Big Booty

by Cairo

  “You know I don’t fuck wit’ Mariah like that no more.”

  “Oooh, for real. Mmmph. I had no idea. What she do? Don’t tell me you caught her out there with her other baby daddy ’cause I ran into them over the summer in Times Square, lookn’ real lovey-dovey.”

  He frowns. “Oh, word? Nah; that’s news to me.”

  “Oops. I ain’t one to gossip so you ain’t hear that from me.”

  “Nah, it’s all good. It is what it is. She can do her. Like I said, I don’t fuck wit’ her like that, so it’s whatever. We just cool for my daughter, feel me?”

  I keep flirtin’. “Oh, you have no idea how bad I’d love to feel you, boo. Now I know for sure you need to let me nurse ya love wounds. I’ll have you feelin’ like a new man.”

  Jasper shakes his head, laughin’. “Yo, Cass, word is bond, you my muthaeffen peeps, yo. You just don’t give a fuck.”

  “Nope, why should I? Life’s too short to be fakin’ ’n frontin’.”

  “That’s real shit,” he says back.

  Jaheem speaks to Felecia, then eyes me up and down, rubbin’ his dimpled chin. “You lookin’ real good, Cass. I can’t get no love.”

  The niggah grins and licks his lips. Damn him!

  I toss my braid. “Of course I am. And no, you can’t get no love. Where’s your wife at?” I walk off before he can speak, leavin’ him, Jasper, and Stax eyeballin’ my bouncin’ ass as I walk toward the back. “Hey, Miss Pasha, girl,” I say, shiftin’ my handbag from one arm to the other.

  “Hey, girl,” she says as she sits her client up from the sink. She wraps a towel around her head and blot dries her long, wavy hair. Ooh, the bitch’s hair is luscious. I’ve seen her here a few times in the past, too. Pasha looks at me. “I know you’re not in here already to get your hair done again. It still looks good. And I’m lovin’ how you workin’ that braid.”

  I toss my head, swingin’ my braid. “Yessss, sugah-boo. I’m lovin’ it too. And no, I ain’t here to have nothin’ done to it. I’m here to get these hands and feet laid out.”

  “Oh, good. Did Felecia tell you about our house specials?”

  “You know she did, Pasha Girl.” I glance up at the large mani-pedi board up on the wall that lists prices and whatnot. “I think I’ma get me that lemongrass and sea salt treatment, then let them toss a lil’ sake and ginger up on these suckas.”

  She chuckles. “Oh, you’ll love it, girl. We even wrap your feet in natural sea paper, then give you a warm ginger compress that you can take home with you to use again.”

  I purse my lips. “See, Miss Pasha, this is why you stay gettin’ my coins. You know how to do it right.”

  “We always aim to please, girl. I saw you up front cuttin’ up with Felecia.”

  “Uh-huh. You know how I do. Pasha girl, Miss FeFe’s a damn hot mess. And that husband of yours knows he has some fine damn cousins. Whew. That sexy-ass Stax makes me wanna chew the nut outta his dingaling.”

  Everyone in earshot laughs. I glance at the chick sittin’ in Pasha’s chair. Miss Luscious is some kinda gorgeous. And one thing about Big Booty, baby, I gives out compliments where they’re deserved.

  Pasha looks over at Felecia, shakin’ her head as she takes a sip of her Ocean Spray cranberry juice. “Girl, take a ticket and stand in line. You along with practically everyone else want a taste of him.”

  “And what about you, Miss Pasha Girl? You want some of that dingaling, too?”

  She chokes and coughs. “Girl, you a mess.”

  I purse my lips. “Mmmph. But I see you ain’t answer the question either.” I eye the Miss Cutie-Boo Pasha has in her chair as she turns her chair around, facin’ the mirror. Cutie Boo eyes me back. “Girl,” I say, flickin’ my bangs, “what you mixed with, Indian?”

  “No,” she says with sass in her voice. “Why?”

  “Ooh, no, Miss Girl,” I say, waggin’ a finger at her, “put the weapons down. I’m only givin’ you a compliment, Hon. I know all that thick ’n wavy hair ain’t no weave so I was wonderin’ if you were Indian or somethin’; that’s all.”

  “Oh. I’m Puerto Rican and Black.”

  “Oh, you a Blatino. I knew you were mixed with somethin’. Anyway, boo, you ’bout to make me wanna start lickin’ kitty-cats. And everyone knows how much I love the dingdong.”

  There’s more laughter throughout the shop.

  I ask her where she’s from. “Brooklyn,” she says, eyein’ me. Her ’tude is still kinda stank, but I ain’t concerned. “And thanks for the compliment. I guess.”

  “Chanel, girl,” Pasha says, wavin’ me on. “Pay this nut no mind. Cass is certifiable. But she’s one of my most faithful and loyal customers.”

  The Chanel chick chuckles. “Oh, it’s all good. I can rock wit’ the best of ’em; trust. Like I said, I’m from Brooklyn. All day, e’eryday, so it is what it is.” She glances at me. “I remember seein’ you in here the last time I was here.”

  “Uh-huh. I remember seein’ you too, boo.” I tell her she was with another Indian-lookin’ chick all dolled up in designer wear and jewels who leaped up on some Spanish ho and did her face in.

  She laughs. “Oh, yeah, that was my girl, Kat. I had to turn her on to this spot, but she ended up havin’ to turn it out. I felt so bad that day.”

  Miss Pasha tells her to not worry about it. That it’s water under the bridge. I glance around the salon and count four beefy security guards posted up on stools.

  “And I see you keepin’ it real airtight up in here these days with all this fine-ass security.”

  “Girl, I had to. Too much craziness was goin’ on.”

  “Yes, chile, it goes down at Nappy No More. Why you think I stays up in here? I don’t wanna miss a drop of juiciness.”

  She laughs. “Girl, you’re a mess.”

  Miss Luscious drops her eyes to my bag. “I’m lovin’ the Bottega.”

  “Ooh, yes, sugah-boo. You know ya designers, I see.”

  She chuckles. “I’ma label whore, sweetie. So, yes, I can spot the hotness a mile away. And can smell a fake even further. And that right there is official.”

  “And you know this, Miss Cutie Boo. Yes.”

  “Yeah, girl,” another chick says, sittin’ in Rhodeshia’s chair. “I was eyein’ that bag too.”

  Pasha shakes her head. “Oh, y’all haven’t seen anything. This chile is the queen of handbags.”

  “Yeah, and for a chick who don’t work,” Rhodeshia butts in as she parts her client’s hair down the middle. “You stay killin’ it.”

  I frown. Oh, this bitch done crossed the line. She’s comin’ at me like we from the same block. “Wait a minute, bitch. You don’t know me like that. Ho, how you know I don’t work? You and I ain’t ever toss back drinks or suck down the same dicks so that says somebody been runnin’ they mouths about me. So I wanna know who you been sittin’ around talkin’ shit about me to?”

  Pasha eyes me. “Cass, please, girl. Rho didn’t mean no harm.”

  “No, Miss Pasha, girl. I don’t mean no harm, either. I want this ho to tell me how she knows I don’t work. Apparently she ain’t get the memo. But, I’ma give her a pass today.”

  The Rhodeshia bitch quickly apologizes, then starts flappin’ out lies.” My bad, girl. I thought I heard you mentionin’ it the last time you were in here; that’s all. But, you’re right. I don’t know if you work or not.”

  I shift my handbag to my other hand. “Bitch, lies. But you lucky I’m in good spirits today. Otherwise I’d be moppin’ that mirror with your face.”

  “Thank God for small miracles,” Pasha says, wavin’ over one of her nail technicians who’s sittin’ at the nail booth.

  “These hoes stay tryna do me.” I shoot Mis Rho-Ho a dirty look. “I know one thing, let me find out you and Miss FeFe been meddlin’ in my shit and I’ma turn the gas up on ya ass.”

  “Wassup, Pash?” the skinny chick says. She’s wearin’ a buncha bright colors; a fuschia tie-die shirt that is tied in
a side knot showin’ off her bellyring. And some kinda lime-green, pink, orange, and purple wrap skirt. I glance down at her feet. Mmmph. Pink satin baby dolls.

  “Trish, can you fit Cass in? She wants the lemongrass and ginger wrap.”

  “Sure. I—”

  I cut Miss Rainbow Bright off. “Wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Don’t be pushin’ me off on no one. I don’t want Miss Fruity Pebbles doin’ me. Give me Anna. You know I ain’t lettin’ anyone fuck with my hands and feet.”

  Miss Rainbow blinks.

  “Cass, girl. I promise you. You’ll be in good hands.”

  I tilt my head. “I know I will. That’s why . . . ” I pause as Jasper, Stax and Jaheem walk over to Pasha’s station. They speak to everyone. Every ho up in here tries to get cute and sexy with it. I eye ’em all like, “Bitches, please!”

  I watch as Jasper walks over and kisses Miss Pasha on the cheek. And for split second I think I see her cringe. But I ain’t one to gossip. And I can’t be too sure if she did or not so I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else about it. One thing Big Booty ain’t is messy, okay. So we gonna leave that alone.

  “Yo, wassup Pash?” Stax says, foldin’ his thick arms over his chiseled chest.

  Pasha smiles. “Nothin’ much, Stax. What’s up with you?”

  “Chillin’, baby girl. You know how I do it.”

  Baby girl? It’s how he says it that makes me raise a brow. Oh, and don’t think I don’t catch how he looks at her—how he always looks at her anytime I see the two of them around each other. Even at the weddin’, I caught him watchin’ her on the sly. Mmmph. Stax ain’t foolin’ no one. That niggah wants her ass. And he ain’t tryna give up the dingaling to any other bitch but Miss Pasha. And, yes, I’m hatin’ ’cause I want me some of that dingdong, too.

  Pasha shifts her eyes, then speaks to Jaheem who’s too busy eye-ballin’ me. He speaks back. “I’m good, baby girl. How you?”

  “As you can see, busy, busy, busy.”

  “Yo, that’s wassup. I ain’t mad. Make that paper, fam.”

  “Yo, let me holla at you real quick,” Jasper says, lightly tuggin’ on her sleeve. She tells him to give her a few minutes to get Miss Luscious under the dryer. I tilt my head and watch the bitch eyein’ Jasper, and how he’s eyein’ her back. Oh, no! He waits ’til Miss Pasha’s back is turned, then winks at her on the low. I scoot over and block her view of him. I don’t think so, bitch.

  I narrow my eyes at Jasper, then look over at Pasha. I decide to turn up the switch ’cause I don’t like what’s goin’ down. “Ooh, Miss Pasha, girl, I see how Miss Cutie Boo over here’s eyein’ ya man. You might wanna hurry up and take him in the back before Miss Thingaling over here tries to slip him her number.”

  “Whaaat?” Miss Cutie Boo snaps. “What the fuck is you tryna say? I’m not thinkin’ ’bout her man. So don’t do me, bitch.”

  I turn to her. “Umm, Sugah boo, I already said it. I know a thirsty ho when I see one. And I will do you, bitch. Now try it.” I turn back to Pasha, placin’ a hand up on my hip. “Pasha Boo, these bitches in here are shameless and downright scandalous, startin’ with the one in your chair. And you know I don’t do messy.”

  Stax walks back out to where Miss FeFe is, clearly not interested in what’s poppin’ off back here. Jaheem stares at me, shakin’ his head as Pasha looks from me, to the Chanel bitch, then over at Jasper.

  Miss Luscious leans up like she’s ready to get outta her seat. “Bitch, you don’t know who the fuck you messin’ wit’. I will take it to ya ugly-ass face, ho.”

  I laugh. “And I’d like to see you try it.”

  “Look, now,” Pasha says, jumpin’ in. She holds Cutie-Boo back. “Both of you stop. Chanel, girl, go on over and sit under dryer number four, please. I’ll be back to check on you in ten minutes.”

  The bitch gets up, poppin’ shit about how a bitch don’t want it with her. How she’ll bring the heat up in this bitch and wreck shop, blah, blah, blah.

  I clap my hands. “Bring the heat, sugah-boo.” I clap again. “Bring. It. Ya ass just mad ’cause I called you out on ya sneaky shit. Be real, bitch. You were eyein’ her man. And you licked ya goddamn lips at him. And I peeped it. But I ain’t gonna stand here and argue with some lyin’-ass bitch. I know what I saw.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she says, sittin’ beneath the dryer. She pulls out her phone and starts talkin’ real loud. “Oooh, bitch, I wish you were here right now . . . I’m over in Jersey gettin’ my hair done at the spot I took you to . . . uh-huh, where you beat . . . ”

  I turn to Pasha. “Pasha, girl. You know I pay attention to every-damn-thing goin’ on. And trust me, boo. That bitch wanna fuck ya man, or run his pockets. And Jasper’s ass is with it. Now go ’head, niggah, and say I didn’t just see you wink at her ass on the low.”

  Jasper’s jaw tightens. “Yo, Cass, get da fuck outta here wit’ that dumb shit, yo. Ya crazy ass is always somewhere tryna start shit.”

  “Niggah, ya lyin’-ass ain’t slick. But, whatever. I know what I saw.” Anna waves me over. I turn back to Pasha. “Ooh, girl. Miss Anna’s ready for me.” I point over at Jasper, eyein’ Pasha. “Watch him, girl. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

  The Chanel bitch eyes me. And I laugh in her face, walkin’ off, shakin’ my ass over toward Anna. I overhear her sayin’, “Ugly bitch. Tryna serve it to me. . . . uh-huh . . . Kat, girl, these Jersey bitches don’t even want it . . . Bitch, please . . . you know I’m tryna keep it cute . . . but I will yabba dabba do that ho . . . Bitch, when is you comin’ back to the east coast . . . ?”

  Ooh, she’s lucky Miss Pasha’s my girl. I would tear this shop up today. I don’t give a shit where that bitch is from. I’ma Brick City bitch, okay? And we hit hard. Brooklyn or not, she’s in the wrong hood tryna eye-fuck anyone up in here.

  Fourteen

  “Aye, yo, real shit. Why da fuck you ain’t been answerin’ ya phone, or hittin’ my text back, yo?”

  I shake my head. This crazy coon’s been blowin’ my shit up for a whole week and I’ve been iggin’ his ass. I got too many other things to handle than to be dealin’ with this niggah and his needy ass. Shit, he acts like he’s my only goddamn sponsor. And the only reason his black ass won’t show up at my doorstep is ’cause he ain’t tryna disrupt his lil’ happy home, like I give a hot fuck.

  “Niggah, don’t call here tryna do me. I don’t answer to you.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Ya ass real type funny-style for real for real, yo.”

  “Yup, I sure am. So why the hell you still callin’, niggah?”

  “Yo, you already know what it is. ’Cause ya freak-ass know how’ta handle a big-ass dick. And I like beatin’ that back up; what da fuck you think?”

  “Mmmph. Yeah, I can handle a dick. But that shit don’t give ya ass the right to think you own me.”

  “Yo, I ain’t tryna hear that dumb shit. Answer ya shit when I hit you up.”

  I laugh at his crazy ass.

  “Yeah, keep laughin’, Cass; real shit. I got sumthin’ funny for ya ass. Aye, yo. I meant to get at you ’bout that stunt you pulled down at the shop the other day. That was some real foul shit, yo. You stay showin’ ya ass; for real for real. Why you always gotta try ’n blow a muhfucka’s spot up.”

  I frown. “Niggah, get a grip. I do what I do. Niggahs don’t wanna get called out, then they should know how to fuckin’ move. All that winkin’ shit at some other bitch ain’t it. Now what?”

  “Yo, why da fuck you care?”

  “Niggah, I don’t. But that shit’s nasty and disrespectful.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, right. And da shit you doin’ ain’t. Save that shit for someone else. Ya ass just like bein’ messy ’n shit.”

  “Whatever, niggah. I know if I saw the shit one of them nosey-ass hoes up in there saw it, too. And that shit ain’t cool.”

  “Yeah, aiight, whatever, yo. You need to mind ya muthafuckin’ business.”

  “Bitch, how ’bout you mind yours. It is my busin
ess when the shit’s done in front of me, or around me. So, like I said, get a motherfuckin’ grip.”

  “Yo, and how da fuck you gonna be all up on my fam like that and I’m standin’ right there. Yo, you real foul, yo. That was some real dirty shit, Cass. I’m tellin’ you, yo. You really tryna get fucked up; real shit.”

  I laugh. “Hahaha. Niggah, puhleeze. We both know you ain’t tryna take it there so bite a dick and chock. You not my man. And I don’t want you to be. I don’t know what part of the memo got ya ass confused. But I told you, I’m not ya goddamn wife. You put ya hands on me and you gonna know what it’s like to be fucked real good. And I do mean, deep and good. Now you got one more time to threaten me and I’ma show you just what the fuck I mean, niggah. So do ya’self a favor and save that shit for ya wifey-boo.”

  “Yo, fuck outta here wit’ all that dumb shit. You heard what da fuck I said, yo. Don’t play me like that shit again.”

  “Bitch, eat the inside of my asshole. You don’t run me, niggah.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. Pop that shit if you want. Let me come through and get some pussy. You was lookin’ mad right in them jeans last week. All that thickness stuffed up in them shits. Had my dick all hard ’n shit.”

  I start hummin’ Mary J’s “Mr Wrong.” And this niggah right here is all kinds of wrong. But the dick is oh so right. And his paper is nice and long.

  “Yo, why is you hummin’ ’n shit all up in my ear, yo? I want some pussy.”

  “And I want three grand.”

  “Yo, I ain’t got it right now.”

  “Oh, well. Then you need to call me when you do. So ’til then this pussy’s not available to you. And you know I don’t do layaway or credit. So . . . ” I have another call comin’ through. I glance at the screen. Oooh, it’s Miss Pasha. “Okay, I’m done. Call me when you got ya paper up and you ready to fuck.”

  “Yeah, aiight, yo. I’ma—”

  I shut him down, clickin’ over to Pasha. “Hey, Pasha, girl.”

  “Hey, girl. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, girl. You actually saved me from talkin’ to one of them no-good niggahs. What’s doin’, boo?”