Lust (13 page)

Pluto took a deep breath and grilled his old friend. “I tell you what, niggah. I ain’t feelin’ the kinda slimy shit y’all niggahs been pullin’ on Nooni, ya heard? She’s Truth’s bitch, and that shit just ain’t right. If we go at that money one last time and we still come up empty, then we gotta let that girl go.”

With his eyes wide and innocent, Ace had nodded in agreement. He’d dapped his boy out as they settled on a course of action, but deep inside he knew releasing Nooni was never gonna happen. Somehow the young girl had become Salida’s personal pet, and her junkie ass wasn’t going nowhere. At least not no time soon. Shit, probably not never.

CHAPTER 16

Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air as the G-Spot strippers gripped the golden fuck-poles between their thighs and performed tantalizing feats of sexual strength and provocation.

Monique sat at the bar pretending to rest her feet as she watched Salida put the moves on Nooni. That old lady had Nooni in her clutches, Monique saw. She was manipulating the girl with an expertise that was simply fuckin’ mind-boggling. Acting all motherly. Pretending to be so nice and concerned about her. Gaining Nooni’s trust by stroking her with one hand, while deep-screwing her with the other one.

And Nooni was simple as fuck too. For a wanna-be grown-ass who had been born and bred right there in Harlem, it had been too easy for Salida to get in the girl’s head. That child had almost zero street smarts, and Monique couldn’t help giggling as she remembered how she’d made the young girl believe that she had killed a white trick in Atlantic City, and then convinced her that the cops were looking to bust her and throw her in jail right here in Harlem.

It was hilarious. Twice already Mo had suckered the hell outta Nooni when the local police came to the G-Spot to pick up their weekly protection money. Monique had looked all scared and panicked in the face when she lied and told Nooni the police were there looking for her, and that they had her pictures from their hotel surveillance cameras.

That chick had broke out running like a goddamn racehorse. She’d jetted into one of the fuck rooms so fast that it was comical, and Monique had bust out giggling before Nooni could get inside the room and close the door good.

And it had been pure damn street smarts and the ability to think on her feet that had allowed Monique come up with that little caper she’d pulled on Nooni when they were in the car that day. Salida had sent them to pick up some supplies for the cut room, and Truth had been waiting at a traffic light. Monique had almost panicked when she looked up and saw that fuckin’ bitch Rita crossing the street right in front of the car!   

Using her street wit she had screamed, “Cops!” and told Nooni to duck down in the seat. She’d tossed Truth’s jacket over the girl quick-fast until Rita had finished crossing in front of them and was all the way on the other side of the street.

Nooni had been so convinced that the cops were on her ass that she’d stayed crouched down in the car all the way to the store and all the way back. Even when Monique had told her the coast was clear, the girl had refused to pop her head up and she’d kept her face covered up with Truth’s jacket.

Monique took a long drag on her cigarette as she watched Salida work the girl over. All those crazy drugs was fuckin’ the young girl up, and if Salida didn’t get up off the money she had promised her, then Monique might have to make herself an anonymous call and tell Rita exactly who was playing pusher to her little sister.

CHAPTER 17

Two days after I ran into DarQuese in downtown Brooklyn I saw a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the shelter’s kitchen. There was a black-and-white photo on it of a spoken-word group called Street Talk N.Y.C., and the flyer said they were coming to perform that night for the kids who were staying in the shelter.

“What’s Street Talk N.Y.C. about?” I asked Egypt when I went back to our room. Her ten days were just about up and she had just packed her stuff so she could move to whatever shelter had the next open bed.

“You never heard of them? They’re from Manhattan but they visit shelters in every borough. They come through this one a lot,” she said as she looked in the mirror and put on some huge silver hoop earrings. Her locks were parted down the middle and she had two big spiral ponytails on each side. “They’re real creative. Sorta like the groups in that Russell Simmons show called Brave New Voices. They travel all over New York doing spoken word, poetry, rap, hip-hop, and all that. They even perform at hospitals, schools, community centers, everywhere.” She chuckled. “Girl, I’ve even seen them bust out spitting fiyah on the buses and the trains too.”

“Oh yeah?” I had heard a little bit of spoken word when I was in high school, and I’d always wished I had the guts and the talent to get up on a stage and let all the shit that was bottled up inside of me just come pouring out in a poem like that.

“Yeah. Those Street Talk kids are young, and they’re real smart too,” Egypt said. “Sometimes they visit shelters on the weekends and hold little workshops and writing sessions and stuff too. It’s fun. All the teenagers up in here really seem to get into it.”

I was ready to get into it too, and at seven o’clock I followed the shelter crowd into the dayroom. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t just the teenagers who were showing up. Plenty of people of all ages were already crowding into the room and everybody seemed excited. All the couches and chairs were taken, and most of the littler kids were sitting in a circle on the floor. There was no place for me to chill, not even up against a wall, so I sat on top of a metal trashcan and waited for the show to begin.

They had turned all the lights off except for two lamps right behind me near the pool table, and a chubby light-skinned girl with long twists hanging down her back stood in the middle of floor and opened it up.

She told us that Street Talk N.Y.C. was dedicated to positive social change, and how they gave life to the concerns in our communities through their spoken and written word. And then her voice dropped low as she informed us that their performance tonight was being dedicated to the memory of their friend and fellow poet, Princess Howell.

“Princess was one of our brightest angels. Her light shined on everybody who knew her. And even though she was only on this Earth for thirteen years, she left a piece of her spirit with us when she died and we’re here to share that beautiful spirit with each of you tonight.”

Lil mami with the beautiful twists in her hair stood up there giving off some real positive energy about her girl Princess, and my heart felt heavy just hearing about the death of a child that young.

Those youngstas set Princess’ eulogy to poetry, and I couldn’t believe how powerful their words were. I felt kinda sad and empty inside, like I had missed something important in life. I had never had the opportunity to join no kind of poetry clubs or stuff like that when I was in high school. Living with Grandmother it had been all about going straight to school and coming my hot ass straight back home.

And life had been even worse with G. That niggah had squashed any thoughts of creativity and freedom of expression that might have even thought about popping up in my head.

I sat there mesmerized like a little kid as I listened to those youngsters lay their Black consciousness down on the entire room. They brought the joy and they brought the pain too. They talked it exactly the way it went down in the streets, and the words they spit were on point and realer than real.

By the time they were finished my hands burned from clapping so hard and my cheeks were sore from grinning. My ass was hurting from sitting on top of that open garbage can too, so I stood up so I could stretch a little bit.

The performers had taken their bows and were introducing their mentors and organizers when I leaned on the pool table and tried to wiggle some circulation back into my legs. I was yanking up the waistband of my tight jeans when I got a shock that touched me way down in my bones.

A tall, muscled-up dude with gorgeous dreadlocks, milk-chocolate skin, and deep, penetrating eyes had stepped up to the podium and taken the mic. He was so tall that he had to lean down to speak into it and I got so hypnotized by his looks that I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All I could see was his pretty teeth, his chiseled lips and his smooth pink tongue as my eyes stared past his curly moustache and straight down his freakin’ throat.

Whatever dude was saying got everybody to clapping real loud, and when he looked out into the crowd and flashed a perfect grin, he busted me grilling him like I was in a trance.

Messiah.
His name whipped through my mind.
Trey Jackson.

I shivered as our eyes met across the room. A clap of thundering heat crept up my collar, down my back, and licked straight between the split in my thighs.

Ignoring the applause, Trey pinned me in his strong, sexy gaze and wouldn’t let me go.

Goddamn muthafucka
, I thought, and then I panted out loud as my nipples got stiff and I broke out in a hot, funky sweat.
Ahhhh, shit!
I moaned inside as ol’ boy stood there sucking me deeper and deeper into his eyes. Flex’s little ass had been right, I realized as I tried to stop myself from falling down a mental hole of yearning. My woman-thang wasn’t dead after all.

Because for the first time in more months than I wanted to remember…my pussy popped.

CHAPTER 18

It was way past midnight when Trey got home from Brooklyn. His kids had done it up and made him real proud tonight, and he had dropped every one of them off and made sure they got inside their apartments before heading to his own crib.

He punched in his security code and turned his key in the door, letting himself in quietly so he wouldn’t wake up his sister. Walking past the kitchen and living room, he entered his bedroom and went straight to his bathroom and stripped down naked.

Grabbing a washcloth, Trey stepped into the stone-tiled shower stall and let the water run nice and cold as he stood under the spray. The frigid pellets numbed his skin, but they couldn’t put out the lustful fire that seeing her had sent burning through his groin.

Juicy.

He held his head under the spray and opened his mouth. He felt the cool mist of water rush over his tongue, and as it spilled over his lips and dribbled off his chin he mouthed her name again.

Juicy.

She felt good on his tongue. She felt real sweet sliding off his lips. Trey shook his head and tried to push her outta his mind. She was just a girl, he told himself. He had plenty of them. He could’ve had plenty of them right there in his bed with him tonight if he wanted to.

Trey stepped back and grabbed a bar of soap and rubbed it over his skin, but when his hand dropped down to his groin the proof that she was deep in his head was sticking straight out in the air.

Gripping himself, Trey gave his snake a brief squeeze and then soaped it up. His hand was slippery as he stroked himself. He squeezed his dick even tighter each time his clenched fist slid up his shaft and neared the head.

The muscles in his ass flexed as he jacked off with his eyes wide open. He didn’t even need to picture himself pounding inside of her. It was like she was already there. Her sex appeal and the essence of her womanhood was enough to send him falling over the edge.

There were plenty of women that Trey Jackson could have called to help take his mind off of Juicy, but he didn’t want none of them. None of them stacked up to her. Yeah, hitting them for some quick, hot sex would be real easy, but that would only serve as a distraction for what was riding him, not as a cure.