Animal (27 page)

“Watch that. All my skanks wash their asses at least once per day,” he joked.

Porsha laughed. “You’re a dick. But for real, Alonzo, let your li’l friends know what time it is if they ask about my number being in your phone.”

“And what time is it?” Alonzo asked, drinking her in with his eyes. He saw the telltale glint that let him know he was making progress. Alonzo was inching toward her so subtly that she didn’t even realize it until they were almost nose to nose.

Porsha sat there like a deer in headlights while Alonzo advanced on her slowly. He was so close that she could taste the
faint traces of liquor on his breath from the restaurant. Right before their lips connected, she placed her finger on his lips and backed away. “It’s time to say good night, Alonzo.”

“That’s cold,” he said with a grin that let her know he wasn’t done trying. His cell phone suddenly rang in his hand. He was going to ignore it until he saw the number on the screen. “What’s hood?” Alonzo listened for a few seconds, then frowned. “Hold on, who got dropped? Shit, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He ended the call.

“Everything okay?” Porsha asked with concern in her voice. The sudden change in his facial expression made her fear the worst.

“Yeah, everything is cool,” he lied. “I just gotta go scoop my peoples up right quick. But I’m gonna call you, ma.”

“Run off to scoop ol’ girl. Looks like y’all had some unfinished business earlier anyhow,” Porsha said with a tinge of attitude in her voice. She reached for the door handle, but Alonzo grabbed her by the arm.

“Don’t even carry it like that, sis. Porsha, you know what it is with me, so you know I don’t do games. I got a million ponies, but I’m still trying to tame that stallion, ya hear?” He looked her up and down.

His comeback made Porsha smile. “I hear you talking. Just make sure you call me, Zo.” She got out of the whip.

“Bet on it.” He nodded and peeled off.

When Alonzo was out of sight a broad smile crossed Porsha’s lips. “Baby boy has definitely grown up,” she said to no one in particular before heading into her building.

TWENTY-NINE

A
FTER WHAT HAD HAPPENED IN
BBQ’s, D
ON
B. found himself in a foul mood. The girls had been minding their business, and he could’ve very well ignored them, but his ego and the fact that he wanted to impress Young Dance made him approach the girls and turn them into the night’s entertainment. In the end, he ended up being the star of the show. Zo-Pound had violated when he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong in trying to rescue the chicks, and what’s worse, he had made Don B. look like a bitch in the process. He was The Don of all Dons and getting the shit slapped out of him in a room full of people wasn’t a good look. If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure Zo-Pound and his bitches got what they deserved.

Don B. had a good mind to blow off the appearance he was supposed to make at the spot downtown, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from the twenty-five stacks that he was being paid just to do a walk-through at the spot. Besides, he had to make up for what happened so as not to fall too far out of
favor in Young Dance’s eyes. Don B. had been chasing the MC for too long to let him slip away so easily.

The rapper and his entourage received a king’s welcome when Don B. led them into the spot. It was more like a loft that had been converted into a lounge than the club it was billed to be. Don B. didn’t care as long as they kept his glass and his pocket full. Devil greeted Don B. and Tone at the door and immediately picked up on the fact that something was wrong. Don B. downplayed it as nothing and promised to fill him in later on. He needed time to think up a lie because there was no way he was telling the big homie that he had let a young boy slap him in the mouth. He knew Tone wouldn’t say anything, and if Young Dance was smart, he too would carry that secret to the grave. Don B. was proud of his reputation as a tough guy and was more than willing to shed blood to keep it from being besmirched, which is what Zo and the bitches would soon find out.

Tone signaled the DJ, and he immediately threw on Don B.’s latest song, officially announcing the arrival of the star. The small dance floor was instantly crowded and a floodgate of chickenheads burst open, with the ladies trying to get next to The Don. Don B. smiled, nodded, and received his praises like the arrogant bastard that he was, while Young Dance looked, smiling like a starstruck kid. Don B. was showing out, but the best was yet to come. When Don B.’s song was halfway over, they threw on a cut by Young Dance that no one had ever heard, including Dance. It was an old freestyle Young Dance had done on a mix tape when he was starting out, laid over a newly produced Big Dawg track. The verse was five years old, but it moved the crowd like it was brand-new.
Young Dance stood there in bewilderment as he was suddenly surrounded by photographers and groupies, all courtesy of The Don.

Don B. stood next to Young Dance and posed for several pictures. He threw his arm around Dance and hugged him like a brother. “You feel that?” Don B. patted him on his chest. “That great big bubble that just formed in your chest is what success feels like.”

“You don’t play no games when you’re recruiting a cat, do you?” Dance shook his head.

“None at all, my nigga. When I want something, I go full throttle to get it, ya hear?”

“Yeah, I hear. Yo, let me ask you something. Where the hell did you get that old verse of mine from?”

“The Don has his ways. Now stop asking so many questions and enjoy this good love the people are showing you. As a matter of fact, there’s a chick over there who is staring at you like she would fuck you in the middle of the dance floor,” Don B. nodded to a chick standing off to the side who had been clocking them since they walked in. Her face was nice, but her body was CRAZY.

Young Dance looked to see who Don B. was talking about and realized it was the chick Pam he had met a few weeks prior. “Oh shit, I know shorty. I met her a while back.”

“Oh, that’s you?” Don B. asked curiously.

“Nah, that ain’t me, but I’m trying to fuck,” Dance confessed.

“Well you sure as hell can’t fuck her from way over here. Devil,” Don B. turned to his bodyguard, “go get that bitch.” Don B. watched as Devil lumbered over to Pam and whispered
something in her ear. A few seconds later he was leading her by the hand to the circle where they were standing.

Young Dance hugged Pam. “What’s good, ma?”

“Nothing, but I was starting to think you stood me up,” Pam said with a playful attitude.

“Never that. We ran into a li’l situation on the way down here,” Young Dance cut his eyes at Don B., “but we in the building now.”

“In full effect,” Don B. added, invading Dance and Pam’s space. “Ain’t you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Don B. asked Dance. Behind his shades he was looking at Pam like he wanted to eat her.

“My fault, yo. Pam, this is my nigga, Don B.” Young Dance reluctantly made the introduction.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Don B. took her hand and brought it to his lips like he was going to kiss the back of it, then flipped it over and kissed the back of his own hand.

“I love your music,” Pam said.

The statement was a simple one, but it spoke in volumes to Don B. It let him know all that he needed to about the girl and based on that, he marked her as food.

“Thank you, love.” He gave her an easy smile. “So what’s up, Pam? You in here dolo?”

“Yeah, my homegirl was supposed to come with me, but she flaked at the last minute.”

“Well, that’s her loss, now, isn’t it?” Don B. put one arm around Pam and the other around Young Dance. “Don’t worry, we gonna make sure you got a hell of a story for her the next time you see her. Any friend of Dance is family, because Dance
is
family. Ain’t that right, Dance?”

“You know it,” Dance cosigned.

“Say that,” Don B. nodded. “Damn, where are my manners.” Don B. grabbed a waitress that had been walking past. “Bottles and be quick about it.” He released her. The girl looked like she wanted to curse Don B. out, but she needed her job so she let it go and went off to do as she was told.

Half an hour later, Young Dance and Pam were seated snuggly with the rest of the Big Dawg party on a velvet couch in the back of the loft. The table in front of them was crowded with bottles and wing platters, while L’s were being passed around. Along the way they had picked up a few more chicks to join them, making an already lively situation livelier. The red-carpet treatment Dance got from being a part of the Big Dawg circle only made him look larger than life to Pam, and the way she kept pressing up on him showed it. She wanted to make sure the rest of the chicks in the spot knew that she had already claimed him as hers for the night. Young Dance was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. He knew he was a dope MC and was well respected on the streets, but Don B. was showing him a whole different world of possibilities. Hanging with Don B. in his world was the first time Young Dance ever felt the kind of love that he felt he deserved.

“Should I take that look on your face as a hint to have a contract drawn up in the morning?” Don B. half-joked.

“I can’t front, you’ve been very persuasive, but I still don’t know, Don,” Dance admitted.

“My nigga, this shit you seeing,” he motioned to the bottles and the girls, “is light. This is a fucking Sunday afternoon for me. I respect you wanting to be your own man, Dance, but the bottom line is everybody needs a crutch when they’re
starting out, so don’t let your pride make you slit your own throat.”

“I feel what you’re saying, Don, and I ain’t too big to admit that I need a li’l push, but I need it to be the
right
push. Some of these labels have thrown some real nice offers at me, Don. I’m talking about enough scratch for me to finally pull my people out the trap.”

Don B. laughed in Dance’s face. “I been in this game too long for you to piss on my head and try to tell me it’s raining. These record labels ain’t trying to gamble no big money on real hip hop. They want gimmicks, and you ain’t a gimmick rapper, Dance. My nigga, the only way you’re gonna really get the support of a major label is if you dye your hair, throw on some white shades, and come up with a dance, and I can’t see you doing that.”

“So, Big Dawg would give me a major budget and still let me stay true to who I am as an artist, without trying to take over my project?” Young Dance asked suspiciously.

Don B. shook his head. “Man, ain’t you been listening to nothing that I’ve been saying? I don’t want to sign Young Dance as an artist, I want to bring your entire brand over to Big Dawg and put you on the map! Homie, we been playing this game long enough, and I think it’s time you let me know what you wanna do.” Don B. held out his hand and in his palm there were several colorful pills. “Green pill takes you back to your life and grind as unsigned hype, but the red pill erases all your troubles.”

Young Dance stared at the pills for what seemed like an eternity. He weighed the world Don B. had shown him against what he would have to go back to when the night was over and
the choice seemed like a clear one. Young Dance plucked a red pill from Don B.’s hand and popped it in his mouth. Don B. also popped a red pill, and they toasted with the glasses of champagne that they would use to wash the pills down. The bargain had been stuck, and Don B. had his prize.

“Any more seats left on this flight?” Pam interrupted their moment.

“But of course.” Don B. extended the hand holding the pills and let Pam have her pick. Watching her pop the pill and wash it down he knew he had just killed two birds with one stone. It was good to be The Don.

Pam woke up the next morning to a splitting headache. When she tried to lift her head, needles of pain racked her skull. Cracking one eye she looked around and tried to get her bearings. From the thick curtains and large windows she deduced that she was in a hotel, but couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered was popping what she thought was ecstasy at the lounge with Don B. and Dance and everything else was like pieces of shattered glass that she couldn’t quite put together.

Young Dance lay in on her shoulder, sleeping like a baby, with drool running from his mouth and down her collarbone. She vaguely remembered the two of them going at it like wild dogs at some point during the morning, but the details were sketchy. If her sore crotch was any indication of Dance’s performance, he’d done his thing. Pam winced at the pressure on her bladder, letting her know she needed to pee out the liquor she had consumed throughout the night. She pushed Dance off her and went to get up but found that something was weighing
her legs down. She pushed back the blanket that covered her body and realized that there was a chick sleeping with her face in Pam’s crotch.

“What the fuck?” Pam tried to piece the events of the night back together. She wiggled from beneath the chick and climbed to her feet, using the blanket to cover her nudity. To her surprise, there were women strewn throughout the hotel room, nude and passed out. In the center of all the naked bodies was Don B. Seeing him sprawled out in the middle of the floor with a used condom hanging from the tip of his dick filled Pam with dread. She wasn’t completely sure what had gone down, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she had played herself.