Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

  Sailor laughed again. Heartily.

  “Oh, you like to hear me talking about somebody’s black ass, but you can’t stand hearing the N word?”

  “We don’t talk like that in Wisconsin,” he said.

  “I feel you…I guess. Whatchu consider yourself, Sailor? Caucasian or what?”

  “I usually check the box that says ‘other.’”

  “Oh, yeah. I can dig it.” Misty wasn’t even mentally involved in the conversation. She was saying anything, while her mind pleasantly wandered.

  The world suddenly seemed right. Things were starting to work in her favor. Sailor had her back, and she was ready to show him some appreciation.

  “When are you coming home?” he asked. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. I’ll be home soon. Real soon. But I gotta go. I’ma talk to you tomorrow. Aiight, Sailor?”

  “Alright.”

  Misty hung up.

  She was seriously ready to roll out of New York. Sick of Spydah’s needy ass and she was totally over his imbecilic crew.

  Getting approved for a big-ass, luxury apartment had her feeling real haughty when she left the ladies room.

  Standing in front of the ladies room was one of the dark-skinned brothers that had marched Smash onto the stage at the Garden.

  “Misty, right?” he said in a deep, baritone voice, his expression all business.

  She swallowed. His deep voice made her nervous and shaky, and being nervous felt like crap. “Yes, I’m Misty.” Oh God, she hated the shrillness of her voice. Damn, why my voice gotta be sounding all squeaky? I ain’t no pussy, mufucka. Nah, it ain’t even like that. I’m a real bitch. Nigga, you don’t know?

  “Smash asked me to extend an invitation. He wants you to join him upstairs in the Gold Room.”

  Smash Hitz was regarded as a king. It was an honor to be summoned by him.

  But what I’ma do about Spydah? Misty frowned. Then shrugged. Fuck Spydah, he gon’ have to deal with this. He ain’t paying my bills. I’d be as big of a moron as Spydah if I turned Smash Hitz’ invitation down.

  “Of course,” Misty said, giving the attendant a dazzling smile. “It’s my pleasure to join Mr. Hitz.”

  CHAPTER 32

  In the Gold Room, a few of Smash’s people were pouring cognac for all the guests.

  Ugh! Misty held her glass, but didn’t dare try to take a sip. She’d never get the bitter liquid past her tongue and down her throat.

  I’ma puke if I try to swallow this nasty crap.

  Smiling at Smash, Misty swirled the brown liquid around in her glass. Acting like she was on some fly shit, she swirled a few more times, trying to give the impression that a certain amount of swirls would put the liquor at the right temperature…make it taste better. Or something. She really wished she had something good to drink.

  Smash noticed that she wasn’t drinking. “You’re not happy with your drink?”

  “No, not really.” She hated to admit it, but she would be so much more pleased if she had a drink with an umbrella and some fruit on a stick.

  Smash snapped his fingers. Twice. Two men instantly appeared, flanking Smash.

  Aw, now see. This is some fly-ass shit. Wait ’til I get my ass back to Philly…I’ma be snapping my fingers all day long. I ain’t gon’ have to say a mufuckin’ word to get my point across.

  “Whatchu drinking, lil’ lady?” Smash smiled at her.

  “Pure Paradise.”

  “Oh, yeah? That sounds sexy…like you. So what goes into it?”

  “The bartender should know the ingredients, but for your information, it’s mixed with coconut rum, exotic fruit juice, and some other erotic stuff.”

  “Erotic, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Misty was finally starting to have a good time. Being in the presence of power was seductive. And addictive. She wanted to start rolling with Smash Hitz. Spydah’s feelings would be crushed when she left his young ass for Smash Hitz. But fuck it. She had to do what she had to do.

  This time Smash didn’t snap his fingers. Without taking his eyes off Misty’s face, he uttered in a low, but stern voice, “Handle that.”

  One of the men promptly removed the glass from her hand, and then both men hurried away.

  Smash’s eyes were all over her body. He kept moistening his lips and running his hand down the side of his face, like he was feenin’ for her.

  Being as petite as she was, standing next to her made short to average height men feel ten feet tall. Smash was much shorter in person than she had ever imagined, so she assumed he had the short man’s complex. Misty made it a point to look way up, like Smash was as tall as Shaquille O’Neal.

  When the two men returned…one carrying her pastel-colored drink, the other carrying a napkin, Smash Hitz walked Misty near the glass enclosure, making sure that Spydah could see him and Misty sharing a drink. Kicking it. Laughing and having fun.

  The men treaded softly behind them. Misty supposed they were Smash’s bodyguards.

  “Why there ain’t no tables where we standing at?”

  Misty wasn’t sure if she was supposed to have an answer to that question, but before she could even come up with a clever response, one of the men slowly lowered himself down, and assumed a position that gave the impression that he was now a table.

  Smash set his glass of cognac on the man’s strong, unyielding back.

  Misty was beyond impressed. That’s some freaky shit, right there. I’ma try that as soon as I get home. Troy better watch it. Better stop playing and getting on my nerves all the time. I know how to fix him now. I’ma turn his ass into a mufuckin’ table. Think I won’t?

  “Put your drink down. Wouldn’t want your pretty lil’ fingers to get frostbite.”

  Acting like she’d been setting drinks on niggas all her life, she placed her glass on the man’s back. She set her handbag next to it. She looked around at Smash’s guests and noticed that Smash was being given privacy. No one looked in their direction. People were laughing and talking. Obviously having a good time, while being careful to mind their own business.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Misty.”

  “I’m from Philly.”

  “That where you met my man, Spydah?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a groupie.”

  “Didn’t say you was.”

  “You insinuated.”

  “Nah, I don’t pass judgment.”

  “I’m a businesswoman. A people pleaser. I bring individuals together.”

  “Whatchu running…Black Hook-up, Dot Com?”

  “Something like that. I get money.”

  “I bet you do.”

  Misty laughed. Feeling more relaxed, she picked up her drink.

  “But you ain’t getting enough,” he said, his vocal quality changing to a taunt.

  Wondering why the conversation had gone in another direction, she took a sip of her drink to calm herself down.

  “I got fifty stacks for you. Right now. If you get under that table, unzip him, and suck my man’s dick right now.”

  Choking from shock, she almost spit the pink-colored liquid out. She forced it down her throat and said, “Huh?”

  “You like money. I got plenty of it. Suck his dick like I said and I’ll throw some cake your way.”

  The man who was pretending to be a table didn’t budge. But when Smash snapped his fingers, the man widened his legs, as if giving Misty the space she needed to perform fellatio.

  Misty saw red. “You must be crazy, mufucka. How you gon’ come out ya mouth like that? I ain’t sucking nothin’. Kiss my ass. I ain’t no goddamn hoe.”

  Smash snapped his fucking fingers again. The table nigga jumped up, grabbed her arm and disrespectfully escorted her out of the Gold Room.

  Spydah was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was all over the place, her clothes disheveled. “I’m ready to go,” Misty spat.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I hate that black bastard. T
ake me back to the hotel.”

  “Misty, what happened?”

  “Smash tried to disrespect me.”

  “Why’d you go up there without me?”

  “He invited me. He got us drinking what the fuck he wants us to drink. He snapping his fingers and shit, making niggas do everything he wants them to. You wasn’t around to say nothing, so I thought I had to go.”

  “Nah, you ain’t have to do shit. I’m your man. You do what I tell you to do.”

  Ha! That’s a damn lie and you know it. You don’t tell me what to do.

  “Man, Smash be on some other shit. Did he put his hands on you?”

  “No! But he tried to play me. Tried to make me look like a skank hoe.”

  Looking troubled, Spydah gazed up at the Gold Room. “How you want me to handle this?”

  “Look for another label, nigga.”

  Spydah flinched. “I can’t do that. I signed a contract with Smash. I gotta give him two more albums before we renegotiate my record deal.”

  “So whatchu gon’ do? You gotta do something, Spydah. He was really foul.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Go upstairs…act like a man with some balls, nigga. Take your crew if you have to. But you need to be putting your fist in Smash’s grille.”

  “Man, that’s my boss, Misty.”

  Misty shook her head. “Damn, Spydah, you on some real bitchassness. You know that, right?”

  “Nah, it ain’t like that. This is business.”

  She looked at Spydah with revulsion.

  “I’m sorry, Misty. But I’m just getting out the gate. Whatchu expect me to do…ruin my career before it gets started?”

  “I said, I’m ready to go!”

  CHAPTER 33

  Spydah was trying his damndest to make Misty feel better, massaging her satin-smooth naked skin while soft music played in the background.

  “Relax, baby,” he whispered.

  She lifted her head from the pillow, flung her hair out of her face. “I’m trying.”

  “No, you’re not. You acting all tense and stiff. Let yourself go.” He picked up a candle from the nightstand. “Mmm, smell that, Misty? That’s one of them aromatherapy candles. It’s supposed to put you in a good mood.”

  She sighed in exasperation, took a sniff…scowled…and then pushed her face back into the pillow. As Spydah straddled her back, she could feel his dangling ball sac brushing against her skin.

  “Ew, Spydah. That shit feels all kinds of nasty. Will you put some goddamn drawers on? I don’t need your smelly balls rubbing all over my ass. You seem to be getting all the enjoyment. Is this massage bullshit supposed to be for my pleasure or yours?”

  “This is for you.”

  “Don’t seem like it. You’re so fuckin’ selfish, Spydah!”

  “Damn, you been pissed with me ever since you had that run-in with Smash.”

  “How you expect me to act…after the way that sawed-off bastard treated me?”

  “The shit that went down wasn’t my fault!” he yelled, getting angry. “Ain’t nobody tell you to take your ass up to the Gold Room!”

  She rolled over, forcing him off of her. She sat up and squinted an eye. “I fuckin’ hate you,” she said in a tone that was filled with emotion.

  “Come on with that. You don’t hate me.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. And I hate Smash, too.”

  “I can’t do nothing about how you feel about Smash. But saying you hate me…that ain’t right. It ain’t cool, Misty.”

  A wicked idea worked itself into her mind.

  “I might be able to forgive you, Spydah…if you play out one of my fantasies with me.”

  “Here we go.” He shook his head, laughing. “How many fantasies can one lil’ woman have inside her head?”

  “They’re unlimited,” she bragged.

  “You a freak.” Spydah smiled. Licked his lips, as if expecting to be introduced to yet another freakish pleasure.

  Somebody had to pay for the public humiliation she’d experienced tonight. And it might as well be Spydah.

  She looked around the room.

  “Whatchu looking for?” Spydah’s eyes were alit with anticipation, wondering what type of sex play Misty had in store for him.

  “I see your pants on the chair…”

  “Yeah? And…”

  “Where your boxers at?”

  Spydah frowned. “My boxers? Whatchu want them for?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  He pointed to a puddle of white cotton imprinted with red stripes. “There they go…over there on the floor.”

  “Oh! I didn’t even see ’em.” Misty sounded delighted. She got out of the bed and pranced over to Spydah’s boxer shorts. Picked them up. And, to his amazement, she stepped into them.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. The fit around the waist was a little loose, so she pulled the waistband into a knot on the side. Now she smiled at her image.

  Turning around, she asked Spydah, “How do I look?” She put both hands on her hips for effect.

  “Crazy. In a cute sort of way.”

  She wagged her finger beckoning him to her.

  “What?” He smiled bashfully, but couldn’t conceal the lust in his eyes.

  “You been a bad boy, Spydah,” she teased.

  “I know, baby.” The smile disappeared.

  “You let Smash disrespect me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Wanna know how you can make me happy?”

  His head was hung low. “Yeah, man. I wanna get past this.”

  “If we gon’ move forward, you gotta come out your comfort zone. You need to experience what your mentor put me through.”

  “Aiight.” He still wouldn’t look up.

  Smiling devilishly, Misty took retreating steps until she backed into a wall.

  Using the wall for support, she rested against it.

  “Come on, Spydah, you know what I what.”

  Spydah took long strides across the room. When he reached Misty, he was panting. Desperately, he kissed her lips. Breathing hard as he lathered her neck with his tongue. Dipped his head down, taking in a mouthful of titty.

  “No, baby, that ain’t it.”

  “Whatchu want?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

  As she shoved him off of her, his hungry lips were puckered, yearning to recapture her aroused peaks.

  Misty reached down and spread open the fly of the boxers, revealing her nest of curly, dark pubic hair.

  “Suck it, baby. Suck my clit. But I need you to suck it like it’s a big hard black dick.” She spread her cunt lips; her pink, moist clit surfaced and throbbed in expectancy.

  Spydah obliged, stretching his tongue past her slick petal softness and into a bubbling pool of wet heat.

  His mouth moved upward toward the achingly swollen flesh. She gripped his head, guiding him, keeping his mouth trapped between the slit of the male boxers. Humping his face, she thrust like a man.

  “Suck it, suck my big dick, pussy,” she demanded. Her words provoked a low guttural moan from Spydah as he reached down to stroke his own swollen member.

  “Oh hell naw, nigga,” Misty snarled, smacking the side of his head. “You’re gonna need both those hands to hold my dick while you play with my balls.”

  Confused, but daring not to question Misty, Spydah improvised. Reaching into the boxer’s open slit, he used one hand to spread her slippery swollen pussy lips. The other hand searched and found the base of her now elongated clit. As Spydah began to gently and rhythmically pull on it, Misty’s knees buckled.

  “Oh shit…oh shit…now put my dick in your mouth, bitch!”

  Spydah flicked the tip of Misty’s “dick” with his tongue. Then, still massaging the base, wrapped his thick lips around Misty’s “female dick” and sucked.

  Misty screamed, undulated, gyrated, her body went into spasms. She cussed Spydah out, babbling in an unknown tongue until that blinding cataclysmi
c moment of ultimate release.

  Misty and Spydah lay in bed. Like a normal couple, they kissed and cuddled, the intense, reverse role-playing scene now behind them.

  “Oh, yeah…I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Wanna go to the BET Awards with me?”

  Excited, Misty sat up. “Are you nominated for anything? Your CD just came out.”

  “No, I’m not a nominee, but I’m scheduled to perform.”

  “Of course I want to go. But why did you wait so long to invite me?”

  “I just found out myself. Someone had to cancel and I’m filling in that spot. Adam sealed the deal today.”

  “Spydah! I’m so proud of you. You’re on your way to the top,” she said, while actually thinking, It won’t be long now. I’m on my way!

  CHAPTER 34

  One would have thought it was Misty’s wedding day. Thomasina was in the kitchen preparing enough food to feed an army. Her daughter was going to be on TV, on the red carpet with her boyfriend, D.B. Spydah, at the BET Awards ceremony. Misty had turned her life around and that was a reason for her mother to celebrate.

  “Is it on yet?” she yelled from the kitchen.

  “No, baby. Commercial’s still on.” Brick glanced at the brand-new, fifty-five-inch, 3D TV, a gift from Misty. She had insisted her mother accept the expensive gift, adamant that mere high definition wasn’t good enough. She wanted her mother to watch her walk the red carpet in high-tech, 3D.

  “Call me the minute the show comes on.”

  “I will.”

  It wasn’t envy that Brick was feeling, and he certainly didn’t wish Misty any ill will. There was some other…indefinable emotion stirring inside him…leaving him feeling torn.

  He wanted to be as happy and as proud as Thomasina, but he couldn’t. If he really believed that Misty had turned her life around, he’d be sitting here like a proud…well….he didn’t feel like her father, but he’d feel like a proud sibling if he could believe that Misty was walking a straight and narrow path. But Brick knew better.

  Misty couldn’t do right if her life depended on it. She was always doing something foul. And when her foul actions came to light, it would be up to him to comfort her mother. Now that Misty was playing in the big league, her fall from grace would be harder than ever.