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“Yeah, aiight, whatever, yo. You need to mind ya muthafuckin’ business.”
“Bitch, how ’bout you mind yours. It is my busin
ess when the shit’s done in front of me, or around me. So, like I said, get a motherfuckin’ grip.”
“Yo, and how da fuck you gonna be all up on my fam like that and I’m standin’ right there. Yo, you real foul, yo. That was some real dirty shit, Cass. I’m tellin’ you, yo. You really tryna get fucked up; real shit.”
I laugh. “Hahaha. Niggah, puhleeze. We both know you ain’t tryna take it there so bite a dick and chock. You not my man. And I don’t want you to be. I don’t know what part of the memo got ya ass confused. But I told you, I’m not ya goddamn wife. You put ya hands on me and you gonna know what it’s like to be fucked real good. And I do mean, deep and good. Now you got one more time to threaten me and I’ma show you just what the fuck I mean, niggah. So do ya’self a favor and save that shit for ya wifey-boo.”
“Yo, fuck outta here wit’ all that dumb shit. You heard what da fuck I said, yo. Don’t play me like that shit again.”
“Bitch, eat the inside of my asshole. You don’t run me, niggah.”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. Pop that shit if you want. Let me come through and get some pussy. You was lookin’ mad right in them jeans last week. All that thickness stuffed up in them shits. Had my dick all hard ’n shit.”
I start hummin’ Mary J’s “Mr Wrong.” And this niggah right here is all kinds of wrong. But the dick is oh so right. And his paper is nice and long.
“Yo, why is you hummin’ ’n shit all up in my ear, yo? I want some pussy.”
“And I want three grand.”
“Yo, I ain’t got it right now.”
“Oh, well. Then you need to call me when you do. So ’til then this pussy’s not available to you. And you know I don’t do layaway or credit. So . . . ” I have another call comin’ through. I glance at the screen. Oooh, it’s Miss Pasha. “Okay, I’m done. Call me when you got ya paper up and you ready to fuck.”
“Yeah, aiight, yo. I’ma—”
I shut him down, clickin’ over to Pasha. “Hey, Pasha, girl.”
“Hey, girl. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, girl. You actually saved me from talkin’ to one of them no-good niggahs. What’s doin’, boo?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the other day when you were down at the shop.”
I purse my lips. “Uh-huh. What you wanna know, Miss Pasha?”
“The one thing I’ve always admired about you, girl, is that you don’t give a damn about what people say about you. And you don’t bite your tongue, which is why I have a lot of respect for you. I mean, you are a little extra at times, but at the end of the day, I feel like I can trust you.”
Well shit. Now she got me feelin’ all guilty ’n shit. And there are three, well four, things Big Booty don’t do: guilt, drama, dirty dick, and a man beatin’ my ass, okay.
“Aww, Miss Pasha, girl, that’s sweet, boo. But you ain’t gotta spoon feed me no sugar, hon. Let’s get right to the point. You wanna know if that pretty Indian bitch you had in ya chair was tryna do Jasper, right?”
“Well, I know you really had a strong opinion about what you saw. And, of course, he denies it.”
I huff. “Miss Pasha, girl. Believe what you want, boo. You know I ain’t ever been one to be a messy bitch, or a lie. I don’t make shit up, boo. And you should know this. That niggah Jasper is a goddamn lie and so is that China, bitch—or whatever the fuck her name is—he was winkin’ at. The bitch slid her tongue outta her mouth at him. And I peeped the shit through the mirror. That’s why I moved over and blocked the bitch’s view. I can’t stand a messy bitch.”
She sighs. “I know. And I’m glad you put them both on blast. I didn’t appreciate that shit from either one of them one bit. And I did tell Chanel her business was no longer needed or wanted at my salon.”
“Well, good for you, Miss Pasha. That bitch was sneaky. And so is your man, boo. And I ain’t ever been one to be all up in ya business, Miss Pasha, boo. But, why the fuck did you marry his ass?”
“It’s complicated,” she says. I can hear the baby in the background fussin’, half-cooin’, half-cryin’, tryna get her attention I’m sure.
“Mmmph. Well, I don’t know how complicated it is, Miss Pasha, girl. And I ain’t one to gossip. But Miss FeFe says he beats on yo’ ass, boo.”
“She said whaaat?”
“You heard me, girl. She told me that the night of your weddin’ reception while her drunk-ass got all liquored up. She told me that he whoops the hot dog shit outta you, and you scared of him.”
