by Ni-Ni Simone
I couldn’t help but smile as Co-Co and I melted into each other’s embrace. “Queen Mother, you are servin’ ’em like a sex slave. Look at that hair.” He ran his hands through my thick sun-blond wisps that draped an inch past the small of my back.
“This hair is giving me magic carpet realness.” Co-Co fluttered his extended lashes. “Bish, when you step up in here, every five-for-ten weave trick will lay. Down. And. Die.”
“Awww, Co-Co, you think so?”
“Fierce recognize fierce.” He wagged an index finger as his narrow black eyes worked their way over my black, ultra mini, painted-on stretch leather dress that made love to every one of my new and bursting curves.
Co-Co slanted his neck and continued his inspection. His heels clicked against the concrete as he walked around me and stopped at my ten-thousand-dollar behind. He ran his hands over both sides and slapped both cheeks. “Gur-rrrl, this booty has refreshed my life! White-girl booty has been Blackarized and Brazilianized! Somebody send for the guards!”
I was doing all I could to feel Co-Co’s excitement and not worry about what people were really thinking, given that debacle in Brazil where the paparazzo that I called turned on me.
Relax.
Breathe.
You are queen.
No, I’m not.
I’m a mess.
You are fierce. Just like Co-Co said.
Then why don’t I feel it?
Because you need something to take the edge off.
No, I don’t.
“This is all for you, bish.” Co-Co interrupted my thoughts, waving his hand over the crowd.
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe it. “You did this for me?!”
“All day, baby. You know I’m your number-one fan.” He locked arms with me. “Now, let’s get ready to live and let have.”
We stepped inside of the club and the crowd erupted into applause and screams of, “Surprise! Welcome home, Wu-Wu!”
There were so many people in there that I couldn’t even begin to guess how many. All I knew is that the club looked filled to capacity.
My favorite beat from “Put You on the Game” blasted through the speakers and twirling rays of indigo lights streamed from the balcony and shone over the massive crowd like a blue sun.
Faces of all shapes and sizes looked at me in amazement and their eyes danced in delight. Some people flashed their cameras from a distance while others ran over and anxiously asked to take pictures with me. This was incredible! People were practically begging for autographs while confessing their love and admiration. And all of this would have been the bomb had I felt like these people were truly there for me.
But they weren’t.
They were there for Wu-Wu. The party girl. The fun-time chick. The turn-it-up queen. The girl who I would give anything to truly be . . . again...
But I wasn’t.
I was Heather Suzanne Cummings. The black-and-white pissed-off mutt. The Mexican-looking chick who wasn’t Mexican and hated being mistaken for it. The girl with the drunk-all-day-every-day mother and the sperm-donating-question mark for a father.
Get it together.
My eyes scanned the cheering crowd once more and I pushed out a smile so wide that my almond-shaped eyes sank into my cheeks.
Co-Co released my arm and danced his way to the stage. “I feel a freestyle coming on!” He looked down at me and I knew that was my cue to get my mind right.
“One time for your mind!” Co-Co rapped into the mic. “Two times for your shine! Ah, Wu-Wu’s in the house! Ah, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”
I did all I could to push away and bury any feelings of insecurity. I had to kick Heather’s ridiculousness out of my head and force myself to become Wu-Wu again.
I blew Co-Co a kiss, tossed my arms in the air and acted as if all that mattered in the world was a hot beat and a dope lyric. “Turn it up! Turn it up! Turn it up!” I shouted, working my way to the stage. “How y’all feeling out there?!”
“It’s all love, Wu-Wu!” the crowd chanted.
“A’ight, A’ight. Somebody get their phone out and record this. ’Cause we ’bout to get right up in here! I got something for y’all called Put Your Diamonds Up!”
They cheered.
“Now I’ma show y’all a dance, and once we got the moves on deck, I want you to bust ’em while I rap!” I turned toward the DJ. “Drop that ‘Put You on the Game’ beat again!”
The crowd cheered as I showed them a freestyle dance where I lifted my hands over my head, pretended to be patting the world’s biggest Afro wig, criss-crossed my legs, swung my hips from left to right, slid an invisible ring off my index finger and flung it on the floor. Crushed it. And then broke out into a twerk. Co-Co and the crowd picked up the dance instantly.
“Put your diamonds up!” I rapped, “ ’Cause Wu-Wu’s back! Back on top but guess who’s not? The Hollywood trolls!”
“Put ’em up! Put ’em up!” Co-Co rapped into the mic.
“I’m in my own zone! And the next time you see me I’ma be sittin’ on the fame of thrones!”
“Put ’em up! Put ’em up!” Co-Co rapped as the crowd cheered and danced.
I repeated my rhyme and for the next ten minutes we danced, rapped, and waved our arms in the air.
I’d killed it! Straight slayed it! And there was no doubt in my mind that by morning Co-Co and I would have a craze on our hands.
By the time I got off the stage I felt great. Almost as if I’d taken a black beauty. Well... almost...
You looked stupid.
I sat down at the bar and refused to let Heather’s self-doubts sneak up on me and blast defeating thoughts through my head.
“What are you having?” the bartender asked.
I smiled. “Let me get a trash can with a double shot of Cirôc.”
He nodded. “Coming right up.”
While I waited for my drink, a few people rushed over and showered me with compliments, snapped more pics, and asked if I’d traded in acting for rapping. “Never,” I told them. “As a matter of fact, I have a few things lined up. You’ll be checking me out soon as Luda Tutor.” I winked.
The bartender set my drink in front of me. I quickly took out my phone, snapped a pic, and Instagrammed it.
“Girl, you killed it!” A smiling chick walked up from behind me and slid onto the stool next to me.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And this dress! You’re wearing the hell out of it.” Her eyes drank me in, working their way from my hair to my spilling cleavage to the outline of my hips. “Girl, you are beautiful.” She said it more to herself than to me, as she boldly tucked some of my hair behind my right ear and smoothly slid a single fingertip down my blushing cheek. “Heather, you did your thing out there, for real.”
I didn’t know what surprised me more: her touching me; her calling me Heather, when everyone in here, including Co-Co, called me Wu-Wu; or that her eyes were drinking me in again.
I didn’t know what to say so I fell back on, “Thank you.” While struggling like hell not to soak up the beauty of her smooth chestnut skin and short bob—one side cropped, the other side asymmetrical and shoulder length. Her makeup was laid to Barbie doll perfection: soft pink eye shadow, lashes that curled at the ends, and hot-pink lips.
By the time my eyes drifted to her thighs I realized what I was doing. I quickly snatched my glance away and turned back toward the bar, sipping my drink again.
“Heather, what are you drinking? Let me buy you another one.”
I did my best to resist the blush I felt creeping back onto my face. “No. Thank you. But no.” Why am I nervous? “I can barely get through this.”
“Okay.” She smiled, her beautiful teeth gleaming. “I won’t hold you.” She swept up and twirled the end of a lone curl of her hair before winking and sashaying away.
I refused to let my eyes follow her and instead, as unwanted butterflies danced in my stomach, I sank my smile into my trash can
.
This was crazy. I knew she wasn’t a guy but I still couldn’t stop my throat from being dry, or my knees from feeling too weak to stand up. Or my heart from rushing through its beats...
Stop it!
“I just thought about something,” poured over my shoulder. I knew it was her and I didn’t have to turn around to confirm it. She reached for my phone, which was next to my drink, clicked on my camera, and surprised me by taking a picture of us. Then she punched in a few numbers and placed my phone back on the bar.
She leaned into my ear and whispered, her heated breath making a trail of goose bumps along the side of my neck, “I programmed my number in your phone, and the picture is so you won’t forget me.” She turned to leave and then quickly turned back. “And by the way, I’m Nikki.”
13
Spencer
Oh no . . . oh no . . . oh no . . . ! Where they do that at? Calling someone at this ungodly hour. Disrupting my delicious dream! The cows aren’t even up with the roosters yet! Have they no shame?
I was right in the middle of sliding red-hot skewers into London’s broiler once and for all for being the fraud she was. And I was sautéing Heather’s face for spitting on my kindness. I had a mallet in my hand getting ready to season Heather’s forehead up real good when the annoying buzz of my phone pulled me away from what was turning into a scrumptious dream.
Now I had no idea how things ended, thanks to the inconsiderate person who was calling me.
Imbecile!
My phone finally stopped buzzing. I sighed, sinking deeper into the crisp sheets and warmth of my comforter. Jeezus. Now I can’t get back to my dream. I angrily flopped around on my plush mattress for several moments trying to find the right spot to settle into. And just when I closed my eyes behind the silken cloth of my mask, my phone buzzed again and again and again, slicing into my feather play. Now I was madder than a bucket of bees dipped in hot butter. I pulled my mask up over one eye, lifting my head just enough to see the glow of the clock. One o’clock in the morning. Oh, this is goshdangit ridiculous! Who the heck called at this sluttish time?
I groped at the nightstand until my hand found my iPhone. A number with a 619 area code flashed up on the screen. “Muggafugga!” I snapped into the phone. “Whoever you are calling me this time of hour, you had better make it good, or get crushed into a meat grinder, goshdangit!”
“What’s good, sweet roll?” the voice on the other end said real low and deep. There was a song by Ekco playing in the background. Picture me on top of you . . . Legs up. Body down . . .
“Grind me, baby. I love it when my meat is grinded, ’specially when you do it right.”
I blinked, then frowned. “Whaaat? Sweet roll? The number you have dialed has been disconnected! This is not a bakery! And I am not serving up pastries, you ole nasty pervert! Now who is this?”
I could hear the singer singing about having the munchies wanting to eat me up. Mmmph. The voice on the other end chuckled. “It’s Midnight.”
I glanced at the time. “Midnight? You idiot! You better do a time check! It’s waaaaay after midnight! I need my beauty sleep. I don’t know what kind of freaky mess you got going on over in your time zone, Mister Kink Daddy, but this Pacific-Standard-Time-zone girl is not playing those kinds of reindeer games.”
He cracked up laughing. And that irritated me even more. The nerve of this debauched heathen! “And I don’t see a dang thing funny! Let me find out who you are... you, you, you dream killer, and I’m going to fillet your guts! You woke the wrong one, you sleep thief!”
“Daaaaayum! You go in hard like a leg of lamb and come out falling off the bone; all mouthwatering and juicy.” He made smacking noises through the phone, causing a chill to shoot through my spine. “This is Midnight, Knox’s roommate.”
“Oh.” I giggled. I’d forgotten I’d given this tall, sexy, dark chocolate hunk of man muscle my number on the low-low just as Rich and I were finally—after two days of being fugitives—swaying our hips out the door of their frat-house apartment. And even though Rich had stepped out grinning and smiling, smelling like powder-scented baby wipes and sardines, I had managed to catch him winking his eye and licking his lips. Then he jutted out his pelvis and gyrated his hips. And my knees almost buckled.
Still, I played it off as he flicked his tongue, shaking my caboose to the left, to the right, then booty bouncing it just enough to let him see how these hotcakes were stacked.
“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? I don’t play phone games. I don’t do booty calls at this time of night. I’m not into whispering sweet nothings. I don’t do phone sex on the first phone call. And I don’t like it dirty unless it’s in my martini.”
“Daayum, you got me harder than a frozen sausage right now.”
“Hmmph.” I batted my lashes. “Oh really? What kind of sausage? I hope it’s not those little bitty links. ’Cause I don’t do those. I’m hanging up right now.”
“The thick, juicy, succulent kind, baby-boo. The kind you wanna smother with a buncha onions and green peppers, then slide into a nice, soft potato roll. Daayum, you got me feelin’ some kinda way.”
My mouth watered. And I felt my juice box getting juicy. I smacked my lips. “Umph, umph. Well, I don’t eat meat.” I giggled. “Not that kind anyway.”
“Aaaargh! Aaarrrgggh!” he barked. “Woof, woof . . . !”
“Who opened the cage and let the dogs out?” I said, getting caught up in the hype for a moment.
“Aaaargh! Aaarrgggh! You let the dogs out! Eat. Me. Baby-boo. Come get up on this bone.”
“Whaaat? You dirty dog! You even think about wagging your bone up in me and I’ma put a muzzle on it. I don’t play that. Now what do you want?”
“Yeah, a’ight. Talk dirty, baby. I think I gotta sweet tooth for you, honey glaze. All I keep thinking about is how I wanna roll you up in some cake batter, sprinkle powdered sugar all over you then lick you up. I wanna paint ya toes with peach jam ’n’ suck ’em one by one.”
I pressed my thighs shut. Ooh. He was my kind of freak. I felt electricity shoot through my good & plenty. And if I wasn’t a classy type, I would have told him to meet me across the border so I could run my hands all through his meat basket, then nibble on his giblets. But I didn’t believe in opening up the buffet to just any ole body.
No. You had to earn your way into my snack shack.
“I wanna get freaky with you and make you my nasty girl. I’m sayin’, sweet biscuit, you got me goin’ through it. There’s something about you, girl. You’re sexier than a fresh batch of pipin’ hot blueberry muffins with sweet melted butter.”
“Mmph. Well, I’m not that kind of girl, boy. So you need to go wreck yourself before you check yourself. Wait. I mean before you get checked. I’m not giving up none of this cake batter until—”
“I can’t get you off my mind, baby boo-boo. I just wanna lay all my meat out on your grill ’n’ let you marinate it. I ain’t never felt like this before so I know you some kinda special rice pudding treat. Let me take you out somewhere real nice, Spencer. Let a man show you a real good time. I know this fly spot out here. Muddy Waters.”
I blinked. “Muddy whaaat? Oh no, oh no . . . I don’t do nothing muddy; well, except for that one time when me and Rich mud wrestled topless at this ho-down in Texas.”
“Daaaayum. I know you were looking real sexy with your boobs all muddied up. I gotta box of chocolate I’d like to melt and pour all over you. I got the munchies for you, but I’m not even gonna do you like that. I’ma wine ’n’ dine you first, before I lavish you with this tonguefest.”
“Mmph. And what about Big Nasty? I know you love your petting time at the zoo with that wide-back girlfriend of yours. But I don’t do triple-chin drama. So if you even think you’re taking me anywhere, you have another think coming. That bearzilla has gotta go first. I don’t want to have to pull out my tranquilizer gun and harpoon to take her down because I will if she tries to step to me.”
>
I shuddered at the horror of seeing all the 8-by-10 portraits he had of her in gold frames plastered up on his purple walls in his bedroom. In one, she was holding a huge turkey drumstick up to her gold-painted lips with her tongue hanging out. In another, she had her big face hovering over a whole ham garnished with pineapples and cherries. Her beautifully lashed eyes were looking up at the camera while she held her wide mouth open over the meat, like she was ready to take a humongous bite into it.
Then there was a 16-by-20—hanging in the middle of two huge wooden paddles—of her wearing some ultrashort, black see-through and lace, tablecloth-type thingy with a pair of two-inch heels that leaned over to the sides. Although her knees looked stuck together, her chocolate skin was smooth and shiny. She was holding up a huge bucket overflowing with chicken from some chicken shack called Wings-N-Things.
Ugh, just looking at all of those pictures of Big Nasty up on his wall posing with food gave me indigestion and massive gas. And it had me needing a deep cleanse, pronto!
He chuckled. “Oh, nah, baby boo-boo, you good, ma. It’s over between me ’n’ Lil Bit. She’s back in jail again . . .”
I gasped. Jail? Again?
“I can’t keep doing no bids wit’ her like that, feel me? The last bid she did, she was down for six months for attacking one of the cashiers at her father’s Dairy Queen. Now she’s on lock for attacking a cashier and the manager at KFC for giving her all dark meat instead of the twenty breasts ’n’ wings she ordered. One thing ’bout Lil Bit. She doesn’t play when it comes to food. Mess over her food ’n’ the beast comes out.”
I blinked as he described how Big Nasty snatched the poor little cashier from over the counter and gave her a beat-down with them big paws of hers. And when the manager tried to break them up, Big Nasty grabbed her in a headlock, pulled her weave out, then threw her across the counter. Wildebeest gone wild!
