The Ex Factor: A Novel (12 page)

“What the hell is that?” Starr looked around but when she didn't hear it again she dismissed it as her imagination and instead started singing her favorite gospel tune,
“Oh happy day…oh happy day… when Jesus walked, He washed my tears away—”

“Grrrrrrrrr…”

“Now, I know damn well I ain't losing my mind.” Starr leaned forward but didn't see anything.
What the hell is that? Sound like somebody dyin'.
She got out of the chair and started looking around.

“Starrla—Starrla—I need you, Milkway—I need you.”

“Mama Byrd, is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.”

Starr's heart started racing. All she could envision was the old lady from the commercial who fell down but couldn't get up. Starr said a quick prayer hoping that nothing was wrong with Mama Byrd. Over the past five years since she'd been dating Red, she and his mother had gotten along perfectly. Mama Byrd was the closest person Starr had to a mother, especially since her own mother died when she was a little girl. Mama Byrd had been senile for years, but there was something about her that no one could resist.

Starr's heart raced as she ran in the kitchen. She didn't see Mama Byrd anywhere. “Mama Byrd,” she looked around, “where are you?”

“Over here, in the corner by the 'frigerator.”

“Awwwl! Oh, hell no!” Starr screamed, spotting Mama Byrd. Buttah and Celeste, who'd just woken up, both jumped when they heard Starr scream.

“Ma!” Celeste panicked, running into the kitchen

“Starr!” Buttah yelled, running behind her. When they found Starr standing in the kitchen doorway, they peeked over her shoulder. They were both speechless. Mama Byrd was sitting on her porta-potty taking a shit.

“I need somebody to dump this. And I need some tissue too. These paper towels is too hard for my ass.” Then she started grunting again and passing gas. The cheeks on her face were sunk in and her eyes were bulging out. “Oh this is a big one.” She held on to the metal rails on the side of the toilet. “Oh goddamn… oh goddamn…”

“I'ma throw up!” Celeste gagged, running into the bathroom.

“Oh hell the fuck nawl, Mama Byrd,” Starr said. “Come on, Mama Byrd.” She scrunched up her nose. “Get up and let's go clean yourself.”

“All right, baby,” Mama Byrd said. “I guess that enema worked.” She got up from the portable toilet and pulled her pink floral duster down. Clearing her throat, she looked at Buttah. “Peaches, be a good daughter-in-law and dump that for me. And then tell Celeste to clean out the dried snuff from my spit cup.”

“Oh my God,” Buttah mumbled as they walked away.

After Starr helped Mama Byrd clean herself, she thought about Imani.
I'ma kick Imani's ass!
Starr thought.
Where the hell was she last night? If her li'l ass got locked up again I'ma turn that damn jail out!

“Monica!” Starr yelled, helping Mama Byrd out of the bathroom. “Call that damn baby sister of yours! Monica!”

Starr started climbing the stairs with Mama Byrd behind her.

“Ma,” Celeste said, walking up the stairs behind Mama Byrd, “Monica got mad last night—”

Before Celeste could finish Starr pushed open the door to the guest room.

“Monica! What in the world?” Starr said, shocked. Monica and Sharief lay on opposite ends of the bed, with Monica's feet on Sharief's chest and both of Sharief's hands wrapped around them.

“And y'all thought that I had some shit with me,” Mama Byrd said, shaking her head.

“Monica!” Starr yelled, with her hands on her hips.

Monica was startled awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room, seeing Celeste, Mama Byrd, Buttah, and Starr all staring at her like she was crazy. “What the hell is wrong with y'all looking at me like that?” As she tried to move her feet, she looked toward the foot of the bed and saw Sharief snoring, her feet on his chest, his hands wrapped around them. She nudged him with the heel of her foot. “Wake up.” Praying that he didn't wake up and start sucking her toes, something he liked to do before planting kisses between her thighs, she said, “Sharief, Celeste been looking for you.”

Sharief wiped the corner of his mouth and turned over to see the army of women watching him from the doorway.
What the fuck?
he thought. Immediately he sat up and glanced toward his lap, praying that he had his boxers on and his dick wasn't hanging out.

Celeste walked toward Sharief and stood in front of him. She looked at his lap and saw that his dick was hard. “You mother-fucker!” She raised her hand.

“Don't put your hands on me.” Sharief looked at Celeste. “I swear God it'll be on up in here.”

“Well, we'll be rollin', Sharief,” Starr assured him.

“Hump,” Buttah seconded. “Bring it on, baby pa. Bring it on.”

“It's not even that serious.” Monica sucked her teeth.

“What the fuck is going on then? When did you come back here, Monica?” Celeste screamed.

“What do mean come back here?” Starr asked, confused. “When did you leave?”

“Last night—and nothing is going on!”

Monica snapped. “Monica was crying last night and I came to comfort her and see what was wrong,” Sharief said.

“I'm your fuckin' wife and you go to my sister and see what's wrong with her? We're the ones with the damn problems.”

“Watch your mouth, Celeste!” Starr snapped. “I told you 'bout your man sleepin' out too many nights anyhow.”

“I second that motion,” Buttah agreed.

“Uhmm-hmm,” Mama Byrd interjected. “Tell 'em. And Buttah and you ought to know, 'cause that's how your man got stolen. And if you ask me, this look like a ménage del'rios.”

“It's a ménage à trois.” Monica rolled her eyes.

“Oh y'all just nasty, huh? Let me find out that y'all a family of freaks and ain't nobody hooked a old bitch up. I'll have y'all to know that I still got a clit.”

“It's not that kind of party, Mama Byrd,” Monica said.

“Yeah,” Mama Byrd said, “it might not be, but one thing's for sure and two things for certain: pussy don't have a face, and in the midnight hour a stiff dick ain't related to nobody.”

“Look,” Sharief said sternly, “Monica was outside about to leave, it was late as hell, and she didn't need to be driving all upset and alone. I talked her into coming back into the house, then we started talking and I fell asleep.”

Celeste looked at Sharief, her eyes filled with rage. “You have boxing shorts on and she has on a short-ass nightgown—”

“Your imagination is ridiculous! You need to write a book! I fell asleep, that's it. Period. Now I'm tired of explaining it.” Sharief got off the bed.

“Hey big dog,” Mama Byrd hissed, cocking her neck to the side and winking.

“Mama Byrd,” Starr said, “ain't no dog in here, now hush.”

“I wasn't talkin' to no dog, thank you.”

“Who were you talkin' to then?” Starr asked.

“Sharief. The slit to his boxers is open.” Mama Byrd grinned.

“Ai'ight, that's enough, Celeste.” Sharief looked at her. “We fell asleep talking. That's it, nothing else!”

“That better be it!” Celeste screamed. “I ain't one for no bull-shit! I'm his wife, not you.” She pointed at Monica. “Understand?”

“Oh how privileged you must be.” Monica got off the bed. “Excuse me,” she added as she approached the doorway, “I need to use the bathroom.” She walked briskly into the bathroom and slammed the door. “Fuck y'all!” she seethed. She leaned against the back of the bathroom door and took a deep breath, the pit of her stomach in knots. Looking straight ahead and rubbing her temples, she stared at a picture of a smiling baby sitting on the toilet, tissue strewn all over the floor.
What the hell are you doing, Monica?
she said to herself.
This has to stop. Fucking a woman's husband that you don't know is one thing, but doing your sister's husband is triflin'.
Tears flooded her eyes.
I'm sick of crying! I'm sick of it!

“Monica.” Starr knocked on the bathroom door. “It's me, open the door for a minute.”

Monica slowly opened the door and peeked through the crack. “Yes.” She wiped her eyes.

“Let me come in.”

“I'm using the bathroom.”

“I'm ya mama, let me in.”

Monica opened the door. Starr stepped in and closed it. “I don't want you to say a word, I just want you to listen.”

“Ma—”

“Be quiet. Now, I'm not stupid, and whatever sparks are flying between
you and your sister's husband
better stop right now!”

“Oh God, what did I say? There is nothing going on!”

“This is the second time that I've seen you and Sharief in a situation that didn't look too copacetic. I don't expect to see it anymore. Understand?”

Monica sucked her teeth.

“Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“O
F ALL THE goddamn things to say, the bitch said she was married to you, Walik.”

“On the real,” Walik sighed, “I just let go of a serious nut and now I'm trying to get my sleep on. Aren't you tired? Don't me grabbing your hair and knocking the lining out your pussy make you tired?”

“No.” Imani sucked her teeth.

“Well, I'm tired. Along with bustin' a nut comes sleep for me. So kill it with the bullshit. Matter of fact, ain't your mother getting married today? Go get dressed or something. Just leave me the hell alone… shit.”

“Come on, Walik,” Imani whined, “she had a ring and shit.”

“I don't give a damn what she had. I been locked up for two years, where the hell I get a damn ring from, mess hall?” Walik turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

“A ring, Walik? A ring, come on now.” Imani snatched Walik's pillow away. She knew she was pushing it, but holding this in burned her chest. She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs
crossed and her blue silk gown resting on her cool chocolate skin. “This is not the time to sleep.”

Walik sat up in bed. With his bare back against the wall, he stared at Imani. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What the fuck is
my
problem? You niggah.” She took her index finger and mushed him in the middle of his forehead. “I wanna know how come this
one bitch
don't never seem to go away. What, you in love with her or somethin'? You her goddamn man and forgot to tell me?”

“There you go with that bullshit.” He sighed. “Don't mush me in my head again.”

“Bullshit? The bullshit is that rotten-ass nut you let off in that bitch. Did you wanna sleep then, ma'fucker? I swear I don't want that bastard-ass baby in my house. I don't even wanna see that piece of shit.”

“Yo, fall back,” Walik said sternly.

“Fall back? Fuck you.”

“If you would stop flappin' them lips and suck my dick maybe you would get a chance to. Look, Imani,” Walik raised his voice, pointing his right hand toward her face, “all last night we talked about this. I fucked the shit outta you to show you that it was all about you. I came here last night and chilled with you and my son. And despite the fact that I saw a buncha crackheads peddlin' my shit, I didn't even stress you about my clothes or my guns being missing.”

“I told you some niggahs broke in here.”

Walik twisted his lips. “Ain't no niggahs broke in here, 'cause my boy Gill, my 5-0 niggah, was the one you donated my guns to, that's why he ain't ask your dumb ass no questions.” Walik sucked his teeth. “You always fuckin' playin' yourself, ma. My guns is at my mom's, boo.
So chill.
”

“Chill? Who the hell is you talkin' to? I don't give a fuck about you or that crooked-ass drug-dealin' cop. Fuck both of y'all!”

“Ai'ight. Enough. I'm out.” He threw the covers off.

Imani grabbed his wrist. “Where you goin'?”

“Gettin' the fuck outta here!”

“Bye, niggah. I knew you wanted to run off and be with that bitch anyway. Let me catch her and I promise you it's gon' be on all the time.”

“Whatever, yo.” Walik snatched his wrist from Imani's grip and slid out of bed. He picked up his boxing shorts from the floor. “See my dick.” Walik held his dick in his hand. “This is what a naggin' bitch does to a dick.”

“You and ya soft-ass dick can step! Get the fuck out!” Imani screamed. “Who the hell you supposed to be, John Gotti? You just a fuckin' hood rat, a mishap that stumbled across a li'l hustle. On the real your dumb ass couldn't even get a homemade porno fuckin' right, let alone knocking the lining outta pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” Walik couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“And another thing,” Imani continued, “you'd be better off sellin' bootleg CDs than makin' runs, you silly bastard!”

Walik reached for his jeans. “I ain't gotta listen to this shit.” He slipped on his boxers and jeans, then reached for his cell phone. He flipped it open, pressed a button, said Shante's name into the receiver, and immediately the phone dialed Shante's number.

“Wassup?” Shante said groggily, answering the phone.

“Yo,” Walik said, “check it, ma, wake up and fix me something to eat.”

“You comin' over?”

“Yeah, I'm coming now.”

Without warning a surge of wind made a
whoosh
sound as Imani fly-kicked Walik in the center of his chest, causing his back to hunch and his mouth to fly open. “That's right, niggah, you forgot what part of Flatbush I was from. Karate camp was fuckin' free. Niggah-what!” Before Walik realized what was happening Imani karate-chopped him twice across the forehead. He dropped
his cell phone, and Imani could hear Shante on the line shouting his name.

“Oh, you just gon' call that bitch in my face!” As Walik rushed toward Imani she quickly stepped to the side and he ran into the wall. “Punk bitch!” she screamed.

“I'ma kick yo' fuckin' ass!” he said, checking to see if his nose was broken.

“Suck my dick!” Imani screamed. “Lick my ass! Ma'fucker, you gon' call that bitch in my house? You just gon' disrespect me?” She pounded two chops into the back of Walik's head, and as he went to turn around she poked him in the eye. Then she stomped on his cell phone and started crushing it to pieces. “Let's see yo' ass call the bitch now!”

As Imani continued stomping on Walik's phone, he was able to catch her off guard and grab her around the neck. “Oh, you think you fuckin' Bruce Lee? You gon' try that karate shit on me and think I won't beat yo' ass?” He squeezed the veins on the side of her neck and backed her up against the wall. “Stupid bitch!” Thick and blinding beads of sweat drizzled down Walik's face. He took one of his hands and wiped his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He took his free hand and pushed her on the side of her head, causing her neck to jerk.