Baby stops at the bar. “Rum and Coke,” she barks at the bartender.
Another waitress comes from the floor and puts in her orders.
“Hey, honey, what is that girl’s name who was just on the stage?” a customer asks the waitress.
The waitress rolls her eyes. “Who? That blond bitch?” she asks, swiveling her neck. “Honey, you better stay away from that coochie. You might catch something your ass can’t get rid of.”
The old man at the bar laughs. “Sounds to me like somebody’s been drinking the haterade.”
“Hell, naw. I just know the silly bitch ain’t nothing but a fuckin’ retard from waaay back in the day. All her babies have different daddies, and up until a few months ago, every nigga on lockdown was digging her out for nose candy. Now she’s up here rubbing that twat on anything that moves. Shit. We can’t keep enough Clorox wipes in this bitch.”
Baby’s rage simmers but when it’s clear that the piece of shit waitress isn’t about to shut the hell up, she quietly reaches over the counter and grabs a rum bottle. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Baby smashes the bottle against that slick-talking bitch’s head and watches her ass hit the floor.
“WHOA! SHIT!” Niggas jump back, laughing.
“What, bitch?” Baby tosses up her hands and then stomps on the bitch. “You gonna act like your ass ain’t got no damn kids? Huh?”
STOMP!
“You think you’re so much better?”
STOMP!
“If I ever hear my girl’s name come out your mouth again—”
STOMP!
“I will—”
STOMP!
“FUCK—”
STOMP!
“YOU—”
STOMP!
“UP!”
STOMP!
“Goddamn!” A man laughs, pointing at the whimpering waitress.
At long last, the club’s two muscle-headed bouncers push and shove their way back to the bar. One grabs Baby around the waist, locking her arms at her side and then lifting her up like she weighs nothing.
“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” Baby kicks and swings, trying to reach her gat, but the nigga who’s manhandling her ain’t playing that shit.
“I knew it was just a matter of time before your carpet-munching ass nut the fuck up,” he growls.
“FUCK YOU, MUTHAFUCKA!”
The music keeps blaring and the chick on the stage isn’t getting any love, because everyone’s attention is focused on the drama Baby has stirred up. Some whoop and holler even though they don’t know what the fuck is going on.
The moment the bouncer hip-bumps the exit door, Baby is airborne, and when she hits the concrete, she’s sure the nigga’s broke something because her leg hurts like a muthafucka. Still, she scrambles to get up, and when she does, the bouncers have two pistols aimed right at her head.
“I wouldn’t even think about it, homey,” Dwight, the meatier of the two ugly muthafuckas says. “You need to take your ass home and sleep that shit off.”
Baby hesitates, at least long enough to allow reality and common sense to sink into her head. “A’ight, nigga. Whatever.” She pinches the ridge between her eyes as if that will somehow stop the spinning that’s going on in her head.
The bouncers lower their weapons. “Seriously, Baby, you need to consider yourself lucky, because I know for a fact Python was planning on firing that bitch at the end of her shift. If it wasn’t for that, I would’ve been ordered to rock your ass to sleep out here. You don’t take food out of a nigga’s mouth. You feel me?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She pops a squat on the curb and hangs her head.
“Look, I’m gonna tell you like I tell all these other niggas—if you can’t take watching your girl work these damn poles, then don’t bring your ass ’round here.”
“She’s not my girl!” Baby shouts. “We’re just…friends.”
Dwight shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever.” He and his boy turn back to go inside. “Y’all bitches carry on too much unnecessary drama.” The door slams behind them.
Baby remains glued to the curb, shaking her head and fighting back tears. “We’re just friends.”
Backstage, I’m cheesing like a muthafucka while I stare at the six hundred dollars I’ve stacked for the night. The tides have turned, and I intend to ride this son of a bitch until the wheels fall off. The only thing I need to do now is save a little more and spend a lot less. With the money I’ve been pulling, I’ve been shopping at the white folk’s mall out in German Town—not boosting like those bitches working for Momma Peaches, but buying the shit with cash money. I’ve traded in my synthetic braids for the real hair lace fronts like my idol Beyoncé. I’ve been upgrading my shit as fast as I was making it.
It’s all good, because once I get my wardrobe tight, I’ll work on getting my situation right. A new man, a new place, my own car, and then I’ll file the papers to get my babies back. I put away my money and smile at my reflection. “I’m on the way up.”
Desire storms back into our cramped dressing room and shoots me a hot look. “Girl, you need to get that baby dyke of yours under control.”
I frown. “Who the fuck is you talking about?”
“Don’t act stupid. You know exactly who the fuck I’m talking about: that diesel dyke who’s been padding your pocket every night. She just busted up Aaliyah at the bar with a fuckin’ rum bottle. Dwight and them just tossed her ass out of here.”
“Baby?” I groan and reach for my jeans out of my duffel bag. “Fuck. What happened?”
“What? I look like Katie Couric to you? The bitch ruined my set, that’s what happened.” She holds up a small knot of dollars. “This shit ain’t even enough to cover the gas it cost me to drive to this muthafucka tonight.” Desire storms over to her bags in the corner. “I’m quitting this bitch. I got kids to feed and shit. I’m better off working at Popeye’s.”
I slam on a T-shirt, jam my feet into a pair of sneakers, and then race out the back exit, lugging my duffel bag. “Baby!” I glance around the parking lot as the back door slams behind me. Screeching tires catch my attention. I glance toward the main road just in time to see Baby’s Impala jet out of the parking lot. “BABY!” I take off running and waving my hands. “BABY, COME BACK!”
I make it halfway across the parking lot and give up. Fuck this shit. My feet hurt. If Baby sees me clearly, she doesn’t give a fuck. I stamp my foot and glance around. Baby was my ride home. It’s two in the morning. Taking the city bus is definitely out of the question. Calling my mother will only result in me being cussed out, and taxis don’t go down Shotgun Row. That leaves me with having to beg a ride from one of the other dancers. Fucking great.
I turn back toward the club while digging my cell phone out of my bag. Baby doesn’t answer, and my call goes straight to voice mail. “What the hell, Baby? How could you just run out on me? Now how am I supposed to get home?” I huff out a long breath. “Call me back when you get this message.” I disconnect the call and mutter another curse under my breath. The idea of Baby being upset doesn’t sit well. It’s one thing for us to talk shit every once in a while, but we have never truly been mad at each other before. I don’t have other friends, so anxiety starts eating at me. What if I just lost my only friend? But what did I do wrong? Whatever it is, I want to fix it before it festers.
“What’s wrong, Momma? You need a ride?”
I look up at a cluster of niggas spilling out of the club.
“Hey, that’s that fine bitch who was grinding all up on McGriff,” the shortest nigga of the group says, pointing. “The same one who got buck wild with that nigga and Tyga.” He grabs his dick. “I know we can give you a ride to wherever the fuck you wanna go, shawty. Ain’t that right?”
“Hell yeah!” The other four niggas cheese and lick their lips as their gazes rape my tight frame.
I shake my head and keep it moving. I don’t know these niggas from the man on the moon, and I ain’t so stupid that I’m going to get into a car with
niggas I don’t know.
“Hey, hey. Hold up, baby. I’m tryna holler at you.”
I smile to myself but keep switching my hips as I walk away.
“Well, then, fuck you, bitch!”
“YEAH, FUCK YOU!” the niggas chorus as more niggas start coming out of the club, drunk as fuck and some singing off-key. A couple of brothers start walking up behind me—a little too close for comfort.
“Yo, baby. You looking for a date?”
“Get lost.” I cut my gaze and bang on the back door.
“Now, why you got to be like that?” this sloppy, fat muthafucka who smells like corn chips says, stepping into my personal space. “A nigga is just tryna be nice to your fine ass.” He reaches out and rubs a hand down my shoulder.
I pull back and bang on the door again.
“Now you’re starting to piss me off.” Corn Chip moves closer. “I’m like David Banner. You won’t like me when I’m angry.”
His sidekick snickers, sounding like a hyena. “True dat. True dat.”
A siren blares and everybody turns to see an ambulance turning into the parking lot. “They must be coming for that waitress that one bitch clocked.” Corn Chip chuckles to his partner. “That shit was out of control.”
I pull and bang on the door again.
Corn Chip whips around, grabs my hand, and stands, tugging. “C’mon. Why don’t you come and party with us?” He smiles and blows his funky breath down on me. “I guarantee you’ll have a good time.”
I try to pull my hand back, but his grip tightens.
“Damn, bitch. I ain’t asking no more.”
“Fuck naw. We ain’t asking,” his partner says.
The back door explodes open, and everybody jumps back when Python darkens the threshold. His black gaze swings around the small group. “What the fuck is going on back here?” His gaze sweeps my way. “Yo, these niggas friends of yours?”
I easily snatch my arm loose and rub my sore wrist. “Fuck naw.”
“Whoa. Whoa, Python. Everythang is cool, man.” Corn Chip and his buddies toss up their hands and look like they about ready to cry. “We were just hollering at your girl. No big deal.”
Python glares at the men as if he can read straight through their bullshit. “You wanna talk to my girls, you go through me. Understand? Y’all niggas know how shit works around here.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Our bad. We didn’t mean no disrespect.” Corn Chip starts backing away.
Python continues watching them until they turn and run off.
I sigh in relief and then coil Python a sly smile. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t opened the door.”
Python nods, but he doesn’t move from the door. He just takes his time, looking me over.
“My, um, ride seems to have left me stranded,” I toss into the silence. “I guess I’ll just have to hang around here a little longer.”
Python finally shrugs his big shoulders. “Or I could give you a lift home.”
My full lips bloom into a bright smile. I recognize an opportunity when I see it. “Thanks. I’d love a ride home.”
24
Ta’Shara
“You’re going where?” Essence asks, staring and blinking at me like a deer caught in the headlights.
“I’m going to a party with Profit,” I say, twirling around in front of my bedroom mirror. “And don’t you dare rat me out to my parents. I told them we’re going to the mall to shop for prom dresses.”
Essence shakes her head and starts backing toward the door. “Nah. Nah. I don’t want my name involved in none of this shit.”
I glance up and see that she’s serious. “E, don’t punk out on me.” I rush over and pull her back over to the bed. “I really, really need you.”
“No. You need to get your head examined. Haven’t you been in enough trouble as it is? I mean, damn, girl. Do you need a brick building to fall on your head? You’re going to a party where it’s gonna be wall-to-wall Vice Lords and you asked that nigga to the prom?”
“Look, everybody knows we’re together now. There’s no reason for us to keep creeping. I’m Profit’s woman. Now and forever. People need to start getting used to it.”
“People meaning your sister?” Essence challenges.
“Especially my sister,” I say. “It’s past time for me to take a stand and live my life the way I want to live it. She made her choices, and now it’s time that I make my own.”
“Uh-huh. What happened to all those other dreams? You know, about becoming a doctor? You hardly come to school anymore, and when you do, you cut class. You got an F in biology this quarter. Damn. At least I got a D.”
I don’t want to hear none of this shit right now, and I can’t believe that I have to beg my best friend to have my back right now. “Don’t stress me, E. Tracee and Reggie have already done that.”
She folds her arms and taps her foot like she my second mother or something. “And what did they say?”
“Are you for real?”
Essence just stares me down while her neck snakes like a cobra.
“I promised them that I’ll get my grades up this quarter—and I will. Good Lord, it’s like my first bad report card since I’ve been here. Cut me a break.”
E is still shaking her head at me. “You’re tripping, Ta’Shara. That nigga got you straight sprung, and you ain’t thinking clearly no more. You used to know how this shit works. You used to know how many niggas have been dropped because of fucked-up street politics. It doesn’t matter that you’re not in the game. It doesn’t matter that Profit’s not in the game. You’re both fuckin’ pawns because of blood. GD versus VL. That shit don’t mix.”
“Pawns?”
“Yes, pawns, bitch. I know a thing or two about chess. And I know enough to know that you are in a fucked-up situation, but if you’re as smart as your damn GPA used to suggest, then you’ll cut this nigga loose until y’all can roll up out of this city.”
I ain’t trying to hear this shit. She’s just making a mountain out of a molehill. “Look. I understand your concern and I appreciate it. I really do, girl. But I gotta start taking a stand for the things that I want—and I want to be Profit’s girl. There’s plenty of niggas whose families are in different gangs. This is no different.”
“Different gangs?” E snatches her arm away from me. “You’re thinking about joining the Vice Lords? You’re going to become a Flower?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“That’s exactly what you just said.” She jams her hands against her hips and stares me down like I’m something that just slithered out from under a rock. “You become a Flower, bitch, we enemies. Real talk.”
“How can you say that? Profit has been cool with you from day one. Has he dropped dime about that gun? Has he told anyone that you were there at the hospital that night?”
Panic lights my girl’s eyes. “And he better not either.”
“He won’t. Nobody is ever going to know. You got my word on that. I just need you to help me out right now. I’d do it for you.”
Essence doesn’t look convinced.
“I’m not joining the Vice Lords. I swear.”
She still hesitates like I’m asking her to give me her damn kidney. “And we will never be enemies,” I add. “Never.”
At last, Essence draws a deep breath. “Girl, I sure hope that you know what you’re doing.”
I do, too.
Twenty minutes later, Essence pulls up outside the food court at Wolfchase Mall. No sooner do I step out of her beat-up Ford Escort than Profit pulls up in a sweeeet as fuck silver Range Rover with some crazy-ass rims that has every nigga in the parking lot checking out his ride.
“Hey, sexy. You want a ride?” Profit hits me with his perfect white smile and deep-pitted dimples while he turns down the bass bumping from his speakers. He’s looking really fine with just a pair of black jeans, a fresh white T, and a single gold chain looped around his neck.
&n
bsp; “Way not to draw attention to yourself,” I criticize, reaching for the passenger door and hopping inside.
“What’s the problem?” he asks as I settle into my seat. “I thought we were busting out of the closet? You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
Despite the knots looping in my stomach, I shake my head. “No.” I lean over the armrest and kiss those juicy lips I love so much. Maybe Essence is right; this nigga really has my ass sprung like nobody’s business. “I want the world to know that I’m your girl.” The moment I say the words, I imagine LeShelle’s head exploding and I just don’t give a fuck. It’s my life and she needs to fall the hell back.
We can hear the party long before we roll down Ruby Cove. Even though I spent the last couple of days preparing myself for this moment, my nerves are frayed and I’m chewing on my nails. What the hell was I thinking? What if some shit pops off and Profit can’t protect me? My razor game is tight, but I can’t fight off an army of Vice Lords and Flowers.
Profit takes one glance at me and starts laughing. “Chill, baby girl.” He takes my hand and brushes a kiss against my knuckles. “It’s gonna be all right. Ain’t nobody going to trip. You’re my guest. Everybody is gonna be cool.”
“Fat Ace is going to be there?”
“Better be. He’s the one who’s throwing me the party.”
“Throwing you…?” I turn in my seat. I thought we were just going to a regular block party. “What’s the occasion? Your birthday isn’t until July twenty-third.”
His smile broadens as he kisses my hand again. “Glad to see that you memorized it.”
“And what’s mine?”
“Ummm.”
I snatch my hand way. “You better be playing.”
“May fourth.” He winks at me. “Now don’t you feel stupid?”
“No—because it’s May fifth.” I reach over and mush him in the head. “Just like a nigga to not pay attention.”
“You mean kind of like how my birthday is July twenty-sixth?”
Okay. Now I feel stupid. “I knew that. I was just testing you.”
Hustlin' Divas Page 18
