King Divas (4 page)

D
iesel Carver. I can't figure that man out. My performance at Club Diesel last night was a smash success. I had the crowd in the palm of my hand—and even grabbed the attention of the club's owner. That was the point. Diesel Carver is a man with a lot of power, inside the industry and out.

My fiancé/manager, Kalief, swears Diesel is the man who's going to take my career to the next level. But Kalief swears by a lot of shit. After meeting Diesel, I have my doubts. Diesel Carver has a thuggish handsomeness about him with his name tatted around his neck, but he's a little too pretty-boy for my taste with those light colored eyes that seem to change with his mood—and I don't like how he came at me, skinning and grinning about my ass being a star. But he looked more like he wanted me to be the star in his bedroom and not the stage.The scarred-up bitch sitting next to him didn't look like she appreciated his roaming eye either.

I brushed off his whack game and told him that I already have a man, but the new boss on the block appeared unfazed.

Kalief and I have been together since high school. He had all the girls sweating him. He was Morris Chestnut-like fine and knew it. It didn't hurt that he also knew how to stack paper. When he stepped to me, I smacked him down. But he dusted himself off and tried again.

We soon found out that we both have a love for music. We spent hours at his crib, listening to the oldies. Looking back, those were the best days of our lives. Back then, it was easy to love him. He was kind, warm, and funny. He had so many big dreams. He saw our asses going straight to the top. He believed in it so much that I got caught up as well. After high school, Kalief proposed and pressed me to make him my manager. My singing was supposed to save him from the streets too. I said yes, but we never did make it down the aisle. Since high school, Kalief and I have been grinding to make shit happen. Now here we are, years later, and Kalief and I are exactly where we started. Still engaged and hustling in this fucked-up industry. Only now he is a drug addict with a gambling problem, a lying problem, and a cheating problem.

My ass should have been ghost a long time ago—but there is something that's keeping me glued to Kalief. I wish I knew what it was so that I could cut the strings and fly on my own. My thoughts are interrupted by Kalief's cell phone buzzing and vibrating on the nightstand.

I glance over at Kalief to see if he's going to wake up and answer it, but he's sprawled out and lying so still that I wonder if his ass is even breathing. I squint down at his chest and then sigh—whether in relief or disappointment, I don't know.

Immediately, I feel guilty. Kalief and I have problems, but I shouldn't be wishing death on his ass.

My gaze shoots back over to his cell phone, my curiosity piqued. I throw another cautious look at him before slowly reaching over his body to grab the phone. He thinks his ass is slick by putting a pass code on here, but Kalief isn't that damn deep or complicated. I punch in his birth date and unlock his phone.

Two missed calls.

I press the phone icon and then check recent calls.

“Mom?”
What the fuck? This nigga's mom is dead.

Heat rushes into my face as I climb out of bed and creep to the bathroom. Once I'm in there, I lock the door and then I click over to his instant messages and read the conversations this nigga has been having with his dead mother. The second I click on “Mom,” a scroll of dick pics and pussy shots fill the screen.

This muthafucka.
I click on other names in his contact list. Thot after thot smiles up at me.
I knew it. This nigga ain't never going to change.

I bolt out of the bathroom and make a beeline for the bed. With everything I have, I throw his phone dead in his face.

The muthafucka finally jumps up, screaming, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

“I fuckin' hate you, you lying, cheating piece of shit.”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” He climbs out of bed. “What the fuck are you bitching about?”

“You, nigga! Your goddamn
mom
called while you were sleeping.”

“My mom?” Then the light clicks on in his eyes.

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Fuck you! I'm out of this bitch!” I turn around and start snatching up clothes.

“Baby. Baby. Baby. Wait.” He tries to snatch my clothes out of my hands.

“Let go!”

“It's not what you think, baby. I swear.”

I stop struggling. “Oh? Then why don't you explain it to me? Why are you exchanging dick and pussy pics with a bitch labeled
mom
on your phone?”

He blinks. Clearly his brain ain't thought that far ahead yet.

“Yeah. Yeah. Busted, muthafucka!” I snatch my clothes back and hop into them in record time. “I'm so sick of this shit.”

“C'mon, Cleo. They're pictures. It's not like I fuck the bitch.”

“Really? That's the shit that you're going to roll with?”

“What? I'm being honest. That trick ain't nobody.”

“
Every
time I catch you, you crow about bitches not being nobody—until they pop up with babies that look just like you.”

“Aww, man. Not that shit again.”

“Yeah, nigga.
That
shit again. You're always up in my face about how much you love me, but you done put three babies on three different bitches since I've been with you. Random bitches—that you don't
ever
remember fucking. I'm sick of this shit.”

He sighs like I'm the one being unreasonable. “How many times do I have to apologize for that shit? Huh? I fucked up, but that shit is in the past. You gotta let that shit go.”

“No. I need to let you go. I need to let this fuckin' situation go.” Spinning, I head for the door.

Kalief snatches me by the arm. “C'mon, baby. You don't mean that shit.”

“The fuck I don't. I'm
tired
.” He wrestles to wrap his arms around me—but I keep blocking him.

“You know that you're not going to go anywhere, baby.” He hits me with his soft brown eyes. “You know that there ain't no other nigga who can love you the way I do.”

“
This
is love? All this fucking bullshit? Let's be real, I'm the only muthafucka in this who's being faithful. And for
what
? I ain't getting shit out of this relationship.”

“How can you say that after last night?”

“Last night?”

“I got you at the right place—at the right time. I'm telling you that Diesel is going to put us on. He got the connects to make it happen.”

“Fuck that green-eyed nigga. He ain't no different than the last nigga you said was going to put us on—or the nigga before that. The only thing that I could tell during that meeting with him and his niggas is how much he wanted to
fuck
me.”

That wipes the smile off Kalief 's face. “He said that?”

“Pretty fucking much. He didn't say shit about going into the studio, or working with any of his hot connects, or even contracts. He looks at me like a piece of meat. Oh. I'm sorry. He did say that I needed to get a new manager—and you know what? He's right. You're fired!”

“C'mon, Cleo. Don't be like that,” Kalief yells after me. “You know that we've come too fucking far for this shit. You know those bitches don't mean shit to me. They're a . . . friendly distraction. You're the only girl I want. Hell. We can go down to the courthouse right now!”

“Kalief, please. I wouldn't marry your ass if you were the
last
muthafucka breathing.” I wiggle my feet into my sneakers and rush out of the bedroom.

He catches up to me.

“Get out of my way.”

“No. Not until we talk this shit out.”

“C'mon, Kalief. We keep playing this same muthafuckin' game and nothing
ever
changes!”

“It will. I promise. I won't look at any other bitch—
ever!
A'ight? Happy?”

“Does it look like I'm fuckin' happy to you?”

He sighs as if I'm being unreasonable. “I said I was sorry. Damn.”

My hand stings from slapping the shit out of him. “Asshole !” I march around him, grab my purse, and snatch open the front door.

Not suprisingly, Kalief follows me out in his fucking boxers. “Baby, baby. Please. Wait up!”

Ignoring his ass, I open the car door and hop inside.When I try to slam the door shut, Kalief wrestles me for it.

“Cleo, stop being a fucking bitch.”

“Kiss my ass!” I throw my entire weight back with the door and end up catching his fingers as it slams.

“GODDAMN IT!” Kalief swings around, shaking his hand in the air to ease the pain.

I lock the door, jam my key in the ignition, and start the car.

Kalief goes for the door again, but after discovering that it's locked he starts tapping the window and then pounding the roof. “Cleo, open the damn door! Enough of this shit!”

“Watch your feet,” I shout through the window before stomping on the accelerator. The car jets backward out of the driveway. When I peel away from the house, I flash him a bird.

As I ride home, I'm all up in my feelings, but in the back of my mind I ask myself:
Is this really the end of our relationship?

My cell phone rings. I scoop it out of my purse while keeping one hand on the wheel. Seeing Kalief's name on the screen, I toss the phone aside and roll my eyes.

The sudden wail of police sirens snaps me out of my rambling thoughts. I glance around to see what the hell is up. It could be anything around here. The war of the streets has gotten to the point that gunshots and police sirens have become the city's never-ending soundtrack.

I don't see anything in my rearview, but the sirens are definitely getting louder. Since I'm already in the area, I may as well swing over by the church and pick up my new robe before tomorrow morning's service. I have another solo this week. The moment I go to make a right off McLemore, a black SUV jets out from nowhere and nearly sideswipes me. “Muthafucka!” I lay on my horn.
Python?

Everyone slams on their brakes. One car that was almost T-boned hits its police lights and takes off after the fleeing vehicle.

I chuckle at the driver's bad luck and continue on to the church. As I pull into the parking lot, I see another car jetting away. “What the fuck is going on?” I catch the driver's profile.
Diesel?
Nah. It couldn't be.

I roll up on a curb, trying to twist around in my seat for a second look. “Oh my God. It
is
that nigga.” I spin back around in my seat and wonder what the hell is going on.

Seeing Python makes me think of his wife, LeShelle—and LeShelle reminds me of my deceased little sister, Essence. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't blame myself for her death. I knew that shit was suspect when LeShelle's girls Kookie and Pit Bull stepped to Essence in Fabdivas Hair Salon to do some bullshit errand. I tried to stop it, but the girls pulled rank. LeShelle was the leader of the Queen Gs—so I had to fall back.

Months later, my little sister was dead. She was doused in gasoline and set on fire at a gas station.

LeShelle's lying ass told everyone that Lucifer, with the Vice Lords, was behind it—and everyone believed her. Myself included. I swore that I would get back at the bitch even though she is the most feared woman in the game. I didn't care. But when my path crossed the infamous Vice Lord, Lucifer, in the middle of a cemetery, I was told the truth. She'd gotten the drop on me while I was visiting Essence's grave.

By the time I thought to go for my weapon, Lucifer had made it clear that such a move would be suicide. So there was no reason for her to lie. LeShelle, on the other hand, doesn't have an honest bone in her body. Fuck. She had her own sister raped and then dumped a full clip into the girl's boyfriend right in front of her. And if the latest rumors are to be believed, the bitch also murdered her sister's foster parents.What kind of evil bitch does that kind of shit?

I haven't told the rest of the family. My brothers, Kobe and Freddy, would lose their shit and probably do something stupid—and probably get themselves killed.

My solution was to go against the grain and snitch LeShelle out to Lucifer. I told her where the bitch was about to marry her nigga, Python. I figured she could do us both a favor and take the bitch out.

Turns out LeShelle and Python have nine lives because they survived the Vice Lord drive-by as they were exiting the church. But one day the bitch will get what's coming to her. After all, karma is a bitch.

Shaking my head, I realize that the shit is not my business. I whip into the church's parking lot and then quickly jog inside.

The scene before me stops me in my tracks.

“Momma Peaches?”

“G
oddamn it! Get out of the way!” I lay on the horn to get these slow-ass drivers to move, but everybody jams on their brakes and threatens to give me a heart attack.

It's ten blocks before another cop car joins the action.

The fleeing driver is stealthy and adroit as he weaves in and out of traffic. This muthafucka should've gotten a career with NASCAR. When he hangs a sharp right, I'm certain that the heavy utility vehicle is seconds from rolling.

Miraculously, it stays up on two wheels and leaves its tread marks on the asphalt. When it bounces back down onto all four tires, it takes off like a fighter jet. My only recourse is to let loose another string of profanities.

Behind me, a patrol car doesn't make the turn. I look up into my rearview to see the car has slammed into a white F-150.

“Fuck.” I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and jam the accelerator to the floorboard. A dozen blocks later, I have six police cars flying behind me. With each red light we jet through, my heart climbs higher into my throat. These dangerous police chases can go wrong in a split second. Times like these, a cop questions whether the job is worth it.