Real Wifeys: Get Money (13 page)

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t have anything else to say. I was too busy swallowing down the truth.

M
y phone was ringing nonstop and I was sick of repeating what little of the story I knew. The news didn’t reveal Goldie’s identity and neither did I. I couldn’t help but wonder what the bitch was feeling after everything Missy told me about Kerri/TipDrillz. And now her ass was dealing with the same shit she fucking minimized for another one. Humph. This bitch didn’t deserve no sympathy.

See, the unjust don’t prosper
, I thought as I began moving all of Make$’s shit into the guest bedroom. I was busy planning how to make the apartment all mine while the diseased cheater was on lock and trying to keep his asshole from getting plugged.
I can use all that closet space.

Was I wrong for skipping through that bitch without a care in the world? No. Hell to the no. I did all my crying and worrying all those nights his ass was on the road forgetting about me—or saying “fuck me” while he fucked my friend and God knew who else.

Goldie.

I turned with a stack of Make$’s jeans in my arms and looked in the mirror. I was pretty girl. I grew up with the whole “you’re pretty for a dark girl” or “you’re a pretty black girl.” Why the need for pointing out my deep chocolate skin tone? Who the fuck knew? But it was always there, like I accomplished some big-ass thing being dark-skinned
and
pretty. Some of her dancers thought that was the reason Goldie was so popular with all that good “real” hair and light skin bullshit. They thought a dark-skinned chick had to be more freaky, have bigger ass and titties, and wild out to get the same attention as a light-skinned chick with less body.

I never really got caught up in that skin tone bullshit.

But . . .

Goldie and I looked so different. Did Make$ believe that all pussy looked the same in the dark, or was he fulfilling some fantasy having a redbone, half-breed bitch like Goldie in his bed? Was that why he claimed to love me but cheated on me with my friend . . . because fucking Goldie was worth the risk?

My cell phone blasted off from the kitchen counter and I dumped the thirty pairs of jeans in my arms onto the made bed before rushing out the room to snatch up the BlackBerry. It was a number I didn’t recognize. The last call I took from an unknown or private number was some asshole saying he didn’t want to get like a nigga sitting up in jail because he protected rapists—a joke about Make$’s hit single “Get Like Me.”

Humph, I hung up on him even as he laughed like he was watching Kevin Hart do stand-up. I promised myself if I got another prank call I would change my number. To hell with childish shit. I couldn’t care less that Make$ let his “relationship” with Goldie get his ass in jail, but if niggas had jokes, they needed to go visit him in county.

I used my thumb to send the call to voice mail. I poured myself a shot of Patrón. Two. Hell with it.

Wincing at the feel of the liquor going down my throat, I picked up the phone, put it on speakerphone, and called my voice mail inbox.

“This is Luscious. Leave a message.”

Beep.

“Hi, Luscious, this is Ursula Stevens from—”

I frowned. Ursula Stevens ran one of the most notorious gossip sites ever. She didn’t give a damn about what she posted or what she said. She was infamous, and lots of entertainment people hated her snooping ass.

“I have it on good authority that your connection to the arrest of your boyfriend Make$ is something I should look into, and we wanted to offer you an exclusive interview on the site telling us about your connection to the alleged victim. You used to dance for her, right? Anyway—”

My heart pounded. How this chick know all our business?

“Of course we can offer compensation for your time. Call me back at 1-800—”

I ended the call. I didn’t want any part of giving an interview on a gossip site. Nothing. A few other chicks had taken that route. I still gagged at the memory of one ex-chick of a rapper actually allowing the posting of pictures of her miscarried fetus in the toilet. What the fuck? If only curiosity hadn’t made me click the link to those photos.

Nah, I’m good. Something
that
obvious would be too big a slap across Make$’s narrow face. I wasn’t that bold. Not when he was still paying my bills. The world would see nothing but the perfect wifey holding her man down while he did a bid. That’s all.

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .

I had just set my BlackBerry back down on the counter when it vibrated with a text message. I picked it back up and my heart pounded to see it was from Has.

HEARD ABOUT UR BOY. JUST

CHECKING ON U? U GOOD?

I leaned against the counter as I hit him back:

I’M GOOD . . . BUT I’LL B BETTER IF U

CAN CUM THRU 2DAY.

It was time me and Has got back down to it. Make$ was looking at at least a year if the judge sent him back to jail for his probation violation alone.

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .

I opened the text:

CUM THRU OR CUM IN U?

I smiled as I texted him back:

ONE LEADS TO THE OTHER.

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .

SHOW ME SUM’N GOOD.

I hurried out my skintight jean leggings and lace thong bikinis to squat over my phone, spreading the lips of my hairless fat pussy to make sure the photo captured everything inside and out for his sexy ass. I took the photo and then attached it to a text with the message:

CUM & GET IT!!!!! (OR GET IT & CUM.)

LOL.

Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .

“Whooaaaa,” I said, leaning back as a picture of his big dick lying across his lap filled the screen. It wasn’t even hard and it made Make$’s shit look like a toddler’s dick.

WE’RE ON THE WAY.

I licked the screen, already feeling my pussy warming up for a workout. “Come and get this pussy. Come and get this pussy,” I sang like it was a club joint, dancing my way into the master bedroom. “Gimme dat dick. Gimme dat dick. Gimme gimme dat dick.”

I brushed my hair up into a cone around my head and tied it with a silk Vuitton scarf before I stripped naked to hop my sexy, ready-to-be-sexed chocolate ass into a bubble bath scented with my favorite L’Occitane Honey and Lemon Bath Bubbles. I loved the French bath and body products ever since Goldie introduced—

I froze at the thought and my mouth twisted in distaste. Goldie gave me the bath set from the French company for my birthday.
The devil is a lie.

I emptied the tub, rinsing out every honey-and-lemon-scented bubble before I dumped the entire basket of goodies in the trash.
Shit probably rooted or some shit.
I wanted no part of nothing concerning Goldie’s conniving ass. Nothing.

Well, except Has, I thought as I poured three capfuls of the Bath & Body Works White Citrus Bubble Bath from the gift basket my moms gave me the same night of my birthday party at the Key Club. I didn’t even open it because I was so excited about Goldie’s gift basket—stuck all up in her shit like she was my fucking god or idol or some shit. Just being dumb as hell.

That shit made my stomach burn and my heart harden.

I thought back to the night of my party when I walked outside to find her and Make$ chitchatting. My eyes shifted over to the mirror to check my reflection.
Is that when their shit started? At my fucking party?

I had to give myself a ten count to keep from ramming my fist against the mirror. Even long after I slipped beneath the hot depths of the water, it took a minute for my body to relax, and even longer for my mind to slow down.

In some ways Goldie’s betrayal burned my guts hotter than Make$’s. A man was hardly ever to be trusted but you always hoped the chick you called a friend would have your back when the man fucked up . . . and not be the cause of the fuckup.
Lying bitch.
I hate an untrustworthy ho. Bitches like that deserve to get they shit shook.

I was just standing up to rinse the bubbles from my body under the oversize showerhead when the phone rang. I shut the water off and grabbed a plush towel to wrap around my body as I stepped out the tub. I picked up the cordless phone on the wall by the commode.

“Hello.”

“You have a collect call from a correctional facility—”

Make$. The collect calls began. I didn’t give a fuck as long as he made sure the accountant continued to pay the bill.

I pressed all the right buttons to accept the call.

“Whaddup, Luscious?” Make$ said, his voice sounding like he just woke up.

I rolled my eyes as I grabbed a bottle of shea butter from my tray of toiletries on the counter. “Oh my God. How are you?” I asked, proud of how sincere I sounded.
Maybe I should go into acting?

“Listen, let’s cut through the bullshit, a’ight?”

I sat up straight and stopped smoothing lotion on my legs at his tone.

“My lawyer is telling me this shit ain’t looking good for me, Luscious, and I got to look out for myself while I’m in here—”

Okay, I sat up a little straighter until my back was flat as a wall. “So what you saying?” I asked, keeping my voice soft even as I felt my pulse racing so hard that I was light-headed.

“With the year I have to do for my probation violation and then my attorney is pushing a plea deal for at least three years for that rape bullshit . . . I know that’s a long time to ask any woman to put the pussy on lock—”

My eyes squinted and my asshole got tight. “Soooo what are you saying, Terrence?” I snapped. Fuck it. I had no time for games.

“I’m not gone pay the bills while some other nigga fucking my chick. Period.”

Has. He knew about Has? Did he know about Has?

I thought about leaving Peaches alone in my car with my bag and cell phone when I dropped Michel and Eve off. Did that bitch see the text Has sent me? “What other nigga? What the fuck are you talking about? You cheated! Not me?”

“Yooo, exactly. Before I got caught I wouldn’t have had no doubts you would hold me down while I did this bid. But now? You think I don’t know you mad at me? You think I’m stupid or some shit, Luscious?”

Did he know about Has?
I gripped the lotion bottle so damn hard that the cap blew off and lotion squirted out like cum milked from a dick. “So . . . what are you saying?” I asked again. “You got caught fucking around but now
I’m
not be trusted? What the fuck kind of logic is that? Nigga, make sense!”

“Calm down, Luscious. Damn!” Make$ snapped. “I can’t sit in here wondering if you paying me back and on top of it I’m footing all the bills. So I want you to move out the apartment until I get out.”

“What?!!” I jumped to my feet and flung the bottle of lotion across the room to crash into the one of the wood-framed mirrors flanking the window. The mirror cracked like a spiderweb.

“Yo, Luscious, like my mother said—”

“Your
mah-fer.
” I mocked his mispronunciation, making a face as I paced so hard that my towel fell from my body. Oh, I was hot.

“I’m just sayin—”

“I’m just sayin’, you little
mah-fer
fucker,” I snapped sarcastically. “So because you fucked up with Goldie and now she got you deep in some bullshit, I’m being punished like a child for y’all shit. Get the fuck outta here.”

Humph, that hood upbringing was coming all out of me.

“I’m not breaking up with you, I’m just sayin’—”

“Nigga, you ain’t saying shit,” I snapped, waving my hand like he was there for me to nudge him in the forehead. “No, no, my bad. You
are
saying something. You saying, ‘Fuck me.’”

This nigga just cut me off because his side-chick sent his ass to prison. Because Goldie sent him to prison I was ass out? No ends? What the fuck?

“What is this really about? Like wh-wh-what the fuck you really tryna say?” I asked, shoving my BlackBerry between my shoulder and ear to clap my hands together so hard that they stung. “I put up with your shit including you getting locked up for being involved in the rape of your ho . . . and you fucking dumping me because you’re scared I’ll fuck around while you locked up.”

“No female is to be trusted but I’m not dumping you, I’m just cutting back on your funds until I get out.”

I raised both my eyebrows, not giving a fuck anymore. “No, you lame-ass nigga. The female you trusted got your ass in lockup.”

“Lame-ass?”

And I paused. I took a moment to decide just which way to flow with this shit. Go all in? Let a nigga slide? Try to get him back on board with the program later?

Shit flashed back to me like I was watching a picture slideshow.

His neglect when he was on the road.

Click.

Wondering about random chicks hanging around the studio when I popped in.

Click.

Random gossip on the blogs.

Click.

Suffering through his family’s crazy drama.

Click.

The STD he gave me.

Click.

Catching him eating Goldie out in the bathroom at Club 973.