Booty Call *69 (23 page)

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Authors: Erick Gray

BOOK: Booty Call *69
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When I enter the house, I know I’ll hear a few words from Naja.
“Why you playing yourself out like that, Shana?”
“What you talking about?”
“I mean, why are you still fuckin’ with him? You know he’s wrong for you.”
“What, you’re my mother now? You gonna preach to me?”
“No! I’m just trying to look out for you. You saw him huggin’ up on that bitch in the store,
and
his baby mother tried to cut you in the club. Two detectives came to your crib asking you about Terry’s death, after you witnessed him pistol whip Terry a while back over money. Tell me you don’t believe he didn’t do it?”
“He said he didn’t.”
“Open your eyes, Shana. Tyrone’s putting you in bad situations. He’s gonna get you hurt or killed. What happened to you, Shana? You were stronger than this back in high school; you could see right through a guy’s bullshit. Now you’re acting like a fuckin’ floosy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Naja. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m telling you—leave Tyrone alone.”
“Or what, Naja?”
“What about Jakim? I thought y’all were getting back together?”
“We were.”
“So you just gonna let him go? You gonna dump him for Tyrone?”
I become silent, and I slowly turn away from her. She folds her arms across her chest, not once taking her eyes off me.
“You gonna play Jakim like that?” she continues.
“Fuck him!” I exclaim.
“Oh, that’s wrong, Shana. You know he loves you! Now here comes
Tyrone, creeping back into your life after you ain’t seen or heard from him in weeks. And you ready to go play make-up with him.”
“Please, it’s
my
life,” I state.
“And you’re just gonna dump Jakim for his best friend.”
“So! I don’t feel for him like I feel for Tyrone.”
“You talk all this shit about Jakim being your love, your heart. You’re playing with fire, girl, and it’s gonna blow up in your face. You can’t be switching back and forth between two best friends like that.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m with Tyrone, now, and Jakim’s gonna have to understand.”
“You gonna tell him?”
“Yup!”
“You know he ain’t gonna take that shit lightly,” Naja warns.
“Yeah, I know, but he won’t have a choice,” I say.
Naja sighs, unhappy with my decision, but it’s my life and it’s what I want to do. Jakim is a sweetheart. It’s just that when I’m with him, sparks don’t fly for me. My panties don’t get moist, and I don’t get aroused like I used to when we’re having sex. It’s different with Tyrone. He’s like a cigarette: you know it’s bad for your health, but you still smoke it anyway.
I know I have to tell Jakim about Tyrone—if he hasn’t heard already. But I don’t know how. I do know that once I tell him, he’ll be upset. That’s the way life is; you have to accept the good along with the bad, the bad in this case, is that I’m screwing him over for his best friend.
All week it’s been nothing but Tyrone and me. He took me to see a Broadway play, we ate at Sylvia’s in Harlem and he took me shopping.
I know that what Tyrone and I share is love. And I’m the only female in his life. That’s why I satisfy him orally, anally and give him whatever he wants.
It’s a week before Christmas, and he’s asked me to move in with him. He sends a small van to my mom’s crib, and a few fellas help me move my things. I don’t have much to move, except for my clothes, my shoes and my television.
 
When I tell Naja, she thinks I’ve lost my mind. Aunt Tina hates to see me go, but she understands. I can’t pass up this opportunity.
Word around the hood is that Jakim finally knows about Tyrone and me, and he’s threatening to cause Tyrone some harm. Tyrone doesn’t take his threats to heart; he understands that the boy is hurt. I know I should’ve told Jakim about Tyrone. It probably would have been better for him to hear about us from my lips, rather than on the street. God knows how they put it to him…but now that he knows, it feels like a burden has been lifted off of me.
Christmas day is the best. Tyrone and I wake up around eight. We make love in bed, and then in the shower. We have a real tree set up in the living room near the balcony. I make breakfast, and then we tear open our gifts. I receive a diamond ring and necklace, a gorgeous white mink, a leather jacket, shoes, a Gucci purse and lingerie.
“Why so much?” I ask, a bit overwhelmed.
“Business been good this year,” he replies smiling. I bought him some sexy, silk boxers, a coat, beige Timberlands and a ring.
After opening our gifts, we cuddle on the floor and watch movies together. Tyrone loves watching old black and white movies from the forties,
fifties and sixties. He’s kind of old school with the flicks.
Tyrone sends chills down my spine when he starts nibbling on and whispering romantic things in my ear, tickling my body with his fingers. My baby has me open. Being warm and romantic are special qualities that he hides so well—qualities his woman knows about.
Tyrone is also a very clean and meticulous person. He puts everything in its place. And he takes his time with whatever he does; he doesn’t like to rush things—extra points in the bedroom. He’s also smart. He has a collection of novels, biographies, autobiographies and non-fiction books. I’ve never met a black male who loves to read so much. Despite his street life, you’d think he was a Harvard student, the way he sometimes carries himself—in a very professional and well mannered way.
Some brothas out here try to hide their intelligence—if they have any. They think you must always act, talk and be rugged to survive in the streets. But it ain’t even about that. Some of the most notorious kingpins were very intelligent and weren’t afraid to show it. Shit, you gotta be a smart man if you don’t wanna do twenty-five to life and want to keep your business. I’ve learned so many great things about Tyrone after moving in with him.
Tyrone wants me to try on one of the lingerie outfits he’s bought me. I dash into the bedroom and slip into an animal print piece and some stiletto heels. I come back out into the living room, and by the gigantic smile on his face, I know I’m looking good. “Come here!” he orders. I obey.
At about eleven a.m., after our third sexual encounter, Tyrone’s cousin, Aaron, stops by. He’s a cutie, too, but my man is cuter. This is my first time meeting him, and by the way he looks at me, I know he likes what he sees. Tyrone tells me to go and get dressed because we’re going out. As
I get dressed in the bedroom, he discusses business in the kitchen with Aaron.
I wear my new, white mink coat along with my diamond ring and necklace. I look and feel like a superstar when I step out of the car. We approach Lassie’s, a very elegant and upscale restaurant, located on the lower east side of Manhattan.
“You’re looking stunning tonight,” Tyrone says as we walk hand in hand into the restaurant. I blush. I feel so proud being with him tonight. It’s Christmas, and there’s nothing that would make me happier than being with him today. I’m lookin’ fine, and so is he, dressed in a black Armani sweater, black slacks and alligator shoes.
The waiter escorts us to our table. Tyrone made reservations for two. The patrons here are mostly white, old fogies. Tyrone, being the gentleman that he is, pulls out my chair for me. Then he takes his seat opposite me.
The environment is so welcoming and genteel, and I can feel the Christmas spirit all around me. Mistletoe is all over the place. A small band of three plays Christmas carols on their stringed instruments. Our waiter is wearing a red and white Santa hat. Even our table has a small Christmas tree as a centerpiece.
Tyrone leans forward and gives me a courtly kiss. “What’s that for?” I ask smiling.
“Look up,” he says pointing his finger toward the ceiling. I look up and see mistletoe hanging over my head. I chuckle and begin to blush once again. “Damn, you’re beautiful…Merry Christmas,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply shyly. My night can’t get any better. I feel like I’m in heaven. I’m out with my dream man on a dream date. I have to pinch
myself to make sure everything is real. I mean, a woman like me couldn’t ask for anything more. We have our own apartment—a very nice apartment—and he has money to burn, so he’s not cheap. He always dresses nicely and smells good, thank God for that. And the sex is Un-fuckin’-believable. I have no complaints. My life is the bomb!
After dinner, we go on one of those horse-and-carriage rides through Central Park. We start to make out in the carriage. He fondles me through my dress, and I bless him with that thing I do. It’s a little breezy out, but it’s not brick- ass cold. And the cool air feels good blowing between my open legs. This is the best day of my life.
After getting home, we chill in front of the television, watching more movies and sexing each other. I lay in his arms, and he holds and caresses me gently. I feel like Cinderella with Tyrone as my handsome prince in this spacious apartment, our kingdom. I feel that no man or woman can break up what we have. This is it. He’ll be my man—or maybe my husband—for life. No one can take away what we have.
13
JAKIM
Just thinking about Tyrone and Shana together puts me on edge…. I sit in my bedroom, holding a loaded .45 in my hand. It’s getting late. I’ve been calling Shana over and over again, but to no avail. Either she’s ignoring me, or too busy being with Tyrone to return my phone calls. And that drives me fuckin’ crazy.
I feel dissed, betrayed and used. I’m hot, but sometimes my rage turns into hurt, and I get emotional. I’ll even start crying like a bitch. I want us to get back together. I thought she wanted the same thing, too. I feel stupid after telling everyone, even Latish, about us reconciling our differences. The entire time, Shana was cheating on me with Tyrone. I feel like such a jackass.
Tyrone has to pay; he’s grimy. And I’ve finally figured out his angle, his motive. He was pushing me onto other women, while trying to convince me to leave Shana alone. But behind my back, he was pushing up on her.
I want both of them to hurt. I should go back over to Latish’s and
fuck the shit out of her. I want to get even. I’m so angry that I’m even thinking about getting Latish pregnant, just to make Shana jealous. But that absurd idea flies out of my head quickly. It wouldn’t be worth it.
I hear a knock at my door. I know it’s my father. “You can come in,” I say, quickly hiding the gun under a pillow.
“You okay in here?” my father asks opening my bedroom door.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Evay is at the door for you. You want any company?”
“I’ll meet him outside.”
“Okay,” he says closing the door.
My pops is cool. He isn’t in my business too much. He likes Shana. He used to tell me that she reminded him of my mother back in the day. He and my mother divorced ten years ago. My father is in his early fifties. He’s still an attractive man, with salt and pepper hair, smooth brown skin and a nicely trimmed goatee. He was a playboy back in the seventies and eighties, and he finally settled down and married my mother when they were in their mid thirties. He used to school me on women. And when I was with Shana, he’d preach to me on how to please, talk, handle and make love to a woman. We talked about everything. But at this moment, I can’t talk to him about what’s going on. I don’t want him to talk me out of anything. I know he’d probably tell me it’s not worth it. But I’m crying, and I’ve never cried over a bitch.
I get my nerves together and meet Evay outside. I notice that he looks fucked up. “Yo, what da fuck happened to you?” I ask. Somebody fucked him up pretty badly. His lips are split and swollen. One of his eyes is bruised and closed shut, and he has a big bump on the right side of his head.
“Your boy did this to me. Tyrone and his crew jumped on me last night. He threw me out of the crib and moved that bitch in with him. No disrespect, Jakim.”
“None taken—fuck her!”
“Jakim, he ain’t right. How he gonna do me like this? Yo, we all grew up together, and he gonna violate me like this, Ja…over some pussy!” Evay cries out.
“Yo, don’t worry about it, Evay. We gonna handle it. I promise you that,” I tell him.
Evay is in bad shape. I think his pride and spirit is more damaged than anything else. Tyrone and his crew fucked him up pretty bad. He’s a sight for sore eyes.
“Yo, come inside. We’ll talk in my room.”
As I’m about to walk into the house, my cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID. It’s Latish. This bitch doesn’t give up. I’m not in the mood to talk to her. But in a way, it feels good to be wanted.
Evay and I have a long talk, and we smoke, drink and get fucked up. He ends up falling asleep on the couch and doesn’t leave my crib till the next morning.
I know that I have to confront Shana personally now. The bitch can run, but she can’t hide.
14

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