by Sa'id Salaam
Her father doted on his wife and daughter, and he worked long and hard to provide them with a good life. The house and the cars were a testament of his accomplishments as a provider. It was a far cry from the path he almost took in the streets.
He glanced out Tiffany’s window to decide if he should wash the cars and noticed that hers wasn’t there…again. “Girl, where is your car?” he asked sternly.
“Um…Marcus had a job interview early today,” she lied. She knew full well that a job would have to come looking for Marcus, and even if one found him, it would have to beg him to take it.
“I don’t like that boy keeping your car,” he said slowly. “I bought that car for you, not for him.”
“I know, Daddy, but once he finds another job, he’ll be able to get him another one,” she said, fighting her own frustration. She didn’t like him keeping her car any more than her father did, and she was getting sick of defending her lazy, leeching boyfriend.
“Yeah, well, speaking of cars,” her father said, taking a seat on her bed, “the insurance agent called me and said your payment is late. They’re about to cancel your policy.”
“Shit!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Oops. I mean…shoot. I got that money order last week and ain’t mailed it out yet.”
“Last month, you mean,” her father corrected.
“Ima send it out today,” Tiffany said, easing back into baby girl mode.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, rising from the bed. “Come on down and get some of the food ya mama hooked up.”
“Y’all go ‘head. I’m not hungry,” Tiffany replied.
“Oh?” her father asked. His wife had spoken to him about their daughter’s recent change in appetite. She hadn’t lost any weight that he could tell, but his wife was worried about it.
“Yeah, my stomach hurts. I think my period is coming,” she said, knowing that would get him out of there.
It did the trick, and her father rushed out of the room. “I’ll tell your mama to put you a plate in the oven for later,” he said over his shoulder.
Tiffany’s mind flashed back to drugs. She cursed herself for giving Marcus all her money. Payday was only the day before, and she didn’t have a dime left—no money for gas, no money for her insurance, and worst of all, no money for blow. She had no idea where her next gram was coming from.
She tried Marcus, but the call went straight to voicemail, so she left him a message. “Nigga, bring me MY car,” she said hotly after the tone.
* * *
“Hey, baby, you feeling better?” Tiffany’s mother inquired when she entered the kitchen.
“A little,” she said, holding her head. “Migraine, I think.”
“Ya daddy said your tummy is hurting,” her mother asked.
“Oh, yeah. That too,” she replied, reminded of the lie she’d told. She was trying to figure out the best approach to separate her mother from some of her money.
“Well, I put a plate in the microwave,” her mother said as she went back to her task of loading the dishwasher.
“I ain’t hungry,” she replied, causing her mother to pause from her chore.
“Girl, something ain’t right with you,” she said, placing the back of her hand against her daughter’s forehead.
Knowing there was no fever to find, Tiffany pulled away from her mother’s touch. “I’ll grab a bite to eat at work…if I make it,” she said pitifully, setting the stage for a loan.
“Yeah, ya daddy told me that boy got your car again,” her mother said, with displeasure clear in her voice. She and her husband had once been very fond of Marcus, but now he was just “that boy.”
“Mmmhmm. Plus, I done messed around and ain’t paid my insurance. Daddy gon’ kill me,” Tiffany said sadly.
“Didn’t you just get paid?” her mother asked sharply.
“Yes, ma’am, but I had a lot of bills to pay,” Tiffany replied.
“Bills!?” Her mother chuckled. “What bills you got?”
“Um…let’s see. Hair, nails, clothes, cell phone, clothes…and oh, yeah…clothes,” Tiffany joked, appealing to her mother’s sense of fashion and vanity.
“Girl, I swear, you gon’ break me,” her mother replied, reaching for her purse. “How much you need?”
Tiffany did some quick math in her head before answering. Go for an eight ball, twenty for gas, and ten for nails. “I think $200 should do it,” she sang.
“Two hundred!?” Tiffany’s mother exclaimed. “Chile, what you need so much money for?”
“Seventy for insurance, twenty for gas, ten for lunch, and the rest to hold me through the week,” she said evenly.
“I’ll tell you what. Ima give you $100 and send a check for your insurance, but you gon’ have to eat something first,” she replied.
“Okay,” Tiffany huffed, plopping stubbornly into a chair. She tried to eat, but it was as if her throat was closed. No matter how much she chewed, it took a swig of juice to get the food down. “I’m full, Mama,” Tiffany whined halfway through her plate.
Knowing she’d deliberately overloaded the plate, her mother was satisfied with the effort.
Tiffany took off like a shot once she had the money in her hand. “Thanks, Mama!” she yelled as she hit the stairs, taking them two at a time.
* * *
Tiffany had lost her buzz because of the heavy brunch, but the anticipation of that next package boosted her spirits. Just the thought of a hit made her stomach churn.
Before sitting on the toilet, she turned on the shower so it could be at the desired temperature when she got in. After relieving herself, Tiffany stepped out of her clothes and into the shower. There, she removed the handheld showerhead from its cradle and directed the water onto her backside to make sure she was thoroughly clean. The steam of the water sent a vibration through her entire body as it licked at her vagina. Tiffany adjusted the flow to pulsate and applied it directly on her now-throbbing vagina. Using her free hand, she spread her outer lips for direct clitoral stimulation. In seconds, she let out a shriek as her body convulsed from her first orgasm.
Her legs were still shaking as she stood in front of her mirror to dress. Feeling sexy, she selected a white thong and bra set, for starters. “That nigga tripping,” she sad aloud as she admired her figure. She had been feeling a little self-conscious lately since Marcus showed no interest in her. “Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” she said, remembering his lack of erection at their last encounter.
Tiffany shook her head at the plain outfit she’d laid out on the bed. It had been selected with the bus ride in mind, comfort being paramount. Having a change in plans, she pulled out a sexy miniskirt and a matching top. “Somebody gonna gimme a ride,” she mused to herself as she dressed. A comfortable pair of sandals completed the ensemble, and she was set.
Once outside, Tiffany slipped on her shades and took off in the direction of the bus stop, knowing full well she wouldn’t be taking any buses. She hadn’t walked half a block before a car honked its horn behind her. She smiled to herself, pleased with the attention, and then put a little extra sway in her hips, pretending to ignore the car.
“Girl, get in this car,” the driver demanded as he pulled alongside her.
Tiffany was embarrassed and pleased when she turned and saw who it was. She and Carlos lived across the street from each other and had grown up together. Despite their close proximity, they rarely saw each other lately.
“Hey, lo,” Tiffany said sweetly as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Hey, yourself. Why you walking like that? What, you broke yo’ hip?” he teased.
“Boy, stop.” She giggled, fastening her seatbelt.
“You lookin’ good, Tiff,” Carlos remarked, staring at her black thighs.
When he pulled away from the curb, Tiffany gave him a quick once-over as well. Damn, you looking good yourself, she thought as she took in the muscles straining against his T-shirt. She admired his smooth chocolate skin tone, remembering how that had been a det
ermining factor in her choosing Marcus over him so many years earlier. She still hated her own dark skin, but his looked good! What a mistake that was, she admitted to herself.
Tiffany and Carlos were very close growing up, even sharing their first kiss at seven. They planned to get married when they got older…but then they got older.
She glanced up at Carlos’s freshly cut hair, sporting ring after ring of waves. He was in college, earning a business degree, and still running his own business—a landscaping business he had started in the ninth grade by cutting lawns on their block. Now he had ten employees, three trucks, and equipment. Damn, I played myself, Tiffany admitted again as she finally accepted the fact that Marcus was a bum.
“Hellooo?” Carlos sang, jolting her back to the present. “Where to, shawty?” he joked, using slang that sounded odd coming from him.
“Um, I gotta go to work, but can I make a quick stop?” she asked sweetly.
“Anything for you,” he said flirtatiously. “Lead the way.” He followed the turn-by-turn directions Tiffany gave him as he drove, stealing glances at his sexy passenger every chance he got. “Say, where your car at?” Carlos inquired as they rode.
“My man got it. He got a new job,” Tiffany lied. She stifled a smile as she watched his jaw tighten at the mention of Marcus, her so-called man.
Tiffany knew Carlos hated her boyfriend. They almost came to blows over her back in the eleventh grade. Even though Carlos stood almost a full foot taller than Marcus, he still stepped to him about their friendship. It was Marcus’s contention that since she was his girl, their friendship had to end. The only thing that kept Carlos from whipping his ass was a slight, almost imperceptible shake of Tiffany’s head. Marcus foolishly thought he had scared the larger man into backing down, and to this day, he was certain Carlos was afraid of him.
The mention of Marcus seemed to foul the mood between the two old friends, and they rode in silence for a while. Tiffany unconsciously rubbed at her nose, which had been bothering her more and more lately. It seemed like it was always stopped up, as if it was full of boogers. She discreetly slid a pinky nail in her nostril in an attempt to clear it. In the process, she scratched off a scab, causing a small rivulet of blood to trickle out.
Carlos sucked his teeth loudly, shaking his head, dismayed by the obvious.
“Fuck you shakin’ ya head fo’?” Tiffany asked indignantly.
“Look at you,” he said, disgusted. “I can’t believe he got you fucking with that shit too.”
“I don’t snort no powder,” Tiffany shot back, unwittingly telling on herself.
“Whatever, man.” Carlos chuckled. “Everyone know ya little boyfriend’s a damn junkie. Look like he turning you out too.”
“My man ain’t no junkie! He got a good job,” she said, feebly defending Marcus more out of habit than out of feeling.
“Fuck you, nigga. I just wanted a ride. I ain’t tryina hear all dat shit you talkin’. Matter of fact, you can let me out!” Tiffany screamed.
Carlos pulled the car to a stop so quickly she almost got whiplash.
“Wait…” Tiffany pleaded, realizing that he would indeed put her out. “I’m saying though…dang…” she said sweetly, putting her hand on his arm.
Her sweet-talking did the trick, and Carlos pulled back out into traffic.
“I take a little bump every now and then,” she purred. “You know…just party a little.”
“Ain’t no such thing as a recreational cocaine user. That shit is dangerous. You gonna fuck around and end up like Tosha,” he said solemnly.
The mention of Tosha was enough to send shivers up Tiffany’s spine. She had been the prettiest, most popular girl in the school, if not the city. She began getting high, though, in ninth grade and was strung out by tenth. She was stripping in the eleventh grade, and a prostitute by the time she hit her senior year. She died right before graduation. The number of people she infected directly or indirectly with the HIV that ultimately killed her still grew by the day.
“I think I’m going to talk to your daddy,” Carlos said matter-of-factly.
“You do, and Ima tell him you tried to rape me,” Tiffany exploded, horrified at the thought of her father finding out about his darling daughter’s drug use.
“Rape you?” Carlos laughed. “You’ll be out her selling pussy you keep fucking with that shit.”
“That’s a fucked-up thing to say, Carlos.” Tiffany sobbed, unable to prevent the tears from falling.
“I’m sorry, Tiff,” Carlos said sincerely. “I love you, man. I don’t wanna see you go out bad, that’s all.”
“Love me?” Tiffany asked, genuinely moved by his words.
“Of course I love you, Tiff. Always have, and I know you love me. You just don’t know it,” he said, pulling to a stop in front of P.I.G.’s house as directed. He leaned over and took Tiffany into his arms to console the still-crying girl. The hug began platonically, but then Tiffany looked up into his eyes. In an instant, she knew he was right. He did love her, and she loved him.
Just as they drew near to sharing their first kiss since second grade, the door flew open, and she was snatched from the car. “Fuck you doing with this lame-ass nigga!?” Marcus spat so furiously he was drooling. Before she could utter a word in response, she was knocked off her feet by a vicious open-handed slap.
Carlos jerked off his seatbelt to exit the car, but Marcus raced around to the driver side before he could open the door. Marcus pointed a small-caliber pistol in his face and pulled back the hammer. “You want something, fuck nigga?” he growled as his finger tightened around the trigger.
“Naw, you got it.” Carlos chuckled as he eased his hand toward the forty-caliber pistol he kept under the armrest. Realizing he probably couldn’t get his gun out before Marcus put a couple in his face, he settled back in his seat. “We ain’t got no problem,” he said.
“That’s what the fuck I thought, busta-ass nigga.” Marcus laughed. “Now get your punk ass outta here!” he shouted as Carlos pulled away.
“I’ll be seeing you, Marcus,” Carlos said ominously as he pulled off.
“Whatever.” Marcus laughed, making his way back over to where Tiffany was standing. Before she could offer a word of explanation, he slapped her again.
When he reared back for another blow, his friend Pony grabbed his hand.
“You need to stay out my business,” Marcus warned his friend, danger evident in his voice.
“Chill, shawty. We out here in front P.I.G.’s. You know he don’t stand for no drama over here,” Pony warned. As he spoke, he looked Tiffany up and down slowly. He flirted with her every chance he got, even in front of Marcus, who was too busy chasing a blast to notice or care.
The thought of being banned from P.I.G.’s and the best coke in the city knocked all the buck out of Marcus. When he glanced up and saw P.I.G. looking back, a shiver ran up his spine. “Come on,” he said contritely, leading the way up the walk.
P.I.G. had witnessed the entire event but wasn’t mad. In fact, he was pleased. For one thing, that lovely Tiffany was back, and for another, that silly young nigga was blowing her by the day.
Tiffany shot daggers at Marcus’s back as they walked. He missed it, but P.I.G. didn’t, and neither did Pony.
CHAPTER 7
Tiffany let out a sigh of relief after completing her last sale of the day. Eight long hours on her feet dealing with rude customers and their fickle demands—and worse, it was eight long hours without a single hit. But the wait was almost over. As soon as she counted out her drawer and straightened her area, she was free to go. The thought of a nice, long line of blow caused her stomach to flutter.
Marcus had given her five counterfeit hundred-dollar bills to switch for real ones. Tiffany still had yet to make the swap and was running out of time. The bills were good and would have even fooled her. She hoped they would fool her boss too. She had initially refused to use her job to exchange the fake bills, reasoning that they could use them
to buy the drugs instead. Marcus countered that it would burn his bridges with the dealers, and he’d much rather burn hers at work if it came down to that. It wasn’t until he agreed to split the money that she relented. She calculated that she could pay the $100 that was past due on her insurance and still have enough left to get a nice little package.
Paranoia set in as she prepared to commit her first crime. She was so sure all her co-workers were suddenly watching her. Feeling clever, she decided to make the switch on the elevator up to cash out. Tiffany wasn’t aware of the overhead camera in the corner of the elevator, nor was she aware that she was under surveillance. At Mrs. Lovejoy’s direction, one of the store detectives had been watching her all day since her receipts had been fifty to sixty dollars short every day as of late.
Even though her back was to the camera when Tiffany made the switch, the observant guard could tell she did something suspicious, and Mrs. Lovejoy was notified of the anomaly.
Tiffany broke out into a cold sweat as she watched Mrs. Lovejoy meticulously count her drawer for the third time. It was all she could do to not take off running or break down and confess.
Her supervisor was concentrating so hard on the count that she missed the fake bills time after time. Satisfied that all the money was there, twelve dollars over, in fact, Mrs. Lovejoy thanked Tiffany and excused her.
Still fearing that the deception would be discovered, Tiffany practically ran from the store. She was relieved to find Marcus parked in her car right outside the exit. Any other day, she might have had to wait for hours for her car, and some days it didn’t even come at all.
Marcus sat behind the wheel, wide-eyed, looking every bit the junkie he’d become. Tiffany wondered again what she still saw in him. He had long ago stopped caring about his appearance. His usually well-maintained wavy hair was now an unkempt bush on the top of his head. Once a nice dresser, he now wore the same dingy jeans and shirt daily, like some sort of crackhead uniform.
