Nasty Girls (21 page)

“I feel you,” I replied, smiling. “And that bitch, Tasha—mark my words, Cream . . . she gonna get hers. I'm gonna get at that bitch personally. I can't stand that fuckin' ho! The bitch is triflin'.”

“Camille, just don't get your ass locked up, okay?”

“You know me, Cream—I'm gonna do it right.”

We drove for a few more minutes, without saying a word to each other. I peered out the window and thought about my girl Jade and praying she was okay. I knew if some shit popped off, my cell phone woulda been ringing like crazy.

“So, Camille, you thought about goin' with me to California?” Cream asked, breaking the silence.

Damn Cali,
I thought. “I'm still thinkin' about it,” I said.

“Camille, don't let this opportunity pass you by. I want you out there, baby. I need you out there.”

“I know, Cream. But I'm worryin' about my friends, and I want them to be okay if I decide to go out there with you.”

“Jade and Shy can handle themselves. You ain't their mother. You can't be there forever, lookin' out after them. They chose their way, and you gotta go yours. I'm not sayin' to dis 'em, but later on, you gotta let them be.”

I sighed.

“Think about it, Camille. Don't let anyone hold you back from doin' what you gotta do and movin' on with your life.
Jamaica housin', it ain't forever. Some people move on, and some don't. Don't get stuck in that realm where you feel the projects is gonna be your home forever and there ain't anythin' better fo' you. There's always sumthin' better.”

“I know, Cream . . . but . . .”

“No buts, Camille. Stop second-guessin' yourself, do you, don't let anyone else do it fo' you. Stop thinkin' about others, and start thinkin' about yourself, and your life. You gotta make yourself happy.”

Cream was right. I needed to make myself happy. I needed to start doing me. I couldn't be around Shy and Jade forever. The drama in New York was really stressing a bitch out. I sighed, wishing everything could be so easy.

We turned into a twenty-four-hour diner on a busy street. It was early evening, and I haven't eaten all day. I was ready to order everything on the menu as soon as we stepped in.

Cream parked the car, and I stepped out, zipping up my coat, because the wind picked up very heavy in the past hour.

“Shit, it's gettin' cold out here,” I muttered.

“Man, this ain't nuthin' but some refrigerator weather,” Cream said, having on a not-too-heavy jacket. He wore a black Sean John jacket, which was unzipped, and he was looking unaffected by the cold wind.

“Baby, you ain't cold?” I asked.

“Nah, I was born in this. You know my birthday is in January.”

“Yeah. I know. But I don't want you catchin' a cold and gettin' sick on me,” I said to him in a concerned way.

“I'm built like a rock, baby. Let's go eat.”

He proceeded toward the diner, and I was a few steps behind him. As I walked, somethin' caught my attention. Right across
the street was a motel, and I saw a Hummer, one just like James has, pull into the parking lot. I observed the H2 for a moment and noticed a woman who looked just like Shy from a distance stepping out from the passenger's side.

Nah, it ain't—it couldn't be, I thought. But when I saw James come from behind the driver's side and put his arm around a woman who looked like Shy, that confirmed my suspicion.

“That bitch!” I muttered. I stared at them, shocked. Nah, she ain't go there. Had she? She wouldn't. If Shy disrespected Jade like that, yo, I swear—

“Camille, you comin' in or what?” Cream asked. I caught myself standing in the middle of the parking lot with my full attention focusing on the motel across the street.

“Yeah, I thought I saw something, that's all,” I explained. I walked forward, and when I glanced over across the street, I saw James staring over my way. I wondered if he saw me. Shit, I hope so—let that muthafucka know he busted. And Shy, I was going to have a serious talk with her when I get home.

Cream asked no questions. We strolled into the diner and were quickly seated. We ordered our meals minutes after our arrival. I sat, being quiet and thinking how trifling and fucked up that was to see James and Shy getting a room together out here on Long Island where they thought no one was around and that no one was watching. It was a small world, and I've learned, what you do in the dark will later come out in the light.

 

C
ream dropped me off in front of my building around midnight. He had to run out to Manhattan and take care of business. He asked me to come along, but I declined. I was tired,
had a full stomach, and my mind was occupied with what I saw out on Long Island. Shy and James, they had to be fucking; there ain't no other reason for the two of 'em to be together and alone, getting a motel room early in the evening.

“So, I'm gonna call you,” Cream said, reclined on his leather seat, with the volume on the stereo turned down. He stared at me with his beautiful brown eyes.

“You better.”

“And think about it, Camille. I want you out in Cali with me. It's gonna be good fun,” he stated.

“Give me time. I'll have an answer for you in a few days.”

He sighed. “A'ight. Take care of what you gotta take care of, and get back at me,” he said, with his enthusiasm trailing off toward me.

I kissed him good night and stepped out of his ride, smiling. He drove off slowly. I stood in front of my building, watching him leave, until he disappeared turning the corner.

I blew out air, kinda missing him already. The cold air suddenly picked up, and I rushed into the lobby, clutching tightly my coat and my purse. It was quiet and still around, and kinda eerie. I've walked into my building dozens and dozens of times alone during nights like tonight, and I never felt afraid or awkward. People, especially all the thugs and stick-kids knew me, and they left me alone, never fucking with me. But tonight, I felt uncomfortable, having a feeling that someone was watching me, like someone was close by. But being me, I tried to shrug it off and went for the elevator, pressing for it, and instantly, the thick black elevator door slid back into the wall and allowed entrance. I quickly stepped in. I went to press for my floor, having my side turned against the door, but suddenly noticed movement from
my peripheral vision. Before I could react, the shadowy figure quickly swooped in with me, and viciously pushed me against the wall of the elevator. He gripped my right arm and twisted it around my back, and brandished a huge sharp knife next to my face.

“Don't you fuckin' move, bitch!” he threatened. I could smell his breath, with his face an inch or two from mines. He had my face and chest pressed tightly against the wall, with his large body compressed against me. I tried to cry out, but the force he used, made me whimper. I couldn't reach for the blade I had hidden in my pocket for protection, for moments just like this one.

“Bitch . . . you like to be in other people business, huh? You ain't so fuckin' tough now, bitch. Go ahead, try sumthin', and I'll slice you the fuck open,” he warned with his voice low but fearsome and raspy. He tightened his grip on me, causing me to cry out.

“This is a warnin', you dumb bitch: Stay the fuck out of James's business! You think you slick, havin' his shit thrown out the window?”

My eyes began to tear up, and I wanted him off me. I was alone with this lunatic, and there was not a soul around.

“Mind your fuckin' business!” he continued. “If you don't, then I'm comin' back, bitch!” He pressed the knife against the side of my face. It was cold. Then he cupped my breast with the knife in his hand and licked the side of my face. Then he took off, and I never got a good look at him.

I cried out, dropping to the floor. I was in shock. I lived in these projects all my life, and I never had an incident like that ever happened to me.

I didn't get up right away. I just rested down on the dirty
stained elevator floor and tried to get my composure together. To say that I was mad or upset was an understatement.

After I got myself together, I pressed for my floor, and the door closed. I reached into my purse and thought about calling Cream, but thought against it and placed my cell back into my purse. Cream was probably halfway out to Manhattan by now, and beside, I knew how to handle my business. I wasn't gonna let James and his punk crew intimidate me. Fuck that! Jade was my business. So whatever happens to her happens to me.

I wasn't hurt, but I was a bit shaken. It took me a while to get to my apartment door, but I made it there and walked into my dark apartment. Soon as I got in, I went straight for the bathroom and turned on the shower. I stripped and quickly jumped in the tub. I wanted this nigga's smell off me right away.

As I stood under the running shower, I got angry at myself. How could I allow myself to be so vulnerable? I should have known better than that. I should have been more alert with my surroundings. I had gotten careless. But I wished I was able to see that nigga's face clearly. I was only able to hear his voice and get a quick profile; the rest of him was a mystery to me.

But I wasn't gonna sit in my apartment and cry all night. I knew who sent him, and it was payback. James had fucked with the wrong bitch.

F
or James, one night turned into two, and two turned into three. I knew he had had a serious falling out with Jade, but he didn't get into details with me. I tried calling Jade a few times to see what went down, but I kept getting her voice mail and her answering machine at the apartment. I called Camille, too, and it was the same with her.
What's going on?
I thought to myself.

It felt funny having James spend continuous nights with me. He came knocking on my door a few days ago and asked if he could stay, and my dumb ass told him yes, and now he up in my place like he's Roscoe.

But the sad thing was that I allowed James to set up shop in my apartment, so he could produce and package that crack/cocaine he sold on the streets. He promised to break me off some money from the profits. He came into my place with a stranger, and quickly set up a small area in the kitchen where he and his friend began cooking up the drugs. I never saw it done before, and even though Roscoe was in the drug business, he kept me away from it. Roscoe said he never wanted me involved. Roscoe
never disrespected our home by bringing in any drugs or anything related to drugs. The most he kept in our apartment was one or two guns, and about ten thousand dollars in cash. He knew that if our place ever got raided because of a snitch, his home would be clean, and the feds couldn't touch me.

But James was the opposite. He had, in my kitchen, about one kilo of pure raw coke, baking soda, pots and pans, boiling water, razors and knives, and about five dozen small vials to put the crack into after it was cooked.

The man James brought into my apartment was gaunt, with a long thin face and dirty fingernails. He looked like he smoked the same shit he was cooking up. I gave James a disapproving look about bringing this man into my home, but James just shrugged it off.

After a week of them cooking up and bottling the crack, I noticed the stranger getting high in the corner of my kitchen. I flipped out and was about to knock him upside his head with a frying pan. But James stopped me, told me to let Rico do his thang; he worked hard and needed a quick break. I cried out to James, told him I was stressed. I was scared. He gave me a hug, and then said the unthinkable to me: “Shy, you wanna take a hit? It will do you some good.” I couldn't believe that he just asked me to smoke crack. “Yo, Shy, this shit will get your mind off of a lot of shit. I know you stressed right now, baby. Let me take care of you.”

He pulled me into the bedroom. I forgot about Rico getting high in the kitchen, and allowed James to slowly undress me. He pulled off my sweats, then my panties, and began eating me out. I moaned loudly as James fucked me with his tongue and fingered me at the same time. Then he got undressed and thrust his
big dick into me—once again, no condom. But I didn't care. I was so enthralled with the dick that I let him cum in me repeatedly. Afterward, James lay beside me and said, “Yo, take a hit of this.” He had a crack pipe in his hand. I was skeptical. I had forgotten about Rico getting high in my kitchen.

“Shy, you know I ain't gonna let nothing happen to you. I got so much love for you,” James said. “Trust me, this is just a lil' sumthin' to help you get your mind off of shit. I'm letting you smoke this for free, because I care about you.”

I looked at him.

He continued, “If you don't like it, you ain't gotta try it again. But it ain't gonna hurt to try it once. I do it sometimes too.”

He passed me the pipe and I reluctantly took it into my hands. James smiled.

“It's gonna make me feel better?” I asked.

“Trust me, you'll forget about your problems quick.”

I looked at the pipe, and James lit it with a lighter, heating it up. The crack sounded like Rice Krispies crackling. I slowly put my lips to the glass dick, and inhaled. I suddenly felt this exhilarating rush. James smiled. “That's my gurl.” He then disappeared under the covers, spread my legs, and buried his face in my pussy. I moaned. My legs began to quiver.

“Hit that shit again,” James said. And I did. I put the pipe to my lips and inhaled, this time even stronger. I panted, feeling James's soft lips devouring me from below. I felt my heart racing, I felt a sudden rush, and then it happened. I cried out loudly and had a strong orgasm. I knew my neighbor heard me. I clutched the sheets tightly and panted again and again.

“Take one more hit, baby,” James said. He emerged from underneath the sheets and looked at me. “Feels good, right?”

I didn't respond. I was in a trance. I didn't know if it was the crack, or if it was James's skills down below.