Seven
Twenty-four hours passed, and he hadn’t called yet. It didn’t worry Pearla too much, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Yearning to hear his voice and see him again, she was ready to call him. When she was away from Chica and Roark, she took out her cell phone and scrolled down to his number. All she had to do was press the dial button, but she was nervous. Why was she nervous? She was never nervous, but thinking about calling Cash made her heart beat fast like drums at a rock concert.
“Fuck it!” she told herself. She hit the dial button, put the phone to her ear, and listened as the ringing started.
Three rings later, he answered, “Hello.” His voice was cool and attractive.
“Hey, it’s me, Pearla,” she said softly into the phone.
“I know, beautiful. How you been?”
“I’m fine.”
Pearla heard laughter and loud voices in the background. It sounded like he was busy, maybe around friends. “Did I call you at a bad time?”
“Oh, nah. I was just thinking and talking about you, matter of fact.”
“Oh, you were? I hope it was something good.”
“Pearla, it’s always good when your name comes up.”
She smiled, but she couldn’t allow herself to become too gullible to his gift of gab. She took a deep breath. “So what you doing?”
“I’m just chillin’ wit’ my peoples, you know, gettin’ our drink and smoke on. And you?”
“I’m just leaving a friend’s place.”
“You wanna hook up?” he asked effortlessly.
“I don’t mind. When?”
“Tonight?”
It was late, two hours from midnight.
“I can’t do tonight. Tomorrow night is better for me.”
“A’ight, cool. It’s a date then,” Cash said.
“It’s a date.”
“You gonna wear somethin’ nice for me?”
“Of course. And you, the same?”
“Beautiful, I wouldn’t come see you any other way.”
“A’ight, bye.”
“Bye, beautiful.”
Pearla hung up feeling good about herself, but she knew she had to be careful with Cash. She couldn’t help but speculate. Was he really trying to go out on a date with her to get to know her better? Or was it a sly attempt to get between her legs and get him some quick pussy? If that was the case, he was going to be shut down and disappointed. She really liked him, but not to the point where she was about to degrade herself and fuck him on the first date.
***
Pearla pulled up to Petey Jay’s apartment, parked, and killed the ignition to her Benz. It was a beautiful evening, warm with a spectacular sunset over the city. Cash had instructed her to meet him at his friend’s apartment, which wasn’t a problem. She climbed out of her car and right away got on her cell phone to inform Cash that she was outside.
“Hello.”
“Hey, I’m downstairs,” she said.
“A’ight, cool. I’ll be down in one minute.”
Pearla looked around the quiet block. Cash’s friend didn’t live too far away from her homegirls. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a few drags, and waited patiently for him to step out the building.
She was excited and nervous at the same time. She wanted to look stunning for Cash, so she wore the dress she’d stolen out of Nordstrom a few weeks earlier—a white YSL minidress with six-inch Fendi heels.
Pearla was about ready to finish off her cigarette. She hated to be kept waiting, but she wasn’t going to rush off without him. She blew the last of smoke from her mouth and flicked her cigarette into the street.
Moments later, Cash walked out the lobby cheesing like a Cheshire cat. “Damn! You look beautiful, love,” he said with his award-winning charm, admiring her outfit from head to toe.
“Thank you,” she said, blushing.
Her car caught his attention.
“Yo, this you, ma?” he asked. He moved by her and walked toward the car like it was hypnotically calling out his name.
She smiled. “It is.”
Pearla’s Mercedes 240 gleamed. It was a big-boy toy for hustlers doing big things. She felt proud to be in such a category.
Cash gently touched the hood of the car. He looked like he wanted to fuck the car.
“I like this. I see you doin’ big things, beautiful.”
“I try.”
Pearla stood close behind him, smiling and feeling great about this evening thus far. She was dressed to hit the city, but he was dressed like a thug in a wife-beater, his muscular physique and multiple tattoos showing, a pair of faded blue jeans that just covered his black sneakers, a long diamond gold chain with diamond-encrusted skull pendant around his neck, and a colored bracelet on his wrist.
He smiled Pearla’s way. “Can I drive it? Can I chauffeur you around tonight?”
“I don’t mind,” she eagerly allowed, handing him the keys.
Cash slid into the driver’s side, while Pearla found herself in the passenger seat of her own car. He started it up, and then he revved the engine, making it sound like he was ready to compete in the Indy 500.
“What kind of engine you got under the hood?” he asked.
Pearla had no idea. She just drove the car and didn’t have a clue. “I don’t know.”
“Sounds nice, though. And the interior . . . you got taste when it comes to cars. Believe me, I know.”
Pearla grinned. “I like to ride around town in style.”
“I see.”
Cash didn’t have a license, but he was ready to race to wherever and start his date with Pearla. Being behind the wheel of a Mercedes-Benz made him feel great. For a quick second, only a second, he thought about stealing the car and taking it to Perez, but he couldn’t do Pearla like that—not yet anyway.
“What you feel like doin’?” he asked.
“I’m hungry.”
“I know a place.” Cash smiled. Pulling away from the curb, he briefly glanced at her legs and the dress she wore.
He took Rockaway Turnpike and headed for Applebee’s, the grill and bar restaurant near the Far Rockaway area. He was doing about sixty on the Turnpike, and the way he drove her vehicle showed he was a natural behind the wheel of any car.
“So how long have you had this?”
“About three months now.”
“You should throw some chrome rims on this baby, tint the windows, throw in a nice sound system, and you’d be the talk of the town.”
She smiled. “Talk of the town, huh?”
“Hells yeah!”
“I’m the talk of town now.”
Cash laughed. “Oh, you are?”
“I am,” Pearla replied smugly.
“Yeah, I hear your name do ring out.”
“So, it never rang in your ear?”
He chuckled. “I might have heard a few small bells; kinda faint, though. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“Oh, fuck you!” she replied, nudging him lightheartedly.
Pearla had a good feeling. They were making each other laugh. She couldn’t wait to get her eat on. Her stomach was growling a little bit because she hadn’t eaten all day. She was just hoping it didn’t growl so loud Cash heard it.
She walked side by side with Cash, ready to enter Applebee’s, but before they could walk in, his cell phone went off.
Cash didn’t hesitate to answer it, snatching it off his hip like it was on fire. Pearla didn’t mind—It wasn’t her business; they’d just met.
Lingering outside the restaurant, he said into the phone, “Hey, what’s up?”
Pearla looked at him stoically.
“Oh, word? It be like that . . . I feel you. I know, right . . . yo, that shit be crazy . . . a’ight,” he said to the person on the oth
er end. Then he laughed. For a moment, he wasn’t paying her any attention.
Pearla waited patiently for him to end his call. She didn’t know if he was talking to some bitch or a friend. It almost felt like he’d forgotten about their date, talking on the phone for several minutes like he was alone.
Pearla had to clear her throat around him to snap him back to reality. “How long you gonna be?” she asked him coolly.
“Oh, yo, let me call you back,” he said. Then he hung up the phone.
“Business call?”
“Something like that.”
Pearla just smiled and shrugged it off.
They walked into the restaurant and quickly got a table. It was a weekday, so the place wasn’t crowded at all. They ordered a few appetizers and their drinks.
“I haven’t been to Applebee’s in a while,” Pearla said.
“You and me both.”
Before their appetizers could arrive, Cash’s phone chimed again. He picked it up off the table, read the text, and smiled. He texted back and then placed his phone back on the table.
Not even a minute went by, and his phone went off again. He read a few text messages from whomever, while Pearla sat opposite of him in the booth, playing it cool.
When the appetizers came, Pearla decided to try and make an impression on him. She picked up one of the crab cakes, dipped it in mustard sauce, leaned over the table and tried to feed it to him.
Cash couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, I see you’re giving me the VIP treatment up in here.”
“You know it.”
He opened up and allowed Pearla to place the food into his mouth. Cash chewed it up and smiled.
“Is it good?” she asked.
He nodded.
She tried the crab cakes herself and was ready to devour them all at once.
They talked for a moment, joking around, trying to connect.
Cash’s cell phone started to ring again. He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Hey, what’s good?”
Pearla shook her head and laughed it off. She’d turned off her phone so Cash would have her undivided attention. It was a shame he couldn’t do the same thing for her.
She continued to eat the crab cakes while Cash was on his phone, almost ignoring her like she wasn’t even there. She looked around the restaurant, taking in all the sports memorabilia that decorated its walls while he chatted.
“A’ight.” He laughed. “That sounds like a plan. Hit me back later tonight,” she heard him say.
Pearla finished off all the crab cakes by the time he got off his phone. Hearing him say “Hit me back later tonight,” she wondered, Did this muthafucka have the audacity to set up a booty call while I am sitting right across from him on our first date?
“So, what did I miss?” he joked.
“You tell me. I see you’re a very busy man.”
“Just business.”
“I see.”
“You jealous?”
“I’m not a jealous bitch.”
“That’s good to know . . . because you know I got fans.”
“I do too, sweetheart.”
He laughed. “We like Beyoncé and Jay, huh?”
“I don’t like Beyoncé,” Pearla said out flat.
“What? I thought every bitch liked Beyoncé.”
“Well, first off, I ain’t every bitch, I’m this bitch. And I think that bitch is fake.”
“What? Let me find out you hating on Beyoncé.”
“It ain’t hate, Cash. I just don’t like that bitch.”
“Then what you call it?”
“Why is it when a girl doesn’t like someone, everyone gotta call it hate? What’s up with that?”
“Because, usually, everyone hates on the pretty bitch—especially when she got talent, got money, can sing and dance her ass off, and she’s a married woman.”
“So, what that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s living the American dream three times over.”
“And I’m living it too.”
“Yeah, illegally.”
“Look at you, the pot trying to call the kettle black.”
“So, you’re not a hater. Then what that makes you?”
“Like I said before, I just don’t like that bitch, but that don’t make me a hater.”
“And what reason?”
“I already gave you my reason—she’s fraud.”
“Beyoncé fraud. You talk about her like you know her.”
“Look, I’m not trying to spend this entire date talking about Beyoncé,” Pearla said sharply.
“Okay, I feel you. You win,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. “You ain’t gotta cut my head off.”
Being the charmer, Cash said, “You know, you’re much prettier than her.”
“Thank you.”
The waiter walked over to take their order, but before Cash could tell her what he wanted from the menu, his phone chimed again as another text message came through. He picked up his phone and read it. Another smile appeared on his face.
Pearla ordered first while Cash stayed on his phone like he was the president handling foreign affairs. Here we go again, she thought.
When she finished ordering, Cash stared up at the waitress and smiled. She smiled back. His eyes lingered on her figure, and then he said, “Do you come wit’ the menu?”
Pearla couldn’t believe he’d asked that. “Really, Cash?” she said sharply.
“You know I’m just playing, Pearla.”
Pearla sighed heavily. Rude muthafucka!
The waitress continued to smile, keeping things professional, and took down his order.
When the waitress walked away, he locked eyes with Pearla and smiled. “You know I don’t want that bitch. I’m here wit’ you, having a good time, and we gonna have a great night, right?”
Pearla didn’t answer him right away. She looked at him and thought to herself, Damn! He’s fine. She fought hard though, trying not to become that stupid bitch around him. She knew better. He had bitches chasing.
Pearla had niggas chasing her too—hustlers, pretty boys, and professionals—but she kept them at arm’s length. She hadn’t had dick in over two months.
The last lucky nigga to get between her legs was Randy. They grew up together and had always been cool with each other. Randy was a dope boy; a big-money nigga moving weight from New York to the South. He always had love and respect for her.
After years of friendship, it took one night of drinking and talking for things to turn intimate between them. A lasting stare transitioned into a longing kiss, then to pleasing touches, clothes being removed, and then a heated sexual episode with hips thrusting and deep penetration. It was the best sex Pearla had ever had.
Two weeks later, Randy was shot and killed during a drug transaction in North Carolina.
Cash and Pearla walked out of Applebee’s feeling content—good food, good conversation. Before they could get to her car, Cash’s cell phone went off again, and he answered it.
Pearla sighed. She climbed into the car and sat in the passenger seat. She was being nice. If it was any other muthafucka, she would have been lashed out and ended the date. She was giving him way too many passes.
After he ended his five-minute conversation, he looked at her and said, “It’s still early. What next?”
Eight
Cash drove up to the liquor store near the Applebee’s they’d just left, saying to Pearla, “You don’t mind if I get my drink on?”
She shrugged. “Nah. It’s cool with me.”
He jumped out the car, be-bopped toward the liquor store, and disappeared inside, leaving Pearla waiting inside the Benz.
She lit another cigarette. It was getting late, but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. She smoked and hoped the date didn’t g
o left. The last thing she wanted to do was check this muthafucka if he tried to disrespect her.
She turned on her phone to see if anyone had called. Nothing. She only had a few messages from Chica, inquiring if she had a girl yet for the hustle. She texted back NOT YET, and put her phone away.
Cash came walking out the liquor store with a plastic bag in his hand. He was smiling, looking excited. Pearla watched him approach with such a confident stride. She admired his swagger and liveliness. His smile was magnetic, causing her to smile also. He moved like he owned the world and was untouchable. It was alluring to her. He definitely had that bad boy charisma drenched all over him.
He slid into the car, still smiling. “Now it’s a party.” He removed the fifth of Hennessy from the plastic bag. He had no cups, just the bottle. He didn’t hesitate to twist open the bottle and take it to the head in front of her. He downed some of the brown juice like it was water.
“You want a sip?” he asked, placing the bottle in front of her.
Pearla fancied herself to be a champagne-and-wine kind of girl, but she wasn’t offended by the offer. She took the bottle out of his hand, placed it to her lips, and took a large gulp. Cash laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You just surprised me, that’s all.” He thought she was going to reject the Henny and look at him sideways.
“What you was thinking? I was gonna shun you?”
“Nah, not that.”
She smiled. He smiled. For a few minutes, they lingered in the parking lot, talking and drinking.
On the ride back to Brooklyn, they took turns passing the bottle back and forth. Pearla didn’t seem to mind that he was drinking and driving, though it was her car he was driving.
Cash gazed at her velvety, long legs that were crossed over each other and licked his lips. He wanted some pussy. He wanted her. He was becoming super horny. “You know you’re beautiful, Pearla. I love your style.”
“Thank you.”
“And I love your fuckin’ legs. Yo, I know you work out.”
The House that Hustle Built, Part 1 Page 7