Nasty Girls (14 page)

“You okay?” James asked.

“Yeah, I'm good.”

“I know it's hard, wit' Roscoe bein' locked up. He okay up in there? I ain't get the chance to see him. I'm holdin' shit down in the streets for him,” he said, “but if you need anythin' else, holla at me.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

He looked hesitant to leave. He stared at me. I know it was fucked up for me to be standing in front of him with my body glistening, only wrapped in a bath towel but I wanted to get dressed and leave for work. I was already late.

“Okay, James, thanks. I'm late for work,” I said, trying to give him the hint.

“You need me to take you to work? It's not a problem for me, Shy.”

Shit, I was already fifteen minutes late if I left now, and my boss has been riding me hard lately—tripping and shit.

“I mean, if you want, I can wait out in the hallway until you get dressed,” he said politely, like he was trying to be a gentleman and shit.

“Um . . .”

“I'm lookin' out for you, Shy. You're my nigga's girl, so I'm tryin' to make sure you a'ight. I'm willin' to hold you down until Roscoe gets home.”

I hesitated for a minute. “Okay, give me like ten minutes.” Then I dashed into the bedroom and closed the door behind me, while James waited in the living room.

I went into my closet and threw on the best possible outfit for me to go to work in. Roscoe had helped land me the job at Mony's, a women's clothing store on Jamaica Avenue. He knew
the manager, who owed him a favor, and he told Mr. Beharry that I was looking for employment. Next thing I know, a week later, Mr. Beharry was calling me up and asking me when I can start. It was cool, even though Roscoe was taking care of me. It was good making a little extra something on the side for myself. I make like $155 a week.

But now, since Roscoe got locked up, Mr. Beharry been acting up, and thinking just because Roscoe wasn't around, he could start treating me like whatever, like he own me.

I threw on a pair of tight-fitted Guess jeans with a cashmere sweater and pulled my hair into a long ponytail, and walked out my bedroom to see James seated on my couch, looking at an old
Vibe
magazine I had left on the coffee table.

“I'm ready,” I said. “Did I take long?”

He got up and looked at me. “Nah, I was just chillin'.”

We headed out the door and proceeded to the elevator. He pressed the button and stood next to me. He was tall, and his expensive Rocawear coat fit his thick frame like it was made personally for him. His Timberlands were brand-new, straight out the box, not one mark or scuff on them. And his jewelry gleamed like it had fallen directly from the sun and landed on him. He had a remarkable presence.

When the elevator came to my floor, James allowed me to step in first. He pushed for the lobby, and we rode down in silence.

It felt awkward leaving my building with James and getting into his impressive gleaming black Hummer H2.

I thought about Jade, and wondered how she'd react, seeing me getting into James's ride without her. I mean, she lived in the building next to mine. The ride to work was innocent, but around here, people see shit like this and start taking on the wrong idea.

The only time I see James is when I'm with Jade or Roscoe. I don't really know shit about the man, except what Jade and Roscoe tell me about him. And the way Jade's been beefing lately about his cheating and his superficial ways, I already had my own preconceived notions about him. But the way he talked to me while I rode in his Hummer, I knew he was cocky and had game. I knew James was about him, and satisfying his own needs.

The traffic on Jamaica Avenue was thick with cars crawling to get to their destination. The holidays were coming, with Thanksgiving right around the corner.

James pulled his Hummer up to the curb on 164th Street and Jamaica Avenue and unlocked the doors to let me out. But before I stepped out, he asked, “You want me to pick you up after work?”

I looked at him and said, “No, I'm cool. Thanks for the ride.”

“You sure? It's not a problem for me, love.”

I didn't want to get too comfortable with him. He stared at me like he expected me to change my mind. But I held my ground and hopped out his ride.

I strutted across the street while James watched me from his Hummer.

“You're late, Shy,” Mr. Beharry said, glaring at me like I had tried to rob his store.

“I'm sorry but—”

“But what? This is the fourth time in a week. I want you here on time tomorrow, or don't come to work at all.”

“Mr. Beharry—,” I started.

“Don't even start, Shy,” Janise, my coworker, chimed in after our boss walked away. “You know he hatin' on you.”

“Whatever,” I spat.

It's funny, when my man, Roscoe, was out and running things, Mr. Beharry never flipped on me about coming in late or taking days off. Now, when my man ain't here, he acting like Roscoe never hooked him up with favors and helped him out when he had beef with these young hoodlums out here, who waited outside the store one evening just to fuck his ass up. But it's all good, 'cause I know when my man is out, he gonna see what's up.

For the rest of the day, Mr. Beharry had me doing inventory, and he criticized every fucking thing I did in the store. He was becoming a real fucking jerk.

“Shy, let me talk to you for a moment,” Mr. Beharry said, walking up to me, smiling like we were best friends.

I was down in the basement, rearranging today's earlier shipment, and we were alone. I looked at him, wishing he was somewhere else at the moment.

“I'm sorry about being on your ass lately, but I'm just trying to look out for you, Shy.” He came in close to me.

I took a step back and looked at him, annoyed. “Look, I know Roscoe is incarcerated right now, and it's hard out there for you. You need someone to take care of you, right, Shy?”

“Excuse me?” I said, catching a little attitude.

He came even closer, and had the nerve to place his hand on my hip. He was Guyanese, Indian or something, and had a bushy mustache and a receding hairline. His breath was tart, and he was very unattractive.

I moved away from him before it got ugly, but he followed me.

“Look, I want to be here for you, Shy. I want to take care of you,” he said, licking his nasty lips. Then he grabbed me by my shirt.

“Look, I can take care of myself!” I barked back, jerking myself out of his grip.

He glared at me. “Not if you don't have this job.”

“What?”

“I take care of you, don't I? I let you slide when you come in late, or don't come in at all. I treat you different than all the other employees. I hooked you up with this job. I deserve something in return.” He was dead serious.

“Get the fuck out of my face!” I said.

“So, you're going to play me like that, Shy? After everything I did for you and your boyfriend? What can he do for you now, huh, bitch? That nigga locked up now! He can't do shit for you, Shy. But I can.” He grabbed my arm and copped a feel on my breast. Then he tried pushing me down on the ground. But I fought back. I quickly pushed him off me. “Don't be like this, Shy. I wanted you so long now. Why can't we be together? I'm better than him, look,” he said, and had the nerve to pull out his dick in front of me.

I swear, I caught a glimpse of his pathetic dick, and he was hung like a light switch. And he had the nerve to show it to me like he was packing. Somebody must have told him wrong.

That's when I thought,
Fuck this—I don't need this job,
and I bashed him in the head with a large crate. He stumbled and hit the floor.

I rushed by him, hearing him screaming in pain, and then heard him shout, “Bitch, you're fired! Get the fuck out my store, you fucking tramp!”

“Fuck you, nigga! Watch you get fucked up!” I shouted back.

Pussy muthafucka! He thought because Roscoe's in Rikers,
he can treat me like I'm some easy bitch off the street. He had another think coming.

Employees and customers took notice as I flew by them, cursing. Some of my coworkers wanted to know what had happened, but I ignored them and stormed out the store, fuming. I was coming back, and Mr. Beharry's ass was gonna get fucked up.

I was storming up 164th Street, when I heard my name being called out.

“Shy! Yo, Shy! Hold up for a sec.”

I turned around and saw James. I thought he had left. But he was still here, probably conducting business. Sometimes him and Roscoe stayed for hours on the Ave. He saw the look on my face and asked, “What happened?”

“My fuckin' boss is what happened! He a fuckin' asshole!” I said, still heated.

“He touch you?” James asked. His face was all screwed up.

“He just fired me,” I told him. “And he tried to fuckin' come on to me, showing me his dick and shit.”

“What? Yo, I'm gonna handle this.” James called over for his boy, and then he walked back to Mony's like a warrior on a mission.

I followed James, smirking. I couldn't wait to see the look on Mr. Beharry's face when he saw me coming back into the store with this tall thug and his man by his side.

When we entered Mony's, James told me to point him out. My coworkers knew that some drama was about to pop off; they stopped working and stood off to the side. I saw Beharry come out the back, and when he saw me, James, and his thuggish friend, he panicked, but he had nowhere to run.

James quickly stepped up to him, grabbing him up by his shirt, and knocking him down to the ground.

“What you want? What I do!” Mr. Beharry frantically shouted.

“You touch her?” James yelled.

“No, no! I leave her alone! Please don't hurt me!”

“Nigga, did you just not pull your little dick out in front of her?” James yelled. He smacked him across the face, turning it red and shit.

“Shy, I'm sorry! Shy, please! I know Roscoe!” he tried to plead.

I smirked down at him, mocking his pathetic attempt to bring Roscoe's name into this to save his ass.

“Nigga, listen here. You come near her again, you gonna have bigger problems next time I come around. You hear me, fool?” James screamed.

“Yes! I hear you! I hear you.”

James then let go of him, and Beharry continued to whimper as he lay on the floor. His employees laughed at him.

“Fuckin' jerk,” I insulted.

As we were about to leave out the store, two uniformed officers stepped in and asked, “Is there a problem in here?”

James and his boy kept their cool. James looked at the officers and replied, “Ain't no problem here, Officer . . . just a little misunderstanding.”

“You sure about that?” the tall lanky cop asked, glaring at James. He looked like he was ready to lock someone up. He looked over at Beharry.

“We cool, right?” James said to Mr. Beharry.

Beharry got his ass up and walked up to the front, looking
sad and shit. “Everything's okay here, Officer. Like he said, it was just a little misunderstanding.”

“See, Officer. We cool.”

“You and your friend leave,” the shorter cop said.

“I'm already out the door, yo,” James said smoothly and ushered me out the door.

I ain't gonna front—I saw James in a whole new light after that. I saw why Jade loved him so much. He stood up for me like Roscoe would have done, and that was cool.

An hour later, I was up in James's H2, riding wherever. I just wanted to get the fuck off Jamaica Ave and be out somewhere.

“Thank you for that,” I said.

“I got your back, Shy. You know me.”

I smiled.

“Yo, fuck that job, Shy. You don't need to work there. I don't know why Roscoe had you workin' up in there, anyway. You too fly to have a job like that.”

I smiled. “Nah, I opted to.”

“Independent. I like that.”

“I try.”

“Word, though, if you need cash, Shy, come to me. I got you, okay?”

“I'm okay,” I said.

We rode down the Southern State Parkway, coming into Hempstead, Long Island. James had the radio playing and the night was a little breezy. I had on my cream Baby Phat jacket, and just enjoyed the ride.

James pulled up to this neat bricked house with a small manicured lawn out front and a paved driveway. Parked in the
driveway was a silver BMW. He put the Hummer in park, and asked, “You wanna come in?”

“I'll sit out here.”

“A'ight, give me a minute. This is my cousin's crib. I came to pick up sumthin',” he said, and then stepped out and headed toward the house.

I sat waiting patiently in his ride, listening to the radio. I looked at the time. It was 9:20.

Another five minutes later, James came walking out of the house carrying a small black bag. He tossed the bag into the backseat and jumped back in the driver's seat.

To my surprise, he handed me another envelope.

“What's this?” I asked.

“It's a little extra sumthin' for you,” he said.

I opened it, and saw that it contained about another five grand.

“Call it an early birthday gift,” he said.

I didn't know what to say. I was stunned.

“Thank you,” I finally said. Shit, a sista wasn't gonna turn down free money. And I just lost my job too.

James smiled and asked, “You hungry?”

“Yeah, a lil' sumthin'.”

“Cool. I know this nice restaurant only a few miles from here. We can go and check it out. You'll like it, believe me.”

Fuck it,
I thought. It was only an innocent meal, right? He started up his truck and made a quick U-turn.

 

G
od, I hated myself right now. I had crossed that line. The line that no friend should ever cross with her friend's man. But there was no turning back. I moaned and sank my teeth
into the pillow as James ate me out. It'd been a minute since I had sex, and there were other men willing to give it to me, but I had to go around and fuck my best friend's man.