Dear Summer (real in the streets)

by K Elliott

  He shrugged and smiled. He looked very boyish at that moment and she liked that.

  Finally, he said, “I ain’t gonna lie. I think you fly as hell, but I really just wanted to feel you out.”

  She put his hand on her thigh right below her private parts, and a few seconds later he tried to feel her pussy. She moved his hands.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just seeing how far you would go.” She laughed. “Niggas are easy to predict. All you want is some pussy, Q. Why don’t you just admit it?”

  He laughed then said, “You called me Q.”

  She bit down on her pizza. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. It’s okay though, because all my friends call me Q. I don’t like that Quentin shit, anyway.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Quentin is the nice guy, and Q is the nigga.” “You funny.”

  She sat the pizza down and looked him in his eyes. “Q just wants to fuck. Quentin will treat me with respect. Q can be a womanizer. Quentin has respect for his mother and his sister.”

  Q looked confused. “You think you know me, shorty?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m just hoping there’s some good in everybody.”

  He licked his lips again. For a few moments she imagined him between her legs, stroking her clit with his tongue. Damn, she wanted to fuck Q and not Quentin. She wanted it rough at that moment and Q seemed like he could handle the job.

  “So what we doing after the pizza, shorty?”

  She looked at her watch. It was only 1:00 p.m. “I have a client.”

  He looked startled. “What do you mean you have a client?”

  “I do hair.”

  “What? You work in a salon or something?”

  “No. I do natural hair and braids…twists. You know?”

  “Okay. I feel you. Getting your hustle on, huh?” He laughed. Then he said, “Didn’t you pull up in that red Benz?”

  “Yeah.” She drank some tea. “I know what you’re about to say.”

  He grinned a toothy smile and it made her heart beat faster. “What am I about to say?”

  “Probably wondering how in the hell can I afford a car like that?”

  “You guessed it.”

  “It was a gift from a guy friend.”

  Q knew Tommy had probably given her the car but he would play dumb. “What you got—a sugar daddy?”

  She smacked his arm with an open hand. “What, you think I’m a ho or something?”

  “No, I’m just saying who the hell gives a chick a Benz except a sugar daddy or a hustler?”

  “Let me change the subject, because I’m getting upset.”

  Q grabbed her hand and caressed it while making direct eye contact. “Listen. I’m sorry, shorty. I could care less about the car.” He still caressed her hand and made a point to look into her eyes.

  She yanked her hand back from him and lowered her voice. “Quentin, what do you want?”

  “Nothing. I just wanna have a good time with you, that’s all.”

  “I’m not that easy.”

  He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he didn’t say anything.

  “If you’re here for pussy, it ain’t that easy.”

  He smiled like she had read his mind. “What you like? I mean, I know you like nice things. How can I romance you?”

  “Well, if you have to ask, obviously you don’t know anything about romance.”

  Q smirked. “You don’t know me. I know how to treat a lady, but the key word is lady.”

  “I’m one.”

  “Yes the fuck you are,” Q said as he looked her up and down until his eyes landed on her thigh. He was amazed at her curvy figure.

  “Q, I really just like simple things, like attention. That’s how you can get me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m not a gold digger.”

  He peered through the window, eyeing the Benz. He knew Tommy was fat and insecure. There was no way in the world Tommy would believe he got her just by being nice. Q looked her up and down again. Tommy had paid for her alright.

  “I didn’t say you was a gold digger.”

  “Write me a letter. That’s how you can get me. Write me a heartfelt letter. I mean, share your feelings with me.”

  “A letter? How bout an email or a message from my Sidekick?”

  She frowned. “I want a letter—that’s more personal.”

  He looked confused. “Do people even write letters anymore?” *****

  The goons pulled along side Tommy in a dark color SUV. Always being conscious of his surroundings, especially at night, he looked to his left. A biracial man in the backseat of the SUV looked over and laughed at him, then blew a cloud of smoke out the window. Another man on the passenger side held a blunt to his mouth. Tommy kept his eyes on the men, from his side view mirror, while watching the light. Finally, the light turned green and Tommy quickly drove off, only to be caught by the next traffic light.

  The SUV was just seconds behind him. This time when they pulled beside him, Tommy heard somebody yell from the car, “Snitch ass nigga!”

  He looked over at the SUV, focusing on the gun that one of the men had pointed at him.

  Tommy sped off—running the light.

  He heard shots being fired.

  Tommy crossed the medium in his Range Rover, turning down a side street and sped off, losing sight of the SUV.

  He drove behind a building and called Angie. She answered on the fourth ring. “Tommy what the hell do you want calling at this time of night?”

  “Somebody was just shooting at me!”

  “What?”

  He reclined his seat with the phone up to his ear and his heart pounding hard. “Yeah! Baby, somebody wants me dead!”

  She sighed, not saying a word but he knew her; knew what she was thinking. He didn’t really want to bother her with his problems but he had to tell somebody.

  “Tommy, calm down. Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced over his shoulder. He thought he’d heard something; thought the goons were coming around the corner, although he’d hoped not.

  “Tommy come home.”

  “I’m on my way.” He inched out from behind the building, saw it was clear and pushed the pedal to the floor.

  Chapter 18

  When Tommy and Angie walked into Dream’s of fice, she looked very concerned. Dream had a blue stress ball in her hand that she was squeezing hard. She got right to the point, looking Tommy in his face. “A fed agent showed up here last night asking questions about you.”

  “What? Asking questions about me?” T ommy looked at Angie whose mouth was now wide open. “I haven’t done anything.”

  Dream stood and paced without looking at them. She opened her blinds and peered out into the parking lot. It was empty except for two cars. No unmarked in sight. “Tommy, it was the DEA.”

  “I’m out of the drug business.”

  “Listen, Tommy, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

  “Yeah, but why would they be asking about me?”

  “Maybe it’s your associates. I don’t know, Tommy.”

  “Why did they come here, of all places?”

  “I think he knows that you volunteer here with me.”

  “Sounds like they are watching you,” Angie said. “They probably watch my house too.”

  “Shut the fuck up. All you can think about is your house.”

  “Well, you say you ain’t selling drugs. What you worried about?”

  “Agent Mark Pratt. Does the name sound familiar?” Dream asked.

  “Pratt, yeah,” Tommy said and looked away. “I know him.”

  Angie looked at Tommy and rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t sell dope,” Tommy said.

  “Why else would they be fuckin’ with you?” Angie said.

  “You don’t understand,” Dream said before slinging the ball across the room. “Pratt is overzealous. He likes lo
cking black men up.”

  “Pratt is a white man, huh?”

  “No, he’s black,” Dream and Tommy said at the same time.

  “Damn,” Angie said.

  “The man is just that serious. He just fucks with you and fucks with you until he gets something on you.”

  Dream was now playing with her hair, thinking of Pratt and the visit—how he tried to make small talk with her; how he tried to get information about Tommy. She looked Tommy directly in his eyes and said, “Tommy, whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

  “I’m not selling coke. That game is so over.”

  “Tommy, why did he come asking about you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy said.

  “Keep ya nose clean, Tommy. I like you. You’re good,” she said, and then she sat behind her desk again. “That’s the only reason I’m telling you about this, because you’re not doing anything you’re not supposed to be doing. Right?”

  “That’s right,” Tommy said. He wasn’t selling drugs. Why in the hell was Pratt asking about him? He thought about Q’s boy, Squirt. Maybe he had something to do with this.

  ***** “Feds? What the fuck, nigga. You ain’t making no real money. Why in the hell would they be looking for you?” Ditty was breaking up buds on a CD cover; regular weed. He’d wanted some purple haze but wasn’t able to locate any. His regular supplier didn’t have any.

  “I don’t know. Who the fuck knows?” “Q’s boy. Maybe he told them something about you?” Ditty said, now pouring the weed in a Dutch Master cigar.

  “Tell them what? That I sold him a car?”

  Licking the blunt and sealing it, Ditty continued. “You never know, man. Those niggas could have said that you traded them cars for drugs. You never know what kind of shit motherfuckers come up with when they’re under pressure.”

  “But they are saying I told.”

  “That’s a cover up, man. Those niggas know you didn’t tell.”

  “Why did they shoot at me, then?”

  Ditty lit the blunt. “No. The question is why the fuck didn’t we shoot back?”

  “And on top of that, my girl is tripping, man. She thinks I’m hustling…mean, selling drugs again,” Tommy said.

  Ditty blew out a huge cloud of smoke almost in Tommy’s face.

  Tommy fanned the smoke before standing. He paced nervously. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do what the fuck you been doing. I mean, bro’, we got a sweet hustle, dude. We ain’t selling no fuckin’ dope. I don’t give a damn if they do think we are. I don’t give a fuck if they following us. They will see we legit.”

  “Legit? What the fuck you mean we legit? Selling stolen cars ain’t legit.”

  Ditty inhaled the weed again, coughed hard then pounded himself on the chest. “I mean we legit compared to other motherfuckers and compared to the shit we used to do. Nobody is looking for car salesmen. We don’t steal the cars, we just sell them.”

  “Salesmen, huh?”

  Ditty stood. His eyes were now red and the weed had turned him into a philosopher. Tommy had seen him like this before. Right now, Ditty was an expert on every subject matter. He could ask him about the rising gas prices, why Tiger Woods was the best golfer, who killed Malcolm X… he would know the answer to anything, now, and he’d give him a conspiracy theory to go along with his answers.

  “But, Ditty, it’s the same guy that busted me the last time.”

  “Fuck him,” Ditty said. He stubbed the blunt out. “You know why nothing is going to happen?”

  Tommy shook his head yes, but he knew Ditty was going to tell him anyway.

  *****

  When Summer opened the letter, she was thrilled. Quentin had actually written her.

  Dear Summer, I have to admit this letter writing stuff ain’t me. I mean, I’m Q. Niggas respect me because I’m hardcore, but hey, nobody has to know that I have a soft spot sometimes. But I also have to admit I’ve never met a chick like you. I mean, I think it’s just amazing how we met that day. I didn’t even want to go out, but you know when God wants something to happen it happens and I think that me meeting you was God’s work. I think you are my soul mate, Summer. I know you are probably saying how ridiculous is that, but really I haven’t met a chick like you in a while, a very long time. You are life Summer, and I am very glad we connected. I kind of thought this whole idea was funny, I mean nobody has ever had me to write a letter before, I mean besides, you know, the elementary school Do-you-love-me-yes-or-no letters, but I guess you didn’t let the Timberlands and the do-rag fool you. But hopefully after this letter you will see that Q has brains. Not much on long letters, but I have poured out my heart.

  Your Boy, Q Summer smiled then folded the letter back into the envelope. Quentin had sense after all. She knew he did most of what those hardcore thugs did; they just all pretended to be tougher than what they really were. She decided to call him. He picked up on the first ring.

  “You.”

  “Got your letter, Quentin.”

  “Come on, shorty. Can you chill with that Quentin stuff?” “Why you try to act so tough?”

  “Cuz where I’m from the weak get devoured.”

  “Really,” she said as she walked to the arm of the sofa. “So what’s going on tonight?”

  “Not much. Just watching TV…some old episodes of ‘Fame.’” “What you know about ‘Fame’? You too young for that.” “What do you know about ‘Fame’ is the question.? “How old do you think I am, Q?”

  A long pause on the phone. She knew he was thinking,

  probably not wanting to make the wrong guess. “I think maybe 27.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Me too.”

  “I was born in ’80,” Summer said.

  “Yeah? What month? June, July…?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Duh…your name is Summer.”

  She laughed. “So, Q, you want to come watch ‘Fame’ with

  me?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “I live by the Verizon Amphitheater.”

  “The University area, right? I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter 19

  When Summer opened the door, she was looking more fascinating than ever. She was wearing skinny jeans that gripped her thighs and made her ass look perfect, and heels that made her look even more long and lean. Q’s dick became semi-erect. He wanted to peel those jeans off her right at that moment. He looked at her feet and imagined sucking those cute little toes. He knew he could make her love him. When the show started, Summer sang along. She stood, kicked off her shoes and yelled “Fame! I’m gonna live forever…”

  She spun around like a ballerina. “I always wanted to be a dancer but was never good at it,” she said.

  Q grabbed her hand and spun her around.

  Summer giggled then said, “What are you doing?”

  “Dancing.”

  “Nigga, this is ballroom dancing you are doing. There is a difference.”

  “What were you doing?” he asked. A nigga like Q didn’t know the difference, nor did he care. He never danced. He had a little two step that he would do at parties. He had done this for years, but dancing was for homos and girls. He was a gangster, and what he wanted to do was unbutton that blouse because those nipples were erect and her body language said she wanted him to do that.

  She looked into his eyes briefly then turned away. “Q, what would your friends say if they knew you were here with me watching ‘Fame’ and dancing?”

  “I don’t know, nor do I give a fuck.” Q smiled as she put her arm around his waist, and they both took a seat on the sofa together. She turned to Q and said, “Name one character on this show.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know…the gay dude with the braids.”

  She laughed. “Q, you don’t really watch this do you?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve seen it a couple of times, but no, I am not a fan.”

  “Why did you lie?”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know. I wanted to see you.” He rubbed her feet.

  “Damn that feels good, baby. Keep doing it.”

  He put his hand on her inner thigh and she pushed it away. Seconds later it was there again. She moaned then pushed it away. He turned and pushed his tongue down her throat. She grabbed the remote control and paused the TV; she then unbuttoned her blouse. He removed her bra as he kicked off his Jordans. He kissed her neck and she removed her jeans. She was now wet. She led his hand to her ass.

  “Yeah, baby. Grip that ass.” His hands were big enough to hold her whole ass in his palms. Her hot spot.

  When Q pulled his T-shirt over his head, he took off his chain and watch. His dick peeked through his boxers. Summer put her hands on it then pulled his shorts down. She massaged it.

  He didn’t want head. He wanted to put it inside her. He wanted to see that round ass from behind; her making faces while he pulled her hair. He stopped her from massaging his dick and kissed her on her neck. She placed his hand on her ass again.

  “Put it inside me.”

  He pushed her onto the sofa, spread her legs and entered. She moaned. He was gentle and she liked that because he was big; much bigger than Tommy.

  “Tell me what you like,” he requested.

  “Just grab my leg.” She lifted it for him and he held it.

  “Baby this pussy is so wet.”

  “You like it?”

  Astupid question that came up sometimes. What nigga didn’t like pussy unless he, of course, liked dick. And then, if he liked dick, this question would never come up.

  Q continued to stroke while gripping her ass. She rubbed his chest.

  “Turn over on your side,” he said.

  When she did, he pulled her hair. “Smack my ass,” she said.

  She was a freak with no inhibitions.

  “Pull my hair harder.”

  He wrapped her hair around the palm of his hand and kept pulling. She made faces and it seemed to be arousing her. He kept thrusting. Finally, he flipped her over onto her stomach to enter her doggy style.

  “How does it feel, baby?” he asked.

  There were tears in her eyes now. Why did men have to ask so many damn stupid questions at the wrong time?

  “Right there. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t move,” she said.