building, or you can cut through the garden pathway. Oh, I almost forgot. We have a package here for you. Hold on. I’ll go get it.” She went into a back office, and reappeared a few seconds later with a medium-sized box.
“Thanks,” I said. It was already close to seven-thirty, and a bitch was starvin’, not to mention tired. I wasn’t plannin’ to slump my mark until tomorrow so I had some time to chill. In the meantime, I was gonna jump in the shower, then head to the mall and grab a bite to eat. “Oh, and can you tell me where your nearest mall is? Something with high-end fashion.”
Chick’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you want to go to the Fashion Valley Mall. It’s in Mission Valley off Friars Road. Here, let me write down the directions. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes to get there, but they have some fabulous stores.”
“Perfect,” I said, takin’ the directions from her.
Once I got to my suite, I tossed my bags onto the extra bed, then looked out on the triangular-shaped patio to enjoy the view. Since I was already pressed for time, I decided to head to the mall, shop a bit, then find somethin’ to eat. If the opportunity to meet my mark presented itself, I’d fuck him tonight, then again tomorrow before I shut his lights. I stepped back into the room, closin’ and lockin’ the patio door, then headed out the door.
By eight-fifteen, I was walkin’ through Bloomingdale’s on my way to the Louis Vuitton store in search of somethin’ hot. I wanted to slay them bitches back home with a cute bag or a slammin’ pair of heels. My cell started ringin’.
I reached into my chocolate Bottega Veneta and pulled it out. It was Chanel. “What’s good, tramp?” I said, forgettin’ my destination and goin’ toward Saks Fifth Avenue instead.
“Shit. Where you?”
“At the mall,” I said.
“Ooh, bitch,” she replied. “Which one, Paramus or Short Hills?”
“Neither,” I said.
She sucked her teeth. “Well, which one then? Shit. You coulda hit me up to roll with ya ass. You know I can always use a new pair of heels. You stay tryna dip on a bitch.”
“Whatever, ho,” I said, laughin’. “I’m at Fashion Valley Mall, and the shit is
“Fashion what? Is that some new shit in Jersey?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, bitch,” I said. “San Diego.”
She sucked her teeth, laughin’.
“In a few days,” I said, runnin’ my hands over this bangin’-ass black Donna Karan wrap-and-tie jersey dress. I looked at the tag: $2,495.00. Now the old me woulda boosted the shit quick, fast, and in a muthafuckin’ hurry; I’da had that dress plucked from its hanger. “Listen, ho. I’m tryna get my shop on. I’ll hit you back when I touch.”
“Whatever. Oh, shit”—she snapped her fingas—“I almost forgot why I called ya ass. You know that dude ya moms is fuckin’?”
For some reason my stomach knotted up. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “What about him?”
“Well, word has it that the nigga got outta prison sometime last year. I think for robbery or some shit. The nigga’s from Brownsville.”
“Okay and?” I said, eyein’ another Donna Karan creation, this slick-ass slip dress.
“I just thought you might wanna know.”
I rolled my eyes, shiftin’ my cell from one ear to the other. “On some real shit, Chanel, I don’t give a fuck. That’s my mother’s shit. Not mine. When I said I was done with her ass, that’s what the fuck it is.”
“I hear you, girl.” She paused. “Anyway, I don’t know if I should say anything, but since you my girl ’n shit…”
I frowned my face up. “You shouldn’t say shit to me ’bout what?” I asked, runnin’ my hands along the rack of designer wears.
“Well, you might wanna know that the word is ya moms is knocked up.”
I almost dropped the fuckin’ phone. “Say what?!?”
“Yeah, girl. Ya moms was down at the doctor’s office yesterday with that nigga.”
Pregnant? I ain’t gonna front. Hearing that shit had a bitch’s head spinnin’. She couldn’t even raise me right.
“Where’d you hear that shit?” I asked.
“Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but Tameka works at some doctor’s office over on…damn, I think it’s Atlantic Ave. Anyway, she told Tamia ya moms was up in that piece.”
Okay, now I’m pissed. This bitch, Tameka, is not only disclosin’ confidential shit, but she’s flappin’ her jaws to her gossipin’-ass sista. That shit was fucked up. And I was gonna check that bitch when I saw her.
“Well, that’s on her dumb ass.” Although I said that shit, I’m not sure if that’s what I really meant. “Besides, goin’ to a doctor doesn’t mean her ass is pregnant. She coulda been there for a check-up or somethin’.”
“Hmmm, I guess.”
“Hmm…nothin’,” I snapped. “What the fuck is that retarded bitch runnin’ her fuckin’ mouth for any damn way? Yeah, you right. You shoulda never told me this shit. ’Cause now, I’ma see Tameka’s trick ass. And it ain’t gonna be cute. How the fuck is she gonna be workin’ in a doctor’s office, tellin’ bitches who’s comin’ and goin’ outta that muhfucka. Let me go,” I said, stormin’ outta Saks. This ho had fucked up my mood. I peeped the time. It was already a little past nine p.m. The mall was gonna be closin’ soon any damn way. I needed to get back to my hotel and take off this fuckin’ hot-ass wig and take out these contacts. And, if I had it my way, fuck my frustrations away.
“If you gonna call ya moms, don’t tell her you got that shit from me. Just ask her.”
“Whatever. I’m out.” I disconnected the call, walkin’ toward the exit. I was too fuckin’ through. I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to call my moms or not. Even though in my mind I was sayin’ I really didn’t give a fuck, my heart was sayin’ some other shit. Either way, whether she was knocked the fuck up or not, I was gonna push Tameka’s muthafuckin’ biscuit in for puttin’ my mom’s business on front street. So the fuck what if I ain’t fuckin’ with her. That shit was still low budget. Fuckin’ bum-ass bitch! Ugh, I needed a damn blunt.
On my way out to the car, my cell rang again. It was Grant. “Hello.”
“What’s good, beautiful?”
“You,” I said. I don’t know why, but a bitch was cheesin’ all hard ’n shit and I didn’t even know what the nigga’s dick stroke was like. Though a chick like me ain’t needy ’n shit, it would be kinda nice to have some steady dick to ride.
“You miss me?”
“Nigga, please,” I said, laughin’. “You got the wrong number. That’s that other bitch you got suckin’ ya dick.”
He laughed. “Nah, baby. I got the right number. You the chick with that sweet, hot pussy I’m tryna get up in.”
I pushed the button to the alarm, opened the door, then slid into my rental. Before puttin’ on my seatbelt, I dug through my bag and pulled out a half-lit blunt I had smoked earlier that mornin’, then lit it. “Take a number and get at the back of the line, then. ’Cause the wait’s gonna be a while.” I puffed the blunt, takin’ in long, deep pulls as I started the engine, then backed outta my parkin’ space. I exhaled, and the smoke filled the car.
“Oh, word. Then I guess you don’t know me. I’m bum-rushin’ niggas to the front spot, then I’m snatchin’ ya sexy ass up and puttin’ this dick to you.” I laughed, almost chokin’. “You aiight?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I coughed again. “Oh, shit. You got me chokin’ ’n shit. You silly as hell.”
“Nah, it’s all good, ma. I’m just fuckin’ with you.”
“Oh, so what you sayin’ is, you don’t want none of this pussy?” I joked. “You don’t wanna see how deep ya dick can go, and just how wet it can get?”
“Hell yeah!” he said excitedly. “Just say the word, and I’m there; strokin’ all up in it.”
“Oh, now you soundin’ all eager ’n shit.”
