Booty Call *69 (22 page)

“I don’t know…maybe,” she softly replies.

“How far along are you?”

“The doctor told me five weeks.” She dries her tears and I pass her some more tissue. I bring her a glass of water and walk her to her bedroom. I stay with her for the remainder of the day, making sure that she’s okay. Damn, being pregnant must be really fucked up. You get fat, moody, lose your shape, not to mention the cramps and no longer fitting into any of your clothing, while constantly being tired and sleepy. Shit, having children definitely isn’t for me. Kids can wait!

Christmas will soon be here, which means gifts. I sometimes receive cards with money inside. The most money I’ve ever received in a card was five hundred dollars from a man who used to ride the bus with me every morning when I was in high school. I’d never met him, but he used to gawk at me every morning on the bus, while probably getting a hard-on. A week before Christmas, he approached me, giving me a white envelope with
Please read, sexy,
written across it.

I arrived at school and opened the envelope during my third-period class. There were five, crisp, hundred-dollar bills inside of a Christmas card. I nearly fainted when I saw the money. I opened the card, and it read:

 

 

He also wrote his numbers down. I ripped up the card and kept the money.
How stupid can you be, giving a total stranger you never met, five hundred dollars?
I remember thinking. From that day on, I took a different bus to school; I didn’t want to risk running into him. I used the money to buy Jakim a leather jacket for Christmas and a few outfits for myself.

I’m on Jamaica Avenue doing my Christmas shopping with Naja. “So what your moms gonna do?” Naja asks after I tell her about my mother’s condition.

“She don’t know. She might have it.”

“Damn, Shana, you might be having a little brother or sister.”

“Yup!”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know.”

As we walk towards 165
^th
Street, I can’t help but wonder what I’d do if it was me. But I’m not trying to ruin my wonderful figure by having
some fool’s baby. I think my mother should get an abortion. Aunt Tina told her the same thing, but she’s not for it. She loves Danny. And even though he’s acting like an asshole, my mother isn’t going to kill his baby.

Best of luck to her in trying to get me to baby-sit. I love my moms, but I have a life, and watching kids all day long is not a part of the plan.

As we walk down 165
^th
Street toward the Coliseum shopping center, Naja points out a black BMW. “Ain’t that Tyrone’s whip?” she asks.

It is. I recognize the chrome, eighteen-inch rims and tinted windows. I know his car like I know my period. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in weeks. I have a serious bone to pick with him about Chinky and my little scrap with her in the bathroom at the club. That bitch tried to cut me because of him. Then there’s the thing with the detectives coming to speak to me about him.

“You wanna go the other way?” Naja asks as we stand there staring at his car.

I think about it. “Nah, I wanna ask him some questions,” I tell her, while walking toward his car.

“C’mon, Shana, it’s Christmas; you don’t need to be dealing with this shit right now! Deal with him some other time.”

I ignore her and continue walking straight toward his car. There’s some dude sitting in the passenger seat. Tyrone is nowhere in sight. “Where’s Tyrone?” I ask him.

He leans forward in his seat, which is reclined far back. “Damn, boo, why you lookin’ for him when you’ve already found me?” he says.

Naja comes and stands behind me, disappointed by my decision. “Where’s Tyrone?” I ask again.

“He’s in the record shop,” his friend answers. “But I’m sayin’, boo,
what’s your name?”

I walk toward the record shop with Naja close behind me. But I stop at the glass door when I look inside; he’s chatting with some hoochie-looking female. She’s smiling and laughing, and all over him like flies on shit.

 

“C’mon, Shana, fuck him! You got Jakim back in your life now,” Naja tries reminding me. She’s right. Jakim and I are bonding again, but seeing Tyrone chatting with that girl has set me off. Here I was a minute ago ready to curse him out, but catching feelings when I see him talking and huggin’ up on someone else. Once again I’m confused.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Naja says pulling me by my arm away from the record shop. I want to resist, but I don’t. I want to approach Tyrone, smack that bitch and tell her to get the fuck away from my man. I want to curse him out, hate him and try to still love him at the same time. I also want the truth from him, about his relationship with Chinky, his children and us.

We walk away from the record shop. I want to turn around and seriously confront Tyrone, but Naja encourages me to move along.

As we wait for the bus, Tyrone’s car pulls up to the curb in front of us. I sigh and then turn my head. Naja sucks her teeth.

“Shana, I need to talk to you,” Tyrone says from the driver’s seat.

“What do you want?” I ask, feeling somewhat glad that he’s showed up. He steps out of the car, wearing a black hoodie and a thick chain draped around his neck. His man remains in the passenger seat, staring at Naja.

 

“Naja, watch my bags,” I say, placing them on the ground next to her. I try to calm my nerves. I don’t know if I want to smack and curse him out or just fuck and love him. It doesn’t matter that he’s wrong. He is for
me. He pulls me to the side out of everyone’s hearing range. I back up against a brick wall. He stands inches from my face. “So, what’s up?” he asks.

 

“What’s up with you?”

“I was in jail for a few days,” he states.

“Why?”

“You know why—because of that
Terry
situation. Fuckin cops trying to blame me for his murder. What you tell ‘em, Shana?”

“I ain’t tell ‘em shit, Tyrone.”

“You sure?”

“They asked me a few questions about you, and if I knew anything about your whereabouts. All I told ‘em was we’re just fuckin’, and that’s it.”

He chuckles. “That’s my girl. They ain’t got shit on me because I didn’t do it. I ain’t touch that muthafucka since that night I was with you. You believe me, right?”

I don’t answer.

“You believe me, Shana, right?” he repeats.

“Yeah, I do,” I slowly answer.

He smiles and then has the nerve to ask, “Yo, you and Jakim got back together?”

“What?”

“Jakim tells me that you and him are fuckin’ again. That’s true?”

“Listen, I got with him because you wasn’t around. I got lonely. But honestly, it’s not even like that with him,” I make clear.

“So, what you sayin’, y’all fucked?”

I can’t believe he’s getting jealous. It makes me smile inside for a moment, knowing this.

“We did our thang, why?”

“So it’s like dat. What about us?” he asks.

“What
about
us?” I sarcastically reply. “You actin’ like we ain’t together like dat. You don’t call me. You don’t come around. I thought you got bored with me.”

“Shana, it ain’t even like dat. Yo, let me take you and Naja home and we’ll talk privately,” he says.

“Nah, before we go anywhere with you, you need to answer a few questions,” I tell him, “since you all in
my
business.”

“Like what?”

“First off, who da fuck is Chinky?”

“What?”

“Don’t fuckin’ play games with me, Tyrone. That bitch jumped me in a club. She claims that you’re her man, her baby daddy and shit!”

“Don’t believe that dizzy bitch, Shana.”

“Why not, it’s the truth, ain’t it?”

“Nah, we ain’t together. Yo, fuck that bitch!”

“Tyrone, don’t bullshit me; Evay already told me all about y’all. He told me y’all been together for seven years. And he told me you got some other bitch pregnant out in Jersey.”

“Yo, you gonna believe that fat fuck, Shana?!” he shouts. “That niggah just jealous. And he likes you, you know....”

“But why would he lie?”

“Because he’s hatin’ on a brotha!”

“Nah, see, you need to take care of that bitch, Chinky. Her and her homegirls nearly sliced my face open, and—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he interrupts.

I stare at him with doubting eyes. I want so much to believe him; I’ve been hearing so many things about him, and it’s hard for me to tell what’s a lie and what’s not.

“I’m not gonna lie, Shana. Yes, I do have kids by her. But we ain’t together no more. I thought you knew this; everyone does,” he says convincingly.

“What about that bitch in Jersey?”

“What bitch in Jersey? Shana, don’t believe a word that fat muthafucka told you. I’ll deal with him later.”

“Shana, the bus is coming!” Naja shouts.

“We’ll catch the next one.” She doesn’t look too pleased standing there, with Tyrone’s friend trying to kick it to her. “What about that bitch I saw you huggin’ up on in the store a few minutes ago?”

“Shana, that bitch ain’t nobody; I just ran into her. We used to talk a while back. ”

“So am I just another bitch in your life, Tyrone?”

He comes closer to me, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin. He pulls me against him, and his scent enters my nostrils. “Don’t be letting these jealous muthafuckas out here brainwash you with all these stupid rumors. I want you to be my woman. It’s about me and you.”

“So why you never act like it, Tyrone? I mean, you’re always leaving town without me knowing. I don’t hear from you in two or three weeks, then—”

 

“Ssshhhh…come here,” he says. He slowly presses his lips against mine. I know Naja is watching; I feel her eyes on me. I know she’s pissed. But who cares? This is
my
life, and I know what I’m doing.

“I’m taking y’all home,” Tyrone insists.

“I thought we were catching the bus, Shana?” Naja says looking perplexed.

“Nah, Tyrone’s gonna take us home,” I say with a smile, happy we’ve worked things out. Naja rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth. She snatches up our bags and throws them in the back seat of the car.

“Damn, boo, it’s Christmas; Santa ain’t bringing you no dick this year?” Tyrone’s friend says looking back at her.

“Check your fuckin’ mutt, Tyrone,” Naja says.

“Chill, Pipe,” Tyrone tells him.

While riding in the car, Tyrone is constantly checking me out through his rearview mirror, smiling. I smile and flirt back. Naja, seated next to me, is mad. She doesn’t say one word during the whole ride home.

Tyrone pulls up to the front of my house. Naja gets out, and I give her my keys to go inside, to have a few minutes alone with Tyrone.

“So, what you doing tonight?” he asks me, both of us standing outside of his car now.

“Nothin’, why?” I say, sounding like putty as he embraces me in his arms.

“I thought we could go out to dinner or somethin’.”

“That sounds good. Then what?”

“Then we can chill over at my place. I’m about to evict that niggah, Evay, for good. I miss you, Shana.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I’ll pick you up around nine, cool?”

“I’ll be ready,” I say, slowly backing away toward my front door, staring at him as he gets back in his car.