by Cairo
I shake my head. “No.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Why not? What if he comes back for you?”
“I don’t think he will,” I say, picking up my wallet, then searching the area for my keys. “I want to get in the house and take a long, hot shower.”
He reaches for me. “Pasha, whoever that cat was he looked like he was really trying to hurt you. You really should call the police.”
I look up at him. “I know. I will. I promise; just not tonight. I’ll go down in the morning and file a report. Right now, I need to find my damn keys so I can get in the house.” He helps me look for them. I have to admit. He’s a sexy-looking nigga. He’s about six feet tall with what appears to be an athletic build; has cocoa-brown skin and soft curly hair with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache framed around succulent, pussy eating lips. Not that I’d ever want to fuck or suck him. But he definitely has it going on. He tells me he doesn’t think I should be in the house alone. Tells me I can stay at his place for the night if I’d like. I smile at him, genuinely touched by his offer. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ll call someone to come over and stay with me.” He pulls my keys from out of the bushes, then hands them to me. I thank him. He insists on walking me into the house and checking to make sure all of my windows are secured and that no one is in the house, even though my alarm is activated. I let him. This is the first time he and I have said more than a hello or goodbye to each other. And it’s definitely the first time he’s been inside of my home. But under the circumstances I think it’s warranted.
“Nice place,” he says when he’s finished checking things out. “I checked everything out for you and nothing looks out of the ordinary. You should be safe.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“What’s your number?” he asks me. He catches the look I’m giving him, then quickly adds, “I want to call you so you can have my number locked in your cell in case something else pops off.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I give him my number, then watch him call my cell. When it starts ringing, he disconnects the call.
“I don’t care what time of the day or night it is, if something sounds or looks out of pocket, you call me, aiight?”
I nod, feeling somewhat relieved, following him to the door. “Thanks, again,” I tell him.
“Anytime. Lock up. And set your alarms. Remember, call me if you need me.”
I force a smile. “I will.” I close the door behind him, locking it. Then press my back up against it and slide down to the floor. I lightly bang the back of my head up against the door. “Shit, shit, shit!” What the fuck have I gotten myself into? I shut my eyes, then open them slowly, trying to blink tonight’s events out of my mind. But they are etched in my brain; the sound of his voice still echoing in my head. You dick suckin’ bitch… This shit ain’t over, bitch! Before I know it, tears begin to well up in my eyes. And I let them fall unchecked until I am sobbing uncontrollably.
Who ever heard of a nigga stalking a bitch for not sucking his dick? I get a flashback of all the niggas I’ve topped off and all the times I’ve heard them beg for another round of this throat. And then I remember all the times I said I was going to stop this shit before Jasper gets home. Now look at me. Sitting on a floor with my legs pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around my knees, crying hysterically. I wipe my face with the back of my hands and try to pull myself together so I can think long enough to figure out who that nut was. I try to match his voice to a face, or a place where I might have wet his dick. There are way too many to consider. I pull in a frustrated breath.
At some point, I make my way upstairs, remove my clothes and get into the shower. The palms of my hands are scraped up and raw from falling on the concrete. I stand under the water for almost twenty minutes, trying to clear my head and make sense out of why someone would want to hurt me. Yet, no matter how hard I rack my brain, I can’t come up with a logical explanation. So you not gonna suck my dick again? This shit can’t be happening to me. My body aches, but the steam and heavy beating of the water against my skin slowly relaxes me. I lather up my mesh sponge with Cinnamon and Buns body wash, then scrub my body, inhaling the soothing, tantalizing scent of the soap.
When I am done, I dry myself off, then oil my body before slipping into a pair of red laced brief panties and a white T-shirt with the words DIVA printed in red letters across the chest. I put my robe on, slip my cell down into my pocket, grab my cordless phone, then head downstairs. I go through the house, closing the blinds and shutting all the curtains. I call Felecia and tell her what happened. We hang up with her saying she’d be right over. I go into the kitchen, fix myself a cup of green tea, then saunter into the living room and turn on the stereo. I press the remote for CD, then wait for Sade to play. I curl up on the sofa, blow the steam from my cup then take a sip.
“OhmyGod, girl,” Felecia says, rushing through the front door the minute I open it. It’s almost three in the morning. “I got here as soon as I could. What the hell happened?”
“I was attacked.” Although I calmly state this, I feel myself becoming unnerved as I give her the lowdown as I close the door and lock it behind her. I am feeling paranoid. I wish I could pretend that this shit didn’t happen. But I can’t. His voice still haunts me. Bitch, I will break your muthafuckin’ eye sockets.
“My God!” she exclaims, dropping her bag on the floor. “These niggas are off the motherfuckin’ chain. But I’m so glad that psycho motherfucker didn’t hurt you. Thank God your neighbor pulled up when he did.”
“Yeah, I am, too. There’s no telling what he might have done to me had Clint not pulled up when he did.” I shudder. Without thinking, I touch the right side of my face where he punched me.
“Your face is swelling up. You need to put some ice on it to keep it from getting any worse.” She gets up and heads into the kitchen.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I say, following behind her. She goes into the pantry and pulls out a large Ziploc bag, then fills it up with ice. I pull out a stool and sit at the counter. She hands me the ice. “Thanks.”
“Have the police caught this fucker, yet?”
I take a deep breath, brace myself for the series of questions she’s going to start firing at me. I shake my head. “No. I haven’t called them.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You haven’t called them? What do you mean? Why not? Girl, what if that crazy nigga decides to come back? What if this nigga is stalking you?”
“I’m going to stop by the station in the morning on my way to the shop,” I lie. Truth of the matter is I don’t want them sniffing around. The less I have to talk about this, the better. The last thing I want to do is keep rehashing what happened. “I don’t think he’ll come back here tonight or any other time. I’m sure it was a random attack.” You dick-sucking bitch! I shake the voice from my head. “But, trust and believe. In case he does, I’ll be ready for him.” I decide to apply for a gun permit, then purchase me some heat. In the meantime, I am going to start carrying me a can of mace and a blade.
“Girl, Jasper is going to blow a gasket when he—”
Oh, no. She is out of her fucking mind if she thinks I’m telling Jasper anything. I quickly cut her off. “He’s not going to know about this.” Before she can open her mouth to say something else, I continue talking. “And you are not going to open your mouth and tell him.” I pause, drill my stare into her eyes to let her know I mean business; that she is not to cross the line. “Right now, the only thing I want him to be concentrating on is doing what he needs to do to get out of that halfway house. I don’t need him stressing out over this. If I tell him what happened, you know like I know he’ll be ready to call in his goon squad and wreck shop. I don’t need him getting caught up in any extra shit that’s going to get him hemmed up.”
She tilts her head, chews on her bottom lip. She nods her head, knowingly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says thoughtfully. “But you definitely need to make sur
e you file a police report, first thing this morning. Do you have any idea who it was?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“That shit’s crazy,” she huffs. “I don’t think you should be staying here alone. I’m gonna stay here with you for a while; at least for a few days. I don’t want this nigga thinkin’ shit’s all sweet. We family, boo. And that muthafucka done fucked with the wrong one.”
I smile, reaching for her hand. I squeeze it. “I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to disrupt your life for me.”
She rolls her eyes, waving me on. “Oh, girl, puhleeze. We’re like sisters. You ain’t disruptin’ nothin’. I can stay as long as you need me to.”
As much as I appreciate her gesture, there’s no way in hell I could have her, or anyone else, staying here watching me like a hawk. “Thanks. But, it’s really not necessary. You being here is more than enough. It means everything to me.”
A tear slides down my face. I wipe it as quickly as it falls.
She gets up and hugs me. “We’re all we have, Pasha. If something were to ever happen to you, it’d kill me, girl.” We hug and rock for a few minutes, before she sits back down.
She sighs. “I still can’t wrap my mind around this.”
I blink back more tears. “Me either,” I say, holding my cup in both hands. Its warmth calms my nerves as I gulp down the last bit of my tea.
“Chile, the last thing we need is another nut on the loose.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
I get up and refill the tea kettle with water then turn on the stove. I offer her a cup of tea. “No, that’s alright. But what the hell you got to eat up in here? You got a bitch up outta bed all early and shit, the least you can do is feed me.”
“I got you,” I tell her, walking over to the ’fridge. I open it, peering in. “Let’s see. There’s eggs, turkey sausage, four slices of pizza and—”
“Where’s the pizza from?”
“Papa John’s; vegetable.”
“With extra cheese?”
“Yep. Six cheese with mushrooms.”
“Hook a sista up, then.” I ask her how many slices she wants, pulling them out of the ’fridge. “All of ’em,” she says, laughing. “Andre broke me off some of that good stuff before you called. And the shit always has me starving afterward.”
I feign disgust, laughing as I place all four slices on a plate, then stick it in the microwave. I set it for two minutes. The tea kettle starts to whistle. I turn off the stove. I place another teabag into my cup, pour water in, then let it steep for awhile. When I bring her plate over to her, she thanks me.
“No problem,” I tell her, pouring two teaspoons of honey into my tea. I grab the cup, then walk over to the table and sit across from her. Felecia takes a big bite into the first slice. I watch as grease spurts out and coats her lips. She licks them.
“Damn, this pizza is good as hell.” I agree, watching her finish her slice in three huge bites. There’s a minute or two of silence between us as she chews and I sip my tea. She slices into the quiet with her question. “Umm, what time did you say that shit happened?”
“About one,” I say, shifting my eyes as I take another sip from my cup.
She studies me. “One?” she asks, frowning. She eyes me accusingly. Or at least that’s how her gaze feels to me. “Girl, please tell me what the hell you were doing out at that time of night.”
The lie forms my lips before I can even think. “I had to run out to the store.” She tilts her head, squints at me. Before her wheels start spinning in the wrong—well, right—direction, I add, “My period came on three days early and I needed some more pads.”
“Hmmph,” she grunts, pausing. “I hate when that shit happens,” is all she says, taking a bite into her second slice of pizza. She keeps her eyes on her plate, slowly chewing. I can tell her mental wheels are spinning. Can tell she’s conjuring up images in her head. She slowly lifts her eyes from her plate, rests them on me. She squints. I brace myself for what’s about to come out of her mouth. “Wait a minute. First, the nigga in the shop, then your car window gets smashed out, then the shop’s window gets knocked out; and, now this. Something’s not adding up here.” I avert my eyes from hers, shifting in my seat. She catches my nervousness. “Does this nigga know you or something?”
“No,” I boldly state. “I don’t know who that crazy motherfucker was.”
She tilts her head, unbelievingly. “Are you sure?”
I look her dead in the eyes. I don’t flinch. “Yes. I’m sure. Like I said, I don’t know who the fuck he is.”
She leans up in her seat, resting her forearms on the table. “And there’s nothing else going on that you’re not telling me?”
I bite my lower lip. Pull in a deep breath as I shake my head. “No, like what?”
“Like, uh, maybe you fucked the nigga and he done went cuckoo for the cootie.”
“Well, it’s obvious the nigga’s a kook. But trust me. It has nothing to do with getting the pussy. I haven’t fucked one nigga since Jasper’s been locked up. So that’s definitely not the issue.”
“My God,” she says, flopping back in her seat, “then this makes the shit even crazier.”
“You’re telling me.” I lift my cup to my lips, take another slow, deliberate sip, then silently exhale, thinking: How the fuck am I going to avoid Jasper until my face heals?
TWENTY-SIX
“Hey, baby, I have to go outta town for a few days.”
“Outta town? For what?”
I didn’t get any sleep, stressing myself over how I was going to keep Jasper from seeing my face so I wouldn’t have to explain—or lie, I should say—to him about what happened. It wasn’t until Felecia left here about an hour ago that a plan hatched in my head. I immediately called Felecia to get her on board with my scheme.
“Bitch, you’re crazy. I can’t rush off to L.A.,” she huffed. “Who’s gonna look after the shop?”
“Nakea will,” I told her as I looked online for airline tickets. “I already woke her ass up and told her I needed her to handle things down at the salon for a few days.” Nakea is one of our cousins from Philly who owns The Pussy Palace—an upscale erotic sex toy store. She also owns a condo in the Tribeca section of Manhattan where she stays three days out of the week.
“A few days? What’s ’a few days?’”
“We’ll be back on Sunday.”
She grunted. “Mmmmph. And what did you have to do for Nakea to agree to all this?”
“Nothing,” I stated.
“Lies!” she snapped. “I love her to death. But ’Kea is about making paper and she ain’t doing shit unless it’s gonna benefit her. So spill it.”
“I agreed to host a sex toy party at the salon.”
“And?”
I laughed. “And I guaranteed her at least a thousand dollar in sales; even if I have to buy everything myself.”
She laughed. “I knew it.”
“Now I need you to go with me; it’s the only way Jasper will believe me. Don’t make me beg your ass.”
“Bitch, you make me sick,” she huffed. “I wanna window seat and a raise. And Saturdays off.”
I laugh. “Done,” I told her, knowing she was going to have my back. “And for an extra bonus, I’ll buy you a few pieces on Rodeo Drive.”
She laughed. “Well, in that case. Book my damn flight.” I joined in her laughter, relieved that she would be my alibi.
“Felecia and I are going to look at wedding dresses.”
“Wedding dresses? Where?”
“L.A.,” I tell him, holding my breath. In my mind’s eye I can see him through the phone frowning.
“What the hell you goin’ way out there to look at dresses for when the city’s right across the bridge? You can get all the hottest shit right there in Manhattan.”
He’s right. And I know exactly where I’m going—Madison Avenue to one of the boutiques. “Yeah, true. But I wanna go look. Besides, I want some real ex
clusive shit.”
“Yeah, aiight. Don’t let me find out you out there on some ole other shit, yo.”
I suck my teeth. “Jasper, don’t start your shit.”
“Yeah, aiight. When you gonna be back?”
“Sunday,” I tell him as I’m texting Felecia with the flight info. I tell her to call all of my appointments I have booked for the next few days and offer them to reschedule for when I get back, or to see one of the other stylists—on the house, of course since it is last minute. Then I tell her to only pack an overnight bag. That we’ll shop when we get to L.A.
“And what time you gettin’ in?” I tell him we land at two in the afternoon. “I’ma be at the crib at three, waiting on you.”
“Nigga, you ain’t slick,” I say, laughing.
“Yo, what you mean?”
“Jasper, please. Why you gonna be at the house waiting on me on a Sunday?”
“’Cause I ain’t gonna see ya ass, that’s why.”
“Yeah, right,” I continue, still laughing. “The only reason you’re coming through is to make sure I don’t loan out any of this pussy while I’m gone.”
“Yeah, whatever, yo. You already know what it is.”
Yeah, I know what it is. It’s him being jealous. And not being able to keep tabs on me. Being in prison has really done a number on him. He’s so damn paranoid about everything. Still, I decide to stroke the green-eyed monster, soothe its raging spirit.
“Yeah, I’m gonna be extremely horny when I get back so having your hard dick in bed waiting for me will be exactly what I need. So make sure you take your vitamins, big boy, ’cause you’re gonna need all of your strength to feed this pussy, nigga.” Telling him this seems to relax him—for the moment, anyway.
He laughs. “Yeah, aiight.”
He tells me he’ll have to be back at the halfway house by nine, so we’ll only have a few hours to spend. Tells me to make sure I bring my ass straight home from the airport. It dawns on me that Jasper doesn’t have keys to the house, or the code to the alarm. I tell him the code and where the spare key’ll be. The minute I do, I want to kick myself. Something inside of me says giving him easy access to getting in and out of here may be a bit more than I’m ready for.
