Black & Ugly (4 page)

Black and Ugly

hands.

"Damn, Sky," he says looking into my eyes. "I broke my neck to get over here to you. That's the only reason I stay comin' wit' you to the movies. I don't give a fuck what be playin'. You tryin' to get a nigga sprung," he continues as he grabs my ass. "I'm feelin'

that outfit, too, ma. That shit's hot. Don't have me break a nigga's jaw out here for starin' at yo' ass."

"Boy, stop playin'." I blush.

I am givin' it up, too. He ain't lying, and I love when he gets a little violent by threatenin' to beat my ass and shit. It only means he cares. Men don't trip unless they feel threatened or are afraid they may lose you. That's right, baby. Get a good look at this ass so you can see what you'll miss if you fuck up.

~~~~

We walk through Arundel Mills Mall toward the theater and all eyes are on us. The atmosphere at night is more like a club than anything, partially because Dave and Buster's is inside the mall, too. We really do look like a fly-ass couple. I have on my three-and-a-quarter inch boots and my one-piece sleeveless black jumper that complements my calves, cleavage and ass.

I completed my look with the Tiffany diamond collec-tion set Jay bought me, which includes the earrings, necklace, bracelet and ring. The niggas is on me and the bitches is on him. The haters are on the sidelines hatin' as usual. I kinda like the haters, though. They let you know you're really doin' the damn thing.

"You get the tickets, ma?"

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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .

"Yeah, papi. I know you hate standing in line," I tell him as I grab his hand to let the redbone in the corner staring know that this one belongs to me. See, I ain't worried about the darkies 'cuz Jay hates chocolate. He once told me a dark-skinned girl can't even get his dick hard. But he loves them redbones with a passion.

~~~~

We move through the theater, it's packed and people are everywhere. I hate going to see a movie on opening night, but I love the attention. We are elbow to elbow with strangers, and now they are so close that nobody can really see my outfit.

We are waitin' in the line to get some snacks and this one dude behind me is starin' me down like I am the last chicken wing on the plate. He has his girlfriend with him and everything. Or maybe it's his wife. Who knows? He ain't even lookin' at my face, just focusing on my body and my ass. I turn around slightly, pretending to give a fuck about the crowd behind me so he can get a good look at my face. I want him to see I'm a total package.

I recognize him from around the way. He smiles, suggesting he recognizes me, too. I'm sure he knows who I am because I'm definitely popular, but for some reason I can't remember his name. If my memory serves me correctly, he is the owner of a 2006 silver Mercedes Benz CLS55 with charcoal interior.

Outside of his car, I can tell he is caked up by the looks of his girl. She has diamonds so big that they put my Tiffany set to shame, and trust me, it's hard to put
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Black and Ugly

my set to shame. The thing that really cracks my head is the canary-yellow diamond pendant necklace she's flossing. I can also tell her tracks are laid professional-ly because they move every time she does. Bitch! You know how good a nigga's eatin' by the bitch he puts on his arm.

Maybe I'm mad or maybe I just want to start shit but I'm about to fuck with him a little. Plus, if he sees me again, I want him to know that he has an open invitation to approach me. With Jay actin' up lately, I can never tell how long he'll be around. Who knows, maybe this dude can be my other option? I mean, Jay takes care of me because I damn sure ain't got no job, but lately he's been slackin' in the attention depart-ment.

"What you doin', girl?" Jay says, sensing I am up to something.

"Nothing, baby," I lie as I reach for a kiss and put one finger through the belt loop on his jeans.

I look at the line ahead of me and see there are three people in front of us. Our server is extremely slow, and this is the only time I am happy with poor service. It gives me time to play out my game a little.

I should feel bad because Jay stay puttin' niggas in their place when we go out. One time I cut up and he had to pull his heat out on this dude. But for some reason, I don't care about startin' shit tonight. As far as I'm concerned, I'm keeping him on his toes. He needs to be reminded that he is lucky to be with me. I'm a bad bitch and he knows it.

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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .

I'm seductively swaying my hips to get the other man's attention, as if that's hard to do. You know, like I'm so tired of standing in the line that I gotta move otherwise I'll drive myself crazy. It's working, too, because I turn around to say, "This place is getting more and more packed, Jay," just to prevent him from suspecting something else. Dude is still looking at me.

"Let's go to the line over there. It's shorter," his girl says.

I guess she can't take it no more. But he can because he says, "Naw, we good right here." Just for that bitch, I'ma do extra. I drop the ticket stub on the floor and bend down real slowly to pick it up. My ass is inches away from her man's dick. Even though it's packed, I can tell he
wants
to be really close to me because he doesn't move.

"Damn," he says real low but loud enough for me to hear him.

I didn't expect him to say that. I would knock Jay out for that shit.

"I'ma smack one of these freak bitches in here," the girl mumbles as she walks away.

He follows her, asking what's wrong. Poor thing.

She don't even know how to keep her man in check.

And smack me? I wish she would. I'd beat her ass.

"What you want, ma?" Jay asks as he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him at the concession stand.

He must know I'm up to somethin'. He tells me all the time I need to get along with women more and stop
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being so catty.

"Somebody gonna fuck you up one day," he used to tell me. "Mark my words."

I think that's funny because Parade will stomp somebody out for fuckin' with me. All I have to do is give the word and it's on. Besides, I told him I get along with women just fine. But I was talking about Miss Wayne, Daffany and Parade. He said they don't count because they look up to me. What's wrong with that?

Anyway, I love when he grabs me instead of me grabbing him all the time when we're out in public.

This way I don't look all insecure and pressed.

"Umm, I just want a soda."

"You don't want no popcorn? You must be bug-gin'."

"No, boy. I ate at home. Mommy made a big-ass meal, fried chicken and everything." I'm lying again. She did cook but I didn't eat because there was no way I was squeezing my ass into this outfit with a potbelly. He reaches down and kisses me again and a fucked-up feeling comes over me. I smell him. What is that scent?

"Jay, what you wearing?"

He acts like he doesn't hear me, but I know he does.

People are not talking so loud that he can't hear. This only makes me more suspicious.

"Jay! What are you wearing?!" I yell, reminding him that I'm the same ghetto bitch he met in the mall parking lot two years ago who don't mind actin' real stupid if provoked.

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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .

"Girl, I don't know. Deodorant. Why?" he snaps, all pissed off and shit.

He grabs his popcorn and hands me my soda. We are in the movie theater and I remember exactly how I know the smell. It's the Bebe perfume I gave Parade on account of her askin' me for it over and over. She wears it every day. I used to love that perfume, too, but she wore it so much that it started to remind me of her.

Cheap. It was a catalog purchase, so ain't a lot of girls got it.

I grab his shirt and sniff it again.

"What you doin', girl?!" he yells, like I give a fuck.

"Stop actin' dumb and watch the movie."

"Whatever, you sneaky mothafucka!" I yell back.

The smell on his clothes almost makes me queasy.

I'm happy the theater is dark, because it helps me to play shit out in my head. I mean, why would he be with Parade? He hates black bitches. But why is the smell so strong on his shirt? Maybe it's another girl. Yeah, it has to be another girl. I should slap the fuck out of him right now. I cut my eyes at him.

"What, girl?" he says as he gives me the look that usually means he's getting ready to fuck me up. "Stop trippin' and watch the movie."

"Fuck that movie," I shout back.

I don't think he'd fuck with Parade. Her body is nice, but her skin is fucked up because she doesn't take care of her shit. Miss Wayne gave her some of that Proactiv stuff a while back to clear up her face. I told her I knew somebody who used it and it didn't work,
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