Nasty Girls (18 page)

“Ohmygod, Cream, I'm so happy for you! You always loved music, now you're about to become a hip-hop mogul,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah. But I'm movin' out to California for a few months, Camille,” he said.

Hearing that made my bubble bust. “What? Cali? When are you coming back?”

“I'm gonna be out there for a minute, Camille, gettin' things in order and workin' on these groups.”

I sighed, because as always with good news, the bad news is right around the corner.

“But check it, I want you to come with me,” he said.

“What? Me move out to Cali—?” I said with shock.

“Yeah. I want you out there, by my side. I want you with me, Camille.”

I didn't know what to say. California is a long way from home, and I never left the state of New York, except for traveling to New Jersey.

“We can get a place out there, get the fuck out of New York for a minute, and do us, baby. It's gonna work out. I know it. I'm settin' everythin' up now.”

“When are you leavin'?”

“Sometime before the New Year.”

“It's so soon,” I said, surprised.

“Yeah, I know. But we gotta make moves. I don't want to leave you here. . . . Say yes.”

I sighed. “I need to think about it.”

“I understand, with everythin' being so sudden, but—”

“This is my life here, Cream. Everythin' I know is here, in New York. I don't know nuthin' outside of this town.”

“But that's the beauty of it, experiencin' new and better things. You don't need this, Camille. You lived in the projects all your life. You're better than the ghetto. You deserve better things in life, and movin' to California, it's going to be a start for you. I can get you into modelin' and videos. We can build so much, Camille.”

Oh, God. I thought about Shy and Jade. They were my girls, and what would they do without me around to hold shit down when it got rough in the projects. Then, Cream was my connect to my lil' clothing business, and when he leaves, I'm gonna be fucked. It's hard to find a good, reliable help like Cream. I had to think long and hard about this one. What was good for me? I know a lot of bitches would jump to the opportunity with no questions asked, but I always thought things out before I leap. I wanted to make sure that this was the right thing for me to do.

The food came, and Cream went on talkin' about California and his music label. Cream is a nigga about business. He got that street savvy and that business savvy. How many niggas you know own a fucking small building in Brooklyn and arranged it to make it a comfortable living situation? He makes money, and he makes it big.

The night ended with me staying the night at his place, and we made love. I wanted it to be soft, romantic, and passionate. I just didn't want to fuck his brains out. The night was so perfect, that I didn't want it to ever end. But I thought about California while I lay up in Cream's arms. It was about two or three thousand miles away. I thought about Dr. Dre, Snoop Dog, and
Death Row Records. I thought about palm trees, Hollywood, Sunset Boulevard, and the weather being nice year-round—no snowstorms and cold arctic winds nipping at your ass during the winter. But Cali did have earthquakes and mudslides, and having the ground shake under your feet scared me.

E
verything good wit' you, baby? You've been kinda quiet,” Roscoe said. I had accepted another collect call from him, and we'd been talking for about ten minutes. I heard the phone ring while I was naked in the bathroom. It was a little past nine, and I knew it was Roscoe calling, so I threw a bathrobe around me, rushed into the bedroom, and snatched the cordless off the cradle.

“I'm okay,” I replied drily. I sat in a chair and stared at the wall. I was still feeling guilty about fucking James a few days back.

“James came by and gave you the money, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. He came by a few days ago.”

“Cool.”

The conversation went dead for a few seconds. But then Roscoe sparked it back up by asking, “Shy, you still mad at me for takin' a plea?”

“You did what you had to do, right?” I replied with a little attitude.

“Shy . . . c'mon, don't be mad. Yo, I can't be up in here,
thinkin' you pissed off at a brotha. I need you, baby. I'm in court, and you ain't there—”

“I come see you, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Roscoe, this is hard for me. I love you—you know I do. But I'm scared,” I said.

“We gonna be a'ight,” he told me.

“Baby, how?” I asked. I didn't tell him that I lost my job. I figured he had enough to worry about already. And I didn't want to tell him about Beharry.

“James is gonna look after you while I'm locked down. And you got Jade and Camille by your side. . . . They cool peoples. You still got your job, so you're good.”

I sighed. I wished it was that easy.

“Roscoe—,” I began, but then the call cut off. I guess his time was up. Shit, I hated how our phone calls would sometimes end so abruptly with no indication at all. I didn't even get the chance to tell him a proper good-bye.

I sighed heavily and placed the cordless back on its cradle. I stood up and stared out my bedroom window. It was raining hard, and it looked chilly outside. I could hear the wind smacking against my window as the cold rain cascaded down the glass. My bedroom was quiet. I was lonely. Some nights, I'd become afraid to stay in the apartment by myself. I yearned for some male company. I wanted to be held during nights like tonight.

I went back into the bathroom and started to wrap my hair. The situation was new to me—alone, frightened, and just a little stressed. I wanted to pick up the phone and call Camille or Jade, but thought they probably were busy right now. Besides them, I don't fuck with no other bitches around here.

After I was done wrapping my hair, I tied a scarf around my head and quickly brushed my teeth. I walked back into my bedroom, and that's when I heard the doorbell.

The doorbell caught me off guard and kinda startled me. It echoed throughout my quiet apartment, breaking the stillness and making me wonder who was coming by this time of the night.

I tied my robe tightly and looked through the peephole. I let out a quick sigh when I saw James standing outside my door.

I thought about not opening the door, but maybe he was dropping sumthin' off or had some news to tell me. So I unlocked the door, and there was James, his tall thuggish figure in some designer clothing and clad in a thick brown leather jacket.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked.

I wanted to say yes, but when I opened my mouth, I heard myself saying, “No. I was just gettin' ready to go to bed.”

“Oh—”

“What do you want?” I asked. I tried to be stern with him, but my voice was soft.

“I wanted to come by and see how you were doin'. I haven't heard from you in a few days. I'm just checkin' up on you. You know, nights like tonight, no woman should be spendin' alone,” he said. His eyes looked past me and stared into my apartment.

“You lookin' for sumthin'?”

“You got company?”

“What, no!” I replied quickly. I was a bit annoyed. “Why would you ask that?”

“You look busy.”

“I just got off the phone wit' Roscoe,” I told him.

“He a'ight?”

“I would hope so.”

He stood there, waiting for an invitation into my apartment. I knew if I invited him in, it would start something. So I had him standing out in the hallway. But the demons in between my legs wanted me to open my mouth and say the opposite. I was alone, and he was company.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I was silent. I didn't tell him yes, and I didn't utter no. I should have
shouted
no, but stillness became my answer. My eyes looked down at the floor as I gripped the door with my body leaning slightly against it.

“James, you can't be in this buildin', especially in my apartment. What if someone sees you?” I questioned.

“Shy, I got peoples in this buildin' that I come by to see on the regular. People see me walk in your buildin', they don't know that I'm comin' to your apartment; none of 'em live on your floor anyway. As far as they know, I'm here on business.”

It became quiet. I contemplated the idea. It was getting late. James continued with, “Only for a few, Shy. I just wanna make sure you okay. You know.”

He didn't wait for a response; he kinda nudged me to the side and made his way in slowly. I sighed, glanced up at the ceiling, shaking my head, and closed the door behind him.

James took a seat on the couch and quickly made himself at home. He took off his shoes and looked up at me.

“What about Jade?” I asked.

“She cool. Why you ask?”

“Because we're best friends, and how it looks havin' you up in my apartment this time of the night?”

“Shy, relax. Jade don't know I'm here, and she don't need to
know. This is between you and me. I know you care about your girl. Shit! I do too. But we lookin' out for each other. You feel me?”

“Fuck you mean by that?” I asked.

He got up and came to me. He stood close and placed his hands against my hips and said, “I know you're lonely, and I know you miss Roscoe. I miss the nigga too. But what's done is done, Shy. Yo, don't stress it. You're young, and I want you to come out right. I wanna be here for you anyway possible. You feel me?” His words were soft and somewhat assuring. He gazed into my eyes, and then he pulled me into him closer, embracing my petite figure.

Our lips touched, and I felt his large, strong hands gripping my butt.

“This is what you came here for?” I asked softly. I felt his hands fondle and grope my seminude body. “For some pussy?”

“I came here for you, Shy. Honestly, that night at the hotel, I truly enjoyed that wit' you. I've been thinkin' about you a lot lately,” he said.

James then untied my robe, opening it up, letting it fall off my shoulders, dropping it down around my ankles. I stood naked in front of him. My nipples became rigid, and in between my legs started becoming wet.

I wanted company, and I feared being alone, so I allowed him to stay. We made our way into the bedroom, where James began to strip. He then pushed me onto the bed and climbed in between my thighs and thrust his erection into me.

He didn't even take the time to strap on a condom. He pushed his dick into me raw. I weakly said, “James . . . get a condom.”

“Hold on, Shy, let me feel you raw for a quick moment,” he grunted. I felt him thrust into me.

A moment turned into a half hour of unprotected sex with him, and then I felt him come in me. I felt so fucked up. It was stupid of me. And I knew I couldn't reverse what just happened.

James passed out beside me, snoring and shit. I went into the bathroom to be alone and shed a few tears as I sat on the toilet. I was weak. How could I allow this man to come into my home and take what belonged to Roscoe for a second time? The first time, shit happens, right? But fucking him a second time, on the bed that Roscoe and I shared every night,
How could I?

I woke up early the next morning, seeing James getting dressed. I glanced at the time and saw that it was 9:20.

“Shit!” I mumbled.

“You okay?” James asked, zipping up his jeans.

I didn't say a word. I just looked at him, having my conscience eating me up inside. He was wrong for that, I thought.

“Why didn't you get a condom?” I asked.

“Yo, you a'ight, Shy. I don't get bitches pregnant on the first go-around.”

“Excuse me!” I replied angrily.

“Listen—,” he started. He approached me in his wife-beater. “I'm sorry. I just got caught up in the moment wit' you—that's all.” He sat next to me while I rested my back against the headboard. He touched my leg and stared at me. “Yo, next time I'll strap up. Promise!”

“Next time?” I said. I looked at him like he must be crazy.

“C'mon, Shy, last night was nice. I enjoyed that, and I'm sure you did too.” He said it with a smug look.

“I think it's time for you to leave,” I said.

“It's cool. I'm gonna let you be,” he said. He got up off my bed and continued getting dressed while I remained in bed, clutching my covers.

“You gonna let me out?” He threw on his leather jacket.

I got up out of bed, feeling a little bashful in just my underwear—which was crazy, because I already fucked him twice. I threw around me my feather-embroidered robe and walked him to the door.

Before James left, he turned around, went into his pocket, and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off four hundreds and pushed it into my hand.

“Take it, Shy,” he insisted.

I sighed and reluctantly took the cash.

“If you need anything else, call me,” he said. He then leaned forward and tried to press a kiss against my lips, but I pulled back and told him, “I can't right now.”

James looked at me, and he didn't say another word. He just shrugged his shoulders and left my apartment. I closed the door and slid down the door with my back against it. I started to tear up. I clasped my hands around the back of my head and asked myself, “What the fuck is wrong wit' me?”

I
t was ten something in the morning, and my man hadn't come home last night. He had been out all fucking night, and I started to become worried. I knew about the life he lived—the hustling, countless money coming in, the thugs and criminals he dealt with from day to day, and I thought he could be in jail, or hurt, probably dead somewhere. I called his cell phone a few times, but I kept getting his voice mail.

During these past few days, James and I had reconciled our differences and made up in a good way. We'd planned to spend Thanksgiving alone at the Sheraton on Long Island, have dinner at a nice restaurant, and then afterwards, dine on each other. And I was looking forward to it.