One Hustle

by Cortney Gee

  One Hustle © 2017 by Cortney Gee

  Brown Girls Publishing, LLC

  www.BrownGirlsBooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

  First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing

  Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America

  What people are saying….

  “Cortney Gee has crafted a witty story that will have you up all night turning pages. An awesome debut novel from one of the funniest guys in the game.”

  -Travis Hunter

  National Bestselling Author and Film maker

  “Cortney’s wit is undeniable. Sometimes, it’s fall-on-the-floor funny and sometimes the comedy is cold and savage. Whichever the case, you can always, and I do mean, always, count on him to be authentic. Maybe it’s the Cleveland in Cortney. Maybe it’s the gift and curse of his talent, but never does he mail it in. Cortney will open up a vein on stage if he has to, because comedy is life for better or worse. This book is the spurts of blood pumping from his heart.”

  -Kevin (M.C. Chill) Heard

  Call & Post Newspaper

  DEDICATION

  First and foremost, I would like to thank The Creator for the gift of life and laughter. I know I don’t always do what I’m supposed to do with this talent you have blessed me with but HEAVENLY FATHER you know my heart and that my intentions sometimes supersedes my attention.

  Secondly, I have to thank my beautiful wife Charlene McLemore-Gilmore for enduring sleepless nights and championing my efforts as a burgeoning author even if it kept me from coming to bed when she told my grown ass it was time to go night night. Her backing my endeavors helped me to finish this literary journey even when I didn’t believe I could complete the task.

  To my sons, Marcus, Miles and Cortney Jr. I thank you for the inspiration to be a better person. I owe a great amount of thanks to my sister, Aimee Exum, whom served as one of my readers when this book was going through its’ infancy and kept it real with her criticism of its’ development.

  To my Facebook family that pushed me to finish what I started.

  I appreciate all that encouraged me to stop talking about how I was going to write a book and just fucking do it.

  To Vincent Cook, I owe a ton of thanks to for lacing my shoestrings to LA’s underbelly, man was I green when I first landed in The City of Lost Angels. Good looking out, bruh!

  Shout out to Shawn Belk, Sista Sandy Miller, Arrette Renee Harvey, Shelley Fleming, Tiffeni Fontno, Sherry Sanford, MC Chill, M. Raye Turner, old school hoop buddy Poncho and my brother Griffy 2 Trillion for being the keep it close to vest crew that read the first rough draft that was so Ruff so Tuff to probably dredge through and gave me notes to better my final product.

  I have a group of authors that I consider real friends that inspired me to challenge myself to join their ranks that I want to give credit to Travis Hunter, Lolita Files, Eric Jerome Dickey, Victoria Christopher Murray and ReShonda Tate Billingsley, I thank you. I hope this book does you proud.

  Big ups to Apple Products and Dragon Dictate for without them I would still just have a bunch of paper with my illegible handwriting scribbled across them.

  Above all I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of my mother, Ernestine Ross, who left this earth before she could see her son show the world that being educated is cool like she always told me. Never a day goes by that I don’t feel her guiding my actions.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was Wednesday night in the valley. The sun had receded and given way to the cool night that surprised folks who came to Southern California thinking jackets weren't necessary. I was sitting up in the bed wrecking my mind about how to escape the grasp of the financial depression that held me by the throat. Food was scarce.

  I would have to forsake eating just so my live-in girlfriend and our twin sons could eat.

  Karen was a week from her payday and I didn't know where my next dollar was coming from. I looked at her in her chocolate loveliness, as she laid next to me, oblivious to my worrying, replenishing her energy so she could work another day at the VA Hospital in Santa Monica. My sons, Malcolm and Martin were in the living room of our Van Nuys one-bedroom apartment, either sleeping on the pullout bed or doing a great job of fooling me into believing that they were.

  The stillness of the place gave me the opportunity to think of how, just a few months ago, I was riding high after my appearance on Russell Simmons' Def Comedy Jam. Promoters from all over the country were ringing my manager's phone offering me work. Tony felt that this was a good opportunity for me to raise my appearance fee and I wasn't going to argue with him about obtaining more money for the both of us.

  We were working the wave of good fortune. Then I made a bone-headed mistake and got on his wife's bad side, causing us to part ways. I wasn't even mad with dude. If I had to make the same choice, I would have parted ways with me, too. Our business separation had my career sailing rudderless and my fortunes were shipwrecked at the present. At the age of 29 and after making three television appearances, I couldn't bring myself to the point of getting a job at Mickey Dee's or any other minimum wage-paying establishment.

  My pride was still greater than my hunger pains.

  My mother, Irene, used to always say, "Pride cometh before the fall."

  Now I could hear her loud and clear as my situation was plummeting.

  The only thing I could think of to do that would get me some instant legal tender was to wake-up early and stand in front of Home Depot and hope there were not enough Mexicans to pick oranges.

  I should have been ashamed. I mean, really, after spending four years at Grambling State, picking fucking produce should be something I would never consider. But considering I had to feed my family, I had catapulted my vanity.

  I turned off the TV and was about to call it a night so I could rise to work in a citrus field when I received a call from my man and fellow comedian, Lance Brooks. He was one of the smoothest brothers in the game. So smooth and good at stand-up, he actually changed his name to Lance, the Great, Brooks. I always thought the nigga's name sounded more like a magician than a comic, but I respected the brother's style so I never gave him the business about it.


  "What's up, Lance?" I asked quietly into the receiver as to not disturb Karen. She could be an evil so-and-so when she was rustled from a slumber.

  "Nothing, my brother. I was on my way to the Comedy Store, but I got a call from this young thang in the Valley so I'm headed over there. I just passed your apartment building and I told myself to check in on ya. What you doing?" he said.

  "Not a damn thing since your manager ain't our manager no more, shit been in slow motion," I explained.

  "Yeah, I heard about you having some choice words with Wanda."

  "So that's what they call cursing a chick out in California, huh? Anyway, shit has been tighter than a boxer’s fist around here."

  "So you don't have any gigs lined up?" he asked me, already knowing the answer.

  I was sure Tony had told him and the rest of the camp that he had cancelled all the bookings I had.

  I was sure they were dividing up the spoils.

  "Nope. Nada. Nothing! It's fucked up, too, seeing that Karen doesn't get her check until next week and we are down to just enough milk for the twins to eat cereal in the morning."

  "So what's your plan, young blood?"

  "Shit, I'm going to get up in the morning and see if I can get on somebody's truck and make some loot. Ya dig?"

  Lance couldn't hide his amusement.

  He laughed as he said, "Nigga, there ain't no way I can even imagine your big black ass snatching oranges from no trees. Man, you crazy!"

  "I'm serious, Lance. Shit has hit the fan, brother."

  Lance was still laughing. He was close to conjuring up my dark side until he said, "CB, I'm turning around on Sepulveda right now. Meet me downstairs. I'm going to holla at you about something."

  "All right, but don't come over here teasing me and shit; I'm not in the mood to be mocked," I told him, making sure he knew the deal.

  "Ain't nobody came to clown you, bruh. I got something I wanna holla at you about and before you ask what, I ain't saying shit over the phone."

  I agreed to meet him downstairs and hung up the phone.

  Rummaging in the room that was dark except the 100-watt bulb in the adjourning bathroom didn't make it easy to find some jeans and a sweatshirt without waking Karen.

  I thought I had accomplished the task until I heard Karen ask, "Where are you going, baby?"

  "Oh, Lance is downstairs. He wanted to get at me about something. I shouldn't be long," I explained, assuring her I wasn't making a creep move.

  I slid on a Brooklyn Dodger's hat and some Nikes and dipped out to the elevator so I could catch up with Lance. When I reached the front door, he had already pulled up in his gun metal 944 Porsche.

  Lance rolled down his window and invited me to join him in the car, which was still running.

  "My man Cameron Bernard, don't look so glum. Your uncle Lance brought you an early Christmas present," he said, turning down his sound system that was cranked up and banging Chuck Brown's “We Need Money.”

  Lance was decked out in all black with his silk shirt, pants, Mauri crocodile shoes and matching belt.

  Lance didn't tour the road or have a television show but from his condo, whip and gear you couldn't tell it. He looked like money, hell he even smelled like it.

  The Washington D.C. native had taken me under his wing. He constantly told me the reason he laced my shoes was because I was more east coast than west and since I was from Cleveland we needed to stick together.

  "So what's up, Lance? What was so important you couldn't holla at me over the phone about it?" I anxiously asked him.

  "Damn man, you act like you really trying to go to sleep and go pick oranges or something. You are one funny man, Cameron."

  My face was twisted as I thought to myself that I had just told this motherfucker I was in no mood to be ridiculed.

  "Really, Lance? Man, I can't believe you would rather be here clowning me instead of being up in some chick," I spat.

  The worst thing about having comedians as friends was sometimes they didn't know when to turn it down or off.

  "I was just fucking with you, my brother. Calm down; like I said before, I come bearing gifts." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.

  I was at a loss for words as he handed it to me, which is saying a lot for someone in my profession. We were paid for always having a snappy comeback. I thumbed through the cash and counted twenty crisp one hundred dollar bills.

  "Man, Lance, I don't know what to say."

  "Nigga, I think ‘thank you’ is the proper response," he snapped.

  "Of course, thank you, but I can't accept this kind of loan. The way my cash is now, I don't know when I would be able to return it." I tried to hand him back the cash.

  "I know when you are going to give it back," he said as I looked at him inquisitively. "Think of it as a cash advance or better yet a signing bonus."

  "For what job?" I asked.

  "You have a bank account?" he questioned.

  "Of course I do, but ain't shit in the savings or the checking."

  "That's cool, long as it isn't overdrawn, we good."

  I still couldn't believe my man had just given me two grand 'cause I had a bank account. It did feel good to have some cheese though, and long as I didn't have to walk into Bank of America and hold them up, I was cool. Lance looked at his watch and noticed he was behind schedule for his hook-up with whatever hot valley girl he had sweet-talked into giving up her goods.

  "Man, I ain't got time for you being all emotional 'cause I helped you and your family out. I'll holla at you tomorrow. Be up and ready to bounce around ten," Lance said dismissively.

  I got out of the car, thanked him again, and watched him pull off on Victory and make a left on Sepulveda Blvd.

  I looked up to the sky and thanked God for the salvation. Even as I gave the Creator thanks, I had a feeling I had just signed a deal with the Devil.

  I was anxious to go back upstairs and tell Karen of our good fortune, but I decided to head to the twenty-four hour Ralph's on Ventura and pick up some things for the barren fridge. I climbed into my Datsun 240z. There was only so much you could fit in the car, but it was better than being on foot, or a bus.

  When I arrived at Ralph's, I took full advantage of the loot Lance had prepaid me with. All the while I was putting things in the shopping cart, my mind couldn't help but wonder what part I would play in whatever Lance was into. Now, assured my family wasn't going to be hungry, I decided to stop tripping and enjoy the moment.

  "That will be five hundred and sixty-five dollars," the cute Mexican cashier said as she motioned for my preference of paper or plastic bags.

  I didn't realize I had burned up more than a third of my loan in one swoop. I paid the cashier and vamped out to the parking lot. The tiny sports car was filled to capacity. It looked as though I had an entire family of plastic as passengers.

  Luckily, I was only minutes from my spot, and the police had real crime to fight in Van Nuys versus harassing motorists who didn't own enough car to haul their cargo.

  It took me three trips up and down the elevator to get all the groceries into the apartment. After I put everything away, I slipped two hundred dollars inside Karen's purse and laid down. I was content, even if it was through the aid of another. I held onto my responsibility of taking care of my family.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I was awakened the way every man could get used to. Karen had her soft lips wrapped around my manhood. With my eyes half open and half shut I watched her weave her magic on my wand until I shook from an orgasm.

  "Well, good morning, Ms. Richardson," I said, fully awake but ready to fall into a cum induced coma.

  "Yes, it is a good morning and it would be good mornings like this all the time if you made me Mrs. Bernard," she said, wiping her mouth and offering future naughtiness if I wifed her. Then, she ran to the bathroom to rinse and gargle.

  I sat up in the bed and looked at the clock. It was too early to have her on that ‘when you gonna marry me�
�� shit.

  "I told you, I'm waiting to get myself established in the comedy world before commitment. My female fans might turn against me, might stop coming out and supporting if the fantasy of having me is taken from them," I yelled out to her, trying my best to appease her with logic.

  "Whatever, nigga, you should have thought about that before dropping twins in me. You better be glad I have good genes and snapped back." She entered the room from the bathroom, putting on her scrubs preparing for work.

  I had to admit my Georgia peach of a baby's mamma was fine. Karen stood 5'9" and her 160 pounds were distributed in all the right places. It made me mad she had to go to work as she pulled the scrubs over her thick sculpted ass. I wanted to put in work.

  I lifted my 250-pound, 6'4" body from the bed and stood behind her as she finished dressing and touching up her make-up.

  "Cameron, don't start anything you know you can't finish," she said as she felt me hardening against her round behind.

  "I can finish any and everything I start. You're the one trying to beat traffic," I replied, already aware that the 405 freeway was by now, fast becoming the world's largest parking lot. What should have taken Karen 15 minutes to get to work would be a 45-minute odyssey if she was delayed anymore.

  I conceded and abandoned my attempt to get a shot of that bomb she owned.

  "Look, I see you're running late, so don't worry about the boys. I'll drop them off at Lulu's before I have to make a run with Lance," I told her, knowing that with her being behind schedule, she had intentions of asking me to do so anyway.

  "Thanks, Cameron, that's very sweet of you and what possessed you to go shopping at the wee hours of the morning?"

  "You know I could see we were short on cereal and milk, so I went after Lance gave me a deposit on a show."

  "Oh, okay. That's why you got the royal awakening. Sometimes you are so thoughtful." She kissed me on the cheek.

  I followed her into the living room where the boys were still asleep. Karen walked over to them and leaned over to kiss them goodbye.

  "Uh, uh, unn you better not put those lips on my sons," I teased, but was kinda serious when I said it.