The Ex Factor: A Novel

by Whitaker, Tu-Shonda

  “Who what is, Mama Byrd?” Starr asked, confused.

  “Who gettin' married?”

  “I am.” Starr sighed. “I am marrying your son, Red, tomorrow.”

  “Who the fuck is Red? Let me find out that ma'fuckers is still tryna say they know me.”

  “Mama Byrd,” Buttah said, snatching the joint from between her lips, “if you gon' be acting senile, you ain't gon' be able to get ya blaze on with me no more.”

  “This is my shit, bitch. I'm the one with the prescription for it, not you. And who is you anyway?” Mama Byrd squinted her eyes.

  “Awl hell naw!” Starr couldn't believe it. “Buttah, you mean to tell me this is Mama Byrd's shit?”

  “Look, Starr, you know I'm on probation. The last time I was on the block tryna buy some reefer I got arrested for solicitation. So I had to take what I could get.”

  “Lord have mercy.” Starr shook her head.

  “So where is my bachelorette party? At the Foxx Trap?”

  “Nawl, not there.” Buttah took a pull.

  “The Tremount?”

  “Nawl, not there.” Buttah let out the smoke.

  “Madison Lounge?”

  “Madison Lounge?” Mama Byrd interrupted. “Is you that bitch who stole my man from me?”

  “Hush, ole lady,” Starr said. “Now, where the hell is the bachelorette party?”

  “At Celeste's house!” Mama Byrd spat out and then fell out laughing. “I know that's yo' daughter, but that ho is booooorring! I bet all we gon' do is drink tea, hold our pinkies out, eat biscuits, and tell lies about how happy we is to be married. Well I'll tell you, men ain't shit, 'cause I ain't seen my husband in about ten years.”

  “Could that have something to do with him being dead for twelve years?” Buttah rolled her eyes.

  “Well, how you know and I don't?” Mama Byrd pointed her finger toward Buttah's face. “I knew you was the bitch his stiff ass was cheatin' wit'.”

  “Mama Byrd, please,” Starr said, agitated. “I don't understand how you can't remember from one minute to the next but you can remember a cuss word.”

  “Oh hold up, you don't want it wit' me, home girl! Better ask about me! Tell her somethin', Peaches.”

  “My name is Buttah.” Buttah took one last pull off the joint.

  “Oh, that's right.” Mama Byrd frowned. “You that huzzie who pussy-whipped my knee-baby boy, Jimmy. I believe you worked roots on him.”

  “I didn't work no roots!” Buttah screamed. “Jimmy loved me!”

  “That's what they all say. But I know one thang, I was so thankful the day he left yo' ass. I ain't never believe them was his kids anyway.”

  “I'm tired of this coming up every few years, Mama Byrd. Like I told you before, De-niece and De-nephew are Jimmy's kids!”

  “De-niece and De-who?” Mama Byrd frowned. “What kinda ghetto shit you got goin' on? And who the fuck is De-niece and De-nephew?”

  “Enough!” Starr yelled, standing up from the chair. “You know De-niece and De-nephew are Jimmy's kids. Now we got other things to worry about, like what am I gon' wear to my party. I got to go get fly!” Starr stood and turned to go upstairs.

  “Hell,” Buttah yelled after her, “why you think I got this cat-suit on?”

  “Sho'ly ain't 'cause you got the body for it.” Mama Byrd grinned. Buttah ignored her and mashed the remains of the joint in the ashtray; she felt like slappin' Mama Byrd upside the head. Just then Buttah's cell phone rang. As she flipped her phone open, Mama Byrd slipped the roach in her duster pocket.

  “Hello,” Buttah spoke into the phone.

  “Buttah,” Monica said, trying not to be nasty, “where are you and Mommy? You're an hour late! Everybody's here and we're all waiting.”

  “Oh baby, we're down the street. We'll be there in five minutes.”

  “She lyin'!” Mama Byrd yelled in the background.

  “What did Mama Byrd say?” Monica asked.

  “Nuthin'. Nuthin'. We're on our way.”

  Buttah hung up and shot Mama Byrd the evil eye.

  “I wish you would!” Mama Byrd took her pocketbook and held it in the air. “Look at me like that again and I'll tear yo' mouth out!”

  “Hush.” Buttah smirked. “Pull up them knee-highs, fix the snaps on your duster, take that purse down, and let's go!”

  Mama Byrd fixed her clothes, grabbing her snuff and her empty spit cup. She placed them in her bag then went in the bathroom and rolled out her portable toilet with the metal railings. “Will this fit in yo' mini van?” She looked at Buttah.

  “What the hell you wanna travel with a toilet for? Celeste got a bathroom.”

  Mama Byrd placed a hand on her hip. “Why is you all in my bid'ness, I ain't asked why yo' shoes lean to the side, so don't fuck with me about my porta-potty.”

  “Whatever you want, Mama Byrd, whatever you want.”

  A few minutes later Starr came downstairs dressed and ready to leave.

  By the time they arrived at Starr's “surprise” bachelorette party, most of the guests were pissed. Not only had they been served Oodles of Noodles with a side of fried eggs, the guest of honor was three hours late.

  As Starr walked in, everyone yelled a dry “Surprise.”

  Starr stood in the middle of the floor and fixed her catsuit as best she could. It was psychedelic blue and made out of paper-thin material, with one arm completely exposed and a shredded sleeve covering the other. Around her waist she wore a blue suede belt with a round silver buckle that was slanted to the side. Her three-inch white platforms were killing her feet but she was determined to strut her stuff. She was praying that her Visine kicked in as she placed her hand over her mouth. “All of this for me? Oh my God, what is this for?”

  “Awl trick.” Mama Byrd twisted her lips. “You know what this is for.”

  “My bachelorette party!” Starr smiled, ignoring Mama Byrd. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she looked around. Starr strutted her stuff across the room and kissed her family and friends on the cheeks. She mingled with them for a little while before Monica walked over to get her attention.

  Monica shot a fake smile at the person her mother was talking to. “Excuse me,” she said, grabbing Starr by the arm.

  “Yes?” Starr said as they stepped to the side.

  “Where have you all been and why is Mama Byrd telling people that the three of you were at home gettin' lifted?”

  “Monica, you know the woman is senile.”

  “She might be senile, but she was just standing in the corner trying to light a joint. And now she keeps telling people about the batteries being low in her dildo. Get her ass right now!”

  “Wooo, take that down, sweetie.” Starr arched her eyebrows. “I'm still your mama. Now, where the hell is this old lady?” Starr looked around the room. She spotted Mama Byrd sitting at the bar with her legs gapped open and looking at a magazine picture of Steve Harvey. “I'm sayin', though,” she snarled at the picture, “wassup with us, firecracker? Let me tell you I got a mean head game, and just so you know”—she winked—“a bitch's nickname is Lipton in case you ever need a tea bag.”

  “Oh my Jesus!” Starr snatched the magazine out of Mama Byrd's hand. “Let go and stop it!”

  Mama Byrd jumped up. “You don't want it wit' me, Sun. For real you don't, better ask about me.”

  “My name is not Sun, it's Starr.”

  “Starr? Oh hey, Starr, how you doing today?”

  Starr took a deep breath. “Just be good, Mama Byrd, just be good.”

  “Let's eat, everyone!” Celeste announced to the guests and led them into the dining room, where they each had their choice of popcorn chicken, macaroni and cheese Kid Cuisine, or fried eggs dipped in grits.

  “What kinda shit is this?” Mama Byrd asked, looking around. “Eggs? I don't want no damn eggs! They make me fart! You ever smell a fried-egg fart, that shit is lethal. Y'all think I be around here shittin' now, humph. Y'all just some sorry asses! Goddamn eggs!” She p
icked up her Kid Cuisine. “Now somebody done microwaved the sprinkles under my chicken.” She turned to Starr. “What the fuck is goin' on?”

  Starr was so embarrassed she didn't know what to say. She looked at Celeste.

  “Don't look at me,” Celeste said, “I have enough problems.”

  Starr turned to Monica. “I'll be right back,” Monica said, “I need to find Imani, she's got the party favors.” Monica excused herself from the dining room. She called Imani's house and cell phone, but didn't receive an answer. As she went to dial Walik's mother's number, the doorbell rang.

  Hoping and praying that it was Imani, Monica snatched the door open.

  “ 'Sup, niggah?” Imani's friend Sabrena snapped her neck. “Tasha parking the car and there go Quiana coming up the block.”

  “Hi, Sabrena,” Monica said drily. “Have you seen Imani?”

  “No, I thought she would've been here.”

  “Well, she's not. She was supposed to drop Jamal off with Walik's mother and then catch the train here.”

  “ 'Sup, Monica?” Quiana and Tasha said, now standing beside Sabrena.

  “Nothing, come on in, girls.”

  As soon as the girls walked into the living room Mama Byrd spotted them. “My niggahs! West Side.”

  “Mama Byrd,” they whined in unison and ran to give her a hug.

  When I find Imani I'ma cuss her ass the fuck out! Monica thought as she walked back into the kitchen and dialed Imani's cell phone again. No answer. She called Walik's mother.

  The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Who dis?”

  Monica knew right away it was Jamal. “Who dis?” Monica frowned.

  “Yeah, that's what I said, who dis? Dis the ‘Free Walik' party.”

  “I'ma beat yo' ass, li'l boy! Who you talkin' to?”

  “Oh, Aunty, I didn't know that was you.”

  “I bet you didn't know it was me. Where is your mother? And what is all that noise in the background?”

  “Imani right here talking to Walik. My grandma over here having a get-free party for my daddy.”

  “A what?”

  “A party. He free.”

  “What do you mean he's free?”

  “The niggah outta jail, Aunty.”

  “Watch your mouth. Now let me speak to your mother.” “Imani, phone!” Jamal yelled.

  Monica was seething. Imani picked up the phone. “Who dis?”

  “I swear to God I should just walk over there and punch you in the goddamn face! Why the hell aren't you here?”

  “I'm coming. Jamal's grandmother was having a little get-together and I got caught up.”

  “Bitch! Stop lying! What kind of get-together?”

  “A family gathering.”

  “For what?”

  “ 'Cause she wanted to have one.”

  “Is Walik out of jail?”

  “Noooo, he's not. He'll be out next week, though.”

  “Stop lying! Jamal just told me that his grandmother was having a get-free party for Walik.”

  “That makes no sense, Monica. Why would she be having a get-free party if he's already home?”

  “You tell me!”

  “Monica—”

  “Don't Monica me. What the hell is really wrong with you? Where were they when he was beatin' yo' ass or better yet, when you were locked the fuck up for six months without a bail?”

  “Oh God, here we go. These are my in-laws!” Imani snapped.

  “In-laws! Bitch, you ain't married! You just a baby mama. Period. Get your shit untwisted. Trust me, they gon' be in-laws to you and whatever other bitch that lowlife got in the street. Just remember those'll be the same triflin' assess that'll turn on you when the shit go down again. I can't believe you would pull something like this!”

  “Did I say I wasn't coming?”

  “Are you here?” Monica yelled.

  “No, but I'll be there. Plus, the wedding is tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Monica smirked. “I'm glad you remembered. Will you be here or is this get-free party lasting for two days?”

  “Whatever, yo.” Imani sucked her teeth. “You just hatin” cause you don't have a man.”

  “Don't you worry about it and furthermore, keep me lonely if I gotta have somebody like Walik's triflin' can't-stay-outta-jail sorry ass!”

  “Monica, I don't have to listen to this!”

  Monica was too disgusted to keep speaking to Imani so she hung up on her and walked back into the dining room. There she saw that most of the guests were even more disgusted than when she'd left. “These bitches is servin' Care Bear fruit snacks for dessert,” Mama Byrd said, shaking her head. “And they call me crazy.”

  Before anyone could comment, spotlights shot back and forth across the room with one shining toward the door. In walked a six-foot-three-inch man with large muscles, cornrows braided straight to the back, and a well-fitted tailor-made gray Versace suit. As the man started to dance, Ready for the World's “Let Me Love You Down” began to play.

  “Awwl shit!” Starr started bouncing her shoulders.

  “Take it off!” Mama Byrd yelled, “take it all off!”

  Slowly the dancer started peeling his clothes off. He stared at Starr seductively and pointed his finger, motioning her to come to him. Starr placed her hand over her heart. “Oh Lord, what are you going to do to me?”

  “Stand here and watch me,” the dancer demanded as the music played.

  “Do that shit, baby!” Mama Byrd yelled.

  “Hell yeah!” all the women in the room yelled, each of them starting to sweat. Once the dancer was down to his G-string he turned Starr around; with her ass glued to his shaft he bent her over and started pounding. She could feel his hard dick as her ass bounced in the air.

  “Oh shit!” Mama Byrd yelled as Starr started panting. Slowly the dancer laid Starr on the floor. He moved his body like a snake, opened her legs, and made motions with his head as if he were eating her pussy.

  Monica and Celeste couldn't believe their eyes. They didn't know whether to be embarrassed or in shock. Starr lay on the floor with her legs gaped open and shaking as if she suffered from epilepsy.

  Once the dancer worked Starr over, he walked over to Buttah and pushed her against the wall. He bit each of her nipples. She felt chills running through her body.

  The other women couldn't control themselves and started putting dollar bills in his G-string.

  “Let me see that dick, ma'fucker!” Mama Byrd yelled.

  “Oh, you want some?” the dancer asked Mama Byrd.

  “Bring it on, baby boy, bring it on.”

  “Can you handle this?”

  He walked over to Mama Byrd, and immediately she turned around, lifted her duster over her ass, and bent down. “Hit it, niggah, hit it!”

  The dancer started banging her in the ass. She turned around, dropped to the floor, and spread her legs. “I want you to make me have a seizure.”

  “Mama Byrd!” Imani's friend Sabrena yelled. “What is that between your legs?”

  “Gray carpet!” Mama Byrd yelled. “Now, come on, firecracker,” she invited the dancer, “ 'cause this ole clit need a flame lit!”

  (Monica)

  “YOU KNOW WHAT I wonder?” Celeste spoke into a stream of smoke after the guests had left. She watched Monica hang up her electric-blue bridesmaid's gown and then pull out a black silk nightgown from her overnight bag. “I wonder if she ever thinks about what she's doing to my family.”

  Monica cocked her neck to the side. “Who is ‘she'?”

  “The other woman.” Celeste took a drag.

  “Why are you thinking about some shit like that?” Monica took the rest of her things from her bag. “Cool it with the bullshit, please. The guests just left and despite the grits used for dip, somehow we pulled this evening off. Now Ma and the rest of her old-ass-ghetto-wedding crew are downstairs trying to sleep. Why can't you just chill, damn!”

  “Fuck chill. Chill ain't done shit for me but make me fat
and have another bitch sleeping with my man.”

  “Oh God,” Monica sighed. “Why don't you stop acting so innocent? Like everything is always so perfect until someone else comes along and messes it up. Take some responsibility.”

  “Responsibility?” Celeste mashed her cigarette in the ashtray and immediately lit up another one. “I can't believe you, but I forgot you don't know shit about how I feel because no man of yours ever stayed around long enough to count.”

  “I'm not the one being cheated on, sweetie. Let me inform you,” Monica looked at Celeste and smirked, “I steal, I don't get stole on.”

  “And you're still alone.” Celeste blew out the smoke. “So spare me. Need I remind you of what Mommy went through with yo' daddy?”

  “Don't talk about my daddy!”

  “Why shouldn't I? He's the one that fucked up our family!”

  “Bitch, please!” Monica looked Celeste up and down. “Yo' daddy was a basehead and you look just like him with that cigarette stuck in yo' mouth! Mommy didn't want him, get the fuck over it.”

  “My father wasn't a basehead, tramp!”

  “Tell it to the morgue, I don't give a damn.”

  “Bitch!”

  “Correction, Ms. Bitch!”

  “Yeah, Ms. Bitch with the rotten-ass womb. Let's see if your one fallopian tube makes you another baby!”

  “What?” Tears rushed to Monica's eyes.

  “Yeah, I said it and what?”

  “I'ma get the fuck away from you because right about now I feel like punching you dead in the mouth!” Monica grabbed her car keys. “Dumb bitch!” She ran down the stairs and slammed the door behind her.

  As Monica hopped in her car, Sharief parked his Excursion directly behind her. He threw the SUV in park, hopped out, and opened the back door to wake his sleeping children.

  Monica rolled her window down. “Could you move, please!”

  “Woooo, homes, slow it down.” He looked at his watch. “Where are you going?”

  “I'm getting the fuck outta here before I end up beating your wife's freckle-faced ass! I'm going to a motel—”