Eviction Notice (21 page)

CHAPTER 30

Porsha had finally
found her groove. After Sahara had left, she and Kat played the bar for a while, throwing back shots courtesy of their adoring public. The Jersey cats in Brick City acted like they had never seen a chick like Porsha before. Granted, the chicks from Jersey who were dancing that night were far from slouches, but Porsha had a swag about her that set her apart.

After their drink session, Porsha and Kat hit the floor to get their trap on. There was a heavyset kid sitting at a table with a group of his boys, draped in more ice than Colorado in December, who was waving Porsha over. She started to ignore him but when he raised a brick of singles she changed her mind. Motioning for Kat to follow, Porsha went over to the table.

The fat kid and his friends were very generous, showering Porsha and Kat with bills of different denominations for their raunchy routine. By the time they were finished, Porsha had most of the fat kid’s money and his life story. He was a hustler named Vern who moved weight in South Jersey, and from the weight of his jewels she could tell he was doing well for himself. He tried to get Porsha to slide off with him, but she declined the invitation and took his number instead. She might not have been down to fuck him that night, but Vern was someone she definitely planned to follow up with.

“Damn, I should’ve brought my ass to Jersey to get it in years ago,” Porsha said, counting her money. She was already up almost a stack and the night was still young.

“I tried to tell you, ma. Money in New York is good, but out-of-town cats spend it more freely,” Kat told her. Then she leaned in to whisper to Porsha, “Don’t make it obvious, but look up.” She nodded over her shoulder.

Porsha acted like she was fixing the shoulder strap on her corset and cut her eyes up toward the balcony. Don B. was leaning on the rail with a drink in his hand, watching her like a hawk. He must’ve known she was looking at him because he smiled and raised his drink.

“That nigga has been watching you all night,” Kat told her.

“Good, I need him all worked up when I cut into that ass,” Porsha said seriously.

One of the guys working for the DJ came over and whispered something to Kat. She nodded and held up two fingers, before sending him back off to the DJ booth. “Well, Ms. P, I think he’ll be good and worked up in a few minutes.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Porsha asked. Just then she heard the DJ’s voice.

“Alright, you muthafuckas, get ya money right and belly up to the bar. Coming to the stage, live from Harlem World, the lovely Ms. Porsha!”

Porsha stood there with a confused expression on her face after hearing her name. “What the fuck? I planned on working the floor, I didn’t sign up to hit the stage, so how the hell are they calling me?”

“Because I signed you up,” Kat said with a sly smile. “You talk the talk, now let’s see if you can walk the walk.”

“Porsha, where you at?” the DJ shouted.

“I told you, if you’re in, then be all in. What you gonna do, rookie?” Kat challenged.

“Kat, I’m gonna kill you after I finish rocking this muthafucking pole,” Porsha said, and sauntered off.

Kat took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink while she waited for the show to start.

Porsha walked out onto the stage timidly, hoping that she didn’t bust her ass in her six-inch heels. The bright overhead lights stung Porsha’s eyes, making it hard to see the crowd, but she could feel every eye in the room on her. She spotted Kat sitting at the bar watching her, smiling, and wanted to dive off the stage and start choking her. Kat had put her in an awkward position, but Porsha had come too far to turn back. She had danced on her fair share of poles in her day, but she’d always had a planned routine.

“Fuck it,” she said to herself and nodded for the DJ to start the music, hoping it was something she could rock to. She didn’t recognize the song at first with its heavy guitar riffs. This definitely wasn’t a rap song. As the drums began to pound, the song struck a chord of familiarity in her and her lips parted into a smile. Her brother played the song so much that she hated it, but was glad for his obsession with George Thorogood & The Destroyers. The way the chicks at Brick City had been hating on her all night, she knew the DJ’s playing that song was a sign for her to let it all hang out and show them who the boss bitch was. Shaking off her butterflies, Porsha let everyone watching know why she was truly “Bad to the Bone.”

*   *   *

Once they were
settled at their table, Lakim broke out one of the blunts he had stashed in his sock. Security downstairs had been on some bullshit about weed smoking, so his lungs were on the gate. As soon as he lit it, the smell of Sour Diesel stank up the room. “Much better,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“That weed smells like you rolled it in shit.” King fanned the smoke.

“That’s how you know it’s good.” Lakim took two more pulls and tried to pass it to King.

“Stop playing with me, man. You know I don’t smoke when I’m on the clock.”

“Then let me hit that muthafucka.” Dump reached across the table and snatched the weed.

“Can I get you guys anything?” the waitress asked, coming over to their table.

“Yeah, bring us a bottle of Crown and a shot of whatever you got hiding up under them booty shorts,” Dump told her.

The waitress twisted her lips. “I don’t know if your paper is long enough for what I got under these shorts, but I’ll be back with your bottle.” She turned to leave but King stopped her. He whispered something in her ear and slipped her some bills. The girl gave him a confused look, but eventually nodded and went off to get their drinks.

“I’d suck a baby outta her snatch,” Dump said, eyeing the waitress.

“Nigga, you’ll put your mouth anywhere. As a matter of fact, keep that blunt, I’ll spark another one.” Lakim laughed.

“Fuck you, La.” Dump blew out a cloud of smoke.

Lakim and Dump traded jokes, and even managed to drag Alonzo into their shenanigans. The trio was like kids in the schoolyard, smoking weed and tossing money at the strippers as they came and went, but King’s mind was elsewhere. His eyes were fixed on Shai Clark. You could tell he carried weight from the way those around him hung on his every word, but to King James he didn’t appear to be much more than a kid. If they were up north, King would’ve flat-out confronted him about what had happened to his worker, but they were in the world and the rules were quite different. The situation would have to be handled with diplomacy instead of fists. Approaching Shai like a common thug wouldn’t work, so he bided his time and contemplated an angle to approach him.

Alonzo nudged King. “You good?”

“Yeah, all is well, God. I’m just checking the scene.” King laid his eyes on a chick with balloon breasts. “What about you, you having a good time, Zo?”

“I’m good; it’s just been a minute since I’ve been out so I’m getting adjusted.”

“Well, you’re amongst family, so feel free to let your hair down, my G.” King put his arm around him.

The DJ’s voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the next dancer to take the stage. Alonzo thought he was bugging when he heard the name, or it might’ve been a coincidence, so out of curiosity he fixed his eyes on one of the flat screens that gave them a view of the stage. When he saw the pretty brown thing take the stage he had to do a double take. She was wearing a wig and a costume that made her look different, but Alonzo would have known that figure anywhere. He sat there, mouth agape and speechless, as he saw the longtime object of his affection in a whole new light.

Alonzo found himself both turned on and repulsed as he watched Porsha work the stripper pole like she’d been born to do it. She whipped her hair wildly to the rock-and-roll song blaring through the DJ’s speakers. She bent her body at impossible angles as men and women showered her with money and cheered. She dropped flat on her stomach and popped her ass cheeks in time with the saxophones on the track. One dude jumped onstage and tried to kiss her, only to have security yank him down and toss him out on his ass. The crowd loved Porsha and she loved them back.

Alonzo couldn’t watch anymore. He had known that Porsha was no angel, but seeing her dancing at a strip club for dollars was something he wasn’t ready for. Something swelled in Alonzo’s chest after watching Porsha on the stage and he realized it was jealousy, which was absurd. Alonzo had had a crush on Porsha for as long as he’d known her, but she kept him in the
friend zone
so the romantic attachment was one-sided. Still, he’d always held on to the hope that one day she would come around, but after what he’d seen he didn’t know how he felt about her anymore.

“She bad, huh?” King startled him. Alonzo hadn’t realized he’d been watching the show too.

“She a’ight,” Alonzo said as if Porsha was nothing special.

“She a’ight?” King looked at him funny. “Sun, I don’t know if we looking at the same chick, because that bitch on the screen is bad! My nigga, I’d try to break my dick off between them pretty-ass lips if she gave me the chance.” King laughed, but Alonzo got quiet. “My fault, you know her or something?”

“Nah, I thought I knew her.” Alonzo turned his back on the flat screen.

King had been around enough liars to know one when he heard it. “Let me tell you something about chicks, Zo. When you’re young and first discovering your heat, it’ll be the ones you care about the most who treat you like shit, but it’s a necessary road to travel on your way to figuring out how to appreciate a good chick. That’s my jewel on you for the day.”

“Forever the teacher.” Alonzo nodded.

“That’s my job, to open the eyes of the blind. Now let me open your eyes to some of this fine trim in here.” King motioned around at the women moving about. “Shake that shit, Zo, and have a good time.”

CHAPTER 31

Brick House sat
fuming in the corner as she watched Porsha rock the stage. She had been watching the little bitch make her rounds for most of the night, smiling and winking at dudes but not really giving up anything worth watching. She knew by the end of the night she was going to be able to stunt by making the most bread that night, but it looked like Porsha was gonna be a problem.

“These niggaz in here spending tonight,” a stripper named Peaches interrupted Brick House’s thoughts. She was a short chick with a pretty face and a decent body from Newark whom Brick House sometimes ran with.

“Yeah, a bitch like me might end up at the dealership tomorrow,” Brick House boasted, showing her a purse full of money.

“I don’t know if I’m doing all that, but I’m gonna be straight when it’s all said and done,” Peaches said. “Yo, did you see that new bitch up there killing it?”

Brick House sucked her teeth. “She did her thing, but I wouldn’t say she was killing it.”

“Say what you want, but she had me ready to try and get at her li’l ass,” Peaches admitted.

“You better stay away from her, because Kat is playing it and you know how that crazy bitch gets down,” Brick House said.

“I ain’t fucking with Kat. You been up to the VIP yet?” Peaches asked.

“Nah, it’s probably the usual suspects up there and I’m trying to wait for it to thicken out.”

“Well, I heard Don B. is up there with some of his peoples.”

Brick House’s head snapped around. “When the fuck did he get here and why are you just now telling me?”

“I don’t know when he got here, but I thought for sure you’d have known before anybody else.” Peaches gave her a knowing look.

Brick House and Don B. had history. She had met him when she was working outta New York and given him the blow job of his life. For three straight weekends he had shown up at the strip club, and she’d gone home with him every night and he had thrown bread around like it was water. Just on the three nights she had slid with him she had cleared more than what she’d have made working in the club all night. If Don B. was in the building, then she still had one more card to play.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs and see what’s good with the real players.” Brick House motioned for Peaches to follow her. Brick House crossed the room and cleared the stairs to the VIP in record time in her high heels. The bouncer was leaning against the banister, smooth talking one of the other girls, when Brick House approached. “What it do, Flea?”

Flea shook his head, “It’s a real gangster party in there, ma. It ain’t for the faint of heart tonight.”

“Then I should feel right at home.” Brick House strutted inside. When Peaches tried to follow, Flea stopped her.

“C’mon, baby, you know the rules. A dub to me and some neck later on.” He held out his hand.

“Flea, you ain’t charge Brick House nothing to get in and you gonna hit me up for twenty?” Peaches snaked her neck.

“Brick is family and you’re an employee. Now up that dub. As a matter of fact, give me twenty-five for trying to dry snitch.”

Peaches wasn’t happy about it, but she gave him the money. “You’re a real asshole, Flea.” She pushed past him.

“I’m an asshole who is twenty-five dollars richer thanks to you,” he called after her.

*   *   *

Don B. was
feeling good. He had a drink in one hand, a blunt in the other, and a chick on his lap. Gotti had really laid it out for the New Yorkers, making sure their glasses and their lungs stayed full all night. There were fine women, good weed, and good drink, which was the only way the Don knew how to party. It had been a while since he had been out in the spotlight and being back on the stage felt good.

“So how’re you enjoying the Garden State’s hospitalities?” Gotti asked Don B.

“This shit is lovely.” Don B. blew smoke into the stripper’s waiting mouth. “I could get used to this.”

“And this is only the beginning, my nigga. Once we start getting money together it’s gonna get even sweeter. It’s been a long time since Jersey had a rapper step out in the limelight and I know Big Dawg can do that for my man Lord Scientific.”

“You don’t do nothing but create starts at Big Dawg, homie.” Don B. took a toke of the blunt. “From what I heard on the CDs y’all sent over, he’s definitely got some lyrics, but in this game you need more than lyrics to make it to the top. It’s about your presentation. The ability to captivate people is the one thing all true stars possess.”

“I think after you see his stage show tonight you’ll agree that my man leaves a lasting impression,” Gotti assured him.

Before the conversation could go any further, Brick House walked up. Every man sitting at the table had his eyes glued to her ass when she moved. “What’s popping, Big Dawg?” She stood over Don B. and the girl who was giving him a lap dance.

Don B. took a second to peer over the shoulder of the girl who was sitting on his lap. He looked at Brick House over his shades and nodded in greeting. “Chilling,” he replied, and went back to his lap dance.

Brick House felt slighted and her face said it. She tapped the stripper on her shoulder. “Shorty, take a break for a minute.” The girl looked like she wanted to protest but thought better of it and left. “What’s good, Don B.?”

“Everything was good until you broke up my groove, what’s good with that?” Don B. adjusted his pants.

“I’m saying, I thought you could’ve at least called a bitch if you were coming to Jersey; you know these are my stomping grounds,” Brick House said.

“Oh, you’re from Jersey? That’s what’s up,” Don B. said in a very disinterested tone and poured himself another drink.

“What’s good, shorty, you shaking or running ya mouth? You’re holding up traffic.” Tone motioned toward the other girls who were circling them like vultures.

“Be easy, me and Don B. know each other,” Brick House told Tone. Tone looked to Don B. for confirmation but he just sat there like he had no clue what she was talking about, which angered Brick House. “Word, you just gonna sit there like you don’t know a bitch on your Hollywood shit?”

“Shorty, I meet a lot of women in my travels. Your face looks familiar, but I can’t remember your name.” Don B. shrugged.

Brick House folded her arms and looked at Don B. in disbelief that he was playing her to the left. “Oh you don’t know my name? You were screaming my fucking name when I was riding you at that motel in the Bronx.”

“Oh, okay. I fucked you at a motel in the Bronx? That really narrows it down.” Don B. laughed and so did his crew.

“Ay, ma, come over here and let me see what you’re working with and I’ll scream your name all night long.” Devil waved some singles at her.

“Listen, boo, me and my mans is over here handling business and trying to have a good time, so if you ain’t trying to shake, you need to keep it pushing,” Gotti said, not bothering to hide his irritation with Brick House.

Brick House felt like a wet food stamp, the way she was being brushed off by the celebrity and his crew. She wanted to plead her case and try to jog Don B.’s memory but she wouldn’t play herself like that in front of Peaches. “I hear you talking that shit, Mr. Boss Baller,” she said, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m gonna remember this shit, Don.”

“Baby, you can write it down if you need to,” he shot back.

“I’m gonna see you around, nigga,” she warned as she walked away with Peaches in tow.

“I doubt it,” Don B. called after her. He shook his head and turned back to his group. “You slip a bitch a li’l cock on a drunk night and they act like they got standing. Fuck outta here. Yo, one of y’all niggaz roll something up and bring me a bitch. I’m trying to keep this party popping.”