Coldhearted & Crazy

by Michel Moore

  Tired from partying from the night before and not having much else to do, Kenya went over to the new couch she’d bought and fell across it, feet in the air. She then reached for the remote to her high-definition plasma television that she’d had mounted on the living room wall. It had so many buttons on that damn remote it would take a brain scientist, let alone Kenya, a year to learn how to use them all. Kenya, almost penniless, against London’s advice, had used most of her insurance money Gran left her to freak the house out. It looked like a magazine layout. In between all the mall shopping and a used car that was on its last leg already, the wannabe hood diva was damn near broke.

  At this point, especially considering what had just taken place, Kenya knew that she had all but cut herself out of her uncle’s bottomless pockets. Luckily the household bills were paid up for a month or so, but Kenya realized she had to get on that money trail and make a few things happen if she wanted to continue to floss wherever she stepped out to.

  Never outside the hustle loop for long, Kenya already put up on a quick way to make some fast, easy cash in hand. Ty, with all his schemes and scams, claimed to have the inside hookup, so why the hell not! Shit, she wasn’t slow to the game by a long shot, but stripping? Kenya thought about it as she stared at her checkbook that was a few zeros from balancing out. Heads Up was the hottest strip joint up in the D. Everyone knew that it was the spot where real playas would meet and greet. It was no big secret that there was nothing but wall-to-wall loot in that motherfucker, and girls not half as pretty as Kenya, some not built like shit, getting paid out the ass. From flashy hustlers and blue-collar factory workers to plain-style fucking trick-ass niggas from around the way, they all knew that they had to come correct with their paper game to even walk through the doors of Heads Up, not to mention hanging out in the VIP. That was a given, flat out.

  Kenya, trying to get in the zone, switched to the uncut video channel on cable and turned the surround sound up on double bump. “Fuck that shit!” She was hyped as she moved around the room as if she was the star of the evening. “I can do all those dances and make my ass bounce too.” She pranced in the mirror and turned around to watch that motherfucker move. “I’m the shit, fuck ’em hoes! They can eat shit and die! I’m gonna make my ends up in that place as soon as I get my foot in the door!”

  Exhausted from performing for herself, Kenya started to run her bathwater while she continued to get her dance on. When the water was just right, Kenya slowly undressed and eased her sweaty-ass into the hot, bubble-filled tub. Kenya, trying to get turned up as she daydreamed about her new desired profession, lit her blunt of Kush and lay back. I guess I can call Ty’s ho-ass tomorrow and see what’s really good with Heads Up. Lost in her thoughts as she listened to the music still echoing off the walls and got buzzed, the house phone rang twice as she was soaking. “Fuck whoever it is,” she mumbled, blowing smoke rings into the air. “I’m chillin’ the most.”

  Kenya, caught up in her own new world, had missed her twin sister’s call.

  London

  “Hey, girl, let’s go.” London found Fatima talking to a group of other students who also lived in the dorm. They all introduced themselves and talked for a minute or two.

  Fatima, having had just met her roommate, could easily tell by the look on London’s face that something was wrong. Without reservation, she questioned London. “What’s the deal, black girl? Is everything all good on the home front?”

  “Naw, nothing much is wrong. I was just wondering where my sister is, that’s all. She didn’t answer the phone.” London then got it in her head that she had to stop worrying so much about Kenya and let her live her life. After all, from this point on she wouldn’t be there every day to watch over her. “Hey, girl, come on. I’m hungry, let’s roll out.” London changed her expression and attitude, while trying to sound cool. “She’ll call when she calls!”

  The pair of new roomies left the dorm, laughing and joking all the way to a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon on the edge of campus that some of the other students, all upperclassmen, had told Fatima about. After a long meal filled with conversation about both of their lives, including what had tragically happened to London’s parents and her beloved grandmother on graduation day, the girls took their coffee to go. Although London really missed Kenya and her best friend Amber, she had a feeling Fatima would stick by her side no matter what.

  “So, girl, I see all these pictures of your family, including that fine-ass uncle of yours, but I don’t see not one picture of you and your man. What’s up with that? You don’t strike me as the lesbo type, so spill. What’s the deal with that?” Fatima was waiting for an answer as London sadly started to look down at the floor. “Wow, I’m sorry, girl, did I say something wrong?”

  “No, not really. It’s just that people always ask me that. My sister was the one born with all the style and flair. She has all the good looks and gets the guys. I guess I’m just used to blending in the background when it comes to me and Kenya.”

  “Oh hell naw! You must be high or something. Y’all look exactly alike. So how can you think that she’s the shit and don’t think you are?” Fatima damn near snatched her roommate in front of the door mirror leaning against the wall and pulled the rubber band out of London’s hair. “You need to open those pretty eyes and see what everyone else sees. That flawless skin, a pretty smile, and this long-ass hair! Girl, most sisters would pay good dough for a pack of weave this long!”

  London felt good for once about what she saw in the mirror thanks to Fatima. Starting now, she would try to have more confidence in herself. London knew that she needed to stand on her own without Kenya and be more assertive, and believing in herself would be the first step.

  When they finished unpacking and talking, it was almost close to daybreak. The freshman orientation started at 9:30 a.m. sharp, so the two girls decided to get some much-needed shuteye. They both wanted to be on time so Fatima set the alarm. For a change, since Gran’s death, London didn’t have to be the mother hen.

  Chapter Seven

  Kenya

  “Damn, I can’t take this. I gotta get some darker blinds in this bitch!” Kenya, peeking out from underneath her pillow, started her day mad. Always having a major attitude, she had the nerve to be pissed at the sun for shining so brightly into her private domain. Lifting her head all the way up, she looked over at the clock, which read 12:15 p.m. Overjoyed that her sister was not there waking her up early as usual, she found one reason to at least crack half of a smile. Eyes still partially shut, Kenya made her way into the kitchen, sliding her bare feet across the floor. “I need a cold glass of juice, maybe then I can wake up.”

  Sitting down on the couch, leaning her head backward, as funny as it seemed Kenya thought that she could hear the sound of quiet circulating throughout the entire house. But she was alone and lonely in that big, empty house, bored to death, and the truth of the matter was she knew it wasn’t going to get any better. All the frontin’ she did on a regular basis about wanting nothing more than for people in general to just leave her the fuck alone was catching up to her. “I gotta shake this bullshit,” Kenya hissed, listening to the eerie vibrations of her heart beating. Right then and there she decided it was most definitely time to get put on by her dude. Without any more hesitation or delays, she dialed Ty’s phone, who picked up on the first ring.

  “What up, doe Kenya?”

  “You crazy, you.”

  “What’s the deal with you?”

  “Just chillin’ that’s all. I just woke my punk-ass up.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ty had just started blazing his second blunt of the day. “Man, I started to call you last night and see if you wanted to hang, but fuck all that!”

  “Huh?” Kenya asked, confused.

  “Shit, did you see that fucking ‘nigga, I’m gonna kill your ass’ death look your uncle gave me yesterday? I mean, I ain’t no sucker or no shit like that with mines but, well, you feel me.”

  Knowing tha
t Ty was indeed a sucker with his in every sense of the word, Kenya decided to not call him out on being scared shitless of her uncle because she needed him to do her a solid. “Come on, guy,” she started to lie, gassing his ego up. “I know you ain’t intimidated by his old ass! Everybody knows my uncle is past tense with that gangsta bullshit he be running!” Kenya was laying it on thick knowing that, truth be told, on any given day of the year, her uncle could beat the dog shit outta Ty with one hand tied behind his back. “But hey, forget about that old nigga. I need to talk to you about some other shit. Remember what we talked about the other night?” Kenya whispered like someone else was in the room eavesdropping on their private conversation.

  “Come on, girl, we talk about a lot of shit, what’s the dealio? Be more specific.”

  “Damn, nigga, you know what the fuck I’m talking about! That Heads Up shit!” Kenya yelled at the top of her lungs, rolling her eyes.

  “Oh yeah, hell yeah!” Ty was truly excited at this point. He then bossed up, practically taking over the entire conversation like he was an expert in stripperology 101. “Okay, here’s the deal. Amateur night is tonight about ten. If you do good up on that stage shaking that ass, my man Zack will get you all the way plugged in every night.” His preaching continued. “Oh yeah, you should make sure your hair and nails are tight. Oh yeah, and make sure you shave under your arms. When I see hoes up there swing upside down on the pole with gorilla hair in them pits, a nigga get sick to his stomach.” Ty was going on and on, making Kenya madder and madder.

  “Hold the fuck up, Negro! You going too damn far with this bullshit you trying to kick! When the fuck have you ever known my shit not to be topnotch and on point, please believe?” Kenya was fed up with Ty’s store-bought pimp impression. “Look just call me later!” she screamed out in total frustration, slamming the phone down in his ear.

  As she sat there Kenya, now in total hustle mode, started to think about the half-ass naked outfits she had in the closet and a pair of spiked heels just right for driving the average man out his mind. In the zone, it was then that she decided to partake in her regular “breakfast of champions”—a big-ass blunt. Deeply inhaling, she turned the television on. Still on the video channel from the night before, she got her a quick head-banging routine together guaranteed to make some cash.

  Nightfall took its sweet time arriving. It was 8:45 p.m. and Ty had just called saying he was on his way to pick her up. Not in the least bit nervous, Kenya excitedly got her small-sized duffel bag together with two “scandalous even in the nighttime” outfits she’d picked out, and a towel. Her face was beat, looking just right. She had just got finished applying M•A•C high-gloss lipstick and her lashes were long. Damn, bitch, you the shit! She snapped her fingers in front of the mirror.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  Kenya heard Ty pull up in front of her house and blow his horn. She quickly reached down, swooping up her designer bag, throwing the strap across her shoulder. Grabbing her keys and cell phone, she took a deep breath. After one last quick glance in the mirror, she was out the door, headed for her new future and hopefully the road to riches. Reaching for the doorknob, the house phone started to ring as Kenya turned back, securing the last deadbolt lock.

  London

  Exhausted and worn out, both London and Fatima had made their way through a long list of longwinded distinguished speakers, knowledgeable alumni and upperclassmen, teachers, and various presentations. Staying up the night before talking and unpacking was starting to take its toll on the weary freshmen.

  “Girl, I can’t wait to get back to that bed. I’m so tired I think I’m going to pass out right here on this ground!” London stretched as she yawned, fighting back the urge to go to sleep on one of the benches that lined the way back toward their dorm.

  “I know how you feel.” No sooner had Fatima barely gotten the last word out of her mouth than she was unexpectedly interrupted by a tall, handsome man with light brown eyes. He extended his arm, reaching out to shake each of the girls’ hands as he confidently introduced himself.

  “Well hello, ladies, how are you both doing?” He was so smooth with his tone and overall demeanor both girls could hardly move, let alone speak to respond to his question.

  London was the first to regain her composure. “Oh fine, we were, uh, uh, uh . . .” She was stumbling with her words, struggling to get a clear thought, something that she almost never did.

  By that time, Fatima, also dumbfounded, snapped out of her trance, coming to her girl’s rescue. “Hell, we’re both doing well. We just came from the freshmen orientation in the plaza.”

  “Yes, I know. I was just at the orientation myself. I saw both you ladies over there. I’m Sanford Kincade.” His smile was ultra bright and his winter white teeth were perfectly lined. “Matter of fact, if I’m not mistaken, I think one of you young ladies and I will get to know each other very well over the coming semester.” Neither girl had a clue as to what their handsome, unannounced stranger was talking about. Each one looked both puzzled and confused. Seeing them speechless, he could easily tell by their expressions they were feeling lost and out of sorts. “Oh, I’m sorry, ladies, let me start over again. I’m Professor Sanford Kincade. I’m on staff and teach Intro to Political Science here at the university.”

  Giggling like middle school girls on the playground instead of grown, mature women in college, London and Fatima recklessly fumbled retrieving their class schedules out of their folders, praying that they were the one blessed to have this God of a man for an instructor. As each visibly anxious student searched for that small piece of paper, Sanford Kincade, conniving in mindset, already knew the outcome. With ulterior motives in store, he’d checked it out prior to introducing himself, as he watched the two of them earlier.

  London was the first to find her schedule. “Oh wow, I guess it’s me.” She almost felt ashamed for being the lucky one. Fatima, sad faced, was a little disappointed, but happy for her newfound friend nevertheless.

  “Well then, Miss Roberts, I guess I will see you in class and, Miss James, see you around campus.” As soon as he was out of ear range, both girls started screaming.

  “Girl, he was so fine I could barely move.” Fatima held her hand close to her chest.

  “Yes, he was handsome,” London agreed. “But, Fatima, that man is almost old enough to be our daddy.”

  “Yeah, girl, you right, I would call him daddy!” Both girls, behaving silly without a care in the world, giggled all the way back to the dorm.

  London, after settling down, decided to try to call her sister again that night but still didn’t get an answer. She also tried calling Kenya’s cell phone, but her twin changed numbers like she changed her panties. The concerned twin was starting to worry and wanted nothing more than to call her uncle. She wanted to ask him to go by the house and at least check on Kenya, but she knew that wasn’t gonna happen, especially considering what had jumped off the afternoon she’d left. Her uncle was still probably and rightfully pissed about that fool Ty keeping Kenya out all night and Kenya’s nasty attitude and disposition to being chastised.

  London then called Carmen, her sister’s best friend, on her cell phone. Thankfully, she had Kenya’s latest number and gave it to her. After the first ring the voicemail picked up. A long song filled with all types of curse words filled London’s ears before she heard Kenya’s voice. When the beep finally came, London spoke.

  “Hey, Kenya, it’s me. I tried calling you last night. I’m okay, I just wanted to know if all is well. I know it’s been only two days, but you understand. Call me, all right? Don’t forget. Say U Promise!” She hung up the phone and fell fast asleep. London had no idea that back at home in Detroit, her sister’s long night was just beginning.

  Tastey

  Ty watched Kenya’s full, plump breasts bounce up and down as she ran down the stairs. The way that her low-riding track suit fit her ass alone was enough to get him paid. Anticipating a quick come up, he started to daydream abou
t all the money he could get from working Kenya. Greeting each other with a smile and a small kiss on the lips, both of them were anxious about the night and what it would hold. They both had a different agenda for what they felt was going to happen when they got to the club.

  “Girl, you look hot! Good enough for a brotha to eat.” Ty’s dick started to get rock hard. He grabbed Kenya’s hand and placed it on his manhood. “Feel what I got waiting for that ass when we get back from making that bread!”

  Kenya gave him a fake smirk and told him, “Maybe later,” keeping game on pause. She was trying to keep her mind clear, and his “always wanting to fuck and suck for free” butt wasn’t helping her pay any bills around her way. Kenya was really straight starting not to feel ol’ boy and his nickel-and-dime hustle ways, but she was smart enough to wait until she got her foot in the door of the Heads Up and when she did, he was so over.