Booty Call *69 (8 page)

“You ever think about us?” he asks after we get back in his car.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“I miss you, Shana.” I remain quiet and look out the passenger window as we head east on the Belt Parkway

Jakim continues. “Do you ever see us getting back together?” Still, I have no words. I have mixed feelings about the situation. I still love
him, but us getting back together again is not an option. I’m still having my fun being young and living my life. I finally speak and explain this to him. He listens and nods his head.

It’s a quarter past ten when he finally drops me off at my front door. “Shana, just think about us. I love you,” he says as I get out of the car. I look at him for a few seconds and then head toward my crib. He watches me enter the house. I know I’m his one and only true love. Many females have tried to take my place, but they couldn’t conquer what he still feels for me. They wanted him so badly, but it wasn’t happening with me still around. Even though we’re separated, we’re still in love with each other. He openly shows his love for me, while I keep my feelings more discreet.

I walk into the living room, flick on the lights and see my mother getting her pussy eaten out by Danny on the living room couch. If any other normal teenage girl had walked in on her mother while she was getting her shit eaten, it would probably freak her out. But as I stated before, I’m used to it. And as usual, my mother doesn’t get up and cover herself and Danny doesn’t miss a beat.

I can’t move. I just stand there watching Danny with his shirt off, going down on my mother. It turns me on. I look at his body. His back is covered with tattoos, and there are jailhouse scars on various other parts of his body. I notice gunshot and stab wounds on both sides of his torso. I remain frozen in the same spot.
Why not me?
I think to myself. He is so fucking fine—too fine for my mother.

“Shana, you gonna stand there and watch us all night?” my mother asks, interrupting my private fantasy of her man.

“No!” I quickly say.

I leave and let them be. I can hear my mother’s passionate moans
throughout the hallway all the way to my bedroom. I have to shut the door; it’s becoming too much for me to bear.

Danny, he could definitely hit this
.... I lie down on my bed in a spread eagle position on my back and finger my pussy. I’m horny. I need some dick.

Early the next morning, I go shopping with my Aunt Tina. We hit Jamaica Avenue and Green Acres Mall. I tell her about seeing Danny and my mom getting busy on the couch last night. She laughs. Aunt Tina fantasizes about Danny, too. I mean, what female who knows him doesn’t?—with his fine, brown-skinned ass. We laugh and hit up all the stores. It’s fun shopping with my Aunt. She has very good taste in clothing. Too bad I can’t say the same thing about her choice in men.

As we continue shopping, almost every guy we pass tries to hit on us with the typical male call: “Yo, shorty, let me holla at you,” or “I’m sayin’, boo, y’all are looking too good. What’s y’all name?” I take a few numbers, because I’m not giving out mine.

We get a free cab ride because we flirt with the driver. We always give drivers phony numbers and gas their heads up. Aunt Tina rides up front with some cab drivers, taking it to the next level by giving them a hand massage while they’re driving. I always just sit in the back and laugh. She is such a slut.

My day is going great until I run into Sasha. She’s with three other girls in a store on Jamaica Avenue. I try not to pay her any attention. My aunt takes notice. She knows what went down between me and Sasha, and she asks me if I want her to help me beat that bitch down. I know she’s not
kidding. Sasha and the three girls glare at us. I act like I’m browsing through some skirts, paying them no mind at all. Aunt Tina glares back, cursing them under her breath. If anything goes down in this store, I know she has my back. My aunt can throw down better than me.

One of the girls comes toward us. She pretends to be browsing through some stuff as she gets closer to my aunt. I know they’re trying to start something with us, so I take off my earrings and discreetly stuff them down into my purse. Sasha keeps her distance while carefully eyeing me. All of a sudden, one of her girls bumps into my aunt. “Watch where the fuck you’re going, bitch!” she yells out. That was all she needed to say. My aunt lashes out at her something serious. She pulls her by the hair and knocks her down to the floor. It was so quick and intense that no one saw it coming—not even the girl she’s beating down. Sasha and the other two try to come to their friend’s aid. That’s when I step in and punch one bitch in her jaw. It’s fuckin’ on! My aunt’s holding two of ‘em down, while the other two, including Sasha, try to jump on me. I knock Sasha across her head with my purse and then scratch one side of her face somethin’ serious. Her friend—some chubby bitch—tries to bum rush me to the ground. She knocks me into a pile of neatly folded clothes. The bitch has the advantage for a quick second, holding me down and hitting me across my face. But that changes when I knock her across the head with a belt buckle. She screams, and I throw her down hard on her fat ass. Then that bitch, Sasha, comes swinging at me. She catches me with a few good hits, sending me stumbling over a rack of clothes. But I yank her by her shirt and toss her hard against the wall, delivering some serious blows to her head. My aunt is more than handling the other two; she’s fuckin’ them bitches up.

The employees in the store don’t know what to do. Some of them
just stand out of the way and watch, and others run to get security or the police. A number of customers begin to run out of the store, while a few of them get knocked over. No one attempts to break it up; there is too much confusion.

By now a huge crowd has gathered outside the store, curious to see what all the commotion is about. The fight moves to the street, and I’m battling that same fat bitch that tried to bum rush me earlier. I rip open her shirt, and one of her titties pops out. She doesn’t care; enraged, she comes at me in full force and knocks me down to the ground. “Ooooh, that had to hurt!” I hear someone from the crowd yell out.

I’m in pain. She’s fat but strong. She grabs a handful of my hair and tries to pull it out. I grab her by her wrist and struggle to get her off of me. Suddenly, I look up and see Sasha standing over me. She has a small razor in her hand…I want to cry; I’m losing, and I can’t get up.
Please
,
God, no! Don’t let her cut me,
I pray.

My prayers are answered when about four police officers come and restrain Sasha, throwing her to the ground. Then they pull the fat bitch off of me and restrain her ass, too. Within minutes, eight more officers are on the scene to gain control of the situation. They put Sasha and her crew in handcuffs and start questioning me. My aunt is okay, although she’s bleeding from a scratch by her right ear.

The cops are questioning the store manager now, asking what happened and who started it. She points to one of Sasha’s friends and explains that she bumped into my aunt and cursed at her. Other witnesses start saying the same thing. I feel relieved. I guess everybody feels it’s not fair for four girls to jump on two. When Sasha pulled out that razor, she made it even worse for them.

Sasha and her friends are hauled off to jail, and my aunt and I are asked if we’d like to press charges. The store manager wants to. She says that they ruined her store with their nonsense. My aunt and I refuse to press charges; where we come from, we settle our disputes in the streets.

My hair looks horrendous. My lip is bleeding and my eye is swollen. I am so mad. Whatever friendship Sasha and I had left was dissolved when she pulled out that razor. She’s declared war, and there’s no way I’m gonna let this shit slide.

Some of my shopping bags got lost—probably stolen—and my new shirt is ruined. Aunt Tina lost her shit, too. She’s more upset than I am.

We call ourselves a cab and take our asses home. When my mother hears what’s happened, she’s ready to go and knock down Sasha’s front door and fuck that bitch up. I convince her not to. I stay in the house for the rest of the day. In fact, I stay indoors for the next three days, until my bruises start to heal. Of course Jakim stops by after hearing what happened. He spends a few hours with me, and we talk and laugh. He rags Sasha out and tells me that he never liked the bitch anyway. Tyrone is a no-show. I’m surprised.
Maybe he didn’t hear what happened
. I don’t stress it.

Tyrone lets out a boisterous laugh when I tell him about Shana and Sasha’s fight up on Jamaica Avenue. “Yo, why dey fuckin’ each other up like dat?” he asks while navigating his BMW through the Queens streets. “Dey used to be girls—best friends and shit.”

“Man, listen…you know how grimy Sasha can be,” I say. “I
know
it’s dat bitches fault. Yo, she tried to cut Shana’s face and shit.”

“Damn, now dat’s fucked up. Yo, I would kill dat bitch if she came at me like that,” Tyrone says.

“Word, yo.”

“See, dat’s why bitches can’t stay friends for too long, like niggahs; dey be hatin’ on each other too much. As soon as a bitch is out of ear shot, the rest of ‘em in the crew start talkin’ ‘bout her…frontin’ ass hoes and shit.” Tyrone reaches forward and presses for track five on a Jay-Z CD.
In My Lifetime
blasts from the car speakers as we cruise down Hillside Ave.

I bob my head to the track and think about Shana. That night we
spent together at Coney Island plays over and over in my head. It’s nights like those that make me miss her even more. I love the way we held hands and strolled under the stars with the calm wind playfully nipping at us…. I peer out the window, gazing at the stores that line Hillside Avenue. Jay-Z’s rap continues to blast throughout the car.

“Jay-Z, this my niggah right here!” Tyrone shouts. He starts rapping along with Jay. I chuckle. When the song ends, Tyrone looks over at me, lowering the volume of the CD player and asks, “What’s wrong, playa? You look like you got somethin’ heavy on your mind.”

“Nah, just chillin’,” I reply.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You ain’t got no beef wit’ no niggah? ‘Cause if you do, you know you my niggah, and I’m gonna handle dat for you,” he says with confidence.

“Nah, I ain’t got no beef,” I say smiling.

He focuses his attention back on the road and turns up the CD player again. We fall silent as we continue down Hillside Avenue.

As we head toward the Van Wyck Expressway, Tyrone looks over at me again, and to my surprise he asks, “Yo, Ja, what’s up wit’ you and Shana?”

“Why you ask dat?” I say.

“Just curious. You lookin’ stressed right now, playa,” he says. “I know if it ain’t beef, then you got a bitch on your mind. Shana’s one fine ass honey, and I know you missin’ her.”

At first I want to confess my true feelings about Shana to Tyrone. I want to tell him that I still have it bad for my ex-girlfriend. It seems like my feelings for her are seeping through my pores, and everybody can see
them anyway.

I decide not to talk about it. “Nah, I got dis other bitch I’m fuckin’ on my mind right now,” I say.

“Oh, word? What she about?”

“Bitch is a freak, son,” I tell him, glad about the change in topic.

“My niggah,” he says giving me dap. “But yo, I saw Shana up in the club the other night with her homegirls.”

“I know. Evay told me already.”

“Yo, don’t stress her, Ja. You ain’t missin’ nothin.”

“I heard you danced wit’ her, too,” I blurt out, not really meaning anything by it.

“Yeah, we danced. But you know it was strictly innocent. We cool peoples. You know I ain’t gonna disrespect you by fuckin’ your ex-girl, Ja. You know I don’t get down like dat. Dat ain’t even my style.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Tyrone hits the ramp leading to the Van Wyck. His cell phone goes off as he merges with the traffic. He looks down at the caller ID and smiles.

“Yo, I got dis bitch sweatin’ me,” he boasts.

“Word, who dat?” I inquire.

“Dis bitch I met in da club a few weeks back. I took her to da crib and dug her fuckin’ back out.”

I laugh. “Do you, niggah. Dat’s all I got to say—do you.”

“I’m gonna call her back later, though,” Tyrone continues. “But yo, Jakim, what I’m trying to tell you, you’re a handsome dude, niggah. You know what I’m sayin? Niggahs like us, we don’t come a dime a dozen. You need to do the three fuckin’ F’s: find ‘em, fuck ‘em and forget about ‘em. Hoes come and go, niggah, and I ain’t callin’ Shana no ho, but you start for-gettin’
about a bitch and I guarantee you, she gonna start sweatin’ you like you da last dick on earth.”

As we travel down the Van Wyck toward the Belt Parkway, Tyrone’s phone rings again. He looks down at the number. “What I tell you, niggah? I ain’t stressin’ to call dis bitch back, and she hounding a niggah—blowin’ up a niggah’s phone and shit. Yo, a bitch is always gonna call you if you fuckin’ her good. And a bitch ain’t gonna never forget about a niggah wit’ a big dick who’s blowing her back out.” I laugh.