Baby Momma Saga

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  “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. I could literally feel bitches glaring and hatin’ on us and I actually enjoyed it for once.

  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. 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, 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. 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 speaker
s 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.

  I hadn’t realized how beautiful she actually was, completely dismissing my initial judgment of her at the house when I’d first seen her. Her eyes were a light golden brown and in the dim lighting it looked like they were aglow from the inside. Like the reflection you see from a flame in the glass when you burn a candle in a hurricane jar. We had a complete conversation without saying a single word, her eyes boldly telling me, “I want you.” I backed up a step, shaking my head again, silently saying, “I’m married—this cannot go down.” Biting her lower lip, eyebrow raised, she narrowed her slanted golden cat eyes, soundlessly telling me, “I get what I want—and I want you now.” My eyes widened in an utter look of “Oh, shit.” I’m such a punk. I mentally slapped myself for this one, because she had me.

  I wasn’t used to being challenged or pursued by a woman, not since Ris, and it caught me off guard when she came at me again. I shouldn’t have had so many tequila shots. The liquor is definitely my damn alibi and I’m sticking to it. My eyes closed in anticipation. I was completely ready for the sensual assault of Dior and cherry rosé to consume me—and it did. My hands had a mind of their own and I let them roam freely until I felt warm, smooth, baby-soft skin.

  I slid my hand upward, raising her dress as I went. I gently caressed her left breast in one hand, lightly teasing her nipple until she moaned and playfully bit the corner of my lip. The sound she made was low, sultry—every hair on the back of my neck stood on edge. I explored with my other hand, allowing it to slide down the soft, muscled outline of her stomach to the soft lift of her ass. My eyes opened and I gasped in shocked surprise when I stroked her hairless wonder, amazed at how smooth, soft, and wet she was. Shit.

  Mental note number 543: get a damn Brazilian wax. No matter how much they say that shit hurts it’s damn sure worth it. To be so thin and frail looking, Lania was strong. She had somehow backed me up against the sink and had lifted me up onto it in one solid movement. She roughly wrapped one of her hands around my neck, gently choking me while lightly digging her nails into my skin at the same time. I couldn’t take it; it had to be the sweetest torture I’d ever felt. Ris didn’t have nails because she’d bite them off, but damn she needed to grow or buy some.

  Lania took complete control over everything: my body and my senses. I could feel her fingers burning a trail of heat up my inner thigh and her mouth left mine to take advantage of the deep, plunging neckline in the front of my dress and the fact that I wasn’t wearin’ a bra. The pressure building in between my thighs was so much it was becoming damn near painful. She was slowly sliding my panties to one side, teasing me at first, letting her finger trail ever so softly across my already throbbing lips. I was about to be extremely embarrassed because I was entirely too damn wet to just be on some second base–type shit, but I couldn’t help it. She shoved two fingers deep inside me and I swear I almost exploded right there on the spot.

  “Michelle?”

  In my tequila-sex haze I almost responded until I realized it wasn’t Lania saying my name. Someone pounded frantically on the bathroom door.

  “Michelle? Are you in there? I think I’m gonna be sick.” Larissa was knocking on the bathroom door.

  “Shit.” We both cursed quietly. It was like I was doused with cold water and simultaneously hit over the head. Frustration and disappointment in myself set in all at once. I hopped off the sink and straightened my dress and panties, checking my hair in the mirror. Lania arranged her dress and recomposed herself before walking back over to the chaise longue, looking as if she’d been there all along. I unlocked the door and Ris rushed in, eyeing us both suspiciously.

  “What the fuck took you so long? The fuck, Michelle?” She was wobbling back and forth.

  I raised my hands as if waiving the white flag. “Larissa, not here—not now. Nothin’ was goin’ on, baby, calm down.”

  She pointed over in Lania’s direction, staggering toward her. “You bitch, I seen you, prissy, Frenchy bitch—lookin’ at my bitch.”

  Lord, I must have turned five shades of red I was so damn embarrassed. I grabbed Ris by her shoulders and turned her to face me so I could at least lie to her directly in the eyes. “Ris, baby, I promise nothing . . .” Shit, before the words could leave my mouth Larissa did some kinda behind-the-back drunk crossover, goin’ around me like fuckin’ Jordan back in ’93 and was on Lania’s ass before I could blink.

  “Michelle, get your bitch before I kill her.”

  Ris went flyin’ back across the room, and I just stood there, eyes wide as fuck, staring in stunned silence. I told y’all that skinny heffa was strong. She’d pushed Larissa’s ass up off of her so damn hard I was in shock.

  “Ugh, Chelle, I’m gonna be sick.” Larissa was definitely done as she staggered toward the stall in the corner.

  I followed her into the bathroom and held her hair back just as she let go. “Damn, Ris, I think you’re ready to go, baby.” She surprised me by shaking her head no in between frame-racking heaves. I looked over at Lania, who surprised me even further by just shruggin’ as if this was a normal thing for her ass.

  “Well, Risi-cup, I think it’s safe to say you definitely can’t handle your liquor anymore. Let’s go get yo’ ass some water so you can sober the fuck up.”

  “The hell I can’t. I’s jus’ makin’ room fa’ more.” She chuckled, and I helped her fix her hair and walked her back out to the table. Keyshawn was right where we left him, looking just as handsome with his two concubines, waiting patiently as ever.

  “Y’all good?” Keyshawn asked, barely glancing in my direction.

  Lania slid back into her place beside him and gave him an awkward smile. They exchanged a look, or I thought they exchanged a look; it was so brief I could have possibly imagined it. I just didn’t want to seem like I was imposing, and I definitely didn’t want to be labeled as the woman with the wife who gets drunk and acts a complete mess in public.

  “So, my mans is comin’ to hang out with us if y’all up for it.”

  Ris flopped down into the booth and answered before I could even open up my mouth and come up with an excuse to get us out of there.

  “Our asses is up for it. Is he anotha basketball player? Who is it?” She was pouring herself another glass of champagne, but more of it was ending up on the table than in her champagne flute.

  “He’s the owner of the team. Cool dude. Here, let me pour that for you, you are my guest.” He directed his gaze toward me after filling her glass less than full. “Very good connect to have. You never know when you need to know someone like him.”

  With that statement the business part of me kicked in and I sat my ass down. “Key, pour me a glass too, please.” Never know when you’ll need to know an NBA team owner, especially in the housing industry. That’s some super official shit right there.

  It didn’t take long for Curtis Daniels to arrive; he was a tall, older man with greying hair at the temples on either side of his head. I can’t lie; he looked like money.

  Keyshawn got up to greet him when he came over, and introduced him. It was a damn near buzz kill having him at the table and I was honestly happy for it. Key’s playful demeanor immediately went out the window and he was acting like a perfect gentleman. If I weren’t mistaken I’d say he was actually uncomfortable, bu
t I guessed I would be a bit out of my element too if my boss wanted to come hang out at a damn club when I was tryin’ to let loose and drink.

  “Excuse me. Sir Angelo extends his graciousness.” A waiter had appeared at our booth with a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac. My eyes widened and we all looked back toward the booth, but the curtains were still drawn.

  “Send it back. I’ve already paid for champagne.” Keyshawn surprised even me, but Lania said what we were all thinking.

  “Key, that’s a three thousand dollar bottle of champagne. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest; are you trying to offend him on purpose?”

  Keyshawn acted like he didn’t even hear her.

  “Tell Angelo we send our appreciation. Keyshawn, that pride will make you lose more than it will ever earn you if you don’t get it under control.” Curtis accepted a glass from the waiter and I couldn’t help but wonder what Key had against that Angelo guy.

  Curtis’s sophisticated demeanor was a good balance to the group. It kept Ris from suicide tag-teaming shots and glasses of champagne left and right, giving her a little time to sober up. Once the guys got on the subject of basketball plays and seasons and playoffs, I decided it was a good time to call it a night, and I pulled a reluctant somebody away from the table and out to the limo so we could go home.

  Ris pouted the first half of the ride and slept the rest of the way. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but figured it must be Keyshawn; I even got excited and dared it to be Curtis.

  “Hello?”

  “Enjoy your time while you still can, bitch.” That’s all that was said and the call disconnected. The voice sounded like something out of a horror movie. I knew there were plenty of apps on iPhones and other programs that could mask your voice, make it raspy or deeper, but why would Rasheed want to go through all the trouble? Was scaring me that serious? I dialed the number back and it went to a Google voice service that said the call couldn’t be completed. My heart felt like it was doing clumsy flips in my chest. Someone needed to put a stop to this shit. The phone vibrated again, showing yet another number I didn’t recognize. I hit ANSWER and didn’t say a word. I slid the phone to my ear, my heart beating in my throat, afraid to hear whatever murder, death, kill threat I would get next but ready to cuss someone the fuck out.