Real Wifeys: Get Money (26 page)

“Hey, Missy, I’m getting pulled over by the cops, let me call you back,” I lied, ending the call.

I sat on the exit ramp going over a million and one different scenarios of what Shani’s ass was up to. Did she still work for Goldie? Had she crossed over to the other side? Did she clue Goldie’s ass in on my mission to destroy her?

Ugh! I pounded my fist on the steering wheel. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Motherfucking. Shit. Dammit. Shit!”

I flexed my shoulders and rolled my neck as I forced myself to calm down.

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .

I reached for my cell phone. “Hello?”

“Luscious, you got any more of your tickets left?” Eve asked.

We were having a car show/barbecue and after-party later that afternoon, something Eve and Michel rigged up by themselves while my ass was on a mental vacation. Truth? I didn’t sell none of them tickets. “I got a few left,” I lied. My mind was barely on Yummy Entertainment anymore.

“Save me five if you got them.”

“Okay.”

“Where you at? Me and Michel need help out at the park,” she said.

“I have to get my car serviced and then I’m coming,” I told her.

“Okay. Hurry up.”

I ended the call, put the car into drive, and made my way to the Jaguar dealer. I drove around to the service department and parked. As soon as I stepped out of the car, a Jag pulled into the spot next to me. I glanced over at the tall dude behind the wheel. I did a double take.

He was fine. That caramel sexy. Bald head. Close-cut beard. Suckable lips. Broad shoulders.

He turned his head and caught me looking at him. His face spread with a smile that let me know he liked what he saw too. I did a little wave and turned away. I wasn’t looking for a man.

He climbed out the car and I peeked over my shoulder at him. Every bit of six foot three, and even beneath the suit he wore, I could tell he was built. Ripped. Stacked. Sexy. He made two of Make$’s little ass in height and weight.

Smacking my lips the way people do when they’re hungry and food is about to be served, I went back into my car, being sure to take all my personal shit with me.
I hope this don’t take all day.

I walked to the glass door and Mr. Grown and Sexy was holding the door for me, looking like he stepped off the cover of
GQ.
So different from Make$ and Has. I could tell he was older. Maybe midthirties. But damn, he was one good-looking, good-smelling man. Too old for me, but damn sure good to look at.

“Thank you,” I said, as I passed him to enter the building. My head came to his chest and in that moment that my body was near his—dwarfed by his—I felt the safest I ever felt in my whole life.

“How you doing today?” he asked in a low voice that let me know the words were meant just for me.

“I’m good, and you?” I said.

“I’m excellent,” he said.

Yes, yes you are
, I thought, moving away from his power to stand at the counter.

It wasn’t until I checked my car and took a seat that I noticed he didn’t come in to the waiting area. I turned in my chair and looked through the glass window. His car was still there, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I did see a business card under my windshield wiper.

I knew it was his. Mr. Grown and Sexy. And that made me feel excited, but I didn’t get off my ass and go and get that card to see what it said. I had too much shit going in my life to take on anything else. Or anyone else.

And so I turned back around, released a heavy breath, and focused on flipping through one of the magazines lying around the waiting area and pretending like that card wasn’t even there.

I thought about his smile and his warm scent. I looked out at the card. Finally, I walked out there to get it. I pressed it to my nose and the scent of his cologne still clung to it.

I licked my lips as I looked down at it.

JAMAL JACOBS
Superior Auto
973-555-2000 x 001

On the back he had written his cell phone number and the words: “Would like to know more about the woman behind the pretty face.”

I smiled as I pushed the card into my wallet.
Maybe
I would use it one day.

I didn’t even go to the car show, but I helped them set up, paid for every ticket I didn’t sell, and told Michel and Eve to split the profits between the two of them. They didn’t even ask me why.

Maybe they knew I wasn’t into it?

Maybe they knew I had other shit on my mind?

Maybe they didn’t need me anymore?

It didn’t matter; it all was true.

From the jump, the party promoting had been their idea, and I just hopped on board after Make$ left my ass hanging in the wind.

I reached into my colorful sequined purse and pulled out my Chanel compact to check my makeup as I sat in Fornos of Spain restaurant. It was time to shit or get off the motherfucking pot. I had to finish this dance with Goldie or leave it alone for good.

I couldn’t let it go. After a year of plotting, planning, waiting, and watching, I had to finish this. I had to make her pay. I couldn’t just waste the last year of my life, and I didn’t want to.

I forced a fake-ass smile as the hostess led Goldie to our table.

It was time to kick it up a notch.

“Hey,” I said as she slid into the seat across from me.

“You shocked the shit out of me when you called my office,” Goldie said.

“You apologized and I didn’t know what to think and I realized I didn’t even say that I accepted your apology and I think you’re right. Make$’s ass is not worth the drama,” I lied.

She leaned back in the chair and said nothing.

Oh, so it was her turn to hardball it? Bitch, whatever.
“What really got to me was seeing your reaction to remembering the rape. It fucked with me and I could tell you was still affected by it.”

Goldie nodded and shifted her eyes out the window. “That shit was crazy, Luscious,” she said soft as hell and closed her eyes. “I . . . uhm . . . I . . . can’t forget it.”

I thought about being molested and then the shit I went through with that dirty cop. I would never forget. A piece of me felt sorry for her. But I shoved that shit away. This wasn’t about compassion. No. Goldie was no more important than TipDrillz. The same way she convinced TipDrillz to get the fuck over it, her ass needed to do the same thing.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I lied.

“I’m glad I made it out alive.”

The waitress came over to our table and it was the same chick from that day Goldie and me had lunch way over a year ago. Full circle. Friends and then enemies.

What were we now?

“I wanted to talk to you, something actually,” I said after we ordered our dinner.

She sipped her wine.

“I have to be honest that since Make$ went to jail I’m in a little bit of a money jam. He snatched all his money, wanted to throw me out the apartment, and left me ass out,” I said.

“You need to borrow—”

I held up my hands. “No, no borrow. I wondered if you had any spots available at Goldie’s Girls?”

Goldie looked surprised. “I don’t know if you know, but I’m out the strip game. I own a booking agency for urban models. Videos girls, hip-hop fashion ads. You know, stuff like that.”

Humph, I knew
that
and the truth behind it.

I twisted my diamond watch around my arm, wanting her to see I had one too. “Tek-9 used a couple of your girls in his ‘New Reign’ video, right?” I asked.

Goldie nodded. “Yeah he used Sparkle and Ilsa,” she said. “They’re some really good moneymakers for me.”

“Yes, yes, I think a lot of little boys around the world enjoyed Tek-9 oiling them down in the middle of the wrestling ring.”

Goldie laughed and then got quiet. I could tell she wanted to ask me something. I knew the rumors about Tek-9 and me was hanging in the air. I knew she heard that shit.

“No, I did not bang Tek-9,” I said.
Fuck it. Let’s get it out the way.
I didn’t really give a fuck what she thought, but I was not claiming dicks I never had.

Goldie arched her brow as she took another sip. “Too bad; I heard his shit is
bananas.
”

Was Tek-9 one of Goldie’s clients?

I picked up my Nancy Gonzalez dome-top tote in green crocodile and took a portfolio from inside it. I side-eyed her and saw her eye the bag. It retailed for three grand and looked every bit of it. I slid the portfolio toward her.

“Damn, Luscious, what’s this, an interview?”

Just open it, bitch
, I thought, as I placed my face in my hand and smiled at her.

She did and then closed it. “Whoa. What the fuck?” she said, looking up at me with big eyes.

“What?” I blinked like my ass was innocent. Like I didn’t just hand her a portfolio of professional photos of me. But I meant to put the pic of me squatting in a thong from behind in the front. It was a lot of my big, beautiful, black ass. I knew I looked good. Hell, the photographer had a hard-on during the whole shoot.
Take that, bitch
.

Goldie shook her head as she flipped through the rest of the pictures. “I mean, I definitely think we could book you. The only thing is your being Make$’s ex and the rumors about you and Tek-9. It could go either way. You know? Niggas on the come-up would definitely want you booked to be like ‘Fuck that, nigga, I got your girl,’ or if they worryin’ about pissin’ off Make$ or Tek-9 they may not fuck wit you.
But
both them niggas locked up, sooooo . . .”

Oh no, bitch, don’t play me.

“All of that is irrelevant because I want in on the
other
business,” I said, just as the waitress walked up with our plates.

Goldie cut her golden eyes at me.

Oh yes, bitch. We’re going there.

She waited until the waitress walked away before she said, “Right now the booking agency is my only business. I told you I’m not doing the exotic dancing no more.”

I nodded as I took a bite of my shrimp, pasta, and garlic dish. “Goldie, listen. Me and you used to be tight and even the shit that went down between us can’t change that, you know. I don’t play games. I shoot straight from the hip. I know about the other business. I heard about it like last year. I still have contacts in the industry. Dudes talk, Goldie.”

She set her fork down on her plate, licked her lips, and sat back to watch me close as hell with a little smile on her face.

I sat back in my own chair and gave her the same smile. I needed her to let me in.

“I’ve worked hard to build my business. My
legitimate
business. The only thing I can offer you is a chance to get into modeling and some videos,” she said.

So this how we gone play it?

“Cool,” I said.

“And you can’t be out trying to trick on the side. It’s not a good look for my business. I’m really trying to keep my shit professional. You know?”

Bitch, please. You just want your cut.

“So they lied?” I asked her, my hand clenching my fork so fucking tight I thought it was going to bend in my hand.

“Oh, most definitely,” Goldie said, turning her attention back to her dinner.

You lying, deceitful, two-faced snake in the grass.

I would’ve loved to take the proof Shani the Snitch was supposed to get for me and slap it across this bitch’s face like “Stop lying, ho!”

“The party promoting not working out?” Goldie asked out the blue.

So, this bitch was in
my
business too.

“We have mutual friends, Luscious,” she said at my pause. “They said you were doing good with it.”

I took a sip of my white sangria filled with chunks of apples, green grapes, pears, and pineapples. “That’s really my friends’ thing more than mine.”

“Oh, okay.”

Humph. That shit right there made me feel like me and this bitch was playing chess. I didn’t trust her even more. I had to stay on my toes.

I spotted a dude at the next table eyeing her even though he was with a woman already.

That shit reminded me of Make$ side-eyeing her, fucking her,
choosing
her even when I was sitting right there waiting on him. Stuck on stupid. Deep in dumb.

I focused on my food, fighting the urge to fight this bitch right in the middle of the restaurant and just fuck up everybody’s damn dinner.

“I’m having a grand opening of my new Jersey City offices tomorrow night. You should come through,” she said.

“I will. I will,” I said, wondering if I could sneak into her offices during her little party.

Goldie raised her glass. “I’m glad we trying to get past the past,” she said.

I gave this bitch a fake-ass smile as I raised my glass and touched it to hers, fighting the urge to break the glass against her face.

I was just parking my Jag when Eve called my cell phone. I let it go to voice mail. Her and Michel wanted to go to Club Infinite tonight but I ain’t had time for that. I was hot on Goldie’s fucking trail and ready to finish this bitch.

I smoothed my Hervé Léger dress over my hips and pulled the wavy ends of my jet-black hair over one shoulder. Her offices were in a converted warehouse. I looked at the red Goldie’s Girls logo on the glass with poster-size black-and-white photos of some of the girls and a few dudes on her roster.

I stepped in the building and a security guard (WTF?) stood there with a clipboard. “How you doing?” I said, attempting to step past him.

“Yo, yo, lovely. Invite only,” he said, holding out his arm.

My breast hit his arm.