Put Your Diamonds Up! (10 page)

O
h no . . . oh no . . . oh no . . . ! Where they do that at? Calling someone at this ungodly hour. Disrupting my delicious dream! The cows aren't even up with the roosters yet! Have they no shame?

I was right in the middle of sliding red-hot skewers into London's broiler once and for all for being the fraud she was. And I was sautéing Heather's face for spitting on my kindness. I had a mallet in my hand getting ready to season Heather's forehead up real good when the annoying buzz of my phone pulled me away from what was turning into a scrumptious dream.

Now I had no idea how things ended, thanks to the inconsiderate person who was calling me.

Imbecile!

My phone finally stopped buzzing. I sighed, sinking deeper into the crisp sheets and warmth of my comforter.
Jeezus. Now I can't get back to my dream
. I angrily flopped around on my plush mattress for several moments trying to find the right spot to settle into. And just when I closed my eyes behind the silken cloth of my mask, my phone buzzed again and again and again, slicing into my feather play. Now I was madder than a bucket of bees dipped in hot butter. I pulled my mask up over one eye, lifting my head just enough to see the glow of the clock. One o'clock in the morning.
Oh, this is goshdangit ridiculous! Who the heck called at this sluttish time?

I groped at the nightstand until my hand found my iPhone. A number with a 619 area code flashed up on the screen. “Muggafugga!” I snapped into the phone. “Whoever you are calling
me
this time of hour, you had better make it good, or get crushed into a meat grinder, goshdangit!”

“What's good, sweet roll?” the voice on the other end said real low and deep. There was a song by Ekco playing in the background.
Picture me on top of you
. . .
Legs up. Body down . . .

“Grind me, baby. I love it when my meat is grinded, 'specially when you do it right.”

I blinked, then frowned. “
Whaaat? Sweet roll?
The number you have dialed has been disconnected! This is not a bakery! And I am not serving up pastries, you ole nasty pervert! Now who is this?”

I could hear the singer singing about having the munchies wanting to eat me up. Mmmph. The voice on the other end chuckled. “It's Midnight.”

I glanced at the time. “
Midnight?
You idiot! You better do a time check! It's waaaaay after midnight! I need my beauty sleep. I don't know what kind of freaky mess you got going on over in your time zone, Mister Kink Daddy, but this Pacific-Standard-Time-zone girl is not playing those kinds of reindeer games.”

He cracked up laughing. And that irritated me even more. The nerve of this debauched heathen! “And I don't see a dang thing funny! Let me find out who you are... you, you, you dream killer, and I'm going to fillet your guts! You woke the wrong one, you sleep thief!”

“Daaaaayum! You go in hard like a leg of lamb and come out falling off the bone; all mouthwatering and juicy.” He made smacking noises through the phone, causing a chill to shoot through my spine. “This is Midnight, Knox's roommate.”

“Oh.” I giggled. I'd forgotten I'd given this tall, sexy, dark chocolate hunk of man muscle my number on the low-low just as Rich and I were finally—after two days of being fugitives—swaying our hips out the door of their frat-house apartment. And even though Rich had stepped out grinning and smiling, smelling like powder-scented baby wipes and sardines, I had managed to catch him winking his eye and licking his lips. Then he jutted out his pelvis and gyrated his hips. And my knees almost buckled.

Still, I played it off as he flicked his tongue, shaking my caboose to the left, to the right, then booty bouncing it just enough to let him see how these hotcakes were stacked.

“Well, why didn't you say that in the first place? I don't play phone games. I don't do booty calls at this time of night. I'm not into whispering sweet nothings. I don't do phone sex on the first phone call. And I don't like it
dirty
unless it's in my martini.”

“Daayum, you got me harder than a frozen sausage right now.”

“Hmmph.” I batted my lashes. “Oh really? What kind of sausage? I hope it's not those little bitty links. 'Cause I don't do those. I'm hanging up right now.”

“The thick, juicy, succulent kind, baby-boo. The kind you wanna smother with a buncha onions and green peppers, then slide into a nice, soft potato roll. Daayum, you got me feelin' some kinda way.”

My mouth watered. And I felt my juice box getting juicy. I smacked my lips. “Umph, umph. Well, I don't eat meat.” I giggled. “Not
that
kind anyway.”

“Aaaargh! Aaarrrgggh!” he barked. “Woof, woof . . . !”

“Who opened the cage and let the dogs out?” I said, getting caught up in the hype for a moment.

“Aaaargh! Aaarrgggh! You let the dogs out! Eat. Me. Baby-boo. Come get up on this bone.”

“
Whaaat?
You dirty dog! You even think about wagging your bone up in me and I'ma put a muzzle on it. I don't play that. Now what do you want?”

“Yeah, a'ight. Talk dirty, baby. I think I gotta sweet tooth for you, honey glaze. All I keep thinking about is how I wanna roll you up in some cake batter, sprinkle powdered sugar all over you then lick you up. I wanna paint ya toes with peach jam 'n' suck 'em one by one.”

I pressed my thighs shut. Ooh. He was my kind of freak. I felt electricity shoot through my good & plenty. And if I wasn't a classy type, I would have told him to meet me across the border so I could run my hands all through his meat basket, then nibble on his giblets. But I didn't believe in opening up the buffet to just any ole body.

No. You had to earn your way into my snack shack.

“I wanna get freaky with you and make you my nasty girl. I'm sayin', sweet biscuit, you got me goin' through it. There's something about you, girl. You're sexier than a fresh batch of pipin' hot blueberry muffins with sweet melted butter.”

“Mmph. Well, I'm not that kind of girl, boy. So you need to go wreck yourself before you check yourself. Wait. I mean before you get checked. I'm not giving up none of this cake batter until—”

“I can't get you off my mind, baby boo-boo. I just wanna lay all my meat out on your grill 'n' let you marinate it. I ain't never felt like this before so I know you some kinda special rice pudding treat. Let me take you out somewhere real nice, Spencer. Let a man show you a real good time. I know this fly spot out here. Muddy Waters.”

I blinked. “Muddy whaaat? Oh no, oh no . . . I don't do
nothing
muddy; well, except for that one time when me and Rich mud wrestled topless at this ho-down in Texas.”

“Daaaayum. I know you were looking real sexy with your boobs all muddied up. I gotta box of chocolate I'd like to melt and pour all over you. I got the munchies for you, but I'm not even gonna do you like that. I'ma wine 'n' dine you first, before I lavish you with this tonguefest.”

“Mmph. And what about Big Nasty? I know you love your petting time at the zoo with that wide-back girlfriend of yours. But I don't do triple-chin drama. So if you even
think
you're taking me anywhere, you have another think coming. That bearzilla has gotta go
first.
I don't want to have to pull out my tranquilizer gun and harpoon to take her down because I
will
if she tries to step to me.”

I shuddered at the horror of seeing all the 8-by-10 portraits he had of her in gold frames plastered up on his purple walls in his bedroom. In one, she was holding a huge turkey drumstick up to her gold-painted lips with her tongue hanging out. In another, she had her big face hovering over a whole ham garnished with pineapples and cherries. Her beautifully lashed eyes were looking up at the camera while she held her wide mouth open over the meat, like she was ready to take a humongous bite into it.

Then there was a 16-by-20—hanging in the middle of two huge wooden paddles—of her wearing some ultrashort, black see-through and lace, tablecloth-type thingy with a pair of two-inch heels that leaned over to the sides. Although her knees looked stuck together, her chocolate skin was smooth and shiny. She was holding up a huge bucket overflowing with chicken from some chicken shack called Wings-N-Things.

Ugh, just looking at all of those pictures of Big Nasty up on his wall posing with food gave me indigestion and massive gas. And it had me needing a deep cleanse, pronto!

He chuckled. “Oh, nah, baby boo-boo, you good, ma. It's over between me 'n' Lil Bit. She's back in jail again . . .”

I gasped. Jail? Again?

“I can't keep doing no bids wit' her like that, feel me? The last bid she did, she was down for six months for attacking one of the cashiers at her father's Dairy Queen. Now she's on lock for attacking a cashier and the manager at KFC for giving her all dark meat instead of the twenty breasts 'n' wings she ordered. One thing 'bout Lil Bit. She doesn't play when it comes to food. Mess over her food 'n' the beast comes out.”

I blinked as he described how Big Nasty snatched the poor little cashier from over the counter and gave her a beat-down with them big paws of hers. And when the manager tried to break them up, Big Nasty grabbed her in a headlock, pulled her weave out, then threw her across the counter. Wildebeest gone wild!

“Lil Bit done went too far this time. She's really broken my heart.” He sniffled. “They saying she might get two years this time. I'm done. I can't keep holdin' on to WWE wrestlers with state numbers. I need me a lil sweet thing-thing with some class and style who I can seed 'n' breed. I'm tryna be a family man one day.”

I stifled a yawn, glancing over at the time. I wanted to scream. I couldn't believe that I'd been on the phone with him for almost an hour already.
Ooh, sinful!
I liked him. He was different from all the other boys I'd talked to, or snuck off with. After spending two days in hiding and getting to know him, Midnight talked my talk. And for the first time, I felt like I might have met a man who'd appreciate good sexual energy. I felt like I might be able to unleash my inner sex goddess and behold the purple and gold.

Mmmph. Heat shot through me as I closed my eyes and envisioned his long athletic legs wrapped in his long johns with one leg purple and the other leg gold. Sweetjeezus! It took everything in me to stay a lady and keep the tramp in the box.

I know he was all manly and rugged. He was an ole horny corndog with oodles of noodles of sex appeal, who liked lots and lots of hot nastiness. But after my disastrous two-week fling with Anderson, I wasn't about to chance investing a lot of time and energy and good lingerie and panty sets on another confused trash-licker. Before I made any commitments to go anywhere with him, I had to know, “Are you one of those tri-sexuals who likes to drop the soap in the shower? I mean. It's okay if you are. But I don't go that way. I don't bump purses or rub kitty-kitty meow-meows.”

He laughed. “Oh, nah, nah, ma. I'm all man, lamb chop. And the only kitty I'm tryna hear meow-meow is yours. Arf! Arf! Woof, woof, woof, aroooooo . . .”

I giggled at all of his silly barking sounds. Then kindly told him, “Heel, boy. Roll over. If you want to get a treat out of me, then you need to call me at a decent hour and ask me properly.”

“Daayum. That's how you gonna—”

“Goooood niiiiiight, Midniiiiight,” I said in a singsong voice. “Get your thoughts right. And call me in the daylight.” I giggled, ending the call. I smiled. Pulled down my night mask, laid my head back on one of my fluffy pillows, closed my eyes, then this time instead of counting all of Rich's dusty pigeon moments in my head, I counted the number of freaky ways I was going to rock, bounce, and roll the purple and gold off of that long-legged stud daddy.

“A
re you ready to serve the rest of them tricks sweet-fishrealness?” Co-Co spoke into the early morning breeze as we sat parked along the edge of the Royal Palms cliff, silhouetted by the rising sun.

“Trying to be,” I said with my head back and eyes closed, soaking in the feel of my new hot-pink '57 Chevy convertible—top down, hydraulics up. I gave that old lady tin can crap of a car Spencer gave me to my new landlord as part of my security deposit.

I could feel Co-Co turn toward me. “Tryin' to be?”

I opened my eyes and the corners of his gloss-covered lips curled as he repeated while snapping his fingers, “Tryin' to be? What kind of business is tryin',
bish
? You 'bout to be Luda Comin'-for-Throats Tutor! Better get your life, honey! We don't have no time for tryin'. You better snatch, slay and lay them pampered trolls. The same way you did on that stage!” He flipped down the visor, looked at himself in the mirror, and fluffed the blond curls in his lace front. “Tryin'? Mmph, you better live.” He ran his hands down the sides of his black beard.

“Things are not that easy for me, Co-Co.”

Co-Co's deep brown gaze drank me in. His press-on lashes batted rapidly. “What's not easy for you? Or are those code words for ‘I'ma slice my wrists'? How about you spare me the suicide speech and save us all the trouble now, jump off the cliff, and leave me this new whip.” He ran his hands across the dashboard. “ 'Cause I'm not doin' this. And as a representative of the Fierce Nation, I'm here to tell you that that ain't hot. At. All.” He looked me over. “That new body has no room for you to be Miss Dumb-azz. Miss Dull-azz Sunshine. Major fail.”

Oh no he didn't! Not Mister Near-Dead himself! What? Did he see the light and now he was trying to give me advice ? Oh, I don't think so.

I was pissed. And it had crossed my mind to read this queen for filth, but I didn't. The only thing we didn't do together was panty drop. Still. That didn't give this boy the right to come at me crazy. Slow down, low-down.

I picked up my sixteen-ounce bottle of vodka-spiked Coke and my eyes combed him slowly.

He grunted. “Don't do it, bish. Don't tell me you have crossed over the line and are now a sensitive fish. Oh honey, see this is what I can't do: feelings on the sleeve. Look, I just need you to get in order. Your fans need you to make a comeback. And right now you are scaring me. What happened to my Wu-Wu? What happened to last night? Bring her back. Seems like you might be the one puttin' your diamonds up 'cause you're about to lose it!”

Spencer's and everyone else's voice rang in my head. “She's dead. D-E-A-D.”

Co-Co gasped. “Who told you that? Wu-Wu is not dead! I don't know where you got that news from, but you've been misinformed. Wu-Wu is back. B-A-C-K. New body. New rack. New stack!”

“Wu-Wu is not coming back, Co-Co. I was fired. I was in rehab for thirty days. Went away. Came back. And they are still coming for me and talking about I was the reason for Wu-Wu being canceled—”

“Lies, fairy tales, and fallacies. Oh no. The only thing we're going to cancel is this conversation. Now if they're talking then let 'em talk. As long as they're talking it means you're droppin' heat. You need to snap out of it. Toss your drink back and tell me what else is going on. I need to know where you got that new behind, that new driver, and this ride. 'Cause last I checked you were two steps from skid row.”

My eyes fluttered up and then dropped over at him. “Spencer gave me three million for my troubles.”

A shadow of shock covered his face but as quickly as it came, it left. “Mmph, that's the least that sloppy fish could do! Bottom scraper. Condom eater! Jealous trick. I can't stand her.”

I chuckled. “Down, girl. Down. Relax. Put the claws back. Spencer's been on her best behavior.”

He pursed his lips. “For now.”

“Exactly. For now.” I smiled, enjoying the irritation gleaming in his eyes and the hate causing his lips to curl. “Did I ever tell you about Spencer and one of your ex–lil daddies?” I tossed it out there for no other reason than to be messy—oh, and to add to his misery.

He gasped. “What?”

I smiled and rocked a little in my seat. “Well, let me tell you who ole gutter-mouth Spencer was suckin' down.”

“Who, bish, who?”

“Your old boo. You know the one you tried to turn out but failed.”

“Girl, give me a name. You know those straight boys be taking me through changes.”

I twisted my body toward him and said, “Anderson Ford.”

“Chile, boo!” A gust of air rushed from between his lips. He paused. Raked over his thoughts and did his best to reel himself back in. “Do you really think I give a damn? Spare me. That trashy fish can have that closet queen. Movin' on. I don't even wanna talk about him, her, or it.”

I blinked my eyes. “So are you over him? Remember, he's the reason why you wanted to cross over to the dark side and instead you ended up in the hospital with your liver practically burst open and your stomach practically gutted out.”

Don't do me, bish!

He jumped up and down in his seat. “Don't do it. Don't do it,
bish
! You being a raunchy twat right now. You tryin' to serve me sour sushi. Attention, shoppers: clean up in aisle three 'cause this bish is tryna do me. I did not try to kill myself over him. Now next story. Movin' on. Shall we talk about the articles written about you? 'Cause there's quite a few.”

He pulled out his iPhone, tapped the screen, and read, “ ‘BRONZED & BARE: Heather Cummings, who gained stardom in 2010 playing the rambunctious and very mischievous teenager Wu-Wu Tanner on the once-popular comedy series
The Wu-Wu Tanner Show
, slung a string of profanity at paparazzi after an interview turned nasty. She then bent over and flashed her newly implanted assets after becoming angered by paparazzi for questioning her on her drinking, drugging, and rumors of dating R & B sensation Haneef. Although the once adored teen star denied being under the influence of alcohol, a source who staffed the bar on the day of the incident confirmed Heather's drink of choice was a bottle of Cognac . . . ' ”

Co-Co cleared his throat. “So it looks to me like somebody needs to stay the eff outta my boxers and dig up in their own panties.”

“Why are you being all sensitive?”

“I'm a man. And I am
not
sensitive, but I will slice you down. Now I'm done with this. You will not turn my party out, down, or around!” Co-Co bounced as he turned on the radio and T.I.'s
In Da Streets
filled the car and floated out into the new day. “You have got me all worked up.” He reached in his Hermès clutch and pulled out a pale blue velvet pouch. “And I need something to help keep this party alive.”

Co-Co placed the pouch on the dashboard and pounded it twice.

Saliva filled my mouth and drowned my tongue. My teeth pinched the corner of my lips as the sound of crackling foil made me squirm in my seat and practically gave me an orgasm.

You can't eff with that.

Yes I can.

No you can't.

He tossed his eyes over at me. “You know you want some.”

“No, I don't.” I stirred my Coke. “I'm good.” I sipped, nodding my head to the music.

Co-Co rolled his eyes and then looked back to the smashed pills. He dipped his long acrylic pinky nail into the powdery pile and as he inhaled it through his left nostril I eased in a deep breath and released it into my drink.

Co-Co snorted, clearing his passageways for more. “This is that good ish, bish. Black beauty mixed with Vicodin. The streets call it ‘murder.' ”

I salivated.
Damn, I wanna die. Murder me.
“Nah, I'm straight.” I sucked up the last of my Coke and swallowed hard. I did all I could to shake off the sharp pricks of jealousy shooting through my skin.

“You better get you some and stop acting stupid.” Co-Co dug in for a sophomore round. He looked back up at me and his eyes hung half-mast. “Wu-Wu”—he flicked his nose—“I hope you didn't go into druggy hell and come out a saint. I hope you ain't let it change you.”

“Change me? What? I'm still the same. I just pop bottles and party.”

Co-Co laughed and went in for another round. “Whew.” He patted his chest and my stomach churned. “You better get into it. All you need is a pinch. That should be good enough to take the edge off. Besides, you just got out of rehab—You can't go all junkie throttle. No need in you relapsing.”

No.

Whatchu scared for?

I ain't never scared.

“You say the streets call it what?” I smirked.

“Murder.” Co-Co wiggled his nose, passing me the foil. “Get ready to die, bish.”

Sweet beads of sweat gathered in my palms as I held my way to heaven. I took in a deep breath, dipped my finger in, and a few minutes later I could've sworn that Co-Co was God. I felt like . . . like my chest had opened up and I could feel my heart beat. I felt the warm blood rushing through my veins. And I could see angels smiling down on me. “Co-Co, I think I'm dead.”

Co-Co laughed. “Yes, gawd. Along with your career. Now come on and get you another pinch.”

I dipped my finger into the powdery pile, going back for more. “I feel like . . . like . . .”

“Like what?”

“Like I could go and eff Camille up.” I handed him back the foil. “I ain't been home in two weeks.”

“What home, girl?” He held one nostril closed and snorted the last of the murderous snow. “You live in a motel. Mmph, what you need to be doing is yankin' your mother up for runnin' all through your money.”

I shook my head and pushed out a breath. “I can't believe I came out of rehab and she has us homeless.”

“And to think I paid the rent for y'all. And now y'all up in some Sleazy Eight. I don't even know how you stayed up in there.”

“Why do you think I've been gone for two weeks? And why do you think I'm not going back? I celebrated my welcome home last night. And today I'm moving into my new property.”

“Is it yours, or are you renting?”

“Renting.”

“Chile, cheese. You frontin' again, huh? And how did you rent a place and you're not even eighteen?”

“Money talks. And when I slapped the landlord with a half a mil for one year's rent—cold cash—he proudly handed me the keys. Beverly Hills.”

Co-Co's neck flung into action. “Oh really? That's cute . . .”

“Is that a breeze I feel or is that shade you're throwing my way?”

“Shade. Never. You got me confused with Camille. Instead of worrying about me you need to be worrying about running up in Sleazy Eight to claim your lil boxes and your knockoffs.”