by Mink, Meesha
My eyes and ears in Goldie’s operation was MIA.
Last night I found out her apartment was empty—and had been empty for the last week.
Sighing, I called Missy’s number.
“What’s up, chick?” she said.
“Nothing much. My mind ran across Kerri and her sister. How they doing?” I asked.
A while back, I asked Missy to take me to meet Kerri and her sister. I surprised them all by pressing a couple grand into Kerri’s hand. It was a little bit of the money I took from Make$’s safe-deposit box, and at the time I wished I had more to give her.
What Missy didn’t know was that when Kerri’s older sister Shani told me she wanted to make Goldie pay for what she did to her sister, I eventually talked her into using her banging body and good looks to interview to be one of the new Goldie’s Girls video vixens . . . my Trojan Horse.
My snitch was the vengeful sister of the young woman Goldie betrayed. That shit made it all the sweeter for me.
But now she was gone.
“I haven’t seen her or talked to them in so long,” Missy said.
I steered my car onto the next exit ramp and pulled off on the side of the road.
“Once I found out her dumb ass was working for Goldie after what that bitch did to her sister I was too through with her. No way. You feel me? No fuckin’ way. Goldie couldn’t give me money. I’d be like nah, I’m good, bitch. Keep it movin’.”
I rolled my eyes. Yes, we all hated Goldie. She wasn’t shit. I hoped she ate shit and died. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I wasn’t in the mood for an “I hate Goldie” gabfest. My mind was on making moves.
“Hey, Missy, I’m getting pulled over by the cops, let me call you back,” I lied, ending the call.
I sat on the exit ramp going over a million and one different scenarios of what Shani’s ass was up to. Did she still work for Goldie? Had she crossed over to the other side? Did she clue Goldie’s ass in on my mission to destroy her?
Ugh! I pounded my fist on the steering wheel. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Motherfucking. Shit. Dammit. Shit!”
I flexed my shoulders and rolled my neck as I forced myself to calm down.
Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .
I reached for my cell phone. “Hello?”
“Luscious, you got any more of your tickets left?” Eve asked.
We were having a car show/barbecue and after-party later that afternoon, something Eve and Michel rigged up by themselves while my ass was on a mental vacation. Truth? I didn’t sell none of them tickets. “I got a few left,” I lied. My mind was barely on Yummy Entertainment anymore.
“Save me five if you got them.”
“Okay.”
“Where you at? Me and Michel need help out at the park,” she said.
“I have to get my car serviced and then I’m coming,” I told her.
“Okay. Hurry up.”
I ended the call, put the car into drive, and made my way to the Jaguar dealer. I drove around to the service department and parked. As soon as I stepped out of the car, a Jag pulled into the spot next to me. I glanced over at the tall dude behind the wheel. I did a double take.
He was fine. That caramel sexy. Bald head. Close-cut beard. Suckable lips. Broad shoulders.
He turned his head and caught me looking at him. His face spread with a smile that let me know he liked what he saw too. I did a little wave and turned away. I wasn’t looking for a man.
He climbed out the car and I peeked over my shoulder at him. Every bit of six foot three, and even beneath the suit he wore, I could tell he was built. Ripped. Stacked. Sexy. He made two of Make$’s little ass in height and weight.
Smacking my lips the way people do when they’re hungry and food is about to be served, I went back into my car, being sure to take all my personal shit with me. I hope this don’t take all day.
I walked to the glass door and Mr. Grown and Sexy was holding the door for me, looking like he stepped off the cover of GQ. So different from Make$ and Has. I could tell he was older. Maybe midthirties. But damn, he was one good-looking, good-smelling man. Too old for me, but damn sure good to look at.
“Thank you,” I said, as I passed him to enter the building. My head came to his chest and in that moment that my body was near his—dwarfed by his—I felt the safest I ever felt in my whole life.
“How you doing today?” he asked in a low voice that let me know the words were meant just for me.
“I’m good, and you?” I said.
“I’m excellent,” he said.
Yes, yes you are, I thought, moving away from his power to stand at the counter.
It wasn’t until I checked my car and took a seat that I noticed he didn’t come in to the waiting area. I turned in my chair and looked through the glass window. His car was still there, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I did see a business card under my windshield wiper.
I knew it was his. Mr. Grown and Sexy. And that made me feel excited, but I didn’t get off my ass and go and get that card to see what it said. I had too much shit going in my life to take on anything else. Or anyone else.
And so I turned back around, released a heavy breath, and focused on flipping through one of the magazines lying around the waiting area and pretending like that card wasn’t even there.
I thought about his smile and his warm scent. I looked out at the card. Finally, I walked out there to get it. I pressed it to my nose and the scent of his cologne still clung to it.
I licked my lips as I looked down at it.
JAMAL JACOBS
Superior Auto
973-555-2000 x 001
On the back he had written his cell phone number and the words: “Would like to know more about the woman behind the pretty face.”
I smiled as I pushed the card into my wallet. Maybe I would use it one day.
I didn’t even go to the car show, but I helped them set up, paid for every ticket I didn’t sell, and told Michel and Eve to split the profits between the two of them. They didn’t even ask me why.
Maybe they knew I wasn’t into it?
Maybe they knew I had other shit on my mind?
Maybe they didn’t need me anymore?
It didn’t matter; it all was true.
From the jump, the party promoting had been their idea, and I just hopped on board after Make$ left my ass hanging in the wind.
I reached into my colorful sequined purse and pulled out my Chanel compact to check my makeup as I sat in Fornos of Spain restaurant. It was time to shit or get off the motherfucking pot. I had to finish this dance with Goldie or leave it alone for good.
I couldn’t let it go. After a year of plotting, planning, waiting, and watching, I had to finish this. I had to make her pay. I couldn’t just waste the last year of my life, and I didn’t want to.
I forced a fake-ass smile as the hostess led Goldie to our table.
It was time to kick it up a notch.
“Hey,” I said as she slid into the seat across from me.
“You shocked the shit out of me when you called my office,” Goldie said.
“You apologized and I didn’t know what to think and I realized I didn’t even say that I accepted your apology and I think you’re right. Make$’s ass is not worth the drama,” I lied.
She leaned back in the chair and said nothing.
Oh, so it was her turn to hardball it? Bitch, whatever. “What really got to me was seeing your reaction to remembering the rape. It fucked with me and I could tell you was still affected by it.”
Goldie nodded and shifted her eyes out the window. “That shit was crazy, Luscious,” she said soft as hell and closed her eyes. “I . . . uhm . . . I . . . can’t forget it.”
I thought about being molested and then the shit I went through with that dirty cop. I would never forget. A piece of me felt sorry for her. But I shoved that shit away. This wasn’t about compassion. No. Goldie was no more important than TipDrillz. The same way she convinced TipDrillz to get the fuck ove
r it, her ass needed to do the same thing.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I lied.
“I’m glad I made it out alive.”
The waitress came over to our table and it was the same chick from that day Goldie and me had lunch way over a year ago. Full circle. Friends and then enemies.
What were we now?
“I wanted to talk to you, something actually,” I said after we ordered our dinner.
She sipped her wine.
“I have to be honest that since Make$ went to jail I’m in a little bit of a money jam. He snatched all his money, wanted to throw me out the apartment, and left me ass out,” I said.
“You need to borrow—”
I held up my hands. “No, no borrow. I wondered if you had any spots available at Goldie’s Girls?”
Goldie looked surprised. “I don’t know if you know, but I’m out the strip game. I own a booking agency for urban models. Videos girls, hip-hop fashion ads. You know, stuff like that.”
Humph, I knew that and the truth behind it.
I twisted my diamond watch around my arm, wanting her to see I had one too. “Tek-9 used a couple of your girls in his ‘New Reign’ video, right?” I asked.
Goldie nodded. “Yeah he used Sparkle and Ilsa,” she said. “They’re some really good moneymakers for me.”
“Yes, yes, I think a lot of little boys around the world enjoyed Tek-9 oiling them down in the middle of the wrestling ring.”
Goldie laughed and then got quiet. I could tell she wanted to ask me something. I knew the rumors about Tek-9 and me was hanging in the air. I knew she heard that shit.
“No, I did not bang Tek-9,” I said. Fuck it. Let’s get it out the way. I didn’t really give a fuck what she thought, but I was not claiming dicks I never had.
Goldie arched her brow as she took another sip. “Too bad; I heard his shit is bananas.”
Was Tek-9 one of Goldie’s clients?
I picked up my Nancy Gonzalez dome-top tote in green crocodile and took a portfolio from inside it. I side-eyed her and saw her eye the bag. It retailed for three grand and looked every bit of it. I slid the portfolio toward her.
“Damn, Luscious, what’s this, an interview?”
Just open it, bitch, I thought, as I placed my face in my hand and smiled at her.
She did and then closed it. “Whoa. What the fuck?” she said, looking up at me with big eyes.
“What?” I blinked like my ass was innocent. Like I didn’t just hand her a portfolio of professional photos of me. But I meant to put the pic of me squatting in a thong from behind in the front. It was a lot of my big, beautiful, black ass. I knew I looked good. Hell, the photographer had a hard-on during the whole shoot. Take that, bitch.
Goldie shook her head as she flipped through the rest of the pictures. “I mean, I definitely think we could book you. The only thing is your being Make$’s ex and the rumors about you and Tek-9. It could go either way. You know? Niggas on the come-up would definitely want you booked to be like ‘Fuck that, nigga, I got your girl,’ or if they worryin’ about pissin’ off Make$ or Tek-9 they may not fuck wit you. But both them niggas locked up, sooooo . . .”
Oh no, bitch, don’t play me.
“All of that is irrelevant because I want in on the other business,” I said, just as the waitress walked up with our plates.
Goldie cut her golden eyes at me.
Oh yes, bitch. We’re going there.
She waited until the waitress walked away before she said, “Right now the booking agency is my only business. I told you I’m not doing the exotic dancing no more.”
I nodded as I took a bite of my shrimp, pasta, and garlic dish. “Goldie, listen. Me and you used to be tight and even the shit that went down between us can’t change that, you know. I don’t play games. I shoot straight from the hip. I know about the other business. I heard about it like last year. I still have contacts in the industry. Dudes talk, Goldie.”
She set her fork down on her plate, licked her lips, and sat back to watch me close as hell with a little smile on her face.
I sat back in my own chair and gave her the same smile. I needed her to let me in.
“I’ve worked hard to build my business. My legitimate business. The only thing I can offer you is a chance to get into modeling and some videos,” she said.
So this how we gone play it?
“Cool,” I said.
“And you can’t be out trying to trick on the side. It’s not a good look for my business. I’m really trying to keep my shit professional. You know?”
Bitch, please. You just want your cut.
“So they lied?” I asked her, my hand clenching my fork so fucking tight I thought it was going to bend in my hand.
“Oh, most definitely,” Goldie said, turning her attention back to her dinner.
You lying, deceitful, two-faced snake in the grass.
I would’ve loved to take the proof Shani the Snitch was supposed to get for me and slap it across this bitch’s face like “Stop lying, ho!”
“The party promoting not working out?” Goldie asked out the blue.
So, this bitch was in my business too.
“We have mutual friends, Luscious,” she said at my pause. “They said you were doing good with it.”
I took a sip of my white sangria filled with chunks of apples, green grapes, pears, and pineapples. “That’s really my friends’ thing more than mine.”
“Oh, okay.”
Humph. That shit right there made me feel like me and this bitch was playing chess. I didn’t trust her even more. I had to stay on my toes.
I spotted a dude at the next table eyeing her even though he was with a woman already.
That shit reminded me of Make$ side-eyeing her, fucking her, choosing her even when I was sitting right there waiting on him. Stuck on stupid. Deep in dumb.
I focused on my food, fighting the urge to fight this bitch right in the middle of the restaurant and just fuck up everybody’s damn dinner.
“I’m having a grand opening of my new Jersey City offices tomorrow night. You should come through,” she said.
“I will. I will,” I said, wondering if I could sneak into her offices during her little party.
Goldie raised her glass. “I’m glad we trying to get past the past,” she said.
I gave this bitch a fake-ass smile as I raised my glass and touched it to hers, fighting the urge to break the glass against her face.
I was just parking my Jag when Eve called my cell phone. I let it go to voice mail. Her and Michel wanted to go to Club Infinite tonight but I ain’t had time for that. I was hot on Goldie’s fucking trail and ready to finish this bitch.
I smoothed my Hervé Léger dress over my hips and pulled the wavy ends of my jet-black hair over one shoulder. Her offices were in a converted warehouse. I looked at the red Goldie’s Girls logo on the glass with poster-size black-and-white photos of some of the girls and a few dudes on her roster.
I stepped in the building and a security guard (WTF?) stood there with a clipboard. “How you doing?” I said, attempting to step past him.
“Yo, yo, lovely. Invite only,” he said, holding out his arm.
My breast hit his arm.
“Harriet Jordan,” I said, stepping back and smoothing my hand over my hair as the door opened and a group of people walked in.
He checked the list and then lightly grabbed my elbow to steer me out of the way. “If you could hold up for one sec,” he said to me, before giving his full attention to the crowd.
What the hell?
They all side-eyed me as they gave their names and was verified before they climbed onto the elevator. Someone whispered, “Security, one. Party crasher, zero.”
Party crasher?
“Excuse me, what’s the problem?” I asked.
“You’re not on the list,” he said.
Was Goldie’s slick ass trying to be funny? I would kick this nigga in the balls, then go upst
airs and wreck her shit at her party. “Try Luscious Jordan,” I said, trying to keep my tone in check.
He shrugged his shoulders and checked. “Better name. Still not on the list.”
“She’s gone make me whup her motherfucking ass,” I said, feeling myself getting pissed off.
“Not at the party,” he said, trying to be funny.
“Don’t get slapped,” I said.
“Don’t get tased,” he shot back, holding up his taser and turning it on.
Zzzzzap!
I jumped back.
The door opened and I recognized a popular New York blogger and her crew all glammed up and ready to party.
“Excuse me, the invited guests need to get in, please,” he said, overly polite, pulling me out the way.
Oh, this Negro got jokes.
“Hi, Luscious,” the blogger said, giving me a little wave.
I smiled and waved back and then watched her and her crew get in and climb onto the elevator. As soon as the elevator closed, I walked out the front door. “You need a bigger suit, clown,” I shot over my shoulder before the door closed.
“And you still need an invitation,” he sang behind me, poking his head through the door.
I flipped his big-head ass the bird and then made my way to my car. I was so pissed, I was tempted to sit there all night, wait for Goldie, and then beat the light skin off that bitch.
“Excuse me, Miss Jordan?”
I turned. A tall thin dude with a suit on and a colorful bow tie was standing in the doorway. I didn’t know him. The jokey bodyguard was standing behind him silently throwing up a deuce to me and mouthing the words to Chris Brown’s song “Deuces.”
“I’m Goldie’s assistant, Ryan, and I forgot to add your name to the list. I am so sorry,” he said.
I started to tell him fuck him, fuck Goldie, and fuck their world and everybody in it. But I wanted to get in that office. I wanted the solid proof that my snitch couldn’t or wouldn’t get. And I needed to see if Shani was still working for Goldie.
Just like how could the bitch miss that Goldie had a separate office and an assistant? Did this all go down after she stopped calling with info, or was she holding back on me the whole time?
I walked back to the door and made a face at the security guard before I chucked up a deuce to his irritating ass as we moved past him and onto the elevator.