“Look at the fucking stage. It’s more bitches around that muthafucka than hard heads. I should make one of them hoes raise up out me a seat.”
Flame chuckled. “You mean more like two seats, yo big ass,” he added, playfully tapping 8-Ball.
“Fuck you.”
Doe came up behind them, wrapping his arms around both of them. “You see anything you like?” he asked.
“Hell, yeah!” they responded in unison.
“Well, go for what you know. Ain’t no sense just looking at the pussy.”
“But I thought we couldn’t touch them?” 8-Ball asked, obviously intimidated by women so fine.
Doe shot him a look like what he said was absurd. “Man, we been schoolin’ y’all asses for three months now, and you still don’t get it. These broads in here to get money, so give them money, and you can get whateva you want.”
8-Ball still wasn’t convinced, so Doe drove his point home. “Nigga, you think these hoes on the road was fuckin’ you cause of your looks?” he asked. “Negro, please! I mean you cool, but a Denzel you’re not.”
Flame burst out into raucous laughter.
“Fuck you,” swore 8-Ball.
Doe punched him in the arm before calling over a thick, bow-legged redbone. She sauntered over on her six-inch stiletto heels.
“What’s up, suga?” she asked.
Doe whispered in her ear explaining the situation. Not all of the women inside fucked for cash, but a lot of them did. It was just a matter of finding out which ones did, because money wasn’t a thing. The whole crew had cash for days.
On the other side of the club, Qwess had pulled a bad broad with smooth chocolate skin. Everyone had been sweating her all night, for she was easily the baddest chick in the club, depending on your taste. Her hair was cut short, as was she, standing about five-two without her heels. Her skin was so smooth, she didn’t wear much makeup, and her eyes were a piercing steel-gray.
She and Qwess had been conversing for a short while before he came straight out and asked her. “So, how much I gotta pay for your time?”
She blew up. “Hold up! I ain’t no hoe!”
Qwess had to calm her down. “Hold on, love. Wait. Be easy now. I didn’t say you was a hoe.”
“Well, you playing me like a hoe. I ain’t no trick. I just do this to pay for school!”
Oh, lord, thought Qwess. Not another hooker with a heart of gold. However, he said, “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she snapped.
“What school?” he challenged
“Emory.”
“Oh. Okay.”
It wasn’t that Qwess didn’t believe her, it was just hard to take her seriously with her titties hanging out and a G-string crammed in her ass. Yet he liked what he saw.
He told her, “Listen, I wasn’t implying that you were a hoe or nothing. I just like what I see, but I also see all these other brothers in here checking for you, too.”
She had her hand on her hip. “And?”
“And, I’m short on time and even shorter on patience. I don’t want to waste the night tricking bank, competing with these dudes to gain your affection. I wanted you to know if it’s about money, I got you.”
She sized Qwess up carefully. “Well, it’s not about money.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” Qwess extended his hand. “By the way, they call me Qwess.”
“I’m Innocence.” They shook hands.
Pouring on the charm, Qwess asked, “So, your mama named you Innocence?”
“Nope. Just like I’m sure your mama ain’t name you Qwess.”
“Oh, you got jokes?”
Innocence smiled sweetly.
She and Qwess continued to talk for a while. However, when it started getting late, Qwess sprung his line. He hadn’t been partaking in the freakfests while on tour because he was still in mourning, and by now he was horny as hell.
He asked her, “Look, I only got one night in town. In the morning, I’ll be gone. So you tryna kick it or what tonight?”
Innocence didn’t flip this time, though she still felt he was playing her like a hoe.
“Yeah, we can kick it,” she calmly replied. “You ain’t getting no ass from me, though. If you want that, you can holla at one of these other broads. I won’t have no love lost. I’m sure they’d love to say they slept with a rapper.”
“Not even on my mind, we just met,” Qwess replied. “It ain’t even like that.”
Innocence placed her hand on his lips. “Be real, Qwess. If that’s what you want, go ahead.”
“Nah, ma. Word, it ain’t like that. I’m trying to get some of your time. Get to know you.”
“Yeah?” she asked unbelievingly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we’ll see.”
For the rest of the night, if Innocence wasn’t dancing, she was talking to Qwess. When she was dancing, she was looking at Qwess. And when she was in the dressing room, she sent Qwess drinks.
At the end of the night when they all retired to their plush rooms at the Four Seasons, 8-Ball and Flame had two women apiece, Doe had the bow-legged redbone, Hulk had three women, and Qwess had Innocence.
However, while there was an all-out freakfest in the other rooms, Qwess spent the whole morning talking to Innocence. And it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t zone out thinking about Shauntay.
* * *
Reece put the finishing touches on the meal just as he heard Samson’s music announce his arrival. He looked at his monitor on the wall and could see Destiny being helped out of the massive Hummer truck.
Reece and Destiny were having dinner at Reece’s place, and since Reece wasn’t too keen on having someone know how to get to his house, he had had Samson pick Destiny up and bring her there. He and Destiny had been kicking it since early spring, and he still hadn’t hit, and it was the middle of summer. She had opted not to return to school, citing family problems. It was also her reason for not maintaining a job that didn’t matter because she was “daddy’s little girl” and daddy “held her down.” And even though Reece tried to give her things, she refused them because she didn’t want to lead him on. In fact, the reason they were having dinner at his place tonight was because she didn’t want him spending any more money on fancy restaurants.
During their considerable time spent together, Reece had all but confessed he was involved in “questionable” activities, though he substantially minimized his involvement. At first she was appalled, but later she warmed up to his truths as she warmed up to him.
Reece put his concoction in the oven and went to get the door. He was preparing a meal he had learned to make during one of his brief stints in the county jail. It was called a “set-up” inside the joint. It consisted of ramen noodles, rice, meat (fish in this case), and an assortment of extras like mushrooms, oysters, and cheese. It was fairly easy to make and only took twenty minutes to prepare. However, Destiny would’ve never guessed it by the flour liberally sprinkled on his face and apron. Reece wanted to make this moment seem like some special shit.
He opened the door for Destiny wearing nothing but an apron and socks. He ushered her in out of the cool air, dapped up Samson, and excused himself to put on something more appropriate—like clothes. When he turned to walk away, Destiny noticed his nakedness and couldn’t resist.
“Hold up. Reece, when you said dress down, I was thinking you meant more like sweats.” She modeled her Baby Phat sweat suit, illustrating her point. “I didn’t think you meant dress that far down!” She pointed at his nakedness.
“What’s the matter? You getting hot and bothered?” Reece queried, spinning around like a fashion model.
“Nah, I was more concerned about the draft in here.”
“Ah, cut it out. Listen, I’m going to freshen up. The food will be ready soon. You can sit in my study until I get back.”
He led her to the study, and when he left the room, Destiny did
her womanly thing: snoop.
The first thing she checked out was his book collection, which took up the entire back wall. It was said that you could tell a lot about a person by what they read. So Destiny ventured to find out more about the intriguing Reece.
Destiny was surprisingly impressed by his collection. Among the prerequisites for all aspiring street generals like The Art of War by Sun Tzu and The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, she also found a lot of culturally based books. A lot she didn’t even know about until she went to college. Books like The African Origin of Civilization by Cheikh Anta Diop, The Destruction of Black Civilization by Chancellor Williams, and The Isis Papers by Dr. Frances Cress Welsing. She even noticed he had a lot of books about Hitler.
The more she learned about Reece, the more intrigued she became. She had first pegged him as a typical drug dealer: ostentatious, egomaniacal, and ignorant. Yet she was quickly learning he was anything but ignorant.
Reece returned wearing a green satin pajama set. They ate dinner by candlelight. She complimented Reece on his culinary skills, but didn’t believe him when he told her the true origin of the meal.
After dinner they went into the den to have drinks. Destiny noticed that in every room, there were a huge number of packing boxes, so after a third straight glass of merlot, she asked, “Is someone moving in?”
“Actually, I’m moving out,” Reece shared.
“Really? This is a nice house,” Destiny admitted, referring to the four-bedroom duplex Reece currently occupied.
“Oh, I’m not getting rid of it. I’m just moving into a larger house further in the country.”
“Reece, like you really need more room!”
“Well, since I’m dabbling in real estate now, I might as well take advantage of it,” he reasoned. He took a large swig of merlot.
Destiny took advantage of a lull in the conversation to ask about his book collection. “Reece, I noticed you have a lot of black history books. You ever been to college or something?”
He stood up from the sofa, walked to the rack stereo, and turned it on. “Yeah.”
Destiny was shocked. “Really? You never told me that. Where?”
“The School of Hard Knocks in Anyblock, USA.”
“Uhh, you!” She threw a pillow at him. “I was being serious. The average brother isn’t up on stuff like that, except the ones in the joint.”
Reece raised his eyebrows. “Actually, when Qwess was inside, he’s the one that recommended them to me.”
Destiny was eager to explore Reece and Qwess’s union. “Oh, yeah? You and Qwess tight, huh?”
“Hell, yeah! That’s my brother right there. I’d kill for that nigga.” He paused a moment contemplating the many murders he’d committed for Qwess this year alone. “I’d die for him, too.”
Destiny could sense his sincerity and had to ask why. “How’d you two become so close?”
Reece was now drinking the merlot from the bottle and was past tipsy. “It’s like this,” he told her. “Qwess and I are kindred spirits, ya know? Last of a dying breed.”
“Last of a dying breed?”
“Yep.”
“What breed is that?”
Reece emitted a soft chuckle, glad she asked. “A breed of thoroughbreds that are preyed upon by haters, punk police, diabolical women, and the so-called criminal justice system.” Making his point, he downed the rest of the drink in one powerful swig.
Still feeling him out, Destiny decided to question him during his inebriated state, knowing a drunk mind speaks a sober mouth. “Well, let me ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“You’re culturally inclined, and surely know what is behind the demise of our people. The oppressors, right?”
“No doubt.”
“Yet, you aid and abet the oppressor by pumping that shit into the streets. So what’s the use of learning about the history of our people if you ain’t going to do shit to help ’em?”
Reece couldn’t believe this chick was coming at him like this. He reflectively looked at the bottle he held in his hand, debating how far he wanted to take the conversation. Never one to bite his tongue, he decided to give it to her raw.
“I study to gain knowledge of self. To master me. The only way to find out who you are is to find out where you’ve been, and how you got into the situation you’re in. Then and only then can you do something worthwhile about it.”
“So all you care about is you?” Destiny challenged. “You don’t want to help our people with your knowledge?”
She walked to him, and stood up right in his face, so close he could smell her breath. He looked her right in her hazel eyes unflinchingly and answered.
“Look I useta want to save the world, but then I found out the world didn’t want to save itself. The older I got, the more I realized the majority of the population was lost—blind, deaf, and dumb.”
Destiny didn’t want Reece to stop talking. She loved his mind! His speech. The way words effortlessly oozed from his lips. The merlot, Sade, and Reece’s smooth voice provided a lethal aphrodisiac. Destiny was getting turned on by the minute.
“Go on,” she told him. “Finish.”
“’Specially black people,” Reece continued. “We always singing and shit instead of swinging our shit. We always screamin’ peace. Make peace with the enemy. Hell, we the only ones talkin’ that shit. Our enemy still got his boot on our neck. Power concedes nothing without demand. The white man wanted this country, they didn’t ask the Indians for it. They took this shit. By force! Murder, extortion, robbery, you name it. All the stuff they lock a brotha up for today. Ya feel me?”
Despite herself, she did feel him, so she nodded. Reece continued.
“Hell, we were kings in Africa! We fought lions and shit. Now we bow down like we being knighted or something.”
Destiny sucked her teeth. “Save me your righteous indignation. I feel you on one aspect, but be honest, too. You like the money.”
Reece leveled with her. “Yeah, I like the money, but it’s more than that. I just can’t see me working a regular job for peanuts. People caught up in the rat race work all day and night and still can’t afford to buy a Benz. Or,” he added, cupping Destiny’s face, “can’t even afford to get their loved ones special things they want.”
He kissed her. She didn’t resist. In fact, she reciprocated, kissing him long and hard. Her body had been wanting this all night, though her mind knew she didn’t need it. Despite herself, Destiny was feeling Reece in a big way. Yes, she had issues with his occupation, but oddly enough, she could see why he did what he did. It turned her on to see such a strong man stand firm on his principles. And even though that wasn’t her objective, she found herself falling for him.
Before long, their kisses led to caresses, and before either of them knew what had happened, Destiny was on her back on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace getting her juices sucked out of her.
“Oh, pleeease don’t stop!” she begged, panting, raking her long nails through Reece’s dreadlocks. “Oooh, yes, yes, yes!” she hissed as he eased two fingers into her tight, warm center. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Please make love to me, Reece. Please!”
Reece broke a record removing his clothes. He slid his body between her legs and entered her . . . raw dog. Destiny cried out in pleasure as Reece filled up her insides with his thick member, and before he managed to stroke her ten good times, Destiny’s entire body shook with powerful orgasms. Her inner muscles contracted, prompting Reece to follow her over the cliff of climax. He released a powerful eruption inside of her. Destiny wrapped her thick legs around Reece’s back. He palmed her soft ass, and they shook together for what seemed like an eternity. Then they repeated their cycle over and over again.
That night something took place that Destiny never intended. She never intended to sleep with Reece. She knew sleeping with him could only complicate things. Only make situations worse. She knew that falling in love with him was tantamount to t
reason. Yet, late that night while Reece slept, she traced his jawline with her fingers as she lay on his chest and couldn’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She was truly in a dilemma, and the Sade playing over the Bose speakers summed it up best.
“This is no ordinary love . . .”
Chapter 15
The video for “Street Life” was presumably going to be shot in Charlotte. Presumably, because unbeknownst to John Meyers and the execs at AMG records, the video for “Street Life” was being shot the entire time the crew was touring.
Doe had taken the liberty of ordering the driver to drive through the hood in every city they came through. As they drove through these hoods, Doe videotaped the dope boys in the trap. Some were actually making sales. Others were just standing on the block holding their nuts. Doe taped it all. Then, later, he went back over the tapes and digitally blurred out the faces so as not to incriminate anyone. So, now all the video director had to do was put the shots into a sequence, and it would fit the theme for the song perfectly.
John Meyers wasn’t happy when he found out about the revelation because he had spent numerous dollars, time, and energy coordinating the would-be video set. He had all of the top beauties of the South as eye candy, as he was sure this was going to be a video full of excess—albeit meaningless to the subject of the song—since it was typical of the videos in today’s rotations. However Qwess reserved creative control, and John Meyers had to fall back when Qwess reminded him. So, in the end, Qwess ended up lip-synching in the cold on South Tryon Street.
There was another artist that AMG was looking to promote on their label named Niya. Looking to kill two birds with one stone, AMG made sure Niya made a guest appearance in Qwess’s video to generate hype. She was in the process of releasing her debut album, so John Meyers thought it would be wise to include her in the rest of the tour Qwess was presently on, which was how she ended up on the tour bus when Doe and Qwess arrived in Charlotte. They had driven up in Doe’s BMW 760 since they had other business in the city once the video shoot was completed.
Doe went onto the bus to retrieve some forgotten goods, where he saw the most beautiful ass known to man hiked up in the air. Apparently, the young lady was digging between the seats for something she dropped, and was so busy searching for it that she didn’t realize she was being watched. When she came up for air, she saw the handsome man looking at her and was instantly embarrassed. Though she thought him cute, it wasn’t exactly the way she would like to have made a first impression.
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