Ruthless (27 page)

“Girl, this looks good.” Bianca hands me the mirror back. I unsnap the cape. Booty stalks over toward my station as Bianca is getting up.

“Ooh, hey, Miss Cutie-Boo,” Booty says to Bianca.

“Hey, girl.”

It gets quiet. Booty looks around the salon, then frowns when
her eyes zero in on the LaQuandra chick. She swings her neck in my direction, raising a brow. “Umm, Miss Pasha, girl, I need to have a word wit' you.” I tell her I'll be with her when I finish up with Bianca. I glance up at Lamar. He gives me a head nod knowingly. Keep an eye on her ass. “Uh-huh. I'll be right here, too,” she says as she plops down in my chair, slowly turning it, facing the mirror.

Bianca follows me up front, handing me a hundred-dollar bill when we get to the counter. “Girl, you think it's safe leaving her back there?”

“If not, she'll be out of here in handcuffs.” She tells me to keep the change. We embrace. She tells me she'll see me in three weeks, then heads toward the door. I race back to my station to find Booty taunting the LaQuandra chick.

“So what lies you been tellin' today, Miss
Quaaaaandra
, huh?”

“Cassandra, please. You know I'm not doing this with you. So let's leave it at that. Please and thank you.”

“Coon,
boom!
You can't do shit wit' me. But Isaiah, on the other hand…” She toots her lips up. “Mmmph. Do me a favor, nigga-boo. Tell Isaiah his baby muhver said she's ready to give him another baby since yo' empty ass can't give him one.” She pats her crotch. “Let 'im know this cootie-coo misses him. He's 'bout due for his late-night feedin' anyway.”

“Bit—”

Kenyatta places her hand on the LaQuanda chick's shoulder to keep her from hopping out of her chair. “Don't, girl.”

Lamar comes down the stairs from the pedi-mani loft. Mel comes to the back from the lobby.

“Cassandra, you wanted to see me,” I say, cutting in before they turn it up.

She tilts her head, placing a hand up on her hip. “Uh-huh, Miss Pasha, girl. I sure do. I gotta bone to pick wit' you, sugah-boo.” She follows behind me, then stops. “Ohhhh, and
Quaaaaaandra
, wit' ya dog-faced self, since I know you like keepin' my name rollin' off ya tongue, how 'bout you tell 'em how I came up in ya school ‘n' yanked ya scalp clean off ya' head. I tore ya ass up, real good, didn't I? You want round two?”

Ignorance isn't the problem. It's a stupid bitch that refuses to be aware…

“Mmmph. How long that coon-bitch been comin' here?”

I frown, shutting the door behind us. “Cassandra, don't start. This is like her second time. Why?” I walk around the desk, pulling out my chair. “Her coming here to get her hair done should have nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, trust, sugah-boo. That rotted bitch can be here all she wants. But I know one thing, if you ever hear her talkin' slick ‘n' greasy 'bout me, you better check her, then let me know, so I can take it to her face. That bitch real lucky I ain't wear my figthin' heels up in here today.”

I tilt my head. “Yeah, like how you were checking Felecia every time she talked shit about me?”

She bucks her eyes. “Miss Pasha, girl,
boom!
Don't do me. I'm still kinda hot in the drawz wit' yo' ass for how you carried on down at the barbershop. I had Jah'Mel strung up good ‘n' right for yo' ole coon-ass ‘n' you ain't even bring no heat to his ass. Mmph. Then last night I tell yo' ass let's get it poppin on that nigga-coon
L
‘n' you go ‘n' get all flake-flake on me, textin' me back some ole coon-fuckery. What you had to do that was more important than handlin' yo' business, huh? You need to get ya goddamn mind right…”

I feel a headache piercing its way through the front of my head.
And Booty's loud-ass mouth and theatrics aren't helping any. I eye her with mounting tension coiling through every nerve in my body as she sits here talking shit about what I
need
to be doing.

Usually when shit spews out of her mouth, I can laugh it off, brush it off, or let it go over my head, because it's Cassandra. And Cassandra is who Cassandra is. But, today, I don't give a damn
who
this bitch is. And I couldn't care even less about laughing at, brushing off, or letting anything she says go over my damn head.

“I ain't 'bout to keep tryna help a bitch who ain't even tryna help herself. I done brought the horses to ya ole stank-ass ‘n' all you gotta do is hop on up ‘n' ride 'em out. But you on some ole other shit. What is you waitin' for, huh, Miss Pasha, girl? This shit wit' you don't make no damn sense…”

I count to ten in my head. Try to let the slick shit she's saying go over my head. Keep trying to remind, convince, myself that she doesn't mean any harm. But this bitch stays coming at me sideways. I'm all for someone speaking their mind and expressing themselves. But I'm sick of her thinking she can say whatever the fuck she wants, whenever she wants, however she wants, to whomever she wants and
not
get called on it. It's the same shit with her coming up in here always talking out the side of her neck to clients and staff whenever the hell she feels like it. She breeds drama. The shit's toxic. And I'm sick of it!

So today is
not
the day that I'm in the mood for Cassandra Simms' shit!

I blink.

Masking my thoughts, I calmly say, “You know, Cassandra, it seems like every time you have something to say about someone, anyone for that matter, it's always followed by some kind of snide remark, or slick dig on the sly. And it comes off messy. You're
entitled to your opinions. And I've always appreciated your directness, and brutal honesty. However, people don't always need, or want, to hear your thoughts or feelings about them, especially when it's not solicited. Sometimes it's simply best to keep what you're thinking to yourself.”

“Wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl,” she snaps defensively, giving me an indignant look. “I ain't
ever
been messy, goddammit. I don't even 'preciate you tryna do me. You know Booty don't bite her tongue for no-goddamn-body. I call it like I see it, sugah-boo. What you see is always gonna be what you get. If a nigga-bitch don't like it, then she can eat the inside of my ass. I'll gladly bend over ‘n' pull open these big, fluffy ass cheeks for her to have at it, goddammit.”

Okay, let me try this one more time.
My headache is now pounding at the front of my skull. “Cassandra,”—I pull open my top drawer for my bottle of Advil, catching a glimpse of my 9mm—“it's not what you say, it's how you say it. You need to learn how to be tactful.”

She makes a face, bucking her eyeballs and yanking her head back like she's about to have a fit.
“Tact?
Sugah-boo,
boom-boom!
I ain't got no time sugah-coatin' shit for some sensitive-ass nigga-bitch. Like I
said
, I call it like I see it. And
who
ever don't like it can suck my goddamn thong…”

I take a deep breath. Bite down on my bottom lip. This time I count to twenty in my head as I gape blankly at her. She takes my expressionless stare and silence as an open invitation to continue offering up her unsolicited remarks about
me
.

“Now back to you, Miss Pasha, girl, with ya ole slutty-self. I swear I hope you done learned ya lesson, messin' with that Internet shit. 'Cause if you ain't, ya ass is on ya own the next time a nigga stomps ya lights out. 'Cause I can't be tryna run no Save A
Ho campaign when I'm tryna keep Day'Asia's ho-ass from fuckin' the whole damn county before she gets her lil' hot ass outta high school.”

I can feel the heat of anger rising. I consciously, purposefully, try to talk myself out of going in on her. But the heat surging through me has ignited a fire that is now becoming a burst of roaring flames.

“See. Miss Pasha, girl. You need to get ya goddamn…”

Before she can finish the rest of her sentence, I rip into her ass. “You know what, Cassandra? You don't know what the fuck I've been doing, bitch. I've been biting my tongue, holding back from lighting you up. But—”

“Booga-bitch, boom-boom! You wait one goddamn minute…”

“No,
bitch!
You
wait a goddamn minute!”

“No,
goddammit! You
better
wait!
You have me confused, booga-bitch! Now I like you, Miss Pasha, girl. But I will beat yo' ass a new goddamn heartbeat! You
not
gonna sit here ‘n' talk shit to me, after
all
the shit I done for ya snotty-ass! I beat the skin off Jah'Mel's coon-ass for you ‘n' this how—”

I stand up. Hand on hip, a little piece of the old, neck-rolling me from long ago, emerging. “Bitch, you haven't done shit for
me
that you didn't want to do for
you
!
You
have
me
confused, sweetie! I haven't asked
you
to do
shit
for me, bitch. So don't sit there acting like you've done me some goddamn favor, like I'm some fucking charity case. Bitch, please!”

“Booga-bitch,
boom!
Don't do me, goddammit! I ain't have to do shit for you, so do—”

“Bitch,
you
jumped in the middle of my shit without an invitation.
You
stuck your motherfucking nose in my business where it had no business being; shit, you are always somewhere doing.
Why? Because you're a messy, nosey, gossiping-ass bitch who loves motherfucking drama!”

“Coon,
boom!
Mother
fuck
you, goddammit!”

“No, bitch! Motherfuck
you
! I've had it with your mouth, Cassandra! You wanna call it like you see it, then let's call it like it is. Yeah, bitch, I sucked dick! And got my ass beat for it! Yeah, bitch, I'm in all the mess I'm in because of it. But
you
need to look your whore-ass in the mirror,
first
, before you try to read me. You think you're the baddest bitch out there doing it big? Bitch, please.

“All you are is some dusty, trick-ass, gutter-bitch who sucked and fucked her way up off the streets and pushed out a bunch of babies by a bunch of different big-dicked niggas who didn't give a fuck about you because
you
didn't give a
fuck
about yourself. Yeah, bitch, I sucked a bunch of dicks. But I'm damn sure not tricking for the next come-up.

“The difference between what I do and what the fuck you do is that I
suck
dick because I
want
to. You
fuck
and take dick every which way it'll fit in your ran-through slut-holes because you
have
to. Because tricking and being a loudmouth bitch are the only skills your dumb ass has. So the
only
bitch in the room who needs to get her mind right, is
you
! Ten years from now all you're going to be is some washed-up wannabe with a closet full of handbags and heels walking around with a goddamn pamper strapped on your ass because you spent your whole life letting no-good niggas fuck you in your ass. Don't judge
me
, bitch! Judge your-motherfucking-self!”

I guess after saying all this, I should see it coming, should know Booty would take this to another level, because she's a street bitch. But I don't. And the next thing I know, the bitch is up on her feet, lightning-quick, and her fist connects to the side of my head,
almost snapping my neck off my shoulders, causing my knees to buckle.

The bitch almost drops me! And in that instant, I'm
right
back down in that horrid basement tied up and being beaten and slapped and whored around by a buncha niggas.

I'm
right
back where I was twenty-three years ago—fourteen years old, with a bloody blade in my hand—giving a jealous bitch a hundred-and-sixty-three stitches for putting her hands on me.

In a flash, with one closed fist to the side of my head, Booty knocks me, resurrects me,
right
back to the bitch I've spent the last seventeen, eighteen years of my life trying to keep buried.

She bangs her fist on my desk. “Miss Pasha, girl, goddamn you, bitch! I didn't wanna take it to ya goddamn head. But, bitch! Don't you
ever
, talk to me like I'm…”

Before she can finish her sentence, leap, lunge, dig into her clutch, or do anything else a bitch like Booty does, my hand is gripping the gun in my drawer and she's staring at the barrel of a 9mm, aimed at her face.

“Bitch, jump if you want and I'ma splatter your goddamn head open. You put your motherfucking hands on the wrong bitch!” I pull the trigger, purposefully shooting slightly over her head. Her eyes buck wide open. “Make no mistake. The next one won't miss! Don't you
ever
as long as you breathe,
bitch
, put your motherfucking hands on me!”

Her jaws tighten. “Booga-bitch,
boom,
goddammit! You done tore ya goddamn drawz off! This is how you gonna do me, goddammit?!? Huh, booga-bitch? Pull a fuckin' heater on me, then shoot at me, like I'm some gutter-bitch…?”

“You
are
a
gutter
-bitch!” I snap, stamping my heeled-foot. The side of my head feels like it's about to cave in. “And your gutter-ass
mouth and you putting your hands on me is about to cost you your goddamn teeth if you don't figure out a way to
think
before you
open
your motherfucking mouth when you're speaking to
me,
or about me. And I mean that shit, bitch!”

“Bitch!” she yells, one palm planted on the desk, the other pointing in my face, spit spewing out of her mouth. Her eyes are wide and crazed. “Do me right, goddammit!” She bangs the desk with her fist. “Put that motherfuckin' burner down ‘n' do me right, booga-bitch! Make me nut, booga-bitch ‘n'
fight
me like a
real
bitch! I love me a good goddamn fight! Give it to me good, booga-coon-bitch! Let me see you with the hands, goddamn you, Miss Pasha, girl! Cum-suckin' bitch! You gonna do me, goddammit…!” She lunges toward me, both fists balled tight. “Fight me wit—”