The Ex Factor: A Novel

by Whitaker, Tu-Shonda

  “We're in the police station!” Starr screamed.

  “I don't give a fuck!” Celeste completely blacked out. “You stinkin' no-good-rotten-eggs, half-a-fallopian-tube slut. And if you're pregnant, I hope your fuckin' baby dry-rot just like the other one and then your infested-ass womb fall to pieces! This niggah know you had crabs? This niggah know you had a three-some, fucked a bitch just to keep yo' man, and the man still left your skeezin' ass—”

  “Monica!” Starr screamed, cutting Celeste off. “On top of all this I know you ain't no dyke!”

  “Oh we gon' need some anointing oil for this one, baby!” Red said.

  “Did you tell him that he ain't the first married man that you've fucked,” Celeste continued, “did you tell him that? You gon' tell me I got fat, I cut all my hair off, that it was me? That's why your fuckin' daddy didn't even want you. I hate you, Monica, and I swear to God and if Mommy and Red weren't standing here I would bury you!”

  “Now, wait a fuckin' minute, Celeste,” Sharief said. “You better fall the fuck back. Don't blame Monica, blame me. It's my throat you comin' for, not hers. I told you I didn't want you. I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted you to leave, but good-bye was never good enough, it always had to come with an explanation. Just go someplace and sit the fuck down. 'Cause guess what? I still don't love you. I still don't want you and after what you did to me I hate you! I hate you! And if you want to press charges on me for something you know I didn't do, then go ahead, because I will win. Now, get the fuck out my face!” He turned to Monica. “I'm ready to go.”

  Monica looked Celeste in the face, grabbed Sharief by the hand, and turned to leave.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Celeste screamed. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

  Starr grabbed Celeste as she went to run toward Sharief. “He ain't worth it, and right about now neither is she.”

  (Monica)

  IT WAS SIX o'clock in the morning and Monica had been watching Sharief sleep for close to an hour. As far as she was concerned, everything about him was perfect. From the way his lips curled when he took deep breaths to the way a light coating of drool glazed his lips. As she brushed her hands across his soft cheeks, her phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID she answered, “Hello.”

  “I'ma try real hard,” Starr said into the receiver, “to not call you a bitch, ho. But in a minute I'ma take it there!”

  “Excuse you?” Monica said. “What did you just say to me?”

  “Oh, you heard me, dammit! And I tell you what, you got an hour to get that high-yellow niggah out yo' bed and out yo' house before I wreck shop on yo' ass. What the fuck is really wrong with you? Have you lost all of your common sense? I don't give a damn about how good that dirty-dick niggah can fuck, eat pussy, or suck a tittie, that is your sister's husband and if I was Celeste I would've stuck my foot so far up yo' ass, you would be eatin' the crust off my calluses! Now, when I warned you about sister's husband the first two times you should've stayed away, but noooooo, not you. If he ain't gone in a few minutes, so help me all y'all niggahs will get fucked up! And just for the record, I know that you are my child, but Celeste is my child too and when she hurts, I hurt, and I don't like to feel pain. So wake that niggah up and tell him he needs to step!”

  “Ma, please.”

  “Did you hear me? Don't make me come over!”

  “Do what you gotta do,” Monica said dismissively.

  “Do what—what.” Starr couldn't believe it. “Bitch, I will come over there and stomp a mud hole in yo' ass so deep that all the black will slide off you. Matter fact, put your sneakers on and come outside, ho. Mama Byrd,” Starr said, “grab ya porta-potty, I got to go and kick Monica's ass…Monica, be sure you put some Vaseline on yo' face 'cause I'ma fuck you up. And you better not hit me back 'cause then I'ma bust yo' ass like the home-wreckin' bitch you are! And in case you think you can possibly take me, just know that I have always lived, breathed, and will die in the hood, so when you come, come correct 'cause it's the fuck on!”

  “Ma, I'm not fighting you.”

  “Oh, you don't wanna fight? Hell you may as well 'cause this gon' be an easy one. It's gon' involve two kicks: me kicking you and you kicking his ass to the curb. You better recognize whose child you playin' with. Celeste is my child and the moment you decided to fuck her husband is the moment you declared war!”

  “I can't believe you're saying this to me! You have always loved Celeste more than me anyway! So I'm not surprised that you would want to fight me because she's crying. But what about me, I'm your child too!”

  “You sure are, and when that niggah dogs you, we'll deal with that. But since you're my child, no matter how grown you get, I always reserve the right to kick yo' ass!”

  “I really can't believe this.” Monica felt like crying.

  “Monica.” Sharief turned over and looked at her. “Who are you talking to? Are you crying?”

  “My mother”—Monica's tears began to pour—“is calling me and cursing me out.”

  “I sure am!” Starr said. “And what?” “Monica, you don't need this kind of stress,” Sharief said, concerned.

  The more Starr heard Sharief's voice, the more infuriated she became. “Monica!” she screamed. “Did you tell that niggah it's on?”

  “Why are you talking to me like this? You're my mother.”

  “I know who I am. And you are my child but right now you are my wrong child. And this is unacceptable! Now, if I don't say something to you, especially how you showed yo' ass in the police station, then that means I'll stand for any damn thing. And the next thing I know you're comin' after my man. So before it gets that far, we gon' nip this in the bud right now!”

  “Listen, Ma, I'm not going through this. I love him.”

  “Oh hell no!” Starr screamed. “So what are you saying? Fuck me? I just told you to do something and you're not going to do it? Are you choosin' this niggah over me too? Is the dick that damn hypnotic? You done lost yo' damn mind. You know what, maybe I better get on board with Red and this religious thing he trying to get started. I need to remember that my daddy was a deacon, 'cause I swear to God you gon' make me lose so much of my religion that I'ma have to be baptized again. So you know what, Mama Byrd go put your porta-potty back, I'm not going over there because if I do, I'ma going to jail for murder. But don't be confused, me not coming to kick yo' ass is no punk move. It's just that God is still working on me and I need to pray for you, 'cause if I don't you'll be buried tomorrow.” And Starr hung up.

  Monica took the phone away from her ear and looked at the receiver. She had expected her mother to go off, but never in a million years did she think Starr would lose it to that degree. Now she questioned how she could mend things with Starr and keep Sharief at the same time.

  Monica placed the phone back on the base, turned over in bed, and lay her head in the center of Sharief's chest.

  (Imani)

  FOR THE PAST month Kree and Imani had been inseparable. It was something about Kree that Imani couldn't let go of. The more he was around, the less she thought about Walik. The less she held her breath wondering if he would be coming to see her or wondering if he wanted to see her. Kree was different. He made no bones about how he felt and caused no confusion with her heart. For once Imani could close her eyes and not think about her man fucking somebody else.

  And Kree didn't just love Imani, he loved Jamal. He would take him shopping, play video games with him, and just kick it with him like only a male child and a man could. And somehow the more time Kree spent with Jamal, the more Imani loved him and had the feeling as if she finally had her own family…so she tried her best to avoid anything that reminded her or forced her to face how she still loved Walik.

  “Now, Imani.” Kree turned over in bed, watching Imani's Beyoncé ass bounce as she locked her bedroom door. He stroked his hard dick a little then watched her hard and dark violet nipples as she turned around, walked toward him, and slid into bed. He turned to face her. “Tell me tha
t shit again.”

  “What?” Imani asked, surprised.

  “Walik was what now?”

  “Broke,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “What was he pushing? Weed?”

  “One leaf at a time.”

  Kree fell out laughing. His hair was wild and loose. Imani ran her fingers through it. “I thought you said he was doing his thing?”

  “He was doing his thing, but somehow, his ass was always broke. Every time he tried switching and pushed diesel somebody got locked up. After a while I was like, Fuck it, give it up and be a weed man. Truth be told, I was the one paying all the bills. Sometimes I was even the one buying the supply, and believe me, my shit was limited… humph, still is, really. Anyway, Walik ain't never been no grand hustler in the street. I use to soup him up and tell him that. But shit, on the real he would've been better off pushing Benadryl.”

  “I should've known that niggah was broke.” Kree laughed. “A broke drug dealer is worse than a crooked cop.”

  “Why?”

  “ 'Cause he'll snitch first.” Kree stared at Imani. “You know, Mami,” he said with an enhanced Puerto Rican accent, “I want you to speak Spanish.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “I do.” He pulled her on top of him. “Say this.” He caressed her nipples. “Uhmm…” Kree said seductively. “El papá que quiero joder.”

  “El papá? What you got me calling you, Daddy?”

  “Just say it.”

  “All right. El papá que qui-qui-quie-ro.” Imani chuckled as she stumbled over her words. “Joder.”

  “Uhmm, Mami, I wanna screw you too.”

  “You're soooo nasty.”

  “Hearing you speak Spanish”—Kree stroked the side of her face—“turns me on. I'ma tell you what to say and then I'ma show you what it means by doing it to you.”

  “Ai'ight.”

  “Bésame.” He licked his lips.

  “Bésame.”

  Kree pulled Imani close to him and started kissing her long and hard, running his hands up and down the small of her back. He turned her over and lay on top of her. “Uhmm, Papi,” he said, “quiero tú tomar mis seno y chupar mis pezones agradable, y lento.”

  “What's with all this papi and papá? What, you got a fetish?” Imani laughed.

  “Imani,” Kree said, fighting back his own laughter. “Say it, boo.”

  “Kree, I can't say all of that.”

  “Tell me what you like for me to do to your breasts and then you'll know what I said.”

  “I love the way you suck them.”

  Kree took her breasts and sucked them both simultaneously, softly biting them as if he were eating cotton candy. Then he took his finger and started playing in her pussy.

  Imani started to moan, “Kree—”

  “Sí.”

  “How do I say, I want you to eat me?”

  “Uhmm…” Kree took his finger from her pussy and licked it. Opening her legs and kissing her pussy, he said, “Kree, quiero tú comer mi coño.”

  Imani struggled to say it as Kree started sucking her clit. “Kree, que-que qui…”

  “Si, Mami,” he said, sticking his tongue in her cum. “No worries, I got you.”

  “Imani! EEEmaaannniiiii!” Jamal yelled, banging on the door. “You finish rappin” cause Aunty Monica on the phone.”

  “Shut up, Jamal! I told Sabrena to call me before she sent you downstairs,” Imani yelled from behind her bedroom door while throwing her housecoat on. “And for your information, I wasn't rappin'!” She opened the door and Kree pulled the covers over his head until she closed it. He didn't want Jamal to see him lying in Imani's bed.

  Jamal looked confused. “You wasn't rappin', Imani? But with all that screaming you were doin', you sound just like Ludacris. I was thinking,” he placed his hand under his chin, “my Imani could do a remix with the Jam On Its.”

  “Go to bed, Jamal.” Imani looked at the clock. Eight pm. Kree needs to get up. He has to be in the studio in an hour.

  Jamal handed her the cordless phone. “Excuse me,” he said, “but don't be too long.”

  “Why not?”

  “ 'Cause Kree is supposed to call and tell me when to get ready. I'm going to the radio station tonight. I'ma be makin' shouts.”

  “It's shoutouts and who told you that?” Imani looked confused. “Monica,” she placed the phone to her ear, “let me call you back.” And she hung up.

  “Kree told me that,” Jamal said.

  “When?”

  “When he took me school shopping and to the arcade. He said that he would take me to the studio before I went back to school.”

  “Oh, for real?”

  “Uhmm-hmm. That's wassup.”

  Imani shot Jamal a high five. “Yup, that wassup.”

  Imani pushed her bedroom door open slowly. Jamal spotted Kree slipping on his boxing shorts and pushed the door completely open, almost catching Kree with his dick swinging. Kree looked at Jamal with eyes filled with shock and embarrassment. “Imani, Kree,” Jamal called, “was y'all gettin' a li'l freak on?”

  “I'll slap you in the mouth!” Imani said.

  Jamal ignored her. He placed his hands behind his head and started moving his body like a hula dancer while rapping “The Whisper Song” by the Ying Yang Twins: “Girl wait to see my/ohhhhhh…”

  Kree walked over to Jamal. “Yo!” he said sternly, “stop it! Now, I'ma tell you this while your mother's standing right here.” He shook his head. “Look, man, I wish you hadn't seen me in here like this, but let me make this clear to you. Don't you ever in your life disrespect your mother—or me for that matter—again. You are a little boy and you stay in a little boy's place. All that you did and said about getting a freak on, I didn't like it. And that song you were singing, do you know how disrespectful it is to women?”

  “No. I just heard it on the radio and saw the video. So don't blame me, blame BET.” Jamal held his head down. “Now I wanna rap ‘Watch Me Roll.’ ”

  Kree scooted down next to Jamal. “This is the agreement. When your mommy's door is closed, you knock. Can we agree on that?”

  “Yeah.” Jamal smiled.

  “Now give me a high five.” Jamal started to give Kree a high five and Kree moved his hand. “Too slow!” he laughed, pointing at Jamal.

  “Dag.” Jamal snapped his fingers. “Imani, I always fall for that.”

  “Stop calling your mother Imani too, man,” Kree said. “Now go and get ready for the studio.”

  “Oh I can't wait!” Jamal said, excited. “I'ma wear my Spider-Man T-shirt, my Hawaiian shorts, and my light-up SpongeBob flip-flops.”

  “Oh hell no.” Kree looked at Imani and mouthed, He ain't wearin' no shit like that. “Jamal,” Kree yelled as Jamal turned to close the door, “check it. I want us to dress alike. Why don't you grab your Negro League throwback I bought you, those long Rocawear shorts we got the other day, and ya Tims.”

  “Oh, we thuggin' it?” Jamal asked.

  “All day long, man. All day long.”

  As Jamal closed the door and Imani locked it, Kree smiled.

  “You know that was my jam he was rappin', but still and all baby, I had to make a point.”

  “It was a good point.” Imani smiled back, taking her housecoat off and walking over to Kree, who was now sitting on the bed. “Shut up and lie down,” she demanded.

  “Awwll shit…now you wanna get freaky—knowing I gotta leave.”

  “I know, just let me do something I haven't done for you.” She pulled Kree's boxers all the way down and showed him her mean head game. When she was done she smiled. “Now you get up.”

  “Oh you tryna trap my ass,” Kree said, laughing. “Keep giving me head like that and I'ma marry you.”

  “Get outta here!” she laughed.

  Kree went in the bathroom for a quick shower and Imani went into Jamal's room to check on him. Jamal was completely dressed. He looked so cute with his throwback jersey—although it clung to his chubby s
tomach—and his long and slightly baggy denim shorts, and his beige Tims. His hair was freshly braided, which was a new thing that he and Kree had started doing together. “Look at my man,” Imani said, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Well, what can I say?” Jamal said, flicking his nose.

  “Jamal!” Kree called from the living room. “Let's be out.”

  “Imani,” Jamal said, excited, “make sure you call everybody and have them listen to me on the radio. I'ma make shouts.”

  “It's shoutouts, Jamal.”

  “Yeah that too.”

  “Okay, boo-boo,” Imani laughed. “I love you.”

  “Ai'ight, baby,” Kree said to Imani, giving her a peck on the lips and a sly pat on the ass. “Later.”

  … … …

  IMANI RAN INTO the bathroom and took a quick shower. Afterward she slipped on a pair of jeans and one of Kree's wife beaters. Damn, my mother was right, she thought, the replacement for one man is always another. Imani had done well with pushing Walik out of her mind. Besides, thinking of Walik was too much to handle, too much history to consider, too many broken promises, dead dreams, and unfulfilled fantasies.

  For a moment she thought about calling him and asking him if he remembered that Jamal was his son. But as quickly as she thought about it, she changed her mind. The last thing she needed was Shante on her phone again, giving Imani her ass to kiss. Fuck both of 'em. They deserve each other.

  As Imani went to pick up the phone to call Sabrena downstairs and invite Tasha and Quiana over, her phone rang. “Hello?”

  “You know what, bitch!” Shante spat, “you think you slick but I saw you and Walik riding down the street in your new green Honda. But best believe I'ma blow that ma'fucker up! I ain't goin' nowhere, bitch, so why do you continue to hang around?”

  Imani couldn't help but laugh. “You dumb bitch! I haven't seen that fat ma'fucker and apparently you either! Good for yo' ass!” She hung up.