by Foye, K'wan
Passing the table where the girls were sitting he noticed that Porsha was on her feet, slinging obscenities at a million miles per minute. Don B. said something to Porsha, and whatever it was must’ve been foul because Frankie sprang to her feet and got into the argument. It looked like it was about to get real ugly. Alonzo turned away and continued walking toward the door with Veronica but stopped short. Every ounce of his good sense told him to keep walking and to mind his business, but he just couldn’t.
“Give me a second, Veronica.” Alonzo excused himself and started in the direction of the altercation.
“Zo, where you going?” she asked, but he never answered.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS SAFE TO SAY THAT FRANKIE was thoroughly drunk. She and the girls had drunk, eaten, and talked shit well into the night and everyone was feeling good, especially Porsha. Frankie didn’t miss the sly looks Porsha and Alonzo were giving each other from across the room. She had watched Alonzo and Porsha dance around their feelings for years, but anybody with eyes could see their chemistry. Randomly bumping into Alonzo that night after all that time was an act of fate, and Frankie just hoped that they would get it right this time around. She was looking around for the waitress to ask for the check and a dessert to go when she saw a face that soured her whole mood.
He stormed into the place like he owned it, flanked by two of his cronies. His Yankee fitted was cocked deep to one side, with the brim stopping just short of the frames of his black sunglasses. The icy chains hanging around his neck looked like Fruit Loops with their multicolored diamonds. The people eating at the restaurant threw themselves at the feet of the superstar rapper treating him like a god, but Frankie knew better than most that he was the devil incarnate wearing a man’s skin. She had hoped that her friends hadn’t noticed him, but the looks on their faces said that they had. Both Dena and Porsha, on separate occasions, had confided in Frankie, so she alone knew the dark secrets that bound the two girls from two walks of life to one notorious man.
If looks could kill, then Don B. would’ve surely dropped dead from the murderous daggers Porsha was shooting at him. Porsha had been warned about Don B. and his antics, but the love and gifts he showered her with blinded her to his wicked ways. She actually thought she had a shot at being Don B.’s main lady, but soon learned the ugly truth when he drugged her and she woke up in a bed full of strange men and women.
When Porsha sobered up enough to make heads or tails of what had happened, she went off on Don B. and threatened to go to the police about the rape. He laughed it off and assured her that by the time his high-powered lawyers got done dragging her checkered past through the mud and media she would end up on the receiving end of a charge for trying to extort him. It was the lowest moment of her life and also a turning point.
Dena had been the youngest and the most innocent when she fell into Don B.’s clutches. She had been a young girl in love with a fast-talking pimp who pawned her off to a den of wolves, with Don B. as the Alpha of the pack. They broke Dena’s body and spirit, and though her brother had sacrificed his life in the process of eradicating her assailants, Don B. remained as a constant reminder of how the grown men had snatched her young innocence.
“Come on, y’all, let’s get outta here,” Frankie suggested.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dena agreed, collecting her purse from the seat next to her to put up her portion for the bill. Her hands were trembling so bad that she had trouble getting her money out. It had been her first time seeing Don B. since that horrific night so many years ago, and it broke down all the mental blocks she had erected in her mind. She could almost smell Don B.’s sweat on her as if the rape had only happened moments prior. It was all she could do to keep from screaming hysterically.
“We don’t have to go nowhere.” Porsha placed her right hand over Dena’s to reassure her. She knew from the look on the younger girl’s face that something had happened between her and Don B. too, and being in the presence of another of his victims only infuriated Porsha more. “Fuck that clown,” Porsha said loud enough for Don B. to hear.
Don B. spotted Porsha and Dena sitting at the table and tapped Tone. He whispered something to his crime partner, and they both started laughing. Young Dance was ignorant of the joke, but when they let him in on it, he started laughing too.
“If you got something to say, don’t whisper it, bitch nigga. Say it loud enough for everybody to hear it,” Porsha snapped. Don B. had her seeing red and she couldn’t control herself. The Don accepted her challenge and began making his way over to the booth. Everyone appeared uneasy except for Porsha. The fire in her eyes said that she was ready for war.
“Be easy, Porsha,” Frankie whispered, noticing Porsha’s left hand was wrapped around a steak knife on the table. She saw murder flickering in her eyes and was afraid of what Porsha might do.
“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you exactly what I said.” Don B. glared down at Porsha. “My li’l man commented on how beautiful you girls were, and I explained to him that the both of y’all bitches would do something strange for a small piece of change.” Don B. laughed, and so did Dance. Tone remained neutral.
“Nigga, please, all the money in the world wouldn’t make a bitch fuck with your little, dirty-dick ass, and that’s why you gotta drug bitches before you sleep with them,” Porsha barked.
“You got a big mouth, li’l girl,” Don B. told her. His voice had taken on a deadly edge.
“If my mouth is so big, then why don’t you close it for me, you rapist faggot?” Porsha challenged. Don B. took a step toward Porsha, but a voice behind him gave him pause.
“Don’t do it like that, homie.”
Alonzo’s heart was beating a million miles per minute as he approached the altercation. He kept telling himself to turn around and walk away, but with each additional step he committed himself deeper. By the time he reached them, Don B. was advancing on Porsha with his fists balled up like he meant to do her harm and that sealed the deal for Alonzo.
“Don’t do it like that, homie,” he spoke up, startling everyone at the booth.
“Chill, Zo, everything is all good over here,” Tone assured him. He and Alonzo knew each other from the streets and had a mutual respect for each other.
“It don’t look like it.” Alonzo’s eyes drifted from Don B. to Porsha.
“I got this, Zo. It’s okay,” Porsha told him. She tried to sound confident and tough, but her eyes said that she was glad he showed up.
“Who the fuck is you supposed to be?” Don B. looked Alonzo up and down like he was a peasant.
“Be cool, Don, you remember Zo-Pound. I introduced you to him at Brick City,” Tone said jogging his memory.
Don B. had remembered that night. Zo-Pound had rolled up into Brick City with some gorilla niggaz from Grant Projects. Their whole vibe screamed goon, and they proved that accurate when he saw them stand off against Shai Clark’s people. Zo’s homies were said to be hardened killers who feared nothing, but their reputations meant nothing to Don B. In his mind, he was royalty and was untouchable by the thugs.
“Is this your bitch or something?” Don B. asked hostilely.
Alonzo chuckled to mask his mounting anger. “Nah, that ain’t my bitch, but these ladies are friends of mine.”
“Well, if it ain’t your bitch then it ain’t your problem. I’m about to start giving out lessons in respect, and unless you wanna learn one too, then I suggest you get the fuck up outta Dodge.”
By this time Veronica had come over and was watching the altercation nervously. “C’mon, baby. Let’s just go.” She tugged at Alonzo’s sleeve, but he acted as if he didn’t even notice her.
“Man, listen to your girl and get up outta here.” Don B. waved Alonzo off dismissively.
“You know,” Alonzo began in an even tone, “I came over here and got at you like a man, but I’m feeling kinda disrespected by the way you’re talking right now.”
“If you think that’s disre
spectful, then check this fly shit out—suck my dick!” Don B. screamed in Alonzo’s face, raining spittle on him.
Don B. had no idea he had even been hit until he staggered backward and bumped his pack against the corner of the booth where Frankie and her girls were sitting. The second slap was even more vicious than the first, lifting Don B. off his feet and sending him sprawling onto the table between Porsha and Dena, where Dena’s drink accidentally spilled on his head. Alonzo felt someone behind him and spun, gun drawn, and pointed at Young Dance’s chest. Tone tried to ease up on Alonzo from his blindside, but Alonzo’s words froze him.
“Tone, I’ll bet you all the money in your pocket that I can knock this li’l nigga out his shoes and still peel yo cap before you clear that gun. If you draw, nigga, you better be Picasso,” Alonzo warned. Tone wisely dropped his hands to his sides.
Don B. had just come to his senses and was furious that he had been embarrassed in public in such a way. Seeing that Alonzo was preoccupied he tried to ease off the table and make his move but decided against it when Porsha pressed the steak knife she had been gripping to his neck.
“Please do something crazy so I can cut your throat,” she hissed in Don B.’s ear. When he saw the maddened look in her eyes he knew without a doubt that she would make good on her threat, so he relaxed.
“Zo, don’t do nothing stupid,” Tone said.
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Alonzo said, eyes sweeping the faces of the terrified people in the restaurant.
“My dude, you know you dead for this shit, right?” Don B. threatened from the table where he was still lying with the steak knife to his throat.
“I don’t know shit except that if you keep bumping your gums, both of us are gonna make the front page of the Daily News,” Alonzo told him. Tone moved closer to him so his attention shifted. “Tone, I don’t want to, so don’t make me, fam.”
“Zo, you know I can’t let you violate the homie,” Tone said. He was fond of Alonzo, but Don B. was his brother.
“I know that, and I know there wouldn’t be too much you could do to stop me if I decided to off this fag,” he nodded at Don B. “Don’t worry, Tone, neither one of us wants that kinda trouble. Ladies,” he addressed Porsha and her crew, “get your shit and let’s roll.”
Frankie slid from the booth, then pulled Dena out. Porsha lingered for a few seconds more savoring the feeling of having Don B. at her mercy. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how hard it was for me to not open you up tonight, you rapist,” she hissed.
A broad grin spread across Don B.’s lips. “You’re gonna wish you had. The next time I see you, I’m gonna show you what it truly means to violate a bitch.” He laughed in her face.
“We’ll see about that.” Porsha nicked his neck with the knife as she got up from the booth.
“Dirty bitch!” Don B. yelped, grabbing his neck where she’d cut him. It was only a scratch, but it hurt like hell.
When all four of the girls had exited the restaurant, Alonzo started backing toward the exit, with his gun still on Don B. The rapper’s shades had been knocked off during the scuffle, and Alonzo was allowed a rare glimpse at Don B.’s eyes. They were heavily slanted and red from all the weed he smoked and about as warm as a viper’s. Don B. kept his eyes on Alonzo the whole time. Alonzo knew that look. It was a look that said this is far from over. Alonzo knew leaving Don B. alive was a mistake, but he just didn’t have it in him. His mind raced through the wasted childhood he had spent in various prisons over the years, and he decided it wasn’t worth it. The way Don B. operated it would only be a matter of time before someone killed him over something, but it wouldn’t be Alonzo . . . at least not tonight.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AFTER THE ALTERCATION AT BBQ’s EVERYBODY WAS rattled. They all held their breaths in fear that the police would jump out and arrest them before they made it to safety. Thankfully, they were able to reach Alonzo’s ride without incident.
Veronica was pissed when Alonzo offered to drop everybody off, especially since she lived the closest and would be the first one to go. Every so often she would glance up in the rearview at Porsha, who was sitting in the back with Frankie and Dena. Veronica had planned to fuck and suck Alonzo so good that night that he would have no choice but to make her his shorty, but that plan was ruined thanks to Porsha. She knew from the moment she saw the pretty dark-skinned girl with the Mohawk that she was going to be trouble, and the fact that she got dropped off in front of her building with a mumbled promise from Alonzo about calling her later confirmed it. Watching Alonzo’s taillights disappear into the night Veronica vowed to whip Porsha’s ass for ruining her night if they ever bumped into each other again.
Frankie and Dena were dropped off next in Bed-Stuy. Alonzo barely lingered long enough to make sure they got in their building before he peeled off. He wanted to put some distance between him and the County Of Kings before something else happened and he wound up going to jail that night. Both he and Porsha rode in silence until they were across the bridge and back in Manhattan.
Porsha broke the silence. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I think the correct thing to say would be thank you.” Alonzo cut his eyes at her.
“I said thank you a hundred times already.”
“Then say it one hundred and one. I never get tired of hearing it, especially coming from you,” he shot back.
“Stop being funny, Alonzo. You could’ve gone to jail or worse for pulling out a gun in front of all those people,” she pointed out.
“What was I supposed to do? Just stand by and do nothing while that nigga disrespected you?” he asked. “The shit coming outta his mouth was foul.”
“How much did you hear?” Porsha asked, not sure she really wanted to know the answer.
“Enough,” he said. “Porsha, I don’t know what happened with you and that cat, and it ain’t really none of my business. All I know is that I wasn’t gonna let him put his hands on you.”
Porsha downplayed it. “They were just words, Alonzo; they couldn’t hurt me.”
“Looked to me like homie was planning on doing a little more than just talking,” Alonzo said. “Porsha, I don’t get you, ma.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked defensively.
“What I mean is, why do you keep settling on fucking with these bum-ass niggaz who ain’t bringing nothing to the table but problems?”
Porsha rolled her eyes. “Excuse you? Alonzo, knock it off because it ain’t even that type of party. A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other.”
“A person can change their ways, but not their heart,” Alonzo capped.
“And what the fuck do you know about my heart?” Porsha folded her arms.
“More than you give me credit for,” he said sincerely. “Porsha, I ain’t trying to argue with you, ma, I just wanna make sure you good out here in the world.”
“Thanks, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now and have been doing a pretty good job.” She turned her back to him and stared out the window. Alonzo had struck a nerve, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. He had always been able to see through her façades, and it irked her that he knew her so well, especially when she had put so much effort into keeping him at a distance. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to Alonzo; in fact, she was feeling him more than she cared to admit, but the old wounds from her past were still fresh, and she was afraid to let him get close. Alonzo was a good dude with a heart of gold and a magnetic personality that drew you helplessly to him. Porsha knew that if she crossed that line she would belong to him, body and soul, and the thought of being in love scared her more than the thought of being alone.
When the car came to an abrupt stop, Porsha snapped out of her daze. She looked up and was surprised to see that they were in front of her building. “How did you know where I lived when I didn’t give you the address?”
Alonzo placed his hand on
his chest. “The heart is better than a GPS.” He winked.
“Yo, if you only knew how stalker-ish you sounded just now.” She laughed and shoved him playfully. Porsha’s eyes landed on Alonzo’s cell phone in the cup holder. She hesitated briefly before picking it up and fumbling with the keys.
“What you doing with my phone, Porsha?” Alonzo reached for it defensively, but she snatched it away.
“Relax.” She finished typing on his phone and handed it to him. “I locked my number in there so we can keep in contact. Regardless, you know you still my nigga.”
Alonzo looked down at the number and nodded in approval. “I guess being your nigga beats being your nothing, huh?”
“There you go with that bullshit.” She shoved him playfully again. “And don’t have none of them dirty skanks you deal with crank calling me on some jealous shit either.”
“Watch that. All my skanks wash their asses at least once per day,” he joked.
Porsha laughed. “You’re a dick. But for real, Alonzo, let your li’l friends know what time it is if they ask about my number being in your phone.”
“And what time is it?” Alonzo asked, drinking her in with his eyes. He saw the telltale glint that let him know he was making progress. Alonzo was inching toward her so subtly that she didn’t even realize it until they were almost nose to nose.
Porsha sat there like a deer in headlights while Alonzo advanced on her slowly. He was so close that she could taste the faint traces of liquor on his breath from the restaurant. Right before their lips connected, she placed her finger on his lips and backed away. “It’s time to say good night, Alonzo.”
“That’s cold,” he said with a grin that let her know he wasn’t done trying. His cell phone suddenly rang in his hand. He was going to ignore it until he saw the number on the screen. “What’s hood?” Alonzo listened for a few seconds, then frowned. “Hold on, who got dropped? Shit, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He ended the call.