GHETTO SUPERSTAR (9 page)

“I've been calling you,” Fabiola said.

“Girl, I've been so busy and got so much to tell you.”

“Sorry, Cheryl, I'm going to talk to you later,” Fabiola said, dismissing the woman.

After Cheryl left, Fabiola told Shug, “Girl, you saved the day.”

Just then G.P. gave Shug some dap and looked over Shug's shoulder. “Ahllll hell, my motherfucking nigga.” Excitement filled his voice and whole aura as he embraced his friend. “Man, when the fuck you came home?”

“Yesterday.”

“This calls for a motherfucking celebration,” G.P. said and grabbed Fabiola's hand. “This my boo right here. This Fabiola and her friend Shug. This my boy Li'l John.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled at his friend.

A few of G.P.'s other homeboys walked over to say what's up, and that's when the party went to a whole new level. Under the circumstances Fabiola didn't even attempt to break it up. She just grabbed Shug's hand and pulled her along as G.P. took Fabiola's hand and pushed their way through the crowd to get over to the picture booth. If a person wasn't with G.P. and his crew, the only pictures that the other partygoers were going to get were the ones taken on their camera phones, because G.P. decided to rent out the picture booth for the rest of the night.

The song “All Eyes on Me” by Tupac came on just as they popped the first bottle and the bubbly exploded. G.P. knew that the deejay had played the song for him. There was no denying G.P. had not only the bar on smash but the entire club.

Dudes from all over the city were watching G.P, studying his every move. They were either admiring his style, hating on him, praying for his downfall, or scheming on his riches. It didn't seem to alarm him at all. Instead it fueled him and made him continue to ball out even harder. He liked that the fellas were watching him, but even more so, he liked the way their women watched him put on a show, wishing like hell that they were in Fabiola's shoes.

Fabiola held her own, off to the side, playing her position as if she was the queen of the place. Every so often G.P. would go over with the photographer in tow to snap some shots with her and him or her and Shug.

They partied, popped bottles, and danced the night away at the picture booth.

After the last call for alcohol, Shug left and Fabiola whispered in his ear as he held a bottle in hand, “Boo, I'm ready for my steak dinner.”

G.P. put his arm around Fabiola and handed a guy their coat-check tickets. He began to give dap to all his homeboys and when their coats came, he helped Fabiola into hers and strutted out of the club with Fabiola on his shoulder as if she was his trophy.

The valet guy had the plum-colored Lexus truck dead in front of the club, so they didn't have to walk far to get in.

Once they had got to his house, Fabiola took her boots off while G.P. slipped on some sweats.

As Fabiola went to drop her overnight bag off in his room, G.P. realized that he hadn't taken the steaks out of the freezer earlier that day. While G.P. was waiting for the steaks to defrost, he tried his hand at seducing Fabiola, but she shut him down.

“A deal is a deal.” She was as cold to that idea as the meat on the counter.

“Come on, baby.”

“I'm still hungry. I'm starving,” she said.

“A'ight, Boo, so let's make the compromise.”

“Here we go.” She sucked her teeth. “I'ma tell you right now, I am not going to eat no daggone peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“I wouldn't do that to my boo. Not my superstar. My songbird.” He leaned in and kissed her. “I got something better than that.”

“What?”

“How about I'll run down the street and get some Chinese food and you freshen up so that I can have you fo dessert.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said as she batted her long eyelashes at him.

He extended his pinky finger and she did the same, so that they could seal the deal. “Bet.”

He put on his sneakers and got in his car to head to the Chinese restaurant. Before he reached the corner, he was ringing her cell phone.

“Hey, Boo,” she answered when she saw it was G.P. calling. “I'm trying to clean the bathtub out. When the last time you took a bath in this thing?”

“I'm a man—I take showers. Baths is for broads.”

“Oh, whatever!”

“So, how about a little phone sex? Give me a preview and convince me to hurry up and come back.”

“You gone come back anyway, right?”

“You know that.”

“Well, I could hit you off with a little sumthin', sumthin' now, I suppose,” Fabiola purred as she got up to head back into the bedroom.

G.P. started to undo his pants, causing him to swerve and almost hit another car that was speeding in the opposite direction. “Shit, motherfuckers niggas,” he spat.

“What's wrong, baby?” Fabiola asked.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” he said. “The only thing you need to be worrying about right now is me. Now, wassup?”

“Wassup is I'm touching myself right now and I want you to do the same,” Fabiola said as she put her hands under her shirt and began to cup her breasts, rubbing her fingers over her hardening nipples. “Stroke yourself for me, baby. Pretend like it's me touching you. Does that feel good?”

“Shit, girl, you're gonna make me have an accident.” G.P started to sweat as he moved his hand up and down his shaft.

“Naw, baby. Keep yourself in one piece, 'cause I'ma tear you
up when you get home,” she whispered seductively. Just then she heard something downstairs. The door squeaked like it did earlier when they came in. “Damn, that didn't make you come back home, did it?”

“What? What you mean? I told you that I was going to get the food, right?”

“Isn't that you downstairs? Because there's somebody down there.”

“Hell naw, that ain't me,” G.P. said, alarmed. “But I know what time it is though.” The car that he had almost swerved into looked out of place when he first saw it, but he let his little head override his big head so he didn't pay it any attention. Now he knew what was going down.

He busted an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. “Hide, or better yet get out the best way you can. Niggas want to come up in my shit, niggas gone die up in my shit. I'm on my way back.”

“Huh? What?” G.P.'s words weren't registering in Fabiola's head quick enough, but her survival instincts kicked in and she was fast enough to lock the bedroom door and cut off the light.

“Man, I'ma hit you back. I need to call my niggas.”

“G.P., I'm scared,” she whispered as she looked around for a place to hide.

“You gotta fend for yo' self until I can get there baby. Hide or something. Hold that shit down 'til I get there. I'm on my way.” He hung up.

Before she could get another word out, she heard the line go dead. Fabiola realized that she was on her own.

She heard the footsteps of what sounded like more than one person on the stairs, so she slid under the bed. Once she was under there, she felt like a sitting duck. Her life seemed to be flashing in front of her and she felt at any moment they would come in and duct-tape her, rape her, or maybe even kill her.

I am not going to die without a motherfucking fight
, Fabiola thought as she made up her mind to take her life in her own hands and not put it in the hands of some thugged-out stick-up kid. There was no time for tears or waiting for a nigga to kick the door in and kill her. No—survival was the only option. Fabiola jumped up and opened the window. She threw her boots out the window before following and taking the two-story plunge.

She landed in some bushes that were below the window, then fell on the ground. She got up, picked up her boots, and began running for her life. She looked back and saw a guy coming from the front of the house toward her. She pretended to be Lynda Carter and ran like Wonder Woman. She knew her life depended on it. She ran off into the woods that were on the side of G.P.'s house and hid there until she heard G.P.'s tires skidding when he pulled up to the house. She continued to go deeper into the woods, scared to death and not even taking a moment to think or catch her breath or consider how wet her socks must be.

She heard gunshots and then a car speed away. A few seconds later, she pulled out her cell phone and called G.P.

“Yeah, Boo, where you at?” G.P. answered as if nothing had happened.

“Hiding in the woods,” she whispered.

“Come out. I'm gonna to be waiting for you.”

“Okay,” she said to him with tears in her eyes as she made her way to the edge of the woods. G.P. was sitting in the truck waiting on her.

Once she got into the car and before she could shut the door, G.P. began rambling. “Shit is crazier than a motherfucker. Dem niggas was surprised as shit when they seen me.” He spoke excitedly, as if he was enjoying the situation at hand.

She let out a long sigh and then noticed a pistol resting on the
seat. As he pulled off and was driving away from the house, she pulled her wet socks off and put her boots back on.

“Yeah, I only wished I could have been there when those niggas came up in there. I wish you had gone to get the Chinese food instead of me. I would gave dem niggas the surprise of their fucking lives.” G.P. was amped.

“Hello.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “What happened to ‘Hey, Boo, how are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? How did you get out?’ Just nothing, huh?”

“You alive, ain't you? Shit, niggas could have merked you.”

“I know.” Fabiola leaned back and closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart. “I was so close to losing my life.”

“Yeah, but you didn't.” He said, “I know it was probably one of them hating-ass niggas from the club. Mafuckers followed us to the house and shit.”

“How they get keys to your house? Because they had a key. They did come through the front door.”

He thought about it for a minute. “Shit, I don't know. Could have been dem motherfucking niggas in valet. I gave them my keys and they could have dubbed them.” He picked up his cell phone and called somebody. “Dre, meet me on Third Avenue. We need to try to put our heads together and figure this shit out. Oh yeah, and call Jon.”

Not Li'l John from the club. That dude ain't been home two days yet and he about to get caught up into some real live gunplay shit. This shit gets crazier by the minute
.

Fabiola just listened, praying that he would hurry up and get her home.

He slowed up as they were approaching a stoplight. “Dre, see you in twenty, gotta handle my bizness.” He hung up the cell phone as he ran a stoplight and then picked up speed.

“That light was red, Boo.”

He ignored her. “Get down, Boo. Get the fuck down now,” he demanded and reached for his gun. Before she knew it, G.P was shooting out the passenger window at the car beside them. It all happened so quick, it was almost like she was in a movie.

Blahka! Blahka! Blahka …
He let off six rounds from his Glock .40 caliber and caught the other car by surprise. The other car sped off and G.P. followed closely. Fabiola was balled up on the floor of the truck in a fetal position. She looked up and saw the fire that came from the gun as he shot out of the window and thought that she saw a bullet fly over her head.

The car in front of them swerved and G.P. tried to stay with it. He pressed on the accelerator and then slammed on the brakes, running dead into the back of the car. He pushed the car about a half block down the road while Fabiola screamed at the top of her lungs. Relentless, G.P. would not stop until the car in front of him winged a quick sharp right at the last second, making G.P. miss the turn. He didn't continue the pursuit, because he heard sirens coming from the direction the other car was headed. He decided to settle for a fast getaway.

“Nigga, drop me the fuuuuck off! Let me out of this gotdamn car! I'll fucking walk!” Fabiola yelled.

“Calm down, Boo.”

“Calm down my ass. Let me out!” she screamed at him.

“I'm going to drop you at your mother's,” he calmly told her.

For the rest of the ride G.P. was on the phone rounding up the troops to meet him around his hood. Before the car could come to a complete stop in front of her mother's house, Fabiola jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

G.P. rolled the window down and said so casually, “Look, I'ma call you after I get these niggas. A'ight?”

“Ain't no need, for real.”

Fabiola stood on the sidewalk shaking her head in disbelief.

Why the hell am I going through this type of shit? Drive-bys, jumping out the window, running through the woods with no shoes on, dealing with this deranged trigger-happy nigga AND … I am still fucking hungry!!! I must be crazy my gotdamn self! What the hell am I thinking about? I could have jeopardized everything I've been working toward. Hell no! Something is majorly wrong with this picture!

abiola was up all night and most of the morning applying ice to her ankle, which she had sprained jumping from G.P.'s window. The events of last night kept running through her mind like a scene from a DVD on repeat, only it was not created under the watchful eye of a seasoned movie producer. It was real, too real. If Fabiola hadn't escaped, no telling what could have happened to her. And to top it off, G.P. had the nerve to act like it was just another day at the office. He actually told her, “Shit happens.”