God Don't Like Haters 2

by Jordan Belcher

  I glared at Archie.

  "Okay, I told a lie." Archie's smile got bigger. "But it's all for a good cause. Sit down, Kirbie. No wait, go change first. Take that hoodie off. You look like a thug."

  Archie wore a burgundy knit sweater with a shawl collar. My father had on a plaid workman's long-sleeve and a puff vest. They both looked like gentleman, while I could pass for a vagabond.

  I sat down anyway—in the chair next to my father, not near Archie. Archie gave me a curious look as if to say I was in the wrong seat, but then he stood and got our plates together. He decorated our salads by hand, leaning over our shoulders to sprinkle cheese and croutons atop lettuce. When he was done, he kissed me on the cheek and I didn't move a muscle. I was still dazed by how wicked Coras had yelled at me.

  Leave! She won't calm down until you leave! Kirbie! Get out!

  "I take it you're looking down like that because you didn't find the niggas who robbed us," Archie whispered in my ear. "I told you to leave it alone. Now you're disappointed." Then he poured our drinks—bubbling beer-brown champagne—and this time spoke loud enough for my father to hear too. "But I got something that'll cheer you up, Kirbie. And make Mr. Capelton happy as well."

  He scurried to the other side of the table, poured his own drink and held his glass in the air. "I'd like to call a toast. To the beginning of a new day in all of our lives."

  My father glanced over at me as he grabbed his glass to raise it up. When he saw my motionless trance, he set his drink back down and put his arm around my chair. He looked at Archie. "What did you do to my daughter?"

  "Nothing, sir. She's just been having a bad week and I'm trying to cheer her up."

  "Did you hit her again?" Then my father turned to me. "Did he hit you again?"

  "You told him I hit you?" Archie asked me angrily.

  I was tuned out. Tears started to flow down my cheeks. Coras, why did you stick up for Monifa and not me? I had always thought that if it ever came down to it, Coras would choose me over any other female without batting an eye.

  "Oh hell naw, my baby's crying." Daddy shot to his feet and pointed at Archie rudely. "Did you put your hands on my daughter!"

  "No, sir."

  "Let me find out you put your hands on my daughter again ... I'll kill you! She stopped me from putting a bullet in yo head the first time."

  "Who the fuck are you to talk, nigga?" Archie set his drink down. "Do I need to remind you how many times you put your hands on Kirbie?! I hit her once. One time. You beat her almost every day of her whole fucking life."

  "That's none of your business, boy!"

  "It is too my business. I opened my doors to yo daughter when she had nowhere else to go. I taught her how to get money. You should be thanking me!"

  "Thanking you for teaching her how to peddle drugs? You don't get a thank-you for that. Teach her about the Word and I'll thank you. Teach her about all the vital truths that God revealed to man and I'll—"

  "Don't come at me with that shit! You just learned that shit yesterday. Speak on what you really know, and that's abuse. Alcohol abuse, spousal abuse, child abuse. You ran—"

  "STOP!" I screamed.

  "No, Kirbie, he needs to hear this shit. He done got me going." Archie took a quick sip of champagne. "If it wasn't for me, your daughter would've ended up just like your wife. Wandering somewhere around this country probably begging for change or having sex for food. And you know what? Your wife is probably better off now than she was with you!"

  My father snapped. "You don't know shit about my wife! Not a fucking thing!" Veins bulged in his neck. "My wife is one of the most successful women in the music world and has been for the last SIXTEEN YEARS!"

  I looked at my father strangely. What the hell was he talking about?

  I knew it was about to come to a fistfight so I grabbed Archie and pulled him into another room.

  "He needed to hear that," Archie said to me, breathing hard. "You okay? Stop crying."

  Archie hugged me, cradling my head.

  "I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said. "But I had to tell it like it is. Kirbie, I told you I'll always protect you from him."

  I was crying softly. "Who's gonna protect me from you?"

  "What?"

  "Let me go, Archie."

  "Baby, stop crying first. It's okay."

  When he felt the muzzle of my .380 press into his stomach, he slowly released me, leaving his arms open wide in surrender.

  "Kirbie, all I did was yell at the man," Archie said apologetically. "I was only sticking up for you."

  "This isn't about the argument with my father," I said, teary-eyed. "This is about the robbery!"

  "You're upset because I didn't help you find those niggas? Is that it? Kirbie, don't shoot me again. Please, baby ..."

  "You set that robbery up, Archie. I know you did. If you lie to me, I'll shoot you dead right now."

  He glanced down at my gun. He was probably deciding if he could take it from me. But he knew better.

  "Tell me that you set it up!" I hollered.

  He licked his lips, then came clean. "I set the robbery up," he stated.

  "Why?! I thought you loved me!"

  "I do love you, don't you understand? That's why I did it. I was trying to prevent you from taking the pill money and wasting it on that music shit. It's the same thing you did for me by calling the casinos and putting me on the gambling anonymous lists."

  "That's not the same thing!"

  "Well, it is a little different but it's still the same intent. I was trying to help you. I set up that whole thing to help you. That should tell you how much I love you and what lengths I'll go to for you. You know I fucking love you, Kirbie. I was just trying to prevent you from having your dreams crushed. And I'm tired of you getting played by that phony record company you're signed to."

  Coras was right. Archie had been trying to hold me back all along. But now I was wondering if Archie had good reason to. I had spent a lot of money over the past year and I didn't even have one mixtape of my own to show for it. Just singles, and features on Coras's mixtapes. Maybe I was getting played. Maybe Coras was using my voice for his hooks to get noticed faster. That would explain why he kept Ashleigh around. She was his scapegoat.

  "I'll show you how much I love you," Archie said. His eyes were starting to fill with tears too. "Can I reach in my back pocket?"

  I didn't answer him, but kept the gun on him as I tried to wipe away my own tears. He carefully reached in his back pocket and pulled out a small black box.

  "This is why I wanted you and your father here together. I wanted to ask his permission to marry you. But I know that's not gonna happen now. And I don't think I even need it. He was never a father to you."

  As Archie slowly got down on one knee, his tears began to trickle down his cheeks. My gun was pointed at his head now by default. He held the box up and gently flicked the top back. I cried harder, as I stared at the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen in my life.

  "I put a down payment on this ring and was gonna sell the pills you thought were stolen to pay off the rest of it. This is a fifty thousand dollar certified diamond." He cleared his throat. "Kirbie Amor Capelton, you have two choices: you either kill me dead right now, or accept this ring and be my wife for eternity. There is no other option."

  Chapter 6

  Monifa Chavis

  "Where's Milo?!" I shouted.

  The doorman, a big ol overfed boy in a black tanktop and covered in tattoos, stared at me like I was fresh meat. Then he actually leaned against the door like it was a high school locker and he was about to spit a line at me. He smiled a set of straight teeth, then looked right down my low-cut shirt. This was why I hated coming to my brother's dope house. All of his workers were thirsty.

  I flung my hair over my shoulder with my hand. "Take a picture; it lasts longer."

  "What do you need Milo for?" he asked. "I can take care of you."

  I had to admit—his voice was deep a
nd sexy. But that didn’t matter.

  "Is Milo here or not?" I asked.

  "I'm not sure. That depends on who you are."

  "I'm his sister, Monifa Chavis," I stated.

  He immediately straightened up. He knew he fucked up by trying to talk to his boss's little sister. But since he was halfway cute, I wouldn't tell on him. Milo had been overprotective of me since I was born. When I started dating he'd beat my boyfriends up for no reason at all other than to send a message. It was irritating at first but as I got older I learned how to use it to my advantage. I could keep my boyfriends in check. Once, when Johnathon Williams, a grade above me at the time (and a white boy), chose to dump me right before prom and take another black girl in my place, I lied and told Milo that Johnathon called me the N-word and spat in my face. I expected Milo to hurt him bad, enough for Johnathon to not want to show his beaten face at prom. But what happened was far worse than I imagined. Johnathon didn't show up for prom all right—because he'd been shot to death in his parents' house during a "random" home invasion the night before.

  That day, I learned firsthand that my brother didn't play about me.

  And Coras knew this. So why did he cheat on me with Kirbie? He must have stopped valuing his health. Even though Coras apologized and tried to deny what I had seen with my own two eyes, he still needed to be punished. There had to be consequences when you broke the rules in a relationship with me. Maybe next time he'd think twice before letting another bitch like Kirbie sit in his lap.

  The big doorman let me inside the apartment, where there were more thuggish negroes. A heavy stench of marijuana smoke invaded my nostrils before I even took three steps in. I started fanning the air in front of me, coughing lightly at first then it got worse. The guys in the living room started laughing.

  "Too loud for you?" one joked about the cloudy smoke.

  I caught my breath and noticed that a couple of them I recognized from being "friends" with my brother on The Site. It was weird because this was my first time seeing them, yet I felt like I knew half of them because I had frequented their pages so much. The dark-skinned guy sitting on the couch in sweats and Nike slides was named Oyeah Mason on his Site page, and I knew almost his whole life story—he graduated from Lincoln Prep four years ago, got seven college credits from Rockhurst before being expelled for drugs; his baby momma's father got him a job at UPS (which was still listed as his place of employment on The Site ), but he got fired six months ago for, in his own words, "doing my job fuck them I'm not doing nobody else's work." And according to a status update posted by his baby momma last week, he was also delinquent on child support payments. But I checked a county court website that was updated daily and saw that he was only behind a hundred and fifty bucks. His baby momma always tried to make him seem worse than he really was.

  I could have probably named three more people in this weed spot by their Site names, if not on the first guess then the second.

  "Where's my brother?" I asked. I singled Oyeah Mason out with my question because he was the most familiar. And the most handsome.

  "Upstairs," he said, pointing down the hall.

  He didn't question who I was. That let me know he knew my business too. The Site worked both ways.

  As I marched down the hall, I heard the female moans of sex, and I could smell it too. It wasn't a bad smell or a good smell, it was just ... unsettling. Probably because I knew it was a half mix of my brother's scent. I knocked on the door where the moans were coming from. I beat on the door hard.

  "Who is it?" Milo. Angry. And the sex had stopped.

  "It's Monifa," I said, trying to sound heartbroken. "Milo, I need to talk to you please." I was in character, about to put on a show. Like I said, I knew how to work my brother's emotions. I took a deep breath, trying to gather tears. "It's your sister. Are you busy?"

  "Hold on."

  A second later the door thrust open. My tall, handsome brother was standing there panting in complete nudity. I hadn't seen him naked since we bathed together as kids, and that was millennia ago. His wiener, which was dreadfully darker than the rest of his brown skin, began to slowly pulse-shrink as the seconds passed. I stared, lost in the magic of male shrinkage, as an odd thought occurred to me: I wonder if this is what our daddy's penis looks like.

  "Monifa, up here."

  I looked up. "Huh?"

  "What's wrong?"

  I looked past him at the girl on the bed he'd been fucking. She had a cute sew-in and innocent doe-like eyes, and from what I could see of her body that wasn't covered up by the sheets, she was also full-figured. My brother had a thing for thick women.

  "I'm sorry I came here," I said, and sniffled. "You're busy."

  I turned to leave and he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room, just like I knew he would. He snapped his fingers at his plaything, jerked his thumb toward the door and she sprang to her feet and collected her clothes and scurried out of the room. Milo was pulling on a pair of dark jeans when he asked me again to tell him what was wrong.

  "It's about Coras," I said sadly.

  "What? He get shot or somethin'?" Milo was halfway into pulling his shirt on when he saw me shake my head no. He paused, then slid his shirt all the way on and sat me down on the bed. "He hit you?"

  "No."

  "Then what?"

  "He cheated on me."

  Milo sighed, then pulled me into his arms. He held me and kissed my forehead.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

  "I know you told him that if he ever broke my heart you were gonna fuck him up but please don't do anything to him."

  I was smiling inside. Reverse psychology.

  "You don't want me to fuck him up?"

  "No," I whimpered.

  "Okay," he said, "are you gon' be a'ight?"

  Did he just say okay?

  I pulled away from my brother and looked at him sideways. "You're not gonna do anything to him?"

  "No, not if you don't want me to."

  I almost blurted, You killed Johnathon and I didn't want you to! but I caught myself.

  "Monifa, I didn't really like that nigga Coras when you introduced him to me but I served him product because he fucked with you and treated you right. Then, he turned out to be one hustling ass nigga. I make a lot of money off of selling him weight. I'm not gon' break off a good relationship with him because he cheated on you. Now, if he hit you, that's a different story."

  I knew if I lied and told my brother that Coras hit me then he'd kill him. I didn't want that. I loved Coras. But I wanted him to be punished somehow.

  "His friend put his hands on me," I said desperately.

  "Who?!"

  "His producer. Gee Beats. He threw me on the ground when I caught Coras with the other girl. I told him not to touch me and his drunk ass slammed me."

  This got my brother riled up.

  And before I left the apartment, I was sure something was going to be done to somebody.

  On the car ride home I looked up Oyeah Mason on The Site and thumb-tapped his profile picture to enlarge it. He was sure easy to look at, with some of the softest-looking skin I had ever seen (and this clearly had to be due to a Site-generated photo effect because he didn't look this blemish-free in person). Still, he had a nice set of lips that looked moist and kissable, and his brown eyes sparkled with sincerity. He should have been a professional model, not selling drugs for my brother.

  I clicked Like on his picture.

  Monifa Chavis: In time, everybody gets what's due to them. Call it revenge, call it karma, call it whatever you like. Just don't get mad when it comes back around and punches yo punk-ass. Nobody does me wrong and gets away with it.

  Chapter 7

  Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald

  "Did you see what Monifa just posted?" Ashleigh asked me.

  I was donning my Cuban link chain in the mirror, getting ready for the performance at the Sprint Center tonight. The last thing I wanted to hear about was Monifa and social media
.

  "I don't care what she posted," I said.

  "Look at it."

  "For what?"

  Ashleigh put her cell phone in my face and made me read the status update. I looked it over and shrugged my shoulders. Ashleigh didn't like that response.

  She said, "Every time she posts some revenge shit, it's about you. What happened?"

  "I don't know."

  "Call her and find out."

  "No. Tonight is one of the biggest performances of my budding career and I don't wanna kill my vibe by talking to her."

  I stared in the mirror at the gold chain and how it sat against my bare chest, hoping Ashleigh would drop the issue. She did, thankfully. She walked off, leaving me in her master bedroom alone.

  I couldn't tell Ashleigh what happened between me and Monifa, even though I knew she knew something was up. If I told her that Monifa caught Kirbie on my lap kissing me, I would be in the dog house with both of my ladies. I didn't know exactly what Ashleigh would do if she found out. She'd be deeply hurt, to say the least. And when you hurt a girl deep once, she might still ride for you but the dynamic would change, if only slightly. I didn't want that to happen.

  I had spent the night here at Ashleigh's impressive three-bedroom single-family home in quiet Olathe, Kansas, because Monifa wouldn't let me come home to her. That alone was enough to give Ashleigh red flags because I rarely ever crashed here. And then the salty status update ... it was clear me and Monifa were going through it.

  Ashleigh came back in the room pouting. She put her hands on her hips, taking a stance.

  Dammit! Here we go again.

  "Are yall broken up or are you not gonna tell me?" she said with grief raw in her voice. "Because I don't know how much longer I can put up with being the side chick if I can't at least know what's going on."

  "We got into an argument," I said, finally.

  "About what?"

  "Something stupid."

  She stomped her foot. "About what?!"

  "Monifa was mad that I've been staying at the studio all hours of the night, so she popped up on me last night. She was in her feelings, probably off of a pill, her and Kirbie almost got into it, it was late and everybody was tired—"