by Ca$H
“Nigga, you should open a strip club, them joints hot in ATL, right?” I’d suggested.
“Yeah, they pumpin’, but I’m not into exploiting my sistaz,” he’d replied.
“Whateva, fam.” I said.
I gotta go down to ATL for another reason, too. I’m going to visit my seeds. Yep, a nigga got twins by that snow bunny, Steph.
Fucked me up, too!
That’s what runnin’ up in bitches raw will get a nigga.
Naw, fool, Tamika don’t know about my seeds. Can’t tell her that shit. She find out I got seeds with a white girl…man, I don’t even wanna think about how she would react.
I got this, though.
Just roll wit’ me.
TWENTY
Stephanie
It’s already seven a.m. and I’m running behind schedule. I have to finish dressing the twins, Leron and Loran, drop them off at the daycare center out this way, then fight morning rush hour traffic from Norcross, where I live, into Atlanta where I work as a real estate developer for Worldwide Commercial Architecture.
I’ve grown to love Atlanta, but I can’t stand the rush hour traffic. There’s absolutely no way that I would live in the inner city, particularly Fulton County, where the crime rate is appalling. I have a nice three bedroom home in a quiet suburban spot north of Atlanta, away from the plethora of danger that lurk in the heart of the city.
Okay, let’s rewind this story a bit. The twins are two-years-old. Loran is cute, and very combative like her daddy. She is the typical daddy’s girl. So much so, that when CJ comes in town to visit I’m relegated to the status of “nanny,” not mother. Leron is the quieter of the twins, and not as affected as Loran by CJ’s long periods of absence.
I became pregnant with the twins during the first week that CJ and I were together. At the time I was certain that the twins were a double dip of punishment from God for being so stupid, and caught up in CJ’s magnetism, that I had a full week of unprotected sex with him. Now I see my children as a wonderful blessing. But it was far from a blessing, in my mind, when I first found out that I was pregnant.
CJ was my lover and I was sure that our feelings for each other were more than sexual, but I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew from Raheem that CJ had a girl back home that he loved, though CJ lied about it. However, I was more concerned that CJ’s heart belonged to the streets.
I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to trap him. Nor did I want to have a child by a man that wasn’t already my husband. I knew that CJ’s being black was going to be an issue that would get me disowned by my parents, whose mindsets are still back in the 60’s. Also, the last thing I wanted to become was some drug dealer’s baby mama. Contrary to what you may have thought, I’m not a candidate for The Jerry Springer Show. So I was faced with serious choices.Would becoming a single mother of twins hinder my education and future career? I had to decide what I would do if CJ nutted up, which he did.
“C’mon, shorty, don’t even try to play me like that! What? Next you gon’ ask for abortion money, right? When I give it to you, you hittin’ the mall. That game is played out, yo.”
“CJ, I’m not playing a game. Here, look…those are the pregnancy test results from my gynecologist. See, it says right there…positive.” I’d shown him the papers and pointed out the results of the test.
“Like yo’ ass can’t get fake results?”
“The results aren’t fake! You’ll see, when my stomach starts poking out in three or four months.”
“Fuck! White hos tryna baby trap a nigga now!”
I stared daggers at him.
“I did not plan to get pregnant! In fact, it was you who did not want to use a condom, CJ,” I reminded him.
“Ain’t like you was beggin’ me to wrap up,” he countered, as he paced back and forth in my living room.
“Well, what’s done is done. I’m telling you because you have the right to know. I was hoping I’d have your support, but I see that I misjudged you.”
“Yeah, I misjudged you too, shorty. How I know I’m the father? Shid, college ain’t nothin’ but a fuck fest, I know you got other male friends,” he accused.
“Of course I have male friends, but I don’t sleep with them.” My words were not only true, they dripped with indignation. Because I had slept with him so quickly, CJ was implying that I am loose, which was not true.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah,” he replied sarcastically.
“Okay, CJ, I see clearly now what you think of me. I won’t bother you again, but I want you to be aware that I will be filing for child support. Not to antagonize you, but to do what’s best for these babies I’m carrying. Good bye, CJ,” I said showing him the door.
I didn’t hear from CJ again until I was in my fifth month of pregnancy. Then one day, out of the blue, he showed up at the student center at Georgia Tech looking for me. Needless to say, I did not run into his arms. I still cared for CJ, and with his twins growing inside of me, I probably even loved him, but our last confrontation had left me hurt, mad, and feeling like CJ thought that I was white trash, unworthy of having his children.
“The streets make him skeptical of everyone, particularly females,” Raheem defended CJ when he called from prison and I explained the situation to him.
I wasn’t concerned with what CJ thought of other women, he had no right to put me in that category. I was ready to go ballistic on him right there in the student center, but his tone had improved.
Eventually, CJ warmed to the idea of fatherhood. No, let me correct myself: he gloated over the fact that I was carrying twins. Like, making two babies at once proved that he was more than the average man. To erase all doubt from CJ’s mind whether or not he was the twins’ father, I welcomed him taking a paternity test after they were born. The test proved to be a 99.9 percent certainty that he is infact Loran and Leron’s dad.
I give CJ credit for stepping up and providing financially for the twins, and even for me while I concentrated on getting my degree. That was the one thing that I asked of him. There was no way that I was going to drop out of college and place myself in the tedious position of being dependant on CJ forever. The fact of the matter was, and still remains, that the twins and myself can never count on CJ being in our lives from one day to the next.The life he lives is as uncertain as skydiving without a parachute.
After I graduated from college CJ wanted me to find a job closer to New Jersey and move there so that he would not be so far away from the twins. However, I absolutely refused to subject myself and the children to the collateral dangers that might come with us living in close proximity to their dad. Let’s not tip toe around this: CJ is one of the biggest drug dealers on the East Coast. Danger comes with that distinction.
So this is where we stand today: I’m going on with my life and my career, raising the twins in Norcross, Georgia, while CJ still resides in New Jersey and continues to do what he does. I have no intimate knowledge of his drug dealing, and that’s how I want to keep it.
CJ is still with Tamika and I’m sure that he has an assortment of other women. I’m white, not dumb! Yes, I’m still intimately involved with CJ but I’ll go out on an occasional date with other guys. I won’t bring other men around my children, though, and if I ever become intimate with someone besides CJ, I’ll know it’s time to move on from CJ completely.
I allow CJ to provide for his children but I do not depend on it. I do not accept large gifts from him or allow him to provide for us in any manner that would allow the government to seize my home, car, or bank assets if CJ ever takes a fall.
Of course, CJ is always welcome to visit.
Now if you know CJ, then you know that I wasn’t able to just lay down all of those stipulations without some conflict. Because, above all, CJ has an ego that must be appeased. So I had to get him to understand that the stipulations protected the twins’ best interest. When it comes to my dating other men, CJ has yet to come to terms with that. He looks at it like this: I gave birth to his chil
dren, therefore, I belong to him.
“I’m not one of your possessions, CJ,” I constantly have to remind him. Because if I allow CJ’s willpower to overrule my principles he’ll control me just as he does nearly everything in his life.
If it wasn’t for Raheem’s friendship and sage advice, I’d be close to psychotic trying to deal with CJ’s domineering personality, and explain to Loran and Leron why their daddy doesn’t call for visit for months at a time.
Raheem has only been home for eight months, but in that time he and Kayundra have taken to the twins like a blood uncle and aunt. They live out in Powder Springs, Georgia, not far from me. So that’s where things stand.
CJ is supposed to come in town tomorrow; he has some business with Raheem, concerning their nightclubs, to handle. Also, I know he’s going to try to talk me out of what I told him I was going to do. However, my mind is made up.
I will no longer allow CJ to hide the twins’ existence from Tamika.
TWENTY-ONE
TAMIKA
I been putting up with CJ’s bullshit for so long. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired! I guess he has forgotten that I’m the same bitch who loved his black ass when he didn’t have nothing but hood dreams. I’ve been trooping for him for four years, through all types of drama. Who held heat, drugs, and secrets of his? Me, that’s who.
Who stepped up and took care of Brianna, his younger sister, when their crackhead mama was too strung out to do it? The nigga done gave me headaches, heartache, and herpes; and I’ve loved his ass through it all. Nigga done creeped with Nee Nee, knowing how much I despise that trick; slung dick all over Newark and I forgave him for it all, but this right here is just too much!
It’s been a month ago, to the day, that I was sitting on the back patio of the baby mansion that CJ copped for us last year, when I heard the doorbell chime. I was thinking, okay, this has to be CJ’s mother because no one else just pops up at our house uninvited. In fact, only a handful of people know where we rest at.
I get to the front door, not really wanting to be bothered with Miss Wanda because, although she’s off the pipe, she still has a foul mouth and can get on my damn nerves.
Anyway, I looked out the peephole and there’s this white chick standing on the porch. I opened the door.
“Yes, how may I help you?” I asked, trying to be courteous, thinking: She must be a neighbor. I smiled at the little boy and girl with her. Ain’t they so cute? Makes me want to have a baby.
“Tamika, can we come inside? There’s something you should know,” said the white chick.
I’m staring at the two light brown toddlers that she had in tow, and I know what the fuck she had to tell me before I invited her in and listened in shock as the words came out of her mouth.
CJ came home to a real fuckin’ surprise that day, finding his little secret half breed family sitting in our living room, my face twisted into a scowl.
“Fuck you doing here?” he snarled at Brittany Spears. His jaw was twitchin’ like I’ve seen it do a few times before when he’s extremely mad.
“I’m not allowing you to keep us a secret any longer,” she’d said.
I was thinking, okay, he’s about to kick Snow White’s ass for bringing this bullshit to where we lay our heads. But naw, the muthafucka folded. Had the aw-fuckin’-dacity to ask me to understand. Acted like he was proud of the two rug rats. Like I was supposed to smile at ’em and be friends with their cracker mama. Not hardly! I held my composure in front of the bitch, who was sitting in my living room on my ten-thousand dollar sofa, like I was supposed to pack my shit and move out! So that her and those two ugly crumb snatchers could move in with my man.
I was two seconds off of that ass…trust!
They could have made a family violence video out of the scene at our house after the bitch and those two child support cases left.
“So, that’s how you doing it?” I asked CJ. Then wham! I punched him in his lowdown face before he could answer. Tears were pouring down my face as I did my best to kick his ass for old and new.
CJ is not weak so he didn’t just wear an ass whuppin’ even though he was in the wrong. He popped me upside the head a few times. But I scratched his ass up so bad, nigga looked like a pinstripe suit. Would’ve shot that ass if I could’ve got my hands on a gun before he bolted out the house.
“Don’t run, muthafucka!” I shouted as I ran to the door with the .380 that CJ had taught me how to handle. Lucky his ass was gone.
A week later, CJ came back home, flowers in hand, begging me to forgive him. Had the nerve to ask me to have his child. I wanted to spit in his fuckin’ face!
“Nigga, I wouldn’t have a baby by you if it would cure world hunger and AIDS,” I said, tossing the flowers back to him and putting my hands on my hips. “If I wasn’t the first to do it, best believe I’m not going to be second or third. I don’t try to be like other bitches, they try to be me. If a cracker done it, it can’t be all that special.”
“Oh, so that’s how you feel?” asked CJ, looking hurt.
“That’s exactly, how I feel! Furthermore, you made those kids in the street, so that’s where you go to visit them. They are not welcome in this house.”
“Mika, don’t make me choose between you and my seeds,” he’d threatended, like I was some punk bitch who’d be afraid to lose him.
“You’re right, CJ. You don’t have to choose, I’ll choose for you. Obviously you expect your illegitimate children to be welcome in the house where I lay my head. Well, this is one time that you have seriously got me twisted! This yo’ shit, and it’s too big for me anyway. So hook me up with my own place like you promised to do if we ever broke up, and I’ll be just a memory,” I said, then went and packed my things.
Now I’m living in a fly three bedroom house, not far away from CJ. The Victorian style crib cost a little over three hundred thousand. It doesn’t have the opulence of the baby mansion but it’s laced.
I talked Mama into moving in with me so CJ doesn’t try to regulate. And you know that the deed is in my name. I have my BMW, crazy clothes, jewels, $250,000.00 in cash, and ten kilos of cocaine stashed away.
What?
Did you think I kept watch over so much of CJ’s money and drugs all time time without squirreling something away for myself in case the nigga got brand new on me? I thought I told you once before that my mama didn’t raise no fool.
CJ is still my man, though we have separate addresses now. He still takes care of me—I’m not about to work—because he owes me that for all the shit I’ve held him down through. I guess I still love him, in spite of everything. But I can’t forgive him for what he did. A white bitch?
That shit hurts! I have never given any other nigga the pussy since becoming CJ’s woman. Maybe that needs to change? I mean, I’m not going to suddently become some niggaz jump off, but if the mood hits me I’ma get mine. I’ll just do it twice as slick as CJ tries to be.
One thing the past four years have taught me is that when a nigga gets caked, he expects everybody to bow down at his feet. I respect what my man has accomplished in the streets, but I’m not that bitch to kiss his feet.
“CJ needs to be reminded that other major niggaz check for you,” Mama schools me.
“You’re right, Mommie. Now that CJ’s dirt has come to light I’ma see what some of these other niggaz are talking about,” I say.
A short while later, Mama’s new boyfriend comes by to take her out.
“Don’t give up the booty too quick,” I whisper in her ear and we both laugh.
My girl Star calls from L.A. to invite me to an award show where she is being honored for being the new hot thing in the adult entertainment industry. Oh wait! Y’all didn’t know? Yep, girlfriend turned being a slut into a career. Two years ago Diamond Rick had Star and his other girls make an amateur girl-girl porn video, and he sold copies of it underground. The DVD became so hot; a company out in Los Angeles purchased the rights to distribute it. Diamond Rick
ended up with most of the money from the distribution deal, but Star and one other girl signed contracts with the largest adult video company in the industry.
Now that Star has fame and a little money, and all types of men on her bra strap, you know you can’t tell that bitch that her shit ain’t the best thing since blueberry pie. When she comes back East to feature at one of the upscale stripclubs, they be advertising it all over the radio. And the hooker travels with a full time body guard.
I’m happy for my girl, though. The ho always has loved to fuck. Might as well get paid. I’m just glad that she kicked that fake pimp to the curb.
“Do you think you’ll be able to fly out here for the show?” she asks.
“I’ll try, but you know how CJ is,” I say, not needing to explain.
My other line rings.
“That’s him now. I’ll call you back.”
“Okay. Muah!”
I click over.
“Hello.”
“Sup, ma? You wanna go to the club with us tonight?” asks CJ.
“Us meaning?”
“The clique. With all the shit that’s been going on in the streets, I want niggaz to see that my team is still as strong as ever.”
“Okay, come by and pick me up,” I say.
It’s the beginning of summer so we’re all rockin’ lightweight summer gear. I’m wearing a D&G white mini skirt with a red and white spaghetti strap halter that shows off my diamond belly ring; red and white Guiseppe stilettos and matching clutch purse. My hair and nails banging; baby diamond chandeliers hanging from my ears.
CJ and his crew are thugged out in street gear, but all of them are iced like igloos. We roll up to the club in The Bricks in a convoy of fly whips. I’m with my man of course, in his brand new Maybach.
When we step in the club all eyes are on us. The DJ jumps right on our dicks (of course I don’t have one of those but you get my point).
