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If ya tryna play a bitch like me, ya better be ready to rock. Let me catch ya sleepin’, and ya gonna find ya’self knocked. Crabs in a barrel gonna try ’n steal yo shine, hatin’-ass hoes gonna try ’n steal ya spot…fuck what ya heard…a bitch like me will blast ya ass with somethin’ hot…before I ever let a muhfucka snatch me off top…
The shrill sound of my cell pulled me outta my sleep. The sound of the ring tone told me who it was, and which cell line it was. I glanced over at the digital clock on my nightstand, rollin’ my eyes.
“Shit,” I groaned, jumpin’ out of bed and diggin’ through my purse for my phone. I glanced at the number. Sure enough it was my moms. “Hello.”
“Is there any reason why you haven’t called me?” she asked with ’tude. No “hello.” No “it’s good to hear ya voice,” nothin’ except her fuckin’ attitude. I swear the older she gets the more evil she gets. The conversation hadn’t even gotten started and I was already ready to snap my phone shut on her ass.
I sighed. “Well, hello to you, too,” I said. “And to answer ya question, I haven’t called ’cause I’ve been busy.”
“Humph. Doin’ what? Are you workin’?”
“Yeah, I’m workin’. And before ya start tryna get all up in what I do, save it. As long as I’m not askin’ you to dig in ya pockets, what I do to make my paper is none of ya concern. Now, who pissed in ya Che
erios today?”
“Ain’t nobody piss in nothin’ of mine. I haven’t heard from you in almost two months, and I shouldn’t have to be the one to call you.”
“Uh, and why not?” I asked, sittin’ on the edge of my king-sized poster bed. The fuckin’ nerve of her!
“Because I’m your mother, that’s why. You should be callin’ and checkin’ on me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really? Well, thanks for that news bulletin. I woulda thought as a mother you would wanna pick up a phone to see how ya only child is doin’. You know how to reach me. Anyway, now that ya got me, what’s been happenin’? Anything new goin’ on in ya life?”
“Nope,” she said, a bit too quick if ya ask me. “You know I don’t mess with too many people. Ever since I got my money these phony bitches ’round here always smilin’ and whatnot and tryna be up in my face. I’m like, ‘bitch, please, I ain’t got no time for it.’”
“Hmm. I hear ya. How’s Grandma?”
“You’d know that if ya ass picked up a phone and called her sometimes.”
I sucked my teeth. I really wasn’t in the mood for her shit. Beeeep! The call waitin’ tone signaled in my ear. Good. “Listen, I gotta go. I have another call comin’ in. I’ll be over next Saturday or Sunday.”
“That’s what ya ass said two months ago, and I still haven’t seen you.”
Beeeep!
“Alright,” I said, gettin’ agitated. “I’ll see ya on Sunday. ’Bye.”
“Well—”
I pressed the TALK button, disconnectin’ her ass. “Hello?”
“Damn, baby,” the nigga said in his silky voice. “Your voice got my shit on brick. When you gonna let a nigga see you?” It was Raynard, this cat from Long Island I had met when I was out in Vegas for All-Star Weekend in February. Humph. I knew I shoulda never given this nigga my digits.
The first night I met him was at the party P. Diddy was hostin’ at the Ice House Lounge. I was up in that piece lookin’ fabulous in a sexy Christian Dior white slip dress with a cutout back and plungin’ neckline that showed off my perfectly shaped ass, titties, and legs, and rockin’ a bangin’-ass pair of white beaded Gucci stilettos. Yes, a bitch slayed ’em in all white. I had the niggas droolin’ and every hatin’-ass bitch in that piece gaggin’.
Anyway, I was up in the VIP lounge standin’ out on the patio drinkin’ a flute of champagne when dude stepped to me tryna get his mack on. I ain’t gonna front, he was a dark-chocolate cutie—six-three, sexy brown eyes, nice thick lips, neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, with a beautiful bald head. The nigga was dipped in a fly-ass black Hugo Boss suit and it was somethin’ ’bout his swagger that made my pussy jump. But I kept it cute. I let him get his rap on, then sweetly smiled and bounced on his ass.
The next night, I bumped into him again when I was walkin’ through Caesar’s headin’ toward the Forum Shops. As I walked past him and his boys—there was like six or seven of them niggas—he stopped me and tried to get his shine on in front of his mans while them vultures swarmed around me like they were ready to eat me alive. I wasn’t pressed, though.
“Listen,” I had said. “I’d love to stand here and let you and your boys gawk at me, but I got shoppin’ to do.”
“Anything I can help you with, beautiful?”
I looked his ass up and down real easy-like, then smirked, starin’ into his eyes. “Nope,” I said, “’cause I ain’t shoppin’ for dick.”
He grinned. And his boys started laughin’. “Oh word. Well, let me get your digits then, so I can hit you up later on tonight.”
“Wrong answer,” I replied.
