Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

Misty had always had a soft spot for Troy. He’d hung in there with her when she didn’t have anyone else.

  She gave Troy a warm smile. “It’s been a long time. Wanna sleep in my bed, tonight?”

  “Do I? Damn right. I thought you dissed me a long time ago.”

  “I ain’t diss you. But I got so many young bulls to fuck with, it was taking a minute for me to get back around to you.”

  “You ain’t gotta ask me twice.” Troy hastily started taking off his clothes.

  They hadn’t slept together in ages, but Troy’s dick had a navigation system that led it to Misty’s moist, treasured place. His long, King Cobra dick slithered its way into the depths of Misty’s coochie. Writhing and sliding, pressing its head against her hot spot.

  Though she preferred sleeping alone, after the sexual workout Troy gave her, Misty was too exhausted to kick his ashy butt out of her bed.

  Fuck it! Their bodies entwined together, Troy and Misty slept like lovers.

  Until the blaring ring of her phone yanked Misty from sleep.

  It was Smash Hitz. He sounded furious. In her state of drowsiness, she thought he was pretending to be in the midst of a “spell.”

  But he was serious. Smash Hitz accused Misty of masterminding a plot to steal his million-dollar medallion.

  Misty had no choice but to get to the bottom of the mystery. She had to fix this shit!

  After ordering her bodyguards, Nitro and Tank, to stomp the truth out of him, Troy finally fessed up. He’d taken Smash Hitz’ medallion as a prank; it was in his bedroom.

  And now Misty was in deep shit.

  With the medallion inside her Louis Vuitton bag, Misty refused to be driven by anyone on her staff. First of all, she needed privacy. If Smash really required ass-kissing, she didn’t want any of her staff to possibly see that shit.

  Second, she wanted to get on the road with the Lambo and blow the bitch out.

  Damn, she hated having to humble herself to stay in his good graces. Why that nigga want me to put lip prints on both his ass cheeks?

  As repulsive as the thought was, she didn’t think she had any other choice. Not if she wanted to keep rolling in dough.

  Looking extremely glamorous, wearing her finest gear, she jumped inside her new Lamborghini. Gliding through the night, momentarily taking her mind off of her troubles, she listened to music as she tried to enjoy the smooth ride. Driving fast and furiously, her thoughts were everywhere. Agitated, she switched up CDs as she engaged in an internal battle.

  Then she heard a troubling noise. Pulled over on the shoulder. Fuck! A brand-new Lambo…how did she get a fuckin’ flat?

  But approaching headlights meant help had arrived. Or so she thought.

  One minute she was smiling at her good fortune of being spotted by a motorist in the middle of the night. And the next minute she was struck by the speeding car and thrown into mid-air.

  When she hit the ground, she couldn’t get a clear understanding of what was happening. Or why? The only thing she knew with certainty was that someone wanted to fuck up her face. And that someone also wanted her dead.

  CHAPTER 53

  Three Months Later

  Gently roused from sleep by the soothing aroma of coffee and breakfast cooking on the stove, Brick opened his eyes and slowly sat up in bed. Cobwebs still in his head, he wondered why Thomasina had let him sleep so late. Remembering that it was Sunday, he smiled…lay back and savored the fact that he didn’t have to work today.

  He didn’t mind working hard all week. He loved being able to provide for his wife and child, but spending quality time on weekends with his family was icing on the cake. The Kennedy family enjoyed a simple life. There was always an abundance of food, their bills were paid on time, and Brick was extra proud that he was able to put aside some money toward their son’s college fund.

  Brick and Thomasina were satisfied with what they had. Though Brick played the lottery every now and then, it was a harmless pastime. Neither he nor his wife were wasting precious time, worrying about striking it rich or keeping up with the Joneses. And they felt pity for people who did.

  Having spent his entire life feeling unloved and afraid, Brick didn’t take his happiness for granted. Not a day went by that he didn’t count his blessings and thank the man upstairs.

  The room was chilled from the noisy air conditioner sitting in the window, blowing at full blast. He snuggled beneath the sheet. Too cold. He thought about getting a blanket from out of the closet.

  With a sigh, he threw the top sheet off and sat up. No point in lounging around any longer. Without Thomasina’s soft warm body lying next to his, there was no comfort in the cold and lonely bed.

  He threw on a pair of sweats. Still feeling a little groggy, he stepped unsteadily toward the hallway, scratching absently as he headed for the bathroom. The aromas that wafted upstairs had given Brick a pretty good idea what Thomasina had whipped up for breakfast. His woman sure could get down in the kitchen.

  Patting his empty stomach, Brick smiled. Sunday breakfast was always a feast. Always a real good time.

  But as soon as Brick stepped into the hallway, unexpected sadness overtook him. Then he remembered that nothing would ever be the same. The smile vanished from his face.

  Misty.

  The painful image of Misty’s crippled body, her disfigured face, flooded his mind. Heavy sorrow, followed by feelings of utter helplessness, had him gripping his head, with thick fingers dragging down the sides of his face.

  Frozen in place, he stared down the hallway. Though no sounds emanated from her bedroom, he could sense her despair. His ex-partner in crime, ex-lover, ex-best friend…the daughter of the woman he loved, was in the back bedroom—the same bedroom he’d been relegated to when Misty had kicked him out of her life and replaced him with Dane.

  With a heavy heart, Brick went into the bathroom and relieved himself.

  Damn, Misty. Damn. She’d done some mean, selfish things in her life, but nothing so bad that she deserved to end up like this. Misty was bad off.

  She had retained the ability to speak, but just barely. Like the numerous bones in her body, most of her teeth had been shattered and broken, adding a lisp to speech that was already challenged by her brain injuries. She was able to turn her head, and with great effort she could move her left arm. From time to time, she wiggled her fingers or opened her hand. It depended on if she was up to the task or not.

  The rest of her body was left paralyzed. Doctors had compared Misty’s condition to that of a severe stroke victim.

  After two months, Misty was released from the hospital. She spent the next thirty days at a rehabilitation facility. The exorbitant costs of medical care had completely wiped out her finances.

  Thomasina had visited every day. Hoping for a miracle, she had accompanied her daughter to every therapy session, pleading with Misty to work with the staff.

  But Misty wouldn’t cooperate. Her painful grimaces, constant tears, and pleading words bore witness that she couldn’t endure the pain of having her limbs stretched, plied, and manipulated.

  When the end of the thirty-day rehabilitation period drew near, it was suggested that Thomasina place her daughter in a long-term care facility. “It would be better for your daughter,” said a somber- faced clinician. “Being that she’s indigent, the State will cover the cost of your daughter’s care.”

  “I’m not letting my child waste away inside a convalescent home. What kind of mother would I be if I allowed my child be left somewhere lying in urine and feces all day?” Thomasina exploded.

  Determinedly, she’d brought her daughter home. During Misty’s discharge process, Thomasina had been approached by another well-meaning hospital employee who’d hoped to change her mind about providing Misty’s care at home.

  Thomasina impatiently interrupted the woman’s spiel with, “Let me tell y’all something for once and for all…” She scanned the room for anyone else who needed to get a piece of her mind. “There ain’t no
long-term care, no short-term care, no hospital, no convalescent home, no rehab, no hospice, no nothin’ in this whole wide world that can take better care of my chile than me—her momma. But I can show you better than I can tell you.” Tears streaming down her face, Thomasina snarled through clenched teeth, “Now gimme those gotdamn discharge papers so I can take my baby home!”

  Misty had been living in the house she grew up in for two weeks now. The doctors had given up on her, but her mother hadn’t.

  Five days a week, for four hours a day, a nurse provided care for Misty. Each day, at the end of the nurse’s shift, Thomasina asked the same question: “She’s doing better, don’t you think?”

  The severity of Misty’s injuries gave little hope for recovery. The nurse merely provided personal care and administered medication to keep her comfortable. Still, the nurse gave the heartbroken mother a ray of hope. “Your daughter has a long way to go. Give her some time.”

  A tortured man, Brick stood in the hallway. Couldn’t move. He felt as paralyzed as Misty. His poor wife wasn’t thinking straight. Wasn’t being realistic about the magnitude of her daughter’s injuries. Thomasina hoped that she could love Misty back to good health.

  Brick knew better.

  He forced himself to move. Took steps toward Misty’s bedroom to tell her good morning…find out if maybe she wanted to watch a DVD later.

  Nah, not right now.

  Brick switched direction. He couldn’t face Misty yet. Needed to set eyes on his wife and his son…get centered. Buying time, he bounded down the stairs.

  Little Baron was in his high chair, toying with his food. “Whassup, big man?”

  The baby grinned at his father, then anxiously reached for him.

  “Nah, it ain’t sweet like that. You gotta stop playing around and eat some of that grub your mother made for you.”

  Solemn, Thomasina poured Brick a cup of coffee. Absently, he tousled his son’s hair, his eyes latched to his wife’s. He sent her a weak smile. Trying to encourage her. Giving her a silent message that they’d get through this difficult time, somehow.

  Selecting a seat that faced his son, Brick sat down at the kitchen table.

  Thomasina put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Brick.

  “Morning, baby,” he said in as cheerful a tone as he could manage, trying his best to slice through the thick cloud of despair that had invaded their once happy home.

  “Morning,” she replied in a tone dripping with sorrow.

  “Daddy!” Little Baron called out, wiggling in his high chair, informing his father that he was desperate to get out of that high chair. “Daddee!” the child wailed.

  “You win, man. Hush that fuss. I’ma let you eat with me.”

  Comforted by his father’s promise, the baby quieted down.

  “I made you a cheese omelet. Steak and grits.” Despondency had stolen the joy from Thomasina’s voice. Sorrow had dulled her eyes.

  His cries ignored, Little Baron beat the plastic tray connected to his chair. He beat a steady rhythm, amusing himself.

  “Thanks, baby. The food smells real good.” Brick picked up the hot coffee mug.

  Noticing that his father hadn’t made a move to rescue him yet, the child became aggravated and tossed his plastic bowl to the floor. “Somebody’s throwing a fit.” Brick chuckled and stood up.

  “Did you check in on Misty?” Thomasina’s voice was a whisper.

  The question made him pause. “No, not yet. I was going to sit with her after breakfast. I bought a couple DVDs I think she might like. Thought I’d sit and watch them with her.”

  “I turned the TV on for her and I tried to feed her some applesauce. She didn’t want the TV on and she refused to eat.” Thomasina squeezed her eyes closed, forcing back tears. “What am I going to do, Baron? My child is suffering and I don’t know how to help her.”

  Brick shot up from his seat. Put a bear hug around the woman he loved. “It’s going to be all right, baby. Like you always say, ain’t nothing love can’t heal.”

  Her tears wet his T-shirt. “I’m trying to believe that. But she’s wasting away. Giving up on herself. Those people at the support group I joined…they said that Misty was going through the first phase. Over time, she’ll learn to accept her condition and find meaning in her new way of life.”

  Brick nodded. “Uh-huh, that makes sense.” He was trying to be positive for his wife’s sake.

  “The police aren’t trying to get any justice for my baby. They’re chalking it up to a hit and run, putting Misty’s case on the back burner.” Thomasina lowered her head and paused, attempting to halt the sobs that were forcing their way to the surface. “I just want to see my little girl smile again. That’s all I ask, Lord.” Thomasina let go and wept bitter tears.

  Brick consoled her, squeezing her tighter, as though trying to transfer some of his strength to her.

  One hand patted Thomasina on the back. The other doubled into a fist. Brick had been trying to keep it together for his family’s sake, but the anger he’d been trying to contain was reaching critical mass. If he didn’t get some kind of release, there was going to be a devastating explosion.

  CHAPTER 54

  Thomasina wanted Brick to get Misty to eat something—anything. She was also counting on Brick to finally put a smile on her daughter’s face. But Brick’s heart was too heavy to pull off any of his routines that used to have Misty howling with laughter. It was hard enough keeping from totally breaking down in front of her.

  It didn’t seem right to force a smile out of someone who was doomed to being bedridden for the rest of their life.

  Her petite body was broken and useless, her pretty face had been brutally disfigured. But that wasn’t the worst of it. It hurt Brick to the core to see feisty little Misty without any struggle in her. Fuck the smiling and grinning. It wasn’t like Misty to surrender to the hand she was dealt and not put up some kind of fight.

  He took a deep breath. With a DVD in one hand, and a spoon and a container of vanilla pudding in the other, Brick stepped across the threshold into the despair of Misty’s bedroom.

  She was asleep.

  Brick set the pudding on the dresser, balancing the spoon on the top.

  He took careful steps over to her bed.

  Staring down at what was left of Misty, he shook his head. This is so fucked up.

  Misty was emaciated. Losing weight every day. Her withered left arm lay limp at her side. Her hair, no longer her crowning glory, was entwined into a French braid…not as a fashion statement, but for the practical purpose of keeping it out of her face. The doctors at the hospital had patched up her right cheek, but hadn’t reconstructed the crushed bone.

  She didn’t have insurance coverage, and the state didn’t pay for cosmetic surgery or any vanity-related procedures. The dreadful state of Misty’s misshapen face caused Brick’s breakfast to lurch in his stomach. Overwhelmed and shamed by his response to his ex-lover’s pitiable appearance, he dropped to his knees and began to caress Misty’s shriveled hand. Silently, Brick wept.

  The merciless blows delivered that fateful night had transformed Misty’s million-dollar smile into a crumbled ruin of broken shards and fragments. Misty was in desperate need of oral reconstruction, but there was a long waiting list for indigent people who needed dental care.

  Misty’s mouth was a source of constant pain. She couldn’t chew solid food and refused to make any more attempts at it. The one time she’d tried, her ragged teeth had torn at her cheek and tongue. The end result had been additional pain and a mouth full of blood.

  Needing to provide Misty with sustenance in a form that she could manage, her mother religiously pureed meats and vegetables in the blender. But Misty wasn’t taking any more chances with food; she flat-out refused to eat the mushy slop.

  Looking at Misty all beat up and broken, Brick’s mind took flight and escaped to a better time—the day he had first laid eyes on Misty. He dried his eyes. Bravely, he allowed himself to remem
ber.

  They were in the school yard. She left the group of kids she was playing with and approached Brick, who was all alone. To Brick’s youthful eyes, Misty looked like a storybook princess.

  She was dressed to perfection. Socks, little shoulder bag, and hair accessories were colorfully coordinated with her clothes. A well-cared for and vibrant child.

  Brick was the complete opposite. Worn-out shoes. Tight-fitting shirt and high-water pants. Clothes that had been passed down to him from a stepbrother that was shorter and thinner than Brick.

  When Misty asked his name, Brick found himself tongue-tied. Too stunned to speak. By the time he remembered his name, he was already hopelessly smitten.

  In Brick, Misty had found more than a faithful friend. She had found someone who idolized and worshipped her. Until she’d forced him to reach his breaking point.

  No matter what her motives had been back when they were kids, Misty had taken him under her wing and made him her friend. It was Misty who had encouraged him to stand up for himself. Con- vinced him that he could beat all those kids who picked on him. Bolstered his ego until he became the boy that everyone feared.

  Yeah, she used and abused me. But I only have myself to blame. She couldn’t do no more than I allowed her to do.

  Scenes from the life he’d shared with Misty played inside his mind. Bottled up emotions were stinging his eyes; tears threatened to spill again. Brick rose from his knees and then collapsed into the rattan chair next to Misty’s bed.

  Misty’s eyelids fluttered open. She smiled.

  “Hey, Misty.” Brick struggled to keep his emotions in check. He wished Thomasina could see her daughter smile. Oh, well. It wouldn’t be her last smile. Misty was in it to win it now; there would be more smiles to spread around.

  “You hungry?” Brick shot a glance at the dresser.

  Frowning a little, Misty shook her head. Then she gave Brick another smile…this one had a dreamy quality.

  “You gotta put something in your stomach. Look at you…all skinny and everything. You wasting away.”