by Chunichi
“Shakira Griffith,” I said, knowing exactly who it was. “Jewel.” I walked over to the bed and shook her as though I was trying to give her shaken baby syndrome.
Jewel sat up and looked at me as though she wanted to smack me. “What, Sasha, what?”
“The feeling’s mutual, mama,” I said, letting her know I was just as pissed as she was. “Why the fuck is skank-ass Paradise calling you?” I addressed Shakira by her dance name purposely, trying to demean her.
“Why not? And why the fuck you all in my caller ID?” Jewel stood up and snatched the phone from my hand.
Her sexy, naked frame caught my eye for a second, but it wasn’t enough to distract my focus from the conversation at hand. She knew damn well how I felt about Paradise, and I wasn’t gonna let this shit ride.
Paradise to the strip scene, Shakira Griffith was a young chick that Jewel and I both knew from the strip club. She and Jewel claimed they had this “little sister-big sister” friendship, but I’d always believed it was more to it.
I for one knew exactly how those so-called “sister” friendships worked. I was once like Paradise, young, fresh, and naïve to the strip world. Then my girl Ceazia came and took me under her wing. She was a big sister to me too. Until we became lovers. She was my first and would have been my only, if she hadn’t had passed away.
So when I saw the way Jewel and Paradise made eye contact with each other when Paradise was on stage dancing, I knew exactly what was about to come of their so-called sisterly friendship. It was as though they were the only two people in the club and no one else mattered. They acted like they wanted to jump on top of each other right then and there, a look that was way too familiar to me. Because it was the same attraction that me and Jewel shared when we’d first met. And to think they had the nerve to say Paradise didn’t even swing that way. Well, one thing for sure, if she wasn’t already there, she was on her way.
“Why the fuck is she calling, Jewel?” I asked again following Jewel into the bathroom.
“That’s what friends do, Sasha. Don’t you call?”
“Are you insinuating that we are on the same level? If so, I can take that one or two ways—Either I’m just a friend, or she’s your lover. So which one is it, Jewel?”
I grabbed a robe for myself and handed another one to her, and we both threw them on.
“No. You are crazy.” She laughed and shook her head as she began to brush her teeth.
I didn’t know if Jewel was intentionally trying to rub me the wrong way or what, but she was really starting to piss me off. “You’re right, I am crazy. I’m crazy for thinking I could trust your ass. I should have known what was up from the jump. I mean, I did meet you at the strip club.”
After Jewel rinsed her mouth and washed her face, she said, “So what?”
“So, I had to be crazy for hollering at someone from the strip club. Just like you had me, now you’re scoping out the next bitch, Paradise.”
“I had you? More like you had me. Did you forget you were my first? You sought me, Sasha.”
“Yeah, and now it’s like you’ve lost your fucking mind. You got a taste, and now you’re so confident, you’re seeking pussy, huh? Yeah, I had to be crazy to think you and I could really have something.”
“What? Are you serious? Nah, boo. You crazy for being with that nothing-ass nigga of yours.” Jewel headed into the living room.
I couldn’t believe Jewel went there. I knew she always wanted to say something about Rick. I was just waiting for the day. “You happy? You finally said it. You finally got it off those thirty-six D’s. Do you feel better now? I knew you felt that way about him anyway.”
“Oh, that’s just the beginning. To be honest, I think he is less than a man. You haven’t been the same since he moved in with you—You don’t keep yourself up, you always broke, you never go out. On the real, I hardly even talk to you. It’s like you gotta sneak and call or something, and when you do call, it’s because you need something.” Jewel paused then shook her head. “And how the fuck you got a nigga living with you, yet you got to dance in Atlanta just to keep from losing your house? What good is a nigga if he can’t do shit for you? What you want—dick? Dick don’t pay the bills, boo.”
I finally had to tell Jewel how I felt about her using men for money. “I’m sorry, I don’t fuck for money—I fuck for love. That ‘gaming-a-nigga’ shit is your style.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” Jewel laughed as though I’d told a hilarious joke. “Baby, let me explain something to you. Listen carefully because this is some real knowledge I’m about spit to you. But, before I begin let me just say, don’t forget where you came from. If I’m not mistaken, gaming a nigga is how you got your money back in the day. Now, before I get down to business, let me just point out a few things to you. I drive a Range Rover, I own my own condo in a gated community here in Kempsville Greens, and I am a ghostwriter but have a background in certified medical billing and coding. I have a closet full of designer labels, and I have investments and a nice chunk of savings. I have no children and have no problem paying my bills. And all this comfort at a sweet age of twenty-three. So I think we all can agree that I am accomplished.
“Now, my secret to success is, I started with me. I made sure I had something solid that I could always fall back on. I have an education and a career. Then I used the power of my beauty and my booty to take things to the next level. If you want to call it fucking for money, fine, but I beg to differ. One of the standards I have for my men is that they have money, and plenty of it. So the way I see it, mami, if you wanna fuck for love, love his money. Or, better yet, fuck for the love of money. Phrase it however you like, but you better get with it.”
Jewel ran down the law to me like she had invented the game herself.
“Well, Rick was there for me for five years when he had money, and now just because he’s down, you want me to kick him out? And, did we forget, this is my baby father we’re talking about?”
“Nope, not at all. But you need to do you. Fuck that nigga. He can’t even take care of his son.” Jewel walked over to answer her ringing cell phone.
I walked up to her and began staring her in the face. “We’re in the middle of a conversation, Jewel. That shit can wait.”
She attempted to answer. “Hello?”
“Give me the muthafuckin’ phone.” I tried grabbing the phone from her ear.
“Hello?” she called out again. She directed her attention back to me after realizing she’d missed the call. “Yo, you are really bugging.”
“I know you fucking that bitch Paradise too,” I said. Since I’d been speaking my mind all morning, there was no sense in holding that in.
“Your mind is real fucked-up, Sasha!”
“Fuck you!” I yelled. That’s all I could form my mouth to say.
“Besides, if I’m fucking Shakira, why are you here?” Jewel gave me a plain look.
“You right,” I said without thinking, and began to get dress.
It took all I had to keep my tears in. There was no way I was going to let Jewel see me cry. I had my clothes on in two minutes flat and was headed out the door.
She yelled, “Key, please,” as soon as I opened the door.
I reached in my pocket and pulled out the single key and tossed it on the counter. I ran to my car and rushed out the neighborhood.
I pulled in the gas station on the corner and burst into tears. I didn’t know what was wrong. So much was running through my mind at once. I loved Jewel, but I just didn’t feel like she loved me the same. Little did she know, if she just loved me whole-heartedly, I would leave Rick and be with her. But she would rather fuck a nigga for money than kick it with me.
I couldn’t help but compare our relationship with my relationship with Ceazia, a lover and my best friend that I loved her with all my heart. I would’ve done anything for her. My relationship with Jewel was almost similar to my last one, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel the
same. Then to think she may be the first to sleep with Paradise was even more nerve-wracking.
I knew Jewel had my back in time of need, but I just didn’t feel that connection I wanted. Here I was crying over her, but I was sure she had never shed a tear over me. Hell, at times I even felt like she resented me, or like I just wasn’t good enough. It was like I lived in her shadow or something.
From the time I’d met her, everything was so perfect for her. And it seemed like every chance she got, she was throwing it in my face. “Fuck that nigga. Dick don’t pay the bills. I drive a Range Rover.” Blah, blah, blah. My pity began to turn to anger, the more I thought.
“Fuck that shit. Jewel is no better than me,” I said, giving myself a pep talk. “Little does she know, easy come, easy go. Just as fast as she got on top, in a blink of an eye, she could be on the bottom. And when she hit, I’ll be sure to be on top, so then it will be me she’ll be crying to.”
That was all the motivation I needed. My mind was made up. I was going to get on the grind, dancing in Atlanta and New York, and get shit back to the way it used to be.
I wiped my face and got myself together then looked above, asking Ceazia, who was now my angel above, for help. “I need you, C. I know you got my back.”
Chapter 3
“Bag That Bitch”
Calico
I answered the phone on the final ring, in an attempt not to seem too anxious. “Hello?”
“What’s up?” Jewel sang from the other end.
“Nothing much. What’s up witchu?” I remembered how drunk she was the previous night. “You feeling all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I may have had a slight hangover when I woke up, but I had so much drama this morning, I wouldn’t have even noticed,” she said, sounding a bit agitated.
I sensed her stress. “Damn! Sounds like you need to do something nice for the rest of the day to make you forget about your morning.”
Jewel jumped at the opportunity. “Any suggestions?”
“Well, I was going to the outlet to grab a few things. You want to roll?”
“Potomac Mills?” she asked.
Her response let me know off the top what type of spending she was interested in. “Nah, Williamsburg.”
“Calico, there aren’t any really good stores there. Have you even tried Potomac Mills?”
“Nah,” I said, playing stupid. “Where is it?”
“Up I-95 North, like you going towards DC.”
“That’s too far, baby. I’m just trying to shoot there and shoot back.”
Jewel realized she was fighting a losing battle and finally gave in. She gave me her address, and I agreed to pick her up at two o’clock, which gave me time to take care of a few things before we left.
“Hello?” Jewel answered in a sultry tone.
“I’m out front,” I replied, Shawty Lo’s “Dey Know” blasting in the background.
“I’m coming out now.”
I watched as Jewel walked toward the car. Her lips seemed extra lip-gloss shiny. She was sexy as hell, dressed in a white stretched tank top that accented her perky breasts, and matching white jeans that were so tight, if she bent over, I could see the print of her pussy lips.
“Hey, miss lady.” I greeted her with a hug. Damn, your ass is phat! I thought as she sat her perfectly round ass down on the black leather passenger seat of my black drop-top. My dick was getting hard by the minute.
I looked at Jewel’s full lips again and started to imagine myself getting my dick sucked, riding down the interstate with the music blasting. I looked her up from head to toe one last time, while pretending to look for a CD.
My peep show was interrupted by her yell and look of disgust. “CD’s? Are you serious?”
Confused, I asked, “What? You want to listen to the radio or something?”
“No, boo. iPod,” she replied with that same sassiness she was giving me last night.
“Oh, I forgot who I was dealing with. Sorry, miss prima donna. I don’t have an iPod,” I said as I inserted Jay-Z.
“Well, the next time we meet, please have one. So are we still going to the Williamsburg Outlets?” She asked as though I’d changed my mind or something.
“Yeah, I wish we could go further, but I have some business to take care of later on tonight,” I said, a mischievous grin on my face as I checked out her smile.
“All right, what’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m feeling the wife-beater on you. That’s real gangster for a diva like you. All you need is a fresh pair of Air Force One’s to match.” I took another look at her.
“For the record, fresh white Prada’s, not Nike’s. And thank you for the compliment, but honestly, I think I look a little fat.” Jewel grinned back at me.
“What? You’re crazy.” I took this as an opportunity to look her over quickly. “You have a killer frame.”
“No, honey. I have one of those borderline frames. I’m one Slim-Fast away from Beyoncé, and one burger away from America’s Next Top Model contestant, Toccara.”
We both laughed.
“Look, let me tell you something about skinny chicks. Don’t no man want a skinny chick. For one, no one knows how she got that way. The bitch could be sick. The way I see it, give me a fat bitch. At least I know she healthy,” I said.
We both laughed uncontrollably.
“You enjoy yourself at the bar last night?” I asked, changing the subject as we headed toward 64 West.
“Yes, I did, but I don’t do the whole bar scene too often.”
“I know.” I nodded at her.
“How so?”
“Well, it was one of the first things I noticed. I meet Touch at that spot all the time, and last night was the first time I’d seen you. If you hung out at the bars often, I’m sure I would have seen you there before.”
“Yeah, clubs, bars, and lounges aren’t really my thing. All it consists of is guys wishing they could get a second to talk to you, and the girls, you know how that goes, they wish they could get a second to talk to a nice guy. But when he doesn’t want to holler at her, she will hate all night on the chick that can accomplish what she can’t.”
“Well, I will let you know right now that I’ve never been turned down,” I said with plenty of confidence.
“Neither have I.”
We both gave each other a smirk.
Just then, Sean Kingston’s “Beautiful Girls” started playing on the radio, and Jewel started singing to the lyrics.
“You’re way too beautiful
That’s why it’ll never work
You had me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it’s over”
She sang like the song was talking about her specifically.
I gave Jewel a playful shove in the head. “You ain’t gon’ have nobody suicidal.”
“Whatever. We’ll see about that.” She rolled her eyes and neck in unison then said to me, “Tell me about yourself.”
“It’s not much to tell. My name is Calico, and I’m from Los Angeles, California. My pops was a drug dealer-turned-entrepreneur. He had a hot lil’ jewelry spot in LA back in the day, but when we had those riots back in ninety-two, he lost everything. For the first time, my father couldn’t provide for his family. He tried everything to get back on his feet. Everything, except going to back to the dope game. He’d promised my mother that once he was out, he would never go back to it. Eventually my father could no longer take the pressure of not being able to provide for his family, so he drank himself to death, and my mother slowly but surely picked up the pieces.
“Seeing my mom struggle as a kid really fucked me up, so I decided I was going to be the man of the house. I automatically had respect on the streets because of my father’s street cred. After some good deals came through that put real money in my pocket, I stepped up to the plate and took care of the house. Still, my mother has never been the same. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve seen her truly happy.”
“Any broth
ers or sisters?”
“Yeah, I have an older brother and sister. I’m the baby. I will let you know now, I’m a serious momma’s boy. Whatever momma wants, that woman gets.”
“Of course, I understand. So you and Touch are good friends?”
I felt like I was under interrogation as Jewel came at me with question after question. “We’re more like business partners, splitting the profits right down the middle.” I then turned the tables on her. “What do you do?”
“Right now, I’m a ghostwriter full-time. Yesterday, I was a medical biller and coder. Tomorrow, I’ll be the girl of your dreams, and soon after that, I’ll be running that part of the business you have with Touch,” Jewel said without a doubt.
I grinned. “Damn! You got big dreams, shorty.” I knew there was no way in hell she could ever reach any of those dreams she had set for tomorrow and thereafter.
Jewel looked me directly in my eyes and gave me a seductive look. “It’s not a dream, baby.” She paused and gently caressed my chin. “It’s very, very real.” She ended the statement with a kiss into the air.
I took a swallow in an attempt to break the trance she had just put me in. She watched and gave a slight smile, as though she knew what I was thinking.
“So,”—My voice cracked, making me clear my throat—“do you make a lot of money ghostwriting?”
“Yes, you can. It depends on who you write for, and how many jobs you get. The job can be tiring at times, but I enjoy it.”
“Is it hard?” I asked, really intrigued by her profession.
“Not really, but I feel as if my job is never complete. I’m only as good as the last song that I wrote.”
“So why not just be a rapper? I thought everybody wanted to be a rapper.”
“Yeah, when they’re like thirteen. Rapping is not for me. I could never get on stage and perform like that. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes type of chick. I’m good without the fame. I already got my share of it. All I want is my check, you feel me?” Jewel chuckled.