by J-Blunt
The women had an angry staring contest, gauging one another’s level of ire, no one wanting to back down or give in. Both of their wills were strong, but Queenie’s proved stronger.
“Okay,” Shanice caved. “I’m sorry. I just love you so much, and I want all of your heart. My cousin–”
“Stop talkin’ ‘bout him!” Queenie snapped.
After another long stare, Shanice agreed. “Okay. I won’t talk about him no more. It’s me and you.”
Queenie pulled her woman close for a kiss. “That’s my girl. Now, don’t you gotta get ready for work?”
“I do. What are you doin’ today? You stayin’ in?”
“Nah. I think I’ma get out and let Texas know I’m back.”
“That’s good. It’s about time you left the house. You haven’t been outside since you got here. Made me think you was runnin’ from somethin.”
Queenie frowned. “Gurl, you trippin’. I’m a Goddess. I don’t run from nothin’. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do. My mind needed healing, and bein’ with you helped that. I almost died. That changed me in ways I can’t even explain right now. All I know is I feel different. And I appreciate everything more. Like my time with you. I don’t want to waste it arguing.”
Shanice smiled like she had fallen in love all over again. “You can be sweet when you wanna be.”
“And you can be bad when you wanna be. By the way, I like bad girls,” Queenie smiled, palming Shanice’s ass.
“Stop. I gotta shower and get ready for work and drop Shawntale off. Fuckin’ wit you. I’ma be late. And what are you doin’ today?”
“I been thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ in touch wit’ a couple people.”
“What that mean?” Shanice frowned. “I hope you not about to so somethin’ that will get you in trouble. You just got shot. Why don’t you sign up for school or get a job?”
Queenie smirked. “You know I ain’t a nine-to-five bitch.”
“But what about me and Shawntale? Those clubs ain’t safe.”
“Who said anything about a strip club? I ain’t shakin’ my ass for no more niggas. I had an epiphany while I was in the hospital. I don’t wanna work for nobody again. I’m a Goddess.”
***
Queenie stepped from the rented blue Toyota Rav4 with the grace of a ballet dancer. Her bald head shone in the Texas sun, the five pounds of missing hair making her feel lighter and brand new. Not having the dreads also brought out her facial features. Almond-shaped dark eyes, high cheekbones, and full, juicy lips.
If anything good came from being shot, it was the weight loss. Twenty pounds lighter and still curvy, Queenie walked up the sidewalk like she was on the runway at a fashion show. Tight fitting denim jeans flexed her new figure, making everyone she passed give her the ‘damn’ look. And the pink words across her tank top embodied how she felt: like a ‘Bad Bitch!’
She stepped onto the porch of a blue and white house that looked a week from being condemned. After knocking on the door, she waited.
“Who is it?” a woman called.
“Queenie.”
When the locks clicked and the door swung open, a bronze-skinned woman with long, curly black hair answered. Her eyes were hazel green, a button nose and thin lips giving her a baby face. But nothing about the beautiful woman was baby-like. Big breasts, a small waist, thick legs, and an ass that was made for clapping and twerking showed how blessed the woman was. On the scale of one to ten, she was an eleven.
When she seen Queenie standing on the front porch, her eyes popped, jaw dropping. “Girl, where yo’ hair go!”
“Amber Rose ain’t the only bitch that can do it. This a new me.”
La’Qua stood there, eyes wide, mouth open.
“Is you gon’ let me in or just keep starin’ at me?”
The Latin beauty snapped out of her zone. “Damn, gurl. My bad. I wasn’t expectin’ you to come over lookin like’ one of them bitches in Black Panther. And you lost weight, too. I’m jealous.”
Queenie crossed her arms over her chest in an X. “Wakanda forever, bitch!”
After an embrace, Queenie was allowed in the house. Looking around, she couldn’t hide her surprise at La’Qua’s living conditions. The blue suede furniture was run-down, looking like it had been found curbside. Dirty clothes, empty food containers, and all kinds of junk was strewn across the living room. Roaches walked around lazily on the floor, wall, and ceiling, not bothering to hide from humans.
“Damn. You don’t gotta look like that. I know our shit fucked up,” La’Qua said, reading Queenie’s face.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting….” Queenie’s words trailed off as she looked around again.
“I know. This shit ain’t what I want. Believe me. but I’m ridin’ wit’ my nigga. We gon’ ball together and struggle together. Win, lose, or draw. Deso is my nigga.”
“What happened to the house yo’ granny left you?”
“Niggas found out where we lived and got at us. Damn near blew the house up. Turn out the house had $200,000 lien on it. The bank came wit’ the sheriff and put us out. Deso an’ ‘em so hot that they can’t get no money. Niggas even know who I am, so I can’t hit the clubs. This all we can afford. And we might be about to lose this, too.
“Damn, baby girl. I didn’t know y’all was down bad like this. Where Peso an’ ‘em at now?”
“Out trynna hit a lick. But they can’t get close to no niggas wit’ real money, so they been hittin’ penny-ass sack boys. But enough about me. What’s up wit’ you, Princess, and Pop Somethin’? And why you was actin’ all secretive, not wanting to talk on the phone?”
“Because you can’t trust phones. That’s how people get fucked over, talkin’ too much. Save the important shit for face-to-face.”
La’Qua was surprised by Queenie’s serious tone. “Damn, bitch. Don’t you think you takin’ this Wakanda shit a li’l too far? Pop Somethin’ rubbed off on yo’ ass way too much. You seem different.”
“If you almost died, it would change you, too.”
La’Qua frowned. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“I almost died a couple months ago. I got shot four times.”
La’Qua scoffed, looking Queenie from head to toe. “Stop playin’, bitch. Show me the bullet holes. Yo’ ass look fine.”
Queenie reached for the bottom of the tank top, pulling it over her head. She didn’t care about showing her naked breasts as she spun around to show off the wounds. One by her left shoulder blade, two in the center of her back, and one on her left rib cage.
“Oh, shit!” La’Qua cried, reaching out and touching the indentations. “Damn. When this happen?”
“A couple months ago.”
“What Pop Somethin’ and Princess say? They okay?”
“They left me in the middle of the streets, bleedin’.”
Shock and surprise shown on La’Qua’s face. Before she could get her words out, a key was inserted into the lock on the front door. Queenie barely had time to put her shirt on before Deso walked in the house, followed by Drama and Snot. They were talking about their latest move, but paused when they seen Queenie.
“Fuck she doin’ here?” Drama mugged.
Snot made a move like he was reaching for a pistol. “I should pop yo’ bitch-ass right now!”
“Y’all niggas chill,” Deso spoke up, eyeing Queenie. “What up, shorty? Whatchu doin’ here? How you find out where we live?”
“La’Qua told me. I need to talk to you, and she told me to come over.”
Deso looked at his girl. “You couldn’ta called or texted me to let me know?”
La’Qua answered meekly. “She told me not to say nothin’ ‘cause of Drama and Snot.”
“You don’t owe that bitch no loyalty,” Snot mugged. “She chose Pop Somethin’ over us. Fuck that punk-ass bitch.”
“I ain’t gon’ be too many more bitches, bitch-ass nigga!” Queenie mugged, poking out her chest.
Snot took a step forw
ard, reaching out to grab her. Queenie stood her ground as Deso and La’Qua stepped between them.
“Chill, nigga!” Deso said, the irritation rising in his voice. “What’s so important that you convinced my bitch to keep it a secret?”
Queenie stood tall, lifting her head, holding Deso’s stare as an equal. “I want back in.”
Deso looked to his girl to gauge her response to Queenie’s comment. La’Qua looked surprised. Snot laughed.
“This some Nick Cannon wilin’-out shit?” Drama laughed.
Deso responded calmly. “Talk to me, Queenie. Last time I talked to Pop, y’all was up. Seein’ a couple hunnit bands. You see how we livin’. We fucked up. What happened to Pop? I thought y’all was good?”
“We was.” Queenie paused. “’Til they left me in the streets, bleedin’.”
The explanation made Deso raise an eyebrow in wonder. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Queenie pulled off her shirt again, spinning around to show them her back. “Born Ready shot me in the back. Princess and Pop left me to die.”
Deso’s frown showed his disbelief. “They just left you? And what happened to Born Ready?”
“Pop killed him,” Queenie said after pulling her shirt down. “And yeah, they left me. I don’t know where they at. Pop didn’t fuck wit’ social media and didn’t want me and Princess on it, either. I can’t find them. And I don’t want to.”
“And you just expect us to let you back in?” Snot scoffed. “You put that nigga over us. You broke up the family. Fuck you.”
“On the real,” Drama added. “You a snake-ass bitch. Find yo’ own way. We good.”
“C’mon, y’all,” La’Qua interjected, feeling sorry for her friend. “She don’t got nowhere to go. We can’t do her like that.”
“Why should we let you back on the team? Drama and Snot right. You left us,” Deso said.
Queenie continued to hold her head high, seemingly unfazed by their lack of confidence in her. “First of all, this ain’t ‘bout Pop and my sister. I want a new start. And secondly, I don’t wanna be a part of Pop Squad. I wanna be the leader.”
“Fuck yo’ ass been smokin’?” Deso laughed. “You just gon’ show up at my house and try to take my spot after you been gone damn near a year?”
“The way I see it, y’all need me. Y’all fucked up and livin’ in this raggedy-ass house and hidin’ from er’body in Texas. I made connections. Y’all got the muscle and I got the knowledge. I seen a half mil, cash. Can’t none of y’all say that. And if I got it once, I can do it again. Fuck this petty jack shit. It only cause problems. And I ain’t trynna die over a chain that you niggas pawned for a couple hunnit. I wanna do it big. Almost dyin’ changed my perspective on everything. I wanna live. See the world. Get a big-ass bag of money. But I need a team. I want y’all.”
Drama laughed. “You gotta be shittin’ me! Y’all hear this shit? Who she think she is? We know you, Queenie. Princess was yo’ protector and backbone. Now all of a sudden you on some boss-ass shit ‘cause you got shot up? I ain’t goin’. Kick rocks.”
“Keep talkin’ shit and I’ma make you suck yo’ own dick, gay-ass nigga. And I ain’t no boss bitch. I’m a Goddess.”
Drama turned to Deso. “Can I kill this bitch now?”
“Nah. Chill,” Deso said. “This ain’t the same Queenie we knew. Pop Somethin’ told me about you before y’all left Texas. And now that you here, I see what he was talkin’ ‘bout. If you say you can get us up out this shit, then I’m in. Drama and Snot, if y’all don’t like it, do y’all. But we fucked up right now, and she sound like she might be able to get us out this jam. I say we give her a shot. What else we got to lose?”
Queenie smiled, turning to look at Drama and Snot. “What y’all wanna do?”
Both men cut their eyes and looked away.
“You got yo’ answer,” Deso said. “So, what you wanna do?”
“First thing we gon’ do is move outta Houston. When was the last time y’all was in Dallas?”
Chapter 10
For the longest time it’s been said that confidence makes a woman sexy. Queenie embodied both words, confidence and sexy, as she walked up to the front doors of Moonlight’s Gentleman’s Club. Two huge bouncers blocked her path, eyeing the bald beauty as she strolled up, ass bouncing and hips swaying to a tune that sounded like sex music. She wore light make-up consisting of dark eye shadow, gold bronzer, and dark purple lipstick to match the purple jumpsuit. Her gold heels clicked the concrete as she stopped before the awestruck bouncers.
“You don’t work here, do you?” one of them asked, looking confused.
“Nah, but my friend does. What’s the door charge?”
“Nothin’ if I can see you dance later,” the other man said, eyeing her from head to toe.
“Don’t hold yo’ breath.” Queenie said, trailing a finger up his wrist, forearm, and bulging bicep.
A shiver went through the man’s body as he opened the door, allowing her to pass free of charge. “That was a bad bitch!” he grimaced, watching her walk inside.
Moonlight’s atmosphere was laid back compared to the places Queenie had danced. There was no ass-clapping contests or dope boys pouring liquor on strippers while making it rain. The music selection was a top forty songs. Ariana Grande’s God is a Woman was playing smoothly from a sound system. Most of the clientele were white men. The dancers were mostly white women with a few Latin or light-skinned black women sprinkled in. Queenie counted one dark-skinned stripper wearing a blonde wig and blue eye contacts.
After parking her fatty on a barstool, she ordered a drink and watched the show on the main stage. A light-skinned woman with fiery red hair was topless, dancing like a sexy ballerina, doing tricks on the pole that made the men whistle and cheer. When her set was over, she collected the pile of money that had been thrown on the stage and disappeared.
After taking a sip of her drink, Queenie found and empty table and took a seat. Several women approached offering entertainment, but she denied them all. When the red-haired, light-skinned woman appeared again, Queenie waved her over. The woman recognized the bald-headed sex symbol instantly, her eyes growing wide as a full moon.
“Queenie! What the fuck you do to yo’ hair?”
“I got a new look and a new attitude. You gon’ gimme a hug or stand there witcho mouth open?”
After hugging like long-lost sisters, Skittlez took a step back and looked at Queenie again. “Damn, I can’t believe you cut off all that hair. And you pullin’ it off. Not too many hos can do that bald head. And it look like you lost weight.”
“I did, I am, and I did. But forget about me. What the fuck you doin’ in this stuffy-ass place wit’ all these white people? I didn’t know this was yo’ crowd,” Queenie said, noticing the bruises covering Skittlez left arm and wrist.
“It’s a long story. Too long to tell right now. But what you doin’ in here? I know you ain’t come to be social or get a lap dance.”
“No, this ain’t a social call. I need to talk business.”
Skittlez read the serious look in Queenie’s eyes. “Okay. I get off in half an hour. Let me make a couple more rounds and then we can go. I gotta bleed these muthafuckas dry. You know how I do.”
After sweet talking and lap dancing more money from the club-goers, the women walked out to the parking lot, stopping at Skittlez’s E-class Benz.
“So, how the fuck you find me in this white-ass club? I thought y’all would be in Jamaica by now.”
“You just like er’body else in the world that put they whole life on Facebook and Instagram,” Queenie said, pausing. “And Jamaica is on hold. Indefinitely.”
Skittlez read the reaction. “Did somethin’ happen to Pop Somethin’?”
“Nah. Him and my sister left me. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here ‘cause I want you on my team.”
Skittlez laughed, looking in the sky at the half moon. “Gurl, you don’t even know how much dram I got in my life r
ight now. I know y’all bitches be gettin’ a check, but I got too much on my plate.”
Queenie was surprised by the denial. “It ain’t like you to turn down an opportunity to run it up. Fuck goin’ on?”
Skittlez let out a stressed breath, shaking her head. “Er’body got nightmares they hope don’t come true or skeletons they hope to keep buried. Well, my nightmare is real.”
Queenie placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You need help? What’s goin’ on?”
Skittlez sighed. “Four years ago I was fuckin’ wit’ a nigga that got locked up. I thought his ass wasn’t gon’ neva get back out. He used to beat my ass and had my self-esteem all fucked up. That’s why I started stripping, ‘cause it made me feel sexy and wanted. But that’s a whole ‘notha issue. Anyway, Monster is out. Got out right after y’all left and tracked my ass down. He don’t want me at the hot spots ‘cause he insecure. Want me around white people so I won’t cheat.”
Queenie got upset. “That’s why them marks all over yo’ arm? You lettin’ a nigga put his hands on you?”
Tears threatened to spill from the light-skinned woman’s eyes. “You don’t understand, Queenie. His name is Monster for a reason.”
“I don’t give a fuck if his name was Jason or Freddy Kruger! Don’t let no nigga control you or put his hands on you. Matter of fact, you not even goin’ back to that nigga. You wit’ me now.”
Skittlez looked at Queenie like she had said the most ridiculous thing. “Didn’t you just hear what I said? I can’t get away from this nigga. Maybe if you was still wit’ Pop Somethin’ I would come with you. But two women ain’t no match for him. He could kill us.”
Queenie gave a dead stare. “You be surprised what I can do. And I ain’t playin’. You not goin’ back to this nigga. You on my team. I–” The ringtone on Skittlez’s phone and look on her face made Queenie pause. “Is that him?”
Skittlez nodded, pulling out her phone. “Yeah. He callin’ to see if I’m on my way home.”