I couldn’t wait to drop the bomb on him that Samira was cheating. The type of nigga he was, I knew fa’sho he’d be in my panties quicker than I could slide them off. Getting a taste of what his groupies have been getting stroked with has always been a wishful pleasure of mine. It might’ve not been fair to the friendship I had with Samira, but neither was her hitting off his recording artist. From the way everyone was playing it, wasn’t nothing fair about love, money, and sex. So why should I adhere to the rules?
Maybe I’d finally get what I truly deserved: some real happiness. What female doesn’t want longevity and a man to come home to every night? Even in my man-hating stages, I ain’t never been down with that team-single garbage. I was tired of being second runner-up and not having a companion. No matter how ignorant their love life might’ve been, Mira should’ve continued to hold him down like she’d been doing. Despite it all, K.P. was a good man.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
I checked my phone, but there were no missed calls. Hopefully, it was King so I could finally blow the spot up. I peeked out of the blinds only to see Johnie’s car. What in the fuck did this nigga want? Since I wasn’t supposed to know about him and Samira getting down, I tried to get my mind right as much as I could within the little time that I had.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
“Hold up! I’m coming, damn!” There was no need for me to be friendly or act like I wasn’t pissed off. I was temporarily holding water about all the sketchy shit going down, but Johnie had it coming for standing me up. I swung the door open then rolled my eyes. I didn’t know what agitated me more: the sight of him or that he was holding a bouquet of roses in his hand.
“Damn, girl, I see you ain’t the one for sweet gestures. You gonna invite a nigga in or what?”
“I don’t see why I should.” The flowers were nice. Yet and still, I wanted something much more than some crap from the ground I couldn’t keep alive for more than three days.
“My bad about not swinging back through here earlier. After shit popped off at King’s crib between him and Samira, I sat with her for a while as a favor to him until she calmed down. It was wrong for me not to call, but I figured you knew what was up.”
“If it was all good, you don’t owe me an apology,” I said through gritted teeth then tried closing the door in his face. “I was busy so I’ll holla at you later.”
“Slow the fuck up, Jamila. What’s your problem?”
“Whoa, why are you so persistent all of a sudden? You weren’t thinking about me a few hours ago, real talk. I ain’t mad or nothing, but I really ain’t too keen on being a second thought.”
“I swear, y’all chicks riding the fuck out of that emotional roller coaster today. You know you don’t want me to leave, so quit playing games,” he said, calling my bluff.
I knew he’d just fucked my homegirl, but she had a man. In lieu of getting stuck in my feelings, I moved to the side and allowed Johnie inside. “Thanks for the flowers.” I snatched them from his hand. “I’ll put these in some water. Want a beer or something?”
“Naw, I’ll take something a little stronger,” he said, then slid off his shoes.
Before I could find a vase to put my flowers in, I heard the television tune into ESPN. Thank you, God. Please let him stay for a while! I fixed Johnie the strongest drink I could then powered my phone off to prevent any distractions. I needed to snag me a man and put it on him better than Samira had.
King
“Hey, you’ve reached Jamila. I’m not available to take your call right now . . .”
Frustrated that she hadn’t answered, I hung up from the voicemail recording, figuring Johnie was already at her house. Otherwise, I couldn’t see a reason for her not picking up. She’d sent me a message earlier saying congrats, but I knew that was just a play for her to stay on my mind. I guessed whatever news she needed to tell me would either disappear or escalate after Johnie left. The whole hookup between them was out of the blue. That coupled with Jamila’s random phone call about me needing to speak with her urgently had me wondering what was really up.
Jamila was Samira’s best friend but my homegirl through association. Samira kicked it with me so much about Mila’s business that I could run down her problems like the first and fifteenth. Something told me that in the long run, I’d be part of her monthly.
Several tracks were finished, plus I’d burned a few dozen discs to pass out as free promotion of our new mixtape. Despite everything going on outside of the studio, I was in rare form when it came to producing. Not having a room full of eager sexy ladies probably helped with the creative process, too.
After touching base with the photographer and club owner trying to plan our next gig, I sent a few disc jockeys direct messages of links to our site. My plans were to stop by a few stations personally, but in the meantime, I had to keep the name K.P. relevant and on their minds.
In the midst of my social networking and uploading a few more pics of K.J. that Rayna messaged me, Samira called again. Although I was tempted to pick up, I figured she’d just seen the photos and wanted to clown. Instead of getting into a word-for-word brawl while I was on the clock with studio hours, I sent her to voicemail with the intention of heading home later. I didn’t know if it would be impossible, but I was gonna start grooming her for our new life as a split family.
Samira
“Get a grip on yourself,” I grunted. Shaking my head out of frustration, I hit the END button on my phone once again and was just about ready to throw it through the wall. I’d called King over twenty times within the last hour. Nonetheless, each time he sent me straight to his voicemail. I really didn’t know why I was still calling. With a belly full of nut and a sore vagina from my husband’s recording artist, trying to check him about the mistress he reproduced with was starting to seem slightly irrational.
I’d been sitting in the house for hours, pitying myself over not being able to keep King happy and satisfied within our relationship. The same problems we had as boyfriend and girlfriend were now escalating as husband and wife. Shame on me for thinking a ring or some vows to God meant a change in K.P.’s behavior. I’d rushed him down the highway to marry me in vain for everything to blow up in my face.
King wasn’t answering any of my calls, and surprisingly, neither was my homegirl Jamila. I was out here with a confused mind and no best friend to share my woes with. It was time to make a move up out of this stuffy house. When Love & Hip Hop went off, I slipped on my rainbow-colored Adidas fitted shirt and leggings with a fresh pair of matching sneakers. Even on a relaxed day and with a broken heart I wouldn’t be caught off my A game. Making sure my hair was wand-curled perfectly, I flew out of the door to get rejuvenated from some fresh air.
The first and only stop was at the liquor store on the corner of Jamila’s block. I purchased three bottles of white Zinfandel plus some snacks to get us through the impromptu girl talk discussion I was popping up on her doorstep with. I needed to get drunk in love to handle all of the weight on my shoulders. And even though she hadn’t said it, any time her ex came around Jamila drank like a drunk. From my standpoint, I was doing both of us a favor by coming over unannounced.
As I eased up to Jamila’s house, I slammed on my brakes in the middle of the street and threw my hands into the air. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I shouted, almost busting my own eardrum. My eyes must’ve been playing tricks on me. Is Johnie’s car in Jamila’s driveway? Are they fucking around? Is that why she hung up on me and is playing missing in action?
All the pieces of her behavior today started to make sense. Jamila was bitter at me for banging ol’ boy, but I had no idea they were even getting down. I felt like a straight sucker. If no one else knew, Johnie did. And he was the only one winning out of our whole crew. Little did he know, he’d just played himself.
Ring. Ring. Ring!
Startled when I heard the phone ringing, I looked around to see if Mila or Johnie spotted me. When I saw it was King
calling, I started to leave him dangling the same way he’d done me. But I was too afraid he’d not fight as hard for me as I was fighting for him.
“Hello,” I answered in a nonchalant voice, playing a role. I was relieved to still be on his mind.
“Hey, can you talk?”
“I’ve always had time for you, King.” I was being sarcastic as I pulled over and parked, still on Jamila’s street.
“I really don’t need you trying to come for me, Samira. I know as a woman you’re hurting and all, but real talk, I’ve gotta be a responsible man.”
“It’s a fine time for you to decide doing that.” I took my shot at the sneak diss he walked right into. I didn’t care how he was feeling.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my wife, not get badgered. How many times are you gonna go hard about some shit you can’t change? I’m sick of hearing you throw it up in my face. I ignored your ass earlier, and you’re asking for the same treatment again.”
“Well, you know what? By all means, nigga, do you.” This time, I was the one to hang up in King’s face. He and his boy could officially kiss my ass.
I sat inside my empty car, screaming until my throat hurt. When I realized my assumption was right and King’s fight was minimal because he hadn’t called back, I cracked open one of the three bottles of white Zinfandel, taking it straight to the head.
My whole world was spinning around me, and I wasn’t the one in control. My nigga really wasn’t my nigga. My best friend really wasn’t my best friend. And the dude I’d just fucked a few times so I could feel good was playing me for his own benefit, too. I had too much style and class to not be winning.
As I took another gulp of the wine with 12 percent ABV, I felt myself catching a slight buzz and knew that’s exactly where I needed to be. I couldn’t take these blows with a sober mind and heart. Naw, not at all. Not only was it time for me to start dealing with the cycle of bullshit King presented, but it was time for me to start showing the fuck out.
I drove around Jamila’s block then parked on the side street nearest her house. Needing to be incognito, I threw on my oversized beauty-supply shades and the hooded jacket I kept in my car for when it got cool, and then I grabbed the other bottle of wine to serve a more vindictive purpose.
I hopped out with purpose and ran down the alley full speed, hopping over old tires, broken glass, and a few dead rodents before reaching the back entrance to her house. I opened the gate quietly then leaned down in front of Mila’s car, waiting to see if I’d been peeped. Knowing Johnie though, I was sure he had her more than occupied. After a few seconds went past, I duck-walked to the passenger side of her car, opened the gas tank, and poured as much of the wine into it as I could.
Before running off, I made sure to swipe her already-crappy paint job with my car key. A few creative slashes in, I was satisfied enough to call it quits on a job well done. Within ninety seconds flat, I was back in the comfort of my car, fleeing the scene. “I won’t be needing this anymore.” I tossed the wine bottle from my window. Hearing the bottle shatter against the concrete, I turned on the radio, feeling complete gratification.
Chapter Thirteen
King
Samira’s outbursts and mood swings were becoming unpredictable. Of course, I expected her continued tyrants. However, I was getting tired of hearing my own voice apologize. With Rayna upgrading from a secret side chick to the mother of my child, Samira felt misused and unloved. I could tell that from every whimper, yell, and volatile word that left her mouth. The control I had over her and our relationship was obviously slipping.
Sitting on the living room couch, I’d only been home a few minutes and was ready to go. The whole reason for me coming home in the first place was for her and me to have a face-to-face conversation, but she was too irate to even hear me out.
There’s only so much rope I could give Samira to hang herself. She’d already put it on the table that she’d leave me, downgraded my status as a man, and disrespected my innocent son. If she wanted to talk tough, I’d have to love her the same way. Honestly, I couldn’t work on grooming her into the best stepmom in the world if she wasn’t willing to accept my li’l man.
Since I didn’t know her whereabouts or how long she’d be gone, I swiftly moved through the house, packing enough clothes, shoes, and travel-size equipment I needed to make music with for at least a week. I didn’t want to leave Samira, but I couldn’t live in a war zone. Yet given her attitude, I thought we were both prepared to go the long haul. The Comfort Suites would be my home away from home until the madness cooled off.
“What up? This is K.P. Speak to me,” I picked up my ringing cell while climbing into the car.
“Nothing much but these charts.” The call I’d been waiting for finally came through. “The manager down here at the station is putting together a showcase of Detroit’s musical talent. I dropped your and Johnie’s names of course. Y’all down or what?”
Hard work did pay off. “Hell yeah, no doubt. You already know I’m trying to capitalize on any and every avenue that can lead me to having constant fame.” I kept it real with the disc jockey.
“Cool. One hundred and then some. I’ll send the details over in a second. In the meantime, keep grinding, K.P. Dudes out in the streets are imitating your style heavy.”
“No doubt and good looking, bro.” I thanked him for the heads-up. “If my head’s not in a pair of headphones, it’s definitely to the streets.” I relayed the personal message with every intention of protecting my throne.
“I feel that. A’ight, K.P., keep in touch.”
Samira
My adrenaline was still pumping from attempting to tear up Jamila’s car. We’d been cool for so long that I couldn’t understand why she just hadn’t kept it real with me about her kicking it with Johnie. Instead of her checking me about how wrong it was for me to wish death on K.P.’s bastard kid, she should’ve been on my head about sleeping with her side man. I didn’t know why she was keeping secrets and lying all of a sudden.
Me and Jamila were supposed to be comrades, best friends, and accomplices if need be. Just like I’d called to run my personal business down to her about me and King, Johnie, or whatever struggle I was going through, she did the same with me. We could’ve laughed it off like the aces we were then moved right back to our normal lives. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a marriage to fix with King anyhow. We were sisters to the core without even sharing the same blood, or at least I thought. Damn, Jamila, now it’ll never be the same between us. If only she knew my thoughts.
The more I thought about how everything was unraveling, the more upset and regretful I became over sleeping with Johnie in the first place. Then the blame shifted to King for starting this whole domino effect of negative bullshit. Had he not been pulling several stunts with that Rayna bitch, I would’ve never fucked his friend or lost my best friend in the process.
Until my sorrows were drowned in two whole bottles of wine, I drove in circles around Detroit. There was nothing for me at home but boredom and memories of King. I loved him more than I loved myself and would’ve given him a house full of kids if given the opportunity.
I was drunk in love, hurt to the core, and bitter beyond belief. Yet and still, I needed to reconcile with King. The wine had my eyes fluttering and heavy as it slowly crept through my bloodstream, taking over my body. I went from feeling tipsy to drunk all in one second.
King’s scent greeted me when I walked into the front door. Looking back over my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t gone crazy by missing his car when I drove up, I slammed the door pissed off when I realized I’d missed his sneaky run home. My heart fluttered with each step I took up the stairs toward our bedroom. Like I smelled his cologne lingering, I hoped he hadn’t picked up on my and Johnie’s after-scent of sex. I’d sprayed Febreze plus lit candles, but now I wasn’t sure if that had been enough.
Closing my eyes, I pulled his nightstand drawer open then slammed it shut in rage. The l
amp that sat on top fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. But that was the least of my worries. King’s music journal was gone. That meant he was gone too.
I knocked a photograph of us off the dresser, and my emotions flew up and down the spectrum ranging from hurt to anger to animosity. My hands were shaking trying to dial his number. If King was trying to leave me for good, my whole world was about to crumble.
Jamila
Sure, each time Johnie stroked my needy cat I thought about him stroking Samira, but that wasn’t enough to turn me off. Matter of fact, it turned me on even more knowing that he’d slammed her yet still needed me for satisfaction. Each time he pulled my hair, I arched my back. Each time he choked me roughly, I clenched down on my pussy muscles. And each time he told me to tell him he was the man in bed, I shouted it so the neighbors could hear. Truth be told, he was fucking me hella right.
When he’d first gotten settled in earlier, I cooked him a feast to prove I was more than just a fuck. Every man liked a woman who knew her way around the kitchen. In every move I made, I was campaigning to be somebody’s woman.
It didn’t take long for us to start back up conversing like before. Johnie’s plans to be the man in music were far more extensive than I thought. The more we drank, the more he talked. And like a trained woman knew to do, I absorbed every word that left his mouth.
Chapter Fourteen
Rayna
Having a newborn baby wasn’t the hardest thing I’d done. Matter of fact, I was starting to like the feel of being a mother. King Jr. gave me purpose. Until I gave birth, the only thing that consumed my time was chasing up behind no-good niggas who didn’t think I was worth more than the few dollars they offered to trick with me. Now that I was blessed with a son, there was more of a reason to get my life together.
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