Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Bad Apple. Copyright © 2011 by Melodrama Publishing. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Melodrama Publishing, P.O. Box 522, Bellport, NY 11713.

www.melodramapublishing.com

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011927245

ISBN-13: 978-1934157459

ISBN-10: 1934157457

First Edition: October 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Interior Design: Candace K. Cottrell

Cover Design: Marion Designs

Cover Model: Vanessa

CHAPTER 1

T
he shabby three-bedroom apartment in the Lincoln projects of Harlem reeked of cigarette smoke and weed. The place was in dire condition, with its weathered furniture and tattered carpeting littered with stains and cigarette burns. The plumbing was shot, dirty dishes cluttered the kitchen, roaches were crawling all over, and the unkempt floors and walls were soiled with dirt and other grime. Still, it was home to the same family for years—two generations to be exact—so everyone in the apartment was accustomed to the filthy conditions.

Hot 97 blared throughout the apartment, and Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” made Apple nod and sing along. She sat near the window of the fourth-floor bedroom she shared with her sister, Nichols and stared down at the corner bodega, her eyes transfixed on a certain young man lingering in front of the store. She watched him closely, admiring everything about him—his swag, his wardrobe, the gleaming black Range Rover he drove, and the way he had respect from his Harlem crew.

Seventeen-year-old Apple had a crush on Cross, a young Harlem hustler, for years. She felt blessed to be able to watch him chill and do his business from her bedroom window. It was the perfect position for her. She dreamed of Cross constantly, hoping someday he would wife her and whisk her away from the madness and poverty she lived in. If Apple hadn’t lost her virginity at fourteen, she would have waited for Cross to take it, because she knew one day he would finally notice her and realize how beautiful she was.

Cross had ladies chasing him on the regular, from young to old, and Apple knew he got around. Still, she knew she could be the better woman for him someday. All she needed was time with him. He’d never had a wifey, and Apple was ready to become his ride-or-die chick.

Apple sat near the window for an hour, her beautiful, long, light-brown legs clad in a dark blue and white pinstripe skirt. The white T-shirt she had on accentuated her full breasts, and her long, sensuous hair fell down to her shoulders, making her look like a black Barbie doll. She knew she was beautiful, with her curvy waistline and succulent figure, because the men who chased her on the daily reminded her. Having chestnut eyes, perfectly curved eyebrows, tight light-brown skin, and sweet glossy lips made her and Kola, her identical twin sister, the envy of Harlem.

Apple was older than Kola by forty-six minutes, and she reminded her of that every chance she got. The two sisters were like night and day. Apple, who could be more reserved and patient, kept to herself sometimes. She knew her time to escape poverty and the projects would come. Kola, on the other hand, was a firecracker and a very promiscuous young girl—getting money and having sex whenever she could. Both sisters had their untamed ways and share of men. Apple wasn’t any angel herself, but Kola was the more ambitious and raw of the two.

*****

Apple hated when people confused her with her sister. One day, while she was in the Chinese restaurant with her friend Mesha, a young teen felt on her booty and whispered to her, “So when you gonna let me hit that again?”

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me!” Apple shouted. “Who the fuck is you?”

The young teen quickly realized it was the wrong twin. “Damn, my bad, shawty. I thought you were your sister.”

“Well, I ain’t,” she spat.

“I’m sayin’, ma, you ain’t gotta act like that. Fuck is wrong wit’ you?”

“What the fuck is wrong wit’
you
? Don’t get me twisted, fo’ real.”

Mesha had to pull Apple out of the Chinese spot before things got more heated. After Mesha calmed her friend down, the two went on with their day without any more incidents. But Apple was tired of the repeated mix-ups between her and Kola. She’d even thought about cutting her hair one day, but when word got back to her that Cross loved women with long, black hair, she quickly erased the thought from her mind.

*****

Apple continued to stare at Cross from high above, admiring his strapping physique in the wife-beater he had on, and the way his dark brown skin shimmered on the hot spring day. Cross had on a pair of stylish beige cargo shorts, with a pair of spotless white Uptowns. His tattooed arms were rippled with definition, and his long corn rows hung down to his shoulders. He sported a thick Cuban link chain with a diamond-encrusted cross around his neck, along with a matching bracelet and diamond pinky ring, signifying his wealth on the block. Cross was the epitome of a well-groomed, get-money thug.

As Apple sat and watched him, she heard the announcement of the upcoming Summer Jam concert. She, Ayesha, and Mesha had their tickets in advance. It was the much-needed break she sought from Harlem and her family. Excited, she rushed over to the radio and turned up the volume to hear the 2010 Summer Jam lineup that would include Drake, Trey Songz, Ludacris, Juelz Santana, Usher, Gucci Mane, Nicki Minaj, and a few more. Apple screamed because she yearned to see her favorite artists, Drake, Trey Songz, and Ludacris, perform. It was her first concert, and she couldn’t wait to go with her best friends.

She rushed back to the window and continued to look down at Cross and his goons. She only wished Cross was the one taking her to the concert. She pictured herself riding in his truck, styling in the passenger seat, being his woman and the envy of all the other bitches chasing after her boo.

“One day, you’re gonna be mines,” she said to herself in an assuring whisper.

The door abruptly flew open, and Apple’s mother came rushing into the bedroom, disturbing Apple from her fantasy.

“Apple, run to the store and pick me up a pack of Newports.”

“I’m busy,” Apple snapped back.

“Busy doin’ what?” her mother barked. “Bitch, you’re seventeen, and you ain’t doin’ nothin’ but blasting music in my muthafuckin’ house.”

Looking over at her mother, Apple sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t wait until she had a place of her own, away from her disruptive mother. Apple tried to ignore her mother and turned her attention back to Cross on the block.

Her mother shouted, “Apple, you hear me talkin’ to you?”

“Yeah. And? I said I’m busy!” Apple snapped back.

“What the fuck is so interesting that got you lookin’ out that fuckin’ window?”

Apple continued to ignore her mother, but became unsettled when Denise walked up to the window and looked outside with her daughter.

“You sittin’ here lookin’ at these nappy-head niggas on the corner, tryin’ to get your pussy wet. Bitch, I ain’t tryin’ to become a fuckin’ grandmother because your fuckin’ ass is in heat.”

Apple sighed. “You need to preach that to Kola,” she spat.

“Don’t get fuckin’ smart wit’ me.”

“Why don’t you ask Kola or Nichols to run to the store?”

“’Cause I asked ya fuckin’ ass.”

Apple sighed and sucked her teeth again. “I fuckin’ hate it here.”

“Then leave! You and ya sister seventeen. Get the fuck out my crib if you feel you’re woman enough to handle your own!”

“I will too. Real soon!”

Apple snatched the twenty-dollar bill her mother had in her hand and stormed out the bedroom. She knew the only way out her mother’s crib was money, and unfortunately, she didn’t have any. She had no job, no stable boyfriend, and was barely making her grades in school. She had beauty like her sister, and men yearned for her like she was Helen of Troy. Still, her looks weren’t providing her with any money, which she needed.

*****

Denise Evans was impossible to deal with most times. She had been on Section 8 for the longest. She and her mother had received welfare and government checks all their lives and knew how to work the system. Now, she was teaching her three daughters the tricks-of-the-trade in benefiting from the system—if not a weak man.

Thirty-five years young, Denise wasn’t only unemployed, she’d never had a job, and the only money she ever earned was what she tricked off men. She’d gotten pregnant with Apple and Kola when she was only seventeen. The twins’ father, Ronald, was a construction worker with a good heart and a great-paying job. He and Denise had met at a mutual friend’s party one night, where Denise lured the twenty-five-year-old from Trinidad with her tight dress and long legs. The two hit it off instantly, and four months later, they got married after Denise found out she was pregnant.

Ronald wanted to be in their life after they were born, but their mother was so busy whoring in the streets and carrying on, he couldn’t tolerate it any longer. He thought she was a good woman, but grew tired of the drinking and cursing over time. He felt ignored.

Then Denise became pregnant by another man a year later with Nichols. That’s when Ronald left to find better, but not before Denise hit him with child support and alimony payments. She wanted to drain him of everything he had, and for years, Ronald suffered from depression. Almost everything he worked hard for went to Denise and the kids. But Denise could care less, splurging his hard-earned money on mostly herself.

Denise had years of hood experience, so she knew how to manipulate the system to make the majority of the court’s judgments go her way. Ronald soon became tired of fighting Denise and the courts, and on the twins’ thirteenth birthday, he blew his brains out with a .357. They found his body two days later.

Nichols’ father, Dominique, was a different breed of man, though. Denise had met him on the block. She was attracted to his style and the money. She got pregnant by him a month after they met, but she soon found out he had eight kids and she would become his ninth baby mama.

On top of his many women and children, he was a violent man. Dominique used to beat on Denise, and even slapped around her twin girls until they were ten years old. One time, Denise fought him back, and he beat her so severely, she had to spend a week in the hospital. Dominique was charged with her abuse, and then soon after, he caught a drug charge and was sentenced to fifteen years to life.

*****

Apple never understood her mother and missed her father a great deal. She only had a few pictures of him and some memories. Her mother was a beautiful woman, but she was a ghetto tragedy who never had anything to call her own, except heartache, the bottle she clung to every night, a beat-up pussy, a box of Newports, and the projects they grew up in. Denise would whore herself out for a good time and a few dollars, and Apple loathed how her mother treated a man with a big dick and some cash better than her own daughters.

Apple knew she was totally opposite from her mother and had dreams of being somebody. She wanted to be rich, marry Cross, move from the projects, and have her own, something her mother never had. She was determined to be different from her family. She wanted to be that chick that everyone looked up to and respected. She wanted to be the woman in Cross’s life. She wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be known and loved.

CHAPTER 2

A
pple strutted across the busy Harlem street and walked toward the bodega where Cross and his friends were hanging out. The sun was shining brightly like a jewel in the sky, and the warm weather made it feel more like summer than spring. Apple’s heart pumped rapidly as she came closer to Cross. Just being a few feet from him got her excited and nervous. She tried not to look directly at him while she walked his way, but she couldn’t help stealing a glance from the corner of her eyes.