by Zaire Crown
Tuesday had to keep her game face on because truthfully, all those same thoughts crossed her mind the moment that flight attendant said six hundred million.
“Look, y’all know I’m about the team first,” she said, trying to take some of the steam from Brianna’s argument. “Either we all eat or we all starve. That’s the way it’s been from the door.”
“We all starving right now!” Doll said bitterly. “All of us ain’t got condos on the Riverfront. You promised us a seven-figure lick and the shit still out there, but you want us to back off. I need this shit! I ain’t ’bout to go back to giving lap dances and trickin’ with niggas just to get tipped out.”
“And you need it too!” Brianna said to Tuesday. “Last time I checked, Face had you in the hole for four hundred racks. Did you forget that?”
Tuesday spat, “And bitch, did you forget you’re the reason I owe that nigga in the first place?”
Jaye, who had been quiet up until now, finally came in with her opinion. “Look, I’m not trying to take sides here, but Bree does make some good points. Coming in, the plan was to handle this business and then get out of Dodge until the heat died down. I know he’s not who we thought he was, but I don’t necessarily see why we have to fall back.”
Baby Doll added: “You done already spent all this time getting in with the nigga and you know he got money. I say we finish what we started.”
Brianna raised her hand to signify that she was calling for a vote. Doll’s tiny arm shot up immediately followed shortly after by Jaye’s. Tuesday could tell by the look on Tushie’s face that she agreed with them but it was loyalty and nothing else that kept her hand down.
“It’s still three to two,” Brianna said triumphantly.
Tuesday had a good idea of what they wanted to do because it had been alluded to before, but she couldn’t think of any way to deter them without looking like she was either out for herself or had broken the first rule.
“If we murder this nigga, it’s gone be crazy crazy heat on us!” she said, hoping to scare them. “With the type of money his pops got, you know he can hire people to track a bitch down.”
“A week and a half ago you said the same thing about Caine,” Doll reminded her. “But you were still down with murking him. You even said you’d do it right in front of the little girl if it meant getting that money. So why is you trippin’ now?”
Tuesday was pressed to give an answer but there wasn’t one that would satisfy them. No matter how she tried to spin it, the truth was that she had caught feelings. She liked Marcus and she liked Danielle. And as badly as she needed the money to settle things up with Face, not to mention pull herself out the game once and for all, she didn’t want it at the expense of hurting either of them. Even if she and Marcus never ended up together, she still felt that he deserved better than to die for the sake of their greed.
All Tuesday could do was just boss up. “We stick dope boys, that’s our MO. We ain’t lookin at this nigga no more and we ain’t talkin’ about this no more. The last time I checked this wasn’t no democracy, so y’all can kiss my ass with all this voting shit! I make law in this bitch!”
The girls were upset and expressed it through body language and grumbled insults. Tuesday was surprised to see that even Tushie was giving her a disapproving look.
“Now gimme some time to put something together and eventually we’ll get our money back right,” she said, offering a little consolation. “But I meant what I said here and I don’t give a fuck how any of y’all hoes feel about it!”
Grim-faced with hard gray eyes, Tuesday made certain to stare each of them directly in theirs after she made that last statement. Even Tushie.
The team didn’t like the way she ended the meeting but coming in Tuesday had established to all of them that this was a dictatorship and she was the only one wearing a crown.
So an hour after spazzing out on them, she was at the scrapyard in Face’s office delivering the same bad news to him. Tuesday explained that she’d been wrong about the lick and there would be no money coming.
Face responded just as she expected. He placed his head upon his makeshift desk and pounded the wood with his fist while shouting curses.
“Damn, Tuesday!” he cried, finally raising his head to look at her again. “What are we s’posed to do about this situation? We ain’t talkin’ ’bout a couple dollars here.”
Just like when she was standing in front of the girls, Tuesday could do nothing but throw up her empty hands. “Face, I came into this thinkin’ that I was ’bout to hit a million-dollar lick. Now I fucked up with you and a few other people because I was banking on that. I been at this a long time and all my instincts told me this nigga was laying like that but I was wrong. I could sit here and try to put the blame everywhere else but at the end of the day it falls on me. It was my bad.”
Face methodically rubbed his bald head like it was a crystal ball and the answer to their problem might be provided through sorcery.
“Look, I appreciate you comin’ here and telling me to my face. You get points for being real.” He shook his head and let out a weary sigh. “But we talkin’ ’bout four hundred racks here so a puppy-dog look and a ‘my bad’ ain’t gone cut it. That was some real Mission: Impossible shit I pulled off for you—getting a body outta there with the po-po in the building. I needs my paper!”
There was an intensity in his glare that Tuesday had never seen before, and as much as it frightened her, she didn’t look away. “The truth is, between the losses I took on this and the last lick, I’m wiped out. I’m broke, nigga. I got seventy percent ownership of The Bounce and that’s it.”
He laughed but there was no humor in it. “One hundred percent ownership of The Bounce ain’t worth four hundred thousand, you know that.”
Tuesday shrugged. “It’s what I got.”
He covered his face with his hands for a minute. “Damn, girl, you leaving me in a fucked-up spot. What am I s’posed to do, just take that as a loss? Charge it to the game?”
Her voice was calm, moreso than his. “I wish I had an answer for you.”
Face looked at her with that intense stare again. “Me and A.D. go back to cartoon draws and you his woman. And it’s only because you is who you is that I’m giving you a week to come up with somethin’.”
Tuesday shook her head. “I ain’t got four hundred racks now and I doubt if I have it in a week. I owe you and I’m standing here telling you that I can’t pay.” She threw her hands out to her sides. “So whatever you got planned for me in seven days, you might as well do it right now!”
She glared right back at him, not backing down or retreating from his eyes. Face had never seen hers that shade of gray before and it chilled him even though he was on the giving end of the threat. He knew what Tuesday did to eat and knew she was a hard-core bitch but never expected this. For a moment he just sat there in his patched-up old recliner silent and dumbstruck.
“Tuesday, I don’t wanna have to kill you about this!”
“Good,” she said, never breaking eye contact with him. “Because I don’t wanna have to die about it either.”
There was a long pause in which the two became locked in a staring match that neither one of them wanted to lose. Tuesday’s fierce gray eyes pierced his and his dark brown pierced hers. There seemed to be a battle of wills where each person tried to search the other for any signs of weakness, fear, hesitation, or doubt.
Tuesday was unreadable. She wasn’t trying to look hard, but wasn’t looking scared either. Her face was a blank slate; if this were poker, Face would have no idea if she had top pair or was just bluffing at the pot. She was giving him nothing.
He finally folded. “All right. If push come to shove, I’ll take your share of The Bounce for a hundred and fifty, and that’s love like a muthafucka!” he said, pointing a finger and giving her a stern look. “But I still need you to go make somethin’ happen for the other two-fifty. And that’s the best I can do for you!”
“And if I can’t do it, then what?”
Face gave her another look, this worse than any he’d given her before. At that moment Tuesday saw nothing handsome in the man. With his leathery skin and bald head, he looked like a burn victim; only one who’d escaped from the sulfur pits of hell rather than an ordinary fire.
In an eerie tone she’d never heard him take, he said: “Let’s not even think about that, because I know you’re gonna make somethin’ happen.”
There was something in his eyes so chilling that this time Tuesday had to look away first.
Chapter Seventeen
Tuesday needed a stress reliever after the day she had, so when Marcus called her around four with a dinner invite, she was with it. The last time they ate together it was at Mastro’s in L.A. surrounded by celebrities and she was eager to see how he would top that.
She was surprised—but not at all disappointed—to learn that all he had in mind was a quiet dinner at his house with him and Danielle. Since Tuesday wasn’t supposed to know where he lived, she asked for the directions and made plans for seven.
She arrived on time and he met her at the door after she parked in the crescent driveway behind his Audi. The only thing on deck was chilling at his crib for the evening so neither of them swagged it up too much. He looked crisp, though, in a white T, jeans, and a pair of throwback Penny Hardaway’s. Tuesday chose a blue blouse with matching heels and played them with white stretch pants. They shared a quick kiss on the porch while checking each other out. Then he invited her inside.
Just like everything else with Marcus, his home had a plain exterior that hid something lavish. White suede sofas sat upon elaborate hand-woven rugs and those sat upon polished walnut floors. The pieces were situated around a slate-top cocktail table, creating a conversation area. Above it all, wrought-iron chandeliers hung from decorative coffered ceilings with walnut braces. It was definitely a man’s house; the heavy use of dark woods gave it a strong masculine feel, but overall, Tuesday was very impressed.
She admired his style but Tuesday’s OCD made her notice that the place was also immaculately kept. She figured that only a child as mature as Danielle could be trusted around white suede furniture because there wasn’t a single smudge or juice stain on any of the pieces—which was one of the first things Tuesday’s meticulous eye scanned for.
Just as she had that thought, Danielle came sprinting toward her from the dining room. She was smiling big, all teeth and gums, when Tuesday scooped her up into her arms. The little girl was so excited to see her that she was talking a mile a minute, hardly giving Tuesday a chance to answer one question before she fired off three more. Danielle was acting like she hadn’t seen her in weeks when they were just together yesterday.
Danielle was eager for Tuesday to see her room and dragged her away by the arm before she could get off her jacket. As Tuesday was being led away, she looked back to Marcus, who smiled because he knew Dani was going to be on her heels all night.
After a tour of the house with Danielle playing guide and introducing her to all her favorite dolls, Tuesday was able to join Marcus in the kitchen where he was starting dinner. It was a huge English kitchen with a deep pantry and breakfast nook. Granite countertops with a Carrera marble backsplash complemented the cabinetry and stainless steel appliances, which included a massive refrigerator with deep freezer paired with a high-quality gas range with eight burners, dual ovens, and a broiler.
Tuesday was blown back because it was not the type of kitchen that came with the house but rather one that was custom-built. Only a professional chef or someone who took seriously to the trade would invest in such a showplace.
Marcus stood over the center island dicing cauliflower into florets with an experienced hand. There was something about watching a man cook that all women found sexy, and Tuesday was no exception.
They all sat down to a dinner of grilled raspberry chicken served with a creamy Italian spiral salad. At first chicken marinated in raspberry jam and vinaigrette didn’t sound too appealing to Tuesday, but tasting it was something totally different. She devoured every scrap on her plate and wasn’t shy about taking seconds.
Rich, handsome, a good father who could fuck, and cook! Tuesday was ready to marry this nigga.
There was a comical moment during dinner when, out of the blue, a way too grown Danielle flat-out asked Tuesday if she was spending the night. Tuesday just looked at the girl with an embarrassed smile, unable to respond. Then when Marcus stepped in and politely told her that it was none of her business, Danielle began to clap excitedly because she was smart enough to know that meant Tuesday was staying.
As much as she enjoyed being with them, it made what she had to do even more difficult, because sometime during the night, she was going to have to sour their evening by telling him her secrets. Tuesday felt that Marcus needed to know what was coming his way and he deserved to know she wasn’t who she pretended to be. Each time he or Danielle called her “Tabitha,” she felt a guilty pain prick her in the side.
After dinner, when Danielle changed into Hello Kitty pajamas, they retired to the family room and the huge eighty-six-inch plasma TV that hung there. Danielle was always allowed to watch a movie from her collection before bedtime and she chose Disney’s Aladdin for what Marcus said was the millionth time. He joked that he had heard the theme song “Whole New World” so many times that it would be stuck in his head forever.
Danielle was sandwiched between them on the couch, and halfway through the movie Tuesday looked down to see that she was leaning against her sound asleep. This stirred up something inside of Tuesday forcing her to be overcome with some strange mixture of joy, shame, pride, and guilt. Her eyes began to water but she blinked back the tears.
Even though she wasn’t crying, Marcus still peeped the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying to downplay it. “Just had a rough day, that’s all.”
He smiled. “Well, I’m gonna do my part to make sure it ends on a high note.”
Tuesday laughed because she didn’t miss the play on words.
Marcus carried a slumbering Danielle to her room and tucked her into bed while Tuesday watched from the doorway. The scene made Tuesday think back on what Tushie said about wanting to play house. She never thought she wanted this life before, but now she did. She could see being a woman to him, but more important, she could actually see being a mother to Dani, which was something she never considered before.
However, none of that really mattered, because Tuesday knew that after the truth came out, she would never see him or Danielle again.
Even worse was that in a week she expected to be crushed in the trunk of a junked car and headed to Arizona.
When Marcus led her to his bedroom, Tuesday only wanted to talk, and she planned to tell him everything, but then he took off his shirt. The sight of those ripped arms, chiseled abs derailed her train of thought and before she knew it they were kissing; then he was stripping off her clothes and she was helping him. Tuesday dropped to her knees and tugged down his jeans, eager to repay him for the head she got on the boat.
When it came to sucking dick, women generally fall into two distinct categories: those who do it out of obligation to their men and those who do it because they themselves love it. The latter pride themselves on being experts and derive as much pleasure from the act as they provide. The power and control they exert over a man as he twists and moans in ecstasy is almost as thrilling to them as having their own pussies ate. It becomes a mandatory part of foreplay. Some of these women have oral fixations that cause them to suck their thumbs well into adulthood; and the compulsion can be so deep in some that not allowing them to give you head is a form of punishment. These selfless lovers are not j
ust a joy to be with, but they make the world a better place for men everywhere.
Tuesday belonged to that group. An older cousin had her practice on a banana when she was sixteen, but it was the years spent with A.D. that perfected her talents. In the crew, the wanna-be comedian Jaye had the reputation for being a head-smith, but Tuesday knew the girl was too young and inexperienced to fuck with her neck game. She knew how to make her mouth extra wet and relax her throat muscles to swallow every inch of the bigger ones. So when Tuesday took his dick with two hands and worked her head in a corkscrew motion with deep, slow strokes, Marcus fell back against the dresser with his eyes closed and groaned curses.
She let her mouth make love to him for twenty minutes or so, and was ready to go for an hour more, but he pushed her away then guided her to the bed. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off, snatched down her thong and seconds later he was inside her.
Tuesday didn’t know if it was because she was feeling him so much or if it was the fact that this might be the last dick she ever got; either way, something in her mind took the sex to another level. Each thrust was magnified times ten and the freaky shit he whispered in her ear had her head gone. It felt so good that Tuesday came three times in the first few minutes.
When they fucked on the speedboat and on the jet, it was Tuesday who took the lead, but this time she played the submissive role. She just allowed herself to be bent and twisted into any position Marcus wanted. He flipped her from her back to her side then had her ride him again for a little while.
It blew Tuesday’s mind when he picked her up and carried her across the room without missing a stroke. She was a thick girl with hips and thighs that put her close to a hundred fifty pounds, but Marcus handled her as if she weighed nothing. He pinned her against the wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist while he cupped her ass. Marcus drilled her, making her cum back to back. Tuesday let out those high falsetto notes that he joked about earlier but had to check her screams when she remembered that Danielle was sleeping just down the hall.
