Trap House (4 page)

“You ain’t all dat lil bitch,” the dejected mack spat before heading back to his jeering comrades.
“Bitch a dyke, y’all!” he said loudly in an attempt to explain why she wasn’t interested in him.

Again, she pulled the cord, signaling her stop, and she got off the bus when it came to a hissing
stop.

She felt a confusing mix of emotion as she neared P.I.G.’s house.
Girl, what are you doing?
she
asked herself as she marched up the sidewalk. She half-hoped Marcus would pull up, but at the
same time, she hoped he wouldn’t.

P.I.G. blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly. “Get the door!” he shouted
excitedly when he realized he wasn’t tripping. Tiffany was there…alone!

His sudden outburst caused everyone to look expectantly at the door. When Tiffany walked in,
all the smokers went back to smoking—all except Blast. She sucked her teeth, gathered up her
work, and headed to the rear.

“Keep it up, you gon’ suck one of them teeth right out ya gums!” P.I.G. teased after her. He
loved the fact that she was jealous over him. He turned to Tiffany. “Hey, pretty lil thang! What
brings you around?” he asked, even though he knew full well why she was there. He saw how
much she enjoyed snorting her little lines. He saw her cuff a little of the drug each time she and
Marcus came by. Marcus was far too busy sucking on that pipe of his to realize his girl was getting
hooked…and fast.

“I was…um…looking for Marcus,” she stammered, scanning the room as if she may have
missed him.

“I ain’t seen him since last night, but I’ll tell ‘im ya came by,” P.I.G. said, nodding to Earl.

On cue, Earl began to reach for the door, causing a slight panic in Tiffany.

“Damn. He got my car,” she whined, “and I wanted to get a little something.”

“You know your money is good here, lil mama. What you tryina spend?” P.I.G. inquired
sweetly.

In the same whiney voice, Tiffany explained that Marcus had her money as well.

“Okay. Well, y’all come back once you catch up with him,” P.I.G. said, nodding at Earl again.

“That could be all night. He said he was gonna come here,” Tiffany whined.

P.I.G. knew the ball was in his court, but he still had to move slow. He didn’t want to scare her
off, but he had to get her acclimated to this part of the game. “Well…I was gonna set something
out after the show,” he said haltingly. “You can stay and get you a few lines if you want.”

Tiffany sat down on the nearest sofa as a reply. This time, when she saw P.I.G. gawking at
her exposed thighs, she didn’t mind. She looked at the two well-dressed men in the room and
wondered what kind of show could be forthcoming.

“Well, y’all get into it, Julian,” P.I.G. ordered, grabbing his camera.

Julian was a married man with four kids and a nice home in one of Atlanta’s outlying counties.
Maintaining his family took all of his income, so to maintain his drug habit, he would put on shows
for P.I.G. from time to time.

The other man, Tracy, also had a family, but he was such a slave to his sexual desires that there
was almost anything he wouldn’t do. For him, it was completely sexual, and the drugs were just
extra fringe benefits. He was in it to get off.

When both men began to undress, a look of horror spread across Tiffany’s face. She understood
what was about to go down.

P.I.G. noticed her unease and had to think quick so he wouldn’t lose her. “Earl, bring our guest
some of that soft,” P.I.G. ordered, setting the large man in obedient motion.

Earl rushed from the room, as he himself did not want to see the show either. He returned to
drop off the blow and then went back to hang out with Blast in the rear.

Tiffany gasped and turned her head when Julian began performing oral sex on Tracy, but the
image was displayed across P.I.G.’s huge screen. Although mortified, she couldn’t take her eyes
off them. It was like passing a bad car accident; she really didn’t want to see the carnage, but she
couldn’t help but look. Even with the pile of cocaine in front of her, Tiffany’s eyes were glued to
the men.

They took turns giving each other blow jobs until P.I.G. ordered them to fuck.

Luckily for Tiffany, the blow whispered her name and broke the trance. “
Hey, you!”

Tiffany smiled at the white powder before she divided it into snortable lines.

She and the men finished about the same time. They dressed and sat back on the sofa like
nothing happened.

P.I.G. called for Earl and ordered him to set out an eight ball of crack as payment. “And bring a
couple grams for our guest,” he added, much to Tiffany’s delight. “You can take that with you, lil
mama. No telling when you’re gonna catch up with that little man of yours,” P.I.G. said sweetly.

Just as Tiffany stood to leave, there was a knock on the door.

Earl chuckled as he peeked through the hole, then began the process of opening the door.

“Hey, Earl! Hey, girl!” Wanda sang cheerfully as she walked in. She and Tiffany had spoken
briefly over the past few weeks, whenever they happened to be there at the same time. They talked
about girls’ stuff like hair and nails…over hits of cocaine. “Bring me a couple of eight balls,
sweetie,” Wanda told Earl, making a big show of ignoring P.I.G. “So, what are you doing over
here, girl?” Wanda asked Tiffany.

“Looking for my man and my car,” Tiffany replied in sista gurl mode, with her hand on her hip,
her head moving, and her eyes rolling.

“You need a ride?” Wanda offered.

“Y’all know I don’t like nobody taking my shit up outta here,” P.I.G. interjected. As much as he
hated Wanda speaking to him, her ignoring him bothered him even more.

“Nigga, ain’t nobody tryina hear that fuck shit you talking!” Wanda spat. “Much business my
man bring yo’ fat ass,” she threw in for good measure.

That did the trick and humbled P.I.G., because Wanda was right. Mike was an important man
who was feared and respected. P.I.G. hated Wanda with his whole black, overworked heart, but
business was business.

After Earl served her, Wanda left with young Tiffany in tow.

P.I.G. was in a foul mood and needed to take it out on someone. “Get over here, Julian!” P.I.G.
ordered, pulling out his huge penis.

Diache sighed as he put his pipe down and complied.

Better him than me.
Tracy laughed to himself, happy to be sucking on a pipe instead of P.I.G.

* * *

Damn! Stripping must pay good
, Tiffany thought as she followed Wanda into her small house.

The two-bedroom cottage was located on Wylie Street, in Atlanta’s Cabbage Town section.
That area, like many others in the city, was changing rapidly. Houses were being bought and sold
on a daily basis. Some were razed and rebuilt almost overnight.

Wanda’s house had a “For Sale” sign out front as well. It was owned by her boyfriend Mike,
who was looking to add to his fortune. It had quadrupled in value since he’d purchased it, so the
time was ripe to sell.

“Have a seat,” Wanda offered, waving a diamond-laden hand toward a plush blue leather
sectional sofa that dominated the small room.

Tiffany took in all the rich accouterments as she sat down. The carpet was incredibly thick,
swallowing most of Tiffany’s sandal. It was a shade darker than the sofa, creating a nice contrast.
The room was embellished with glass and chrome, and a huge fish tank filled with several exotic
creatures filled an entire wall. “I love your place,” Tiffany said emphatically.

“Thank you, girl. Courtesy of them trick-ass niggas at the club,” Wanda said as she dumped
the guts out of a blunt and went on. “I still can’t understand how they pay so much money just
to look at some coochie. They be in the streets all day, taking penitentiary chances, sellin’ dope,
robbin’, and killing, just to throw it at a bitch.” She laughed. As she laced a blunt with cocaine, she
continued, “I mean, then them niggas be showing off, tryina outdo each other, talking ‘bout they
makin’ it rain. Nigga, please!” Wanda laughed again. “God make it rain. Y’all niggas is tricks. We
be like, ‘Yeah, Daddy, make it rain,’” she said, stopping to light the blunt.

The room grew silent as Wanda lit it. The heavy dose of crack sizzled loudly under the flame.

Tiffany caught herself staring and quickly snapped out of it. “So how much y’all be making up
in there?” Tiffany asked, totally ignoring all the rules of grammar in order to sound hip.

“It depends,” Wanda said between gulps of air. “’Bout a stack on a regular night, two or three
on a good one.”

“A thousand dollars!?” Tiffany exclaimed in disbelief. “To…just to dance? But I could never
take my clothes off in front of all those men,” she said, looking repulsed.

“Shit! Y’all young hoes be doin’ the same shit in a regular club,” Wanda retorted, slightly
offended. “Letting them niggas dry hump on y’all till they bust in they pants. Shit. Ain’t ‘nare a
nigga getting no free nut off me,” she said, calming back down.

“I know that’s right,” Tiffany added, embarrassed by the inadvertent insult.

“Mmhmm, girl,” Wanda said, extending the blunt to Tiffany.

“Uh-uh,” Tiffany replied, shaking her head, terrified.

“Scared? You scared?” Wanda laughed before hitting the blunt again.

Scared to death!
Tiffany thought to herself.

CHAPTER 5

“W
hat…the…fuck!?” Marcus groaned loudly as the incessant noise grew louder. “Fucking
bad-ass kids,” he fumed, realizing that the source of the offending noise was one of
his nephews bouncing a ball against the wall in the next room. He covered his head with his pillow,
trying in vain to drown out the sound. When that didn’t work, Marcus began to mentally plan his
day. The plan was simple:
Get high
. The only issue at hand was how.

His thoughts drifted to Tiffany as he felt his morning erection throb. “Damn, I ain’t hit that
in a minute,” he reflected as he began slowly stroking himself. It wasn’t as if he’d lost interest
in Tiffany, but trying to stay high consumed most of his time, most of his energy, and all of his
money—which was really hers in the first place. He became slightly embarrassed at the memory of
their last sexual encounter. He’d been smoking crack for hours before Tiffany arrived at the hotel
and couldn’t get an erection to save his life.

Tiffany had enjoyed the extended foreplay, of course, but she was shocked when she reached
down to guide him inside of her and found him uncharacteristically limp. “What’s wrong with
you!?” she shrieked at the touch of his flaccid penis.