Baby Momma Saga, Part 2

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  “What the fuck kind of laser-light show cockamamie magic shamrock shit is this? You take me for a fucking fool?” Don Cerzulo’s breath was a hot hiss into my ear.

  I had to give him his props. He was quick and freakishly quiet on them old feet of his. His pistol was pressed hard up against my junk and I could feel a lonely tear burning in the corner of my eye.

  “It ain’t a joke. I learned to make it locked up in VA. My name is Rasheed White; your son fake killed me for street cred. Tomorrow, every dealer in the area is gonna be lookin’ for me or wet dream, because right now, they on the second floor fucked up and fuckin’, and I need my dick and a truckload of shit to sell them.”

  “Atta boy, no man alive’ll lie on his Johnson. Fix me a gin and tonic. How much are we talkin’ about?” Don Cerzulo dropped his gun and walked back over to the couch.

  “Two mill for my time and the supplies and one major supplier. Guarantee I’ll have your investment back to you with interest faster than a hummingbird fuck.” I handed him his drink and took a seat, quickly sipping from mine to calm my jacked-up nerves.

  “Gotta sample it. You do half first to make sure you ain’t trying to poison me.”

  After the stunt he just pulled, I wasn’t about to tell him that we shouldn’t be doing this shit together. But, Don Cerzulo was not the kind of guy you hesitated around when it came to business; it made you look sketchy. I uncapped a vial and lifted it to my nose, inhaling quickly. The powder numbed my nostril, making my eyes water.

  “Let me just tell you now, Don, shit hits harder than woodpecker lips, my dude.”

  I handed it to Don Cerzulo as the hairs on my head began to pulsate, sending throbbing vibrations down my back that made my eyes feel like they were dancing in my skull.

  “We’re gonna need to get a girl up in here, man. Trust me.”

  I stuck my head out the door with my body throbbing and I looked G and Fallon up and down. Fallon had scuff marks on his shoes and a ketchup stain on the bottom of his shirt. If he ain’t care about his appearance, who knew what kind of women he’d come back with.

  “G, go find me some girls.” I relayed the quick order and popped back into the room, trying to stay as far away from Don Cerzulo as possible. I’d seen dudes do some fucked-up shit to each other inside, all because they touched and had a “it felt good” moment. No, sir, his old ass was not about to have me Brokeback Mountain up in this bitch. I made the mistake of looking in his direction and almost gagged. He was in the chair with his eyes closed, doing some kind of geriatric air humps. Sounding like a drunk gorilla.

  The girls came in just in time, and Don Cerzulo almost jumped out of the chair he was so excited. I busied myself on the other side of the bar, rubbing my junk along the counter with my eyes closed, thinking about Shiree. My phone vibrated in my pocket and the sensation traveled all the way up the back of my neck.

  * * *

  Do I ever ask you when your ass is coming home? No. So don’t ask me.

  * * *

  That was her answer, damn near an hour later, and that’s what she had to say. What the hell had she really been doing?

  “Why you over here all by yourself, sexy face?”

  I didn’t even argue when she unzipped my jeans, wrapping her pretty lips all around me. And she was a hummer. A song came on downstairs and she got into it humming with the faint music. Even high as hell, my conscience was fuckin’ with me. I kept hearing Shiree’s voice; it detracted from the mean sucking and slurping effects this chick was making.

  “Yo, ma, you gotta stop.” My words came out in a painful groan.

  “Mmmm, Mr. Pretty Dick, does that mean you ready to fuck?”

  She still hand my dick in a viselike grip and I gritted my teeth trying to hold back.

  “I know you’re not done already. What’s the matter, your girl got wack head?” Don Cerzulo called out from over his shoulder. He had his chick bent over the couch. The chick on her knees in front of me turned to see who the hell was calling her head game wack. In the process of her turning, her hair swept across me like a thousand fingers, and that combined with her hand sent me over the edge. I exploded with a growl, clutching the counter behind me to keep my balance and she screamed.

  “Eeew, you got it in my ear. Really? Arrrgh. It’s in my ear!”

  Don Cerzulo hooted, “Wet dream? You need to call it wet pigeon. I ain’t wet pigeoned a broad since grade school. My partner, the wet pigeoner. I likes this kid; meet me here tomorrow, three p.m., two million.”

  All I could hear over my heart beating in my ears was Don Cerzulo telling his girl to get up so he could wet pigeon her, and Shiree, yelling.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I squinted at the bright white letters that said Call in progress 00:6:48 and still counting. I didn’t even bother lifting it up to my ear.

  Chapter 17

  Tell Me Somethin’ Good

  After my night with Devon I woke up practically singing. He seemed like such a good man and he was so easy to get along with. Even though he had no sense when it came to kids, I giggled at that haunted hayride fiasco. He even challenged Trey to an ice cream eating contest when he got off work. I’d have to run interference on that one, because the last thing I’d be doing is playing nurse to two bellyaches. I made his bed and straightened up, wondering if I could ever think of it as our bed. It was kind of soon yes but, all these kinds of things made me think about having a real, normal life again. Not always running around scared of everything and everyone. I missed that, and there was only one person keeping me from it, and it wasn’t Honey. She couldn’t be my boogey-man forever.

  Devon had already made breakfast and left for work. That one was still a jaw dropper. He got up and actually cooked real food from scratch, not some microwave heat-up crap. He’d brought me chocolate chip pancakes, turkey bacon, strawberries, and two little people covered from head to toe in flour. All I could see were Lataya’s eyes. I was shocked they didn’t have a fit and come screaming and kicking the door down when they woke up in a new place. Devon asked if they wanted to make Mommy breakfast, and they were all in.

  He’d called to tell me he rode past Momma’s house and it looked like someone had already put the door back up. Mona or one of Momma’s neighbors must’ve done it, I couldn’t think of anyone else. The kids had enough clothes in the bags I always kept in my car to last for at least a month, so I wasn’t too worried about anything we had in the house. After lunch I decided to get the kids dressed and take them to see Momma. I was sure she’d enjoy having Trey there, and she probably secretly missed her “imposter crumb snatcher,” too. She was still in the intensive care unit and giving all the male nurses hell, grabbing their asses and making kissy faces at them. When she wasn’t doing that, she was complaining: it was either too cold, or the food ain’t have any flavor, the blanket was scratchy, the lady on the other side of the room sounded like she was getting more channels. It might be good for her to see a few familiar faces. Maybe she’d hurry up and get better.

  “You just stick me in here like a potato plant, waiting for me to sprout roots to this bed,” Momma whined pitifully as soon as we walked in.

  “Hey, G-ma.” Trey climbed up in her bed, geared up to show her his new iPad. That thing was Devon’s idea not mine. Trey picked it up and Devon told him go for it, saying some mess about extra ones for the hospital. Yeah, well I hope he had an extra, extra one. I could just see it falling and cracking all over one of the many tiled floors in that house or outside on the sidewalk. But, he insisted, and it’d been fused to Trey’s hands ever since.

  “Hey Grandma, suga’. I could just eat ya all up, nam nam nam.”

  She was making chomping noises and he was squealing, but still determined to show off his new present.

  “What in the world is this? An i-what?”

  I let them have their time and I wandered off to see if I could find Devon.

  “No. I can’t come see you. It’s not because of anyone, it’s because I
don’t want to. You’ll survive I’m sure. I honestly don’t care what she thinks.”

  I found Devon in a corner of the admittance desk having an intensely heated conversation.

  I’d started to back away. I didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping.

  “Mommy, G-ma gave me money for the smack machine.”

  Trey slammed into my leg going a mile a minute about the snack machine? I was pretty sure that’s what he meant. Normally I would have corrected him, but Lataya’s car seat was getting heavy, and I just wanted to disappear.

  Devon called after me, but I just wanted to get outside and get some fresh air. This shit was impossible; these men were damn impossible.

  Was that a woman? And why was his ass whispering?

  I walked out the front door, trying to get my mind together. “We’ll go get candy in a minute okay, Trey?”

  I must have looked upset or something, because he simply nodded, and he rarely did that. Devon would be out here in a minute, and I needed to figure out what I’d say if I should ask anything, how to explain my reaction. It’d only been but a blink, here I was about to make myself look like one of those women who go all insane stalker over some good dick.

  It was just a’ight dick anyway. Psssht. Whatever, that shit was good.

  Not in the mood for thinking, I just took some breaths, cleaning my mind. I’d read a pamphlet on his kitchen table that suggested you try breathing to alleviate stress, so here I was breathing instead of counting, and I still felt stressed. At least counting down from ten kept me from thinking about all the other crazy shit going on in my head. So what if I never made it past eight? I just needed to slow my roll, not define anything; he did tell whoever she was he couldn’t see her, so that was a start.

  And that’s when I damn near had a real-live on-the-spot panic attack. We locked eyes as she walked past me. I couldn’t believe she was alive, even though I hadn’t been sure she was dead to begin with.

  “Hi, can’t really talk. I’ve gotta get someone checked in,” Towanna said and quickly walked by, dragging a young girl in handcuffs up the stairs toward the entrance.

  The wind blew, and I stood there staring at the back of her black windbreaker, slack-jawed and dazed. The girl stared back at me with demented crazy eyes and let out an eerie cackling sound of a laugh. I sighed. I really needed to figure out which pet cemetery or Indian burial ground they were sticking everyone in so I could go bless or whatever the hell you do to destroy those things. What was Towanna even doing in Virginia?

  “Momeee, can we go to the smack machine now?” Trey piped up with his perfectly aggravating timing.

  I walked back into Momma’s room a complete flustered mess. Devon rushed in after me.

  “It’s so nice to see you two together all in love. I’m in love myself, with these murses,” Momma announced with an ecstatic shimmy as she fanned herself, peeking around for another nurse to harass. “Is it football season? ’Cause I’ve been watching tight ends all day. Whew, these male nurses running around here with these tight behinds, murses got my love oven getting moist and it ain’t did that since—”

  I turned to Devon. “Sweetie, can you please run Trey to the snack machine right quick before he asks again?”

  He quickly obliged, happy to not have to hear whatever was about to come out of Momma’s mouth.

  “So you’re feeling better, Momma White?” I sat down next to her on the hospital bed, noticing that for once she wasn’t talking about predators or body snatchers; she was her normal self. The woman I remembered meeting ages ago.

  “Oh, I was lyin’ here last night and I remembered so much, it was refreshing and hellishly scary. You ever rode a wild man or a rollercoaster backwards? It was like that.” Momma nodded.

  “It was like what, Momma, really?” I gawked at her and started blushing because I’d definitely ridden a wild man backwards, standing too.

  “Child, I ever tell you what I did for the first three years after I had Rasheed?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t even think Rah ever mentioned it.”

  She patted the pillow beside her. “That’s because he ain’t neva know. Get comfy.”

  Chapter 18

  Momma’s Maybe

  Me and Ray always tried to find a way to see each other despite his parents foolishness. Even with the DNA test proving he was the daddy, his parents made him go through hell to get out the house to see me. One night he was walking me home. Sometimes it was just easier to visit him at work than to try to see him after hours. We heard all this noise. It was like a rusty trombone sounding off against an angry pirate. Hurt your ears something terrible. Frankie Diamonds was laying into some poor girl. He was stomping and beating her; blood was splattering all up against the side of that pretty Cadillac of his. Ray wasn’t going to just stand by and watch something like that.

  He marched over and asked Frankie what the problem was, and of course, Frankie put him off.

  “You ain’t gonna keep that nose if you keep sticking it in traps to see if they’ve snapped. This ain’t got nothing to do you with you, young blood. Go tend to your woman before I decide to tend to her, too.” Frankie Diamonds looked around Ray, blowing a kiss in my direction.

  My baby whooped his ass right then and there. He went to help up the girl Frankie beat, and she was pretty much at the point of just giving up. She wasn’t going to make it and she knew it. She told Ray where Frankie’s clip was at in the car and he went for it. Came back across the street and showed me what had to be at least $30,000. Back then that was a lot of damn money. We decided we were gonna take that and move away together.

  A shout split the silence. “Them motherfucka’s right there. They snatched my shit.” Frankie’s Cadillac pulled up at the end of the alley, and we could hear him circle around. I took Rasheed; he was all I could carry, and I ran like the devil was chasing me. I ran through front alleys, back alleys, slid through puddles, ducked around trash cans. I splashed through what I could only hope was mud or puddles.

  “You’d better have a bank roll of bills strapped to that baby’s ass, or I’ll kill everything you’ve ever known and that ain’t a forecast, it’s official,” Frankie hissed at me as he climbed out of the Cadillac.

  I wasn’t fast enough, and damn sure didn’t hide well enough. Raising my chin and squaring up my shoulders I stepped out from behind the corner of the Dumpster where I’d been hiding.

  “I don’t have your money, so best you just g’on ahead and kill me then,” I told him defiantly.

  My head snapped around. I saw Frankie, brick, that dumpster, and then Frankie again. I could feel my cheek split open from the spot where his ring connected with the skin. He stood there in the alley with all of them diamonds glittering and glistening, sneering at me like I won’t nothing but shit on the bottom of his shoe. Somebody’d gone and rubbed the lamp his daddy called a dick one day, and this evil genie of a man floated into the world, promising all of these riches and treasure, claiming he could make all your troubles go away. The only thing you had to sell was you.

  He looked over at this tall, lanky black thang beside him. “What you think? Should I put her on the track, she look like she got thirty grand makin’ snatch, plus my commission?”

  They stared me up and down, assessing my street value, while Rasheed whimpered in my arms.

  “You down one ho anyway. Lexy ass is done for. Might as well make her work off that roll; the kid gonna be an issue. Dead that.”

  Even if Ray gave Frankie that money back, I knew he’d still kill him, Rasheed, and Mona for taking it. Something like that wouldn’t go unpunished, and if word got out, it’d make Frankie look weak. Police wouldn’t do nothing about it except lock Ray up for stealing if I went to them. I did what I had to do to save my family.

  “My sister can keep my baby. Put me on that track and I’ll make you six figures. Please don’t hurt anyone.” I was out there begging for lives that ain’t even know they were in danger, tears running down my face and f
alling on Rasheed’s. He stopped crying, though.

  “You make six figures and I’ll give you my Caddy, throw in some girls, and make you a damn partner, shit.” He laughed and jabbed the other guy with his elbow. “Tell Smoke where your sister stay and he’ll take your brat to her. Understand one thing ho, my repumatation, yes you heard me right because I’m never wrong—my repumatation is imperial. I won’t be known for peddlin’ or maintainin’ dirty sewer shit-stain pussy. Those are the kind of accusations I’d get if niggas saw or smelled yo’ ripe alley cat lookin’ ass right about now. I’m the hand of God as far as you’re concerned, cross me and I will smite thee. Your shift starts once you are cleaned up to my liking, and you are on my clock.”

  That was the night Frankie the Ambassador Diamonds became my pimp, lover, husband, confidant, and my employer. When it was time to take me up out that alley and show me my new home, he’d actually said out his mouth that I wasn’t ready to ride in his car yet; that I’d funk and fuck up his interior. This nigga took every side street and back road through the city, and I had to walk while he followed along beside me. He said it’d toughen up my feet, get me conditioned for long hours of standing. Teach me how to get out there and properly do that ho stroll.

  It’s a big deal when a pimp adds a new girl to his roster. All the other girls that want and chose to be there are instantly jealous and catty. There were eight women all cramped up in this small three-bedroom house. The master bedroom belonged to Frankie, and the only way you got to sleep in there with him was when you were earning stupid money. It didn’t make a lick of sense to me. If he had so much money, why did he have us all up in this little-ass house, and why would he want a ho that any dude could run up in on any given day? I never said that shit out loud though. Just kept it to myself.

  Frankie had the girl he called his “bread winner” show me the ropes and explain how everything worked. His reasoning behind that was that if I was trained by a “bread winner”, then maybe I’d become one. Royce was a pretty, round-faced girl. I heard him call her a black and tan. She had a nice brown skin complexion with long, shiny black hair. I didn’t know what black and tans were, but I was determined to figure it out one of those days.