No Boyz Allowed (4 page)

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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: No Boyz Allowed
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8
I
’ve never been into fashion.
Never been stuck up.
A diva wannabe.
Never thought that I was the flyest chick who’d ever lived...
But tonight was different.
Because when I walked up in the spot, I straight shut it down.
Freeze!
Pow!
Ka-boom!
Gem has stepped in the room.
I felt like I was sashaying on clouds—or better, the red carpet. All eyes were on me like the paparazzi and for the first time in my life I loved the attention.
Why?
Because I didn’t have to cuss, fight, scream, or demand anything to get it. All I had to be was me: a cute mocha brown chick with thick size ten hips, a sexy shoulder length ponytail, and a swoop bang dipped low over my right eyebrow. I rocked a black camisole, a black bandage miniskirt, four-inch hot pink stilettos, hoop earrings, and sparkling bangles adorned my right arm.
Hotness.com described me perfectly.
“Dang, girl,” Man-Man shot me a sly grin as we stood near the doorway. “The whole place just dropped the mic.”
“I know, right.” I laughed a little as my eyes skipped around the dimly lit and extra-large living and dining room combination. The place was packed with girls and hotties who lined the walls and filled the floor, some dancing and others kicking it.
Tucked in the far left corner of the living room was a makeshift bar of soda, fruit punch (which, judging from the way everybody hovered over it, I’m sure was spiked), and Shirley Temples made to order for a dollar a cup. Next to the bar was the D.J., who from the moment I walked in had been fiyah. He mixed Rihanna and Chris Brown’s “Cake” and Big Sean’s “Dance” and bumped it through his mega speakers like crazy.
For a split second a tizzy of nervousness invaded my stomach. In an attempt to shake it off, or at least play it off, I leaned from one foot to the next, while Man-Man looked as if he was a king admiring his court. “I knew they would drop the mic, though. They always do,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, they can’t help it.”
“And why not?”
“’Cause girls love Genuine Fine.” He looked to his right, stroked his goatee, and pointed at a duo of chicks standing a few inches away from him. “I see you,” he said, and the girls turned fever red and broke out into stupid giggles.
“Hey G,” the boldest one said as the other one gave him a shy wave while looking away.
Man-Man looked at me and shook his head. “My entourage. They’re addicted to me.”
Hang me.
“I’ma start a G-world support group,” Man-Man carried on.
This dude was super corny—but funny—but corny. And he was kind of cute in a brotherly sort of way: five eleven, brown sugar-colored skin, a close and cropped hair cut, and a wide smile that made all the girls think he was admiring them when he was really admiring how well his ridiculous lines worked on them.
I snapped my fingers. “That’s right, it’s all about you. What was I thinking?” I twisted my lips and rolled my eyes.
Puhlease.
“It’s in the genes, girl. It’s in the genes.” He turned his head from side to side and then looked straight. “Now come on and beat your feet to the bar. ’Cause you need to be buying a drink right about now.”
What?
“Excuse you?” I looked at him like he was loco. “I’m not one of your groupies so you can’t order me to buy a drink. And besides, I don’t want a drink right now.”
“What did I just tell you to do,” he mumbled.
“Excuse you?!” I shot back. “I should know if I want a drink or not.”
“Why can’t you just follow my lead?” he whispered.
“Because I don’t have to.”
“But I need you to.”
“Why?”
“See those chicks over there?” He nodded across the room toward a clique of three girls who stared me down like I’d just robbed ’em on the playground.
“Yeah, I see ’em. And?”
“And the one in the middle is Coca-Cola curves, Cameron. Just look at her.” He squinted his eyes and bit into his bottom lip. “That body is poppin’ in
all
the right places. That’s her nickname, too. Pop-Pop.”
Oh, my God . . .
The conceit continued. “She likes me. Texts me all day. Always on my Facebook, tweets love songs to me. I’m always on her mind.”
“Oh, wow, I betchu the day she met you is now a holiday.”
He pointed from my eyes to his and back again. “Now you’re following me.”
I shook my head. “You are really feeling yourself.”
“No, I’m not. I’m humble on Saturday... or is that Sunday?”
I paused. I didn’t even know what to say to that, so I simply moved on. “So, do you like her?”
“Heck yeah. I’m diggin’ them curves, I mean her mind. I just love the way she thinks.”
Yeah right.
“So then stop ordering
me
around and go over there and make
her
buy a drink.”
“What?” He looked at me like I’d just slapped him. “I’m not running up on no chick.” He frowned. “Not even close to how I get down.”
“You just said you liked her.” I was clearly confused.
“I do like her. As a matter of fact, I’ve made her my girl a few times. Which is exactly why I have to make her sweat even more than all the other girls around here lusting after me.”
“Speechless.”
“Now see, if you get a drink, she gon’ think we’re together, then she gon’ get all worked up—a little wrinkle will form on her nose and tears will glisten in her eyes—and that’s gon’ allow me to slide my arms around her waist and be like, this my new sister, girl. Chill.”
“Something . . . is . . . really wrong with you . . .”
Man-Man completely ignored me. Instead, he stared off in deep thought, flicked the toothpick from the right corner of his mouth to the left and as if a lightbulb had gone off, he said, “Know what, skip the drink. That was a whack idea.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
“I got one even better.” He popped the invisible collar of his red Young Money T-shirt and slid his right hand in the side pocket of his True Religion jeans. “Follow me,” he said like his name should’ve been Cat Daddy.
I stood back and watched Man-Man get his serious pimp stroll on: leaning slightly to the right while one shoulder dipped in front of the other. He stopped for a moment and looked back at me. “Come on.”
I followed him, reluctantly, because judging from the way the groupies he glided toward continued to stare at me, it was about to go down. Seriously.
The closer we got to the desperate-in-the-city clique, the madder Coca-Cola and her crew looked. They each placed their hands on their hips, their necks seemed frozen in a twisted to the left position, and their bottom lips hung like a horse’s.
They each rolled their eyes at me in slow motion and I gave them a look that invited them to bring it; that’s when I noticed that Man-Man had stretched his arms forward and parted their circle. “Coming through.” He pimped his way through the bird’s nest and over to a group of dudes standing behind them.
Stop the press . . . He. Did. Not. Just play them like that.
“That was so rude,” I mumbled and either Man-Man didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me because instead of responding, he gave the guys he’d walked over to pounds, and never once looked back.
But I looked back and for a moment I found myself staring at Coca-Cola. She looked familiar and I knew I’d seen her before, I just didn’t know where . . .
“And why is she eye-slicing you?” one of Coca-Cola’s friends spat, snapping me out of my gaze. Now, had I been on the street I would’ve straight stepped to ’em, but since none of this was really my problem and tonight’s mission was to have a good time, I turned away from them. My intention was to keep it movin’—but then one of Coca-Cola’s friends lost her mind and said, “Who’s this ho?” Which halted my mission and required my immediate attention.
I spun around and Coca-Cola looked me dead in my eyes and said, “Yeah, that’s what I wanna know. Who’s the ho?”
Breathe . . . Breathe . . . now check ’em.
I shot this clique a fake Barbie smile. “Clearly you can see that he doesn’t do hoes, because he left you standing there.” I pointed my hands like guns and pulled the triggers. “Click, click, boom!”
“I know you not gon’ take that!” one of Coca-Cola’s friends said to her. “I know you’re not going to let her punk you!”
Before Coca-Cola could respond, I said, “Maybe you’re not that stupid after all. ’Cause that’s exactly what she’s going to do! And you too!”
“Whoa, you don’t need to be arguing over me.” Man-Man slid in between us. “Kamani, relax,” he said to Coca-Cola’s friend.
I snapped at Man-Man and pointed over his shoulder. “You better get ’em, ’cause they don’t want it over here.”
“Chill,” he said to me as if he was about to choke on laughter. He turned toward Coca-Cola and said with a smooth edge to his voice, “No need to be jealous.”
“Jealous!” Coca-Cola snaked her neck, paused, then snaked her neck again.
“Oh, he got you twisted,” Kamani said to Coca-Cola as her eyes taxied over me, which was cool, because one thing I wasn’t was scared. Ever.
“You’re welcome to bring it,” I said to Kamani and I stepped to the side of Man-Man. “The only thing separating us is air and opportunity! As a matter of fact, let me do you a favor and warn you. If you step to me you gon’ need to bring King Kong with you.” I turned to Man-Man, whose cheeks were stuck on blushed. “You think this is cool? Really? You better get these birds before I clip their wings.”
“Pop,” Man-Man shook his head. “Kamani, Janay chill. This is my lil sister.”
Coca-Cola blinked her extended lashes as if they were battery operated. Once her batteries died, she stopped blinking and her eyes popped open. “You must think I’m stupid.”
“Duh,” Kamani butted in. “It’s obvious he thinks you’re stupid. ’Cause he expects you to believe that two weeks ago he had two sisters and now suddenly it’s three!”
“Exactly,” Man-Man said as if this type of thing happened every day.
“Exactly, what?” Coca-Cola asked. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No!” Man-Man waved his hands. “I meant
exactly
I had two sisters two weeks ago and now I have three.”
“Whatever.” Kamani carried on, “I keep telling you, you need to check him.”
It was obvious that Coca-Cola was mad, but her friend was hyping her up so much that I just had to step back in. So I said, “Why don’t you mind your business! Or are you too jealous to do that?” I looked at their other homegirl who hadn’t opened her mouth and said, “You better get this chick and tell her to fall in line.”
Homegirl didn’t say a word.
“G!” Coca-Cola screamed. “Why are you trying to play me crazy! Don’t try me, G. ’Cause I will turn this whole party out!”
“Pop,” he softly cupped her chin. “I’m touched that you would wreck shop over me, but I can’t let you tear up the spot.”
“You know what, Pop,” Kamani snapped. “You can deal with him in a minute, but first you need to handle this trick.” She turned to me.
I retorted, “Well since you’re all in the business, why don’t you do it!”
Kamani sucked her teeth. “What you better do—!”
“All I
better
do,” I said, “is stay cute. Anything else is my choice!”
“You got me messed up!”
“ ’Cause that’s what you are, a mess!”
“Kamani,” Man-Man butted in. “Chill, I told you this is really my sister. She’s been my sister for about two weeks!”
“Wait a minute,” Coca-Cola said and squinted at me. “Don’t I know you?”
“You don’t know me,” I snapped. “But you can.” I took a step forward.
“No, for real,” she said, changing her tone from ready to leap across the room to calm.
Yeah, hella crazy.
Coca-Cola looked as if she searched my face for an answer. “Is your name Gem? Gem Scott?”
Pause... what?
Before I could say anything, she continued.
“That’s your name, right?” she asked as if she really needed me to say yes.
“Oh, you know this chick?!” Kamani said. “That’s even worse!”
I shook my head. “Look, I don’t know what the heck is really going on here. But I don’t do drama or crazy. I just came to chill. Now this is my brother—take it or leave it. But I don’t want him like that. He’s all yours, boo-boo.” I looked at Man-Man and rolled my eyes. “Now I need a drink.”
I stepped away and left them all behind me. I’d made up my mind that when we got home I would be taking Man-Man and chopping him dead in his throat. By the time I reached the bar, Coca-Cola was in my face again. “Seriously. For real,” she said. “No beef. But can you please tell me if your name is Gem Scott?”

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