Definition of a Bad Girl

by MìChaune

  “Who is your man?” the detective questioned.

  Leshaun knew she needed to lie. She wasn’t going to put Prince Boyd on blast. Prince knew how to disappear when it was convenient. Her birthday, their anniversary, Christmas: the important shit. Leshaun was confident that she wasn’t the side chick because she knew his mom and his sister. She also got along with two of his ex-bitches, and she didn’t lose any sleep over whether Prince was fucking them.

  She knew that he wasn’t.

  And she didn’t lose sleep over who Prince might or might not have been doing when he wasn’t with her. He knew better than to cheat on her. He wanted it raw, and she made him get tested monthly, and she still made him wear a rubber. Sticking the head in was something he got to enjoy on special occasions: his birthday, their expensive date nights, Father’s Day.

  “Cam Newton,” she lied, kinda. Leshaun had dated a man named Cam Newton who wasn’t related to or bore any resemblance to the popular Carolina Panthers quarterback.

  “Bullshit,” the detective called her bluff.

  “No, not the star. It’s this white boy I’m seeing who used to be an investment banker.” Leshaun continued to mix lies with truth. Cam was an investment banker with Morgan Stanley, and she did see him last week at Barnes & Noble. Saw him with an older black woman he married and the young black boy he was playing steppop to.

  “Oh, okay.” Leshaun watched the detective write down his name and possibly some fact she just told him. “I really hate that your girl didn’t announce herself before helping herself into your home.”

  “Me too.” Leshaun wanted to look down, and she did look away from the detective for a minute and glanced at the window. She knew they could hear her.

  “When was the last time you saw Cam?” The detective added, “And do you have a number where I can reach him?”

  “Yeah, I saw him last week with this other girl. He said they were coworkers and I’ve seen her at Morgan Stanley before, but I don’t know her like that.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the interrogation and the detective left. She looked around the room. Once she found an imperfection in the wall, she focused on it as she tuned out the lights and anything else. She reflected to a happier time with Tiana when they first saw Prince. Leshaun remembered Tiana thought Prince was ugly until they saw him up close. Prince had a pretty boy face and a stocky frame with biceps that easily lifted 300 pounds or more. He had a slight pudge, but not an overlapping belly that screamed fat. And his calf and shin muscles were stronger than a horse’s.

  And his uncircumcised dick was hung like one, too.

  He was wearing a fitted Johnson C. Smith baseball cap with an oversized Johnson C. Smith athletic shirt and some loose-fitting jeans. Prince would later tell them that between hustling, he studied economics. Let him tell it, the two went hand in hand.

  “Ms. Gamble.” The detective brought her back to reality. “Just wanted to let you know that we found your story checked out and we will not be filing charges at this time. While it is unfortunate that your friend died, you had reasonable cause to believe that the home you were staying in was being invaded because your friend did not announce herself.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Leshaun was happy to hear the news, but she did not celebrate in front of the officer.

  Instead, she got up, collected her things, and nodded her head. She was directed to processing where her gun and other possessions taken from her were returned. After she caught the complimentary cab home, Leshaun called and booked two tickets on a charter plane to Birmingham, Alabama.

  For the next call, she made sure to make the Facetime feature on her phone available.

  “Hey, baby,” the man answered the phone.

  “I need you stop what you are doing and fly out to Birmingham with me,” Leshaun demanded.

  “Fly out to . . .” Prince looked away, trying to gather his thoughts at the urgent request.

  “I’m not Facetiming you for you to say no. This is an emergency.” Leshaun grilled her phone like she was face to face with Prince.

  Prince exhaled. “Okay. When do we fly out?”

  “In an hour.” Leshaun pressed the red button on her phone. She needed to get out of Asheville, and she didn’t want to be alone. And the company she wanted, a female couldn’t provide.

  Chapter Eleven

  In secret, Janae kept in touch with Bryson ever since that wild, passionate, sex-filled night. She woke up in his arms and received a thorough fucking that left her breathless before sunrise. Every night they spent hours on the phone, talking about life and each other. It pained her to have such a long distance between them. From Nashville to Asheville was a five-hour drive down I-40 West. Their flowing talks were based on true emotions and not the thrill of lust.

  Times were still hard on Janae. She hated to lie to Bryson, starting with the bogus name she still went by. At the moment she had her legs tucked under her on the couch in Lysa’s living room. For the first time in her life, she was engrossed in Desperate Hoodwives by Meesha Mink and De’nesha Diamond. Page by page she stared riveted, cheering for the main characters to overcome their issues.

  “Whatcha doing, ho?” Lysa sauntered into the living room with a cigarette between her manicured fingers. The tight jeans hugged her thick curves intimately, and the white tiny tank top did wonders for her bouncy breasts.

  “Reading this book I got from the library,” Janae answered without breaking her attention from the novel.

  Lysa took a pull on the cigarette and sat down on the loveseat. “I thought your ass didn’t like to read.” Lysa blew smoke from her mouth.

  Janae marked a page and closed the book with a touch of reluctance. “Just trying something new I guess.”

  Lysa rolled her eyes. “Whatever. We ’posed to be hustling and trickin’.” She laughed and slid the cigarette back between her lips. Janae placed the novel by her hip and adjusted the white-and-black bandana on her head. Lysa frowned. “You need to do something to that nappy-ass head of yours.”

  “What for?” Janae retied the bandana over her rough-looking hair. “Ain’t got no man to look good for.”

  “And it’s gonna stay that way if you keep rocking that nappy shit like it’s in style.”

  Janae shook her head at the silly remark. Lloyd paid her for the work she’d done, but Janae chose to be stingy with it. She had enough to get her hair done, but she didn’t have any bookings. Janae’s mom taught her how to use a flat iron and curling iron, so she always knew how to do basic shit. When she wasn’t working, Janae kept it simple. Since she typically knew in advance when she had an escort client, she’d set up her hair appointments in advance with a beautician she paid to come to wherever she was laying her head. And she tipped her well, so the woman didn’t ask any questions.

  “I’ve been on Facebook and Twitter all damn night!” Lysa complained as she reached for the ashtray on the table.

  “Ain’t been on mine’s in three weeks,” Janae replied as she picked Desperate Hoodwives back up, more interested in what the two authors had to write about than the mindless gossip conversation Lysa wanted to have. Janae wasn’t one too much into girl talk; she used her words carefully and kept it moving. With Lysa, she made an exception and tried to do “normal female” with her.

  “I bet Bryson been posting shit on your wall.” Lysa leaned back so she could show Janae Bryson’s Facebook page.

  “Fuck him.” Janae leaned back and yawned. “Damn, I’m tired.” Janae wanted to end the pointless conversation nicely, but Lysa was persistent.

  “I think I found our new lick.” Lysa tapped the ashes into the ashtray. That devious glow filled her eyes.

  “Who?” Janae settled back on the couch for another night’s rest.

  “Keshawn Valentine.” Lysa paused to refill her lungs. “There’s a post on his Facebook page about him doing a show at the Orange Peel next week. I swear, he the only rapper I know who can keep a flow while strumming guitar riffs.”

&nb
sp; “Lauryn Hill?” Janae looked at her confused. She remembered watching the MTV Unplugged special a few months before the World Trade Center attacks. Janae picked up the book again and read a few passages.

  “She’s a singer,” Lysa countered, and Janae shook her head as she continued to read.

  “And a rapper.” Janae was disappointed that Lysa not only didn’t know but couldn’t appreciate Lauryn Hill or her historical significance to music. In her attempt to pay attention, Janae folded the page of the book and closed it. “What’s the plan?” She gave Lysa her undivided attention.

  “Same as before. Try to get close to ’im and do my thang. All I gotta do is get his fine ass up in a room and it’s a wrap.”

  “Okay, you’re gonna have to come up with something better then that.” Janae put the book to the side and leaned forward. “We can’t just think if we dress seductive and be quick to open our legs that these niggas not gonna be on their guard. Dudes film their sexcapades and leak their dick pics on purpose just to get attention. What he look like?”

  Lysa smiled as she let Janae’s warning go in one ear and out the other. Janae could see that Lysa wasn’t heeding her warning and she wore her poker face to hide her disappointment. “Fine enough to give up the goods before I rob his ass. Just go check ’im out on Facebook. Pull up Keshawn Valentine.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m ’bout to carry my ass to sleep.” Janae shifted on the soft couch and reached down by her thigh for the urban novel. At that moment, she glanced at the screen of her smartphone. “Shit!” she muttered.

  “What’s up?” Lysa snuffed out the cigarette.

  “I was supposed to call my cousin at eight, and now it’s damn near ten! Got caught up in that good-ass book!” Janae snatched the phone and began typing her cousin’s name so she could make the call.

  Lysa scratched her scalp. “I think we can really come off big if we can make a move on Keshawn Valentine.”

  “You gonna take his car?” Janae asked after she dialed her cousin and got the voice mail. She sent a text apologizing for not calling when promised.

  Lysa shrugged. “Shit, he might catch a plane or something. What I really wanna do is to get that nigga to minus some major moolah from his bank account.”

  “The rape scheme?” Janae wanted to know if Lysa had put more thought into the scheme she told her about a month before they left Leshaun. At the time, Lysa thought if she could film the sex act and make it look like the man was forcing himself on her, she’d be able to blackmail him for what she wanted. Janae poked a hole in the plan when she told Lysa the plan wouldn’t work if they had visual only. Plus, Janae reasoned the audio with the motion picture would make the scene believable. That would be harder to do.

  Lysa nodded. “He got too much positive shit going to let something like a rape embarrassment fuck up his image. Even if I can’t prove it, just the threat of rape would be enough for him to cough up the bands.”

  “What you planning to hit him for?” Janae asked even though she didn’t see the plan working. She at least wanted to see if Lysa put more thought into her plan.

  “More than eight bands! That’s for damn sure! I knew like hell we were gonna get more for that if we stuck with Lloyd. He on that bullshit. We haven’t had anyone who could buy us a three-year-old car, let alone a new one,” Lysa vented.

  “Better than nothing.” Janae adjusted her bra strap under her shirt. In the back of her mind, she tried to convince herself that Lysa had a well thought-out plan. After she looked at Keyshawn Valentine’s page again and read the information, she could see that Lysa picked the right mark and the right scheme. The question remained if Lysa could pull everything together and make it click.

  “How much you got left?” Lysa wondered.

  Janae sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Uh, ’round thirteen hundred.”

  “Well, at least you got your car back. As for losing your apartment, you know you’re welcome here forever.” Lysa was genuine.

  “I know,” Janae replied in a funk. She liked Lysa and, for the moment, they appeared to be cohabiting just fine. But Janae knew she didn’t want to have a roommate forever.

  “Oh, when’s the last time you had some dick?” Lysa got nosy. “Not some paid dick, some pleasure dick.

  Janae blinked and cleared her throat. “Why?” Janae had no intention of telling Lysa about Bryson. Lysa knew just about everything there was to know about her. She wanted to keep a few secrets to herself.

  “Because you need some! You’ve been under my roof for a month and a half with no dick. And when you were up in your own shit I can’t ever recall you having anyone in your bed.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “Because these floors are thin as hell.” She laughed. “I be hearing everything when you finger flicking.”

  Janae rolled her eyes and kept the truth to herself. Bryson gave her a hint of a better life. A life free of stress. A life that she badly wanted.

  “So, what’s up?” Lysa lifted her eyebrow.

  “About what?”

  “Some dick! Lloyd has a homeboy from—”

  “Nah, I’m good,” Janae replied with her mind on Bryson.

  “I know you ain’t tripping over Bryson.”

  “Hell no!” Janae turned on her side. “Ain’t worried about that fool.”

  “Better not be.” Lysa stood. “I got to go get me some green. You rolling wit’ me?”

  “Not with my head like this.” Janae shook her head no, plotting on a way to end the conversation and get in the bed without hurting Lysa’s feelings.

  “Oh, yeah.” Lysa cracked a smile. “I forgot about that Medusa hairdo.”

  Janae snatched her smartphone off the table when Lysa left for a weed trip. She quickly hit the speed dial for Bryson.

  “Hey, sexy. You’re late.” His voice melted in Janae’s ear.

  “It’s your fault.” She giggled in the dark living room.

  “How?”

  “Because of that book you told me to read. O.m.g, that shit is fiyah, because I couldn’t stop reading!”

  “I knew you would like it. So, how was your day?”

  She sighed, wanting to be truthful. “Just another day. Making it, I guess.”

  “Sounds like it’s more than that. Anything you wanna talk about?”

  “Nope. Not about no stress. But I do want to talk about seeing you again.”

  “That sounds like a good topic. For what it’s worth, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  Janae closed her eyes and imagined she was cuddled naked in his arms. “Tell me about those thoughts,” she whispered.

  “I’ve been thinking about having you down here with me,” he admitted. “Like I told you a few days ago, I don’t think any less of you over the fact of what we did the first night.”

  “And morning,” she reminded him.

  He chuckled. “And that too.”

  “What we did was natural, baby. First night, second night, that shit don’t hold much weight with me.”

  “What does?”

  She rolled to her back. “Life,” she answered. “Life holds a lot of weight with me.”

  “How?”

  “Life is a one-time run. Gotta make the best of it.”

  “Do you think you’re doing that now? Making the best of your life?”

  “Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m coming or going. Life has a cousin called Days and I sure as hell have a rough time dealing with life day by day.” She couldn’t hide the dejectedness in her voice.

  “Tell me this: if you could have one realistic wish, what would it be?” he asked in an effort to liven her mood.

  Realistic? Shit, I can’t tell him about my money issues. “Um, I realistically wish I was down in the A and in your arms. Well,” she said, giggling, “I really want to be on top of you.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Mmm, you know. Stop being silly.” She beamed.

  “Tell me,” he pressed. “I
really want to know.”

  “Okay,” she said with all intent to be blunt. “I want to ride your dick real slow while you suck on my nipples. And I want to feel your hands all over my body.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Boy! You ain’t about to have me doing no phone sex.” She giggled.

  “Why not? You in bed, right?”

  “Yes,” she lied. “But I really don’t like doing that.”

  “My bad. I’m sorry,” he said wholeheartedly. “But ah, that’s your realistic wish?”

  “Yep. Do you like it?”

  “I more than like it. In fact, I can . . .” He paused. “Uh, let me call you right back. I got a call on the other line that I have to take.”

  Janae wanted to snap. “Uh, okay.” She ended the call without a formal good-bye. Nigga just mad I ain’t doing no stupid phone sex! she reasoned for his sudden departure. Motherfucka ain’t shit! She tossed the smartphone by her thigh and sighed with a load of stress. She felt stupid for thinking a man like Bryson would be interested in a chick from the hood. Probably got him a white bitch to be with! Janae tossed and turned on the couch, stressed and horny as fuck! There was no privacy inside Lysa’s one-bedroom apartment for Janae to get herself off.

  Suddenly the idea of a second shower made sense. Shit, I can pop one off in the shower. With her mind made up, she placed her feet on the floor and slid her hands over the outline of her breasts. Her nipples buzzed under the tight halter top, yearning for a man’s wet tongue. Just as she stood, her smartphone chimed with an alert of a new text message. She opened the message with a single finger swipe across the screen. Word for word, her heart hammered as she read the text:

  Hey, sexy. Your realistic wish can come true. Sorry for ending the call, but I had to b/c I had to surprise you with this. I made the arrangements for you to be in my arms & more tonight! All you have to do is catch the flight out of RDU. Flight info is attached. Your move. You have your wish. Your move.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I can’t believe this!” Leshaun whispered as the airplane leveled off for its trip to Birmingham, Alabama. She couldn’t believe her realistic wish to be with Prince would be a reality in few hours. All she had time to snatch up were a handful of clothes before she rushed out the door. Her heart hammered, pounding for the idea of being happy with one man. She didn’t think about what she was doing. She acted on her want and need of a man who had her all the way twisted. She left Asheville without saying shit to anybody. Leshaun settled back in the seat and closed her eyes. In her life, she was sick and tired of being pretty and poor. If possible, she hoped to change the latter to be happy. Pretty and happy. She took that hope to Birmingham, nappy head included. But her true reality would come close to the fact that two wrongs don’t make a right.