“Bitch, why you didn’t call me back?”
“What?” I asked, wakin’ up all groggy ’n shit. I’d slept so damn hard I wasn’t sure if it was day or night. I had to look around to see where I was. After I took my shower, I remembered goin’ back downstairs to get me another shot of Rémy and ended up takin’ the bottle and a glass into my media room, smokin’ another blunt, and listenin’ to that crazy chick Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black CD. The last song I remembered hearin’ was “Tears Dry on Their Own” before dozin’ off.
I yawned and stretched. “Girl, what time is it?”
“It’s almost five-thirty.”
“Damn,” I said, sittin’ up. “I musta been tired as hell.”
“I thought I told ya ass to make sure you called me back.”
“Unh-uh, don’t do it. My mother got on her bullshit again. So you really don’t want it, ho. Not today.”
“Oh, shit. That bad?”
“Worse,” I said. “She worked my fuckin’ nerves down into the ground so bad I had to take three blunts and a bottle to the head to calm my ass down.” I gave her the 4-1-1 on my visit with my moms and her nigga, then told her ’bout the phone conversation we had.
“Damn,” Chanel said. “That’s fucked up. And she really threatened to have your aunts jump you?”
“Yeah, ain’t that some shit? But I tell you what. Let ’em try it.”
“Kat, girl, you know I always got ya back. But fuckin’ with ya crazy-ass aunts is like walkin’ through Iraq bare-assed. They fuckin’ crazy. You might wanna take that ass whoopin’ and keep it movin’ ’cause I ain’t tryna rock with ’em.”
I had to laugh ’cause she was right. Them bitches were noodles. First, there was Rosa, the oldest. She was forty-three with six kids and two grandchildren. Although she stopped usin’ cocaine ten years ago, she still drank and carried a razor under her tongue and had no problem slicin’ a bitch. Young, old, nigga, bitch, or in between—if ya came at her sideways on some greasy slick shit, she was gonna bring it to ya ass swift and clean. She wasn’t one for a bunch of talkin’, she’d just start slicin’. You wouldn’t even know you’d been straight-edged until ya ass hit the concrete. She lived over in the Pink Houses, another one of Brooklyn’s housin’ projects.
Next was Elise. She was thirty-six and had spent almost eight years in prison for arson and aggravated assault and battery charges she got in ’95 when she set her sons’ father on fire while he was sleepin’. He had gotten some other bitch in her buildin’ pregnant and Elise wasn’t havin’ it. She dropped her sons off over my grandmother’s, then went back and torched his ass without blinkin’ an eye. She’s been home for close to four years and lives over in Red Hook with my two teenaged cousins.
Then there was my youngest aunt, Patrice, who was twenty-eight. She still lived with my grandmother over in Brownsville and only fucked niggas who were either drug dealers or gun runners. The bitch still boosted for a livin’, drove a Range Rover, and always stepped outta her buildin’ like she was that chick. But aside from the high-end wears and truck her nigga bought, the nutty bitch doesn’t own a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Just dumb, dumb, dumb!
However, on some real shit, she was the prettiest outta the four of ’em. With her jet-black hair flowin’ down the center of her back and extra slick bangs, she had that Pocahontas look about her, with a body like a damn hourglass. Crazy thing, you would think that she and I would have been close since we were only three years apart and both fly bitches. Not! That bitch hated me, and make no mistake, there was no love lost between us where I was concerned either. But, keepin’ it real, she was the only one of my aunts I used to look up to when I was growin’ up. That’s until the slimy bitch fucked my man, but that’s another discussion for another time.
“Yeah, them bitches are crazy,” I said, laughin’. “But they can get it, too. I’m not lettin’ none of them hoes put their hands on me, and not rock with ’em. No, it’s gonna be poppin’. And I already know Pat don’t really want it.”
“I hear you,” she said. “But I’ma hafta sit this one out if shit pops off. I can’t get caught up in no family–feud type shit. I saw how they get down when they jumped on that bitch, Tiny, at ya cousin’s barbecue last year in Prospect Park. They wore that ho out. No, thank you, ma’am…I ain’t fuckin’ with ya aunts. The summer is comin’ and a pretty bitch ain’t tryna have her face dug out, and I definitely ain’t tryna look like burnt toast. Please. I got no time tryna mend some damn fire burns.”
I bust out laughin’, thinkin’ back on how the three of them had set it off on that bitch for talkin’ slick to Patrice over some dumb nigga they both were fuckin’, even though Patrice was really the one who provoked the shit.
It was an end-of-the-summer barbecue my cousin Manny and his boys threw, and it was one of the very few times I wasn’t beefin’ with Patrice. The park was packed with niggas. The drinks were flowin’, the music was rockin’, and the grill was blazin’. Everbody was lit and feelin’ real good. Then, as soon as Patrice saw Tiny—who was wearin’ a burgundy weave and was stuffed in a cute Dolce & Gabbana denim mini-skirt, a sexy white midriff shirt, and a bangin’ pair of Miu Miu strappy sandals—struttin’ her big ass and double-D titties through the crowd toward the food table, Patrice started up.
“Somebody better get that fat bitch up outta here,” Patrice had said to my aunt Elise, “before I end up goin’ in her mouth. I’m sick of lookin’ at her fat ass. Damn pork roll.” Patrice and my aunt Elise were sittin’ in their beach chairs passin’ a flask of rum back ’n forth. They were definitely feelin’ good.
Of course Tiny heard her since Patrice had said it loud enough that she could. But Tiny kept it cute and igged her, keepin’ it movin’.
Elise stared at her, then grunted. “Humph. Let the bitch do her. She don’t want it. Besides, I don’t know why you mad at her ass any damn way. It’s that nigga you should be pissed at. He’s the one fuckin’ the both of you. You don’t know what the hell that nigga is tellin’ her.”
“Still, that bitch knows he’s my man. And she still fucks with him.”
I blinked, blinked again, then stared at this bitch, before steppin’ the fuck away. I couldn’t believe what I’d heard this ho say. I was so ready to remind her grimy ass of what she did to me, but decided to let it go otherwise it woulda been her and me thumpin’ out that piece. Chanel had peeped it, too. Here she was, hatin’ on the next bitch for fuckin’ her man—who wasn’t all that—when she had done the same fuckin’ shit to me.
I laughed at how crazy the bitch sounded. “Mighty funny how what goes around, comes around,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. “Come on, Chanel, get ya shit and let’s bounce before it starts gettin’ hectic out here.”
“Excuse you?” Patrice said to me.
“Don’t,” I warned, givin’ her the evil eye. “Not today, boo-boo. Please don’t.”
“No, don’t you, bitch,” she said.
I laughed at her ass, but I knew if she got up I was gonna beat her face in. She kept it cute and kept her ass in her seat.
“What, you ain’t got your aunt’s back if shit kicks off?” Elise asked, lookin’ at me all indignant ’n shit.
“Basically,” I said. “You know me and Patrice don’t get down like that. Besides, a bitch didn’t come out here to be breakin’ up my nails and gettin’ all dirty ’n shit; especially for her ass.”
“Whatever, bitch,” Patrice said, rollin’ her eyes. “You know you can get it, too.”
“Is that so?”
“Both of you stop. No matter what the fuck is goin’ on between the two of you, ya’ll bitches still family, and when shit jumps off ya’ll should be puttin’ that bullshit to the side and have each other’s back. Ya’ll blood, and should never let no fuckin’ nigga come between ya’ll.”
I laughed. “No disrespect, Aunt Elise. It’s a bit too late for that. Any bitch who fucks my man ain’t no damn family of mine. And a bitch like that gets what the fuck she gets.” I looked over at Patrice and stared her down. “It’s called karma, sweetie. Obviously, she didn’t get the memo.”
Aunt Elise’s eyes widened. Patrice glared at me, but the only reason she didn’t try to get at me was because she was too focused on Tiny. Chanel and I stepped off, leavin’ them bitches lookin’ like two fools. And just as we were makin’ our way over toward the liquor, Tiny passed us, headin’ toward where Patrice was sittin’. She offered a smile. Her beef with Patrice had nothin’ to do with me, and she knew it. I smiled back, bouncin’ my ass to Busta Rhymes’s “Touch It” remix. The deejay had that shit pumpin’. When the nigga slipped “Make It Clap” on, bitches were poppin’ them hips and niggas were tryna get they grinds on.
“Oh, shit,” Chanel said suddenly. “Looks like it’s ’bout to get messy out this bitch. Tiny and ya aunt over there beefin’.” I turned around, cranin’ my neck, and sure ’nough Tiny had her hands on her hips, and Patrice had stood up and they were goin’ back ’n forth. Next thing I knew, Tiny slapped the shit outta Patrice. Patrice stumbled backward—and that’s all it took. Tiny was yokin’ Patrice’s ass up, beatin’ her down like a nigga. That’s when my aunts Elise and Rosa set it off on Tiny, pullin’ out razors and slashin’ up her back, chest, and face. Blood was everywhere. Tiny hit the ground and all three of them started stompin’ and kickin’ her. Then Elise set Tiny’s weave on fire. Bitches started screamin and scramblin’, then guns started poppin’ off. By the time my cousins were able to get my aunts off Tiny, the bitch’s hair and scalp was in flames and she was all gashed up. Her blouse was shredded and one of her titties was hangin’ out. Poor thing! It was terrible. They fucked her up somethin’ terrible—all over some sorry-ass nigga and Patrice bein’ the trouble-makin’ bitch that she is.
“Well,” I said, “hopefully they don’t try ’n serve me. But since my moms on her bullshit, I don’t know what might happen. She talkin’ like the next time I’m in BK they gonna swoop down on me and bring it.”
Am I really gonna have to watch my back with them bitches? I tried to imagine how they would come at me. I wondered if they’d wait until the next family gatherin’ and set it off. Would one of ’em try ’n trick me into comin’ over to their spot, while the rest of ’em hid in closets, then when my back was turned jump out and start swingin’ off? Would they corner me, then pull out razors and start slashin’ me up? I decided to keep my heat packed in my bag just in case.
“That’s real fucked up,” Chanel said.
“Oh well. It is what it is. I’m not pressed, trust. So, what shit Tamia done got herself in now?” I asked, changin’ the subject. I really wasn’t feelin’ any of her drama, but I didn’t wanna talk anymore ’bout my fucked-up mother or her crazy-assed sisters either.
“Some chick stepped to her about some nigga when she was downtown last week and threatened to whoop her ass the next time she called her man’s cell…” Okay, this is where I started zonin’ out. I was so sick of these bitches fightin’ and arguin’ over their half-assed niggas. I had no interest in entertainin’ this shit. Been there, done that. And I had no desire to ever have to whoop another bitch’s ass over a piece of dick. I swore after bangin’ Patrice’s face up that I’d never go there again. And I meant it.
About a year after I bounced on Naheem, I started fuckin’ with this nigga who everybody called B-Love ’cause he was from Bed-Stuy and got mad love from the streets for stayin’ on his grind. The nigga was pushin’ bricks and keys and had shops set up in different sections of his hood as well as in other sections of BK. He was the type of cat who knew how to get money and didn’t give a fuck ’bout rollin’ up his sleeves, puttin’ in work and gettin’ dirty. He didn’t fuck with lightweight niggas. If you wanted him to build with ya ass, you had better come at him with some major paper and be talkin’ ’bout makin’ major moves, otherwise you’d either get laughed at or get ya wig pushed back for tryna waste his time. And he didn’t slouch when it came to takin’ what he wanted, includin’ pussy.
He was six foot two, brown-skinned, well built, and had beautiful brown eyes that sparkled whenever he smiled or laughed. The nigga stayed rockin’ a fresh, low fade cut with spinnin’ waves, crisp sideburns, and a neatly trimmed mustache. Yeah, the nigga was finer than a muhfucka, with a big, long, thick, juicy dick that he knew how to use all night long. But the nigga was ruthless and didn’t give a fuck who he pissed on. It was his arrogance and aggressive nature, along with his persistence, that made my pussy nut in my panties every time he looked at me.
With Naheem on lock and the money train runnin’ low, a bitch had to get back on her grind, so I went back to boostin’ to keep my shit right and keep a few dollars in my pockets at the same time. There was no way I was ever gonna pawn or sell all the jewels ’n shit Naheem had laced me with. I was still lampin’ in his spot over in Crown Heights, but that shit was gonna fold in another two months. I didn’t wanna go back to the projects and have to be up under my moms again. A bitch was feelin’ real pressed ’bout her situation. So when Patrice and I walked up into this Jamaican spot on Atlantic Avenue, I spotted the nigga, B-Love, sitting in a corner booth with two other niggas, checkin’ me out in my fly wears as we approached the counter to place our orders. I knew then I had hit the jackpot. But Patrice was already tryna get her digs in. The bitch was salivatin’, tryna get her shine on. So I played it cute, stepped aside and let her bounce her ass around, click-clackin’ and poppin’ her gum like a real hoodrat.
“You see that nigga right there,” she had whispered. I glanced his way. “That nigga is getting paid out the ass. And word is he got a dick like a horse.”
I shrugged like I wasn’t fazed. But I already knew who he was and had heard how he was movin’. Naheem would mention his name and talk about how he wanted to cut into his pockets by takin’ over some of his spots. Besides, I had bumped into him several times at a few VIP parties, and once down in AC. He’d always have some cute chick on his arm, but the bitch wasn’t no real winner like me. And I was always on Naheem’s arm, and he loved showin’ his hood beauty off. So when B-Love kept starin’ at me instead of Patrice, I knew he knew I was that bitch, so I gave him somethin’ to look at. I slowly twisted my body a taste so he could get a clear view of how my jeans wrapped around my apple-bottom ass like a glove.
“Okay,” I said, frownin’, “And?”
“And I’m tryna ride that shit and run his pockets.”
I rolled my eyes. I doubt it, ho, I thought, cuttin’ my eye over at him, but if you say so. The nigga winked at me, then blew a kiss. I rolled my eyes again, this time at him. He said somethin’ to his boys, then I heard him start laughin’. His boys looked over at us, grinnin’.
Patrice peeped them lookin’ over at us and got all agitated ’n shit. “What the fuck they laughin’ at?” she asked, gettin’ ready to turn it up.
I shrugged. “Girl, ignore them niggas. It ain’t that serious. They want some attention. Somethin’ a bitch like me don’t give.”
She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”
I rolled my eyes, but let the bitch’s remark slide.
When our orders came, we paid for our food, then found a table three tables away from them. Patrice’s dick-thirsty ass made sure she posted her ass in the seat directly across from him so that everytime he looked up, he’d see her face. But he was too busy tryna clock me on the sly and Patrice knew it, but she kept on tryna shine. Patrice mighta been older than me, but the bitch didn’t really know shit ’bout a nigga like B-Love. A nigga like him wasn’t gonna openly fuck with no busybody bitch who needed and wanted attention. A real nigga recognized a gold-diggin’ bitch a mile away. Yeah, he’d fuck her, but a bitch like that would bore him to death. She’d be another one of his jump-offs who he laced with shit, but he wasn’t gonna put no cash in her hands. Uh-uh. What a nigga like him wanted was a top-of-the-line, classy bitch who knew how to be a lady in public and a freak behind closed doors. A bitch who didn’t have to open her mouth to get noticed. When she walked into a room, her beauty spoke for itself, and her presence commanded attention. She didn’t have to go lookin’ for it. Yeah, Patrice rocked the fly wears and was a beauty, but she wasn’t that bitch. She was fuckable, but she wasn’t gonna be wifey to a nigga like B-Love. I knew it and B-Love knew it…it’s just too bad Patrice’s ass didn’t know it.
After he and his boys finished eatin’, they got up from their table and walked past us. I could feel the nigga burnin’ a hole in my face, but I igged him. “How you beautiful ladies doin’?” he asked. “Ya’ll sisters or something?” Although he was talkin’ to both of us, he had his eyes on me. I looked up and stared at him, givin’ him a fake half-smile. He was dipped in ice and chunky jewels, but I wasn’t pressed. Well, I was…but he didn’t know it. Patrice spoke.
“No, baby, I’m her aunt. And I can’t speak for her, but I’m doin’ lovely. Thought you knew. What’s good with you, big daddy? How can a chick like me chill with a fine nigga like you?” Oh, this bitch was really reachin’. I picked at my food, unimpressed, while she tried to get her ho on.
He smiled. “Oh, word. I heard that.”
“You got a girl?”
“Nah, baby. I’m just fuckin’. Why, you tryna get it in?”
“That depends,” she said, soundin’ like a real pigeon. I grinned on the sly. He was baitin’ her ass and she was playin’ right into it.
“Oh, on what?”
“On how you treat a bitch like me.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
I faked a yawn.
“What’s good with ya peoples?” he asked her, eyein’ me. Patrice cut her eyes at me, then rolled ’em, like I gave a fuck. She shrugged her shoulders. He spoke directly to me. “What’s up with you, baby girl? Cat got ya tongue?”
I looked up at him, real slow ’n sexy-like. “I’m eatin’,” I said, slowly slidin’ my fork in my mouth, then pullin’ it out, “and I ain’t beat for no convo.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I like that. A pretty chick who knows how to keep her mouth shut.” I tilted my head and was gettin’ ready to blast his ass but he spoke up before I could get started. “No disrespect, feel me? I’m just sayin’—”
“No, nigga, I don’t feel you, and I don’t know what you sayin’. I speak when I wanna speak, and to whoever I wanna speak to. Don’t get it twisted. I ain’t no nigga’s puppet.”
He burst out laughin’. “You feisty and fine. Yeah, I like that.”
I got up to go to the bathroom, suckin’ my teeth. “Whatever, nigga.”
When I got back from the bathroom, he was gone. And Patrice was hot. I ain’t gonna front, I was hopin’ he was gonna still be there, but I knew enough to know that a nigga like him wasn’t gonna be waitin’ too long; not yet anyway. I sat down to finish my food, grinnin’.
“Bitch, why you have to act all stank ’n shit? You knew I was tryna get at him. That nigga is paid.”
“What the hell my attitude got to do with you gettin’ ya ass wet?”
She sucked her teeth.
“Well, did you get his number?” I asked, suckin’ the meat off a chicken bone. Juice dripped from my lips. I licked them and my fingas.
“No, bitch.”
“Well, then, I guess he wasn’t interested.”
“How you figure?” she asked with her face all twisted up ’n shit.
“’Cause ya ass is a gold digger and he peeped ya shit a mile away.”
“So the fuck what? That nigga couldn’t keep his eyes off me. And I’m gonna have him, watch.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“Bitch, I know so.”
“I said, okay, ho. Back up off me. It really ain’t that serious. He might fuck ya dumb ass, but a nigga like him ain’t beat for tryna wife no damn groupie chick.”
She stared me down, but I ignored her ass and kept on eatin’. When we were done, we stepped outside and who the fuck was curbside, leanin’ up against a piped-out, brand-spankin’-new 2001 metallic silver Benz, but the one and only B-Love—live and direct. I ain’t gonna front, the nigga looked good as hell in his powder-blue Sean John sweatsuit with an oversized white tee and a pair of crispy white Uptowns with the powder-blue Nike swoosh and sole. The nigga’s neck was glistenin’ with ice. Patrice immediately got all hyped ’n shit the minute she saw him.
“See. I told you, bitch. The nigga’s out here waitin’ to get at me.”
He grinned. “Hey, baby girl, let me holla at you for a minute.” She started walkin’ over to him, throwin’ an extra shake in her thick hips. “No, not you, ma. Ya peoples.” She stopped in her tracks. I smirked, watchin’ her face crack. But I didn’t move. Instead, I folded my arms across my chest, and stared him down. “Yo, I ain’t gonna bite you, baby. I just wanna talk to you.”
“You wanna talk, you come to me,” I finally said. And that he did. The nigga walked up on me, almost pressin’ his body up against mine, and looked down at me. I looked the nigga dead in his eyes. Didn’t budge or blink. “Can I help you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, smilin’. “You can tell me ya name.” His cinnamon-fresh breath smelled like Dentyne chewin’ gum.
“Unless that info’s gonna add value to ya life, it ain’t important.”
“I’ma call you Baby Girl, then.”
“Knock ya’self out,” I replied, tryna keep from smilin’ while watchin’ Patrice standin’ at the corner with her arms folded tight. The bitch was sick. She had no time for the cat who was tryna rap to her. She wanted the real prize, and it was standin’ right in front of me.
“You still fuckin’ with that nigga Naheem?”
“Excuse you?” I asked with major ’tude. I was surprised he’d ask me about a nigga I knew he knew was locked the hell up.
“I asked you—”
“I know what you asked me,” I said, cuttin’ him off. “Why you wanna know?”
“’Cause a pretty thang like you,” he said, lickin’ his lips and sizin’ me up, “needs to be fuckin’ with a real nigga doin’ real things instead of fuckin’ with some nigga behind the wall. That nigga can’t do shit for you.”
“And who said I needed someone to do somethin’ for me?”
He smiled. “Do you?”
“Nope,” I lied. “I make shit happen on my own.” Well, that was partially true. But a nigga like him would help me stay on my feet. I looked down at my watch. It was gettin’ late.
“You got somewhere to be?”
“Maybe,” I said. He stepped in closer. I stepped back. “Umm, is there a reason why you all up on me?”
“Yeah, ’cause I dig you.”
I laughed. “Nigga…”
“Kat,” Patrice called out. “I’m goin’ to the truck. Don’t be out here all fuckin’ day either.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said, wavin’ her on. And pick ya face up on your way, trick. I looked back up at him. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe not,” he said, lickin’ his lips again—thick, beautiful, kissable lips made for eatin’ my pussy and suckin’ all over my titties and toes. This nigga was so fuckin’ sexy. But I wasn’t gonna gas his head. I played him to the left and kept shit light. “But I’ve seen you several times. And I know you’ve seen me, Kat.” He smiled. “Interesting name; just like you. And so far, I like what I see. So stop tryna front like you ain’t beat.”
I rolled my eyes all dramatic ’n shit. Knowin’ damn well I really was frontin’, I simply ignored that last remark. “Do you always stand outside of restaurants tryna pick up chicks?”
He laughed. “Baby Girl, let me school you on somethin’. I run these streets. I don’t hafta try ’n do shit. Pussy and money come to me.”
“Well, then, let it keep comin’ to ya. ’Cause I ain’t the one.”
“Maybe not,” he said, grinnin’. “But you the one I’m gonna wife. Now let me get ya digits so I can get to know you better.”
I stepped away from him. “Well, since you run these streets, and shit comes to ya so easily, I guess you can figure out a way to get at me.”
He laughed. “So you just gonna walk off?”
“Yep,” I said. “Enjoy ya night.” I walked off, leavin’ him with a grin on his face. And if I knew nothin’ else, that nigga was gonna track me down. And I was right.
Two weeks later my cell phone rang and when I peeped the caller ID, I wasn’t familiar with the number, but I picked up anyway. “Hello?”
“So, now that I got ya number, Baby Girl, you gonna let a nigga take you out or do I hafta beg?”
I smiled. “I’m impressed,” I said. And I meant it. “But I don’t know you to go out with you. And beggin’ ain’t ya style, especially a nigga who got pussy comin’ to him real easy.” I already knew the nigga was not used to puttin’ in work with bitches ’cause they threw themselves at him. Dumb bitches! And I could tell by his attitude that he was the type of nigga used to gettin’ what he wanted. But I wasn’t gonna make shit easy for him.
He laughed. “Yeah, but I want you.”
“Well, I’m not available.”
“So do I need to come ring ya bell?”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Try me,” he said, laughin’.
“You fuckin’ crazy,” I said, laughin’ with him.
“I’m crazy for you, Baby Girl. And I’m tryna get at you. I’ll be at ya spot in a couple of hours.”
“Nigga, you not invited. So don’t even try it. You come here and you gonna find ya ass standin’ out on the stoop.”
“Oh, word. You’ll really do a nigga like that?”
“Yep, try me.”
And sure enough, the nigga showed up at my door two hours later, ringin’ the buzzer. I hit the intercom to see who it was. When he announced himself, I reminded him that he wasn’t invited, and refused to let him in. I ain’t gonna front, I was gassed. He was gonna be my damn meal ticket. But I wasn’t gonna act all hungry ’n shit.
I couldn’t believe this nigga. He stood outside all fuckin’ night. It was after three in the morning when I finally gave in and went downstairs and walked up to him. He grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, Baby.”
“Are you crazy?” I had asked, pullin’ my robe tighter and tryna keep a straight-face. “Why are you standin’ out here like you have nowhere else to go?”
“’Yeah,” he said, flashin’ his sexy smile, “as a matter of fact I am. And a crazy nigga like me got nothing but time on his hands. So unless you brought ya fine ass out here to invite me up or go for a ride, then this is where I’m gonna stay. So what’s it gonna be, pretty baby?” His hungry eyes roamed all over my body.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come up,” I said, turnin’ to leave. “And I’m not ridin’ nowhere with you. Good night.”
As I turned to walk away, he grabbed me by the arm, pullin’ me toward him. “Hold up, ma. Let me give you something to think about tonight.” He backed me up against the wall of my buildin’, then pressed his body into mine, kissin’ me and pressin’ his already hard dick into me. Yeah, the nigga was aggressive, not some soft, weak cat scared to take what he wanted—just how I liked it. His free hand snaked its way inside my robe, rubbin’ the inside of my thighs until he found my wet pussy covered by red silk panties. His index finga pressed on my clit and he rubbed it fiercely until I moaned. I reached for his dick and almost fainted when I felt how long and thick it was. I let out another soft moan, then came to my senses and pushed him away before he got a chance to stick his fingas inside of me. “I ain’t that kinda bitch,” I finally said, breakin’ outta his grip. “You want this pussy, then you gonna have to earn it.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but this time I turned my head. “Good night.”
“Yeah, I’ma wife you,” he said, lettin’ me go, then backin’ away. “You mine. Believe that. I’ll be back tomorrow and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”
“Whatever,” I replied, headin’ toward the door. Every day for a week straight, he came through ringin’ my doorbell, and each time I refused him. Then he started sendin’ me two dozen yellow roses for a week. When that didn’t work, he started sendin’ teddy bears rockin’ diamond necklaces around their necks, tennis bracelets, or diamond earrings, until I finally gave in.
For almost a year we were goin’ strong. The nigga started lacin’ me with bangin’ furs and jewels, takin’ me on expensive trips, and kept the cash flowin’—no matter the amount, no matter for what, I got it. I was the Bonnie to his Clyde. Wherever he went, I went. Everyone knew I was his; and whatever bitches he had suckin’ his dick, they knew to play their positions and not bring drama to me. I fucked him any-and-every which way he wanted, nonstop. He moved me outta Crown Heights into a cute co-op off Eastern Parkway across from the Brooklyn Musuem. A bitch was catchin’ feelins for the nigga hard, and was really thinkin’ he was the one.
But I quickly learned that shit ain’t always what it seems. That everything that glitters ain’t always gold. That lovin’ a nigga sometimes comes with a price. A bitch was slapped into reality when I decided to come back early from a two-week trip to Hawaii, the one he paid for as a gift for my twentieth birthday, but couldn’t go because he swore he couldn’t get away. He also laced me with two-carat diamond studs, a diamond necklace, and ten thousand dollars. He even paid for Chanel to go in his place. So instead of stayin’ the full time, I flew home four days early to surprise him ’cause a bitch was missin’ her man and wanted to be fucked into a coma for her birthday instead of layin’ on a beautiful beach with another bitch. But the surprise was on me.
I walked up on him fuckin’ Patrice doggie-style in the same bed he had been fuckin’ me in many times before. She was moanin’ and groanin’ and beggin’ him, callin’ him big daddy this, and big daddy that. I stood in the doorway and watched him slap her on the ass, and tell her how good and wet and fat her pussy was. I listened to her tell him how much she wanted him, how much she loved his big dick. Listened to her ask him to leave “that bitch”; heard him tell her he would never leave me, that I was always gonna be his wifey, but she could always get the dick on the low. I stood stone still and watched my own blood fuck my man, and the nigga I practically gave my heart to play me like a fuckin’ fool. A bitch was boilin’ mad. I wanted to kill ’em both, but I kept it cute. Just as he was ’bout to cum, I took a deep breath, then walked in.
“So, this is what a nigga who says he loves a bitch does when she’s gone—he fucks my muthafuckin’ aunt.”
He looked up. “Oh, shit,” he gasped, pullin’ his dick outta Patrice. Shock was all over their faces as they both tried to scramble off the bed. His dick was slick from her pussy. Her hair was tossed every which way. I was too through. Not only was he fuckin’ her, but the nigga was fuckin’ her raw!
I walked closer to the bed. “Oh, nigga, don’t stop. Keep on ridin’ that ass. The bitch got some good pussy, huh? Is the shit better than mine, muhfucka?”
“Wait a minute, Baby Girl, let me explain. It’s not what you think.”
I put my hand up. “‘Baby Girl’ my ass, nigga…it’s exactly what I think. So save it. You can’t explain shit to me.” Patrice looked at me wide-eyed and sweaty as she tried to hurry up and cover her naked body. “Bitch, I done already seen ya titties floppin’ up and down and ya ass spread open like the Harlem River, so there ain’t no need to rush on my account, ho.” I stared her down. “Yeah, bitch, you finally got what you wanted. I hope the nigga’s dick was worth it. How’d you like that big dick up in ya guts, bitch?” She igged me; just kept puttin’ her clothes on. “You hear me, bitch, how long you been fuckin’ my muthafuckin’ man?”
“Six months,” she replied. B-Love’s mouth dropped open.
“Yo, she’s buggin’. We ain’t—”
“Shut ya lyin’ ass up, nigga! This is between me and this bitch here.”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ ya man, and what?!” she yelled on some real tough-girl shit. “You knew I was diggin’ him, and instead of steppin’ off you, jumped up on his dick, so it’s fair exchange. Now you—”
And before the bitch could finish tryna talk greasy, I charged at her, clawin’ at her and punchin’ up her face. This was no longer ’bout him; I already knew I was gonna handle him later. At that moment, it was ’bout that bitch disrespectin’ me; it was ’bout her crossin’ the line; and it was ’bout me fuckin’ her up to let her know she had crossed the wrong one.
“You triflin’ dirty bitch!” I screamed as I knocked her down, then jumped on her and continued beatin’ her face in. “I’ma fuckin’ kill you, bitch.” She tried to scratch at my face to get me off her, but I was hittin’ her so hard and so fast that she couldn’t get her nails in. “You wanna fuck my man, ho. Fuckin’ trick! You want him, bitch, you can have him!”
B-Love tried to pull me off of her. But I was a wild woman, swingin’ and punchin’ and screamin’ with all my might. “Kat, stop it! Get off her. Come on, baby.” He finally got his arms up under mine and yanked me off of her. My legs were swingin’ wildly, kickin’ her in her head, face, and chest.
“You’se a dead bitch!” Patrice yelled as she scrambled to her feet and tried to come at me. Blood was pourin’ outta her mouth and nose. Her neck and chest became a battleground filled with bruises and long, deep scratches, exposin’ white meat. “I’ma fuck you up for jumpin’ on me, bitch.” I raised both of my legs up and kicked her in her chest, sendin’ her flyin’ backward. She stumbled into the wall.
“Yo, bitch,” B-Love yelled at Patrice while tryna restrain me, “get ya shit and get the fuck out! Let me handle this.”
“Get the fuck off me!” I screamed, tryna kick, bite, and break outta his grip. “Get your muthafuckin’ grimy-ass hands off me, nigga! You fucked my aunt, you fuckin’ snake-ass bastard. And you tryna save her from gettin’ her ass beat. Fuck you, nigga!”
Patrice grabbed the rest of her shit and ran out the door. “This ain’t over, bitch!” I screamed at her. “Trust me. I’ma see you, you dirty ho. And e’erytime I do—be ready to rock, bitch!”
B-Love tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t hearin’ shit he had to say. He held me tight, refusin’ to let me go while I screamed, cried, and called him every name in the fuckin’ book. He kept apologizin’ over and over, kept beggin’ me to forgive him. The damage was done. Slob and spit and snot was e’erywhere. I cried all fuckin’ night. And the nigga thought all my tears were over him. Little did he know, he had awakened a beast that I thought I had buried, a beast that craved blood, a beast that longed for revenge, a beast that would not rest until it was served; and I sobbed all night tryna fight it back. But it was too late. This thing inside of me was alive and hungry and needed to be fed. And I was the bitch to feed it! Fuck love, fuck forgiveness—my mind was made up. The only thing that would soothe its hunger was death.
“…I don’t know why the fuck her dumb ass gotta fuck with someone else’s man. That shit is just fuckin’ crazy to me,” Chanel continued, bringin’ me back to the coversation. “Then she got the nerve to have me out ’n about with her ass last night at Mars 2112 and not say shit to me about havin’ beef with these bitches until after shit popped off outside. Four o’clock in the goddamn morning, and these bitches tryna set it off right there in the middle of Times Square. I’m so over that ho right now. What the fuck I look like, tryna fight them big booga bear bitches in my wears. Had the bitch told me shit was hectic I woulda rocked a pair of jeans and some constructs instead of bein’ out in my two-thousand-dollar Chanel dress and diamond-crusted heels, feel me?”
I sighed, rollin’ my eyes. I hated bitches who knowingly slept with another chick’s man. It’s one thing if a nigga lies to you and gets you all caught up in his shit, and it’s a whole ’nother thing when a ho just don’t give a fuck. Fuck what ya heard. That’s grounds for a serious ghetto-style beat down!
“Humph. Better you than me. I ain’t fuckin’ with Tamia like that anymore. The bitch is too damn reckless, and I ain’t diggin’ it. So, since she wanna be fuckin’ these niggas, knowin’ they got girls ’n shit, then she gets what she gets. Somebody is gonna stretch her ass if she doesn’t slow her roll. I really don’t know what the fuck is wrong with these bitches. Did I tell you her ass is poppin’ E’s?”
“Say what?” she asked, surprised. “Get the fuck outta here, no way!”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Who told you that bullshit?”
“A source that I’m slowly startin’ to believe,” I said. “I almost didn’t wanna believe it, but the way them bitches been movin’ I don’t put shit past either one of ’em now. I meant to confront her ass ’bout it the other night, but I got sidetracked with Iris’s nasty ass.”
“Humph. Girl, I’m done.”
The Kat line started ringin’. I got up and pulled it out of my D & G bag, then checked the number. It was Cash. Don’t ask why I always checked the number, knowin’ damn well he was the only nigga callin’ on that line. I just did outta habit, I guess. I let it go into voicemail.
“…I’ve heard it all,” Chanel continued. “But poppin’ pills, Kat, c’mon…that’s a bit much.”
“Listen, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just sayin’. The next time you talk to her ass, ask her.”
“Oh, trust. I will,” she said, pausin’. “Well, let me go. Divine is on his way over. I swear he gets on my last nerve, but—”
“The nigga takes good care of you.”
“Exactly,” she said, laughin’. “But that’s not what I was gonna say.”
“Well, it’s all you should be sayin’. ’Cause if ya ass keep followin’ behind Tamia and Iris, ya gonna end up losin’ a good thing. So be thankful for what ya got.”
“I know, I know.”
“Uh-huh, bitch. Don’t say I didn’t try ’n warn ya,” I said, lookin’ at the clock. It was almost seven p.m. I yawned, coverin’ my mouth. “Oh, shit. Excuse me. I’m fuckin’ beat. Hit me up tomorrow.”
“Later,” she said. I closed the phone shut, then retrieved my other cell and checked the message Cash had left me. I rolled my eyes, listenin’. He had another job for me; this one in San Diego. I ain’t beat for him right now. I’ll call that nigga in the mornin’. I stripped off my clothes and headed upstairs in my white-laced panties. Until my next mark, it was gonna be another vibrator night.