Desperate Hoodwives

by Meesha Mink

  “Oh, he do? You think that motherfucker loves you?”

  “Yeah, I do. I think he loves me and you know what else? I love him, too.”

  He sucks his teeth. “Whateva.”

  “So to you this is a fuck. This is a game. This is Junior getting what he wants.” I poke him in the chest as I speak, my eyes flashing. “But for me this is my life you playing with. This is your kids’ life you messing over.”

  “This ain’t no fuck or no game or no shit. I love you.” He reaches out to stroke my cheek.

  “Junior, you don’t love nobody but yourself and if you don’t grow up and get yourself together you gone turn around one day and find yourself by yourself.” I turn and sit on the couch. “Molly’s silly ass don’t even deserve the way you dog her out.”

  “Oh, so now you and Molly best of friends.”

  “Nope. Not at all. So that should tell you how fucked up you treat her.”

  Junior waves his hand at me. “I don’t want to hear this shit.”

  “Well, you better hear this. If you can’t come here and respect your kids by keeping your promises to them, respect my house by calling before you come here, and respect my husband by stoppin’ beggin’ for his pussy, then you can’t come here, Junior.”

  He twists his mouth and looks down at me with mocking eyes. “So now you perfect, Lexi? So now you a fucking goody-two-shoes? I done fucked the hell out of you plenty of times over the years whether I pay child support or not, whether I get the kids or not, whether you got a man or not.”

  I walk past him to the front door. “You know what, Junior? The dick is good. I ain’t gone even lie. The dick is real good. But having a man in the home to help me raise all my kids, and moving the fuck up out Bentley Manor is even better.”

  “Lexi. Man, bitch, you trippin’.” He walks past me to stand in the doorway. “When you come lookin’ for this real good dick, I’ma make you beg me to fuck you.”

  Sex. That’s all he focuses on? “Damn, Junior, you childish as hell.”

  “Yup, a big child who gets whateva the fuck he wants when he wants it.”

  I step back and slam the door in his face.

  24

  Aisha

  The little cheap beeper I bought just for my tricks vibrates against the console of my car. I roll my eyes as I wait at the light. I don’t even bother to pick it up. It’s Stuart blowing it and my damn nerves is up.

  I decided to cut it off with him last week and he been beeping me every day—damn near all day—since. He’s too intense. Too caught up.

  When I walked into the suite last week the lights were off. Candles blazed everywhere. A trail of red rose petals was leading into the bedroom where there were more candles and more rose petals. A full course candlelight meal was laid out on a table on the balcony. They were silk sheets on the turned-down bed with a white negligee laid across the foot. Stuart walked up to me carrying two flutes of champagne dressed in nothing but a silk robe.

  Right then all kinds of bells and shit should’ve went off in my head. But it didn’t.

  I wore the negligee.

  I ate the dinner with him.

  I sipped the champagne.

  I listened to him tell me how beautiful I was.

  I even let him carry me to the bed.

  I let him fuck me like I was his woman or his wife. All slow and shit with kisses on my shoulders while I moaned and squirmed and purred like he was tearing my pussy up. NOT.

  I let him pay me extra just to eat my pussy.

  It wasn’t until after I left and was in my car headed home that I knew Stuart was taking shit to a whole other level that I damn sure wasn’t feeling. Whether he got it or not, that was a wrap on Stuart.

  I will miss the way he ate pussy. Shit, I was surprised how good his corny ass was at it. He had me cumming all in his mouth in no time at all. And he paid me for it. “Whoo,” I say playfully as my pussy double-pumped at the memory.

  I park my car on level 2 of the parking deck at Phipps Plaza. As I climb out the car I smooth the strapless jean dress I wore over my body before I push my shades down onto my face. I’m digging around in my hobo purse for my cell phone when a car pulls up beside me.

  “Hi, Diamond.”

  I recognize the voice. Stuart. I drop my cell phone and twist my fingers around my box cutter instead. I keep walking like I didn’t hear a thing.

  When I hear a car door slam I make a left through two SUVs, determined to get away. I ran right into Stuart. What the fuck? He must’ve beeped me from his cell phone.

  “Hi, Diamond,” he says. “I’ve been beeping you.”

  I look left and right. We’re alone as far as I can see. “Are you following me?” I ask him, the soft saddity voice he’s used to is gone. I ain’t gone lie, this the first time one of my tricks crossed over into my real world and I don’t like it.

  “No, I was on my way in the mall and I just happened to see you.”

  Is that true?

  “I’ve missed you,” he says, staring deep into my eyes. He licks his lips as he reaches out to touch my hand.

  I shift from his touch and inside my purse I push the button to release the blade of my box cutter. This whole situation is creeping me the fuck out.

  I have to get away. And if it takes a damn lie to do that then so be it. “You know I haven’t been meeting you because I went out of town for the week.”

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  I cringe a little, not quite sure what this fool is gone whip out them pockets. “I can’t right now, but yeah, we can talk when we meet this week.”

  “Good. I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again.” He smiles and looks relieved.

  Hell, you ain’t. “The way you ate up all this good chocolate pussy the last time?”

  The echo of a car cranking surrounded us.

  Boom…boom…boom.

  I know that system. My eyes get big as my head swings in the direction of the bass. Kaseem’s milk-white Caddy pulls out the spot just four cars up from us. Shit.

  “I know him. He’s a undercover. You better go,” I lie with ease.

  Stuart looks toward Kaseem and then back at me, obviously nervous. “So I’ll see you Wednesday?”

  “For sure.”

  He walks away and soon I hear his car squeal out the parking deck just as Kaseem slows to a stop beside me.

  “Whaddup, Aisha?”

  “Hey, Kaseem, what’s up wit you?”

  “Nothing.” He eyes me from head to toe. “Who was that white dude?”

  I shrug as I let go of my blade and pull my hand out my purse. “Some fool talkin’ ’bout insurance or some shit.”

  “He was?”

  I look at Kaseem behind the wheel of his whip. Still thug-sexy. “You spendin’ up that money?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  He looks at me for a long time. So long that I kind of fidget in front of his ass. “A li’l sump’m for this shorty I’m fuckin’ with right now,” he finally says, nodding his head toward his backseat.

  There are a couple Gucci shopping bags on the seat. “That’s more than a little sump’m.”

  “No less than what I woulda bought you if you ain’t front on a nigga.” Kaseem reaches to somewhere in the car and pulls out a toothpick that he sticks between his sexy lips.

  “No, I just didn’t wanna disrespect my man or your boy while he doin’ time.”

  Kaseem sucks his teeth and reaches his head out the window to spit. I have to slide my left foot back for it not to land on my toes. “See you ’round, Aisha.”

  Boom…boom…boom.

  And he pulls off.

  I am looking so good for my ritual Friday visit to see my husband. I sit there waiting on them to bring him into the visitation room so he can tell me how fine my ass look.

  His trial is set for next week and I have every intention of being there every day, sitting on the row behind him. I want him home. I want my hus
band back. I want my life back. The sooner the trial’s over and done with the sooner I know exactly what I have to deal with. I hope for the best but I can’t forget how defeated he sounds on the phone lately, like he already planning on getting the worst sentence possible. And although I still have some things I need to forgive Maleek for, I have some of my own dirt to forget. Still, I have no plans to leave Maleek. He is my husband and we been through plenty. If it’s ten years’ ride or die then I’m riding with him through this.

  I look down at my wedding ring. I have to ask the Lord to forgive me for cheating on my husband. But a bitch like me has two choices and living a life less than what I’m used to is not an option for me. Maleek got me used to these nice-ass things so how can he expect me to settle for less now.

  I’ll have to step up my own hustle and trick out some other bitches. And with Stuart acting so psycho I’m considering setting up shop at a whole new spot like the Marriott. That fool has been beeping me every hour damn near since I missed our Wednesday. Straight psycho.

  I smile as Maleek comes walking through the door in his prison uniform. I stand up waiting to feel those strong arms and his sweet lips even if for just a moment. Shit, that moment is all I have to live on.

  “Hey, baby,” I say, holding my arms open.

  Maleek slides into his seat and crosses his hands on top of the table. He doesn’t even look at me.

  My eyes search his face as I slowly drop into my seat. I see the muscle working like crazy in his cheek. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to stroke his hand.

  Maleek grabs my wrist. When he did look at me his eyes are red like fire and filled with hate. “I gave your no-good ass everything you never had and always wanted.” He puts more pressure on my wrist and I gasp at the sharp darts of pain. “This how you do me? Out there sellin’ your ass, you no-good bitch.”

  He knows. Oh God, he knows. Jesus. Oh, no. “What? Maleek, why you hurtin’ me?” I ask, trying to pull my arm away as guilt fills me. I look around and I see the guards eyeing us.

  “I feel like killing your motherfucking ass, Aisha. If I had a gun I could blow your brains out.” The tears in his eyes scare me more than anything.

  “Maleek, that’s a lie. Who the hell you lettin’ lie on me?”

  “Don’t lie to me!” he roars, putting more pressure on my wrist until it felt close to snapping in half.

  “Ahh,” I cry out, tears filling my eyes.

  The guards surround the tables just as Maleek reaches across the table to clutch my throat. I wince at the pain and loss of air.

  The guards all grab his steel-like arms. He finally releases me as one clubs him and I collapse to the floor. I use my feet and hands to push back from him on my ass.

  People in the visiting room holler out.

  I watch as it takes nearly four guards to drag Maleek kicking and screaming out the visitation room. I wince with each curse he throws at me.

  “You no-good bitch!”

  “Get the fuck out, trick!”

  “I hate your no-good ass!”

  “I could kill you, Aisha!”

  I cover my ears with my hands and squeeze my eyes shut like I can make it all go away.

  Strong hands grab my arm and pull me to my feet. I open my eyes to see a mean-looking guard. I feel all eyes on me. Feeling sorry for me. Laughing at me. Judging me.

  “Right this way.”

  I just wrap my arms around my body, feeling cold and numb as I follow the guard down the hall.

  “There go that no-good bitch now, Momma.”

  I look up to see Hassana, Mrs. Cummings, and Reema in the line of visitors. “What you doing here? I know your name ain’t on the list.” I spit at her, ready to pounce.

  The guard steers me to the door.

  Hassana laughs. “Watch her go in and see your husband if she ain’t on the list. He sent for her.”

  Reema must feel bold with Hassana by her side because she shoots me a satisfied look. “He sure did.”

  I shoot all them bitches glares even as I walk through the door the guard holds open.

  “Maleek Cummings’s visitation privileges have been suspended indefinitely.”

  Just as the security guard closes the door I hear them heifers acting up.

  But to hell with them. Maleek knew, and I thought my game had been tight. Where did I slip up? Did Kaseem overhear in the parking deck and run back like a bitch? And did Maleek really tell them to bring Reema? Had her name been on his visitation list the whole time? Was this her first visit?

  What the fuck did all this shit mean for me and my husband?

  “Hassana, let’s just go home.”

  I turn at the sound of Mrs. Cummings’s voice and see Hassana and Reema trying to walk up on me with a sneak attack.

  I cut between two cars and reach in my hobo for my keys. By the time I get to my car my trunk is up. I drop my purse in and reach under the spare tire for my box cutter just as they run up on me.

  I whirl around and went straight to swinging at they ass. “Ya’ll bitches want some of me? You either ride with me or get run the fuck over.”

  They jump back.

  “Come on, Hassana, this bitch crazy,” Reema says.

  “You tough now that you got this big bitch with you. Fuck what ya heard. I ain’t scared of neither one of ya’ll asses together or apart.” I jump at them again with my blade to let them know I’m not playing.

  “Come on, Reema, I ain’t got time for that dumb-ass ho anyway. I told my brother she wasn’t shit.”

  Another day and another time I would have knocked Hassana out for her mouth trouble but I didn’t have the will or the strength. I sank down to the ground, leaning against the rear wheel of my car.

  I feel my tears wet my cheek and I cry like a baby. I don’t even give a damn who see me or who hear me. I’m tired. Broken. Beat. Scared. Mad. Ashamed. Hurt. Lost. Heartbroken. Alone. Helpless. Hopeless.

  Desperate.

  25

  Devani

  “Mrs. Tyrik L’Shaun Jefferson.”

  I love the sound of that shit. In the month since I’d dropped the baby news on Tyrik, it appears he’s finally adjusted to the idea of becoming a father. Just as I’d hoped, Papa Jefferson has stayed on his son’s case about “doing the right thing.”

  Pauline just cries a lot, but I’m sure she’ll get over it. ’Course, I don’t really give a fuck if she does or doesn’t.

  “You really believe that you’re actually gonna pull this shit off?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see my mother propped against my open door. Gone are the old, holey housecoats and raggedy-ass slippers. Now, she sashays around the house in Bebe’s latest fashions and keeps her hair whipped as good as, if not better than, my own.

  “Please try to keep the hate to a minimum,” I sass with an amused wink. “I don’t want to get too much dust on my shoulders. Tyrik is taking me out to The Palms 837 Club for my birthday.”

  Momma’s brows arch just like I knew they would.

  “A members-only club. I am impressed.” She crosses the one arm and puffs from one of Koolay’s potent-smelling blunts. Apparently the chunk of cheese I keep slippin’ Momma is buying them a higher grade of weed. Hell, I’m catchin’ a little buzz and I’m ten feet away from her.

  Turning back toward the mirror, I wonder whether the Badgley Mischka dress is the right choice for the night. It’s a beautiful, summer-white halter chiffon that bears a striking resemblance to the one Marilyn Monroe famously wore in that photo with the wind blowing up her dress. Plus, it did an incredible job of camouflaging my small pregnant bump.

  “Uhm…I don’t know about this one.” I turn toward the bed and the piles of new clothes covering it. No more cheap knock-offs. Prada, Dolce & Gabbana and Chanel were all my body’s new best friends. Trust, when I say I’m puttin’ a hurtin’ on that damn platinum card and lovin’ every moment of it.

  My style has grown so fierce that even that uppity Aisha has shot me a f
ew jealous looks. I love that shit, too.

  “I need you to run an errand,” Momma says.

  “What? Not tonight, Momma. I’m runnin’ late. Get Koolay to do it.”

  “I would, but Miz Cleo doesn’t like Koolay and I need to borrow her lasagna recipe for tonight’s dinner.”

  I can’t help but laugh when I glance over at her. “Are you shittin’ me?”

  “What? I decided to learn how to cook a few things.”

  I can’t stop laughing.

  “It’s not funny. Just go and pick up the damn recipe!”

  “Fine. Fine, Chef BoyarNegro. I’ll pick up your damn recipe before I go.”

  “Thanks.” She watches me for a few minutes. “So when you gonna get your ring?” Momma asks and takes a long toke.

  The question widens my smile as I clear a spot on the bed. “Tonight.”

  Momma chokes.

  I sit on the bed and reach for the candy-apple red Marc Jacobs pumps.

  “Tonight? No shit?”

  “Well, it’s not written in stone, which by the way I’m hoping for at least three carats, but let’s just say that my woman’s ’tuition says it’s tonight.”

  “Uh-huh.” She draws another hit and her eyelids fall so low she looks more asleep than awake. “I’ll believe that shit when I see it.”

  This just proves even your kinfolk can’t stand to see a nigga happy.

  “I gotta go.” I stand and snatch up my purse. I mean, damn. The day is almost over and she hasn’t even wished me happy birthday. My own damn momma.

  She steps back as I close and lock my bedroom door. “Ain’t nobody gonna steal your shit.”

  “I know they’re not. That’s why I’m locking the door.” I purposely brush my shoulders off in front of her and march through the living room. Koolay is puffing on his own fat blunt and “massaging” himself in front of the fifty-inch, widescreen plasma HDTV I charged.

  “Koolay, put that shit away,” Momma barks for the bazillionth time.