Karma's a Bitch

Truth Hurts Publications

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A note about this work of reality fiction: Some words and phrases in this novel are purposely spelled differently or used in a different context than what is generally accepted by English language standards. This is because it is mandatory that a genuine work of reality fiction be written to read in the same way that it would actually be expressed by a human being in these situations.

Copyright © 2006 by J.Gail

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in whole or in part in any form.

Karma’s a Bitch

First edition 2006

Truth Hurts Publications

an imprint of Jazoli Publishing

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN10 (paperback): 0-9726978-3-7

ISBN13 (paperback): 978-0-9726978-3-5

LCCN: 2006901573

Chapter 1

“Get up off my good pillow nigga!”

Tony turned slightly from the Jerry Springer Show to look at Quanisha, then turned back to the TV just in time to see Jenna, the transvestite whore, take a wild swing at her lover’s girlfriend. He was laying on the bed clutching the silvery gray tassled pillow tightly.

“Did you just hear me? Give me that!” Quanisha yelled at him as she snatched her favorite decorative bed pillow from his clenched grip. When she snatched it she hit Tony’s chin causing him to bite his tongue.

“Ow! Bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?” he looked up at her incredulously as he winced, fighting back tears from the pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with
you
? Don’t be acting like you don’t hear me when I’m talking. This is my GOOD pillow. Your lazy ass is up in here chilling and I’m trying to get ready for work. Why don’t you clean up that bed instead of laying your ass in it all the time? I swear I don’t know why I even
bother
with your dumb ass. Always sitting up here doin’ nothin’….” Quanisha went on with her rant as she moved about the room grabbing her gold earrings in the shape of a “Q” and spritzing on some designer imposter perfume she had picked up from G&G.

Tony turned over on his back and put his hands behind his head with his eyes glued to the TV screen. He had stopped listening after she said the words ‘good pillow’ again. It was 12:40 in the afternoon and Quanisha was getting ready for her job at the supermarket. Tony, as usual, was laying in the bed with his boxers on and no shirt, watching his favorite program on TV. He loved Jerry Springer to death for the girls who didn’t even flinch when asked to pull up their shirts. He had ordered the entire last season’s uncut episodes, courtesy his grandmother’s credit card of course, and never missed an episode. His entire day would be thrown off if he missed an episode of Jerry Springer.

“….I’m through with you. Yo’ ass is more worthless than this cheap ass perfume!” Quanisha yelled as she threw the bottle of perfume down on the carpet. She went out into the living room to look for her purse. The living room was so small and bare that it could have doubled as a large closet.

“Yea you wasn’t saying that shit last night when I was breaking your back out,” Tony spat after her with a smirk. He spat a little too much because a line of saliva came dripping down the side of his face. He reached in a quick motion to clean it off. Quanisha already thought he was lazy and trifling, no need to have her see him drooling all over himself.

“Maybe I could get some good perfume, some Armani, some Christian Dior, some Gucci if you’d pull your weight around here. What the hell are you doing today? I know it’s looking for a job!” Quanisha ranted, ignoring his little comment.

“Man quiet with all that shit. I got a few job leads, don’t you worry about me.” Tony’s ‘job leads’ consisted of the UPS commercial he had just seen on TV the day before saying they were looking for part-time handlers, and a heads up from his Mom about a job at the local Pizza shop, both of which he had yet to call or inquire about.

“What you mean ‘don’t worry about me?’” Quanisha came back to the bedroom door and asked as she looked at Tony, still laid up in her pink cotton sheets. “I’m the one in here paying all the bills, cooking and carrying yo ass when you’re not at ya mama’s so you better believe Imma be worryin’ bout what yo ass is doin’. Nigga.”

“Yea whatever,” Tony dismissed her without ever looking in her direction.

“What?” Quanisha squinted up her face and looked at Tony in disbelief. He continued staring at his beloved screen. She finally just shook her head and walked over to the closet to seek out her imitation Louis Vuitton bag.

“You know what, fuck you Tony. Man, I don’t know why I even bother with this nigga…” she began talking to herself as she finally grabbed her bag and walked out of the bedroom, and then straight out the front door.

“Damn! I thought her ass would never leave. Shit!” Tony said rubbing his forehead and watching the end of the Jerry Springer show.

Time rolled by and Tony was suddenly awakened from his light nap by the sound of Quanisha’s phone ringing. He looked over at her oval faced alarm clock which read 3:14pm. He picked up the phone from behind the clock and spoke.

“Yea.”

“Tone, man I knew I would catch your ass over there. I been calling your cell,” Tony’s best boy Scoop yelled unnecessarily into the phone.

“For real? I didn’t hear it. But I damn sure can hear your ass, could you take it down a notch? I just woke up nigga,” Tony complained and then reached over the bed and fished through his black pants for his cell phone. When he found it, it didn’t say that there were any calls missing. “This burnout been tripping on me, sometimes it rings, sometimes it don’t.”

“Well anyway, what you doing? I’m off today. They having a special at Modell’s on those Luggz I been trying to get man. $59.99, how bout that?” Scoop had a union job with the street workers who were supposed to go around and fill up potholes throughout the city. But don’t ask your average Philadelphian why there were still hundreds of huge potholes throughout the city. Unlike his good friend Tony, Scoop worked a regular, legit job. But Scoop’s main flaw was that he was a ho. A big one.

“Man I don’t know why the hell you sweatin them corny ass boots. Ain’t nobody in the hood rockin’ them jawns like that no more man.”

“Man I don’t give a fuck what the hood’s doin’. I tried them jawns on in the store and they fit like a glove. I need some comfortable boots for my job. They smooth as shit, and I’m going down to get ‘em before they sell out my size. You comin’?”

“Do you want me to hold your purse for you too? This nigga want me to come shopping with ‘im. Like we some bitches,” Tony laughed.

“Fool, like you got something better to do. Git yo ass up and meet me up 69
^th
Street in an hour.” Scoop hung up the phone before Tony could say anything else.

“Dammit.” Tony hung up the phone and then rolled on his side. He thought about just closing his eyes and going back to sleep but knew that if he did he probably wouldn’t wake again until late that night. Plus his boy, who had 4 inches and 30 pounds on him, would probably come to Quanisha’s and snatch his ass up.

His stomach was grumbling so he groaned loudly and then finally rolled out of bed. Tony was a brown skinned brother, standing at about 5’9 and weighing in at 175 pounds. He was a plain looking guy, but his quick wit and smooth “I don’t care” demeanor made him a favorite with the ladies. He stretched and shuffled over to the bedroom door, stopping at the mirror to take a look. The free ‘bring a friend’ visits he had made to the gym with his cousin the week before had really paid off. His arms were nicely cut and he could almost make out the beginnings of a six-pack.
Well, maybe a four pack
, he thought and slapped his stomach. He usually liked to keep his hair shaped in a light ‘hustler cut,’ with the sideburns running a little low down the sides of his face, but right now he was woofing. He needed a hair cut badly. He continued to inspect his hair in the mirror, and after stroking his sideburns a few times he finally made his way to the kitchen.

He opened Quanisha’s fridge and searched for something to eat. He saw a whole pre-cooked chicken from the Acme supermarket where Quanisha worked, and instantly grabbed it. He threw it in the mic and opened the fridge back up to grab a container of orange juice. He opened it up and drank it straight from the carton. He carried his food into the small living room and plopped himself on Quanisha’s brown second hand couch. The left seat cushion had a large dark stain on it.
That shit needs to be flipped over or something
, Tony said to himself and then reached over the coffee table to flip on the TV.

* * *

Tony arrived at 69th Street sooner than the hour that he and Scoop had agreed on so that he could stand in front of the movie theater and see what fine honeys would pass his way. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, and hadn’t even bothered to take a shower. He leaned himself against the wall and jammed his hands into the pockets of his favorite black cargo pants. A few young chicken heads passed his way, not up to his high standards, but he still took the opportunity to stare at their shapely behinds. He saw his boy Black, who was an up and coming dealer in Southwest Philly, and gave him a pound. Black gave him the low down on what was going on in his part of the hood, and he and Tony busted up in front of the theater for a good 10 minutes. Not even three seconds after Black left and headed back down the hill towards City Blue, a pretty light skinned girl wearing a green top and skin tight dark jeans walked by.

“Ay yo. Slim!” Tony called after her after getting a good look at her body. He jogged a little behind her before catching up and standing directly in her path. “What’s up wit you?”

The light skinned girl smiled and shyly tried to walk past him, but he met her every step.

“Where you trynna go? What’s your name girl?” Tony said with the most gangsta look on his face that he could muster.

“It’s Tonya,” the girl finally said, putting one of her hands on her hip.

“Okay Tonya. I’m Tony. We got a connection already; we damn near got the same name. Where your man at?”

Tonya smiled and looked off towards the street. “I don’t got no man.”