“What got you all gassed up?” I quipped.
“I’m almost there. Everything is good. Trust me.”
With my face close to his face, I responded, “Should I trust you like you trust me?” He busted a smile.
“Ha. Smart tongue. Get dressed, we going to a party.” He flung open my closet and said, “It’s a triple date. You got to look your best. Here.” He flung a box onto the sofa. Excited like I used to be when I was just a little girl, I ripped open the wrapping paper and pulled out a brand new diamond bezel Lady Rolex. I started jumping up and down until I pounced right on top of him. “Thank you, Daddy!”
“What did you call me?” he asked, looking at me with surprise.
“I said thanks baby. This is the shit right here.”
The dinner spot was the meet-up point. After all, we agreed not to bring anybody from the old neighborhood to our new apartment. That meant nobody would know where we rest, which is how it should be. The spot was called Houston’s. Dimly lit, it was a restaurant on the down-low. As we sat parked outside of the place, a black Benz pulled up behind us and a blue Lamborghini jeep behind that. As I watched through the rearview mirror, I asked Bullet, “Are their girlfriends anybody I know?”
“I doubt it,” he responded. “You know what to do. Don’t talk too much.”
“Is this business or pleasure?” I asked, sensing something.
“For you, it’s all pleasure.”
They were already seated when we stepped up. We slid into the big semicircle booth and Bullet introduced everyone. Right away a bottle of Cristal was brought to the table. I was kind of happy to meet Tiffany and Iris. It had been a long time since I kicked it with any female friends. I wasn’t under the illusion that we was gurlz or anything. But it was important to me to hang with females who had they own loot so I wouldn’t have to deal with no jealousy and funny business. It was obvious that at least for tonight they were rolling with two fat cats as well.
After the order was placed, all three of the men politely excused themselves and left the table. We were left looking at each other. It seemed like nobody wanted to say nothing. So I’m the party-starter, I thought to myself.
“So where are y’all from?”
“I’m from D.C.,” Tiffany said.
“Me, I’m from Virginia,” Iris said. The way Iris hesitated I assumed she was lying.
“How about you?” Tiffany asked me.
“I’m from Long Island.” Lifting the bottle I said, “Well, we might as well drink this. They bought it for us.” We sat there and drank the whole bottle together. Then everything loosened up.
“I like that dress, girl. Where did you get it? That shit is banging,” Iris said to me. I knew for sure she was from out of town ’cause if she was from Brooklyn she would have never gave the compliment. Moreover, she definitely wouldn’t of played herself by asking where did I get it from.
“Thanks.”
“How many pieces you got in your head?”
“What?” I asked.
“Your hair.”
“Oh, this is all me,” I said, gesturing by pulling my hair. They both started laughing.
“Yeah, we all use that same line. It looks nice though.”
“Which one of y’all was riding in that Lamborghini?” I asked.
“Me,” Tiffany said.
“Is that shit comfortable?”
“It’s a lot of space in there to do whatever you want to do. It’s like an army truck. Roland told me if someone was shooting at us, the bullets couldn’t even get inside.”
“That’s bullshit,” Iris said.
When the food came, Iris pushed her plate away. “I already ate. I’m not hungry.”
Tiffany dipped two fries in the ketchup and said, “That’s it for me.” Searching through her oversized MCM pocketbook, she finally found her lipstick. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” I moved to let them out. Then I continued to sit there. Tiffany called to me and gestured, c’mon. I looked around the restaurant. I saw Bullet standing in between the bar and the window, talking. He saw me looking but didn’t say nothing. I guess it will be alright, I thought. So I got up and went with them.
“Iris, your titties is coming out of that bra.” Tiffany helped her to adjust the straps. Everybody was touching up their hair, looking in the bathroom mirror. Iris was smoking a cigarette.
Then Tiffany picked up my pocketbook. I noticed she left her bag on the sink. “Tiffany, you got the wrong bag,” I told her. But she kept walking toward the door.
“That’s your bag right there,” Iris said to me pointing to the MCM bag.
“What the fuck?” I rushed Tiffany, grabbing my bag by the strap. Iris pulled out a nine and pointed it directly at me. Both the wind and the words left my mouth. I couldn’t talk.
“Take that bag. It’s for your man. Don’t blow it. Somebody should’ve put you up on it in advance.” They bounced.
In the bag I found several guns and a small bag of coke. I’m not dumb, so I caught on. I tore a small hole in the bag and tasted it. It was the real thing. I closed it up and stepped out. When I walked out, Bullet, Bryce, and Roland were seated at the table laughing and talking like they were best friends. They had started to eat their food, each of them. Tiffany and Iris had slid themselves back in the booth. Bryce asked, “Ladies, is everything OK?” My eyes shot over to Bullet. Our eyes locked into one another. He nodded slightly.
“It’s all good, baby. Sit down.” Now I’m thinking, No it’s not all good. This fucking bag don’t match my dress. Nobody in Brooklyn rocks MCM anymore. Somebody needed to tell these down South hoes that. I wanted to be in on the business. But I didn’t like being the only one who didn’t know what the fuck was going on.
We continued to sit casually for five more minutes. Money on the table, a tip to the waiter, phony hugs and kisses, and we were out. When we got outside in the cool, crisp air I thought I seen the feds milling about across the street. I recognized their whole style from the takeover of my house. Now that I understood what was going on, I could view the entire scenario clearly. With his arm draped around me, Bullet kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. “Drive the car home. Put the bag in my closet.” He gave me a deep tongue kiss, like natural, while passing his keys into my hand. I walked to the car with no sign of strangeness. I started it up and pulled out slowly. When I waved goodbye, Bullet was standing talking to Bryce and Roland. The feds were focused on the men. I slipped right by.
An hour later Bullet walked in all smiles with his arms extended wide. “Sexy, you did it.”
Without raising up from the couch where I was seated, fully dressed with my shoes kicked off in front of me, I said, “I thought we were going to a party.” He picked up his keys. By now he was inside the walk-in closet, checking behind me as usual. Three minutes later he came out with work tools in his hands. He talked to me while he put a new lock on the walk-in closet door.
“We are going to a party. Give me five minutes.”
“Oh, you ain’t gonna say nothing, nigga?”
“Nothing about what?”
“That little scene an hour ago.”
“You said you wanted to be in. Now you’re in.”
“Why didn’t you put me up on what was going down?”
“ ’Cause the key to success is to be natural. Everything was easy. Nobody acting strange or unusual. Them fucking feds can smell you when you’re nervous.”
He didn’t want to talk about it in the crib. He didn’t want to talk about it in the car either. We picked up his man and another dude named Moose. We rode to the club with the music blasting. “Real Love. I’m searching for a real love.” Mary J. Blige. I love that old record.
We pulled around the back of the club. His man switched into the driver’s seat, and me, Bullet, and Moose walked through the back door straight into the VIP section.
“Whose party is this?” I asked. But I was drowned out by the music, noise, and excitement that surrounded us.
Eve
rybody in the place knew Bullet. It wasn’t like cats was excited to see him. It was like a respect thing. They acknowledged him quietly, said a few words in low tones, gave him pounds and hugs. But nobody got in his way, asked him for the VIP passes or identification or shit like that. Moose had Bullet’s back so close, you’d think them niggas was joined at the hip. When Bullet wasn’t giving somebody a pound, his hand could be found right on my waist, resting lightly on the top of my ass.
We found a small table in the corner in the dark. After ordering drinks, Bullet relaxed a little and began to talk to me the way he felt comfortable—in a crowded room, with the music at the high point, and Moose with his back to him facing the crowd like a gigantic black stop sign.
“Winter, you did good. I knew you could. I been checking your flow, I like the way you think. The way you move.”
“So what does that mean?”
“What do you mean what does that mean? I’m giving you a fucking compliment.”
“How much was it worth?”
“How much was what worth?”
“The guns and the powder. What? A quarter of a million, a half ?”
“You see, you getting ahead of yourself now. I did the setup tonight for you. To get you accustomed to shit. I could’ve pulled it off without you. I have plenty of times. You think you could just walk into this cold? You can’t. They’ll see you coming like a neon purple lightbulb. You gotta work your way into this shit slowly. You gotta feel everybody you dealing with. You gotta feel yourself. It could be the littlest shit that gives you away. A itch on your nose, or tapping your feet and fingers too much, or the way your eyes move. If you do this shit enough then you can give the appearance of being comfortable, at ease. Then you’re natural at it, instead of looking, smelling, and walking like a suspect.”
“I ain’t new to this, Bullet,” I said with mad attitude.
“You wasn’t a player on your father’s team, Winter. You think street smarts is inherited,” he laughed. Just when I opened my mouth to say something back, Moose turned and tapped Bullet. His attention was drawn away. Now I was waiting for him to finish talking to some dude. I was thinking at the same time that I just wanted to get my hands on some loot. Not for no specific reason except I didn’t like him keeping me with no more than twenty dollars in my pocket and a few train tokens. I wasn’t asking for a cut of his product or profit, just a few hundred dollars, maybe a thousand in my pocket so I could feel good.
“Alright, Bullet. I’m willing to work my way in. I ain’t no slouch or nothing,” I reassured him.
“Oh, for a minute I thought you was unhappy. Don’t your man get you everything you need? Don’t I keep your hands heavy?” he asked, pointing out my new Rolex. “Don’t I keep the roof of your choice over your head? Name one thing you wanted that I didn’t get for you.”
“My father’s address,” I said softly.
“Damn, Winter. What you need. What the fuck you need that I didn’t get for you? What do you want. I’ll get it for you!”
It was that second I wised up. I would never mention Santiaga to Bullet again. For some reason that I wasn’t getting, it was like asking about Daddy was an insult to him. Now I would get to my father on my own. I wasn’t trading my own smarts for Bullet’s. I could find my pops and stay on point with Bullet. I’d watched for an opening to pull it off. But this was exactly why I needed some cash flow.
The whackest thing about celebrity parties is you’re locked in the VIP section where nobody dances. The live party goes on outside of the VIP room. But Bullet had business in here. I should’ve known this wasn’t no fucking date we were on. By the time we was leaving I felt stressed. Usually when I’m partying I ain’t feeling no pain.
It was going out the back door that shit went crazy. I was walking close but slightly in front of Bullet. Bullet was directly in front of Moose, who had his back. Some fool came walking up to me. Within seconds, I recognized him as the bodyguard who drove me home from GS’s mansion.
“What’s up, Sasha?” He was directly in front of me so I stopped walking. Besides, he was about six-foot-two, much taller than me, and built.
“Do I know you?” I said in a cold, flat voice. I played it off. Bullet, who was only six feet tall, put his hand on the cat and pushed him out of my path.
“You got the wrong girl, nigga. Move on,” Bullet threatened.
“Sasha,” he said again, feeling himself and testing Bullet. “You don’t remember me from GS’s?”
“My fucking name ain’t Sasha,” I tried to cut him with my words.
“Money, I told you move on,” Bullet said with death in his eyes. Bullet’s leather jacket swung open, revealing his arsenal.
Moose stepped in and said, “Here, let me talk to you a minute,” pulling the bodyguard to the side. Meanwhile, Bullet’s man pulled up. Me and Bullet got in the car. Bullet gave his man the order. He parked on the opposite curb of the back entrance.
I asked, “What are we waiting for?” Bullet, still heated, didn’t answer. Bullet got out the car and signaled somebody. Next thing I know he’s outside talking to GS. Through the tinted window, I’m watching. Bullet’s back was to me. I could see directly into GS’s face. It didn’t look like an argument. It looked like a friendly, casual conversation. Then Bullet’s knuckles was knocking on the window. I pushed the button. The window came down.
“Winter!” Slowly I stuck my head out the window. “I want you to meet my man GS.”
Without smiling or nothing, I said, “Nice to meet you,” and pulled my head back inside.
I heard Bullet say, “Yeah, that’s my girl. You never seen her before, have you?”
“Nah, never, man,” GS replied. I sighed relief. I don’t know why GS covered for me. Or maybe he was just protecting his own ass. There was no way he had forgotten me. I knew then that Bullet was the man. He wasn’t taking no shorts and I got to dig him for that.
Moose never got back in the car that night. We dropped Bullet’s man and went home.
Focusing on food was never my thing. As I listened to my stomach growl the next morning, I felt a desire to eat. As I held the refrigerator door open, I couldn’t decide on what I wanted. My hunger turned to nausea. My nausea turned to vomit. After hurling in the toilet, I laid on the bed staring at the ceiling with a nasty taste in my mouth. Seven minutes of silence, then panic settled in.
Immediately I began pacing the bedroom floor. I ran into the kitchen to pull out the calendar the Chinese take-out guy slid under the door. Frantically, I tried to remember the date of my last period. The problem was the numbers on the calendar didn’t mean nothing to me. I couldn’t even match certain incidents with corresponding dates. When I actually thought about it harder, I tried to remember the last time I bought Tampons. Lashay’s face popped in my head. I remembered charging her two dollars for one back at the House of Success! But I had blacked all that bullshit out.
In jeans, with a pajama top on under my jacket, I walked to the closest pharmacy and purchased a pregnancy test. Back in the bathroom, I zoomed through the directions. Placing the small cup underneath myself, I pissed on my fingers while trying to hold it. Then I pissed on the toilet. Then I pissed on the floor. Therefore, my little cup only had a droplet of piss in it. I turned on the water faucet to make myself able to pee again. I waited a half an hour and finally was able to deliver a half a cup. While I waited for the little plus or minus sign to show up, I smoked a joint to calm my nerves. Three minutes to doomsday …
It turned out positive. I was pregnant. The only thing to do now was get rid of it. After a short while, I remembered hearing an abortion jingle on the radio. I couldn’t recall exactly how the commercial went, but I knew if I tuned in, within minutes the ad would come on.
When I called, they gave me the location of the nearest clinic. A quick shower, I was dressed and on my way.
It was a cloudy morning. Girls were jammed like sardines into the clinic. As I surveyed the room it wasn’t hard to figure the girls w
hose stomachs were not poking out yet were sure to abort after looking at the obviously pregnant idiots who decided to keep their babies. One big, pregnant girl had dark, purple circles underneath her eyes. I saw stretch marks on knees, arms, titty tops, and even on her elbow. Some girls were balding from their condition. I even saw swollen hands, noses, and feet. One girl’s ankles were so fat it looked like elephantitus. She had her big tree-trunk legs propped up on not one but two chairs. Meanwhile, others didn’t even have nowhere to sit. Now I’m steady counting who came in first, next and next, and so on. I wanted to get this over with before Bullet came home that night.
The girl seated next to me leaned over to ask, “Are you nervous?”
“Nah!” I said, keeping it brief, not wanting to invite her into conversation.
“Then why are you shaking your foot like dat and bumping against my chair?” As I checked myself I realized I was tapping my foot. I got control of it immediately.
“I was nervous the first time I got an abortion. It turned out it didn’t hurt, though. It was like one, two, three, over.” The girl was still talking. I didn’t say nothing in response to her. But I was glad to hear, once again, that having an abortion doesn’t hurt. Back in the day, my girls told me the same thing.
“Yep,” I couldn’t believe this girl was gonna keep on going in the conversation, without any participation from me. “This is my fifth one. I really can’t get into creams, that shit makes me itch. Them pills make me sick. Can’t feel shit with a condom. It’s easier this way. It works pretty good, too. I only get knocked about once a year.”
“Yeah, but it must be expensive,” I said, allowing her to pull me in.
“Girl,” she went into her pocket and pulled out a Medicaid card. “I got an abortion credit card!”
In the examination room, the doctor grilled me.
“Do you have a private physician?”
“No.”
“When is the last time you had a gynecological exam?”
“This is my first time. Why, do you have a problem with that?” I asked the doctor.