“All right now, Sable, you look hot.” Jazz looked up from her phone momentarily to compliment me. “I don’t know who they’re gonna be checking for more tonight, me or you,” she buttered it up more. You can always count on true friends to boost you up. Now, knowing the situation with Officer Taylor from the airport, she was probably making sure my ego wasn’t still in the dumps. But I was straight and had moved on, for sure.
“I was thinking about getting a romper just like that the other day,” Roxy had to comment and front, always jocking my style. My girl was always doing the most—but you couldn’t help who you loved. She was my girl, fake or not.
“Oh, for real, Roxy, that’s what’s up,” I sarcastically replied. Slipping on my Red Bottom heels, I struck a bad-girl pose for the camera. Jazz was making sure I was truly feeling myself.
“Carla won’t be able to take her eyes off you.” Jazz brought the attention back to our conversation, already knowing how Roxy could be cut.
“Quit playing, girl. I’m not thinking about getting down with that stud Carla like that—or any girl, for that matter.” Even though ole girl had crossed my thoughts a few times, something in the back of my mind was blocking the unnatural, unusual feeling.
“Girl, ain’t nobody dumb. You took all that time getting ready and look good enough for me to make love to, going on a boat with a bunch of gay bitches—and you think I don’t know you want to try the life? Yeah, the fuck right,” she replied, pulling on the blunt again before passing it. “All I’m saying is that you could’ve asked me to spread your legs and break you in. You didn’t have to come to Miami and find a stranger.”
“First of all, freeze on that ‘Sable is bisexual crap.’ I just like to keep my appearance A1 and going to a lesbo party don’t change that. And you know I’d let you hit any day, baby momma.” I blew her a kiss, now taking my turn on the marijuana.
Jazz always joked with her girls, but we never took it seriously. She was just comfortable with her sexuality and didn’t mind who knew about it.
“Naw, but for real, it’s ’cause your eyes light up when you see a bad bitch like Carla,” she snickered. “But it’s okay to explore your other personality. Be free.”
“Oh, little, innocent, sweet Sable ain’t hardly gonna be checking for no girls. Not with Mike Mike on that ass,” Roxy slyly smirked. “He’s been blowing that phone up since Wet Willie’s. Why aren’t you answering, huh?”
She was too nosy and sarcastic, and I was ready to cold check her once again. I was still upset about not being able to get the problem resolved earlier. “Girl, stop it with Mike Mike. You’ve been bringing his ass up more than me,” I said, putting her on front street. I raised my brow to let her know I’d peeped her reoccurring concern. “You checking for him or something?” I was waiting for an answer. The room went quiet as Jazz stopped taking pictures. With the phone in her lap staring at Roxy too, we both were ready to react.
“Bitch, quit playing. Y’all are like my sisters, and I don’t get down like that. How could you even cut into me with some bullshit on that magnitude, Sable?” Roxy was going ham, yelling and damn near in tears. “Oh, and you can quit looking all innocent and shit, Jazz, over there cosigning, acting like you don’t know me better than that too. Y’all are both foul.”
“Chill out, drama queen.” I kinda felt bad for drawing all of these emotions out of her. If she wasn’t getting down with Mike Mike, then I’ve just slammed some over-the-top accusations down on my friend. However, let it be known I had my eye on her and had just made it perfectly clear my man was now a dead subject.
“Fuck a drama queen, Sable. I love y’all. Apologize,” Roxy demanded with tears now coming down her cheeks. Jazz was the first to get up and hug our girl, and I hesitantly followed. Something just didn’t seem right about this overly emotional behavior. She was too extra for me.
Small taps interrupted my girls and me from joking about bringing the D to the Dirty South earlier. Having only a few minor cuts and bruises, nothing about ole girl’s tough-guy act was impressive. Since we weren’t on ten any longer with each other or Carla and her girl, everything was back to normal and on chill mode. Looking out the peephole, I saw Tyrell, the bellhop, standing on the other side with a bottle of Moët and four glasses. Swinging the door open, he walked in greeting us all, paying extra close attention to Roxy. She smiled and greeted him back.
“Thanks, honey. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better from earlier.” Pouring her the first glass, he handed it over and then followed by giving Jazz and me ours. “Let’s toast to you guys’ first night in South Beach. What’s the plan?”
“We’re going on the Sunrise boat ride,” Jazz answered him as she stood in the mirror applying makeup. “I hope it’s all my manz hyped it up to be.”
“Oh, snap. That bitch be rocking. Y’all got the whole party bus hookup too?”
“Oh, okay, I’m glad you heard of it. Roxy was nervous about being ripped off. We’re from the Dirty D—and you just don’t give your money to a wannabe promoter walking the streets.”
“That’s right. I feel you on that. A lot of these promoters be out here faking like they’ve got serious connects, but don’t be having a pot to piss in. Real talk, you’re lucky not to have gotten scammed. Sunrise promoters usually are on the up and up, though. Carla don’t be for cats mixing her boat up with bad business.”
“Damn, Tyrell, you know Carla too?” My eyes perked up in curiosity. I couldn’t front her Gucci Guilty cologne was melted into my sundress earlier, and I loved the scent and reminder.
“Oh, baby doll, you can trust the whole city knows Carla. She’s a moneymaker and fucks with only bad bitches.” He downed his glass, pouring another like he wasn’t wearing a uniform and badge. “It’s supposed to be a drag queen show or some type of anniversary blowout tonight too. So, y’all came on the right weekend, for sure.”
Tyrell and I could be cool. His swag was on top. I could hear Roxy sucking her teeth in the background, probably hating on the drag queen show idea. “Damn, too bad for you, Sable. Looks like you weren’t that special. She dykes with everyone.” Roxy laughed out loud.
“Hey, watch your mouth, heffa.” Jazz tossed her pillow across the room, half-jokingly and half-serious. Even though she wasn’t a true advocate and rally-er for the GLTB community, she was still a girl fucking a girl and didn’t want the disrespect.
“I didn’t know you got down like that, Sable.” Tyrell looked at me, hoping I’d correct the insinuations.
“I was just having fun after scrapping it out with her girl. It wasn’t nothing like that.” I pranced over to my purse to pack it for the boat ride. He kept watching me with suspicion, but I couldn’t match his glare. It was weird to admit to a nigga so fine I was possibly attracted to a female. Jazz had no problems with the bullshit, and I’d wondered if she ever had.
“Damn, Detroit. Y’all ain’t been here less than twenty-four hours and already scrapping. I told you earlier that firecracker shit was gonna have you in trouble. Fuck that. I won’t be keeping in touch and visiting you, thugs.” He lay back on the bed, laughing. “Just gangsta.”
Continuing to chop it up and finish the bottle of wine Tyrell had treated us with, it was close to seven and time for us to meet ole dude in the lobby. I was glad the hotel had called themselves sticking us with the only black bellhop they employed. He kept it one hundred, looking out, helping us have a good time. He’d even volunteered to pick us up from the dock in the morning, no charge, since it was on his way to work. Every lobby in each hotel on the strip doubled as a bar, restaurant, and hangout scene. The Clevelander had one of the hippest happening venues with lights, waterfalls, and a parade of people dancing to the live pop rock band. People had been partying all day, and the moonlight only brought out more drugs, more alcohol, and more intent to get into trouble. We all looked tasty and were serving it up, ready for the party bus to arrive. Even though my buzz was already on point, I’d be drinking eight-hundred worth of li
quor, so it was time for the unlimited flow to start.
“Come on, y’all, let’s take some more pictures.” Roxy handed her phone to Tyrell. We all got up with our drinks and modeled for the camera. Losing our minds and loving our looks, we even let a few people walking by take pictures with us too. We loved to be the life of the party and the center of attention at all times.
“Tyrell, you’re needed in room 101 for a checkout.” His manager crept up on us, standing short and compact with his arms folded. Caught up in all our hype, we hadn’t noticed him sneak up and ain’t no telling how long he’d been there.
“Okay, I got that, Boss. Here,” he handed Roxy’s phone to him, “take this picture first, though.” Not thinking twice or hesitating as if his manager had a choice but to say yes or not, he leaned in, hugging us all close to him, letting ole dude know he was ready. The expression on his face matched the thoughts on our minds. Had Tyrell the bellhop just macked his boss? He was more nut heavy than I thought.
Chapter Thirteen
Roxy
Being broke should’ve never been my reality. With the acting skills of a professional, I had squirmed my way out of having my cover blown up. Sable had fronted me off about sexing Mike Mike, but turning on the waterworks and laying the guilt trip on thickly left her and Jazz apologizing for their fucked-up but very true accusations. Trying to blend back in and not show my true colors, I swallowed my pride and attitude and started to take pictures with my girls, playing it off like everything was peachy cream.
Low-key though, I was burning with anger each time Sable pulled a hundred-dollar bill out, flaunting like she was a real baller. Why had Mike Mike put her on a pedestal she didn’t deserve to be on? This rat was ranked first when she was no better than me—if not worse. I’d never even play around or leave it open for anyone out here breathing to think I was gay. Strictly dickly to the day I die. Mike Mike was going to regret seeing his precious gem had flown down here and forgotten she was in a relationship. Creating a mini-collage on Pic Stitch of our gay pride girls’ vacation, I sent him a text of the picture and posted a few of the ones we’d just taken in the lobby on social media for my fans. I made sure to update my location and tag South Beach to make all my friends green with envy.
* * *
There was barely room for the girls and me to squeeze in on the jam-packed party bus. From outside, you could hear the music blasting and see shadows of people through the windows having a good time. But being in the thick of things was proving to be a totally different experience. Flat-screen televisions were mounted, three stripper poles were lined up in the center aisle, and the small bar was stacked with bottles of Cîroc, Grey Goose, Remy VSOP, and Everfresh cranberry juice. Passing me a red cup filled to the top, I didn’t even question what it was before tipping it back, drinking half down.
“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about. Party over here,” one of the male promoters, I assumed, raised his hands dancing behind me. Not having many men to choose from on this flamboyant weekend, I backed my ass up on him to see what he was working with.
“There’s the Roxy I know,” Sable high-fived me, taking the drink from my hand as ole boy and I started to get down and dirty. Little did she know I was working out some of the aggression I’d built up from her so-called man pissing me off.
From the hard poke in my behind, I could tell ole boy was well-endowed, and a hung nigga was exactly the cure for a broken heart. The thought of a one-night stand never crossed my mind until now. With one hand firmly around my waist, keeping my prize behind close up on the imprint in his pants, he didn’t have to worry about me moving anyway. Each time the driver hit a bump or pothole, his dick bounced up and down on my backside, confirming he was hung like a horse. Fuck Mike Mike and his be-drunk-pilled-out ass. Ole boy was on me like white on rice, so a bitch must still got it. He wasn’t checking nor sweating for a played-out-think-she’s-the-shit Sable.
Chapter Fourteen
Mike Mike
My phone had been ringing off the hook, but my head felt much too heavy to lift off of the pillow. The pungent smell of vomit had started to reek, making my eyes burn and water. I’d watched the sun rise and set in this same spot, having no choice but to piss and shit on myself. Calling out to Sable was useless since it was apparent she’d left me here to rot. Feeling like this was a sick skit of Diary of a Mad Black Woman, I vowed to get her sneaky snake ass back in the worst way. You can call me what you want and judge me whichever way, truth is, I beat her down to her face, and she snuck me with some loopy pills. Whatever the fuck I swallowed had done my body in.
In agonizing pain, I mustered up enough strength to crawl out of bed through the stinking, fly-infested vomit to my phone. I had no choice. Sick to my stomach, fighting the gagging sensation and urge to regurgitate again, I wasn’t accustomed to being the weak nigga on set. I caused dudes this type of discomfort—never being dealt the hand to live it. Pebbles of sweat covered my face, and my body was starting to overheat. This dirty-minded bitch had gotten me good.
Finally, pulling the phone from my pants pocket, I focused my eyes, realizing it was just my notifications going off. Secretly following all the tricks I fucked with on social media as an alias, I kept a tab on the life they lived on the low. You could never let a female know your every move or that you were concerned about theirs. Real talk, I was just watching the company I kept. Seeing it was an update from Roxy, I didn’t even feel like reading what sneak dis innuendo status she’d put up about me this time. Hitting Sable’s icon, I tried calling her over and over, wishing she’d answer at least once. Baby girl was playing hardball, and my patience had worn thin.
Suddenly, my text message notification popped up on my screen as an image from Roxy. Hesitating to press the open button, a picture of her, Jazz, and Sable popped up. What the fuck? They were laced in rainbow attire with drinks in hand. As I studied Sable’s face, she didn’t seem the least bit worried or concerned about me. The smile plastered across her face while I lay here in my piss made me want to slice her fucking head off. Any love and chance of an apology I thought I had for this slick bitch faded the longer I studied the picture.
Damn, if Roxy sent me this—then what the fuck did she put on social media? Was the world seeing my girl hugged up, representing that gay pride bullshit? Or worse yet, had Roxy snitched on me anyway, and this was the real reason Sable had flipped out? And they both together laughing about me being fucked up?
Hurriedly sliding down my notifications to Roxy’s post, my eyes bugged wide open. Her album was flooded with pictures of her, Jazz, and the slut bucket I called my precious Sable. They were living it up with a bunch of he-shes, fems, and studs. Each one of them was dressed looking good, even the gay one, Jazz, who I despised for hating on the whole existence of dick.
Miami? What in the entire fuck is this bitch doing way down there? How long have I been out of my shit? Naw, I gotta be tripping.
All men and women have a love for money, the root of all evil, to the inner depths of their soul. Mike Mike felt he’d been crossed, betrayed, and deceived by Sable on the worst level. He knew she couldn’t have gotten all the way down there on the small budget he rationed to her weekly. Mustering up enough strength to crawl into the closet, he didn’t need to devise a plan to get enough power to reach on the shelf. The safe he and Sable shared with part of his savings had been emptied and left upside down in the middle of the floor.
“That conniving, two-legged, dick-sucking snake. I’ma kill that rotten ass,” he shouted, banging his fist on the floor. Mike Mike couldn’t believe she’d gotten down on him and had flown the coop for Miami. But as far as he was concerned, she couldn’t run and hide from him, and he was about to make sure she understood the definitions of limitations and revenge. Besides, after all I’ve done for Sable since we were kids, that tramp and her miserable life belong to me.
“Look, girl, what you need to do is stop messing around with all of these lames. They don’t care about you lik
e I do.”
“Yeah, but—” Sable tried interrupting but was swiftly shut down.
“Yeah, but nothing. You already know ain’t none of these assholes getting money like me,” Mike Mike boasted with pride. “You see me out in these streets making moves. I done came a long way from me and you begging motherfuckers for spare change. That bullshit ain’t my life no more, and shouldn’t be yours.”
“Me and you go way back. And you know how I feel.”
“Girl, fuck however you feeling, and let’s link up and get this bread. You smart as a motherfucker. And me and you together can make some real noise on they ass here in Detroit. So what up, doe? What you wanna do?”
“But, Mike Mike, I don’t love you like that,” she whined, wanting to keep shit as real as possible. “I want us always to be cool.”
The thug took a small rubber banded knot out of his front pocket. He grinned, tossing it to Sable. “Who gives a fuck if you love me? As long as you love that right there, then we gonna be on top of the world. Now, I gotta be out in a minute or two. And I swear to you this gonna be the last time I’ma be checking for you like this.”
“Huh, what?” Sable was thrown off, never hearing Mike Mike claim he was going to be done chasing behind her. He’d done so for years, being her protector. Now, she’d be cut off from being safely tucked underneath his protective wing.
Glancing at his ringing cell, Mike Mike grinned, knowing time was money. “All right, girl, you ready to be my girl all the way and make hood history? You gonna be on Queen Status to these random birds out here. You gonna want for nothing. Just tell me you gonna be mine forever and five days after that . . . and the world is yours.”
Girls from da Hood 14 Page 17
