highest fashion in her possession for her and her brother was not only an adrenaline rush but also definitely her drug. Once introduced to her new vice, it became less about survival and more about feeding her habit: love for the finer things in life.
Six months hands-on on-the-job training and Calliope was a budding pro perfecting her craft to get any and everything that she wanted or desired. She was now able to get in and out in no time. She had it down to a science, figuring out the best times to go, and after learning how to use her time wisely, she started back at the new school at the beginning of the school year. From day one, both she and Compton had a huge fan club. People couldn’t wait to see what they would wear. Of course neither Calliope nor Compton uttered a word of how they were able to afford such expensive clothes. So people, their peers and teachers, automatically assumed that their family was somehow involved in drugs.
Funny how with the fan club and popularity came not only lots of friends but foes, and most were haters hand over foot. Honestly Calliope loved every second of it. It all motivated her and she understood that rocking the flyest and freshest stuff to school would bring the haters and the stragglers and she welcomed it all. Compton was most appreciative of how his sister had him laced, and he loved the attention.
Calliope was sure that G.G. had noticed, especially the new huge posh towels and eight-hundred-thread-count sheets that she had brought into the house. But G.G. didn’t part her lips to ask any questions. And Calliope took a page from the army: don’t ask, don’t tell.
Calliope discovered that one of the trade tricks was to dress the part; she had to rock the flyest gear if she didn’t want to stand out stealing it. But being dipped in designer labels did get her noticed outside of the stores.
That’s how she cut into a chick named Mocha. Fresh recognized fresh … it always took one bona fide diva to recognize another. Mocha lived a few blocks down the street from Mabel’s house. The lady dressed like she should have been in the pages of a fashion magazine every single day. Her walk was something to catch anybody’s attention; her strut should’ve been on a runway, the way Mocha acted as if she owned wherever her footsteps went. Calliope loved how Mocha carried herself with a sense of seductiveness. Calliope would watch as she came and went and studied her mannerisms. From up the block, looking down it seemed like Mocha had two boyfriends, both who drove European engineering. She always looked like she stepped out of some fashion magazine when she left and more times than not she returned with a few high-end department store bags. The stores that Calliope had mastered were the same ones that Mocha frequented.
Mocha turned out to be her best customer. Actually, Mocha was her only paying customer. “What you got for a bitch like me?” Mocha asked eagerly from the edge of the sofa.
Calliope unveiled two Roberto Cavalli outfits and three dresses from Caché.
Mocha, twenty-four years old with a banging body and a cuter face, only wore top-shelf designers. And had a dude wrapped around her finger that would gift wrap the moon for her if he could.
Inside, Calliope smiled when she peeped the glow that shone in Mocha’s hazel contact lenses.
“I didn’t even know these were in the stores yet,” she gushed, grabbing for the YSL pumps. “These mofos are smoking hot. And this wine color is gonna go fab with that dress you got me the other day. How much?”
Calliope secretly envied Mocha. The girl had everything she wanted. And what she didn’t have, she got. If Mocha had any problems at all, money was not one of them. The items she was asking about originally had a retail price of over four grand. “Give two g’s.” Calliope bartered high.
Mocha didn’t bat not one fake eyelash. “I’m talking ’bout for everything, bitch—how much for it all?”
That’s
Six months hands-on on-the-job training and Calliope was a budding pro perfecting her craft to get any and everything that she wanted or desired. She was now able to get in and out in no time. She had it down to a science, figuring out the best times to go, and after learning how to use her time wisely, she started back at the new school at the beginning of the school year. From day one, both she and Compton had a huge fan club. People couldn’t wait to see what they would wear. Of course neither Calliope nor Compton uttered a word of how they were able to afford such expensive clothes. So people, their peers and teachers, automatically assumed that their family was somehow involved in drugs.
Funny how with the fan club and popularity came not only lots of friends but foes, and most were haters hand over foot. Honestly Calliope loved every second of it. It all motivated her and she understood that rocking the flyest and freshest stuff to school would bring the haters and the stragglers and she welcomed it all. Compton was most appreciative of how his sister had him laced, and he loved the attention.
Calliope was sure that G.G. had noticed, especially the new huge posh towels and eight-hundred-thread-count sheets that she had brought into the house. But G.G. didn’t part her lips to ask any questions. And Calliope took a page from the army: don’t ask, don’t tell.
Calliope discovered that one of the trade tricks was to dress the part; she had to rock the flyest gear if she didn’t want to stand out stealing it. But being dipped in designer labels did get her noticed outside of the stores.
That’s how she cut into a chick named Mocha. Fresh recognized fresh … it always took one bona fide diva to recognize another. Mocha lived a few blocks down the street from Mabel’s house. The lady dressed like she should have been in the pages of a fashion magazine every single day. Her walk was something to catch anybody’s attention; her strut should’ve been on a runway, the way Mocha acted as if she owned wherever her footsteps went. Calliope loved how Mocha carried herself with a sense of seductiveness. Calliope would watch as she came and went and studied her mannerisms. From up the block, looking down it seemed like Mocha had two boyfriends, both who drove European engineering. She always looked like she stepped out of some fashion magazine when she left and more times than not she returned with a few high-end department store bags. The stores that Calliope had mastered were the same ones that Mocha frequented.
Mocha turned out to be her best customer. Actually, Mocha was her only paying customer. “What you got for a bitch like me?” Mocha asked eagerly from the edge of the sofa.
Calliope unveiled two Roberto Cavalli outfits and three dresses from Caché.
Mocha, twenty-four years old with a banging body and a cuter face, only wore top-shelf designers. And had a dude wrapped around her finger that would gift wrap the moon for her if he could.
Inside, Calliope smiled when she peeped the glow that shone in Mocha’s hazel contact lenses.
“I didn’t even know these were in the stores yet,” she gushed, grabbing for the YSL pumps. “These mofos are smoking hot. And this wine color is gonna go fab with that dress you got me the other day. How much?”
Calliope secretly envied Mocha. The girl had everything she wanted. And what she didn’t have, she got. If Mocha had any problems at all, money was not one of them. The items she was asking about originally had a retail price of over four grand. “Give two g’s.” Calliope bartered high.
Mocha didn’t bat not one fake eyelash. “I’m talking ’bout for everything, bitch—how much for it all?”
That’s
Similar Books
