Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“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 fucked up reason, Juanita’s voice finds me. “Kat, what did I ever do to you for you to be so fucking 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. “Muhfucka, whaaat?! You callin’ me, sweatin’ me, muhfucka. I ain’t beat for you.” The Asian muhfucka in the seat next to me cuts his eye over at me, shiftin’ in his seat. Why the fuck he’s still sittin’ is beyond me. I shoot him a look, raisin’ my brow, like “whaaaat, muhfucka?” He quickly gets his monkey-ass the fuck up away from me. I watch as he stretches, then gathers his shit and moves the fuck on. I get up and follow behind.

“Yo, and I’ma keep sweatin’ you ’til ya sexy-ass gives a muhfucka 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 muhfucka. 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, muhfucka.”

“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. “Muhfucka, 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 fuck you ain’t got me a blunt fired up? What da fuck 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. “Fuck 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