Deep Throat Diva

“I guess.”

She slaps the leather book shut, putting a hand on her hip. “You guess? Bitch, what kind of mess is that? Wait. Please tell me you don’t think that shit isn’t trifling?”

Now, I’m standing here trying to act as if I’m equally turned off by the whole random dick-sucking thing, but who am I to pass judgment on Alicia, or anyone else when I’m just as messy—or worse?

Felecia and I are very close and there’s typically no topic of discussion off limits between us, with the exception of my extracurricular oral activities. That’s a subject she and I will never have, especially now. It’s bad enough she recently asked me—again, which I found quite strange—if I’ve ever cheated on Jasper since he’s been locked up. And of course, as I did the first time she asked me this—I looked her dead in the eyes and told her a bold-faced lie. “Nope. I have no reason to.”

“Girl, good for you,” she said, sipping on her third Agave Margarita. We were at P.F. Chang’s for their happy hour, eating and drinking. “I don’t know how you do it. Personally, I’d be pulling my damn hair out if I had to go without sex. I’m sorry, I love Andre. But if his ass ever got locked up I’d have to have me some dick on-call until he got out. Fuck that. I’m not about to deprive myself of some cock just because a muhfucka can’t keep his ass out on the streets to handle his business in the sheets.”

I chuckled, licking the salt from around the rim of my Margarita glass, then taking a slow, deliberate sip. It was also my third drink, and I was starting to feel the effects of it. “Well, I’m not saying it’s been easy because it hasn’t. But with the help of a whole lot of batteries and a collection of toys, I get by.”

“Hmmph,” she grunted, scooping out another helping of brown rice, then arranging several shrimp over it. She puts a forkful of food in her mouth, then points her fork at me as she chews. “Girl, if the shoe were on the other foot, do you actually think Jasper would be so quick to keep his dick in his pants?”

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing a shrimp from her dish, then popping it in my mouth. “He’d probably be slamming his dick into something the same night.”

“So if you know that, why wouldn’t you want to get a little side action until he comes home?”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if she was asking me this to bait me—call it paranoid if you want, but I knew better than to give her anything other than my scripted truth. “Because it wouldn’t be worth it. I don’t need the headache.”

She stared at me, took another sip of her drink. “So, tell me this. Did Jasper tell you that you better not fuck around on him, or was he open-minded enough to realize that you’re a woman with needs and that if you’re going to do it, then do it discreetly and responsibly?”

I gave her a crazy-ass look, raising my eyebrow. “Girl, what you think?”

She laughed. “I know; stupid question. He probably said,”—she deepened her voice—“’Pasha, let me find out you giving up my pussy, and I’ma beat the dog shit outta you.’”

I crack up. “Exaaaaactly “

She sucked her teeth. “Niggas kill me. They can fuck and do whatever they want, but the minute they think we’re letting someone else get what they think belongs to them, it becomes a damn problem.”

“You ain’t never lied. You know how these niggas are.”

“Yep,” she said, eyeing me. “And Jasper’s the type of crazy-ass nigga who’d be more than happy to go back to prison if he ever found out some extra shit about you.”

I started choking on my drink. “OhmyGod, girl, don’t say no shit like that.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “And you’re probably right. Hopefully,” I slipped, hoping she didn’t catch it, “That’ll never happen.”

“Hopefully? Bitch, whaddaya mean ’hopefully’? I thought you said you’ve never cheated on him.”

“I haven’t,” I quickly stated. “I was only saying. You know what I meant.”

She eyed me, then grunted. “Mmmph, let me find out…”

“Bitch, please. There’s nothing to find out. This pussy is sealed tighter than a fortress.”

She laughed, taking another sip of her drink. “Girl, you don’t have to convince me. I believe you. The question is: does ya man?”

“Want another round of drinks?” I asked, avoiding the question.

“I sure do,” she said, gulping down the rest of her Margarita. And for the remainder of the evening we ate, drank and laughed until it was closing time.

I bring my attention back to Felecia. “Girl, please. It doesn’t matter what I think, or you for that matter. Alicia’s a grown woman, making whatever choices she makes by her own free will. What she’s done or is doing has nothing to do with me.”

“Whatever. The shit’s still nasty to me.” She stuffs her bag into her drawer, then locks it. “Annnnnway, I meant to ask you. When’s the last time you went on Facebook?”

“It’s been months, why?”

“Girrrrrlfriend, you are missing out on the dirt. That chick who cut up Big Booty has been reading her for filth on Facebook, posting all kinds of messy shit about her on her wall. Somebody musta tagged Big Booty, and that shit got her cranked up. She turned around and posted all types of shit about what chick’s man used to do to her in bed, challenging her position as his woman and whatnot. And she even got the video of that chick getting stomped down by her kids posted on YouTube.”

“Are you serious?”

“Baaaaaaby, as a heart attack. They’ve been going at it hard for the last two days.”

I roll my eyes, disgusted. I mean, really…grown-assed women carrying on like dick-whipped school girls is beyond my reach. Whatever beef the two of them have, they need to handle that shit like adults instead of airing out each other’s personal business on some public site for all to see. I have two Facebook pages; one for me, and the other for the salon. And I rarely go on either. I think the last time I actually logged onto my personal page was about two months ago. That’s how far removed I am from it all. And, when I did go on it, half of the people who had requested me as a friend, I declined. And any notes I had, if they didn’t pertain to making money, I ignored.

“If you ask me,” I state, pulling open my BlackBerry and scrolling through my messages, “they both sound like two stupid bitches. Hmmph, I’m glad I don’t waste my time on that shit. Only sick bitches and niggas air out their personal business online.”

And only a sick bitch posts sex ads online, then goes off and has random sex with them. But that hasn’t stopped you. Now has it?

“Well, girl, as true as that may be. I looooove it!” she says, getting up from her seat. She glances at her profile in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the counter. “It keeps me in the loop with all the minute-to-minute details of the latest hood gossip. Them messy bitches make my day, boo.”

“Hmmph. Well, you can have it. And while you’re at it, how ’bout you make yourself useful and maintain the salon’s page, too, ’cause you know I can’t be so bothered with that mess.”

“I got you,” she says glancing at her watch, walking toward the front door. She opens the miniblinds, lets the morning light in. “Just give me the password and I’m on it.” Her iPhone buzzes. She walks back over to the counter and picks it up, then scrolls through it. “Hmmph. Alicia just texted me. She’s not coming in today.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Does she have any appointments scheduled for today?”

“Two. But they’re not until later this afternoon. I’ll call them to see if they want to reschedule or see someone else.”

“Okay, well let me let you do your thing,” I say, walking toward my office. “I’m gonna check the emails, then try to go through some of that mail that’s been sitting on my desk for the last few days before my appointment gets here.”

“Okey-dokey,” she says, watering the tropical plants situated around the shop.

I leave her to her task, going into my office. My cell rings. I pull it out of my bag, then glance at the screen, smiling. It’s my seventy-year-old grandmother who we lovingly call Nana. But for me, she’s more than Nana. She’s the woman who loved and nurtured me when my own mother couldn’t. Then she became the woman who would raise me after my father was murdered.

Quiet as it’s kept, because Nana refuses to admit it despite what everyone else in the family, and in the streets, has said about my father—he was a menace. Ralphie Allen, aka The Boogey Man—was a ruthless drug