She Gave Her All to the Hood’s Finest 4

by Shvonne Latrice

  “Damnit.” She watched as another employee cleaned up her drink.

  “Hey, I can pay for another one for you.” I came around to face her.

  “No, you don’t have to.” She shook her head.

  “Really, it’s fine.”

  “Okay. Thank you so much!”

  I nodded to the cashier, who rung up the drink, and I handed her my bankcard to swipe. Once I had my receipt, I tossed it into the trash and then grabbed my two drinks to leave.

  “Have a good one.” I half smiled at the pretty girl. She reminded me of Ryan Destiny from Star, only a tinge lighter.

  “You too. Hey, can I get your number so I can contact you about paying the money back?” She followed me outside.

  “It was only seven dollars.”

  “I know, but I hate to take anything from people. Please, allow me to pay you back.”

  “Alright.” I waited until she got her phone out and then read my number off. “Are you having a bad day?”

  “No.” She put her phone into her purse. “I mean, I wasn’t having a bad day until I dropped the damn drink.” We laughed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Not to be rude, but you kind of overreacted about the drink, which usually only happens when you’re already having a horrible day.”

  “Oh. It’s because the drink is for my boss, and he’s not the nicest person. He would be livid if I bought another smoothie on his card, and Jamba isn’t exactly in the budget for me right now.”

  Damn. I wasn’t going to judge though. I’d been employed-broke before. Hell, I still wasn’t rich. I was doing okay and had a generous boyfriend for cushion.

  “I see. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?”

  “I’m an assistant to Mark Vegas.”

  “Who? I’m sorry. I’ve never paid attention to things like that, even though my ex was in entertainment.”

  “Oh. Mark is a music manager. He’s really good at his job, has a great eye for talent and opportunities, but is an asshole.” She rolled her eyes as we chuckled. “Who was your ex?”

  By this time, my stomach was growling for my smoothie, so I took a sip.

  “Prince, the singer.”

  “Oh shit! You do look familiar. He used to post you a lot.”

  “I know and hated that I didn’t post him at all. I’m just private.” At least I thought that was why. I still didn’t do a lot now, but I’d posted Tony to my story a few times.

  “Niggas.” She shook her head. “Well thanks again…Cam…?” She squinted her eyes.

  “Camarih.”

  “So sorry! Thanks, Camarih. Duh. I just put it in my phone. I’m Rubie.” She reached to shake my hand.

  We split ways so she could go back in for her drink and I could leave, but I paused.

  “Hey, Rubie!”

  “Yes?” She turned to look at me.

  “You think you could take this.” I retrieved Tony’s business card from my Fendi bucket bag. I was obsessed with this purse from Tony—perfect size and color. I hadn’t even thought of my new Balenciaga.

  “Sure.” She looked at the card. “Who is Tony Wacko? Your boss?”

  “He’s a record label owner.” I pointed to the card, which read that.

  “Well either you’re sleeping with him or you really believe he knows what he’s doing.”

  Chuckling, I replied, “He’s great at what he does. He has an artist who is fire, but he’s always looking for more. If one of your boss’s artists has potential, you think you can pass this along?”

  “Umm—”

  “It’d be worth more to me than the seven dollars.”

  “You didn’t have to pay for my drink or be my shrink two seconds ago, so I will.” She smiled. “Can I have two more?”

  “Of course.” I handed them over. “Thanks again.”

  “No, thank you.”

  I went to my car and took a few gulps of my drink as I pondered. Tony always helped me and did things to push my business, so I wanted to do the same. Plus, my baby had the juice, and anybody that signed with him was sure to be successful. Hell, I was doing one of Vegas’s clients a favor.

  I got to Tony’s studio about ten minutes later since traffic was light on the streets, and by that time, I was done with mine, so I only brought his in.

  Entering the room, it had about six men, not including Rahim or Eitan, and a couple girls. Rahim was seated at the mixer, Eitan in the booth recording, and Tony standing at the mixer, inhaling on a blunt. I felt the girls’ eyes on me as I walked up on Tony, hugging his torso. He was so tall.

  “Got you something.” I showed him the smoothie as he blew out smoke in the opposite direction of me before ashing it.

  “Thanks, Buttascotch. Fuck, man. You drank half this shit.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” I looked up into his face sadly as he shook his head in an irritated manner before taking a sip.

  Sitting down, he brought me into his lap where we shared some kisses. His lips were already cold and juicy. Again, I felt eyes on me.

  “You look good.” He tugged one of my coils lightly while taking another sip. I loved when he touched my hair.

  “Thank you, daddy.” I blushed before he put the straw to my lips so I could have a sip.

  “Aye, go smoke that shit outside!” Tony looked to one of the guys in the studio who’d lit up.

  “You was just smoking in here.” His brows dipped.

  “I own this shit, and it was before my girl got here.” As soon as Tony called me his girl, there were the looks again from the hoes. I kissed his cheek to make it worse for them bitches.

  “Man.” The guy sucked his teeth.

  “Get the fuck out my studio ’fore I let this shit rock, nigga.” Tony exposed the gun locked on his hip, and the guy promptly got out of dodge.

  “You crazy as shit, bro.” Rahim laughed, along with the rest of us. Tony had a serious face though.

  “Do the verse over. I ain’t like that shit,” was all he said as I stayed comfortably in his lap.

  Rubie Bailey

  Without saying thank you to the asshole employees of Jamba Juice, I took my drink off the bar counter and left out. I was already ten minutes behind since they made four other people’s orders before remaking mine. I damn near ran out, making sure to be as careful as possible with this drink.

  I wanted to floor it back to Mark’s office, but of course, there was a bunch of traffic. It was 3 p.m., and for some reason, everyone in the southern part of California decided to all come to South Central.

  And no, Mark’s office wasn’t located in South Central. It was in downtown, but he only drank from the Jamba Juice off Slauson and Western. It was deep in the hood, so I always had to swat off crazy niggas, wanting my number and spend a good hour in traffic to get back to work. I couldn’t stand Mark’s ass, but the job paid okay, and it was in the field I wanted to be in.

  I wanted to do public relations for musicians or actors, and since Mark was so well connected, I jumped at the job, despite it paying only $800 a week. It wasn’t nothing; however, for the lifestyle I lived, it often had me living check to check.

  Parking my car in the lot of Mark’s office, I took a deep breath before getting out with his drink and walking it inside. Going to his office, I entered, almost dropping the smoothie again.

  “Oh shit!” I hurried back out after witnessing Mark getting head from this rapper girl he managed. No, this wasn’t anything new, but it was not something I wanted to see. I could’ve gone the rest of my life not seeing Mark get head from Candee.

  I went to my office for a little bit, and a couple minutes later, Mark appeared. He was tall, baldhead, chocolate, and had a nice body with neatly trimmed facial hair. He wasn’t necessarily attractive, but I understood why women fell at his feet. He carried himself well, always smelled good, had a little money on him, and had plenty of connections.

  “My drink.” He stopped at my desk, so I rose up to hand it over. “What took so damn long, Rubie?�
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  “The employee dropped your drink and had to remake it.” I half lied. “Then, it was very crowded, so it took me ten minutes to even get to the freeway due to all the creepy crawling that every car was—”

  “This shit is damn near melted. It has the consistency of juice!”

  “Sorry, boss, but the drive was long, and it’s hot outside. Maybe I can start going to the Jamba Juice only a couple minutes from here.”

  “No, what you need to do is perform your job duties efficiently and effectively. Next time my drink is melted, I’m gonna deduct the cost, plus interest from your check.”

  “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t stand this man.

  “Now.” He sipped the drink. Must not have been too bad because he could barely ridicule me due to the constant slurps he kept taking. “What’s the update on the venue for the showcase?”

  “Well I have three that you need to look at. Once you choose, I can start putting everything together.”

  “The showcase is in two months, Miss Bailey.” He shook his head, sipping and pacing my office.

  “Yes, I know, and that is plenty of time, especially if you look at the venues in your email and get back to me today.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to invite the people I need to, but I also want you to get some beautiful ladies in the building. Beautiful ladies equal niggas willing to pay whatever to get in.”

  “You got it.” I nodded, watching Mark turn on his heels to leave. “Oh, Mr. Vegas, I know you’re interested in inviting some labels, so why don’t you give him a call?” I came from behind my desk and handed off Tony’s business card.

  Mark grabbed it from me, eyeing it for a moment as he took down the smoothie until there was nothing left.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “He’s a label owner. He—”

  “Wait… Tony Wacko.” Mark squinted his eyes. “I know that name. Ah, thug nigga from Leimert Park. Absolutely not.” Mark handed me back the card, leaving my office, but I followed.

  “Mr. Vegas, he’s really good at what he does, and one of your artists may really benefit from working with him.”

  “I’m not inviting some gangster to my event. Plus, most of my artists are ladies, and I can’t have them getting distracted by him. You know most women love those ignorant thug types.”

  So that’s what it was. Mark was scared his little hoes would flock to Tony Wacko.

  Chuckling, I replied, “Now, Mr. Vegas, no way they would want to leave someone like you, for a man like Tony Wacko. You’re handsome, charming, and smart as a whip.” I laid it on him.

  I didn’t know Tony from a can of paint, but just off of one encounter, I liked Camarih. She seemed sweet, and whoever this Tony guy was to her, she either really believed in him or loved him. Hell, maybe both. By saying that, I wanted to do something nice for her like she’d done for me back at Jamba.

  “True.” Mark looked off. “Okay, put him on the invite list. But if any ghetto mess pops off, it’s on you, Miss Bailey.”

  “Of course.”

  “This is trash.” He handed me his empty smoothie container and tread back down to his office.

  I couldn’t wait until I could quit this damn job.

  Throwing out Mark’s cup, I shut the door to my office then went back to my desk. Pulling up Google Chrome, I typed in Tony’s name to see what he was about. I found his Instagram and clicked it. Off the bat, I saw he was fine as hell, in that hood LA nigga way. When I realized Eitan was his artist, I nodded my head in approval. I found Camarih’s page because she’d left a simple heart under one of his photos, so I explored hers.

  She was gorgeous, so much so, that I was surprised to see how nice she was. Most women who looked that good, meaning face and body on point, had bad attitudes. I definitely needed to invite her to the party. I was sure I would get some brownie points from Mark as soon as he saw her.

  Mark got back to me about the venue two whole hours later, so I worked for the two remaining hours of my shift before shutting everything down. On the way home, I picked up some salsa and avocados because I was making chicken bowls tonight for me and my boyfriend Armonn.

  “Hey, babe.” I entered my apartment to see Armonn laid out on the couch, shirtless.

  Of course I got no response since he was asleep, so I went to the kitchen to begin seasoning the chicken for the bowls. I checked the thaw drawer and saw it was empty, causing me to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Looking in the freezer, I spotted the chicken Armonn was supposed to take out for me earlier this morning.

  “Shit, when you get here?” Armonn walked in, rubbing his stomach.

  “You forgot the fucking chicken?” I held the rock-hard breasts up.

  “Oh damn, yeah. My bad, baby.”

  “Your bad? Your bad? All I asked you to do was take the shit out, and you couldn’t even do that!” I threw it onto the counter.

  “Calm down, damn. It’s just chicken. We can order Postmates.” He whipped his iPhone out and began thumbing around.

  “Of course, because it’s my money that we’re spending. It’s always my money. I pay for every damn thing, and you couldn’t even take the meat out of the freezer on time.”

  “Here you go with this shit. Sometimes it’s cool, and sometimes you wanna bitch about it.” Armonn left the kitchen, shaking his head.

  I ran into Armonn three years ago at a party, and I was in love at first sight. He was tall, had smooth light skin, perfect teeth, and a smile that made your panties dance down your legs for him. His charm didn’t stop at his looks though; he was sweet, attentive, a gentleman, great in bed, and an even greater listener.

  The only drawback was that he was broke. He wasn’t the ‘paid my bills, now I only got $200 until my next payday’ broke. No. Homeboy was couch surfing, no car having, odd job taking, couldn’t even order an Uber to a job interview broke.

  Initially, I was turned off by it, but after dating around and finding men with money who lacked everything I wanted in a man, I doubled back to Armonn. He welcomed me with open arms, and because he said he had a dream he planned on obtaining, becoming a model, I agreed to take care of him.

  I figured it was a small price to pay for a man who was so great to me. I told myself, and truly believed, that only shallow women would throw away such a good man because he was broke. I still felt that way, but what I forgot during that time was that there were other factors I needed to take into account.

  Armonn being broke when we first met wasn’t okay. Had he already been my man and gone broke would be one thing, but us getting together while he was flat broke was a bad decision on my part.

  Not to mention, he felt fine borrowing money from me very early on, another red flag. Lastly, I felt he’d become complacent and comfortable with me taking care of him. And hell, I didn’t have a good enough job to be a damn sugar mama. I assumed our arrangement would last a year max, but here it was three going on four.

  To make matters worse, I felt bad for wanting a man with money. I felt like a gold-digging bitch when I would admire women who had men that could take them out to dinner, buy them flowers, or even put gas in their car.

  “Armonn.” I walked out of the kitchen to see him on the couch, eating chips, and watching TV.

  “Sup.”

  “Go ahead and order something before all the places close. I’m gonna have a shower.”

  “Aight, but wait for me, beautiful.” He grabbed my hand as I walked by.

  “No, it’s gonna be a quick one. I’m tired.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he stopped me.

  “Hey, Rubie. I know this is frustrating right now, but I promise I’m getting my shit together. It’s taking time, a lot, but I appreciate you for holding me down. And I swear as soon as I get that first big check, we going to Fleming’s or somewhere nice like that.”

  See, and that was how he kept me around. Every time I would tell myself it was time to find a real man, aka a man with his own funds, Armonn would rope me in with his words.r />
  Did I really want to leave a good man just because he wasn’t financially stable?

  Rahim

  Some odd days later…

  “A nigga got cherries and shit.” Tony showed Eitan and I the container of cherries.

  “Damn, nigga. You did all this shopping?” I quizzed as Eitan ate one of the cherries.

  “Hell nah, muthafucka. Only thing I buy is water, granddaddy, and Hennessy. My girl keeps shit stocked.” He opened the freezer, fridge, and pantry to show us.

  “Damn. She paid too?” Eitan inquired.

  “Nah. Fuck I look like making my woman pay for all this shit?” Tony waved for us to follow him out of the kitchen after looking in the pot that Camarih had on the stove. “A nigga got a balanced diet and shit. How many muthafuckas in the hood can say they got some real fucking cherries in their fridge?”

  We chortled as we all took a seat on the couch. Only hood niggas got excited about cherries.

  “Shit, not many.” Eitan shook his head, and I nodded in agreement.

  Seeing how Camarih got all that food and was currently cooking, made me miss Amara. She stayed doing shit like that. Whenever something got low, she had it restocked in a matter of days so that we never even went without it. I had meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, never having to worry about what I was putting into my body, all while she worked a full-time job. Leaving all that shit behind was tough, but it was gon’ pay off.

  “Speaking of food, I ain’t been grocery shopping in a minute. I’ve been living off sardines.” I huffed.

  “No wonder yo’ breath be on some other shit. Thought you was out here eating funky pussy.” Tony typed away on his phone as Eitan fell out.

  I checked my breath, and when Tony caught me, he joined Eitan in laughter.

  “Man, fuck y’all.”

  Just then, Camarih came from the back. She was in some tights, a t-shirt, and some of them weird fuzzy socks. Her golden hair was straightened, which was new for her, or to me.

  “Aye, where the fuck you going?” Tony hissed, making Camarih pause to lean down and kiss him. He grabbed a handful of her ass as she walked by, and I did my best not to look but failed.