by K'wan
“I don’t give a damn about how long you gonna be on, you know that’s the Bat Phone. Convict calls only, ho!” Sugar had an extra phone line installed in her house just to receive calls from the various cats she dealt with that were locked up.
As ghetto as it sounded, there was a method to her madness. Sugar went above and beyond for her boos behind the wall. Everything from sending food packages to the occasional visit, she was on it. She reasoned that when her flavor of the month was back on the streets he’d remember his rider chick that went so hard for him, gladly reopening the money line. Sugar’s mind was always on her chips.
“You is so fucking ghetto,” Roxy said, getting up to get the other cordless.
“You don’t like it, burn ya daytime minutes,” Sugar shot back.
“You got a prepaid, too!”
“So what? Mine got a chirp,” Sugar joked, and went back to lighting the blunt. “Yo, what’s up with you and homey from last night—the cat with the suit?”
“Girl.” Roxy flopped on the couch next to Sugar. “I did some research, and that boy is caked up. They call him Black Ice. He’s supposed to be some kind of pimp or something.”
Sugar gave her a suspicious look. “I know you ain’t thinking about selling ya ass for that nigga?”
“Hell no, the only person I sell my ass for is me!” Roxy declared. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing how deep his pockets go.”
“You better be careful, Roxy. I know this chick that used to fuck wit one of them ol pretty niggaz. The last time I seen her she was washed up and strung out,” Sugar said seriously.
“I got this, mama.”
Roxy dialed a number. She spoke briefly to someone on the line, then hung up. “Ain’t this about a bitch?”
“What’s good?”
“I just spoke to Charlie, and his ass is uptown at the video shoot,” Roxy told her.
Sugar took deep pulls of the blunt and said, “If the mountain can’t come to Mohammad, please believe she can come to it. Did you bring ya fit?”
“You know that.”
“Then let’s get dressed and do what we do.”
“TOOK Y’ALL LONG ENOUGH.” SHARON greeted Dena and Mo as they got off the train on 125th and St. Nicholas. She had traded in her tennis skirt for a pair of skin-tight, faded jeans that were slashed just below the ass cheeks. Her fire-engine-red boots set off her red motorcycle jacket, making her look like one of Satan’s angels. All the body stuffed into the fit, coupled with her flawless makeup, made Sharon look way older than she actually was.
“You’re lucky we came, that hot-ass train almost finished my weave,” Monique touched her hair. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black denim suit with leather lace-up sandals, balanced on three-inch heels.
Ignoring Mo’s comment, Sharon turned her attention to Dena. “I see you, Big Time!” She smiled at her friend. “You on your real grown and sexy shit, huh?”
Dena just smiled. The faint brown highlights in her hair shone slightly under the fading sunlight as she brushed a strand of it away from her face. She was decked out in a pair of charcoal gray knickers and a black wool top that showed a little breast but kept it tasteful. A gold X.O. choker accented her slender neck, giving her a model’s appeal. To cap off the fit, Dena had donned a pair of ankle boots with a heart-shaped buckle on the side. The heel was a little higher than Mo’s, but Dena had the good sense to get taps placed on them for easier strutting.
“So, where we headed?” Mo asked, checking her makeup in her compact.
“Just a few blocks over in St. Nick projects, but I thought we’d make a quick pit stop.” She held up a Dutch Master.
“You ain’t even gotta ask twice,” Mo readily said.
“What about the video?” Dena asked.
“D, they gonna be out there for hours. Where we’re going to smoke at is a block over from the shoot,” Sharon said.
“High-ass bitches.” Dena walked in front of them like she knew where she was going.
“You better not let Lazy see you on Two-Fifth in that outfit, he might snatch ya ass up,” Mo called after her.
“That nigga can clown if he want to, you know how we do it in the Stuy.” Dena gave Mo a high five. “I ain’t fucking wit son like that, never will you stand Dena mutha fuckin Jones up and think you ain’t gotta pay the costs. I know I’m a bad bitch,” Dena patted her chest for emphasis. “If Lazy can’t see that, then that’s on him.”
“Spoken like a true G!” Sharon chimed in.
“I know that’s right,” Mo said, eyeing a group of young men that were passing them. The young men overlooked Mo and gawked at Dena and Sharon; but they paid them no mind.
“Knowing Lazy, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him up here. You know he fuck wit Don B and them,” Sharon added.
“Lazy is free to be wherever he wants, but he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, so the rest of that shit is irrelevant,” Dena said in a matter-of-fact tone. The conversation was left at that.
LAZY STEPPED OUT OF HIS building and gave his body a good stretch. He had been sleeping like a baby until his cell phone had woken him. His man Chiba had been pressing him about coming to the video shoot all week, but because he had plans with Dena he told him no. Seeing how Dena was looping his calls and he didn’t feel like being around Michelle again so soon, he was free for the evening. It was time to hit the streets.
Chiba was sitting in front of Lazy’s building behind the wheel of a silver Dodge Magnum, twisting a blunt. He was a slim Puerto Rican cat with cornrows that snaked down his back. A red headband bearing the Big Dawg log was slung half-cocked around his head. Most people didn’t know it, but Chiba was his government name. His parents were notorious pot dealers who came up in the era of good weed and better highs.
“Sonny Chiba,” Lazy gave him dap as he slid into the passenger seat.
Chiba passed Lazy the blunt and pulled the car into the street. “Lazy-Laze, what’s popping, my nigga? You ready to hit the block?”
“Don’t I look ready?” Lazy motioned towards his crisp jeans and black Averix. “Son, its gonna be a lotta pussy out there.”
“And who gets more pussy than us?” Chiba grinned.
“Not a muthafuckin soul!” Lazy responded. It was sort of like their pretty boy credo.
“Yo, how’d you manage to shake Dena?” Chiba asked.
“Dawg, I fucked around and got caught up with Michelle and ended up losing track of time. Dena ain’t even taking my calls,” Lazy said sadly.
Chiba shook his head. “Dawg, you be playing ya self pulling them kinda moves. What do we always say?” Before Lazy got a chance to answer, Chiba continued. “The wife comes first. Man, a side bitch can always be put on the back burner, but we gotta make time for the wife.”
“Nigga, I know the rules—shit, I helped invent them. Son, I was so stuck off that piff that I ain’t know what time it was.”
“More like stuck off Michelle. You showing all the signs, kid.”
Lazy arched his brow. “Signs of what?”
“Signs that that old bitch got you open, son,” Chiba said, without taking his eyes of the road.
“Chiba, you don’t know what the fuck you talking about. I’m handling business,” Lazy said defensively.
This time Chiba did look at Lazy. “Lazy, you’ve been my ace since junior high school, so you know I’m gonna always keep it funky wit you, right?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“A’ight, so let me ask you a question: How you handling business when you spending more time wit ya jump-offs than wit ya wife?”
“Chiba, we run wit the same circle of bitches!” Lazy reasoned.
“But I ain’t got no girl, yo. I can run up in every bitch from one end of Twelfth Street to the other, and ain’t nobody got room to check me. You, on the other hand, got a main chick that you claiming.”
“So what you telling me, to square up and stop fucking around on Dena?”
“Nah, I ain’t sai
d all that. You a grown-ass man, so whatever you do is on you. I’m just telling you to make ya next move ya best move and peep the writing on the wall.”
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Lazy asked.
Chiba looked at him for a minute. He knew Lazy was a sensitive cat, but he was his dawg and therefore he could speak his mind. “Check it: Why you think Michelle go out of her way to please you and put up with the bullshit?”
“Cause I got the best cock game in Harlem,” Lazy boasted.
“Fool, that title still belongs to me; but that’s a different story. My dude, Michelle is a seasoned old bird with a plan within a plan. All she wanna do is trick ya stupid ass into getting her pregnant and trying to have you playing house, but you so blinded by the pussy and ya ego that you don’t see it that way.”
“Dawg, I’m on my job.”
“Lazy, if you was on ya job then Dena wouldn’t be looping ya calls,” Chiba said, busting a left on 116th and Lenox. “Homey, you know I’m M.O.B. all day, everyday; but you got a good chick in Dena. All I’m telling you is not to fuck that up. Do ya dirt, but do it with some tact.”
Lazy didn’t respond to this, he just reclined back in the seat and kept puffing the blunt. Chiba and Lazy were only a year apart, but the boy was wise beyond his years. Lazy wanted to dispute his logic, but right was right. His shenanigans in the streets were seriously cutting into his time with Dena and he was glad his man had checked him on it, like a true friend. Michelle had some good pussy, but Dena was his heart. Until someone had pointed it out to him, he hadn’t even realized he was neglecting her. It was a problem he made a mental note to rectify—as soon as she decided to pick up the damn phone.
“So what’s up, you gonna sit there stressing over Dena all day, or shake out like we do?” Chiba asked, running through a street light just as it turned red.
Lazy gave him a solemn look. “I’m gonna get things right with my shorty … right after I see what’s popping with these hos at the video shoot!” He bust out laughing.
Chapter 11
THE THREE GIRLS CONTINUED TO WALK UP ST. Nicholas Avenue taking in the sights. Dena loved Harlem not only for the action, but the feel of it. In her hood everything and everybody was tense. The young boys seemed to be prepared for battle at all times. It wasn’t like Harlem didn’t have its ghettos, but the tension level didn’t seem to be so high. But, alien as the two boroughs were to each other, Dena wouldn’t have traded Brooklyn for the world.
When Sharon finally slowed her pace they were standing in front of building 410, on 130th. It was a fairly decent-looking building with a great view of the park, but Dena didn’t care too much for the looks the stragglers in front of the building were giving them.
“Who you know in here?” Dena asked, rolling her eyes at a young dude who was trying to get her attention.
“Girl, would you relax. My friend lives in this building. We can blow something down at his crib and then hit the video shoot,” Sharon said, leading them into the building and onto the elevator. In a matter of seconds they were stepping off on the fourteenth floor and heading towards the apartment closest to the staircase. Sharon knocked, and after a few seconds the locks were undone and a man stood in the doorway, beaming at the three young ladies.
“What da deal, boo?” Sharon gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek. “These are my girls Dena and Mo from BK. Y’all, this is Sean.”
Sean gave a light chuckle. “Rough-Sean, back in the days, but that’s another story. How’re you ladies doing?” Sean was a fairly handsome cat with peanut-butter skin and broad shoulders. His hair was cut low, but not low enough to where you couldn’t see the waves rippling through the top of it. Lightly tapered sideburns ran the length of his jaw and connected with a budding goatee. “Come on in.” He stepped back and allowed them to enter the apartment.
Sean’s crib was decorated surprisingly nice for a dude. He had a plush white living room set, which rested on a smoke gray carpet. A plasma TV, tuned to ESPN News, was fastened to a wall he had bricked over when he moved into the spot, to give it more of a chic look. Along the shelves that were mounted on the wall were trophies of different shapes and sizes. Most of them were for football, but there was also a basketball award and two for baseball. Along the walls were pictures of him dressed in his high school football uniform, wearing a goofy smirk.
“Shit!” Dena cursed, looking at the blank screen on her cell phone.
“What’s good, ma?” Mo asked.
“I was so busy rushing out the house that I forgot to charge my phone.”
“If it’s a local call you can use the house phone,” Sean said, tossing her the cordless.
“I’m just checking my messages,” she told him, punching in her number.
“You a balla, huh?” Mo asked Sean, admiring the picture.
Leaning against the wall he gave her a confident grin. “I used to play a lil bit.”
“Sean won a D-2 national title last year,” Sharon added proudly, taking one of the larger trophies off the shelf.
“You a college grad?” Dena asked.
“Not quite.” He took the trophy from Sharon and placed it back on the shelf. “I got two more years before I get my bachelor’s. You go to school?”
“I’m in my last year, but as soon as the fall hits I’m off to college,” Dena told him.
Sean licked his lips, not in a seductive way, more like they were dry. But he was definitely transmitting something. “That’s what’s up. It’s good to see a sister handling hers.”
“What you got up in here to drink? A bitch is parched,” Sharon cut in, not digging the way Sean was looking at Dena.
“Look at your lush ass.” Sean playfully mushed her.
“Set it out, you know how I do!” Sharon told him before flopping on the couch and grabbing the remote, letting the other two girls know she and Sean had that kind of familiarity.
“Sharon, I better not get knocked for letting your young ass drink. If I do, I’m fucking you up for telling and fucking Be-Be up for bringing your young ass around.” He cut a glance at Dena when he said this. “Y’all want something too?”
“Ain’t you afraid of getting in trouble for serving alcohol to us minors?” Dena said slyly.
“You’re gonna do it anyhow, so I’d rather it be up here where you’re safe than out there where something could happen to you. Besides, you ain’t that young,” he said before disappearing into the kitchen. “Is Sex on the Street alright with y’all?” he called from the kitchen.
“I’m always for that,” Mo mumbled, looking at a picture of Sean at his senior prom.
“What the hell is that?” Dena asked suspiciously.
“Just something me and my crew came up on. Its an original recipe,” he said, milling about the refrigerator. He placed an ice-cold forty of St. Ides on the counter, beside a two-liter Hawaiian Punch. In old-school form, Sean turned the forty up and downed it just to the label, then replaced the beer with the Punch and swirled it around in the bottle. The finished product looked like red Alize, with a hit of bubbles at the top.
“Here we go,” Sean said, coming out of the kitchen, balancing a tray with four full wine glasses on it. Sharon immediately began sipping hers, while Dena and Mo looked at the glasses suspiciously.
“There better not be no date rape in this.” Dena smelled her glass.
“Ma, do I look like a nigga who gotta take the pussy? Come on, shorty, I wouldn’t do that to the lil homey or her girls.” He nodded towards Sharon, who looked upset at the statement.
“Yeah, I’m gonna remember that little homey shit.” Sharon took a deep gulp of her drink.
Mo took a shy sip and nodded her head in approval. “It kinda tastes like a wine cooler.”
“Told you so.” Sean flopped on the couch between Dena and Mo. “Now, which one of y’all got the bud?”
For the next twenty minutes or so the quartet smoked weed and sipped the Sex. Dena had a good buzz, but Sharon looked like sh
e was on the verge of being drunk, which was always a bad sign. She had one leg slung over the arm of the lounge chair and her eyes looked like they were trying to droop.
“You a’ight?” Dena asked her.
“I’m good, yo. That Sex on the Street be kicking my ass, though.” Sharon slurred a bit.
“This shit is kinda strong. What did you say was in it?” Mo asked.
“I didn’t,” Sean said playfully.
Sharon suddenly sprung to her feet, scaring the hell out of everyone. “This shit got me feeling good!” she said, stretching so that her breasts were pressing against the fabric of her shirt. “Yo, Ima be up in the video like,” she tried to bust a dance step, but mistimed it and stumbled, landing with her ass in Sean’s lap and almost spilling the Sex onto Dena and Mo.
“Bitch, watch that!” Mo shouted.
“Damn, you drunk ass almost fucked up my outfit,” Dena scolded her.
“Fuck y’all, ain’t nobody drunk,” Sharon shot back. She draped her arms around Sean’s neck and gave him a seductive look. “Let me holla at you in the back for a minute,” she tried to whisper, but everyone in the room heard her.
Sean’s face turned a shade darker, but he tried not to look embarrassed. “Easy, ma,” he said, while removing her hands. “You a little tipsy right now.”
“Sean, stop acting like that.” She was now trying to wrap her arms around his waist, but he resisted.
“Cut it out, Sharon.” He removed her from his lap and stood up.
“Word, it’s like that now?” she asked with hurt in her eyes and anger in her voice. “What, you acting brand-new cause these bitches is here? Sean, you know my head game is way good, so stop fronting.”
“Sharon, that drink got you bugging right now,” Sean said seriously. Sharon was blowing his cool in front of Dena and he was starting to get upset.
“Fuck you, nigga!” Sharon tossed the empty glass at him, but thankfully it didn’t shatter.
“You acting like a real bird right now, shorty,” Sean said, clearly irritated now.
“I got ya fucking shorty.” Sharon hopped up like she was going to take a swing at him, but Mo grabbed her.