West End Girls (9 page)

“Ma'am, by doing this you are only perpetuating the problem. Let's take him in.”

“I know him,” Unique said again. “We were just having a disagreement over the stuff. It's all cool.”

The officer reluctantly let the man go. Both of them then shook their heads in pity for Unique's weak show. The crowd, too, seemed to moan in disappointment. They'd wanted to see something, maybe make a little movie about it with their camera phones. But Unique wasn't into this kind of drama. Live and let live was her motto. Some called her weak, but she didn't agree. Do good, and good comes back.

The officers got back in the squad car and drove off.

“So you gonna help me carry my stuff?” she asked him.

The crackhead rolled his eyes and ran off without so much as a good-bye or thank-you.

 

 

Unique started on Marquis' birthday celebration. It wasn't as if he was there, but still, she wanted to celebrate the day her life changed forever.

Marquis Jr. didn't come in until much later, when everyone was in bed. Well, except Sinclair, who hadn't come in at all.

“Where you been, boy?” Unique asked, sitting at the kitchen table with the cake in front of her. She'd refused to let anyone touch it. It was Marquis' birthday and that cake belonged to him. Even Cammie understood and didn't cry for a piece of it. She just went to bed quietly, almost happily, as if she was tired and needed some rest.

“Out.”

“In case you didn't know it, you're only ten, and it's after curfew.”

“I wasn't outside. I was at Dupree's house. His mama gave me a party.”

“I gave you a party, Marquis!” Unique's heart was tearing, ripping, throbbing. She got up from the table and was in his face now.

“I can already tell your stupid party was whack,” he smarted off, pushing past her.

Unique snatched him by the arm, but he pulled back and swung on her. She then slapped him hard across the face, holding nothing back.

Marquis grabbed at the pain.

“Marquis, I'm sorry baby. I'm—”

“I hate you!”

“Please don't say that to me . . . please,” Unique begged, tears streaming down her face.

“All you care about is Curtis!” he screamed.

Unique was stunned. Was this what all the attitude was about? “Curtis?”

“Yeah, Curtis.”

“What about Curtis?”

“Ask him.”

“Ask him what?”

“Ask him about his hands, Mama. Ask him about his dirt.”

“His hands? Did he touch Gina?” Unique asked, thinking of the prettiest of her daughters, whose skin was the color of pure honey.

“Gina? Why you always thinking about Gina?” Marquis spat through angry tears.

“I'll kill that nigga,” Unique burst out, saying what she once prayed her mother would have said in her defense.

“Mama, listen . . .”

Marquis was trying his best to get through, but Unique wasn't listening. Instead she picked up the phone and called Curtis' mama's house. Of course, he wasn't there, so she called his sister's, but he wasn't there either.

By the time she hung up, Marquis had settled into a video game and wasn't speaking to her anymore, no matter how much she tried to get him to. She had lost him. Unique had, yet again, heard Curtis' name and again traded quality time with her son for thoughts of him, albeit negative thoughts.

Emotionally exhausted, Unique went into her girls' room. Gina was sleeping soundly, looking like a little angel. Unique could tell by her peace that she had no troubles. Marquis was wrong. He had to be. She glanced over at Cammie, plump and unattractive. Her eyes were big, her lips full, and her hair was wild and untamable just like hers. If she would be honest for a moment, Cammie, in fact, looked just like her. Surely Curtis wouldn't be so perverse as to do anything to her children. Marquis was lying. It was just another ploy to get her to break up with Curtis. Curtis loved her kids. He was good with them too. He was helpful and, boy, could she use the help right now, with all this mess going on with the house.

Unique thought about Tanqueray and quickly pulled the extension off the hook in her bedroom and dialed number after number. That girl was one hard heiffer to find. If Unique had the money, she'd hire a private detective.

The Palemos was so much like a person, with a life and thoughts all its own. Sometimes it would open up with sounds and music, urging its residents to party, other times, like tonight, the
P
was silent. Cool and distant. For an urban community, it was still relatively early to call it a night, but tonight, the
P
had rolled up and was in bed. Considering what had occurred just days ago, the streets were quiet.

Dustin Sinclair tapped the shoulder of his driver, and the quiet assistant pulled over in front of what was once a place of smiles and laughter. The house that once represented a good life for the woman who lived there now sat in rubble. Only memories of that woman, Javina Nation, and what she and this house meant to him could fill his brain now, not thoughts of what he had to do business-wise, or what his lawyers were suggesting.

Mr. Sinclair remembered Javina Nation as being sweet. Sweet as a California orange, despite her true motives. It was clear what she was all about. Maybe
gold digger
was too harsh, but she wanted something and had no intentions of giving anything back. Well, anything he could use or could keep.

Tall and beautiful, her skin was swarthy, sun-touched, as if she'd worked in the fields instead of an office. Her smile lit up the room, her eyes, childlike and bright, her hair, long and thick, she was the epitome of Nubian. She moved him farther than he'd ever imagined a black woman capable.

He was married back then, unhappily so, when he met her, or maybe he was just unhappy, no matter where he found himself in life. He remembered thinking he would just divorce his wife Meredith, who was unaware of his secret life here in this ghetto community, and come get Javina and take her away to some faraway island. He thought she would be happy about that. But maybe it was because he had taken too long to make the decision that she rejected his offer. Maybe she had felt abandoned by the six months or more he spent back home with his wife, trying to figure out how to get back to his haven. Dustin Sinclair didn't know, but when he returned to gather Javina up, he got nothing but resentment. He'd sent money, lots of money, to make sure she didn't forget him. He'd even bought this house for her, but when he returned, she just wasn't the same toward him.

Javina was a strong woman but had never wanted anything from him, or so it seemed. She was proud and bold. Even after all he'd done, she stood there in the doorway of this home and, without fear and any thoughts of indebtedness, cussed him, and all he held holy, off to bloody hell and then slammed the door.

“After all I've done for you . . .”

Javina put her palm to his face. “It's a two-way street, my lover. Don't get shit confused.”

Once in a while, she would look over her shoulder.

The children were home. He'd never been there when her all her children were home. Her oldest son was often there, but that young man acted as if he and Javina were siblings, instead of mother and son, and often stayed close by her side.

“I need to see you,” Dustin said. “I've left my wife, and I want to marry you.”

“You shoulda told somebody before you changed your life like that. I never asked you to do that,” she whispered, looking around to make sure her neighbors didn't get the wrong idea. It was daytime, and usually his visits came at night. He had been bold in showing up this time of the day.

Dustin had told Meredith about the affair. Of course, he didn't tell her that Javina was a black woman, but still he'd told her. By her immediate rage, he just knew he'd be free of this hellish marriage and free to live the happy fantasy life with Javina Nation.

“What's going on, baby?” A handsome, fair-skinned, freckle-faced man came up behind Javina, placing a hand on her shoulder and kissing her on the back of her neck.

“Nothing, Ralph. Just a preacher man trying to explain to me why niggas ain't supposed to be in heaven,” she answered, cackling as if she was drunk.

“Well, we don't need your Bible. Get on outta here!” Ralph barked, fanning his hand, shooing him off as if he was a bother.

“I'll handle it, baby.” Javina kissed Ralph quickly and shoved him back into the house.

“You've met someone?”

“Look, you never asked me if I had somebody. My man was locked up all this time. He's out now, and we gonna make this work. “I'm pregnant and—”

“You're pregnant?”

“Yes, I'm pregnant. And it's Ralph's baby. We're gonna be a family, me and my kids, and Ralph.” Javina stepped back in the house and slammed the door.

Dustin would've liked to say it was the last time he saw or thought about Javina Nation, but it wasn't. Three years later, he saw her in the city. She'd come into one of his stores, no doubt not realizing how successful he'd become. Being an admin in one of his corporate offices, she knew he was a businessman, but didn't know of his hunger for even more success.

Without Javina by his side, and only Meredith and her greedy urging to push him along, he opened a second chain of very successful clothing boutiques that focused on urban wear, appealing to inner-city dwellers, who could afford the product, and designs flattering to women of color.

In his heart Dustin knew he was still currying favor for the beautiful Javina Nation. It had paid off, though, for this day she milled around his store, seemingly without a care in the world, as he watched her from the two-way mirror above her head. It was just by chance he was even in the county that day, so he was thrilled to be in the store.

He'd opened many stores like this one in Europe, South Africa, and the UK. He was a millionaire by now, but Javina still looked poor. She was clean, but it was clear that her clothes were not top of the line like when he was buying them for her.

But that didn't stun him as much as what he saw next. She had a little girl with her, one that looked just like his sister, big green eyes and a happy smile. She jumped around and squealed, her long, looping curls dancing happily in time with the music that filled the air. He knew then that Javina was pregnant with his baby, and that she planned to use that light-skinned man just like she'd used him.

Did she use you, or did you use her? Be honest
, Dustin thought. He had to realize that no matter what he thought about that little girl, he'd not sent Javina another dime. All he'd done was bought this house to make sure she always had a home.
And when she died, what did you do then, Dustin? Nothing. Not a damned thing.

“That house went straight up in the air!” a man said, noticing Dustin standing there.

Dustin looked at him. “Yes, I heard. My insurance agent told me when he called to give me the news.”

“You the owner of this house, I mean, pile of rocks?” The man chuckled.

“Yes, yes, I am. Where are the people who live here?”

“Mister, yo' tenants done split the scene. If you here for your rent, you can forget it,” he answered, gesturing animatedly.

Dustin had to chuckle. It was a sad one, but still it slipped out. He wanted to see Javina's children. He wanted to see the little girl. He wanted to help. Why hadn't he come down from his voyeuristic chamber that day?

“Do you know where they went?”

“Like I would tell you.” The man harrumphed and slowly strolled away.

Dustin mumbled under his breath, “Riiiight, I'm just an old white man in your hood,” and headed back to his limo. The chauffeur opened the back door, and he climbed in.

Dustin was feeling lonely inside and in need of company. He thought about the woman he'd seen the other day. Besides the call from his insurance company, she too had brought his mind back to this house. When he saw the young woman stepping onto the porch in that red dress, his heart nearly stopped. Is it Javina? Is she back from the grave? He could only hope. She was with a pimp named Omar. He knew of the man and his occupation, having used his services before. Perhaps this woman here was no more than a whore, but Dustin didn't care. He had to have her. He wanted to watch her, to fantasize about Javina Nation.

At the time it was a just a desire, but now after seeing the house this way, he could barely stand living without her. But first things first, pain before pleasure. First, he needed to find Javina's daughter, the one that carried his family's resemblance. He needed to make contact with her, even if it meant being rejected by her. He had to make it right.

“I need your services,” he told his investigator over the phone, having pulled it off the hook after getting comfortable in the plush seat, and pouring himself a stiff drink. “I need you to find someone for me.”

It was already Thursday, and the week was flying by. But, as far Tanqueray was concerned, one day was just like the next.
Well, that's not true. Tuesday was interesting
, she thought to herself, closing her magazine.

Tuesday afternoon she opened the door to find the two delivery boys standing there. One was tall and dark-skinned, the other shorter and light. The shorter light-skinned one was cute. When he smiled, she could see the diamond in his tooth. Normally she didn't like the “yella” boys, but this boy was fine as hell.
Diamonds are a girl's best friend
, she thought.

“Come in,” she said before glancing at her watch. She had plenty of time before Omar got home.

The boys walked in, looking around the huge condo. Omar had good taste, and a decorator. So, yeah, the place was totally fly.

The darker one must've noticed her fresh weave, nails, Apple Bottoms jeans, and spiked stilettos. He was also checking out the decked-out crib. “Who are you? Queen of ghetto world?”

“Nigga, please.” Tanquerary smacked her full lips, moving seductively over to the sofa, where she had Omar's gun tucked under the cushion, just in case. “Dub Dub send you with my money?”

“Money? Nah, he sent us with your stuff.”

“Stuff? I wasn't buying no stuff. He was supposed to be turning over my shit.” Tanqueray smacked her lips again as the light skin boy pulled out her unexpected delivery.

She had been selling Omar's drugs on the side, not enough to where he would notice, but just enough to keep her with a little change in her pocket.
A girl needs her own money
, she had reasoned. Besides, with her brother in the clank, she needed to pay for stuff at her mama's house. Her baby sister was there and had no idea that money had stopped coming from the county. Tanqueray wasn't about to go down to no damned welfare office to transfer the case into her name. No way. The last letter she read said the food stamps and money were stopping on the first.
Blam
! Which was days ago now. Surely Sinclair was hungry and in a jam, with the bill collectors calling. Tanqueray knew she had to do something. Sinclair needed a roof over her head, so she started selling drugs. Considering how much Omar always had around, it was the easiest thing to do, because selling pussy was not in any of her plans.

Tanqueray had been getting much more money for weed than pure cocaine, but in light of the situation, she tried something she'd never tried before. She actually attempted to sell some of Omar's cocaine, but something had gone wrong. Clearly this sell had gone wrong because here this fool Dub was sending back shit, as if there was some kind of recession going on. Apparently nobody wanted it raw anymore, not in the hood anyway.

The dark-skinned boy watched her open the package. “I didn't know folks still took it raw like this.”

Tanqueray was upset, but not for long, once she saw that Dub Dub hadn't even touched it. Her guess was he couldn't flip it and had sent it back, which was fine, because he sent it back intact. She'd be able to explain this little bit being gone, since Omar knew she dabbled from time to time.

She poured the contents from one of the small vials onto a mirror. “That's because you only know ghetto folks . . . be rocking it up and getting crunked, sucking on the glass dick and shit.” She rolled a one hundred-dollar bill up tight. Up her nose the white powder went. “Shit!” She quickly held her nostrils and jerked her head back.

Tanqueray noticed the boys were watching with interest. “I don't play with toys like that.” Holding out the bill, she offered the light-skinned boy a line. “Go on, try it.” Then she said to the darker boy, “And then you.” She grinned. “I mean, I always tip. Since I didn't get no money, this is the best I can do.”

The boys quickly accepted the offer, dropping to the plush carpet and moving up close to the coffee table.

The darker boy, feeling the high immediately, threw himself back on the plush carpet and yelped, “I ain't never done that.”

“Ain't nothing but a thang,” the lighter boy purred, clearly having done blow before. He looked at Tanqueray with new eyes—enhanced vision.

She recognized the look and quickly shared another line with him. By then he had moved up close and personal with her on the sofa, looking her in the eyes, moving up on her, kissing her. If the cocaine was true to its magic, he was probably harder than stone right about now.

“You hella fine,” he told her. It was as if he could sense her sexual needs. “And this shit done got me hornier than a mug,” he whispered between kisses. “You got somebody coming home?”

“And if I do?”

“Then he gon' have to wait until I get finished,” he said, climbing on her.

The darker boy opened his eyes to see Tanqueray wriggling from her tight jeans. “Aww shit! Y'all up here fuckin'? We gon' do a threesome? I'm down!”

“Hell nah, nigga. We ain't in France! Go in the game room.” Tanqueray pointed before breaking into a wicked giggle.

The darker boy quickly followed her long acrylic-tip index finger across the large tiled floor toward a sunken room and down the two steps leading to a wide-screen TV.

Tanqueray and the lighter skinned dude, who had dropped his sagging Sean Johns to the floor, caught each other in a tight grip.

“What's your name?”

He pushed from the tight embrace and pulled off his jersey, exposing the two
F
's tattooed on his chest. Pointing to one he smiled.

Tanqueray swooned at sight of his sexy mouth gem, his tight body, and sexy tats. He was hotter than the weather outside.

“Fine.” He said, before pointing at the other F. “Finer.” He then pointed in the middle of his smooth hairless chest, “Finest,” he said, before heading south down Tanqueray's firm athletic body. On his way he noticed the tattoo at her hip joint. He touched it with his finger. “Sugar?” He looked up at her. “What does that mean?”

She grinned. “What you think, nigga?”

“I guess yo' man is the only one could verify that though,” he said, laughing.

“Please, his dick ain't gold, not like this.” Tanqueray pulled away the front of the thong, exposing her gold public hair. “Hell, I'll give a nigga diabetes.”

Finest grinned widely, showing off his dimples that deeply creased his cheek. He was indeed a cutie. Quickly he reached into his sweats to retrieve his bragging rights. He was well endowed, more than Tanqueray had imagined.

“Ohhh shit!” She giggled. “That looks painful.”

“Baby, it's far from painful. Shit. I'll have you putting your feet through the damn ceiling, Suga.”

“So you say.”

“Aww shit! Then it's on, bitch!” Finest quickly ripped the thong completely off and licked her like a lollipop, cleaning her clock, sneezing in her bushes.

Tanqueray spread and raised her legs, kicking off one shoe, freeing her foot from the jeans, to give him free rein. He was making it good. She actually had to give him a little attention by holding herself open for him to get at the button that would make this game worth it. She grabbed his long hair, thrusting herself toward his mouth, while he sucked hungrily on her clit.

“Yeah, yeah, baby,” he groaned. “Das some sho' nuff sugar.”

Tanqueray was losing her grip. She wanted something inside her, a finger, a foot, a dick, something. But surely she couldn't let this little nigga hit it. He was the delivery-man. But it had been so long. Tanqueray squealed, trembling at the onset of an orgasm. She couldn't believe she was having one.
Wow!

“Can y'all keep it down?” the other boy called from the den, cranking up the sound.

It had been a while since her man Omar had made it good like this, with his ol' lick-it-and-quit-it ass. She'd have to imagine hard and quick to feel any kind of goodness when he worked his three licks to the center.

Finest stood now, exposing his manhood, which stood at attention and was saluting her, calling her by name.

Pushing her down on the sofa, Finest jumped in her lap and was down in it within a second, bouncing on her like a pogo stick.

“Damnnnnnnn! It's gooood,” she squealed.

“I know that, bitch!” he answered, growling and gripping her hips as if he hadn't laid the pipe in years. He was a beast and she loved it.

“I got your bitch!” she tried to protest, yet squealing, cooing between each word.

Finest worked his dick beyond well. It was damn good. Up, down, and all around, her hips swiveled, making sure not a spot was missed. He bit her left breast and then suckled on her right one like a hungry runt needing to get at what was left.

“Ohhhhhh shiiiiiiit,” she finally cried out, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Pulling out, he rolled her off the sofa and onto the floor. “Give it to me. Give me that ass bitch,” he growled.

Tanqueray obeyed like a virgin eager for something new. Only, this wasn't new for her. It had just been a while.

He entered her from behind as if on a mission, spanking her smooth butt cheek before clawing at her thighs with both hands, pulling her closer, grinding deep inside her. He was “putting ugly on it.” She could tell by the way he was moaning, huffing, and puffing.

Reaching between her thighs, she gently squeezed his tight balls, easing them away from his body, so as to delay his coming just a minute longer.

Dammit! I'm not supposed to be enjoying this shit.
“Oh . . . oh . . . oooohh . . . shiiiiiit!” Tanqueray screamed out as another orgasm took over. This one was bigger than the last and left her nearly breathless. She grabbed the carpet now, hanging on for dear life, her butt in the air, as he rocked her forward, pushing it in as far as it would go. In a minute she was gonna get on her back. It was just that good. She arched her back high and dipped low, so he could get it way up in there.

“Aw shit! You want the dick, don't choo, girl?” he said, taking advantage of her position and traveling up the river.

She rolled on her back, so she could see Finest's face as he pleasured the both of them. Just as she imaged, he was beautiful. His face wasn't even sweaty.
He could go all night
, she thought.

“Yeah, and you know I wanted this pussy soon as I walked in here today, huh?” He pulled her legs over his shoulders now and was thrusting harder and deeper. “And now”—he paused, before thrusting double-time and then once more deep within her cavern for good measure, lingering and with a little twist at the end—“I gotta go,” he said as he came full force inside her, closing his eyes for just a moment, shuddering slightly.

“Y'all niggas is nasty as hell!” Floyd stepped up the stairs back into the living room, where Tanqueray lay wide-legged, grinning and exposed for all to see. He'd caught the tail end of the performance and was attempting to push down his erection. He'd been jacking off like a machine and was apparently about to come on himself.

Tanqueray could see his achy-looking bump under his jogging pants.
Sorry, you get no love here
, she thought.

One more line of cocaine disappeared up Finest's nostrils after he pulled back on his jeans.

After pulling on her jeans and tying her halter-back together, Tanqueray offered Floyd another hit as well, but he refused. Apparently it wasn't his thing.
So be it
, she thought, sucking up another line herself and grinning at Finest. “Thanks for the, umm, delivery.”

“Nice doing business with you, my dear.” Finest offered a two-finger salute, and he and Floyd headed out of the condo.

Tanqueray smiled to herself the rest of the day, thinking about that dude. “Finest,” she heard herself say out loud.

Despite what people thought about her, she had never done anything like that before. She liked her coke, but all that freaky sex, you could keep it. Being somewhat of a tomboy, she was more into boosting with her brothers, scoring pot, and making that gouda, and was slow to get involved with boys on a sexual level. But when she did find somebody who brought a little joy between her thighs, it was on. Still that didn't make her a ho, but for some reason, Omar thought she was.

She picked up her latest copy of
Essence
and went back to wasting the afternoon. Just that momentary thought about Omar must have willed him up because, soon after, he pulled into the driveway. He drove a Benz, not the newest one, which was embarrassing as hell, but what's a black man to do?

Tanqueray fell back from the window, where she had peeked out after hearing the sound of his car pulling in. She felt good, considering all the crap she had on her mind—Sinclair, Debonair. Even Unique had filled her dreams the night before.
I wonder why them niggas is on my mind?
Surely she was out for good and wasn't planning to go back to the ghetto, not the
P
, not the West End, none of it
. I'm moving on up!

Sure she'd gone by the house on the first to see what was what over there, but there was nothing she could do about the bills and all that other bad air. All she could do was work from this end. She'd tried to invest with Dub Dub, but that didn't work out.
Fuck it!
she thought.
I'll worry about that shit later.

Since moving in with Omar a few months back, Tanqueray had tried not to think about the Palemos much. Although, as much as she wanted to front, the Palemos was on the top of her brain all the time because, when she wasn't thinking about home, she was facing Omar and the jacked-up life she had with him.