Ruthless and Rotten (10 page)

O.T. had the sounds in his car on bump as usual, causing all the other car windows to vibrate that he passed along the way. The long valet line at the mall's main entrance didn't matter one bit to him as he pulled up to the front and parked his ride up on the curb. He and his brother not only knew the parking attendants, they hung out with the lot's owners on a regular basis, making O.T. feel like he was above waiting for shit. He threw the guy his keys in case of emergency and walked inside.

He was already ten minutes late and wasted no time in going over to the designated meeting spot near the food court. It was always busy with people moving about, so he and his visitor would more than likely go unnoticed. It was no way that he wanted to draw attention to them. He looked around and didn't see the person yet, so he decided to order a large soda. By the time he reached in his pocket to pay the cashier for it, she was there.

“Hey babe, did you get me something wet to put in my mouth?” she flirted while sticking out her tongue to reveal the small gold ball pierced through the middle.

“Damn girl! You slick with your shit. I didn't even see your ass coming.” O.T. ordered her a small soda to drink and fought the urge for her to lick the head of his dick just like she used to. “A brother better be careful dealing with your good creeping ass!”

“You know how I do, baby. Ain't shit changed since back in the day!” She sipped her drink slowly out the straw as she stared into O.T.'s eyes.

“I heard that,” He took a large gulp of the soda and tossed the rest of it into one of the garbage cans. “But I'm trying to take care of some other shit today so I need to hurry the fuck up!”

O.T. took his time as he scanned his surroundings for signs of any trouble or unwelcome eyes on them. When he felt the coast was clear he pulled out a gigantic knot of money, big enough to choke King Kong, and slipped it casually into Nicole's oversized purse.

“Do I need to count it?” she playfully teased, pushing his arm. “Or can I trust you?”

“Come on, girl, act like you know! I don't make moves that ain't right or have you forgotten?” O.T.'s eyes shot down toward the huge print in his pants. “I'll expect to hear from your smart-ass tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll see you later at the club, don't worry.” Nicole grinned, closing her purse. Being the true whore she was, she stood up, straightening out the ultra-short bright red sundress that was plastered to her thick frame.

“That's a bet, and be on time!” O.T. winked, getting a quick, glimpse of her two firm breasts, which were close to almost falling out of her clothes.

“Damn, I almost forgot. Can you keep a secret?” She put one hand on her hip and the other in his face.

“What is it?” He waited for her to answer.

Nicole leaned up and whispered in O.T.'s ear, causing him to smile. He then hugged her tightly and kissed her on her forehead before they parted ways.

“Okay, then drinks on me later,” O.T. laughed as he walked away to the valet. “Or something like that, I guess!”

“You crazy boy!”

 

 

“Ain't that some foul-ass shit?”

Paris's homegirl and spy down at Alley Cats, Jordan, happened to be at the mall at the right time. She was busy spending the money that she made from doing a private party the night before and fucked around and got an eyeful of what was sure to be labeled the gossip of the year. Paris's man O.T. was giving Nicole Daniels a gang of loot. After all the denying that he was doing to Paris about that tramp, he was out in public, in the middle of the freaking food court no less, tearing the bitch off proper style and to top it all, hugging her black-ass.

“Hell naw! I've gotta call Paris!” Jordan smirked as she whipped out her cell to put O.T.'s ass straight on blast.
It's gonna be a whole lot of crazy shit jumping off at Alley Cats tonight,
Jordan thought to herself as Paris's voice mail clicked on. She left her a message, “Hey girl, this is Jordan. Hit me back as soon as you get this. I need to put a bug in your ear about a little something. Trust me, you're gonna bug all the way when I tell you what I just seen. Call me back first thing first!”

“Kenya, I'm so happy that you came out to hang with me.” Paris had the air-conditioning on high and a mix CD pumping. “I miss your wild ass!”

“Child, me too. Now you know I love Storm like a motherfucker, but a bitch did need some air. Plus, look at my nails and please, let's not even mention this tangled mess on my head! I walked passed the mirror this morning and scared the hell out of myself.”

Paris and Kenya couldn't help but laugh until tears came out their eyes. It was just like old times.

“What about this crap?” Paris snatched one of O.T.'s baseball caps off her head. “If that nasty fool nigga wasn't so busy trying to take that pussy, my shit wouldn't be on the nut.”

They had just finished up with a good lunch and a couple of strong drinks and were on their way to the hair salon. Hair In Da Hood was the most popular spot in all of Dallas when it came to getting your hair looking topnotch. It stayed packed with wall-to-wall customers who would often range from lawyers and doctors to freaks and hoes.

Charday was the salon owner and the main stylist that everyone wanted to do their hair. Her chair stayed full. Most of the time a person would have to make an appointment at least two or three weeks ahead of time. But of course, Ms. Charday, a true hustler, would always make exceptions for her special clients and her good friends. And since Paris and Kenya were known for being big-ass spenders when it came to tipping, they automatically fit into both categories.

Her man played professional ball and bought Hair In Da Hood as a birthday present for her twenty-first birthday. After some major remodeling, a few hair shows, and a gang of slamming commercials, Charday was off and running in the hair game, clocking major figures. Nine out of ten times, even if you got there early, you'd end up leaving late.

In between the bootleg-movie guys hustling, the supposed-to-be-authentic purse dude or somebody's grandmother selling soul food dinners, not to mention all the off-the-wall gossip that would fly in, out, and around the salon, it could very easily turn into an all-day event. Some of the nosy bitches around town would live for the weekends so they could get into the next hoe's mix and cause trouble.

Nevertheless, Paris and Kenya were on a mission to pamper themselves for the day and that meant no stress and no drama or trauma.

“I've got a good idea. For the rest of the afternoon, let's make a pact not to bring up, mention, whine or complain about that pair of brothers we're linked up with.” Paris stuck her hand out and waited. “Well, you gonna leave me hanging or what?”

“Naw chick, I got you!” Kenya gave her a play. “Bet it up for real!”

“Now that's what the fuck I'm talking about!” Paris yelled out as she adjusted the volume up as high as it could go.

The girls put their seats back as they floated down the highway toward the salon. Fifteen minutes later they were pulling up in a crowded parking lot, trying to find a space that wasn't eight doors down or around the corner.

“Damn! Is every trick in town up in that joint?” Paris frowned as she pulled her car into a tiny corner of the lot. “I hope our girl ain't too booked. I'd hate to have to smack somebody out the chair, but my shit is on emergency status.” Paris looked at Kenya with a straight face like she was serious.

She turned the car's ignition off and reached for her purse that was on the backseat before she made her exit.

“Dang, you right, Paris.” Kenya joined in on talking shit as she got out of the car. “Charday and them must be giving away free cheese, honey, and butter inside. I ain't never seen this motherfucker on bump like this either.”

The girls swung the door open and stepped inside. Just as they figured, the salon was packed. Sable was the receptionist and was standing behind the desk, trying her best to reason with one of the many irate customers who were getting tired of waiting.

“Hey y'all!” Sable happily waved her hand in the air. “Long time, no see. Where y'all divas been hiding?”

“Just chillin' a little bit, that's all,” Kenya replied.

“Yeah, Sable, we call our self letting our hair have a break from all the chemicals,” Paris added, trying to play off their recent absence from the scene.

“I heard that,” Sable responded, seeming frustrated at the phone that was ringing nonstop and the angry woman with conditioner in her damp hair in a plastic cap who kept coming back up to the desk to complain.

Kenya took a quick survey of the waiting room and asked the million-dollar question. “Hey Sable, how many customers do Charday have backed up in this tiny motherfucker and can she squeeze us in?”

“Well, let me check the book. I'm sure she can definitely work something out for y'all two.” Sable grabbed the sign-in sheet and took the pencil out from behind her ear.

The lady who was standing there was pissed and sucked her teeth as she waited for Sable's answer. She had been there ever since 11:45 in the morning and still hadn't been rinsed or blow-dried. Same old story, once again as always, Charday had overbooked and had folks pissed.

“I'm gonna go speak to Charday myself and make sure.” Kenya stopped Sable from trying to rearrange things. “I'll be right back.”

Paris twisted her lip up at the agitated lady and let out a loud sigh. “Go ahead, girl, and see what's popping. I'll wait here and keep Ms. Thang and Sable company.”

The woman took that as her cue to go back to her seat, shut the fuck up, and wait until she was called. It was either that or nine out of ten times get a quick double-trouble-ass beat-down from Kenya and Paris. When Kenya returned she had good news and bad news. The good news was that Charday could fit them both in, but they had to give her at least thirty minutes to finish up with the girl in her chair. The bad news was that she had to slip Charday a crisp hundred-dollar bill and promised her a bottle of new perfume for the deed. It was all part of being Storm and O.T.'s girls. They had to play the role—after all, no matter where they went, bitches hated. It came along with the territory being labeled “the shit.”

Paris and Kenya sat down next to the angry woman who had pulled out a book and was totally engulfed in reading. She appeared not to even care anymore that she was still waiting as she turned page after page without once looking up.

Paris opened her purse and got out her cell phone to look at the time. “Shit, I didn't hear this thing ringing.” The screen said
two missed calls
and had a small envelope in the upper corner indicating that someone had left a voice message. Paris stepped into the bathroom to listen to the message. It was much quieter in there. It was no women gossiping and the sound of the loud radio and television was muffled.
Jordan wants me to call her as soon as possible. What the fuck could this be about?
Paris wondered as she returned the call. On the first ring, Jordan picked up.

“Hey Paris, what took you so long?”

“Hey sis, I had my phone in my purse, what's the deal?”

“Girl, before I tell you this bullshit, you'd better sit down first.”

“You too silly! Stop tripping and tell me what you gotsta say! What's going on?”

“Well girl, I was just out at the mall jacking off some spare change and guess who the fuck I saw?”

“Who?” Paris's heart started pumping fast as she awaited the answer from Jordan. From the tone of Jordan's voice, Paris could tell that the name that was sure to come out of her mouth would bring automatic fury.

“I seen that slut ho Nicole.”

“Nicole! Who the fuck is Nicole?” Paris tried to keep her now-agitated voice down.

“Come on, Paris, you know who I'm talking about, girl . . . Chocolate damn Bunny, that's fucking Nicole!”

“And? What's the big deal about that? Hoes gotta shop too!” Paris tried to crack a joke to ease the pain of what might be coming next.

Jordan didn't laugh as she gave her homegirl the lowdown. “Yeah, but she wasn't alone. She was at the food court all hugged up with O.T.”

“What! What you say?” Paris closed her eyes, wishing she hadn't just heard what she thought she heard. “Are you for sure?”

“Yes Paris, I'm certain,” Jordan reassured her of what she had just witnessed. “He was wearing some dark-colored jeans, a Mavericks jersey, and Tims. That trick Chocolate Bunny had on a skintight red dress and was rocking a big Gucci bag. Knowing her fake-ass, it was probably bootleg!” Jordan vindictively added.

“It's all good in the hood. I'm gonna handle it.” Paris pretended to be brave as her hand shook. “I got this!”

“Oh, yeah it's more. I even saw him give that tramp a nice-sized knot of cash! Hell, I wanted to follow that tack-head and rob her my damn self! With her stankin' no-good low-down dirty-ass! She ain't shit!”

“All right, Jordan, good looking on the info. I'll see you later tonight at the club.”

Paris was heated as well as devastated. She went inside of one of the stalls and shut the door. When the tears started to flow she didn't want any of the women in the salon to see her at one of her weakest moments. After ten minutes of having an emotional fit, she splashed cold water on her face and went to fill Kenya in on the latest.

“What took you so long in there?” Kenya inquired. “I was about to send in a search party!”

“I was on the phone.”

“Talking to who? And why are your eyes all red and shit? Have you been crying?”

Paris pulled her baseball cap down over her face in an attempt to shield any nosy bitches from noticing the same thing that Kenya had. “I called Jordan back. She left me an urgent message.”

“Jordan from the club? What kind of message? Is everything going all right down at Alley Cats?” Kenya hoped that shit was in order. She didn't have the time or strength to go to the club and straighten out a damn thang.

Paris was agitated, trying her best whisper. “It ain't the club. It's O.T.'s no-good ass. Jordan just seen him at the fucking mall.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“He was there with Chocolate Bunny.” Paris felt like she had just been socked in the stomach as soon as the words passed her lips. “All up on that bitch—caking!”

Kenya was almost speechless. “Is she sure? You know how females like to start rumors—hatin'.”

“Naw girl, she knew exactly what that cheating Negro was wearing from foot to fro.” Paris sniffed, fighting back the tears. “The worst part is his ass is serving that black bitch up like a queen. Jordan said he gave Chocolate Bunny some dough like she was wifey or something.”

“That trifling nigga must be smoking crack!” Kenya said with her hand on Paris's shoulder. “Something ain't right! O.T. and her?”

Less than ten minutes had passed in between the time that the best friends tried to figure out what was wrong with O.T.'s simple behind for doing that dumb shit to Paris and the five seconds it took Chocolate Bunny to prance her slap-happy-ass through the front door of the salon. She was dressed just the way that Jordan described over the phone—all the way down to her purse she was sporting, which, by the way, was definitely without doubt bootleg.

She proudly marched up to the reception desk like she owned stock in the bitch. “Yeah, I need Charday to tighten up my weave real quick!”

“I'm sorry, Nicole, but she's all booked up for the rest of today.” Sable chewed her bubble gum and gave her a funny look. “What about tomorrow? She has a ten o'clock open.”

Chocolate Bunny reached in her handbag and started flashing money. “Well, I'll pay a hundred dollars to any of y'all customers that wanna give up y'all spot with Charday!”

While she was showboating, Kenya was trying everything in her power to keep Paris in her seat.

“No, that bird ain't up in here spending my money. I outta go over there and knock her ass out!” Paris was fuming. “I hate the fuck out of her!”

“Listen, Paris, it is what it is! Don't let that girl or any other of these females up in here catch you off your square! Boss up—do you hear me?” Kenya was in Paris's ear, being the voice of reason. “Now come on and let's just jet before you embarrass yourself. We can deal with her later. Besides, you should at least give O.T. a chance to explain before you mess around and hurt somebody. Go out to the car and call him!”

Gathering her composure, Paris finally agreed. When the pair was almost out of the door, Chocolate Bunny spotted them and decided to do what she did best, make a scene and overplay her position.

“Oh, hey ladies! I didn't see y'all sitting over there. You two could have spoken or something.” She was being bogus as a three-dollar bill. She knew that it wasn't no love shared between them. The only thing that they had up to this point in common was Alley Cats.

“Hey girl,” Kenya said, nodding. “We kinda in a rush, so . . .”

“Okay, then damn, don't let me stop you,” Chocolate Bunny giggled, rolling her neck. “Or you either, Miss Paris!”

Paris couldn't take it any longer. Her temper was on boiling status. “Listen up, bitch, don't even speak to my fine-ass! A ho like you ain't even in my damn league, okay! Now carry your messy behind the fuck on, before I give your family some arrangements to make for you!”

“Hold tight, Paris! Who you calling bitch, bitch! Is you insane or something?” Chocolate Bunny sucked her teeth, looking Paris up and down like it could and would be whatever. “And don't be threatening me either, Paris, I don't like that kinda shit! Me or my man!”

“Your man?” Paris flared up even more.