by Cairo
She glances over at the door, narrowin’ her eyes, then goes back to finishin’ up Miss Cute’s hair. “Ooh, boo, what’s ya name, again?” I ask Miss Cute.
“Bianca.”
“Oh, yes. I saw you at Miss Pasha’s weddin’ hugged up on some real fine, chocolate, man meat.”
She smiles. “Oh, thanks. That’s my soon-to-be husband, Garrett.”
“Boo, he’s fine. I hope you doin’ him right.” I glance over at Miss Messy. “ ’Cause if not, there’ll be some other ho tryna do him for you.”
“Mmmph,” the Rhodesia chick chimes in. “I know that’s right. And every ten seconds there’s a new ho emergin’ from the shadows waitin’ to strike.”
Miss Bianca chuckles. “Girl, trust. I already know. But I don’t worry about stuff like that. I take care of my man well. And he takes care of me. I make sure that the only ho my man ever has the time or energy for is me. I make sure to keep a smile up on his face every day.”
“Sugah, boom!” I say. “That means nothin’. A greedy niggah still gonna creep with the next ho.”
She continues, “And that’s why you gotta know how to keep him greedy for only you, hon. ’Cause if not. He is definitely gonna stray. The difference between me and most women is, I embrace my ho-ism. And trust me, I’m willin’ to out-ho the next ho when it comes to satisfyin’ my man, although I do have my limits. And he has his. The biggest thing is respect, girlfriend. And, like I always say, there has to be honor among us hoes.”
I chuckle. “Oooh, yes. Honor amongst the hoes, goddammit. Now that would cut down on a lotta beatdowns, smashed windows, and court hearin’s.”
Those in earshot laugh.
“Oooh, what you say?” Rhodeshia says to me. “And I’m sure you’ve had to toss a few in your day.”
“Oh, nooo, Miss RhoRho. I ain’t ever toss a ho over no man, boo. There’s too much horny, hard dingaling out there for me to be cryin’ ’n fightin’ over some man. Boo, I keeps it real. I’ll let a ho know in a minute, I don’t want her man. Just his hard cock and what’s in his wallet. Shit, she can have what’s left of his ass.”
More laughter.
“Personally,” Miss Pasha says as she’s clippin’ the Bianca chick’s hair and cuttin’ her eye over at Jasper and Miss Messy choppin’ it up at the front desk. “If the niggah’s that greedy, then he needs to move onto the next ’cause at some point you just not gonna give a damn anymore.”
I raise a brow, tootin’ my lips up.
“Girl,” Miss Bianca cosigns. “I know that’s right. Hopefully, you don’t have that problem.”
“Mmmhmm, let’s hope,” Miss Pasha says, shootin’ me a look, then glancin’ over at Jasper. I catch Stax lookin’ over at us, then peep Miss Pasha shiftin’ her eyes.
I eye Jasper’s ass as he finally strolls his way over toward Miss Pasha’s workstation, leavin’ Stax and Miss Messy up front. “Yo, wassup,” he says, steppin’ up on Miss Pasha and kissin’ her on the neck. I swear I think I see her cringe. But, you know I ain’t one to assume shit, so I dismiss it.
“Yo, wassup, Cass?”
“Niggah, boom,” I say, rollin’ my eyes at him. “With ya lyin’ ass.”
He laughs. “Yo, for real, ya ass’s shot out.”
“Uh-huh, whatever.” I turn my back to him. “Miss Pasha, girl, I’m goin’ up front with Stax and Miss Messy. Let me know when you ready for me.” I walk off, shakin’ every inch, every nook, and every goddamn cranny of my ass.
Stax grins when he sees me comin’ ’cause he knows I’m about to rub up on all his goodness, although I really wanna be rubbin’ up on that dingaling. “Yo, wassup, Cass?”
I suck my teeth, givin’ him a hug and pressin’ my body into his. “Niggah, quit. You already know. But you all scared.”
He laughs, huggin’ me tight. I catch Miss Messy as she tries to roll her eyes on the low. You know I’ma bring it to her! But, I’ma keep it classy for a bit. “Heeeey, Miss FeFe,” I say, steppin’ outta Stax’s strong arms. Oooh, this niggah makes me sick, goddammit!
“Hey,” she says, dryly.
“Yo, I’ma slide to the back and holla at Pash and the rest of the ladies. I’ll holla at you later, Felecia.”
“Okay, cool,” she says back.
“Aiight, Cass. Keep it sexy, ma.”
“Huh-uh. I always do, boo.”
I wait for him to walk off, then bring it to this messy heifer. “Miss FeFee, don’t think I ain’t peep you rollin’ ya eyes up in ya head at me a few minutes ago. If you gotta problem, speak on it. But don’t do me, boo.”
She stares me down, placin’ a hand up on her hip. “Yeah, I gotta problem with you. Why the hell you go back and tell Paris that I was talking about her and her sisters to you? She called me up, going off.”
“Well, we were talkin’ about ’em. So ya point?”
“The point is, you didn’t have to tell her that.”
“Coon, boom! I ain’t no phony bitch, boo. I ran into the bitch at the mall and said that we—me and you, were talkin’ about her and her messy-ass sisters and how they turned Miss Pasha’s weddin’ out. Then I told the dumb bitch to watch her back and keep her messy-ass sister away from her man. If that bitch had a problem with what I said she shoulda said it to me.”
She sucks her teeth. “Whatever, Cass. Just know I ain’t ever sayin’ shit else around ya messy ass. You run your mouth too fuckin’ much for me.”
I slam my bag up on the counter. “Oh, really now. So you wanna do me, bitch? You wanna talk about runnin’ mouths? Then let’s talk about ’em, startin’ with yours, bitch. You stay runnin’ your dick lickers, boo. Drunk-ass bitch! And you know it. You done told me all Miss Pasha’s business and she’s supposed to be ya family. Bitch, the only messy bitch in the room is you.”
Miss FeFe’s eyes buck open as she glances around the salon to see if anyone is zoomin’ in on us. Luckily for her ass, there ain’t no one sittin’ in the waitin’ area. She knows she done cranked it up and classy is about to go out the window. And ghetto is ready to kick in the doors.
“Look, drop it,” she says, tryna sidestep me. “You said what you said. And let’s just leave it at that. I didn’t appreciate you doin’ that and that’s that.”
I laugh. “Miss FeFe, let me tell you this. You ain’t no real bitch, boo. ’Cause if you were you woulda told ya cousin yeah we talked about her ’cause at the end of the day what you did at Miss Pasha’s weddin’ was messy, period. And everybody was talkin’ about the shit. So don’t do me, boo. If you don’t want somethin’ repeated, then keep the shit to ya’self. So, bitch, boom! Stop runnin’ ya motherfuckin’ mouth about everybody else and worry about you and that lil’ dick niggah, Andre, you fuckin’.”
She blinks. “Oh, no you didn’t!”
I tilt my head. “Oh, yes I did. And whaaat, coon?”
“Bitch, get the fuck up outta this shop, now, before I—”
“Before you what, bitch? Get yo’ ass—”
“What in the hell is goin’ on up here,” Miss Pasha hisses. All eyes are on us. “Have the two of you lost your goddamn minds, carrying on like this up in here? This is my place of business. And the only bitch that should be bringin’ drama up in here is me. Now what the fuck is going on?”
Oooh, I knew Miss Pasha had fire in her, but I ain’t ever see her take it there. But I loooove it.
Miss Messy shifts her eyes and starts shufflin’ through the mail. I stare the bitch down, waitin’ to see what she gotta say. The bitch keeps it on mute.
Miss Pasha taps her heeled foot. “Well, someone tell me something ’cause I have customers in the back who can hear a whole lot of something going on between the two of you, and I don’t like it one damn bit. I’m sick of this shit. Cassandra, you’ve been one of my most loyal customers, and Felicia, I’ve trusted you like a sister. But both of you bitches keep a lotta shit stirred up. And I’m sick of it being up in my shop.”
“Now wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. I don’t do dra
ma, boo.”
“Well, maybe you don’t. But it sure as hell does you. And I’m tired of it comin’ up in here. I’ve been biting my tongue for too long now. So with that being said, I think it’s best if you don’t come back up in here. Your business is no longer needed or wanted here.”
I frown. “Bitch, boom! You ain’t said nothin’ but a word. I ain’t ever gotta come back up in this trap.”
“Good,” Miss Messy snaps. “Now get’ta steppin’. Before I have security toss you out.”
“Oh, no, honey boo. The only one ’bout to get tossed is you. I’ve been waitin’ to do you, any-goddamn-way. So how ’bout you be a real bitch and tell Pasha how you told me Jasper whoops her ass and she’s scared of him, huh, bitch? How ’bout you let her know how you done fucked him, too.” I look over at Miss Pasha. Her eyes widen in shock. “Sorry, boo. I ain’t mean to do you, but this bitch ain’t shit.” Miss Messy’s mouth drops, and her face cracks. “Yeah, bitch, boom! Cat’s out the bag now. What you gotta say on that? You wanna do me, then, boo, I’ma do you, too.”
“Pasha, girl, this bitch is crazy. I would never do you like that. And you know that. We’re family. You know I’m always—”
“Smiling up in my goddamn face; that’s what the fuck you’re always doing.” Jasper and Stax are walkin’ toward us. She turns her glare on Jasper. “Have you been fucking this bitch?”
He frowns, shootin’ a look over at Miss Messy, than over at me. “Yo, go ’head wit’ that dumb shit, Pash. Hell no, I ain’t fuckin’ her.”
“I swear to you, Pasha. You gotta believe me.”
“I don’t have to believe shit. Did you tell this bitch that Jasper whoops my ass or not?”
I smirk.
“Well, I, uh, mighta . . . ”
Slap! Miss Pasha reaches over the counter and takes it to Miss Messy’s face. “Bitch, pack your shit and get the fuck outta my shop. You’re fired! And, niggah,”—she turns to Jasper, lungin’ the shears she’s holdin’ in her hand at him—“I want you out . . . of my house . . . before me and my son get the fuck home! Now all of you get the fuck out of my salon!”
Forty-Three
“Yo, Ma,” Darius says. The niggah finally decides to call me a week later. Ooh, but I’m so glad to hear his voice deep, raspy voice. It sounds like he’s smokin’ a blunt, too. And right now I ain’t sayin’ shit. I’m keepin’ it real classy and lettin’ him talk shit. I step outta the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body. I was gettin’ ready to hop in the shower when he called. Well, actually, I was gettin’ ready to take a shit—since the two Ex-Lax I took had my stomach rumblin’—then take a shower. I clutch my stomach.
“All that shit you was talkin’ is crazy, yo. You was dead wrong for leavin’ me that crazy-ass message like that, Ma. And yeah, I’m still fuckin’ pissed at you, yo. But I’ma get over it ’cause you right. I ain’t ever gonna stay mad at you long.”
I smile, droppin’ my towel. “I know you not, boo. But you ain’t have’ta do Day’Asia like that, Darius. You lumped her head up real good. She was dazed for a good five minutes, too.”
“Oh, well. That’s what da fuck she gets. It was either hit her or you. And you know I ain’t ever gonna put my hands on you. I don’t care how hot you get me. I’ll walk up and break a niggah’s jaw first before I ever do some shit like that. But, real shit, Ma. You gonna have’ta stop wit’ da hands shit. I’ma grown man wit’ a son of my own. I ain’t beat for you tryna yoke me up anytime you want.”
I roll my eyes. “Boo, puhleeze. Ya dingaling might be grown, but you always gonna be my baby. And I will go upside ya head if you tryna do me. And you know I don’t be tryna bring it to you unless you do me, boo. Same thing with these fools in the streets. If anything, I stay tryna keep it classy. But y’all like to see me kick it up to ghetto.”
He laughs, then starts chokin’ on weed smoke. “Yo, you shot out, Ma.”
“Shot out nothin’. You know . . . ” I pause when my doorbell starts ringin’. Someone’s pressin’ down on it like they done lost their goddamn mind. Who in the hell is at my goddamn door, I think, slippin’ on a robe, then swingin’ my hips to the door. “ . . . don’t like bein’ caught up in no drama. And I ain’t out lookin’ for none.”
“Yo, Ma, real shit, for someone who hates drama that shit seems to always find you.”
“That’s because”—I swing open the door without peekin’ through the curtains or lookin’ outta the peephole—“I don’t . . . niggah, what the fuck—”
He grabs me by the throat with a black gloved hand, slammin’ the door behind him. “Bitch, you don’t know when to keep ya muthafuckin’ shit shut, do you? I fuckin’ told you I was gonna fuck you up if you kept runnin’ ya shit, talkin’ reckless.” He punches me. And it feels like the niggah took a baseball bat to my face. I try to fight him.
“Motherfucka, is you crazy, bitch?!” I swing at him and he punches me again. This time knockin’ me over the sofa. I hear Darius on the phone yellin’, but somehow I done dropped the phone when he grabbed me by the throat.
“You wanna run ya muthafuckin’ mouth, bitch!”
“Aaaaah, get the fuck off’a me, niggah! Have you lost ya goddam mind, niggah-bitch?!” I snatch a lamp from off’a the table and crack him upside the head with it, but it don’t take him down. He punches me so hard I think I’m havin’ an out-of-body experience. Pain shoots through me. I hit the floor. He grabs me by the ankles and tries to drag me toward him, but I am kickin’ him wildly.
I try to fight and kick him off me. He pounces on me. The niggah is stronger than I thought. I can still hear Darius callin’ out to me. I’m thankful this nigga is too crazed to hear him too. He wraps his hands around my neck and starts shakin’ me. “You don’t know who da fuck you fuckin’ wit’, bitch! I warned you not to test me, didn’t I, bitch?”
He squeezes my neck tighter, causin’ me to gasp. “You wanna be all down at Pasha’s shop runnin’ ya muthafuckin’ mouth, huh, bitch? I’ma knock ya shit shut for good, bitch!” He punches me in the mouth. Blood splashes out.
Ohmygod, this crazy niggah’s gonna kill me!
I knee him in the balls and he lets go. I roll over and try to get away from him. Try to get to my phone. “Fuckin’ bitch!” He punches me again. Then grabs me by the back of my head, wrappin’ his thick fingers in my weave and yankin’ my head back. “Slutty, whore-ass bitch! I fuckin’ warned ya ass, yo!”
He yanks me up like a rag doll. He punches me in the face again. Something cracks. Then he swings me into a wall. “Why da fuck you had’a go up in there and say all that shit to Pasha, yo?! Huh, bitch?!”
The only thing I keep thinkin’ is that I can’t let this niggah kill me. I can’t let my babies walk up in here and find me dead. He punches me again. But I ain’t gonna let him shut my lights out without a good goddamn fight. And you know I love a good fight.
I fight him with all I got. I claw him, bite him, kick him. I let this niggah know I ain’t some lightweight bitch. If I can just get my hands on one of the knives I keep hidden around the house in case I gotta gut a niggah up real quick. I’m up on my knees, crawlin’. JT kicks me in the ass.
“When I finish wit’ you, bitch, you gonna wish you were dead. I paid to have ya muthafuckin’ face fixed, now I’ma be da niggah who wrecks it.”
Oh Gawd. This niggah is about to do me good!
I pull myself up on the sofa, barely seein’ outta my right eye. I can tell he got my shit droopin’ like old granny drawers. He punches me in the back of the head, then pins me down. I hear him unbucklin’ his pants. His hot breath is in my ear.
“Bitch, before I gut ya face, I’ma fuck you in ya ass, then scrape ya insides out wit’ the same blade I fuck ya face up wit’. When I’m done wit’ ya slutty ass, no other niggah’s gonna ever wanna fuck wit’ you. I’ma cut ya muthafuckin’ pussy out.”
I keepin’ thinkin’ how this niggah’s gonna tear my face to shreds, then take my money makers from me. He’s gonna gut my h
oles out. He’s in back of me fumblin’ with his buckle. He yanks up my robe. I’m so thankful I ain’t shitted on myself yet. And for once I wish I had on some drawers. Shit, two pairs.
Yes, the niggah got me shook. But I ain’t gonna let him know it. And I ain’t tryna let this nigga just take my ass or cut out my pussy without one last good fight. A hood bitch knows how’ta play possum and she knows how’ta say and do whatever she needs to to stay alive. I still got babies to raise. And I ain’t tryna miss seein’ Da’Quan graduate from college or see Marquelle make it to the NBA. And I need to see how Day’Asia turns out. If she’s gonna end up bein’ a hot trash ho, or a classy one. I need to see how Isaiah, Elijah, Joshua and the twins gonna turn out. And I don’t want they goddamn fahvers raisin’ them, or some other bitches. So, noooo, I gotta do whatever I gotta do to keep this nigga from killin’ me.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
“What bitch?”
I repeat myself. Tell him how this pussy’s always been his. How my ass is his. How my throat is his. I tell the niggah what he wants to hear. Gas the niggah’s head up with a buncha goddamn lies. But what do I care? All I wanna do is get my hand on one of my blades. The ones I have stuffed on both ends of the sofa on the side of each cushion. Or the one under the sofa.
He punches me in the back of the head again. This niggah’s fists are like lead pipes. “I know you are, bitch,” he growls in my ear. The nigga bites me. “Why you make me have’ta fuck you up, yo. I warned ya muthafuckin’ ass. You lucky I don’t blow ya muthafuckin’ head off.”
He starts grindin’ his hard dick on me. I toot my ass up. “Fuck me,” I whisper through bloody lips. I know this niggah’s crazed, but I gotta play along. Darius, where the fuck are you, boo?! I’m hopin’ like hell he gets here before this nigga rapes and kills me.
“Fuck me,” I whisper again, stretchin’ my arms out across the sofa. My right hand slips down along the side of the sofa. “Give me the dick, baby.”
My head is poundin’ and I feel sick to my stomach. But I ain’t tryna get raped. I’d rather give this pussy away; would rather invite the niggah to some ass. Not let this crazy niggah take it. I pump my hips.