West End Girls (21 page)

“No, but this is good,” she said, chowing down on a big spoonful of beans and crunching loudly on the cracker.

Sinclair didn't want to talk to Malcolm about the problem or the solution. She was giving up hope of sharing in the solution, and now that she was in the
W.E.,
the Palemos wasn't her problem. Sure, she was saving money for a rainy day, because Gold Mouth was gone, and the house seemed to be building itself. But it was raining in the
W.E.
right now. All Malcolm's talk was doing was frustrating her. She couldn't do anything about it. Besides, all Malcolm wanted to do was leave anyway, so what was the point?

“Figures. But you will. When I get back what's ours, you'll understand,” Malcolm said, sounding determined and purposeful.

Sinclair thought she needed to get this matter of his girlfriend straight in her head. She didn't want some chickenhead running up in there, getting crazy for no reason, especially since she was planning to spend the night. Okay, so she'd spent the night before, but tonight, with Malcolm's mama out the house, something might come up. Besides, Finest was no longer feeding the fantasy.

“Malcolm.”

He looked at her, still heated from his passionate diatribe. “What?”

“You, ummm, you still got a girl?”

“Why you wanna know, Sinclair?” he asked, sounding disappointed at her shallowness.

“No, reason, really.”

Malcolm shook his head and joined her at the table with a bowl of chili and a handful of crackers. “Sinclair.”

“What? I just didn't want no trouble. I mean, I'm spending the night and—”

“You always spend the night,” he stated flatly. Then, as if catching on, he lowered his head shyly and took a bite of beans. “Ain't gon' be no trouble,” he said under his breath.

“Damn, girl! You got a sweet pussy,” Finest said, coming up for air. He'd been licking and sucking for about ten minutes, boring the hell outta her.

They'd spent the last couple of days together after he'd picked her up from Omar's place. At first, it was exciting, but since hitting the club and picking up his favorite drug, Finest wasn't good for shit in the bed. He performed much better on coke or weed. All that shit in his system made his dick soft, and was killing the action. Besides, she didn't like how meth made her feel.

Climbing up on her, he made his way up to her face and flopped on top of her. He began shoving his weak hard-on inside her.

“You are fuckin' hurtin' me, tryin' to make yo' limp shit go in like that.”

“Then suck on it then.” He straddled her, his penis aimed at her face. “Suck my damn dick then, bitch!”

“Oh, now I'm a bitch. I got your bitch.” Tanqueray pushed him back and jumped to her feet. She was high as a muthafuck too and couldn't see shit straight, but she was gonna find the door and get the hell up outta there. “Where the hell are we anyway?”

Finest pulled her back down on the bed. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he said, kissing her face, mouth, and breasts. He moaned and purred, suckling her like a newborn. He was good at stuff like that.

Tanqueray felt wetness between her legs.

“Suck my dick,” he whispered in her ear.

That's better. Ask me nice and you'll get further.
Tanqueray rolled him on his back and moved down his taut body, toward his limp manhood. Sucking a man hard was always like smoking a cigar to her. Damn easy. And after she got it stiff, pointing at her and ready to explode, she always wanted to set the damn thing on fire, just to see what would happen. She would tease at it, bite on it a little bit, make a nigga scream.

But Finest didn't want to play. He must've been nervous about his weak hard-on and wanted to use it before losing it.

He pushed her down on the bed and entered her with force, as if trying to make up for his momentary shortcoming. Tanqueray squirmed to get comfortable, but he was in a hurry, it seemed. His nut just couldn't wait. Pumping as if his life depended on it, he worked inside her.

She looked down toward where they were united, watching him moving in and out of her gold mountain with black roots.
Hmm, guess it's time for a touch-up
, she thought.

Finest, his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, pulled almost all the way out and then plunged deep inside her, grinding his body into hers.

Damn! What's on his mind?
Lifting and rotating her hips, Tanqueray met his fervor, helping him hit the spots he was missing, with his mindless thrusting, stabbing, and jabbing.

Finally he came with a grunt and a yelp as if he was on fire, seething and moaning on the comedown. Suddenly he held her tight, keeping them intertwined.

Tanqueray wrapped her long leg around his back, rubbing her thighs against his tight waist. He seemed to like the extra show of affection, so she went the extra yard, squeezing her vaginal muscle around his manhood.

He looked at her and smiled warmly. “I like that. Did you come? You need more time? I got time,” he said softly before kissing her tenderly on her lips. He didn't even force his tongue or anything like that, just kissed her kinda sweet like.

“Yeah, baby, I like that,” he went on, slowly moving inside her, for no other purpose than for how good it felt to be there.

Tanqueray could tell. She'd read about this “after-love” shit in a magazine. This mess was starting to feel strange, like they were married or something, and was freaking her out. Being just the drug guy, he was getting awfully attached.

“I love you.”

She pulled his head from her neck, where he was nuzzled in deep.

“Whoa? What?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes red with what was left of his high. “Nothing.” Then he pulled out of her suddenly and headed to the john.

Love? What did love have to do with that they had? Where did love fit in? Finest was just a two-bit hustler. He didn't have nothing, and by the looks of things, he didn't want nothing. Here they were in some twenty-buck room, screwing on a bed that who knows who was in last. This wasn't nowhere near the life she wanted.

He'd talked all that shit about getting out, but here they were still in the ghetto. She didn't want none of what this dude's words meant. They were lies. Ghetto love? No way. She'd seen her mother live under those conditions. If not their father, at least one of them men who always was hanging around should have gotten them out of this place.

She and Finest were making love? She sure as hell didn't want that. She was only fucking for the drugs, right? The better she made him feel, the more drugs she got, right? This wasn't about love.

Tanqueray looked around the bed for a few moments, listening to him take care of his business in the bathroom.

Finest came out and looked at her naked and spread open on the bed. It wasn't a look of disgust or a gaze of lust. He was just standing there, looking at her.

“You said you loved me.”

“I didn't mean it. That was just sex talk,” he said, sounding as if he'd convinced himself of that while in the bathroom.

Tanqueray sat up. “Oh, okay, because I was like, look, dawg, I'm not fidd'n ta like—”

“Like what?”

Finest moved closer to the bed. He'd pulled on his pants now but had no shirt on. His muscles flexed and tensed, as he nervously awaited her answer.

“Like being all hooked up.”

“But what if I wanted you to be my girl? I mean, hell, I don't even know your fuckin' name.”

Tanqueray laughed, sliding off the wet sheets and heading to the bathroom to take care of herself now. “That would be unfortunate because, see, I'm a woman, and you don't need to know my fuckin' name.”

“Yeah, right,” Finest mumbled.

Tanqueray hadn't answered the real question here because she didn't have one. She was going to have to ease out of this thing before it got too deep, before she got trapped. She wanted more out of life than just some thug from the hood making promises and fuckin' his way outta keeping them. She'd tasted the good life. Omar had given her that much of a sample, freak though he was. There would be no going back now. Not even love was worth it.

Love? Her mind spun. Why had that even come up in her head? This wasn't nothing but a summer fling, and summer was coming to an end.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, Tanqueray thought about the sex, the drugs, Finest's smile. She shook her head. “Nah, it ain't enough.”

“Tanqueray,” Finest called through the door, “can we talk about it?”

“What?” Tanqueray pulled the door open. Finest stood there naked, looking humble and small. Something had changed between them, and she didn't like it. “I don't want to talk. I want you to drop me off where you picked me up.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She pushed quickly past him and started dressing. “Nothing is wrong with me, nigga. I just don't want to talk about all that right now,” she said, trying to hide the growing panic in her voice. She didn't know why, but she wanted to get out of this place. Out of his space.

“You got somebody else or what?”

“No. Yes. I mean, Finest, I'm not even talking about that.”

“Because we can end this right here, right now.”

“Nigga, you crazy. You done lost yo' damn mind. You know I got Omar.” Tanqueray tried to move past him.

Finest blocked her. He was breathing heavily. He pushed her back, knocking her onto the bed. When she tried to get up, he held her down, pressing his hand on her bare chest. He screamed, “You don't know me! You don't know nothin' about me! And I don't even know your fuckin' name!”

“Get outta my face!”

“Yeah, I'll get out cho face.”

Finest stood, allowing Tanqueray to get up, which she did quickly, throwing on her top and zipping up her slim-leg jeans.

He was biting his bottom lip. She couldn't read his mind, but his face showed a blend of hurt and anger. When had this happened? When had their fun turned so serious?

“Don't leave,” he whimpered.

“Look, I'll get myself home.” Tanqueray grabbed her big Gucci bag and headed for the door.

“Whatever,” she heard him say, but didn't turn to see his lips move.

“Suga.”

Tanqueray stopped but still didn't look at him.

“You playin' with the wrong, nigga. You are fuckin' with the wrong gotdamned nigga!” he screamed, flopping back on the bed.

Sighing heavily, she held her head high and walked out of the room and down the steps to the street.
On the street again, Tang. Damn it!
She hurried to the closest bus stop, not once looking back to see if Finest was following.
You sure you ain't a ho?

She caught the bus that would take her back to Unique's after taking her through the
P
. She fought her heart and her tears. She missed Mama. Missed Mama's house. Missed her childhood, and the laughter and fun with her brothers. She missed Larry, with his slow ass.

Why would somebody wanna kill him like that? She shook her head sadly.

She missed the innocence and the smell of a new baby coming home from the hospital. Unique was always bringing home a new baby. How good it smelled when those babies would come home. She'd never said that to anyone before. She remembered pulling back the blanket and sniffing Marquis' toes when he came. He smelled soooo good.

Tanqueray stepped off the bus and strolled down the way toward the house. Her heart jumped to see the concrete slab laying there, ready for new memories to start building on it. “Wow!” she voiced, hanging on the gate and looking through.

She pulled out her cell phone and called Unique. She left a message when Unique didn't answer. “Girl, have you seen the work on Mama's house? The insurance came through, did you know? Did you do this? How come nobody told me? I guess I ain't really around to care. I'm sorry about that. You know, when the house gets done, why don't you and the kids and me and Sinclair live here for a while? I think Mama would like that. Don't you? I love you guys. And I'ma do better.”

After Tanqueray hung up, she saw the driver step out the black limo across the street. She knew him.
It's that ghetto chauffeur. Yeah! What's his name?
She snapped her fingers. He didn't focus on her for a moment and was looking with interest toward the building site.

She rushed over to the car. She didn't know what the deal was with this guy, but she was glad to see him.

“Hey,” she said. “Is he in there?” She tried to pull herself together, knowing she looked a mess.

He looked her over. “Are you crazy?” he asked, sounding altogether serious. “Why are you always out running around at night, looking crazy?” He held out his large hands, fanning them the length of her.

“No, I'm not crazy,” she said, sniffing loudly and tugging at her clothes. She found herself fidgeting a lot more often than she used to. She didn't want to explain anything to Cecil. She didn't want to tell him her story of why her life sucked so badly to where she was always in the street looking tore back. “I want to see him.”

“Well, I'm sure tonight he doesn't want to see you.”

“Oh really? That's funny because, last time I saw him, he didn't imply that.”

The driver groaned. He knew if it got back to his boss that he'd seen this woman again and didn't at least ask her if she wanted to see him again, he would lose his job.

Tanqueray sensed it and stood her ground, waiting for the invite.

“He's not in the car. I came out to check on the property. The work is on hold while he's in New York on business.”

“Hmm,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Okay, well then you tell him I said sorry I missed him.” She shoved her hands deep in her pockets as she turned to leave.

Reluctantly, the brotherman grabbed her arm.

Tanqueray looked at his large hand and then at him.

“Get in. I'll be picking him up from the airport in about an hour.”

“Sho yo' right.”