greedy.”
“I won’t,” I assured her, knowing I was going to get everything I could. On some low shit, I do listen and take some of Kira’s advice, but I have come to the realization that if I continue to do just that, I am going to always stay in her shadow and never be on her level and I am tired of that shit. So, from that day forward, I was going to do what the fuck I felt was best for me. And if I wanted to get a little bit of dough from Bintu’s ass and fuck him on a regular, then that’s what I would do. Contrary to popular belief, giving a cat some pussy for some monetary gain hasn’t ever hurt me; that’s why I fucked around with Sophie’s ugly-ass husband. He wasn’t really working with much because he had three wives to take care of, but he did his part when it came to me. I never told Kira how he took me on an overnight excursion to a nice hotel on the Westside and then took me shopping and spent about six hundred dollars on me. I mean, it wasn’t much, but hey, at least he didn’t make me feel like a cheap trick. And besides, it ain’t like I was trying to marry the cat anyway. All I wanted to do was get my nut off and see what I could get out of him. That was it. Now I was on some new shit. And since Bintu was next on my list, I was going to see what I could get out of his ass too. Whether it would be an ass whooping or a trunk filled with dough, I was going to test the waters.
Special Delivery
(Kira Speaks)
T he next day Nikki told me she was going to drive her own car to work because she had some errands she needed to run, so I went ahead and left without her. Once I got to the shop and opened the doors, all my stylists came falling in, one behind the other, and got right to work. Everything was running smoothly. It was peaceful, and I loved it. But whoever said that all good things came to an end was right, because it wasn’t long before Nikki came waltzing through the front door of the shop with a handful of shopping bags, bragging about how good she was going to look at the white party.
“Y’all ain’t gon’ believe all the hot shit I picked up at the mall this morning,” she crowed.
“Where did you go?” Carmen asked.
Carmen was the diva around here. She resembled the singer Ciara, but with a little more weight. Niggas loved her, and she’d tell you quick that she only fucked with the ones who had plenty of dough to spend on her. Just a couple of months ago, though, she decided to settle down with this well-known cat named Xavier. People in the streets called him X. From what I heard, he ran the entire Irvington Village projects down on Fulton Street, so he got a lot of paper, and with paper came respect. In a small way, X kind of reminded me of Ricky. He didn’t physically resemble him at all, but you could tell that X’s fat ass was very cocky and he was definitely a ladies’ man. Carmen could care less about the other women, though. She’d tell you quick that she was known as his main chick, and all the bitches in the streets knew it, so that was all that mattered. She was also known around Houston for nine-hundred-dollar lace-front wigs, so she kept a nice piece of change in her pockets, along with the latest eleven-hundred-dollar handbag thrown over her shoulder. I knew she had to have every designer handbag and shoe that Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue ever sold. She could tell if a chick was carrying a knock-off bag from a mile away.
“I went up to Post Oak Boulevard and ran into Galleria Mall and had myself a ball,” Nikki replied as she tossed her bags on top of her station.
“What did you get?” Carmen asked.
“Yeah, what kind of hot shit you supposedly just bought?” I added while I worked a perm into my client’s hair.
Nikki picked up a Neiman Marcus bag and pulled out a seven-hundred-dollar sleeveless white MaxMara asymmetrical strap blouse and a four-hundred-twenty-dollar white fitted pencil skirt by Christian Dior. “What y’all think?” she