by Ni-Ni Simone
“Lil Bit done went too far this time. She’s really broken my heart.” He sniffled. “They saying she might get two years this time. I’m done. I can’t keep holdin’ on to WWE wrestlers with state numbers. I need me a lil sweet thing-thing with some class and style who I can seed ’n’ breed. I’m tryna be a family man one day.”
I stifled a yawn, glancing over at the time. I wanted to scream. I couldn’t believe that I’d been on the phone with him for almost an hour already. Ooh, sinful! I liked him. He was different from all the other boys I’d talked to, or snuck off with. After spending two days in hiding and getting to know him, Midnight talked my talk. And for the first time, I felt like I might have met a man who’d appreciate good sexual energy. I felt like I might be able to unleash my inner sex goddess and behold the purple and gold.
Mmmph. Heat shot through me as I closed my eyes and envisioned his long athletic legs wrapped in his long johns with one leg purple and the other leg gold. Sweetjeezus! It took everything in me to stay a lady and keep the tramp in the box.
I know he was all manly and rugged. He was an ole horny corndog with oodles of noodles of sex appeal, who liked lots and lots of hot nastiness. But after my disastrous two-week fling with Anderson, I wasn’t about to chance investing a lot of time and energy and good lingerie and panty sets on another confused trash-licker. Before I made any commitments to go anywhere with him, I had to know, “Are you one of those tri-sexuals who likes to drop the soap in the shower? I mean. It’s okay if you are. But I don’t go that way. I don’t bump purses or rub kitty-kitty meow-meows.”
He laughed. “Oh, nah, nah, ma. I’m all man, lamb chop. And the only kitty I’m tryna hear meow-meow is yours. Arf! Arf! Woof, woof, woof, aroooooo . . .”
I giggled at all of his silly barking sounds. Then kindly told him, “Heel, boy. Roll over. If you want to get a treat out of me, then you need to call me at a decent hour and ask me properly.”
“Daayum. That’s how you gonna—”
“Goooood niiiiiight, Midniiiiight,” I said in a singsong voice. “Get your thoughts right. And call me in the daylight.” I giggled, ending the call. I smiled. Pulled down my night mask, laid my head back on one of my fluffy pillows, closed my eyes, then this time instead of counting all of Rich’s dusty pigeon moments in my head, I counted the number of freaky ways I was going to rock, bounce, and roll the purple and gold off of that long-legged stud daddy.
14
Heather
“Are you ready to serve the rest of them tricks sweet-fishrealness?” Co-Co spoke into the early morning breeze as we sat parked along the edge of the Royal Palms cliff, silhouetted by the rising sun.
“Trying to be,” I said with my head back and eyes closed, soaking in the feel of my new hot-pink ’57 Chevy convertible—top down, hydraulics up. I gave that old lady tin can crap of a car Spencer gave me to my new landlord as part of my security deposit.
I could feel Co-Co turn toward me. “Tryin’ to be?”
I opened my eyes and the corners of his gloss-covered lips curled as he repeated while snapping his fingers, “Tryin’ to be? What kind of business is tryin’, bish? You ’bout to be Luda Comin’-for-Throats Tutor! Better get your life, honey! We don’t have no time for tryin’. You better snatch, slay and lay them pampered trolls. The same way you did on that stage!” He flipped down the visor, looked at himself in the mirror, and fluffed the blond curls in his lace front. “Tryin’? Mmph, you better live.” He ran his hands down the sides of his black beard.
“Things are not that easy for me, Co-Co.”
Co-Co’s deep brown gaze drank me in. His press-on lashes batted rapidly. “What’s not easy for you? Or are those code words for ‘I’ma slice my wrists’? How about you spare me the suicide speech and save us all the trouble now, jump off the cliff, and leave me this new whip.” He ran his hands across the dashboard. “ ’Cause I’m not doin’ this. And as a representative of the Fierce Nation, I’m here to tell you that that ain’t hot. At. All.” He looked me over. “That new body has no room for you to be Miss Dumb-azz. Miss Dull-azz Sunshine. Major fail.”
Oh no he didn’t! Not Mister Near-Dead himself! What? Did he see the light and now he was trying to give me advice ? Oh, I don’t think so.
I was pissed. And it had crossed my mind to read this queen for filth, but I didn’t. The only thing we didn’t do together was panty drop. Still. That didn’t give this boy the right to come at me crazy. Slow down, low-down.
I picked up my sixteen-ounce bottle of vodka-spiked Coke and my eyes combed him slowly.
He grunted. “Don’t do it, bish. Don’t tell me you have crossed over the line and are now a sensitive fish. Oh honey, see this is what I can’t do: feelings on the sleeve. Look, I just need you to get in order. Your fans need you to make a comeback. And right now you are scaring me. What happened to my Wu-Wu? What happened to last night? Bring her back. Seems like you might be the one puttin’ your diamonds up ’cause you’re about to lose it!”
Spencer’s and everyone else’s voice rang in my head. “She’s dead. D-E-A-D.”
Co-Co gasped. “Who told you that? Wu-Wu is not dead! I don’t know where you got that news from, but you’ve been misinformed. Wu-Wu is back. B-A-C-K. New body. New rack. New stack!”
“Wu-Wu is not coming back, Co-Co. I was fired. I was in rehab for thirty days. Went away. Came back. And they are still coming for me and talking about I was the reason for Wu-Wu being canceled—”
“Lies, fairy tales, and fallacies. Oh no. The only thing we’re going to cancel is this conversation. Now if they’re talking then let ’em talk. As long as they’re talking it means you’re droppin’ heat. You need to snap out of it. Toss your drink back and tell me what else is going on. I need to know where you got that new behind, that new driver, and this ride. ’Cause last I checked you were two steps from skid row.”
My eyes fluttered up and then dropped over at him. “Spencer gave me three million for my troubles.”
A shadow of shock covered his face but as quickly as it came, it left. “Mmph, that’s the least that sloppy fish could do! Bottom scraper. Condom eater! Jealous trick. I can’t stand her.”
I chuckled. “Down, girl. Down. Relax. Put the claws back. Spencer’s been on her best behavior.”
He pursed his lips. “For now.”
“Exactly. For now.” I smiled, enjoying the irritation gleaming in his eyes and the hate causing his lips to curl. “Did I ever tell you about Spencer and one of your ex–lil daddies?” I tossed it out there for no other reason than to be messy—oh, and to add to his misery.
He gasped. “What?”
I smiled and rocked a little in my seat. “Well, let me tell you who ole gutter-mouth Spencer was suckin’ down.”
“Who, bish, who?”
“Your old boo. You know the one you tried to turn out but failed.”
“Girl, give me a name. You know those straight boys be taking me through changes.”
I twisted my body toward him and said, “Anderson Ford.”
“Chile, boo!” A gust of air rushed from between his lips. He paused. Raked over his thoughts and did his best to reel himself back in. “Do you really think I give a damn? Spare me. That trashy fish can have that closet queen. Movin’ on. I don’t even wanna talk about him, her, or it.”
I blinked my eyes. “So are you over him? Remember, he’s the reason why you wanted to cross over to the dark side and instead you ended up in the hospital with your liver practically burst open and your stomach practically gutted out.”
Don’t do me, bish!
He jumped up and down in his seat. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it, bish! You being a raunchy twat right now. You tryin’ to serve me sour sushi. Attention, shoppers: clean up in aisle three ’cause this bish is tryna do me. I did not try to kill myself over him. Now next story. Movin’ on. Shall we talk about the articles written about you? ’Cause there’s quite a few.”
He pulled out his iPhone, tapped the screen, and
read, “ ‘BRONZED & BARE: Heather Cummings, who gained stardom in 2010 playing the rambunctious and very mischievous teenager Wu-Wu Tanner on the once-popular comedy series The Wu-Wu Tanner Show, slung a string of profanity at paparazzi after an interview turned nasty. She then bent over and flashed her newly implanted assets after becoming angered by paparazzi for questioning her on her drinking, drugging, and rumors of dating R & B sensation Haneef. Although the once adored teen star denied being under the influence of alcohol, a source who staffed the bar on the day of the incident confirmed Heather’s drink of choice was a bottle of Cognac . . . ’ ”
Co-Co cleared his throat. “So it looks to me like somebody needs to stay the eff outta my boxers and dig up in their own panties.”
“Why are you being all sensitive?”
“I’m a man. And I am not sensitive, but I will slice you down. Now I’m done with this. You will not turn my party out, down, or around!” Co-Co bounced as he turned on the radio and T.I.’s In Da Streets filled the car and floated out into the new day. “You have got me all worked up.” He reached in his Hermès clutch and pulled out a pale blue velvet pouch. “And I need something to help keep this party alive.”
Co-Co placed the pouch on the dashboard and pounded it twice.
Saliva filled my mouth and drowned my tongue. My teeth pinched the corner of my lips as the sound of crackling foil made me squirm in my seat and practically gave me an orgasm.
You can’t eff with that.
Yes I can.
No you can’t.
He tossed his eyes over at me. “You know you want some.”
“No, I don’t.” I stirred my Coke. “I’m good.” I sipped, nodding my head to the music.
Co-Co rolled his eyes and then looked back to the smashed pills. He dipped his long acrylic pinky nail into the powdery pile and as he inhaled it through his left nostril I eased in a deep breath and released it into my drink.
Co-Co snorted, clearing his passageways for more. “This is that good ish, bish. Black beauty mixed with Vicodin. The streets call it ‘murder.’ ”
I salivated. Damn, I wanna die. Murder me. “Nah, I’m straight.” I sucked up the last of my Coke and swallowed hard. I did all I could to shake off the sharp pricks of jealousy shooting through my skin.
“You better get you some and stop acting stupid.” Co-Co dug in for a sophomore round. He looked back up at me and his eyes hung half-mast. “Wu-Wu”—he flicked his nose—“I hope you didn’t go into druggy hell and come out a saint. I hope you ain’t let it change you.”
“Change me? What? I’m still the same. I just pop bottles and party.”
Co-Co laughed and went in for another round. “Whew.” He patted his chest and my stomach churned. “You better get into it. All you need is a pinch. That should be good enough to take the edge off. Besides, you just got out of rehab—You can’t go all junkie throttle. No need in you relapsing.”
No.
Whatchu scared for?
I ain’t never scared.
“You say the streets call it what?” I smirked.
“Murder.” Co-Co wiggled his nose, passing me the foil. “Get ready to die, bish.”
Sweet beads of sweat gathered in my palms as I held my way to heaven. I took in a deep breath, dipped my finger in, and a few minutes later I could’ve sworn that Co-Co was God. I felt like . . . like my chest had opened up and I could feel my heart beat. I felt the warm blood rushing through my veins. And I could see angels smiling down on me. “Co-Co, I think I’m dead.”
Co-Co laughed. “Yes, gawd. Along with your career. Now come on and get you another pinch.”
I dipped my finger into the powdery pile, going back for more. “I feel like . . . like . . .”
“Like what?”
“Like I could go and eff Camille up.” I handed him back the foil. “I ain’t been home in two weeks.”
“What home, girl?” He held one nostril closed and snorted the last of the murderous snow. “You live in a motel. Mmph, what you need to be doing is yankin’ your mother up for runnin’ all through your money.”
I shook my head and pushed out a breath. “I can’t believe I came out of rehab and she has us homeless.”
“And to think I paid the rent for y’all. And now y’all up in some Sleazy Eight. I don’t even know how you stayed up in there.”
“Why do you think I’ve been gone for two weeks? And why do you think I’m not going back? I celebrated my welcome home last night. And today I’m moving into my new property.”
“Is it yours, or are you renting?”
“Renting.”
“Chile, cheese. You frontin’ again, huh? And how did you rent a place and you’re not even eighteen?”
“Money talks. And when I slapped the landlord with a half a mil for one year’s rent—cold cash—he proudly handed me the keys. Beverly Hills.”
Co-Co’s neck flung into action. “Oh really? That’s cute . . .”
“Is that a breeze I feel or is that shade you’re throwing my way?”
“Shade. Never. You got me confused with Camille. Instead of worrying about me you need to be worrying about running up in Sleazy Eight to claim your lil boxes and your knockoffs.”
15
Spencer
A week later
Sweet fashion gods of glory, thank you for laying me and slaying me in this Valentino jumpsuit and seven-inch red bottoms. Thank you for making me anti-back-fat and stomach-roll-free. Thank you for keeping my shimmy-shimmy under control. Now all I need you to do is give me patience and keep me from slaughtering this five-six, broad back wildebeest as she gets out of her car and stampedes over to me.
“How’s my hair?” Rich’s version of hello. Before I could answer, she whipped out her gold compact. “Oh, never mind!” She took a quick left-to-right peek at the flawless weave draped over her shoulders. Then blew herself a kiss and slammed her compact shut. She tossed a glance at me. “Trick, you already know I need some face time, honey. Now smile, Spencer.” As if on cue, we flashed middle fingers at the not-so-well-hidden paparazzo who hung upside down in a tree and zoomed his camera in on us.
We locked arms and proceeded up the red carpet. “Why didn’t you call me last night?” she demanded as the doorman tipped his hat and welcomed us into Hollywood High. Never one to take a breath, she continued running her motor. “See, Spencer. This is what I’m talking about. I keep trying to be nice to you. Trying to be a good bff to you, but you are wearing me out, honey!” She fanned her face. “You stay trying to bring it. And you know I’m having man problems. And you know you need to be on my phone for support. And you know I’m the only one who hasn’t turned on you, not once! But did you call me? Noooo, you didn’t. And this would be why I don’t do slores.”
I blinked.
She continued, holding a finger up in my face as our heels clicked against the gleaming marble. “Don’t get defensive. Just apologize for being rude and non-supportive, I’ll forgive you, and we can move on.”
I stopped in my tracks and bit my tongue to keep from taking it to Rich’s blemish-free face. I lifted my chin and waved my hand to the high heavens. I was not about to let Hogetha set my liner on fire with the slop that was drooling out of her gullet. Oh, no. I was going to be sweeter than a mud pie today, even if I had to choke to death on it.
Rich rolled her eyes. “Know what? You can keep your apology. But don’t keep trying me, okay? Make that your last time . . .” Her voice drifted off as her eyes locked on Mister Lick Him Up Fine, the permanent substitute teacher, Mr. Sanchez Velasquez. He swagged his way up the hall in our direction.
Rich sucked in a breath and her eyes popped open. Mr. Lick Him Up blinked. Then his eyes zigzagged from Rich to me, then nervously back to Rich, before quickly making a beeline down the west hall.
“Ohmygod! I need an asthma pump!”
I furrowed a brow and eyed her suspiciously. “For what?” Her eyes scanned my face and I could tell she was contemplating spilling a secret,
or trying to come up with a lie. I pressed on. “What do you need an asthma pump for, huh, Rich?”
She shot me a plastic grin, placing a hand up over her chest. “Girl, it’s just that he was so fine I forgot to breathe. Revive me.” She took my hand and fanned it lightly over her face. “Whew, girl. Thanks.”
I yanked my hand back. Twisted my lips. Then tilted my head. “Yup. He’s fine. Reeeal sexy fine. Puerto Rican give-it-to-me-one-time-fine.”
“Yes, he is!” She did a quick twerk, dropped down to the floor, and snaked back up.
“He’s also Mr. Sanchez Velasquez. A teacher.”
“Oh,” she said absentmindedly, blinking her lashes as if she were fluttering out a memory. “So that was his name, Sanchez. I knew it was something like that.” She popped her fingers and mumbled, “I knew it started with a Z.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Then snapped them open. “Oh nooo!” I choked back a scream. “You dirty tramp! You trickasaurus! You didn’t? Did you?”
Rich plastered another fake smile on her face. “Did I what?” she said as we walked up to our mahogany lockers. “Forget how rude you’ve been to me? Of course not.”
I punched in the code to my combination, then opened my locker. I shot Rich another look. “Uh-huh. You slept with him. Didn’t you?”
Rich’s brown eyes met mine and then quickly flicked away. “Clutching pearls! Do I look like my coochie is marked trashy to you?”
“Nooo! You look like it’s marked used goods!”
“Don’t do me! And don’t play me, bish! I don’t sleep with teachers. Okay. Get it straight. I am—”
“In denial.”
She cocked her neck to the right and placed her left hand on her hip. “What? Excuse you. Didn’t I tell you not to do me? I see I’ma have to get you together real quick! First off, you need to check your geography. I’m not in or on the Nile. I’m in Hollywood, California, honey. So get it right. You know I don’t do Mexico.”
I heard crickets. But I was determined to overlook her dumbness even if it sent me to an early grave. I blinked, then sniffed the air. “You know what I smell?”
