Big Juicy Lips (11 page)

Brick gave a hint of a smile. “I can dig it.” He often felt the same way. Sharing Misty’s shine made a mufucka feel good about himself—scarred-up face and all.

“But now I see that all that finger pointing and people gathering around her because of her looks must have given Misty some kind of a complex.” Thomasina’s tone switched from cheerful to somber.

Misty ain’t got no complex!
How the hell did her mother figure that being extra pretty had given Misty a complex? Brick had a complex. He was aware that he had low self-esteem issues. But Misty was a stunna and she knew it. She used her looks to get her and Brick where they were today. Miss Thomasina was talking some bullshit now, and Brick started tuning her out, sorry he’d even bothered to give her a few minutes of ear time.

He wanted to turn the music up extra loud, but that would probably make Miss Thomasina mad and then she’d start her shit. He couldn’t wait to pull in front of her house.

“I heard something about this subject on one of those daytime shows that I watch while I’m at work,” Thomasina went on. “Between you and me, I make it a point to watch more TV at work than I do at home. I don’t let those people at the hospital work me like a damn horse. I sit right up in those patients’ rooms, catch all my favorite shows.” Thomasina chuckled, but Brick disliked the woman too much to put forth the effort to join her in laughter. “Anyway, one of those psychology experts said that studies have shown that being extremely beautiful is as damaging to a person’s mind as it is if they were real, real, uh, unattractive. I know people wonder what you and Misty have in common, but ever since I watched that show, I’ve been thinking that you two are probably two of a kind.”

Brick mulled over the affront, wiggling his fingers, uncertain if he should curl them back into a fist. But he decided he could let it go. In their own way, he and Misty were two of kind. He flattened his fist, thinking that perhaps Miss Thomasina had a point. Fuck if he knew and fuck if he cared. He was relieved that he didn’t have to fight the urge to whip Misty’s mom’s ass and fling her out into oncoming traffic.

He merged onto I-76 East. In a few minutes, Miss Loudmouth would be out of the whip and he’d back at the crib, controller in one hand, a can of brew in the other.

T
he pungent aroma of weed greeted Misty at Monroe’s front door. “’Sup, shawty?” Unsmiling, Monroe gave her a half-hearted welcome, poking out his lips, trying to convey that he didn’t appreciate being fucked and discarded. “What happened to your fly ride? Did the repo man pay you a visit?” he quipped, craning his neck and turning up his nose at Mr. Johnnie’s old Ford. Misty was too angry to feel insulted or embarrassed by Mr. Johnnie’s clunker. The beat-up old squatter sat idling loudly. Badly in need of an oil change, a tune-up or probably a new engine, the hooptie groaned as if begging Mr. Johnnie to put it out of its misery and take it to the nearest junkyard.

“I’m on point with the payments; I had to loan my truck out for a minute.” Monroe didn’t deserve an explanation, but being that she was inside his crib, she didn’t want to come out of her mouth the wrong way. At least not before she gripped up his cousin and rolled out.

“Let me hit that.” She extended her hand. Begrudgingly, Monroe passed her the Dutch he was puffing on.

She puffed once as she looked around the modest home. “Where’s Dane?” she asked, making sure her tone sounded nonchalant.

“He’s upstairs taking a shower. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” She feigned innocence and took another hit off the Dutch.

“We’re about to roll out in a little while.”

“Where?” Knowing Dane’s planned whereabouts could probably prove useful.

“We gon’ holla at some friends and then we’re gon’ roll up in that new joint on Delaware Avenue. After that, we’ll hit up a coupla after-hour spots. Just the fellas, y’ah mean?”

An unpleasant emotion ripped through Misty. Rejection. Instead of being surrounding by a bunch of no-account niggas, Dane should have been proud to stroll up in the new spot with her under his arm. She didn’t like being ditched for his cousin and his dumb-ass crew. “Y’all niggas ain’t goin’ nowhere. Y’all ain’t gon’ leave the hood,” Misty taunted, angling for information.

“Uh-huh. We gon’ hit that new spot, Hades,” he bragged.

Ah! Good to know. She’d make some calls later and find out what was what and who was running things at Hades.

The squeal of faucets turning, and the rushing sound of running water trickled off. “Dane!” she yelled from the bottom of the stairs. One look at her cute ass, and Dane would dismiss thoughts of partying with a trio of losers.

The bathroom door opened. “Who’s that?”

“Misty!” She dashed up the stairs.

“Yo, shawty. That ain’t cool,” Monroe protested. “You can’t barge your way upstairs like that.”

Misty ignored him and didn’t stop trotting until she reached the top of the stairs.

Dane stood in the hallway, a blue towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water dotted his muscled shoulders and well-defined arms. He looked succulent, edible. Hell, he looked totally fuckable. But looking at the big picture, Misty decided to restrain her sexual impulses.

“Hey, Lil’ Bit. What it is?” There was a lack of warmth in his voice; his smile appeared to be forced.

She cocked her head to the side and gave him a stony stare. “Nigga, whatchu think it is? How you gon’ be in Philly all damn day and not let me know about it until you got good and ready?”

“My bad. But damn, I hope you didn’t come up here to start no shit. This is my auntie’s crib. She’s not gon’ be too thrilled if she walks in the door and hears a bunch of arguing and whatnot.” Dane pulled the towel tighter. He took a few steps forward; as if he planned to physically toss Misty out of the house.

She hadn’t expected such an aggressive reaction from him, but she wasn’t about to back down. Standing her ground, she curled her small lips. “I’m not worrying about your damn auntie or this dump.” She looked around the drab hallway, with her nose turned up. “I have my own spot and it’s laid out lovely. I just came through to find out what was really up with you.”

“I told you. I have plans for tonight with the fellas, but I’ll hit you up first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, aiight,” Misty said, with a smirk on her face.

“Seriously. It’s not cool to run up in my auntie’s crib like this,” Dane chastised. He scrunched up his lips, attempting to look offended, but when he pushed those juicy lips together, Misty’s pussy went into a panic. It was an inappropriate time for moisture to accumulate between her legs. She sent a stern message to her vagina, ordering it to behave and simmer down. Yearning for Dane’s tasty meat, her coochie became defiant and started to make a ruckus, emitting urgent, slurping sounds.

She’d be in a world of trouble if she let her coochie run the show. Strong-willed and refusing to weaken under the pressure, Misty clenched up her inner muscles, instantly cutting off the coochie chatter. Now, able to communicate with a clearer head, she gave Dane a side-long look, her lip turned up in a sneer. “I really thought you were about your business, but all you wanna do is run around with a bunch of young-ass thugs. Obviously, you think it’s all sweet and everything because I kept sending you cheddar. You thought you played me, but you’re wrong. Now that I see how you really roll…” She paused and gave him a look of disgust. “Nigga, that
L
I took, ain’t about nothing. My money’s stacking right now as we speak. So go ’head—do you, because I’m gon’ damn sure do me. Feel me? I’m out!” Misty turned to leave.

Dane grabbed her arm. Misty sneered at his hand and then jerked her arm away.

“Nah, see it ain’t even all serious like that,” he said. Looking uneasy, he again tightened the towel around his waist. “I just got here.” He laughed, tried to get her to smile, but Misty glared at him. “See, I promised my lil’ homies I’d kick it with them tonight. But, I’m still gon’ move in your crib—first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I changed my mind,” she said, with taunting laughter. “Move in here with your cousin—or take your ass back to Detroit. I don’t care what you do.”

Dane’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his eyes flitted back and forth. He looked close to caving under the pressure. “I hope you didn’t quit your other hustle, because I don’t want to do business with someone I can’t trust.”

“You think I’m shady?”

“Yeah, I do,” she remarked. “Besides, I need a right-hand man who’s serious about stacking paper—someone on top of his game. Obviously, you’re not my man.”

“Yo, I know how to handle mine. I just wanted to have a little fun before—”

“Obviously, we don’t have the same philosophy,” Misty said, cutting him off. “I believe in putting business before pleasure.” A smile crept across her face. She was putting Dane in his place and in the process revealing that he wasn’t the man she’d thought him to be. Dane was exactly like his dumb cousin—vulnerable, needy, and greedy.

“Come on, Lil’ Bit. You’re making a big deal outta nothing.”

“Oh, really? It was a big deal for a dimepiece like me to stay posted up at Western Union, filling out forms and sending dough on the regular to an ungrateful nigga.”

He ran his tongue across his delicious-looking lips, attempting to seduce her into a more accommodating mood. “After tonight, I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.” Dane winked and puckered up, implying that Misty was in for a major dick-down and some intense pussy suctioning.

Misty rolled her eyes at Dane. As tempted as she was to take him up on his sexual proposal, she realized she’d come out in a better position if she turned down the offer. Sneering excessively, she continued her rant. “You might think I’m blowing this out of proportion, but I feel like my trust has been violated. I was acting on good faith when I sent you all that cheddar. I gave you enough dough to pay for two or three plane tickets. But you kept jerking me around, feeding me one lie after another. Now that you’ve finally arrived, you have the nerve to tell me that you wanna kick it with your cousin and his sorry-ass crew? Do you really think I’m gonna sit back and let your broke ass diss me while you go out and party with a bunch of…” She paused, pondering the most insulting names she could call his friends. “Punk-ass, hustling, backward niggas.”

“Damn. That’s cold.”

“That’s real. You played me, Dane.”

Insulted, his mouth fell open. “My shit is packed—”

She cut him off with a smirk. “Then you played yourself. I hope you have a nice flight back. Peace, nigga!” Feeling victorious, Misty trotted down the staircase.

“Lil’ Bit!” Dane yelled. Holding his towel in place while trying to catch up with Misty, Dane was only halfway down the stairs by the time Misty slammed the front door. A few moments later, she hopped inside Mr. Johnnie’s clunker, instructing the old man to pull off.

She hadn’t expected to have to play hardball with Dane. Had she known, she would have traveled in a real cab or hired a limo or something. Mr. Johnnie’s hooptie was fucking with her image. Oh well, fuck it. With a plan in mind, she told Mr. Johnnie to take her home.

C
arrying a case of brew, Brick was anxious to get inside the crib, to pop open a can and get his swerve back on. Miss Thomasina was a trip. Misty had to really be on some desperate shit, to put him and her mom together without being close by in case she had to stand between them and play referee. Brick felt it lucky to have made it back to the apartment without having raised his voice or his hand to Misty’s loudmouth mom.

Inside the apartment, he was greeted by the scent of Misty’s favorite perfume.

“The deal fell through,” she said as she came out of the bathroom, pulling a brush through her hair. She was wearing light makeup, glittery lip gloss, her skimpy Versace dress, and she was flossing a lot of carats. Iced out from her earlobes down to her ankles, Misty was blinging as brightly as that rich chick, Yoyin. She must have bought some extra sparkle on her most recent shopping spree because Brick didn’t recognize the diamond-encrusted charm bracelet on her right wrist, the rock on her pinky finger or the princess-cut diamond pendant that dangled from her neck. Prettier than the average woman, Misty should have been gracing the covers of magazines. Brick’s private responded to her glamour, rising up slightly, jerking beneath his jeans.

“What happened with the dude you went to go see?” He didn’t really care, just wanted to hear her comment in order to gauge her mood. If she wasn’t in a rush to get to wherever she was going, there was a strong possibility that he could sweet-talk her into giving him a quickie.

“Fucking around with Mr. Johnnie, I got there too late.” Misty looked sad, then suddenly brightened. “But I have another plan in the works. I have to go out for a few hours and chitchat with another potential client.”

Brick had to control the urge to pull Misty into his arms, stick his hand up her dress, and pull her panties to the side. He’d love to hit it real quick before she went out to take care of business, but he knew Misty wouldn’t go for it. She was looking too glamorous to allow him to rumple her gear or alter her sweet fragrance with the smell of his sex.

Misty cut her eye at the case of beer Brick had set on the floor. “You ’bout to get fucked up for the night?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it. Why?”

Misty shrugged. “Just wondering if you planned on waiting up for me? You’re horny. I can tell,” she informed him.

“True, but I can tell you’re in a rush. I’ll be aiight—I can jerk myself off.”

“Yeah, go ahead and handle that. I shouldn’t be out too late.”

“It’s cool. Take your time. Do your thing, baby. I got my brew and my weed. Don’t worry about me. Go make shit happen.”

Misty nodded, obviously relieved. “Oh, yeah, how’d it go with my mom? I tried to call her but her phone was turned off.”

“It was kind of bumpy at first, but we got through it aiight.”

“For real?” Misty beamed.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t wanna make a habit of it.”

All that line-dancing sure had worked up a sweat. Thomasina tested the running water in the bathtub, turned on the shower and stepped inside. Eager to get rid of the musty smell of dried perspiration, she lathered up a washcloth and began soaping her underarms, shoulders, and forearms. When she reached her thighs, a tiny smile played at her lips. Was it her imagination or was her jelly-like flesh feeling more toned? No, it was just wishful thinking. It wasn’t possible to start toning up after only a few classes.

She rubbed the soapy washcloth across her ample behind and then touched it with her palm. It felt smoother, less dimpled. Not trusting the brush of her hand, she squeezed the jiggly flesh. Her ass didn’t have the same marshmallow texture that she hated, but had grown to accept. She gave a full-fledged grin. She wasn’t crazy. Something was going on. The scale still spoke the same outlandish number, but those line-dancing classes were shifting her pounds around, redistributing her weight.

Her wheels started spinning and then traveled until they landed on an image of her ex-lover’s face. The pain hurt like a knife, but the knife didn’t cut as deeply as it had when she watched Victor throwing his luggage in the trunk of his car. Leaving Thomasina and showing no remorse. “
Me and my wife are gonna try to patch things back up
!” He’d emphasized the word
wife
, used it like an arrow, aimed at Thomasina’s heart.

Rumor had it that there was trouble in Victor’s marriage. Gossipers noticed that he hadn’t been accompanying his freckle-faced wife to church in the past few weeks. “Maybe he’s sick,” Thomasina offered, meaning heartsick over dumping her.

“No, he ain’t sick. He done started turning up at the bar again,” the most recent carrier of tales informed her.

Y
e
ah, well, he’d better not try to come running back to me,
Thomasina thought. Her broken heart was on the mend and she’d be damned if she’d take Victor back so he could shatter it to pieces all over again.

The moment she acquired a half-decent figure, she was going to put on something snug and mosey on over to Victor’s hangout, The Delmar bar. She’d flaunt her improved body in front of Victor and then shoot him down with a string of insults if he so much as sent a smile her way. If her hourglass figure encouraged him to send her a drink, she’d take a sip and then throw the rest of it right in Victor’s face. The hell with making him jealous by being on the arm of a new man. A new man meant new trouble; looking good was the best revenge.

Her muscles ached, screamed to be left alone and not put through any more rigorous line-dancing for at least two or three weeks. Thomasina turned the knob, making the water hotter, soothing her aching body as vengeful thoughts toward Victor helped speed up the healing of her heart.