“Don’t worry. I know. I know I’ma be straight out here.”
I pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sure you will, baby girl. I’m sure you will.” We shared a father-daughter hug for a few seconds, and then I started breaking down the rules for tonight. “Make sure you hold the trap down while me and ya moms are gone. Don’t open the door for nobody, and make sure you serve every fiend who comes knocking through the mail slot. Money first, sack last. Understand?”
“Dad, I’ve got this, don’t worry. This is not the first time I’ve sold some baggies while y’all were gone.” She eased my unsettled nerves.
I feared nothing, and Porsha mimicked that. Sometimes it was scary looking at her because it was like looking into my own eyes. Trinity and I had been on a wave of craziness with her since she was old enough to speak her opinion.
The front door opened, and Imani came out. I’d forgotten Porsha had company.
“Hi, Imani,” I said, acknowledging her friend.
“Hi, Mr. Jackson,” she responded, blushing and batting her eyes at me like she was flirting and wanted to fuck.
“Oh, hell naw, little girl. You better check that bullshit real quick.” I raised my voice, scaring her and getting her together super quick. Her body instantly tensed up. “I’m a grown-ass man, and you’re my daughter’s buddy, a little-ass child to me. I stopped being interested in pussy y’all age when I was thirteen. If you bring that disrespectful shit around here again, you ain’t gonna be welcome around this house or Porsha. Understood?”
I was grim with her and in front of Porsha on purpose. For one, I had to embarrass Imani so the shit wouldn’t happen again. Secondly, I needed my baby girl to be a witness for me just in case Imani’s li’l heifer ass wanted to lie on me later down the line because she was bitter about getting embarrassed. With all the illegal actions unfolding on a daily basis in my life, a hot-in-the-crotch teenager was not going to be responsible for taking me down.
“My bad, and I’m sorry,” she stuttered, seemingly scared straight. “It won’t ever happen again, Mr. Jackson.” She’d transformed back into the teenage girl she’d always presented herself as.
“That’s more like it, Imani.”
Porsha was standing to the side, fiddling with her fingers, tight-lipped. She knew I didn’t play with li’l rats, just like she knew I didn’t allow her to run with rodents. I wasn’t waiting until her fast-tail friend was out of earshot for me to put her on blast, or for me to warn my daughter about her affiliation and how she best be on her best muthafuckin’ behavior or else.
“Ay, baby girl, you already know what I’ma say, but I’ma say the shit anyway. Birds of a feather flock together. Let me find out that you out here chasing cheese, and I’ma fuck your rat ass up without asking a question,” I warned her. “If you ain’t in no shit, then a muthafucka can’t even lie on you. So I’ll say it one more time: don’t let me find out. If there’s some smoke, you better clear that shit before it lingers this way.” I stepped off and left to get dressed because there wasn’t shit else to talk about. I meant what I said and was planning on standing by my words if and whenever I needed to. If Porsha broke my rules, all bets that we ever had were off.
PORSHA
I was in awe just as much as my pops was when Imani fluttered her eyelashes at him. Imani and I were aces, best friends, right-hand girls and all. I couldn’t wait to tell Nikola how far over the boundary line this bitch had crossed but was always playing the shy role around the young niggas we fucked around with.
“You just flirted with my father right in my face. I don’t know if I should smack you on behalf of my mother or say fuck sneaking out of the house and take you down to the hospital for an emergency psychological evaluation.” I shook my head, thinking about everything that could’ve gone wrong behind Imani’s inappropriate behavior. “You just dodged two bullets. One from Trinity if she had overheard you, and one from me if my plans had crashed and burned. In other words, if I weren’t desperate to get out and about with Street, I’d probably beat your ass on principle alone.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. It won’t happen again,” she nonchalantly responded, then tried pushing past me to return upstairs.
I threw my arm up and blocked her. “No, no, no. You don’t get it. Sit tight right here on this porch and hang tight until I come back down. Yo’ stupid ass done put us on the radar, and now we’ve gotta stay off of it until they are damn near walking out the door. We’re about to walk to get a pizza and then some bullshit from the store.” Pushing her backward and down until she was seated, I then slowly stepped upstairs, hoping Calvin wasn’t sitting in the living room about to check the dog shit out of me again.
CHAPTER 7
TRINITY
“You better swear on your life that I am not about to have any drama with that ugly trick you were banging behind my back, or I am going to air this bitch out,” I warned my husband as soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the banquet hall. It was crowded, and cars were blocking other cars in, so I figured the home-wrecking ho was in the building.
“Look, Trin. Do not get in there and get on dumb shit. I cannot control what that broad does. So if you will be purposely looking for a reason to pull your red clown nose out of your purse, we might as well grab a carry-out of Coney Island and go home.” Calvin casually pulled on the leaf of Kush we had been sharing.
“Ha! I got something to pull out of my purse, all right.” I snatched the leaf from his hand and took my own hard pull. “And I already told Porsha to have some bail money on standby.”
“You are doing too much, Trinity. I know I fucked up by cheating, but do you plan on fighting that girl every time you see her?”
“Nope. One day I am going to end up shooting her,” I casually responded, wishing Calvin had kept his dick in his pants. It was taking everything in me not to reach over the console and smack the spit from my husband’s mouth.
Every time the topic or thought of Calvin cheating on me came up, I got amped up and ready to react erratically, just like I day I found out there was another woman. I could not erase the day from my memory bank, no matter how hard I tried. I was seven months pregnant with Benzie and as big as a house. I had been irritable since the day the doctor told me I was pregnant because me conceiving was a fluke of science. I did not want another baby, and I fo’ damn sho’ was not trying to give up smoking weed and drinking on a daily basis. The only reason I did not abort Benzie was because Calvin was at the emergency room with me when the doctor gave me the news. But I made sure my black ass signed up for a tubal ligation while I was pregnant so I would not get surprised again. Calvin did not lose a wink of sleep whenever he murdered someone, but he was not about killing kids, at least with me. After finding out about ol’ girl, I was sadly certain Calvin had sent a few women to the chop shop with a mistake baby and some collateral cash to soothe their loss.
The bitch he was banging was brazen and slick enough to post a picture of her and my husband with the hashtag WithMyBae. Although she quickly deleted the evidence, she’d purposely started the fire knowing that I followed him. Where she studied long and wrong was assuming I had some sense. I was a special type of crazy that was very vindictive. I was beyond going back and forth on social media and throwing subliminal messages back and forth on my status. After doing a little digging on the internet, I charged my phone and packed myself a hospital bag in case I went into labor early, then drove to ol’ girl’s house.
“So are we going in this cabaret or what, Trinity?” Calvin impatiently questioned.
“Maybe we will. Maybe we won’t. Why don’t you roll up and give me a minute to see?” I snapped at him, pissed off that he’d even given me the thought to dwell on in the first place.
“Yeah, whatever, crazy lady. Fuck a nigga’s past. I don’t know if you been creepin’ with some lame-ass clown lately, but I’m not he, and he ain’t me if he let you talk like that. Don’t get ya split.” Calvin thought he was cleverly checking me.
<
br /> Rolling my eyes quicker than he could finish his sentence, I went off. “Don’t play with me, Cal. You and I both know you’re the one with the creep card, but I’d better not find out it’s in good standing and being swiped again,” I warned, shaking with the thought. “It’s gonna be off with ya head!”
“Whatever.” He called himself blowing me off.
“Whatever my ass. You’re more than welcome to try me if you’re tough, though,” I mocked and dared him confidently, feeling just as antsy and angry as I did the day I popped up over at his trick’s house. Time hadn’t healed my wounds.
I was ready to pop off. I was ready to stir shit back up and beef with Cal because I’d never gotten over him stepping out on me in such a major way. He and I had too deep a history for me to say fuck family all over another bitch’s pussy and his weakness, but payback comes in all forms. He had one coming regardless of how right now played out for sure.
Calvin snickered a few times, then responded, “I’ma let ya have ya nut, ma. There ain’t shit for me to be worried about up in that cabaret anyway. So keep working yo’ crazy ass up for nothing.” Turning the radio up, he waved me off and grunted some more smart shit I didn’t bother asking him to repeat.
I sipped a little from my cup, then got back into the memory of the day I gave one of my best performances as a crazy wife. Before ol’ girl got to delete the message, I’d already clicked on it to get her location. Like I said earlier, I didn’t like basic reactions. I liked to change lives with how I retaliated.
If you teach a cat how to piss in litter the right way the first time around, you’ll be saving yourself the trouble of scrubbing up the same mess time and time again. That was why I plugged in my phone, so it could get some battery juice, packed a bag for the hospital just in case I went into labor while performing, and gunned my truck all the way to ol’ girl’s house.
Knowing that she was looking for a tweet, I gave her one. It was real simple. I’m here.
My fat ass waddled up her walkway, held the rail walking up one stair at a time, and then pounded on the window until it felt like it was about to shatter. I was screaming at the top of my lungs for Calvin and his bitch to come outside. I had not given either of them any indication that I was coming, and given the neighborhood the side chick resided in, I knew nobody was calling the cops. They were too busy scrambling around trying to get closer so they could get a better view of what was going down.
As soon as ol’ girl swung the door open, she started popping off at the mouth like she was tough. She made the mistake of thinking the pregnant belly I was carrying put her at an advantage. Phrases recklessly fell from her mouth like, “Ya pussy ain’t good,” “That’s why he’s over here ripping my walls out and leaving yours dry,” “You could learn a few stunts from me,” and, “Be happy you got Cal’s kids, ’cause I got first call on his dick.” Foolishly throwing her hands on her hips to stunt, she should have blocked her face, because I sent my fist straight into it and rocked her shit open. On impact, blood poured from her nose and mouth.
Then I took my wedding ring off and told Calvin’s ass to buy me another one in the morning because I didn’t want one that had her blood on it. I wasn’t going nowhere, and neither was he. Calvin was my man, my partner, and my husband. He’d go to the grave before I allowed him to rest peacefully in the arms of another bitch.
By the time he crossed the threshold of her door, she ran from behind him, trying to attack me from behind. I’d spun around to give her the business, being that she wanted to try me, but Calvin had caught her by the hair and was flinging her down before my fist flew toward her again. Since she’d gotten my adrenaline pumping again, I threw the punch at Calvin since he was the culprit who started this madness in the first place. I was only upset with the side chick because she had the audacity to be cocky.
After landing the first punch and feeling better, I started throwing haymakers on him like Money Mayweather. I took advantage of the fact that he wasn’t going to hit me back because I was pregnant. The only reason I stopped was because I didn’t want ol’ girl to see us divided even more. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t make his life hell when we got home.
Rubbing my hands together with a satisfied grin on my face, the feeling of trampling her then, and again tonight, made me feel undeniably good. I was particularly eager to get at her because, unlike a year ago, ain’t got no waddle in my two-step. Plus, Calvin and I were stronger than ever, because he knew my loyalty level was at one hundred.
“A’ight, Trin, here’s ya blunt,” Calvin said, turning down the radio. “Now I’ma ask you one more time before I make the executive decision on my own. You walkin’ up in this muthafucka or naw? With all that liquor piled up in the back, I’ll have the trap rockin’, so don’t test me,” Calvin said, cutting into me with an ultimatum.
Putting the lighter to the tip of the blunt, I flicked the flame on until the Swisher Sweet started smelling sweet and strong. Taking a long hit, I blew the smoke out right in his face. “Gimme a minute. We’re going up in there, but I’ve gotta make my buzz just right.”
* * *
Despite me still harping on drama from the past and wanting to smack my husband’s face, we interlocked arms and stepped into the banquet hall with our fronts up. That was how real boss couples moved: effectively, in silence, and as a unit. What I never did was let a muthafucka see me without my game face on.
Calvin was dressed like a Detroit player, with big block gator shoes on his feet and iced-out Cartier glasses on his face. And me, baby, my whole style was flawlessly put together from head to toe. Thanks to my Mini-Me giving me her young advice for flair, my hair, makeup, and accessories were all on point. Plus, I was rocking the shit out of my dress with a pair of gator pumps that perfectly matched my husband’s fly. The picture man was gonna make at least $100 off us tonight. I was feeling our look, but really myself.
“You are a lucky man, Calvin Jackson,” I whispered in his ear so he could hear me over the music.
“Nah, Trinity Jackson, luck runs out. I’m blessed.” He leaned down and kissed me like no one was watching.
I let my tongue explore his mouth as I kissed him back just the same. In his arms, I always felt secure. It was times like this that made me weak in the knees for Calvin. I loved public affection like every other woman.
Once we got settled in at the table, folks from the hood started flocking toward us, trying to see what drink they could make from our spread. Every year at every cabaret, me and Cal laid it out with bottles of liquor and champagne, and of course, Cal had weed and dope on deck to be sold. Neither of us was selfish when it came to popping bottles with the hood. You’ve gotta give a little to get a little in return, and we had been moving around comfortably for years.
The menu for tonight’s cabaret was chicken, rib tips, spaghetti, mac and cheese, and a bold salad that was mostly lettuce. I started trying to wave the waitress over to put in an order for a greasy plate of chicken to coat my stomach before I got pissy drunk and all the liquor settled on an empty gut. I did not know what they used as seasoning, but their special ingredient left a bitch licking her fingers each and every time.
The DJ threw some old-school songs on and had everyone with their arms up and waving, reliving whatever moment they were caught up in when this song first released in the nineties. I wasn’t the friendliest of bitches, although I hosted parties at the trap, but even I got live and turned up to the throwback. I knew how to have associates and walk a fine line with women who were too catty for me to fuck with on a regular. My sisters were enough friends for me. With all four of them, I had enough turmoil to last a lifetime. But with the bass of the music bringing all of us women together, we got a hustle line going and were stepping hard in our heels.
The memories of how Calvin and I were when we first started being players in the drug game were the fuckin’ best. That was back when muthafuckas had pagers and burner cell phones, and moved dope with the Feds on their payrolls. My ot
her half and I were one of the first couples to have ever done it together, and I’d do it a million times more if he got his shit together.
As quickly as I’d gotten happy going down memory lane, I got pissed as fuck thinking about where Calvin was trying to take me and his family. The only place the Jacksons deserved to be was on top.
CHAPTER 8
PORSHA
Imani and I were chilling in the living room and watching the Sisterhood of Hip Hop marathon, of course. She was all in, stuffing slices of pizza down her throat like she had not eaten all day. But I couldn’t finish the first slice I’d taken out of the box. My stomach was too full of butterflies to fit another morsel of food in it. And since I was planning on taking a large dose of something else in my mouth later, I didn’t want to set myself up for failure now.
Me: What are you doing?
Trying not to watch my phone, I did. If Street didn’t hurry up and text me right back, I’d think the worst. It took him three minutes to respond.
Street: At the card game. U ready for this dick?
That tingling feeling I got in my coochie earlier returned. I bit my lip and crossed my legs.
Me: Almost. Trapping. Send some my way. Lol.
Street: U doin’ too much. Hit me up when u ready.
Feeling dumb, I already knew what he meant. I’d texted too much within our conversation. The Feds stayed watching, so I shouldn’t have said one word about trapping.
Trying to distract myself from fuckin’ up and not wanting him to think I was an amateur, I checked on Benzie, then got a blunt from my mom’s stash to smoke on. If nothing else could, weed would do the trick.
Imani had not even paid attention to me being gone.
Shorty Gotta Be Grown Page 6