She knocked on the door timidly, almost afraid to hear the results.
“Ms. Montclair, come in,” the professor greeted her, never wavering from her serious, no-nonsense reserve. The woman intimidated Bleu, and if she passed this class she would never have to deal with her again. “Relief” would be an understatement.
“Good morning—”
“Good afternoon…,” the professor greeted her back.
Bleu rolled her eyes as she shifted her stance. She enjoys torturing me, she thought. “I was wondering if you could tell me my semester grades. I studied really hard and—”
“You passed—”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Bleu exclaimed as she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Every class except mine, Ms. Montclair,” Professor Davis finished.
Bleu’s face fell in confusion as her excitement ceased instantly. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“As you know, it is a condition of your scholarship that you keep a 3.0 GPA. You passed your classes, but you didn’t ace them, and with the 1.5 you attained in my course your overall average fell below a 3.0.”
“What is it?” Bleu asked, heartbroken.
“2.65,” Professor Davis responded. “The university won’t be renewing your scholarship next semester. If you want to stay here you will be responsible for your own room and board, plus tuition and fees. I’m sorry.”
Bleu’s world crashed. Even after taking the meth, after pulling the all-nighters, after going to the extremes just to catch up, she had still come up short. “Please, I busted my ass—”
“For finals, Ms. Montclair. You busted your ass for finals. There are students who bust their ass every day. They work tirelessly, day in, day out. You only gave your best effort when you were in jeopardy of being dismissed from the university. You say that you want this, Bleu, but you don’t act like it,” the professor said. “I must say I expected more.” Professor Davis spoke condescendingly, her voice dry and unflinching. She never even looked up from the stack of papers in front of her.
Bleu was devastated. Her eyes watered in disappointment. How did I let this happen?
“Is there a reason you’re still here?” the professor asked.
Without responding, Bleu rushed out of the office, and when she was in the hallway she leaned her back against the wall, letting her head fall back as her tears fell. She had been so stupid. So reckless. So ungrateful. She had fumbled her dream and for what? To pop bottles in a club? To rock the flyest shit? Be the flyest bitch? She had joined a plastic world where money and status reigned supreme. She had been so busy assimilating to the lifestyle that she had forgotten why she had come to L.A. in the first place. Stupid. That’s how she felt. Like a superficial, airhead, ass little girl. The big-city lights had blinded her, but now that school was no longer an option her newfound “it girl” status was all she had left. At a time like this a girl would think of her parents … of making that dreaded phone call and explaining how she had blown it. Bleu didn’t have that. The only person she thought of was Noah. The moment he crossed her mind her heart fluttered. She was supposed to make it for both of them, and despite the fact that he wouldn’t judge her, she felt as if she had let him down. He was her best friend, her soul mate, and the one whose heartbeat matched her own. She loved Noah with every inch of her being, and although she was with Iman, she knew deep in her heart that he was just a beautiful distraction. Iman’s presence made Noah’s absence affect her less, yet she still missed him. There was no one who knew her better or knew how much she truly wanted to live this California dream. If he were out, he would have been the one to remind her not to blow the opportunity that had been given to her. He would have kept her balanced. She needed his kind of normal to remind her of where she came from, but with him locked away she was transforming into someone different. A girl who wore makeup, drove a Benz, chased mental highs, and popped pills to recover from the self-induced lows. Bleu was changing, and although the pace of her new lifestyle was exciting, the fact that she had flunked out of her classes was proof that she couldn’t keep up with it all.
* * *
“This is some bullshit! She just got here. I put her on and now she’s the one who gets to meet the connect? Bleu don’t even know how to handle no shit this big! She had to get zooted just to get through fucking final exams! All of a sudden she’s Escobar or some shit!”
Bleu stood on the outside of her dorm room as China’s irate voice blared through the closed door. “She’s new and I’ve been down with you since day one.”
Bleu entered the room, interrupting them as she stood in the doorway. “What’s up? Clearly we have some things to discuss, because I can hear you screaming my name all the way down the hall. What’s going on?” she asked.
Bree sighed. “The connect only wants to meet you,” he informed her.
“And that’s a problem?” she asked as her brow furrowed in defense. “Before I came on y’all was moving fifteen ki’s a week. Thanks to me we’re moving five hundred.”
“We take the risks with you,” China spat.
“Do you really? Because I don’t recall you renting the charter bus in your name. If we’re ever stopped and searched, the police are taking me in; they’re asking me the questions. I take all the risks, but even still I split the profits equally with you and Aysha,” Bleu responded.
Aysha stood off to the side, leaning against the bathroom door as she watched her two friends go head up over the crown. China wanted to be queen bee, but since Bleu had come into her own, it wasn’t so evident who was leading anymore. “As long as the money flow don’t change up, I’m good. I don’t care who goes,” she said with a shrug.
“You in it for the paper, not the recognition,” Bree said to a seething China. “Remember that. You can go, but we’ll fall back … stay at the hotel while Bleu handles the meeting.”
“Yeah, whatever. Next thing you know the paper gon’ be distributed differently too. Mark my words,” China said as she stood up abruptly, storming out.
“When do we leave?” Bleu said as she flipped her hand dismissively, immediately changing the subject.
“You sure you good with this?” Bree asked. “You can say no if you not with it.”
The thought of being in Cinco’s presence alone again spooked Bleu. It wasn’t just about intimidation with him. He frightened her. There was something about the look in his eyes that made his black soul shine through. The opportunity was too good to pass up, however, and if she didn’t do it, there were a million girls behind her who would. Now that she had gotten herself kicked out of UCLA, she would have to keep hustling to survive. It was no longer about material things. She needed stability. She would have to put her big-girl panties on. This was a new level of the game. She was a mule and was making good money, but her position was the lowest. Mules were expendable and easily replaced. She felt it in her bones that after this trip her value in the “dope game” would increase and with it so would the amount of respect and money she earned. She needed to meet the man behind Cinco, because, at the end of the day, even he had a boss. Nobody even knew the name of the connect. The fact that he had requested her presence spoke volumes. That meant money was about to flow. She wasn’t trying to make a career out of this, but she wasn’t against a nice flip. She needed the money. She had gotten used to the finer things. She didn’t want to go back to ordinary after experiencing the extraordinary.
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied. “I’ll be ready.”
20
“Inmate, on your feet!” the CO called out aggressively as he entered Noah’s cell.
Noah sat, playing cards with Bookie. He looked up in annoyance as he asked, “What’s the problem?”
“You’re signed up for the new college program!” the CO shot back.
“Nah, that ain’t me. I ain’t sign up for no shit like that,” he responded coolly.
“You’re on the list, so on your feet,” the CO demanded.
“Bu
t I ain’t sign up for it,” Noah shot back.
“Take it up with someone else. On your feet. Let’s go!”
Noah sighed and then tossed his hand down, revealing it to Bookie. “I was going to beat you anyway, old man,” he said.
“God damn it,” Bookie said, flicking his own cards as Noah waltzed out of the cell, one guard in front of him, one behind him. He had gotten used to feeling cornered.
“This some bullshit,” he muttered as he stepped into the group room where tables and chairs were set up like a classroom.
It wasn’t until he saw her did Noah change his mind. She took his breath away. Skin the color of mocha, dark eyes to match, and slim from head to toe. She was model thin, but from the rear she gave a man much to appreciate. Her hair was shaven down on one side with the Chanel logo lined into it, while the other side hung long in loose waves. She was fly, the look in her eyes vicious, and the sway of her hips hypnotizing. She stood next to an older black woman, mid fifties, as the two introduced themselves to the group. He took a seat.
“My name is Jenna Thompson and this is my assistant, Naomi Porter. We’re here to help you better your lives. All of you are here less than five years. It’s time to start making plans for when you get out. A college degree will…”
The woman’s words became background noise as Noah focused in on the girl beside her. Naomi Porter. Khadafi sent her, he thought. Suddenly it made sense how he had gotten on the list and how this new program had suddenly started at the prison. As he looked at Naomi he appreciated every inch of her. She hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. He wouldn’t mind doing business with her; she was easy on the eyes. After seeing nothing but overweight CO’s and being around nothing but testosterone day in and day out, she was easy on the eyes.
“Gentlemen, please sign in and come get your assigned reading materials from Naomi,” the woman instructed.
Noah stood and joined the line, sauntering toward the front until finally it was his turn.
“Noah Langston,” he said.
“Hello, Noah,” Naomi replied. She handed him a small canvas tote bag. “Everything you need is inside,” she said with a wink of her doe-shaped eyes.
He nodded as he bit his lip. “Thanks,” he replied before returning to his seat.
He noticed that he had two textbooks. He opened one discreetly, turning his head to eye the guard before focusing on the pages. It was hollowed out; small Baggies of heroin lay inside, along with a burner phone. He quickly closed it, and as he pulled out the real textbook a smile crossed his face. Khadafi had just put him on, and it was time to get paid.
* * *
Bleu was taken aback by the luxury of the private estate. As she stood on the doorstep of the opulent oceanside villa her mind spun. She didn’t know what to expect.
The doors opened and one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen stood before her. She was average height, with short pixie-cut hair and coal black eyes. Her dark skin was flawless and her perfect figure enviable. She was exotic, clearly rich, and a bit snarky as she stood there in her perfection.
“You must be?”
Bleu almost forgot that she went by an assumed name, and she was so mesmerized by the presence of the woman in front of her that she just stood there, gawking. She seemed so familiar, as if they had met before. Where do I know her from? Bleu thought distractedly as she immediately felt small compared to the likes of the goddess before her.
“Do you speak?” the woman asked frankly.
“Oh, umm, yes, I’m sorry, yeah, I’m Blake,” Bleu replied.
“I’m Tristan. My husband will be pleased to meet you. From what I hear, you’ve become very good for business. Cinco will be here shortly,” she responded. “Come in. Our chef has prepared dinner.”
As soon as Bleu stepped inside, a Mexican man with a scar that ran down the length of his face stepped up. He had the menacing glare of a stone-cold killer. One eye was closed permanently, and over his eyelid was a tattoo of a bleeding skull. The sight of him sent chills down her spine.
“Bruno will search you. Can’t be too careful, you know?” Tristan said. Bleu held out her arms as Bruno ran his hands over her body thoroughly. He made sure to linger over her breasts, causing Bleu to cringe.
“That’s enough, Bruno,” Tristan intervened. She smirked. “Bruno gets a little overzealous sometimes. Please come in. We’ll break bread together and then get down to business.”
Bleu followed her inside, where a dinner party seemed to be taking place. “I didn’t realize so many people would be here,” Bleu said as she followed Tristan through the villa and out to the back, where at least a dozen other people congregated on the beach. The ocean was the backdrop and the moon lit up the night sky. A long rectangular dinner table had been elaborately set with crystal and linens on the sand, while tiki torches were lit around it.
“This is an organization built around family. We take care of our own, Blake. Depending on what you decide tonight, these people may become your family too. Come, there are many people to meet,” Tristan said. “Starting with the king himself.”
Bleu and Tristan walked up on her husband as he stood overlooking the calm water, his hands tucked in a pair of Ferragamo slacks. Bleu almost felt rude for interrupting such a peaceful moment. His back was to the commotion as he stood alone. He had obviously separated himself purposefully, but Tristan insisted on an introduction.
“Our final guest has arrived,” Tristan said as she grabbed his hand.
He turned around and Blake’s stomach went hollow as she looked into Iman’s eyes. Bitch slapped by his presence, she was speechless as her mouth fell open, but no words slipped out.
“Blake, this is my husband, Iman. Iman, this is the infamous Blake,” Tristan introduced them. “This is the girl who has made Cinco’s profits double in just a few weeks. Apparently she has a knack for getting weight across the border.”
Blake noticed a hint of surprise as her presence stunned Iman, but he quickly recovered, not giving away the fact that they already knew each other.
She could feel tears burning her eyes as the urge to throw up overwhelmed her. He’s married. He’s fucking married, she thought. She was sick. He had played her. Mr. “tell me no lies” had told her the biggest one of them all. He was married. Never mind the fact that he was the head of one of the most dangerous drug cartels in Mexico. Suddenly the pieces were all falling back into place. I don’t even know who he is, she thought.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Iman said, extending his hand. She felt insulted. Betrayed. So this nigga is just going to play dumb? she thought. She was seeing red at his audacity. Just days ago he had made love to her. He had put his mouth on her most private of places. Now he was greeting her with a handshake. For lack of a better response she shook his hand. He rubbed her hand briefly with his thumb before letting it go. Tristan was none the wiser.
“Tan, baby, I could use a drink,” Iman said.
Tan?! Bleu thought. Suddenly she realized why Tristan looked so familiar. She was the woman who constantly called Iman whenever he and Bleu were together. Tan is his pet name for her! Bleu sulked. Tristan was one of those pretty girls who made her feel so inferior. She was his wife, which made Bleu—
His fucking mistress! she screamed in her mind. This no-good, lying-ass, cheating mu’fucka, has me playing the role of his side chick!
Suddenly all the things he had told her she doubted. He had her standing there, feeling stupid, heart in her stomach, as she watched his beauty queen wife lovingly kiss his cheek.
“Sure, love. I’ll find one of the waiters and have them bring you something over. I need to find Cinco and find out why he’s late as usual,” she said. It was clear that Iman was trying to get rid of her, but Bleu had no conversation for him. She just wanted to get out of there before the levies on her emotions gave way. “Could you excuse me? Do you have a bathroom I can use?” she asked, her voice wavering as she willed herself to keep her composure.
&n
bsp; Iman’s eyes pleaded with her. They were saying so much, but his lips weren’t moving. She could practically read his thoughts. She avoided his gaze as Tristan pointed up toward the house.
“Sure, you can follow me back up to the house. I’ll show you where it is,” Tristan said.
* * *
Iman watched Bleu walk away, and with each step she took he felt a stabbing ache in his heart. He knew her. The revelation of his marriage had caused her shoulders to sag, and the devastation that he had seen in her face had crushed her. He had wanted to tell her. This was certainly not the way that he had wanted her to discover it. The fuck is she doing here anyway? Working with Cinco? Moving weight across the border? Is this why she so hard to keep up with? Iman thought. His mind was fried from trying to figure it all out. Little Bleu from Flint, Michigan, was a scholar by day and a drug mule by night. He had to admit that he found her hustle a little bit sexy, but he was angry with her for keeping it from him. She was taking penitentiary chances with her life. He knew the game, he had come up in it, and Bleu wasn’t built for it. She was too smart to be associated with the likes of Cinco, and now that Iman knew that she was in business with his brother-in-law he wondered about the nature of their relationship. Were they fucking? Did Cinco push up on her? It was known that Cinco was a ladies’ man. Had Bleu fallen for Cinco’s lavish playboy ways? Jealousy spread through Iman like a disease as it infected his heart. The thought of her with another man wounded him. The fact that she was here troubled him. Bleu was supposed to be his good girl … his college girl … his simple chick. She was the only thing in his world that made him feel like normalcy was something he could attain. The fact that she hadn’t known about his kingpin status pleased him because he was certain that she loved him for him, not for what he represented. Apparently they both had been keeping secrets, but he knew that the ones that he had withheld from her were unforgivable. The shattered look on her gorgeous face had been like daggers to his heart. He needed to speak to her. He had to make her understand that things weren’t what they seemed to be. Iman would do whatever he needed to do in order to make things right. He hadn’t realized how much she truly meant to him until the moment when he thought he might lose her. He had to make this right, and despite the fact that she had some explaining to do as well, he knew that he had committed the greater of the two wrongs.
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