The truth may set you free, but payback makes a bitch feel a whole lot better!
“It’s ’bout time you got ya mind right, Miss Pasha, girl,” Cassandra says as she struts into my office, shutting the door behind her. “You been tryna do me, goddammit. A bitch ain’t had her head done since you tossed me up outta ya shop. And you know I need my damn wig did on the regular. Can’t a bitch lay fingers through my hair but you, Miss Pasha, girl. And I ain’t had my hair done in two weeks. I need my shit did, boo. You got me walkin’ the streets lookin’ like Miss Beeeeyaaawncé with this tore-up weave. I’m doin’ head wraps ‘n’ you know I ain’t no damn head wrap bitch. Get your mind right, goddammit. I need my wig fixed.”
I blink, shaking my head at this heifer. She hasn’t even gotten in the door good and her ass is already talking shit. But she’s the kind of crazy bitch you can’t even get—or stay—mad at ’cause she says some of the funniest shit. Still, she’s a fucking mess. And right now isn’t the time.
Still, as always, she’s hood-fabulous in a pair of distressed jeans that look like they’ve been poured on and molded over her hips and ass. Her white blouse is tucked in. And there’s a Louis Vuitton belt cinched around her tiny waist. I glance at the oversized handbag dangling from the crook of her arm. My eyes flutter down to her feet. She has the nerve to be wearing the pink Balenciaga Revers pump I’d been eyeing. If this visit were under different circumstances, I’d tell her she was serving me for filth. But she’s not here for a fashion commentary. And I’m not interested in giving one.
She keeps rattling on, “You tried to do me, Miss Pasha, girl. Tossing me up outta here when all I was tryna do is put you on notice about how messy Miss FeFe was. I tol’ that bitch so what if you was suckin’ a buncha dicks. That shit was none of her messy-ass business. I’m tellin’ you, Miss Pasha, girl, if you wasn’t my sugah-boo, I’d tell you to eat the insides of my ass for that shit you pulled.”
I frown. Cassandra is delusional. And she’s never going to see just how damn messy she is. But, she’s real. And you never have to second-guess when it comes to her. The bitch has no filter. She says whatever the fuck she wants.
When I called her to let her know that Mona was here at the salon and that the three of us needed to talk, she said, “Miss Pasha, girl, don’t do me. Why you think I’ve been calling ya high-class ass the last week? But you been tryna be messy, iggin’ my calls. Oooh, you been bein’ real shitty, Miss Pasha, girl. Yes, we need to talk, goddammit.”
“Can you come down to the shop now?” I had asked, not allowing myself to get wrapped up in her extras. I’ve learned to let Cassandra be Cassandra—messy and loud, without getting sucked in. But, it’s not always easy.
“Sugah-boo, I’m on my way down to the Crack House to get my snap ‘n’ tap on. You know usually I turn it up on Thursday nights on Thug Night, Miss Pasha, girl. Monday nights usually ain’t shit ever jumpin’ off down at the club, but they doin’ a male revue tonight. And a bitch like me likes to be pressed up at the bar, early, watchin’ all the dick swing in.”
The Crack House is one of the local hot spots for every hood star, wannabe gangster, and ghetto-fab bitch in the Tri-State area, known for their infamous drinks named with sexual connotations.
I rolled my eyes. “Cassandra, under the circumstances, this is urgent. We need to talk, now.”
“Mmmph. Let me call Dickalina to let her know I’ma be late. Lucky for you, I’m three blocks away. I’ll be there in a few.” She hung up.
And now…here she is—live and direct, and in full effect.
She glances over at Mona, sucking her teeth. “Oh, here we go with the waterworks. Sugah-boo, boom! I know you not still cryin’ over JT’s coon-ass after that nigga tried to do me. That nigga-coon got what he deserved. So you need to pull it together, boo.”
Mona glares at her. Clenches her teeth. “Bitch, are you serious right now? That is still my cousin.”
“Correction, sweetness,” Cassandra snaps, tossing her handbag up on my desk, “that nigga was your cousin. What he is now is shark bait. And what? The nigga-bitch got what he got ’cause he had it comin’. Period. So, don’t do me. He told me that before he gutted my face, he was gonna fuck me in my ass, then scrape my insides out. Oh, no sweet thang, that nigga-coon got what he got for that shit. And, yes, I stabbed that nigga up real goddamn good for it.”
I blink. There’s not one ounce of remorse or guilt…nothing, in her voice as she says this. And, the scary thing is, something inside of me shifts. A part of me wishes I had been the one stabbing him up. I can’t say this to Mona, but…I’m glad the nigga’s dead. That motherfucker shoved his dick down in my throat, and didn’t have an ounce of regret for me. So motherfuck him!
Mona bursts into tears again. “I-I t-t-thought I c-c-could handle this, b-b-but I can’t. T-t-this is too much. How can I look in my family’s face, in Leticia’s face, in his mother’s face, knowing I know what really happened to him?”
“Bitch,” Cassandra huffs, stamping her foot and slamming a hand up on her hip. “The same way you been lookin’ in they faces—with a goddamn smile. See. I knew ya ass wasn’t built for this life. You knew it was gonna get messy. You knew that nigga-bitch was crazy. You warned me about his ass. Bitch, I don’t do drama. And I don’t do murders. But guess what? I did what I had to do to save me. And I’d do it all over again. I didn’t wanna kill that nigga, but, bitch, ain’t no way I wanted that nigga tryna kill me, either. So you can eat the insides of my ass with that shit. That nigga-coon tried to steal my pussy. Mmmph. No thank you, sugah-boo. That nigga-bitch had to go.”
“Look, you two,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. “Bickering isn’t going to change what’s already happened. We all have to try to stay calm. And figure something out.”
“Mmmph,” Cassandra grunts, pursing her lips. “Oh, I’m very calm. So save that shit for that coon sittin’ over there ’cause she’s the one actin’ like she needs a Day Stay on the psych ward.”
Mona jumps up from her seat. “Bitch, where is my cousin’s body? You still haven’t said shit about that.”
I watch as Cassandra yanks open her bag and snatches out a can of Mace. “Booga-coon, boom-boom, goddammit! Make my day. I won’t beat ya ass down too bad ’cause you one’a them prissy bitches. And I can’t stand tryna whoop up on no prissy bitch. But I will mace ya ass down real good up in this bitch tonight, then split your face if you even think it. I mean it, Miss Mona. So you better have several seats waaaay in the back, goddammit, before it gets messy up in here.”
It takes me several minutes to get Mona to calm down. She’s hysterical again. I rub her back, scowling at Cassandra. “Really, Cass? You’re going to pull out a can of Mace when Mona’s grieving over her cousin?”
“Sugah-boo, boom! I’m grieving, too, goddammit!” She tosses the can back into her bag. “I loss me a good goddamn sponsor behind that shit. So don’t do me. That nigga-coon tried to slice out my cootie-coo.” She replays pretty much everything Mona said. I ask her why JT would get pissed at her for putting Jasper on blast about Felecia.
She raises an arched brow.
“ ’Cause that nigga-coon was crazy; that’s why. And the bitch thought he owned me and could run me. He ain’t like me hippin’ you to Jasper’s no-good nigga-ass. But JT knew he could eat the inside of my ass. Big Booty don’t dance to no-goddamn-body else’s drumbeat but her own. And ain’t no coon-ass nigga ever gonna run shit over here.
“Obviously, that nigga-bitch didn’t get the memo—don’t. Fuck. With. Me. So he got himself a nice shiny blade plunged into his stomach, then a bat to his skull.” She snaps her neck over at Mona. “So, Miss Mona, you can sit there wringin’ ya goddamn hands if you want, but you just as guilty as I am. And know this, Miss Thingaling, if I ever go down, I’m takin’ ya punk-ass wit’ me.”
Mona gasps. “Bitch! You can’t be serious?! I’m not the one who stabbed him, or beat him with a bat. Or tossed his body God knows where!”
“No, sugah-boo, you didn’t stab that coon-nigga-bitch. I did. And what? Don’t do me, booga-coon. ’Cause you were down with it, too, tryna fish Sparks to see what that coon-nigga knew. And you damn sure didn’t have a goddamn problem takin’ any of the money I was sharin’ with ya greedy ass, with ya ole frigid ass. Now did you…?”
I shoot a confused look over at Mona. She avoids my stare.
“So, booga-coon, boom-boom! From where I’m sittin’ that makes you a co-conspirator, goddammit. You took blood money, sugah-boo. Don’t do me. We’ll both be doin’ them football numbers over at Clinton State Prison. And you better hope like hell when ya ass gets released, you don’t come out lookin’ like one of them He-Man clit-lickin’ bitches.”
“Cassandra, fuck you! You ain’t shit! Yeah, I took the money, so the fuck what?! But I didn’t sign up for you killing my fucking cousin, okay, bitch. And you still haven’t said shit about where his body is.”
“And I ain’t sayin’ shit, either. Report his ass missin’ ‘n’ let the motherfuckin’ pigs do they jobs. Isn’t that what y’all workin’-class bitches pay ya taxes for?”
“Okay, look,” I say, getting up from my seat. “Both of you need to lower your voices, please. Yelling and screaming”—I eye Booty—“or threatening—“isn’t going to change what’s already done.” I look over at Mona. “Mona, why were you taking money from Cassandra, anyway? I know you and Avery aren’t pressed for money like that.”
She shrugs. “It was something the two of us agreed on.”
I tilt my head. “That’s still not telling me much, or making any sense.” I want to know why. “There’s something more to this shit.” Mona shifts her eyes. Booty toots her lips, cutting an eye over at Mona. “As far as I’m concerned, neither of you had any right trying to meddle in my business.”
Mona wipes more tears from her face. “I know, I know. But I felt bad. It was like you were hiding something, or trying to protect someone. And you looked so broken. It hurt me, Pasha. You’re like a sister to me. And you know I’d do almost anything for you. So when this crazy bitch approached me about her idea to pump JT for info, I went along with it. I let her ass drag me into this shit.”
Clap, clap, clap! Booty stands up, her diamond bangles clacking as she claps her hands. “And the Oscar goes to…bitch, boom! You better pop you a molly ‘n’ spark you a goddamn blunt ‘n’ get yo’ mind right. What’s done is done.”
I lean forward, covering my face in my hands. Then look at the two of them. “This shit is crazy. Booty, how in the hell did you even get caught up with JT in the first place? And please don’t sit there and tell me you were doing this all for me. You saw an opportunity and you ran with it.”
Booty blinks her long lashes. “Now, wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Sounds like you tryna do me, sugah-boo. I wasn’t thinkin’ ’bout that coon-ass nigga. But the nigga stayed in my face, okay. And yeah, I saw me an opportunity. And what? A bitch like me is always lookin’ to come-up. I stay lookin’ to get to the next level of hood fabulousness, okay. But that’s besides the point.”
I huff. “Well then. How about you get to the point.”
She says JT had been pressing her for a minute, but that she kept igging him. Until, one night when he, Jasper, and Stax were down at the Crack House, and he tried to get at her, again.
“After a few drinks, it was on. I was droppin’ this ass up on him on the dance floor, then next thing I know, he’s tellin’ me how he wants me to be his. I told the nigga to show me the money ’cause Booty wasn’t fuckin’ no nigga for free, especially no crazy-ass nigga like him. And you already know I love me a nigga with long dingdong and long dollars. I knew that coon-bitch had both. And I wanted me a lil taste.
“Like I said, I saw it as a way to run the nigga’s pockets. Shit, a bitch gotta keep her heels and handbags up. So yeah, I wanted to line my purse with his paper. Still, I thought it was gonna be a one-time fuck. But the dick was good, and the nigga’s pockets were plentiful. Once I put this booty heat up on that nigga, he started talkin’ that talk, tellin’ me he wanted to keep me on-call. It costs to keep Booty, okay. And you know on-call means you tryna keep my purse lined with that greenery, ohhhkaaay. And I don’t mean weed. So I decided to make the nigga one of my sponsors since he said he wanted to keep gettin’ all this crack-crack. I got the nigga-coon sprung on this booty heat.”
I sit up on the edge of my desk. “Again, you saw it as an opportunity for you. So why did you feel the need to get information out of him, or anyone else about me, especially after I told you to leave it alone?”
She cuts her eyes at me. “Now wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Don’t you start showin’ ya ass, sugah-boo. Somebody needed to get shit poppin’ ’cause ya ass actin’ all sugary ‘n’ sweet like you scared to get them hands dirty. I know you ain’t no pussy-soft bitch, Miss Pasha, girl.” She cuts her eyes over at Mona. “Unlike some bitches, you got street bitch in ya blood, sugah-boo. But you actin’ like you all scared to pull her outta the closet. No, Miss Pasha, girl, it’s time you pull that bitch out ‘n’ turn up the gas on them niggas, goddammit. I know you said stay outta it. Sugah-boo, boom! Booty do what the fuck she want.
“And ain’t no goddamn way I wasn’t gonna stay outta shit when I ain’t like how niggas was tryna do you. Don’t no-goddamn-body shit on you. And I ain’t like how that nigga-coon came up in here tellin’ you to suck his dingaling. Why you think I told you I was gonna have my goonies be on alert when that Hill Harper-lookin’ nigga came up in your shop ‘n’ tried to do you? ’Cause the streets were talkin’, sugah-boo. And what they was sayin’ wasn’t cute. And neither was the shit Miss FeFe was tossin’ up on you. So, like it or not, I did it ’cause you my damn boo, Miss Pasha, girl. Unlike some bitches, I’ma loyal bitch to the bone.”
“And if Miss Messy FeFe’s messy ass wasn’t poppin’ her shit eaters ’bout you, maybe I woulda took it down a pinch. But that bitch couldn’t wait to drag you e’ery which way. She did you filthy, sugah-boo. Tol’ me all ’bout someone draggin’ you for raunch in ya yard ‘n’ tried to snatch ya breath. And how you ain’t wanna get the police involved. That’s when the lights started goin’ off in my head, like you musta knew who tried to do you.
“And I was gonna let it go like you said until Messy FeFe told me about the strange phone calls you were gettin’ from some nigga ‘n’ how he kept callin’ back to back…”
I blink. Fighting to keep my anger in check as she continues telling me how that bitch Felecia told her—instead of me—that one time when the nigga called back he demanded to let him speak to “that cum-suckin’ bitch, Pasha.”
“That bitch,” I hiss, balling my fists.
“Unh-huh,” Booty says all animated. “Miss FeFe was doin’ you, boo. And she tol’ me how she thought you really were out there fuckin’ other niggas behind Jasper’s back. Then when you went missin’ for three days, shit didn’t make no sense. Something smelled real messy ’bout the whole situation. And you know I know messy when I see it.”
You should when it’s staring you in the mirror every-damn-day.
“And speakin’ of messy, I found out who the nigga is who came up in here and tried to do you.”
My heart starts pounding in my chest. That day flashes through my head and I immediately feel a headache coming on. I see the nigga’s face clearly. He was thuggish and young, like early twenties. And he had dreads and big round, brown eyes. “Yes, can I help you?” I asked, looking up from Booty’s head. She was in my chair and I was removing her weave when he stepped to me at my workstation.
I remember how the nigga was eyeing me and licking his lips when he said, “Yeah, my man said if I came through, you’d hit me off with one of ya deep throat specials.”
At that moment it felt like everything froze in the salon. I could hear gasps and air being sucked in around me. All eyes were on me. I felt lightheaded. What the nigga said was true. I was known for giving out deep throat specials by those who had the pleasure of experiencing the warm, wet sensations my dick sucking skills delivered, which is why my AOL account stayed flooded with horny men asking for repeat service. But I couldn’t admit that shit. And I couldn’t stand there and let that nigga pull my card in front of everyone like that. So I did what any self-righteous diva in my position would do. I went the hell off. Told him to get the fuck out of my salon. Told him to go back and get his facts straight because he had the wrong one. Oh, yes…when all else fails, go off!
He backed his way out of the salon when Felecia came at him with a bat. But that didn’t stop the nigga from grabbing his crotch and telling me to suck his dick, before running out of the salon. I ran to the door, yelling and cursing him as he ran down the street.
That motherfucker had pulled my ho-card and rattled my nerves. Had my stomach in knots. Then I had to walk back into my salon with my head held high, trying like hell to ignore the questioning glances and the nerve-wrecking silence as I sashayed back over to my workstation to finish up Cassandra’s hair.
I take a deep breath, flicking the memory out of my head, glancing at Booty. “How? When?” She tells me she met him through someone else down at the Crack House one night while she was out having drinks.
“I ain’t know who the coon-nigga was at first. But I knew I had seen him somewhere before. One thing I don’t ever do is, forget a face. Once I figured out who he was, boom-boom, goddammit! I knew I hit the jackpot. We tossed back a few drinks, then I had the bitch-ass coon pull out his dingdong…”
Ugh! I roll my eyes, shaking my head.
Mona shifts in her seat, frowning.
“Now, wait one minute. I know you bitches ain’t tryna do me, goddammit. Shit, you know it ain’t no shame in my game. I love me some dingdong. And the nigga was talkin’ like it was all this ‘n’ that, so I tol’ him to show ‘n’ prove. Ole stumpy-thick dick nigga-bitch. But I started fishin’ him ‘n’ he gave it to me good. Yes, gawd…”
“Cassandra!” I snap. “Will you just move this along, please. Just tell me who the hell nigga is.”
She shoots me a dirty look. “Unh-uh, Miss Pasha, girl. Don’t. Do. It. ’Cause you know I ain’t one of them messy bitches. But you tryna take me there. So how ’bout you tell us if you’se a cum whore or not, like Miss FeFe and this nigga said you was since you ain’t never really say if the shit was true or not. And then I’ma tell you who the nigga is. But know this, sugah-boo, when I tol’ the nigga that you was a real dirty bitch for that shit and that you shoulda had yo’ ass whooped for that…”
I blink.
“You wanna know what that coon-nigga said? He said, and I quote, ‘Real shit, she did. She got fucked up real good.’ ”
Everything inside of me cracks. I feel myself becoming fucking undone. “Booty, who the fuck is he? I’m not in the mood for all your long drawn-out theatrics.”
Of course she’s not fazed by what I’ve said. The bitch ignores me, sliding a fingernail through her front tooth, then flicking something to the floor from beneath her nail.
I let out a frustrated sigh, “Welllll.”
She reaches for her bag on the desk and pulls out a pack of gum. I swear I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take with her and her dramatics. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on before the tears come bursting from my own eyes.
“Booty, stop dragging this shit out. Tell me who this nigga is.”
I eye her as she rolls the stick of gum in her mouth. “Sugah-boo, his name is AJ. And the nigga’s on ya dirty-ass husband’s payroll.” She chomps on her gum. “Now was you suckin’ dingaling or not?”