by K'wan
True was the glue that held them all together. He and Don B. had grown up in the same hood, so he knew the young man as well as he knew himself. True had gone from a snot-nose kid, slinging stones hand to hand, to a ghetto superstar. At the age of seventeen he was able to purchase his first Mercedes. Realizing that fast money might end up leading him to a bullet or a bid, he jumped on the chance to become one of Don B.’s protégés. The ironic part of it was that he was actually nice on the mic. All of the members of Bad Blood were talented, but True was a born celebrity.
Being that the group hung around the same blocks Rhonda did, she knew them all, but she and True had a history. Back when Rhonda only had two kids and True was still hugging the block, they used to mess around. It was never that serious, just a situation where they would occasionally see each other at a spot and slide off afterward. When Rhonda became pregnant with P.J., True fell back, but they kept in contact. When they would see each other, it was always love, but had never gone beyond a friendship until recently.
One day while at Rucker Park, Rhonda had bumped into True. Being that he and the group had been on tour for most of the winter and spring, no one had really seen him, so when he popped up on the scene he had to make a grand entrance. His smoke gray Roadster crept up Eighth Avenue, looking like a remote-control toy. He just nodded and smiled, looking every bit the triple-platinum rapper that Don B. was pushing him to be.
Rhonda and Reese just happened to be standing on the corner that True pulled up on. They immediately greeted each other with hugs. They stood there kicking it for a minute, but the wayward groupies that kept popping up were putting a serious cramp in Rhonda’s game. The two of them exchanged two-way info and agreed to hook up. Rhonda waited for almost a month before hitting him up. It just so happened that True was in New York at the time. She enticed him into coming over with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Being on the road didn’t allow too much of that, and he eagerly agreed. The fact that she’d reminded him of how tight her head game was didn’t hurt. Now, three days later, she sat in her spotless home waiting for the arrival of her guest.
When the phone rang, Rhonda almost killed herself trying to get it. Breathlessly, she answered it, only to be disappointed that it was a kid named Von and not True. Von was Rhonda’s latest victim. He was originally from Yonkers, but currently resided in Virginia, where he slung birds. She had fucked him one night after leaving the club, but after sampling her fruit, he found himself turned out.
Von came to New York at least twice a month and always came bearing gifts. He had laced her and her kids with all kinds of fly shit. His dick game was whack, but the way he threw his money around made up for it. Rhonda didn’t mind letting him hit it from time to time in exchange for paper, but that day she wasn’t feeling him. Her pussy had True written all over it.
“What’s good, ma?” he asked in his heavy voice.
“Hey, daddy, I was just thinking about you,” she replied, faking excitement.
“Did the people deliver your shit?”
“Yeah, it came this morning. Thank you so much, Von, really.”
“It’s a small thing to a giant, baby,” he said confidently, knowing that he’d be sick when the bill came for the high-priced entertainment system.
“You’re the biggest nigga I know.” She repressed a snicker. “When you get back up top, I’m gonna show you how much I appreciate it.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Yo, a nigga in the city, so let’s do something. I’ll be by there to pick you up in like an hour.”
“Sorry, can’t do it today. I got some things to take care of, so I’m trapped in the house,” she lied fluidly.
“Okay, well, maybe I can come by there?” he pressed.
“Nah, my aunt is staying with me for a few days and I really don’t want her in my mix like that. How about we get together tomorrow or something?”
“A’ight, ma,” he said, in a defeated voice. “I really wanted to see you, but I ain’t gonna come between you and your family B.I.”
“Okay, daddy,” she said, relieved.
“Yo, you better not have another nigga up there in my pussy, neither,” he said seriously.
“Daddy, you know I’d never play myself like that. This pussy only curves to your dick.”
“Muthafucking right! Holla at ya, boy…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Rhonda had hung up. Picking up a Dutch and a bag of weed from the table, Rhonda began twisting a blunt. No sooner had she put fire to the end of the blunt when there was a knock at the door. Adjusting the belt of her robe, she went to the peephole and looked out. A broad smiled crossed her face as she began the process of unbolting the door.
True stepped into the apartment with a real Harlem nigga swagger. The gold star hanging around his neck resembled something you’d see on a Christmas tree. The way his jeans were hanging off his ass, Rhonda knew that his wallet had nothing to do with it. Though True was on his way to big things, he was still a street nigga at heart, and operated according to the laws that governed them.
Rhonda rebolted the door and hugged True tightly. “Nigga, what’s good!”
“Same old, same old. Trying to get that,” he replied.
“I know that’s right. Y’all niggaz is ringing bells all over the place. Every time I turn around some new bitch is on y’all dick.”
“The life of a superstar,” he said arrogantly as he plopped on the sofa. “Looks like you’ve been doing okay for yourself.” He looked around, admiring her entertainment system.
“You know I’m a chick that likes to have things.” She sat beside him and crossed her legs. When she did, her robe slid up, exposing her thick thigh. True tried to act like he wasn’t looking, but Rhonda knew he was. She planned it that way.
He wiped his hand over his thick lips and chuckled. “So I hear.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sat up.
“Come on, Rhonda. Don’t act like because I ain’t in these streets no more my ear ain’t to ’em. Word is, you and your girls got Harlem on lean.”
Rhonda got up off the couch and folded her arms. “See, that’s why I hate the hood. Niggaz ain’t got nothing to do but gossip. Yeah, I fucked a few niggaz in the hood, but that ain’t no secret. Ain’t no shame in my game, True, you know that.”
“Be easy, ma. Ain’t no need to get all excited.” He leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I know how the hood can twist shit around, so I don’t put much stock in what I hear. I deal with people based on how they deal with me.”
She smirked. “And how do I deal with you, True?”
He pulled her down on the couch beside him and kissed her on the cheek. “In true G fashion.” True’s hands slid under Rhonda’s robe and cupped her ass. When he ran them around to the front, he was pleased to find out that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Rhonda let him slip his finger inside her before pulling away.
“True,” she said, and slid off the couch, “there’ll be time for that later. I gotta go check on your food.”
“I knew something smelled good in this piece.” He rubbed his hands together. “What you got for a nigga?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Rhonda rattled a few pots and checked the contents of the oven. As she closed the oven door, she felt a pair of hands ran up her back. “Come on, True,” she said, and giggled.
When True turned her to face him, she saw the hunger in his eyes. “Be easy, ma. You know a nigga miss that. Set it out.” Without giving her a chance to protest, he grabbed her by the waist and sat her up on the counter.
Rhonda reached down and caressed his penis through his jeans. “True, we can’t do it in the kitchen.”
“Why the fuck not,” he rasped. True reached in his back pocket and removed his Glock .40. Placing it atop the refrigerator, he began to lick Rhonda’s neck. One hand slid her robe completely open, while the other fumbled with his belt. He was so hard that he almost couldn’t get
it out. Seeing that he was having some trouble, Rhonda got it out for him. It had been so long since Rhonda had him inside her that she was soaked from anticipation. Scooting her ass off the countertop, she slipped him in. True’s penis throbbed against Rhonda’s walls, causing them both to let out a moan. Just as she was about to get into her groove, he pulled out.
“What’s the matter?” she said, panting.
He fumbled around in his pocket until he found a condom. “Chill, boo. Let me strap up first.”
“True, you’ve known me since forever, I’m clean. We don’t need no condom.”
“No glove, no love,” he said, rolling the Magnum on. True and Rhonda were tight, but he knew what she was about. Rhonda was about a dollar and fertile as hell. The last thing he needed was to get her pregnant and fuck his whole swagger up. He’d heard of the drama she was known to put niggaz through and wasn’t going to subject himself to it.
Rhonda was tight, but she was too seasoned to show it. She hadn’t tasted that dick in a while and she wanted to feel it inside her. She also reasoned that getting him to hit it raw would only have him more open. Rhonda had spent many years studying her vagina and could manipulate it far better than most young women her age, making her pussy one of her most effective weapons against men. She knew if she pressed True enough, he would cave and run up in it, but the risk of her plan backfiring and him leaving wasn’t worth it.
When True reentered her, it still felt good, but it wasn’t like that skin-to-skin action. He beat her from the front, pulling her to him every time he pumped. Flipping her around, he entered her from behind and went for broke. They went at it in several positions before he finally came.
Rhonda stood there, hands braced against the counter, legs trembling. Her inner thighs were damp and sticky, but something about it felt good. She looked back at True, whose caramel face held a relaxed smile. She knew she had him.
After giving him a cloth, Rhonda went about the task of finishing her meal. When he came out of the bathroom, a plate topped with cheese eggs and a porterhouse steak was waiting for him. True sat and devoured his meal while Rhonda hopped in the shower. When she came out, they puffed two blunts of haze and went at it again. By the third round they had run out of condoms, but she had him so worked up that he jumped out the window and hit it anyway.
Rhonda sucked him, fucked him, and licked his ass. She made it a point to take it in her mouth when he was ready to pop for the last time. True emptied all that he had left down Rhonda’s throat and she greedily took it. She wanted to make sure that he remembered just who the fuck she was. The groupies he met on the road didn’t have shit on her when it came to being nasty. When it was done, all he could say was, “Damn!”
* * *
After two glasses of water and a Heineken, True lounged on Rhonda’s couch, smoking a Newport. Rhonda moved throughout the living room, wearing nothing but a thong and tank top, straightening up the mess they’d made. Rhonda spotted a loose weed bag that she’d missed on the first sweep of the living room. Instead of bending over to pick the bag up, she dropped it like it was hot, letting him see that phat-ass jiggle.
True rubbed his groin and continued to watch her go about her routine. If his boys knew where he was right now, they would surely clown him. Everybody knew that Rhonda was a scandalous chick, but they just knew what the streets said. He and Rhonda had grown up on the same block under the same conditions. Rhonda had five gladiators for older brothers, and at one point or another had gone toe to toe with each. Her mother let them rule the house, so what they said was pretty much the skinny. It was a hard-knock life, and Rhonda had to fight for her respect.
Once she got out on her own, she realized how hard knock it really was. She quickly understood the jungle creed of the strong must feed. And feed she did. Rhonda didn’t really have any life skills to speak of, but she was living better than most employed people. Though she had body she wasn’t the best-looking girl out of the group, so she got it the only way she knew how, through game.
10
Rhonda stood at her bathroom mirror singing Trina’s “Da Baddest Bitch,” fixing her hair. It had been fun, but eventually True broke the news that he had to leave. Rhonda had expected as much, so she wasn’t tripping. After throwing on some sweatpants and a T-shirt, she offered to ride him downstairs.
While they were descending in the elevator, he handed her a small fold of bills. She quickly fanned through them, guesstimating about two hundred dollars. Rhonda felt funny about taking the money from True because she genuinely liked him, but it didn’t stop her from stuffing the money into her pocket. True was a good dude, but he had it and she needed it.
They exited the building into the afternoon sun. True’s BMW 540 was parked right in front of the building, so he didn’t have far to go. As he and Rhonda started walking down the path toward the car, Pooh and Alisha came jogging up to the building. They were both draped in their school’s mandatory white tops and blue bottoms.
“What’s up, True?” Pooh said, punching True in the arm.
True threw a few phantom punches at Pooh. “Look at you, ya little bad muthafucka. Get outta here before I slap you,” he joked.
“I seen ya new video,” Alisha said, playfully pushing True. “Why y’all always gotta look so mean?”
“We gangsta rappers, shorty,” True replied.
“Yeah right, True.” She placed her hands on her tiny hips. “You’d have to have shot somebody to be a gangsta rapper. Shine shot some people, so he’s gangsta. You, you’re just a nigga from the hood.”
“You better watch your fucking mouth.” Rhonda swatted at Alisha, but the preteen danced out of her reach. “I’m gonna bust you in your smart-ass mouth if you keep running it. Apologize to True for being disrespectful.”
“It’s cool, Rhonda. I know Lisha don’t mean nothing by it,” True assured her. “She’s just her mother’s child.”
“Yup.” Alisha smirked at her mother.
“You know what? Take your little ass upstairs before I kill you, Lisha,” Rhonda snapped.
Little Alisha sucked her teeth and stormed toward the building. “Come on, Pooh.”
Pooh looked from his sister to his angry mother and decided to bow out gracefully. “Later, True.” He dapped the young rapper and hurried to catch Alisha.
“Bad-ass kids,” Rhonda said offhandedly.
True pushed her playfully. “Stall her out, shorty. You know Alisha ain’t no worse than you were at that age. I can remember your brothers chasing your fast ass up the block back in the day.”
“Nigga, please. I wasn’t nothing like that little heifer. She’s gonna fuck around and make me do something to her.”
“You’re still crazy as ever. But check it, I’m outta here. I gotta go meet my niggaz and hit the studio. Hit me up, though,” he said, holding his two-way in the air.
Rhonda hugged True and stood in front of the building, watching him swagger to the car. Halfway to the curb, he was approached by a young lady whom Rhonda knew by sight. Rhonda thought about checking the little bitch, but she didn’t want to play herself. True wasn’t her man yet, and she had no right to cock-block. True smiled and said a few words to the girl before signing a paper bag for her and continuing his walk. Groupie bitch, Rhonda thought to herself.
At the same time True hit the alarm on the Beamer, a black SUV pulled into the spot behind his. She didn’t recognize the car and was too far away to get a good look at the plates. When the driver’s side door opened, all Rhonda could mutter was “fuck,” as Von stepped out.
* * *
True saw the light-skinned kid stepping out of the truck, but didn’t pay him a whole lot of attention. He was drained and tired. The only thing that was on his mind was getting back to the crib and taking a nap before the group’s show that night at Club Exit. Halfway to his car, True was cut off by a familiar face, riding a ten-speed.
“What’s the science, God?” Crazy Eight asked, riding circles around True.
“Crazy Eight.” True greeted him with a smile and a pound. Back in the day, Eight’s little brother Harv and True had made a few moves together, so he had a soft spot for Eight. “What da deal, yo?”
“Nothing much, God, you know how I do it. Yo, I’m glad I caught up with you, son. On the real, I got the hottest tape on the streets right now. Let me kick something for you.”
“Eight, I was kinda in a rush…”
“Check it, God: I hold the block with my nine, and kill swine. Can’t stand a pig, they don’t want us to live…”
Eight went on for almost ten minutes and still wasn’t saying nothing. True wanted to take his hammer out and bang himself, but he settled for a more subtle approach. “Yo, that shit was hot, kid,” True lied.
“Word up, True. I’m out here putting it down for all my sons in the struggle. But on the real, you need to listen to my demo.”
“Hit me wit’ it later, I gotta roll,” True said, continuing his walk to the car.
“Nah, I got it right here!” Eight called after him, catching up on his ten-speed. “You just check it out, my dude.”
“A’ight,” True said, getting in the car. To his surprise, Eight opened the other door and was about to load his bike into the backseat. “Eight, fuck is you doing?” True looked at him sideways.
“I thought we was about to burn the road up and listen to the CD, God?” Eight asked seriously.
True didn’t say it, but the look he gave Eight let him know that he was going too far. “My dude, I got something to do.”
Eight placed his bike back on the curb and stepped away from the car. “Okay, True. I respect it, fam. Listen to my joint and get back with me.”