The Ex Factor: A Novel (10 page)

“I'm certifiable? I'm not the one who needed Zoloft after she'd been left by a niggah.”

“I didn't need Zoloft, bitch, that was your father when Mommy left his ass. Oh excuse me, he didn't need Zoloft. It was crack he turned to. Don't break bad with me, 'cause you will never win! You used to talk a buncha shit that made me cry, but not now I got somethin' fo' ya ass. Now try me.”

“I don't have time to argue with you.” Celeste mashed the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “Save the bullshit.”

“Whatever, do you have anything in the refrigerator that can be thrown together quickly?”

“Yeah.”

“What?” Monica got up and opened the refrigerator. “Celeste,” she batted her eyes, “ain't shit in here but some damn breakfast food and Kid Cuisine.”

“Well, there's some Care Bears fruit snacks and Oodles of Noodles in the cabinet.”

“Oh…my…God…”

“H
ONEY
-
CHILE, I ain't had no reefer in about twenty years. For real—for real.” Starr took a pull, the wet tip of the long and skinny joint glued between her lips. Relaxing her shoulders, she lay back in the recliner and crossed her ankles. “Buttah, this is the best wedding gift anyone could've given me.” Starr was in her glory sitting in her living room, shooting the shit with her senile and soon-to-be mother-in-law, Mama Byrd, and Starr's oldest and dearest friend Buttah-Ann Askew.

“You know I had to get my home girl something,” Buttah said, “and what better than a dime bag of smoke.” Buttah placed the joint between her lips and pulled. “I just can't believe you getting married.”

“I know.” Starr blushed. “I've been engaged three times.”

“Damn,” Mama Byrd spat, “what the hell you tryna prove? We already know you a old ho.”

Starr was offended. “How you figure?”

“Hell, all ya kids got different last names.”

“Hush,” Buttah snarled at Mama Byrd. “Lawd knows yo' senile ass is always talkin'.”

Mama Byrd pounded her chest and stood up. “Make me shut up then, you so bad.”

“Oh, don't get it fucked up.” Buttah stood up. “I fights old ladies.”

“Bring it then.” Mama Byrd swayed from side to side. “Wait a minute now,” Starr said, getting between them. “Calm down.” She turned to Buttah. “Now, Buttah, why you lettin' Mama Byrd get to you? You know she senile.”

“You right,” Buttah said, calming down. “I'm sorry, Mama Byrd.”

“What you sorry for, baby?” Mama Byrd looked around. “And why is we standin'? We getting ready for the bachelorette party?” Mama Byrd smiled. “I hope they got a dancer who knows how get his grind on. 'Cause this seventy-five-year-old coochie need a fire-cracker!”

“Mama Byrd, be quiet.” Buttah rolled her eyes, sitting back down.

“Bachelorette?” Starr's eyes lit up. “Is that what you said?”

“Sho'nough. And Buttah the one 'spose to be bringin' you.” Mama Byrd sat back down and reached for the joint. She took a pull off the tip and spoke through the smoke. “Them niggahs say somebody gettin' married.” She snapped her fingers as the burning weed hung from between her lips. “Who that is, who that is?”

“Who what is, Mama Byrd?” Starr asked, confused.

“Who gettin' married?”

“I am.” Starr sighed. “I am marrying your son,
Red, tomorrow.
”

“Who the fuck is Red? Let me find out that ma'fuckers is still tryna say they know me.”

“Mama Byrd,” Buttah said, snatching the joint from between her lips, “if you gon' be acting senile, you ain't gon' be able to get ya blaze on with me no more.”

“This is my shit, bitch. I'm the one with the prescription for it, not you. And who is you anyway?” Mama Byrd squinted her eyes.

“Awl hell naw!” Starr couldn't believe it. “Buttah, you mean to tell me this is Mama Byrd's shit?”

“Look, Starr, you know I'm on probation. The last time I was on the block tryna buy some reefer I got arrested for solicitation. So I had to take what I could get.”

“Lord have mercy.” Starr shook her head.

“So where is my bachelorette party? At the Foxx Trap?”

“Nawl, not there.” Buttah took a pull.

“The Tremount?”

“Nawl, not there.” Buttah let out the smoke.

“Madison Lounge?”

“Madison Lounge?” Mama Byrd interrupted. “Is you that bitch who stole my man from me?”

“Hush, ole lady,” Starr said. “Now, where the hell is the bachelorette party?”

“At Celeste's house!” Mama Byrd spat out and then fell out laughing. “I know that's yo' daughter, but that ho is booooorring! I bet all we gon' do is drink tea, hold our pinkies out, eat biscuits, and tell lies about how happy we is to be married. Well I'll tell you, men ain't shit, 'cause I ain't seen my husband in about ten years.”

“Could that have something to do with him being dead for twelve years?” Buttah rolled her eyes.

“Well, how you know and I don't?” Mama Byrd pointed her finger toward Buttah's face. “I knew you was the bitch his stiff ass was cheatin' wit'.”

“Mama Byrd, please,” Starr said, agitated. “I don't understand how you can't remember from one minute to the next but you can remember a cuss word.”

“Oh hold up, you don't want it wit' me, home girl! Better ask about me! Tell her somethin', Peaches.”

“My name is Buttah.” Buttah took one last pull off the joint.

“Oh, that's right.” Mama Byrd frowned. “You that huzzie who
pussy-whipped my knee-baby boy, Jimmy. I believe you worked roots on him.”

“I didn't work no roots!” Buttah screamed. “Jimmy loved me!”

“That's what they all say. But I know one thang, I was so thankful the day he left yo' ass. I ain't never believe them was his kids anyway.”

“I'm tired of this coming up every few years, Mama Byrd. Like I told you before, De-niece and De-nephew are Jimmy's kids!”

“De-niece and De-who?” Mama Byrd frowned. “What kinda ghetto shit you got goin' on? And who the fuck is De-niece and De-nephew?”

“Enough!” Starr yelled, standing up from the chair. “You know De-niece and De-nephew are Jimmy's kids. Now we got other things to worry about, like what am I gon' wear to my party. I got to go get fly!” Starr stood and turned to go upstairs.

“Hell,” Buttah yelled after her, “why you think I got this cat-suit on?”

“Sho'ly ain't 'cause you got the body for it.” Mama Byrd grinned. Buttah ignored her and mashed the remains of the joint in the ashtray; she felt like slappin' Mama Byrd upside the head. Just then Buttah's cell phone rang. As she flipped her phone open, Mama Byrd slipped the roach in her duster pocket.

“Hello,” Buttah spoke into the phone.

“Buttah,” Monica said, trying not to be nasty, “where are you and Mommy? You're an hour late! Everybody's here and we're all waiting.”

“Oh baby, we're down the street. We'll be there in five minutes.”

“She lyin'!” Mama Byrd yelled in the background.

“What did Mama Byrd say?” Monica asked.

“Nuthin'. Nuthin'. We're on our way.”

Buttah hung up and shot Mama Byrd the evil eye.

“I wish you would!” Mama Byrd took her pocketbook and held
it in the air. “Look at me like that again and I'll tear yo' mouth out!”

“Hush.” Buttah smirked. “Pull up them knee-highs, fix the snaps on your duster, take that purse down, and let's go!”

Mama Byrd fixed her clothes, grabbing her snuff and her empty spit cup. She placed them in her bag then went in the bathroom and rolled out her portable toilet with the metal railings. “Will this fit in yo' mini van?” She looked at Buttah.

“What the hell you wanna travel with a toilet for? Celeste got a bathroom.”

Mama Byrd placed a hand on her hip. “Why is you all in my bid'ness, I ain't asked why yo' shoes lean to the side, so don't fuck with me about my porta-potty.”

“Whatever you want, Mama Byrd, whatever you want.”

A few minutes later Starr came downstairs dressed and ready to leave.

By the time they arrived at Starr's “surprise” bachelorette party, most of the guests were pissed. Not only had they been served Oodles of Noodles with a side of fried eggs, the guest of honor was three hours late.

As Starr walked in, everyone yelled a dry “Surprise.”

Starr stood in the middle of the floor and fixed her catsuit as best she could. It was psychedelic blue and made out of paper-thin material, with one arm completely exposed and a shredded sleeve covering the other. Around her waist she wore a blue suede belt with a round silver buckle that was slanted to the side. Her three-inch white platforms were killing her feet but she was determined to strut her stuff. She was praying that her Visine kicked in as she placed her hand over her mouth. “All of this for me? Oh my God, what is this for?”

“Awl trick.” Mama Byrd twisted her lips. “You know what this is for.”

“My bachelorette party!” Starr smiled, ignoring Mama Byrd. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she looked around. Starr
strutted her stuff across the room and kissed her family and friends on the cheeks. She mingled with them for a little while before Monica walked over to get her attention.

Monica shot a fake smile at the person her mother was talking to. “Excuse me,” she said, grabbing Starr by the arm.

“Yes?” Starr said as they stepped to the side.

“Where have you all been and why is Mama Byrd telling people that the three of you were at home gettin' lifted?”

“Monica, you know the woman is senile.”

“She might be senile, but she was just standing in the corner trying to light a joint. And now she keeps telling people about the batteries being low in her dildo. Get her ass right now!”

“Wooo, take that down, sweetie.” Starr arched her eyebrows. “I'm still your mama. Now, where the hell is this old lady?” Starr looked around the room. She spotted Mama Byrd sitting at the bar with her legs gapped open and looking at a magazine picture of Steve Harvey. “I'm sayin', though,” she snarled at the picture, “wassup with us, firecracker? Let me tell you I got a mean head game, and just so you know”—she winked—“a bitch's nickname is Lipton in case you ever need a tea bag.”

“Oh my Jesus!” Starr snatched the magazine out of Mama Byrd's hand. “Let go and stop it!”

Mama Byrd jumped up. “You don't want it wit' me, Sun. For real you don't, better ask about me.”

“My name is not Sun, it's Starr.”

“Starr? Oh hey, Starr, how you doing today?”

Starr took a deep breath. “Just be good, Mama Byrd, just be good.”

“Let's eat, everyone!” Celeste announced to the guests and led them into the dining room, where they each had their choice of popcorn chicken, macaroni and cheese Kid Cuisine, or fried eggs dipped in grits.

“What kinda shit is this?” Mama Byrd asked, looking around. “Eggs? I don't want no damn eggs! They make me fart! You ever
smell a fried-egg fart, that shit is lethal. Y'all think I be around here shittin' now, humph. Y'all just some sorry asses! Goddamn eggs!” She picked up her Kid Cuisine. “Now somebody done microwaved the sprinkles under my chicken.” She turned to Starr. “What the fuck is goin' on?”

Starr was so embarrassed she didn't know what to say. She looked at Celeste.

“Don't look at me,” Celeste said, “I have enough problems.”

Starr turned to Monica. “I'll be right back,” Monica said, “I need to find Imani, she's got the party favors.” Monica excused herself from the dining room. She called Imani's house and cell phone, but didn't receive an answer. As she went to dial Walik's mother's number, the doorbell rang.

Hoping and praying that it was Imani, Monica snatched the door open.

“ 'Sup, niggah?” Imani's friend Sabrena snapped her neck. “Tasha parking the car and there go Quiana coming up the block.”

“Hi, Sabrena,” Monica said drily. “Have you seen Imani?”

“No, I thought she would've been here.”

“Well, she's not. She was supposed to drop Jamal off with Walik's mother and then catch the train here.”

“ 'Sup, Monica?” Quiana and Tasha said, now standing beside Sabrena.

“Nothing, come on in, girls.”

As soon as the girls walked into the living room Mama Byrd spotted them. “My niggahs! West Side.”

“Mama Byrd,” they whined in unison and ran to give her a hug.

When I find Imani I'ma cuss her ass the fuck out!
Monica thought as she walked back into the kitchen and dialed Imani's cell phone again. No answer. She called Walik's mother.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Who dis?”

Monica knew right away it was Jamal. “Who
dis
?” Monica frowned.

“Yeah, that's what I said, who dis? Dis the ‘Free Walik' party.”

“I'ma beat yo' ass, li'l boy! Who you talkin' to?”

“Oh, Aunty, I didn't know that was you.”

“I bet you didn't know it was me. Where is your mother? And what is all that noise in the background?”

“Imani right here talking to Walik. My grandma over here having a get-free party for my daddy.”

“A what?”

“A party. He free.”

“What do you mean he's free?”

“The niggah outta jail, Aunty.”

“Watch your mouth. Now let me speak to your mother.” “Imani, phone!” Jamal yelled.

Monica was seething. Imani picked up the phone. “Who dis?”

“I swear to God I should just walk over there and punch you in the goddamn face! Why the hell aren't you here?”

“I'm coming. Jamal's grandmother was having a little get-together and I got caught up.”

“Bitch! Stop lying! What kind of get-together?”

“A family gathering.”

“For what?”

“ 'Cause she wanted to have one.”

“Is Walik out of jail?”

“Noooo, he's not. He'll be out next week, though.”

“Stop lying! Jamal just told me that his grandmother was having a get-free party for Walik.”

“That makes no sense, Monica. Why would she be having a get-free party if he's already home?”

“You tell me!”

“Monica—”

“Don't
Monica
me. What the hell is really wrong with you?
Where were they when he was beatin' yo' ass or better yet, when you were locked the fuck up for six months without a bail?”

“Oh God, here we go. These are my in-laws!” Imani snapped.

“In-laws! Bitch, you ain't married! You just a baby mama. Period. Get your shit untwisted. Trust me, they gon' be in-laws to you and whatever other bitch that lowlife got in the street. Just remember those'll be the same triflin' assess that'll turn on you when the shit go down again. I can't believe you would pull something like this!”