Get Ready for War (20 page)

The crowd was going wild. But I sat silently, watching him watching me. He spoke into the mic and said, “How y'all doing tonight?”

“Fine!” the crowd chanted.

“I see y'all ready to feel good. Thought I'd tease you for a minute. I see a lot of beautiful ladies out there. My name is JB and I'm here for your pleasure.”

“Yes. You. Are,” Spencer purred. “Now take your clothes off!”

He continued. “I'm going to sing a few classics and a few that I've written myself. But I'm going to kick this set off with a little Erick Roberson. And I need a little help from the audience. Who wants to help me sing this song?”

Spencer hopped off the bar stool and said, “Rich, I'm going to sing real quick. I'll be right back.” She took a step toward the stage. But was stopped in her tracks when he called my name.

“Rich, why don't you come up and sing this with me? I know you have skills. And if not, then your pretty face is enough.”

“Fine as hell!” the guys in the club catcalled, while the girls all hated.

Spencer took a step back and said, “Looks like somebody has their eye on you. Too bad you have beer and hot wings on your breath.”

I didn't respond to that either. I hesitated and blushed, waving no.

The crowd cheered and a few yelled, “Come on. Go on, girl!”

Spencer looked over at me and said, “You can do it. Go up there and then call me up to take your spot or we can tag-team him.”

After hesitating a few seconds more, I swallowed my nerves and made my way onto the stage. I smoothed invisible wrinkles from my hips and shyly smiled at him. He nodded toward the mic and said, “Go ahead.” I closed my eyes, and blessed the mic with a gift that very few knew that I had. My voice reminded those who knew I could sing of Jill Scott with a Mariah Carey range.

Usually I was too shy to sing before so many, but this time I felt a little different and I don't know what came over me. All I knew is that as I sang, the crowd yelled and Spencer screamed about how I was her friend. Then Justice stepped behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and sang his heart out.

This was perfect. I grooved my boom-bop and we swayed to the rhythms we created. And at that exact moment, no one else in the room mattered. It was me and him. JB and Rich. Together. Not even Knox could invade this moment. By the time the song ended we were engaged in an unexpected kiss with a whole bunch of tongue. And all I could hear were cameras chanting,
Click, click, click...

C
aramel popcorn, check!

Twizzlers, check!

Mike and Ikes, check!

Two bottles of 5-hour Energy shots, check, check!

Night vision goggles, check!

Binoculars, check!

Rich in hotel with London's man, ho check!

London in parking lot, dumb-diggity check!

Phone call to Kitty's street team, juicy check!

G
UESS
W
HO
G
OT THE
J
UICE
? S
PENCER
E
LLINGTON DOES
!

E
X
-R
UNWAY
M
ODEL
R
UNS
N
AKED FOR
L
OVE
!

P
SYCHO
-S
OCIALITE
G
OES
C
UCKOO
FOR THE
C
OCK-A
-D
OODLE

D
O
!

R
ATCHET
, N
ASTY
S
UBWAY
R
AT
L
OSES
E
VERYTHING
!

The thought of it was so juicy I had to lick my fingers. I fell back in my seat cracking up, watching London through my binoculars as she stormed out of the hotel lobby back to her car.

“Yeah, DogKeisha, I see you with your ghetto-tail self, pacing around looking all thirsty. I'm the one who sent that text to you, ho.”

I giggled, pulling out my throwaway phone, then scrolled back through the text messages I had sent to her two hours earlier. Dumb hoes were delicious to watch!

Have you seen your man today?

London had texted back: Who is this?

Ur Fairy Ho Mother. And I come bearing gifts 4 u

Then I followed it up with a photo of Justice at the hotel desk with a caption that read: Kaboom! Guess who stepped in the room? Spotted: 6 feet tall, fine Panty Droppa with whore! And she isn't U

London replied: Who is this again?

I giggled.

I finger popped, feeling good. I should be a rapper. I could rap and Rich could sing my hooks. Then again, the way she likes to booty-pop-it up on stage, she could be one of my backup singers and dancers.

Heeheehee.

I picked up my binoculars and zoomed in on London's big face for a visual update. She was pacing back and forth in front of the car.

I laughed. “You can't even keep Justice. Mmmph . . . and you think you gonna keep Anderson? Not! He's gonna be with me. Think Rich is gonna be your best friend? Not! Right about now Hot Drawz is flipped upside down with the Panty Droppa! She's putting it on him so good he's calling out her grandmother's name, Rovina Sue ‘Eat 'Em Up-Eat 'Em Up' Gatling. Yeah, she got him in there porn-starring it up! Toes curling, biting down on his bottom lip. Oooh, yes! I know Miss Freaks R Us is doing him right. 'Cause she's nasty like that. I raised her well. She is doing momma proud! Drop it on him, Rich! Drop down on him, boo!”

Ooooh, I was so dang amped!

I couldn't help but giggle again.

I stuffed my mouth with a handful of Mike and Ikes, then washed them down with a swig of my energy shot. Boom! Boom!

I was floating on sugar!

Higher than a lampshade!

Happier than Co-Co Ming being lost in Boys Town!

I cracked up, picking up my binoculars again.

“You're not the only trashy whore in town, Miss London. Miss I'm From New York. Miss Amazon Gone Wild. Miss This Is How We Do It. Miss Upper East Side Trick-A-Lot. Open your checkbook, ho. I bet you have more skid marks on your panty liners than you have zeroes in your bank accounts, Miss Brokeback Low-Money. I'm about to tear your playhouse all the way down.”

I usually didn't munch on junk, but tonight was a special treat. I knew the minute I spotted Mr. Sexy Chocolate up on that stage and saw Rich hop her thick-in-the-hips, two-biscuits-and-a-shake booty up there with him that this was going to be a ringside moment. The circus was in session. The fat lady was about to sing. And the main attraction was loaded up on hot wings and beer about to start the freakfest. Whoooo-hoooooo! Ring the alarms, gosh-darn it!

“Freak on the loose. And she's doing your man!” I screamed in laughter as I reached into my creep-creep kit and pulled out a pair of night goggles. I slipped them on and watched London all night.

It was already close to two in the morning.

Rich had stumbled up into the elevator with Sexy Chocolate around eleven thirty—how do I know? Because I was there. Duh—and I waited to see what floor it would stop on. Mmmph, the twenty-first floor. Then I sent London her first text at exactly eleven forty-three. I wanted to give Hot Drawz a chance to get stripped down first, before I reached out and touched a ho. That was my new community service project: the Reach a Ho, Teach a Ho project.

“Mmmph, just look at her. Pacing back and forth on them sausages she calls feet. I know them things gotta be fried down to the skin by now. Public works will probably have to come out in the morning to fill in the dents she done put in the road. Wasting taxpayer dollars on her dumbness!”

I decided to send her another text: U find ur man yet? oooh, oooh, U smell that? it's sex in the air. and it ain't with u!

London replied: Silly little girl. Tricks r 4 kids! My man is right here n my bed! So stop botherin' me. Get a life. Dumb whore!

I zoomed in on her again. She swung open the car door, then threw her phone over into the passenger seat. Then the poor wretched stank-a-dank pressed her forehead up against the steering wheel. Her shoulders shook. Poor thing was crying over her boo. What a mess! She started banging the steering wheel, screaming with the windows rolled up. I took my phone and snapped pictures. Oh, this was priceless.

I laughed.
This slore is nuts! With her big-faced, big-hand self! She's just a big ole funky elephant!

I watched her blow her snout, then wipe snot away. Ugh, nasty! Then out of nowhere the selfish tramp sped off, like a wild woman. I screamed, knocking over my box of Mike and Ikes and spilling my energy drink. “Wait! Where you going, ho? Wait, wait, wait for me. Your man's in the hotel! Twenty-first floor!”

I cranked up my engine and started following London. She was driving like she was a scorned bat fleeing hell. And now I saw why. Justice had sped out of the hotel's parking lot and she was following behind his car. I swung around the bend to catch up to her and sideswiped the
Dish the Dirt
news van.
My God. . . idiot, why don't you watch where you're going!
“You're supposed to be getting this trick's news, not hitting me!”

I was pissed. I had Kitty on board and this ho was running out on me. My phone rang. “Tell me I did not just waste time and money for some ho-chase gone wrong,” Kitty sneered into the phone. “And then you're out there hitting my news van. I have an irate driver on the phone with his hot cup of coffee tossed in his lap because you don't seem to know how to drive. The man is shaken up.”

I huffed, “Well, he should have been watching where he was pulling out!”

“Spencer, the van was parked!” she yelled into my ear.

I gasped. “Well, he must have road rage, then. Who would get in my way knowing I'm on a mission?”

“Whatever, Spencer. You get me my story, or else!” The line went dead.

“Oh, whatever, Kitty. Bite me. And bite me good!” I yelled, turning another corner and running up on a curb. I pressed down on the pedal to keep up with Hoesha.

“Lonnnnnnnnnnnndon, I'ma ram your pipes in!” I screamed, trying to keep a discreet distance behind her.

She ran a red light, then swerved over onto the other side of the road, turning down a one-way street, going the wrong way. Now I was getting pissed. This trick was trying to do me in.

“This idiot! This is why she can't keep a man. 'Cause she can't keep up with him! What are you doing, trick? He hooked a left on West Cota Street, you dumb Amazonian roach! This makes no sense burning up good gas! What the hell is wrong with you, London? I see why I can't stand you!”

I wonder if I speed up next to her and tap on her window and tell her which way he went she'd think that was strange, or would I have to Mace her down like a rabid dog?
Mmmph. I'd probably have to twist her eyeballs out.

She merged onto Route 101 heading south back toward Hollywood. She drove like a fire-eating lunatic for almost ten miles before she finally swerved over onto the side of the highway, crying again.

I hit the lights and eased over a few hundred feet in back of her. Thank goodness it was still dark out, or my cover would have been blown.

I rolled my eyes. All those waterworks were burning a hole into my booty cheeks. Like who does that? Crying over a boy like that. I mean, really, strap on your big-girl lace thongs and get your mind right. Geesh.

My phone rang and it was Kitty calling back. I pressed Ignore, sending her straight to voice mail. I was not in the mood to curse her out for old and new Chanels 'cause I knew she couldn't see straight, calling me with her craziness.

This was getting ridiculous. I sat and I sat and I sat, waiting to see what Trickalicious was gonna do next. I screamed when I glanced at the clock and realized I had been sitting in the car for ninety gotdang minutes waiting for this cluckeroo to make her next move. I felt like calling Rich and telling her to get her bloodline of hoodboogas to come pull a carjacking and leave London in the middle of the street stripped down to her drawers. Then I'd ride by and ask her if she had a ride.

I giggled at the thought.

“Oooh, oooh, no, no . . . I know what I could do,” I said to myself. “I can call animal control and report a wild mammal on the loose and have her harpooned. Yeah, that's it!”

Oh, how I cracked myself up, thinking about all the devilish ways to destroy Miss Low-Money London. Now I saw why she couldn't get her money up; she was just dumb and stupid. There was no dang way tire tracks shouldn't be running up Justice's back, but noooooooo . . . we were stuck on a three-lane highway in Santa Barbara. Where were the police when you needed them? I felt like running up on London in a ski mask and wig and Macing the back of her retinas for being so dang pathetic.

Kitty rang my cell incessantly, like the world was on fire. I ignored her. A few minutes later I spotted her news van speeding by. I guess they had given up. But I hadn't. I was going to sit there until the sun came up and the last rooster crowed, if I had to. I'd eat up my snacks watching and waiting for this whore-heifer to pull it together.

“Ugh, you disgust me, you gutter rat,” I snarled, chomping down on two Twizzlers, then popping a handful of Mike and Ikes into my mouth. I took a shot of my energy drink. I felt the sugar shoot through my veins. I was glucosed up and started to hallucinate.

Yes, that was it.

I had to be seeing things when I saw a stretch limo speed by, then pull over on the side of the highway behind London's car. I zoomed in on the target and screamed, crouching down in my seat. It was Anderson. Four thirty in the morning and he was out in his red cape playing Captain Save A Tramp.

Why would she be calling him?

Why didn't she call Panty Droppa?

London has this all the way jacked up, calling my boo bear this time of the morning.
There were only two things these late-night calls were good for: doughnuts and neck bobbing!

Ohmygod, Anderson better not be playing me. I pulled out my cell and dialed his number, but quickly disconnected when he pulled it out of his jacket.
Wait a minute! I have the game tied up. The game doesn't have me tied up. I run this. I'm no man's prisoner. I take prisoners.

I took another shot to the head.

Oh, noooo . . . bees in the trap. They had me messed up!

I took several deep breaths.

Her window went down.

He leaned into the car. They were talking.

Oooh, I wish I knew what they were saying
.

I already had my zoom lens on high and could see everything crisp and clear; everything except for what the heck they were saying. I couldn't read their lips for skunk piss, dangit!

Maybe this was a photo op or something.