Wild Cherry (5 page)

“No, I can do it. I doubt if Mercedes can squeeze me in on such short notice, but I've got a B-plan.” I assured him.

Jackie smiled, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes. “That's my baby girl.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I'm about to go hop in the shower and get out of here. The doors open at ten, but I need you there no later than nine thirty to make sure everything is set.”

“Wait a minute, we're not gonna arrive together?” I asked.

Jackie's eyes blinked before he answered, and I knew before he opened his mouth that there was funny business afoot. “Nah, I gotta go down there now to make some last-minute arrangements and then I'm going Uptown to get a cut, so you'll have to drive in. As a matter of fact, take the keys to my CLK—I can't have my lady rolling up looking less than the queen she is. See you tonight, love.” Jackie turned and started back toward the house, leaving me there to work it all out in my head.

I'd met a lot of men in my time. Some of them have been lucky enough to get inside my heart and body, while most of them haven't gotten past a kiss. But of all the men combined, Jackie had the biggest balls.

FOUR

Princess

I could feel them watching me, but I didn't care. I was dressed in one of those I ♥ NEW YORK T-shirts that I'd gotten from a vendor and a pair of dollar-store sandals. I'd scrubbed the ruined makeup off my face and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the lobby of Midtown's Marriott Hotel, but my strut said that I had just as much right as any of the well-dressed white chicks who were staying there. With an extra bounce in my step, I approached the check-in desk.

“Can I help you?” a man dressed in a charcoal suit asked from behind the desk. His name tag said TOM.

“Yes, Tom, I'd like a room for the night, please,” I told him.

He must've stared at me in disgust for a full three minutes before responding. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but being that it's the weekend, we're very crowded. If you like, I can direct you to a Howard Johnson not far from here,” Tom told me.

No this nigga didn't.

“Listen, Tom, if I wanted to stay at a Ho-Jo, then I'd have gone to a Ho-Jo. I've had a hellish day, and all I really wanna do is take a hot shower and lay down. Now, could you please give me a room?” I was trying to be polite, but if he kept playing, the project bitch was going to come out of me.

Tom scrunched his nose. “If you insist, but you'll have to pay the weekend rate on a standard room, which is five fifty per night.” He smirked as if he'd said something slick.

My face faked indifference before I pulled out Slim's money and counted off fifteen hundred dollars. “Then you'd better make it a suite, Tom.” I slammed the money on the counter. “And feel free to keep the change for yourself.” As they said, Money talks and bullshit runs a marathon.

“Right away, ma'am,” he said, fumbling with the keyboard. For as snobbish as people try to be, everyone respects the almighty dollar. He was so grateful that the grinning son of a bitch forgot to ask for my ID before giving me the room key. Oh well, it was his mistake, so it would be his ass when his supervisor caught wind of it. Within minutes, I had my room key and was riding the elevator to the twelfth floor.

*   *   *

“He's so sweet make her wanna lick the wrapper, so I let her lick the rapper.”

I loved that ringtone when I had downloaded it, but as Lil Wayne's whining voice woke me up from my nap, I absolutely hated it. I felt like I had just gone to sleep, which I actually had. After checking into my room, I hit up a few stores to get some new clothes and retreated back to my hideaway. Then I took a hot shower, turned the air conditioner on full blast, and stretched out on top of the covers as naked as the day I was born.

Grumbling every curse word I knew, I stumbled around in the dark until I found the phone, wrapped in the skirt I had stepped out of. I started to let it ring, figuring it was Slim calling for the twentieth time, but when I saw Tashee's name flashing on my caller ID screen, I was glad I did. Tashee was a chick that didn't generally get out of bed before 9 P.M., so if she was hitting me up at seven forty-five, I knew it was about a lick.

“What up, bitch?” I yawned into the phone.

“
You
, skank,” she shot back. Tashee and I called each other derogatory names all the time, and neither one of us ever took offense—but let somebody else try it, and it was on. “The word is that you're a fugitive from justice,” she continued.

“I don't know about justice, but I finally dumped Slim's washed-up ass,” I told her.

“So I hear. He's telling everybody you got him jumped and dipped out on him with ten stacks.” News in the hood traveled as fast as the speed of sound, but nine times out of ten, the story always got twisted somewhere along the line.

“More like four and a half,” I corrected her, “and he brought that ass-whipping on himself. If he hadn't have been trying to break fly, them dope boys might not have put the beats on him. They should've killed his ass for lumping a bitch up.”

“Nah, they didn't kill him, but I hear his hand is gonna be in a cast for a while.” Tashee snickered. Her ghetto ass loved drama, and I guess that's why it found her more often than it didn't. “So, y'all was on ya Ike and Tina again?”

“Yep, and I went Nutbush on that ass. I risk going to prison for that clown, and he had the nerve to try to break fly.”

“Princess, you know this ain't the first time Slim done played himself, and it won't be the last.”

“Now that's where you're wrong, T. I'm done, finished, end of the road. From now on, if I'm gonna risk my ass for someone, it's gonna be me!” In the back of my mind, I wished I was really as assertive as I sounded. I'd known for a long time that Slim was no good for me, yet I stayed. Some people would think that for as strong and intelligent as I am, I was a fool for sticking around, and they were right, but the heart was funny like that. I'd convinced myself to leave him on several occasions, but as soon as I looked into the puppy dog brown eyes, I was caught up again. I don't know what the fuck it was about Slim, but I just couldn't seem to get him out of my system.

“Church!” Tashee cosigned. “So what's up, you still on ya paper chase, or that lil five stacks you sitting on got you thinking you're hood rich?”

“You know I'm about my change twenty-four-seven, what's the deal?” I knew between the hotel suite and my expensive-ass habits, it would be only a matter of days before I ran through Slim's bread, so I needed to get on one.

“Do you remember Harlem Heat?” she asked.

I had to think on it for a minute. I had danced at or been to over a dozen strip clubs in the five boroughs, so it was hard to keep them all straight. “Yeah, the spot Uptown that closed down a few years back?”

“Well it's back open and under new management. They're calling it Paradise now. This kid my peoples know renovated the place and is having the official grand opening tonight,” Tashee informed me.

“I don't know, Tash. That spot has been shut down for a minute—it's probably not even gonna be popping.”

“Princess, you know me better than that. I don't shake my ass nowhere if I ain't sure it's gonna be some bread floating around. The nigga who owns it is an ex-small-time hustler turned industry bigwig.”

“What, he's a rapper or something?”

“No wit ya fame-thirsty ass. He's a writer or something like that. Anyhow, it's supposed to be all kind of big-Willy niggaz in there for the grand opening and all kinds of extracurricular activities to sweeten the pot,” she told me.

“What kind of extracurricular activities?” I asked suspiciously. Don't get me wrong—I've been known to go above and beyond to make a few extra dollars—but Tashee's ass was off the hook. I once watched her do two guys and a girl at the same time. I enjoyed a little fish here and there, but I wasn't into the double-penetration thing.

“The usual: wet T-shirt contest, booty clap-off, and a dick-sucking contest for fifteen hundred,” she said as if she were simply reading off a grocery list.

“Now the clap-off and the wet T-shirt contest, I'm down with, but I'm good with the suck-off.”

Tashee sucked her teeth. “Princess, stop acting like you ain't never sucked a dick before.”

“I ain't never said all that, but I'm just not with sucking some dude off in front of a bunch of thirsty niggaz for fifteen hundred dollars. Now, in private is something else,” I half joked.

“You're so nasty.” Tashee laughed. “But you ain't gotta worry about the suck-off, because we already know I got that on lock.” She made a slurping sound into the phone. “So, you fucking with it or what?”

“Yeah, I'm fucking with it, but I got a little dilemma. When I bounced on Slim, I didn't take none of my costumes.”

“Baby girl, that's a small thing to a giant. I'll bring you one of my joints,” Tashee offered.

“T, you know damn well my titties can't fill them army helmets you call cups.”

“Princess, stop making excuses and just have your ass ready when I come scoop you. Where are you staying?”

“At the Marriott Hotel in Midtown.”

“I see you baller,” Tashee sang into the phone. I could just picture her doing her silly little dance on the other end.

“Balling, my ass—this ride is on Slim.”

“Well, in that case, you're buying the drinks tonight. I'll see you at ten or ten thirty.” Tashee ended the call without waiting for confirmation.

Still naked, I slid off the bed and pulled the heavy drapes on the windows back. Below, the sun had set and the city was alive with lights and sounds. I was glad to know Slim had gotten his ass whipped, but the fact that they let him live meant I'd have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Fuck Slim,” I said, stepping away from the window. I would cross that bridge when I came to it, but the order of business that night was paper, and I knew once those Harlem niggaz got a whiff of my cat, I'd be swimming in it by the end of the night.

*   *   *

By the end of my second shower, it was a shade before eight thirty, so I decided to get something to eat before Tashee got there. I knew once she arrived, she'd be too preoccupied with handling business to want anything other than a quick bite, and I was in no mood for McDonald's. My body craved a nice steak and a baked potato, so I slipped into the sweatpants I'd picked up from Modell's and a pair of white K-Swiss before slipping out of the room in search of a porter house.

I stepped off the elevator in the lobby and took stock of my surroundings. The hotel was more alive at that hour than it had been when I checked in that afternoon. There must have been some kind of party going on in the lobby's conference room, because I kept seeing well-dressed people sliding in and out. They were mostly white folks, and from the way they were stumbling about, I could tell they were partying down!

As I crossed the lobby on my way to the exit, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to stand up. I turned around and spotted a middle-aged white gentleman staring at me. He was at least fifteen to twenty years my senior, but still kind of cute in a Harrison Ford kind of way. I expected him to turn away when I caught him looking, but he didn't. In fact, his stare only became more intense. That man had lust in his eyes and larceny in his heart, but as I'd come to learn, that was the story of my life. Men never loved me, only lusted after me. Our staring contest was broken up when he was joined by a silver-haired woman who I assumed was his wife. Playing the devil's advocate, I winked at him and exited the lobby.

Outside, the streets were teeming with people of all races and creeds, strolling along Times Square, snapping pictures or buying overpriced souvenirs. It's hard to believe that ten years prior, the place had been a breeding ground for sex and corruption; that was before the Giuliani administration. Overhead, one of the jumbo televisions was broadcasting the NBA finals, and the Celtics were beating the Lakers by twenty-five in the third quarter. I had been a Knicks fan since I was a little girl, but I wasn't mad at KG and his crew. They deserved a ring, and from the looks of the score, they were about to get one.

I felt a presence behind me and turned to see the man from the lobby and his wife. From their glassy eyes, I could tell they were both twisted, but the disturbing part was the way they were looking at me. It was as if they were two stalking lions and I was a gimp deer. Tired of being gawked at, I stepped to them.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

“I'm sorry, we didn't mean to offend you,” he said in an accent I couldn't quite place, “but my wife and I were just talking about how beautiful you are. Melanie”—he nudged his wife—“isn't she gorgeous!”

“Yes, George, she's absolutely delicious,” Melanie slurred. When she opened her mouth, I could smell the scotch rolling off her tongue. They tried to sound innocent enough, but the lustful looks in their eyes told me that something funny was going down.

“Well, thanks, but I gotta go,” I said, turning to leave.

“Wait,” George called after me. “I don't want to creep you out or anything, but…”

“Oh, George, stop beating around the bush and just spit it out,” Melanie urged. I couldn't tell who wanted me more, him or her. “What my husband wanted to know was if you might like to join us for a drink?”

The gauntlet had been laid.

“Listen,” I addressed the both of them, “I've been out here hustling for too long to go for the ‘nice old couple holding candy' routine, so let's cut the bullshit, shall we? What your husband really wants to know is can he fuck me, am I correct?” The embarrassed look on his face said that I was. I started to scream on the both of their freakish assess and keep it moving, but seeing the ice around her neck and on his wrist, I decided to play the game. “Check it out, daddy. If you wanna sample this pussy—” I patted my crotch. “—it's one thousand dollars per hour, plus expenses, and I get all my bread up front.”