My Baby Is a West Coast King
By
Shvonne Latrice
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© 2016
Published by Leo Sullivan Presents
www.leolsullivan.com
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction, in any manner, is prohibited.
Chapter One: Laine Loren
My gynecologist called me early in the morning to ask if I could come down to see him later today. That was four hours ago, and I’d been on the verge of having a heart attack ever since. Everyone knew that if your gynecologist called, that meant there was a problem. He offered to tell me over the phone, but I was too shaken up over the fact that he had something to tell me in the first place, so I declined that option.
“Okay, Ms. Loren,” Dr. Labors walked into his office.
I sat across from his desk cupping my knees and taking deep breaths. What the hell could be wrong? Did I have cancer? Was I barren? Or worse, was it an STD? I could literally hear and feel my heart beating out of my damn chest as he rounded his desk and sat down. He flashed me a faint smile, and I did the same before looking at the picture of him, his wife, and handsome son.
“How are you feeling today?”
“I’m fine. Well, I thought I was fine, but clearly I’m not, right?”
Chuckling, he said, “Well, it’s nothing terminal. Everything from your pap smear came back in perfect condition, but your STD test showed you have chlamydia, Ms. Loren.”
“Chlamydia?” I raised a brow, astonished. I just knew he was gonna tell me I had cancer, and for some reason hearing I had the clap was worse.
“Yes, now my nurse Mary will go ahead and take care of you with some antibiotics so we can clear it right up. Luckily for you, Ms. Loren, this is treatable, and it hasn’t caused any damage to your reproductive organs, which it can do. I must ask, how many partners do you have? You must notify them all is the reason I’m asking.”
“I can’t possibly have chlamydia. I’ve been with the same guy for four years, since I was seventeen years old, Dr. Labor. I’ve only slept with him and we always used condoms.”
“Well, unfortunately, you didn’t get this from a dirty toilet seat, and condoms aren’t 100% effective.” He clasped his fingers together, just as Mary, his nurse, walked in and smiled.
“Are you ready, Ms. Loren?”
“Yes,” I nodded, still in disbelief that Tarik had given me an STD. I went to the doctor and got tested faithfully, so he must have just contracted this, which ultimately meant that he’d cheated on me and recently.
After taking the medicine, I talked with my doctor and scheduled to come back and have another STD test to make sure it was gone. He advised me not to sleep with Tarik again until I was sure he’d gotten his shit cleared up, but my doctor had nothing to worry about. Tarik would never touch me again, and if he upset me, I may chop his dick off, preventing him from ever using that dirty shit on someone else.
I caught an Uber to get something to eat, and then had it drop me off at Tarik’s house. I knew he was at work, but he would be here in like an hour, so best believe I would be waiting on his ass.
His mom was cool, one of them bitches that had Peter Pan syndrome and never wanted to grow up. She was more like Tarik’s sister than his mother, which worked out for me. I always said I didn’t wanna be with a nigga who was close with his mama, because they acted like bitches and had a hard time choosing between their woman and mother. Too bad Tarik and I were finito, because his mother-son situation was perfect.
“Hey, Laine,” Tarik’s mother, Tonya, opened the door, smoking a cigarette. She always smelled like cigarettes and the worst part was I didn’t think she knew that. I would hate to reek and not know it.
“Hi. Can I wait for Tarik here? I need to talk to him.” I slipped in past her and sat on the couch before she could answer. At this point, I was only asking to be nice, because either way I was coming up in and waiting on Tarik.
“Yeah, it’s cool.” She closed the door behind me. “Why you didn’t just go up to his job?” she inhaled on the cigarette before plopping down next to me.
“Didn’t want to make a scene.” I started eating my food.
“Uh oh.”
Tonya and I sat on the couch, watching TV, as I waited for Tarik to get here. My leg began to bounce as I thought about how I was gonna go upside his fucking head. We’d been together since we were fucking teenagers, in love, or so I thought, and not only did he cheat on me, but he gave me an STD. That shit was so fucking nasty. My lip turned up at the thought.
“Hey ma—Laine, what you doing here, baby?” Tarik walked in smiling, and I just hopped up from the couch and stormed to his room. “Fuck,” he mumbled, before following behind me.
“Chlamydia, nigga?” I hissed as soon as he walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.
“Aye, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I don’t even look at other bitches. I ain’t—”
“How the fuck did I get it then, nigga?!” I hollered so loudly the blinds shook.
“That’s what the fuck I wanna know! You always going on these damn photo shoots and shit… probably fucked to get work!”
His face was twisted up, and even though he was handsome as hell, I wasn’t attracted to him anymore. His sexy chocolate skin, perfect waves, and trimmed facial hair did nothing for me like it used to. Even his tall muscular frame, sexy lips, and perfect teeth disgusted me in this moment.
“Who is the bitch?” I cried, biting down hard on my lip. I was shaking and my heart was aching. I felt like I’d been with a stranger for four years.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked into my eyes with his lying ass. “If your pussy is burning it ain’t ‘cause of me.” He had the nerve to snicker.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
I started taking off on his ass, and as he backed up, he ran into his wooden dresser. He called out in pain as I punched him like a bitch on the street. He attempted to get ahold of my wrists but he wasn’t quick enough, so I busted his nose and then his lip.
“What the hell is— Laine!” His mother burst in and yanked me back.
“I’m done with you! I hate you! Nasty ass muthafucka!” I cried, staring into the face of the man that I thought loved me. His face was bloody and busted, but it served his dirty ass right.
“Get yo’ sick pussy ass out!” he spat, and I tried to charge him but his mother held me tighter.
“Fuck this. I don’t even care,” I laughed angrily.
I pulled my body from his mother, and thankfully she let me go. Storming out of his house, I walked down the street, ignoring the group of bitches staring at me. I knew they heard all the commotion, and shit, they probably fucked Tarik too.
I ordered another Uber, using my best friend’s account since money was hella tight for me, and then made my way home. I really needed to get out of Illinois.
***
A couple days later…
“I just need twenty bucks, Erynne,” I looked at my best friend as we sat on her couch in her apartment. I hated to ask for money, but I really needed it. She knew I would pay her back; I always did. I hated being that begging ass friend, but I only asked when it was an emergency… to me.
“For what, Laine? Damn,” she sucked her teeth and rolled her e
yes as I if I didn’t always give it back.
I didn’t have a steady job like she did, but it was for good reason. I didn’t belong behind a desk or counter, I belonged in the magazines, and that was where I was gonna end up. I just hated that every time I was in need, someone wanted to complain to me about how I needed to get what they called a ‘real’ job. Shit, it wasn’t like I didn’t get paid for the modeling jobs I did, it’s just that the jobs were pretty few and far between, so the small pay didn’t last me long.
“I just need it for an Uber. I’m about to order it, and it said the cost would be $9.45.” I was gonna just use her account to get it, but when I did that last time, she claimed I overdrew her checking and I felt bad.
“Is this for another ‘job’?” she used air quotes.
“Yeah, it is. But look, it’s a really good one! Their social media accounts have a lot of followers so it will get me some more exposure,” I explained when she groaned.
“You have a lot of followers of your own though, so I’m still not seeing why it’s worth it. And Instagram does not pay bills.”
Since when? I thought, but just kept that to myself.
In this age, people made a living off of social media, and I was one of those people in a way. Instagram and this website Model District was how I got booked for little modeling jobs, because I was aspiring to be a print model. I wasn’t gonna be one of those whack ass hood models like the ones you witness; you were gonna see my face in make-up ads and in magazines.
Erynne was right about my follower count though; I had a cool fifty thousand, but this clothing place that booked me had eight hundred thousand. Why didn’t people understand that the more I worked, the more exposure I would get? I was at the bottom right now, but soon enough I would be at the top. I could feel it; I knew it was close.
“Please, Erynne. I promise this will most likely be the last time,” I assured her, although I didn’t really know. The owner of the boutique agreed to pay me $150 for the shoot, so I was praying the money lasted until I booked another one.
I swear, if I could just get away from Illinois and to Los Angeles, I could do big things. The only problem with that is I didn’t know anyone in California, and I didn’t have any money; well, not enough to live there. I’d looked up apartments and they were so damn expensive. I couldn’t even afford to live on my own in Illinois, so I wasn’t even sure why I thought I’d be able to find something reasonable on the west. I just needed to hold out and keep working until my chips were stacked high enough, or someone with connections moved me out.
“Fine, but this is the last time, Laine. If you ask me again, I’m handing you an application to my job, aight?”
Erynne had a job at this insurance call center, and because we were only twenty-one, that was a good ass job. She made enough money to have her own apartment in Chatham, and still be able to get her nails and hair done. She did have a few nice things that were expensive, but I guess she saved up for them. She wasn’t balling by any means, but she had a revolving income, which sounded like heaven. Still, I wasn’t gonna slave for someone by answering phones or taking orders all day. Not to mention my availability needed to be open and it couldn’t be with a steady job.
I was gonna be a model, and some day I’d be buying Erynne shit or loaning her money. Plus, she despised her job. She really wanted to do hair for a living, but doing hair didn’t bring in enough money so she just did it on the side.
Erynne and I had been best friends ever since I moved from Arkansas to Illinois at the age of eleven. My mother’s boyfriend was attracted to me, and since she refused to keep me safe, my grandmother agreed to let me come live with her in Chicago. I didn’t have any friends or anything down in Arkansas, and I was happy to get away from my mom’s boyfriend without him having touched me. I almost couldn’t believe I’d escaped unscathed.
Erynne was like a breath of fresh air because I’d never had anyone to play outside or have sleepovers with. She had a hard time with making friends as well, so naturally, we became attached to each other and stayed that way for years.
Erynne had a deep mocha complexion, short dark hair that stopped right under her chin, full lips, long eyelashes, and a body to die for. She was half Asian, so her eyes were slanted, giving her an exotic look. Everywhere we went, we turned heads, and for that reason alone people didn’t fuck with us. Girls hated that their niggas looked our way, and niggas hated that we weren’t an easy fuck. Simply put.
I wasn’t stuck up by any means and neither was she, but people assumed we were so that caused problems. I hated that people made assumptions about our personalities based off of how we looked. I used to not think I was pretty at all, but people always told me I was, so eventually I just accepted it as fact, which led me to want to be a model.
Growing up and going through high school together, Erynne and I always got into fights with our peers for no damn reason at all. My grandmother told me it was because we were pretty and had nice shapes, but that sounded stupid to me at the time.
I stood at five feet seven, had a luminous caramel complexion, with nice long legs, a round ass, a perfect set of round tits, full lips, long hair, and natural eyelashes that you could see from the side. I knew my body was slightly too voluptuous to be a runway model, but that was okay; I didn’t mind going down other avenues. I wasn’t super thick, barely thick at all, but you needed to be damn near anorexic and tall as hell to do runway.
“Laine!” Erynne snapped her fingers in my face, long ass nails almost poking my eye out.
“What? Damn!”
“Did you hear me? One more time you ask me for money and I’m making you fill out an application.”
“Yeah, I heard. I have to go, or I’m gonna be late.” I rose to my feet as she sent me twenty dollars through this cash app we always used. “Thank you!” I hugged her tightly once I got the notification on my iPhone.
“Yeah, yeah, be careful!” she yelled after me and I just smiled before leaving to my shoot.
***
I made it to my grandmother’s apartment on the South Side, rushed up to the door, and quickly slipped my key in to unlock it. Just a month ago, some nigga robbed me for my brand new gold bracelet. I didn’t have any money because I blew it on that gift for myself, and his bitch ass stole the shit. But I guess that’s what I get for moving like I had an ass full of molasses at night, knowing I lived in the fucking hood.
“Hungry, Laine?” my grandmother smiled, peeking her head out of the kitchen as I skated through the living room.
Glancing at my uncle who licked his lips at me, I turned back to her and said, “No, I’m okay, Grandma.”
“Well, what have you eaten?”
“I had a sandwich at the shoot earlier.”
I went to my room and closed the door. I quickly locked it, before changing out of my clothes and into my robe. I wanted to quickly take a shower while my grandmother was still awake, because my uncle would usually behave when she was.
So yeah, even though I moved here to get away from my mom’s pedophile boyfriend, I was now dealing with the same shit from her brother. He’d been in jail for most of my life, and just got out six months ago. He went down for a murder rape charge, but don’t ask me how the nigga got out, or why my grandmother allowed his ass to live here. I was wondering the same thing.
Anyway, now he sleeps on the couch in the living room, and every time he sees me, he tries to make a pass. He almost got me one night when I decided to take a late shower. I was never doing that shit again.
Hurrying to my room, I closed and locked the door before lying back on my bed with my phone.
As I was scrolling through Instagram, I saw an email come through. I went into my inbox and saw it was from someone named Jude Whittaker. I sat up quickly as fuck, wondering if this was a scam or if he’d actually hit me up.
Jude was the creator of this famous crew named The Models. They lived in Los Angeles in his huge ass mansion, almost on like some Playboy bunny type s
hit, except Jude was a young black guy and the girls didn’t fuck him. Well to my knowledge they didn’t.
The Models were the shit in California, working the hottest parties and rubbing shoulders with any and everybody that mattered. A few of them branched out into modeling, hood and actual high fashion thanks to Jude who was like a manager. Some people claimed they were hoes, but all I saw were pretty ass bitches getting their dough just from being beautiful; my type of work. This would be the perfect stepping-stone to something greater.
Tapping the message, my eyes scanned it as a smile burst through.
Jude Whittaker: Hey beautiful, I ran across your profile on Model District and I have to say you are GORGEOUS! Do you have a number I can call you at to talk? I wanted to possibly speak with you about joining my team in LA. Please respond when you get the chance, Jude.
Squealing, I quickly emailed my number to him, and waited impatiently for him to call me. My phone rang about fifteen minutes later, and I took a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, is this Laine Loren? My name is Jude, and I’m looking to speak with her about a few things.”
“Yes, this is she,” I grinned, nibbling on my bottom lip, anticipating what he was gonna say to me exactly. My eyes darted to my doorknob, making sure I’d indeed locked it.
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m great, Mr. Whittaker, how are you?”
“Please, call me Jude. I’m gonna get straight to it; would being a part of The Models be something you’re interested in? My assistant ran across your pictures on Model District as I explained in the email, and when she showed me I was in awe,” he chuckled. “I don’t know how much you know about The Models and what they do.”
“I know a lot, and hell yeah I would be willing to be a part of it. Only thing is, I don’t really have money to get out to Los Angeles.”
“Don’t worry about that. Tell you what, why don’t I fly you out, and if you like being here, we can work some things out. I will warn you that it’s a lot of hard work to get your name out, but I will be there to help.”
My Baby Is a West Coast King Page 1
