Imani clicked over and called her girls on the three-way.
“Ain't she stupid, y'all?” Imani laughed. “Dumb bitch!” Sabrena said. “I betchu she feels good and stupid!”
“She needs to,” Quiana agreed.
“Oh,” Imani said, “before I forget, y'all turn on the radio. Kree took Jamal to the studio with him and my baby gon' be making shoutouts.”
They each cut their radios on. “Wassup Tri-State?” Kree said on the radio. “I got my li'l man right here… say wassup, Jamal.”
“Wassup y'all. West Side! I'm in the place to be with my main man Kree.” Jamal laughed. “How I do?” he said before moving away from the mike.
“You did ai'ight, man,” Kree laughed. “Ai'ight, now let's make it happen New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut…to all my Latina, Black, and Blanco boniquas I wanna get-get-get it poppin' …”—which led directly into Fat Joe's new song.
“That's my baby!” Imani said, excited, to Sabrena, Quiana, and Tasha. “Both of 'em! Did you hear them!”
“We heard 'em,” they all said.
“Oh I know y'all ain't hatin'?”
By the time Kree's show was getting ready to end, the girls were still on the phone laughing at Shante.
“Ai'ight, Tri-State,” Kree said on the radio.
“Be quiet y'all,” Imani said, “here comes my baby.” “My li'l man got some shoutouts that he wanna make.” Kree pointed to the mike. “It's all you, baby,” he said to Jamal. Kree looked at the engineer. “Just give him thirty seconds and then play the outro music. I gotta pee bad as hell.” Kree ran out the room and Jamal stepped to the mike.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Jamal Lewis and I wanna make some shoutouts to some people that my Imani is always talkin' about. To fat-ass Bookman aka ‘Bubble Butt' in maintenance for not telling the old lady next door that we set off roach bombs every other week, which is why the roaches keep moving into her apartment. Another shout goes out to Mae Smith at Section Eight, for puttin' us at the top of the list and helpin' me and my Imani make moves. And I wanna make a shoutout to our welfare caseworker, Ms. Phyllis Whitaker, for not reportin' us or cuttin' off our food stamps when Imani said she wasn't beat and refused to go to the Work First program.”
When Kree walked back in the studio, everybody's mouths were dropped open. Kree looked at Jamal. “What you say, man? What you say?”
(Imani)
“WHO THE HELL is that banging on the door this time of the morning?” Kree wiped the side of his mouth and nudged Imani.
“I don't know—go back to sleep,” Imani said.
Kree and Imani both closed their eyes, but the banging continued. Imani threw the covers off. “Let me go see who this is.”
“You do that,” Kree said smiling, “ 'cause I'm going back to sleep.”
Imani playfully mushed Kree in the head. “Punk. It could be somebody tryna kill me.”
“Yeah right.” He twisted his lips. “It ain't nobody but one of your friends wantin' to bust a niggah's ass, talk trash, or make sure she can hang out all day. Which just reminded me, that I've been wanting to talk to you about that.”
“About what? My friends? We've been friends since high school.”
“I don't care about you having friends, you just need to do something besides hang out with them all day—every day.”
Imani was starting to get pissed. “Let me go answer the door.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Imani grabbed her robe and closed the bedroom door behind her. “Who is it?” she asked, looking through the peephole. Once she got a clear view she snatched the door open. “What the fuck you want, Walik?” She tried her best not to make eye contact with him, because seeing how good he looked always made her pussy tingle. Damn, she thought. I hate I'm still feeling this niggah. “What is it?”
“I came to get my son.”
“Niggah, please, it's seven o'clock in the morning. And he hasn't seen your ass all summer, so step.”
“I'm taking him to breakfast first and then I'ma come back and see you.”
“You can't come see me.”
“Why?”
“Go see Shante. And let that bitch know if she calls my house again, I'ma stab her in the mouth.”
“Shante? We ain't together no more.” “Oh, boo-hoo-hoo. I'm so upset.”
“Yo.” Walik smiled. “Why you always giving me a hard time, knowing I'm trying to apologize.”
“You? Apologize? Niggah, please.”
He grabbed her by the waist. “I miss you.”
“Fuck you.”
“I want to,” he looked her up and down, still holding on to her waist, “I swear I do.”
“Look, I'm not feeling you. You cussed me out like I wasn't shit, treated me any kind of way, had two babies on me. And word is, you really married to that bitch. So naw, I can't get over that.”
“Imani, you gotta forgive me. Listen, baby, if I didn't cheat on you would you take me back?”
“Maybe.” She brushed his hands off her waist. “But you'll never know.” And she slammed the door in his face. As she turned around, Kree was staring at her.
“That was your broke weed pusher, huh?” he asked sarcastically.
“Kree, please, don't start and why are you on me today?” Imani rolled her eyes.
“On you? I'm lying in the next fuckin' room and you tellin' this niggah maybe if he didn't cheat on you, you would be with him.”
“What did you expect me to say? I don't know what the future holds.”
“Oh get the fuck outta here, you need to tell that niggah, I got a man. And you could hit the hustler's lotto, niggah, and I still wouldn't want you.”
“Oh, so that's what this is about?” Imani walked past Kree and into the kitchen. “This is about me not mentioning you. Look, that's Jamal's father, and I'm not going to disrespect him.”
Kree followed behind Imani. “Disrespect him? He cussed yo' ass out like a dog and you're worried about you disrespecting him?”
“Look.” She turned to face him. “You knew what the fuck you were getting into. Jamal is only six and I have to deal with Walik for twelve more years so get used to it. I was with him for ten years. My son deserves a father.”
“A father? Where was his father when I was taking him to get his hair braided?”
“What?” Imani snapped. “You want your twenty dollars back?”
Kree stood speechless for a moment. He looked at Imani and said, “You know what, ma, I'm too much of a man for you. You still a weed-smokin', trash-talkin', corner-store li'l broad—destined to be an around-da-way jump-off, and I am so not beat. Take your broke-ass hustler and live happily fuckin' after, 'cause me and you—we're over!” Kree went into Imani's bedroom, slipped on the rest of his clothes, put on his boots, and grabbed his car keys. “I'm out.”
“Where are you going?” She tried to block his path.
He picked her up by the waist and moved her out of his way. “Stay the fuck out my face!”
(Celeste)
“WHAT I DON'T understand,” Celeste expressed to the TV while watching Sanaa Lathan play Zora in the movie Disappearing Acts,“is what the fuck will break this niggah? I had him arrested, thinking that maybe just maybe he would look at her with disgust and despise her because of what he had to go through… then I thought that if I could punish him enough, he would regret the day he cheated on me. Well, I'll tell you, Zora,” Celeste tapped on the TV, “the shit didn't work. He walked out the police station arm in arm with that bitch, and they looked at me as if to say, Now do something! And you know what? I stood there like a damn fool telling all of her business, and guess what, the niggah still didn't do shit… not a fuckin' thing.”
Celeste flicked her cigarette. “But ooooohhh noooooo, this niggah thought that I was crazy and stupid. I got his ass, though. Wrote myself a fuckin' check and cashed it courtesy of his bank account.”
Celeste picked up the phone and called Starr. “Ma, I'm droppin
g the kids off with Monica.”
“What?” Starr looked at the clock and saw that it was eight am. “The kids should be sleep and you too.”
“Sleep? Sleep? My husband just left me for my sister and you tell me to go to sleep? Fuck sleep.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“No, I'm tired of watching my mouth. It's always about somebody else and what they think, and never about Celeste. Well, I'm tired of that.”
“You're tired of that? You created that, Ms. Thing. When you married that no-good high-yellow niggah I asked were you sure and you swore by him. When I used to tell you to go out with your friends and have a good time, enjoy their company, get you a spare tire.”
“A spare tire?”
“Yes, a spare tire,” Starr snapped, “I told you that the secret to a good marriage is a side niggah.”
“I can't believe that you said that to me!” Celeste screamed. “Other people in my marriage is what has me in this situation—”
“No, honey, you were a part of it too. Now, I feel bad, because the other woman is your sister, also my child. But there are times, Celeste, that when a man cheats on a woman that the woman has to wear some of the responsibility. No man wants you underneath his arm all the time. When I told you to get a job, you told me that you wanted to stay home. When I asked you how did Sharief feel about that, you told me it didn't matter. When the man told you that he felt like you were gaining too much weight, all you did was eat more. If the man wasn't happy in bed then you shoulda talked to him and found out what he likes and perfected it. You married him and he married you. Now look at you two. You got three kids and a damn circus act! And I'm sick of it! So if you wanna drop your kids off with Monica then goddammit, do what you got to do!” Starr began to cry. “ 'Cause quite frankly I don't give a damn. Ever since Jimmy died Red feels as if it's his calling to turn the Jam On Its into a gospel group and that's what I need to focus on, not this devilish mess! Now, I love you, Celeste, and I love Monica too, but I will not get in between y'all! And I will not hear of you leaving or watch you wallow in pity one more minute.”
“Well look, don't worry about me. I just need to get myself together.” Celeste took a drag. “I love you.”
“Celeste, you need to stay here and deal with this.”
“No, I know what I have to do. I love you and I'll call you.”
… … …
THE KIDS WERE half asleep when Celeste made them get in the car. By the time they arrived in Brooklyn, they were exhausted. As they walked onto Monica's stoop, Celeste lit a cigarette and rang the doorbell. She was dressed in a loose-fitting yellow sundress with spaghetti straps, a scarf wrapped around her head, and marble Jackie O sunglasses. She had a big straw bag on her shoulder and a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. Celeste rang the bell again.
Who is this, Monica thought. She cracked the door halfway open, thinking it was Imani doing a Jamal drive-by.
“What?” Monica snapped. Once she realized it was Celeste she instantly became defensive, determined that pregnant or not she would kick Celeste's crazy ass if need be.
“Look.” Celeste slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “Since you wanted this niggah so bad, I decided that you needed to know that there's more to him than a big dick and a fierce tongue. He's a package deal and I'm not talking about his scrotum. He also has three kids.” She tapped each of them on the head. “One…two…three… and they need to get to know their new stepmother. Don't thank me now, thank me later. You wanted my life, so here you go.” Celeste took a drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke in the air. She pointed to the three suitcases on the porch. “There are some school clothes, school transcripts, and a bag of sanitary napkins because Kayla just started her period. You will need to buy school supplies, the Wal-Mart by my house is not open twenty-four hours.”
“Are you fuckin' for real?” Monica asked.
“I'm as real as it gets. And now Monica Lewinsky, you've got Bill and a couple of Chelseas too.” She tapped Monica on the stomach. “Be sure to avoid stress. I'm so praying you have a boy.”
Monica couldn't believe it.
“Now, kids, give Mommy a kiss.” The girls kissed Celeste on each cheek. “You'll be staying with Aunty Monica and Daddy for a while.”
“Yippeeeee!” Kai yelled. “Pizza every night!”
“And we can play with Jamal more!” Kori said.
“Whatever,” Kayla said. “I just need to use the phone.”
“I'ma miss you,” Celeste said, stepping off the stoop.
“We gon' miss you too, Mommy!” the girls yelled, walking into Monica's house. “Have fun!”
(Imani)
CELESTE DID WHAT, Monica?” Imani was trying to understand what Monica was saying through her tears. At the beginning of the conversation Imani really didn't give a damn. She was more concerned with missing Kree than the bullshit Monica was crying about.
Monica went on, “And the baby is Sharief 's. And I cussed everybody out…”
“Wait a minute, what you say? Start from the beginning.” Imani's eyes darted toward Jamal, who'd been sitting at the window and watching outside for over an hour.
“Are you listening to me?” Monica demanded.
“Yeah, but what is all that damn noise in your house?” Imani asked.
“It's these kids!” Monica screamed.
“Oh, you tryin' to be funny again and not invite my son over?”
“You don't understand, Celeste brought these kids over here to live.”
“To live? What the hell is wrong with her? You keepin' kids now? You a foster parent or something?” “No, I'm no damn foster parent!” “Well then, how long have they been there?” “Two weeks!” “What? What the hell? Where's Sharief?” “Here!” Monica snapped. “Don't get nasty with me. I'm trying to understand. And why is Sharief living with you?”
“Look,” Monica stressed. “Sharief and I had an affair, we fell in love, I'm pregnant, and we're together.”
“What kinda nasty-ass shit is that?” Imani couldn't believe it. “You fucked Sharief ? Your brother-in-law? Your sister's husband? Have you lost your damn mind? You know Celeste should bust yo' ass.”
“Oh my God, have you heard a word that I've said? It wasn't meant to happen.”
“Damn, Monica.” Imani was disappointed, “I know we've never really liked Celeste that much, but that is our sister. How am I supposed to defend you and you wrong as two left shoes? You couldn't just fuck the niggah and bury the shit in the closet? Did you have to make him your man? Mommy is gon' flip.”
“She already has.” “What?” Imani leaned back on the couch and propped her feet up. Jamal was still looking out the window.
“We had a big falling-out at the police station. And she called and cussed me out over the phone,” Monica said. “Celeste pressed charges against Sharief for assault. They had a court date today, but she didn't show up. Nobody knows where she is.”
“Assault? Did he?” “No—the bitch is buggin'.” “Well, she has a right to be. I know damn well I couldn't leave you around Walik now.”
“Walik?” Monica was insulted. “I don't want that fat-ass dead-beat ma'fucker, please.”
“Speaking of deadbeat, he's supposed to be coming over here today. He promised Jamal that he was going to take him to the movies.”
“Oh, here we go with his promises again.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Aunty's having a baby by Daddy.”
“Damn, you sound like Listra.”
“Well, what do you expect? Being pregnant by your brother-inlaw is not exactly something to brag about. Shit, if you wanted a bitch's man, you shoulda picked another bitch, not your sister. I love you, Monica, but niggahs get killed for less than that.”
“Look, I'm not asking for you to understand. I just want you to be my sister.”
“I'm your sister regardless, but wrong is wrong.”
“Look, this is my life.”
“Yeah, you sure right, so don't
be mad when you get what your hand calls for.”
“I gotta go, Imani,” Monica snapped.
“Yeah, I'm sure you do.”
Imani hung up and looked at Jamal. “Jamal, what are you doing and why have you been sitting at that window all day?”
“Is Walik coming? He said he was coming this morning.”
“Well, Jamal, it's going on eight o'clock. I don't think so.”
“Can I call Kree?”
“Kree?” Imani couldn't believe it. She hadn't mentioned Kree since they'd broken up two weeks ago.
“Yeah, Kree. I wanna talk to him. I miss him,” Jamal said.
“No, you can't call him. And you may as well get him off your mind because he's not coming over here no more! I broke up with him.”
Instantly Jamal started to cry. “Why you do that? Why did you break him?”
“I didn't break him. I just don't date him anymore. He's not my boyfriend, so you won't be seeing him again. So stop crying over his ass. You have a father.” Imani picked up the phone and called Walik's cell but didn't get an answer.
“Imani,” Jamal whined, “can you call Kree please?” He started biting his bottom lip and rocking back and forth.
“What did I just tell you!” The more Jamal asked her to call Kree, the more aggravated Imani became.
“Please!”
“No!”
“Why, did he say he didn't like me anymore because of the shouts I made on the radio?”
“He never said he didn't like you, Jamal.”
“Did he say he didn't like me because I couldn't speak Spanish? I can speak it now, listen.” He spoke slowly. “Geraldo…Rivera.”
“Boy, shut up and go play a video game.” Imani was trying desperately to fight off her memory of speaking Spanish.
“Can you call him please,” Jamal continued to beg. “I've been saving my candy, I got it from the Puerto Rican store, see, Chico Sticks.”
“Boy!” Imani yelled, “if you don't leave me alone—”
The Ex Factor: A Novel Page 23
