That was it for Sasha. She’d been stuck at the first time Paris had called her a jump-off, so for her to say it again put Sasha over the edge. Sasha wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what Paris was referring to. Sasha had already been feeling some kind of way after having slept with Terrance on the first night she met him. She did not need Paris fanning the flames, so it was time she pulled out her fire extinguisher. “Look, I had no beef with you. I never questioned anything about your parenting. The only thing I mentioned was that I had no idea you had a son. In all these months I’d never seen him with you or even heard you talk about him. I know if I had a baby, I’d be so proud that the whole world would know it.”
“Bitch, I am proud.” Paris jumped to her feet. “And everyone in my world does know it. Ho, I don’t know you. I don’t talk to you like that. You’re not part of my world. I’m not whipping out my wallet with baby pictures to show your ass. You’re Casey’s friend, not mine,” Paris clarified. “So, bitch, that’s why you didn’t know. I can’t say the same for you; all of Atlanta knows about you hoing with Terrance.”
It wasn’t but two seconds until Paris was wearing Sasha’s mimosa. That wasn’t good. Not only had Sasha been hungry, she’d been thirsty, too, and now there went her drink.
Sasha sat there in shock with her mouth hanging open. No, she hadn’t just thrown her drink on Paris. Sasha wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t looked in her hand and seen the now-empty glass. What had happened? When? Why?
It was that very last “bitch” that had caused Sasha to just snap. Or had it been “ho”? Either way, Sasha was so regretful—that was until Paris’s glass whizzed by her face, grazing her cheek, but not doing any damage. Not even a drop of the little bit of liquid that had been left in the glass splattered on Sasha. Nonetheless, Sasha hopped up out of her seat. It was inevitable that she and Paris were about to go to blows. Unlike when this kind of stuff went down on reality shows, there was no film crew to break up the fight. As Paris came around the table—mad that the throwing of the glass had not done any good and therefore hell-bent on making sure she got payback with her own two hands instead of a weapon—a couple of waitresses intervened.
Just as Paris swung on Sasha, one of the waitresses grabbed Paris’s arm while the other pressed her back into Paris’s stomach to push her away from Sasha.
“Let me go! Get the fuck off of me!” Paris began to fuss and holler.
“Bitch, please,” Sasha said. “You are as big as a horse. If you wanted to get at me, you’d gallop your big ass right through them and get me.”
Paris looked down at the table for something else to throw. There was nothing but a table setting. But now a man, the restaurant manager, had entered the scene and was able to hold Paris back.
“Bitch, fuck with me and your name will be mud in this city,” Paris yelled in anger. “I’ll let everybody know you here on a gold-digging mission. Running through ball players and shit.”
“No, ho, that’s you,” Sasha shot back. “Remember, you’re the one who works as a stripper. You’re the one using your body to get coins. And apparently it’s really just coins, the kind that make noise, because real paper dollars would have kept your car from getting repossessed once upon a time,” Sasha spat. She couldn’t even believe it herself that she was going tit for tat with Paris. What else could she do, though? She was not about to sit there and let Paris think she could bully her. It was time to resort to playground rules. If a bully hit you, you hit them back where it hurts: that way they won’t mess with you anymore. Well, Sasha had swung some good punches, but now it was time to hit below the belt for good measure. “I wonder what your son says when he goes back to school after ‘Take Your Child to Work Day’. Let me guess, ‘Come on class, let’s make it rain.’ ”
Paris’s head damn near snapped off her neck. Sasha’s words had cut to the jugular. Blood was shooting out of her neck and she couldn’t even speak. Sasha was on a roll, though. She wasn’t going to stop there. Before Sasha had moved to Atlanta her mother made her buy a gun and take a class on how to defend herself with it. Sasha had learned that if you pull out your gun, you better aim it. If you’re going to aim it, you better shoot it. If you’re going to shoot it, shoot to kill. In a sense that’s exactly how Sasha had used her tongue, like it was a gun . . . a deadly weapon. It was time for Paris to die. That last comment just had to have been the fatal wound.
Surprisingly enough, Paris managed to gain control of herself and not lose it, but instead fire back. “Yeah, boo-boo. I had a rough patch financially. Haven’t we all? But right now I’m driving a Land Rover, so now what? Now I’m picking my son up to and from private school in style while your broke ass is riding around in a Honda.” She let out her wicked, annoying laugh.
“I’d rather work at a morally decent job and drive a Honda than have to take off my clothes for a Land Rover.”
“Bitch, don’t nobody take their clothes off, not all of them anyway. And I’ll have you know that I don’t have a problem in the world doing what I do. Hell, if you got the body, flaunt it.”
“You mean gallop,” Sasha said. “Your big ass stomping around like a damn horse or something.”
“Fuck you, you bony-ass fake bitch,” Paris spat, going off in a rage again and having to be restrained.
“Doug, get her out of here,” the manager said to the man who was approaching them. He was wearing an apron so he must have been one of the cooks.
“Come on, ma’am. Let’s go.” Doug was very soft-spoken. He gently grabbed Sasha’s arm.
“Y’all can do and say whatever the hell y’all want, just not up in here,” the manager said as he began escorting Paris out of the restaurant right behind Sasha. And Sasha and Paris continued throwing verbal jabs at each other all the way until they were outside. “Where’s your car, ma’am?” the manager asked Paris.
Paris managed to point while she called Sasha every name in the book.
Doug just stood there making sure Sasha didn’t charge Paris or anything. Once Paris was inside her vehicle and had started it up, Doug and the manager headed back inside the restaurant.
Sasha watched as Paris peeled off in her truck. Her window was up, but she could still see Paris’s lips moving. She was snapping her neck and pointing her finger the entire time.
It took a few seconds for reality to set in for Sasha. “What just happened?” Sasha had to ask herself out loud as she stood there in complete awe. She took in a few breaths to try to calm herself down. She then looked around. She could see people staring at her through the restaurant windows. Her anger turned into sheer humiliation as she hurried off to her own vehicle.
Had she really just had a public argument with someone whom she thought was her friend? Paris had been right about one thing she’d said: that Sasha was Casey’s friend and not Paris’s. That should have been the first red flag for Sasha; when Paris invited her out to lunch minus the nucleus of their little trio.
Speaking of Casey . . .
It was at that moment when something dawned on Sasha. Paris’s whole beef with Sasha seemed to rest on the fact that she thought Sasha was questioning her parenting skills. There was only one place Paris could have gotten an idea like that. But instead of assuming anything, Sasha was going to find out firsthand.
She hopped in her car and drove off. She’d just tangled with one horse, so to speak, and now here she had to go get what she needed to know from yet another horse’s mouth.
“Saddle up,” she told herself as she exited the parking lot hoping that she didn’t have to bust the damn horse in its mouth.
Chapter 14
“Did you whoop that trick? Did you whoop that trick?” Norman was bouncing around Sasha’s living room waving his arm around in the air as if he were an extra in the movie Hustle and Flow, as he sang the hook of one of the more memorable songs from the Oscar award–winning film.
“Will you stop it?” Sasha said, rolling her eyes as she sat on the couch with her feet tucked
up underneath her bottom. She was wearing a long spaghetti-strapped maxi dress. She’d changed out of her two-piece pant suit after returning home from her brunch from hell with Paris.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been wanting to kick that drag queen in the balls for quite some time now,” Norman said. “But in spite of popular belief, I did not wake up like this.” Norman ran his hands down the side of his own maxi dress. He showed up at Sasha’s doorstep in full Norma gear, informing her that he had been on his way to an afternoon rendezvous. But when he got the phone call from a distressed Sasha, stating that she’d gotten into a fight with Paris, he pumped the heels on his stilettoes real quick. He made a change of plans and headed straight to Sasha’s place instead of his afternoon lover’s. “My momma taught me to never hit a woman.” Norman raised his nose in the air. “That and how to put on my mascara so that it doesn’t cake.” He rolled his eyes.
Sasha sucked her teeth. “Well, to answer your question, no, I did not whoop that trick. Not with my fists anyway.”
A disappointed look was now cast over Norman’s face.
“But I beat that bitch down with my words.”
Norman smiled and clapped his hands together. Apparently that gave him some satisfaction. Sasha was sure it was not as much satisfaction as learning that she had pulled out a track or two of Paris’s weave would have given him. This would have to suffice, though.
“Do tell, blow for blow.” He sat on the couch next to Sasha. “And you better make it good, ’cause I literally could have been getting a blow by blow right about now.” He looked down at his private parts. “If you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean, and it’s TMI, thank you very much.” Sasha shook her head.
“Girl, just tell me what the hell happened.” Norman was all set for Sasha to spill the tea, especially if that tea involved Sasha dismissing Paris as a potential friend.
He had more than expressed his dislike for Paris to Sasha. Sasha felt it went beyond him being jealous that Paris would steal some of his thunder as Sasha’s bestie. After all, they were both loud, over-the-top, funny, and outrageous at times. Casey, on the other hand, was no threat to Norman. He’d told Sasha that she was just a little pussycat, although he brought it to Sasha’s attention that she might not be declawed. That he was sure those little claws of hers could do some damage if her back were against the wall. But Paris was the type of level five hurricane that did damage just because she liked the aftermath.
Sasha went on to tell Norman everything that had gone down between her and Paris. She started with the initial text Paris had sent inviting Sasha to brunch. She went all the way to Paris peeling off in her car. Blow by blow details, just as Norman had requested.
“Umpf, umpf, umpf.” Norman shook his head. “I can’t believe I missed all that good old-fashioned Atlanta sweet tea,” he said regretfully.
“Well, you’re the one who said that if ever Paris is around, you won’t be. So I don’t invite you anywhere where I know she’s going to be.”
“Yeah, well, it was probably better off that I wasn’t there anyway.” Norman sighed. “God knows I would have snuck in a blow or two.” He laughed.
Sasha let out a slight chuckle.
“Oh, there goes a laugh,” Norman said, smiling and pointing at Sasha.
Sasha immediately started frowning again. It just didn’t feel right to be joking and happy after getting into such a vicious verbal altercation with someone. At the time of the argument, it felt good when Sasha hit Paris with a left and then hit her with a right. Nothing replaced the feeling of being victorious in the ring. But now that it was all shouted and done, Sasha was left to reflect on the aftermath. And that didn’t feel good at all. Her only concern wasn’t just how Paris’s words had made her feel. Yeah, they stung, but Sasha had gone way below the belt. She’d watched enough reality shows to know that she’d hit Paris in the unspoken zone that was never to be treaded on.
“I talked about her child.” Sasha closed her eyes and shook her head. “I lose my mind if somebody talks about my momma. I can’t imagine if someone put their mouth on my baby.”
Norman rubbed Sasha’s shoulder. “Cheer up, ladybug. She got off a couple good shots of her own on you.” Norman thought for a moment and then chuckled. “That jump-off thing . . .” He chuckled again, but when he realized that Sasha was giving him a side-eye with blades, he silenced himself.
“But come to think of it, she called me a jump-off more than once. And the way she said it, too. It was with such disdain, almost as if she’s jealous she’s not Terrance’s jump-off. Not that I am,” Sasha was quick to say, putting her hand on her chest.
Norman looked down. Sasha watched him scan the carpet as if trying to hurry up and come up with something to say. “Yeah, but I know her ass really felt it when you threw it up in her face about her car being repossessed.” He looked at Sasha. “How did you even know about that? That happened a couple years ago.”
Sasha thought for a moment as she stared straight ahead. She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She looked to Norman. “Didn’t you tell me?”
“Un, un.” Norman shook his head. “You know this beauty don’t talk about that beast. I got ninety-nine things to talk about, but Miss Paris ain’t one,” he said matter-of-factly. “But, hell, everybody knew about her car being zapped while she was in Walmart shopping.” Norman let out a harrumph. “The repo man sure know where to find a broke bitch.” He laughed.
Sasha was still focused on where she’d learned that bit of info. “Are you sure you didn’t tell me? Because everyone might have known, but you know me,” Sasha said, “I don’t know everybody. Just you and Casey. I talk to a couple people at work, but not like that. So it must have been Casey.”
“Must have been,” Norman agreed. “’Cause Paris’s show-off ass sure wouldn’t have told you.” Norman puckered his lips and fluttered his long fake eyelashes. He crossed his legs and then placed both hands on his knees. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t Little Miss Casey with a big ole ladle stirring up a nice pot of smelly shit.” Norman let out a deep breath. “Who’da thought it?”
Sasha tried to think really hard about who or where else she could have heard about Paris’s car being repossessed. That was some kind of underhanded information to have on somebody. So what possible scenario or discussion could have been taking place for Casey to have even mentioned it? Sasha was not one to sit back and talk about someone’s business, nor listen to someone else run them into the ground . . . whether the person being discussed was a friend of Sasha’s or not. Sasha didn’t see the difference between someone running a person into the ground and someone watching or listening to the other person do it.
“No, Casey’s not a shit starter,”—she raised an eyebrow at Norman—“or a shit stirrer. I’m sure she must have just mentioned it in passing or something,” Sasha said in Casey’s defense.
Norman uncrossed his legs and spread them like a dude, resting his elbows on his knees. “Bitch, who the hell, ‘in passing, ’ ”—he used quotation marks with his fingers around the words “in passing,”—“comes out and tells you somebody’s damn car got repossessed? Somebody who is trying to underhandedly tell somebody’s business, that’s who! After all, how the hell Paris find out you said something about not knowing she had a kid in the first place? Come on, Ray Charles. Can’t you see that Casey is the common denominator here?”
The opinion Norman had expressed to Sasha that he had of Casey was starting to take on another shape. Sasha wasn’t sure; maybe Casey was one to watch. God knows what folks say about the quiet ones. Just because Casey wasn’t as loud as Paris didn’t mean she couldn’t ultimately do just enough damage. A hurricane may leave a more visible sign of destruction, but in some cases, termites can secretly do far more damage.
Sasha had never thought for even a hot second that Casey was trying to play her and Paris against each other. Why would she? Sasha wasn’t hardly trying to steal Paris as a BFF from
Casey nor was Paris dying to be around Sasha like that. As a matter of fact, had it not been for the fact that Paris had wanted to confront Sasha face-to-face, the two of them probably never would have been in a situation where it was just the two of them. So what reason could there be, Sasha asked herself, until something came to her mind.
“You know, Casey and Paris are funny to the point where sometimes they say things that I might think is shade, but it’s regular ole conversation for them,” Sasha said to Norman. “It’s like they don’t mean it to come out the way it does or to be taken the wrong way. It’s just the way they do things.” With Norman not being around Casey and Paris the way Sasha was, Sasha could understand why Norman would think the way he did.
“They throw shade, that’s what those heifers do,” Norman said, his mind not changed by Sasha’s attempt to find reason in Casey’s case of diarrhea of the mouth. “And you betta not sit your ass there trying to defend them. You think a big ole oak tree don’t know it’s creating shade when the sun is shining? Well, that big ole oak tree, who happens to be named Paris, knows when she’s creating it. And so does that little bush who stays in her shadow: Casey.” He looked to Sasha. “And hell yes, I just threw rocks at both them bitches. I’m very clear about mine.”
“Why Casey got to be a bitch?” Sasha said. “I thought we were just hating on Paris.”
“We were until you spilled the whole damn carafe of tea. Now that I’m no longer parched, I can see that Casey set you up on the low-low.”
“Set me up for what?”
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