park!” Tamika urged.
Nina maneuvered through the tight parking lot full of luxury automobiles equipped with so many amenities it made her BMW look like a Hyundai.
“Girl, how are we going to get in? Look at that line!” Nina remarked, referring to the line of people that went around the corner of the building. “It’s too cold to be standing out here.”
“Please! You think I’m about to stand out in Jack Frost? I don’t think so,” she said, snapping her fingers and making an S in the air.
“Well, how we getting in then?” Nina asked, her eyes bulging.
“It’s called Cavalli, Roberto Cavalli. Honey, with this dress I’m wearing… it’s like a VIP pass. My ass is a pass,” she said, laughing to herself as she looked in the rearview mirror and applied some lipstick. “Shit, I rhyme better than them fake-ass Def Poetry Slam niggas you had me up there listening to. I shoulda been up there on the stage. Maybe that’s what I need to do.”
“You need to get some help,” Nina said, finally finding a parking space.
Nearing the entrance, Nina looked at all the people on line and frowned. Why was everybody dressed like it was 1987? Everyone was dressed in Dapper Dan, Gucci, Fendi, and MCM velour suits mingled with beef and broccoli Tims, Guess jean suits with leather pockets, Adidas sneakers, and Kangols. One nigga even had an 8 ball jacket on.
“Damn, Mika. Where the hell you bring me?” Nina asked.
Tamika looked at herself. Suddenly, her dress had lost all its flair. But dress or no dress, she was still a brown- skinned stallion, thick like Luke dancers.
She led Nina to the door where two huge bouncers stood.
“What’s goin’ on, y’all?” Tamika questioned.
“It’s a private welcome home for Angel,” he informed her.
“Well, if it’s private, why are all these people standing on line?” Nina wanted to know.
“Just that. They’re standing on line,” he replied with a chuckle. “But how can I turn away such lovely ladies?” he flirted.
He was obviously referring to Tamika, because Nina’s was a simple beauty. He removed the velvet rope and ushered the two of them in, sparking curses from the haters on the line.
Once inside, Nina looked at all the banners that read, “Welcome home, Angel!”
“Who the hell is Angel?”
Tamika shrugged and grabbed two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. “Damn if I know. But drinks is on her tonight,” she chimed and handed Nina a glass.
The theme was definitely the eighties and Biz Markee was deejayin’ it up in the proper fashion, spinning all the joints from back in the day. Nina had to admit it was fun, hearing all the hip-hop classics she hadn’t heard since high school. She even danced a few times, doing the wop, the Biz Mark, and, of course, the cabbage patch.
Angel and Goldilocks were moving in and out of the crowd, mingling, greeting old faces, and being introduced to new ones. Angel had on a pink suede Adidas suit with pink shell toes and bamboo earrings while Goldilocks had on Jordache jeans, a silk shirt, and a pair of stilettos.
Angel had thrown the party for herself, but the festivities had a double meaning. She wanted a full view of all the players who moved New Jersey. Everyone had shown up except Roll. She had no idea he wasn’t coming, so she continued to wait patiently. In the meantime, she let go a little bit and fed into the nostalgia, wildin’ out on the dance floor, a bottle of Remy XO in one hand and a bottle of Cristal in the other.
Until she saw her. She looked through the crowd of happy partying faces and spotted Nina.
Nina noticed Angel staring at her and knew the face from somewhere, she just couldn’t remember where. Angel knew exactly who Nina was because she couldn’t stand her.
From then on, Angel hated Nina, and she was glad when they finally broke up and Dutch stopped seeing her.
Nina saw the Puerto Rican girl grillin’ her.
“Mika, we gotta go,” Nina said, hoping Tamika was ready.
She sucked her teeth.
“Come on, Nina, chill out. The party’s just startin’. Shit, it’s getting hot in here, take off all my clothes,” Tamika sang with the music.
“Well, you can stay butt-naked if you want, but my black ass is ’bout to be out. I’m goin’ home,” Nina said, dead serious.
“And how I’m ’posed to get home?”
“Backseat of my Jeep,” Nina joked, rapping the hook of LL’s classic.
“I got yo’ backseat, bitch.”
“You ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
They made their way through the parking lot pimps, and were nearing the car when a red Bentley Continental GT pulled up with a Maybach following its lead. Niggas turned their heads twice at the cars as they brushed through the streets.
Tamika gasped with lust.
“See? Just when we leavin’,” she pouted, wishing she didn’t have to leave the party so early.
But something else caught Nina’s eye. She could’ve sworn the fat man driving the Bentley wore the dragon chain Dutch used to wear. It was a quick glance, but the image of the coiled serpent stuck in her brain. Nina stretched her neck to see, but the car passed and the driver was no longer in sight.
She shook it off, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her again. She figured wrong. The dragon was draped over Roll’s fat, sweaty neck. Nitti had delivered it to him after he murdered Young World. Roll wasn’t wearing the chain out of respect. He was wearing it out of disrespect. He was arrogantly letting niggas know he was behind Young World’s demise. He had the chain, and if anybody didn’t like it, too fucking bad.
Roll, Nitti, and the two guys in the Maybach made their way to the entrance. They weren’t dressed in the eighties fashion because they hadn’t come to party. They had come to make a statement. And the dragon did exactly that, bouncing off Roll’s fat belly as he approached the entrance. The two bouncers instantly removed the velvet rope and admitted him and his crew.
When Roll reached the floor, all eyes fell first on him, then on the dragon. People whispered as he passed, openly greeting him or moving aside to let him pass by. When Angel finally spotted him, her blood began to boil upon seeing the dragon gleaming against his sweater. It was the dragon she should be wearing.
