Girls From da Hood 8

by Treasure Hernandez

  The doorknob slowly turned and the door was left slightly ajar. Nicole was still sobbing.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I should have never let that go down. If you want me out now I wouldn’t blame you,” Keisha said, standing by the door.

  “I don’t want you to leave. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s my fault,” Nicole said, through sniffles and wiping her eyes with toilet paper tissue.

  Keisha was baffled at her reaction. Anyone else would have hit the roof and tossed her out. She heard Nicole blowing her nose and washing her face. Suddenly it became apparent that Nicole had some kind of chemical imbalance.

  “Let’s go out. I got invites to a private party and I think it’s what we both need to relieve all this tension we got.” Nicole walked past her.

  This girl is fuckin’ nuts!

  Two hours later Keisha escorted Nicole into the Trump Plaza hotel in SoHo. Keisha had delivered to Trump Plaza on the East Side before, but this hotel was mind blowing. At first Keisha didn’t know if she even dressed correctly. Everything looked so sophisticated and perfectly in place for the convenience of any guest. As you entered you’re greeted by the doorman, who showed you to the front desk. Keisha looked through the wall of glass, observing the limos pulling up in front as Nicole presented her invite to the clerk. There was even a library beyond the lobby, displaying art and thick books. Keisha could see guests sitting in awe over the pictures in one of the books on the coffee table. There was even bottle service offered while guests sat and conversed. Damn, this gotta cost some serious bread, she thought as the clerk handed back the invite and called someone to alert them that we were coming up.

  “Nicole, I don’t know about this. This is definitely out my lane. What kinda party is this?” Keisha asked in a whispered tone.

  “Keisha, relax. Trust me, there will be no one here you know. I don’t even know anyone here. One of my clients gave me the invite. I wasn’t going to come, but she told me I would love it.” Nicole hid the fact that it was a private swingers’ party she was a member of.

  They entered they elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. Nicole wore a black strapless, short dress number and those same red six-inch Jimmy Choos. Her white skin made those heels the first thing you noticed on her. The elevator finally chimed and the doors opened. Nicole looked up to see which way the room was.

  “4405 . . . It’s this way.”

  As they got closer Keisha said, “I don’t hear no music.”

  “You won’t; the room is soundproof so no loud parties disturb other guests. Some people stay here for weeks. This place is crawling with old and new money from all walks of life.”

  “You sound like you come here a lot.” Keisha got suspicious.

  Nicole giggled as they rounded the corner. To Keisha’s surprise there were two big, muscled-looking dudes posted outside the door. Nicole handed one of them the invite.

  Keisha knew this was something serious when he pulled out a scanner and waved it over the invite. Whose party is this? Keisha wondered, standing there.

  “Can I have your phones please?” the muscle man asked.

  “My phone?” Keisha looked at Nicole.

  “Just give him your phone; you’ll get it back,” Nicole answered.

  The muscle man punched in some numbers on the pad below the doorknob and the door opened.

  The music was loud and the suite was dark as they entered. They slowly walked down the hallway and that’s when Keisha saw it: people everywhere in groups, coupled up or by themselves, watching. There were lit candles placed perfectly so areas were somewhat dark enough that you couldn’t see from afar what exactly was going on. She stared out at the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Keisha wanted to be mad, but couldn’t be. She understood why Nicole brought her to a party like this. Keisha had to see that there were people just like her hiding their truths also. There were about sixty people throughout the penthouse from what Keisha could see. She dared not move until Nicole guided her to an open area where people were talking and drinking.

  “Come on, follow me,” Nicole said with a huge smile.

  Keisha kept looking around, scared that she might make the wrong move. Suddenly a young, super skinny black guy appeared out of nowhere, naked, with only a Knicks fitted cap and old-school Ewing sneakers on, swinging his rock-hard dick to the beat of Kendrick Lamar’s latest “Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe” remix.

  “Let me get us some drinks,” Nicole said.

  The more Keisha looked around she noticed everyone there couldn’t be any older than twenty-five. She heard about parties like this, but had never seen one up close and personal. There were hood parties that went down like this, but never this open. She thought it was funny that young people with money showed and proved there were no boundaries with anything.

  Nicole returned with a bottle of Patrón and two glasses.

  “How the hell you got a bottle up in here?” Keisha arched her brows, taking one of the glasses.

  “So what you think?”

  Keisha took the bottle and lifted the cork. Filling half her glass with the liquid she then swallowed every drop in one gulp.

  “Slow down, baby. You don’t have to worry about getting called out here. Everyone knows it’s like Vegas—what happens in Trump stays at Trump.” Nicole laughed, tickled pink with herself.

  Keisha’s face changed. “So you do know these parties?”

  Nicole was caught. “Yeah, I do. If I told you what kind of party it was you wouldn’t have come.”

  “You damn right, this shit is wild.” Keisha poured herself another drink.

  “Give me that bottle, before you get wild!” Nicole took the bottle and placed it on the table in front of her. She scanned the room and saw a familiar face. “Oh, shit!” she busted out, almost knocking the bottle over.

  “What?” Keisha looked around frantically.

  “We gotta go leave now.”

  “Hold up, you brought me here to show me a good time and now you want to leave? What kinda games are you playing, Nicole?” Keisha showed her disappointment.

  Nicole got closer to Keisha and pointed at a man getting his freak on with a well-known partygoer. The only mishap was this guest had something extra than any other female of the party. Quickly Nicole got Keisha to her feet and they headed toward the suite’s entrance door. She collected their phones and they swiftly went toward the elevator.

  Nicole was silent in the elevator. Keisha could see that there was something messing with her mind.

  As they exited the hotel Keisha stopped and turned to Nicole. “What the hell was that about? You want me to feel comfortable with everything; then you just want to leave ’cause you seen some dude fucking a tranny.”

  Nicole took a deep breath. “That’s not it. It’s who I saw.”

  “And?” Keisha wasn’t moving until she got a full explanation for leaving.

  “He’s my fuckin’ boss! Do you think I want him to know I get down like that?”

  “You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite! I thought you said what happens in Trump stays at Trump. So fuckin’ what he’s your boss? Why does that even matter?” Keisha’s voice was loud.

  “Keisha, do you even know who I work for?” Nicole tilted her head and looked at Keisha with a dumb expression.

  “I don’t know and don’t care. That’s why I never asked,” Keisha replied shortly.

  “He’s the owner of Lifers Music and Shore Real Estate.”

  Keisha stepped back, falling over with laughter.

  “Why are you laughing? That shit ain’t funny. If anybody finds out . . . Let’s just say that tidbit of information can provide somebody a small house.”

  “What you mean?” Keisha played dumb.

  “Put it this way: If you put it out there in the industry right now and hint at what you just saw, trust there would be a whole lot of magazines and music reporters knocking on your door to pay for your story. You would probably get a bi
gger deal if you had a picture. That’s why they take your phones at the door.” Nicole started walking down Spring Street away from the hotel.

  Keisha wasn’t following her.

  “Keisha, come on; we can catch a cab back to the house,” Nicole said after noticing she wasn’t walking with her.

  “I’m good. I’ma head to BK. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You can’t get back in without the invite,” Nicole added.

  “Please, I ain’t even gonna try to go back in there. Lawd knows who else in there gettin’ they assholes blown out!”

  Nicole rolled her eyes and waved her hand in the air to signal a cab. Keisha waved her good-bye with a smile.

  Ain’t this some shit! Keisha didn’t know what else to do but laugh as she walked toward the Broadway-Lafayette train station. All she knew was she had a story to tell.

  13

  LaRhonda

  The probability of Mr. Jeremy Hughes being the biological father of Aaron Williams is 99.9 percent. Therefore concludes that Mr. Jeremy Hughes is the father of Aaron Williams.

  LaRhonda remembered reading those words on the paper Eric gave to her. She’d been avoiding Vincent’s calls for days. It didn’t help that Diamond was bugging the shit out of her to speak to him. LaRhonda had to carry her phone around with her just so she wouldn’t pick up the phone when his name showed on the screen. LaRhonda saved the number to her phone when she called so she wouldn’t think it was a creditor or telemarketer.

  Guilt was killing LaRhonda slowly but surely. It kept her up at night and edgy during the day. She would stare at Aaron, trying to figure out whose features he resembled. Could I lie and get away with it?

  Her back pocket vibrated. She pulled out her phone and saw Vincent’s name. Saying a quick prayer before answering she accepted the collect call.

  “Oh, so you finally taking my calls now. What the fuck is the problem? Where you been?” Vincent asked.

  “Trying to get a job, nigga. Remember you ain’t around to take care of us anymore,” LaRhonda said, lying through her teeth. She wanted him to feel like shit.

  “True, true. Let me talk to Diamond for a minute,” he said.

  LaRhonda called Diamond out the room and put her phone on speaker. “Diamond, come talk to yo’ daddy; hurry up.”

  Diamond came rushing out the room with a big smile. She took the phone and walked over to the sofa.

  “Where you think you goin’? That ain’t yours. Talk to him right here,” LaRhonda said, stopping her from moving.

  Diamond wasn’t a stupid kid. She knew exactly what her mother was doing. She loved her father too much for him not to know the truth about where they were at. Diamond picked her words carefully as she talked to her father in front of LaRhonda. Her mother stayed close so only the “I love you’s” and “miss you’s” were heard. But before she handed the phone back Diamond mentioned that her favorite kids restaurant was nearby: Chuck E. Cheese’s. When she said it her father reacted instantly.

  “Chuck E. Cheese’s, huh? Okay, baby, I love you and miss you. I’ll talk to you soon. Where yo’ mama at?”

  LaRhonda knew that tone. He was ready to interrogate. She shooed Diamond away and took the phone off speaker. “Yeah?”

  “Where you stayin’ at? ’Cause I know Chuck E. Cheese’s ain’t nowhere near yo’ mama house unless you got a car now.”

  “I had to move, Vin. You already know what goes on at my mother’s house. Shit, you don’t even know how many times I had to go buy formula ’cause her ass or whoever she had over was stealin’ my shit. How long did you think that money was gonna last?” LaRhonda was happy to be talking about anything else but that piece of paper he got. She knew he got it because he talked to Diamond and didn’t want to talk to Aaron. He would usually talk to him over the phone even though Aaron couldn’t talk back.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Where the fuck you at? Or maybe I should ask who you stayin’ wit’?” Vincent’s voice became irritable.

  “I’m stayin’ in Marcy and I ain’t stayin’ wit’ no one.” LaRhonda tried to keep the conversation calm.

  “How the fuck you get a place in Marcy? You got no family there. You only know niggas from over there. Now, I’ma ask you again . . . Who the fuck you stayin’ wit’?” Vincent took a deep breath, knowing that soon it was going to go bad.

  “Vin, what the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, man? I already told you I ain’t stayin’ wit’ nobody. Shit, just leave it alone. Just know that your kids got a roof over their heads, which you can’t provide,” LaRhonda got snappy with him.

  “Look, bitch—”

  “Who the fuck you think you callin’ a bitch?” LaRhonda shouted.

  “You, bitch! I only got one kid and you already know you can drop her at my mother’s.”

  LaRhonda stayed silent. Here it comes . . .

  “You fuckin’ bitch! I can’t believe I actually believed you wasn’t fuckin’ with dat fool! I wouldn’t be in this bitch if I knew Aaron wasn’t mine. I would have just taken my fuckin’ child and bounced long time ago. I swear to God I would have done that shit, Ronnie. You ain’t shit! You was gonna keep this shit up and make me fuckin’ think Eric was the only nigga you was fuckin’. Who the fuck is Jeremy, bitch?” His temper flared almost to the point of tears in his eyes.

  She continued to be silent.

  Angered more by her silence he unleashed, “You nasty-ass bitch. I’m ashamed that I had a baby with yo’ ass. I shoulda known you just like ’em other wretched bitches. You ain’t fuckin’ shit, Ronnie.”

  She heard his hand hit the wall. From the sound it seemed that he may have hurt himself.

  “Fuckin’ bitch!” he screamed loudly. “Ronnie . . .”

  Words couldn’t form and leave her mouth fast enough before he started again.

  “A’ight, you ain’t talkin’ . . .” His tone changed drastically; he even laughed a little.

  LaRhonda shook her head in disbelief of how quickly his feelings changed. Just a second ago he was calling her all types of bitch. She kept her mouth shut, not wanting to give him any more ammunition.

  “A’ight, let me get comfortable . . . Oh, Ronnie, you can’t actually think I was just gonna sit back and let this play out how you want it. Oh, hell no. You see what you don’t know is after Aaron was born I stepped to Eric like a man and told him we needed to take a test. He agreed, but then I got locked. I got the word out that I wanted to talk to him and we did. Man, oh man, you played me like a motherfuckin’ fiddle. But what he said made sense. There was no reason for me and him to want to kill each other. It was you who deceived the both of us. I know where you at in Marcy. You stayin’ at Eric’s mama’s house.”

  LaRhonda’s jaw dropped. What the fuck is happenin’ right now? She continued her silence, plopping down on the sofa.

  “Cat still got yo’ tongue? That’s okay, I got phone time. A’ight, so now you wonderin’ how’d we figure out Jeremy should be tested. Well, let’s just say your birthmark is in a spot that gets people talkin’ about a lot of things. It just so happened that Eric said something out loud when Jeremy’s demo was playing in the background. I picked up on it when I heard, ‘she taste so sweet, her mama stamped her wit’ a strawberry on her pink peak.’ You the only female I have fucked wit’ who got that kinda birthmark on the inside of they shit. Eric felt the same way I did: ain’t nobody gonna know that unless they fuckin’ you. You wanna start talkin’ yet?” Vincent waited for a response.

  She bowed her head and whispered into the phone, “It was a one-night stand, nothing more. It was a mistake. Eric was drunk that night and passed out. I started to drink more; then Shotta walked in with some weed and more liqs. I was so drunk, I can’t even tell you how we ended up in the bathroom fuckin’. I didn’t think that he could be the father ’cause I only fucked him once.” Her tears dried up at this point.

  “Is that right?”

  “I swear I didn’t even think of him in this equation. He was nothin’
. He ain’t even here no more. Eric showed me the DNA papers. I didn’t want to believe it. After he showed me I haven’t seen him. He said he was gonna still help me, but I ain’t call him to ask for nothin’. Vin, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me,” she pleaded.

  “Forgive you? Right now I don’t give two shits ’bout yo’ ass! I want my fuckin’ daughter at my mother’s house by tomorrow and forget about her. I swear, Ronnie, if she ain’t there I’ma make sure I get somebody to find you and kick yo’ ass every time you leave Marcy,” he demanded.

  “What the fuck are you sayin’? You think I’ma just drop her off just like that and have nothin’ to do wit’ with my own daughter? What kinda fuckin’ shit they got you smokin’ in that bitch? Yo’ mama ain’t gonna go for that.” She tried to remind him that his mother never liked her or his daughter when they stayed over there.

  “Trust me, my mother will welcome her granddaughter as long as yo’ ass don’t have nothin’ to do wit’ her.” Vincent’s anger reappeared.

  “Whateva, Vincent . . . I ain’t payin’ yo’ ass no mind ’cause you, my friend, can’t do shit. You must’ve forgotten you live in a six-by-eight iron cage. You gots no rights right now.” LaRhonda swallowed her fear and continued, “Trust me, ain’t no fuckin’ judge givin’ you my child. Nigga, you got five years, and shit if you really want me to go there I will.”

  “Bitch, don’t threaten me. You right, Ronnie, I can’t do shit, but my fuckin’ lawyer sure as hell can. What you think ’bout that?”

  “Well, I hope he can beat ’em charges I’ma put on yo’ ass. Domestic violence charges is a bitch especially when proof is showed. So why don’t you come at me from a different angle. You want me to drop her off at yo’ mama’s for a few days or for the weekend I’m cool wit’ that. But don’t think I’ma just give you our daughter. You must be out yo’ fuckin’ mind,” LaRhonda said with no apprehension of what he would do to her.

  “Charges? Bitch, you got no proof. No pictures, hospital stays, or witnesses, just yo’ word against mine. With your type of friends and family it’ll be easy for my mother to get custody. So if you want to go there we can. Now drop my daughter off at my mama’s tomorrow and then we can talk about your role in her life.”