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“Well, da next time you talk to ’im, ask.”
“Ho, I ain’t askin’ ’im shit. You already gotta man. So be happy wit’ what you got.” She rolls ’er eyes. “Bitch, pass me da damn blunt.” I laugh. “Annnnway, wassup up wit’ ya’ll any-damn-way?”
“Trick, why is you always askin’ me wassup wit’ me ’n that nigga? Ain’t shit up. I keep tellin’ you we chillin’; that’s it.”
“Does he know ’bout the baby?”
This bitch has had’a ’nough smoke for one night, I think, starin’ ’er ass down. I kick my shoes off, then curl up on ’er sofa. “What’s there for his ass to know? I keep tellin’ you da nigga ain’t my man, ho.”
She flicks ’er wrist, dismissin’ me. “Yeah, whateva. I don’t know why you keep frontin’; you know you diggin’ da nigga. Face it.”
“Okay, ho, you got me…busted. Guilty as charged. And?”
“And give da nigga some rhythm.”
“That nigga gets all the rhythm I’ma give.”
She pours us both ’nother round. “Kat, be real. What da fuck you afraid of?”
I buck my eyes open. “Afraid? Who said anything ’bout bein’ afraid?”
She stares at me. “Aren’t you?”
“Hell no.” Bitch, shut ya lyin’ ass up. Keep shit real. I toss back my glass, gulp down my nerves.
“Bitch, you lyin’.”
I huff. “Aiight, damn, ho. I hate ya ass; for real, for real. Real shit. I don’t eva wanna end up like Juanita. All fucked up ova a muhfucka. I saw what that ho went through. Saw what she was. All broke down ’n pitiful ’n desperate. I don’t wanna be that kinda bitch, you know. Cryin’ ’n fightin’ ova a nigga.”
“Girl, not you. That’s not even ya steelo. You too damn strong-willed to let a nigga do you sideways.”
“Yeah, you right. But some’a the strongest bitches have been broken down gettin’ too caught up wit’ a muhfucka.”
“Kat, that ain’t you.”
“Still, the shit haunts a bitch.”
“Girl, puhleeze. Don’t let that keep you from gettin’ close to a nigga you feelin’. Shake that shit off.” She looks at me. “You eva think ’bout how you mighta turned out if ya moms was a different kinda woman, or if ya pops was in ya life?”
I shake my head. “No, what for? Fantasizin’ ’bout shit that is already done can’t change shit for me. Juanita was a dick junkie, and my pops is a career criminal. I’m kinda thinkin’ that’s how shit was ’posed to be. But, it’s not shit I’m tryna live. It’s not how I wanna be. And it’s damn sure not what I wanna become.”
She twists ’er lips. “I feel you. Do you think they gonna eva find that nigga who did that shit to ya moms?” she asks, fillin’ our glasses to the rim wit’ more wine.
Hopefully not before I do. “Who knows. All I know, that nigga needs to get served, lovely. I want that muthafucka’s head on’a platter wit’ his dick stuffed in his mouth.”
“I feel you, girl. I know you don’t wanna hear it. But what that nigga did to ya moms is mad crazy. And now there’s a beautiful lil’ baby wit’ no parents.”
What that nigga did is a blessin’ in disguise, I think, gulpin’ down the last drop of wine in my glass. Chanel asks if I want more. I tell ’er no. Tell ’er I ain’t for beat any more’a that fruity-tooty shit. Tell ’er to spark up ’notha blunt. We change up the subject and start talkin’ ’bout takin’ a trip to either Italy or France.”
“Shit,” I say, takin’ the blunt from ’er. “We can do both. We young, fly, butta bitches who can do whateva da fuck we want.”
She laughs. “Hell yeah, Boo. We two siiiiick bitches doin’ it up. Oh, wait…you sponsorin’ me, right?”
I bust out laughin’. “Ho, I can’t stand nuthin’ yo broke ass stands for. You know Divine got you.”
She laughs wit’ me. “Bitch, you know Divine ain’t gonna give me ’nough paper to live it up. His cheap ass’ll only give me few bullshit gees, then ’pect me to stretch it out for da whole time we gone.”
“Well, if ya cheatin’ ass started suckin’ ’n fuckin’ top-dolla niggas instead of them nickel ’n dime muhfuckas you be chasin’, you’d have ya paper up.”
