Real Wifeys: Get Money (27 page)

“Harriet Jordan,” I said, stepping back and smoothing my hand over my hair as the door opened and a group of people walked in.

He checked the list and then lightly grabbed my elbow to steer me out of the way. “If you could hold up for one sec,” he said to me, before giving his full attention to the crowd.

What the hell?

They all side-eyed me as they gave their names and was verified before they climbed onto the elevator. Someone whispered, “Security, one. Party crasher, zero.”

Party crasher?

“Excuse me, what’s the problem?” I asked.

“You’re not on the list,” he said.

Was Goldie’s slick ass trying to be funny? I would kick this nigga in the balls, then go upstairs and wreck her shit
at
her party. “Try Luscious Jordan,” I said, trying to keep my tone in check.

He shrugged his shoulders and checked. “Better name. Still not on the list.”

“She’s gone make me whup her motherfucking ass,” I said, feeling myself getting pissed off.

“Not at the party,” he said, trying to be funny.

“Don’t get slapped,” I said.

“Don’t get tased,” he shot back, holding up his taser and turning it on.

Zzzzzap!

I jumped back.

The door opened and I recognized a popular New York blogger and her crew all glammed up and ready to party.

“Excuse me, the invited guests need to get in, please,” he said, overly polite, pulling me out the way.

Oh, this Negro got jokes.

“Hi, Luscious,” the blogger said, giving me a little wave.

I smiled and waved back and then watched her and her crew get in and climb onto the elevator. As soon as the elevator closed, I walked out the front door. “You need a bigger suit, clown,” I shot over my shoulder before the door closed.

“And you still need an invitation,” he sang behind me, poking his head through the door.

I flipped his big-head ass the bird and then made my way to my car. I was so pissed, I was tempted to sit there all night, wait for Goldie, and then beat the light skin off that bitch.

“Excuse me, Miss Jordan?”

I turned. A tall thin dude with a suit on and a colorful bow tie was standing in the doorway. I didn’t know him. The jokey bodyguard was standing behind him silently throwing up a deuce to me and mouthing the words to Chris Brown’s song “Deuces.”

“I’m Goldie’s assistant, Ryan, and I forgot to add your name to the list. I am
so
sorry,” he said.

I started to tell him fuck him, fuck Goldie, and fuck their world and everybody in it. But I wanted to get in that office. I wanted the solid proof that my snitch couldn’t or wouldn’t get. And I needed to see if Shani was still working for Goldie.

Just like how could the bitch miss that Goldie had a separate office and an assistant? Did this all go down after she stopped calling with info, or was she holding back on me the whole time?

I walked back to the door and made a face at the security guard before I chucked up a deuce to his irritating ass as we moved past him and onto the elevator.

“One of the other guests had mentioned you were in the lobby and then I remembered Goldie told me to have your name added to the list. I am so sorry,” he kept saying.

“No problem,” I told him as the elevator opened and we stepped into a nice-ass loft filled with people. I recognized video directors, some athletes and celebrities, bloggers, and magazine journalists. Kanye West played in the background and everything was casual as hell. A definite hip-hop soiree.

Ryan handed me a cocktail. “This place is nice. Show me around,” I told him.

He did. But I didn’t hear most of the bullshit details he told me as we walked around the loft. I didn’t give a flying fuck in a monkey’s ass about who designed what, who made what chair, which model was posing in this or that photo for this or that urban fashion designer.

“Now this is the little studio we have for test shots of wannabes, because you know everybody who think they cute ain’t, and sometimes it takes a photo to make shit picture-clear, baby,” he said, pulling back a heavy leather curtain.

I looked up at him. He reminded me of Michel. I missed him and Eve; I knew they was having a ball at Club Infinite. I was stuck at this bullshit.

“Y’all have everything here. Even offices? I bet yours is decked out, right?” I asked.
Fuck the dumb shit. Show me what I need.

“Girl, I don’t have an office. My little desk is in the front,” he said, leading me back toward the front of the loft, where most of the partygoers were talking and chilling.

“Goldie doesn’t have an office here?” I asked.

“No, actually. She will continue to work from home most days, and when she
is
here, she uses the photo studio,” he said.

And this booking agency wasn’t a fucking front.
Bitch, please
.

“Where you two wandering off to?”

We both turned at Goldie standing at the end of the hall. She leaned against the wall in a white strapless jumpsuit.

“Ryan was giving me a tour,” I said, sipping from my drink.

“Well, y’all missing the party out here,” she said, pointing her thumb in the direction opposite from us.

We walked back down the hall to join her. “Ryan, the models are posing for group photos for the press. Keep it organized for me. You know they asses is wild,” she said before she walked away.

I frowned. I felt fucking dismissed and I didn’t know if Ryan’s happy ass knew it but he got dismissed too.

I followed him over to the area where the models were trying to outdo each other in the group photo. I didn’t spot Shani. “Is this everybody?” I asked.

“Just about, except for the one that just up and quit a few weeks ago,” he said.

Shani?

“What lit a fire under her?” I asked, pushing him.

“Lord, she found Oreo jungle love with some old white politician, chile,” Ryan said before he moved over closer to watch the models.

I didn’t say shit else. I heard enough. I knew enough.

Goldie didn’t have files there and Shani hauled ass on me
and
Goldie. I was ready to bounce. Goodbye, corny-ass, bougie-ass industry party. Hello, Club Infinite.

T
he next month flew by. I couldn’t lie, but the bitch had me busy as hell working. I did photo shoots for Baby Phat and Apple Bottoms, booked three urban fashion shows, and flew to Puerto Rico for a video shoot as the female lead.

The money was good. And I even liked the work.

But don’t get shit twisted. I didn’t forget the bull’s-eye I had on that bitch’s back. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to and I didn’t. I remember promising myself that I would make her pay. Not for Make$. It wasn’t about that.

It was her disloyalty.

And I admit that because I looked up to that bitch. I admired that ho. I really thought I could count on her. I trusted her to go on the road with Make$. I used to cry and complain and moan and groan to her about the shit he did to me. I used to go to her for advice. I used to call her on the road and ask her to go check on his no-good ass. When I found out she wasn’t what I built her ass up to be, it really pissed me off.

Loyalty was everything to me.

I didn’t have any choice but to make her pay.

As far as I was concerned, it was out of my hands. She lit the fuse. And there was no going back.

I still didn’t know what I would do with the proof once I had it, but I wanted it. It was important to the big plan. I wanted it and I was going to get it.

“Hi stranger.”

I looked up as I walked into my apartment, pulling my rolling carry-on behind me. Michel and Eve were sitting on the couch looking at TV. They both had keys to my apartment, but I hadn’t seen them in a good month—if not longer.

“Hey y’all,” I said, taking off my shades and closing the front door.

“Hey y’all,” Michel mimicked, sounding mighty damn testy.

They turned the TV off and stood up.

I screwed up my face and stopped. “Am I about to get jumped?” I joked with a laugh.

“You need your ass beat,” Eve said, crossing her arms over her small chest.

“Sure do. You so happy to be sniffing up Goldie’s ass that you just fucking threw us away like a bloody tampon,” Michel snapped, his voice sounding deeper than I
ever
heard it.

“Yessss,” Eve agreed.

“Fuck is this? An intervention?” I snapped, kicking off my shoes and plopping down onto the sofa.

“You cracking jokes and shit and we dead damn serious,” Eve snapped.

I looked up at her and her face was pissed off. I shifted my eyes to Michel. These mofos
was
dead damn serious. I covered my eyes with my hands.

“Y’all, I haven’t forgotten the two of you. I haven’t given up Yummy Entertainment. Trust me. Everything I’m doing is for a reason,” I told them. “I don’t give a fuck about Goldie. The modeling. The videos. None of that.”

“What?” Michel asked, sitting down and crossing his legs in the skinny jeans he wore.

“Listen, you know what she did to me, and it’s best to have your friends close and your enemies closer,” I told them, leaving it at that.

Eve sucked air between her teeth and grabbed her keys and purse. “Whatever, Luscious. You trippin,’” she said.

I leaned back. “Really? All of that?” I asked, feeling myself get angry.

“Yes? And?” Eve snapped back.

I stood up.

Michel stood between us, his pretty hands up in the air. “Chill, y’all.”

“Oh, you flexing at me? You need to whup Goldie’s fucking ass instead of fucking working and partying with that ho,” Eve yelled.

“Get the fuck out my house yelling like that, Eve,” I said, fighting the urge to mush her in her fucking face. “Get the fuck outta here with that all drama. Man, please.”

“You ain’t said nothing but a motherfuckin’ word,
cuz
,” Eve said, stalking over to the door to snatch it open.

I closed my eyes when she slammed it.

BAM!

I dropped back down onto the sofa. “Tell your girl to keep that ghetto bullshit out my building.”

Michel made a face. “My rent ain’t but two fifty, but I don’t want nobody slamming doors in my building either, Luscious,” he said, sounding offended.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Michel,” I said.

He relaxed. “I know. Just like I know this and I hope you listen to me because I mean you well. But mind that same hole you digging for Goldie don’t be the one you fall in.”

I looked over at him, just as beautiful as he could be as if he was born a girl. I shook my head. “Trust me, I got this,” I said.

“Okay, if you say so. But you ain’t been the same since you got arrested that night, Luscious. You never talk about it. Explain it. Nothing. You just act like it never happened. Like our crazy asses ain’t here to listen to you.”

I didn’t say shit. What could I say? It damn sure wasn’t going to be the truth.

He was right that I hadn’t been the same since that night, but he was wrong about the reasons why. A lot of shit happened to me the night I got arrested. I didn’t tell nobody, on the real. Being caught up in paying Goldie back kept me so busy that I didn’t think about being molested or the shit the dirty cop put me through, or having my parents turn they backs on me.

Thinking of it now, I got a headache. It was a lot. Too much. Way too fucking much to share. To talk about. To think about.

“I’m good.” I stood up and grabbed my carry-on to unpack.

Michel look disappointed in me as he grabbed his tote. “I’ll calm Eve down. We just worried about you,” he said.

“Let me get a nap and we can all go eat later. Okay?” I said, getting down on my knees as I unzipped the carry-on.

“You call us,” he said and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, my cell phone rang. I reached for my bag and got it out. It was Goldie. I rolled my eyes. These days I hardly spoke to her unless she was calling me about a booking.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Luscious. How was the video shoot?”

“It was good.”

“I’m having a quick meeting with everybody at my apartment in an hour. I know you just got off the plane, but can you get here?”

My heart stopped. I was ready to get the fuck out of Goldie’s world and back into mine. My friends. Even my family. The sooner I got proof, the sooner I could get back to my life.

“No problem,” I said, rising to my feet.

She gave me the address but I didn’t need it. After I hung up, I thought about Michel and Eve and I missed my “girls.”

Maybe, just maybe, if I didn’t get any closer to this shit I would just let it go and beat the bitch’s ass real good.

Stepping into Goldie’s Upper East Side apartment was like seeing Twelve50 on megasteroids or some shit. There was no denying that everything about the building said money. Major money.

Just how much pussy was that bitch slinging? Damn.

I tried not to look around the place like a crackhead scoping the joint as I stepped on the elevator designated just for the four penthouse apartments. As it rolled to an easy stop, I pressed my hands against the sides of my linen shorts and smoothed the stark white tank I wore over my wide hips. The doors opened and I stepped off, my heels beating against the marble floor as I searched for penthouse apartment P4.

I was just about to use the brass door knocker when the door opened.

“Has?” I said, stepping back at the sight of him. Still tall. Still wild and sexy. Still laidback. Still Has.

What the fuck?

His eyes got big as shit to see me. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door. “What the fuck are you doing here, Luscious?” he asked, touching my elbow.

I jerked away from his touch and looked up at him with eyes filled with all kinds of confusion and questions. “I could ask you the same thing.”