Real Wifeys: Get Money (19 page)

Were they messing around behind my back when I met that bitch down in the neck for lunch? Was that why she acted like she knew more about me than me?

“Ugh,” I let loose in frustration, balling my hand up so tight that my fingernails dug into my fleshy palm.

I needed that proof on Goldie’s prostitution ring. I was damn near drooling waiting on it. Dreaming about what I would do with it. Blackmail the bitch? Send her and her hos to jail? Decisions, decisions, decisions.

I left my office and walked back to my bedroom to finish my makeup. Then I grabbed my keys and a tiny gold clutch and strolled out the door. My steps faltered when I saw a little girl of about six sitting in the windowsill framed by the night sky and the tiny lights of the distant skyline.

She was alone, with her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them in her Hello Kitty pajamas. Her face was shielded by her long blonde hair but I recognized her as the daughter of the couple at the end of the hall.

I glanced down at my diamond Cartier watch. It was nearly eleven at night.

Did her parents even know she was out in the hall that time of night?

Didn’t they know it wasn’t safe?

Yes, we were in a secured building but the weirdos could be neighbors. People you trusted.

She turned her head and looked at me. Her face was solemn. Her eyes were sad.

I felt nauseous all of a sudden. Like I could vomit. Tension filled my neck. I wondered if I ate something that was tearing me up as I walked down the hall to her. “Do your parents know you’re out here?” I asked her the same question I asked myself.

She shook her head. “They’re sleeping,” she said in a soft voice.

“I don’t think you should be out here,” I told her, holding out my hand as a weird feeling shimmied over my entire body. “It’s not safe for little girls all alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, taking my hand as she hopped down.

I quickly led her to the door of her family’s apartment. Even though the door was slightly ajar, I rang the doorbell as I held her hand tightly.

I had to ring the bell twice more before the front door opened wider. A tall white dude with a bald head in nothing but pajamas bottoms and a chest he needed to cover stood there wiping his eyes. “Can I help you? Is the building on fire?” he asked, his voice filled with sleep.

“Daddy, your belly is shaking,” the little girl said with a giggle.

He looked down at his daughter, his eyes widening. “Becky,” he said in surprise before reaching out to take her hand from mine and then stoop down to her level.

“I was on my way out for the evening and I saw her sitting in the window at the end of the hall, and I thought a little girl her age shouldn’t be wandering the hall by herself at night,” I said, definitely throwing my proper English at him.

He looked up at me, pausing at the sight of my thighs and longs legs before he looked back at his daughter. “What were you doing out in the hall?” he asked, his hands on her shoulders.

“I like to look at the lights and I can’t see them from our apartment,” she said simply with a shrug.

“Thank you very much,” he said to me, rising to his feet.

I nodded and gave the little girl one last smile before I turned and made my way to the elevator. I didn’t look back and I was glad when the elevator doors opened.

I didn’t say shit when he thanked me, because I felt like laying into his ass. I wanted to say . . .

How can you not know your six-year-old has left your fucking apartment? How can you sleep that hard with a child? Don’t you know little girls need to be protected?

Didn’t he know little girls needed to be watched over?

Who didn’t know that?

I pulled my cell phone from my purse as the elevator slid to a smooth stop on the lobby floor. I called Tek-9’s cell. “I’m on the way,” I said, glad that the wave of nausea had passed.

“Damn, Luscious,” Tek-9 said as I strolled backstage into his dressing room on the arms of one of his bodyguards. Tek-9 had performed at the NJPAC as part of a four-day hip-hop festival. Backstage was the who’s who of East Coast DJs and up-and-coming hip-hop and R&B acts. Between the press, photographers, entourages, and NJPAC staff, the backstage was crowded.

I couldn’t lie. This had been my life for almost a year and it felt good to be back in it, even if just for a little bit. Tek-9 invited me to dinner before he went to the after-party—which I declined to attend with him. Dinner only, and
that
was strictly business.

“Looking good, Luscious,” Tek-9 said from his seat. He was already shirtless, with three diamond chains around his neck and his pot belly tattooed with his name in large script.

Tattoos was one trend I never fucked with, even though I didn’t mind them on Make$. I was afraid of needles, and my mother swore that people with tattoos couldn’t give their kids blood in an emergency. Was that shit true? I don’t know, but I never fucked with it. Plus I was dark-skinned and scared my shit would keloid. Make$ wanted me to get his name on me. Thank God I didn’t fuck with it. Right now I’d be branded by a man who treated me like shit.

Smiling playfully, I spun for him slowly, knowing I looked good and knowing he wanted me. “Thanks for inviting me,” I said, walking over to lean against the wall.

“I thought maybe you wanted to go over that deal we talked about on the phone last week,” Tek-9 said, eyeing my legs as he motioned for everyone in the room to leave.

“You mean the deal about discounting your rate for Yummy Entertainment,” I asked, definitely playing crazy.

He laughed as he stood up to pull on a crisp white oversize T-shirt.

“What?” I asked, looking innocent.

Tek-9 looked at me for a good five or six seconds. “I told you how I’d do it for free,” he said, fucking me with his eyes.

I shook my head. “No, not me. Sorry.”

He stepped up close to me and I could smell the mix of liquor, cologne, and weed. “You sure?” he asked, pressing his hand to my bare thigh.

“I fuck for free and for pleasure,” I said in a whisper, looking up into his eyes as I patted his hand twice before I eased it off my thigh.

Tek-9 was cool, but I wasn’t feeling him or his big pot belly at all. I had to want to fuck someone. Feel an attraction. My pussy wasn’t a drive-through. Much as I hated Goldie, I couldn’t have messed with Has if he wasn’t a fine-ass motherfucker. And I definitely wasn’t feeling Tek-9 with his Cee Lo Green looks. Plus I didn’t want the rep of being that chick—the ex-stripper jumping from one rapper to the next.

“I’m a big dude, Luscious, but don’t sleep on my skills,” he said, easing his chains from under his shirt.

I held up my hands, my mind focused on convincing him. “Listen, about the show. How about you lower your fee and take a small percentage of the door instead?”

Tek-9 laughed. “You’re strictly business, huh?”

“Nothing but.”

He stepped back with a laugh and unzipped his pants, pulling out his dick to hang against his zipper. “Your loss,” he said, laughing.

I looked down. My mouth fell open and my eyes got a little bigger. I never seen a dick so big in person before. That shit was damn near offensive. It was halfway down his thigh and thick as the top of a bat—and it wasn’t hard. I can’t front. I thought about not getting fucked for a year and I started to pounce on that nigga. He had plenty of dick to make up for his big-ass belly. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. A big dick wasn’t shit but pain for a pussy that wasn’t aroused and wet. Fuck that.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Tek-9 said, balling all that dick up in his hand and pushing it back inside his zipper.

“Dayum, Tek,” I finally said, definitely feeling some kind of way by his little show as we made our way out the dressing room. His security team, all dressed in black, immediately surrounded us to escort us through the crowd.

When Ursula Stevens stepped in front of us all of a sudden, I slid on my shades. She was the same blogger who called my phone for an exclusive on Make$ after his arrest. I never did call her back. Sometimes Ursula Stevens’s ish hit mainstream media. My parents would
really
bug if I sat up on a blog and told ALL my business.

A lot of entertainment folks considered Ursula reckless with her posts, but here she was, brash as hell, floating among them and looking for a scoop.

The bitch was bold, I thought, as I eyed her: tall, skinny, and all fake boobs, with about five packs of curly blonde weave floating down her back.
Looking like the Cowardly Lion or some shit.

“No interviews, Ursula,” one of the bodyguards said.

She leaned back and pressed a hand to her massive chest. “Actually, I wanted to talk to Make$’s ex and get her take on him starting his two-year sentence for his role in trying to help his friends get away with the rape?”

I pressed my lips together and said nothing. I was happy as hell when we finally reached the exit and stepped out into the hot summer night.

“I can’t stand that bitch,” Tek-9 said once we had climbed into the back of his SUV.

“She serious as hell about her blog,” I said, crossing my legs in the huge amount of space since the second row was gone, giving the SUV more of a limo feel on the inside, with its TV and minibar.

“I should slap her across the mouth with my dick,” Tek-9 joked.

My eyes darted down to his crotch. “Now that would be a blackout,” I shot back at his ass.

Tek-9 blazed a blunt as soon as the door closed behind us. He offered it to me. I shook my head, already planning to put my dress in the dry cleaner’s to get rid of the smell of kush.

“You used to smoke with us,” he said, releasing enough smoke from his lungs to fog up the interior.

I coughed. “I don’t do a lot of shit I used to do,” I said honestly, glad to have cocaine out of my life. I couldn’t believe I did that shit just to keep Make$ happy. Thank God I didn’t become a head.

“Well, if you looking for some new shit . . . I got you,” he said, the tip of the blunt turning bright red as he inhaled deeply while he looked down at his dick.

“If you would keep your mind off my pussy . . . I got you too,” I said.

Tek-9 laughed so hard he choked on the weed.

I looked out the window as the driver sped us through the streets. In the distance I could see the top of my apartment building. All I could think of was making the money Goldie made so that I could completely annihilate the bitch.

The next morning, I woke up to all hell breaking loose. Kinda.

My house phone was ringing nonstop. My cell phone was lit up with voice mail messages, missed calls, and text messages. E-mail alerts were going off in my office.

“What? Somebody fucking died?” I asked myself as I flung back the silk covers and sat up on the side of the bed, digging under my satin scarf to scratch my scalp.

I was just about to open a text when Eve called. The phone vibrated in my hand. I answered the call and put her on speakerphone. “What’s up?”

“Girl, you coulda told me you fucking with Tek-9’s big juicy ass,” Eve said, her voice hyped over some possible scandal.

I froze.

“What are you talking about?” I asked her.

“Girl, that shit is all over Ursula Stevens. Pictures and all of y’all backstage at that concert and then out eating dinner,” Eve said.

In that moment, as I dropped my head in my hand, I wished Tek-9
had
slapped that bitch with his dick across her mouth. It definitely woulda been lights out for the assuming bitch.

“That ain’t all. Peaches made a video going in on your ass, and that shit is all over WorldStarHipHop, Bossip, the YBF, and Necole Bitchie. Shit is crazy!”

“Let me call you back,” I said, hanging up on Eve and letting the phone drop on the bed. It started vibrating like a dildo doing overtime.

My house phone kept ringing and I turned off the ringer before I grabbed my iPad from my nightstand drawer.

“That lying bitch,” I said, as I read Ursula Stevens’s post with a picture of me and Make$ that was so old, next to a picture of me and Tek-9, next to a picture of Make$ and Tek-9 posted up.

I couldn’t even read the rest of her lies, but she had updated her post with Peaches’ video. Did I even want to see this shit? I pushed play on the embedded video and Peaches’ face filled the screen. She was sitting in her living room with micro braids and her signature, nasty-ass long nails. Her neck was already in action.

“I just read the story on Ursula Stevens about my son’s ex and I just want to take a minute and say I knew the bitch wasn’t shit. I knew she was just out for money. I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to grab another platinum-selling rap artist. But for her to be so scandalous and so low-down and dirty as to mess with my son’s friend, someone he grew up with and made music with, is just disgusting, and I’m glad she is out of my son’s life. Now she a problem for Tek-9’s mama. I let my son know all about it and he’s pissed but I told him, better he know now before he upgraded that trick from wifey to wife. For Luscious, Lame-Ass, Loser—whatever the fuck your name is—deuces, you no-good bitch!”