She’s always trying to find ways to make me feel better. She calls like twenty times a day to check on me and she’s always so sweet. But truthfully, none of it works. No prescription drugs, no psychiatrists, no funny movies, nothing. The only thing that could make me feel any better is erasing everything from five months ago, from that night.
The Introduction
2001 was a hot year, right after the millennium. It had been a year and a half since I graduated high school and a year since I been workin’-workin’ niggas, that is. I was a fresh twenty. Most of my peers were in their second year or so at colleges across the country, and me, I was already in the workforce, making plenty of dough and not needing a degree to do it. School was sickening to me. The whole idea of having to be in a specific place at a specific time at the sound of a bell made me feel like somebody’s robot. I wasn’t into that shit. Plus, money was always more important than education as far as I was concerned. And when I thought about it, going to school didn’t pay your bills but instead it was another damn bill that your ass had to pay. That made no sense at all. So I skipped the college idea and invested my time in other interests.
My friend Tina had introduced me to a lifestyle I would have never deemed possible for me. She taught me something that most chicks already knew. Use what you got to get what you want. The only problem was chicks didn’t have shit. They may have had nice bodies or pretty faces, but they didn’t have the brains to mentally stimulate the niggas they were goin’ after. And if they happened to have all three, they were acidity, snobbish-type broads that niggas couldn’t stand to be around. But Tina and me, we had everything a nigga could ask for and extra.
Tina was a chunky brown-skinned girl with big tits and a big ass. She had a real pretty face that was accented by her dark eyebrows, thick dark eyelashes, and dark almond-shaped eyes. She attracted a lot of guys. We always partied together. We frequented all of the clubs and went to every big party in the tristate area, running game on the biggest ballers out there. It was the second Saturday of the new year, the night of the Kickoff, an annual party over in Delaware that was known for being the first party of each year. Tina and me were there, of course, posted up in some fly shit. I had on some army green booty shorts with the matching cropped, open-chest army uniform jacket by Louis Vuitton. I boldly matched my outfit with a pair of vintage-looking cowboy boots in rusted shades of army green and gold. I accessorized with big gold bangles, gold hoop earrings, and three gold chains, the longest one almost reaching my belly button. I had on a pair of gold Chloe sunglasses and I carried an alligator clutch by Carlos Falchi. My hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Tina was in some black leather pants and a black leather halter top. She wore a studded belt that rested on her hips, a studded choker, and a pair of black leather Prada pointed-toe boots. She carried a black studded doctor’s bag by Marc Jacobs. Her hair was parted in the middle and hung down to her shoulders with a choppy cut on the ends.
“Yo! This party is off the hook!” Tina yelled over the loud music.
“I know,” I said. I took another sip on my Malibu pineapple and peered through the crowded dance floor. Lighter and thinner, I was the complete opposite of Tina in terms of complexion and weight, but I was a match in the pretty department. Everywhere I went, guys were like, damn, you gorgeous, you pretty as shit, you’re beautiful. It didn’t take me long to get used to that kind of attention, and it was only smart to use it to my advantage.
I spotted this dude from across the room. He was hot to death. Dark-skinned with curly black hair that peeked out from under his Lakers hat that matched perfectly with his yellow and purple Lakers jacket with Kobe Bryant’s number on it. He had on some hot jewelry too. Tina and I went to clubs so much that we knew just about everybody that came through. But this was the first time I had seen this dude. I was on him. He got up from a table that was crowded with a bunch of other flashy guys and walked over to the other bar in the club.
“Tina, I’m about to go holla at Number Eight.”
“I was on ’im too, girl,” Tina responded, smiling.
I walked around the dance floor to the other side of the club. Number Eight was ordering a drink. There were so many chicks trying to get his attention it was funny. But obviously they were new to it. Guys like him usually didn’t crack on girls no matter how cute or slutty they were. You had to swallow your pride and holla at him.
“It’s on me,” I said as the bartender waited for the dude to pay her for the bottle of Moet.
“Nah, shorty, it’s cool,” the dude said, smiling and peeling a hundred-dollar bill from a knot of money. He was surprised at my gesture, but I could tell he liked it a lot.
I let him pay for it, which was my plan from gate, but now the air was open for conversation. “That’s one of my favorite teams,” I said, referring to his jacket.
“Oh, yeah? Mine too,” he replied.
“What’s your name?” I quizzed as I held my empty cup out for him to pour me some Moet.
He smiled and said, “O.”
At that point I didn’t know which turned me on more, the wad of money he pulled from his pocket earlier or the way he licked his lips before he would flash that sexy-ass smile of his.
“I’m Celess,” I said, with my hand extended for a formal shake. I was killing dude softly. He didn’t know what to do.
“Celess? That’s a pretty name and it fits you perfect.” He was beginning to flirt.
“I get that a lot,” I shot at him.
O just smiled and nodded at my response. He took a swallow of the Moet and gazed into my eyes. He felt me like I felt him, and that was the beginning of a long-term fiasco.
About three weeks later, I met James at the King of Prussia Mall. James was a tall, skinny, light-skinned bull. He played basketball for Temple. He was a hot commodity in the sport. Drafters had their eyes on him.
Me and Tina were shopping when we both noticed James and his friend looking at us in Armani Exchange. Both of them looked good as shit, so neither of us were going to leave disappointed. James’s friend approached Tina. His name was Khalil. He was tall and skinny too, but we later learned that he didn’t play ball. Instead, he had a variety store that he moved weight out of. James’s peoples left him the building and Khalil paid him rent every month. So they both were eatin’, but Khalil’s plate was just fuller. Khalil and Tina exchanged numbers, and naturally James and I did the same. James was shy and I wasn’t in the best mood that day at the mall, so our first encounter wasn’t too special. But every one after that was. The one thing that boy could do better than play ball was have sex. I remember the first time we did it. It was a late night in his dorm room. That tiny twin bed was rocking so hard I thought it was gonna break. It was then that I became a believer of that saying, “It’s not the size of the boat, but the commotion of the ocean.” He almost had me sprung. The only thing that was keeping me tamed was his lack of funds. He would give me a little something anytime I asked, but his pockets weren’t deep enough to really set me up.
I met Tariq at Glam two weekends after I met James. Tariq was from New Jersey. He was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt when we met, a grown and sexy type of dude. I was looking fly like I always did in a name-brand something. He offered to buy me a drink.
“How old are you, beautiful?” Grown and Sexy asked.
“Twenty-two,” I lied.
“Where are you from?”
“Philly,” I responded. People who weren’t from Philly assumed nobody was because they were the only ones who asked where you were from.
“Oh, I’m from Jersey,” he volunteered.
“What brought you to Philly…” I motioned for him to tell me his name.
“Tariq, with a
“What do you do for a living, Tariq?” I got straight to the point. Usually I could tell what a guy did from one look, but he was confusing me.
“I’m a realtor. I own property,” he said with confidence as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a stack of crisp bills folded neatly together in a silver money clip. He removed a business card that contained all of his contact information from off the top of the bills and handed it to me slowly, making sure I got a glimpse of his cash.
