Eviction Notice (29 page)

“That li’l boy just got saved for a good ass whipping,” the kid boasted.

Lakim took a sip of his Corona and made eye contact with the kid. “You having a good time at my man’s party?”

“Yeah, this shit is real live.” The kid smiled. The smile faded when Lakim broke the bottle on the bar and placed the jagged end to the kid’s throat.

He grabbed the kid roughly by the face and pressed the broken end into the kid’s Adam’s apple. “You fucking faggot, I should open you up for trying to disrespect my li’l man!”

“I’m sorry.” The kid gasped.

“One sorry muthafucka.” Lakim poked him. “Get the fuck outta here before I kill you.” He shoved the kid. Lakim grabbed a napkin from the bar and began wiping the excess beer from his hands. He felt Gucci’s and Tionna’s eyes on him. “You ladies enjoy the rest of the party.” He tossed the napkin onto the bar and walked off.

Gucci had a mortified look on her face, but Tionna was smiling from ear to ear. “I know you don’t think that shit is funny?” Gucci asked.

“Nah, I was just wondering if he was seeing anybody.”

Gucci shook her head. “I can’t take yo ass nowhere.”

“Hater.” Tionna sipped her drink. She looked over near the entrance and saw Marlene walk in accompanied by several men dressed in business suits. “There’s Marlene. Come on, let me introduce you.” Tionna grabbed Gucci by the hand and led her across the room.

CHAPTER 44

Porsha’s night with
Don B. felt like a dream. Don B. treated her to dinner at a French restaurant uptown that she’d had no idea even existed. It was a cute little spot not far from St. Luke’s Hospital and had a beautiful view of the park. The menu was in French, so Porsha had some difficulty figuring out what she wanted to eat, but to her surprise Don B. was able to translate it. His French wasn’t very good, but he knew enough to place their order.

After dinner they headed downtown to the movie screening. It was a modest theater on the Lower East Side that showed mostly foreign films and critically acclaimed independents, but they shut it down for the night for the screening. It was a forty-minute short called
From Harlem With Love,
which was written and directed by a young writer from Harlem whom Don B. had grown up with. When Porsha saw the melting pot of people who turned out for the screening, she assumed it was going to be some Euro-type film that she couldn’t get into, but it was actually pretty good. It was centered around a dude from the neighborhood who had gone on a killing spree. Porsha cried during the scene when the main character’s girlfriend fell to an assassin’s bullet that was meant for him.

After the screening there was a meet and greet for the cast and crew a few blocks away at a small restaurant. Porsha felt slightly out of her element, listening to the conversations about movies that she had never seen and books that she had no interest in, but she did her best not to embarrass Don B. with her ignorance. She got roped into a discussion with a group of producers from Europe, who seemed to have more than a passing fascination with her. One guy in particular, who had had one too many glasses of wine, fawned over Porsha, telling her how pretty she was and how he wanted to use her in his next film. She knew he was talking out of his ass, but it felt good to hear.

When asked what she did, Porsha said simply that she was in the entertainment field and didn’t elaborate any further.

Don B. seemed right at home seemingly so far out of his element. It was amazing to her how he could turn his hood persona on and off as needed to blend in with the different crowds. Porsha mostly played the sidelines but it seemed like every few minutes Don B. was introducing her to this one and that one who was involved either with the film or with some other aspect of the industry. When Don B. announced that they were leaving, no one wanted to see them go, including Porsha. She was having a good time, but Don B. promised that the night would only get better, so she went along.

“What’d you think?” Don B. asked when they were back in the car.

“I had a great time. Your friends were so nice and they really seemed supportive of your friend’s film,” Porsha said.

“Stop fronting. Those were a bunch of dry-ass crackers who wouldn’t have wiped their asses with that script if the Don wasn’t backing it. They don’t give a fuck about us or the stories that come out of our communities.”

Porsha was confused. “So if you really don’t like these people, why were you in there all smiley and stuff?”

“Because it’s good business. For as big of cocksuckers as those guys are, they’re also very influential. The connections they have can open doors that might otherwise be closed to me and help take Big Dawg to the next level, so I play the game.”

“Sounds like the game is phony to me.”

“As a three-dollar bill, but business ain’t about keeping it real, it’s about keeping it profitable. After you’ve been around for a while you’ll have figured it out.”

“Oh, so you plan on keeping me around for a while, huh?”

Don B. looked at her. “I’d be a fool to let a catch like you get away, ma. You’ve been chosen; now let’s see if you make the cut.”

“I hear that hot shit.” Porsha cut her eyes at him. “So, where are we off to now?”

“A friend of mine is having a li’l thing out in Brooklyn Heights. I figured we’d slide through there for a hot sec and have a few drinks. Besides, I need to holla at him about something.”

Porsha frowned. “Brooklyn Heights? Ain’t no clubs out there so what is it, a house party or something?”

“Or something,” he said and turned his attention back to the road.

*   *   *

What Don B.
took Porsha to was anything but your average house party. His friend Tone owned a beautiful three-story house with a view of the bridge. When Don B. pulled up with Porsha on his arm, people treated them like the king and queen of the music industry. He led her through the long hallway to the living room, giving her the 411 on all the plaques that lined Tone’s wall. People milled about in the spacious living room with its high ceilings and glass furniture, drinking and smoking weed and engaging in a few other activities. There were a few heavyweights from the New York music scene there, and she thought she might’ve recognized an athlete or two. No matter who they were, they all paid homage to Don B. and the lady on his arm. Porsha caught a little shade from a few of the video hos in attendance but that just made her throw it extra hard as she crossed the room.

“Glad you came through, my nigga.” Tone walked up to greet Don B. He was wearing jeans and a wife beater with a pair of Gucci slippers on his feet. A blunt of some of the most potent weed Porsha had ever smelled dangled from his lips, dropping ashes on the carpet every time he said something.

“You know I had to let my presence be felt, B.” Don B. gave him dap.

“I see you brought li’l miss thing from the other night with you.” Tone looked Porsha up and down, licking his lips. His eyes were beet red and narrowed to slits. “What’s good?”

“Chilling,” she told him. “This is a nice place you have here.”

“It’s a’ight, just someplace to lay my head when I’m in New York,” he stunted. “Yo, y’all come on in and relax. Don, you probably know everybody already but if not you’ll get to know ’em before the night is over.” Tone walked to the other side of the living room, plucking two of the video hos from the group and disappearing around the corner with them.

“Yo, Don, let me holla at you for a minute. I got somebody I want you to meet,” someone called from across the room. Porsha recognized him as a popular R&B singer who had had a few number-one singles.

Don B. looked at Porsha for approval. “Go ahead and handle your business,” she told him.

“A’ight, I’ll be back in a sec. Why don’t you grab us a few drinks.” Don B. nodded at a gallon of Hennessy and some plastic cups that were on the mantel. He bopped over to the corner and began speaking with the singer and his entourage.

Porsha made her way across the living room to the makeshift bar, taking in the scene as she went. She had been to some wild parties before but this ranked up there with the wildest of them. In the corner on a love seat next to the patio door, two girls took turns snorting lines of coke off an album cover, while a man and a woman were squeezed in next to them, kissing and petting heavily. Porsha watched curiously as the man’s hand disappeared beneath the woman’s skirt and began fondling her sex. A small crowd had gathered to watch, but the couple didn’t seem to mind. Porsha managed to tear herself away from the show and continued toward the bottle.

She reached for the bottle but someone else beat her to it. She was a pretty Spanish girl with a big weave and pants that were so tight they looked like they’d split if she bent the wrong way. “My bad, you go ahead,” Porsha told her.

“How about you hold the cups and I pour,” the girl suggested.

Porsha balanced all three cups in her palms while the girl poured the drinks. “Thanks,” Porsha said, handing the girl her cup.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you signed to Big Dawg or just part of an entourage?” the girl asked.

“Neither,” Porsha said, not bothering to elaborate further.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m Macy,” the girl introduced herself.

“Porsha.”

“Wow, I love your haircut.” Macy reached out and touched Porsha’s stylish cut. When she pulled her hand away she let it brush against Porsha’s cheek.

“Excuse you.” Porsha pulled away.

“Relax, mama. It’s all good here. This must be your first time at one of Tone’s parties.” Macy smiled.

Porsha set her drink on the mantel and looked at Macy seriously. “Check this fly shit, I don’t know what you thought you were trying to do, but I ain’t that bitch, so if I were you I’d be the fuck easy.”

“Damn, you ain’t gotta be all stink about it. Bitch, if you ain’t with the program then what the fuck are you doing here?” Macy snapped.

Just then Don B. walked up. “What the fuck are you doing?” He glared at Macy.

“Chill, Don, I was just kicking it with ya li’l plaything. Maybe later on we can all play together.” Macy tried to wrap her arms around Don B.’s neck but he pushed her away.

“Macy, get your drunk ass outta here before I have you thrown out.”

“Fuck you, Don B. You always want a bitch to share her goodies but you never wanna share yours. I can’t stand a cuffing-ass nigga.” Macy stomped away.

“What the fuck was that bitch’s problem?” Porsha asked.

“Pay her no mind. Macy doesn’t know how to hold her liquor,” Don B. said, downplaying it.

“So is she one of your shorties or something, because she seems awful familiar?”

Don B. lowered his shades and looked at Porsha over the top. “If you’re asking me if I fucked her, yes. If you’re asking me if I’m still fucking her, no. Now are you gonna stand here giving me the third degree about how many of these skanks I ran through or are we gonna enjoy the party?” Porsha was still frowning, so Don B. tilted her chin up so that she was looking into his shaded eyes. “Listen, there ain’t gonna be too many places we go where I haven’t fucked a broad, but when I’m with you it’s not about my past, it’s about
our
future, smell me?”

“Okay.” Porsha’s face lit up a bit.

“That’s the pretty smile I like to see.” Don B. kissed her on the forehead. “Here, I brought you some wine in case that Hennessy is too strong for you. I don’t know if you can hang or not,” he teased her.

“Nigga, please. I say, why waste it.” Porsha took the Hennessy shot down. It felt like liquid fire going down her throat but she held her game face.

“That’s what I’m talking about, baby. Let’s go in the den, it’s too fucking noisy out here.” Don B. took her by the hand and led her through the house. As soon as they stepped into the den, Porsha found her eyes stinging from all the weed smoke in the air. The den was a little less hectic than the living room. Macy sat on a couch, whispering into the ear of a white girl with green eyes and red hair who wore a see-through blouse and no bra. Macy fondled the girl’s pink nipple through her shirt while giving her shotguns from the blunt in her mouth. Porsha was glad she had found someone else to focus her attentions on. Tone lounged on the floor on a bearskin carpet between the two girls he had disappeared with. They took body shots off him while he watched
Scarface
on the big-screen television mounted on the wall with the volume muted. One of Don B.’s unreleased tracks played through the surround sound speakers mounted on the walls.

“Damn, your crew goes hard, don’t they,” Porsha said, watching the two girls on the floor licking the excess liquor off each other’s lips.

“That’s the only way Big Dawgz know how to party,” Don B. told her, leading her to an unoccupied couch on the other side of the room. Once they were comfortable, he fired up a blunt. The smell of the weed was so tart that it made Porsha sneeze. “This is that good shit.” Don B. passed her the blunt. Porsha took two baby pulls and started coughing. “Slow down, mama. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“That shit is harsh,” Porsha said between coughs.

“Sip some of that wine to wet your whistle.” Don B. pushed her cup toward her.

Porsha took a gulp of the wine and frowned. It tasted especially bitter, even for red wine. “How long are we staying here?”

“Only for a li’l while. We gonna blow a few Ls, then get up outta here,” Don B. promised.

The few minutes turned into a few hours. Porsha and Don B. smoked weed and did shots while sipping the bitter wine and listening to Don B.’s CD. Between the liquor and the weed, it felt like the temperature had jumped up by two hundred degrees. She got up to go to the den’s bathroom to throw some water on her face and stumbled.

“You okay?” Don B. asked, blowing smoke rings into the air. Somehow Macy had made her way from the couch where she had been sitting with the white girl over to the couch Don B. was on.

“I’m fine,” Porsha lied and shut herself inside the little bathroom.

When she was gone, Macy gave Don B. knowing look, to which he smiled and began stroking her thigh.

Porsha sat on the toilet seat and put her head between her legs to try to get it to stop spinning. Every time she tried to lift it, the room seemed to move. She finally managed to stand up and walk to the bathroom sink, where she planted her palms and tried to catch her breath. Her heart was beating so fast that it made her nervous. Porsha splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to clear her head. The bathroom door clicked open, making Porsha’s head snap up, which turned out to be a mistake. She had barely made it to the toilet before the wine and the French food they’d eaten earlier came shooting out. Every time she heaved she felt like she was trying to push her lower intestines out through her mouth.

“Looks like somebody went a little too hard.” Don B. helped her to her feet and over to the sink.

“I am so sorry, Don,” Porsha said, flushing her mouth with water. “It must’ve been something I ate at the restaurant because I never call earl.”

“There’s a first time for everything when you’re partying with the best. Don’t worry, the Don’s got you,” he said, rubbing her back.

Porsha looked up at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen and her pupils were dilated. “I look a hot fucking mess.”

“Nah, you look just fine to me.” He began planting kisses on the back of her neck. Don B. turned Porsha around to face him and began kissing her tenderly along her jawline.