Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

by Shereé Whitfield

  “Paris,” Casey said under her breath almost in a seething manner.

  Casey nodded her head toward Sasha while giving Paris a commanding look.

  Paris turned to Sasha. “Child, fix your face,” Paris said to Sasha. “You gotta remember where I work at,” Paris reminded her. “I see these situations go down on a regular.”

  Sasha’s emotions decreased from ten back down to zero upon Paris’s clarification.

  “Men will be men,” Paris schooled. “Like Kanye said, a man can’t be in a room full of hoes and not cheat. And these ballers are surrounded by hoes every day of the week. Hell, the average Joe is surrounded by ’em too! But if you gon’ get with a man whose going to cheat, you might as well at least get with one that can pay for your pain and suffering.”

  Casey agreed with a nod.

  “Why deal with a broke jive-ass nigga versus a rich jive-ass nigga that can at least provide you with a plush lifestyle?” Paris sucked her cheeks in and then released them with a popping sound.

  “I hear what you are saying,” Sasha said. “But no amount of money in the world mends a broken heart. I’m just not sure if I’m willing to take the chance . . . to take the risk.”

  “I speak from experience when I say—” Casey started to give Sasha a little insight on the life a baller’s girl has to lead—how thick her skin must be—but Paris cut her off.

  “Child, life is a risk,” Paris said, pitching her empty drink container into the nearest receptacle. “Ask Casey. She took a risk, and look how things panned out for her.” Paris looked to Casey. “You’re living the fairy-tale life. Right, Casey?”

  Sasha detected something about the way Paris was looking at Casey that made it seem like Paris knew something that Sasha didn’t know. It was as if Paris didn’t want Casey to truly confirm that she was living a fairy-tale life, but was more like turning a knife that was in Casey’s heart.

  It was possible that once again Sasha was reading Paris wrong. But that last comment was as condescending as all get-out. And once again it had seemed to go right over Casey’s head as she eagerly replied to Paris’s line of questioning without a second thought.

  “I wouldn’t trade the life I’m living for the world, Paris,” Casey said with a smile as she looked forward.

  Sasha sensed that a minute ago Casey had been prepared to share some other aspect of her life as a baller’s wife. But now it was almost as if she purposely was not going to voice such; not in front of Paris, anyway.

  Casey looked to Sasha. “I have everything I need, want, and then some. After all, it could be worse.” She looked to Paris. “I could still be popping my pom-poms somewhere. Or even worse, I could have to survive and pay my bills by working in a strip club, but instead, I own the strip club the strippers work at.”

  Without a doubt, Sasha was certain that was shade and then some. Casey had shot Paris dead in the heart with her words. But with Casey being Casey, she was probably none the wiser of how perfect her aim was. Or was she?

  “I’d rather still be stripping, or even shaking pom-poms for that matter, rather than having to—”

  “Anyway.” Casey cut Paris off quickly, then faced forward again. She’d put down Paris’s livelihood so unapologetically that it wasn’t even funny. She didn’t look at Paris, she didn’t offer the standard “No offense” or anything. She kept strutting down that mall like she’d simply just told them how the weather was outside.

  Well, Sasha wasn’t sure how the weather was outside, but now she knew undoubtedly that it was shady as hell in the mall. For the first time Sasha felt a little uneasy about the company she was keeping. Casey and Paris shooting invisible bullets at each other, although quite entertaining, was also slightly disturbing. Friends didn’t do that to one another; not real friends, anyway. Fake friends, perhaps. Friends for show. Frenemies, maybe. Two people struggling at being cordial, even. But real friends? Not in Sasha’s book. And the thing was that these two had known each other a few years. So if this is how they did each other, God only knew what they would do to her. But right now, thoughts of Terrance trumped cattiness. She was not going to let her mind get all discombobulated trying to figure out what these two ladies were doing when she could be figuring out what she was going to do about Terrance.

  “You know what, ladies?” Sasha said. “I think I’m going to call it a day. I want to go home, do some sketching, and make a few phone calls to some spaces I’ve seen for lease.”

  “Oh, wow!” Casey said excitedly. “You’re already to the point where you’re ready to open up shop? I’m so happy for you. I’m going to be your best customer!”

  Sasha smiled at just the thought of Casey keeping her word. “No, not yet,” Sasha said with a positive attitude.

  Hearing how excited Casey seemed to be for her made Sasha rethink her last assessment about how Casey might operate as a friend. The fact that Casey could celebrate another friend’s growth and success was a sign that she was a true friend indeed. And just to think, Sasha had almost had the girl pegged all wrong.

  “I just want to have some idea of how much certain spaces in different areas would cost me,” Sasha said.

  “Yeah, honey,” Paris agreed. “Like they say, ‘Stay ready and you won’t have to get ready.’”

  “That’s all I’m saying,” Sasha agreed.

  “And that’s all the more reason why you need to be linking up with money bags,” Paris said.

  Sasha didn’t know what Paris was talking about. The puzzled expression on her face reflected as much.

  “Mr. Basketball Player,” Paris clarified.

  “Oh, no, honey,” Sasha was quick to say. “I’ll leave the gold digging for someone else,” she declared emphatically. “I’ve worked too damn hard to just have somebody write me a check in exchange for coochie. And I’ve got a degree to prove it.”

  “And you got student loans to prove it, too,” Paris reminded her.

  Sasha didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

  Paris kept going. “You can have that fool pay off your student loans and buy you a storefront with just the interest on his real money. He won’t even miss it. Trust me.”

  For two tenths of a second Sasha wanted to agree and even considered entertaining Paris’s thought. But it quickly exited her mind . . . or perhaps it was evicted. “Naaa.” Sasha shook her head. “I want to know that I did this all by myself. That I reached my dreams with hard work and not a hard dick.”

  Casey laughed.

  “Oh, okay,” Paris said, twisting up her face and giving Sasha a see-if-I-ever-try-to-help-your-ass-again look. “Then you just scurry on along and go chase your dream, girlfriend,” Paris said with an attitude.

  Sasha made a face as if she’d bitten into something sour.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Paris was quick to ask, not missing Sasha’s expression.

  Sasha went to open her mouth, but it was Casey’s words that were heard.

  “There’s still a couple more stores I want to hit up.” Casey looked to Paris and looped her arm through Paris’s, which was on her hip. It was a subtle attempt to hold Paris back, as if sensing she was about to pop off. “What about you? You hanging with me?” she said to Paris.

  As Sasha watched the two interact as if just a moment ago they weren’t playing the dozens, she reconsidered Sasha and Paris’s relationship. Perhaps after all they were more like sisters: able to fuss and fight but then move on because when all was over with, they loved and cared about each other. Sasha could accept that. Sasha was too busy analyzing her friends’ relationship to pay any attention to the way Paris was staring at her.

  Paris kept her eyes glued on Sasha, giving her the up-and-down look, while she replied to Casey. “Naw. I need to hit the road, too. I need to check in with my baby and handle mommy duties before I go to work tonight.”

  “Baby!” Sasha exclaimed. “You have a child?” Sasha went from being bent out of shape with Paris to being totally shocked by Paris. She had to have heard
Paris wrong. She refused to believe for one minute that Paris had a child tucked away somewhere. In all this time, she’d never seen a child or heard Paris mention one. Maybe she was talking about her pet dog or something. Sasha knew several people who treated their pets like they were their children or something. Yeah, that had to be what she was talking about. A nice little shih tzu that she had to go home and feed and take out for a poop before she went to work.

  “Yes, I am somebody’s mommy,” Paris confirmed. Her demeanor softened with the thought. “I have a six-year-old son who is the most handsome and brilliant little first grader in all of Atlanta.”

  “Oh, okay,” Sasha said, and she left it at that.

  Inside she was wondering how she could know a person for months and not realize they had a child. What does that say about one as a parent? All Sasha knew was that growing up, she stayed on her mother’s hip. If Sasha’s mother was at the store, then Sasha was right there with her. There wasn’t any “Can you watch my child while I go to the grocery store.” Neither was Sasha’s mother one to dump her off at a neighbor’s or relative’s house either. If Sasha’s mother was at home, then that’s where one would find Sasha as well.

  If there was a PTA meeting, if Sasha had a concert, play, or what have you, her mother was right there. Sasha’s mother might have gone out every now and then with a girlfriend or two. It wasn’t on the regular to the point that a person saw her in the streets and going out of town to party so much that they had no idea she had a child at home she could have been taking care of instead.

  Sasha’s insides were boiling over with inquiries she wanted to address to Paris regarding having a son—like why he was never with her. Like how she could spend so much time on the streets of Atlanta with a child at home. Luckily, Sasha had been taught to think before she spoke. As the words she thought in her head formed into complete sentences, she recognized that Paris could easily take them as shade. Now she understood exactly how Paris and Casey’s earlier conversation had so easily turned into shady acres. Neither had thought before they’d spoken. Sasha would definitely be the exception in the trio.

  “I guess I’ll just finish hitting up the mall solo then.” Casey sighed, then said to Paris, “Well, tell little Tory I said hello.”

  It relieved Sasha to know that at least Casey was aware of the fact that Paris had a son. Sasha didn’t think she’d have been able to bite her tongue had Casey shot out, “What son?” That would have been too much. That would have taken the cake for sure!

  “I will, lady,” Paris said. She then leaned in and gave Casey a hug before the two separated. “All right, girlie girl,” she turned to Sasha and said. If she’d been feeling some kind of way about Sasha just a moment ago, talk of her son had dissolved those feelings.

  “You take care,” Sasha said with a wave as she and Casey watched Paris walk away.

  “I had no idea she had a son,” Sasha said. “He’s never with her.”

  “He’s sooooo cute, too, with his little chocolate self,” Casey cooed.

  Sasha noticed how much Casey’s eyes lit up when she talked about Paris’s son. There was a longing there. “You like kids, huh?” Sasha said.

  “Girl, I loooooove kids!” Casey said.

  “Then you better tell that husband of yours to give you some,” Sasha said with a smile and a pat on Casey’s arm.

  A melancholy expression appeared on Casey’s face.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Sasha said, realizing she’d touched upon a sensitive subject unknowingly. “Can you not have any kids of . . .”

  “Oh, no,” Casey said, shaking her head to correct Sasha. “I mean I can, but I can’t.”

  Sasha wasn’t sure what Casey was trying to say.

  Casey looked down, taking a few seconds to get her thoughts. “Eric said we can’t, not with the lifestyle we live.”

  “Lifestyle?” Sasha asked.

  Casey’s head shot up. “I mean, well, you know, all the traveling we do from state to state. Dream vacations to other countries. You know. Not to mention he could get traded at the drop of a dime. If our kid was in school, we’d have to pick up and leave. That could be devastating. You know what I’m saying?” Casey let out some nervous laughter and then spoke again without giving Sasha a chance to respond. “Well, anyway, I’m going to, uh, you know, get back to shopping.” She began backpedaling away from Sasha. “Good luck with, you know, the boutiques. The sketches or whatever.” She turned forward and hurriedly walked away.

  Sasha stood there dumbfounded. This afternoon with the girls had mentally exhausted her. If she didn’t know any better, she would think both Paris and Casey had this other life they were living. Maybe not a secret life, but just one they kept tucked away nice and snugly. She hoped she didn’t find herself caught up in either one of them.

  Chapter 12

  “You got me feeling all schoolboyish,” Terrance said to Sasha as they strolled through Centennial Park.

  Sasha chuckled as she looked down at her sandal-covered feet. “Why you say that?” She looked over at him; ironically, she was blushing like a schoolgirl.

  “I’m hinting around to my boy about how much I’m digging on you, hoping he’ll tell wifey and wifey’ll tell you, then you’ll call me, blasé-blasé.”

  Sasha laughed. “Well, isn’t that just how it went down?” Terrance did finally tell Eric to have Casey pass on his phone number to Sasha, which she did . . . which led to the call that led to now.

  “My point exactly!” Terrance expressed animatedly. “Once I found out that Casey had given you my number, you had a brotha waiting around by his phone to see if you were gon’ call and thangs.”

  Sasha watched Terrance overexaggerating in both his tone and his hand movements. Perhaps that was his way of making light of the fact that Sasha had him doing some ole chump stuff. Little did Sasha know, he’d do it again if it meant things would end up how they did today: her agreeing over that phone call to go out with him. This time they really had opted for a public place to meet at.

  Once again, Sasha chuckled. She knew the feeling Terrance was describing all too well, because that was exactly the role she’d played after her and Terrance’s first encounter . . . before realizing he didn’t even have her number to call. That thought brought about a question in Sasha’s mind.

  “A man so blunt and as forward as you, and with all the resources and connections you have, seemed like you could have figured out how to get my number.”

  “Oh, I had your number, but—” Terrance stopped and looked over at Sasha, who ceased her stride as well. “Don’t think for one minute I don’t have pull in this city.”

  Sasha loved the way Terrance was coming across. Not arrogant or overconfident, just sure of himself. She looked away and began walking again. She didn’t want Terrance to see her as turned on by his demeanor as she was. She feared her cheeks were as red as the flames shooting through her body. “Then I’m even more confused,” Sasha said. “If you had my number, why didn’t you use it?”

  “Because I wanted you to give it to me. Me getting your number and calling you doesn’t necessarily mean that you would be receptive to the call. But you giving me your number yourself puts my doubts at rest.”

  Sasha tilted her head to the side. “Hmmm, you don’t come across to me as a man of many doubts.”

  “Because I’m not,” Terrance assured her.

  Sasha noticed how he stayed a couple steps behind, as she purposely stayed two steps ahead. She didn’t want the slight view of her black, sexy panties peeking through her white skirt to be missed. By the time this date was over, Sasha wanted to make sure that Terrance sent the designer a thank you card, because if the material had been just slightly thicker, he’d have been denied the visual treat.

  “But when it comes to women,” Terrance said, “a brotha would be lying to himself and the rest of the world if he claimed not to have some doubts as to how y’all operate.”

  “How we operate, huh?” Sasha repeated. “Wel
l, do you have any doubts now?” Sasha raised an eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder at Terrance.

  “About what? Giving you my number?” Terrance shook his head. “Nah. I know you wouldn’t have taken it if you hadn’t planned on using it. I haven’t known you for but a week or two, but I know you don’t play games. I can’t imagine you allowing even just a minute piece of paper to clutter your desk or your phone. You don’t keep unnecessary things around. Like I said, you ain’t one to play or be played with. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I bet when you were a kid you had not a single friend at recess because you don’t play.”

  Both Terrance and Sasha laughed.

  Terrance got serious and then tucked his bottom lip in while gazing at Sasha, who had slowed her pace slightly, allowing him to catch up with her just for a moment.

  “Looks like you’re very observant, Mr. McKinley,” Sasha said, “because you’re right; I don’t play.” Sasha abruptly stopped and faced Terrance. “So if you think I’m one of those groupie chicks who you can play to the left, or if you think I’m a gold digger just ’cause I let you get it day one, or if you—”

  Sasha’s words were silenced by Terrance’s tongue slipping into her mouth, after he’d pulled her mouth to his by cupping the back of her head. Sasha had never been one to display affection in public. As a matter of fact, she turned her nose up at couples who couldn’t afford to get a room and therefore forced the public to witness their sensual regard for each other. But at this moment she didn’t give a damn! The diva ho inside of her—nickname given by Norman, of course—wouldn’t have minded Terrance bending her over the nearest park bench and hitting that from behind. But she’d already done the dirty deed standing up in a bathroom. And although Terrance appeared not to have lost any respect for Sasha, she wasn’t willing to take the chance of lightning striking twice. So this time she’d keep her legs closed and her knees tight. But what harm was a kiss?