by Cairo
“Listen, gutter rat. She ain’t out on the streets. She’s over in the projects with her godmother. So talk what the fuck you know, ma’am. Thank you very much. And second of all, I pay the bills up in here so I do the fuck what I want. Anything else?”
Miss Chunky says, “Miss Simms, there’s no need to get defensive. We’re simply here doing our job.”
“Well, your job is done. Day’Asia ain’t comin’ back up in here. Now move along.”
“Then we’ll file charges against you,” Miss Toothpick threatens like that’s supposed to scare me.
I laugh in her face. “Bitch, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t get a welfare check for her ass and her no-good fahver don’t pay child support. So take the bitch. I don’t give a hot fuck about no charges. What they gonna do, lock me up? Ho, puhleeze. Lock me the fuck up! I’ll eat that shit upside down. So do what the fuck you gotta do. I need a damn vacation any-damn-way.”
“Miss Simms,” Miss Chunky says, “I understand your frustration.”
“Frustration? Oh, no sweetness. I’m not frustrated about shit. But what I am is tired of you DYFS bitches ringin’ my damn doorbell with nonsense.”
“Miss Simms, I wouldn’t call having to come out to your home as nonsense when we’ve had multiple phone calls, particularly around allegations of abuse, made against you over the years. Most recently less than a month ago an investigator was out here for allegations that you attacked one of your sons. And now this. I hope you realize if you are arrested and charged all your other children will be removed from your home as well and placed in custody, or with family members. Most likely bein’ split up.”
Miss Toothpick smirks. “And trust me. We will take your kids; all of them.”
“Bitch, eat the inside of my asshole. You don’t fuckin’ threaten me. Do what the fuck you gotta do.”
Miss Chunky snaps, “Look. Are you going to allow your daughter back in the home or not? We’re not about to stand out here all day going around in circles with you. So, it’s either yes or no.”
“Umm, did your mammy drop you on that big-ass head of yours or were you just born special? I already told you, n-o. Which part of no do you not understand? The n or the o? Would you like me to spell it out on your forehead in crayon for you?”
Chunky takes a deep breath. “We also heard reports of you attacking a fifteen-year-old girl out on your lawn.”
“Bitch, you stupid as hell. I ain’t attack no girl. The lil’ bitch slapped me and I whooped her ass. And the last I checked, that ain’t no DYFS matter, so next.”
I tilt my head.
“See, girl,” Toothpick says to Chunky. “Let’s go before I forget I’m still on the clock. Because this chick is really pressing it.”
I open the door and step out. “Is that supposed to be some kinda threat? ’Cause you can jump off the clock and get punched up if it is.”
“Take it however you want. Every worker who has ever come out to do an investigation on you has said the same damn thing. You’re combative, uncooperative, and downright belligerent. And all the Division is trying to do is our damn jobs and maybe help your trifling ass be a better parent, if that’s even possible, so you can keep your kids.”
“Bitch, how about you help ya’self to a meal. Skinny bitch. You can’t help me. And I’ma damn good parent. My kids want for nothin’ ho, believe that. They stay fed, fly, and always fresh, so don’t do me. I’m not some ghetto-trash bitch who don’t take care of her kids. Now get the fuck on before I forget my manners and fuck you up.”
Miss Chunky opens her mouth to speak. “Miss Simms—”
I put a hand up in her face. “Not a word, Hippo.”
She blinks, puttin’ a hand up to her chest. Somethin’ catches her eye and she glances over at the window. I look myself to see what the fuck she’s lookin’ at. And of course, the twins are in the window makin’ faces at them, stickin’ their tongues out and puttin’ their middle fingers up.
“Just look at ’em,” Toothpick says, shakin’ her head. “It’s no wonder these kids are out of control. Look who their role model is.” She eyes me. “Abusive and neglectful parents like you don’t deserve to have kids. And the first chance we get, we will be removin’ them.”
“You’se a goddamn lie. I don’t abuse my kids. And I don’t neglect them. I fucks them up. Big difference, ho. And when they outta pocket, I beat them the fuck down. And make sure you document the shit just the way I said it. I fucks. Them. Up! And what? I’ll let the judge know the same damn shit. And you ain’t takin’ my kids no-damn-where, so dream on, bitch.” I step back into the house, keepin’ my eyes on them. “Now like I said, Day’Asia ain’t comin’ back up in here unless I want her to. And today, I don’t. So press whatever charges you gonna press. ’Cause. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck!”
I slam the door in their faces.
Thirty-Four
Four hours later, I’m relaxin’ outside, sittin’ at the bottom of the porch steps in my yard wear: a pair of black booty shorts and a white tee with the words: HOT LIKE FIRE written across my titties in red letters. I’ve tied a knot in the back of the shirt to show off my pierced belly button. And I have on a pair of kitten heels.
I’m sippin’ a glass of Remy, flippin’ through a copy of some book, Brick, I found in Day’Asia’s room—written by some Allison Hobbs chick—while keepin’ an eye on Isaiah and Elijah washin’ down my truck. I told them if they do a good job and not start no bullshit I’ma buy them new iPads this weekend. So far they ain’t workin’ my goddamn nerves. The twins are out with Darius. And Marquelle and Joshua are out with their fahvers.
I slide my right foot outta my shoe, brushin’ grass from between my toes, then slidin’ my foot back in my shoe. I glance at my chipped fingernail and frown. Oooh, not cute! I need to get down to Miss Pasha’s first thing tomorrow.
Fuckin’ around in Day’Asia’s nasty-ass room, draggin’ her shit out to the curb for the trash, I’ve broken a goddamn nail. That lil’ disrespectful heifer really fucked her drawers off with me. I meant what I said, that bitch ain’t comin’ back up in here. And if she does, she’ll have to fight her way back in. Then, she’ll sleep her ass on the floor. That bitch had it good up in here, but she fucked up. And she gonna learn today, goddammit! You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, or the one that’s wiped ya black ass when nobody else would.
Gonna turn on me, mmmph. Bitch, boom! Ya stank ass is shit to me.
I pick up my cell. I have a text from JT. I grin. This niggah’s real lucky I ain’t one of them grimy bitches. YO. I WANNA C U. U FREE?
I text back: NO
FUCK! I WANT SUM PUSSY
My cell rings. I know this crazy niggah ain’t callin’ now. I glance at the screen, rollin’ my eyes. It’s Vernon. Mmmph. I should let the shit go into voicemail. “What?”
“We still beefin’?”
“Niggah, you slashed my motherfuckin’ tires. But you lucky I ain’t seen you or that bitch of yours, yet.”
He sucks his teeth. “See. Here you go wit’ this dumb shit. Ain’t nobody slash shit. Did you see me do it? No. So quit accusin’ me of shit.”
“Niggah, I know you did it. So I’m not even gonna waste my time goin’ back ’n forth with you about it. Now what the fuck you want?”
“I wanna pick my sons up this weekend. My fam’s throwin’ a surprise birthday party for Nana and I want the twins to be there with all of their brothers and sisters, and the rest of the fam.”
Awww, I always did like his grandmother. Miss Vee, short for Viola, don’t play. I ask him how old she’s gonna be. He tells me ninety-six. Tells me that his family’s gonna have a mini-family reunion to celebrate her birthday. “Good for her. Tell that old bitch I said happy birthday when you see her. Is she still only seein’ outta one eye?”
JT sends another text. WHEN U GONNA B FREE?
He sucks his teeth again. “Yo, ya disrespectful ass is fuckin’ ridiculous. You need ya muthafuckin’ mouth knocked in for that foul shi
t, yo.”
I’M NOT, I text back.
“Mmmph. And who’s gonna do it? You?”
“Look, I ain’t call for all this dumb shit. Is you gonna let me come get my sons or not?”
YO, STOP FUKKN AROUND. IMA HIT U UP LATER
“Not.”
“Yo, you crazy as hell. How you gonna keep me from my sons?”
“I’m not keepin’ you from ya sons. If you wanna see them, you can make an appointment and come here to see ’em. But you ain’t takin’ ’em nowhere ’til I see some money from ya ass.”
I text back: WHATEVER
He sighs. “Whatever, yo. You the only one who wanna be on that dumb shit. My other baby mothers don’t ever pull no dumb shit like this.”
“Well, that’s them bitches. But my sons need to eat and they need new clothes. And I keep tellin’ ya black ass that I shouldn’t have to spend my other kids’ money to take care of your responsibilities.”
“Yo, c’mon, Cass. Cut a niggah some slack. I’m out here every day tryna find work, shit’s real hectic. I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Then get out there and suck some dick, niggah. ’Cause I need money to take care of ya kids.”
“Yo, fuck outta here wit’ that gay shit. What da fuck I look like?”
“Like a niggah suckin’ dick tryna get money up to take care of his goddamn kids, that’s what, niggah.”
“You know what, Cass. Stop bein’ a bitch and let me have my sons for the weekend. Damn. Why everything gotta always be complicated wit’ yo’ ass?”
“Bring me money, niggah, and you can have your sons for the weekend. No money, no sons. Nothing’s complicated about that.”
He sighs. “So what you sayin’ is, I gotta pay to see my own damn kids, right?”
“No, niggah. Since you only wanna play daddy when it’s convenient for ya ass, I’ma let you rent ya sons for the weekend. That’s what I’m sayin’. You’re three months behind in your child support. Pay up, or get lost.”
“Fuck! I’ma bring ya monkey-ass the goddamn money when I come pick them up on Friday. Have my muthafuckin’ sons packed and ready. And, first chance I get, I’m takin’ your grimy ass to court for custody, bitch.”
I laugh. “Coon, boom! Eat my ass, niggah. Ya bum ass don’t even wanna work. You’d rather mooch off some dumb bitch instead of gettin’ yo’ lazy ass a job. Niggah puleeze! Ain’t no judge givin’ you my sons. So eat shit and choke, niggah.”
He disconnects. I crack up laughin’, pressin’ my legs together. The niggah got my pussy hot talkin’ all reckless to me like that. I text JT back.
U GOT SUM $$ 4 ME?
Now watch he call, I think settin’ the phone on the step next to me. “Isaiah and Elijah, y’all stop dickin’ around hurry up and finish washin’ that truck.”
“We almost done,” Elijah says, chasin’ Isaiah with the hose around the other side of the truck. I shake my head, watchin’ them laughin’ and splashin’ soap suds everywhere.
My cell rings. It’s JT callin’ like I knew he would. “Yes?”
“Aye, yo, why e’erything gotta be ’bout fuckin’ money?”
“Niggah, ’cause you know the rules. You fuck me, you finance me.”
“Yeah, aiight. What time you gonna be free, yo?”
“I told you I’m not. If my sons’ fahvers come get them, then I might be . . . ” My voice trails off when I hear bells ringin’, soundin’ almost like an ice cream truck, and see some chick ridin’ up on the handlebars of a bike. Well, at first, that’s what I think I see ’til I realize the bitch ain’t sittin’ on handlebars. She’s posted up inside a big-ass wire basket with a black and pink helmet on. I squint. And almost fall out. It’s Dickalina. And Knutz is pedalin’ a Beach Cruiser bike up in my driveway. The bike is spray painted brown and the wheels are painted orange. And it has orange and white tassels hangin’ from the handlebars. And there are cards stickin’ outta the spokes of the wheels. Lil’Kim is playin’ outta a set of tiny speakers that are in the basket with Lina.
Knutz rings the bell again.
I blink.
OhmyGaaawd, I have seen-it-motherfuckin’-all now!
“Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah—”
I disconnect.
Knutz pedals on up to me, brakin’. “Hey, girl,” Dickalina says, holdin’ a clutch in her hand. I’m sure somethin’ she done picked up outta Marshalls or T.J. Maxx; her two favorite stores. I turn my nose up.
“Hey,” I say back, placin’ a hand up over my face like a visor, blockin’ the sun. I blink, blink again. This bitch has on a tiny denim mini-dress with no drawers on. And I can see her hairy pussy. And the bitch is wearin’ leopard print kitten heels. I’m too through.
“Ugh, bitch, you are so disgustin’,” I snap as she hops outta the basket. “How you gonna be all up on some bike in that short-ass dress? I can see all up between ya legs. And it ain’t sexy or cute. Ugh. Who keeps a hairy pussy? That is so triflin’.”
Isaiah and Elijah laugh. “Ewww, Miss Lina gotta furcoat on her vajayjay.”
“Don’t let me beat y’alls asses, goddammit,” I snap. “Finish washin’ that goddamn truck, then take yo’ fresh asses in the house and stay outta grown folk conversation. You goddamn kids too damn grown.”
Lina huffs, hoppin’ outta the basket. “Knutz likes it hairy.” She turns to him, pullin’ her helmet off. “Ain’t that right, boo?”
I peep the get-up he has on and wanna scream. The niggah is wearin’ a pair of camouflage carpenter pants and a black blazer over a green tank top. There’s a set of silver dog tags hangin’ around his neck. And wrapped around his waist is a goddamn nylon camouflage fanny pack. A fanny pack! What kinda niggah rocks a fanny pack? I glance down at his feet. He’s wearin’ a pair of crisp white K-Swiss with orange stripes. He has his hair all done up in zig-zag cornrows, too. Oh, this niggah just knows he’s doin’ it up real right.
He grins, liftin’ his black aviator shades up and sittin’ them up on his big-ass head. “Yeah, I love my baby’s kitten furry.”
“Aww, he’s so sweet.” She walks over and kisses him on the lips. I frown.
He eyes me, lickin’ his lips. “Wasssup, Cass?”
“Niggah, don’t speak to me.” I shift my eyes back to Lina. He shakes his head. “And why the hell are you out in them damn shoes?”
She looks down at her feet. “And what da hell’s wrong wit’ my heels? I see you have on da same damn things, but I guess it’s okay ’cause you da shit, huh? Cass, you make me sick wit’ ya hatin’-ass.”
“Bitch, I wear these heels to cut grass in. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearin’ these out in the streets.”
She twists her lips up. “O-M-G, who the hell cuts grass in kitten heels?”
“I do, boo. Now what?” I catch Knutz eyein’ my sexy toes. I frown. “Illllll, niggah, get up off my toes.”
He laughs. “Yo, Cass. Why you so fuckin’ mean?”
I tilt my head. “Umm, why you so triflin’? And who you snatch this bike from? ’Cause I know the shit’s stolen.”
He removes his jacket, drapes it over the handlebars, then folds his arms across his hard chest, flexin’ his bulgin’ muscles and showin’ off his jailhouse tats.
Lina huffs, slammin’ her clutch against her leg and her right hand up on her hip. “Look, bitch . . . don’t be tryna get it crunked wit’ my boo. We had a good damn day and I ain’t tryna have you ruin it, tryna be messy. We done ate a delicious meal down at Je’s, rode around downtown, and now we on our way back home for dessert.”
All this with ya ass stuffed in a wire basket on a stolen bike? This bitch talkin’ like the niggah done took her ass to a five-star restaurant or some shit. Yeah, Je’s is a real cute lil’ soul food spot over on Halsey Street, but the shit ain’t fine dinin’. I mean, really. If the niggah was gonna do it up he shoulda took her ass to The Cheesecake Factory or some place classy like that. Mmmph.
“How romantic,” I say
sarcastically. “Now why are you here?”
“Uhhh, hello. You tossed ya daughter out, remember? And I’m here to pick up some things for Asia since you won’t let her come back home, where she belongs. So don’t start no shit. But, anyway . . . and why you got all that stuff out at the curb?”
I roll my eyes. Dickalina could be a fly-ass bitch if she stopped bein’ so damn ghetto and cleaned herself up. Got rid of all that cheap shit she wears and threw on a lil’ lip gloss instead of slatherin’ her lips with a buncha Vaseline, lookin’ like she been suckin’ on fried drumsticks.
“You right,” I say, standin’ up, then turnin’ around and walkin up the stairs. I can feel Knutz’s eyes all up on my ass. “She’s not comin’ back up in here. I’ll be right out with her things.”
“Well, hurry up,” Lina says, snappin’ her fingers when Foxy Brown’s “B.K. Anthem” starts playin’ outta them lil’-ass speakers. “Owwwwl, this my shit right here. Turn that up, boo.” Knutz raises the volume on his rigged up stereo. I glance over my shower and peep Lina hoppin’ ’n bouncin’. She drops down, pops up, then does the Tootsie Roll. Elijah and Isaiah start laughin’. I hurry in the house to get Day’Asia’s shit so I can send this late ’n wrong ho and her dusty-ass man on their way.
A few minutes later, I come back out carryin’ four ShopRite grocery bags stuffed with old shit, along with the two Ziploc baggies sealed with her bloody drawers. The bitch turned her back on me, so now she gets the bare minimum. And she’s lucky I’m bein’ nice enough to give her this shit. When Beulah put me out with Darius and Jah’Mel all I had where the clothes on my back. That hateful bitch didn’t let me take shit, other than my babies’ pampers, bottles and clothes.
“Here you go, boo,” I say, handin’ Lina the bags.
She takes the bags, then peeks inside. She frowns. “For real, Cass? You gonna put her things in grocery bags? You mean to tell me you don’t have a damn trashbag to put her stuff in.”
