by Noire
I could tell she didn’t believe me when she rolled her eyes. She stood up and waddled her ass back toward the kitchen without another word.
“Your shoes are turned over, you know,” I said coldly.
She stopped in the doorway. “What?”
“Your damn shoes. Them shits is bent. One is leaning east and the other is leaning west.”
She looked down at her feet. They looked swollen and puffed out the top of her shoes.
“That’s some nice shit for you to say, Saucy. But don’t try to change the subject from you to me. My feet don’t have a damn thing to do with you showing your ass and nutting up on people all the time. You think you can say any damn thing you want to and there won’t never be no backlash. That’s a lie, though. Real life don’t work that way.”
I smirked and started pushing my lipstick and eyeliner down in my carry-on bag. “Whatever, Tai. You ain’t gotta tell me how real life works. I’m out here working this grind on a daily. If I don’t really work for it, fuck for it, or suck for it, I don’t get it. And that ain’t no lie.”
We landed on the island of Antigua and hit the runway at top speed. I’d started drinking as soon as we were in the air and the four hours it took us to get to Puerto Rico seemed to go by in thirty minutes. The second flight to Antigua was a whole lot shorter, and we drank the whole time we were on that one too. I was traveling with a group of chicks who were backing me up as extras, but everybody on the plane knew that not only was I the principal video girl, but I was also starring in the companion print feature so I was top shit and I acted like it too.
Our hotel was right on the beach, and all the arrangements had been made by the video production manager. Even though he had put me in the same suite as the extras I didn’t care. I had my eye on a rapper named Grillz, who wasn’t part of the set, but had come along just for the party and kept asking me if he could massage my butt. He had his own suite in the same hotel. He’d been staring between my legs the entire flight and I knew I could hook up with him. So, as long as those chicks stayed out of my shit and out of my way, the trip would be hot.
They got the equipment unpacked and set up and we started working right away.
The video was for N.J.S.’s hit single, but it was also promoting a sexy new clothing line called Birthday Cake, and they were counting on me to bring my nice fluffy chocolate cake to the party.
I was slathered down in baby oil and they wanted me to wear a hot-pink belly shirt and had given me some real tight low-rider jeans. The birthday cake logo on the back pocket was a small white cake with a candle in the middle of it and a bc! emblem was visible in the flame. The jeans fit so nice and low they didn’t even reach the dimpled part of my lower back, and I was styling a slamming hot-pink hi-cut thong with little white birthday cakes all over the waistband.
When the set went live I popped out of a huge birthday cake, and the camera zoomed in on my gyrating ass as Robb Hawk got out there and did his thang on the hook.
That’s birthday cake!
Girl gimme a slice and I’ll slurp that plate!
Blow the candles out, and let’s both get straight!
One day of the year is well worth that wait
Gotta work that bake, girl…
You might ruin my appetite…uhm
If I get holda that tonite…
You might ruin my appetite…yea!
If I get holda that tonite…
A few extra girls joined me on camera as we popped our asses and danced like everything we had was for sale. I pulled off my jeans real quick so they could film the second scene. The scenario they set for that had me standing in my thong and some pink stiletto heels as one of Robb’s boys tied a blindfold around my eyes. He spun me around a few times and five rappers took turns trying to pin a tail on my jiggling butt. That’s when Robb Hawk broke in with the first verse of his rap.
Mami bad as the kid at the babysitter’s!
You can tell lil mama keep a razor wit her!
She cuttin’ the rug,
Yea I see a lot of chickens cuttin’ they mug
You gotta wonder why they come to the club?
If it’s ya hobby to come out to spots and watch,
Might as well get paid with the paparatzz
Never mind them girlfriend, pop ya lock!
While I creep up behind your box…
She can whine to the Sean De Paul
Got her ass hiking up my drawers!
Then he cut right back in with that bomb-ass hook and I snatched the blindfold off and started working my shit again.
Good God! That’s birthday cake!
Girl gimme a slice and I’ll slurp that plate!
Blow the candles out, and let’s both get straight
One day of the year is well worth that wait
Gotta work that bake, girl…
You might ruin my appetite…
If I get holda that tonite…uhm
You might ruin my appetite…
If I get holda that tonite! Yea!
I danced around in that thong like I was the reason for the whole damn party. When the filming was over, the video extras sat around hating because I was shooting solo stills for the print feature. Who cared? I got in front of that camera and performed like a motherfucker! Every pose was perfect. I had brought crazy thongs in a million different colors and designs and I used them to my best advantage.
They took still shots of me with my ass to the camera, my bold, round cheeks gaping with a colorful thong stuck down my crack, Battah! Ass speaking loud and clear to the camera. I’d brought some false eyelashes and bomb-ass lingerie, and in one shot I was laying on my back wearing a black housemaid’s bodice and a white fringed thong with a red feather duster brushing against my clit.
Another shot caught me from the back wearing a leather thong and sitting topless on a horse saddle with my back arched and sexy, my ass one big round hump. I had on a white cowboy hat and wore a sneaky, sexy grin, and a party whip was thrown over my shoulder.
But it was the centerfold shot I liked the best. I was on my knees in the middle of a party table with rappers sitting around me in a semicircle. They was all dressed up like kids at a party, with big bow ties and party hats. One was looking at me with his eyes real wide and his hands covering his mouth. Another one was licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. A guy in a plaid jacket was leaning over with his eyes closed and his cheeks puffed out. Like he was trying to blow out a candle. Another artist had on a bright red dress shirt with white suspenders. He had frosting on his chin and was waving a noisemaker in the air.
And me? I was crawling away from the camera on my hands and knees. String confetti, sparkling streamers, and party favors were all over the table around me. I wore a multicolored polka-dot party thong, and they’d stuck two pasties in the same colors on my nipples. A kids’ birthday hat was on my head with the rubber band hooked under my chin, and I was “braining” one of those blow-out party toys that squeak and uncurl when you breathe into them. The caption was right above my tooted-up ass and it said, “Now that’s Birthday Cake!” and I couldn’t have said it no better myself. I was partying my ass off and baking the cake was the name of my game.
We rocked Antigua New York style. Somebody ran out and found a liquor store and brought a crate full of bottles back on the set. There was mad downtime so we got to “dranking” and carrying on and pretty soon the set was looking and feeling more like a club than a production platform.
Our party flowed right into the music awards show that night. I’d changed into a shocking white Fendi dress that barely covered my ass cheeks. The back was out, the waist was low-cut and had a front so sheer you could see my dark nipples. Of course I was playing the hell out of a thong. They didn’t call me the thong girl for no reason! This one was high cut, silver studded, and sexy as hell. My jewelry matched it to a tee.
The show was live and I felt like one of the happening people. I had mad dudes pulling on my thong! Everybody
was touching me and calling me over and trying to get my attention. I let ’em treat me like a queen too. I actually felt worshiped by them and I accepted it with style because I sure as hell deserved it.
I felt somebody touch my elbow. “Saucy Robinson?”
I turned around and saw some big-ass bodyguard-looking monsta in a dark suit. He had a wireless receiver hooked behind his ear and I could tell he was strapped.
“What? I’m under arrest?”
He cracked a quick smile, then tried to look all serious again. “No, ma’am. You’re not under arrest, but you have been invited to watch tonight’s show from the VIP section with Miss Jackson and her party.”
“Miss Jackson?” I glanced toward the front of the room. I knew goddamn well he wasn’t talking about Dymond Jackson. With crazy album sales, a thousand music awards, a Coca-Cola commercial, and a warehouse full of flunkies to choose from, why the hell would she wanna hang out with me? I looked at him with a smart-ass smirk and started to walk away. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m for real,” he said, grabbing my arm. He pointed toward the VIP area, which was roped off with big red velvet ropes. Damn if Dymond Jackson wasn’t grinning and waving me over!
“Cool,” I said, and followed him through the crowd.
I crossed that room like I was walking on a cloud. I can’t tell you how many people were greeting me and how many guys were mouthing What’s up, China and trying to touch my hand. But big Billie Badass was walking behind me with the crazy face on, and niggas fell back real quick when they realized he was my escort.
Dymond Jackson stood up and hugged me like we was homegirls or something. Yeah, I knew my shit was tight and I had made some waves in the hip-hop industry lately, but I still didn’t expect all this. Somebody in her crew got up and let me sit down next to her, and she grabbed a bottle of Moët from the table and poured me a glass.
“It’s about time I met this Saucy everyone’s been talking about! I been hearing your name and seeing your pictures everywhere.”
“Thanks,” I said, sipping my bubbly. Dymond opened a gold Biallo purse and took out a stick. She lit it and pulled, then passed it to me.
“We gotta get together when we get back to the States, girl. I don’t know if your schedule is booked or not, but I need some hot chicks for my next video and you have the right look.”
I was raised!
“Oh, yeah,” I said real quick. “I can clear my schedule, that’s no problem. You just let me know when y’all shooting and I’m there.”
I sat there smoking sticky with Dymond like I got high with multi-millionaires every day. She was biracial and she wasn’t really hip-hop, but she had been featured on some hit tracks with a few big-name artists who had upped their status by bringing her R & B magic to their projects.
“So what nigga you scheming on tonight? You oughtta come hit a few after-parties with me. I wanna get blasted and get my shit off tonight.”
I had to make myself not stare at her. I shoulda known this trick was gutter! She came across as all high-class and upscale on television, but one on one she was just a regular head like me.
“I’m actually free tonight. I’m prolly gonna hit the clubs or hotels, though. I ain’t on nobody’s schedule but my own.”
LL was the MC for the night, and Reem Raw was the opening act. He was a Jersey boy who originally came outta the projects in Brooklyn, and he was cutting up in the industry. His lyrics were some of the best, and everybody was talking about how he was destined to blow up because his first cut had already been certified gold. The beat was a smooth Spanish-guitar melody and Reem Raw came out on stage looking fine and fresh. Three girls in tight silver booty shorts were with him and they were shaking titties and ass for days.
Reem grabbed the mic and opened up with his sexy, thugged-out voice.
Shorty chill with the stereotypes…
Come see the crib, you can peep what the scenario like
I know you hearing the hype, under streetlights triggas and dice,
I be risking my life, gotta grind till I get it precise
But we can chat about that on a later note,
I’m not tryna be fast, but I’m saying tho’…
I wanna take it only if you o.k. it tho’
Lift it up, bring it back, then lay it low…
The crowd was feeling that shit! Dymond had a big-ass grin on her face. She threw her hands up and started rocking her ass around in her seat.
After Reem bit them rhymes off, his man, smooth singer Spoons Dinero, broke in with the hook and tore that shit up.
Won’t you lay your body down I wanna get between ya knees…
The way I stroke it and I grind it put it on you like a G…baabbbyyy
It’s the way that yo body moves,
Ohhh you know I wanna roll out with you…get a dutch and come smoke with you,
And do it like we do it DO IT!
I jumped to my feet and started clapping just like everybody else!
“Stroke it!” Dymond screamed. “Grind it!” She shocked me when she put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, but what the fuck! That jawn was hot as hell!
Reem was back on the mic for his second verse, and Dymond tapped me on the arm. “Listen! Listen! This boy can spit!”
Look baby lemme put it to you like this…
It can be a friendship with a slight twist
We can ball out chips on a nice trip,
Or midnight calls for the right fix
Lemme know what it is,
I know you want it from the vibe you was giving off
And you was blushing from the lines I was dishing off,
Something on ya mind? Baby girl get it off!
Love it how ya hips slow grind to a nigga’s songs,
I wanna see how you perform when it’s action…
Aint no time to prolong when it’s passion…
Put an end to all the braggin and back it
Mami my name’s Raw, I plays with the plastic,
Straight six dash nine over here,
Straight Yak no wine over here,
Got the dutchy and the lime over here,
So ma, fuck them other niggas, slide over here! Yea!
Spoons broke in singing the hook again, but everybody in the house was already hooked.
Won’t you lay your body down I wanna get between ya knees…
The way I stroke it and I grind it put it on you like a G…baabbbyyy
It’s the way that yo body moves,
Ohhh you know I wanna roll out with you…get a dutch and come smoke with you,
And do it like we do it DO IT!
“That whole fuckin’ album is hot!” Dymond screamed when the crowd started clapping. She whistled again, then jumped up and down, her firm beige titties almost busting outta her dress. She was right, though. The cut was hot, but girlfriend seemed like she was about lifted.
The hip-hop reggae group Action was up next and they did their thang too. The next few acts after that were a mixture of rappers from the east and west coasts, and the dirty south, and I dug and appreciated the flavor mix. LL was fine and funny as hell too, and Dymond laughed at almost everything he said.
I noticed something about her, though. This chick was a vet for real, because she had the routine down tight. Whenever a camera so much as inched her way she straightened up her act and smiled real big. She had it down, I’m telling you! I’d seen her interviewed on television a hundred times and she acted like she was some rich chick who had been to college. She came across as pure class and bling.
But as soon as the cameras were outta range she got real again. I was almost disappointed. See, a bitch like me was real all the time, but I could understand Dymond’s front. She was just like Whitney used to be. Big-ass smile, perfect hair, dripping jewels, clothes just right. But all that shit was a real front for the media because when that crack grabbed hold of Whitney’s ass she dropped all them pretenses and showed the world how hood she really was.
“Don’t go nowhere, sexy Saucy,” she warned me with a smile. Her teeth were white as hell and I wondered how many of them were fake. “Don’t you move that phat ass, Mami! I gotta do this little intro, but after that me and you gonna chill.”
She put her hand on my arm and I had the nerve to cross my damn legs and nod, playing it cool like she was one of my homegirls from the projects. “Girl, go ’head. I’ma be right here waiting for you.”
I’m certain the whole show was live, but I couldn’t tell you for sure ’cause I didn’t get to see it all. Dymond got on that stage and brought the whole house down. For a half-white girl she sang like a full-blooded soul sistah. Out of all the R & B singers who had taken the stage, her act was the best, no doubt. It was professionally choreographed and she had mad stage props and extras.
She had changed into a sky-blue mini-dress that crept up her long, sexy legs. She stood wide-legged and bent her knees and flaunted those legs as she sang, and when I thought about it I realized that she showed those toned legs damn near all the time.
When she was finished she changed her gear again and came back to the table in another dope mini-dress. This one was jet black with a split up the back, and I had no doubt that those diamonds she was rocking were real.
“Why don’t we cut out?” she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “They got parties going all over this place. Let’s hit a few.”
We jetted while Busta Rhymes was clowning on the stage with his new cut. Dymond’s bodyguards took us out a side door and we ended up in a sweet white limo that was spotless inside and smelled brand-new.
As soon as we started to roll, Dymond raised the window between us and her driver, then broke out a silver tray and produced some ’caine from a nice-sized glass vial. I knew that much hit had to be worth thousands, but she tapped out ten lines like they only cost about a dollar each.