Daddy Long Stroke (39 page)

“About what?” I ask, feelin' myself gettin' agitated.

“She told us she's carryin' your baby.”

“Yeah, and? She's the chick I was tellin' you about.”

“I figured that. Well, she says she's keeping it. She also said you told her you wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.”

This fuckin' bitch!
I clench my teeth. Feel the muscles in my jaw tighten. “She's right. I don't want shit to do wit' her. 'Cause that's. Not. My. Baby.”

“Are you sure?”

I suck my teeth, sighin'. “Ma, of course, I'm sure. That broad's not pregnant by me. She's delusional.”

“She also said you've put your hands on her, too. Is that true?”

“Say, what?!? What the fuck! I've never touched that fuckin' lyin'-ass nut.”

“I hope not. But after your incident at your father's, I'm not so sure.”

A muhfucka's 'bout to black. “Ma, I gotta go. I'm not gettin' into this wit' you. I'll talk to you later, aiight.”

“I'm not done talking.”

“Well, I am. I'll see you at the hospital.” I disconnect the call before she can say sumthin' else, then immediately hit Ramona's ass up. She answers on the fifth ring. “Aye, yo, what the fuck are you doin'?”

“Ummm, whadaya mean?”

“Yo, what the fuck you mean, ‘whadaya mean'? Don't fuckin' play games wit' me. You know what the fuck I'm talkin' 'bout.”

“I knew I'd hear from you,” she states calmly. “How you been, baby?”

“What the fuck you doin' goin' over to my Pops' spot?”

“Well I needed to get your attention some kind of way. And obviously, I have.”

“Yo, you fuckin' crazy, for real, yo.”

She laughs. “Nigga, you can call me crazy all you want. The fact still remains that I'm pregnant. And it's yours.”

“No, the fact is you're a lyin' nut-ass.”

“And I'm still pregnant.”

I can tell this ho is gonna be a muthafuckin' thorn in my side. It's moments like this I wish I had a buncha sisters I could call on when I needed them to rock a ho's snotbox. “Okay, maybe you are, but for the hundredth time…It's. NOT. Mine!

“It
is
yours.”

“Whatever, yo. Anytime we fucked I wrapped up.”

“Well, a few times I poked holes in the condoms.”

“Say what?”

“You heard me.”

I blow out a buncha aggravated air. “And how the fuck you do that?”

“Easy. I'd wait until you went into the bathroom, then I'd reach over and take the condoms you'd leave on the dresser, or I'd sneak and get the ones you had in your pants pocket and poke 'em up. Of course, I didn't do it right away. I waited for the right time. Watched your moves every time you were with me before doin' anything. And voilá! I'm with child. Your child. Now what would you like to name him or her?”

On some real shit, a muhfucka can't believe what the fuck I'm hearin'. But, then again I can. This goes to show how muthafuckin' desperate this bottom-of-the-barrel bitch really is. Yeah, she mighta poked holes in the condoms, but a muhfucka never nutted in her. I'd always pull out and bust down in her throat, or all over her face and titties. So unless she scooped the shit up offa her nipples and lips, then planted it up in her, she's a muthafuckin' lie. So the joke's on her retarded ass. “I'm not namin' it shit, 'cause it ain't mine. You know it, and I know it. Now stop callin' me. And stay the fuck away from my family.”

She laughs. “Or what, my baby daddy?”

I shake my head. “Yo, do us both a favor, and go jump ya dizzy-ass off a cliff.” I disconnect the call, sparkin' a blunt. Fuckin' wit' her ass done gave me a splittin'-ass headache.
This psycho bitch tryna drive a muhfucka to start lacin' his shit,
I think, blowin' smoke up at the ceilin'.

By the time I get to the hospital to see Pops, it's close to six-thirty. Visitin' is over at like eight, I think. When I get to the visitor's desk, I get my visitor's pass, then make my way to the elevators. There's mad heads e'erywhere up in this piece. I shake my head, hopin' like hell I never end up in this bitch. Pops' room is up on the tenth floor. I walk toward his wing, then look for his room number. A few nurses speak and smile. I speak back, but keep it movin'.

“Hey, old man,” I say, walkin' into his room. He's sittin' up in his bed readin' the
Star-Ledger
newspaper. There's a
New York Times
on the side of him. “You mean to tell me you didn't have anything better to do than get ya'self put in the hospital.” I give him a pound, then a kiss on the forehead. Pops and I have always been close; not like I am wit' Moms, but still our bond is tight. On some real shit, they're all I got. If sumthin' happens to either one of 'em, I'ma be fucked up. Seein' him up in this piece gotta muhfucka feelin' some kinda way. I really fucked up.

He smiles; seems happy to see me. “I needed a break, what can I say. Glad you made it up to see me. But you coulda waited until I got home. They claim I'm being released in the morning.”

I take a seat in the chair next to the bed. “Oh, word? So e'erything's aiight wit' you, man?”

“So they say. They ran a buncha stress tests. My pressure's high and they tell me my sugar's up. But other than that, they say I'm okay.” I feel relieved. And fucked up for how things went down at his crib wit' Akina. I decide to apologize, again. Tell 'em I was
really outta pocket for bringin' that shit up in his space like that. “Look, son, that's water under the bridge. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. Unfortunately, I had to walk in on it. I tried to warn you, but ya ass is too damn hard-headed…”

“Just like you,” Moms says, walkin' into the room. I get up and give her a hug and kiss. “He's you, all over again.”

Pops chuckles. “Woman, I wasn't that bad.”

She grunts, shakin' her head. She hangs her coat up in Pops' closet. They go back 'n forth 'bout it. I decide to stay outta their lil' debate. Ya'll already know how I feel 'bout it. And I'ma keep sayin' it 'til I'm blue in the face: “I ain't nuthin' like him.” I take the other seat 'cross the room. Let Moms sit next to Pops.

“Well, it shouldna never went down like that,” Pops says. “I hope you learned ya lesson.”

Yeah, I learned a lesson, aiight. I learned to only fuck wit' outta-state hoes from now on. I decide to keep that shit to myself. “I had no business bringin' that drama up in ya spot, Pops.”

“You got that right,” Moms adds. “And you shoulda never put your hands on that girl.”

“And you right,” I agree, sighin'. “But she threw her hands up, first. Then she bit me. So she got what she got. I don't feel good 'bout it, but it is what it is.”

“Still doesn't make what you did right. You're lucky she hasn't filed complaints on you.”

“Ma, listen. The only thing I regret is that it happened up in Pops' crib. Other than that, had she kept her hands to herself, I wouldna lumped her up.”

Moms opens her mouth to say sumthin' else, but Pops reaches over and squeezes her arm. She pulls in her bottom lip. Lets it go, for now. “Tell us about this Ramona gal,” Pops says, changin' the subject. “Your mother told you she stopped by the house looking for you, right?”

“Yeah, she told me earlier today. There's really nuthin' to tell. We kicked it for a minute. I sexed her down. She was too clingy. I dismissed her. That's it. And now she's claimin' to be pregnant. But it's
not
mine. Then I learn today that that desperate broad was punchin' holes in the condoms.” Pops shakes his head. Moms stares at me. “I'm tellin' ya'll she's a real nutcase.”

“And you did nothing to create this mess?” Moms asks, shiftin' in her seat. I can tell she's ready to get it started. It's probably givin' her flashbacks of that shit wit' Pops, too.

Yeah, I stuck my dick in the wrong bitch!
“The only thing I did was cut off her cum supply. I didn't make her any promises. And I warned her over and over again to not get caught up in me. But she did. And that's on her.”

“Son,” Pops says, “I'm not tryna tell you what to do, but you need to slow down. Or you're gonna end up with a lot more than just a baby on your hands.”

“Well, let's hope it's not his,” Moms states.

“It's not,” I tell 'em both, gettin' up. I've had enough of this wit' them. I know if I stay any longer, it's gonna turn into a lecture hall. I glance at my watch. I've been here thirty minutes already. “Listen, I gotta get goin'.” I walk over and give Moms a kiss on the cheek, then give Pops a pound and a hug. “Take care of ya'self, old man. I'll hit you up sometime tomorrow to check in on ya.”

“Aiight, talk to you then.”

“Come by for dinner tomorrow night,” Moms says.

“I can't,” I tell her, grinnin'. “I'ma be somewere laid up.”

She rolls her eyes. Pops chuckles. They both shake their heads, watchin' me dip out the door.

 33 

Damn, I can't believe it's December already. And on some real shit, I can't wait for this year to be fuckin' over. Man, listen, the last two-and-a-half weeks have been hectic as hell. First, Ramona's nutty-ass has been callin' me nonstop and she's gone back over to Pops, again, supposedly lookin' for me.
After
I told the bitch I no longer live there. Then she went to the police and told a muthafuckin' bold-faced lie, talkin' 'bout I threatened to throw her over a cliff, if she didn't get rid of her baby. What kinda shit is that? And them dumb muhfuckas believed her. I wouldna known shit if Pops hadn't called me tellin' me I had to go to the police station 'cause they were lookin' for me. And then when I get there, them bastards talkin' 'bout I'm bein' charged wit' terroristic threats. Terroristic threats? Can you believe that shit?! I told them muthafuckas, “I never threatened that crazy bitch!” But they still charged me wit' the shit and told me I'd haveta take it up wit' the judge. So thanks to that delusionl ho, a muhfucka had to be dragged into Union County Municipal Court; all because some bitch got her panties in a bunch 'cause a muhfucka didn't wanna keep feedin' her his dick. Do you know how embarrassin' it is to be all up in court wit' a buncha muhfuckas and havin' all of ya business aired out in the open? The shit's fucked up. Lucky for me—twenty-five hundred dollars later and almost three hours of testimony and cross-examinin'—the shit got dismissed two days ago 'cause the bitch was all over the place wit' her story.

And then fuckin' Sherria's unstable ass was harassin' me wit' her bullshit. Between textin' and callin' and leavin' a buncha messages, the bitch wouldn't let up. Talkin' 'bout she was gonna keep blowin' my line up 'til I agreed to see her. That wasn't gonna happen. I told her raggedy-ass to beat it. Instead, she kept callin' and talkin' shit. Threatened to cut off my dick and shred it in a blender. Lucky for me, I kept all of her messages and was able to use 'em in court to get a fuckin' restrainin' order against her psycho ass. Fuck what ya heard. A bitch dragged me into court, so I returned the favor and dragged one into court, too. Call it a punk move if you want, but a muhfucka ain't beat to be changin' phone numbers 'n shit. If I tell ya ass to stop callin', then gotdamn it…stop fuckin' callin'! The last thing I need is another ho tryna jam me up in court wit' some bullshit-ass lies, so I beat her to it. Got that broad banned from contactin' me or anyone else in my personal space or comin' anywhere near me. And there you have it!

I'ma tell you this much: Fuckin' wit' unstable hoes like Sherria and Ramona is a major headache, which is why you need to fuck 'em 'n dump 'em the first time you see any signs of nuttiness; especially when you know you ain't tryna wife 'em. Ain't no need in investin' a buncha time and energy into a ho you know you ain't tryna build wit', feel me? And that's how I'ma haveta do it from now on, especially when the bitch ain't comin' up offa no paper.