Diamond Playgirls

by Daaimah S. Poole; Miasha; King Deja; T. Styles

  Dior turned to Tamara. “That’s right!” She addressed Chloe again. “You’re treating!” she said, pointing at the girl.

  Chloe and Tamara burst out in laughter, and Dior joined them although it was pretty clear she had no idea what was so funny.

  Chloe shook her head, pulled an empty chair from a nearby table, and sat down. “I guess I am at that. What’s everyone having?”

  Dior picked up a glass and raised it in the air. “We’re drinking to Valentine’s Day!”

  “Excuse me, miss,” Chloe said, trying to get the attention of a passing drink waitress. “Can you bring us three more Harlem mojitos? And I’m running a tab.”

  MONA LISA DUPREE

  by T. Styles

  January 15, 2008

  “New York, behold, Mona Lisa Dupree is in the house!” she screamed out the car window.

  Mona Lisa beeped the remote of her pearl-colored 2008 Escalade wearing a full-length black chinchilla fur coat, black Via Spiga boots, and a DKNY one-piece catsuit that hugged her curvaceous body. She looked up at the night sky wearing tinted Tom Ford glasses. Standing on the sidewalk, she took in the newly renovated million-dollar brownstone. Even under the purple haze of the night sky, the building was magnificent. When the time was right, perhaps she’d go ahead and purchase one herself, but for now renting the top floor of this valuable piece of real estate perfectly suited her needs. The green and white paint on the large stones was so vibrant the building looked unreal. She also noticed window flower beds filled with flowers in bold shades of green, bronze, and deep yellow.

  Washington, D.C., might have been where she was born and raised, but she was ecstatic about moving her movie agency business, the Dupree Project, there because New York was known for its new talent. When she saw the two U-Haul trucks she’d rented to follow her to New York from D.C. pull up in front of the building, partially blocking the small street, she quickly approached the brownstone’s door. She had a lot of things and had to be quick to avoid causing traffic delays. The moment she climbed up the cold concrete stairs and put her hand on the door, a man rushed past her, ran up the stairs, and took control of the handle.

  Somebody’s in a hurry, she thought.

  “Well, hello there,” he said. He had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth and was dressed inappropriately for the January weather. Wearing only a white Sean Jean T-shirt, he tucked his left hand inside his oversized blue jeans, still holding the door with the other. Mona could tell he was desperately trying to remain warm, while hanging on to the little hip-hop he had left, by sporting designer clothing.

  “I’m Jerome, and you are?” he asked, revealing a set of yellow teeth.

  When she saw the moving men briskly walking in her direction hauling some of her extra-large boxes, she said to the man, “Do you live here?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Well, get out of my way because I’m busy and not interested.” Mona brushed him aside and unlocked the door. “Take everything to the third floor please. My place is up two flights,” she continued, directing her attention to the men. She smiled when she saw Jerome being pressed behind the door due to its being open so wide. The moment he could, he ran back down the stairs.

  “Damn…what I do to you?” he asked, wiping his running nose with his sleeve.

  “You didn’t do one single thing to me.” She could tell he was the pesty bugaboo type. “Because I didn’t let you. Now…have a good night.”

  “Whatever,” he said, waving her off. “Ya’ll are too uppity in this damn building.”

  She was halfway in the building when she heard, “Aye, Jerome!” The voice was serious and loud. “Why you been dodging me!”

  Mona Lisa squinted her eyes to get a good look at whoever was calling the pest by name. Even without seeing his face she took notice of his voice. It was mesmerizing and sounded similar to DMX’s raspy, sexy voice. As she waited for the stranger to come into view, her phone began to ring and vibrate inside her pocket. She removed the BlackBerry from her coat, saw it was Cindy Williams, her assistant, and pressed Ignore.

  Eventually she saw the face belonging to the voice that held her attention. His dark chocolate complexion was flawless and he was neat and stylish in his black wool pea coat with blue jeans. Most importantly, he was wearing size-twelve brown Kenneth Cole shoes.

  Ummmm, Mona thought to herself. I think I see a boy toy.

  Out of breath, the tall handsome man stood in front of Jerome, clearly frustrated with him. Mona was sure he’d warranted his rough disposition. Now she was interested and, more importantly, she suddenly found the time to stick around. Besides, this was her neighborhood and as far as she was concerned, she had the right to know what was going on in and around it. Letting the door close behind her, she stood on the steps and boldly listened to their conversation.

  “What up, man?” Jerome asked with a slight attitude. Horns beeped in the background.

  “What’s up? I was gonna ask you the same thing. A lot of work went into repairing the electricity at your mother’s house. So why haven’t I gotten the rest of my money?”

  “I was gonna give it to you,” Jerome responded.

  “When? Your moms said she gave you the money to give me already, and just so you know I’m not trying to hear that wait-for-my-tax-returns bullshit.”

  Jerome looked embarrassed when he saw Mona still standing there, ear hustling. “I thought you were busy.” He frowned, looking up at Mona.

  “I have a few minutes to spare.” She smiled, looking at him and then the stranger. “Besides, they haven’t moved all of my things in yet.” She took one step down the stairs.

  “I guess you weren’t too busy after all,” Jerome said.

  “Nope,” she said, walking all the way down. “Just too busy for you.”

  “Well, what you coming back down here for, then?” Jerome said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “I overheard your friend here is an electrician. And since you never know if you’ll need one, I’d like to keep in contact.” She stood right in front of Mr. Chocolate and licked her glossy lips.

  The stranger grinned.

  Mona flashed him a smile as bright and vibrant as Janet Jackson’s. The diamond earrings she was wearing brought more attention to her beautiful face and luscious naturally pink lips. She was now disappointed that she chose to wear the full-length fur coat instead of the cute pink short one. Then he’d be able to see that she had a derriere as fat and round as Beyoncé’s. Still her mocha-colored skin was perfect. And the winter frost had given her a nature makeover by turning her cheeks a rosy red.

  “I’d like to keep in contact, too.” He paused, looking her up and down and running his hand over his five o’clock shadow. “But I have to admit, I hope you won’t have any problems here.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I installed the electricity for this building. So if something’s wrong, it’ll look like I’m not doing my job.”

  “Oh…I don’t foresee there’ll be any problems, then,” she stated. “Well, give me your number anyway because if something does go wrong, I’d feel better contacting the man responsible.”

  Handymen were another one of her weaknesses. He reached into his pocket, retrieved a gold card case, and handed her his business card. She didn’t bother to look at his name. It was as unimportant as his dating status. Besides, Mona almost never called a man by the name his mama gave him. His finger brushed over hers when Mona reached for the card and she tucked it inside her coat pocket.

  Jerome sucked his teeth. “Ain’t this a bitch? You ain’t have five seconds for me but you give him twenty.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mona asked, hoping he wouldn’t bother to answer the question because she couldn’t care less. “This is strictly business.” She winked.

  “Yeah, right!” Jerome shot back, walking away a little.

  She was just preparing to blow the handsome stranger a good-bye kiss when her phone began to vibrate
.

  What does Cindy want?

  “Excuse me,” she said, walking slightly away from the handsome electrician and the asshole Jerome. “What’s up, Cindy? I’m kind of busy.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I was trying to reach you before you meet Dayshawn tomorrow afternoon.”

  Dayshawn Knight was one of her new clients. If things went as planned, he would be the answer TVEA Productions was seeking for their new picture, Melted Velvet. The executives were specific when they sought Mona’s assistance. They needed a fresh face for the role of Tyler Densburg. The picture was about an ex-porno star who married a white female mayoral candidate. The moment she saw his audition tape in her truck, she knew he was perfect. He had the almond-colored complexion, coal-black wavy hair, and muscular physique necessary to be seductive in this movie. And most importantly, he had the charisma and masculinity to make any movie fan swoon, so Mona wasted no time sending the following message from her BlackBerry a little over an hour ago after seeing the tape.

  Cindy, he’s perfect. Set up a meeting with him for me tomorrow. I’ll meet him at my house here in Harlem. Let me know when he confirms.

  Immediately she replied with:

  I hope you arrive safe in New York and I’m happy you like Dayshawn! He is awesome. I called him and he can be at your place by 1:00 p.m. tomorrow. He lives in the New Jersey area, but before you meet him please call me. Preferably tonight. I have something very important to tell you about him.

  Mona’s neglect to respond was probably the reason Cindy was calling her hysterically.

  “Don’t worry about anything, Cindy,” Mona said as she watched the movers carry the last of her things inside. “I’ve seen everything I need to. He’s perfect for the part! Now, did you get a hold of Melonie Crew?”

  “Yes, but I have to tell you something about Day—”

  “Like I said…” she interrupted as she noticed the electrician fidgeting in the cold air. “The only thing I want you to do now is get me Melonie Crew. I got a lead that another agency is trying to cast her for another movie. We have to move fast, so whatever you have to tell me about Dayshawn can wait.”

  “All right…” Cindy said in a defeated tone. “I’ll get right on top of it.”

  “That’s my girl,” she said, placing her phone in her pocket after abruptly ending the call.

  Walking back over toward the electrician who was in a heated conversation with Jerome, she decided to diffuse matters with her presence.

  Tapping him on the shoulder, she said, “Now, what do I call you? The maintenance man?”

  “You can call me whatever you’d like.” He smiled, facing her. “Just as long as you call me.”

  His line was a little weak, but for the sake of meeting a potential new conquest she’d let one corny line slide. Just as she was preparing to put her flirt game into full mode, the mover she’d flirted with earlier came walking down the steps. Sure, she’d given him the impression that she was interested, but that was how she treated all attractive men upon first contact. Those who held her attention the longest won the prize, but this poor soul didn’t realize it.

  “Everything’s inside,” he said, eyeing the maintenance man before looking back at Mona. “We’re unpacking your boxes now.” He held his clipboard with a pen in hand. “Can I get you to sign here?”

  “Sure!” she responded. She signed the agreement, confirming the completion. “Now, they did place the boxes in the rooms according to the labels?”

  “Yes. But can I talk to you for a second in private?”

  “Sure,” Mona said lightly. “Well, Maintenance Man, it was nice meeting you.” She extended her hand. He accepted. She noticed it was soft and knew it would feel soothing over her body. “Trust, I will be in contact.” She held his hand two seconds longer.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied before looking at the tall mover once more. The mover was staring at him like Mona was his woman and he was in violation.

  Walking over toward the U-Haul truck, she said, “What’s up? It’s kind of cold out here and I want to get inside.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that it was nice talking to you earlier,” he said, placing one hand on her shoulder. It was there all of ten seconds before she gave him a look that said, Don’t touch me unless I give you permission to. He removed his hand and said, “I was thinking that maybe I could come down here and spend some time with you in the future. I mean…New York isn’t really that far from D.C. and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I’m sorry…uh…um…” It was then that she realized she didn’t remember his name.

  “John,” he said, saving her from the embarrassment of asking.

  “Thanks, John.” She smiled. “But I’m not the dating type.”

  “I thought we connected earlier. Did I do something wrong between now and then?”

  “No!” she said, placing her French-manicured hands out in front of her. “You’re a really nice person and a hell of a mover. It’s just that…well, I love the single life.” The wind had blown her long hair in her face and she brushed it away.

  His eyes narrowed. “You know people could read you the wrong way, right?”

  “Yes, I do.” She smiled again. “And it’s my job to set them straight.”

  “Are you a man?” he said, shaking his head. “’Cause you sure act like one.”

  She giggled, took two steps in front of him, kissed him on his lips, and said, “I don’t carry things like a man. I just put them in their place like one. Good night, John.”

  With that she walked off. When she did she noticed a short middle-aged woman with locks, smoking on the steps of the brownstone next to hers. She had on a blue wool coat, and a brown felt hat was pulled down low over her graying dreadlocks.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d met the woman, but she felt just as uncomfortable as she did that first time. It was as if the woman could see right through her.

  “How are you, Mrs. Graham?” Mona Lisa said politely to her new landlady.

  “Didn’t I tell you to call me Margie? Everybody calls me Margie. No need for you to be any different. I see you’re finally moving in. Welcome to the neighborhood. Welcome to Margie’s Diamond Palace,” she said between puffs on her cigarette. “I heard you talking to Jerome. I was going to jump in and tell him to leave you the hell alone, but I seen you was handling yourself. Did better than I coulda, to tell you the truth.”

  Mona smiled.

  “Yeah. Did him right up. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you no more. I had to chase him away from that pretty Chinese-looking girl that moved into the garden apartment, and from that cute girl who moved into the first-floor apartment, but I can see that you ain’t gonna have no trouble with him. You from D.C., right?”

  “Born and raised.”

  Margie nodded. “I always heard them D.C. girls can handle themselves. Not that it’s none of my business. None of my business at all. Well, I’ll let you get back to your moving in. Remember, I’m just two buildings down, so if you need anything just ring the bell.” The woman stood up, smashed the butt of the cigarette on the ground with her slippers.

  “I will,” Mona replied.

  “And don’t try so hard to fit in,” the woman said over her shoulders. “Let things occur naturally.”

  Mona turned to look at her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good to see a woman who can handle herself,” the woman said loud enough for Mona to hear, though not turning around.

  At that moment something told Mona that the move to her new neighborhood would be far from boring.

  The smells of the freshly painted walls were strong inside Mona’s third-floor apartment. Mostly everything was unpacked and in its appropriate place. It took her three hours to get things semiorganized, and she still had lots to do. She was tucked under her burgundy goose down comforter in her king-size bed. The window was slightly open to provide her with the chilly atmosphere necessary for her to remain asleep. But like c
lockwork, at three o’clock in the morning, Mona arose and nestled her feet inside the blue furry slippers next to her bed. Like she always did when she woke up in the middle of the night, her mother came to mind. Even now, she resented the way she abandoned her. If it weren’t for her father, Devin Dupree, Mona would’ve felt lost.

  Devin had raised Mona Lisa alone since she was seven years old. Although it might sound wonderful, with a father caring for his daughter full-time, it didn’t begin that way. In fact, life with her father was how she got her views on men.

  Her mother, Lyla Clark, died of a broken heart after chasing behind Devin for ten years, only to realize he didn’t love her in return. On a rainy night in August, she called her daughter at three o’clock in the morning after leaving work as a waitress, drove to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, parked her car, and jumped off. Mona was so traumatized that even now she couldn’t sleep through the night.

  After her death, Devin was forced to step up and care for her full-time. Instead of shielding her young eyes from his male chauvinistic ways, he allowed her to see firsthand how he used and threw women away like trash bags. When he was done, he made it his business to embed into a young and impressionable Mona’s mind that the only thing men wanted was sex. And no matter what they said, she shouldn’t believe anything differently.

  As a teenager, and then a woman, she shielded her heart to prevent suffering her mother’s fate. From her first intimate encounter to the next, she dogged every man she slept with the moment it was over. The result? A twenty-nine-year-old self-proclaimed nymphomaniac.

  Walking over to the window, she fanned the blue chiffon curtains out of her face, which were being controlled by the breeze. Her nipples peeked from under her silk pink La Perla nightgown. She grabbed her arms and rubbed them rapidly to stay warm. She watched a few people walking up and down the street. She realized it was true what they said: New York was the city that never sleeps.