by Brandie
“Ma, I changed my mind. I want to go to a tech school until I’m ready to take on all that work of being a sports agent.”
“Just like your blockhead daddy—pretty, and think everything should come easy to you. But you have something your daddy didn’t have—brains.” Mentioning my dad’s name made her whole demeanor change. “Boy, you better wise up and listen to me. I have been around more times than two, and you know I am telling you the truth. I would never steer you wrong. Leave those fast-ass girls alone.
“I keep telling them to stop calling here at three in the morning. I know their pussies are on fire and just gotta have your hose to put it out, but I know they can wait until daylight to call.”
I was shocked at her choice of words. “Mama, please. I told you I’m not hitting nothing. I’m offended by your accusations.”
“All right. Be smart-mouthed. I know you in heat.”
I had a cool mom. She just bugged out sometimes when she talked about my dad. I tried to stay out of it because I wasn’t into taking sides. She wasn’t much older than I was when they had me. I guess that’s why I felt comfortable saying and telling her anything.
My dad was a true player. He owned a luxury car lot in Dunwoody and loved me more than life, maybe because I was his only child; my mom was a homebound teacher who thought she was a saint sent to earth to save all kids.
“So, Chocolate, what classes are you interested in taking at this technical school?” she asked in a smart-ass tone, saying technical like it was a disease.
“Computer information. I figured, once I have a year under my belt, I can transfer my credits to Morehouse.”
“Well, at least you do have a plan. Just don’t fail. You owe this to yourself. You have worked so hard at being a good student and succeeding at everything you do; that’s why I’m so proud of you.” She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “Oh, yeah, your blockhead daddy called. Said he had a surprise for you.” She gave me a smile as she walked out the door.
A surprise? The only surprise that he could give me is a heap of money or a brand-new ride. I flopped down on the sofa, BET caught my eye with hoes dancin’ and shakin’ they ass.
Surprise? I called my pops immediately.
“Hello, Starr Rides,” he answered, his voice scruffy and tired, yet proud and arrogant.
“Hey, Pops, what’s up? I hear you got something for me.”
“Yeah, boy, a ass whupping. Ha ha ha.” He laughed hardily.
“Naw, old man. You might lose that battle.”
“Can you get down to my house tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll ask Money to bring me by.”
“Yeah, do that. He ain’t call me in a while. Talked to his grandfather yesterday. Told me he goin’ to Florida State. That boy gon’ go pro.” My father sounded like a proud dad. The closest thing to one that Money ever had.
“Yeah, and by the time he hit it big, I’ll be representing him.”
“That’s my boys. Hey, do me a favor. Try and hold it down over in College Park. Seal worried about you and them girls. Said they be callin’ all times at night, riding by the house, fussing, and being loud. Boy, you’re lovin’ that hard?”
“Man, you know how Mama be exaggeratin’. I had a few problems earlier this month; you know how these girls are.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I hesitated because I didn’t want to tell my daddy no, and have him think I was gay, but I didn’t want him to think I was a ho-monger, either.
“Old man, you all up in my business. I’ll be over there tomorrow.”
I hung up the phone and laughed. Thinking about how him and my mama always tried to figure me out. I went back to my room and turned on the stereo. Outkast’s “Southerenplayalistic” filled the room. Dem boys were deep, and right then I needed some mental therapy.
Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring.
“Talk to me.”
“Nigga, don’t nobody wanna talk to yo’ ol’, sweet-talkin’ ass. You can let me speak to yo’ fine-ass mama, though.”
“Shiiid! Nigga, you can’t afford what it’s worth. But I’ma get at cha sister when she get three mo’ years on ’er,” I joked with Vegas.
Vegas was a hater when it came to his little, fine-ass sister.
“Ahhh, a’ight, nigga, I got chu.” He laughed it off and changed the subject. “What time y’all niggas gettin’ out?”
“I ’on’t know. I—” The phone beeped. “Hold ya nuts, nigga,” I told Vegas.
“Talk to me.”
“What’s going on?” It was Money.
“What up, Cash Money? What’s poppin’?”
“It’s Friday, so let’s ride, Dawg. Vegas talkin’ ’bout ridin’ out to the Briar.”
“That nigga on my other line now, hold on.” Clicking over to Vegas, I said, “Yo, man, dis Money, talkin’ ’bout making moves. I’ll hit you back.”
“Let me know if ya’ll ride out to the Briar.”
“I’ll holla.” Clicking back to Money, I continued, “Nigga, ya’ll can have that heat. My black ass gon’ stay right here in the A/C.”
“Pretty nigga, get yo’ punk ass up and get dress. I’ll hit you up about seven-thirty tonight.”
“Aey, nigga, you take Shawn to the movies last night?”
“Yeah, I took ’er, so I could get some pussy. And she worked the hell outta this dick too.”
“Fool, you wild. Caymin told me that Shawn in love, nigga. You better slack up.”
“Man, she know she ain’t nothin’ but a piece of pussy. Something you wouldn’t know nothin’ about.” Money laughed out loud.
“Whatever. Fuck you, nigga. I’m privileged not to have had all that shit you done had: crabs, gonorrhea, and all that ol’ other fucked up shit. And, to top it off, too many dead babies to count on two sets of hands. You can keep that shit, man; I’m looking for a pot of gold.”
“All yo’ life you will be. Late’a.” Money slammed the phone down.
I knew I hurt that nigga’s feelings, but Money still hadn’t learned his lesson. He was still fuckin’ hoes wit’out rubbers and he knew they was hot in the ass. I’d rather stay a virgin and not have to deal with penicillin. A lot of cold showers and a lot of prayer would bring me the pot of gold I deserved.
Chapter Four
Money
Chocolate think he know everything about women and he’s never even been in a piece of pussy—besides comin’ outta his mama’s, I thought as I clicked off the phone. I’m startin’ to think that nigga is gay.
Mmmph. Pretty niggas always thought they had it nipped in the bud. But I wasn’t kissing no bitches’ ass. Women loved that rough shit, and it didn’t hurt that my six-foot three inches looked down on ’em, while my wide arms hugged ’em tight.
When they would first meet me, they could already see me tossing that ass, rubbing it against my smooth, pecan-brown skin. And hoes loved my bright, gap-toothed smile. Plus my wardrobe was always dressed to impress and my ride was the baddest thang on the street. I was ballin’.
Fuck dat nigga! Gon’ tell me about Shawn. Shit! He better had been worryin’ about Caymin’s psycho ass.
Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring.
“What up? Tell a nigga sump’n.”
“Money, I’m pissed at you. What happened to you calling me back last night?” the angry, yet sexy, voice asked.
“Aey, baby, I layed down and fell asleep on the couch in the basement. I guess I didn’t hear the phone—it was upstairs.”
“Someone told me they saw you at the movies last night.”
I paused for a second, tryin’ to think of some sweet lie to win her over. “Salone, baby, I was right here ’sleep. And, anyway, I thought we were on another level, not worryin’ about all that other shit.”
She hesitated like she wanted to dispute it, but I guess she didn’t want to hear the truth. “Well, I have to get back to work. Will you come by and see me about seven-thirty? I’ll be in the store all by myself. You can come
by and pick out an outfit, we got some new stuff in.”
“Yeah, me and Chocolate’ll be there.” Click.
I knew I needed to slow down, ’cause them girls were gettin’ smarter and more devious than ever, just to be wit’ a nigga.
It was about 3 p.m. when Shawn started ringing my phone off the hook, so I turned the answering machine on and jumped in the shower.
While the warm water flowed over my head, the past came into focus. Since third grade, my life had been football. Every team I played for I became the star and kept the team undefeated. Women automatically fell in my path, but the first and only woman to steal my heart, virginity, and love was Luvly Mancini.
* * *
I remembered the first time I laid eyes on her. Me and Chocolate were fourteen, ballin’ at Mosely gym.
“Shoot, punk nigga,” a restless opponent yelled.
“Woooooo,” Chocolate yelled, clapping his hands, anxious to get the ball.
My timing was good, my mind focused, and just when I was ready to make the basket—bam! My eyes caught sight of a bronze-colored girl. She walked through the doors with two other girls. Her beauty cast a shadow over them, her complexion; fresh as a new penny, her waist-length hair rested seductively on her back.
“Damnnn, look at what just walked through the door,” an older guy shooting for the opposite team said. It seemed like everyone in the gym gave the three girls their game attention.
This dope nigga name Diamond, who we played ball against sometimes, noticed them hard as I did. “Damnnnn,” he screamed in a higher-pitched voice, “Shawty bad! She pretty as hell. I need to put her on my team.” He dapped his partner in crime, Jae.
“What? You gon’ make her baby mama number four?” I asked.
He noticed the sound of infatuation in my voice and the disgust on my face. He took it as a challenge, frowned, and walked up on me chest to chest. “What, young nigga? What? You gon’ make ’er a cheerleader?” Diamond backed up a short distance, and threw the ball hard into my chest. “Play ball, li’l nigga. Make these shots and go get yo’ cheerleader. But if you fail, I’ma save a ho!”
Diamond was a Cuban, fake Scarface-type nigga that was a couple years older than us. He already had three baby mamas, and he was on his way to becoming a drug King Pin. But what no one knew was that he looked hard on the outside, but was marshmallow on the inside. He had no heart.
Diamond used to front this young kid, Al, that lived a few blocks up from me, one ounce of cocaine; known in the dope world as a cookie. At first, Al would take two cookies at a time flipping them like clockwork, earning Diamond hella money, and his trust. But Al had a plan all along to gain all trust and break away.
One day we were shooting ball in Al’s yard and Diamond pulled up, “Yo, nigga, you got my cheese this time.”
“Man, I ain’t got chu,” Al said nonchalantly and shot a basket.
“You said that last week, the week before that, and the week before that. I want my goddamn money!” Diamond shouted.
“Muthafucka, you deaf? I said I ain’t got it.” Not giving Diamond eye contact, Al took another shot.
“Li’l nigga, you talking to me?” Diamond quickly jumped out of his car, running up on Al, knocking the ball out of his hand.
Al chuckled, “Nigga, you betta back the fuck up off me.”
Right at that moment, I knew Diamond didn’t have the heart to be “the dope man”, only the smarts and connections to make the money. He’d given Al too many chances. A real baller, dope man, would have had Al’s throat slit the first time, no questions asked.
“Ya’ll boys ready to bounce?” Al asked me and Chocolate.
“Nigga, you betta have my money Sunday.”
Al walked up to Diamond’s face, both of them exchanging each other’s breath. “I ain’t got it. Ain’t gon’ have it. But I tell you what the fuck, nigga. Go tell the police to come and get it or betta yet, get it in blood, my nigga.” Al spit on the ground in front of Diamond’s shoes.
Diamond didn’t flinch; he didn’t say a word, just hopped back in his car, and sped off. He never told Jae or anyone in his crew about him being punked by a sixteen year old. We kept the incident a secret and Al kept the money, came up fast, and moved to Florida where he became known as “the dope man.”
* * *
The whole game I kept staring at her. And her staring back made it more difficult to concentrate. Chocolate walked over to the cuties and got some info, just in case I lost. Which I did.
“Damn, man, you let Diamond sorry ass whup you in front of shawty?”
I was mad as hell. “Shut that shit up, faggot!”
“Fuck you, punk nigga!”
I looked around everywhere trying to spot her, but she was gone. When we got outside, there she was—posted up on Diamond’s Mercedes.
“Man, I knew she was gon’ fuck wit’ that nigga. Shit! I look good, but that nigga got the power, money, cars—and his own damn house.” What was I thinking? I was only fourteen with nothing to offer her, and he was nineteen and could give her the world.
Chocolate pretended to hold a microphone and talk proper. “Damn, Money Loane, are you actually pressed?” He was getting a kick out of me jocking this girl.
“Man, naw, but she just tight as hell. Something about her is right.”
“Naw, dog, my girl Lisa is finer,” Chocolate boasted.
I stared at her as I walked by. She was giggling and acting all shy, with Diamond in her face, but I still had her attention.
“A’ight den, young boyz, y’all hold it down. Luvly, get in.” Diamond had the slickest smile on his face.
“Luvly? Her name Luvly?” It was a name I would never forget.
“Oh, yeah, Romeo, here,” Chocolate said, giving me a piece of paper with her name and number and a little message:
Luvly
777-964-4323
You are a serious cutie pie.
Give me a call when you through playing games!
“What the fuck she mean ‘playing games’?”
“She said she know you talk to Tayana.”
Yeah, she knew that, but what she didn’t know is that I would drop everything for a chance with her—even football.
* * *
Three months later, me and Chocolate went to a big house party. Everybody who was anybody was there. “It’s packed as sardines in here.” The strong smell of cologne over musty armpits hit strong.
“If the room was full of women I wouldn’t mind,” I said as Dougie Fresh’s “The Show” came on. The first chicken head I saw I grabbed and hit the dance floor.
* * *
After an hour of dancing, mingling, and feeling on a little booty, she walked through the door. “Chocolate, there she go, Dawg. There she go!”
“Who?” asked Chocolate, who was all up on some thick girl with buck teeth.
I was walking toward her, ready to finally make that move. I’d been holding her number, looking at it everyday, wanting to call. Just as I was about to walk up on her, Diamond came through the door seconds later, grabbing her tight by the waist. I turned around ready to dip.
* * *
“Man, did you see all them bad hoes up in there?” Excited, Lan clapped his hands.
“That bad bitch from Decatur . . . what’s her name, Vegas?” Chocolate asked as he shuffled through the many pieces of paper with phone numbers on them.
“Niggaaaa, she was ugly as hell,” Vegas said disapprovingly.
“Naw, homeboy, she had a tight body, but her face was fucked up,” Lan concluded. Just then a carload of girls from the party were getting dropped off. So we slowed up to talk to them.
We were mackin’ when a silver, big-boy Benz pulled up with its brights blinding us. “Man . . . who the fuc—?”
“Need a ride?” a sexy voice asked.
My heart dropped, and my soul smiled. But a straight, hard face stayed planted. “Naw.”
I started walking again. I needed to know how bad this girl wante
d me.
“Yo, why you ackin’ like dat? I been gave you my phone number. Why you ain’t called me?”
“ ’Cause you ain’t gon’ have me layed up in no ditch. By no means do yo’ pussy-ass nigga scare me, but I ain’t gon’ waste my time defending sump’n that I ain’t never had.”
She kept the car rolling at my speed. “Look, I been tryin’ to get at you, but you were seein’ Tayana.”
I threw my hand up at her and kept a steady stride.
“Money, get in and take a ride with me.”
“Girl, you ain’t nothing but—”
“Fifteen.”
“Ooh, and that makes it legal for you to be driving.”
“Come on, pleaaase.”
I hesitated at first, but her pretty eyes and enticing voice pulled me in. I kept looking around making sure no one but my boyz saw me get into Diamond’s car—wit’ his woman. I threw my head up to Chocolate to make sure he knew that I was going with Luvly.
“So why haven’t you called me?”
“Man, you been kickin’ it hard wit’ ya boy, so what was the use?”
“Me. I’ve been coming to see you play football for quite a while. I’ve been at every game.”
“So now I should feel privileged that you been watchin’ me?”
“No, I’m the one that’s privileged to be able to watch you.”
I watched her grip the steering wheel firm and tight, wishing it was me that she was holding. She was gorgeous. “Yo’ nigga gon’ kill you.”
“Who said he had to know?”
She pulled into Union Station apartments. “Come on.”
When we got inside the apartment, it was pitch black. Luvly grabbed my hand and didn’t hesitate a step; she knew exactly where she was going. Seconds later, music started playing.
“Sit right here.” She pushed me down onto a bed. I wasn’t putting up a fight.
I asked, trying to remain calm, “Why no lights?”
“Don’t need any. I know where everything is in here and on you. Ooh, that’s my jam.” “Love Me In A Special Way” by Debarge came on.
Before I could get another word out she was kissing me. When I reached up to push her back, I touched nothing but skin. She had taken all of her clothes off. Her skin felt warm and silky. I lay back and let her take control.