by Cairo
“Wow, I musta really hit a nerve.”
“Nah, bitch, you ain’t hit shit. I just don’t ’preciate how you tried to shine on me. That shit was jacked the fuck up.”
“Okay, you already said that.”
“And I’ma say it a thousand more times if I want, and what, bitch?”
Deep breath.
Silence.
“Are you done?” I finally asked, really tryna hold my tongue. “’Cause you do know, bitch, I really don’t give a fuck. You do know this. But if you need to get ya shit off, then do you.” Yeah, she was heated, but no matter how much shit she popped, I knew this ho didn’t really want it.
“Fuck you, Kat. I hate ya ugly ass.”
I laughed. “Bitch, is there anything else you gotta say, that you wanna say, that you think you need to say? ’Cause I ain’t call ya ass for this.”
“Well, what the fuck you call for, then?”
“What’s the name of that doctor’s office Tameka works at?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But I could tell the bitch was lyin’.
“Well, let me get her number so I can ask her myself.”
“You know I don’t give out nobody’s numbers ’n shit.”
“Humph. Well, call her and give her mine ’cause I need to speak to her.”
“Why, you pregnant or something?”
“No, bitch, I ain’t pregnant. But, I heard my moms was up in that piece. So, I need to see what’s good.”
And when I catch her ass, I’ma dig in her fuckin’ face.
“Well, then, why the fuck you don’t call ya moms and ask her?”
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, bitch, I’m not speakin’ to her. Duh, now follow the yellow brick road and call ya damn sista, and tell her to call me.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Since we were addressin’ shit and the bitch was already vexed with me, I figured I might as well keep shit goin’. “By the way, what’s good with them E’s?”
“What?” she asked, soundin’ shocked. “E’s? What you talkin’ ’bout?”
I sighed, suckin’ my teeth. “I’m talkin’ ’bout you poppin’ E’s, that’s what.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?” I asked, iggin’ her ass. I hated when bitches asked who told someone somethin’ ’bout them. I’m like, who the fuck cares who said it; either the shit’s true or it isn’t.
“I do my thing from time to time,” she said. “Why?”
I shook my head. A part of me had hoped the shit wasn’t true; that hatin-ass bitches and niggas were just talkin’. But from the looks of things, e’erything Naheem said was true. “’Cause the streets is talkin’,” I stated, soundin’ real disgusted. “But on some real shit, I wasn’t tryna believe it.”
“Why is muhfuckas all up on my clit? Damn, can’t a bitch do her without niggas clockin’ my moves? What the fuck!”
Okay, now the bitch was tryna shine like she was a rock star or some shit. “Well, maybe it’s the company you keep. Obviously them niggas you gettin’ it in with don’t give a fuck ’bout you. They got you soundin’ real loose ’n shit. Maybe you should chill out for a minute.”
“Bitch,” she snapped, “don’t judge me. I’m doin’ me. And whoever don’t like it can eat my big, black ass.”
“Trick, ain’t nobody judgin’ ya dumb ass. If anything, I’m tryna come at ya ass on some real shit. I don’t like what the fuck I’m hearin’ ’bout you. And if we girls ’n shit, then I should be able to confront you about it. You should know I’m a real bitch. I ain’t gonna grin all up in ya grill, then kick ya back in. I’ma come at you on some woman-to-woman-type shit. Now, do you have the herpes or not?” The bitch got quiet. For a hot minute, I thought the ho hung up on me. “Hello, you still there?”
“Yeah, bitch.”
“Well?”
“I’m not answerin’ that,” she said. “That’s none of ya muhfuckin’ business.”
“Sweetie,” I said, gettin’ up from the sofa and walkin’ into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and took out the cranberry juice, then poured some into a glass. “You just did.” I gulped it down, tryna ease the dryness in my throat from talkin’ to this chick. For some reason, I almost felt bad for her ass. Why, I don’t know. ’Cause at the end of the day, the bitch deserved whateva the fuck her hand called for. “You betta be careful ’cause niggas is really sayin’ you burnin’ ’em.”
“Oh, well,” she said.
I screamed on her ass. “Oh, well?!? Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy? What kinda shit is that? If your ass got that shit, you need to be gettin’ ya ass treated, then chalk it up as a lesson learned, instead of tryna spread that shit, fuckin’ up people’s lives ’n shit.”
“Kat,” she said, sighin’. “You do you, and let me do me. I’m not puttin’ a gun to a nigga’s head. If he wanna fuck raw, then we fuckin’ raw; if he wanna wrap up, cool. If not, then the shit’s on him. Fuck at ya own risk. If he doesn’t give a fuck, why should I?”
Needless to say, a bitch was through. “You know what,” I said, rollin’ a blunt, “that’s some real grimy shit you doin’, real talk.”
“Well, right now, that’s how I’m livin’. I’m like whateva. Muhfuckas didn’t give a fuck ’bout me—”
“So you turn around and do the same shit. Bitch, if you don’t give a fuck ’bout you, then what the fuck makes you think a nigga should? You gotta look out for you first. And that means protectin’ ya’self and makin’ a muhfucka strap up. Fuck all the extras. You playin’ Russian roulette. Next time you might end up with somethin’ worse.”
“Obviously, I didn’t get that memo. And it’s a bit late. So yeah, if the mood hits me, I’m suckin’ and fuckin’ and poppin’ E’s. We all gotta die someday.”
Let me tell you. I knew right then and there that this chick was turnin’ into a real live cum-guzzlin’, junkie bitch. Okay, okay, maybe she wasn’t a junkie yet, but with the way her reckless ass was movin’, it was only a matter of time.
“Well, are you at least on some kinda medication or somethin’?”
“Kat, listen. I don’t wanna talk ’bout this. It is what it is. So don’t be askin’ me a bunch of questions. I don’t need ya tryna air my business out.”
Oh, my fuckin’ God, this hoodrat bitch was actin’ like she was a damn victim; she’s the one makin’ choices to be loose in the ass, fuckin’ e’erything movin’, and she wanna act like somebody raped her ass or somethin’ and gave her the shit.
“Me, air ya business out? Bitch, is you suckin’ on paint chips or somethin’? I don’t gotta air shit out. Niggas got ya stank ass all over the front page of the street news. You a walkin’ billboard, ho. So, get real.” I grunted. “Uh. You know what…forget it. Like you said, you a grown woman, so do you. But I think ya ass is playin’ with fire.”
“That’s ya opinion.”
“You right, it is.”
“Well, when I ask for it, then it’ll matter. Until then, I don’t give a fuck ’bout ya opinions ’n shit. So do me a favor and keep ’em to ya’self.”
“Oh, trust. You ain’t gotta worry,” I said, takin’ two pulls on my blunt. “I’m done. From this moment on, I’ma keep my mouth shut. Just have your sister call me. I need to speak to her.”
“Whenever I talk to her, I’ll let her know.”
“Do that,” I stated. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
“Grown-ass women don’t still live in the projects with they mammies, sneakin’ niggas into they bedrooms.”
“Fuck—”
I ended the call on her ass. Silly bitch!
Two days later, Tameka’s monkey ass finally hit me up. And the bitch came at me with major ’tude. But instead of blastin’ her ass like I wanted to, I kept it cute. “Hey, girl,” I said. “What’s good?”
“What’s up?” she questioned, soundin’ all paranoid ’n shit. “T said you were tryna get at me. What you need?”
“Well, I
wanted to know the name of that doctor’s office you work at.”
I could see the bitch twistin’ her lips up, lookin’ at the phone. “Why you wanna know that?” she asked, soundin’ all tight ’n whatnot.
I sighed, then paused. “Because I need to get tested, ASAP,” I lied.
“Well, that’s not what T said. She said you was tryna get at me ’bout your moms ’n shit.”
Well, if you knew that already, bitch, why the fuck you askin’. I shook my head, rollin’ my eyes. I thought for a quick minute how I was gonna come at her. Although I wanted to really dig in her ass over the phone, I knew if I did she’d hang up, then I wouldn’t get what I wanted. And right now, my only focus was gettin’ at her. Keepin’ shit real, I didn’t know if my issue was really with her flappin’ her fuckin’ gums or if it was ’bout the idea of my moms bein’ pregnant again. I was feelin’ some kinda way that the bitch barely wanted me growin’ up and now…humph. I ain’t even goin’ there, not now, anyway.
“I…well, on some real shit, I had heard my moms was up in ya spot. I woulda asked her where the spot was, but we beefin’ again. And I ain’t beat to call her ass ’bout shit.”
“Humph. Ya’ll at it again. That’s a damn shame.”
And so is ya damn grill, I thought. “Anyway,” I said, pausin’. “I think a bitch is knocked.”
“Get the fuck outta here?!” She laughed. “Not Miss I Got My Shit Together. Humph. Now, that shit’s priceless.”
I don’t know what the fuck she thought was so goddamn funny, but I humored her dusty ass, anyway. “I know, right,” I said, givin’ this bitch one of my phony laughs. “A bitch got caught up in the dick. Hey, shit happens—even to the best of us.”
“So why you ain’t tell Tamia? She didn’t say shit ’bout you bein’ knocked up. What’s good with that?”
This stupid bitch, I thought. “’Cause I didn’t tell her,” I said. “That’s why.”
“So, what you tryna do?”
“Well, right now, I need to be seen. I haven’t given much thought to what I’ma do after that. A bitch ain’t tryna have no baby.” I threw that in for good measure.
“Well, I can schedule you to see one of our doctors next—”
“Girl, can I get somethin’ sooner? I’m already two months late. A bitch is stressed.”
She sighed. “Let me see.” I heard papers shufflin’ in the background. “Hold on,” she said. I smiled. Yeah, I’ll hold on alright, ho. Well, the bitch had me on hold for almost five minutes. “Okay, I can get you in to see one of the doctors tomorrow at three forty-five.”
“That’s perfect. Umm, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, if I can.”
“Well, can you keep this on the low until after I find out what’s really good with me?”
“Girl, you know how I do. We from the same ’hood. I got you. Just let me know how you make out.”
I laughed to myself, rollin’ my eyes. Yeah, bitch, you right. I know exactly how you do. I already knew the minute I hung up her he-mannish ass was gonna be on the phone with Tamia’s infested ass. And then she got the fuckin’ nerve to ask me to let her know how the fuck I make out. This nosey bitch knew I knew that if I really was goin’ there for an appointment, she’d have her pudgy-ass nose all up in my file.
I sighed for effect, actin’ like I was relieved. “Thanks, I owe you.”
“Oh, trust. I’ma hold you to it.”
Oh, please. When I finish with ya ass, the only thing ya gonna be holdin’ is ya face.
She gave me the address. I twisted my face up when I saw that it was on Pacific Avenue. Hmm, I thought, I thought Chanel’s ass said the spot was over on Atlantic. That bitch can’t get shit straight.
After I took down all the information, I asked her crusty ass if she was gonna be there when I got there. I already had it planned out in my head how I was gonna walk up in that piece and go dead in her mouth, and if she wanted to rock after that, then we could get it in. And once Tamia got wind of it, I already knew we’d be at it, too, ’cause that’s how they do. But it was all good. It wasn’t like her ass added any value to my life any damn way. My mind was already made up that I was cuttin’ her off so if she wanted it, she could get it, too. There was definitely more than enough ass-whoop to go around.
“No, I’m outta here at two-thirty on Wednesdays.”
Fuck! “Oh, that’s too bad. It’s been a minute since I saw you. What time you get off on other days?”
“I’m usually outta this box ’round seven-thirty, why?”
“’Cause we need to plan to hook up for drinks ’n shit. My treat.” I was really gassin’ her ass. Ain’t no way I’d ever be caught dead anywhere with this hoodrat, with her tired and late wears. Now I had to consider how I wanted to get at her. Either bum-rush her ass at the front desk, then drag her through the fuckin’ office, or wait for her slutty ass to come out the door, then straight-rock her grill in. Bottom line, I wasn’t gonna go up in the projects to fight chick; even if it was where we were both from. The difference was she still lived there. I didn’t. No, a bitch needed to get at this ho off grounds, on neutral territory.
“Now you talkin’,” she said, soundin’ all excited ’n shit. I could see the drool runnin’ outta the sides of her raggedy mouth. The bitch was a straight-lush. “That’s wassup.”
“Most def. Oh, one more thing…”
“What’s that?” she asked.
I smiled, flippin’ the script. “Watch ya face.”
“Excuse you?”
I repeated myself. “I said, watch ya face.”
“Bitch, you tellin’ me to watch my face for what?”
Now, on some real shit, I coulda just caught the ho on the low, but that’s not how I get down. I’m the type of bitch who’s gonna let you know from gate what it is. I want you to be ready to rock. I want ya ass to be constantly lookin’ over ya shoulder. I wanna keep a bitch on her toes ’cause ya never gonna know when I’m gonna come at ya.
“’Cause I’ma bust you in ya muthafuckin’ mouthpiece when I catch you for flappin’ ya jaws ’bout my moms comin’ through.”
“Oh, fuck that. You got the wrong one, bitch. My name ain’t Tamia. Don’t get it fucked up. This hood bitch will beat ya little ass the fuck down if you even think about tryna bring it. Now try it if you want.”
I laughed at her low-budget ass. “Like I said, watch ya face, bitch. And that’s what it is.”
I pressed the end button on her ass, savin’ her number in my phone, then flippin’ it shut. Sooner than you think, I thought, walkin’ into the kitchen. I glanced up at the clock. It was 11:30 a.m. I decided to fix myself breakfast, then lay ’round the house for the rest of the day. I wasn’t gonna get at the bitch today ’cause she’d be expectin’ it. So I was gonna let the ho do her for a minute, then rock her snotbox open the minute I caught her ass slippin’. But knowin’ Tameka’s ass, she was already on the phone with Tamia poppin’ shit, and would be tryna figure out a way to bring it before I did. Funny thing, a bitch like me would be ready—whenever, wherever, however. Believe that!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dangerous and unpredictable…swift on her feet…silent in her tasks…got no time for hustlin’ backward…that’s a bitch like me…have ya doin’ shit you’d never do to ya chick…have ya beggin’ to slay me with ya dick…you ain’t ready for a bitch like me…cool, calm, collected…I gave ya a run…but now ya finished…it’s lights out, muhfucka…ya lifelines been disconnected…
Summertime in New York is always what’s poppin’. Harlem, Brooklyn, the Village, SoHo, you name it. There was somethin’ for e’eryone to get into. The streets were live. And a bitch could get caught up in its heat. There were niggas dipped e’erywhere, straight flossin’. Stereos blastin’ the hot beats from the sickest whips; dick-thirsty hoes on the stroll; packs of bitches stuntin’; homeless pushin’ carts; young cats wildin’ out; street vendors tryna get their hustle on. Anything ya want…whatever ya lookin’ for,
find a block, and find ya pleasure. New York was alive!
The energy and excitement was enough to make a bitch forget ’bout bullshit niggas and stress. Today was no different as me and Chanel made our way through mad traffic up the West Side Highway to One Hundred fifty-fifth to see what was poppin’ off at the courts. We were two fly bitches posted up in a slick-ass whip, rockin’ some of the illest wears. Oh, yes, today Ruckers Park was the hot spot. And we were ’bout to see what was what.
At first I wasn’t really beat for takin’ the ride, but Chanel twisted my arm by tellin’ me she wanted to go to show her support for the Sean Bell All-Star team, which was formed in memory of the young cat Sean from Jamaica, Queens, who was gunned down for no damn reason by the muthafuckin’ cops. Fifty fuckin’ shots fired, ugh! E’ery time I thought ’bout that shit it made a bitch wanna squat up on a rooftop and start pluckin’ muhfuckas off.
Anyway, before I knew it I was scoopin’ her ass up and we were on our way, blazin’ trees and talkin’ mad shit and laughin’. My God, the park was overflowin’ with frontin’-ass and hood-rich niggas! Ballers, brawlers, and shot-callers were all over the place, and the streets were jammed with cars. Music was blarin’ e’erywhere. And niggas and bitches were gettin’ their party and dance on. Even I felt like poppin’ it a bit, but I kept it cute and just bopped my head a few times, and threw a few extra shakes in my ass.
We was lookin’ all fly ’n whatnot in our wears. I had on a pair of denim short-shorts and a cute white sheer pullover blouse with a plungin’ neckline over a white lace bra, and a pair of black fuck-me pumps that made my smooth, pretty-ass legs look more shapely. I snickered at the bitches whose faces cracked as I walked by with my black Hèrmes Lindy bag hangin’ in the crook of my arm. I had them bitches gaggin’ and droolin’. And Chanel kept it cute ’n sexy in a short white halter dress that showed off her thick thighs. She had on a bangin’ pair of tangerine-colored Dolce & Gabbana strappy sandals and rocked a fly-ass tangerine handbag. We both had our hair pulled up off our faces so the sun could hit the ice in our ears just right as we sauntered through the crowd, killin’ ’em.
