Let That Be the Reason

by Vickie M. Stringer

  “A’ight nigga, enough of that. What’s happening with her? Was the baby there?”

  “Why you want to know about her baby?”

  “Fuck it, man. So what happened?” Chino reacted irritatedly.

  “Oh, nothing you would want to know,” Rock responded playfully.

  “Don’t make me drop you. Keep your info. I don’t fuck with her. She is crazy anyway.”

  “Y’all both crazy as hell and really need to squash that old shit. Delano said her son is cute and a good baby.”

  “She be letting that sucka around my… the baby? When I see that mark, I will check him about that. Don’t he got enough baby mamas of his own to fuck with?” Chino began to shift his weight back and forth from one foot to the other revealing his frustration.

  “Look, I got a run to make. All I am saying is she got it on lockdown, and Delano ain’t giving us no play.”

  “Was that sucka Erik there?”

  “Yeah, but he was not with her, and to be honest, I don’t think they were ever together like you thought they were.”

  “Who asked you that?”

  “You know we boys, and I’m in your corner. But I ain’t going into that shit. That’s an old can of worms. I just try to look out and speak on what I see. But, it is like this: either we take the ticket Delano is offering us or you step to your Pooh, ’cause she got it going on, or we keep taking a beating like we have been. You know Pooh got love for you and would help you. She would help anyone out.”

  “Fuck that. I won’t ask her for shit. We gon’ be all right. We can make it.”

  “I can’t keep starving. It’s about business. I don’t want to deal with Delano, but I can’t hold out either. We’ve been in a slump for six months. I love being on your team, Chino, but I gotta eat, too. My pockets are hit.”

  “Right, right,” Chino said blandly nodding his head up and down, understanding where his partner was coming from.

  “I gotta bounce and make this run. Get back with me. Oh, also that escort service we use from time to time. The one that has Ashley and China. Well, that is Pammy’s service also. Chino, Pammy done made a come-up. I like that about her because we all left her ass for dead. Go ahead and make that move. I’m with you until the end, and you know this.”

  “Yeah, Rock, I know this, and I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the info.”

  “Gone.”

  “Peace.”

  Shit! Here I am taking a beating and Pooh got it going on. Well, I guess it’s not Pooh anymore, but Carmen. Where did she get that name from? I kept hearing about this girl slangin’ them thangs, but it never crossed my mind that it could be Pooh.

  Well, it did occur to me a little when I found out that she was doing good despite how I left her. Pooh got so much in her that I schooled her with, she can succeed at anything. I never told her that to her face, but it is true. I’m not surprised that she is still floatin’.

  One night I was hanging out with her brother—her real brother, Young Ty. I named her brother Young Ty after my older brother. He was thirsty for knowledge, admired me and was handsome like my older brother. So I started calling him Young Ty. We all decided to get us some girls, and Ty called an escort service that he said he was cool with the owner of. So that was her escort service too that we used? She still didn’t let on that it was her. I kinda missed her trying to get in touch with me. But she left my ass alone. I guess she was over me, which was good. She needed to go on with her life. I’m sure as hell trying to do so. I still think about her all the time. Problem is, I can’t tell nobody about it. Everyone would think I am crazy to even be thinking about her. They would think I was soft.

  After the drama, I couldn’t turn back. I still can’t believe my Pooh played her hand the way she did. I knew she had heart, but damn! I am not mad at her though. I deserved it and had it coming. Anytime you cross someone, there is a consequence. My grandma kept telling me to be decent to her. She deserved that much. But for some reason, I just started torturing her, rubbing shit in her face and acting like I owed her nothing and she didn’t help me with nothing. I drove her crazy.

  All I wanted to do was let her ass know how I felt when I found her and that black-ass Jamaican Erik at that hotel that day. How the friendship that they developed in my absence affected me. She said they were friends, and he was someone she could talk to while I was away. It’s a terrible feeling to think that the next man is taking your place or taking up slack in any area because you were in lockdown. I just thought that when I got out of jail, it would be all good.

  When we first met, I had my concerns. You know, like if her love was true. But it was, and she was always there when I needed her the most, and here I am needing her again. No one ever knew how much Pooh did for me. Then I spread lies about the baby and about how the drama happened to further help myself. I mean, why would she help me? I let her starve. Why should she help me? Would she help me? Shit just got fucked up. Then I went and got married on her while she was pregnant. I ain’t really shit. What women need to understand about me is that I don’t sweat them. Yeah, I like pretty, but pretty is what pretty ain’t. You can’t take pretty to the bank.

  I saw Pooh rolling in her Jeep on the streets, looking good with her head held high. I pulled up beside her and kept trying to catch her eye. Either she saw me and kept on movin’, or she didn’t recognize my new car. I told her brother about it, so I know that she knew I saw her, yet still no word from her. Pooh knew I was going to come around, and we was gonna work something out. But no, she couldn’t wait. Hell, she had been waiting for me to come home from prison. Then I came home and wanted her to wait some more. I got carried away, and Pooh got tired. Now I’m with my wife, and I can’t look out the window over a minute or stare off in space without my wife naggin’ me and asking me, “You still thinking about that girl?” or “You still love Pammy, don’t you?”

  One day, I just told her point-blank, “Divorce me if you can’t understand. You should be happy I’m here with you.” My wife got what she wanted—me—and she still wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy because she had me physically, and Pooh still had me emotionally. And the shit gave me a headache. Then I got me some more kids, two more boys. I love my kids, too. Problem is, how do I correct my wrongs with Pammy and still look like a man. I got enough on my mind, and I wished I could just talk to my Pooh, because when I talked to her, it was like my spirit was at peace, but I couldn’t tell nobody this either. So many people looked up to me and depended on me. I had mouths to feed, people to see, places to go, moves to make.

  I want to open another salon. But I don’t have the money to do it. Every time I drive past our old salon, I get so mad, I could spit on someone. Pooh just walked away from the salon and said, “Fuck it!” But what else could she do? So I still ain’t mad at her. She loved her salon, and I really wanted her to have it. Busted my ass so she could have it. But this ain’t no memory lane, and I have got to get some money. So, God, you know I love my Pooh. I forgive her and I pray that she forgives me, too. Can you have her get in touch with me? Pooh, can you hear me? Remember, I always told you if you listen closely, that you could hear me in your mind. Pooh, I still need you. Can you hear me?

  Seventeen

  I ran into my baby brother, Young Ty. He was supposed to be in Ohio for school, but he ran the streets with his friends and Chino all the time. He had seen Chino at the Golden Eight Ball pool hall, where a lot of ballers hung out. They started kicking it after seeing each other there several times. Word got back to me about Chino. He was in the streets all night and used my escort service quite often. I was hurt for a minute because he could have gotten it from me, free of charge, but his money spent just like any other clients.

  I heard his business was really fucked up. He was trying to get Young Ty to start selling kilos so they could work together—anything not to deal with me. Ty tried to pretend that the drugs he requested weren’t for Chino, but I knew better, and Ty became fixed in the middle of our drama.r />
  When Ty was fifteen, Chino and I became his legal guardians. Even though Chino and I were kids ourselves, we joined forces to save Ty from the streets, which was difficult because that was all he knew. He eventually got kicked out by our stepfather, making the streets his permanent home. When Chino and I separated, we didn’t know what to do with Ty. Ty would listen to my ranting about Chino, and when he was with Chino, he would listen to his ravings about me. Ty was unable to offer his sincere opinion due to his loyalty to both of us.

  Chino was like a father to him, teaching him how to dress, what to do if he caught a sexually transmitted disease but, most of all, how to want more out of life. And I was his big sis, and he wanted the best for me. And the best for him was our home, a secure and familial atmosphere. Ty became the second displaced child in our breakup. I felt sorry for him, and responsible, because I could not pull our family back together.

  I wanted to mend the fences for Ty and just give Chino some money. My family and friends would think that I was stupid for helping him. But no one knew what we were feeling or going through.

  I still had a lot of old photos of Chino and the fellas from some of their cross-country trips. But I was ready to let go of that life. That was the past, and I had been making my own memories. I wanted to give him his old photos back. One day I hoped I would.

  I decided not to work with Ty to sell drugs, but I sent my pager number to Chino through Ty. This would let Chino know that it was all good, and one day when he was ready, he would call.

  Everything was going well for me. I repaid Dragos and strengthened our relationship, and I saved more than enough money to make a good life for my son and me. Dragos was very pleased with the additional $30,000 I gave him as interest on the loss I had taken. Nevertheless, he made it clear that I shouldn’t make coming up short a habit.

  I had a nice stash stacked. I purchased a gorgeous new house in an expensive suburb of Columbus. It had four bedrooms, three and a half baths and a two-car garage. My son had a wonderful room and his own bath with all Mickey Mouse fixtures that he really loved.

  My beautiful master bedroom featured a walk-in closet finished in light wood. It was so big, it could have been another bedroom. It had built-in closets and shoe racks. My closet was on full. I had been shopping like crazy, and the boosters had been very helpful as well.

  I decorated my entire house all by myself. I purchased everything new and got rid of all my old items. I ordered one-of-a-kind furniture in breathtaking greens and ivories. I chose Italian fabrics and leather. I had plush carpet that cushioned my every step, and in my foyer and my formal dining area there were marble floors.

  I finished off my great room with a large 100-inch TV that lowered from the ceiling with a laser disc player and surround sound. I went out and purchased everything I ever dreamed of and all that was ever promised to me. I went to a specialty store just for those items that added the finishing touch to a home like vases, rocks and black art. I put all these touches in every part of the house. It didn’t take very long to exceed my prayer request. Not only had I reached my goal of fifty thousand, but I had well over a million dollars saved, a house and a new BMW. I was thinking of getting a sports car that went 180 mph in nine seconds, but I was afraid to crash. I purchased a flawless three-carat diamond ring and earrings to match. I even had a cleaning lady who did everything, including my laundry. I had it all.

  The problem was, I still was not happy. I was happy with my accomplishments, but there was still something missing. The real high of hustling is the come-up. I had been working with various new shorties and had to admit, I was jealous because it was their come-up.

  I met this one shorty as I was walking down the mall, shopping bags in hand. He walked up on me and offered me lunch. I was flattered, but declined.

  “No, thank you.” I decided to feel this stranger out to see if he was a gang member, store security or whatever. My main concern was that I didn’t know him.

  “Please. Lunch won’t hurt you.”

  “Okay, I’ll have lunch with you.” I only said yes because he reminded me so much of myself when I approached Dragos. He offered to carry my bags as we walked toward the mall food court.

  “We can eat at one of the mall restaurants or go somewhere else,” he offered, pointing at the food court.

  “The mall spot is cool.” Does he think I would leave the mall with a perfect stranger so he could try to kill me? No way. I felt like a celebrity.

  As we ate, he told me how he had heard about me and that he was looking to make it in this life.

  “Carmen, I work for someone, and they taxin’ me. I don’t even have a car or a place to live, but I’ve got heart. If you let me work for you, I promise to come up and do better. My folks live in the Windsor Terrace projects, and I want out.”

  “Right, right.” I enjoyed listening to him because it’s all about the desire to come up, because the money will follow. So I said, “I’ll think about it.”

  He refused to let me get away.

  “Ms. Carmen, what do I have to do? Kill somebody for you?”

  I thought, Fuck, this is 5-0! Then I realized by the sincerity in his eyes, he wasn’t. It was his heart, and he was going for broke. With that, he was in. I gave him the street name Cat because of his hazel-green eyes. He ended up being the best hustler I had ever worked with. Cat was married with a child on the way and stacking dollars in the process. I had no losses or problems with him at all.

  I also had a new driver named Wade. I met him at a Philly nightclub. He was the thuggish, ruggish, bone type. Pitch-black in color with pearly whites that you never saw because he never smiled. He wore a poker face and cornrows to the back, though he picked out his hair into a large fro sometimes to let it breathe. Every girl needs a real thug in her life, once or twice. She probably won’t be planning her future with him, but she’ll be having some fun. He was always rapping and rhyming as he aspired to be the next Jay-Z, always telling me, “Girl, you paid, spend that damn money. Smoke a blunt, have some fun.”

  He was a great driver, accurate and reliable. He was also a great bedroom partner. Wade was a brother who could give the best mind-numbing head. Say-my-name head, make-you-scream head. Wade was a full-service thug: give back rubs, suck your toes, pamper you.

  In the bedroom he always told me, “Lay down, baby, let me try something new on you. I’m going to do the slurp, suck and bubble blow move. Tell me if you like it, love.”

  If Wade had been charging, I’d have been paying. If he’d charged by the climax, he could’ve retired a billionaire. I called Wade whenever I was stressed and wanted to be sexed. He handled me like a champion.

  My first encounter with him was incredible. We were driving, and he suggested a detour through Franklin Park. He directed me behind some trees, hidden from the view of cars passing by. I followed his lead and pulled in behind the bushes. He began to caress my neck and shoulders with his left hand. Placing the car in park, I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, feeling instantly relaxed. It had been almost a year since a man touched me, and I was ready.

  Wade continued, “Come in the back with daddy, baby.”

  I followed him to the rear of the van and watched him clear an area for me to lie down. Wade stood outside the door as I rested back on my elbows. He removed his shirt, revealing a six-pack midsection. Baby had the body of a Greek god. He licked his fingers, sticking his tongue in between them, and gave me a sexy grin. I thought, Yeah, baby, let momma see what you got in them jeans.

  He started with my toes, sucking from the baby toe to the big toe. Next, he slowly removed my clothing with his teeth. Turning me over, he began to lick up and down my spine. His licks stopped at the crack of my ass, and I felt the warm saliva from the tip of his tongue. Wade continued, circling my asshole, lifting one leg over his shoulder and turning me over. He started giving me head as I squeezed the sides of his face, moaning with pleasure. His tongue felt so good that I didn’t want him to stop—ever. As he
slid his middle finger in and out of my vagina, I climaxed for what I believed to be the third time. It felt like ecstasy, and I forgot all about where we were and enjoyed the art of lovemaking.

  I tugged at his belt buckle, anxious to feel him inside of me. I pulled down Wade’s pants, and he was packing. Wade had no less than twelve inches of rock-hard 100 percent beef. Taking every inch was a task, but it was fun attempting to take it all as I felt his thickness between my legs.

  He moaned when he fucked, so I knew he was into me. “Whose is it?”

  All I could say was, “Yours, baby, it’s yours.” I moaned from pleasure and bit into my bottom lip with each climax.

  Wade left me depleted of energy. I crawled into a fetal position beside him as he kissed my shoulder and covered me with the shirt he had been wearing. This man knew how to make love to a woman. He didn’t ask dumb-ass questions like, “Was it good?” or “Did you cum?” When a man has to ask, he should know that the answer will be a lying “yes.”

  We got our sex thang on in between runs, but I still missed my Chino. He hadn’t called yet. I knew he was just being stubborn. That’s how he was. He once told me that love was stronger than pride, but so was the love of money, and he loved money more than anything, so I knew I would hear from him eventually.

  Sittin’ up in my luxurious room and thinkin’ thoughts of my life, I began experimenting with drugs. I had gotten that miserable. The more I had, the more miserable I became. Wade would roll up his blunts and lace them with cocaine and one day I just decided to try it. I was slipping, then I let myself slip totally and began to snort cocaine. I preferred to snort by myself; this way I could listen to Marvin Gaye as loud as I wanted and allow my mind to drift wherever. Some nights I would sit up all night snortin’, trippin’, gettin’ horny and snortin’ some more.

  During these times I wished Chino could see my home and see that I did well. He’d be proud that all he taught me really paid off. Noticing the stacks of $100 bills on my dresser, the white down comforter on my bed, the 500-thread-count sheets—I saw all I wanted, but I felt what I needed. “Damn, I miss Chino!”