by Chunichi
“Come back home, LaShawn,” her mother pleaded.
“Ma, I can’t. I need to do this for me.”
Her mother went into her housecoat and pulled a small sack out of the pocket, a handkerchief she had sewn together. She opened the handmade sack and pulled out a roll of ten-dollar bills. She counted ten of them in all, and she broke her daughter off five. Fifty dollars wasn’t much, but it was all that she could afford.
LaShawn didn’t want to take her mom’s money, but she she needed it. She took the money and gave her mother a kiss on her cheek and a long hug. She could feel her mother’s tears as she creased her head into LaShawn’s neck.
“Come on, Ma, please don’t cry,” LaShawn said, now on the verge of tears herself.
“Don’t you ever let that man, or any man, put their hands on you, LaShawn. You do whatever you have to do—Fight ’em back, kick ’em, stab ’em—I don’t give a damn if you have to shoot ’em, but you better not ever let another man touch you again for as long as you live.”
“I know, Ma, I won’t, I promise you that.”
LaShawn left out of her mother’s apartment with bags for the second time. This time it was to live on her own, to live her life the way she wanted to live it. She didn’t know what life had in store for her, but after staying in the homeless shelter, she was ready for whatever came her way.
LaShawn found Whakelah standing alone in the hallway. “Where did Misha go?”
“She had to go to her place for a little while. One of her clients called for an appointment.”
“Hmph! That girl needs to chill. She gon’ fuck around and get caught out there. I hope she be screening them niggas she be fuckin’.”
“I don’t know.” Whakelah didn’t want to say too much about Misha and her profession to LaShawn.
“I mean, I ain’t tryin’ to knock her hustle or nothing.”
It sounded as if LaShawn was trying to knock Misha’s hustle in Whakelah’s opinion, but she was going to leave that right there where it was.
Whakelah suggested they go to her apartment, where Misha would be, once she finished with her client. LaShawn didn’t want to take a chance on seeing Larry in the building, so they took the staircase up.
Misha had already told LaShawn while they were riding in the cab about Larry having another girl. She mentioned to her that the girl must have been on the scene before now, to be answering his door the way she did. LaShawn figured that the girl must have been the pretty bitch that Larry was taunting her about. She wanted to ask Misha what the girl looked like, but to know would have hurt her feelings. No matter what the girl looked like, her feelings were already hurt just knowing that someone else had taken her spot just like that.
LaShawn couldn’t understand why she still had some sort of feelings for Larry after all the foul shit he had done and said to her. She hoped that, in time, her feelings for him would go away. She didn’t want to have any love for him. None at all.
Whakelah unlocked the locks on her apartment door, and they went inside. It was quiet without the kids around. Whakelah found pleasure in the awkward silence. She then went straight to her kitchen and started pulling food out of the refrigerator.
LaShawn was right behind her. She didn’t want to tell or show her mother just how hungry she was, but she could tell Whakelah. And she did so when they were jetting up the staircase.
Whakelah started running hot water over some chicken wings that hadn’t completely thawed out. She then grabbed a bag of potatoes and began to peel them into homemade French fries.
LaShawn knew her girl made the best French fries in the world. Her mouth began to water, and her stomach began to growl.
“Daaamn, LaShawn!” Whakelah said.
“Sorry,” LaShawn said.
“Nah, man, I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you. You good.”
Whakelah felt bad for her homegirl. She could tell that the past couple of weeks was rough. She didn’t even want to imagine the nights that she went through being in a shelter with a bunch of stinking, dirty people.
“I would have loved to have been able to get some footage of you in that homeless shelter, with me right there, of course,” Whakelah said, as she continued to peel potatoes.
“Yeah, trust me, I thought about you and the show when I was in there. It was really real. You would have really gotten some good footage.”
Whakelah was so happy that someone besides herself, and her kids, saw her having a reality show. LaShawn was her girl for life, just for making that statement. For, she knew from LaShawn’s statement that LaShawn believed in her dream too.
The doorbell rang, and Whakelah asked LaShawn to get the door for her because her hands were now immersed in a bowl of vinegar that included the chicken. She was soaking the wings, rinsing them off one by one, and preparing them for her special seasoning.
LaShawn opened the door for Misha to come inside. She noticed that Misha looked a little disheveled. Her zipper on her Deréon jeans was open, and her button had been popped off her blouse. Her fresh hairdo had been sweated out and had fallen flat. Misha had a strong scent of sex on her, but it didn’t smell bad, it just smelled like sex. Good sex.
LaShawn was a little envious, it had been a couple of weeks since she had sex, and the last time for her was too rough to enjoy. “You could have at least closed up the cage, Misha.” LaShawn looked down at Misha’s open jeans and saw the tuft of pubic hair that rose above her panties.
Misha pulled her zipper up. “What you busy lookin’ for?”
“Girl, please. Ain’t nobody lookin’ at you.”
They joined Whakelah in the kitchen.
“You need some help with that?” Misha asked.
“Hell no. You just got finished touching somebody’s dick, and probably their balls too, you ain’t wash ya stinkin’ pussy, so I know you ain’t washed ya hands,” Whakelah joked.
“Fuck you, bitch!” Misha shot back.
“You do enough fuckin’ for all of us,” Whakelah said.
“Shit! Somebody gotta hold y’all bitches down.” Misha went into Whakelah’s refrigerator and grabbed a soda.
Misha noticed that Whakelah’s refrigerator had less food than usual. She was sure it had to do with her benefits being cut off, but she wasn’t going to put her girl on blast in front of LaShawn. She didn’t know if Whakelah had shared the information with LaShawn, so she wasn’t going to put it out there. There were certain lines that she simply did not cross. She sat down at the kitchen table along with LaShawn as Whakelah did her thing.
The first batch of chicken had been seasoned with Whakelah’s secret ingredients and placed into the frying pan. Her girls watched as she handled the seasonings and the utensils like a professional chef. She cleaned up behind herself as she worked to get their meal prepared as quickly as she could. She knew LaShawn was starving. It was apparent that there had to be some reality shows that focused on cooking and that Whakelah had been avidly watching them. She moved with smooth agility around her small kitchen.
LaShawn noticed some chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen table. She didn’t know how she had overlooked them, but now that they were in her sight, she attacked them.
“God! Godzilla, slow down,” Misha joked.
LaShawn, cookie crumbs all over her mouth, looked up at Misha. The dark circles under her eyes looked like a football player’s face paint. She had tears that were swelling up in her eyes. It was her breaking point. She was tired. She was hungry. She was hurting. She wasn’t sad, she was fighting mad.
“Don’t cry, LaShawn,” Misha told her. “I ain’t mean nothing by that shit.”
“Nah, it’s not that,” LaShawn said, sniffling, as her tears mixed into the cookie crumbs.
“What is it then? That bitch-ass Larry? You want to jump his punk-ass? He can’t handle all three of us at one time,” Whakelah said, demonstrating her karate moves.
Misha sighed. “Whakelah, please.”
“Hell, yeah. We can get some baseball bats.
Misha, you can get at his dome piece. I’ll take his midsection, you know, bust him all up in his gut. And, LaShawn, you get the nigga’s legs. Hit that nigga with everything you’ve got. Shit! Cripple that muthafucka. I bet you he’ll never put his hands on you again.”
“Girl, you is crazy.” Misha shook her head back and forth.
LaShawn was glad to be with her girls. Even through the bad times and through tears, they found a way to make her laugh.
“Nah, for real, I know what it is,” Whakelah said in a serious tone.
“What is it?” Misha asked.
“She’s tired of the bullshit. I think we all are,” Whakelah said.
Misha knew that was right. She was definitely tired of the bullshit. But what were they going to do about it? None of them had any money, or any connections to make their situation better. She grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser over the kitchen sink and handed it to LaShawn.
“Man, fuck all dat. I’ma call Tank. Shit, that nigga deejays all over this fuckin’ city. He gotta have somethin’ poppin’.” Whakelah lifted the crispy, golden brown chicken wings out of the frying pan.
“Tha’s wha’s up,” Misha said.
After the ladies had finished their meals, they all went to chill in Whakelah’s living room. LaShawn still had some weed left, and even though she couldn’t afford to smoke from her own stash, she needed a blunt badly, so she rolled up.
Misha took twenty dollars out of her back pocket and slid it to LaShawn.
“What’s that for?”
“For the blunt.”
“See, that’s what I don’t need—Y’all treatin’ me like I’m a charity case.” LaShawn tried to hand the money back to Misha, but she wouldn’t take it. She grabbed Misha by the waist and put the money back into her back pocket.
Misha took the money out of her back pocket yet again, and forcefully placed the twenty-dollar bill back into LaShawn’s hand. This time she folded LaShawn’s hand around the money and folded her arms around her friend.
“We got you, chick,” Misha told her. “We ain’t got much, but we got you. We girls for life.”
Determined to start living her dream even if it meant taking baby steps, Whakelah had her cell phone up on video mode. While she was filming the touching moment between Misha and LaShawn, a call came into her phone, and she answered it.
It was an investigator from the Social Services Department, and the news wasn’t good. She was going to have to pay back $12,000, and could still face possible jail time.
“What’s the matter, Whakelah?” LaShawn asked her.
“They tellin’ me I owe them twelve thousand dollars, and on top of that, I could still get locked up,” Whakelah said in disbelief.
“What the hell?”
“Who is they?” Misha asked.
“Some man named Mr. Irving, he said he’s their investigator,” Whakelah said.
“Well, don’t tell that nigga nothing until you talk to my dude,” Misha said. She had already fucked the lawyer that was going to help Whakelah out. Four more sessions and the bill would be paid in full. “Matter a fact, fuck callin’ Tank. You better call my dude and get that shit straight.”
Whakelah called the lawyer and put him on speakerphone, so her girls could hear what he had to say also. She knew they would want to know what was said, so rather than have to repeat the conversation, she allowed them to listen in. She explained to the lawyer in detail what the investigator from the Social Services Department had said to her. The lawyer told her not to worry about the criminal charges. He felt that the agency may have been trying to put fear into her by threatening her with possible incarceration. He advised her to concentrate on coming up with the money, and that if she could come up with half of the money, and had no prior criminal record, he could ask for leniency, with no jail time.
He asked Whakelah for the investigator’s name and number and advised her not to speak with him directly anymore, saying he would take care of the matter. He also told her to tell Misha that he would be looking forward to seeing her soon, not knowing she was listening to his horny ass.
LaShawn couldn’t believe her ears when she had learned what Whakelah was dealing with, especially the charges she was facing, and the two kids who depended upon her solely. Oh my goodness! What would happen to her kids if she went to jail? LaShawn now knew that she wasn’t the only going through a life crisis. She handed her girl the blunt. She needed it.
Whakelah was cool with what the lawyer was kicking to her. If he could get her some breathing room on the payments and throw that jail time out the window, that would be a good look. She still had no idea where she was going to get the six thousand dollars. She called her cousin, Tank.
“She’s handling all of this extremely well, don’t you think?” LaShawn said to Misha while Whakelah was talking to Tank.
“She’s good. She’s handlin’ hers. She’s a lot better than she was at first, when all of this first came down.”
“Oh, so you knew from day one, huh?” LaShawn always felt that Whakelah and Misha kept her out of certain things.
“Yeah, but does it matter who knew first? We just need to be there for her, like we’re here for you.”
“And what about you, Misha?”
“What about me?’
“You act like you don’t have any problems?” LaShawn said, a jealous tone in her voice.
“I got a shitload of problems. A bitch need some money, some real money. I’m up to my neck in credit card debt, and I just came out of housing court a few weeks ago. Ain’t no shame in my game. I ain’t no pretender.”
LaShawn didn’t know why she was glad to know that Misha had problems too, but she was. She thought Misha had it made, with all of the men that she had, paying clients or not, and would have loved to have that type of attention showered on her.
Whakelah was very excited when she ended her call with Tank. She still had possession of the blunt as she danced around her living room. “Are y’all bitches ready to come up or what?”
“What you talkin’ about? What crazy bullshit has Tank filled your head up with now?” Misha asked.
“I’ma be fillin’ my head up at the bar at this party he’s gon’ get us passes for tonight.” Whakelah said.
“I ain’t going to no party. I don’t have nothing to wear.”
While LaShawn was bitching about having nothing to wear, Whakelah went into her bedroom and came back with a Baby Phat jean outfit that LaShawn had left there months ago when they had snuck out to go to the club behind Larry’s back.
“Ha! Gotcha now! Here you go.” Whakelah handed her the outfit. “Now you do.”
Misha immediately ran down to her apartment to grab her black-and-beige snakeskin Rocawear two-piece leather outfit, her flyest. She also grabbed her black leather “fuck me” pumps to strut her stuff in.
The tradition was that they all got dressed in one apartment when they went out. It cut down on time. So once she had her clothes, she returned to Whakelah’s to get dressed there.
Whakelah slid her slim thighs into a pair of black leggings. “Yo, this party is gon’ be all that. I can’t wait to be up in the place. I just know there’s going to be a bunch of ballers up in that piece.”
“Fuck the ballers! I need a fuckin’ shot-caller to get me in some videos. Shit, can’t y’all heifers see that a star has been born. Y’all better clap for her!” Misha said, mimicking Jay-Z off The Blueprint 3, as she finished applying her makeup.
“Ho, ain’t nobody gon’ pick you to be in their video. Your behind is over the hill, compared to those little bitches running around with their big fat juicy asses dropping it like it’s hot,” Whakelah said, messing with her, as she slid on a silver sequined top. She knew her best friend was a five-star chick. “I can drop it like it’s hot too.” Misha dropped her plump booty to the floor and wiggled her way back up.
“Yeah, okay, now try that four more times,” LaShawn said, laughing.
“Fuck you, LaShawn! I c
ould if I felt like it, but I don’t feel like messing up my outfit.”
“Yeah, one drop too many, and your ass is going to drop out of them damn pants,” LaShawn said. “Damn! Them shits is tight!
“Do I detect some haterade in this muthafucka?” Misha asked. “Bitch, don’t hate ’cause yo’ ass is wide as hell and flat as a pancake. A nigga can’t even grip it, much less slap it up, flip it, or rub it down.”
“Forget all that small talk. Let’s talk business, shall we. Y’all said y’all ready to come up, and wanna get paper. Well, look, I went and had these business cards made while I was on the streets.” LaShawn showed the ladies one. It read: Get Your Mind Right Productions—Specializing in natural remedies, exotics, and powders.
“How smart is that?” Misha asked her. “You’re advertising weed and coke on a fuckin’ business card?”
“Well, I can’t go and have Tank shout it out on the mic. Shit! You the stupid one. This is the best possible way for me to touch everybody in that joint.”
“Will y’all two cut it out? We have a party to go to; a party with some A-list muthafuckas on it, if I may add, we all about to come up.”
Whakelah knew the rivalry between these two ladies and didn’t need the drama tonight. They were on a serious mission tonight. That party held the access to all of their dreams coming true, and she was ready to make it happen.
She needed some money to keep her ass out of jail and needed to meet someone who could help her with her television show. She was tired of seeing everyone with a reality show on television, and hers seemed to be going nowhere fast. She could just see her name rolling on the credits.
PARTY OVA HERE
When Whakelah, Misha, and LaShawn stepped into Club Mansion, their eyes bulged, and their mouths fell open when they spotted faces they had seen in many of the popular hip-hop magazines. Everybody who was anybody in the industry was at that party. The three of them looked as if they were stuck together like popsicles that had been in the freezer too long and had to be carefully peeled apart.