“No worries,” I say, taking a seat behind my desk. “Is everything okay?”
She sighs. “It will be. You need to have a chat with Shuwanda, though, before I do. Because trust me. This time it ain’t gonna be cute.”
I feign ignorance. “What are you talking about? What happened now?”
“That ghetto bitch doesn’t know when to keep her fucking trap shut. I thought she and I were cool. But obviously we’re not. This is the second time she went back and told one of her clients some shit about
I will myself from rolling my eyes. If you know you hang with a bitch who can’t keep shit on the low, then stop hanging with her. If you choose to keep doing shit with her or around her, then your dumb ass deserves to get what you get. These two tricks go out drinking, then end up in some kind of situation that generally involves some stray nigga they done picked up from the bar and freaked together. And the fucked-up thing, both of these hoes have men. Not that I’m in a position to judge. But damn…at least be discreet about it.
She tells me practically the same thing Felecia did. The only thing that’s off is the fact that it wasn’t a bachelorette party after all, it was some erotic book release party a friend of Shuwanda’s was having at the Diva Lounge in Montclair. Afterwards, they went to a private after-party that consisted of strippers—four males, and two females—where Alicia got real freaky with hers and dropped down, dug her hand down into one of the stripper’s jockstraps, and started sucking him off in front of everyone. Somehow the shit ended up posted on Facebook. And are you ready for the kicker? Drum roll, please…her man done found out! And he doesn’t even have a Facebook page, but the niggas in his clique do. So of course they put him on. And this is what the world has come to: Evil social networking tactics!
I’m not sure what to think, or feel, or even say to her for that matter. The only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Damn girl. That’s fucked up.”
“Shit. Tell me about it,” she says, holding her head in her hands. “Chauncey been blowing my cell up for the last two days snapping on me, talking all crazy. I’m glad he’s out of town, though. At least that’ll give him some time to cool down.”
“Well, that’s good. How long is he gonna be gone?”
“Until Thursday night, I think.” She pauses, picking at her cuticles. “I swear, if I see that bitch today, I’m gonna light into her ass.”
I frown, trying to understand why she’s blaming Shuwanda for something she did to herself. “Umm, Sweetie,” I say, raising my eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You’re going through it, but when you piped that nigga off in front of everyone you brought that shit on yourself, boo. However, lucky for you, she’s off today.”
“Hmmph. Good for her.”
“Listen, Alicia,” I warn. “Any beef you have with Shuwanda you need to handle outside of here. Do not bring that ghetto shit up in this shop. How I see it, if you can’t handle your liquor, then you shouldn’t be tossing them —”
Felecia walks in, interrupting us. “Umm, Alicia, there’s a situation out front brewing and you need to come handle it,
Alicia looks at me, shocked and scared shitless, knowing it’s about to be problems. I stare back at her, giving her one of those bitch-don’t-look-at-me looks. Soon as she’s about to open her mouth to say something to Felecia, a deep male voice booms in back of her, startling all three of us. It’s Chauncey. This is my fourth time seeing him since she’s been with him. He’s a tall, strapping Mandingo-type nigga: six-feet-six inches of dark, chiseled man meat; with deep waves and a mustache and goatee. Why the hell Alicia would do anything to get on this nigga’s bad side is way beyond me. Then again, who am I to talk?
“Yo,” he says, brushing past Felecia to step up in the room, “we need to talk, now. So get ya fuckin’ ass up and let’s go.”
Alicia’s eyes pop open, clearly embarrassed by what’s about to go down. “Baby, can this wait ’til my break?”
“Bitch,” he snaps, walking up on her, “fuck outta here with that! Fuck a break! Ya ass been breakin’ every since I’ve been gone. A muhfucka can’t even roll out wit’out you gettin’ caught up in some dumb shit. I been calling ya skeezin’ ass all muthafuckin’ mornin’. And I came by ya muthafuckin’ crib and ya punk-ass didn’t come to the door, or answer ya phone. What the fuck is you doin’ all up on Facebook ’n shit on ya muthafuckin’ knees in front of some nigga?”
Alicia, poor thing…she looks like a deer caught in headlights. She looks scared as shit right now. “Baby, I…”
“Bitch, don’t fuckin’ baby me. I wanna know what the fuck you was doin’, yo. Was you suckin’ some nigga’s dick the other night?” When she doesn’t respond fast enough, the nigga starts sceaming. “Bitch, did you have a nigga’s muthafuckin’ dick hangin’ out ya mouth? And don’t muthafuckin’ lie to me.”
Before I can open my mouth to tell the dispatcher what’s the emergency, he yanks Alicia by the back of her weave and in a flash my office becomes this nigga’s personal boxing ring as he starts beating her down right in front of us.
“Bitch, you try ’n play me, yo?” She tries to fight him off of her, but he is punching her all upside her face and head like she’s a nigga on the streets. She’s screaming and fighting him back, begging for him to stop. Felecia’s screaming at him to stop. Customers and other stylists are running back here to see what all the commotion is about. There are even a few bitches with their cell phones open snapping pictures. This nigga is whooping her ass like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I can’t believe this shit!
“Felecia, get them out of here,” I snap. She pushes the spectators back, shutting the door in their faces. I yell into the phone at the dispatcher and give her the details, then—when the dumb bitch starts asking me a bunch of extras—I start screaming at her to get the police here before this loon kills her. The last thing I want is a body in my shop. And the way he is punching her up, it’s bound to happen.
By the time the police arrive, my office is all tossed up. There’s blood everywhere. Alicia gets taken out on a stretcher, and he is escorted out in handcuffs. The way he beat her down, I feel so bad for her. I truly do. What happened to her could ultimately happen to me if I’m not careful. Still in all, empathetic or not, the bitch is fired!
At a quarter-to-three, Mona, Jasper’s cousin, waltzes into the shop—
“Girl, I’m so sorry. I had to go over to the school to pick up Mario’s ass from school. That fool done got suspended for a week.”
I grunt, placing a cape around her neck, then fastening it. Mario is her fourteen-year-old, fine as hell, spoiled ass son who she’s been having some behavioral problems with over the last few months or so. He’s been talking slick to her and not following curfew. What he needs, if you ask me, is a foot in his ass. But she doesn’t believe in hands-on disciplining a.k.a. beating that ass. And neither does his father, so…there you have it. “Mmmph, what did he do this time?”
She shifts in her seat. “Are you ready for this?” She pauses, waiting for a response.
“Girl, will you tell the damn story,” I say, swinging her around in the chair to face the mirror. I’m glad she’s already washed and conditioned her hair. That saves me some time.
She continues as I run a comb through her hair. “This little nigga got caught in the girl’s bathroom with some fast-assed thirteen-year-old with his pants dropped around his ankles.”
“You have got to be kidding me. Were they fucking?”
“No, chile. That little bitch was down on her knees sucking his dick.”
My mouth drops open. When I tell you I’m done, I mean it. I…am…motherfucking through! Do you hear me?
