Manolo eyes lit up. He didn’t expect them to get this much money on their first hustle. He looked at Honey’s cocoa-colored skin and model-type appearance, Tasha’s curvy, but perfectly proportioned shape and hazel eyes, Amra’s skinny figure and big breasts, and Mimi’s fat ass and full lips. Shit! A man would have to be a fool not to fall for any one of them. He looked at Honey, and wondered what it would be like to have sex with her.
He grabbed the money from the table and started counting it. It didn’t take him long, because he was an expert when it came to counting money. “Twenty-eight thousand.” He took $2,800 off the top and handed each girl $6,300. He didn’t mind that his share was smaller, because they would get better and better. The more money they make, the more money I make.
Mimi liked the feel of six thousand in her pocket, and wanted to make more. “You got another clique for us to get at?”
Manolo shook his head. “Nah, ma. We gon’ hit a ’hood then switch it up. That way, y’all won’t get hot. Niggas won’t know y’all coming. I’ll have more information in a couple days, so just keep your phones on. I’ll be calling.”
The girls waited anxiously for Manolo’s call. They liked hustling dudes for their money. It was like a catand-mouse game, and they were perfecting it with every clique they went through. Each girl had her own unique style, her own way of getting her way with a man.
Honey was smart, and it was easy for her to get inside the heads of the men that she hustled. She made them feel like they were the only one for her, and she stroked their ego by calling them Daddy, and doing anything they asked of her. It didn’t matter to her what. She did whatever she thought would please a man. If a nigga told her to shut up, then she stopped talking. If he wanted her to cook him food, she made him the best meal he’d ever tasted. If he asked her to wash his nastyass drawers, she hand-washed them to make sure that they smelled as good as they possibly could before he put them on his ass again. She never complained and never got into his business. She didn’t even question him about other chicks or pester him about when he was going to spend time with her. She simply made herself available whenever he wanted to see her, and made him think he was the only one she was making herself available for. She knew that by the end of the three months, he would pay for everything she had done for him.
Even though Honey did whatever they asked of her, she was always in control. “A good woman always makes the man think that your ideas are his ideas,” she always told Amra whenever they talked about the game.
But Amra had her own way of hustling dudes, and it paid off hansomely. She used sex to her advantage. She didn’t care what she did. If she thought it would get her money, she was all for it. She would meet her target “by chance” in the club, or on the street, and that night, she would be in his bed. When they wanted their dick sucked, she sucked it. If they wanted to run trains, she let them. “Fuck me, pay me!” had quickly become her motto as well. Amra knew her pussy was good. Once men got a taste of it, they always begged for more, so it was easy for her to ask them for whatever she wanted. She knew they would give it to her just to keep fucking her.
Amra wanted endless money, though, so she picked up the habit of hustling different niggas at the same time, blatantly ignoring Manolo’s rule to not hustle more than one dude from the same ’hood. As long as they had the paper, she was insistent on taking it from whatever dude was dumb enough to fall for her game. She would suck or fuck anybody for the right price. “I don’t give a fuck who he is or where he’s from,” she would tell Mimi whenever she tried to warn her about breaking the rule.
Mimi, on the other hand, was like the chick from the ’hood. She had grown up in the middle of the Fifth Ward, so she could relate to anyone from the streets. Niggas liked to keep her around because she already knew her role. She was hip to the streets, so she was easy to tame . . . or so she made them think. Mimi used her sexuality to satisfy her marks too, and was willing to do any and everything to get the job done. She made niggas trust her, and it wasn’t long before they had her cooking the coke and bagging the weed.
Mimi became the down-ass bitch to any thug Manolo referred her to. She always made sure she made extra money, though. Since the thugs she dealt with almost always trusted her with whatever supply they were dealing, she always put a little bit in the baggy and a little bit in her purse. When Tasha tried to stop her from taking shit from the dudes she conned, she would say, “A hundred or two extra dollars a week wasn’t bad for drugs that I got for free in the first place.”
Tasha’s method was different from all of her girls. She thought highly of herself, and simply gave niggas the pleasure of having her on their arms. She made niggas feel honored to be in her presence, and made sure to establish a friendship before she talked about being their woman. Tasha never asked for money, and when they offered it to her, she always said no. She knew what she was doing though, because the next time she checked her purse or coat, there would always be hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars inside. She caught men by their hearts, not by their dicks, which was one reason her hustle worked so well.
Tasha never had sex with anyone she was trying to hustle, because she looked at each situation as a job. Since she wasn’t a prostitute, she didn’t feel that fucking men was necessary. There were other ways to get money out of them. She was simply “arm candy” and good company, nothing more.
Tasha didn’t act like a ho from the block, so niggas didn’t treat her like one. She was always showered with fur coats, diamond bracelets, earrings, and clothes. Since she was getting this stuff from the men she conned, she figured she didn’t have to spend her money on material shit that didn’t matter.
Tasha knew that eventually the money would stop coming, so she kept a shoebox underneath her bed with all of her savings. She had a hustle plan: save enough money so she could go to one of the colleges in Michigan. “Hopefully, Michigan State,” she’d tell her friends when they laughed at her attempts to save money.
Tasha walked into the bathroom and saw Amra standing in the mirror. “Are you okay?” she asked Amra, noticing that her friend looked frail and worn down.
“Yeah, I’m cool. I think I’m catching the flu though. My throat hurts like hell, and I feel weak.”
“It’s flu season, and that shit has been going around like crazy. Well, let me get away from you before I catch it.” Tasha walked out of the bathroom and yelled, “Let me know when you are done in there!”
Tasha thought about the late nights Amra had been keeping lately. I hope she ain’t taking this hustling shit too far. She is starting to look burnt out, like she’s doing too much. She’s trying to hustle four and five different niggas at a time. That shit is going to catch up with her. Manolo’s putting her on to more capers than any of us. I hope he ain’t trying to turn her out. That nigga been trying to play his hand at being a pimp. I hope she ain’t getting into no dumb shit by fucking with him.
Tasha was engrossed in her thoughts when Honey walked into the room. “Tasha, someone’s on the phone for you,” she said.
Tasha frowned. She hadn’t given anyone Tammy’s number. “Who is it?” she asked.
Honey shrugged her shoulders and threw Tasha the cordless phone. “I don’t know, but it sounds important.”
Tasha caught the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she said, wondering who was on the other line.
“Hi. This is Dr. Danson from Grace Sinai Hospital in New York. We found your number in the purse of Patricia Rodgers. I assume this is her daughter.”
“The hospital? Is she alright?”
The doctor remained calm. “I can’t release information to anyone but family. Is this a family member that I am speaking with?”
“Yes, I’m her daughter. Is she okay?”
The doctor was silent for a minute.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Rodgers is in intensive care. She collapsed at her workplace. We found a cancerous tumor that needs to be tended to. She is conscious, but th
is needs to be taken care of before the cancer spreads. Is there any way you can come to the hospital?”
Tasha felt like she’d been smacked. She just stood there gripping the phone. Cancer? How could Ms. Pat have cancer? She walked over to her dresser, and with shaky hands grabbed a pen and paper. She was in such a rush that she knocked some pictures off the top.
Amra came prancing into the room and immediately saw Tasha’s worried look.
“Yes. My sister and I will be there as soon as we can. Please take care of her.” Tasha hung up the phone and looked at Amra.
Amra could see that something was wrong. “What’s up?”
“It’s your mom. She’s in the hospital. They think that she has cancer.”
Amra looked at Tasha, not wanting to believe what she had told her. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since they’d left New York a year ago. “We have to go home,” she said as tears started to flow down her face.
Tasha walked over to Amra and hugged her tightly. “Everything is going to be okay,” Tasha said, but inside her heart, she knew cancer was deadly, and she prayed that Ms. Pat would be okay.
Chapter Nine
Two days later, Tasha and Amra were on a flight back to New York. Honey and Mimi didn’t come along. They wanted to stay in the Midwest so they could keep hustling.
As Tasha and Amra ran down the hallways of the hospital, rushing to get to Ms. Pat, Amra stated, “I hope she’s alright.” They approached the nurses’ station that sat in the middle of the hallway.
Amra had taken her mother for granted for so long that she’d never thought about what she would do if anything ever happened to her. She silently prayed for God to keep her mother in her life, at least long enough for her to tell her all the things she should have said a long time ago. “Can you tell me what room Patricia Rodgers is in?” she asked the nurse, a sense of urgency in her voice.
The nurse, who didn’t appear to be a day over twenty-five, rolled her eyes like they’d asked her to do something that wasn’t in her job description.
Tasha slammed her hand on the front counter. “Patricia Rodgers! We need to see her now!” She then said to Amra, making sure she was loud enough for the nurse to hear, “This bitch must want me to fuck her up!”
The nurse typed the information into her computer. “She is in room eight-ten. Take the elevator to the second floor,” she said with an attitude.
If Amra hadn’t been in such a hurry, she would have told the nurse about her damn self. She and Tasha made their way to the second floor and walked into Ms. Pat’s hospital room. Tasha gasped when she saw how sickly Ms. Pat looked. She had lost a tremendous amount of weight, a sight that brought tears to Tasha’s eyes. She quickly brushed them away. She had to be strong for Amra.
Amra rushed to her mother’s side. She was sleeping, so she didn’t wake her. She just sat on the edge of her bed and held her hand. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know you were sick,” she whispered. She leaned close to kiss her mother’s forehead.
Tasha walked closer to the bed and put her hands on Amra’s shoulder for support. As hard as it was for her to see Ms. Pat in her current state, she knew it was ten times harder for Amra.
They heard the creak of the door as it opened, and a tall, big-nosed white man with a clipboard entered the room. He seemed surprised when he saw the two girls in the room.
“You must be her daughter. Tasha, right? She talks about you all the time,” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
Guilt is the only word to describe the feeling that swept through Tasha’s body. She felt like she had betrayed Amra for being so close to Ms. Pat. She said, “Well, er, I-I-I’m not.”
Amra was aware that her mother loved Tasha as if she was her own, and although she was slightly jealous of the bond that they shared, she appreciated having Tasha in both of their lives. She grabbed Tasha’s hand. “I’m her daughter, Amra, and this is my sister.”
Tasha looked at Amra in surprise. Amra quickly told her, “You are our family.”
Tasha dropped a tear and squeezed Amra’s hand tightly.
“Well, we know that the tumor in her leg is cancerous. Right now, it is in one area, but cancer spreads very quickly. I would recommend that we start treatment as soon as possible. She would have to undergo a surgery to remove the tumor. If the cancer is still present after that, then she is going to need chemotherapy to treat and control the cancer.”
Amra looked back at her mother, and then at the doctor. “When can we start?”
“I would like to start immediately, but this type of treatment requires some type of payment. Does she have health insurance?”
Tasha looked at Amra, who slowly shook her head.
“No, she doesn’t have insurance,” Amra said. “Is that going to stop you from helping her?”
“We will do everything in our power to keep her comfortable, but without insurance or some form of payment, we cannot perform any major surgeries. We can give her painkillers to take home.”
Amra yelled, “Painkillers? My mother has cancer, and you are just going to give her some Tylenol and send her home? That’s bullshit!”
The doctor remained calm. He understood the young woman’s frustrations, but he had to abide by the hospital’s policy. “If she doesn’t have insurance, we cannot treat her. Now, I can give you the number of an agency to call. They might be able to help your family with the medical bills, but they have a lot of people on their list. There is a two-year waiting period.”
Tasha thought to herself, Everybody these days is about money. That’s a damn shame. She yelled, “She doesn’t have two years! If the cancer goes untreated, she will die! Look at her!”
The doctor lowered his head. Before exiting the room, he said, “I’m sorry, but it’s hospital policy. It’s out of my hands. Hurley Hospital will treat her without a down payment. They’re a state-mandated facility, so they can’t turn her away. You might want to try over there.”
Tasha stared at the doctor like he was crazy. Everybody knew that going into that hospital was like committing suicide. She looked back at Amra, who was sitting in a chair next to Ms. Pat’s bed.
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ll figure it out.” Tasha pulled a chair next to Amra’s and gripped her hand.
They sat by Ms. Pat’s bedside and thought about how they could come up with enough money to cover her hospital bills. They both cried silent tears for the woman that they equally loved. They held onto her for dear life, and eventually they both drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
The next morning, they were awakened by the commotion coming from the hallways of the hospital. Tasha looked up and saw that Amra’s chair was empty. She must have gone to get some food or something. She saw Ms. Pat stir in her bed and thought the noise had awakened her too. She reached for Ms. Pat’s hand. “Hey, Ms. Pat. How you feeling?”
Ms. Pat blinked twice, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Tasha? Baby, what are you doing here?” she asked weakly. She sat up and hugged Tasha’s neck. “I missed you so much!”
“The doctor called and told us you were sick. Amra’s here too.”
Just then, Amra entered the room as if she’d been waiting for an introduction. She stood by the door, not knowing what to say to her mother. She hadn’t called her since she had left for Flint, and didn’t know if her mother was happy to see her or not.
“Don’t be standing in the doorway like you some type of stranger. Get over here and give me a hug.”
Amra rushed to her mother’s side, relieved that she didn’t hold a grudge. She hugged her tightly.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick when I talked to you on the phone?” Tasha asked. “We would have come home.”
Ms. Pat shrugged her shoulders and stubbornly replied, “Ain’t nobody sick. These doctors are just overexaggerating. I’m fine. You girls didn’t have to fly all the way home just to take care of me. The Good Lord will see to it that I make it through this just fine.”
<
br /> “Momma, you have cancer, and we have to do something about it. Not even God can heal this. You can’t just sit around denying that you are sick.”
“We’re going to come up with the money to pay for your surgery, I promise,” Tasha added.
Ms. Pat waved her hand, as if dismissing the idea. “Child, don’t go spending all your money on me. I don’t need any surgeries. If the Lord says it’s my time to go, then ain’t no surgery going to stop it. So let it be. I’ll be alright.” Ms. Pat stared lovingly at Amra, and then at Tasha. “It’s just good to see you two . . . my two girls. I’m happy with just that.”
Tasha looked at Ms. Pat and smiled, but on the inside she was worried. You need to have this surgery, Ms. Pat. Tasha’s mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, trying to come up with a solution to their problem. She looked around the hospital room and instantly felt a shiver go down her spine. I hate hospitals. They are so contagious-feeling, with all these sick people here. She felt as if the room was closing in on her. She needed to get out of the confinement of the hospital room. She stood up. “I’m going to go find the doctor.” She quickly walked out of the room, desperately wanting to breathe fresh air. She walked down the hall and spotted Ms. Pat’s doctor checking a patient’s chart a couple doors down. “Excuse me, Doctor Danson!” she shouted, jogging to catch up to him.
Doctor Danson turned around. “Hi. Tasha, is it?”
“Yeah. Um, Ms. Pat is awake, and we were wondering when we could take her home.”
The doctor flipped through his clipboard, looking for Ms. Pat’s chart. “Did your family come to a decision regarding the surgery?”
“We’re going to come up with the money as soon as we can. How long do you think it will be before the cancer starts to spread?”
The doctor put his pen back in his lab coat pocket. “It depends. No one really knows how fast cancer will progress. Could be weeks, maybe months. The surgery is one hundred and fifty thousand, and we can’t operate until the hospital has received twenty-five percent of the payment.”
A Girl From Flint Page 10