5ive Star Bitch
Authors: Tremayne Johnson
5 Star Bitch
Some may have their opinion on my choice of title, but honestly, I could care less. If one word offends you more than others, then YOU have some soul searching to do. I'm not one for calling women out their name, and I respect those who respect me.
A "5ive Star Bitch" in my eyes is a woman who takes care of her business in every aspect; all around the board, no matter the situation.
A "5ive Star Bitch" is a woman who is confident in herself, secure, intelligent, and knows exactly what she wants.
A "5ive Star Bitch" doesn't put up with the BS, and at the first sign of BS, she's out the door.
A "5ive Star Bitch" is a woman who takes full responsibility of her actions, and always says what's on her mind; whether it's good or bad.
Are you a 5ive Star Bitch?
1
I woke up, wiped my eyes and glanced at my alarm clock on the nightstand. It was seven thirty, “Shit!” I jumped out the bed a bit dizzy and almost slipped on a pair of stockings that were lying on the floor, “I can’t believe this shit!” I had slept through my alarm that was supposed to wake me at five thirty. I had an eight o clock appointment with my GYN and an eleven o clock date with my hairdresser.
I hurried into the bathroom, jumped in the shower and got dressed as fast as I could. I didn’t even take the time to find matching socks I was in such a rush. I couldn’t miss this appointment, I couldn’t miss either appointment. It was Valentine’s Day, and I definitely needed my hair done.
I was starving from a night of drinks, so I tossed two slices of wheat bread into the toaster and cracked an egg over the frying pan on the stove. As soon as my egg was fried, I put it between the two slices of bread, squirted some ketchup on it, and I was out the door.
I hit the automatic start button and the engine in my brand new Porsche truck purred like a baby lion. I was in love with my new car. Marlon, my boyfriend of the past year purchased it for me as a Christmas gift. He was the bomb dot com. He loved me dearly and anything I wanted was just a swipe away. I honestly could not recall a time when he told me no. It was always yes with him. He pleased me in every way possible.
I adored Marlon; not only because of his grand bank account and his professionalism, but because he made me smile. It was the simple things that made my day and he was a pro at taking advantage of the situations.
Marlon played baseball for the New York Mets. He was the top paid second baseman in the sport and his earnings were well deserved. Recently he had negotiated a contract for two hundred and thirty five million dollars over a span of five years. His career was about to rocket, and I was right by his side to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, and some may label me a gold digger, but that’s far from the truth. I consider myself a goal digger. There is a difference. Yeah, I seek out wealthy men who are goal orientated and financially stable, but why wouldn’t I? Most these bitches out here don’t have a clue of what they want out of life. The only thing they live for is dick, so they can get their nut off. Me, I could care less about some dick. Dick didn’t run my life, dead presidents run my life, and I’m very much happy in my skin.
Oh, please don’t get it fucked up, I have my own and always did, but to want more of the finer things life has to offer is no sin. I was always taught to use what you got to get what you want. God gave me two tits, ass and a split between my legs for a reason. Mrs. Parker ain’t raise no fool and she damn sure ain’t raise no bum ass bitch.
At twenty three years old I had accomplished more than the average female in my age bracket. I had my own apartment—a loft on Webster Avenue in New Rochelle, New York, my own car—besides the one Marlon gifted me and I had a bachelor’s degree in communications. I had done pretty well for myself on the count of not having a support system.
I adjusted my rearview mirror in the truck, found some music to listen to, and pulled out of my parking space. It was eight nineteen when I looked at the clock on the dashboard, so I reached for my IPhone that was in my bag and dialed my doctor’s personal number. I didn’t get an answer, so I left a brief message.
“Hello, doctor OConnor, this is Cherish Parker. I’m calling to let you know that I’ll be running a bit late this morning. I had an eight o clock appointment, but I ran into some traffic and should be there by nine. Give me a call when you receive this message. Thank you.”
I drove north on the highway in route to White Plains for a visit with my wonderful GYN Doctor Oconnor. Just as I was getting off the exit, my phone rang. I pushed the ‘Call’ button on my steering wheel, “Hello?”
“Cherish, how you doing?”
“Hi doctor OConnor, you got my message?”
“Yes, I got your message, Cherish. Are you close by?”
“I’ll be pulling up in four minutes, sorry to make you wait,” I said.
“No problem, bye.”
I hung up, made a right turn and pulled up to a red light. A white Mercedes with chrome, shining rims pulled up beside me in the turning lane to my left. I glanced at the car; too flashy. I never understood how someone could purchase an eighty thousand dollar vehicle and put a pair fifteen thousand dollar rims on it; it just didn’t make sense to me. I rode on factory wheels. I wasn’t trying to impress nobody. My name spoke for itself.
At quick glance, I noticed there were two occupants in the car. The tint was light, so I was able to see through the windows. I could see the passenger side window rolling down. The kid that stuck his head out the window couldn’t have more than seventeen or eighteen years old. He was a young looking white kid with a grey hoodie and a San Francisco 49ers hat on. He held up a zip-lock bag that looked like it was filled with weed. He kept signaling for me to roll my window down, so I did.
“What’s good beautiful, that’s a sexy ass truck you driving, you sure you can handle all that horsepower?” he asked, smiling.
I didn’t say anything, I just smiled back.
“You should follow us, we got that dour,” he reached into the backseat and grabbed something, “We got that Rose,” he held up a bottle of Moet Rose, “And we got that cocaina,” he touched the tip of his nose, “Ayo, what’s your name baby?” he asked.
I smiled, “Cherish,” I told him.
“Damn, Cherish… you a sexy muhfucka, you from out here?”
The light turned green and I pulled off, “Bye…”
“Yo, my name Joey! Happy Valentine’s Day!” he shouted.
I pulled into a parking space in front of doctor OConnor’s office. It was nine oh seven when I rang the buzzer. They buzzed me in and I took the elevator to the third floor. I stopped by Mrs. Walker’s station, which was the receptions desk, and kicked it with her for a second. Mrs. Walker was cool as shit. She was almost sixty five years old, retired, but working just to pass time, and she had some bad ass grandkids. For real, one time, she had them at the job with her and the little boy; I think his name is Terrel, yeah, Terrel. He runs up on me, grabs my titty and tells me he wants to suck some milk out of them. I swear I was about to slap some respect into his ass, but I laughed it off. Besides that Mrs. Walker was my girl.
She paged Doctor OConnor and let him know I was on my way to the back. We met in the hallway before I got to my usual examination room.
Cherish, you ready?” he asked.
“Well, hello to you too doctor OConnor,”
“Excuse me, hello Cherish,” he flipped through some pages on his clipboard and told me to get undressed and get on the table. “It’s been a busy day. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”
I untied my sweats, pulled my shirt over my head and got on the table.
“Anything different from the last visit?” he asked.
“Nope, I’m still only fucking one guy,” I laughed and Doctor OConnor smiled.
“Well, let’s see what we got down there.”
I fixed the small pillow, got comfortable on the table and slid my feet into the stirrups. I was completely, one hundred percent comfortable with Doctor OConnor. I’d been seeing him since I was eighteen and only once did I have to see another doctor because of his absence.
The cool air flowed through the room as usual and my nipples told the story. I was chilly. I felt them harden under my bra as I watched doctor OConner put his gloves on. Doctor OConner was a sexy ass white dude. He was tall, blonde and he had those striking blue eyes that could hypnotize you if you stared in them too long. I’d fuck the shit out of doctor OConnor, as long as he came up off that check; everything would be good. He made good money too. He once told me he took his wife and kids to Dubai and spent a million dollars during their vacation. A million on the vacation alone, now that’s ballin’. He drove a Audi and he always had on a nice pair of shoes.
After my examination doctor OConner told me he would have my test results back to me in two to four hours. I jumped in my Porsche and hit the highway going south to the Bronx. I had a date with my Dominican mami, Rosita, my hairdresser.
2
I pulled up to Rosita’s Hair N’ Nails on Jerome Avenue, and just as I thought, there wasn’t a single parking space available. I double parked, threw on my hazards and waited for a parking space to open. After two songs played on the radio, I saw a man get into a dark blue work van on the opposite side of the street. At the same time, my phone rang. I threw the car in drive and made a quick illegal U turn to capture the spot before someone else did. I hit the ‘Call’ button on the steering wheel.
“Hello?”
“Whaddup, bitch! Happy muthafuckin’ Valentine’s Day, bitch!”
I couldn’t help but to laugh. “Happy Valentine’s Day, boo.” I replied.
“Where you at?”
“Rosita’s”
“Bitch, you left me.”
“I told you to call me early, Jill, what happened?”
“I woke up late,” she said.
“Well, I’m here, so get yo’ ass down here.”
“Kay, be there in twenty, later.”
I ended the call, hopped out the Porsche and walked into Rosita’s. It was packed as usual.
“Cheri, Cheri, Cheri!” Rosita shouted. She ran over to me and wrapped me in her arms like she did every time I came to see her. “Mami, you hungry?” she asked, rubbing her belly.
Rosita was a short Dominican lady with long, pretty hair, flawless skin and an ass like Nikki Minaj, minus the shots. She had these young boys out here going crazy. I told her if she fucked with me she could open up ten shops. Shit, niggas would be emptying bank accounts fucking with Rosita. But she wasn’t on it how I was on it. She told me doing hair and making people beautiful was her passion. Hmph, fuck a passion; my passion was dead muthafuckin’ presidents; getting them and keeping them. I couldn’t knock her hustle though, definitely not. If doing hair is what she wanted to do and she was happy, then I was happy for her. And she always hooked me up.
Rosita’s shop had the best customer service ever. You were never just sitting there waiting to go next. It was always something going on.
I took my usual seat in the back, right next to her station, pulled my coat off and sat down. A few minutes later one of the servers brought me a small plate of white rice and stewed chicken.
“Thank you, Mami,” I bust that plate down in less than ten minutes. I was hungrier than I thought.
After I ate, I made my way over to the mini bar she had in the far left corner. Every alcoholic beverage you could think of was available. And if she didn’t have it, she would send someone up the block to the liquor store to get it for you. That’s just how Rosita handled her business.
I got tipsy and Rosita went to work on my doobie. About an hour later, I was sitting under the dryer and I heard Jill come in. I hadn’t seen her, but I definitely heard her.
“Wassup, Mami… where my girl at? Cherish!” she shouted.
“Mami, your friend, the loud mouth one, she want you,” Rosita told me.
“Oh, there you go, bitch. You ain’t hear me calling yo’ ass,” Jill pulled off her coat and sat in the chair next to me, “Hi Rosita,” she said.
Rosita sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes and walked to the front of the shop.
“You better leave Rosita alone, she gon’ have those crazy ass Dominicans up in here like she did last time,” I told Jill.
“Girl, please… Rosita is not stupid,” she said. It was loud enough for Rosita to hear.
“Cut it out, Jillian. It’s Valentine’s Day, show some love,” I laughed.
Jillian was my girl. We did everything together. It was usually me, her and my other girl Raquel, but Raq and her fiancé took a trip to Italy for the holiday, so it was just me and Jill for the weekend.
Jillian was probably the realest person I knew. She never held her tongue and she didn’t care if your feelings were hurt. It was just in her to be as blunt as possible; under any circumstance. She was a Harlem chick who moved uptown when she left her mother’s house at fifteen years old.
Jill was a bad bitch. She was tall with golden bronze skin, thick, full lips, short hair and a body you could only get from working out daily. She was twenty two years old and she had a lot going for herself. Her boyfriend of two years was the CEO of some type of online company. She once told me she saw a bank statement of his and the account had over seventy five million dollars in it. Jillian wasn’t a dumb bitch; she knew whose lead to follow. I had been teaching her the ropes for the past five years.
As we were getting our things together to leave, a short Dominican man in a tank top, a pair of jeans and some boots rushed into the shop. The look on his face wasn’t pleasant at all. He was breathing heavy and looking around the shop with wide eyes.