“I’m serious,” Paris continued. “It don’t matter where you go. Where you move to, they are right there where you at, all on your phone. Calling your job. Hell, I was in the grocery store shopping one day and them bastards paged me on the loud intercom.”
Once again they all laughed.
Eric looked at Sasha and pointed to Paris. “I told you she’s a trip.”
“For real,” Paris said. “Y’all think I’m playing.” Paris laughed at her own nonsense. “I tell you, I got on the phone with the student loan people one day and they were like, ‘Ma’am, so do you plan on paying off this college debt or not?’ I was like ‘not.’ I mean why the hell should I pay off a college student loan? A bitch ain’t graduate.” And that was the truth. Paris had only completed a single semester of college before realizing it just wasn’t her cup of tea. She never looked back, nor paid the money back she owed in loans.
Eric and Sasha hollered. Not even Norman had made Sasha laugh this much and this hard. Sasha couldn’t help it; Paris was funny. It was almost impossible to separate laughing with her from laughing at her. Sasha meant no harm, though.
Sasha was laughing so hard that tears began running from her eyes. “I need a napkin to wipe my tears,” Sasha said. No one had a napkin on hand. She had to use her hands to carefully wipe the tears away so as not to smudge up her makeup too badly.
“You think I’m crazy like Eric does, huh?” Paris said to Sasha.
All Sasha could do was nod as she wiped her tears away.
“I must say I had you pegged wrong at first,” Paris said to Sasha. “I thought you were going to be one of those stuck-up chicks who turned their nose up and had a stick in their butt. Just boring.”
“Well, dang, tell me how you really feel,” Sasha said, putting her hands on her hips. “I know I may not be the loudest Rice Krispie in the bowl, but cut me some slack.” Sasha was immune to folks thinking she was just some boring dud just because she chose to be quiet and laid back at times. That was because her mother had once told her that the loudest person in the room isn’t always the smartest or most successful. It was usually that laid back person who was about their business. That person who did more listening than talking. That person doing the observing, taking it all in. That was Sasha and that was who she was going to remain. Life wasn’t some high school where she spent her time fighting to fit in with the cool kids. She’d be that boring nerd for now if it meant she’d be that chick with the coins later.
“I’m just keeping it real,” Paris said. “But you cool people. I could see me having fun, laughing and carrying on with you.”
“That’s why you two need to exchange numbers and connect,” Eric reiterated.
“Absolutely,” Paris said before Sasha could express how she felt about it one way or the other. She took her cell phone out of her Chanel clutch. “What’s your number? I am definitely going to lock you in.”
Sasha, being put on the spot, spit out her phone number to Paris.
“Take my number,” Paris said and waited for Sasha to take out her cell phone in order to add her to her contacts.
Sasha pulled out her phone.
“I’ma make sure I call you,” Paris said to Sasha.
“Oh, most definitely,” Sasha said. Paris was not someone Sasha would have normally connected with. But on the bright side, between Paris and Norman, Sasha figured she was never going to have a dull moment.
“And you call me, too,” Paris added.
“Of course.” Sasha smiled.
Just then Sasha heard her name being called.
“Diva, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Sasha looked to see Norman sashaying her way. “I was just thinking about you. Speak of the devil,” she said as Norman approached, his eyes not leaving her since spotting her from across the room.
“And the devil appears.”
Everyone looked to see Paris rolling her eyes.
“Oh, Paris. I had no idea you were on the guest list,” Norman said with his nose turned up at Paris.
“And why should you? You ain’t the one throwing this shindig,” Paris shot back. “I know you’re a jack of all trades, so what are you now? The guest list police?”
Norman shook and shimmied as if he’d caught the chills and was trying to shake them off. “Ooooh, stay in your face, Norma,” Norman coached himself. “Do not come out of your face at this troll,” he said under his breath.
“What did you say?” Sasha asked. “Norman, are you okay?”
“I was . . .” He looked over at Paris and then rolled his eyes. “Until two seconds ago.”
Paris poked her lips out, twisted them, and snapped her neck. “Let me go on and mingle around this place.” She stood and smoothed her dress.
“Yeah, I think I saw your meal ticket at the balcony,” Norman said to Paris, nodding his head back toward a group of men standing around congregating.
“So what you trying to say?” Paris said, getting extra loud.
Eric stood. “Come on, Paris. I think I need another drink. Come to the bar with me.” Before Paris could decline, Eric took her by her hand and escorted her away. “It was nice seeing you, Sasha,” he said over his shoulder.
“You too, Eric,” Sasha said. “Tell Casey I said hello.”
Norman stared Paris down, snapping his neck until she was no longer in sight. He then turned abruptly to Sasha. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you find a pig to play in the pigpen with.”
“Me play in the pigpen,” Sasha said. “You were the one who came over here slinging mud. And we were having a good ole time.”
“I bet. There’s never a dull moment with good-time Paris.”
“I take it you know Miss Paris.”
“I know Paris and Delicious,” Norman spat.
Sasha had a confused look on her face.
“Chile, Paris and Delicious are one and the same,” Norman explained. “Miss Thing is Delicious after dark when she’s sliding down the pole over at The Gentleman’s Club.”
Sasha chuckled. “You crazy. You must have seen her dancing on the dance floor, too, huh?”
“Uh, no, I’ve seen her sliding down the pole in the titty bar she works at.”
Sasha twisted up her lips. “For one, you’re gay. You like men. What would you be doing at a titty bar? And for two? I asked her if she was a stripper. She said no.”
“Umm, hmm, just like her to start off a conversation with a lie, but if you must know, a lot of business is handled in titty bars, thank you very much. White men handle business on the golf course, black men do it in strip clubs.” He held up his index finger. “That’s for one.” He raised a second finger. “For two, I am a man. Yes, I like men, but gay, straight, bisexual, no matter who you are, there is something wrong with you if you don’t admire the female body. It’s just capable of doing so much. Human beings grow and are nurtured inside the female body. I mean, it’s like a garden for life.”
Norman quickly snapped out of adoration as he heard the guttural sound of laughter that he knew to belong to Paris.
“Spite what she told you, Miss Paris is a dancer.” He jerked his head in her direction. He watched with disdain as Paris sat over at the bar hee-hawing and cackling in some older white man’s face who looked to be on the other side of sixty. She was seductively rubbing her hand up and down his back. “When she’s not working overtime with Atlanta’s elite at social gatherings. If you know what I mean. Girl is a gold digger.”
Sasha followed Norman’s gaze over to the bar. “So she really is a stripper?”
“Chile, yes . . . slash whore. And you over here all up in her face.” Norman looked to Sasha. “Stay clear of that one. You don’t want anybody thinking you’re cut from the same cloth, honey, trust me.”
Sasha looked down with a guilty-as-charged look on her face.
“What?” Norman said, giving her the side-eye.
“Nothing, it’s just that . . . I kind of told her I would call her. She gave
me her phone number.”
“Oh, hellllll no,” Norman spat. “Those bitches will give you a bad name and once you’re on that list, good luck getting off.”
“Eric, the guy she was with, he’s the husband of a girl I work with. He connected us.” Sasha was trying to defuse the situation. Sasha listened to the words she’d just spoken. Eric was the husband of a girl she worked with. So why in the world would he be with a stripper?
“Well, you lose her number, 1-800-666, right now and forget you ever met her.” He began sniffing. “Chile, I can smell the scent of sulfur she left behind. Just the devil,” Norman said.
Once again, Sasha looked down with a guilty expression on her face.
“Don’t tell me,” Norman said. “You gave her your number.”
Sasha shrugged. She shook Norman’s actions off as being his usual over-the-top, dramatic self. Add the fact that there might have been a little friendship jealousy to that, and she completely wrote off Norman’s warning about Paris altogether. He was up in his feelings. Clearly his thing with Paris was personal. That was between him and Paris. Sasha would never want anyone having misconceptions about her based on someone else’s perception. So she wasn’t going to be guilty of the very act she’d have an issue with herself.
“Ump, ump, ump,” Norman said, shaking his head. “You just signed your ticket to hell in a handbag.” He glared back over at Paris.
“Well,” Sasha said, watching Paris walk off with the man she’d just been entertaining. “At least it will be Chanel.”
“You mean more like Nine West,” Norman said. “And that’s all I have to say about that. Now let’s go mingle. Introduce you to some real players out here in the ATL.”
And with that, Norman and Sasha went back inside to mingle with the so-called real players. Let the games begin, Hotlanta!
Chapter 4
“I heard you turnt up this weekend,” Casey said to Sasha.
Sasha had just entered the break room to get her Monday morning cup of coffee before her workday got started. Working in a law office, be it as an attorney, paralegal, secretary, receptionist, even a mail room clerk, was serious business to most. These attorneys always seemed to be tense; they were constantly running around like chickens with their heads cut off in order to meet filing deadlines. Therefore, all those working in connection with them were usually chasing behind the suits on ten as well. If Sasha were into the type of things some of the other folks at the office were into, she might opt to start her mornings off with something a little stronger and recreational to get her through her days at the office. But for her, caffeine sufficed. Besides, Sasha was a master at time management. In her first week alone she’d figured out how to stay on top of her attorneys’ business as well as her own business. It reminded her of a tip she’d read in the book Rich Dad, Poor Dad. She was minding their business while minding her own.
Casey was the assigned receptionist for three of the fifteen total attorneys who worked at the firm. Her attorneys specialized in international law and were rarely in the country, so Casey only worked part-time. That was long enough for her to do what she needed to do . . . for both the firm and herself. Sasha wasn’t the only one who used the time on the job to benefit her outside endeavors. Right before Sasha had entered the room, Casey had had her cup to her lips, about to take a sip. But she couldn’t help but throw that little teasing greeting in her coworker’s direction before taking a swig. After having made the comment, Casey’s lips spread into a mischievous smirk. Noticing the questioning look on Sasha’s face, she could tell she had gotten to her. Mission accomplished; therefore she could now indulge in her coffee as she raised it to her creamy pink lipstick–covered lips and took a drink.
“You heard wrong,” Sasha said, making her way over to the coffeepot. “The only turn-up I know is the turnip I used to help my grandmother plant in her garden.”
Casey swallowed her coffee and then chuckled. “Oh, really now?” she said in a knowing tone. “Eric told me he ran into you and Paris at that party this past Saturday.”
“It was more like I ran into Eric and Paris,” Sasha corrected as she poured herself a cup. The law office didn’t have just your regular old coffeepot station. It was a Starbucks set-up with a few different varieties of coffee flavors to choose from. “And let me tell you just in case you don’t know, that Ms. Paris is something else.” Sasha shook her head. She looked off almost as if she were reliving the moments of watching Paris at the party doing her thing.
Casey let out a laugh. “Trust me, I know. Eric knows her from back in the day. She dated his best friend before so we all went on a couple double dates. She and the guy didn’t work out, but she and I got pretty cool,” Casey said. “Paris may be a difficult pill to swallow; you might choke the first couple of tries. But eventually she goes down as smooth as brandy. The more doses you take of her, the higher your tolerance level.” Casey twisted her lips and then said, “Or maybe you just get immune.” She shrugged.
“As smooth as brandy, huh?” Sasha cleared her throat. “You mean tequila.” Sasha began to add the desired amounts of sweetener and creamer to her cup.
Casey laughed again. She flipped her long, black hair over her shoulders. Standing five feet tall even, Casey was a shadow up under Sasha.
Petite and pretty with fair skin, Casey was what the stereotypical ball player’s wife was expected to look like. Kind of like Kobe Bryant’s wife.
“Paris is good people once you get to know her,” Casey said, sipping her coffee. “Just don’t tell her your personal business or it will be all over Atlanta in five minutes flat,” she rambled into her mug, making the words she’d said almost inaudible to Sasha. “Ahh,” she said after swallowing her coffee. “But Paris is a real good time.”
“So I hear.” Sasha made that last comment partially under her breath as she hurried to sip her coffee to keep from saying something else that might come out the wrong way. She wasn’t sure just how close Casey was with Paris. She didn’t know if Casey would go back and make mention of her little comment to Paris. The last thing Sasha wanted to do was offend someone’s friend, especially since she really didn’t have anything against Paris, even though Norman apparently did. And on top of that, Sasha didn’t do messy, not intentionally anyway. She was not trying to be in the middle of anybody’s he said–she said.
“What was that?” Casey said, hinting for Sasha to repeat her last comment.
“Oh, nothing.” Sasha quietly exhaled, grateful her words had traveled under the radar of Casey’s ears. “I was just saying that I hear Paris is really fun.” To confirm to Casey that she truly had nothing against Paris she added, “I even gave her my phone number. It was your husband who suggested the two of us connect.”
“Oh, cool,” Casey said, excited. “Perhaps we can make it a threesome one of these evenings. I have been out with Paris and it’s a riot,” Casey said. “She’s one of Eric’s old school buddies from Augusta, which is his hometown.”
Sasha nodded, already having been privy to this information. “So Eric moved to Atlanta to play professional basketball?” Sasha said, repeating what Casey had mentioned to her before.
“Yes, and that’s how I met him. I used to cheer for his team.”
Sasha thought for a moment. “Isn’t there some rule about you guys not being able to fraternize with the players?”
“Yeah, so I threw in my pom-poms when I decided to take up with one of the Atlanta Hawks’ guards.” Casey then said in a whisper, “After he sucked on ’em, of course.” She jiggled her double Ds and then laughed.
Sasha shook her head and smiled. She could definitely see how Casey could get along with Paris, not to suggest that Casey was as off the chain as Paris. At least Casey had the decency to jiggle her breasts in privacy and not for the whole world to see.
“Seriously, though,” Casey continued, once again flipping her hair, “Eric and I didn’t meet on the court, at a game, by the locker rooms or anything like that. I actually bu
mped into him one day at the mall. He had no idea I even cheered for his team, considering I was a rookie and hadn’t been cheering too long. I didn’t tell him, either. We went on about three dates before he actually found out.”
“Good thing you told him. It’s never good to start a relationship out keeping secrets.” Sasha took another sip of her coffee; her chest rose and then dropped in relaxation. No wonder they’d put a patent on that brand. It was the only cup of coffee in the world Sasha, while out and about, would pay as much for one cup as she would a whole bag to brew in her own kitchen.
“Girl, I didn’t tell him,” Casey said. “The big jumbo cam thingy did. The cameraman zoomed in and focused on me while I was just a-kicking and a-smiling. Eric happened to be benched at the time and looked up and saw me.” Casey laughed. “He said one of the players was like, ‘Yo, Eric, man, ain’t that ya girl?’” She laughed again. “He was humiliated. Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. Even took one of the other cheerleaders out on a date to make me jealous.”
Sasha paused from drinking her coffee and looked at Casey over the rim. “Okay, now that’s taking it a little too far. He actually hooked up with one of your friends?”
“She wasn’t really one of my friends. We didn’t hang out or anything like that,” Casey said. Sasha could tell she was downplaying it. It had to have pissed Casey off.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t care if you two were tight or not. I’m not going to get with a man someone I know has already been with.” Sasha recalled a similar situation with two girls she went to college with. One dated a guy first. They knew they weren’t right for each other after the first couple dates, so they went their separate ways. The other girl, who ran in the same circle as the first girl, ended up hooking up with the same guy, and not only that, but ultimately married him. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop picturing my dude with that girl. And then have to still be in the girl’s face.” Sasha shook her head.
“He felt played. He wanted to hurt me the same way I hurt him.”
Sasha could already tell Casey was the type of woman who made excuses for her man’s wrongdoing. Sasha laughed inside, thinking that perhaps she should introduce Casey to Kels. Not that Sasha condoned domestic violence, be it man against woman or woman against man, but she bet if Casey made Eric wear his balls as earrings the same way Kels did with her man, Casey would be telling a different kind of story right now.
Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta Page 6
