by Kiki Swinson
Two minutes later, I nudged her in her arm, letting her know to wrap up her conversation because I was ready to go. Fortunately for me, she took heed and we were out of there before I could count to ten. She did exchange numbers with Bintu, and on the way home, Nikki filled my head up with everything she learned about the man.
“I’m definitely calling him,” Nikki didn’t hesitate to say. “Did you see his 2008 S-Class Benz he was driving?” she asked in amazement.
I chuckled. “Yes, Nikki, I did.”
“Do you think it’s paid for?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, did you see his brother Fatu?”
“No, I couldn’t see him.”
“Too bad, because he was handsome as shit, and he had a nice body.”
“Now how did you see all that while he was sitting in the car?”
“He got out of the car to put some garbage in the trash can while you were in the store.”
“Well, if he was all that, then why didn’t you talk to him?”
“You know what? I started to, but when I thought about it, I decided that my best bet would be to try to hook up with the driver, since he was more likely to be the one with the most money.”
“That isn’t always true,” I interjected.
“Well, it doesn’t matter because Bintu told me him and Fatu own a nightclub downtown.”
“Oh really?” A light bulb went off in my head, and all I could see was dollar signs. “What else did he tell you?” I continued.
“Well, he told me a lot of stuff. But what stuck out more than anything was the fact that he said he was thirty-five. He’s single, and he lives in an apartment not too far from his nightclub.”
“Where is he from?”
“Nigeria.” She smiled.
“I see you over there grinning. You like these Nigerian niggas running ’round here, huh?”
“They a’ight.”
“Yeah, tell me anything. But, you better be careful because those men are very dominating and controlling. And not only that, their culture is different than ours. They believe in having three and four wives, and they treat them like second-class citizens.”
“I know, I heard about that. But Bintu doesn’t strike me as being that type.”
“Don’t let his look fool you.”
“I’m not. But I am going to find out what he’s working with so I can get him to spend some of that money he got on me.”
I laughed. “Getcha own damn money, will ya?”
“Oh, I am. But I want to get in his pockets too.”
“What if he’s the stingy type?”
“Then I’ma cut off his ass.”
“Well, please don’t give him any coochie until he invests some major dough in it.”
“Come on, Kira, you know I’m hip to the game. And I’ma prove it to you, because he invited us to come to his white party at his nightclub tomorrow night, and we’re going.”
“How you gon’ tell me where I’m going tomorrow night?” I asked. “And you know I don’t do the nightclub scene anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. But what else we got to do? We don’t do shit but get up every morning, go to work, and come back home.”
“Nikki, what are you talking about? We go places.”
“Kira, the only places we ever go are to the mall and out to eat. That’s it. And I’m tired of doing the same ol’ things. I want to get out and do more things. Meet more people. I mean, look at us, we are some pretty-ass women, and we are not getting any younger. So instead of letting the grass grow underneath our feet, we need to get out and see the world.”
“I am fine living my life the way it is right now.”
“Come on now, Kira! We’ve been in Houston for almost four months now, and we haven’t done anything new and exciting.”
“Believe me, we done enough exciting shit back in Virginia to last us a lifetime,” I replied sarcastically.
“You need to lighten up and go out with me just this one time,” she begged.
“I don’t know, Nikki.”
“Come on, Kira, it’s just a white party. And besides, Bintu said that the only people who are coming are the ones he invited.”
Not at all moved by the excitement in Nikki’s voice, I shook my head with uncertainty. “I still don’t know,” I said, because in all actuality I wasn’t in the mood to be around a whole lot of people I didn’t know. I was still dealing with the issues I left back in Virginia, which were going to take me some time to get over. In addition, I didn’t know how these guys were. For all we knew, they could be a couple of psychos. And since I’d exhausted all my energy from dealing with those types of niggas in my past, I refused to entertain another one at this time in my life. Now don’t get me wrong, I still craved the idea of being one with a man who respected and loved me, but the way my luck was, it seemed that there wasn’t a man out there who fit that bill. So in the meantime, I would just lay low and keep my eyes opened.
“All right, I’ll tell you what,” Nikki continued. “Let’s just go out and check out the atmosphere of the party. If you don’t like the vibe, then we can leave right back out. But if you feel comfortable, then we can stay as long as you like. It’s your call.”
I hesitated for a moment and then said, “What time does it start?”
“It’s from ten to three.”
“All right. I’ll go this time, but if we go there and these people make me feel out of place, or start playing that whack-ass African drumbeat music and all the women start dancing in the middle of the floor like they’re performing an African ritual, I am going to get right up and leave.”
Nikki burst into laughter. “I don’t think it’s going to be that type of party.”
“I hope not.” I pulled into the driveway of my home.
Once we were inside, I settled down on the living room sofa and watched American Idol. Nikki took her food into the kitchen so she wouldn’t disturb me while she was talking to her new friend Bintu on her Blackberry. I told her not to call him until tomorrow, so it wouldn’t seem like she was sweating him, but she wouldn’t listen. I threw up my hands and said, “Whatever!”
Taking My Best Shot
(Nikki Speaks)
I could tell Kira was hating on me for leaving her silly ass in the living room while I took my food and my conversation to the kitchen. Shit, I was trying to get to know my new friend without any distractions. I picked at my food and had myself a nice little chat with Bintu. His accent was really cute. What was even more appealing about him was that he was a business owner with a ninety-thousand-dollar whip, so I knew he was caked up with a lot of dough. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on some of it. I was well aware that in order for me to tap into his pockets I was going to have to play my cards right, and that was what I intended to do.
“So how long have you been living in Houston?” I asked him.
“Five years now.”
“How long have you been in America?”
“Since I was nineteen.”
“Well, what made you want to come here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My parents sent me here to further my education, so I went to Columbia University in New York, and after I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering, I worked for my uncle in his restaurant for three years so I could save enough money to open my own business. Once I accomplished that, I followed my brother out here to Houston, and we got the ball rolling.”
“What’s the name of your nightclub?”
“Club Reign.”
“How is business?”
“Business is very good. Our fifth-year anniversary is tomorrow, so that’s why we’re having the white party.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Have you decided if you and your cousin are coming?”
“Yeah, we’re coming.”
“Good. I’m glad, because you and your cousin are going to be my special guests. I’m going to make sure you two are treated like queens!”
“Aww, Bintu, that’s so nice! But I am not trying to get into any drama when your wife sees you catering to me and my cousin.”
“I already told you that I don’t have a wife.”
“Well, I know you’ve got to be seeing somebody.”
“No, I’m not seeing anyone right now,” he replied.
“Well, have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you were in a relationship?”
Bintu hesitated for a moment, then sighed heavily. “Well, let me see,” he began. “My last relationship was about six months ago, and we were together for about two years.”
“Why did y’all break up?”
“Because we figured out that we didn’t want the same things.”
“What kind of things are you talking about?”
“Well, for one, she didn’t want to have children, and I did. We used to always argue back and forth when that issue came up, and I got sick of it.”
“How many children do you want to have?”
“Three or four.”
“Well, don’t you want to get married first?”
“In my country, it is forbidden for a man and woman to have children out of wedlock, so I would definitely marry the woman first.”
“Well, have you ever thought about moving back to Nigeria?”
“Oh, yes, I have,” he responded with excitement. “I plan to go back home right after I make a couple million dollars, so I can build a small castle for me and my family.”
“Who? Your wife and kids?”
“Yes, of course, but I was also talking about my parents.”
Hearing this nigga tell me he was going to build a house so his parents could live with him gave me a really bad taste in my mouth. Was he fucking kidding me? Who did that bullshit? If I ever married a man and he told me he was building a house big enough so that his parents could live with us, I would ask him for the divorce papers because there wasn’t no way in the world that shit was going to work. Thank God I wasn’t trying to be with this cat for the long haul, because if I was, I would be up shit’s creek without a paddle!
I changed the subject. “Do you do anything else other than run the club?”
“I’ve got a few other investments, but they’re minor.” He changed the subject this time. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I replied.
“What do you do?”
“Well, I’m co-owner of a hair salon in the uptown district. Now, it may not gross a lot of revenue like your nightclub, but it damn sure pays the bills.”
“What’s the name of your salon?”
“It’s called Creative Images.”
“In what part of the district is it located?”
“It’s on Monroe Street, near the Greyhound bus station.”
“I know where that is. Do you do hair yourself?”
“Sometimes I’ll wash a couple of the stylists’ client’s hair or prep them for a relaxer or what have you, but normally I handle the receipts and the paperwork for the day-to-day operations.”
“What about your cousin? Does she do hair?”
“Yep, she sure does. As a matter-of-fact, she’s the other owner.”
“Is she married?”
Shocked by his question, I hesitated for a bit and then answered, “No. Why?”
“Because my brother Fatu is very fond of her. He talked about how beautiful she was all the way to the nightclub.”
“Well, I’ll make sure I tell her that after I get off the phone with you.” I had no intention whatsoever of telling Kira that she had been the main subject of the brothers’ conversation. I mean, why should I? All it was going to do was go to her head. Besides, I was tired of standing in her shadow! I was much prettier than she was, and if they couldn’t see that, then something was definitely wrong with their eyes. Not only that, I had my eyes on Fatu first, so why was he sweating Kira? She wouldn’t give him the time of day, which was another reason why I wouldn’t waste my time telling her. Fatu was not her type, so to hell with them both.
Our conversation lasted another ten minutes and then we called it a night. I did assure Bintu that Kira and I were still coming to his party, and that we would call him before we headed his way.
Kira was still sitting on the sofa, watching TV, when I walked back into the living room. I cracked a smile at her the moment she looked up at me. “I heard you in there, giggling,” she teased. “What, you in love?”
“Hell nah!”
“Well, something is going on, because you are smiling your ass off!”
“All I was doing was trying to get to know the cat.” I took a seat next to her.
“What was he talking about?” I gave her a recap of my conversation with Bintu. When I told her about his plans to build himself a big enough house so that his parents could live there as well, Kira burst into laughter. “So, when is the wedding?”
Shocked by Kira’s response, I laughed too. “Girl, please! That’ll never happen. But I don’t mind playing like we’re married until I can suck every dime he owns out of him.”
“All that sounds good, but you better be careful, because African men aren’t stupid. Whatever kind of scheme you got cooking up, know that you’ve got to go at it hard, or don’t go at it at all.”
“Trust me, I’ve got it under control.”
“I hope so, because cats like your friend Bintu are of a different breed. Believe me, he ain’t like them other cats we’ve dealt with. You know all those other niggas we fucked with wasn’t concerned about if we were with them for their dough, because they had their own agenda. But Bintu seems like the type of cat who’d go upside your head if he had the slightest clue that you only wanted him for his money.”
“Girl, please! I wish that nigga would put his hands on me.”
“Don’t think it won’t happen because he was smiling all up in your face tonight and saying all the right things. Give him a couple of months and watch how his true colors come out.”
“Come on, now, you know I know what time it is. That’s why I’m going to play my cards right.”
“Yeah, you better,” Kira warned. “Because you’ve got to remember that we’re way out here all by ourselves, and I ain’t gon’ be able to take on your man and his peoples all by myself. So give him a little bit of coochie, suck his dick a few times, and get whatcha can, but don’t be greedy.”
“I won’t,” I assured her, knowing I was going to get everything I could. On some low shit, I do listen and take some of Kira’s advice, but I have come to the realization that if I continue to do just that, I am going to always stay in her shadow and never be on her level and I am tired of that shit. So, from that day forward, I was going to do what the fuck I felt was best for me. And if I wanted to get a little bit of dough from Bintu’s ass and fuck him on a regular, then that’s what I would do. Contrary to popular belief, giving a cat some pussy for some monetary gain hasn’t ever hurt me; that’s why I fucked around with Sophie’s ugly-ass husband. He wasn’t really working with much because he had three wives to take care of, but he did his part when it came to me. I never told Kira how he took me on an overnight excursion to a nice hotel on the Westside and then took me shopping and spent about six hundred dollars on me. I mean, it wasn’t much, but hey, at least he didn’t make me feel like a cheap trick. And besides, it ain’t like I was trying to marry the cat anyway. All I wanted to do was get my nut off and see what I could get out of him. That was it. Now I was on some new shit. And since Bintu was next on my list, I was going to see what I could get out of his ass too. Whether it would be an ass whooping or a trunk filled with dough, I was going to test the waters.
Special Delivery
(Kira Speaks)
The next day Nikki told me she was going to drive her own car to work because she had some errands she needed to run, so I went ahead and left without her. Once I got to the shop and opened the doors, all my stylists came falling in, one behind the other, and
got right to work. Everything was running smoothly. It was peaceful, and I loved it. But whoever said that all good things came to an end was right, because it wasn’t long before Nikki came waltzing through the front door of the shop with a handful of shopping bags, bragging about how good she was going to look at the white party.
“Y’all ain’t gon’ believe all the hot shit I picked up at the mall this morning,” she crowed.
“Where did you go?” Carmen asked.
Carmen was the diva around here. She resembled the singer Ciara, but with a little more weight. Niggas loved her, and she’d tell you quick that she only fucked with the ones who had plenty of dough to spend on her. Just a couple of months ago, though, she decided to settle down with this well-known cat named Xavier. People in the streets called him X. From what I heard, he ran the entire Irvington Village projects down on Fulton Street, so he got a lot of paper, and with paper came respect. In a small way, X kind of reminded me of Ricky. He didn’t physically resemble him at all, but you could tell that X’s fat ass was very cocky and he was definitely a ladies’ man. Carmen could care less about the other women, though. She’d tell you quick that she was known as his main chick, and all the bitches in the streets knew it, so that was all that mattered. She was also known around Houston for nine-hundred-dollar lace-front wigs, so she kept a nice piece of change in her pockets, along with the latest eleven-hundred-dollar handbag thrown over her shoulder. I knew she had to have every designer handbag and shoe that Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue ever sold. She could tell if a chick was carrying a knock-off bag from a mile away.
“I went up to Post Oak Boulevard and ran into Galleria Mall and had myself a ball,” Nikki replied as she tossed her bags on top of her station.
“What did you get?” Carmen asked.
