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Mecca waved her hand in the air and caught the attention of their wait staff. It was time for the check. She was ready to go. She didn’t know how much longer she could listen to Chanel play victim.
“Are you serious? You think I’m bossing you around for not wanting you living with my man?”
Chanel pointed out, “There would be no you and Pyro if it wasn’t for me.”
Mecca heartily disagreed. “Do you really think that?”
“I made that happen.”
Mecca countered with, “You can bring a horse to the water, but you can’t force it to drink. Pyro hollered at me because of what I brought to the table. It had nothing to do with you, Chanel.”
Chanel’s nostrils were flared. She looked Mecca up and down and for the first time in their friendship she wanted to punch her in her conceited face. To Chanel, Mecca had changed. The Mecca she knew would never toss her out on the street.
She asked, “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I know it.”
“Whatever, Mecca. You’re different—sitting there thinking you’re better than me,” said Chanel.
Mecca smirked. “What? Why would you think that?”
“It’s true. Your man is healthy and my man is fucked up right now.”
“Chanel, you really need to chill and think about what you’re saying. You sound like a hater right now.”
“I’m not hating on you, Mecca.”
“Well, the way you’re coming at me, you could have fooled me.”
Chanel expressed with finality in her tone, “Look, let’s just agree to disagree. Okay?”
“Fine then,” Mecca snapped back.
The waiter came over with the check, which was promptly paid. Mecca asked that her food be placed in a doggy bag, which added additional tension between them. They couldn’t even look at each other. In fact, Chanel was ready to leave, but Mecca wanted to take home everything on her plate. She didn’t want to waste anything, and Chanel felt she was being petty. Their time together had ended in disaster.
r /> Chanel continued to stew as she dropped Mecca off on the campus. They didn’t say a word to each other. Mecca climbed out of the Range and didn’t look back at her friend. She strutted onto the campus while Chanel rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Bye then, bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bacardi was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette and chatting on her cell phone when she heard the loud and familiar knocking on the apartment door.
“Let me call you back,” Bacardi said to the person on the other end of the phone.
She ended her call and stood up huffing and puffing with an attitude. Her cigarette dangled from her lips and her robe was slightly opened, revealing the bra and granny drawers she was wearing underneath. She glanced through the peephole and saw what she expected—two detectives standing outside in the hallway. Bacardi moaned with displeasure. She was in no mood to deal with them, but she knew that they weren’t going to go away.
She reluctantly opened the door and greeted them with a puckered brow. “What y’all want now? I’m tired of fuckin’ police comin’ to my door. Ain’t this harassment or sumthin’?”
“We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re here looking for a Charlie Brown,” said Detective McKnight.
“She’s not here,” Bacardi responded. “She don’t live here anymore.”
“Can we come in and look around?” asked his partner, Detective Greene.
“I told you, she’s not here.”
“Well, we have a few questions to ask her,” said McKnight.
