Hustlin' Divas (16 page)

Alice lit up when she wrapped her arms around her son and rained kisses all over his upturned face. “Mommy has missed you sooo much.” She squeezed him tight. “Have you been good for your aunt Maybelline? Huh? Have you been a good boy?”

I rolled my eyes at my sister's sudden maternal concern, but I wasn't in the mood to start a fight. “What's wrong with this little fella?” I asked. “He hasn't stopped crying since we walked into the room.” I reached down and picked the runt up. “Awww. What's the matter?”

My new nephew just kicked and screamed as if someone were torturing him.

“Who knows what the hell is wrong with him,” Alice said grumpily. “I don't think that he's shut up since the doctor smacked him on the ass.”

I frowned at Alice. What the hell was with that tone? Alice went back to hugging and kissing on Terrell.

“Awww, lil man,” I said. “It's gonna be all right.” I pressed a kiss against the boy's face and tried rocking him in my arms. “Screaming and hollering is no way to spend a birthday,” I joked. “Is your diaper wet?”

“No. And he ain't hungry either,” Alice groaned. “He's been here six hours and he's already pissed at the world. Not that I blame him—I've been pissed about being here a long time myself.” She pressed another kiss against Terrell's head. “You never cried like that when you were a baby,” she said. “You were a good boy.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My sister was getting at something.

“Can I hold him?” Terrell asked, staring at his little brother.

I smiled. “Of course you can, honey.” I walked over to the bed, still rocking the crying baby. “Now, you have to be careful with him,” I warned. “Hold out your arms.”

Terrell turned from his mother and held open his arms to receive his baby brother.

“Okay. Here we go.” I gently transferred the baby into Terrell's outstretched arms. “Careful.” I settled the baby in his arms and then watched something amazing happen: The baby stopped crying.

Both Alice and I were stunned.

Terrell beamed a smile at his baby brother. “What's his name?”

“Mason,” Alice said, smiling.

“Mason,” Terrell repeated, and then pressed a kiss against his brother's forehead. For our small dysfunctional family, it was the happiest we'd been in a long time.

 

Arzell finally returns to the kitchen table fully dressed in black jeans and a fresh white T-shirt. “I hope y'all saved some food for me,” he says, slapping and rubbing his hands together.

I snap out of my bittersweet memories and flash my young lover a bright smile. “You know I got you, boo.” I wink and then cast my gaze over at Josie, whose disapproval has toned the fuck down with that good shit she is smoking.

“Let me get a hit of that, Grandma.” Arzell reaches over and grabs the blunt from her hand.

“Now this is what I'm talking about.” I wrap an arm around Josie and then Arzell and give them a big hug. “A family that smokes together stays together.”

“Amen,” Josie and Arzell testify. “Amen.”

T
hings are really looking up for me. Not only is my money starting to stack, but also Python is showing up at more of my performances. He thinks he's being slick, but I've caught him peeping me out, so I make sure that I pop my ass just right and slither on the floor like one of his precious snakes to give him an idea of what I'm down for.

Baby Thug watches my shameless performance in the front row while tossing back one drink after another. Despite her disapproval of my working at the seedy club, Baby has yet to miss a single performance. After my private party in the VIP with McGriff and Tyga, she has to know I am on my way. My plan isn't looking so dumb now.

Baby isn't the only one in the set who has heard about me wildin' out in the VIP. Niggas from miles around have heard about how I handled two monstrous dicks at one time, and they are now all trying to get they dicks wet with me. They show up in droves, raining money like none of the other dancers have seen before. I am the sex freak of the moment, and I'm eating the shit up. See me, be me, bitches.

Now that Python is within my sights, I turn down the other offers for a private VIP show and just make bank off my new reputation by giving niggas a glimpse of my pretty pink monkey only when I'm working the pole. Hell, Baby is just as shook, watching me flash my pussy, as the other niggas strolling in from off the street. Her once-klutzy friend is now steadily building a fan base, and I am well on my way to making my dreams come true. If I can't get Python, maybe I'll cast my net on McGriff and snatch Kookie's man.

I crawl to McGriff's table with my thong buried deep into my round ass. I smile seductively as his gaze roams over my thick curves. McGriff is so turned on that he reaches down and squeezes his meat. I pop pussy in his face and watch this nigga go into a trance. Keeping my act going, I lick my lips and bury his head in between my breasts.

The club of niggas roar and applause. McGriff's sneaky ass latches his mouth over one of my fat nipples and sucks like a newborn trying to eat.

Jealousy kicks Baby hard in the gut. She clenches the glass in her hand so hard that the muthafucka shatters. Even then, she doesn't pull her gaze from the show I'm putting on.

McGriff reaches around and spreads my ass cheeks—wide. Niggas start getting out of their seats so they can get a better look at what my momma gave me.

“Oh my God. What happened?” the waitress asks Baby.

 

Until that moment, Baby didn't realize that she's still holding the broken glass and that she's bleeding all over the table. “Fuck!”

She leaps up and storms toward the bathroom in the back of the club. While she picks glass out of her palm at the sink, she tries not to let her imagination go wild about what is happening onstage, but the shit is hard. The best thing is just roll up out of there, but she can't get herself to do that either. Once she's sure she's gotten all the glass out of her hand, she runs cold water over it and wraps her blue bandana around the deep gash before heading back out into the club.

I see Baby just as my number is up, and I grab the last remaining dollars off the floor.

Baby stops at the bar. “Rum and Coke,” she barks at the bartender.

Another waitress comes from the floor and puts in her orders.

“Hey, honey, what is that girl's name who was just on the stage?” a customer asks the waitress.

The waitress rolls her eyes. “Who? That blond bitch?” she asks, swiveling her neck. “Honey, you better stay away from that coochie. You might catch something your ass can't get rid of.”

The old man at the bar laughs. “Sounds to me like somebody's been drinking the haterade.”

“Hell, naw. I just know the silly bitch ain't nothing but a fuckin' retard from waaay back in the day. All her babies have different daddies, and up until a few months ago, every nigga on lockdown was digging her out for nose candy. Now she's up here rubbing that twat on anything that moves. Shit. We can't keep enough Clorox wipes in this bitch.”

Baby's rage simmers but when it's clear that the piece of shit waitress isn't about to shut the hell up, she quietly reaches over the counter and grabs a rum bottle. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Baby smashes the bottle against that slick-talking bitch's head and watches her ass hit the floor.

“WHOA! SHIT!” Niggas jump back, laughing.

“What, bitch?” Baby tosses up her hands and then stomps on the bitch. “You gonna act like your ass ain't got no damn kids? Huh?”

STOMP!

“You think you're so much better?”

STOMP!

“If I ever hear my girl's name come out your mouth again—”

STOMP!

“I will—”

STOMP!

“FUCK—”

STOMP!

“YOU—”

STOMP!

“UP!”

STOMP!

“Goddamn!” A man laughs, pointing at the whimpering waitress.

At long last, the club's two muscle-headed bouncers push and shove their way back to the bar. One grabs Baby around the waist, locking her arms at her side and then lifting her up like she weighs nothing.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” Baby kicks and swings, trying to reach her gat, but the nigga who's manhandling her ain't playing that shit.

“I knew it was just a matter of time before your carpet-munching ass nut the fuck up,” he growls.

“FUCK YOU, MUTHAFUCKA!”

The music keeps blaring and the chick on the stage isn't getting any love, because everyone's attention is focused on the drama Baby has stirred up. Some whoop and holler even though they don't know what the fuck is going on.

The moment the bouncer hip-bumps the exit door, Baby is airborne, and when she hits the concrete, she's sure the nigga's broke something because her leg hurts like a muthafucka. Still, she scrambles to get up, and when she does, the bouncers have two pistols aimed right at her head.

“I wouldn't even think about it, homey,” Dwight, the meatier of the two ugly muthafuckas says. “You need to take your ass home and sleep that shit off.”

Baby hesitates, at least long enough to allow reality and common sense to sink into her head. “A'ight, nigga. Whatever.” She pinches the ridge between her eyes as if that will somehow stop the spinning that's going on in her head.

The bouncers lower their weapons. “Seriously, Baby, you need to consider yourself lucky, because I know for a fact Python was planning on firing that bitch at the end of her shift. If it wasn't for that, I would've been ordered to rock your ass to sleep out here. You don't take food out of a nigga's mouth. You feel me?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She pops a squat on the curb and hangs her head.

“Look, I'm gonna tell you like I tell all these other niggas—if you can't take watching your girl work these damn poles, then don't bring your ass 'round here.”

“She's not my girl!” Baby shouts. “We're just…friends.”

Dwight shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever.” He and his boy turn back to go inside. “Y'all bitches carry on too much unnecessary drama.” The door slams behind them.

Baby remains glued to the curb, shaking her head and fighting back tears. “We're just friends.”

 

Backstage, I'm cheesing like a muthafucka while I stare at the six hundred dollars I've stacked for the night. The tides have turned, and I intend to ride this son of a bitch until the wheels fall off. The only thing I need to do now is save a little more and spend a lot less. With the money I've been pulling, I've been shopping at the white folk's mall out in German Town—not boosting like those bitches working for Momma Peaches, but buying the shit with cash money. I've traded in my synthetic braids for the real hair lace fronts like my idol Beyoncé. I've been upgrading my shit as fast as I was making it.

It's all good, because once I get my wardrobe tight, I'll work on getting my situation right. A new man, a new place, my own car, and then I'll file the papers to get my babies back. I put away my money and smile at my reflection. “I'm on the way up.”

Desire storms back into our cramped dressing room and shoots me a hot look. “Girl, you need to get that baby dyke of yours under control.”

I frown. “Who the fuck is you talking about?”

“Don't act stupid. You know exactly who the fuck I'm talking about: that diesel dyke who's been padding your pocket every night. She just busted up Aaliyah at the bar with a fuckin' rum bottle. Dwight and them just tossed her ass out of here.”

“Baby?”
I groan and reach for my jeans out of my duffel bag. “Fuck. What happened?”

“What? I look like Katie Couric to you? The bitch ruined my set, that's what happened.” She holds up a small knot of dollars. “This shit ain't even enough to cover the gas it cost me to drive to this muthafucka tonight.” Desire storms over to her bags in the corner. “I'm quitting this bitch. I got kids to feed and shit. I'm better off working at Popeye's.”

I slam on a T-shirt, jam my feet into a pair of sneakers, and then race out the back exit, lugging my duffel bag. “Baby!” I glance around the parking lot as the back door slams behind me. Screeching tires catch my attention. I glance toward the main road just in time to see Baby's Impala jet out of the parking lot. “BABY!” I take off running and waving my hands. “BABY, COME BACK!”

I make it halfway across the parking lot and give up. Fuck this shit. My feet hurt. If Baby sees me clearly, she doesn't give a fuck. I stamp my foot and glance around. Baby was my ride home. It's two in the morning. Taking the city bus is definitely out of the question. Calling my mother will only result in me being cussed out, and taxis don't go down Shotgun Row. That leaves me with having to beg a ride from one of the other dancers.
Fucking great.

I turn back toward the club while digging my cell phone out of my bag. Baby doesn't answer, and my call goes straight to voice mail. “What the hell, Baby? How could you just run out on me? Now how am I supposed to get home?” I huff out a long breath. “Call me back when you get this message.” I disconnect the call and mutter another curse under my breath. The idea of Baby being upset doesn't sit well. It's one thing for us to talk shit every once in a while, but we have never truly been mad at each other before. I don't have other friends, so anxiety starts eating at me. What if I just lost my only friend? But what did I do wrong? Whatever it is, I want to fix it before it festers.

“What's wrong, Momma? You need a ride?”

I look up at a cluster of niggas spilling out of the club.

“Hey, that's that fine bitch who was grinding all up on McGriff,” the shortest nigga of the group says, pointing. “The same one who got buck wild with that nigga and Tyga.” He grabs his dick. “I
know
we can give you a ride to wherever the fuck you wanna go, shawty. Ain't that right?”

“Hell yeah!” The other four niggas cheese and lick their lips as their gazes rape my tight frame.

I shake my head and keep it moving. I don't know these niggas from the man on the moon, and I ain't so stupid that I'm going to get into a car with niggas I don't know.

“Hey, hey. Hold up, baby. I'm tryna holler at you.”

I smile to myself but keep switching my hips as I walk away.

“Well, then,
fuck
you, bitch!”

“YEAH, FUCK YOU!” the niggas chorus as more niggas start coming out of the club, drunk as fuck and some singing off-key. A couple of brothers start walking up behind me—a little too close for comfort.

“Yo, baby. You looking for a date?”

“Get lost.” I cut my gaze and bang on the back door.

“Now, why you got to be like that?” this sloppy, fat muthafucka who smells like corn chips says, stepping into my personal space. “A nigga is just tryna be nice to your fine ass.” He reaches out and rubs a hand down my shoulder.

I pull back and bang on the door again.

“Now you're starting to piss me off.” Corn Chip moves closer. “I'm like David Banner. You won't like me when I'm angry.”

His sidekick snickers, sounding like a hyena. “True dat. True dat.”

A siren blares and everybody turns to see an ambulance turning into the parking lot. “They must be coming for that waitress that one bitch clocked.” Corn Chip chuckles to his partner. “That shit was out of control.”

I pull and bang on the door again.

Corn Chip whips around, grabs my hand, and stands, tugging. “C'mon. Why don't you come and party with us?” He smiles and blows his funky breath down on me. “I guarantee you'll have a good time.”

I try to pull my hand back, but his grip tightens.

“Damn, bitch. I ain't asking no more.”

“Fuck naw. We ain't asking,” his partner says.

The back door explodes open, and everybody jumps back when Python darkens the threshold. His black gaze swings around the small group. “What the fuck is going on back here?” His gaze sweeps my way. “Yo, these niggas friends of yours?”

I easily snatch my arm loose and rub my sore wrist. “Fuck naw.”

“Whoa. Whoa, Python. Everythang is cool, man.” Corn Chip and his buddies toss up their hands and look like they about ready to cry. “We were just hollering at your girl. No big deal.”

Python glares at the men as if he can read straight through their bullshit. “You wanna talk to my girls, you go through me. Understand? Y'all niggas know how shit works around here.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Our bad. We didn't mean no disrespect.” Corn Chip starts backing away.

Python continues watching them until they turn and run off.

I sigh in relief and then coil Python a sly smile. “Thanks. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't opened the door.”

Python nods, but he doesn't move from the door. He just takes his time, looking me over.