want. So don’t try ’n flip this shit on me. This is ’bout you, baby. And me comin’ home findin’ out you was lettin’ some other muhfucka bang ya back in. So you already know if you ain’t tight I’ma fuck you up. You do know that, right?”
“Nigga,” I huff, “don’t be threatening me.”
“Yeah, aiight. You already know what it is.”
I glance up at the wall clock. It’s 12:38 p.m. My next appointment isn’t until two. I sigh. “Well, it’s apparent you don’t trust me, so I gotta wonder why we’re even together.”
“Yo, save that reverse psychology shit for them clown-ass muhfuckas. What the fuck you mean you gotta wonder why we’re together? Don’t start no dumb shit, yo. We’re together ’cause that’s how it’s fuckin’ supposed to be. You ain’t goin’ nowhere, and neither the fuck am I.”
“Hmmph.”
“Oh, you goin’ somewhere?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what the fuck I thought. So what the fuck is you gruntin’ for?”
I’m trying to understand how the hell we’ve gone from having a nice, easy-going conversation to this shit. I swear I think this nigga’s bipolar.
“Look,” I tell him, having enough of this. “I gotta go. I have an appointment coming in.”
He laughs. “Oh, now you got an appointment ’n shit. It’s all good, though. I gotta get ready for this bullshit-ass group, anyway. So I’ma let ya sexy ass off the hook for now, baby.”
“Jasper, kiss my ass, okay?”
“Yeah, aiight,” he says, laughing. “I’ma be doin’ more than that in a minute. Believe that. And you better remember what I said, yo: Don’t fuckin’ play me.”
It’s close to six o’clock and I’m so ready to get the hell home. Today, for some reason, has been a day from hell. It has been one thing after another. And just when I don’t think it can get any worse, it does. “Pasha, you have a call on line three,” Felecia says into the phone’s intercom system.
“Okay, thanks,” I tell her, pressing the third blinking light, then picking up. “Hello? This is Pasha speaking.”
“Those sexy-ass lips of yours were all I thought about when I was in county. I beat my dick every night, thinking ’bout you suckin’ my joint again,” the voice on the other end says. His voice is deep, and unfamiliar.
“Who is this?” I calmly ask.
“The nigga you dissed a few days ago,” he snaps. “I bet you didn’t think I was gonna figure out who you were, did you, you dick-sucking bitch? I almost didn’t think I would either—until now.”
I hang up, feeling my nerves starting to unravel. Less than a minute later, another call is being transferred to me. I pick up. “Hello? This is Pasha.”
“Bitch, I’ma keep calling you so don’t fuckin’ hang up on me.”
“And I’ma call the fucking cops,” I warn.
He laughs. “Yeah, right. And tell ’em what, bitch? How you tried to suck the skin off my dick? Go right ahead.”
I take a deep sigh. He’s right. There’s no way I want that to come out. OhmyGod, I’d be the laughingstock of the town. These bitches here would have a field day with that kind of dirt on me. “Look. Why are you calling me?”
“To hear that sexy-ass voice of yours. After you told me you weren’t beat to suck my dick again and blocked my emails, you had me feelin’ some kinda way. I told you my dick needed your tongue, too…” His email flashes in my mind. OhmyFuckingGod, how did this nut find me? He continues speaking as if he read my thoughts.
“…But as luck would have it. I found you without having to look very hard. All this time, you’ve been right under my nose. Nappy No More, I like. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Look, what do you want from me?”
“Don’t play stupid. Why else would I be calling ya smutty ass? I want your lips wrapped around my dick again,” he tells me. “Seeing your pretty face in the paper on Sunday got my dick on brick…”
I frown. Try to figure out what this fool on the other end of the phone is talking about seeing my face in the paper. Then it dawns on me. Oh, shit! I think, gasping. He’s talking about the photo of me in the local news section of The Star Ledger. The one taken of me at Nana’s church’s Community Day a few weeks ago. I was so caught up in the moment, overwhelmed by the number of women who had turned out, that I didn’t have a chance to think about what those photos could potentially do to me. Now I wish I could rewind back to that day. I would have told them no fucking pictures.
“…You got me wanting to bust a few rounds of nut down in that nasty-ass throat of yours. That shit feels just like a wet, gushy pussy.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck raise. “Who the fuck did you say are?”
“I didn’t. But don’t worry ya pretty lil’ head ’bout that. You’ll find out soon enough, trick. All you need to know right now is I’ma ’bout to be your worst fuckin’ nightmare. Check your mail, baby. And if you don’t do what I want, there’ll be more where that came from.”
“Listen…” the line goes dead. I try to star-sixty-nine the call, but it’s from a blocked number. I glance over at the stack of mail sitting on my desk, then start frantically sifting through it. When I come across a manila envelope with my name typed on it without a return address, I immediately know it’s from him. My stomach knots as I reach for my letter opener. I swallow hard, then slice open the back of the envelope. I pull out its contents. Oh…my…fucking…God! I hear myself scream in my head as I gasp, cupping a hand up over my mouth. My heart has dropped into my lap. I can literally feel the color draining from my face. I sit, staring at the sheet of paper, gripping it in my hand—mortified. It’s a color copy of the photo from the newspaper neatly cut out, and taped in the center of white copier paper. The newspaper caption reads: BUSINESS OWNER, PASHA ALLEN, STYLIST AND OWNER OF NAPPY NO MORE HAIR SALON IN ORANGE, NEW JERSEY, GIVES BACK TO THE COMMUNITY. Underneath that, in cutout lettering, glued to the white copier paper. Reads: PASHA ALLEN (AKA DEEP THROAT DIVA) IS THE COMMUNITY DICK WASHER. DICK SUCKING BITCH!