Hustlin' Divas

by De'nesha Diamond

  “I don’t care. I’m going! TRACEE!” I released him and took off running down the hall. “HE SAID I CAN GO!”

  “Wait, Ta’Shara.”

  “What’s this?” Tracee stepped out of her bedroom, only for me to nearly knock her down.

  “I can go! I can go! I can go!”

  Tracee’s excited squeals matched my own as we became a tangle of jumping arms and elbows. “Oh, baby. I’m so happy for you.”

  Reggie was left sputtering in the hallway. It wasn’t until we had returned with three different dresses to model for him that he finally set down a few ground rules. “This young man will pick you up here and introduce himself.”

  “You just want to interrogate him,” I charge.

  “Exactly,” Reggie said, no shame to his game at all. “Also, he will return you back to this house by midnight. Not twelve-ten or twelve-o-one. Midnight.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Take it or leave it.”

  I look to Tracee, hoping for an interception, but Tracee slides underneath her husband’s arm, signifying their unity. Still, I try to negotiate a two a.m. curfew, but that shit wouldn’t fly at all. It is midnight or nothing at all.

  Now it’s the big night. I settle on a sparkly, sky-blue, one-shoulder number that hugs my toned curves like a second layer of skin. When I model the dress for my foster parents, Tracee breaks out the camera while Reggie looks like he’s just seconds from having a heart attack.

  “I do not like this,” Reggie mumbles, shaking his head and rubbing his chest. “I just got a bad feeling about all this.”

  Tracee laughs. “Will you calm down? I don’t remember you complaining so much when you took me to our junior prom.”

  “I’m not going to even dignify that statement with a response.”

  Ding-dong!

  “He’s here!” Tracee and I squeal excitedly, and start jumping up and down.

  Reggie rolls his eyes.

  “Go answer the door,” Tracee says, shooing her husband out of my bedroom. “And don’t scare the boy away,” she warns. “Be nice.”

  “Uh-huh.” He strolls off, shaking his head. This whole thing is giving him indigestion, but by the time he gets to the front door, he has his game face on and is ready to put Profit in the hot seat. He jerks open the door and is temporarily thrown off guard when he see that Profit is taller than him by a good four inches. Not only that, but he has also cleaned up well. In a tux, Profit looks grown—at least, too old for high school.

  “Good evening, Mr. Douglas,” Profit greets, jetting out a hand and holding a corsage.

  Reggie looks at the hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, he glances down at his watch. “You’re a few minutes early.”

  “Yes, sir.” He smiles. “I figured you’d probably want to spend a few minutes grilling me before Ta’Shara and I head out.”

  “Smart man.” Reggie steps back from the door and allows Profit to enter. “C’mon in. Let’s get this grilling started.”

  Profit crosses the threshold, determined to play it cool. After all, it’s the first time he’s entered the house by the front door. “What a nice home you have here, Mr. Douglas.”

  “Thank you,” Reggie says tersely. “Take a seat.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Profit does as he’s told and continues to smile.

  Reggie remains standing. “So you’re the young man Ta’Shara stole my car to race to the hospital in the middle of the night to see?”

  Profit clears his throat. “Um, yes. I’m sorry about that, sir.”

  “Sorry?” Reggie crosses his arms. “Are you saying that you told her to steal the car?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I would never encourage Ta’Shara to do something like that.”

  “Uh-huh.” He holds Profit’s dark gaze. “How did you come to get shot in the first place?”

  “You don’t have to have a reason when you live in Memphis.”

  Reggie cocks his head at the smart-aleck response.

  Profit tries again. “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Police shot me but then had to drop the charges when they realized they fucked—I mean, when they realized they made a mistake.”

  Reggie stares him down. “Profit. That can’t be what your momma named you. What’s your government name?”

  “Raymond. Raymond Lewis.”

  “Raymond.” Reggie bobs his head. “Nice, normal name.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “So what is it that your parents do, Raymond?”

  For the first time, Profit appears to be a little lost for words.

  “You do have parents, don’t you?”

  “Um, yes, sir.” Profit sits the corsage down on the coffee table and clasps his hands together. “My mother lives in Atlanta. She, um, works at a doctor’s office, and my dad, well, he and my brother own a funeral parlor.”

  Reggie’s brows hike up at that, but before he can question Profit further, I make my grand entrance.

  Profit jumps to his feet, his pearly white smile stretching from ear to ear. “Wow,” he says, drinking me in. “You look beautiful.”

  I blush. “Thank you.” It’s odd. I feel like some fairy-tale princess getting ready to go to a ball. It’s even stranger to see my man decked out in black tux and looking GQ fine.

  A light flashes and nearly blinds me. “Okay, I think we have enough pictures,” I joke, trying to get my vision back.

  “No. No. We need some with you and your date.” Tracee waves Profit over while she leans over and whispers, “He’s cute.”

  Still smiling, Profit picks up the corsage and fumbles with the plastic casing as he walks over to me. My knees weaken when a whiff of Sean John’s Unforgivable tickles my nose. Oh, yeah. He’s definitely going to get some tonight.

  Tracee snaps pictures while Profit awkwardly pins my corsage to the left side of my dress, right over my heart. Our eyes lock for a moment, which, of course, Tracee catches on camera.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asks.

  “Absolutely.” I loop my arm through his and barely restrain myself from kissing Profit in front of my foster parents. “We better go,” I whisper.

  Profit nods and then turns toward Tracee and Reggie. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas.”

  “It was nice to meet you, too,” Tracee gushes, following us to the door.

  “Make sure you have her back here by midnight,” Reggie stresses. “I wouldn’t want you to have to take another trip to the hospital.”

  Tracee and I gasp while Profit takes the threat in stride with a laugh. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

  Reggie gives him a look that lets him know just how much he trusts him.

  Once we’re out of the house and walking toward the stretch limousine, Profit wraps an arm around my curvy waist and pulls me close. “The things I do for you, girl.”

  “Just wait until you see the things I’m going to do to you later on.”

  “As long as you do it before midnight, you’ll have yourself a happy man.”

  39

  LeShelle

  “Where the fuck is this nigga?” I disconnect the call after I’m transferred to Python’s voice mail. “I’m getting tired of this muthafucka’s bullshit.” I toss the cell phone away from me onto the black leather couch. Lately, I don’t know whether to be worried whether he’s got clipped, jailed, or is still out fuckin’ around on me. Yolanda, Melanie, Random Pussy—and he’s fuckin’ them all raw dawg and planting seeds. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to be the HBIC, and I ain’t gave this nigga not one baby.

  I take Beauty out of her tank and then go sit outside to try getting my mind right. Niggas are milling about, drinking, smoking, and talking shit. In a lot of ways, Shotgun Row is stuck in a time warp: old houses, old potholes, and a lot of overgrown grass. I’m both proud and sad to call this my home and my hood. In the distance, there’s the unmistakable sound of police sirens and even a couple of gunshots.

  Right now, I can’t help bu
t focus on my own problems. It’s clear that my position in the Queen Gs is threatened. As I watch Beauty slither all around my arm and then up around my neck, I realize a bitch can’t make a nigga be true. I used to know that, but when my ass caught feelings, shit blew up in my face. It’s just this blatant disrespect that I can’t handle. He used to be better about this shit, and I can’t help but feel that all that I’ve worked for is about to go up in flames.

  Fuck.

  Python’s ass doesn’t even bother creeping no more; he just straight up lets it be known when he’s rolling over to that trick’s new crib and practically dares me to say shit about it. Everything is happening so fast it has my head spinning. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but no way no how am I gonna let those muthafuckas roll. I vowed to never do that crying shit no more, and I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.

  Up the block, I see Kookie come out of her house. I pray that she doesn’t see, but sure enough she spots me and heads on down to interrupt my peace and quiet.

  “Hey, girl,” she says, switching her way inside my gate. “What you know good? What you doin’ out here alone on a Friday night?”

  She automatically hands over the woolie she’s smoking, and I don’t waste a second pulling on that muthafucka. “Nothing, girl. Just chillin’ and relaxin’.”

  Kookie hikes up a brow and stares me down. “Waiting on your man?”

  “Girl, don’t start that shit with me tonight.”

  “All I want to know is how you gonna let some retarded bitch just steal your nigga, especially some bitch everybody in the set has dug out at least once.”

  “Including your man,” I remind her, and then take another hit. “I heard about McGiff and Tyga smashing her in the VIP.”

  “But she ain’t having my man’s seed. That shit is on Python.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Yes, we do. Python claiming that bastard all day every day. If you ask me, the muthafucka walking around like he found gold up her ass or something. The niggas ain’t saying shit, but bitches are tripping.”

  “Python loves me. He’s gonna marry me,” I seethe. “I’ve worked too hard to get in this spot. I’ve done fought, robbed, and toe-tagged my share of niggas to maintain, and I ain’t about to go out like no sucka on this. No fuckin’ way.” I shake my head. I’m not going to go back to having nothing. I nibble on my bottom lip while the wheels slowly turn in my head.

  Kookie laughs. “Marry you? These niggas don’t be putting a ring on nothing no more. When was the last bitch in the set you heard got married? You, of all people, should know better than that. You’re either a chicken head, a jump-off, or a wifey. That’s it. These niggas nowadays only see preachers and judges when they serving a bid.”

  “Get the fuck on. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “All right. A hard head makes a soft ass.” Kookie takes another toke.

  My mind goes back to that night when Python told me that if I just kept playing my cards right, he was going to wife me. Hell, that night seems so long ago now. “Where did I go wrong?” I whisper.

  “You ain’t gave the nigga no babies,” Kookie says. Her words are like a knife twisting in my empty belly. “Y’all been together how long? Every bitch he’s ever been with has dropped him off a couple of seeds. Those nappy-headed bastards are sprouting like weeds in Memphis. Please believe.”

  “Yeah and those baby mommas ain’t holding it down with him neither,” I snap. “I’m wifey.”

  “True. Those other bitches cheated on him. Niggas don’t forgive that shit for nothing—especially Python. Once he marks his territory, niggas know it’s a death sentence to touch what’s his. That’s the main reason he yanked your ass out of the Pink Monkey and now Yo-Yo’s stupid ass. There’s a method to that nigga’s madness. Of course, I think he moved Yo-Yo to protect her ass from you.”

  “Smart man. That bitch ain’t gonna be pregnant forever.” I continue to sit and think and then think and drink. The problem is that I don’t have that many muthafuckin’ options. I don’t have any bargaining chips. Threatening to leave Python could result in him just holding the door while I walk out and Yo-Yo smiling when she walks in with my shit. I need Yo-Yo’s trick ass out of the picture. Period.

  “Tsk-tsk. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Shit. Let’s keep it real. Ain’t no bitch come no harder than you. Shit. When you let that nigga dig that bullet out of your arm, a lot of bitches seriously respected your gangsta ass on that shit. It wouldn’t have been my ass. I need someone with a degree cutting on me.” Kookie shakes her head. “I can’t see too many bitches wanting to follow ole Lemonhead’s ass nowhere, Python’s main bitch or not. He can ride that short yellow bus by his damn self.”

  “You’re just saying that shit to cheer me up.” My lips twitch up into a smile as I pry Beauty from around my neck and let her curl around my arm again.

  “Y’all and them fuckin’ snakes.” Kookie eases back. “But, nah. For real, girl. Yo-Yo ain’t never gonna be nobody.” Kookie’s eyes lower while she gets good and fucked up. “Hell, I think her ass swings both ways. You saw how tore up she was at Baby Thug’s funeral. McGriff says Python told him that she didn’t get out of bed for like a week or some shit.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I heard about that.”

  “Fuck. Outside in her damn drawers, screaming and hollering ‘Baby, wait!’” Kookie yells, sounding just like Yolanda. “Ain’t that some shit?” Kookie shakes her head. “Now don’t get me wrong. Baby could eat the shit out of some pussy, but, damn, that soap-opera shit is ridiculous.”

  I cock my head at my girl. “Now how do you know about…?”

  Kookie tosses up her hands. “Don’t ask me no questions and I won’t tell you no lies.” She laughs. “What you need to do is calm down on this shit. Python is going to realize that you’re the real gangsta bitch he needs to ride with. Trust.” Kookie laces a new blunt and takes her time rolling the shit up. “This shit right here is gonna hook you the fuck up.”

  “Nah. I’m cool.” I jump to my feet and stomp my way to the bedroom, where I return Beauty to her tank. Kookie and I maneuver around piles of clothes, weight bars, and God knows what else littering the cramped room’s floor. “I’m heading out to Da Club. Fuck this shit. Python wanna spend all his time on the creep, then I’m going out and shaking my ass, too.”

  “Careful now. You don’t wanna cause these niggas to catch cases just because you can’t keep your man at home.”

  My gaze cuts back to my girl.

  “What? I love you, girl, but I’m just spitting the truth and you know it. Don’t get mad—get even with the bitch.”

  “Trust, if it wasn’t for that fuckin’ baby she’s carrying, the po-po would’ve found her body floating in the Mississippi a long time ago. Python will have my head on a platter if I hurt his kid.” I yank out a black dress from the back of my closet. “It’s time for me to remind Python what the fuck he’s missing at home.”

  Kookie shakes her head. “Please, that nigga is stressing you on purpose. No way he done caught feelings for that Ritalin-popping bitch. He’s just fuckin’ with you.”

  My attention is piqued. “What do you mean?”

  Kookie flicks her lighter until she catches a flame to blaze the end of her blunt. She tokes on it a few times and then passes the shit over to me. “Now, you know I ain’t supposed to be repeating no shit that me and McGriff talk about in bed but…”

  “But what?” I exhale a long stream of smoke. “Don’t be holding out on me, bitch. If you know something, then spit the shit out.”

  Kookie retrieves the blunt and takes another puff. “All right, but you didn’t get the shit from me.”

  “C’mon with it.”

  “My boo says that Python looking at you suspect because of your sister.”

  And there it was: the pink elephant that I have been trying my best to ignore. “Look, my sister ain’t got shit to do with me. We’re two separate bitches.”


  “Maybe…maybe not.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, as the head bitch of the Queen Gs, you, at the very least, need to be able to control your peoples—especially your blood. Look what the fuck Python had to do with his own. He let the nigga walk away once with a public warning; the second time he fed that muthafucka to his damn snake.”

  “Damien,” I whisper, and then shudder. It will be a cold day in hell before I forget that fucked-up shit, especially when niggas broke out their camera phones and snapped pictures like they were at Sea World or something.

  “Check it,” Kookie goes on. “Fat Ace’s brother is creeping with your sister. That makes it look like Fat Ace is making up ground on the Gangster Disciples and stealing niggas out of Python’s backyard.”

  I open my mouth only to be cut off.

  “Whether it’s true or not isn’t the point. On these streets, appearances mean everything. Some of our little niggas at Morris High say your sister and Profit are always snuggled up all kissy face, and a few times that nigga has been seen sneaking into her damn bedroom down on midtown.”

  “What?”

  “Girl, don’t act like you didn’t know. Python has been scoping the situation out for a while.”

  “Goddamn it, Ta’Shara.” The room spins while I try to take all this in. Why in the fuck am I the last to know about any of this shit? “McGriff told you all this?”

  “Some of it. I pick up whisperings around the way, too.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this shit sooner? You’re supposed to be my girl.”

  “Chile, I try to stay out of domestic shit. That’s the fastest way niggas can get fucked up. Don’t believe me? Ask Tyga’s shot-up ass.” Kookie sucks some more on her fat blunt. “Look, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ta’Shara’s ass is a full-fledged Flower by now. That nigga got her nose sprung all the way open. Shit. Word is they even going to the prom.”

  It’s so much information that I have to sit the fuck down. “I told that bitch…” I suck in an angry breath and try to count to ten, but with each number I tick off, I only get angrier.

  The front door of the house bangs open, letting me know that Python has finally found his way home. I roll my eyes, hoping he isn’t just coming home to start no shit. Kookie hops up from the edge of the bed and makes a point to brush away any ashes that may have fallen onto the sheets.