Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (40 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Six months later

“O
ooooh, bitch, I don’t think I can eva forgive you for packin’ up and movin’ waaaaay out there, and takin’ Zaire from me,” Chanel says, lookin’ at me through the monitor on my laptop. We’re up on Skype talkin’, which is our new thing. We talk e’eryday, two, three times a day. It’s almost like we’re right in the same room togetha. I miss this bitch. She presses ’er face up to the screen. Zaire tries to grab the monitor. “Ain’t that right, Boo? That mean old-ugly witch done took you from ya Aunt Chanel.” He laughs, touchin’ the screen. “Ohhhmiiigod, Kat, and he has two teeth already.”

“Girl, them things just popped up outta know where. Now all he wanna do is bite up e’erything. This lil’ muh…boy, is a piece of damn work.”

“Wit’ his fine self,” she says, wavin’ and blowin’ kisses at ’im. He waves back at ’er, then gets down on the floor and starts crawlin’ ova to the otha side of the room to get his Spiderman toy. I have toys and shit e’erywhere. This boy is has e’ery kinda toy made for lil’ boys, then some. He’s spoiled rotten. Chanel rolls er eyes, suckin’ ’er teeth.

“Why you doin’ all that?”

“Kat, why’d you have to move so damn far from me?”

I laugh. She asks me the same shit e’ery time we talk. And I tell ’er the same shit. “’Cause change is good.”

Three weeks after I put my house up on the market, I was able to sell it. I dropped ten gees off’a the price but it’s all good. A bitch was ready to roll out, so I didn’t give a fuck ’bout nickel and dimin’ ova a few thousand dollas. I even paid for the closin’ costs. I just wanted to be done. It sold and that’s all I cared ’bout. The next month, I shipped what I wanted out here and sold e’erything else, then I changed my numbers. It’s definitely a different vibe here, and I’ma always be a East Coast bitch at heart. But bein’ here is the best thing I coulda did—for me.

“Change my ass. You coulda kept it real cute and found a cute lil’ place in Connecticut, or Philly. You woulda been far enough, but still close enough at da same time. But nooooooo, you gotta be all dramatic and shit, movin’ way out there.”

“Chanel, boo. Let it go. You’ll be here for a whole month in two weeks, so…” I look to see where Zaire is, then lean into the monitor and whisper, “…stop actin’ like a needy-ass bitch.”

She laughs, whisperin’ back, “Fuck you, booga.” I toss up da finga, pressin’ it up at the screen. She asks me what’s up wit’ the nigga Tone. I tell ’er nuthin’. Tell ’er we straight mad cool. She wants to know if we fuckin’.

Of course we are, but it ain’t nuthin’ serious. He’s my lil’ maintenance man ’til sumthin’ worthwhile comes my way. I ain’t tellin’ ’er all that, though. I laugh. “Bitch, stop tryna monitor my pussy. Geesh.” Zaire crawls back ova to me, reachin’ up for me to pick ’im up. “Okay, Zee alert,” I state, lettin’ ’er know that Zaire’s back in earshot. I lift ’im up.

“Eat. Eat. Eat,” he says.

“Ohmigod, when did he learn to say that? He’s talkin’ away now.”

“Girl, all this boy knows is ‘eat, eat, eat’ wit’ his greedy self.” He’s eight months old and he’s almost twenty-four pounds. He says it again, tryna bite my hand. “Okay, Zaire. Wait. Here drink this.” I hand ’im a sippee cup of water. He throws it. “No. Bad boy.”

He throws his Spiderman toy. “Don’t get it crunked up in here, lil’ boy. ’Cause you ’bout to get tossed up, okay? Now chill out.”

Chanel laughs. “Boo, you gonna have ya hands full.”

“Tell me about it. So, you already know I don’t have time for no man.”

She smiles. “Well, you neva know what might happen.”

“Mmmph. Trick, you know sumthin’ I don’t?”

“Nope.” I grab the laptop, carryin’ Zaire on my hip into the kitchen. I sit the laptop up on the table, then put Zaire in his high chair. “Kat, I’m so proud of you. Is parenthood what you thought it would be?”

“Yes and no,” I tell ’er, movin’ ’round the kitchen tryna warm up Zaire’s food. He starts bangin’ on the tray, yellin’ at the top’a his lungs. E’ery since he started daycare he’s picked up shit I ain’t diggin’. Like throwin’ shit and this screamin’. I’m slowly learnin’ how’ta ignore his ass when he starts up his tantrums. Hopefully, he’ll outgrow the shit, otherwise we gonna have’a problem. And it ain’t gonna be cute. “Sometimes it can be…” The doorbell rings. I ignore the shit. The only person who knows where I live out here is Tone. And I know it ain’t ’im ’cause he calls first.

“Ain’t you gonna get da door?”

“Nope.”

It rings again. “Kat, maybe you should get it. I sent a package to you. That might be it.”

“Ooooh, what you send me?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it. Go open da door and find out for ya’self.”

I suck my teeth. “Uggh. Watch da baby,” I say, turnin’ the laptop facin’ Zaire so she can keep an eye on ’im while I go to the door. I laugh, knowin’ there ain’t shit she can do if he gets into sumthin’, but I like sayin’ it, anyway. I tell ’er I’ll be right back, then walk out into the livin’ room, poppin’ shit.

I peek through the peephole. All I see is a white box wit’ a red bow blockin’ a man’s face.
Oh, it must be Chanel’s package.
I swing open the door. My mouth drops open. “How’d you know where to find me?” I ask, already knowin’ the answer.
That bitch can’t eva stick to da damn script!

He grins, handin’ me the box. “Can I come in?” I step back and let ’im in. I can’t front, this deep, dark nigga looks…delicious! “Damn, I’ve missed you, Kat.”

I smile. “Nigga, I’ve…” I stop myself, almost forgettin’ I left Zaire in the kitchen by himself. I shut the door and tell ’im to follow me into the kitchen. I turn the laptop ’round. “Umm, ho…is this the package you were talkin’ ’bout?” I go back to feedin’ Zaire. He has food tossed all ova the floor, and all ’round his face. But, he’s quiet and happy and that’s all that matters.

She laughs. “Hey, Allstar; took you long enough to get there.”

He smiles, takin’ off his leather jacket, then sittin’ at the table. “Wassup, ma? Yeah, I got lost.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally made it. She was startin’ ta bore me wit’ ’er borin’-ass life. Blah, blah, blah.” He laughs. I tell ’er to watch ’er mouth. She keeps runnin’ ’er trap. Tells me she wanted to tell me that she had run into ’im at some party a few weeks ago, but figured I wouldn’t wanna hear it. And she’s right. Well, no…not really. Truth is I neva stopped thinkin’ ’bout this nigga. But I knew I didn’t have any intentions of eva callin’ ’im again.

I sweep up the mess Zaire made on the floor, finish cleanin’ ’im up, then take ’im outta his chair. I sit ’im on the floor and he starts
crawlin’ ova to Alex. Alex picks ’im. “Hey there, lil’ man. Wassup, dude?” Zaire starts grinnin’ and tryna talk. “Give me five.”

I laugh when he slaps ’im. “That’s right, Zaire, baby. You know he deserved that.”

Chanel is grinnin’. “Awwwww, ya’ll look so cute. Like one big family.”

“Okaaay, bitch, I’ve had’a ’nough of you for one day.”

“Watch ya mouth, Boo.”

“Whateva,” I say, givin’ ’er the finga. “I’ma deal wit’ you later, ho.” She laughs. I slam the laptop monitor close on ’er. Alex laughs. And Zaire starts laughin’ louder. “Now back to you,” I say, takin’ Zaire from ’im. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you,” he says, gettin’ up from the table. He walks ova to me and Zaire. He hugs and kisses me as Zaire looks on. “I wanna ’notha shot at bein’ ya man.”

“I’m not givin’ out any more shots,” I say, walkin’ back into the family room. He follows behind me. I can feel the nigga’s eyes all up on my ass. I grin. “Stop starin’ at my ass.”

He laughs. “I can’t help it. There’s so much of it.”

“Whateva.” I sit Zaire in his playpen, then turn to face Alex, foldin’ my arms ’cross my chest. “Nigga, you tell me why you think I should give you anotha chance.”

He walks up on me, wrappin’ me up in his strong arms. “I had three bullets pumped in my chest and stomach by a bitch I aint give two shits ’bout and almost died. I’m willin’ to take those same three bullets in da heart, and die, lovin’ you. Baby, ain’t shit changed. I love you. I honestly thought I’d neva see you again. And my moms kept tellin’ me I needed to get ova you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Then I ran into ya peeps. And she told me e’erything I needed to know.”

I squint at ’im, raisin’ a brow. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that?”

He kisses me on the lips. “That you loved me.” I keep my trap
shut, lookin’ up at ’im. He kisses me again. “That you missed me.”

“You a fool for listenin’ to ’er.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” I try to step outta his embrace, but he holds on tighter. “You feel good in my arms.”

“Where you stayin’?” I ask, changin’ the subject. He tells me he’s at the Marriott ova on Fourth Street in San Francisco. I ask ’im how long he’s gonna be out here. He tells me for as long as he needs to be. I stare at ’im. “What’s up wit’ you and ya girl in LA? Ya’ll still fuckin’?”

“She ain’t my girl. And, no, we ain’t fuckin’. I deaded that shit the night I invited you to my spot. I already knew what it was.”

I glance ova at Zaire. He’s knocked out. “Be clear. I’m not sharin’ no nigga wit’ anyone, period.”

“And I ain’t lookin’ to let you.” I ask ’im how many chicks he’s fuckin’. “I ain’t had no pussy since you.”

I raise my brows. “Nigga, stop lyin’.”

“Nah, true story. I’ve been straight beatin’ this dick, fleshlightin’ it, and beatin’ up my blow-up doll. Who you been fuckin’?” I tell ’im ’bout Tone. “You need’a shut that shit down, today.”

I frown. “Nigga, you ain’t my man. And you ain’t runnin’ shit.”

“Whatever, yo. Shut that shit down, Kat. And let’s make this shit pop wit’ us. I’m tryna play for keeps, baby.”

I tilt my head. “What are you sayin’?”

He walks outta the den. Tells me he’ll be back. That he wants me to open the box he brought me. He walks back in, carryin’ it under his arm, handin’ it to me. “Open it.” I sit down on the sofa, then untie the ribbon, liftin’ the lid. The flowers are beautiful. Two dozen orchards and birds-of-paradise.

“Thank you,” I say, liftin’ up the card, then pullin’ it outta the envelope. I read it: I
LOVE YOU
, K
AT, MORE TODAY, THAN THE DAY BEFORE
. I
WANNA BUILD A LIFE WIT’ YOU, BABY
. W
ANNA BE ALL THE MAN YOU’LL EVER NEED
. L
OVE, YA
M
AN FOR LIFE
…

“The flowers and card are beautiful. But you still haven’t told me why I should give you anotha chance.”

“There’s another box inside there,” he says, liftin’ up the flowers, then pullin’ it out. I blink. “Kat, I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’ve cursed me out, pulled a gun out on me, and moved three thousand miles away, and I’m still here, still standin’, still feelin’ what I feel.” He opens the box. “I love you, Katrina Rivera, and I wanna be ya husband, ya lover, and ya friend. I wanna grow old wit’ you. Raise mini-mes and mini-yous. And explore da world, and each otha, wit’ you—and only you. I wanna die knowin’ I loved you and you loved me back, baby. Will you marry me?”

I feel myself startin’ to hyperventilate. It feels like e’erything ’round me has stopped as I stare at the two-carat rock. My words get stuck in the back’a my throat.

“Ya peoples and my moms helped me pick out da ring. If it’s not what you want, we can go pick out sumthin’ else.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s beautiful,” I say, feelin’ myself becomin’ overwhelmed. I’ma fly, buttery bitch wit’ a buncha secrets. A cold-blooded killer, a ruthless bitch, wit’ dozens of bodies tagged wit’ ’er name on ’em. And—although I don’t plan on bodyin’ anyone else, I can’t say what I’ma do if I get the urge to pop anotha muhfucka’s top, like his if he tries to do me dirty.

“Well, baby…will you be my wife?” I look at ’im wit’ tears runnin’ down my face. I stare into his eyes as he kisses my tears. “Yo, you my fuckin’ heart, girl. Let’s make this shit official.”

I nod. “Yes,” I finally say in a whisper. I lean ova and kiss ’im in a way I’ve neva kissed any otha nigga. I kiss ’im wit’ a purpose I neva knew existed inside’a me. I kiss ’im wit’ more passion than I eva thought imaginable. And ’cause I’m
that
bitch, I slip my tongue deep into his mouth, and welcome ’im into the
Kat Trap
.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cairo resides in Northern New Jersey. He divides a lot of his time between Jersey and southern California, where he is working on his next literary creation,
Man Swappers.
His travels to Egypt are what inspired his pen name. You can email him at: [email protected]. Or visit him on his website/blog at
www.booksbycairo.com
, or at
www.myspace.com/cairo2u
,
www.facebook.com/CairoBlacktheauthor
, or
www.blackplanet.com/cairo2u

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ITTY
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ITTY
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ANG
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