CHAPTER EIGHT
Stilettos clickin’…timepiece tickin’…clockin’ da niggas all ’bout trickin’…swingin’ da hips…lickin’ da lips…muhf*ckas ain’t ready for a bitch like this…got ’em chasin’ a dream…got ’em f*cked up in da game…head spinnin’…feelin’ all strange…ain’t nuthin’ what it seems…wantin’ to know who I am…it’s Kat, muhf*ckas…repeat my name…ain’t shit change…
“Attention, passengers. At this time, please turn off all electronic devices. And place trays and seats in the upright position as we prepare for our final descent into Newark-Liberty International Airport. We will be landing momentarily.”
I sigh, starin’ outta the window, takin’ in the view. A part of me is mad hyped ’bout bein’ back on the east coast, chillin’ wit’ my girl and poppin’ these hips a bit. Then there’s this other part of me that ain’t beat for it. I’m not gonna think ’bout it, though. I lean my head back. Close my eyes. And for some f*cked up reason, Juanita’s voice finds me. “Kat, what did I ever do to you for you to be so f*cking hateful?…I am still your mother…I promise you, ya ass is gonna see what it’s like to really get it in with a Brooklyn bitch…”
I snap my eyes open. Hold the sides’a my head in the palm of my hands, pressin’ back a headache. I’m not goin’ there; not today. I take a deep breath, then slowly blow it out, peepin’ the George Washington Bridge. I stare at all the whips, lookin’ like miniature toy cars, zippin’ up ’n down the Turnpike. I glance at my timepiece. 10:38 a.m.
I make a mental checklist of all the shit I need’a handle once I touch down. Spark an L…Shoot uptown to get’a doobie ’n nails done… Spark another blunt…hit up da Louis store and Neiman Marcus at Garden State Plaza in Paramus…
The minute we hit the ground at Newark Airport, I pull my phone outta my bag, then turn it on and wait for it to boot up. I text Chanel to let her know we landed. She hits me back lettin’ me know she’s already outside’a baggage claim waitin’ on me. Before I can hit her back, a call is comin’ through. It’s from Nut.
“Yes, whaddaya want now?” I ask, grinnin’.
“You already know. Don’t front.”
I suck my teeth. “Nigga, puhleeze. What can I do for you?”
“You can stop wit’ all the extras e’ery time I call you, for starters. Then you—”
I frown, flippin’ on his ass. “Muhf*cka, whaaat?! You callin’ me, sweatin’ me, muhf*cka. I ain’t beat for you.” The Asian muhf*cka in the seat next to me cuts his eye over at me, shiftin’ in his seat. Why the f*ck he’s still sittin’ is beyond me. I shoot him a look, raisin’ my brow, like “whaaaat, muhf*cka?” He quickly gets his monkey-ass the f*ck up away from me. I watch as he stretches, then gathers his shit and moves the f*ck on. I get up and follow behind.
“Yo, and I’ma keep sweatin’ you ’til ya sexy-ass gives a muhf*cka some rhythm. So, like I said, take down all that ’tude.”
I shake my head, makin’ my way toward baggage claim. “Umm, what did you say your name was again?”
He laughs. “Yo, you real funny, ma. Stop frontin’.”
“No…seriously. What’s ya name?”
“Alley Cat.”
I suck my teeth. “No, fool; ya government name.”
“Alex,” he offers.
“Well, listen—”
“Where you at?” he asks, cuttin’ me off.
I suck my teeth. “Nigga, why you checkin’ for me like you my man or sumthin’?”
“I will be if you learn how’ta act,” he says, laughin’.
“Whateva, Alex, Alley Cat, or whateva other lil’ name you got them gutter rats callin’ you.”
He laughs. “Yo, you can add Daddy Long Stroke to that list.”
I grunt. “Mmmph, a mess!”
“And I’m tryna be ya mess.”
“Nigga, why you checkin’ for me?”
“’Cause I wanna scoop you up tomorrow.”
“Is that right? You still in L.A.?”
“Yeah, but it ain’t nuthin’, yo. I’m tryna see you.”
I smile. I should have his no-good ass fly out to San Francisco. It’ll serve his arrogant ass right. “Well, sorry to piss on ya playground. But, you’re a day late and a stack short. I’m back in Jersey. So, no dice; not gonna happen.”
“Oh, shit. So how long you gonna be out there?”
“For as long as I want,” I tell ’im, snatchin’ up my Prada duffel bag. “I ain’t punchin’ no time clock.”
He chuckles. “I heard that, ma. Well, check it. Enough of this back ’n forth shit, Kat, for real-for real. I’ma scoop you up tomorrow night and we goin’ out. You been bullshittin’ long enough.”
I laugh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah; whaaaaateva.”
“Nah, I’m dead-ass, yo.”
“Oh, so just like that; you gonna hop on a plane and whisk a bitch off into da sunset?”
“Yup, just like that. I told you, I’m checkin’ for you—hard, ma; real talk. So stop frontin’ on a muhf*cka. Besides, I need to get home to check on my crib and handle some other shit.”
“Oh, so wifey’s gonna let you out?”
“Ain’t no wifey here, ma. I’m savin’ that spot for you.”
“Mmmph,” I grunt, walkin’ outta the slidin’ glass doors. I peep Chanel’s whip and make my way over to it. “That’s what ya mouth says, muhf*cka.”
“And that’s what it is. I’ma hit you up tomorrow to finalize our plans.”
I laugh. “Nigga, I ain’t say I was goin’ nowhere wit’ you.”
“Aye, yo, you heard what I said. Tomorrow night, you mine. So get ya mind right ’cause big daddy’s comin’ through to scoop you up.”
I suck my teeth and roll my eyes, tryna hold back my laugh. This nigga is funny as hell. “Muhf*cka, big daddy on this…” I disconnect his ass, shakin’ my head. I open the back door of Chanel’s whip and toss my bag on the seat. “What’s good, bitch?” I say, hoppin’ in the front seat.
“You trick,” she says, laughin’. “Glad to see ya ugly ass made it safe and sound. I missed ya stankan-ass.” We air kiss. “Smooches, boo.”
“What eva, ho.” I fasten my seatbelt, then recline my seat back, pullin’ my Gucci’s down over my eyes. I shoot Chanel a look, peerin’ at ’er over the rim of my shades. “Umm, bitch, why da f*ck you ain’t got me a blunt fired up? What da f*ck good are you? You know a bitch been travelin’ all damn mornin’. The least you could do is have a fatty rolled ’n ready. Damn.”
She cracks up, pressin’ ’er middle finga up in my face. “F*ck you, boo. You stooopid as hell. Open up da damn glove compartment. I got ya fiend-ass some’a that chocolate goodie-goodie in there.”
“Awww, shit, ho, now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” I say, pullin’ out a black python Tumi cosmetic pouch. I unzip it, smilin’ the minute the aroma hits my nose. My mouth waters. I wait ’til she pulls off, then spark up. I crack the window and take three pulls, holdin’ the shit in my lungs. I blow out a thick cloud of smoke. “Now, this is how you welcome a bitch home.”
FOUR HOURS LATER, CHANEL AND I ARE BACK FROM HITTIN’ UP Paramus Mall, sittin’ at the table in the kitchen stuffin’ our faces wit’ jumbo shrimp, blazin’, tossin’ back a bottle of Ciroc red berry and poppin’ mad shit back ’n forth. “Skank-a-dank, why is you sittin’ over there hoggin’ the damn blunt?” she asks, dippin’ a piece’a shrimp in some cocktail sauce, then stuffin’ it in her dick sucka. “Ya greedy, fiend-ass is always doin’ that shit.”
I laugh, chokin’ on weed smoke. “Ho, shut ya cum-guzzlin’-ass up. You always whinin’.” I take another pull, then hand it to her. “Here, bitch. And pass me that bottle.”
She snatches the blunt outta my hand. I take the bottle of Ciroc to the head, guzzlin’ it down. “Oooh, this shit is da truth. It tastes like Kool-Aid.”
“It suuuuure does,” Chanel says, tokin’ the blunt. She blows smoke up at the ceilin’. “Now pass me da damn bottle, wit’ ya thirsty-ass.”
Usher’s “OMG” starts playin’ in the background.
“Bitch, kiss my ass,” I say, laughin’. I take another swig, then slide it back to her. “Ya throat’s longer than mine.”
She laughs. “F*ck you wit’ ya hatin’ ass.”
“I can’t stand this damn song,” I say, reachin’ for the remote. “It gives me a f*ckin’ headache.”
“Oh-oh-ohmyGod, oh-oh-ohmyGod,” she laughs. “I think it’s a cute club banga.”
I grunt. “Mmmph. Yeah, and I bet ya ho-ass is wishin’ he was gut-bangin’ ya back out, too.” She passes off the blunt, then fires up another. I take two pulls, then put it out.
“Please, Usher can’t do shit for me. He lost a buncha cool points when he married and knocked up that man.”
I bust out laughin’. “Girl, you wrong for that. That ho ain’t no damn man.”
She bucks her eyes. “Says who? You ever really look at ’er.”
“She’s a chick wit’ very manly features; that’s all.” I change the track. Alicia Keyes “Love Is Blind” starts playin’. “Some chicks are just mannish like that.”
“Whateva,” she says, rollin’ her eyes up in her head.
I keep laughin’. “Well, they divorced now, so you can go ’head ’n gargle the nigga’s balls.”
“Please, I wish da f*ck I would. Da nigga still ran his dick up in that; no thank you.”
I shake my head. Chanel’s simple ass thinks any nigga f*ckin’ wit’ a bitch wit’ manly features or mannerisms is fightin’ homo tendencies, or is out gettin’ his creep on wit’ trannies ’n shit. I don’t necessarily agree wit’ her on it. But what I care. It’s her opinion, her choice. I leave it be. She opens her mouth to say sumthin’ else, but her iPhone rings. She answers.
“Wassup, Trick? Anyone make you they bitch yet? Mmmph, whateva, ho…yeah, yeah, yeah…well, guess who I’m wit’? No stupid…Kat. Hold on…” she hands me her phone. “Here, someone wants to speak to you.” I ask who. “Don’t worry ’bout it.”
“Well, I hope it ain’t that nasty bitch, Tamia.”
“No, it ain’t Tamia, ho,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “Just take da damn phone.”
I snatch it outta her hand. “Hello?”
“Wow,” is all she says. And as soon as I hear the voice the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I shoot Chanel a look. She smirks, poppin’ another shrimp into her nasty-ass cum trap.
Nigga, don’t play me…did you f*ck da bitch or not? I hear the muhf*cka say, Yeah. “Oh, wassup, Iris?” I say, nonchalantly. But inside I’m ready to bring it to this ho. Oh, what? I know you didn’t think I forgot how this dick garglin’ bitch was ridin’ down on Naheem’s dick while I was f*ckin’ ’im, too, and never, ever, opened her muthaf*ckin’ nut-coated mouth to let me in on it. Not! Ain’t shit change. I’ma still f*ck this bitch up when I see ’er. And I don’t give a f*ck how long I gotta wait.
“Damn, bitch,” she says, soundin’ disappointed that I ain’t all amped to hear her voice. “I ain’t talked to you in a minute and that’s the best you can do? Wassup? A bitch gets locked down and now it’s f*ck me, right?”
“Looks that way,” I say, takin’ a swig of Ciroc.
“That’s f*cked up, Kat. We used to be girls ’n shit. What happened?”
Bitch, you f*cked my man, then smiled all up in my muthaf*ckin’ grill. “Sweetie, what you thought it was gonna be? You let ya’self get tricked out and started mulin’ for some nigga, so you get what you got. A bitch like me ain’t entertainin’ no dumb-ass hoes. I told you that from da rip.”
“F*ck you, Kat,” she snaps. “How da f*ck you gonna turn ya back on ya girl ’n shit. I’ve been locked up for almost two-and-a-half years and not once have you dropped a bitch a card, a letter, nuthin’.”
“Bitch, you ain’t my girl. Be clear. What da f*ck I look like jailin’ wit’ you. I’ma real bitch, ho. And real bitches, ain’t doin’ no bid wit’ a dumb-ass bitch who knew betta.”
“No, bitch,” she yells into the phone, “a real bitch stands by her girls whether she agrees wit’ her choices or not! Not turn her back on ’em. I did what I had’a do.”
“No, bitch, you did what you wanted to do. It’s not what you had’a do. Big difference, so don’t go there. Save that bullshit for a bitch who don’t know betta. I told ya ass before you got knocked what it was. And that’s what it is.”
“Oh, so you real brand new, I see.”
“Bitch, I’m keepin’ it a hunnid wit’ ya dizzy ass; how da f*ck you see that bein’ brand new?”
I feel myself ’bout to bring it to this bitch, but I bite the inside of my lip. Keep it cute, ho, I think, starin’ at Chanel. She has the blunt hangin’ from her dick suckas, gawkin’ at me. I walk over to her and snatch it outta her mouth. She sucks her teeth, laughin’. I take a pull. I decide to flip the script. “So, how you been?”
She laughs. “Oh, now you wanna know how a bitch’s doin’? Mmmph, f*ck you, Kat.”
“Bitch, f*ck it, then.”
“You’re such a f*ckin’ evil-ass bitch,” she says.
I laugh. “Yup; tell me sumthin’ I don’t already know.”
“Whateva, bitch. When you gonna get ova ya’self and come through? Or is that too much for a real bitch like you? And don’t give me no bullshit, either, Kat; we’re bigger than that.”
I grin. Oh, bitch, you just made splittin’ ya shit that much easier. “Where they got you?” She tells me she’s holed up at a federal correctional facility in Danbury, Connecticut. Tells me they had her down in Tucson, Arizona before movin’ up here. “Oh, well, I guess I can squeeze a day trip in. I’ll let you know when I’m beat to see ya silly-cock-washin’ ass.”
The stupid bitch grunts, soundin’ agitated. “You know what bitch? I’m done. Put Chanel back on the phone.”
“Toodles,” I say, laughin’.
I hand Chanel back her phone. “Girl, don’t pay her crazy ass no mind,” she says to Iris. “You know the bitch is touched.” She laughs.
“Bitch, whateva. Both of you slut-boxes can eat shit.”
Chanel sucks her teeth, givin’ me the finga. “I know, right. But, don’t stress that shit. We’ll be up there to see you, soon. I know. We got you, ain’t that right, Kat?”
Yeah, I got that ho-ass bitch, aiight. “Yup, wit’ muthaf*ckin’ bells on.”
I sit back in my seat, grinnin’. Oh, yeah, I’ma serve that ho up a nice dish of whoop ass. The idea of breakin’ Iris’s jaw makes my * twitch. I spark another blunt, takin’ it straight to the dome. Chanel finishes up bullshittin’ wit’ Iris’s trick-ass, then lays her phone back on the table.
“Bitch, you was dead wrong for that,” she says, tossin’ her hair to the side. “Why you do her like that?”
“F*ck that bitch,” I say, turnin’ the volume up on the stereo when Raheem Devaughn’s “Love Drug” plays. “She was f*ckin’ Naheem, or did you forget that?”
“Bitch,” she snaps, takin’ the Ciroc to the head. “That ho f*cked that nigga years ago. We all were mad young…”
“Yeah, and that bitch was mad nasty; and she still is.”
“You need to let that shit go. You ain’t f*ckin’ wit’ the nigga, so who gives a f*ck if she had his dick in her throat? That’s old news.”
“Ho, I ain’t lettin’ shit go. That trick-ass, cum-guzzlin’ bitch was grinnin’ all up in my muthaf*ckin’ face and suckin’ da snot outta my man’s dick at the same time. I don’t think so. Say what da f*ck you want, but that shit ain’t sweet.”
“Bitch,” she huffs, “hand me the f*ckin’ blunt.” I take another pull, then pass it off. She snatches it. “Listen to how da f*ck you sound, Kat. That shit popped off, what, almost ten years ago? The bitch is locked da f*ck up. And you soundin’ extra crazy, for real. Give the ho a pass, damn.”
I smirk. “You know what, Trick? You right. I’ma let da ho live. We been through too much to let some dick come between us. Let’s make plans to go see her ass, soon.”
She grins. “Now that’s more like it, Boo. I knew you’d come to ya senses and see shit my way.”
Please, you can sit here and think what you want. But I’ma beat the cum outta that bitch, trust!