“Okay, that was weird,” Harlem muttered to herself and walked away.
She had done her part by letting the cat out of the bag. Now it was Cartier’s move.
When Head arrived home the next day, Harlem swore World War III was going to erupt. Head came home smiling like he struck gold somewhere. He hugged and kissed Cartier with passion, and Harlem was stunned when Cartier didn’t resist him—or that she didn’t smack him so hard that his teeth would hit the floor. Instead, she smiled back and said the words to him, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he said.
“How was your trip?”
“It was great. I got a lot done.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Harlem stood in the background watching Cartier’s bizarre behavior with Head, and it felt like a glitch in the Matrix. The only thing Harlem could do was play the background and wonder if Cartier was okay.
That night, after dinner and drinks, Head made up some excuse to Cartier why he had to leave the apartment.
“I gotta check on something. I’ll only be gone for an hour or two,” he said.
“Fine,” she replied with nonchalance.
Head gathered his things and left the apartment. The moment the door closed behind him, Cartier grabbed her jacket and shoes and told Harlem, “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Where to?” Harlem asked.
“To see where this muthafucka is going tonight.”
“You’re going to follow him?” Sana asked.
“Yes. Something isn’t right,” said Cartier.
This was the Cartier that Harlem had been waiting for. The look in Cartier’s eyes said it all. If she saw some bullshit tonight then she was going to raise hell. Harlem was right behind her, ready to have her back in case anything went down.
Sana didn’t want them to leave. She voiced her reason with, “Don’t go, because you’re gonna get what you go looking for.”
They refused to listen. Cartier and Harlem took the stairs down to the lobby. By the time Cartier pulled out of the garage in her car, Head was pulling out of his parking spot on the street. She proceeded to follow him.
Fifteen minutes later, Cartier brought her car to a stop in a well-off area of Manhattan. She observed Head climb out of his Range Rover and approach a building she wasn’t familiar with. Her instincts screamed at her who he was going to see. Harlem had already brought it to her attention, now she was about to confirm it herself.
She and Harlem exited the vehicle and subtly followed Head into the building. Inside, they observed Head knocking on a door and when it opened, Cartier saw the bitch smiling at Head. She threw her arms around him for an intimate hug and deep kiss. Cartier observed the infidelity with her own eyes.
This cheating muthafucka! she screamed to herself. Seeing Head hugging and kissing on Pebbles wasn’t the worst part for her. She was able to get a good look at Pebbles, and she nearly threw up when she noticed her protruding belly. Pebbles looked a few months pregnant, and there was no doubt that it was by Head. It was a crushing thing to see. The rage swimming inside of her was overwhelming, and it was something she could no longer control.
Before Head could step foot into the apartment, Cartier came charging at them from what appeared to be out of nowhere with Harlem following right behind her. She did a beeline for the both of them. Seeing Cartier coming for them, Pebbles’ eyes widened in fear.
“You sonofabitch!” Cartier shouted. “You got this fuckin’ bitch pregnant!”
Head was caught off guard. “What the fuck you doing here? You followed me?”
“You nasty bitch-ass nigga!” Cartier screamed and slapped the shit out of Head. “You out here fucking raw, gambling wit’ my life!”
“Cartier, you need to chill!” he shouted.
“No. Fuck you!” she screamed. She wanted to punch him in the face—and punch him hard—so hard that she wanted to disfigure him.
Cartier refused to cry in front of Pebbles. It took all her strength to hold back her tears, but she did. She had to. It felt like everything was crumbling inside of her. She loved Head and she wanted to make their relationship work. She gave him a second chance and he threw it down the drain.
“You so fuckin’ stupid! You keep going back to this bitch like she got boomerang pussy!” Cartier continued to rant and scream.
Pebbles stood in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights. She didn’t know what to expect from Cartier. She was scared that she was going to be attacked next—whether she was pregnant or not. Pebbles was in her second trimester and didn’t want to take anything for granted. She covered her belly with her arms protectively. But Cartier didn’t go after her. Instead, she cut her eyes at Pebbles and glared at her with such intensity, it almost hurt.
“We’re in love, Cartier, and our baby proves that. You’re going to have to realize that it’s over between y’all,” Pebbles said.
“Over?” Cartier had to clap back. She cut her eyes back to Head and said, “You need to choose right now, nigga. Me or her.”
Harlem was shocked that she gave him a choice. Head was too.
“What?” he uttered.
“I’m not going back and forth with no bitch, Head. You either stay here and play house with this dumb bitch or make things right at home.”
Harlem and Pebbles were both dumbfounded by what was said. Of course, Pebbles thought he was going to stay with her. She was carrying his child, so why wouldn’t he choose her?
“I’m not gonna say it again, Head,” Cartier reminded him.
Head transitioned from a pillar of black unity and strength to a yes-nigga right there in the hallway. He shot Pebbles a look that spoke his answer before his lips did.
“I’m out. I’m leaving with Cartier,” he said.
Pebbles’ mouth gaped. “You’re what?” she cried out.
Head didn’t give her the decency or respect to give her an explanation, nor did he tell her goodbye. He pivoted, gave Pebbles his back, and marched away from her like she was a complete stranger and not the woman carrying his child.
“Are you serious?! I’m carrying your baby and you gonna walk away from me like that!” she shouted. “Fuck you, Henry! Fuck you fo’ real!”
He continued to ignore her. Cartier, however, decided to take advantage of the embarrassing situation. She didn’t have to lay a finger on Pebbles to hurt her. She stood there with Harlem beside her and smirked. It was a boss look that said, He’s mine, bitch, and I’m better than you.
Pebbles tried to keep her tears in, but they were bubbling inside of her like a shaken soda. She wanted to attack Cartier with her smirking ass, but she knew that she didn’t stand a chance—especially with her being pregnant and Harlem standing right there.
“No real nigga chooses beer over champagne.” Cartier turned around and left.
“Damn, you did that bitch dirty,” Harlem whispered to Cartier.
Pebbles stood at her door ashamed and humiliated. She had watched the man she loved walk away—maybe for good this time. She retreated into her home and slammed the door.
Pebbles was drowning in heartbreak and sorrow. It felt like she was having a heart attack. She couldn’t breathe. Inside her place, she collapsed on her knees, subsequently folding into the fetal position in agony on the floor. She was hysterical. She cried and cried.
The more she pictured Head walking away, the harder she cried and the deeper her pain grew. His baby was developing inside of her. She believed that they were finally going to be a family. She gave him everything—she became the side bitch and gave Head the space he desired—and she gave him her heart. The way he stepped on it, like it wasn’t shit, it felt like he tore into her chest and ripped it out.
After an hour of grieving and a whirlwind of emotions from anger, sadness, and uncertainty about her future, Pebbles finally gathered enough
strength to pick herself up from the floor and make a phone call. She went from crying on the floor to being folded on the couch. The phone rang several times before someone finally answered.
“Hello.”
“Ma, I need to talk to you,” Pebbles cried out.
“Pebbles, what happened? Is everything okay? Is the baby okay?”
“The baby is fine. It’s Henry. He just left me. He just walked away like I wasn’t shit to him.”
“What do you mean?”
Pebbles went on to explain the situation to her mother, leaving nothing out, including Cartier’s smirk toward her. She sobbed while talking, and it took her mother to calm her down.
“Baby, just relax. Everything is going to be okay,” her mother said.
“How?”
“He’ll be back, baby girl. They always come back. The moment he becomes tired of Cartier’s shit, he’ll come running back into your arms. He’s just in that stupid zone for a moment. They all fall into that stupid zone, Pebbles. But you’re carrying his baby and that’s special to a man. So calm down and get your shit right. Because when he do come running back to you, it’s gonna be your choice to take him back or not. Baby, you know I’ve dealt with my fair share of pain and heartbreak from men for many years—always being the other woman. And one thing I know for sure is, I might have been the other woman, but I was always taken care of. So give him his space, but you continue to work on you while he’s gone,” she told her daughter.
After her talk with her mother, Pebbles dried the last of her tears and took a deep breath. She believed her mother was right.
He’ll be back.
21
If it wasn’t one thing, then it was another. Cartier locked herself inside the bedroom for the entire day. She didn’t want to be seen. She didn’t want to be bothered. She had found another card in the driver’s seat of her Bugatti—meaning someone had broken into her expensive car to place it there. This card had a menacing skull and trickling blood with the handwritten letter A written in black ink. She was being stalked by some unknown entity, and they weren’t letting up.
In addition to the mysterious cards, Pebbles’ pregnancy weighed heavily on her mind. Although she had the upper hand when she made Head leave with her, the bitch was still carrying his baby. The thought of it made Cartier incredibly depressed. He was fucking the bitch raw and put his seed in her.
Cartier didn’t want to show her depression around Harlem and Sana. She didn’t want to look weak in front of them. When she and Harlem were confronting Head and Pebbles, it took everything inside of Cartier not to break down emotionally, so she substituted that feeling of heartbreak with anger.
Meanwhile, Pebbles would call her phone to argue, and although Cartier had threatened the girl within an inch of her life, Pebbles remained angry and hostile toward Cartier. It wasn’t over between the two of them. Pebbles felt foolish for letting Head go so easily. She wanted Cartier to kick him out. Pebbles tried to get under her skin with statements like, “He put his baby inside of me, bitch. He wasn’t thinking about you when he was coming in this pussy every night. I got his baby, not you.”
“Say that shit to my face!” Cartier threatened.
Pebbles’ calls created more animosity between the fractured couple. Cartier was furious that Head’s baby mama had her cell phone number, yet she kept answering.
Head shrugged off his part in the whole fiasco. “You like this drama, Cartier. I told you to block her.”
However, Pebbles’ constant calls had upset Cartier. She wanted to kick Head out of her place and out of her life for good, but she didn’t want him to go running back to Pebbles. She wanted to win. Her ego was in the clouds and it wasn’t coming back down anytime soon.
Although Head chose Cartier, she refused to have sex with him. She walked around him with a stink-ass attitude, cursing him out and denying him of his needs and he didn’t understand why. He had left Pebbles for her, so why was she so mad?
For days they argued back and forth—and Cartier even threatened to make his life miserable if he went running back to that bitch again. He didn’t. Instead, Head jumped on a plane and flew to Michigan.
Michigan. Whatever trust she had had in Head had been eviscerated by the Pebbles situation. Now she wanted to know what the fuck he had going on in a different state.
The day was young and sunny, and Cartier was trying not to think about the Head and Pebbles predicament. The wine she was drinking while lounging on the couch was helping her to loosen up. It felt like she was on a rollercoaster ride with this relationship. The ups and downs were making her nauseous and dizzy. It was stressful, and stress was what she didn’t need.
Her cell phone rang and buzzed nearby. She picked it up and saw it was Caesar calling her. She felt ambivalent about answering, but decided it wouldn’t be wise to ignore him.
“Hello.”
“It’s a beautiful day and I have two tickets to see the Yankees play the Red Sox this afternoon. I’m inviting you,” said Caesar.
“You want me to go to a baseball game?”
“Have you ever been to a ball game?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he said.
She sighed. Why not? “Okay. I’ll go.”
“I knew you would say yes. I’ll be at your place in an hour.”
“An hour?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. An hour is good. How should I dress?” she asked.
“Just comfortable,” he said.
An hour later, Cartier walked out of her building in Adidas fitted sweatpants, a thick sweatshirt, and a baseball cap. Caesar arrived alone driving a burgundy F-150. He climbed out the vehicle looking unassuming wearing blue jeans, a Thomas the Train T-shirt under a light fall jacket, and black sneakers. He smiled at Cartier and hugged her like they were good friends. No one would ever guess that he was a ruthless drug kingpin with the body count of a small war. Hundreds of men had been murdered by his command, and nearly four dozen had been murdered by his hands.
“You look very nice,” he said.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Shall we get this day started?”
“Yes. I’m excited.”
“As one should be when attending a Yankees game,” he said.
On the way to the stadium, Cartier became aware of the security detail subtly following him. At first, she thought they were enemies of his and it was going to be a hit. But Caesar’s calm demeanor showed he was a cautious man.
As if he had read her mind, he said, “I pay good money for good men to watch over me in secrecy.”
She had no idea how many men were watching his back, but it looked like they could rival the Secret Service with their clandestine protocol and their technology.
Cartier and Caesar sat nestled with the horde of fans inside the packed Yankees Stadium. It was a day of hot dogs, beers, giant fan waves, and cheering for the home team. It was the bottom of the 8th inning, and the Yankees were down by one run with a man on second base. Caesar explained some of the rules and regulations and who the major players were. His knowledge of the game and its players—past and present—was impressive. To everyone else, the two of them looked like a nice couple enjoying a baseball game. It’s how Caesar wanted it to be perceived.
At the bottom of the ninth, the Yankees were at bat with one out when Aaron Judge stepped up to the home plate clutching a Louisville Slugger. He did a few practice swings at the plate and then assumed his batting stance with his eyes sharply on the pitcher. All eyes were on the batter and the pitcher, waiting for something exciting to happen. The pitcher threw the first pitch and Aaron swung and missed. The next two pitches were balls, making the count 1 and 2, and the one after that was a strike. One more and he was out. The pitcher threw a curveball at the plate. It came with a strong d
ownward spin and was veering to the side. Aaron swung with all his might and crack—the baseball took off like a rocket and flew over third base and into the crowd.
Home run!
The stadium erupted as everyone rose to their feet and cheered as Aaron rounded the bases and stomped his cleats onto home plate. His teammates were there to greet him in celebration.
After the game, Caesar and Cartier sat on a bench in a nearby park having hotdogs and sodas. Cartier felt like a teenager again. The mood was upbeat and she was enjoying the company.
“So, did you enjoy the game?” Caesar asked.
“I did,” she said between sips of her Coke.
Their conversation flowed easily, but Caesar knew something was bothering her. He was in the business of reading people and looking for signs of distress and peculiarity. He was skilled at picking up on body language and micro-expressions.
“I know something is bothering you, Cartier. I can see it in your eyes. What is it? You can talk to me,” he said.
“It’s my relationship with Head. He fucked up and got his mistress pregnant.”
“That’s a lot to deal with.”
“It is.”
Cartier seemed confused about their relationship, and he asked her a simple question. “Do you love him?”
“That’s difficult to answer,” she replied.
Caesar didn’t understand her response to the question. He shook his head and said to her, “Love is the easiest thing to figure out, but people make it complicated.”
She looked at him with curiosity.
Caesar went on to say to her, “I don’t love my wife. I never did. Nor do I hate her. There are other emotions that are just as finite. I appreciate that she carried my son, and I’m infatuated with her intelligence—I admire her Juris Doctorate degree. But it was never love between us. There are things I dislike about her, like how messy she is. I’m also annoyed that she’s not a more attentive mother. And I’m aggravated that she’s lazy. But although I don’t hate her, if I had to, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. And even though I’m not in love with her, I would also stop her from being killed.”
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