Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

me.

I look up and catch the bitch. From the look she’s givin’ me I’m not sure if she wants to cut or fuck me. I tilt my head. She shifts ’er eyes. I go back to readin’. A few minutes later the bitch is starin’ me down, again. I close the magazine, leanin’ ova toward Chanel.

“Ummm, why is da Spanish-lookin’ ho ova at da counter starin’ at me like she’s tryna get beat da fuck up?”

Chanel cuts ’er eye ova in ’er direction. “Mmmmmph, looks like she wants ta bite ya ass wit’ them big-ass teeth.” I chuckle. “Da bitch probably wants to be you when she grows up.”

“Puhhhleeeeze, that bitch could neva be me,” I state, starin’ at Trey Songz on the cover. A bitch can’t front. The muhfucka is lookin’ kinda sexy all bare-chested ’n wet. But, since he’s not my flava, I don’t spend too much time or energy into it. I go back to flippin’ through the articles in the magazine instead.

A few minutes lata, the Spanish bitch is walkin’ toward me, but I act like I don’t see ’er.

“Excuse me.”

I take my time lookin’ up at ’er. “How can I help you?”

“Were you at club Eden last week?”

I look ’er up ’n down. Of course a bitch like me’s gonna answer this ho’s question wit’ a question. “Why, who wants to know?”

“I do.”

“And you are?”

“Ramona,” she says wit’ a buncha stank in ’er voice.

As soon as she says ’er name. It clicks. She’s the nut that was all up on Alex, then got dragged outta da club. “Ohhhhkay, so you want my autograph or sumthin’?”

“Your autograph? Nooooo, Sweetie. I wanna know how you know Alley Cat. I kept staring at you because you looked familiar. Then it dawned on me. I saw you grinding all up on him at the club like you two were real familiar.”

I frown. Take a deep breath. This bitch had’a be hawkin’ me the whole muthafuckin’ night to remember me from a week ago in a damn packed club. Then, again, a fly bitch ain’t eva hard to forget. Chanel cuts ’er eye ova at me, shiftin’ in ’er seat. I shift in mine as well, crossin’ my legs. I have my body turned in chickie’s direction in case I gotta leap up on ’er ass. “Ohhhkaaaay. And if we were?”

“Then you need to watch your back because he’s a real scam artist. He’ll use you until he can’t get anything else out of you, then toss you to the side for the next.”

I laugh. “Sugah, I don’t know why you tellin’ me all that. That shit sounds real personal.”

“I’m basically advising you, that’s all.” The bitch still has a buncha stank in ’er tone, but I’m tryna overlook the shit. Still tryna keep it cute.

“You ain’t advisin’ me ’bout nuthin’, Sugah. Only stupid bitches get caught up in lettin’ a muhfucka use ’em. I ain’t da one, so move along.”

She puts a hand on ’er hip. “Move along, hell. I wanna know how long you’ve known him.”

Ohmiiiiiiiifuckin’gawd! Let me find out this bitch’s retarded. “Look, chick. What’s up wit’ all these damn questions? Do I know you? ’Cause if not, then you need to bounce up outta my space.”

“Like I said, I saw you up at the club with Alley…uh, I mean, Alex.”

“And?”

“And? I’m his baby’s mother.”

Chanel toots ’er dick sucka’s up, eyein’ me. ’Cause she knows in a minute I’ma bring it to this bitch. I tilt my head. Play the bitch like I’m stupid. “Ohhhhhkay, and? Why didn’t you say that shit from da rip instead cummin’ at me wit’ a buncha extras?”

She igs the question, foldin’ ’er arms ’cross ’er chest. “Are you fuck ing him?”

I count in my head. Keep it cute, ho. See what this bitch gotta say. “Why?”

“’Cause we’re tryna work some things out, and he doesn’t need to have any outside distractions altering his judgment.”

I laugh. “Sweetie, you have two seconds to get to ya muthafuckin’ point.”

The bitch plants a hand up on ’er hip, and starts neck-rollin’ it. “Well, the point is this: He’s my man. And I don’t know if you’re sleeping with him or not, but if you are—from one woman to another, stay the fuck away from him.”

Ohhhhkay…see. This is the part where I should really get up and smack this stupid, silly-ass bitch in ’er face. But, I feel like fuckin’ wit’ the dizzy bitch, so I won’t.

“Is that a threat, Sweetie?”

“It’s a warning, but you can take it however you want.”

“Uh-oh,” Chanel says, pullin’ my handbag from me, “sounds like sumbody tryna make it pop up in this piece.”

“Girl, I don’t know what da fuck this chick tryna do, but I know she betta get movin’ real quick.”

“I know that’s right, ’cause da bitch is startin’ to get on my nerves.”

She laughs, glancin’ ova at Chanel. “Mind ya manners, Boo. Mind ya motherfucking manners. This is between me”—she points ’er finga at me—“and her.”

“Bitch,” Chanel snaps, “I know you ain’t talkin’ to me. I will—”

I put my hand up, cuttin’ her off. “Don’t. Let me handle this.” I scoot up in my seat. Place a hand up on my hip. “Bitch, there ain’t shit between you and me. I don’t know you, and I don’t give a fuck ’bout you.”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know me. But you obviously know my man.”

I laugh. “Ya man? The nigga gotta restrainin’ order against ya dumb-ass, so how da fuck is that ya man? Define that for me?”

“Bitch,” she snaps, raisin’ the volume, “I don’t have to define shit for you. Stay the fuck away from him or we gonna have some problems.”

Chanel gasps, coverin’ ’er mouth wit’ ’er hand.

I keep laughin’. “Sugah, you’se a real clown thinkin’ you standin’ here pumpin’ fear in a bitch like me wit’ that yip-yap. What you betta do is go do ya homework. Or end up flatlined.”

“No, you better go do yours. That nigga is usin’ you. You don’t know the first thing about loving a man like Alex. I’m the only woman he’ll ever love. He’s never going to love you, like he loves me.”

I laugh. “Med check, med check. Bitch, did you just escape from da Looney bin or sum shit? Get da fuck away from me. That nigga don’t give a fuck ’bout ya trick-ass.”

A cute brown-skinned chick wit’ shoulder-length locks hurries ova to us from the back area. “Ramona, you need to take that mess on up outta here. You know Pasha ain’t playin’ this shit up in here. If you got beef, take that shit outside.”

“Oh, no, we cool, Felecia. She and I were just having a friendly chat. I’ve finished schooling her so I’m out.”

“Bitch,” I snap, tossin’ the magazine ova at Chanel, “don’t get it fucked up.” I stand up. “You ain’t schooled me on shit. I don’t know how you Jersey bitches do it, but be clear. I will rock ya muthafuckin’ sockets, so don’t let the wears ’n the pretty face fool you. I asked you nicely to bounce up outta my space da first time. And you still wanna stand here yippty-yappin’. So, now I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you, step da fuck on. Or step outside to get ya ass beat. Take ya pick. You know what.”—I pull out my phone, then press open my call history—“Since you wanna school a bitch, let me call ya man, right now, and school ’em on how’ta eat my pussy ’n ass out. ’Cause guess what, bitch? I’ma fuck da muhfucka tonight and tomorrow night, too. Stupid bitch!”

As soon as Alex picks up, I put ’im on speaker. “Yo, what’s good, Beautiful?”

“Shit. Chillin’. I’m at this hair spot ova in Orange wit’ Chanel and ya BM’s up in here poppin’ a buncha ying- yang?”

“My BM? Yo, what you talkin’ ’bout? I told you, I ain’t got no baby momma.”

I cut my eye ova at this Ramona bitch. “Well, obviously this bitch here didn’t get da memo. So you need’a remind this ho—”

“Yo, ma, who you talkin’ ’bout?”

“This silly-ass Spanish ho who’s ’bout to get beat da fuck up.”