“I’m not a woman?”
“Nah, you ain’t nothing but a spoiled little girl.”
Misty sighed.
“Thomasina gave me back everything that I let you take from me. My self-esteem, my pride, and my manhood. And she risked her life for me…giving me something that I never thought I’d have. A son. My son. So tell me, Misty, what did you ever do for me?”
Shocked speechless, Misty opened her mouth and closed it several times, but she couldn’t find any words.
Trying to get sympathy, Misty sniffled.
“Your mother might love your selfish ass, but that don’t mean I have to. If you keep creepin’ up on me like this, I’ma have to do something about it.”
“I know you’re not threatening me, Brick.”
“Bring some trouble to my home and I’ma end up having to console my grieving wife.”
Misty looked at him quizzically. “Whatchu mean?”
“When her daughter come up missing, my lady gon’ be shedding a river of tears. That’s not a threat, Misty. It’s a warning.”
“Why you coming at me like this?”
“I didn’t have to give you a heads-up. But I did on the strength of what you said—we go back to childhood.” Brick gave Misty a smirking smile.
With unmistakable swagger, Brick began making an exit.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll tell your man hoe to meet you in the lounge.”
Slumped in the chair, Misty frantically wiped her eyes. She couldn’t let Troy see her crying like a little child. But the tears kept falling. She couldn’t hold them back.
Brick’s icy words had ripped her heart from her chest.
CHAPTER 4
Hiding her red eyes behind a pair of luxury sunglasses, Misty stood at the elevator bank with Troy at her side.
Inside the car, Troy waited patiently while Misty fiddled with the ignition, turning it off and on, trying to get the old, temperamental Pontiac to start.
“Come on, you piece of shit!” she yelled at the car.
The ignition finally kicked in, and Misty quickly reversed out of the parking spot. Lips drawn tight, she drove toward her and Troy’s studio apartment.
“You going the wrong way,” Troy informed her.
“What?”
“We going to the Red Lobster on the Boulevard, right?”
“Oh,” she said absently and turned the car around. Steering toward the expressway, she couldn’t take her mind off of Brick. She flinched as she thought about the cold tone he’d used and his sneering expression. Acting like he was better than her. Just because the mufucka had some work done on his face, and had pumped some iron didn’t give him a new identity. Her mother was blowing up his head, calling him Baron and shit. But he was still Brick—a dumb-ass nobody.
Brick didn’t have one ounce of gratitude, biting the damn hand that had fed him for most of his sorry life. I made that mufucka. Taught him everything he knew. Slimy bastard.
“So what ya boy say? Is he joining the team or what?”
Misty let out a sigh. “No. Not yet.”
Troy frowned. “I thought you said—”
Misty hit the brakes and pulled over to the curb, the car idling loudly. “Fuck what you thought. Do you run shit?”
“Nah, I’m just saying…”
“I have a headache, Troy. I don’t feel like driving way out to the Boulevard to get you some damn crab legs and shit.”
“Come on, man. You promised.”
“We don’t have the money, Troy!”
“Damn! The shrimp and snow crab special only costs sixteen ninety-nine. We can’t afford that?”
“No! We’re broke! It ain’t gon’ kill you to grub on some Burger King until you can hustle up some more dough.”
“Me? You said I could get a week off.”
“Things changed. My gear wasn’t cheap. We only have a couple dollars left.”
“Why you go for broke? You spent everything I made on your gear?”
“I was trying to pull Brick away from my mother. I had to look the part.”
“So what’s up? When is Brick gon’ be ready to start?”
She gathered her breath to cuss Troy out for asking so many questions, but then slowly exhaled. No point in taking out her rage on her one and only worker. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the gear into drive and merged into traffic.
“Brick is anxious to get back with me, but he can’t right now. My mom had some complications and he needs to help take care of the baby until she can pull herself together,” Misty lied.
“How long is that gon’ take?”
“A few weeks. So you gon’ have to make some sacrifices.”
“Come on, Misty. You promised—”
“You gotta man-up, Troy! You bitching over seafood when we got bigger issues to deal with. The way I’m racking my brain, it feels like my head is about to explode. With all this mental maneuvering, I could be on the verge of giving myself an aneurysm or something. How you gon’ live if something happens to me?”
Troy shrugged.
“What you do is easy. Humping mufuckas don’t require no brain cells.”
She made a sharp right turn and watched Troy out of the corner of her eye. He looked upset when she rolled into the Burger King parking lot.
Not being able to feed her worker a decent meal didn’t sit well with her. She had banked on pulling Brick, but had failed.
Feeling like a failure made her mad.
Wearing her mean mug, she threw a twenty-dollar bill at Troy. “Don’t try to keep the fucking change, nigga.”
Troy looked hurt. “I ain’t never stole nothing from you. It ain’t even like that.”
“Whatever,” she muttered. Through the window, Misty could see the long lines of waiting customers inside the fast-food restaurant. She gave Troy the evil eye. “We ain’t got all day for you to be fucking around in there.”
She could have used the drive-thru to pick up his food, but Misty needed some time to be alone with her thoughts.
“Hurry up,” she said in a nasty tone.
Troy took forever getting his long, gangly body out of the car. “You want anything?” he asked with a half-hearted smile.
“Hell, no! I’ll starve before I eat that crap. Get your grub and then I gotta take you back to the crib so you can rest up. I want you to make a good impression on your client tonight.”
She didn’t have anyone lined up, but planned to scroll through her short list of clients and offer Troy’s services at half-price. Gotta do what I gotta do.
“Tonight?” Troy’s voice cracked.
“Yeah. Ain’t no time to be sitting around bullshittin’. Shit didn’t pan out the way I thought it would so we gotta take it on the chin and keep it moving.”
“That’s messed up. You said I could get some time off.”
“Look, nigga, we in a slump. Things keep going downhill like this, I’ma have to disguise you in a ski mask and strap your ass with a gun. What would you rather do? Risk your life robbing niggas or sling that ashy dick?”
“I guess I gotta keep slingin’,” Troy mumbled.
“That’s what I thought.”
Troy walked away with his shoulders hunched up, hands in his pockets. His slow stride pointed out his hurt feelings.
Misty couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Troy. Damn shame she couldn’t give the lanky nigga a decent meal. But money was low. She had to stretch out her last dollars until she could wrangle up a paying customer.
Getting back on her feet was taking longer than she’d expected. She’d been making ends meet by sending Troy out to her old clientele. Luckily she’d kept their phone numbers in her old cell.
Most of them were Brick’s former regulars and they kept asking when they could see him again. She’d been promising that the website, updated with new, illicit pictures of Brick, would be up and running soon. But she didn’t even have a computer at this point. Putting together her fabulous outfit had broken th
e bank.
CHAPTER 5
Present Day
Every now and then, Misty was able to get Troy some help. But no one stuck around for very long. What was wrong with young men today? A bunch of undependable, lazy asses who wanted something for nothing. After getting paid for one job, they usually disappeared for a few weeks, coming back when they got good and damn ready. Asking for more work when they needed some money.
That wasn’t how Misty ran her business. She was getting real sick of the way none of her workers were taking her seriously.
It was critical that she hustle up two or three more dick slingers—some brawny muthafuckers. Puny-ass Troy had stuck by her side, but he was starting to buckle under the pressure. She doubted if he could hold down the fort by himself much longer.
Misty closed her eyes, thinking about all the good times she and Brick had shared in the past. He’d been by her side through the worst of times. It didn’t make sense for him to be so cold-hearted and leave her hanging when she needed him the most.
Misty took off her shades and pulled down the visor to check out her reflection. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot from crying at the hospital, but she was still as gorgeous as ever. How Brick could choose her tore-down mother over her was beyond comprehension.
Damn, Brick. Why couldn’t you at least help me out with a few jobs? It didn’t appear that her mother would be going back to her job anytime soon. She shook her head. That frontin’-ass nigga knows damn well he could use some extra dough.
She put on some lipstick and admired her image. Fire Engine Red looked good with her olive-colored skin. She let out a long sigh, wishing she could press her lips against Brick’s. Damn, I miss him. I want that nigga back.
On some real shit, if Brick wanted to demote her to side-jawn status, she’d do it in a heartbeat. She’d throw away her pride and accept her mother’s sloppy seconds. Well…at least for a minute. She’d act like she was satisfied with the jump-off role until she could figure out a way to get Thomasina’s tired ass out of the picture. Now how hard could that be?
She’d even get some therapy for her shopping addiction. She’d do whatever it took to get her man back.
But in the meantime, she needed some paper. She and Troy had been in survival mode for long enough. Brick was acting like a hater. Haters are motivators. It was time to go hard.
In the side mirror, Misty caught a glimpse of something interesting. A dude that was extra tall with a nice build. But he looked out of place; like he wasn’t sure of himself. He had lighter skin than Misty preferred, but he had a real cute face. He looked like a knock-off version of the actor Jason Momoa.
Dude was obviously from out of town. Philly niggas had a certain way about themselves that distinguished them from all others.
Scrutinizing him, she noticed that his gear was corny and not up to par. There was no swag in his walk. Nothing about him was ’hood. He was heading toward the entrance of the restaurant, brows furrowed, deep in thought.
He looks like he got issues. She hoped that whatever his problems were, they worked to her advantage.
Misty honked her horn, startling him. He looked in her direction, squinting as if trying to figure out if he knew her.
His hesitancy confirmed that he had issues. A real nigga would be rushing over to the car, trying to find out what was up. She wondered if he was gay. It didn’t matter, considering the tastes of her clientele.
“I don’t bite!” she yelled in a friendly tone. “Come over here and let me holla at you for a minute!”
Taking hesitant steps, the light-skinned dude crossed the parking lot, face frowned up in confusion.
Misty started strategizing. Thoughts swam through her mind as she tried to think of what she should say. I need to pull this yellow nigga. I can tell by his clothes that his money ain’t right. How should I play this? Oh, fuck it. I ain’t got time to piece together no long story. My flow is tight; I’ma have to freestyle.
“Are you having car trouble?” the stranger asked, glancing at her older-model car. He didn’t sound like he was from the ’hood.
“Um…no.” Her eyes prowled his physique. Muscles rippled up and down his arms. He had well-developed, hairy legs with thick- ass calves bulging out. Even better, he was a straight sucker, willing to assist a damsel in distress.
Another plus was the desperate look in his eyes. Without a doubt, he was going through some sort of turmoil. And on closer inspection, Misty noticed that his clothes were more unsightly than she’d realized. His T-shirt bore a faded image of a dolphin. Corny. When she glanced down at his feet, she couldn’t help from frowning in disgust. He was rocking a pair of off-brand, dusty-ass kicks.
“My name is Misty,” she introduced, keeping her eyes on his face, which was so much more appealing than his wardrobe.
“Sailor,” he replied.
“Sailor? That’s your real name?” She wrinkled her nose in disapproval.
“Yeah, that’s what my mom named me,” he said, his light skin turning a little red.
“Are you black?”
Embarrassed by the inquisition, he squirmed. “No, not really.”
She ignored his discomfort and didn’t let up. “What do you mean, ‘not really’? Either you’re black or you’re not. I’m mixed. My father is Hispanic but I still consider myself as being black.”
“I’m not black.”
Misty sighed. “You don’t look totally white.”
“Uh. Yeah, I know. My mother’s white. My dad is…well, I never met him, but he’s from Alaska.”
“Your pops is an Eskimo?”
He chuckled uneasily. “You could say that. He’s a native Alaskan.”
In Misty’s opinion, Sailor was all messed up. Half-white and half-Eskimo was a fucked-up combination. No wonder he seemed to have low self-esteem, even though he was fine as hell. Perfect. She’d have him slinging dick in no time!
“I’m not having car trouble, but I appreciate the fact that you were willing to help me. Most dudes from Philly wouldn’t stop to help; they wouldn’t want to get their hands dirty.”
“I’m not from Philly.”
“I didn’t think so. You don’t sound like you’re from Philly. So where are you from?”
“Wisconsin. Oconomowoc, Wisconsin.”
“Oco-where?”
“Oconomowoc,” he repeated.
“Umph. I can’t pronounce that shit and I’m not gon’ try.”
He laughed uncomfortably.
“I called you over here because I was wondering if you might be interested in making some extra cash?” she said, getting right to the point.
“I’ve been looking for employment, but I have to be honest with you. I don’t have any ID.”
“Not a problem,” Misty said.
“Great! What kind of work are you talking about?”
“Body work,” she said with a coy smile.
“Huh?”
“I provide escorts for desperate housewives.” Misty figured she’d expose the truth of the matter after she had this cornball hooked.
“Do I need a suit?” Looking troubled, he glanced down at his shabby clothes.
“Nah, you wouldn’t be taking the women out in public or anything like that. They only need to be escorted from the front door to the bedroom.” Misty laughed.
“Bedroom? Are you asking me to be a male prostitute?”
“I like the word escort. Sounds better, don’t you think? You get paid to play. Can you think of an easier way to make fast money?”
“How fast? I’m sort of…well, I’m in a tight jam.”
A desperado…that’s whassup! “I could probably get you some work tonight, but uh…you’re going to have to rock some gear that’s more appealing than what you’re wearing. The casual look is aiight and everything, but sometimes the female clients like to get their freak on in five-star hotels. You can’t stroll up in the Four Seasons looking like you’re homeless. Feel me?”
He nodded and then tightly c
radled his chin, looking a little distressed. “There’s a problem with my clothes right now. All I have is what I’m wearing.”
Misty rolled her eyes. Like I don’t know that already!
CHAPTER 6
Misty caught a glimpse of Troy ambling out of the restaurant, carrying a big bag. When Troy noticed the man standing by the car, he froze. Misty stuck her hand out the window and did a secret hand wave, motioning for Troy to back up.
On point, Troy whirled around and went back into the restaurant.
“Where are your clothes?”
He exhaled. “I was staying around the corner on Armat Street—at the Caring House. You know, that place that takes kids off the street?”
“Whoa! Kids? You’re not of legal age?” Misty wasn’t trying to pimp out an under-aged minor.
“I’m nineteen. Be twenty next month. Caring House takes in young adults up to age twenty-two.”
She smiled with relief. Dude was living in some type of group home situation. Shit sounded dire. “So what’s your story? Why’d you have to be taken off the streets?” she asked, though she really didn’t care.
“It’s a long story, but I got kicked out of Caring House…” He looked down regretfully.
“You got evicted and they kept your clothes?”
“No, I got kicked out for fighting. But I didn’t start it.”
Misty didn’t give a damn about his stupid fight. “Uh-huh. So, where’s your gear?”
“Uncle Marshall claims I owe him back rent. He’s keeping my duffel bag, my ID…and everything until I come up with six-hundred dollars.”
“You have family here in Philly?”
“Uncle Marshall’s not family. He’s an older man; a friend. Everybody calls him Uncle Marshall.”
“Some friend.”
“Yeah,” Sailor said, shaking his head.
“We can get that six-hundred dollars in a couple days.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“But look…being that you gotta wear…no offense…but being that you have to go see the client wearing those tacky clothes, I’m going to have to send you to a married couple who won’t mind your attire.”
“A married couple. That’s weird.” Sailor shook his head.
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