Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Biiiiiiiiiiitch, ohhhhhhhhmiiiimuthafuckin’god, we gotta celebrate!” Chanel screams into the phone. “I knew them bitches couldn’t stop ya flow.”

“You got that right,” I say, grill-cheesin’ hard. “A creamy bitch always rises to da top; thought them hoes knew.”

“I know that’s right. Oh, wait one damn minute. Why da fuck am I all coochie-coo-coo wit’ you, bitch, when I’m ’posed to be mad at ya ugly-ass.”

I bust out laughin’. “Bitch, we can beef later. You already know I’ma say some otha shit, so save bein’ mad ’til then. Right now, we got otha shit to do.”

She laughs wit’ me. “Bitch, I hate e’erything ya ho-ass stand for.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…I love you, too, hooker.” We go at it a few minutes more, then disconnect.

It’s not ’til a bitch is in the shower that it really hits me that all this shit is really happenin’ to me, and for me. I stand under the water and fuckin’ cry like a baby, excited, nervous, and over-joyed—feelin’ like the change I’ve been hopin’ for is finally gonna come.

Once I’m showered, dressed and ready to walk out the door, I open my front door just as the doorbell rings. It’s a delivery man. “Delivery for a Miss Rivera.”

“That’s me,” I state, starin’ at the white box under his arm. He hands me a clipboard to sign for it, then hands me the box. He tells me the tip has already been taken care of. I thank ’im, then shut the door. I pull apart the red ribbon wrapped ’round the box, then lift up its cover. Two dozen beautiful pink roses are inside along wit’ a card. I pick up the card and read it. AYE, YO, ON E’ERYTHING, I’M THINKIN’ ’BOUT YOU E’ERYDAY, AND MISSIN’ YOU MORE. YA FUTURE MAN!

Nigga, puhleeze, I think, takin’ the roses and placin’ ’em in a vase, then sittin’ ’em on the coffee table. Outta sight, outta mind.

The minute I come downstairs, Chanel eyes me, talkin’ shit. “Bitch, I hate you,” she says, rollin’ ’er eyes at me. After meetin’ me up at the hospital, she decided she was comin’ back to my spot to chill, even after I told the bitch I had shit to do tonight. She claimed she needed a break from bein’ in Brooklyn, talkin’ ’bout Divine is gettin’ on ’er nerves; that the nigga is smotherin’ ’er. I was like, “Bitch, puhleeze. Ya ass is full’a lies.” But, she’s my girl, so here she is.

“Ugh, bitch. What I do now?” I ask, playin’ dumb. But I already know what it is. The bitch is gaggin’ ova my wears. I’m wearin’ a simple, but stylish black Herve Leger strapless dress I scooped up in Bloomingdales a few weeks ago. I usually don’t fuck wit’ new designers, but I tried this piece on and loved how it wrapped ’round my curves like a band-aid. So I snatched it up.

“That bitch.” She points to my Dolce & Gabbana evenin’ bag. Well, I guess it ain’t da wears she’s illin’ ova. “Ohhhhmiigod, it’s siiick. When you get that? And how much, bitch?” I tell ’er it’s a twenty-seven-hundred dollar limited edition. She sucks ’er teeth. “For a bitch who ain’t workin’ and ain’t trickin’ a nigga up off’a his paper how is you affordin’ all this high-end shit?”

“Layaway, boo,” I say, laughin’.

“Bitch, puhleeze. Layaway my ass; it’s time you put a bitch on to how you really makin’ it pop.”

I roll my eyes up in my head. “Ho, we ain’t got time for no financial report. My date’ll be here soon. Anyway, I told ya dizzy ass to stop givin’ out discount pussy and you might be able to bubble-up.”

She flicks her hand at me, floppin’ back on the sofa. “Whateva.” She puts ’er bare feet on top of the coffee table and starts flippin’ through the latest issue of Jet. “So what’s up wit’ this nigga you runnin’ off wit’?”

I’m in my powder room, applyin’ lipgloss ova my painted lips to give ’em a sweet, juicy candy-apple look. I peek my head outta the door. “I ain’t runnin’ off wit’ da nigga. He’s a dude I met out in Cali. The nigga’s cool and he’s ’bout that paper; that’s it.”

“Mmmph…ya’ll fuck?”

I’m glad the doorbell rings. Right on time, I think, glancin’ down at my timepiece. “Answer da door, nosey, instead of askin’ me a buncha damn questions, puhleeeze.”

“Yeah, okay. But don’t think I’ma forget. I still wanna know if you fucked da nigga. And if da dick was good.” I hear ’er open the door. “Come in,” she says, lettin’ ’im in.

“Wassup, ma?”

“And you are?”

“Tone,” I hear ’im say in his smooth, silky voice, “and you?”

“Single, and still lookin’.”

I crane my neck outta the bathroom, rollin’ my eyes. “Tone, don’t pay ’er ass no mind. That’s my girl, Chanel. She used to be a clown ’til they revoked ’er happy pills.”

He laughs. “It’s all good.” He looks ’round. “Yo, nice spot.”

“Thanks. Have a seat. I’ll be ready in a sec.” I finish up what I’m doin’ then walk into the livin’ room.

The muhfucka does a double-take, standin’ up. “Daaaaamn, you look good, ma.” He walks up on me and gives me a hug. “And you smell even better.”

I allow myself to get lost in his strong arms, inhalin’ his cologne. “Thank you. Mmmm, you don’t smell too bad ya’self. What you have on?” He tells me it’s Bulgari. Yeah, this nigga tryna get some pussy. I check out his wears. I can’t front the nigga is lookin’ mad sexy in his custom-fit Armani suit. And his accessories are settin’ the shit off. Black Louis belt and black Ferragamo loafers; the nigga’s lobes and neck are blingin’ on high. I peep Chanel eyein’ ’im on the sly, and grin.

“Aiight, hooker, we out.”

“Ya’ll kiddies have fun,” she says, gettin’ up off the sofa.

“Nice meetin’ you, Chanel.”

She smiles. “Oh, da pleasure was all mines.” She waits for ’im to walk out the door, then pulls me by the arm. “Bitch, that muthafucka is fiiiiine as hell. If you ain’t fuckin’ ’im, hand ’im ova to me ’cause I damn sure will.”

“Bitch, puhleeze. Who won’t you fuck?”

“Ya ugly-ass,” she says, laughin’.

I laugh wit’ ’er. “You’se one lyin’-ass ho. Don’t smoke up my shit eitha.”

“Bitch, you can’t smoke, remember. You ’bout to be a mommy.”

“Whateva,” I say, walkin’ out and shuttin’ the door behind me. Tone gets outta the car and walks ova and opens the passenger door for me. He waits for me to get in, then shuts it.

As soon as he gets in the car and pulls outta my driveway, he looks ova at me—lickin’ his lips. “Listen, I think I’ma take you up on that offer.”

I tilt my head. “What offer was that?”

“Havin’ you out all night.”

I smirk. “Oh, really. You wanna eat this pussy tonight?”

He grins, takin’ my hand and kissin’ the inside’a my palm. “What you think?”

I reach ova and grab at his dick. The shit is thick and hard. “Mmmmm…I think you need’a get ya eyes back on da road ’fore we end up tossed upside down in a ditch.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Funny how time passes by…nigga been sendin’ flowers ’n cards…but he ain’t been seen…gotta bitch masturbatin’ in a magazine…nigga got da game fucked up…this bitch is done… ain’t da type to be waitin’ on no one…now he wanna talk… nigga, puhleeze…this bitch comes second to none…

“I miss you, yo,” Allstar says, soundin’ all down ’n shit. The last three days the nigga’s been callin’ tryna get back in my good graces. I keep tellin’ the nigga it’s not that serious. Yeah a bitch was startin’ to feel some kinda way, but it’s all good. I’m soooo ova the shit now.

“Mmmmph, that’s nice,” I say, rollin’ my eyes up in my head. “You have a funny way of showin’ it,