by Tracy Brown
“All I’m saying is, don’t sell yourself short, girl. You’re trying so hard to lock this fool down as if he was 50 Cent or somebody. You might love him, fine. But not so much that you should be fiending for him. He ain’t even that cute!”
“Cute isn’t everything.”
“But it’s something, bitch! At least if he’s cute, you can rationalize losing your mind over him. But Jamel is very average, and I’m being generous! Why would you sacrifice your pride for a man like that?”
“You’re just mean, that’s what it is.” Dominique smirked and sat back as the waitress brought their lunch to the table. When she was gone again, she said, “I don’t want to grow old by myself, Toya. So if I find a man and he’s a good catch—like Jamel is—I’m gonna hold on to him. I don’t care what you say.”
Toya looked at Dominique and shook her head. “You’s a dumb bitch!” Toya proclaimed, slipping into her Ebonics. “And I mean that shit, Dominique. You’re too young to be worrying about growing old by yourself. You haven’t been listening to me at all. ’Cuz if you were, you’d know that you can’t force a man to want you. If Jamel thought you were as good of a catch as you think he is, there wouldn’t be any miscellaneous bitches on his visiting log.”
“See?” Dominique said, chewing her salad. “That’s why I can’t tell you shit. Every time I share my feelings, you make me regret it.”
Toya smirked. “Don’t be mad at me ’cuz I tell it like it is.” She picked at her salad.
“I’m not mad,” Dominique clarified. “I actually enjoy your honesty most of the time. But friends are supposed to be able to listen to each other without judging. You can’t ever do that.”
“I don’t judge you, Dominique,” Toya lied. She thought about the ton of clothes she’d just gotten for free on the strength of her silly friend and decided to soften her approach. “Look, if you wanna be a dummy all your life, then go for it. I won’t say another word. You and Camille can make whatever decisions you want about the men you love. I still love y’all the same. Just don’t come crying to me when the bastard breaks your heart. ’Cuz all I’m gonna do is remind you of what I told you.” She sipped her water and looked at Dominique seriously. “Until then, I won’t utter another negative word.”
Dominique rolled her eyes and ate her lunch in silence, knowing that Toya keeping her mouth shut was wishful thinking. It was just a matter of time before Toya would be offering her brutal opinion once again.
Gillian sat with her toes in the nail dryer on the floor and her fingers carefully perched in the hand dryer in front of her. She was happy with her manicure/pedicure, and in love with the new shade of red she’d found at the Chanel counter. It made her nails look inviting without seeming trashy. Her Cole Haan bag sat on the seat beside her, and she watched Access Hollywood on the plasma TV hanging on the wall. Britney Spears was making another comeback, by the looks of it.
She heard the clerk greet a client who had just arrived, but she didn’t bother to look away from the television. Not until she heard a voice say, “Hi, Gillian. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Gillian looked up to see Camille Bingham standing next to her wearing a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, sparkling diamonds, and a phony smile. Gillian’s smile was equally fake as she greeted Frankie’s wife. “Camille, how are you?”
“Great,” Camille replied. “And you?”
Gillian nodded. “Fine.” She noticed that Camille had her hair pulled back today, revealing the beginnings of a double chin. The diamond sparklers in her ears did little to detract attention from the extra skin hanging beneath them, Gillian silently mused. “You come all the way to Midtown to get your nails done?” She couldn’t understand why she had to run into Frankie’s Stepford wife at her favorite day spa when they lived boroughs apart.
Camille shrugged. “I had a free day, so I decided to try out this place because my friend Toya came here and bragged about it. I’m making a full day of it. Mani/pedi, massage, the works.” Camille smiled again, phonier than before. She was battling her growing feelings of jealousy toward Frankie’s beautiful best friend. But it was hard, especially at times like this when Gillian was looking so lovely and smiling so fake.
Gillian nodded. “Have I met your friend?” she asked, trying to recall if she had ever heard of Camille even having friends. It had always seemed to her that Camille lived so much in Frankie’s world that she had abandoned her own.
“I think so. Yes, at my birthday party.”
Gillian nodded, still not recalling Camille’s friend. An uncomfortable hush fell between them, and both women searched for ways to fill it. “So,” Camille said, playing with her hands awkwardly. “I hear that my sister has been spending time with your brother, Baron. Who would’ve predicted that?”
Gillian smiled, her pearly white teeth sparkling brighter than her lip gloss. “Yeah, you’re right. Who knows? Maybe she’ll get him to settle down.” Gillian doubted it. She hoped that Camille and Misa were aware that Baron wasn’t the settling-down type. Misa was by no means the only chick that Baron was involved with.
“Well, what about you? Don’t you want the same for yourself?” Camille smiled. “To settle down, I mean.”
Gillian wasn’t sure how to answer that question. She was tempted to tell Camille that the only man she could imagine having such a life with was already married—to her. She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do want that. I’m just not in a rush to find it.”
Camille nodded. “Are you still seeing the stockbroker?”
Gillian smiled, since Frankie had obviously been discussing her love life with his wife. Camille had never had a conversation with Sadiq, so there was no other way she could have known his occupation. “Yes, we’re still dating. He’s a nice guy. But like I said, I’m in no rush to get serious.”
Camille was sorry to hear that. She wanted Gillian married and pregnant so that she could stop monopolizing Frankie’s time. “Well, I know that your mother would plan the wedding of the century for you.”
Gillian laughed and nodded. “She sure would. She loves to throw a huge party.”
“Speaking of which, Frankie told me that your parents are having a big anniversary party soon. You must be excited.” Camille wasn’t looking forward to another Nobles family function, but Frankie was insisting on being there. She certainly wasn’t letting him go alone, so she was searching frantically for something to wear as the date of the event neared.
“Yes,” Gillian nodded. “Twenty-eight years of wedded bliss.” She slipped her feet out of the nail dryer and watched as the nail technician ensured that they were indeed dry. Turning her attention back to Camille, she asked, “You’re coming, right?”
“Of course,” Camille answered, fingering the platinum necklace she wore. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She watched Gillian slip her feet into her shoes and slide a tip to the lady who had serviced her. Gillian stood up and Camille smiled, taking it all in. Gillian’s curves were legendary, and the jeans she wore only highlighted that fact. Her ass looked bigger than ever. The tight blouse and Gucci belt she wore accentuated her tiny waist. Camille fought the urge to hate.
“Great,” Gillian said, smiling. “I’ll see you there. Take care.”
“Bye.” Camille watched as Gillian sashayed out the door, donning her designer shades as soon as she stepped into the sunlight. Camille sat down to begin her manicure, wondering why she was hearing Toya’s voice in her head, urging her to wake the fuck up.
On the Prowl
Misa and Camille walked into the house with little Shane in tow, only to find Steven sitting on the couch once again. For the life of her, Camille couldn’t understand why Frankie allowed his brother to take advantage of them the way that he did. Steven was twenty-five, had no children, no debt, and no motivation to do anything with his life. He had been living in the rental unit (though he paid no rent) at the rear of their property for close to a year. Camille felt that he was lazy, while Frankie insisted that Steven was a little slow.
In Camille’s opinion, Steven wasn’t slow. He was a fucking user.
Steven and Camille were cordial to each other, but that was as good as it got. Camille didn’t appreciate Steven sponging off Frankie. To Steven, Camille was a bourgeois, stuck-up housewife who hid behind her husband’s success to mask the fact that she had none of her own. Steven knew that Camille would love to see him move out. But as long as Frankie said that it was all right to be there, Steven had no intention of budging. In his opinion, Camille had no say-so in the matter. She was merely a tenant, just like he was.
“Steven,” Camille greeted him simply as she headed to the kitchen with grocery bags.
“Camille,” he answered, laughing to himself at her obvious attitude. He looked at Camille’s sister and smiled. Misa was very pretty. She reminded him of an actress he’d seen in a bad Tyrese movie one time, but her name didn’t come to mind. Misa was dark brown with lush lips and eyes that made him want to look deeper. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and her earlobes bore big hoop earrings with her name in the center. She had on a pair of tight jeans, a fitted I LOVE NY T-shirt, and a pair of Steve Madden boots. And Steven couldn’t keep his eyes off her phat ass.
“Hi, Misa,” he said, still smiling.
“Hi.” She waved at him over her shoulder and kept it moving, joining her sister in the kitchen. Shane had pulled up a stool at the breakfast nook and was already munching on a pear. Misa smiled at him and started helping Camille unpack the groceries.
To Camille’s disappointment, Steven followed them into the kitchen. He walked over to Misa and asked, “Need any help?”
Misa looked at Steven and smirked. “Nah, I got it. Thanks.” She knew that Steven had a crush on her. But she never gave him a second look. He was blessed with the same tall, dark, and handsome looks as his brother, Frankie, but Steven wasn’t in the same league as his brother. While Frankie had money, power, and respect, Steven had little more than a few bucks in his pocket. And even that had most likely been given to him by his brother. Misa was through getting involved with losers like Steven. She had her sights set on bigger and better men than him. Men like Baron Nobles. The only problem was that Baron hadn’t called her in days, and she was beginning to wonder if he had already moved on to a new chick.
“Steven, did Frankie say where he was going?” Camille asked. When they’d left for the supermarket earlier that afternoon, Frankie had been taking a much-needed nap on the chaise lounge. Camille had intended to prepare him his favorite meal, even though he had come home in the wee hours of the morning. Things had been tense between them over the past few days, and she felt that it was time to make amends. But she’d noticed that his car wasn’t in the garage anymore, and he hadn’t mentioned going out. She couldn’t help feeling annoyed that he was not at home with her yet again.
Steven shook his head. “No. When I woke up and came over here to watch TV he was already gone.
“Wassup, Shane?” Steven greeted the youngster by giving him five, and Misa smiled. Shane was tearing that pear up! “You spending the night again while Mommy goes out?”
Camille shot a look at Misa, wondering if that was what she had in mind.
Misa gave her sister an innocent look. “What?” she asked. “I mean, if you’re offering to watch him . . .”
“I’m not.” Camille kept unpacking groceries, and Misa put on her sad face.
“Camille, please. You’re home for the night, so what’s the problem? I just want to go out for a few hours to let off some steam.” Misa hoped that she could convince her sister to watch Shane so that she could try to get in touch with Baron. She didn’t want to stalk him, but she was sick of him sending her repeated phone calls to his voice mail.
Camille ignored Misa, hoping she’d take the hint and go away. She didn’t.
“Please?”
Shane watched his mother beg and spoke up. “I’ll be good, Aunt Tamille.”
Camille melted and smiled at her nephew. “I know you will, baby. And of course you can stay tonight.” She shot a wicked look at her sister. “But your mommy has to remember that sometimes you want to be at your house, too.”
Shane shook his head. “Nuh-uh! I always like to be at your house, Aunt Tamille!” Shane was smiling, showing all his teeth.
Steven laughed. “I know how you feel, son!” He gave Shane five again, and Camille rolled her eyes at Steven’s comment. Misa kissed Shane on his forehead and wiped his sticky hands off. Grabbing her purse, she smiled coyly at Camille.
“Thanks, sis,” she said, scampering toward the door.
“You’re pushing it!” Camille called after her sister, who was already at the front door.
Steven was hot on Misa’s heels. “You think I can tag along with you?” he asked. “I get sick of sitting in this house all the time.”
Misa looked Steven’s broke ass up and down and frowned. “Get a job then,” she said. She turned around and sauntered out of the house, leaving Steven standing speechless in her wake.
Baron glanced at his cell phone and saw Misa’s name on the caller ID for the hundredth time. He pressed Ignore and kept right on driving.
His female friend Trina sat in the passenger seat of Baron’s car, feeling a buzz from the weed she was smoking. They were on their way to her Bushwick, Brooklyn, apartment, and she couldn’t wait to get there. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Baron. He was staying away from Brooklyn these days, since he had beef with Jojo and Brooklyn was where Jojo held court. Trina had heard all about it, since the streets were abuzz with the scandal of Dusty’s disappearance and Jojo’s thirst for revenge. She had called Baron to tell him that she was in need of his good loving and was thrilled when he agreed to pick her up from her job at LensCrafters in Fulton Mall.
“I missed you,” Trina said, passing the blunt to Baron.
“Yeah?” he asked, smiling. “When we get to your house you can show me how much.”
Trina smiled back. “Turn here,” she said, pointing to the next intersection. “It’s faster this way.”
Baron did as she instructed and turned the corner, anxious for the chance to be alone with her. They pulled up at a red light and Baron reached over and touched her thigh. Trina was a pretty light-skinned girl with sandy brown hair and green eyes. She had been his chick on the side for years, playing her position and never wanting more than their occasional rendezvous. He was eager to get her home so that he could dig her out.
A minivan pulled up alongside them at the traffic light, and Trina looked over at it. Distracted by trying to relight the blunt in his hand, Baron had his head bowed and didn’t notice the events unfolding around him. The minivan was on Trina’s side of the car, and she watched as the van’s side door slid open. Suddenly, Baron saw a hasty movement out of the corner of his eye, and, before he could react, gunfire tore through the Brooklyn air. Baron’s car was hit, and the rear window shattered into smithereens. Baron could hear screams from the passersby as they scrambled for safety. As the gunman climbed out of the minivan and kept firing at Baron’s car, Trina opened the passenger door and got out. The gunman ignored her and kept advancing on the car, shooting all the while. Baron managed to hit the gas and peeled off as the gunman scurried back inside the van to follow him.
Baron sped down the street and sharply turned the next two corners, checking his rearview mirror for his would-be assassins. Blood poured from his shoulder and his heart pounded in his chest. He knew that Jojo was behind the attempt on his life, and he chastised himself for being in Brooklyn alone in the midst of Brooklyn beef. It was a dumb move, all in a quest to get some pussy. He looked again in his rearview and was relieved to see that it appeared he had lost his assailants.
He kept driving and pulled out his cell phone. Baron called Frankie and was glad when he answered right away. “Yo, son. These muthafuckas shot at me. I’m on my way to Pops’s house. Meet me there.”
Frankie was confused. “Somebody shot at you?”
“Word.”
&n
bsp; “Where are you?”
“Bushwick.”
“Brooklyn?” Frankie asked, shocked.
“Yeah, son.”
“What the fuck are you doing out there?” Frankie asked, thinking Baron had to be the most foolish muthafucka he knew.
“Listen,” Baron said, still checking behind him for the shooters. “Just meet me at Pops’s house!” He tossed his phone down and kept driving, noticing that his clothes were stained with blood and flecked with broken glass. Baron was shaken. He had to get the fuck out of Brooklyn.
Stripped
Frankie’s Escalade screeched to a halt in front of Nobles’s house and he leaped out, taking the stairs leading to the sprawling home’s entrance two at a time. Before he could ring the doorbell, Gillian pulled up behind him and parked her Benz. She got out of her car and scampered up the stairs until she stood at Frankie’s side. She greeted him and they proceeded inside as Greta opened the door.
“Everyone is in the dining room,” Greta said, her thick Spanish accent slicing through the awkward silence.
Frankie could see that Gillian was upset, and he pulled her close and hugged her. “He’s okay,” Frankie reassured her. “Baron is fine.”
She nodded, though she was still shaken up. They walked together to the dining room, where they found Nobles and Baron sitting at opposite ends of the long table, with Mayra sitting in the middle. Baron looked dazed as he sat with his arm in a sling and a big bandage on his right shoulder. Gillian ran to her brother and threw her arms around him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tears flowing.
Baron patted Gillian’s back and tried to calm her. “Shhhh. Don’t cry. I’m all right. One of the bullets just grazed me.”