Nasty Girls (31 page)

“What you mean, you're not comin' out to Cali wit' me?” Cream barked. We were at BBQ's on Long Island, and I talked to him about not being able to leave with him.

“There's so much goin' on right now, Cream. I don't know where to begin,” I tried to explain.

“So you gonna sit here and worry about other people problems, Camille. What about you? I'm leavin' in a few weeks.”

“Cream, I'm sorry,” I humbly said to him.

“Nah, I'm the one sorry. Here I am, tryin' to look out fo' you, and you're dissin' me fo' what, Camille? I thought you were ready to move on wit' your life. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Baby . . . listen—,” I began to say, but Cream cut me short.

“Nah, I wanna be wit' you and spend some time in Cali wit' you by my side. I wanna help build your career out there, and get you away from the bullshit out here. But clearly, your fuckin' friends and the drama they get themselves into comes first, right?”

“It's not even like that,” I countered.

“Whatever, Camille,” Cream said, rising from his seat. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and peeled off a C-note for the bill, dropping the cash on the table. “I'm out. You can stay if you want.”

He began walking off as I continued to sit there.
He took that well,
I thought, trying to lighten my mood. On the real, if
Cream was some next nigga, I would have told him to go fuck himself. But Cream lucky he was Cream, and he didn't hear my mouth, and I ain't embarrass him in this bitch. It was sad to admit, but I love that nigga. I loved him more than anyone else I ever dated—male or female. He had attitude, charm, looks, and money. And he didn't hesitate to put me in my place when he knew I was wrong, or let me know what he felt was best for me. A lot of niggas are intimidated by me—but Cream, if I got loud and tried to embarrass him, he'll get loud and return the same attitude toward me. I like that. I need a nigga who's able to hold me down, and knows how to handle shit. But he never took it too far when he got loud, like being disrespectful and trying to put his hands on me. He had respect for me since the day we met.

I sat there for a few more seconds, thinking this nigga actually just walked out on me, on some attitude shit. Yo, I had to chuckle. Muthafucka. He really wanted me out in Cali with him. I knew he wasn't pussy-whipped. I've been around a lot of niggas who got strung up on my pussy, but Cream, I didn't know if I wanted to choke him or fuck him.

Eventually, I got up out of my seat and followed Cream out. “Keep the change,” I told our waitress as I brushed by her.

When I stepped outside, Cream was already in his ride with the lights on and the engine idling. I dashed up to the passenger side, jumped in, and spat, “Nigga, you was goin' to leave me out here!”

He shouted, “Hurry your ass up, then!”

“Fuck you!” I said softly.

“Camille, listen. I never said this to any woman in my life, but I'm sayin' it now.” He stared into my eyes. “On the real, I
love you, and I wanna be with you. So what do I gotta do to help you change your mind? What's preventin' you from comin' to Cali wit' me?”

I thought about it, and my major concern that was keeping me rooted in NY was James and his beef with Jade and having my girl Shy strung out on the pipe. I wanted my revenge on that nigga. I was spiteful. He had someone attack me while I was in the elevator, and I couldn't leave for California without that nigga getting what was owed to him. I didn't tell Cream about my attack, or Jade and Shy. I let it be for now, but I knew something had to be done about him.

“Cream, I got unfinished business to take care of before I leave,” I stated.

“Like what? You got beef wit' someone?”

I knew if I told Cream, he was going to handle it. And I knew his way of handling things. But I love Cream, and I didn't want him getting into trouble over me, and risk getting himself locked up, and losing everything he'd worked so hard to build. I couldn't have that on my conscience. He had his career, his future to look forward to. Cream still did dirt, but putting down that murder game, his hands been clean for years now, I think.

“Talk to me, Camille. Let me know what's up. Don't shut me out. You know I hate that shit,” he said. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

My cell started ringing, and I picked up. “Hello.” But no one answered. “Hello,” I repeated. For a minute, I thought I heard someone crying, but then the caller hung up.

“Who was that? Cream asked.

“Don't know. No one said a word.”

Cream glanced at me. I knew he was still upset. “I'm not leaving without you, Camille,” he said.

“What? Nah, Cream, this is your future. This is what you looked forward to. This is what you always wanted. You can't throw that away. You know I'm gonna love you regardless if you live in Cali or live on the edge of the fuckin' earth. Do you, Cream?”

“Camille, if you don't tell me what's up, then I'm stayin'. I'm gonna tell you right now: I ain't gonna be able to function out in Cali, 'cause I'm gonna be worryin' about your ass out here in NY. . . . If you were just some next ho, fine. But this is you, Camille. I got too much love fo' you to leave you behind so easily.”

I sighed. Damn.

I knew I had to say something. He wasn't going to fuck up his career because of my bullshit and my problems. I wasn't having that. So I looked over at Cream, and said, “I got beef wit' this one nigga.”

F
uck this,
I said to myself, hanging up on Camille. I wanted to say something—but nah, I got too much pride to be calling up Camille and crying to her after I told her to get the fuck out of my life. I wasn't going to cry and invite her back in. That shit made me look weak. And I refused to be weak.

James, he's an asshole. I wanted to spit in his fucking face—but that's a'ight. Watch, I'm gonna tell Roscoe what James did, and Roscoe is going to have him fucked up. My baby gonna call, I'm gonna tell him how disrespectful these niggas were to me out here, and he's gonna handle them. My baby going to take care of me.

I was too stressed with shit, and I needed something to free my mind. So I met up with one of these hustling niggas on the corner, Lil' Rome I think they call him, and he hooked me up with that free shit, but after I done told him he could come by to chill at my place later on. He was cute, young though, like seventeen. But he had the pull for that product.

It was 8:25 in the evening when the phone rang. I was about
to spark up, but the ringing of the phone stopped me from pressing the pipe against my lips and getting my high on.

“You have a collect call from . . . Roscoe Richardson . . . to accept—”

I immediately accepted his call.

“Roscoe—hey, baby. . . . Why haven't you called lately?” I asked, sounding sincere. “I've been missin' you.”

I heard him snicker. “Shy, you know what? . . . Fuck you!” he snapped. “You a grimy-ass bitch!”

“What? Baby, why are you so mad? What's goin' on?”

“You fo' real, Shy? You gonna talk to me on this phone like it's love like that, when you was out fuckin' my man.”

“Roscoe, that's a lie . . . I . . .”

“Bitch, stop your fuckin' lying. ‘I—I'
what?
You're dead to me, ho. I don't wanna hear nuthin' from you!”

“Roscoe, no, please! Nuthin' happened, I swear! James . . . James, he came by, but I don't love him. Baby, it wasn't even like that, I swear,” I cried out.

“Shy, you wanna know why I'm up in here? . . . James set me up. Word got out. That nigga I killed—he was meant to kill me, but I got the shot off faster. He got me off the streets one way or the other, and now you fuckin' this nigga. He had someone pick up the gun and had it hidden somewhere. Now he runnin' shop and talkin' shit about me. He got the best of both worlds now, right, Shy? He fuckin' my bitch, and runnin' my hood.”

“Oh, God, Roscoe . . . I didn't know!” I sobbed. “He tricked me, Roscoe. You gotta believe me.”

“Fuck you! Bitch, you're naïve right now.”

“I love you, baby. I love you. . . . Please don't do this!” I continued to cry out, not believing what I was hearing.

“I was goin' to get at you on some one-eighty-seven shit, but your homegirl Camille talked me out of it. So I'm gonna let you die slow, you junkie bitch! I ain't gotta touch you. You're fuckin' killing yourself anyway. I already paid my debt to you. I'm sorry, Shy. And I bet you don't even know what I'm sorry for. You figure it out, bitch,” he said, then hung up.

“Roscoe . . . no, please . . . don't leave me,” I shouted. “Roscoe, it was a mistake! I'm so sorry . . . Baby.”

I dropped to the floor, clutching my sheets.
This ain't happening—this is not fucking happening. I can't lose him. I can't.
It wasn't meant to end like this. Roscoe and I, we were supposed to move out the projects, have kids, and be a family. We were supposed to do us. And one man, he fucked all that up for me. He ruined my life. He destroyed me so quickly. Foolish, Shy—why you had to be so fucking foolish?

T
oday, I start a new life. Today, I become a brand-new woman. Today, I free my mind from the foolishness and drama that plagued me for twenty-one years. Today, I become reborn and change my life around. I promised myself these things as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was tired of the BS, and I definitely wanted a new beginning. Casey instilled that in me, that I was able to escape the poverty and the ghetto. The Forty Ps wasn't my home forever, and I'll be damn if I would let it be. I knew that there was more out there for me. Spending Thanksgiving with Casey and his family opened my eyes to a lot of things, and I definitely wanted a family of my own. And I know having a family with James—fuck out of here, never that. I wanted to be with Casey. He was my beginning; he was my head start. He became my inspiration.

I called up my mother last night and had a two-hour talk with her. I told her about Casey and explained how we met. I told her that it was definitely over with James, and she wished me the best. She said being with James and moving in with him was the worst choice I'd ever made. She'd been there and done
that with men. And I watched these different types of men come in and out of my mother's life since I was eight. And she warned me that it's not healthy, and it is also dangerous. But she told me that she wanted to meet Casey. So I promised her that we'd try to make it down there for Christmas, which was three weeks away. I haven't had a mother-to-daughter talk with my moms in so long that when I hung up, I cried for a few moments.

I wanted to get my life back on track, and that including having constant contact with my mother. I wanted to see her and spend some time with her. It's been too long now.

I woke up this morning, and I was feeling great. I called up Camille and told her that I wasn't upset with Shy any longer. Fuck it, what's done is done, and I wasn't going to continue to beef about this shit. You can forgive, but sometimes it's hard to forget.

I knew Shy needed our help, so fuck it, I knew that I had to be the better woman about it. So I planned to take care of my business early in the morning and then confront Shy about everything later on, and let her know that I was still a bit upset about it, but I was willing to work things out with her. Like Camille said, we've all been friends for too long to let one grimy nigga come in between us.

Missing Casey a bit, I decided to call him on his phone while he was at work. I just wanted to hear his voice.

“Hey, baby,” Casey happily greeted, knowing it was me calling.

“We still on fo' the night, right?” I asked, referring to our dinner date at Tavern on the Green.

“Of course. I'm gettin' off early. I don't wanna upset you by being late,” he said.

I chuckled. “As long as you don't break our date, I'm good.”

“I'll be at your place around ten, so you be ready, baby. Okay?”

“I got the bomb dress to put on. I can't wait for you to see me in it,” I mentioned.

“I'm picturin' it now.”

“The dress?”

“Nah, takin' it off later on tonight,” he joked.

“Casey,” I tittered, “behave.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Go back to work, and lock up some criminals.”

He laughed. “I'll see you tonight, okay?”

“Okay. And Casey . . .”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Jade.”

After our brief conversation, I started to clean my place up a little. I vacuumed the floor, mopped the kitchen, and straightened up my bedroom. After that, I called up Camille and told her that I was going over to Shy's place, and I wanted her to come along. We all needed to talk. We all needed to be together. She told me she'd be there soon after, and to call her when I got there.

It was a little past noon when my phone rang. When I picked up, there wasn't any answer. That was the second time today somebody called my crib and no one spoke. I paid it no mind; I thought it was just niggas being stupid.

I quickly got dressed, throwing on some jeans, sneakers, a light sweater, and my leather, and strutted out my door, heading to see Shy.

The day was clear, and being forty-five degrees outside. It felt like a great day. The skies were blue, and Christmas was coming.
And I had plans—not just for the holidays, but for my future. I was going to enroll in school in the fall and probably take up nursing. It was something that I always had an interest in doing. After that, I wanted to have kids, move out of Jamaica housing, and start doing me. I wanted a life. I wanted a career. I was tired of being a drug dealer's girl, who he sported around under his arms only for show and a piece of pussy. I was tired of depending on niggas for money and to pay my bills and rent. A bitch needed to start being more independent. And Camille was my role model. She's been doing her for years, without having a man around all the time. And I needed to follow in her footsteps.