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I huff. “Exactly. So, kiss my motherfucking ass!” I slam the receiver down, getting up from behind my desk and walking out into the shop. I walk over to Felecia and tell her to take messages for all of my calls for the rest of the day.
She lifts her eyes up from The New York Daily News, with a questioning gaze. “Oh, okay. Speaking of calls, who’s that nigga who keeps calling here for you? The nigga sounds like a real nut.”
He is. I’m standing here, hoping I can come up with a convincing enough lie to keep her from asking more questions. “Girl, he’s some nigga bugging me about a job here. And he won’t take no for an answer. He read that article they did on us in the Star Ledger and now has it in his head to work with us.”
“Doing what?” she asks, pursing her lips. I can tell her wheels are spinning.
“He’s a barber.” Bitch, you couldn’t come up with something better that that?
She taps her lip with her index finger. “Interesting.”
Fuck. “Why you say that?”
“Uh, hello…for starters, a barber means tapping into them niggas’ pockets. And if he can style, too…Mmmph. Chile, we…”
Oh, hell no. I already see where she’s trying to go with this. Even if the nigga could cut hair, which I doubt, I wish the hell I would let that crazy motherfucker up in here.
“No, thank you,” I flatly state, stopping her in her tracks.
“Damn, you didn’t even let me finish and you already shutting me down.”
I laugh. “’Cause, boo, I already know what you’re gonna tell me. That having a barber on board would be great for business and would bring in a new set of clientele. And I agree. Don’t think I haven’t considered that. But it won’t be him. My gut tells me he’d be more of a liability than an asset here. And that is the last thing we need around here.”
“Well, alrighty then. Say no more. The next time he calls, I’ll tell ’im to drop dead.”
Wouldn’t that be a blessing! “Sounds damn good to me,” I say, walking back to my office.
The rest of the day flies by without incident. And I am relieved. I still don’t know what the hell I am going to do about that nut harassing me for head. But what I do know is I need to do something ’cause sitting around doing nothing isn’t cutting it. If for nothing else, I need to figure out my next course of action before this nigga does something else. In my heart, I realize it’s only a matter of time. Am I scared? No, not really. Should I be? Probably. This nigga, whoever the fuck he is, has become a painful thorn in my side. And I want it removed, before it does more damage than it already has. This walking on eggshells bullshit waiting to see what happens next is starting to drive a bitch batty. Yet, I keep my game face, pretending I’m not fazed by anything. I refuse to give that nigga any power over me, I think, gathering my things to leave for the day.
Three weeks pass, and like clockwork, I arrive at the shop before Felecia—purposefully. So far the nigga has been letting me breathe. There’ve been no harassing phone calls, no mail, no messenger boys coming into the salon with disrespectful requests; nothing. I would like to think he’s given up; that he’s found himself a new vi
ctim to torment. Somehow, I know that’s wishful thinking.
I sit in my car, waiting for the rain to stop. It’s been pouring down off and on since late last night, so a lot of the side streets are flooded. I watch the heavy droplets pound against my windshield, thinking about being somewhere laid out naked in front of a fireplace being fucked long, slow and deep until my pussy walls shake. I think about Jasper. The idea of him being so close to coming home excites me on some level but makes me extremely nervous on another. And rightfully so. I’m cheating and lying to him, doing the same shit he used to do to me. No matter how I try to justify it, the fact is I am still a fucked-up bitch for doing what I’ve been doing behind his back.
I sigh, glancing at my engagement ring. I love Jasper, I swear I do. With everything that is in me. I have a lot to lose, if I don’t get shit under control. I gotta do something about this nigga who’s been harassing me. Ways of disposing of the nigga begin to take up space in my head. I imagine myself agreeing to spin his top, luring him to a dark, secluded park where I throat his dick. I drop to my knees, holding a blade behind my back, grabbing him by the base of his dick with my free hand. Slowly, I begin licking and kissing and nibbling all over it, encircling the tip of his dick with my lips and applying light suction over it before inching all of his cock into my mouth and down into my throat. He holds the sides of my head with both hands as if he’s holding a basketball, pounding himself in and out of my wet throat, balls deep. Then in one swift motion, I thrust my knife upward into his balls, twisting and pushing until he collapses.
In another scenario, he is reclined back in his car seat and my face is in his lap. I have his semierect cock in my hand, licking his balls while stroking it. The minute he closes his eyes, I reach in my pocket and pull out a scalpel blade, swiftly slicing off his motherfucking dick, then shoving it down into his screaming mouth.
A tapping sound forces me out of my killing trance. It’s Felecia peering into the passenger side window. I crack the window, realizing it’s stopped raining. “Girl, you must be deep in thought. Didn’t you hear me tapping on the window?”
I shake my head. “Chile, I have so much on my mind right now. I didn’t hear shit.”
“Well, what in the hell you sitting out here for?” I tell her I was waiting for the rain to stop. “Well, as you can see, it’s stopped. So hurry up and come in before it starts coming down again. Geesh, you act like you gonna melt or something.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling the window up on her. I turn off the ignition, removing the key, then gathering my things to go inside. Felecia is already through the door when I finally get out of the car. She leaves the door open for me.
Once inside, she and I chat for a bit, about nothing in particular, mostly about the appointments for the day. She doesn’t have any gossip for me today. And honestly, I’m kind of glad she doesn’t. As I make my way to my office, we make plans to sneak out of work early tomorrow to catch happy hour down at P.F. Chang’s.
“And I wanna be outta here by two-thirty. So that means no appointments after twelve.”
I laugh. “It figures your drunk-ass would want to be the first one there.”
She laughs with me. “Yep…damn straight. I wanna be pressed to the barstool by three-fifteen so I can get my three hour’s worth of drink on.” I shake my head, preparing to walk off when she stops me in my tracks. “Umm, by the way…I meant to tell you Cassandra wants you to give her a call. I ran into her last night in Wal-mart with three of her bad-ass kids.”
“Oh, okay. Does she need a hair appointment?”
“No, she said something about tracking down that roach-ass nigga who came through here tryna call you out a couple of weeks ago.”
