Baby Momma 2

by Ni'chelle Genovese

“Yeah, baby. I’m here. All right, Key. Lemme go. I’ll send you what you need. Thanks again.” I hung up before I could hear a reply, and dropped my phone into my lap.

  “Who were you talkin’ to?” She stopped just shy of the edge of the stairs and looked at me suspiciously.

  “Keyshawn. I was confirming our arrangements for tomorrow and making sure we have a sitter. Did you find a dress?”

  She beamed a smile at me and launched herself into my lap. Her small four-foot-nine frame fit so perfectly with mine. Wrapping my arms around her, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I already knew what she was going to say.

  “Yes, I found us both dresses. ’Cause you know you ain’t got shit to wear either, not to no damn club anyway.”

  “Ris, you know good an’ well you can’t shop for me. It’s either gonna be too short, too tight, or too damn bright. I’m sure I already got somethin’ in my closet that’ll work.”

  “Nah, you’ll like this shit. I promise.” She leaned her head back on my shoulder and smiled up at me, making me momentarily forget that somewhere out there my crazy ex-fiancé was stalking us and that in all actuality we really weren’t celebrating anything this weekend except for a lie I’d told her—and now I owed a date to man I was entirely too attracted to, to even admit to myself. I planted as fake of a smile on my face as I possibly could, and I leaned down, kissing her smiling lips, pretending as if nothing was wrong.

  Saturday was a whirlwind of getting the kids ready for their day with the babysitter and trying to get my house back in order from a busy workweek. I’d noticed an older blue Ford Mustang in the neighborhood earlier. It went around the neighborhood once when I was checking the mail, and I was going to let Trey and Lataya play outside when I started to feel uneasy and decided against it.

  “Mommy, why?” Trey whined. My poor babies. I felt bad keeping them cooped up in the house but it was for their own good. I looked down at Trey, who was getting so tall he was almost up to my waist. He was his father’s same exact high-yellow complexion, lighter than me with pretty, curly hair and big, round brown eyes. I couldn’t hide my smile as I answered him.

  “Because Mommy says no, that’s all the why you need.”

  Lataya stood beside him in a pink shorts set, white sandal on one foot and Lord knows where the other one was, looking like a miniature golden version of her mother if you let Ris tell it. When I looked at my little princess all I saw was Rasheed.

  I knelt down to take off her sandal, frowning at a red welt on the back of her chubby little leg. She was in that terrible-twos stage, always stumbling around the house and getting into everything; it was probably nothing. Her front teeth were just starting to come in and she looked just like Trey when he was that age: all cheeks, slobbery chin, grinning all day for no reason whatsoever. She was such a happy little girl. I couldn’t imagine the life she’d have had if we’d let her go to a foster home. She was so much better off here with us. This was definitely where she belonged.

  “Trey, baby, take your sister upstairs to the playroom. I got you guys a new movie. Ask Mommy to put it on for you. You can have cookies if you keep quiet.” I kissed the side of Lataya’s chubby neck, and she smiled at me through her long, baby-doll lashes and giggled. She didn’t care what was going on; she’d heard the word “cookies” and was ready to go. Trey groaned and huffed, reluctantly taking her hand and leading her upstairs. It amazed me that Larissa and I could call each other Mommy and the kids just assumed if one said it in regard to doing something it automatically meant go ask the other one.

  I glanced down at my watch; it was a little after one in the afternoon. I perched in the large bay window in the living room and saw the blue Mustang pull up to one of the houses down the street. Damn, this shit was making me paranoid. I needed to relax with a capital R. I shouted up toward the kids’ playroom, “Ris, watch the kids. I’ll be in the pool.”

  “A’ight, bae.”

  I walked out to the back of the house and let my sundress slide down my body. The first time I did that shit Ris had a flat-out fit, telling me, “Only white folk go out an’ swim in they pool butt-ass naked. Yo’ ass end up wit’ some kinda bacterial infection, ount wanna hear it.” Stripping out of my bra and panties, I laughed at the memory. Our backyard was perfect. Tall white privacy fences ran along both sides of the beach so no one could trespass, and we didn’t have to be bothered with the year-round issue of vacationers or beachgoers parking and camping out all over the beach. That was the beauty of the neighborhood: all of the houses were spaced out and they all faced the ocean, so there was no need to worry about nosey-ass neighbors either.

  I let the warmth from the sun embrace my bare skin only for a moment before diving into the lukewarm water. I swam a few laps as part of my usual workout routine to keep myself toned, but I didn’t want to wear myself out, so I just drifted on my back with my eyes closed for a little while. I sighed; this shit did not help at all. The stress and anxiety was still there. I was wiping water from my eyes when I saw it. It was the briefest movement in the ocean directly in front of me that caught my eye, causing me to freeze mid-motion. The sun glimmered off the water everywhere except for in this one spot. An object bobbed, it was slightly rounded like . . . like a head. I squinted harder and could barely make out a neck and shoulders. And then nothing. It just bobbed under right at the very second that my eyes decided to clearly focus in on it.

  I waited, frozen in place, afraid to look anywhere other than where I saw him, or it, go under. It didn’t resurface. Okay, woman. You are definitely getting paranoid and super trippin’. It was probably just a dolphin or a sea lion, manatee—fuck. That nigga would not swim five miles out and seven or eight miles across just to stare at the damn house. Or would he? Not to mention the fact that I still hadn’t figured out how anyone from my past had actually found me, or even alerted him to our whereabouts. I must’ve stayed there staring intently at that square of ocean for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. When nothing resurfaced I gave up and trod back inside, looking over my shoulder every few steps just in case. I made sure to lock all the windows and doors downstairs just in case.

  By the time I’d showered and fed the kids it was time to get ready. I was nervous. I wasn’t sure what I’d seen out there in the water, but combined with the note that Ris had found, the last thing I wanted to do was leave the house, leave my kids. I pulled the dress Ris picked out over my head and attempted to pull myself together.

  “Larissa, what the hell is this ho-ish-lookin’, prostitute-in-training shit you got me wearin’?” I stared at myself in the full-length mirror like the woman looking back was a complete stranger.

  “Baby, calm da fuck down. Nobody gonna have on nothin’ we got on tonight. You look fuckin’ hot, too. Like on some straight-up diva shit.”

  I gawked at myself. The dress was from some collection I’d never heard of and cost entirely too damn much. It was orange, and not no dull spring orange, but bright-ass traffic-cone orange, with black trim around the edges and tiny crystal accents. The neck hung way too low in the front and the back scooped in a V damn near to my ass crack so there was no way I could get away with a bra. It fit tight in all the right places and flared at the arms. It wasn’t an ugly dress; it just wasn’t me. I always said Ris could not pick out my clothes, but I was such a mess after what I’d seen earlier, I didn’t even care. I was dressed. Fuck it.

  CHAPTER 5

  GOOD FOR THE GOOSE—GOOD FOR THE GANDER

  Sitting on the cool leather of the living room couch I impatiently tapped my foot. I was all kinds of nervous about the night ahead. The kids were upstairs with Darla the babysitter and my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Rasheed. Where the hell was this nigga, and what the hell did he want? How long was he gonna torture us before he showed his ass and started making demands and shit? I’d tried to call the prison to see if he was there and the clerk placed me on hold so long I had to hang up. This happened at least three times.

  Scared and frust
rated, I’d looked up a few numbers for security services to call, but it was too late in the evening when I’d remembered to do it. I made a mental note to try again one day during the week. Just then the car pulled up to the front of the house as planned. Ris squealed and flew from upstairs so fast she was damn near out of breath.

  “Ooh it’s here, baby. How I look? My hair okay?”

  I stared at her in amazement. She was wearing a bright pink Escada blouse that dipped low in between her breasts, the color complementing her red complexion perfectly. I stared down into her glowing green eyes; I could tell it was definitely more than the makeup and smoky eye shadow lighting up her face.

  “You look beautiful, baby, and damn if the club ain’t the last place I’m tryin’a go right now.”

  She giggled and blushed hard. “We’ll have time for dat after. Lemme get a li’l nice first and I’ll show you a trick when we get back home.”

  “A trick? What kinda trick you got that I ain’t already seen, woman?”

  She leaned in and gave me a long kiss before we headed out the door. For the first time in a long time I felt my chest fill up with pride, because I couldn’t lie—my wife was bad. She’d somehow managed to pile all her ass into what I’d call about four inches of black fabric and what she had the nerve to be trying to call a damn skirt. Lord, we was gonna get into some fights tonight.

  The ride to the club wasn’t as long as I thought it would be. Ris made good use of the fully stocked bar and was a lot more than nice by the time we finished the forty-five-minute drive into Miami. As our limo pulled up to the front of the club I texted Keyshawn to let him know we were outside. I was surprised when Yylannia came out to the car.

  “Well hello, mi gorgeous ladies. Key is inside holding the table, ordering foods. Come—come.” She waved her elegant, li’l skinny hand and started to cat-walk away. She was wearing a short, tight black dress that fit her like a second skin. Her jet-black hair hung down her back in long layers that almost touched her ass. I was in awe. She looked exotic and classy.

  “Oh my God. That’s her, Chelle. She’s beautiful and soooo damn skinny. Um, did her ass jus’ say ‘foods’?”

  Yylannia did have a strange accent and way of saying things sometimes. It wasn’t Spanish or French, more of a mixture of the two. Hell I’d just settle for calling it a “Franish”-ass accent. Ris’s tipsy ass giggled and mock cat-walked behind her. We completely bypassed the line to get inside. It was wrapped damn near completely around the entire complex but we just followed Ms. Walk Like a Model Everywhere and the bouncers nodded and let us inside. I could literally feel bitches glaring and hatin’ on us and I actually enjoyed it for once, mentally reminding myself not to trip or do anything embarrassing trying to be cute in front of all these damn onlookers.

  The club was packed with men and women, white, black. Mostly white. Mostly women—let me rephrase—mostly model, gold-digger, video, actress, and party-girl types. On this particular night they were playing house music, and I already knew Ris was gonna have an attitude if we didn’t get her semi fucked up before she realized they weren’t playing any hip-hop. We walked toward a private entryway with so much security you would have thought President Obama himself was up in there. Yylannia just breezed us past and it was like we’d walked into an entirely different club.

  The ambiance was sexier, way more elegant than the estrogen zoo we’d just passed through. The entire floor was made of white glass, and changed colors, going from purple to neon pink to blue. Smoke machines filled the entire area in a cool white mist; I reached out and grabbed Ris’s hand to make sure we didn’t lose her. She was quiet, which was a good thing; it meant she was in awe. We swept past booth after booth. The entire area was about the size of a large restaurant and all of it was exclusively for members-only VIP. You had to pay a yearly fee just to be able to reserve a booth on any given Friday or Saturday, and that was only if they had availability and even then you still had to run up a tab in the thousands in order to keep your spot. All of the booths had round white leather sofas or chaises longues and tables, and the outsides were covered with white curtains that could remain open or be completely closed for privacy.

  We arrived at a booth toward the back where Key was sitting with two other extremely beautiful women. He looked completely edible in a deep grey Gucci button down and dark grey slacks. Yylannia scooted in beside him and patted the seat next to her, directing me to sit down.

  “Hello, everyone, this is Larissa, my wife.” I didn’t want to hesitate in making the introductions lest Ris take offense and start to think something was up, as she was accustomed to doing.

  “Don’t be so formal. Just call me Lania and him Key, over beside Key you have Chanel and Keisha.” Lania smiled, beaming straight, blindingly perfect white teeth and deep dimples that I hadn’t noticed before. I nodded to the two women who were paying Ris and me no mind. Chanel was a gorgeous woman the same dark chocolate tone as Keyshawn, with large, dark, expressive eyes that reminded me of one of those Japanime characters. She’d completely dismissed Ris and me and was whispering something in Key’s ear, causing him to chuckle and whisper back. I felt a small twinge of jealousy at their obvious closeness; guessed the joke was on me for thinking his ass wasn’t like every other nigga with good looks and money. Why I was letting shit like that bother me I had no idea; it’s not like he had a chance with me anyway. I looked away quickly, scared my expression might give away my thoughts, and Keisha, to my surprise, was actually watching me watch them. She smiled at me smugly before kissing Chanel on the neck, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Bitch, I was not checking out yo’ girl, I thought.

  “Um, Lania, you are soooo beautiful. I’m sorry, I’m just a li’l tipsy. There was free liquor on—I mean in—our limo. And oooh, Keyshawn. I mean Key. If I get me a basketball would you sign it?”

  All I could do was look down in horror and roll my eyes, and no, the damn liquor in the limo was not free; every drop she chugalugged was comin’ out of my pocket. I sighed a long, loud sigh.

  “Yeah, I’d be more than happy to, ma. Jus’ give it to Michelle over there and it’s a done deal. So, how about we start off with a bottle of rosé and some muthafuckin’ shots, ’cause I don’t know about y’all but my ass is thirsty.”

  I smiled apologetically at Keyshawn, thankful for the icebreaker.

  I wasn’t sure how many glasses of champagne or how many shots we were in, but things were definitely starting to get fun. We’d each taken turns talking about strange and random sex facts. Thanks to Lania, I now knew that some female penguins actually engaged in prostitution to get pebbles from “single” guy penguins to build their nests. She kept looking at Chanel the whole time she was telling the story, which had me weak as hell. If I didn’t know better I’d have said Chanel was giving Key a hand job under the table; he’d suddenly gotten extremely quiet and they both seemed overly interested in something down there.

  There was a bunch of commotion at the entrance, drawing everyone’s attention. Two bouncers came in and ordered the people in the booth behind us to leave. I could hear the guy complaining and asking for a manager.

  “Damn, what’s going on?” I asked, glancing around cautiously. After everything I’ve put myself through to plan this shit out, they’d better not ask us to move or my ass is going to raise pure hell. In the center of the bodyguards there was a smaller guy with piercing crystal-grey eyes carrying a Louis Vuitton briefcase, and a group of women flocked around him. I almost twisted my neck trying to get a better look at who he was.

  “Who is he supposed to be?” I had to ask when I couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t look like anyone I’d seen anywhere before.

  “That’s Angelo Testa, consider him like a billionaire.” Lania waved at him and smiled. Keyshawn nodded in the little man’s direction. A few of the girls with him looked familiar. I assumed they were models or actresses. One in particular stayed plastered to his side. She was shorter than the others, thick and lig
ht skinned. I couldn’t make her face out completely but I thought it was the girl from “Pon de Replay”? Maybe. Every video I’d ever seen ran through my head but I only got to see her for a split second before the curtains were drawn and they were having their own private party, in there doing Lord knows what. Ris was zoned out so I couldn’t ask her where the hell I’d seen the girl before. Eight different security guys stood guard outside around the booth and I must admit I was impressed. Lania suggested we all get up and dance, but I realized I needed to pee so bad I couldn’t sit still anymore.

  “Lania, hold on, where’s the restroom?”

  “I’ll take you; it’s hard to explain and I have to go too.”

  Ris looked like she was on the verge of passing out at the table. She either said she did or didn’t have to pee, I couldn’t tell. But she didn’t get up so I guessed it wasn’t a yes. It’d been awhile since we’d drunk together and I was gonna have so much fun reminding her in the morning that she’d lost her touch. There would definitely be no tricks tonight; she was in no position to show me anything.

  Chanel and Keisha said they’d wait for us at the table. I followed Lania through a maze of booths and a blur of familiar faces I’d seen on TV. She waved and made small talk and I tapped her on her shoulder, reminding her that this was urgent.

  The bathroom was just as luxurious as the VIP area. The lighting was dimmed and the speakers in the ceiling played the club music overhead. There was an actual sitting area with small palm fronds and soft chaises longues. There was even an actual walk-in toilet like you would use in someone’s house, not a stall like you’d expect to find. I handled my business and walked out, washing my hands and straightening my dress. I looked toward the chaise longue where I’d left Lania and didn’t see her. I had just barely opened my mouth to call out and ask her where she’d disappeared to before her lips were on mine. She wore J’adore Dior perfume and she tasted like rosé and fresh cherries and yes—I noticed all of that before I broke myself out of the spell I was in. Pulling my lips from hers I began shaking my head no. I was in such a complete shock, I couldn’t make a sound.