Baby Momma 2

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  “Why you tell Trey to call that nigga Daddy?”

  She was walking out of the bathroom, getting ready for bed. She tripped over the area rug at the sound of my voice. I must have caught her off guard.

  “Huh? You talkin’ ’bout Keyshawn?”

  I sneered at her silently. Who the fuck else she think I was talking about?

  “Oh, I was just playing—it was a joke. Trey pro’ly misunderstood it.”

  I didn’t even feel like getting into it with her. As bad as I wanted to yell, “You don’t joke with a two-year-old and a four-year-old about something like that,” I just rolled over facing the opposite wall so my back would be to her for the rest of the night. It was definitely time for me to make a change.

  The next morning I’d decided to skip work and just spend the day with the kids. We went out to breakfast and I watched my little boy put away a whole stack of pancakes like a grown-ass man. Lataya sat on my lap crushing bacon in her chubby little fists; she was getting more of it on me than in her mouth but she was quiet so I let her be. Trey chattered up a storm. I hadn’t realized how much he’d grown up. It was like I’d missed the last two and a half years walking around in a daze. Ever since the move I’d made the mistake of puttin’ another woman before my own flesh and blood and the thought pulled at my heart.

  “Mommy, can we play wif Unca Key today?” He was so excited about the possibility of being around Keyshawn, his eyes lit up and he could barely sit still giving me his biggest “Mommy, please” smile. As bad as I wanted to tell him no, I had to admit it to myself: shit, Mommy kinda wanted to play with Uncle Key too.

  “Let me text Uncle Key and see if he can come outside, okay?”

  Good morning, Cookie Monster. Trey wants to know if you can come out and play?

  I waited anxiously, worried that it was too early in the morning to be texting him or too soon to be trying to play house with this nigga. A few seconds later my iPhone whistled.

  Sure, leavin’ the gym. Gonna shower. Wanna meet me at my place?

  “Well, sweetheart, it looks like we’ll be hangin’ with Uncle Key for a little while today.”

  The smile on Trey’s face melted my heart. I never wanted to admit it but he needed a man’s influence in his life—even if it was just for a few hours.

  CHAPTER 16

  CRIMES OF PASSION

  A week had passed and Michelle still hadn’t said more than a few words to me since being released from the hospital. It was eating me up inside. I’d apologized, begged, cried, and even cursed at her for making me do the things I’d do sometimes and still she wouldn’t even so much as look at my ass. I couldn’t think of anything else. She was s’posed to be on bed rest but decided to carry her ass to work against the doctor’s orders. She even went so far as to take the kids with her, like I couldn’t be trusted with them or some dumb shit. I called to check on her and my heart sank when every call went straight to voice mail. She was still heated. I guessed I just needed to face it. We were done and she was probably out seeing whoever she needed to see to talk about “Ris did this” or “Ris won’t do that.”

  I’d tried to get my cousin Shanice to give me advice on the situation but she took Michelle’s side, sayin’ what I’d done was definitely fucked up and she’d be amazed if we weren’t filing for divorce by the end of the damn month. Depressed and feeling completely fuckin’ hopeless I hit up the connect I’d gotten from Keyshawn the day he’d dropped off my autographed basketball.

  “This Tink, who this?”

  That’s how she always answered. The first time I’d called her to get the coke that I’d used on Michelle I thought I had the wrong number, but this time I knew better.

  “Hey, boo, it’s Ris.”

  “Hey. What’s up, pud, you out lookin’ at that silver BMW eight series again?” She was asking if I wanted an eight ball of the good shit.

  “You know it. You know anyone who got a brand new one?” I answered the exact same way Keyshawn had told me to do the first time.

  Tink’s boyfriend, or King as they called him on the street, was the biggest dealer and the main supplier of the best shit on the entire East Coast. King’s shit was pharmaceutical grade, so pure it was damn near translucent just like fish scales. It wasn’t nothin’ like that white powdery shit I used to get back home. Key hooked me up with Tink because she was what he called good quality and low risk. She only sold shit outta her personal stash that King gave her to use and she was under the radar. I just liked dealing with her because she was cute and cool as hell.

  “Oooh, girl, I got you. Ya girl Lania jus’ hit me up too. Why don’t we have us a girls’ day and hang out. We can go for a test drive, gas and drinks all on me.”

  Shit. If she was saying what I thought she was saying I ain’t have no problem getting twisted for free. Fuck! I almost slapped my forehead in frustration. I’d forgotten all about Michelle’s fucking hired idiots sitting outside. Even though they’d signed confidentiality agreements, basically meaning they couldn’t say shit about what I did long as I ain’t kill nobody, there was still no way I would expose Tink like that. I needed to think of a way to get rid of they asses so I could go out and have some playtime. I texted Lania to see if she could come by the house and pick me up, maybe bring Keisha or someone with her.

  It wasn’t long before I was standing in the doorway, my eyes the size of ostrich eggs, while Lania and her girls came in. The March of Dimes was what I’d call that shit. I was in lesbian heaven and I was sure the security guys outside were using all they expensive equipment to take close-ups so they could jerk off in the damn car later. Lania cat-walked over giving me her weird hug and air-kiss thing before introducing me to everyone.

  “Larissa, you already know Keisha. This is Mercedes, Havannah, Sierra, Isys, Marisol, and Katia. They all work for me just like you, sweetie.”

  It was like looking at six of Baskin-Robbin’s thirty-one flavors. These bitches was each as exotic as they names sounded and all of them were on some straight-up model shit. I mean makeup, pumps, hair, booty shorts, and baby-doll dresses all on point.

  “It’s nice meetin’ all of y’all,” I responded shyly.

  All of a sudden I felt like the ugly duckling and even though she was being a complete bitch, being surrounded by all these beautiful swans made me miss Michelle even more. In all honesty Michelle never made me feel anything less than beautiful when we were around other women, and I could have used a little of that right now. I swallowed past the damn lump that formed in my throat and started to look each girl over. Lania stood beside me doing the same.

  “You and Havannah look almost identical minus the eye color. She is sure to be perfect.”

  I was shocked. Havannah was the smallest of all the women and the second most beautiful in my opinion, the first being Lania. She was shaped like a mermaid, full and thick hips, small waist, and big old titties. She had what I’d heard white folk refer to as classical beauty. High cheekbones and pouty lips with sleek cat-like dark brown eyes similar to Lania’s. I immediately fell in love with her eyebrows. I wish my shits would arch perfectly the way hers did. The only major difference was that her hair was dyed a funky platinum blond and my hair was reddish brown. But after looking her up and down I had to agree with Lania’s observation; it could actually work.

  I stared out the tinted window of Lania’s all-white Range waving at myself standing in the doorway, wet from a shower, wearing nothing but a blue silk robe, hair tied up in a towel. I removed my hat and started unpinning my hair once she was out of view. I was actually waving at Havannah’s sexy ass pretending to be me. I’d put on her clothes, pinned my hair up underneath a sun hat, and when the March of Dimes sashayed they asses out the house I went right along with them.

  In a few hours Havannah would throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt I’d left out for her, call herself a cab, and by the time everyone figured out what had actually happened I’d be on my way back to the house high and happy. Of course Michelle
’s ass was gonna be madder than a muthafucka when she found out, but fuck it. In my opinion, since she hadn’t been speakin’ to my ass all this time what difference would it make?

  We stopped just long enough to drop the rest of the girls off at some restaurant before going to meet Tink. I swear, every house I visit in Florida just gets bigger and more bad-ass than the last one. My jaw damn near hit the floor when I saw the house King had Tink set up in. We rolled through what seemed like a never-ending stretch of bare beach and palm trees before finally pulling up to this beach-side mansion, and that muthafucka looked like it was made completely the fuck out of glass. I mean almost every single wall was on some complete floor-to-ceiling window type shit. How this bitch did anything during the day or at night with the lights on my ass didn’t know, but the shit was fuckin’ beautiful.

  Tink breezed her way outside as we pulled up. Imagine my surprise when I first learned li’l Ms. Tink was a white girl, and pro’ly one of the nicest ones I’d ever met, too. She led us through her glass house, the scent of gardenia and honeysuckle following us wherever we went, like she’d washed the windows in some smell-goods. I was relieved when she took us into a room toward the back that overlooked the beach. My ass wasn’t tryin’a sit up in somebody’s living room doin’ some illegal shit. Especially not with all these damn windows.

  The room was painted in a mint green or sage on some straight-up Japanese zen type shit, and I loved it. There was a lava lamp in one corner on a tiny pedestal, and tall green bamboo plants grew along the window facing the beach, giving us a li’l privacy. In the middle of the room lavender and cinnamon-colored Japanese-style zafu and smile cushions sat around a small marble table. Yeah, my ass knew a little somethin’. Stuck up in the house all damn day watchin’ HGTV and decorating shows, wishing I could swap out Michelle’s old-fashioned Masterpiece Theatre furniture taught me a thing or two. We each picked a cushion and sat down while Tink pulled a silver box about the side of a shoebox from underneath the table and the party began.

  We were on our third or fourth line and my head was already buzzing. My nose had gone numb and I was trying to figure out if I wanted to buy me some of that shit to take home.

  “Who the fuck you got up in here, Tink?”

  We all jumped when we heard his voice boom through the house.

  “Damn, King, what I tell you ’bout comin’ up in here, yellin’ all up in my damn house?”

  I wanted to laugh because Tink actually yelled back, but my heart was already flying because of the coke and now this heffa was mouthing off to a kingpin. Lord, we was gonna die.

  He hovered in the doorway, his bark way more intimidating than his look. He couldn’t have been taller than five foot eight, with not a lick of hair on his face. Put some money on it, I bet someone could rub Taya’s ass with one hand, King’s cheek with the other, and not know the damn difference. He looked like a damn kid to me. I couldn’t tell if he was Italian or what; his dark olive complexion could easily go either way. He had wolf-lookin’ crystal-clear grey eyes, focused on Lania. I was thinkin’ maybe we was s’posed to get up and kiss the muthafucka’s pinky ring or some shit. I ain’t know.

  “Angelo, how are you sweetie?” Lania smiled at him and got up to give him a way-too-friendly hug.

  “Ahh, Lany, baby doll.” His tone softened and all his Jersey-boy accent came through. “I been lookin’ for you’s. Tell dat brother of your’s my people are telling me that shit is gettin’ very real and that deadline is close.”

  I looked at Lania. What the fuck—Lany? was written all over my face. He had a nickname for her ass and everything. What kinda shit is she up to? I tried my best not to make my “oh shit” face. Hell, I ain’t know what the fuck kinda expression I was makin’—I couldn’t feel my damn face anymore. I started touching my cheeks and my eyebrows, trying to keep my face straight while also wonderin’ why this King person looked kind of familiar.

  And then it clicked. I remembered the party at Curtis’s place. King was this fool’s street name. Standin’ in front of us was Angelo Testa, the billionaire. The one Keyshawn couldn’t stand for whatever reason and now I guessed I knew why. Because the muthafucka was a straight-up dope dealer. Ooooooh. I tried to keep quiet while he and Lania continued their conversation.

  “I’ve spoken to him several times. He’s just more resilient than either of us, but to you we owe many thanks. Your advice has always weighed heavily on my brother’s decisions.”

  I was getting nervous. It felt like just being in this bitch and leaving alive meant I would owe this muthafucka a favor or some shit. Fuck that, I wasn’t about to be drug mulin’ shit across state lines for his ass. I breathed a little easier when he nodded and walked off, but my ass was ready to get the fuck up outta there.

  “Lania, I kinda wanna be home close to when Michelle gets off work an’ it’s already four-thirty. You almost ready?” I really didn’t want to go home. I just didn’t want to be around a damn drug boss. After watching Rasheed and everyone around him crumble, I knew too well how bad shit could go for these types of people no matter how good it seemed to be going. Besides, I thought this bitch was s’posed to be low-key; this shit wasn’t no kinds of low-key.

  “Um, Larissa, Keyshawn told me Michelle would be showing him a house at five-thirty today, so you can relax.”

  I looked at her fuzzy, high, confused.

  “She wouldn’t do that. She took the kids into the office wit’ her this morning. You sure he meant today?”

  “Shit, Key wouldn’t lie to me. If he wants to fuck he can fuck. We are open, he has no reason to lie or hide anyone from me. I’ll call him and ask.” She whipped out her little Prada something custom phone, speed dialing his number.

  Only because my ass was high as fuck, I laughed dead in her face when that shit went straight to voice mail. Tink was looking back and forth between the two of us weak at whatever this little drama was we had going on.

  “Larissa, call your woman and see where she is.” Tink was grinning, her face all lit up with excitement.

  I looked at Tink and smirked. “My woman ain’t answering my calls—hasn’t been all damn day and knowin’ her, she pro’ly’ been laid up with Lania nigga havin’ family time and shit.”

  My words were like the negatives to a photo and the picture was developing crystal clear up in Lania’s head. She was suddenly blazing mad and I for once was the calm one. Somebody give my ass a trophy, I thought, crossing my arms to the cheers of the fake studio audience in my head. The only reason I was so calm was because I was used to sharing Michelle with another man. This type of bullshit came with the territory as far as dealing with her ass was concerned and I’d been doing it for years, but Lania was shaking she was so pissed off. I couldn’t resist; I had to ask.

  “Um, Lania, if I’m not mistaken, weren’t you tryin’ to get with Michelle?”

  “Fuck no, I had a bet with Keyshawn I could fuck her first. Usually if I get them before him, it makes him not want them so much after.”

  Smart bitch. I had to give her ass credit for that little plan.

  “But, Larissa, I’m telling you right now. I will kill your bitch wife if I get my hands on her.”

  Her threat didn’t sit well with me, high or not; something made me believe she’d do it. I pulled out my phone and dialed Chelle’s number, praying she’d pick up and be at the house or at her job. Once a-muthafuckin’-gain that shit went to voice mail and now my ass was getting mad and the crowd booed.

  “Fuck this, we’re going. Now.” Lania jumped up and stormed out of the house, leaving me no choice but follow her ass or get left behind. Damn, she could have at least let me ask for a doggie bag. In my dulled state our convo played back in my head, Lania’s words finally catching up with my brain, and the audience in my head yelled, Hold the fuck up!

  “Wait. Did you say Chelle was showin’ Key a house today? I thought he closed on his house already. Michelle told me that’s why we were celebrating that first night at LIV.
” I had to damn near run to keep up with Lania’s long-ass legs. The sand didn’t even slow her ass down. The coke we’d done gave everything a pink halo in my mind. Like none of this shit was real. She still hadn’t answered me as she hopped her ass up into her Range. I finally caught up and climbed in as well.

  “Key hasn’t bought any damn house. He still in his same damn house. What lies your bitch wife tell you? I’ll cut out her tongue and feed it to her, before I kill her.”

  This time I didn’t get mad at Lania; oh no, this time my ass was furious and it was with Michelle. I couldn’t believe she’d lied to me! We sped down the highway to Keyshawn’s real house. I was thinkin’ high thoughts the whole way. I imagined Keyshawn fuckin’ Michelle and remembered Lania fuckin’ her with her strap. The kids calling Keyshawn Daddy, me sitting in a cell by myself. Blood on wood floors, all kinds’a crazy shit.

  A part of me wanted her to be there so I could actually catch her in the act. That way she wouldn’t be able to lie to me or convince me of no dumb shit. Another part of me wanted her and the kids to be home, or on their way home, so we could try to get shit back to normal as soon as possible.

  Lania started to slow down and we pulled into the driveway of a large cream-colored house with a red shingle roof. It wasn’t as big as all the other homes I’d been to. Not the kind of house I expected Keyshawn “Keys to the City” Matthews to have, but I guessed that’s why he was tryin’ to buy a new one in the first place.