by Nikki Turner
Don called Beijing later on that same night, but she didn’t want to hear any of his lame excuses. After answering her phone, she screamed, “Don’t fucking call me back until you carry your junkie ass to rehab.”
CHAPTER 7
You Are Fired
Beijing missed the hell out of Don. It had been two weeks, three days, and four hours since she left him OD’d on the bathroom floor. When he wasn’t high, Don was one of the most fun and loving people she had ever been around. Before the breakup, he would call her from six to sixty-six times a day to keep her up on his every move as well as tell her all the breaking news around the world. But Beijing knew that she did not want to get caught up in his madness. She thought about what the old folks would always say: The best cure for the ex is the next!
Beijing had to do something to get her phone ringing again and get her mind off Don or she would drive herself crazy.
“Girl, why you so quiet,” her girlfriend Rayna asked Beijing over the phone. They had been friends for a little over two years and talked about everything and everybody.
Rayna and Beijing met at self-defense class. Beijing’s father had convinced her that the class would be a good way for her to learn to protect herself since she was traveling around the country by herself. Rayna was there trying to shed both a few pounds and her frustrations.
The cardio that the instructor put the class through was such an intensive workout that it kept Beijing’s body in tip-top shape. However, Rayna was a different story. Rayna was a brown-skinned girl who rocked a short Halle Berry haircut, and though she appeared to be very confident and have it all together, the truth was that she was obsessed with losing weight and had tried anything and everything from B12 shots to Slim-Fast, Fen-Phen, and any and every other kind of diet and diet pills. Rayna had even gotten liposuction a couple of times, and while the results were fabulous it didn’t fix her issue. Her problem was that she loved good greasy food, and especially junk food, and would eat it in excess, knowing that it was bad for her health and her waistline.
“No reason.” Beijing lied as she used her shoulder to hold the cordless phone while she opened up the curtains in her hotel room, which she had made her home, to let some sun into both her suite at the Tabby and her life.
“Tell that nonsense to somebody that don’t know any better,” Rayna shot back.
Beijing admired the Charlotte skyline through the window. “You think you know me so well.” She smiled as she quickly became bored with the view, picking up her cell phone off the nightstand. Beijing pushed the button that brought up her contacts while she listened to Rayna invade her business.
“I do—” Rayna paused. “—too well. You thinking about that damn Don, huh?”
“Nope, actually I’m trying to find someone to get my mind off Don.”
“What about Larry Love?”
“Hell naw.” Beijing sucked her teeth and twisted her face up like a foul odor had assaulted her nostrils. “Now, how does that sound? If I am trying to get my mind off a damn near double-platinum rapper, why would you think a wannabe rapper would be a sufficient substitute?”
“You right.” Rayna chuckled at herself. “Especially one that has never done as much as a high school talent show.” They both laughed.
Beijing continued to scroll through her contacts list, and she wasn’t coming up with anything.
“Girl,” Rayna said, breaking the silence, “I know somebody you should call.”
“Who?” Beijing asked, not quite enthusiastic, since Rayna wasn’t the best at relationships herself. Her baby’s father had dragged her through the mud and back again. They had a dysfunctional relationship that centered on money. They hustled together by all means necessary: ride or die, hook or crook, lie, cheat, beg, borrow, or steal. If it could get got, then it was good as gone as far as those two were concerned. When the relationship was good, it was very good, and they were Bonnie and Clyde at their best. But when it was bad it was the War of the Roses. Though Beijing didn’t know all the details of Rayna and York’s relationship, she knew that it was tumultuous.
“The dude from the fight,” Rayna added. “Tell me you still got his number.”
“What guy?”
“The guy who had you all googley-eyed when he tried to put his mack down on you at the fight.”
Beijing laughed out loud. She would have been lying if she said she hadn’t felt the attraction when the guy spoke to her. But the truth was that it was a really great idea, and Beijing knew that she had his number buried in her wallet somewhere.
“Girl, I’m serious, if York didn’t have me under ball and chain, I would have tackled his ass. Promise me you are going to at least call him.”
“It’s been a long time since that fight, though, almost a year. He probably don’t even remember.”
“Trust me, girl, the way he was eyeing you, you are tattooed on that dude’s brain. And if he has amnesia, you make him remember.”
Still a little unsure, Beijing said, “I hear you but still, I don’t know about this.”
“Gurl, just call him. I know he will remember,” Rayna assured her friend. “I am not saying that you have to marry him or anything. I’m saying that he’s someone to get your mind off what’s-his-name.” She promised Rayna that she would.
Beijing felt reluctant about calling Lootchee. As she stood looking out the window, sipping on a glass of wine, her phone rang.
“Good afternoon.”
“Yes, my name is Macy-Rae and I am calling on behalf of Mr. Teflon the Don.”
“Yes, is everything all right?” Beijing asked, concerned. She thought that this might be someone calling from a drug treatment program.
“Yes everything is fine. In fact, it’s wonderful, marvelous, and life couldn’t be better for him or me.”
“Oh great, I’m so happy for him.” She wasn’t sure what the woman was talking about and paused as she thought about the last time she’d seen Don.
“Ain’t no need for all the small talk; we ain’t friends nor am I interested in trying to be your friend,” Macy-Rae said, cutting through all the pleasantries. “I just need to figure out how I can meet up with you or give you an address so I can get all of his paperwork and personal documents from you since he don’t fuck with you anymore.”
Beijing was stunned at the angry woman on the other end of the phone. For a split second she was tougue-tied, and Macy-Rae knew it too. Before Beijing could respond, Macy-Rae added, “Yeah, we thank you and appreciate you for the deal and all, but it is what it is. You are old news and I’m the headline in Don’s life.”
Beijing had no idea why this chick felt it necessary to call her talking smack, but she did know that she wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’d rather be old news than an old ho any day,” she shot back.
“Bitch, you don’t understand who the hell you fucking with. While you calling me a ho, I’ll whip your mother … fucking ass,” Macy-Rae screamed into the phone.
“Are you serious?” Beijing laughed.
“Dead-ass serious, bitch! Keep playing with me. I’ll beat you down and then drag yo’ ass like a mop.”
“Now, that is funny. I’d like to see that day.” Beijing was roaring in laughter. “Hell, I’ll pay to see that day,” she taunted.
Most of the time Beijing could find humor in everything, but not this day. After dealing with her psychotic mother her entire life and her crackhead sister’s bullshit for many years, dealing with very high-strung, demanding clients was a breeze—that’s what made her so good at her job. And the times she felt like things were too out in left field—crazier than normal—she would just try to laugh it off.
“You better watch yo’ back,” Macy-Rae warned.
“Look here, Ms. Whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is. I’m a busy lady and I don’t have the time or inclination to play with little girls who swallow cum for a living.” Beijing had had enough of the foolishness. “So until you get that dick out of yo’ mouth and talk like someone with some s
ense … take Michael Jackson’s advice and beat it, bitch!” And then Beijing ended the call.
After that heated discussion, Beijing was ready to call Lootchee. She hesitated, holding the phone in her hand for several seconds. Then it rang again, from a 215 number she didn’t recognize. Philly, she thought to herself. She answered, “Hello.”
“By the way, bitch, Don said that yo’ ass is F-I-R-E-D! Your services are no longer needed, beyotch!”
“Yes, honey, but I still get paid my fifteen percent, that’s indefinite, baby girl. So you enjoy working for free while I reap the benefits, boo.” Beijing hit END on her cell phone. That was enough motivation to finally make her put in the call to Lootchee.
CHAPTER 8
The Pimp Hand
Roy was six foot two, light-skinned, with wavy black hair. Though he lived a life of luxury, he’d never worked a real job a day in his life. And the only thing smoother than his baby-bottom-soft hands was his rap. He was a true ladies’ man, and he made sure that they paid to play—usually big bucks, no whammies.
Roy had met Gia a little over six months ago, and surprisingly he hadn’t been with anyone else since he’d bagged her. Why would he? Gia was everything he needed in a girl. At twenty-five she had her own beauty salon, her beauty and body were off the chain, and she had a rich brother who adored her and gave her anything that her heart desired. If she thought it, her brother bought it, which was even better for him, because after the brother gave her everything there was only one thing left to give her: wood.
From time to time Gia would get straight disrespectful out of her mouth, but that was nothing Roy couldn’t deal with. In fact most of the time her quick wit and sharp tongue were kind of cute, but on the rare occasion that Gia did pluck his last nerve, he quickly shut her down with a slap or two. In his eyes it was nothing that she didn’t have coming. Afterward he would sex her down real good—not forgetting to lick her clit a little longer than usual while telling her how sorry he was for having to hit her. “You know you brought that shit on yourself,” he’d tell her. Not counting the beat-down he gave her last night, he only had to put his pimp hand down twice, so things couldn’t be better for him. Roy had been in Gia’s ear for months to persuade her to convince her brother to put him down. Roy wasn’t sure what her big brother was into but he knew that it was something heavy—and that bro had money out the ying-yang. Just judging by the money he gave Gia, it seemed like his bank account was big enough to choke a horse.
Roy was leaning against the breakfast bar in the kitchen of Gia’s condo eating a bagel when Gia’s brother rolled up outside to give her a Gucci bag that he had bought hot off a booster coming straight out of Saks. He walked over to the window and saw them talking. Shortly afterward, Gia brought her new gift inside the house and went back out for work.
A few minutes later, the phone on the wall rang. Roy knew it was going to be his lucky day when he heard it was her brother on the other end. “You busy?” Bro asked when Roy picked up. “I got some’em I want to holla at you about … that is, if you like money.”
“Naw, man, I ain’t never too busy to holla at family,” Roy replied, smiling like a cat in a room full of birds.
“Bet, it’s eleven now. I’ll meet you at Sis’s house about one.”
True to his word, there Bro was.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, bro?” Roy said, barely able to hide his excitement.
Not wasting any time, Gia’s brother said, “I want to show you this.” He reached in his waistband and began to pull something out.
The nine-inch barrel of the .41 snaked out of his pants like a steel cobra. When the mouth was finally released it reared down in an arcing motion, hitting Roy across the left side of his temple. Whop.
Roy grabbed his face with both hands, collapsing to the hardwood floor like the little bitch he was. Instead of being thankful for being smacked and not getting a cap busted in his ass, he attempted to ask, “Why you hit—”
Before he could get the words out he felt size-twelve Timber-land boots do a B&E to his mouth. The impact was so great it knocked out two of his front teeth, sending them flying across the floor like a pair of dice in search of a point. The next time the boot visited his face, it broke his jaw.
“I don’t like men who pick on women! The next time you stupid enough to put yo’ hands on my sister, you won’t be this lucky, ma’fucka! Ya heard me?” Another foot to the stomach came with those words. “I said did you hear me?” Bro asked.
Balled up in a fetal position, with blood and tears pouring from his face and mouth, Roy said “Yes” in between sobs.
“Yeah! What? Motherfucka!”
“Yes,” he sniffled, “Lootchee”—his lips were trembling—“I heard you.”
Lootchee was walking out of the condo, hoping that he didn’t have to kill that fool Roy next time.
His phone rang and he picked it up. “Yeah,” he answered as he got in his car. No sign in his voice that he had just pistol-whipped a man a minute ago.
“Hello, can I speak to Lootchee please?” Beijing said in her sexiest voice.
CHAPTER 9
Pissing Razors
“This is Beijing. You met me a while back at the fight in Vegas,” she added.
Lootchee was silent for a minute, so Beijing continued. “I’m sorry to call like this and I know you probably met so many girls that weekend.”
“Ahhh, yeah …,” he said hesitantly. He smiled as he thought about all the exotic beauties he’d met that weekend.
“It seems like you’re trying to place me. Give me your email address and I’ll send you a picture to help you out.”
“Is this your number?” he abruptly asked when he saw a police car driving past him going in the direction of Gia’s house.
“All day, every day.”
“Bet. I’ma going to call you right back in a short.”
“Okay. No problem.” The conversation was over as quickly as it began. Damn, that was fast, she thought to herself.
After an hour had passed and Lootchee had not called back, rejection began to set in. Beijing dialed Rayna back and explained what happened.
“Girl, he gonna call you back. Did you tell him that you were the girl he called a knockout?”
“I didn’t get a chance to.”
“Well, you should’ve.”
“Rayna, listen to me. The dude had me off the phone damn near before I could remember what number I dialed.”
“The nigga was probably in the middle of someting like counting money.” Rayna was trying to make light of the situation. “Look, just give him a while. He will call.” Rayna was just as excited as Beijing was, anticipating the phone call. She assured Beijing that Lootchee was a busy man. “He’ll call.”
Beijing’s phone rang about an hour later, just as Rayna had predicted. It was him.
“I apologize for not being able to call back sooner but something came up that needed my immediate attention,” Lootchee said. He wasn’t lying. He had to run out and buy a laptop and have someone create an email account for him. He didn’t want Beijing to know that he not only didn’t use a computer, but he barely knew how. That’s the type of guy Lootchee was, it was just too hard for him to say that he didn’t have email.
“Here’s my email address,” he said before reading it from a piece of paper.
“That’s not a problem,” Beijing said, like she hadn’t been the least bit worried that he wouldn’t call back. “I’m sending the pictures now. My hair was different when I met you, though,” she lied.
“I’m sure you are a looker, no matter how you dip your hair,” he flirted.
She could hear the smile in his voice and reminisced back to the first time they had met in Vegas. She had to admit that the man had game.
“Peace this, ma, I’m still not done with the matter that came up, but I truly apologize. I’m going to call you back the minute I’m free,” he said before adding, “and can I share a secret with you?
I don’t need a picture or video to remember the fight or the knockout,” he said before ending the conversation.
Before she could put her phone back onto the charger, her work cell rang.
“Hello, this is Beijing.”
“Beijing, this is Peter Bitz. A while back, I stayed at the Tabby in Charlotte and you took great care of me.”
“Yes—yes, of course. How are you, Mr. Bitz?” Beijing said through her earpiece as she looked in her Franklin Covey planner to see if he was due to come back to visit.
“You took such great care of my girls and me when I was there and you seem to be a resourceful young lady. I don’t know if you moonlight or not but I could make it worth your while, if you could get the Carowinds Amusement Park to open up for my girls and me. They want to go, and the last day of the season was yesterday.”
Beijing’s mind started racing. “Is there a particular day you have in mind?”
He told her the days that he had his girls, and Beijing jotted them down.
“Okay, I will get to work on this.”
She hung up the phone, began to search her extensive and intensive Rolodex, and finally found what she was looking for: Cameron. Cameron was the great-grandson of the man who created and owned the amusement park. Cameron tended to frequent various Tabby hotels. No matter who his hotel VIP concierge was, he would always ask Beijing to give the orders to his host. Beijing kept his secrets: He was a mess indeed who loved wild sex and orgies.
Beijing dialed his number. As the phone rang, she reflected on the first time she’d met him.
Cameron had been in his penthouse suite for over a week with several women and a sandwich bag of E pills, celebrating his eighteenth birthday, when he’d called Beijing.
“I need to speak to you in private,” he said.
Only minutes before he rang her, Beijing had just said to one of her co-workers that she had never had a client so low-maintenance and easy to work with.