“Of course I did. But he already knew about it.” I tell ’er I told him ’bout it. She takes a deep breath, shakes ’er head, then starts spazzin’. “I knew some shit like this was gonna happen,” she says, wipin’ tears. “I knew one day I would be gettin’ this call. He’s so fuckin’ hard-headed. I told his ass time and time again that him and that fat, black dick of his was gonna get his sex-crazed ass in some deep shit. I told his ass he can’t keep fuckin’ over these women and not expect one of them to snap.”
“Alice, not now,” Mr. Maples says, pullin’ ’er into his arms. “No need in goin’ off about something that has already happened. We need to concentrate on what’s going on right now. The most important thing is that he makes it through this.”
Ohmiiifuckin’gaawd! I can’t believe this shit. I knew I shoulda neva fucked wit’ this nigga. Got me sittin’ up in this muhfucka wit’ blood all ova my fuckin’ shirt and sneaks. I take a seat in one’a the chairs. I’m fuckin’ drained. I overhear Mister Maples tell his wife that he was goin’ to try and find out what was goin’ on. Alex’s moms watches ’im walk off, then sits next to me. She grabs my hand and tells me how sorry she is that I had to see ’er son get shot. Tells me how he was tryna change his life; how he dismissed all of his hoes. Tells me how much the nigga cares ’bout me.
“I told him to tell you what was going on with that damn girl. But he’s just like his father, stubborn and thick-headed. I didn’t like that tramp from the moment she tried pinning a baby on him. I knew her ass was trouble.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “He is my only child. And I know he has a lot of shit with him, but I tell you this…” She looks me dead in the eyes. “I will beat… that bitch’s…ass if he dies. I promise you that.”
I squeeze ’er hand, smilin’. Ohhhhkay, Momma, let’s get it crunked, Boo! “Mmmph. Well, stand in line, ma’am, ’cause I gotta asswhoopin’ wit’ ’er name on it, too.”
Alex’s pops comes back and tells us that he’s still in surgery. I watch as he nervously paces the floor. “Ray, won’t you come and have a seat,” Ms. Maples says.
“I’m fine,” he says, holdin’ his head in his hands.
She gets up and grabs his hand, pullin’ him ova to a chair next to ’er. “Sit,” she says, slippin’ ’er fingas through his. I can’t help but smile. If Allstar hadn’t told me that they were divorced, I woulda neva believed it.
Sittin’ here in this waitin’ room has me thinkin’ ’bout Zaire bein’ up in the hospital by himself. It has me thinkin’ that this—sittin’ here wit’ Alex’s fam, isn’t where I’m ’posed to be. I get up. Tell ’em I’m leavin’.
“Sweetheart, you sure?” his moms asks. I tell ’er I am more sure than eva. She tells me she knows Alex would want to see me when he comes outta surgery. I tell ’er I’m really not interested. Tell ’er that tonight’s episode was a bit too extra for me. And I’m exhausted and disgusted by it. She gets up and gives me a hug. “I understand.”
I decide to give it to ’er real like a real bitch should. “Missus Maples, no disrespect, but ya son got a buncha shit wit’ ’im. And I ain’t beat for that. This shit wit’ that chick is it for me. I didn’t sign up for this kinda craziness. And I ain’t tryna stick ’round to wait for anotha nutty-ass ho to come from outta da woodwork. I’m done.”
“I understand, trust me.” Mr. Maples watches and listens to us talk, but keeps his mouth shut. “Well, I’ma tell you this, and you do what you want wit’ it. My son has never expressed any kinda interest in a woman as he has with you. And the fact that he isn’t rippin’ and runnin’ the streets like he used to says a lot.” She looks ova at his pops. “Doesn’t it, Ray?”
“Yeah,” he says, tryna act like he isn’t ear-hustlin’. He chuckles. “You got that boy’s nose wide open. I never thought I’d see it happen.”
“You gotta do what feels right for you,” she says, givin’ me anotha hug. “But I’d really like to see the two of you together. I think you’re the kinda woman he needs in his life. So I hope you’ll give ’im another chance.”
I smile. “I can’t make you any promises.” I give ’er my cell number, and tell ’er to call me when he gets outta surgery. Then I reach into my bag and hand ’er his cell phone. I look ova at his pops. Tell ’im it was nice meetin’ ’im, then dip.
TWO DAYS LATER, I’M BACK UP AT THE HOSPITAL TO SEE ALLSTAR. His moms had called to tell me that he made it through surgery and was lucky to be alive. She said he was in and outta consciousness. I could tell she was cryin’. I felt ’er pain. The whole time she was talkin’, I kept thinkin’ that that coulda been me sprawled out on the ground, leakin’. I kept seein’ Zaire’s cute lil’ face and the shit fucked my nerves. If I didn’t know before, a bitch knows now. I’m muthafuckin’ done! I’m outta this muhfucka. As soon as my court hearin’ next week is ova wit’ and Zaire is finally able to come home, I’m sellin’ my house and gettin’ the fuck outta Jersey, and far the hell away from
New York. I gotta.
I walk in Allstar’s room. He’s lyin’ up in bed wit’ tubes through his nose and there’s a heart monitor beepin’. I hate hospitals. His upper body is bandaged. And he has a bandage ’round his head. Apparently when the bitch dropped ’im, he had hit his head and suffered a concussion.
I walk up on ’im. His eyes are closed. I stare at ’im. He looks all fucked up. Damn, muhfucka, I really dig ya ass. And I dig da dick even better. But good dick attached to a muhfucka wit’ a buncha damn drama ain’t good for a bitch like me. And it damn sure ain’t good for a nigga like you.
Me poppin’ this nigga’s top flashes in my head. I blink. The last thing I should be thinkin’ ’bout is what if I was the bitch who got nutty for the dick. Unlike that Ramona bitch, when I drop a nigga, it’s final.
Speakin’ of that dumb-ass ho, they found ’er ass late last night in some project buildin’ down in Camden—a part’a south Jersey where e’ry day muhfuckas get it poppin’ wit’ the gun work like its Fourth of July. Stupid bitch got slapped wit’ a buncha charges. Violation of a restrainin’ order, attempted murder, possession of a weapon, and two othas I can’t remember. All I know is the bitch is lucky they got at ’er before I did.
I reach ova and stroke the side’a his face. He slowly opens his eyes, blinks a few times, then smiles. “Hey,” he whispers. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He scrunches his face up in pain. “Aaah, this shit hurts.” I tell ’im to try not to talk. He bites down on his bottom lip. “She really tried to do me in. Did they find ’er ass, yet?”
I nod. “Yeah, last night.”
“Good. Uhh, shit.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this shit. That bitch really shot me.” Believe it, nigga. Ya stupid ass had no muthafuckin’ business entertainin’ ’er ass.
I lean in his ear. “Nigga, I feel like punchin’ you in ya muthafuckin’ chest for bein’ so damn stupid.”
“I know. I fucked up, baby.”
I sigh. “I’m not ya ‘baby’.”
“Uhh…whatever, yo. Can’t you see I’m in pain? I’m not tryna hear that right now.”
“Mmmph. Well, hear this then: If you’re head wasn’t wrapped, I would slap da fuckin’ shit outta you.”
He tries to laugh. “Aaah, oh fuck…Don’t make me laugh.”