The Ex Factor: A Novel (7 page)

“Have you lost your mind, Imani?” Sabrena asked.

“Sabrena, you got nerve.” Imani looked her up and down. “When Umar went to prison you ain't never hold him down, not even for one day.”

“What the fuck I look like to you? A dumb bitch? That niggah was selling bootleg CDs. He couldn't at least catch a gun charge? Fuckin' CDs, come on now. I'm embarrassed. That's some real punk shit.” Sabrena rolled her eyes. “Bitch, you know that's a soft spot with me.”

“Whatever, I should've known y'all wouldn't understand me and Walik.” Imani felt like she wanted to coldcock her friends in the face. “None of y'all have ever had a man like Walik. I've been with him since I was thirteen years old. I'm twenty-three now, that's ten years.”

“Ten years?” Sabrena said. “Ain't you tired of that dick? The way he fuckin' you has got to be played.”

“Don't you worry about it.”

“But Imani,” Quiana jumped in, “let's not forget you went to jail for six months fuckin' with his tired ass!”

“Yeah, remember?” Sabrena rolled her eyes. “And that wasn't even yo' shit. All you were doing was lying on the couch with morning sickness when the cops kicked the door in. And six months later you were the one in front of the judge copping a time-served and a year's probation plea.”

“I got charged as a minor.”

“You still went to jail,” Quiana said.

Imani couldn't help but agree. “Yeah… and then he go and fuck that bum bitch.” Tears started to stream down her face. “I got something for his ass, though. I'ma call crackhead Larry and give all his shit away.”

“I'm wit' that.” Sabrena rolled her eyes. “Since he wanna play you, let his ass come home naked.”

“I was ride or die for his ass,” Imani cried. “I was pregnant and I still held his ass down. Hell, ain't that love?”

“Hell yeah, that's love,” Quiana snapped. “Shante ain't never did no time for his ass.”

“All that bitch did was have him take care of her daughter and get pregnant. All I wanna ask him is,
When did she become your girl, and where the hell was I when the switch took place?
” Imani wiped the tears from her face.

“That's why we gon' fix his ass,” Sabrena insisted, “and, Imani, don't be cryin' over no niggah; cry over his ass when you riding his enemy's dick.”

“True story,” Imani agreed. She got up, her friends following closely behind her into the bedroom. Imani opened the closet and Walik's shit almost fell on top of her. When he'd first asked her to hold his things for him, Imani had complained she didn't have the
room. Her two-bedroom, Section 8, twelfth-floor Brooklyn flat was just enough for her and Jamal and nothing extra. But at the time she couldn't refuse Walik; after all, he was her man, and she was determined to hold him down no matter what. Well… today was a new day and Walik's shit had to go.

“And after this,” Quiana said, “we going to the club and get our party on. Fuck these fake-ass get-money niggahs in the street.”

“Yeah, I need to get outta here,” Imani agreed.

Since they were now on a mission to give Walik's shit away and get to the club, the girls lined up. Imani had gone into the kitchen and grabbed the garbage bags. When she came back, the assembly line began: yank, yank, pass, and trash…Yank, yank, pass, and trash.

“It's a shame we gotta punish niggahs like this,” Sabrena said. “Don't go back and start fuckin' with him again, Imani. And I mean it!”

“ 'Cause if you do,” Tasha said, “all you gon' be doing is buying this shit all over again.”

“Fuck his ass.” Imani rolled her eyes. “Let him go be with Shante, they got a family and all.”

“And don't fall for no fake-ass apology,” Sabrena said. “ 'Cause even though a niggah says he's sorry, he still lyin' and you can tell by how he apologizes what the hell he really did.”

“Word,” Tasha countered. “I know for me, if a niggah says he's sorry and stays at my spot all day and night, that means he fucked a bitch. And all he's feeling is guilty.”

“Yup, and if he says sorry,” Quiana said, “then he gets mad and leaves, I know he's getting ready to fuck the bitch, and then he'll say I was always accusing him and always having an attitude, and that's why he fucked her.”

“That's a niggah for you. But,” Sabrena said, taking Walik's nickel-plated .38 and Desert Eagle out the closet and resting them on the bed, “if he says, ‘Look, ma, I'm sorry, either you can believe
me or not, but I love you and I ain't leaving you,’ and he don't have no attitude or base in his throat, then all the bitch did was suck his dick.”

“But,”
Tasha stressed, “if the niggah comes home and eats your pussy without saying a word, and he goes straight for the clit, best believe it's a bitch out in the street pregnant.”

Imani's voice cracked. “That ain't always true, Tasha. Walik ain't never ate my pussy.”

“Imani,” Sabrena turned to her, “you fucking up my high and shit. Go get dressed. I'll call my li'l crackhead cousin over here to get this. We might not ever find Larry in time, and believe me my cousin'll have this shit sold in five minutes. Keep him from stealing my shit for a li'l while.”

“Ai'ight, I'ma go get dressed,” Imani sniffed.

Imani grabbed her gear before she left, then went in the bathroom to take a shower.

Once Imani stepped out of the shower, she slipped on a white terry-cloth strapless Juicy dress that came midway to her thick thighs. The tattoo in the middle of her right thigh, of two cherries with cream dripping on them, glistened from the shimmering lotion she rubbed over it. The top of Imani's dress was so tight that her C-cup breasts threatened to spill out. She stood in the mirror, glazed her lips with Oh Baby MAC Lipglass. She popped her lips together, slipped on her pearlized tinted Christian Dior shades, and stepped out the bathroom door. “Ready to roll?”

“Look at you, ho,” Sabrena said, returning from setting Walik's bags of clothes outside the apartment door. “Turn around. That shit you got is fiyyah. I know you spent your whole check on that shit. Let me see them shoes.”

Imani kicked one foot out, showing off her two-inch white patent-leather Marc Jacobs thongs.

“That shit is nice.” Quiana grinned, grabbing her purse and popping an orange Tic Tac in her mouth. Quiana pushed her
white round eye shades on top of her Pony hair micro braids. She ran her hand down the front of her blue-and-white diagonal-striped Baby Phat halter dress, to straighten the wrinkles out.

Tasha pulled the side of her Giants' football-jersey dress down, so that it would fall off her shoulders. She looked down at her feet to make sure her heels weren't dirty; she'd bought brand-new blue Chinese slippers and spray-painted numbers on them to match her football-jersey dress, and with this ensemble she knew she was the shit.

“Let's get it cracked,” Tasha said. Tasha was the designated driver of the clique, since none of the other girls, including Imani, had her license.

“One minute, I almost forgot,” Imani said, walking back into her bedroom and grabbing Walik's guns. She placed them in Jamal's backpack and walked out the door. By the time they got into Tasha's 1993 red CR-V and finished complaining about being cramped, Tasha'd pulled in front of the police station, where Imani turned in Walik's guns. Under the new “Ask No Questions” program, Imani handed the policemen the guns, and they never said a word.

“I am now officially through with that niggah!” Imani said. A few moments later her cell phone rang. When she peeped the caller ID she sucked her teeth. “I cannot stand answering a blocked number.”

“Don't answer,” Tasha said as she started to drive. “Nah,” Imani flipped her phone open, “it could be something wrong with my son.” She placed the phone to her ear. “Who dis?”

“Imani.”

“Yeah, this Imani.”

“I know who this is, where you at?”

Imani was so hyped, pissed off, and hurt by hearing Walik's voice that she didn't even notice he hadn't called collect. “This niggah!” Imani said loudly.

“Who?” Sabrena frowned. “Walik?”

“Who the fuck else?” Imani said.

“Imani,” Walik said calmly, “where are you?”

“I'm on my way to Club NV. Where the fuck are you? On the bottom bunk jawbreakin' a dick, mess hall, or the law library, workin' on that case tryin' to get out?”

“Imani—”

“Oh shit, I got it, you in the license-plate program.”

The girls fell out laughing in the background.

“Yeah,” Tasha said, peeking in the rearview mirror at Imani in the backseat, “tell that niggah to get a sock and gun his meat!”

“Imani,” Walik laughed hesitantly, “y'all got jokes … real cute… and I tell you what.” He was still calm, never raising his voice. “I'll see you in a minute, ma. I'ma let you get that off for now, 'cause I know you're hurt. My peoples told me what happened between you and Shante. But check this, tell big girl and them two li'l anorexic ma'fuckers to mind their business. Matter a fact, take yo' ass home. I don't even want you hangin' with them.”

“Kiss my ass, niggah! I wish I would go in the house. My name ain't Shante. You's a no-good, sorry-ass liar that can lick the crack of my shitty ass!”

Imani's girls fell out laughing.

“If you don't like what she's saying then buck, niggah!” Tasha said, still laughing.

“Ahhh haa! Tell that niggah to find him a punk at roll call in the morning!” Sabrena screamed.

“Yo,” Walik said calmly, “you see I'm being calm, right? You playin' me and I'm takin' it, but one thing you better do is tell that big-tittie, gold-tooth-wearin' ho that my size thirteen will make her lung collapse.”

“Oh please,” Imani snapped, “don't play yourself 'cause your feet about a size three. So hurry to the weight room and lay on the bench press and suck a dick. And furthermore, why you on my phone? You don't give a damn about nobody but yourself, you
sorry good-for-nothin' rotten-dick bitch! I hate the day that I fell for yo' ass, but not to worry, 'cause the niggah that's runnin' yo' block that you once had locked, his cum slides down my throat with ease. Plus, he lets Jamal call him daddy.”

“What you say to me, Imani?” Walik said, his voice rising. “Check it, in a minute I'ma see about you.”

“In a minute, niggah please, you got years. Jailhouse ma'fuckers always about to see somebody in a minute. The only thing you gon' see in a minute is the fuckin' yard or the movie room. Go get a new jumpsuit and give it a rest. I can't help it if that niggah's dick bigger than yours!” And with that, Imani hung up.

“And turn that shit off !” Sabrena insisted. “Fuck that niggah, we at the club now!”

Once Tasha parked the car, everyone walked toward the front of the club. The bouncer lived in the same building as Sabrena and Imani, so the girls didn't have to wait long to get in.

“Oh hell yeah!” Sabrena yelled, waving her arms in the air as they stepped into the club. “I'm tryna leave with a big baller tonight!” The music was blasting and the club was jam-packed. Usually the middle of the floor was designated as the dance area but tonight people were dancing all over the place.

“This shit is fire!” Tasha said while ordering an apple martini.

“Look at Papi-chulo over there, Mami.” Quiana grinned, waving at the guy.

The girls stood by the bar, watching the crowd, dancing slightly in their spots, and waiting on their favorite song to seduce them to the dance floor. As if on cue Mariah Carey's “It's Like That” started blasting.

“This is my fuckin' theme song!” Imani started getting her bounce on. Closing her eyes, she started working the hell outta the spot she was standing in. Tasha, Quiana, and Sabrena started dancing around her, clapping their hands and cheering her on. “Do that shit, Imani!” As if he'd floated in on cloud nine a sexy
copper-toned Puerto Rican brother with wavy black hair corn-rowed to the back and falling to his shoulder blades danced his way over, parted the girls' circle, and started freaking Imani from behind. Imani could feel his hard dick pressed against her ass, but she didn't give a damn. All of her energy was going to the atmosphere and she was enjoying the hell outta being caught up in the moment. Sweat ran down the sides of her face, curved over her neck, and dripped between her breasts. Imani dropped it like it was hot and came back up in an instant. “Do that shit, girl!” Tasha yelled. “Freak his ass!”

Imani continued to do her thing and with each movement, she felt as if she were shedding pieces of her broken heart. She did a spin and was now face-to-face with the guy she was dancing with. She almost lost her balance as she saw how fine he was: six feet tall with a tight eight-pack, well-defined triceps and biceps, chiseled jaw, and a shadow goatee on his chin.

“Damyum… what's yo' name?” Imani asked, seemingly taken aback by his beauty.

He looked her up and down. “Kree. Now tell me, do you have another name besides Fine?”

“Imani.” She blushed.

“You look sweet as hell, girl.” “Really?” “Yes, really.”

Imani couldn't control her wide smile, and when she attempted to stop showing all her teeth she couldn't control the blushing. Before Imani could speak the music took over and Teairra Mari's “Make Her Feel Good” started playing:
“There any boys around that know how to make a girl feel? …”
Without saying a word Imani resumed dancing, and Kree followed suit.

Dancing with Kree was making Imani's panties wetter by the moment. The way he moved made her feel as if electric currents were running through her skin. She loved the fact that he wasn't
afraid to dance and was still thugged out as hell: baggy jeans, the waist of his white Dolce & Gabbana boxers showing, and his tight and just-right wife beater caressing every curve on his chest.

This niggah gon' fuck around and make me cum
, Imani thought as she continued dancing and swaying her hips. She dropped to the floor and popped back up as if her knees were made of springs. She did a spin to face Kree and as she placed her arms around his neck, she saw Walik taking slow sips of beer while eyeing her every move.

Oh shit
, Imani thought,
what the fuck is this niggah doing out of jail?
She started counting the months in her head. For a moment she was confused.
Did his ass escape 'cause I told him to go suck a dick? Is it that serious? But I don't think he escaped, 'cause then he wouldn't be here, right? But then again
, she thought,
he is crazy. But maybe he maxed out. But I thought he maxed out next year, June. But I have to be wrong because this niggah is leaning against the bar, sipping a beer, and watching me work it out on the dance floor.
Instantly Imani felt as if Walik had fucked up her high, and the buzz she had before hitting the club had officially left.