Nasty Girls (25 page)

I strutted around in my apartment in my soft terry cotton robe and peered out the window, holding a cup of tea. It was early afternoon, and the hood looked quiet. It was two days before Thanksgiving, and I'd made plans with Cream for the holidays. He wanted to take me out to the Poconos for the weekend. I was down for it. I was excited because I never been to the Poconos. I heard stories and was eager to go and spend the holidays with him.

I began to head into my bedroom and get dressed for the day when I heard the phone ring. I picked up the cordless from the cradle and said, “Hello.”

“You have a collect call from . . . Roscoe Richardson . . . to accept, press one; if not, then please hang up,” the operator instructed.

I was shocked. Why was he calling me? I accepted his collect call though. “Roscoe?”

“Camille, what's good?” Roscoe asked.

“What's up?” I asked, baffled. Roscoe and I were always cool. Before he got locked up, if Roscoe had a problem with Shy, or vice versa, they both would come to me about their problems. Roscoe trusted me somewhat, and he was good peoples.

“You know . . . city got me on hold for now . . . but I'm makin' good of my situation,” he explained. “But I called to see how you were doin'.”

I laughed. “Roscoe, cut the bullshit. What's up wit' this call? I know you, somethin's on your mind.”

“Yo, what's up wit' your girl?” he asked, getting to the point.

“You mean Shy?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don't you call her up and ask?” I asked.

“Nah . . . she ain't been coming around to see me lately. I called a few times, but I ain't been getting no answer. Last time we spoke, we had phone sex, but that night she answered the phone sayin' she naked and was waitin' for my call. Camille. Sumthin' funny about that.”

“Fo' real?” I didn't want to blow up Shy's spot, because I wasn't 100 percent sure if her and James really did have something going on between them.

“Camille, be real wit' me. I'm gonna ask you sumthin', and no matter how crazy it sounds, be fo' real wit' me,” Roscoe said. His voice sounded calm, but I knew he was kinda upset.

“What is it?”

“Yo, she fuckin' James?” he asked.

“What?”

“I'm askin' this because my niggas around there be putting me on about James being up in Shy's building a lot now. And he be up in there all night. I know he know peoples up in her building, but I hollered at them too, and they say he ain't been around like that. I got word that James came out of her apartment early one morning, after the nigga done spent the night.”

“I don't know what to say,” I blurted.

“Camille . . . I just wanna know. Do Shy and James got sumthin' goin' on?” he demanded. “I don't mean to put you in the middle of this, but you always been real wit' me and shit. And y'all tight like that. You good peoples, Camille.”

I sighed. I didn't want to blow up Shy's spot like that, but then again, I didn't like James from the get-go. And I knew he was responsible for my attack the other night, and I became very vindictive—that nigga needed to be put down. He was a threat, a fucking nuisance to Jade and everyone else. He don't give a fuck about no one but himself. Selfish bastard. What kind of friend fucks his best friend's girl while his man is locked down, and knowing he's been dealing with Jade for four years now, and she was in love with his ass? James was cocky, ignorant, and I hated the muthafucka.

“Roscoe,” I started. “I'm gonna keep it real wit' you. I think I saw the two of 'em gettin' a room out on L.I. But I'm not sure if it was Shy. I was too far away to tell,” I told him.

“You think so?”

“James is disrespectful, Roscoe. He don't give a fuck about you. If he did, then he wouldn't be tryin' to play you behind your back like that. One night, I heard him talkin' mad shit about you, sayin' you was never shit to him, and he glad you locked down.” I added fuel to his fire. “But don't blame Shy, Roscoe—”

“Why not? The bitch is fuckin' him!” he cursed.

“You don't know that fo' sure, but James is manipulative, Roscoe, and Shy . . . Let me talk to Shy.”

“Do that, Camille. Let me know what's up. You know I love Shy, but if she playin' me out, I'll fuckin' kill that bitch.”

“Roscoe, you're on a prison phone—calm down,” I told him.

“I feel you, ma. But you know I hate to be disrespected. Her man locked down, and she out here gettin' buck-wild wit' my boy.”

“She's young, Roscoe,” I tried to explain in Shy's behalf.

“So what! She's supposed to be holdin' it down. And James, I'm gonna see that nigga! He supposed to be my boy! I trust him to bring Shy some money once in a while, and the nigga doin' me wrong like that—”

“Roscoe, let me see what's up!” I told him.

“Do that, Camille. You always been real—fuckin' talk to her,” he said.

“A'ight.”

“Let me get the fuck off this jack. I'm gonna holla at you, Camille.”

I hung up. Drama. It never stops.

I was setting up James by fabricating stories about him talking disrespectful about Roscoe while he was locked down. I was
lying about him—but who knows, what I said might turn out to be true. James is a fucking snake. I wanted James out of Jade's life, my life, and Shy's life. I wanted him gone. He was nothing but trouble. I never saw how Roscoe and James became so tight—yeah, they were thugs and hustle together, but they were different. Roscoe, he would look out for you if he liked you. He'd pass around money, give out free shit, and sometimes played ball in the park with the neighborhood kids. People loved and respected him. And him and Shy, they were a cute couple.

But James, he never did a damn thing for anyone but put fear on the block and terrorize niggas. He would get a crew to jump you if you even looked at him wrong. He was a dirty-dick nigga, fucking this bitch and that bitch, and then sleeping up with Jade every fucking night like everything was good. The nigga was nasty. Yeah, he was eye candy, I'll admit, but after meeting him, you'll confirm he's a straight fucking dickhead. The nigga tried to get at me one night while Jade's back was turned. We were at a party, and he tried sliding me his number on the low and trying to kick game, acting like he was Casanova or something. I gave him the screw face, tore his number up in front of him, and told him to fuck off. He's lucky I didn't toss a drink in his face. I tried to put Jade on about how grimy her man was, but the bitch was too hardheaded to listen, thinking James was her fucking soul mate or something. Now, she fucking knows the truth. It took her like four fucking years to open her damn eyes.

Today, my agenda was Shy. She was young, twenty years old and shit, and James, being an old head, probably manipulated her gullible ass somehow. I don't know how he did it, but it had to
stop. When Roscoe is calling me up, beefing about what he heard throughout the grapevine about Shy and James, and he's locked up, then there was a problem. Shy must forgotten that Roscoe still got eyes and ears on the streets. I knew the bitch was lonely and missing her man, but come on, you don't fuck your best friend's man—I don't care if they're together or not—and she knows how James gets down. I wondered what the fuck was going through her head.

Another problem I thought about was Jade getting wind of this information. We're tight like sistas, and I'll be damn if I let an asshole like James tear our friendship apart. We've been friends for too long.

I threw on my gray sweats, a gray hoodie, and my white Reeboks, with my winter coat on top, and I trotted the few blocks down to Shy's building. It wasn't as cold like yesterday, but the wind still nipped at your skin.

I dashed into the lobby, catching the elevator as it was about to close. And stood next to an old man and his dog. I stepped off before the old man did and scurried toward Shy's apartment. I banged on her door, shouting, “Shy, open up the door. It's Camille. . . . Shy.”

I waited for a few minutes. I knew she was home because I heard the stereo playing loudly in her apartment. And then I began to hear movement behind the door, and hearing the locks. Shy finally opened the door, and she wasn't even dressed for the day. She still had on a blue robe, house slippers, and looking like she just woke up.

“Oh . . . hey, Camille,” she said, sounding tired. “Why you ain't call first?”

“Because we need to talk,” I uttered, stepping into her apartment by pushing by her.

She closed the door and walked behind me. I glanced around her apartment, looking for any indication that there was a man staying up in her place with her.

“I was about to get dressed,” she stated as she turned down the volume to the stereo.

I looked at her. “You a'ight?” She looked sluggish. Her eyes looked a little watery, and she didn't seem like herself.

“I'm okay. I'm just tired,” she explained.

“Tired,” I repeated. “What you been doin'?”

“Busy. Roscoe haven't called me recently, and I've been a little worried about him,” she said.

I sighed. “Really?”

“Yeah. I talked to him a few days ago, and he hasn't called me back yet. He calls me every other night to talk and see if I'm okay. I don't know what's goin' on.”

I didn't say anything to her. I just stood there and observed her. Her actions were funny.

“You want sumthin', Camille? I'll make breakfast,” she offered.

“Nah, I'm good,” I replied, still standing and looking around.

“So, you haven't talked to Roscoe in a while,” I added.

“No. I miss him.”

I was never the type to delay or drag shit out, so I got straight to the point with her. “How long, Shy?” I asked with a stern look on my face.

“How long what?” she returned.

“You gonna stand here and play me like this, huh, Shy? I saw you the other day with James.”

“What? James? You saw the wrong bitch, then. I don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about!” she replied, catching an attitude.

“You fo' real, Shy. You gonna stand here and lie to my face so easily? I saw you that evenin' on L.I., gettin' out of his Hummer. It was you—don't fake it, Shy.”

“I ain't fakin' shit. I'm not fuckin' him!” she angrily countered, screwing her face up at me. “That's what the fuck you came here for, to tell me some bullshit about me fuckin' James! You can get the fuck out then, bitch!”

“Don't curse at me like that, bitch. I'm in here lookin' out fo' your ass! And don't fuckin' disrespect me, because I'll wipe the floor wit' your skinny ass!” I said, with my face screwed up like hers.

This bitch. I'm at her apartment looking out for her, and she won't admit it and come clean. Roscoe's ready to beat her ass, and she being naïve about this shit.

“How I'm gonna do Jade like that, Camille? We friends. I got Roscoe. I know he locked down right now, but I'm gettin' used to it. I don't need James.” That was a fucking bald-faced lie.

“Bitch! Roscoe called me earlier.”

“What?” she said, shocked.

“He knows about you and James. So be real wit' me, Shy. You fuckin' him, and don't fuckin' lie to me.”

“Why is he callin' you? Y'all got sumthin' goin' on? What you talked to him about? What did you tell him?” she barked.

“Shy, are you that fuckin' stupid and naïve? Niggas talk—people see. I know he be spendin' the night at your place.”

“Please, niggas can believe whatever. They need to stay the fuck out my business!”

“Shy,” I said, trying to be real calm. “We've been friends fo' a long time now, since high school. You know you're my girl. You know I always look out fo' you. This is me you're talkin' to. Roscoe called me earlier asking about you. He's been callin', and says you ain't been pickin' up lately, and he feels you ain't been actin' right lately. You're missin' visits. He hasn't gotten a letter from you lately. Niggas out here are tellin' him that they've been seeing James in and out of your place recently. He suspects, but I tried to tell him different. Now, be real wit' me, do you and James got sumthin' goin' on?”

Shy just stood there. She had her arms folded across her chest, and she never looked me directly in the eye. I backed off her and gave her time to explain herself. She peered up at the ceiling, and probably coming to reality. Her eyes diverted back to me, and she asked, “Does Jade know?”

“I don't think so,” I answered.

“Camille . . . it just happened,” she started. “He came by, dropped some money off fo' me, and volunteered to drop me off to work. I got into a beef at my job later on, and James handled that fo' me. Next thing I know, I'm in his truck, we got dinner, and then we got a room. I'm sorry, Camille. I didn't mean to. I'm so fuckin' lonely. I'm weak, Camille. I'm sorry.” She started to cry.

I sighed. “Damn, girl.”

“I don't wanna lose Roscoe! He means so much to me,” she blurted.

“You should have thought about that before you fucked his best friend.”

“I know. But he ain't here. He locked up over some dumb shit. And I needed company. You know how I am, Camille.”

“So that don't give you the right to fuck his man. Any nigga woulda done, Shy . . . and you choose that one asshole to mess around with.
James,
Shy.” I said his name like it was the Antichrist. “You know he a grimy nigga.”

“I know.”

“Damn, Shy . . . what were you thinkin'?” I asked lightly.

She exploded at me. “I'm not like you, Camille! I need a man in my life. I need someone to be wit' at nights. . . . Fuck, you happy. I need dick. I get stressed. I get fuckin' scared! I hate being alone! It may be cool wit' you, but it ain't wit' me.”