by Keisha Ervin
Plus, sticking by her husband’s side was becoming harder to do by the day. Instead of dealing with his infidelity with a glass of wine and a shopping spree like she’d done in the past, she’d had to face it in front of the world. That afternoon, she was attending a charity luncheon at which she would be presented an award for her commitment and contributions to the Boys and Girls Club of St. Louis.
Q knew there would be a bunch of bitter, lonely bitches snickering and talking shit behind her back. She had to remind herself that half the ladies’ husbands were cheating on them, too. Once her hat was on straight, Q grabbed her Carlos Fal-chi clutch purse and headed to the door. Ahsim stood waiting for her, posted like a king.
She hadn’t laid eyes on him since their discussion earlier that day. His hair was freshly lined and cut by the inhouse barber. A toothpick hung from the corner of his mouth. There was nothing special about his outfit, but the simplicity of it caused the lips of her pussy to coat with cream. Ahsim looked good as hell in a white T-shirt, slightly baggy, dark denim jeans, and all-white shell toe Adidas. A gold rosary hung from his neck.
“You ready?” he asked with somewhat of an attitude, taking the toothpick from his mouth.
“Yeah,” she replied with a lustful hint in her eye.
“Have a good time, miss.” Rosa smiled, opening the door for them.
“Thanks, Rosa.”
Q stepped outside into the bright July sun. To her surprise, in the driveway were three different cars: a 2009 black Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, silver Maybach 62, and a Koenigsegg CCX, which was the third-fastest car in the world. Each car was filled with designer bags from Chanel, Bergdorf Goodman, and Barneys New York.
“They’re all from Mr. Pynn,” Rosa gushed, thrilled.
Q was overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions. A part of her was flattered by the expensive gifts, but the part of her with some sense knew that no amount of cars or clothes would be able to make up for his betrayal or the excruciating pain in her heart.
“Send it all back,” she demanded.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Rosa asked, astonished.
“Positive,” she replied getting into the car.
A slight smile crept onto Ahsim’s face as he headed around the opposite side to get in. He was glad to see that Q couldn’t be bought with materialistic bullshit. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel. Ahsim stepped out and surveyed his surroundings. Everything on the surface seemed cool so he turned and reached for Q’s hand. As soon as she stepped out of the Phantom, the whispers about Sean’s infidelity began. From behind her shades she could see the other women gawk and stare.
She knew damn well it wasn’t because of what she wore. The peach-apricot tiger print Rachel Roy dress and gold Versace slingback heels were to die for. For a second, Q wondered if should she climb back in the car and go home. Maybe it was too soon to show her face.
“Q.” Roc’s Brazilian girlfriend, Annalisa, approached her with open arms.
“Anna.” Q ran into her arms.
“Are you okay? I heard about what happened on the radio this morning.”
“You along with everyone else in America,” Q replied sarcastically. “Nah, I’m good. Have the chickens started cluckin’ yet?”
“You know they have, but fuck ’em. Next week it’ll be one of their husbands in the news and we’ll be talkin’ about them.”
“Right,” Q chuckled.
“Nevertheless, you look beautiful.”
“Thanks, so do you,” Q said honestly. Annalisa and Giselle Bundchen could have been twins. “The double platform Christian Louboutins are off the hook, sweetie.”
“I just bought ’em yesterday.” Annalisa flexed her foot. “Now, come on. You got a’ award to accept.” She linked arms with Q and escorted her in.
The Khorassan Ballroom was breathtaking. It was the largest event space the Chase offered. A mixture of square and rectangle tables were elegantly designed with pink floral embroidered linens, bountiful floral center pieces, and organza chair coverings. Twenty-foot birch trees strung with pink petals and votives added a little touch of spice to the room. Q and Annalisa sat together along with Nelly’s girlfriend, Ashanti, and Chingy’s latest jump-off.
“Did you write a speech?” Annalisa inquired.
“I wrote a li’l something down.” Q took a sip of her cucumber water.
“I don’t know if you heard yet,” Anna said, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap, “but Grip wrote another dis record about Sean.”
“Oh my God. I wish they would just stop.”
“Who you tellin’. The whole thing is ridiculous and out of control. They’re both good at what they do and they’re both gettin’ money, but somebody just has to be the king of the Midwest.”
“It’s silly.”
“I just hope things calm down before somebody gets hurt. Lord knows we don’t want another Tupac and Biggie on our hands.”
“All we can do is pray for the best, girl,” Q declared.
“Speaking of praying for the best,” Anna whispered as the MC for the event called for everyone’s attention. “I’ve been having my own share of problems, too, with Roc.”
“Problems like what?”
“His ass is cheatin’ on me again.”
“With who?” Q looked at her, stunned. “Please tell me not that one girl. What was her name?”
“Dena; nah, it ain’t her. This some new mystery bitch. I can’t find out shit about her. All I know is they been fuckin’ around for a minute and I’m starting to think whoever this chick is, he must really like her.”
“Anna, please.” Q dismissed her with a wave of the hand. “You said the same thing about Dena, but look how that shit turned out. He copped you a five-carat purple diamond ring and gave Dena his ass to kiss.”
“Yeah, but that was then. This new chick really got her claws in him. He won’t even make love to me no more.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Annalisa choked back the tears that begged to spill from her eyes. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried lingerie, lettin’ him fuck me in my ass,” she whispered. “I even suggested a threesome with another girl but he still won’t give me the time of the day. I just wish I could get rid of this bitch. Awhile ago I followed him.”
“For real,” Q responded stunned. “Did you find out anything?”
“No, my dumb ass ended up losing him at the light,” Annalisa giggled. “I did go through his phone and get her number.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No. Every time I call the number she won’t answer the phone.”
“Hmm . . . Well if you need my help finding out who this chick is I’ll help you,” Q offered.
“Thanks, Q, but how you gon’ help me without gettin’ caught?”
“Girl, please, don’t sleep. I’m the type of bitch they never saw coming.”
Q had been dreading this day all week. It was Friday: the day Sean came home. He’d only been back a couple of hours and was already getting on her nerves. Sean stood over her, yelling and spewing spit with a bottle of Grey Goose in hand. He drunkenly pointed his finger in her face as she gazed absently at the plush carpeted floor. Q didn’t even have it in her to argue back. All of her energy was gone. Besides, half the stuff he was saying he wouldn’t even remember once he sobered up, so she simply tuned him out and let him say whatever it was he had to say.
“So, what, you don’t love me no more?” He flung his arm, spilling vodka on the floor.
“I never said that.”
“Then what the fuck are you sayin’?” he yelled.
“Can you please stop yellin’ at me?”
Sean stepped back and looked at her.
“On the real, Q, you can stop wit’ the innocent act, straight up. You always tryin’ to make me look like the bad guy. Yo’ ass be on some foul shit, too. Let’s not forget how you stole a hundred-fifty Gs from my bank account
. I should’ve killed yo’ ass then. You’s a dirty bitch and both of us know it.”
“I didn’t steal shit,” Q shot, fed up.
She was sick of him thinking that just because he put a ring on her finger and some clothes on her back, she was obligated to be treated like shit.
“I’m your wife.” She pointed toward her chest. “I’m entitled to that money. Besides, all I was tryin’ to do was help my family. You know my grandfather’s sick.”
“Boo-hoo-hoo.” Sean put his hands up to his eyes and pretended to cry. “Poor Q. I think the police will think differently. What you did is called theft, sweetie, but fuck all that. Why you change yo’ cell number? I’ve been tryin’ to call you.”
“No, you haven’t.”
He paused to gather his thoughts. “How the fuck,” he said, “you gon’ tell me what I did. I did call yo’ muthafuckin’ ass.”
“No, you didn’t. You must have me confused wit’ that other bitch,” Q spat sarcastically.
“Hold up.” He checked his phone, stumbling backward.
Sean scrolled through his call log and saw that he had been dialing the wrong number.
“Damn, you sholl is right. I was callin’ Tameka the whole time but fuck all that. Ain’t nobody tell you to change your fuckin’ number. Call T-Mobile and have them change it back.”
“I can’t.”
“What the fuck can you do?” He cocked his head in disgust. “You can’t cook. You can’t suck dick, you fat. All you know how to do is run yo’ muthafuckin’ mouth.” He mushed her in the head, causing her neck to jerk back.
“Mr. Pynn,” Rosa interrupted.
“What the fuck is it, Rosa? I’m so sick of yo’ fresh-off-the-boat ass, I don’t know what to do. Can’t you see me and my wife having a conversation?”
“Your barber is here, sir. He’s waiting for you downstairs.”
“That’s what’s up.” He perked up, excited. “A nigga about to get fresh.” He danced, rocking his booty from left to right.
“And Mr. Ahsim would like to speak to you.”
Q’s heart skipped a beat. She wondered what he could possibly want to talk to Sean about.
“A’ight, a’ight.” Sean shooed Rosa away as he stood in front of the mirror and did a number of jailhouse poses.
Once he was done, he looked at Q and took another swig from the bottle.
“I’ma deal wit’ yo’ ass when I get done.”
Q sucked her teeth and watched him leave the room. Sean’s cruel words didn’t mean much to her. He’d said far worse in the past. Plus, he was high off God-knows what. Q walked down the hall and entered her private dressing room as if nothing were wrong. The entire glam squad was there ready to doll her up. She and Sean were having dinner with Roc so he could discuss being released from his contract.
“So, how you want your hair?” Delicious, her beautician, asked.
“You can give me some soft Chinese-cut bangs and loose curls.”
Downstairs, Sean sat with his eyes closed and neck back. His barber was shaving his neck with Cade shaving cream and a straight razor. Ahsim stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He’d heard Sean and Q’s entire verbal exchange. The killer in him wanted to take the razor and slit Sean’s throat. Ahsim placed the thought aside, cleared his throat, and said, “Yo, Sean, can I holla at you for a second?”
“Go ’head.” Sean tried his best not to move.
“I know you and Q going out, so I was wondering could I have the night off? I got this li’l shorty I’m tryin’ to get wit’.”
“You good, my guard Big Black is here.”
“Good lookin’ out. You and Q have a good time,” Ahsim turned to leave.
“You do the same. And, Ahsim,” Sean called out.
“What’s up?”
“Everything been cool?”
“Yeah . . . Q straight. I think you worrying for nothing,” Ahsim assured.
“I feel you, but you gotta keep your eye on her. Q can be a li’l sneaky muthafucka when she wants to.”
“I am a diamond cluster hustler-Queen bitch supreme bitch-” Q rapped as she applied a coat of clear M•A•C lip gloss to her lips.
She was finally dressed and ready to go after three hours. It sickened her that she would have to put on a fake smile and act as if she and Sean were as happy as could be. The love they once shared was dead and gone, and destined never to return again. He was as heartless as Kanye’s song. Every night when she closed her eyes to go to sleep, she saw him in her nightmares.
“Q,” he yelled from bottom of the stairs. “Bring yo’ ass on. The car is waiting.”
Q curled her upper lip. She was starting to really hate his guts. Irate, she flicked her hair behind her shoulders and descended the steps. She expected for Ahsim to be there, marveling at her strapless, gold Dolce & Gabbana dress and black, peep toe Jimmy Choo heels, but he wasn’t. To her disappointment, only Sean, his pot’nah, Mo B, and Big Black were there.
“Damn, it took you long enough,” Sean complained, visibly high by his dilated pupils. “I swear to God, Q. I just got diagnosed with smack’um disease and you look like my first candidate.”
“Whatever, Sean. Where is Ahsim?” she questioned, worried.
“On a date. Now, come on. We already half an hour late.”
Mihali’s was a distinctive premier chophouse and bar with stunning sultry décor. The restaurant served more than 400 different wine selections, and on the weekend there was live entertainment. Underground soul singer Timothy Bloom was performing that night. The maitre d’ escorted Q and Sean to their table, where Roc waited.
Roc stood up to greet them. There was no way Q could deny his sex appeal. He wasn’t an around-the-way hood-boy who rocked a wife beater and jeans, but a mobster who donned only the finest Italian suits. Roc was the type of man who made your pussy sing songs of erotic bliss. He was a thirty-seven-year-old, six foot one, 225 pounds, all-the-way live, full-blooded, Italian god. His skin was golden tan and his sky-blue eyes were the prettiest Q had ever seen. A light, scruffy beard outlined his cheek and jaw. The Armani Privé suit he rocked was handstitched and tailor-made to fit.
“My man.” He hugged Sean patting his back. “You’re late, but it’s good to see you.”
“My bad.” Sean stared at Q. “Shit got hectic back at the crib.”
Roc could smell the liquor on his breath from a mile away.
“It’s my fault we’re late. It took me longer then I thought it would to get dressed,” Q said.
“Well, I must say the wait was worth it.” Roc took her hand and softly kissed the outside. “How are you, beautiful?”
“Fine, thanks.” Q blushed.
“Where is Annalisa?” Sean questioned.
“Ahh, we broke up, man.” He smirked.
“Really?” Q spoke up, surprised.
“Yeah, I think I’m in love with someone else.”
“Damn, I’ma have to call Annalisa and see how she’s doing,” she said, wanting to know what went down.
“You know my homeboy, Mo B,” Sean chimed in.
“Yes” Roc shook his hand.
“Have a seat, baby,” Sean pulled out Q’s chair.
Q gazed around the restaurant before sitting to make sure he was talking to her. It fucked her up how in front of others Sean could be so nice and kind. No one would believe that the entire car ride over to the restaurant, he had cussed her out like a dog while doing lines of cocaine. Q had been called every foul name in the book.
“So, Sean,” Roc said, sitting down, “I see you started hittin’ the bottle early. I thought we discussed that.” He sounded displeased.
“Ahh, you know.” Sean wiped his nose, nervous. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ a li’l sip now and then. As a matter of fact, let me show you a token of my appreciation by ordering us a bottle of wine.” Sean raised his hand and signaled to the waiter.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’d like to order a bottle of your finest wine.�
��
“Would a 1995 Chateau Margaux do?” the waiter asked.
“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but yeah, I’m wit’ it.”
“I’ll have a bottle brought right over.”
Once their orders were placed, everyone sat around the table quietly eating their first course, except Sean. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. Maybe it was because he’d taken two trips to the restroom to sniff coke. During the course of the meal, Q couldn’t help but steal glances at Roc. His eyes were amazing. She could get lost in them eyes forever.
“Sean.” Roc wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “What’s up? I know you didn’t invite me to dinner to talk about nothing.”
“Nah, nah, my bad.” Sean remembered what they were there for. “What I wanted to say was, uh . . .” he looked around the table nervously. “I’ve produced two triple platinum albums in the last year-and-a-half. We’ve made a lot of money, but I just feel like it’s time for me to move on. Sony is offering me a nice deal. They even willing to buy me out of my contract wit’ you. And, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I just think I’ll have a better look over there.”
“A better look, huh?” Roc sat back in his chair and laughed. “Murder Mob ain’t good enough for you no more?”
“I’m not sayin’ that—”
“Shut up,” Roc cut him off and leaned forward. “Just to let you know, a little birdie already told me about your deal with Sony. But let me remind you of something: when yo’ black ass was piss poor and couldn’t get a record deal for shit, I saved you. Them Jew muthafuckas didn’t want to touch you, but now that you back on top they checkin’ for you and yo’ gullible ass fallin’ for it. Well, let me explain something to you. You signed a five-album deal. You’ve only delivered two, which means you got three more to go, but even after that I get first right of refusal over your next album, so it looks like you’ll be a Murder nigga for life.”