by Sa'id Salaam
“Anyway, where are the boys?” he asked, knowing she was ratchet enough to have the juveniles in there with her.
“Eric is with his daddy, Dante is with his daddy, and Marcus is with his daddy,” she shot back while moving her neck sarcastically.
“Forgot one, didn’t you?” he laughed.
“Nuh uh, Brezel in the car, so there,” she said while holding her glass out to the bartender for another one.
“Ain’t it a little early for all that?” Breeze asked as he took the glass away and set it on the bar.
“Hell no! It ain’t never too early to turn up,” she explained, and began dancing without music. “Why ain’t no music in here? What kind of juke joint is dis?”
“Good question.” He started frowning up at the DJ booth. He had spent thousands on the club’s sound system, so he, too, was curious why there was no music playing.
He looked up at Pops and ran his finger across his throat, signaling his sister was cut off, before marching toward the DJ booth.
“’Sup with the sound check, Rain Man?” he asked as he entered the booth. The only sounds that could be heard inside were the slurping and smacking coming from a wet blowjob.
“Sorry, boss,” the DJ said as he snatched his dick out of the mouth of one of the club’s waitresses.
“I’m sorry, too,” she muttered, now that her mouth was empty.
“I’m sorry, too. Sorry I ever hired y’all sorry asses. Now, get the fuck up out my shit,” Breeze said, fighting against the urge to let the old Breeze surface.
The old Breeze would have laid hands on both of them. The new Breeze looked before he leapt — most times, that is. He saw the club’s manager approaching as he turned and exited the booth.
“Is everything okay?” Carlton asked with the disconcerted smile he wore so well.
Breeze’s brow naturally furrowed when Carlton spoke. The boy rubbed Breeze the wrong way from the jump. When they were first introduced, he removed a wet wipe and cleaned his hands after shaking his. That and correcting everyone’s grammar were a few of the irritating habits the man had. Still, he was a necessary evil.
Carlton Wells did not come cheap, either. He had earned the right to charge a grand a night, plus commission. Having him run your club meant it would be a guaranteed success. He had the experience, the skills, as well as the A-list clientele to fill up the V.I.P. section.
“We need a new DJ and another waitress,” Breeze replied as the couple came out. Rain Man had the nerve to be mad, while the girl simply ducked her head in shame.
“Can I get a ride?” she asked, and got chumped off.
“Catch the bus, bitch!” Rain Man spat as if she were to blame. He snarled at Breeze on the way out like he wronged him, too. He had plans to make some extra cash out of the place, himself.
“Whatever,” he laughed. Who’s afraid of a nigga wearing skinny jeans? Fuck he gonna put his gun? he thought to himself.
“Don’t you think it’s rather late in the game to be changing players?” Carlton asked, cocking one eyebrow like a question mark.
“I wouldn’t give a fuck if it was overtime! They disrespected me and my shit, so they gotta go. If I can’t trust you, then you can’t be around me,” he barked.
“Very well,” Carlton agreed. He knew full well it was the right decision, but wanted to be sure his employer did. “I’ll find another DJ and waitress. Are you sure you want to keep the bartender? He’s quite — umm. Country.”
“Shawty, we in the south! This is Atlanta. He a’ight,” he said in defense of Pops.
“Well, if you like it, I love it,” he said flamboyantly. “Like you said, this is Atlanta. We open at 10:00 p.m.”
“See ya at 10,” Breeze said over his shoulder as he headed for the door to leave.
Chapter Three
“Ok, ok, o-fucking-k!” Tasheena barked when her alarm clock refused to shut the fuck up like she ordered. It still beeped and buzzed for another 15 minutes before shutting itself off completely. That made the time exactly 10:15 when she finally lifted her head from the pillow. It was twenty minutes after by the time her feet touched the cold tiled floor. Not getting out of bed until 10:20 am is pretty bad, but 10:20 pm is some real bullshit.
“Let me go put myself together,” she mumbled as she walked into the small bathroom to relieve herself.
Tasheena pulled her panties down to her knees and took a seat on the toilet to relieve her full bladder. She checked the cotton lining of her panties for discharges of any sort. It was a habit she developed years ago. It was only the greenish goo she had found there that alerted her to the STD she had contracted. She had no symptoms, so had wondered why so many dudes were hot at her. Having the clap didn’t stop her from having unprotected sex occasionally, but it did have her checking her panties daily. That was her version of a lesson learned.
After a long tinkle, she flushed, stood, and stepped out of her underwear. Next, she pulled the t-shirt she had slept in over her head before turning on the shower. She reached under the sink and grabbed a disposable douche from the dollar store.
“Just in case a nigga tryna eat,” she reasoned, and stepped in the shower with it. The term nigga was a testament to the fact she had yet to meet the next man to be invited into her body.
There were times when she got a nut before a name. Other times no names were exchanged to go along with the exchange of body fluids.
Like most women, Tasheena just wanted to give love and be loved back. Unfortunately, she was raised by, with, and around other hoes who believed the way to a man’s heart was through his dick. It wasn’t, but it paid the rent, utilities, and her car note.
Tasheena stepped under the steamy spray and cleaned herself inside and out. She didn’t have to worry about getting her hair wet, since it was safe and dry in her closet. When she said put herself together, she meant it literally — in the Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head sense of the phrase. She had to add her lips, eyes, hair, and everything else. With Tasheena, everything was et cetera.
Her skin was a spotty, blotchy mess from all the bleaching creams she had tried over the years in an attempt to turn her beautiful chestnut-colored skin beige. Now a heavy layer of foundation was required to even it out to a nice shade of tan. If people from the census bureau ever came knocking, she would still be required to mark colored.
Once the paint on her face dried, she carefully drew her eyebrows back on. The right one had to be done over so she wouldn’t walk around looking like she was asking a question. Next came the lens that changed the color of her pupils from brown to green, followed by her long, curly eyelashes. Lastly was her hair, which was in the closet with her clothes, so she stepped inside.
“Ok, Halle, you’re up,” she told the short wig she had dubbed Halle Berry. It was situated between her Tina Turner and Beyoncé hair. The top row of her closet was lined with Styrofoam faces topped with wigs in hairstyles of the rich and famous.
The short wig fit snugly on her head, since she kept her own hair cut close to her scalp. The only thing in the closet shorter than the wig was the red dress she selected.
“’Bout to bag me a baller tonight!” she vowed to her sexy reflection. The chick in the mirror opened her mouth to disagree and try to talk some sense into her, but she quickly turned away.
Hoes are like superheroes in the sense they always have a sidekick. Batman had Robin. Green Lantern had Cato. And Tasheena had Tosha. Superhoes, activate!
“Yeah, bitch,” Tosha snapped into her phone when she took her friend’s call.
Tosha was the tall, dark, and thin to her leader being short, tan, and thick. She was actually pretty in the morning before she added all the extras. Low self-esteem markets and promotes the wearing of weaves and wigs better than any celebrity ever could. As a result, she went from cute to clown for a night on the town. She looked like she was someone in the Witness Protection program trying to hide her identity.
“Bitch, where you at?” Tasheena asked as she stepped from
her apartment. Tosha flashed her lights in reply, since the two would be riding together.
“You ready to turn up?” Tosha gleefully asked her girl as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Turn down for what?” Tasheena shot back like she believed it. Her birthday was a week away, and she was ready to turn down and settle down. All she wanted was someone to love.
