Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

  Shank hoe! Misty was livid.

  Looking around at the guests, Adam’s expression conveyed shock and embarrassment. But he breathed a sigh of relief when, to his surprise, he saw smiles of approval directed toward the stage.

  Misty was beside herself with absolute disgust. She could not give a shit that the crowd approved of that duet bullshit that had unfolded before her eyes. The only reason she didn’t demand that security pull out their weapons, open fire, and blast that bitch off the stage was the fact that Spydah was performing his third and final song, which was thankfully coming to an end.

  When the song concluded, Spydah hugged the big butt barracuda. The bitch had the nerve to take a bow. The applause was deafening. People thought she was part of Spydah’s performance.

  Holding the heifer’s hand, Spydah led her back to their table.

  “Yo, Larry. This is Baad B. We gotta do something with her, man. Talk to Smash…see if we can feature her on the remix of that track we just did.”

  Misty was seething. Breathing fire. She couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the big butt, groupie bitch, plugging herself…tryna get a free ride on her man’s coattails.

  Never in her life had she felt so upstaged, disrespected, and outshined.

  Spydah was about as young and dumb as they come. She couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel. She’d reveal the magnitude of her displeasure once she got Spydah’s ass in bed.

  CHAPTER 30

  Before having a glass of water, a cup of juice, or even going to the bathroom, Misty powered on her laptop. She had to check on her business. Find out how much money the videos and photos had brought in.

  Spydah had yet to put a dollar in her hand, but it was only a matter of time before she took him for all he was worth.

  She smiled at Spydah as he slept soundly. Worn out from the wild sex Misty had put on him the night before.

  Securing her position in his life, Misty had introduced him to an array of sex tricks, had his body humming from things he’d never done before. Last night Spydah thought he was in heaven…he got so emotional, tears rolled from his eyes.

  I had that nigga weeping. He’s mine! And he better not even think about ever mentioning that groupie hoe’s name again. Dumb-ass mufucka!

  Before she went to her own site, she decided to check the black gossip pages. She looked hot last night, wearing a barely there slip of black and gold beaded mesh across her breasts and gold satin trousers.

  The image on the first site made her gasp. Spydah and the groupie bitch were hugged up on stage. The caption read: D.B. Spydah introduces hot as fire new female rapper.

  What the fuck? She couldn’t even bring herself to read the article. She clicked to other gossip pages. Each and every site had an image of Spydah with that bitch. There were quotes from her, explaining why she named herself Baad B.

  Ugh! That groupie got the media spelling her name the way she wants, like she really is somebody. Goddamn!

  Misty searched and searched for images of her and Spydah, but came up with zip. She didn’t know whom she hated more…Spydah, Tragic (for letting the hoe in) or Baad B.

  One thing was for certain, that so-called Baad B was messing with the wrong bitch.

  There was so much buzz inside Spydah’s dressing room, Misty could hardly hear her own thoughts.

  Mustafa, Tragic, and Jru were whooping and hollering and poppin’ bottles, as usual. Tragic’s wannabe rapper-ass was wearing some extra-gaudy bullshit and some outrageously ugly jewelry. Possessing an overabundance of youthful vigor, Tragic was alternately dancing around and freestyling. Every now and then, he stopped to preen in front of Spydah’s full-size mirror.

  Tragic was foul. Gut-bucket ignorant. Misty couldn’t see what purpose he served. She couldn’t wait until she had enough power to give Tragic his walking papers back to the ’hood. Or back to jail. Didn’t matter as long he got out of Spydah’s life.

  Larry was in and out of the dressing room, looking worried as he wrapped up last-minute details before Spydah went on stage.

  Spydah was expecting to switch positions with the R&B crooner who was scheduled to perform right before Smash Hitz came on.

  Refusing to get dressed until he received word of the schedule change, Spydah was sitting around in his robe, sulking.

  His expression grave, Larry stepped to Spydah. He lowered his voice and spoke words intended for only Spydah to hear.

  But didn’t much get past Misty. She heard Larry clearly when he said, “The crooning bull’s people are giving me grief. I’m waiting for Smash to say the word.”

  Spydah was wearing a robe, refusing to get dressed until it was time to hit the stage…and that wouldn’t be anytime soon as far as he was concerned.

  “I ain’t no opening act, man!” he yelled at Larry. “My CD is steadily climbing! It’s number four on the charts, man! What I gotta do to get some respect, man? Do I gotta contact Adam to handle this shit?”

  “Nah, I got it. I’m waiting on Smash. Calm down. I got it.” But Larry was sweating bullets. He was out of his depth in this situation. Misty could tell that he was a nervous wreck by the way he trekked over to the hospitality table and started downing the complimentary Ed Hardy Vodka that nobody else had bothered to touch.

  Misty hid her smirk behind her hand. After rearranging her features into a look of caring concern, she said to Spydah, “Baby, this is your night. Can’t nobody take this from you. But tonight is not about your ego.”

  Spydah frowned.

  “Seriously…you got fans that have been with you throughout your underground career. How you think they’ll feel if you pull out of this show? Huh, baby?” She stroked his hair. “You gotta always remember that it’s your fans that got you here.”

  Spydah smiled for the first time since they’d arrived in the stadium. “That’s a good reason why I’m falling in love with you. You keep me focused.”

  Misty beamed.

  Larry’s cell went off. He started pacing with the cell to his ear. His worried expression morphed into relief…his lips spread into a wide grin.

  “You’re on before Smash, man.” Larry returned his cell to his pocket and pumped his fist in the air. Victory cheers boomed from the paid leeches. Those idiots didn’t even know what they were happy for. For them, whatever Larry was talking about was another reason to pop champagne.

  In a panic, Misty hurried from offstage where she’d stood watching most of Spydah’s performance from the wings of the stage. During the commotion of accompanying Spydah to the stage, she’d forgotten her purse in the dressing room. Her cute little beaded purse was filled with cash and credit cards.

  A few of the goons had never left the dressing room…too busy snorting blow, drinking, and getting their party on.

  Shit! If one of those mufuckas clipped me…I’m gon’ make sure security does a cavity search on every one of the bastards.

  In the corridor, behind-the-scenes personnel walked back and forth hastily. Some scowled at clipboards. Others shouted into headsets as they hustled along, doing their duties. Misty felt fortunate that she didn’t have to rush around trying to make shit work out. All she had to do was stay beautiful and stay on top of her bed- room skills. Keep Spydah depending on her for his sexual needs.

  Walking quickly in too-high stilettos, she began strategizing a way to ensure that she was photographed in every picture taken of Spydah tonight at the after-party. Click-clacking happily down the hallway, she suddenly noticed people beginning to scurry and scatter, as if in fear. They appeared to be almost throwing themselves up against the walls on either side of the hallway. Watching this shit was like viewing the parting of the sea.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Down the center of the hallway, she saw four bare-chested muscular men approaching. The men formed four black glistening pillars around a smaller male that was in the center.

  The human pillars walked in military precision with the smaller man. They were following his every move, while
managing to keep their protective pillars intact.

  Misty was mesmerized. As the five men grew closer, she could feel the power emanating from the man in the center. It was palpable, electrical.

  Damn, that’s Smash Hitz.

  Spydah was off stage by now. But being on Smash’s tour, he probably knew the drill, and wouldn’t dare come down the corridor until the coast was clear. He and Larry were probably cowering in a corner or hiding under the stage somewhere.

  The audience must have sensed Smash’s approach because they began chanting his name.

  Misty forced herself to shake off the spell. In a panic, she struggled to collect her thoughts. She had to meet Smash Hitz and no time was better than now.

  Realizing that she had to make a memorable first impression, Misty’s mind raced. I can’t let this opportunity go by.

  The column of men was gaining on her. From the glare of their angry dark eyes, she could imagine them saying, “Bitch, who you think you is? Move out of the fuckin’ way.”

  Anxiety couldn’t possibly describe the swirl of frenzied emotions that overtook her. It was do-or-die time.

  Faint, she decided. Before she could punk out and change her mind, she was lying on the floor, in front of the approaching black pillars.

  The two leading pillars didn’t break stride. They stepped right over her, like a fallen leaf had blown in their path.

  Aw, shit. This ain’t working. Maybe I should roll out of the way before these other buff mufuckas start to happily trample my lil’ ass.

  But Smash stopped. Cocking his head from one side to the other, he frowned as he surveyed Misty’s inert body.

  This is going to be very embarrassing for me and for Spydah if I don’t come up with something, quick.

  Smash squatted down. Misty met his eyes. Surprisingly, instead of annoyance, she saw concern in his gaze.

  She was briefly bedazzled by his twinkling, signature medallion. She’d never seen so many diamonds, or any with such clarity.

  Pulling her eyes from the mesmerizing diamonds, she bestowed upon him her most dazzling smile, and then whispered, “Would you mind helping me up, Mr. Hitz? After all, your magnificent presence is the cause of this fainting spell.”

  After what felt like an eternity, Misty saw the beginning of a smile starting to form on his face. Smash laughed. “Girl, you a trip.”

  Misty replied, “I know.”

  Smash pulled her to her feet. “I seen you back here with Spydah. What’s your name?”

  “Misty.”

  “Misty, huh?” He gripped his chin.

  Before she could come up with any clever or flirtatious words, Smash turned and continued his march to the stage.

  CHAPTER 31

  The after-party for the New York leg of the Smash Hitz tour was a pricey soiree that was thrown at one of the hottest clubs in New York. Product logos were on display everywhere. Ciroc Vodka, the leading sponsor for the bash, boasted a gigantic vinyl banner.

  Despite all of the free-flowing alcohol, and the big-named celebrities in attendance, Misty wasn’t having fun.

  Spydah had her joined at his damn hip, preventing her from mingling like she wanted to. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they were seated in some dinky VIP area, while Smash Hitz was holding court in the Gold Room—a VIP area that was designated exclusively for his twelve-man entourage and the other elite members of his party.

  Misty didn’t like playing second fiddle. She should be with the number one man. Being relegated to this dinky area with Spydah and his moron-crew was insulting.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” Spydah asked.

  Misty pouted. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m good,” she said, poking her lips out, clearly sulking.

  “You don’t like that vodka? You want something else to drink?”

  “I thought it was mandatory that we drink this bullshit—being that they sponsoring the party.”

  “You can drink whatever you want,” Spydah told her.

  “What you want, some champagne?” Tragic butted in.

  Misty sucked her teeth. Ain’t nobody ask fucking Tragic to be minding my damn business.

  Itching to get into some devilment, Tragic ventured over to a silver bucket where three champagne bottles were embedded in ice.

  But it wasn’t Tragic’s call.

  It was up to Spydah to decide when they were ready to pop some bottles. Misty hated the way Spydah let his crew run all over him.

  The instant that Tragic put his hands on one of the bottles, Misty snarled, “If you spray any of that shit in my direction, I’ma put these four inches all the way up your fuckin’ ass.” Grilling him, she stuck out her stiletto, showing off the jewel-encrusted four-inch heel, which was stunningly beautiful, yet deadly.

  There was a hush at the table.

  Tragic blinked his eyes in shock and indignation.

  Spydah looked down in embarrassment. Gripping his chin, he dragged his fingers down his skin.

  Larry cleared his throat.

  The groupies at the table snickered, which made Tragic start swiping at his nose like he was trying to restrain himself from punching Misty’s lights out.

  Mustafa shot a look at Spydah. “You gon’ let her dis your man like that?”

  All eyes were on Spydah, waiting for him to choose sides. He moved closer to Misty, cracked a smile. “If the shoe fits…”

  Bursts of laughter erupted at the table. The groupies looked at Misty with admiration. Mustafa quickly adjusted his attitude and regarded Misty with a faint smile that requested a truce.

  She gave Spydah a quick peck on the lips. “Excuse me, baby. I have to go to the ladies room.” She grabbed her handbag.

  The moment she stood up, the groupies at the table stood up, muttering that they had to go to the restroom, too.

  With a corner of her top lip jutted upward, Misty looked the girls up and down in disgust.

  “I don’t travel in a pack. And I don’t need any escorts,” she informed. She glared at them, completing the reprimand with a disgusted, “Ew!”

  At first the groupies looked around in confusion. Then their expressions changed to hostile and indignant.

  The moment one of the girls planted a hostile hand on her hip, Spydah asserted his authority. “Yo, she don’t want a bunch of y’all following behind her. Can’t she take a piss by herself?”

  “Oh, okay,” the hand-on-the-hip groupie said, letting the defiant balled hand fall limply at her side.

  “We didn’t know,” another groupie said, using an apologetic tone. She threw in a dimpled smile to express her sincerity.

  None of the groupie girls wanted to be cast out into the street. They liked hanging with a celebrity. Would kiss his ass…Misty’s ass…and the ass of every member of the entourage if it was required of them.

  Spydah had won some points for defending her honor. She had something special for him when they got back to the hotel.

  Her mind was on money right now, though. She needed to call Sailor and find out what was up with the apartment she was dying to rent. All this running around with Spydah wasn’t putting one thin dime in her bank account. She was going to have to do something about that.

  A few feet short of the ladies room, she looked up. Though he was short in stature, Smash Hitz’ presence was bigger than life.

  Oh my God, it’s him!

  From the Gold Room, he stared down at her, sending her strong, sensual vibes.

  She wanted to acknowledge his presence, but didn’t know what would be the right move to make. Should I wave at him or something? What the fuck does he want me to do?

  Looking up, she stood paralyzed, waiting for some direction. After a few seconds, he turned around, moved away from the glass enclosure, leaving Misty both relieved and disappointed.

  As if she’d been released from a magic spell, she shook her heavy, long hair. Then she took slow, hesitant steps, still looking upward as she moved toward the ladies room.


  Inside the pleasantly fragrant restroom, she sank into a red velvet chair and collected her thoughts.

  What the fuck was that about? Why is Smash fucking with my head? I don’t like the way he acting. Me and Spydah need to get up out of this whack after-party.

  Before going inside a stall, Misty called Sailor. “Did you hear anything about the apartment?” Her tone was gloomy, like she expected bad news. Her credit was jacked-up. Trying to get a fly crib in her own name was asking for the moon.

  “We got it!” Sailor told her.

  “For real? Are you serious?” Misty was elated.

  “All you have to do is sign the lease.”

  “That’s incredible. It’s like magic. I can’t believe they accepted my application. My credit is atrocious.”

  Sailor laughed. “Not anymore.”

  “What changed?”

  “I’m good with numbers. I played around on the computer, did a little bit of hacking…juggled some numbers and changed your credit score.”

  “Ooo, Sailor. I love you. I really do. Call Izell and Lennox. Tell them to start packing. Tell them we have room for three extra niggas, so they should bring a couple of friends. Smart niggas who are ready to jump Uncle Freaky’s sinking ship.”

  “Do I have to say that word?”

  “What word?”

  “The N word that you’re always using.”

  “No, you don’t have to. Tell ’em to bring a couple extra dudes. You comfortable saying that?”

  Sailor laughed. “Yeah.”

  Misty laughed with him. “You’re my man, Sailor. You got mad computer skills.”

  “Thanks.”

  She could picture him blushing. “Tell Izell and Lennox it’s time for them to get tatted. Take them to see Zelgore at the tattoo salon.” Misty paused in thought. “Umph. I sure hope my brand can show up on Izell’s black-ass arm.”