Between the Sheets (9781476775807)

by Cairo

  “Motherfucker!” she yells. “I don’t want your money, asshole! I want you to leave your fucking wife!”

  I laugh. “Yo, you shot the fuck out if you think I’d ever leave my wife for you or any other chick.”

  “MarSell, baby. Let’s not fight, okay? Why are you doing this to us? We’re good together, and you know it. I know you felt it. I felt it when you were looking into my eyes, making love to me.”

  “I fucked you. Get that through your fuckin’ empty-ass skull.”

  “Okay, MarSell, baby. Whatever you say, boo. I’m not going to argue with you. I know what you did. I was there, papi. And if you’d stop fighting it, you’d see it too. Baby, we can be so good together, like magic. That stuck-up bitch doesn’t deserve you.”

  I raise up in my seat. “Yo, hold up. Now you way outta pocket, yo. Don’t call my wife out her name. You got that?”

  “Oh, so you’re going to defend that puta when she’s the one trying to keep us from being together? She knows what we have. And that’s why she doesn’t want you to see me again. She’s jealous of us.”

  “Yo, will you stop sayin’ that shit. We don’t have shit; feel me? And my wife has nothing to be jealous of. You’re no threat to her, period, point blank. Believe that.”

  She laughs. “Oh, I’ma threat all right. And I’m going to have you, papi. We’re gonna be together real soon, baby. You wait and see.”

  I laugh.

  “Oh, you think this is funny, huh, motherfucker? You think you can toy with my emotions, then dismiss me? Laugh all you want, MarSell. But I promise you. We’re gonna see who’s laughing last.”

  I grit my teeth. “Yo, you’re delusional as fuck. And I’ma tell you again. Stop fuckin’ callin’ me!”

  I hang up.

  “What the fuck?!” I snap, running my hands over the top of my head. I take a few quick breaths and adjust my headphones, then we’re back on in five…four…three…two…one…

  “Yo, what’s good, my freaky-peeps, we’re back. And tonight it’s your time to speak ya peace. That’s right, peeps, tell ya boy what’s on your mind. The phone lines are open now. 212-FreakMe.” I answer line one. “You’re on the air, what’s on ya mind?”

  “What’s good, fam? This Peanut from Flatbush. Man, I don’t know what’s up with these chicks out here. It’s like they say they want a good man, but then when one is looking them right in the face, he’s not good enough. I’m like, what the hell. Real ish, man. Me and my mans, we are all college-educated cats, business owners, Wall Street-type cats between the ages of twenty-eight to forty, and none of us can seem to get a decent black woman. What’s up with that?”

  I shake my head. “Yo, that’s crazy, playboy. Maybe you and ya peeps are looking in the wrong spots. I know there are lots of black women who want a good man.”

  He huffs. “I can’t tell. Seems like all they want is a thug. Somebody to beat their asses, disrespect them out in the streets, and knock ’em up, then leave ’em for the next chick. It’s real funny the shit chicks do for the bum guy. I own my own home, drive a high-end luxury car, my credit’s on point, and I keep my passport stamped up, but that’s not good enough.”

  “Man, that’s crazy. Don’t give up. That good woman you seek is out there for all of you.”

  “Man, fuck it. I’m gonna sag my pants and tell these sistas I flip burgers for a living, or push weight, then I bet I’ll get some damn respect. If I had a state number instead of a college degree, I bet they’d be tryna worship me. But it’s all good. I’ma start dating snow bunnies. They seem to know how to treat a brotha. Get me a white woman; she’ll know how to appreciate a man with a Black Card.”

  “Bruh, keep hope alive. Yo, my black beauties, stand up! Where you at? Represent ‘n’ let my man Peanut know that there are good black women out there who still exist and who want good men. Next caller, you’re on the air.”

  “Hey, MarSell. This is Juicy from East Orange.”

  “Juicy? Damn. Why my mouth get all wet saying that.” I chuckle. “But I’ma leave that alone, ma-ma. What’s on your mind, baby?”

  She giggles. “MarSell, ooh, you’re so bad. I love me some you, boo. But I gotta get this shit off my damn chest before I kill somebody.”

  “Damn, baby. We don’t want you going out there doing something you’d regret. Go head ‘n’ speak ya piece.”

  “I found out my man…George Gregory the Third, aka Freedom Lord God Rush has been fuc—bleep—ing some dirty bitch named Temeka Bush he met on Facebook. And I want him to know live and direct that he better let that gremlin-looking bitch pay his child support and his fines from now on because I’m done with his cheating, lying-ass. So, George Gregory, you can come get all your shit I just cut up and bleached up and tossed out in the yard because you ain’t stepping foot back up in here. That crusty bitch can ride it out with you from now on.”

  Ghetto! “Daaaaaayum, ma-ma. That’s wild. How’d you find out about ya man gettin’ his FB creep on?”

  “I hacked into his Facebook account and read all his inbox messages from that ugly, horse-faced bitch. That moose head bitch must suck a good dic—bleep and take it in the ass for him to fuc—bleep up five years. I tell you. Niggahs ain’t shit! I’m done with ’em. I’ma turn gay and find me a damn stud.”

  Nina comes over and slides me a note stating the chick Temeka is on line four and she wants me to put her through. Aww, shit. It’s about to get real. “Yo, Juicy, hold on a minute. Your man’s Facebook boo is on the other line; let me bring her on.” I place Juicy on hold, then pick up line four. “Yo, Temeka you there, ma-ma?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she says with lots of stank.

  “Oh, aiight, aiight. Cool. Hold on.” I click Juicy back on the line. “Yo, Juicy, you still there?”

  “Uh-huh. I sure am.”

  “Oh, aiight, cool. Aiight, we have Temeka on the line as well. So we’re—” Before I can get the rest of my sentence out, they start going at it, calling each other every dirty bitch, ratchet trick, hot-ass, disease-carrying name you can imagine.

  “Bitch, am I suppose to give a fuc—bleep what your invisible ass thinks about me?” the Temeka chick snaps.

  The Juicy chick snorts, “Umm, no bitch, just like I could care less what a dumb bird who sells her EBT card and calls herself Boss Bitch thinks about me.”

  “And I don’t care about what some dry-pus—bleep-y-ass bitch who calls herself Juicy thinks about me. And so the hell what if I sell stamps off my EBT card, why you all up on my hustle? I’ma businesswoman, bitch.”

  “Oh cry me a river, you ghetto-ass, man-stealing bitch!”

  “Why you mad, boo? It ain’t my fault Freedom left ya ass for a real woman who knows how to handle him. And lets him be a man.”

  Juicy laughs. “Code for: ‘I let him beat my ass and run the streets.’ Bitch, aren’t you late for some niggah’s dic—bleep sucking? You sound stupid as hell.”

  They both start talking mad reckless about clawing ‘n’ stabbing each other up that I finally have to disconnect the Temeka chick from the line.

  “Yo, beauties, hold up, hold up…time out,” I say, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of these two chickenheads fighting over some bum-ass mofo who clearly is only good for slinging dick ‘n’ fucking dumb-ass chicks silly. “Temeka is no longer on the line. But I’ma say this. Both of you need to chill. No man is worth disrespecting ‘n’ beating each other up over. Juicy, baby, obviously this cat Freedom moved on. So let him. Yeah, aiight. Dude hurt you. We get it. And its effed up that he put you through whatever you allowed him to put you through. But guess what? He’s not beat for you. So go do you. Be grown with your shit; cutting up dude’s shit ‘n’ talking all reckless is not the move. It makes you look crazy.”

  She huffs. “No, boo. It makes me look like a bitch who is about to fuc—bleep his life up for tryna fuc—bleep over mine. That’s why I called his parole officer on his black ass. And he’s probably getting locked up right as we speak. Ha! I jaile
d with his ass, now let that bitch jail with him. And no worries, boo. I am doing me. And I’ma be doin’ his boy in a minute. That’s right George Gregory the Third, you piece of shit-ass trash. While you’re locked up takin’ a dic—bleep up the ass, I’ma be out here fuc—bleep—ing your boy, Knowledge. And what?” She cracks up laughing. “Oh, and one more thing, bitch-ass. Don’t drop the soap.”

  My head is pounding. I take a deep breath.

  “Desperation is at an all-time high,” I say, disconnecting Juicy from the line. “Like I always say, stupid is what stupid does. And fighting the next chick or the next dude over someone, who obviously doesn’t wanna be with you or doesn’t have enough respect for you to simply end the relationship is straight-up stupid. Get ya minds right, peeps. You can’t make someone love you if they won’t. On that note, thanks for another interesting night on 93.3’s Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark. I’m ya boy, MarSell, bringing you the heat, keeping it turnt up in the sheets. Until the next time…keep it hot ‘n’ oh so nasty, my freaky peeps. I’m out.”

  I lean back in my seat and remove my headset as Tank croons out over the air his rendition of Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”

  “Some night, huh?” Nina says walking over to my desk as I’m gathering my shit. My fucking head is still pounding from that nutty-ass broad calling here talking all slick ‘n’ shit. Real shit, that broad still has me muthafuckin’ hot.

  I force a smile. “No doubt. These broads are fuckin’ crazy.” I shake my head. “It never ceases to amaze me the clown-ass shit chicks will do to try to keep a muhfucka who isn’t beat to be kept.”

  “That’s why I’m still single,” she says, sitting on the edge of my desk. She sighs, locking her gaze on me. “Besides, seems like all the good ones are already taken.”

  “Nah. Weren’t you listening earlier? Peanut’s still looking, baby. You want me to get back on the air ‘n’ have him get at you?”

  She laughs, playfully swatting my arm. “No, thank you. I think I’ll pass on that. He’s not who I was referring to. Besides, I’m saving myself.”

  “For who? Me?”

  She averts her gaze and says, “Don’t flatter yourself. A man like you is only good for two things starting with the letter f. And flirting is the other one.”

  I smirk. “Oh, and what’s the first thing?”

  She pushes up off my desk, brushing by me. “You figure it out.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Marcel

  “Mister Kennedy,” Alise says through the intercom, “there’s a call on line two. The caller says it’s urgent.”

  I frown. “Who is it?”

  “She wouldn’t give her name. But she said you’d take the call. And if not, she’d call your wife instead.”

  Fuck.

  Without another word, I know who the caller is. This broad is slowly starting to get on my muthafuckin’ nerves. “Aiight, thanks, Alise.” I take a few seconds to collect my thoughts, then pick up. “Yo, what the fuck is you doing?” I hiss. “You called the fuckin’ radio station ‘n’ now you calling me here. What the fuck is up with you, huh?”

  “Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty, mi papi chulo.”

  My jaws tighten. “Yo, what the fuck, man. I asked you nicely to stop fuckin’ calling here.”

  “You did, papi. Don’t be mad. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “Look, you can’t keep calling here.”

  “I want to see you, papi.”

  I huff. “Stop calling me that shit. I’m not ya papi. I’m not shit to you, aiight. I mean, damn.”

  “Don’t be nasty, papi. Can’t you see how much I want you?”

  “Nah, what I see is you actin’ like a fuckin’ nut, yo. What part of Leave. Me. The fuck. Alone. Don’t you get? The leave? The fuck? Or the alone?”

  “Fuck me, again,” she says, low and throaty. “Chupar tu pinga para sabe como yo puerbo.” Let me suck your dick so I can see how I taste.

  I suck my teeth. “Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Stop fuckin’ calling here.”

  “Ay papi. Quiero montar mi choca en tu cara.” I wanna ride ya face with my pussy. “Quiero que me folles tan duro en mi apretado, dulce, cono Latino.” I want you to fuck me so hard in my tight, sweet Latina pussy. “Do you want some of this sweet pussy?”

  I sigh. “Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? If you think talking all that nasty Spanish shit is gonna get a rouse outta me, you dead-ass wrong. The shit is a turn-off, and you fuckin’ starting to piss me off, yo.”

  She moans. “Then let me stir your big, chocolate dick inside my mouth. I wanna suck your nut, papi. Let me taste that sweet leche.”

  I clench my teeth. “Yo, will you fuckin’ quit this shit. What the fuck you want from me? More dick, is that it?”

  “Yes. But I want you. All of you, MarSell. Not just your big hard dick. But your heart, too. Let me love you, papi.”

  “Not gonna happen. Next.”

  “Then I’ll take that big juicy dick, if that’s all you’re willing to give.”

  I stare at the phone, and frown. Is she fuckin’ kidding me?

  “Don’t you see, we belong together?”

  Fuck outta here. “Nah, ma. The only thing I see is that you belong in a padded muthafuckin’ room somewhere strapped to a gurney. That’s it, period. Now, this is the last time I’ma fuckin’ tell you. Stop. Fuckin’. Calling here. Now beat it, yo.”

  “Motherfucker, don’t cross me!” she snaps. “You don’t get to fuck me, then dismiss me. And call me goddamn crazy! I love you, but all you want to do is fuck me over. And hurt me. Don’t—”

  “Listen, what the fuck’s it gonna take to get you to disappear, huh? Fifty thou? A hundred? Two hundred? Name ya fuckin’ price and I’ll cut you a check write now.”

  “Ohmygod. You really want me out of your life?”

  I frown, staring at the phone. What the fuck you think?! Stupid bitch! I restrain from snapping on her ass. Pushing her over the edge is probably not the smartest thing to do. But right now. I don’t. Give. A. Fuck. All I want is for this broad to bounce. Now.

  I take a deep breath. “Listen. I don’t wanna hurt your feelings. And I’m not tryna be nasty, but you need to hear me clearly: We’re not. Ever. Gonna be together.”

  “Why not?”

  I bite into my lip. “You want the truth? Nah, on second thought, I can already tell you can’t handle the truth. But I’ma hit you with it, anyway. I don’t love you. I don’t want you. And I’m not ever leaving my wife. Period.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yo, for real for real, I mean every word of it. I want you to stop fuckin’ calling me. Don’t call here. Don’t call the station. Stay the fuck out of my life. And leave my wife alone. Now I’ma ask you again. How much is it gonna cost me to get you to leave us the fuck alone?”

  “I’m pregnant with your baby.”

  I laugh, ending the call. Fuck outta here! Stupid-ass broad!

  This shit is crazy!

  I blow out a deep breath, swiveling in my chair. Good pussy or not, this shit isn’t worth the fuck, or the nut!

  I hop up and walk around my desk over to the window and stare out.

  We shoulda never fucked that dizzy-ass broad. Fuck! We really fucked a muthafuckin’ screw loose outta her ass.

  Two minutes later, Alise is buzzing in again, “Mister Kennedy. I have that same woman on the line. I know it’s none of my business, and I’m probably out of line for saying this, but she sounds like she’s really cuckoo-crazy. She said get back on the phone or you’re going to be sorry you didn’t.”

  I clench my fist, then storm over to my desk. “I got this.” I snatch up the phone. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, MarSell. I’m sick of motherfuckers like you thinking you can come into my life and fuck me over.”

  I scowl. “Do you hear ya’self, right now, yo? I mean. Do you really fuckin’ believe what the fuck is comi
ng outta ya face at this very moment, huh? How have I fucked you over, huh?”

  “You’re dismissing me like I’m last night’s trash.”

  “I’m dismissing you, yo, because I’m not beat for you. All you were is a one-night stand. One that I’m starting to fuckin’ regret ever happened.”

  “No, no,” she quickly says, changing her hostile tone. “Don’t say that. I’m sorry. Do you really want me to leave you alone?”

  I huff, tension coiling around my neck like a fuckin’ rope. “What the fu—” I catch myself from spazzin’ the fuck out. I take a deep breath. “Look. Whatever it is you think you feel for me ain’t real. And if love is what you’re looking for, I can’t give it to you.”

  “But we could be so good together, baby.”

  “Stop acting desperate, aiight. We fucked. That’s it. Now move the fuck along.”

  “Fine, MarSell. If that’s how you want it to be, then…”

  I shake my head. “Yo, name ya price and let’s be done with this shit.”

  “I don’t want your money. I want you. But since you’re forcing me to leave you alone, I want a little something to get back on my feet. Give me fifty grand.”

  Fifty grand? That’s it? This ho got some lil’-ass feet. “Done. Give me ya bank information and I’ll have it transferred to you right now, but first ya ass gonna sign a confidentiality agreement. Then I want you outta my fuckin’ life. Got it?”

  Silence.

  “Yo, you hear me?”

  “Yes. I fucking heard you. I don’t want it transferred. I want you to bring it to me. Personal check is fine.”

  I glance at the time. It’s a quarter to eleven in the morning. Something tells me to have the shit couried to her, but ignore the voice in my head. I just want this broad gone.

  “Aiight, meet me at Fifty-Ninth and Columbus. Two o’clock. Sharp.”

  I hang up.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Marika

  After a deliciously decadent weekend lounging in the house naked, I am at my desk still basking in the afterglow of scandalous fucking when Shayla buzzes through. “Missus Kennedy, your eleven o’clock is downstairs at the security desk. They won’t let her up because her name isn’t on the list.”