Nasty Girls (17 page)

“And I'm gonna have to start chargin' you for all the free stuff I be blessin' you wit',” I said teasingly.

Tomeka smiled. “Nah. We can't have that.”

“A'ight now.”

“So, what you got new for me?” Tomeka asked.

“What you lookin' for?”

“Michael is takin' me out to some fancy restaurant tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But he lookin' for some booty later on. He ain't been gettin' no ass from me recently.”

“Why not?”

“ 'Cause he be actin' up, and I cut him off for about two weeks. Now he wanna take me out to dinner and a hotel afterwards,” Tomeka said.

“Work it, Tomeka.”

“So I need somethin' that's gonna scream out . . .
damn
. . . and get this nigga's dick so hard that it hurts,” she said.

“I got you, Tomeka. Come with me to the car.”

She followed me to my car. I popped the trunk and displayed some more exotic garments for her to choose from.

“Oooh, you definitely got choices,” she said, and began looking through some of the plastic-covered garments.

“Don't I always?”

I decided to pick for Tomeka and pulled out this beaded silk dress that stopped just above the knees and would hug her figure like skin itself.

“Oooh, now that's nice, Camille. I love it.”

“I know. We got similar taste.”

“Michael is gonna love it.”

“He's gonna love takin' it off you,” I replied.

Tomeka smiled. “Ain't that the truth. Thank you, Camille.”

“No problem.”

My phone went off in my purse. I reached for it, looked at the number calling, and saw that it was Sierra. “Hold on,
Tomeka. Let me take this,” I said, taking a few steps away so she wouldn't hear.

“What?” I answered bitterly.

“Hey, Camille,” Sierra said.

“What's up?” I asked. I haven't heard from her in weeks, so I assumed that her husband put her on lockdown.

“I miss you, Camille.”

I sucked my teeth. “You need to control your damn husband, Sierra. He's very disrespectful.”

“I know. I'm sorry about that, but my husband has been trippin' lately. But he's out tonight with the kids, and I got time to spend with you. You want to go out to dinner, and then maybe get a room afterwards?” she suggested.

“I don't know. I gotta think about it. I thought you had him under control. I thought you were good at keepin' secrets from him,” I said.

“I am. But he suspected somethin' with me and went through my phone when I was asleep. He saw your number and some of the text messages I had sent you and got pissed. It won't happen again, Camille. I promise,” she assured me.

I sighed. “I'll call you back in two hours.”

“You better do that. I definitely wanna see you tonight,” Sierra said, sounding a bit desperate.

I looked over at Tomeka, and she was still admiring the dress I gave her.

“Where are you now?” she asked.

I lied and said, “Manhattan.”

“Oh. What you doin' out there?” she asked. Now she was getting in my business too much.

“Sierra, I'm out here on business. Don't worry about what I'm doing. I'll call you back and let you know what's up, okay?”

“Okay, boo . . . call me.”

I hung up on her and sighed. Here she is married with a lunatic for a husband and sweatin' me.
Why did I get involved with this woman in the first place?

I walked back over to Tomeka. “Who was that, your man?”

“Somethin' like that,” I replied quickly.

“Camille, I'm definitely wearin' this tonight,” she said. She had the dress draped over her forearm.

“I'm glad you like it. Oh, give these shoes to Jennie. She already paid me for them,” I said.

“A'ight.”

“I gotta run, Tomeka, but tell the girls I'll be back around next week wit' some more stuff.”

“You do that, girl.”

I jumped into my car and headed for the Southern State. My phone sounded again, and it was Cream. I quickly picked up and said, “Hey, I've been thinkin' about you.”

“Oh, word? What you thinkin' about?” he asked soothingly.

“Just you.”

“I like that. So what you doin' tonight?” he asked.

“Why, you got sumthin' planned for us?”

“Yeah, a lil' sumthin', sumthin',” he said.

“Like what?”

“You'll find out later.”

“Why you teasin' me?” I said.

“Because, it's my job to. Just come to my place around eight.”

“I'll be there.”

“Eight, Camille . . . and don't be on that CP time.”

“I won't.” I smiled. He hung up, and I was in a good mood. It was still early in the day, and I had some free time on my hands. So I decided to stop by a nearby Friday's and have lunch alone.

By three, I had totally forgotten about Sierra. I quickly picked up my cell phone and speed-dialed her number.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Sierra, it's me. About tonight, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it.”

“Why not?” she asked. She sounded disappointed.

“Sumthin' really important came up,” I told her.

“Like what, Camille? I was lookin' forward to spendin' some time alone with you. Can we see each other for a moment?” she asked, sounding desperate.

“Sierra, I'm sorry, but I'll make it up to you. Promise.”

I heard her sigh, knowing she was upset. “But I don't know when I'll be able to get away. My husband been tryin' to keep me around him more often. You know he's been trippin'.”

I didn't want to spend too damn long on the phone with her. She had dick in the house which she had access to 24-7. I lived alone, and Cream was a busy man, so for him to call up a sista and bring up that he had something special planned for me, I couldn't let the brotha down. I had to show him some love.

I told Sierra, “Next time.” She became upset, and said she didn't want to hear from me again if I couldn't stop by for a quick minute. But I remember plenty of times when I wanted to see Sierra but that wasn't possible because of her husband and sometimes because of her work schedule. Sierra had a problem,
thinking everything and everyone had to work around her life, and if she wanted to spend time with me, and I wasn't available, then it became a problem. But I never took her being self-centered personal. It was pussy, and like men, I never tried to get too attached, because like dick, pussy too can come and go.

I had Cream on my mind all day. I fucked him a week ago, and just like that, he had me open again. Cream and I, we always had an understanding: he does him, and I do me. But when it came to me, Cream would put me first before any fucking woman, and I'll do the same for him.

Jade would always joke around, sayin', “Y'all two need to stop frontin' and get married.” And I be like, “It ain't that serious with him.” But I started to think, maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe it was becoming that serious with him. I began to think, what if Cream got seriously involved with another woman, and she took away my time and my love. Would I become jealous? I thought about it, and fuck yeah, I'd hate on the next bitch. I can't even lie about that. And that's why I tried to avoid these type of predicaments, seeing Jade and Shy and other bitches that were caught up in good dick and a nigga. I didn't want to become that stupid. I'm my own woman, and I tried so hard not being tied down by no one. I wanted to do me and have no strings tagging along a guilty conscience as I fucked him or her.

It was seven thirty, and I drove hastily down Atlantic Avenue, racing against traffic that kept me from doing sixty on the busy streets. I cursed cars and pedestrians for becoming obstacles and making me mash on my brakes repeatedly. I was fifteen minutes from his place, and I know Cream likes his woman to be punctual.

But I know once he saw me, he would forget about me being late. I wore a ivory wrap top with bell sleeves, tight clean-front leather pants that accentuated my figure, leather boots with stiletto heels, and my long hair falling off my shoulders. I looked too good, and I was his tonight.

Finally, I reached in front of Cream's place. The outside of his building didn't look much; it looked industrial and desolate, and neighbors were sparse. He lived a few block from Atlantic. But Cream felt at home here.

I jumped out my ride, glanced at the time, and muttered, “Shit.” It was five minutes after eight. I strutted up to Cream's building and pressed the buzzer. Soon afterwards, the door buzzed, indicating that it had been unlocked, and I quickly stepped into the building. I took the large lift with the iron gates up to the second floor. The building was old and huge; it used to be a factory or something. Cream bought the building and made it into his home. He told me that he loved it, the open space; it made him feel so free. To me, the place could be a little creepy, especially at night. I hated coming to visit him when night descended. I always felt that I was being watched, or someone was going to loom out from the dark and attack me. But Cream said he had security cameras set up all around the building and that I was safer here than anywhere else in Brooklyn.

I stepped into Cream's open domain, and the first thing I noticed were the fragrant candles and rose petals nicely spread out on the sleek wooden floor. He had the stereo playing a Kenny Lattimore CD, with the lights dimmed. I became touched. I smiled but didn't see Cream.

I proceeded into the room.

“You're late,” I heard Cream say. I looked around, but didn't see him.

“I'm sorry, baby. I ran into traffic on the way here,” I said.

Then I saw him coming down the stairs, and he was looking good. He had on a Giorgio Armani pantsuit, Armani button-down shirt, tie, and a pair black expensive wing-tip shoes.

“Oh, my God,” I muttered. I was in shock. I never saw him in a suit before. But what really caught my eye, and had me in complete awe with my hand over my mouth, was when I saw he had cut off his braids. He was showing off a baldy. I was used to seeing Cream in jeans, Timberlands, Nikes, throwbacks, and a fitted.

But tonight, he looked like a whole new man. He looked good—damn, he looked good. I was silent, as Cream continued to approach me.

“I said eight, and it's ten after eight,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” I apologized flirtatiously. I began batting my eyes at him.

“You know you gonna have to make it up to me,” he said.

“I know.”

He smiled.

“I love this. Ohmygod, Cream, when did this change take place?” I asked. I was still in awe.

“I assume you like the new me,” he said, running his hand across his bald head.

“Baby, you look good.”

He smiled harder. “I knew you would like it.”

“Is this the surprise?” I asked.

“Some of it. I got more for you.”

“And the suit, Armani. Cream, you definitely went all out.”

“Well, this suit cost me a little over two grand. But it looks nice on me, huh?”

I looked at him. I was definitely impressed by his newfound image. I wanted to fuck him right there and now. But I contained my hormones and took in a deep breath.

“Damn, Camille, you look gorgeous, ma. I like the outfit. Damn, leather pants, and the shirt . . . ummm, you got a brotha lovin' you right now.”

“That's how it supposed to be. You know I always come correct,” I said.

Cream smiled. He then took me by my hand and led me to the kitchen. I loved every minute of it. I thought he cooked up a meal, but to my surprise, he had a gift or gifts waiting for me in the kitchen. What I saw draped over the back of a kitchen chair was a pumpkin-colored leather jacket, and a shoe box placed next to the jacket on the table.

My eyes got big. The jacket was Escada ostrich. “It costs twenty-six hundred,” Cream proclaimed.

“Are you serious?” I shouted.

“Yup.”

I rushed over to the jacket and picked it up. The leather jacket I had on now was nice, but an original Escada . . . The shit was priceless.

“Open the box too,” Cream said.

I picked up the box, knowing it was shoes. But when I saw that they were Manolo Blahnik pumps to match the jacket, I damn near passed out.

“Baby, why?” I asked. I mean, I got gifts before, and Cream came across expensive clothing like it was nothing, but tonight, he outdid himself.

“I'm celebratin',” he said.

“For what?” I asked.

“I'll tell you over dinner. I got reservations at the Park Avenue Cafe.”

“Oh, really? I thought you made dinner here.”

“Nah, I want to dine out.”

“At the Park Avenue Cafe?”

“Yeah. And I don't want to be late.”

The Park Avenue Cafe was located at 100 East Sixty-third Street between Lexington and Park. It was elegant and comfortable, with an upscale Americana look.

Cream and I arrived a little after nine thirty; we were quickly seated and began ordering our meals. Cream immediately ordered a bottle of wine, and a few hors d'oeuvres before our meal came.

“What's up wit' you tonight?” I asked. I took a quick sip of the wine.

Cream bit into an hors d'oeuvre and sat back in his chair. We looked like a Hollywood couple that night.

“So,” I uttered, dying for him to tell me what the celebration was about.

Cream smiled. “Camille, I'm on my way.”

“On your way to what?”

“Remember my record label that I started up wit' a friend of mine two years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“I got a distribution deal, Camille. With Sony. Mike hooked it up.”

“Are you serious?” I said, excited.

“Yeah, baby. Our attorneys worked everythin' out. The
contracts were in order, and I signed last week. We about to blow up. You know we already got three rap groups under our company, and they're nice.”