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Authors: Niobia Bryant
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could lose your toes in. Even a mini chandelier Diane got from Sears.
Hell, I even got a forty-inch TV and a two-thousand-dollar bedroom set in my room.
Yeah, we liked nice things and we got nice things. If it meant me shakin’ a little T & A to keep my Lexus, my clothes, and a new hairdo every week, then I’m a shake dat ass. Ya heard me?
I picked up the jeans I wore last night and reached in the back pocket. I turned my back to her as I counted the money. Three hundred and eighty dollars. I peeled a fifty, a twenty, and three tens from my roll.
“Huh,” I said, reaching back behind me to push at her.
Rememberin’ I needed her to watch Kimani while I went to ATL, I peeled off three more twenties. “Huh.”
Diane smiled like a cat. “That’s my baby,” she sang, before steppin’ over the piles of clothes on the floor to leave my room. “And you need to get some of this shit up off my damn floor.”
I just looked at her ’til the door closed behind her. Straight crazy.
I started throwin’ clothes I wanted to take with me in two piles. One to pack and the other to wash. I gotta lot to do today. Wash clothes, go get a half ounce from Mookie, and drop by Antoinette’s to see what she boosted from the mall last night, ’cause that girl can cop clothes like nobody else.
Ah, what the hell we got here?
I closed my fist around my find as I pulled my hand from the pocket of them vintage Versace jeans I wore to the club last week. I’d bought a bag of weed from this kid standin’ outside the club. How could I forget?
Smilin’, I opened the tiny Ziploc-like pouch, steppin’ over the mounds of clothes to grab my Gucci purse from the foot of the bed. I kept my purse and my glove compartment full up with cigars ’cause you never knew when you gone be in the mood to smoke. Nothin’ worse than rollin’ up to the corner store and findin’ out that Papi’s all out of cigars.
Sittin’ cross-legged on my bed, I used my car key to bust the cigar down the middle. Seconds later I had that mother rolled, licked, and lit.
I held the blunt like a cigarette as I threw some clean things in this Gucci duffel bag I bought from Antoinette for a bill.
I damn near packed my bag and smoked half the blunt before I started to feel it.
Damn.
Either I’m smokin’ too much or that kid’s weed ain’t no damn good.
Nah, must be a bad batch, ’cause you can never have too much weed!
Girl Talk
“W hat star would you freak for one night?”
Alizé asked, stirring her apple martini as the ladies lounged at their VIP table in the Orange Room of the upscale and trendy Vision Nightclub in Atlanta.
“Denzel,” Moët answered without hesitation, blushing before she sipped her Amaretta and orange juice on ice.
Three sets of eyes turned on her.
“I think older men are sexy. Don’t sleep,” Moët warned playfully.
“Needless to say I would be more than pleased to give Sahad Linx a taste,” Cristal added, crossing her legs on the suede banquette.
“We know about him. Who else?” Dom asked, lighting a Newport.
“Okay, okay. Sean Combs,” Cristal admitted with a smile.
“Oh, so if they don’t own a record company, you ain’t feelin’ ’em?” Dom asked.
“Do not hate because I’m ambitious,” Cristal told her with a raised brow. “What about you, Alizé?”
“I want me some of Nelly so bad that it don’t even make sense,” Alizé sighed, fanning her face and then between her legs jokingly.
“Okay, Miss Dom Perignon, what ’bout you?” Cristal asked as she reached in her purse for her wallet.
Dom blew smoke through her nostrils, already moving her upper body to the music thumping loudly against the walls. “Question is who wouldn’t I do.”
“Dom!” Moët exclaimed.
“Let me run into Ludacris or Usher in this joint and y’all have the answer to your question. Hey!” She rose and did her signature “Juicy” ass shake. “They can’t stand it! They can’t stand it!”
“Dom, your ass
Hell, I even got a forty-inch TV and a two-thousand-dollar bedroom set in my room.
Yeah, we liked nice things and we got nice things. If it meant me shakin’ a little T & A to keep my Lexus, my clothes, and a new hairdo every week, then I’m a shake dat ass. Ya heard me?
I picked up the jeans I wore last night and reached in the back pocket. I turned my back to her as I counted the money. Three hundred and eighty dollars. I peeled a fifty, a twenty, and three tens from my roll.
“Huh,” I said, reaching back behind me to push at her.
Rememberin’ I needed her to watch Kimani while I went to ATL, I peeled off three more twenties. “Huh.”
Diane smiled like a cat. “That’s my baby,” she sang, before steppin’ over the piles of clothes on the floor to leave my room. “And you need to get some of this shit up off my damn floor.”
I just looked at her ’til the door closed behind her. Straight crazy.
I started throwin’ clothes I wanted to take with me in two piles. One to pack and the other to wash. I gotta lot to do today. Wash clothes, go get a half ounce from Mookie, and drop by Antoinette’s to see what she boosted from the mall last night, ’cause that girl can cop clothes like nobody else.
Ah, what the hell we got here?
I closed my fist around my find as I pulled my hand from the pocket of them vintage Versace jeans I wore to the club last week. I’d bought a bag of weed from this kid standin’ outside the club. How could I forget?
Smilin’, I opened the tiny Ziploc-like pouch, steppin’ over the mounds of clothes to grab my Gucci purse from the foot of the bed. I kept my purse and my glove compartment full up with cigars ’cause you never knew when you gone be in the mood to smoke. Nothin’ worse than rollin’ up to the corner store and findin’ out that Papi’s all out of cigars.
Sittin’ cross-legged on my bed, I used my car key to bust the cigar down the middle. Seconds later I had that mother rolled, licked, and lit.
I held the blunt like a cigarette as I threw some clean things in this Gucci duffel bag I bought from Antoinette for a bill.
I damn near packed my bag and smoked half the blunt before I started to feel it.
Damn.
Either I’m smokin’ too much or that kid’s weed ain’t no damn good.
Nah, must be a bad batch, ’cause you can never have too much weed!
Girl Talk
“W hat star would you freak for one night?”
Alizé asked, stirring her apple martini as the ladies lounged at their VIP table in the Orange Room of the upscale and trendy Vision Nightclub in Atlanta.
“Denzel,” Moët answered without hesitation, blushing before she sipped her Amaretta and orange juice on ice.
Three sets of eyes turned on her.
“I think older men are sexy. Don’t sleep,” Moët warned playfully.
“Needless to say I would be more than pleased to give Sahad Linx a taste,” Cristal added, crossing her legs on the suede banquette.
“We know about him. Who else?” Dom asked, lighting a Newport.
“Okay, okay. Sean Combs,” Cristal admitted with a smile.
“Oh, so if they don’t own a record company, you ain’t feelin’ ’em?” Dom asked.
“Do not hate because I’m ambitious,” Cristal told her with a raised brow. “What about you, Alizé?”
“I want me some of Nelly so bad that it don’t even make sense,” Alizé sighed, fanning her face and then between her legs jokingly.
“Okay, Miss Dom Perignon, what ’bout you?” Cristal asked as she reached in her purse for her wallet.
Dom blew smoke through her nostrils, already moving her upper body to the music thumping loudly against the walls. “Question is who wouldn’t I do.”
“Dom!” Moët exclaimed.
“Let me run into Ludacris or Usher in this joint and y’all have the answer to your question. Hey!” She rose and did her signature “Juicy” ass shake. “They can’t stand it! They can’t stand it!”
“Dom, your ass
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