Life After Wifey

by Kiki Swinson

  “You can’t get off no sooner than that?”

  “I probably can, Syncere, but I won’t know that until I get there.”

  “Well, just call me and let me know.”

  “Okay,” I said and eagerly turned to walk away.

  I thought Syncere would get offended by how quickly I walked away from him without giving him a kiss. But this time, I was wrong. He sped off in his rental immediately when I turned to go to my car. Boy, what a relief that was.

  Rhonda had just come from out of the bathroom when I walked through the front door of the salon. Even though the seventy-five-degree temperature outside voted against it, she was dressed in this expensive white, pink and blue Ed Hardy T-shirt, blue jeans, and matching sneakers. So, I had to comment on it.

  “Now, you know it’s too hot for that,” I joked.

  “Hold up! Sounds like you’re doing a little hating right now.”

  “Don’t get it twisted, because I am not hating on you. I am only giving you the facts,” I said, smiling. “And besides, why would I hate on you when I am rocking Chloe’ from head to toe.” I placed my handbag down at an empty station and then I took a seat in the chair next to it.

  “Yeah, whatever! You wouldn’t have had any of that Chloe if Kira wasn’t your cousin,” Rhonda replied, giving me a fake smile as if she wasn’t feeling my attitude.

  “Well, she was so don’t be mad. And anyway, you act like Syncere don’t be buying me shit like this.”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t. All I’m saying is that as soon as Kira passed, you been trying to act like you run shit. And it’s not cute.”

  “I don’t know where you get that from because I’ve been acting the same since day one.”

  “Yeah, a’ight.” Rhonda sighed and sat down in her stylist chair.

  “So, what are we going to do about the shop?” I asked her, trying to change the subject. It was obvious that she was still mad at me about the way I divided up Kira’s things. But who cared? She needed to get over it.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, you know I want to make some changes ‘round here. You know, like take down this old wall paper, get it painted and get some new furniture in here for the clients. I was figuring, if we did that, then how much do you think we should go up on everybody’s booth rent?”

  “I don’t know. But, I do know that if we go up too much, Penny and ‘em gon’ have a fit.

  “I don’t care about them having a fit,” I replied with the least bit of concern. “Because, for real, they can go somewhere else and do hair.”

  “Okay, so, how much are you trying to go up on the rent?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I was asking you.”

  “Well, let me think about it and then I’ll get back with you,” Rhonda told me and then she looked down at her watch.

  “What time is your first client coming in?”

  “The hoe was suppose to be here already.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Who’s always trying to tell me how to curl and style that itty-bitty ball head of hers?”

  I laughed, trying to break the monotony. “Who you be talking about?”

  “Jasmine.”

  “Why can’t she ever be on time? And always trying to rush us to get her stinking ass in and out of shop because she’s got somewhere to go.”

  “Because she thinks she’s a fucking diva.”

  “Oh well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me too. Now, enough about that tramp. Pull out that damn diary ‘cause I’m dying to read more of that juicy shit Kira got up in there.”

  Without hesitation, I whipped out the diary. Before I had it out,, Rhonda grabbed the chair next to my station and sat in it. I opened up the diary to the section where I had the page folded, which was my way of knowing that was the last page I read.

  Realizing I was a few pages past, Rhonda commented, “I see your nosey ass got a little busy last night too.”

  “Oh girl, hush. It’s not that serious. Trust me, you didn’t miss a thing. All Kira talked about in these last few pages was the constant bullshit Ricky put her through which I’m sure she already told you about.”

  “She probably did but I still wanna read it for myself.”

  “Okay, later. But first, let’s start from this page.”

  “A’ight,” she replied. Then she had the nerve to suck her teeth afterward.

  I ignored her antics and proceeded to the page dated Saturday, January 21, 2006. It read:

  Dear Diary,

  Late last night Ricky’s cell phone started ringing off the hook while he was asleep, so I answered it. When I said hello, the person on the other end didn’t respond, so I automatically knew it had to be one of his chicken heads. So, I said hello again and this time I got a response. Come to find out it was a chick by the name of Cinnamon. So, I immediately asked her why the hell was she calling my husband this time of the night and she fired back by telling me that he called her first—earlier that night, so she was returning his call. She also told me that they had been fucking around with each other for over a year and a half now. She even told me that she didn’t mind him having a wife because there was enough of his money to go around. I cursed her stupid ass out for that smart-ass comment. But of course, it didn’t matter to her because before we hung up, she assured me that she was going to continue to fuck around with him as long as he was hitting her off with his dough. Now, how could I compete with a hoe like that? She was the type of trick that would fuck her mother’s husband if he paid her. So much for morals these days. I guess those characteristics went out the window a long time ago.

  And since it seemed like I was the only one left with some, I was seriously contemplating storing them away for a while so I could help my cousin get out of her jam. I mean, what the hell! Ricky had shown me over and over again that he was in it for himself. He didn’t give a fuck about me or anybody else. So, was time to reciprocate what he shelled out to me. I couldn’t see it no other way.

  After reading the last word from that passage, I turned to the next page dated Sunday, January 22, 2006.

  Dear Diary,

  I’m just getting back home from one scary and bizarre night out. After leaving my hair salon late last night, I noticed that there was two white men parked outside in an unmarked Crown Victoria looking vehicle. I acted as if I didn’t see them because I desperately wanted to know what their next move was going to be. When I got in my car and drove out of the parking lot, they started up their vehicle and began to follow me. Now, I ain’t gon’ lie; that shit scared the hell out of me and I knew right then and there that it had to be the Feds. My first thought was to call Ricky but I got a little hesitant because I wasn’t sure if my car or my cell phone was bugged. I didn’t know what to do so tried I figured I’d try to lose them I waited for my exit to come up and at the last minute, I abruptly made a right turn. Luckily for me, those two white guys got caught up in the traffic and missed it. I ended up driving all the way to Chesapeake and when I saw the first pay phone I stopped and tried to get Ricky on the line but I kept getting his voicemail on the first ring. I even tried to text him but that didn’t work either. I decided to get a hotel room. When I got up this morning, the son of a bitch finally answered his cell phone and explained to me that the guys who were following me were some Russian cats who had fronted him some work. The reason that they were all over me was because they liked to keep an eye out on the people controlling their investments. In layman’s terms, they wanted to keep an eye on my whereabouts just in case Ricky fucked up their money. And that alone was some scary shit! Especially knowing that my life could come to an abrupt end at any given moment. What a fucked-up life I was living.

  Something’s got to give. And it needed to be sooner than later.

  Once again I found myself at the end of another one of Kira’s passages. Before I turned to the next page, Rhonda said, “Oh my God, Nikki! I think the Russians killed her!
”

  “Nah, I don’t think so, Rhonda.”

  “And why not? I mean, it’s right there in black and white.”

  “Well, because I know for a fact that Ricky wasn’t fucking wit’ them Russians before he got locked up, so he could not have owed them any money,” I began to explain. “And I remember Kira telling me he was fucking wit’ some other cats from out D.C. Not only that, the guy I saw leaving her apartment that evening didn’t look like he had a drop of Russian blood in his body, so somebody else did it,” I assured her and then turned the page.

  “But what about….” Rhonda was beginning to say, but got distracted by two unexpected guests come into the salon. My mouth dropped to the floor when I realized it was Ricky‘s baby mama Frances, with her grown-ass daughter Fredricka standing next to her. Before I could say something, Rhonda beat me to the punch.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yeah, you sure can,” Frances said. “Wait, aren’t you Kira’s cousin?” she asked, turning her attention to me.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied nonchalantly.

  “Good, ‘cause you the one I want to talk to.” She started walking in my direction.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my face expressionless.

  “Well see, this is the thing. I was told by Ricky’s other two baby mamas that they got a big lump some of money from Kira’s life insurance, since Ricky wasn’t alive to collect it himself. So, I was wondering why my child didn’t get her part.”

  “Oh, no this bitch didn’t,” Rhonda blurted, standing up like she was ready to fight.

  “Oh yes, I did,” Frances fired back.

  “Wait a minute, sweetie,” Rhonda snapped back. “You’re barking up the wrong muthafucking tree!”

  “Hold up, Rhonda,” I said to her. “Let me handle this.”

  “Yeah, please let her handle this,” Frances signified sarcastically .

  Meanwhile, I stepped toward Frances and said, “Listen honey, I don’t know why Ricky’s other two baby mamas lied to you like that because they didn’t get shit. As a matter of fact, Kira didn’t even have a life insurance policy, as far as me and my family know. But if she did, trust and believe, y’all hoes would not have gotten a dime.

  Especially after all the bullshit y’all took her through with them grown-ass kids y’all got.”

  “First of all, my daughter ain’t grown and if she is, that’s my damn business,” Frances began saying, waving her index finger like she was trying to prove a point. “As far as the life insurance money is concerned, I ain’t gon’ believe it in a million years that your cousin didn’t have a policy. That just don’t sound right to me, especially since I know she used to own this place. You gotta’ have insurance to own a business so, somebody is lying.”

  “Look, hoe!” Rhonda snapped at Frances as she jumped up from her seat. “Don’t be coming up in here like somebody owes you something, because they don’t. Now, if you need a handout ‘cause your Section 8 voucher is about to run out and you ain’t got a stitch of food in the refrigerator, then you need to act like you got some sense. Then, maybe we’ll feel sorry for you and slide you a few dollars.”

  “For your information, I ain’t on no muthafucking Section 8. But, if I was, that would’ve been my business too. Now, I don’t need no handouts. All I need is what’s due to my li’l girl.”

  “Frances, don’t nobody owe you shit,” I interjected. “The only nigga owed her something was her trifling-ass daddy and since he ain’t here, you and your bastard child need to get lost.”

  “My daughter ain’t no bastard child!”

  “Bitch, I don’t give a fuck what she is. Just get your broke ass out of my shop, please,” Rhonda warned her.

  “Yes, please carry your ghetto ass outta here before we call the police and get you for trespassing. ‘Cause this sure ain’t a soup kitchen!”

  “You know what? Fuck y’all hoes, because I tried to be nice.”

  “Bitch, you ain’t tried to be shit! Now carry your ass!”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Frances told us as she turned to leave. Then she stopped in her tracks and said, “That’s why Kira got what the fuck she deserved.”

  “What the fuck you just say?” I asked Frances in shock as I started to charge into her direction. Rhonda grabbed me around my waist in a bear hug restraint and said, “She’s not even worth it. Let her carry her stinking ass!”

  “Yeah, you better listen to her. ‘Cause I would hate to whip your ass the same way I did Kira when I ran up on her prissy ass at the Taco Bell a while back.”

  “Keep talking, bitch,” I roared.

  “Sweetheart, if you really wanted to run up on me, your home girl wouldn’t be able to hold you back, for real. So, sit your phony ass down and take a load off, ‘cause you are wasting me and my baby’s time.”

  “Frances, get the fuck out now! And I’m not going to say it again,” Rhonda yelled with rage.

  Frances heeded Rhonda’s menacing tone and proceeded to leave. After her departure, I took a seat back in my chair and took some deep breaths. A flustered expression crossed my entire face. Rhonda took a seat back in her chair as well and said, “Can you believe that bold bitch came in here like that?”

  “No, I sure can’t. I mean, how dare that hoe come up in here and inquire about a damn insurance policy? And then on top of that, get all indignant and start talking about how Kira deserved to die. Boy, she’s a lucky sister. ‘Cause, if you wasn’t in here to stop me, I would’ve pushed her ugly-ass daughter on the floor and beat the brakes off her ass!”

  “Well, I’m glad I was here, even though I would’ve loved to see it,” Rhonda commented and laughed.

  Me and Rhonda continued to talk about the drama that had just unfolded before our eyes until clients started pouring in. We decided to take a break from reading Kira’s dairy so we could get down to business.

  11

  Real Niggaz Do Real Things

  Syncere Speaks

  That dope I got Quincy to cop from his peoples in D.C. was pure garbage. I had my man Mario cook the shit up and most of it fizzled out, so I lost out big time. I couldn’t even re-coup my re-up money so I called a meeting with Quincy. I told him to meet me at the car wash at 4 p.m. and he was there when I pulled up. I guess he heard the urgency in my voice so his bitch ass made it his business to be there. Ol’ punk bitch!

  “Yo, you know that shit we got from your peoples was real salty. I’m gon’ need you to get on the phone and call dem niggas and tell ‘em I want my dough back,” I spit through my teeth as I tried to suppress the rage that was creeping up in me.

  “Syncere, man, let’s be serious! What cats you know in this game give niggas refunds on bad dope?”

  “I can’t see taking a loss like this so I guess they gon’ be the first.”

  “Yo, man, I just don’t see that happening. And I know you ain’t trying to hear this, but we are just going to have to take a loss.”

  “If I take a loss, somebody is going to get slaughtered!”

  “Come on, Syncere, it ain’t even got to go down like that!”

  “So whatcha saying? It’s all right for your peoples to take my money?”

  “Nah, I ain’t saying that,” Quincy replied, trying to clarify himself.

  “So, what is you saying? ‘Cause it sure sounds like you taking up for these niggas when you supposed to be my partner.”

  “I ain’t taking up for dem niggas! Fuck them! All I’m saying is that we don’t need to start no unnecessary beefs!”

  “What, you scared of dem niggas? You turning pussy on me?”

  “Come on, dawg, you know me better than that!”

  “Shiiid, you had me kind of worried there for a minute! Hmmm, I thought I was gon’ have to put a slug in you my damn self!”

  “Damn son, you carrying it like that over fourteen grand of bad dope?”

  “You muthafucking right! I’d kill my girl if she took twenty dollars from me!”

  Quincy threw his han
ds in the air out of frustration and said, “Yo, I’ll make that call to my peoples on the strength of the loyalty I have for you. But, don’t you ever step to me like I’m some kind of weak-ass chump again!”

  I waved him off and said, “Yo, don’t take it personal, it’s just business! So, hit me up after you talk to them.”

  “Yeah, a’ight,” Quincy uttered and turned his back on me.

  I stood up, secured my burner back into my waistband of my jeans and began to head back out of the door when a thought came to mind. I turned back around and said, “Oh yeah, I don’t want that nigga Lloyd breathing no more after tonight. So, call Monty and dem’ niggas and tell ‘em I said be ready tonight.”

  “How you gon’ do something to that nigga when your ankle is still fucked up?”

  “I ain’t gon’ do shit! Monty gon’ take care of everything. I just wanna be there when the shit gets done.”

  “Where you trying to make the hit?”

  “In P-Town. After the dog fight.”

  “Nah dawg, that’s gon’ be too risky.”

  “You know where he stay at?”

  “Yeah, him and his girl got a house out Suffolk.”

  “Do you know who she is or what she looks like?”

  “Nah. But, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out who she is once we go inside their crib.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Well, tell Monty and ‘em that’s where we going.”

  “A’ight,” Quincy replied and then I bounced.

  And as soon as I got back into my rental car I got Nikki on the line.

  “Hello,” she said when she answered her cell phone.

  “Where you at?”

  “At the shop. Why?”

  “Because I was gon’ swing by there in the next hour or so, that’s why,” I replied sarcastically. Why was this bitch questioning me when I was trying to question her ass! That just didn’t make sense to me. “So, are you gon’ still be there or what?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here,” she replied and then she sighed.

  “What’s wrong wit’ you, Nikki?”