So Gone (8 page)

“I feel you, my
nigga, it’s all good. I fucks wit’ you hard. Now that I’m plugged in, I hope we
can do business on a regular basis. You feel me?” I said.

“As long as there’s
no shit in the game, we can make that happen. You kno’ me, I’m not wit’ the
violence. I ain’t never did no business wit’ you. Maddafact, I didn’t even kno’
you made power moves, but on the strength of Deuce's word, I’m gon’ fuck wit’
you.”

I eyed him down. He
was rocking Gucci er'thing. I said, “If it wasn’t for Deuce, I wouldn’t fuck
wit’ you either. Why do you think you didn’t kno’ I pump weight? I don’t be
puttin’ myself out there like that cause the game is too grimey and niggaz
can’t be trusted. I’ma give you my number, and if you hit me up by nine tonight,
we can make it happen.”

Millionaire locked
me in to his Smartphone and promised to get at me by nine. I leaned over and
hollered at Deuce before bouncin’.

For the next five
hours, I periodically checked the prepaid phone that I copped specifically for
dudes such as Millionaire to get at me. A li’l after eight, he called and told
me he was ready to see me.

“
Give me an hour and
meet me at Ms. Winners on Jonesboro Road. Come solo or else it’s not goin’
down. I don’t do the entourage thing. Our business ain’t no one else’s,
”
I cautioned.

“That’s what’s up,”
agreed Millionaire.
“
I'll be in my old school
whip.
”
I knew the ride he was referring to.

“
Say no more.
”

I hung up the phone,
dashed right off to the meeting spot, and cased it out until I saw Millionaire
pull up in his ’64 orange-juice colored Impala on 24 inch chromed shoes. I
remained parked across the street until I was confident that he was alone, and
then I hit him on the hip.

“
Yeah,
”
he answered on the first ring.

“
I just saw you roll
up. Drive across the street. I'm over here waiting.
”

When he pulled next
to me, I rolled down my window. “Sup, Homie? Let’s do this real quick. You got
forty-eight bands wit’ you?”

“Yeah, down to the
penny,” he assured me.

“Aight, I got the
work.” I hopped out of my whip carryin’ a large shoe bag. I went up to the
driver’s window and asked him to show me the bread.

He reached in the
back seat and grabbed a paper shopping bag. He opened it so I could look
inside, and stacks winked at me.

“Game over,” I
announced unmercifully as my Glock came up barkin’ irreversible larceny.

The whole side of
Millionaire’s face tore away from his head. The scene reminded me of that old
newsreel of JFK being assassinated. Homie's head snapped back violently. Boc!
Boc! Two more shots splattered what remained of his head all over the seats. I
reached my arm inside the car and grabbed the paper shoppin’ bag. Then I was
out. 

As I pulled off and
hit the gas pedal, my ringtone on my personal jack sang Mo’s personal tune.
“Sup, Boo?” I answered calmly, as if I hadn’t just pushed a nigga's scalp back.

“Missing you,” she
said in a voice as sweet as candied yams.

“I’m missing you
too, Baby,” I sang in her ear as I bent a corner on two wheels. “Can I come
back home?”

The line grew
quiet.

“Hello? Sup, Shawdy,
you still there?”

I looked down at
the screen and realized that the call had disconnected. I didn’t kno’ if the
call had dropped, or Mo’ had hung up. Whatever the case, I would get back at
her later. Right now, I was gettin' the fuck out of Dodge.

“Dammit,” I hissed.

My phone’s signal
had dropped as soon as Blunt asked to come home. As bad as I wanted to call him
back, I didn’t. I took the dropped call as a sign from above that I shouldn’t
have called him in the first place.

My moment of
weaknesses had passed. Now, I was okay. Anger replaced the longing for Blunt
that had led to me calling him. I became more determined than before to let him
go on about his business. Those children that he had fathered behind my back
were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

I strolled back and
forth from the kitchen to my bedroom in deep thought. I had to find a way to
get over Blunt and move on to bigger and better. Like my cousin kept drilling
in my head, it was time for me to wise up and stop letting him walk all over me
like I was a dusty rug.

I deserved to be
treated so much better. Suddenly, I recalled something that I had heard my
college roommate say years ago. She said that the easiest way to get over
someone is to converse with someone new. That was exactly what I intended to
do.

I marched into the
library and flicked on the light switch behind the door. I went over to the
bookshelf where I kept my little black book. It was dusty from lack of use. I
flipped it open and searched the pages until I came across my old high school
sweetheart, Fabian's, phone number.

Three months ago, I
had gone back home to Memphis, Tennessee to attend my ten- year class reunion.
Fabian had been there, looking as fine as ever. It was a surprise to see him
because last I heard he was locked up for assault with attempt to murder. That
was no surprise at all because underneath the scholar student that Fabian had
been in school, there had always lived a real bad boy.

When I asked about
the trouble that he had gotten himself into, he explained it away as being a
whole lot to do about nothing. I accepted his explanation along with his
number, but I had told him that I was involved in a serious relationship.

"I understand,
Molaysia, and I would never trespass on that. Just take my number and if things
don't work out, give me a call," he'd said.

That night at the
reunion, we had talked for hours, reminiscing and laughing about days gone by. Fabian
told me that he owned two well-known nightclubs in Atlanta. He also made it a
point to mention that he was single with no children.

"That's
wonderful," I remarked.

"Not
really," he disagreed. "I want a wife and children." He had
looked at me with a look that I knew well.

I cleared my throat
to hide my nervousness. I could never forget him because I had given him my
virginity. We had dated for four years, but we eventually went in opposite
directions after college. The strain of attending two different colleges and
hardly seeing one another had contributed to our break up. It was quite a
surprise that we both had relocated to Atlanta.

"Do you ever
miss me, Mo'?" he asked that night.

I didn't respond to
the question because it would have been inappropriate. Now, it was okay to give
him an honest answer.

I went to bed that
night trying to conjure up the nerve to give Fabian a call. By mid afternoon
the next day, I had gathered up the courage to follow through on my thoughts. I
went in the living room and dialed his number from my cell while my heart began
racing faster than a military airplane. I was so nervous it was pathetic. The
second that I heard his voice, I lost my nerve and hung up.

A few seconds later
my phone rang, and Fabian's number came up on the screen. "Hello," I
answered, sounding like the shy school girl that I had been when we first met.

"I'm sorry,
but did someone just call me from this number?" he asked.

“Yes, this is
Molaysia. How are you?”

“What’s been up
with you, Girl?” He chuckled a bit. I could tell from the surprise in his tone
that he had a smile as wide as the sky.

I plopped down on
my leather recliner and twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Not much.
Same ole’ things just a different day."

"That doesn't
sound very exciting. A woman like you deserves to smile every day."

"Life isn't
quite like that," I said ruefully.

"Well, maybe
you should think about making some changes in your life?" he suggested.
"What is it that blocks your happiness?"

That began an hour
long conversation. By the time it began winding down, my frown had been wiped
away. We laughed and reminisced on a lot that happened in high school, and I
enjoyed every minute.

“What do you have
planned for later on tonight?” he asked.

“My cousin and I
are going to the Keith Sweat concert. This is my birthday weekend.”

“When is your
birthday? I’m sorry, you know I’m terrible at remembering those.” I could tell
by the questions he asked that he was trying to hook up and chill.

“My birthday is
tomorrow.”

“Well, do you have
any plans?”

“No, I’m free. My cousin
is here from Memphis, and she’s leaving Sunday morning heading back.”

He laughed. “You
talking about Leesha?”

“Yes.”

“Is that girl still
crazy? Man, I remember her from when we dated. She was a straight fool.”

“And nothing has
changed about her.” I laughed.

"Has much
changed about
you?
" he probed a little deeper.

"Some
things," I hesitantly admitted because I didn't want to sound sour. There
was a time before Blunt came into my life when I had a much more positive
disposition.

"Mo', don't
give up on love. Don't ever allow anyone to rob you of that," Fabian
advised.

"I'll try not
to." That was the best that I could promise because Blunt had done so much
to destroy my fantasies.

Changing the topic
of the conversation Fabian asked, “Can I take you out for drinks and dinner for
your birthday?”

"I would love
that," I eagerly accepted his invitation. I wasn't looking for anything
more than a nice night out. I needed it.

We agreed to meet
up tomorrow and ended the call.

Leesha and I
started getting ready for the concert about two hours ahead of time so that we
wouldn’t run late.

I showered, and
then began styling my hair and getting dressed. An hour later, I was ready to
go. I checked myself out in the high glossed, white, full lengthened Cheval
floor mirror. I was fly in a snow-white Christopher Kane dress and a pair of
satin Fendi color block sandals. My hair was pulled up to my crown and pinned
to my head in an elegant bun. I reached over on the dresser and sprayed on
Candy by Prada. The sensual, caramel, and vanilla scent smelled sexy. Hands
down, I was going to be one of the best dressed chicks of the night. 

I pranced
downstairs into the living room feeling sexy and alive for a change. Leesha
came down ten minutes later. She was dressed to the nine in a jaw dropping, leg
baring, body-hugging, red Armani dress which proved that she had her body and
style together.

“Ooh, girl we are both
looking like some number one stunners,
”
she
proclaimed, twirling around in a circle to show off her outfit.

I laughed. “Don’t
hurt ‘em, Cuz. ‘Cause, girlfriend, you’re killing that fit.
”

When I was around
Leesha, the properness that I usually spoke with went out the window.

The twins came into
the room and were checking us out. “Y’all look good, Mama,” Akeela said.

“Thanks, Boo boo.”
Leesha planted a kiss on her forehead.

The other twin
smiled at me. “Auntie, you’re so pretty. You and Mama are the bomb dot com.”

Leesha and I burst
out laughing. We both hugged the girls before heading out the door for our
Ladies Night Out.

Leesha turned
toward them on her way outside. “Y’all keep these doors closed and don’t touch
or break shit up in here ‘cause I’m gon’ have to pay for it. Don’t be in here
playing loud music either and popping y’all asses. Act like I taught y’all some
manners --- y'all are not half-raised.”

“Ugh,” Akeela
grunted, looked her mother up and down and folded her arms like Leesha was
getting on her nerves.

Leesha batted her
long eyelashes and frowned at her. “You’re starting to smell yourself. You
better stop talking back to me before I have you wondering what train just hit
that ass.”

She looked at me
and snapped her finger. “I knew there was something I needed to ask you. Do you
think Blunt is coming back here tonight? ‘Cause I don’t need him barging in
here where my kids are with his crazy ass.”

“No, I took my door
key off his key ring about a week ago, after he came tip-toeing in the house at
the crack of dawn. Don’t worry about that; he’s not coming back over here,
especially not since you’re around.”

I turned the alarm
system on to further dispel Leesha's worries. We told the kids we loved them
and were out.

On the way to the
concert, while listening to the smooth blend of R&B love songs, Leesha
reached over in her bra and upped half a blunt. I waved my hand from side to
side in objection.