“Why are you crying?” Temper asked.
Tyger cried with a smirk on her face. “Bitch, I’m happy.” She laughed. “Look at us. We’ve come a long way since juvenile hall.”
“I asked you never to mention that. The last part of that bullshit died when I turned twenty-one. Can we be happy about our accomplishments without digging in that raggedy time capsule? Damn,” Temper barked.
“Yes, you did ask me never to bring it up, but it’s only us. Calm down!” Tyger wasn’t feeling Temper’s tone, and it irritated her that Temper only talked to her like that when it had something to do with Isabel.
“Oh, so that makes it okay to bring up shit that we tabooed? Cool, my turn.” Temper rushed to the couch. She sat in the center of it like a statue of Buddha with her legs crossed. “I guess you can say you finally broke your ties to your dad then, huh? Who would have ever thought the daughter of a kingpin would be graduating with a PhD in anthropology and history? With all the killing, pimping, robbing—”
“Okay, bitch, you made your point. Never means never, but what I want to know is, when will you forgive yourself for the shit in yours? Whatever your past shit is.” Tyger knew a few things about Temper’s past from talking with Isabel, though none of it seemed juicy enough to mention. Nevertheless, she didn’t hear it from Temper and wouldn’t bring it up. Tyger was getting tired of playing the role of the bigger person, but for Temper’s self-pitying ass, she’d play nice and play it again. “And I don’t know whose daddy you’re confusing with mine. My dad was a gentleman and a scholar on his way to excellence in mathematics,” she joked, changing the vibe in the room. “It’s such a tragedy that he died from complications of his obesity. We never saw that heart attack coming,” she giggled.
“Yes, that is a tragic story you’ve told for years, but I have a question. Who is the nigga you spend Christmas with in Arizona who owns all those hogs? You know, the cat who has a nigga in dark glasses bring you shitloads of money every year on your birthday?”
“That’s my rich sugar daddy, slut,” Tyger said, rolling her eyes.
“Exactly. Pieces of our lives make the puzzle we’re creating prettier when we draw our own pictures on them. Like the piece where we tell everyone about our friendship sparking in a foster home as we both grieved our parents’ deaths. It was fate that put us together after losing everything we loved.” Temper held her arms up and played an imaginary violin to her own words.
“Whatever, joy killer. There’s one question about your past I’ve meant to ask, and once I get my answer, I’m done with it.”
“What, bitch?” Temper yelled, annoyed.
“Why did they name you Temper? What’s the story behind it? I’m sure they didn’t look at you at birth and know you’d be a temper-having ho at first sight.” She laughed.
“Fuck you. There is more than one definition for the word, smart ass. My mama named me Temper so I’d never forget that the heat life throws at me may soften me, but it will only make me tougher. Now are we done with the past?”
Tyger faked sniffles. “Girl, that shit was deep.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, I’m serious. Your mama gave you a Band-Aid to use for life, but your dumb ass is too stupid to use it. Go ahead and roll that blunt you’re itching to smoke. I’m done with the past. Let’s smoke and then go shopping. It’s freakum dress time. We’re celebrating tonight.”
“It’s always freakum dress time, and we’re always celebrating. Don’t make the shit sound extra special, Doctor.”
“Bitch, I’m about to be a doctor, and I did it two years earlier than in my plans. Bitch!” She screamed and Temper screamed with her. You would have thought they were already at the club as they shook their asses all over the living room.
* * *
The girls turned into full-fledged women together, living and working with each other for the next eleven years. As they did most weekends, one night they made it to Los Angeles with ten minutes to spare before the club opened at 10:00 p.m. They were ready to party the night away unless somebody tore off their dresses before they made it to the dance floor. Aging had been good to them both. Temper’s once-skinny legs were now full of lean meat that curved upward at her thighs and hips to accent her round butt. Her Asian heritage finally took precedence over her looks, thanks to the change of environment, food, and lifestyle, but there were no signs of it when it came to the “W” that formed her butt, nor the golden-brown glow under her fawnskin.
As a teenager, Temper had permed her hair to give herself a nappy look but gave it up when she moved into the court-ordered group home. She had her hair cut down to a shoulder-length bob, and every time it grew, she cut off more of the remaining chemical in it. She let it grow out to her elbows and wore it down, always bone straight. She aged like wine and cheese as she got better with time. She retired the khakis, T-shirts, and blue high-top Chuck Taylors for heels, pumps, and wedges that complemented her professional attire. Her makeup was subtle yet enticing enough to add mystery to her look. She used breath mints to make her kissable because she had paper-thin lips. She invested in body splashes and added a new smell weekly, staying far away from traditional perfumes because of allergies. On a beauty scale with number one representing ugly and ten breathtaking, you’d list Temper a twelve.
However, none of this took away from the ten Tyger was with or without makeup when they were together. Her skin color forced anyone who came in sight of it to reconsider eating black jellybeans. It was too dark and smooth not to have a sweet taste, and the cocoa butter, baby powder, and Blue Magic Hair Food that fragranced her body from head to toe tempted you until you wanted to take a lick. Tyger had never been skinny, but the 203 pounds she carried were still an unexpected addition to her five-foot six-inch frame. This bitch took the word “fat” and upgraded the definition. You would think she’d have a roll or two to hide and tuck in a girdle. However, there were no bumps, dents, dips, or rolls on the dough she was serving. Her bread box was baked firm yet soft like cake, and her limbs were cut in smooth, thick slices. The black strapless dress she was wearing looked airbrushed on, and with her size, no one could say she looked sloppy in it.
If Tyger had any problems at the club the girls fancied once a month, it would be from hating females or overly horny males confusing her with a stripper. Those big watermelon double-D breasts were millimeters away from busting through the one-size-smaller support bra she wore, and there was no way she’d be dancing or even walking quickly with the dump truck she was toting on her backside. If she sneezed too hard, it would unload, and there would be ass to see for plenty of moons.
In the time it took them to find a parking spot, check themselves in the mirrors behind the visors, and pose for a few camera phone pics, the club was packed from wall to wall. It was fan night, and all you could see in the flashing lights were the Lakers’ purple and gold and the Dodgers’ blue and white dominating the room. The black that Temper and Tyger wore, however, dominated everyone’s attention.
“Damn, bitch, you didn’t check to see what they had going on in here tonight?” Temper hissed, feeling awkward and overdressed.
“Yeah, I did, and if I had told your ex-gangster, want-to-be ass that it was ‘I love LA’ night, you would have said you didn’t want to come, or you would have walked in here looking like all the rest of these tailgating bitches. Look around, ho, we’re standing out in the crowd. Watch me work this muthafucking floor.”
Temper leaned back on the bar and rested her elbows. She had her eyes locked on Tyger as she spoke to the bartender over her shoulder. “I’ll have a tequila sunrise, please.”
A model beating down the catwalk didn’t have shit on the prance Tyger was pumping out. It was like watching African cats in the mating season how every man she passed looked at her from front to back as they slowly took a handful of their dicks. It didn’t matter what race they were. If they had a dick, she excited it.
“Do that shit, Tyger,” Temper whispered, cheeri
ng her on.
Each step Tyger took caused the ass cheek on the opposite side to jump firmly, yet both cheeks looked equally soft. Her breasts shook, identical to Jell-O placed on a washing machine on the spin cycle, as she walked over to the DJ. Similar to a mute porno star, she beckoned him with her index finger. As if he were in the last leg of a two-man race, he threw the headphones off and rushed to her. There was no telling what Tyger could have been whispering in his ear as his eyebrow rose and he licked his lip, but Temper knew the flirting and longing they had been doing for each other for months was about to come to a fuck-filled end.
“Here you go, sexy. Your first drink is on him,” the bartender shouted over the blaring music as he pointed toward the end of the bar. “By the way he keeps staring at you, he’ll pay for your friend’s first one too.”
The lights were too dim in that portion of the club to see his face. Though the embroidered jersey made him look muscular, she prayed he wasn’t fat. She raised her glass in his direction, and a Hennessy glass raised by an iced-out hand responded.
“Where’s my drink?” Tyger asked, swooping in on Temper’s glass for a sip.
“I hate when you do that, and it was a gift.”
“Then you should have told him to buy me one too. Who’s the trick?”
“Why does he have to be all that?” Temper snapped and frowned. She looked as though she had tasted shit at hearing Tyger’s words.
“Um, because he is. He spent money on a chick he doesn’t know. That’s called tricking!”
“Can’t be, because it’s not tricking if you got it!”
“Bitch, please, don’t let them song lyrics fuck your head up. There are rich tricks and poor tricks. They both are one and the same. They’re tricks. Where is he. What does he look like?”
Temper shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s sitting at the end of the bar toward the bathroom.”
“You can’t see shit that way from here,” Tyger moaned after feeling defeated from attempting to look.
“I know.”
“Then let’s go thank him so I can ask for one too.”
She snatched Temper by her free wrist and made her way in that direction. At first, Temper showed restraint, but with the room’s eyes on them, she threw on a smile and went along with it. Tyger pulled her in front of her when they made it to the end.
“Hey,” Temper said to the back of the wide shirt. “I just want to come and say thanks for the drink.”
Romantic music began playing, and everything slowed down as he turned in his chair to face her. The mood set itself, and her pulse sped up as she stood face-to-face with her childhood crush. She didn’t know if she should run, but once his green eyes met Temper’s, she was immobilized and thought she’d turn to stone.
“It’s all good, baby girl. You’re killing that dress. I had to tip you.”
“Tip me?” she giggled.
“Yeah, it’s a tip for not conforming to the rules of the night,” he said, pointing at his baseball jersey, “and staying true to you. I’m Julio.”
He reached out for her hand, and she still couldn’t move. Julio Torres was the sexiest Mexican to beat down her grandmother’s block, and everybody loved him. Unlike the majority, he wasn’t in a gang, but every gang around respected him. He was always hauling wood with his father. They were busy in construction, but he still took the time to stop and speak to whatever familiar face he passed. Back then, Julio’s green eyes weren’t the only thing that drove the girls in the neighborhood crazy. He had long hair that he kept in a ponytail, yet that didn’t stop the good girls, gangster bitches, or hood rats from begging to twist him. None of them wanted the hassle that would come from braiding all that hair. They all were in it to sit him in between their thighs to put their throbbing pussies on his back. It wasn’t compensation for the dick. It was looked at as one step closer to getting it, but no one ever was lucky enough to do it. Unlike the other girls in the neighborhood, Temper never voiced to anyone that he was in her line of sight. There was too much competition, which made her lose interest. Seeing him now, with his hair cut low, fifty pounds of added muscle, and his money longer by the look of his dress and jewelry, a different type of crush was forming—the kind of crush that would leave her in need of a change of panties soon.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but my name is Tyger, and my friend who can no longer talk is—”
“Journee, Journee West,” Temper blurted out before Tyger could finish. She raised her hand. It was the dumbest name anyone could produce in a second. Thanks to the decal on the museum’s wall she passed a hundred times a day marking the western hemisphere exhibit, JOURNEY WEST stuck in her head. She was sure if she had said her name, he’d rack his brain to the only Asian Temper he knew—her. There weren’t too many people named Temper and even fewer who looked Asian and black. There was no way he’d see it as a coincidence.
Tyger looked at her, surprised by the lie, but didn’t say a word. “I’m feeling a little jealous about you buying my girl a drink and not offering me one. What’s up with that?” Tyger flirted.
“Oh, that’s called preference. You’re beautiful, bad, and sexy as fuck. Excuse my language but not my preference. If Journee wants me to buy you a drink, I will, but I’d only be doing it for her. What do you say, Journee?”
“I say she needs to find her own man to buy that drink,” she jokingly flirted back. “Is anyone sitting here?”
“Yes. You are,” he said, moving his leg to give her space to sit.
“Damn, Journee, it’s like that?” Tyger asked with her hands up, and Temper gave her a nod.
The DJ was seconds away from walking up. He grabbed Tyger’s hand and walked off. Temper looked at the DJ booth, and there was a sign that said he’d be back in thirty minutes. She’d bet he’d spend that thirty minutes in the restroom or behind the tint of his back-seat windows.
“You’re beautiful, baby. I’m sure you may take this like I’m trying to spit game, but it seems like I know you or have seen you in a passing moment.” Not knowing what to say, Temper let out a short, nervous laugh. “I’m serious. Call me lame, but I never forget a face, especially one that beautiful.” He softly turned her face until they made eye contact, then asked, “Will you walk away if I said I think I dreamed of you?”
“Whoa,” she sang as she moved her face, attempting to get out of his hand’s grip. “Yeah, that’s a lot of game you’re spitting. I wouldn’t walk away. I’d run.”
“See, I knew you’d take it wrong,” he pouted as he let her face go. “But I’m serious. If you weren’t in my dreams, then I’m sure I know you from a past life. Where are you from?”
“Las Vegas.” She didn’t have to think of a lie. Her first day back in Los Angeles she’d programmed the answer to shoot out of her mouth when asked. Her new appearance was the opposite of how she carried herself as a teenager, but that wouldn’t stop her from being prepared for the worst.
“Nah, I’ve only been to Vegas once and lost everything but my socks on the crap tables. You should have seen me trying to cover my dick and ass on my way to the car. For the first time, I realized I have little hands for a man.” His joke caught Temper off guard, and she broke out in laughter. “See, I was hoping I could make you laugh. It makes it easier to keep that pretty smile on your face.”
“You’re good.”
“I’m okay, but I think it’s easier to shoot these words out of my mouth after meeting the girl of my dreams. Now I just have to spend the next few years getting you to fall in love with me and take this last name I got. I would give you more, but you’ve already stolen my heart.”
“Julio, you need to put that drink down. It’s got you laying it on heavy, buddy.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. That last shit I said scared even me. How about we go outside on the patio and get a little fresh air?”
“I’d like that.”
Julio reached out for Temper’s hand, and she placed her hand in his. It felt
nice, it felt right, and it felt meant to be for more than just that night. Fairy tales do come true, she thought as he led her through the doorway. When they sat at a table on the crowded patio, it seemed like they were the only people outside. In a sense they were, because their vision wouldn’t allow them to see anyone else.
* * *
“No, lick it again!” Tyger said as she pushed the DJ’s head back down into the clammy skin of her inner thighs. She had meant to shave the night before but had run out of razors. She didn’t like rocking a bush in her panties, and when her lover of the night saw it, she said, “That’s a throwback joint. Eat it like your daddy, granddaddy, and uncles used to. You ain’t a real man if you ain’t rested your forehead in the carpeted covering of a good pussy.”
“I ain’t like these young niggas out here, baby. I don’t mind an Afro.”
“Good. More licking and less talking. Let your spit make my Afro’s soul glow.”
“You do know you are crazy as fuck, right?” he chuckled.
“Certified lunatic. Now lick!”
He finished the task of pulling her panties off and then sucked on her hood as his tongue tickled her clit.
“Yes, Mr. DJ.” She began grinding her Afro against his face for added pleasure. Plus, it itched. Then she did what she did best. She began mind fucking herself to her climax. She sang every song she could think of, pretending she was face fucking the DJs from the videos of each one. Her legs began to quiver as warning of the explosion that would follow, and she screamed out, “’Cause that’s my DJ!” as Lil Wayne’s and Mannie Fresh’s voices played in her head. Trying to catch her breath wasn’t an option as he went again to see if he could cause more.
Carl Weber's Kingpins Page 14
