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  Girl Talk

  Alizé, Dom, and Moët were enjoying the warmth of the end of spring in New York as they walked up Fifth Avenue doing more sightseeing than shopping. As they walked up to Saks a cab pulled up to the curb and a young man hopped out followed by a five-year-old boy they assumed was his son. They watched as he bent down to pick the boy up into his arms.

  He looked up at them with a smile as he crossed their path to walk inside the store. All three of the ladies smiled in return and each of their smiles was melancholy.

  “I wish my father had taken me out for a daddy-daughter day,” Moët said, as they continued up the busy New York avenue. “I hope that Bones takes advantage of having his daughter and builds a relationship with her like that, you know?”

  “Well, my daddy and I had plenty of that ‘quality time,’ ” Alizé added as she reached into her Ferragamo tote for her shades. “But I swear I could do with a little less daddy-daughter time these days ’cause I am sick of his lumpy-ass couch and being an ear witness to his freak show with his fiancée. Can we say thicker doors, Daddy?”

  Dom and Moët stopped walking to look over at Alizé and say, “Eew.”

  Alizé slipped on her shades. “Eew is right.”

  Dom ran her long acrylic fingernails over her short spiky hair as she bit her bottom lip and let the troubles that she felt fill her eyes. “I would take either one of your daddy problems compared to my shit. I mean what’s fuckin’ worse: growin’ up without a father at all because he cracked out or findin’ out that he off livin’ a wonderful new life with a new family?”

  “Dom, you really should talk to him and hear his side of the story,” Alizé offered as they stopped at the corner.

  Dom reached inside her khaki military-style shirt for her soft pack of Newports. “I know I do but first I got somethin’ else to take care of.”

  “Whatever you decide just make sure it’s right for you,” Moët added.

  Dom nodded as she let out a stream of smoke. “Good, ’cause this might be the hardest shit I ever had to face, y’all.”

  Both Moët and Alizé lock their arms through hers as they all crossed the street. It was their way of letting their friend know that they had her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dom

  “Uhm . . . uhm . . . uhm. Look what the cat done drug back home.”

  I’m standing there lookin’ at my mother and feelin’ like it’s a damn shame that I don’t miss her even though I ain’t laid eyes on her since last year. And being here, back in this wild-ass project, surrounded by shit I’m runnin’ from is so fuckin’ hard for me. But I don’t have no choice.

  “Can I come in?” I ask, noticin’ that the entire Baby Phat outfit she wearin’ is mine. When I moved out I left more clothes than I took.

  Diane is forty goin’ on damn twenty. She never felt like a momma. She was more like a big sister. We talked about men and money. We used to smoke weed, drink, and party together—and those were the good times. I tried not to remember how bad she treated me when I was too small for her ass to hang out with. The names she used to call me. The way she used to make me feel like she didn’t want my ass.

  And now this shit that I come to handle today.

  She steps back to let me walk in. I look around at the new furnishings in the apartment. Diane always kept a bad ass apartment and she obviously ain’t lackin’ for shit without me. So I know her “get money” mentality ain’t changed a bitch because Diane ain’t gone ever hit a fuckin’ lick at a stick on someone’s job.

  “Where’s my grandbaby?” she asks with attitude as I sit down on the new brown leather sofa.

  Safe from your crazy ass, I think. But I say, “She’s with the girls.”

  She rolls her eyes as she struts across the room. “I haven’t seen her in a good minute. You would think your ass woulda brought—”

  “Who is William Kennedy?” I ask her. Fuck it. I want to get right to the point.

  Diane makes a face as she walks over to the kitchen counter to pick up a black ashtray. “Who?” she asks as she picks up the lit cigarette in the tray.

  Somethin’ ’bout the way she shifts her eyes away from mine makes me think she straight lyin’. “The man who came to my job and told me he’s my father. The man whose daughter looks like me and Kimani. The man who showed me a picture of his mother—who I look just like. Don’t play games, Diane, ’cause William Kennedy is somebody you fucked twenty-two years ago.”

  That fake-ass confused look on her face changes to fuckin’ blasé as she lays down on the couch and watches me through a stream of smoke she releases through her pursed lips. “That motherfucker is crazy out his ass,” is all that she says. “Your daddy ain’t no fuckin’ William Kennedy and I thought I got that through to his dumb ass way back when.”

  I just stare at this crazy bitch.

  “Me and your daddy—”

  “Which one?” I ask as I squeeze my keys so tight that it pinches the damn flesh of my palm. “The one you say is my daddy or the one that is,” I snap.

  She sits up as she stares at me all angry and shit. She points at me with that lit cigarette between her fingers. “Why you all in my space and my face fuckin’ with me ’bout this bullshit now?” she asks as she rises to her feet to glare down at me.

  “I got every right to know if my real daddy is some ex-drug dealer turned dope fiend or not,” I shoot back at her as I rise to my feet too. I don’t put it past her to try and fight me.

  “Why you all up in my business, Dom?”

  I look at her like she really is crazy. For real. “Your business? Your business? Why everything got to be ’bout your ass? This ain’t planet Diane so get up off yourself.”

  She leans back with attitude and looks at me like she ready to step to me. Then her face changes again and she is lookin’ calm. Too fuckin’ calm. She raises her hand to take another drag of her Newport. “You know what, I was fuckin’ both them niggas and either one coulda been your daddy, but I went with the one that paid them bills and treated a bitch the way she needed to be treated. I went for the baller shot caller and not the broke motherfucker who ain’t had shit goin’ for him but a big dick. I put my head before my pussy. If I did pick the wrong motherfucker as your daddy . . . so the fuck what.”

  I feel like I can snap her neck without blinkin’. “No, your ass played eenie-meenie-minie-moe with my fuckin’ life!” I shout at her as tears fill my eyes because I hate her. I hate her so much.

  Diane looks at me with so much anger in her eyes. “You act like you had it so rough but you don’t know shit about the hard knock life, baby girl. I did what I had to do to take care of your ass and if it meant slob or rob I took care of you. So don’t stand here cryin’ like you had the worst life ever.”

  “Are you crazy out your ass or what?” I ask her. “You know there was a chance that man was my fuckin’ daddy and you just said fuck it ’cause he ain’t have enough money. And then the top dog drug pen you pick turns out to be a fuckin’ junkie and broke as hell. You threw it in my face my whole damn life that my daddy wasn’t shit and I was just like him and the whole time you knew he might not be my fuckin’ daddy. Bitch, you crazy. You crazy as hell.”

  I just got the hell out of her face before I straight throw a twopiece and lump her ass up real good. I reach the front door when somethin’ crashes against the wall. I turn and look at the glass shattered on the wall over the chair. I cut my eyes over to Diane and the tears runnin’ down her face shock my ass.

  She starts to walk towards me with her finger pointed at me and shakin’. “You try being gang raped at eight, bitch. You try having your own momma teach you shoot her up with dope, bitch. You try sleeping on top of subway grates to keep warm ’cause your junky mother got evicted again . . . bitch. Don’t you fucking tell me about your hard ass life. I kept a roof over your head, food in your belly, and clothes on your ass, bitch.”

  Diane is standin’ in front of me with her chest heavin’ and
shit. The smell of liquor and cigarettes is hot on her breath. I feel sorry for her but it’s time for the realness. “The roof, the food, or the clothes . . . they wasn’t enough ’cause most of all I wanted your love and you didn’t give it to me. You took the only chance I had to feel loved and wanted when you took my daddy away from me before he ever had a fuckin’ chance.”

  I swipe away my tears and get the hell out of there. As soon as the heavy metal door closes behind me, my legs give out and I let my body slide down to the floor while I cry like I ain’t ever cried before.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Moët

  Bones is late bringing Tiffany back . . . again.

  I am sitting in the lobby with my cell phone clutched in my hand, watching our neighbors come and go, watching the sunset and then the darkness fall and still he’s a no-show. I have damn near bitten my nails down to the nub. Each time I worry he will use his money and run with her—somewhere I can’t find her. I worry that something bad has happened. I just plain worry.

  I flip the cell phone open and dial his number—that the court had to make him give me—again. One . . . two . . . three rings. Voice mail.

  “Bones, this is Mo . . . again. You’re late with Tiffany again and . . . I just want to make sure she’s okay so a call to let me know you’re running behind would be . . . that would be a big help.” I release a heavy breath. “Bye.”

  I have to talk to my lawyer about it. Even though he is fighting to take my daughter away from me for good, I am trying my best to be amicable because that’s what is best for Tiffany. I still haven’t sued for child support because I have to admit that the bastard always returns her with plenty of new clothes, pampers, and formula to last several babies. Still, he is always late bringing her back and I am afraid that him and his mother will talk shit about me to Tiffany. My child—especially when she’s older—doesn’t need to be around all that drama.

  I try to focus on the files from work on my lap, but every five minutes I’m looking up hoping to see Bone’s black-on-black Escalade. It isn’t that the stories weren’t compelling enough to hold my attention. Each one is its own war story. Abandoned babies. Another child born with HIV and addicted to crack. Another burnt with boiling water by their mother. Kids left home alone. Kids raising themselves while their parents or grandparents chase drugs. Horror story after horror story after horror story. The sad part is my coworkers tell me that what I’ve seen is only the tip of the iceberg. It only gets worse.

  It’s funny but my work makes me want to fight even harder for Tiffany. I’m sure Bones loves his daughter and he never has brought her back to me harmed in any way (oh I check her from head to toe because I don’t know him and his momma like that) but I have to fight for my daughter.

  I am just filling out paperwork for the placement of a set of orphaned twins when my cell phone vibrates beside me. I drop everything to snatch it up but the pounding of my heart slows to see Taquan’s number.

  I start to send him to voice mail but decide to answer the call instead. “Hi, Taquan.”

  “I’m surprised that you answered.”

  I hear a car door close and my eyes dart to the glass door. It’s not them. “I’m downstairs waiting for Tiffany. Bones is late again . . . of course.”

  “If there’s anything I can do just let me know,” he offers. “I know we’re not going out anymore but I wanted to call and check up on you since you haven’t been coming to church as much anymore.”

  I drop my head back and wipe my tired eyes with my fingers. He’s right I have slacked up from church big time. I haven’t stepped away from faith—although it’s been tested—I’ve just gotten lazy with it. Bones usually brings Tiffany back on Saturday nights and I am so happy to have her back that church is the last thing on my mind on Sunday mornings. Trying to do just enough to keep my job, worrying about Tiffany over at Bones’ and worrying about Bones winning full custody of her has become my obsession.

  “Listen, with all the trials and tribulations you’re going through this is the time to turn to the Lord and not away from Him.”

  He’s right.

  “Listen, just promise me I will see you and Tiffany in church tomorrow.”

  “I promise,” I tell him with honesty just as Bones’ Escalade pulls up in front of the building.

  “I’ve done my deacon duty now I am just talking to you as a man and I miss you, Latoya. I wish things between us could have worked out. I want you back in my life,” he tells me in this husky voice that gives me actual goose bumps and causes my nipples to harden into tight buds.

  A part of the reason I left this man—this good religious man—alone is because he turns me the hell on. I will corrupt his ass. I will keep right on until I have him naked and hard in my bed.

  “I miss you too,” I tell him with honesty. “But—”

  “No buts. Just knowing you miss me too is enough for now.”

  Bones walks in the building with Tiffany in her carrier while his bodyguards stand outside like he the president or something. Please.

  “Maybe we can talk tomorrow after church.”

  I lift the files from my lap to sit in the leather club chair beside me. “Okay. See you tomorrow.” I rise and take the carrier from him. Our hands briefly touch and there is none of the spark we used to have.

  “Bones, you really could call and let me know you’re running late,” I tell him as I sit the carrier on the chair and immediately pull my baby out of it into my arms. She coos as I lay her against my chest and snuggle my face against hers. “Hey you.”

  He sits two large shopping bags on the floor next to my feet. “Whatever,” he mutters around the toothpick hanging out his mouth before he turns to leave.

  “Bones,” I call behind him.

  He stops but he doesn’t turn.

  Still holding our daughter, I walk over to him. “We both have done things to each other that we should be sorry for. I know I am. We have a daughter to raise and for me she is the most important thing out of all of this. I don’t want to go to war with you. I never wanted to keep you out of her life. I never wanted to take you for your money. I never wanted you to get back with me because of her. I just want us to find a way to raise her together.”

  He turns and he looks down at me as he pushes his hands into the pockets of his dark denims. “I don’t want my daughter raised by the type of manipulative low-down dirty bitch that would lie on a motherfucker about rape. See to me that shows me what type of cluck cluck bitch that you are. So I am going to take Tiffany from your no-good ass.”

  I swallow back the tears and fears that rise in me as I look up at him. “What happened to the Bones I fell in love with?” I ask him softly. “You wasn’t a cold hard angry ass man filled with hate.”

  “You never loved me. You loved my dick and my money!” he yells down into my face.

  Some of his spit sprays against my cheeks and mouth. “I’m not going to lie down and let you take her. I’m willing to work out joint custody—”

  He reaches in his pocket for a big wad of money. “Look, how much I got to pay a greedy bitch like you for my daughter? Ten thousand. Twenty. Fifty. Name your price.”

  Disgusted that he thinks he can bribe me to give up my child, I reach up to slap him with my free hand and he catches it in his grasp and holds my wrist so tightly that I cry out. I snatch away from him as Tiffany begins to cry like she can feel the anger, hatred, and tension between her parents. “If I were you I would consider joint—”

  Bones throws his hands up in the air. “I ain’t got to consider shit.” What did I ever see in this corny motherfucker? (See now I’m cussing.) “Bones, you either can ride with me or I will do any and everything in my power to run you the fuck over,” I tell him fiercely.

  “Oh, you threatening me again? What you gone do now, lie and say I hit you or some dumb shit? Man, let me get the fuck away from your crazy ass.”

  I offer him joint custody and he throws it in my face. I tried to go t
he high road but if it’s down and dirty that he wants then that’s what he’s going to get. I have to do what I have to do.

  Part Three

  “Life is What You Make It”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cristal

  Two Weeks Later

  “If Mohammed’s woman won’t come to the mountain then I’m bringing the mountain to Mohammed’s girl.”

  I look up from the book I am reading on creating a business plan to find Alizé looking down at me. She is looking office chic in a linen pantsuit. Her hair is looking fresh with her signature doobie wrap.

  I stand up to reach across the receptionist desk to give a quick hug and an air kiss—just the way Carolyn taught me. “You did not have to go to your internship today?” I ask.

  “I have to meet with my advisor from school so I left early today and decided to stop by and see you, Miss Stranger.” Alizé gives me a disapproving look. “You know we understand that status and wealth have always been goals of yours but I never thought you would turn your back on your friends . . . or your man.”

  “My man?” I ask as I reclaim my seat and look up at her.

  “I’ve been hanging out at the apartment until really late—to give my dad and his fiancée more privacy—and Mohammed’s been coming by the apartment before he goes home for the day and he asked what was up with you.”

  I turn my head and look out the glass window of the law firm’s outer offices. He has been insisting that I end my friendship with Carolyn but everything I want in life is within my grasp and he just wants me to let it all slip through my fingers like sand. I cannot do that. Especially when she has agreed to help finance my idea for an ultra-chic, ultra-exclusive day spa with a price point that is high enough to draw in celebrities but not too high to dissuade real women like me and the girls who want to splurge and feel like celebrities for a day. Carolyn loves the idea and all she wants from me is the details. A business plan.