Between the Sheets (9781476775807) (31 page)

I shift in my seat. Give her a “yeah-right” look. I glance back over at her, then bring my gaze back to Jasmine. “I don't know what that bitch is selling, but, trust me, I'm not buying it.”

Marcel

“What's good, my freak-nasty peeps…if you're just tuning in to the Tri-state area's hottest radio station, 93.3
The Heat
, sit back…relax…light a candle…pour yourself a glass of your favorite wine… pull out your favorite lube…your favorite toy…or hit up that special someone…and prepare to be stimulated beyond your own imagination as we get into this week's segment of
Creepin' ‘n' Freakin' After Dark.
Tonight we're gonna switch it up a bit ‘n' do a lil' Speak Ya Peace segment. That's right, peeps. Call in ‘n' express ya'self. I wanna know what's on ya mind. So let's turn up the heat ‘n' get it in. 212-FreakMe…”

As soon as the phone lines light up, I hop right into it, picking up on line two. “Yo, what's good…you're on the air. What's on ya mind?”

“Hi, boo. This is Stacy from Parsippany. I love your show. I listen to it faithfully every week.”

“Oh, cool-cool. Thanks for the love, ma-ma. So what's on your mind, beautiful?”

She sighs. “Well, I met this guy on a Christian dating website about a month ago. And everything was going real good with us. I was even thinking about giving him a little taste of goodness after Bible study last night, but do you want to know what this heathenish fool had the audacity to say to me?”

I lean up in my seat. “Nah, ma-ma. Tell us.”

“This nasty baboon asked me if he could come over and get him a little taste.”

“Oh okay, okay. But you wanted to give him a lil' sampler of the goodies anyway, so what's the problem?”

She huffs. “The problem is, the devil is a boldface lie. I thought I had me a good Christian man with a healthy sexual appetite, but instead I got me some ole nasty freak.”

I roll my eyes up in my head, glancing at the time. I don't know why the fuck these hoes call in without getting to the muthafuckin' point.

“Damn, baby. Give me something good. What kinda nasty was he askin' for, ma-ma?”

“Oh, that nasty heathen wanted me to squat over him and pass gas in his mouth, then go to the bathroom on him.”

I frown.
Oh that muhfucka mad nasty. He's one of them shit-stained teeth ‘n' tongue muhfuckas.

“Then he wanted me to let him clean me up back there with his…
tongue
. What kinda nasty devilishness is that? The devil is a lie if he thinks I'ma do some nastiness like that.”

I blink. “Wait. Hold up, ma-ma. Are you saying ole boy wanted you to squat over him ‘n' pull open them big, fluffy booty cheeks and take a dump in his mouth, then let him lick out ya shitty hole?”

“Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. Ole nasty shit eater. I'm so appalled. Why couldn't he tell me he was into this level of devil work before I let him stick his serpent tongue in my mouth?”

“Damn, ma-ma. Sounds like you're gonna need a deep cleansing, no pun intended.”

She groans. “I'm going to pray on it. And just call out on the Lord to send me a man with a good sexual appetite who isn't into filthy sex.”

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. “Yo, beautiful. There's nothin' wrong with a lil' ass-lickin'. It's a real treat. As long as it doesn't taste like shit. Next caller. You're on the air.”

“Yo, what's poppin', fam? This ya boy Mike, yo.”

“Oh, aiight. What's good, Mike…where you calling from, playboy?”

“Nyack, son.”

“Oh aiight. That's what's up. What's on ya mind, bruh?”

He sighs. “Man, what's good with these light-skin bitches these days, yo?”

I furrow my brows. “I don't know, man, you tell me.”

“On some real niggah shit, yo, them hoes becomin' basic as fuc—
bleep
these days. And they all starting to look the same, actin' like every muhfucka out here can't live without 'em. Bitch, boo! Go have ya pancake-batter-face ass a seat somewhere. All I'm tryna do is fuc—
bleep
. That's it.”

I chuckle to myself. “Damn, bruh, you sound angry.”

“Nah, yo. I'm just tired of the games ‘n' the stink-ass attitudes them hoes be bringin'. And most of 'em's mouth game is whack as hell, anyway. If you gonna act all stuck up, at least know how'ta suck a goddamn dic—
bleep!”

The line goes dead.

I shake my head. “Well all right then. That sounded like one wounded bruh. Next caller, you're on the air.”

“Hey, boo. This is Ronzella from Union City.”

“What's good, Ronzella. What's on ya mind, ma-ma?”

She sighs heavily into the phone. “I'm so sick of dumb chicks. These thots be thinking 'cause a dude rocks a few Polo shirts and a Gucci belt that he's ballin'. But ask him how much money he has in the bank, or what he's driving, or where he lives and I bet he doesn't even know what the inside of a bank looks like. He's riding shotgun in his boy's whip, or he's on foot. And his mattress is on the floor of his momma's house. It's pathetic.”

“I hear you, ma-ma. Sounds like you got your ish together.”

“You got that right. And I can't wait for my man to get home from his bid. So we can ball out.”

I blink. “Yo, what's he down for?” When chick says something light, as in armed robberies, I almost fall out of my chair. “Yo, you call armed robbery something
light
.”

“Well, yeah,” she says nastily. “It's not like he raped or killed someone.”

“Oh, aiight. Sounds like you definitely snatched ya'self a real baller, baby,” I say sarcastically, but it goes over her head.

“You damn right, boo. And as soon as he gets out in twenty-twenty-five, I'ma show these silly bitches what a real baller looks like.”

I smirk. “Oh, I'm sure the world can't wait. Thanks for calling in, baby.”

George Tandy Jr.'s “March” eases over the airwaves as Nina comes over and tells me Marika's on the station's private line and that it's important. I frown, picking up my cell and removing my headset, wondering why she'd be calling the station instead of hitting me up on my cell.

“Hey, baby, you good?” I say, picking up.

“I am now,
papi
,” the caller says. I cringe the minute I hear her voice. “Ooh, you sound so delicious. It's so good to hear your sexy voice,
papi
. I've been missing you so much. You have no idea how badly my body aches for you. I need some more of that
buen pene.
”

My nose flares, but I try to keep shit in check. “What the fuck do you want, yo?”

“Don't be mean. I've missed you. I've tried to stay away, but I can't. I want you,
papi
. And I want some more of that good dick.”

I huff. “Yo, you can't be hitting me up at the station like this, pretending to be my wife ‘n' shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well, I wouldn't have to keep calling you if you'd just respond to my emails, and stopped avoiding me. I can't believe you actually blocked me from your Twitter and Instagram.”

This crazy-ass chick's back flooding my email with naked flicks and videos of her playing in her pussy, and sending me direct messages on Twitter for the last week. Just when I thought shit was over, here she comes popping back up.

“That was mean and childish,” she says softly. “Make love to me, Mar
Sell
, baby.”

I scowl. “Yo, real shit. What's really good with you, huh?”

“I told you. I miss you. I wanna see you.”

“Not gonna happen. I thought I made that clear.”

I glance over my shoulder at the booth, then lower my voice. “Did you get dropped on your head or something? I'm tryna keep this light, but you can't seem to follow the fuckin' script, so let me help you out. If a muhfucka doesn't hit you back after the tenth email and he blocks ya ass from all social media, then, uh, what the fuck you think that shit means?”

She huffs. “Now, baby. Don't be like that. All that means to me is you're playing hard to get.”

Is this broad fuckin' serious right now?

I take a deep breath. “No. What it means is, a muhfucka's not interested in ya ass. So why are you still hitting me up?”

“Because I love you,
papi
. And I can't stop thinking about you.”

“You
love
me?” I laugh. “Yo, you funny as hell. You don't
love
me. You're confused; that's what you are.”

“I'm
not
confused,
hijo de puta!
I know what the hell love is. And I know what I feel for
you
. So don't tell me what I don't feel for you. I
love
you,
papi
.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it in disbelief for a few seconds before placing it back up to my ear. “Listen, yo. That shit you feel isn't love. It's lust. And it's clear it was a big-ass mistake on my part to ever link up with you.”

“Don't say that. It wasn't a mistake. It was fate,
papi
. Don't you see that? I was supposed to win those VIP tickets.”
I thought this broad told me her girl won them.
I shake my head. “I was supposed to be sitting up at that bar. And I was supposed to be in bed with
you…
and her.”

I sigh, frustrated. “Look. That shit we shared was a night of good
fuckin
'. Not love. But you're obviously confusing the two. How much paper is it gonna take for you to leave me and my wife the fuck alone, huh?”

“Motherfucker!” she yells. “I don't want your
money
, asshole! I want
you
to leave your fucking wife!”

I laugh. “Yo, you shot the fuck out if you think I'd ever leave my wife for
you
or any other chick.”

“Mar
Sell
, baby. Let's not fight, okay? Why are you doing this to us? We're good together, and you know it. I know you felt it. I felt it when you were looking into my eyes, making love to me.”

“I
fucked
you. Get that through your fuckin' empty-ass skull.”

“Okay, Mar
Sell
, baby. Whatever you say, boo. I'm not going to argue with you. I know what you did. I was there,
papi
. And if you'd stop fighting it, you'd see it too. Baby, we can be so good together, like magic. That stuck-up bitch doesn't deserve you.”

I raise up in my seat. “Yo, hold up. Now you way outta pocket, yo. Don't call my wife out her name. You got that?”

“Oh, so you're going to defend that
puta
when she's the one trying to keep us from being together? She knows what we have. And that's why she doesn't want you to see me again. She's jealous of us.”

“Yo, will you stop sayin' that shit. We don't have shit; feel me? And my wife has nothing to be jealous of. You're no threat to her, period, point blank. Believe that.”

She laughs. “Oh, I'ma threat all right. And I'm going to have you,
papi
. We're gonna be together real soon, baby. You wait and see.”

I laugh.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh, motherfucker? You think you can toy with my emotions, then dismiss me? Laugh all you want, Mar
Sell
. But I promise you. We're gonna see who's laughing last.”

I grit my teeth. “Yo, you're delusional as fuck. And I'ma tell you again. Stop fuckin' callin' me!”

I hang up.

“What the fuck?!” I snap, running my hands over the top of my head. I take a few quick breaths and adjust my headphones, then we're back on in five…four…three…two…one…

“Yo, what's good, my freaky-peeps, we're back. And tonight it's your time to speak ya peace. That's right, peeps, tell ya boy what's on your mind. The phone lines are open now. 212-FreakMe.” I answer line one. “You're on the air, what's on ya mind?”

“What's good, fam? This Peanut from Flatbush. Man, I don't know what's up with these chicks out here. It's like they say they want a good man, but then when one is looking them right in the face, he's not good enough. I'm like, what the hell. Real ish, man. Me and my mans, we are all college-educated cats, business owners, Wall Street-type cats between the ages of twenty-eight to forty, and none of us can seem to get a decent
black
woman. What's up with that?”

I shake my head. “Yo, that's crazy, playboy. Maybe you and ya peeps are looking in the wrong spots. I know there are lots of black women who want a good man.”

He huffs. “I can't tell. Seems like all they want is a thug. Somebody to beat their asses, disrespect them out in the streets, and knock 'em up, then leave 'em for the next chick. It's real funny the shit chicks do for the bum guy. I own my own home, drive a high-end luxury car, my credit's on point, and I keep my passport stamped up, but that's not good enough.”

“Man, that's crazy. Don't give up. That good woman you seek is out there for all of you.”

“Man, fuck it. I'm gonna sag my pants and tell these sistas I flip burgers for a living, or push weight, then I bet I'll get some damn respect. If I had a state number instead of a college degree, I bet they'd be tryna worship me. But it's all good. I'ma start dating snow bunnies. They seem to know how to treat a brotha. Get me a white woman; she'll know how to appreciate a man with a Black Card.”

“Bruh, keep hope alive. Yo, my black beauties, stand up! Where you at? Represent ‘n' let my man Peanut know that there are good black women out there who still exist and who want good men. Next caller, you're on the air.”