True to the Game I, Page 4

  “Well, you know I don’t fuck with Jamal no more.”

  “Why?”

  “It just wasn’t working, Bev. I care about him, but I can’t see myself being with him.”

  “Well damn, you don’t seem too sad about it!”

  “I’m not. It’s for the best.”

  “Girl, I don’t believe you’re letting your Jamal go. He treated you real good.”

  “Money can’t buy love.”

  “Hell, it can buy mine,” said Bev.

  “Mine too!” said the girl sitting under the bowl beside Gena.

  “Shit, he didn’t try to take nothing back, did he?” Beverly asked.

  “No, but if he wants his shit back he can have it,” said Gena.

  “I wouldn’t give him nothing back,” said Bev.

  “Neither would I, honey. Keep your shit. Don’t give that nigga back a damn thing,” said the girl sitting under the next bowl.

  Gena and Beverly just stared at the girl for a few seconds and when Beverly finished washing Gena’s hair, they went to her station.

  Gena couldn’t wait to let go the good shit. “I met this guy though,” she said.

  “Who?” asked Bev.

  “His name is Quadir.”

  “Quadir? Quadir from North with the BMW?” asked Bev.

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “Yeah, he supposed to be fucking with Dawn’s sister Cherelle.”

  “He give her anything?” asked Gena.

  “I don’t think so. He probably got her a pair of sneakers and shit, but he ain’t throw that shit to her like Jamal threw it to you, ’cause if he did, she would be in here running her mouth about it.”

  “What she look like?” Gena wanted to know.

  “She don’t look like nothing. She your average light-skinned bitch,” said Bev, admiring Gena’s chocolate skin tone.

  “She don’t look better than me, do she?” Gena asked.

  “Hell no. Girl, Quadir ain’t no joke. The boy is large as hell. Jamal ain’t never seen no money compared to that motherfucker. Girl, Quadir’s middle name is stock and you would want to invest,” said Bev.

  “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I met him Wednesday in New York. Last night we went to Atlantic City and today he’s taking me to the Bahamas.”

  Beverly put the curling iron down. “Bitch, lies.”

  “No, I’m dead serious. So Cherelle can forget about him ’cause I’m getting ready to put my thing down.”

  “I guess he just playing Cherelle.”

  “I guess so,” said Gena.

  “Damn, she act like she really in love with him, too,” said Bev.

  “She’ll get over it. That’s the way love goes,” said Gena, with extreme confidence.

  “So, you just dropped Jamal when you started fucking with Qua?”

  “No, I met Quadir after me and Jamal had broke up.”

  “Here,” said Beverly, handing her the hand mirror so she could see the back of her hair. Gena got a pump with a long strand of hair hanging down the side of her face.

  “So, when are you leaving?”

  “In a couple of hours. I have to go shopping, buy some luggage and I have to get my nails done.”

  “I know you’re happy,” said Bev.

  “I am. It’s something about him,” she said.

  “Yeah. The man is rich,” said Bev.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s the way he looks at me, and the way he talks to me, you know, like we’re on the same vibe. It seems like he’s always been there, watching me.” Gena sat there with a gleam in her eyes talking about the man, while Beverly wished it was her.

  “I gotta go, Bev. I got to meet Sahirah. We’re going shopping.”

  Gena got bathing suits, fashion accessories, short sets, summer dresses, and luggage.

  Then the girls went to Nice New Nail Salon on Lancaster Avenue. Pam was booked, but acted like Gena had an appointment and squeezed her in. Sahirah and Gena sat in the nail salon talking about Quadir and how nice he was, especially since Jamal was so mean.

  “I’ll be glad when someone comes along for me,” Sahirah said.

  “Sahirah, you got to settle down with somebody. That’s what you got to do. I know they a pain in the ass, but it’s like a job. Besides, niggas sweat you half to death when you got a man. You stay single too long, then niggas gonna think that there’s something wrong with you. Everybody gonna do their thing, you dig me? It’s all about respect. I would have been the lowest bitch on the planet if I had taken them guys up on their propositions, but since I didn’t, I showed loyalty to Jamal when I was with him. Girl, all them niggas think I’m a saint. You got to prove that you are woman enough to be true to your man. That’s all you got to do. You’re not going to get no respect dealing with a brother on that “wham bam, thank you, here you go ma’am” tip. You need to know that the brother got your best interest at heart. Money don’t mean he care. You can’t run tricks on the big boys. Tricks are for kids. So, you just chill. Slow down, baby. You moving kinda fast, that’s all.”

  Sahirah just sat there looking at her friend, knowing what she was saying was true, but she was having fun and just couldn’t see herself with no one man.

  Gena finished getting the last coat of paint on her fingernails. “Oh, guess what!”

  “What?”

  “Guess who the fuck is pregnant by Rik?”

  “Who?”

  “Veronica.”

  “That slut. He went up in her ass raw? What’s he on? Rik better check himself. I’m saying, though, don’t he fuck with some girl named Lita?”

  “You know, I think he does.”

  “It probably ain’t his,” said Sahirah. “She probably don’t know who the father is. The bitch is nothing but a whore.” Sahirah bristled with righteousness.

  “You don’t like the girl ’cause of Troy.”

  “I don’t like the bitch ’cause she always up in your man’s face. Watch, I bet the bitch will be fucking Jamal in a minute.”

  Gena sat on the side of the wall until her nails dried, talking to Sahirah. The girls were like sisters. Sahirah really didn’t want Gena to go, but she couldn’t tell her not to. Gena would be all right; Sahirah knew that. She was gonna miss her friend.

  “How long you guys gonna be there?”

  “A week or two.”

  “Send me a postcard?”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll bring you back something,” smiled Gena.

  Sahirah helped her get outside with her bags. A cab pulled over and an Israeli gentleman stepped out the car to help Gena with her bags. Being as though Sahirah had lost her money in Atlantic City, Gena slipped three hundred dollars in the palm of her hand. Sahirah took Gena around her head and gave her a hug. The girls kissed cheeks and let each other go.

  “All right, I’m out. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Sahirah waved good-bye and went back into the nail salon as the cab pulled away from the curb.

  THE GETAWAY

  Ms. Shoog was finally finished cooking the cocaine. She was letting it cool now so it could harden. “Didn’t it come back good?” She was smiling at her success, revealing her missing teeth.

  “Yeah, Shoog. You doing it,” he said.

  “Motherfuckers tell you I don’t know what I’m doing, you tell ’em they is a lie, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Shoog. I hear you,” said Qua. He grabbed two large plastic bags and put the rocks in them. “All right, Shoog. I’m out.”

  She walked him to the door and talked him into his car.

  Rasun looked in the bag. “Shit looks like Shoog didn’t beat you this time.”

  “She beat me for a couple thousand to save her house,” Quadir said knowingly. Turning back to Ra, he asked him, “Now, you sure you can handle this?”

  “Man, give me the bag,” Ra said snatching the bag out of Qua’s lap. “I know what to do with it. I’m gonna cap this shit up tonight and be ready tomorrow.�
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  Quadir had some reservations about Rasun’s ambition. “I want you to watch out for Jerrell and those sucker ass niggas, you hear me?”

  “Man, what’s the matter with you? That girl got you nervous. You don’t have to check me, baby,” said Ra.

  “I’m not nervous. I just want you to watch yourself.”

  “It’s Gena. She got you all fucked up in the head, nigga. I know she do,” said Ra.

  “You don’t know nothing.”

  “Watch, by the time you get back that girl gonna be wearing your pockets.”

  “Man, get the fuck out of here,” said Qua.

  “But I’m saying, as fine as she is, she could wear my pockets too, boss,” said Ra.

  “She is all that. Isn’t she?”

  “Sis definitely got it going on.”

  Ra got out the car with his bag, compliments of Shoog’s superb cooking abilities. “Later,” he said.

  “Later,” Qua said, pulling off. He drove straight to his hideout and took all the money he’d collected earlier out of the trunk. Once he was in the apartment, he went straight to the closet door and unlocked it, exposing a huge safe where he had been keeping his money for years. He turned the knob, entering his combination. Click. Qua opened the door. His money was safe and sound. The safe took up every inch of space in the closet, standing taller than himself. He had old school money in the motherfucker. He took the money out the bag and threw it in the safe, locking it back up.

  He then packed two suitcases. He made sure his credit cards were in his wallet. He had everything together: his clothes, his money, everything he could think of. He paced around the room, walking back and forth, making sure there was nothing he had forgotten to do. He went back over to the closet and made double sure the safe was locked, then grabbed his luggage and stepped.

  Gena was sitting on the porch when she saw Quadir’s BMW turning onto her block. Her heart started pounding and an inner thought of how she looked to him entered her mind. He pulled up in front of the door, as Gena waved to him.

  “You ready to go?”

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Rasun delivered Gena and Quadir at the airport, happy to be in charge and happy to have his BMW. Their flight, though somewhat turbulent, landed without a hitch.

  “Damn, my ears are still ringing,” she noted, annoyed. “How long will it last?”

  “Who knows? For me, I wake up in the middle of the night with my ears ringing, so I can’t tell you.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “I thought we were going to die. The plane was rocking and shaking. I thought something was going to happen.”

  “It was enough to make me buy a boat and sail the fuck home,” he said like he meant it.

  After three and a half hours on the plane Gena understood how he felt. The only difference between them was that Gena liked to fly. She had always wanted to travel by air.

  “Look at those trees! Will those kind of trees grow in Philly?”

  Not a hundred and one questions, he thought to himself. “I don’t know, baby, but they grow in California.”

  “Have you ever been here before?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Twice before.” Looking around, he said, “We gotta get a cab.” They located their baggage and Qua spotted the taxi stand.

  Entering the first available ride, he told the driver, “The Valiant Hotel on Paradise Island, please.” The driver was very nice, making lots of conversation, but didn’t seem to know where he was going.

  Qua nudged Gena, whispering, “I swear I just saw the same damn building. Twice.”

  “Maybe you’re having a déjà vu, from when you were here before twice,” she said with an attitude.

  “Gena, baby, I’m telling you. He don’t know where he’s going,” whispered Quadir.

  The driver seemed to have been through this type of distrustful whispering before. “Me doe know, but me fine de way. Me know what to do,” he said pulling out his map.

  “Damn, he don’t know where he’s at.”

  “Qua, why don’t you give him directions; you been here before.”

  Quadir paid her no mind. “Man, how you don’t know where you’re at?” he asked.

  “Me no from here, mon. Me from Jamaica, mon. Me a Yardley.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Gena, collapsing into giggles.

  “Well, don’t you see nothing that looks familiar?” asked Qua. “Gena, stop that laughing.”

  “Dot’s de bridge, mon,” he said, pointing far away.

  “Okay, that’s the bridge,” grumbled Qua. “What about the bridge?”

  “De bridge takes you to Paradise Island, star. Relax, star. Me fine de way.”

  Gena glanced over at Qua, who was shaking his head in frustration. “We are going to get there, Qua,” she said.

  “I don’t know how, baby. With lost Rasta here behind the wheel, we might not make it,” he said. They looked out of their respective car windows, trying to quell their misgivings.

  It wasn’t Philly. It wasn’t anything like Philly. There were no skyscrapers, and no city streets. No graffiti and no broken-down row homes. It was beautiful. It was nature at its finest. Gena was so glad she was there.

  Finally, they reached the bridge. The view was breathtaking, the sun glinted off the yachts, liners, and small fishing boats, some moving, some idling, all completing the canvas. Quadir paid the driver, as a bellboy approached to assist Rasta with the baggage.

  “All right, Rasta, man, you learn where you’re going, okay? I’m gonna tip you ’cause I know shit is rough for a brother, but the next time you give me a ride, man,” he continued, handing the Jamaican a one-hundred dollar bill, “I don’t want to ride in circles, okay?”

  “Yah, me know,” the Rasta said. Qua kept saying “Me know, me know,” as the bellboy took the luggage inside the hotel. Gena was so glad to be there, pointing at this and at that. The scenery was too tropical. There were Bahamian musicians playing island music and there was a bar. Sliding glass patio doors across the expansive lobby led to the swimming pool. Beyond the pool was nothing but white sand and clear crystal blue water that you thought existed only in commercials.

  Gena looked through the patio doors. It was a party. People were dancing and clapping and there was a man singing on a platform, which was lit by poles of fire set at each corner. Gena had no energy to join the party after all that shopping, hair-doing and flying. She was tired.

  Qua walked over to her. “Do you want your own room?”

  She didn’t know what to say and tried to hide her surprise. She had planned on sleeping with him. As a matter of fact, she expected him to want her with him and his suggestion left her, well, stupefied. But, she recovered. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, how about adjoining rooms? That way if you want privacy to shower or change, you will have it, and if you need me I will be right there ’cause our rooms will connect.”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling up at him. That smile and those eyes made Qua melt. He had to have her. When he finished signing for the rooms, he found Gena outside.

  “You ready?”

  Was she ready? Oh, was she ready. “Sure,” she said, as demurely as a sister who got picked up in Harlem and had the shit kicked out of her the morning she got home could be. Quadir had two keys in his hands, “Which room do you want?” he asked, holding out the keys in his hands.

  “Room 808,” she said, as the bellboy led them to their rooms. He opened their doors for them and carried their things inside each of the rooms. He had nothing to say, but he did manage a smile and thank you when Qua handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Why do you give money away like that?”

  “Because he needs it,” said Quadir, walking over to the balcony. They had a great view and hadn’t even reserved the room in advance. Gena looked out the balcony with him for a few minutes, but she was so tired all she wanted to do was lie down.

  Qua, on the other hand, was thinking about nothing but a spliff. He had carr
ied the weed right through customs in a vitamin container in his suitcase. Shit was great. Qua sat on his balcony and looked at the water. This was what it was all about. This was living. Quadir wanted to travel the whole world. He had been in Philly all his life, the streets all his life. That wasn’t no kind of life. He could base his home in Philly and he could always deal with the streets, but he didn’t want to be out there like that all his life. It wasn’t the way. He knew there was something better for him.

  Gena laid on the bed, silently watching Quadir as she thought about her grandmother who had raised her since she was four, when her mother died. Her mother . . . she never thought about her. No one spoke of her mother. Gena never knew why. All she knew was that when she was little her father went to prison and her mother died. She didn’t even remember her mother, not one memory. It didn’t seem that bad to her that her mother was dead, and the fact that she never had a mother didn’t seem to bother her. She loved her mother for bringing her into the world. She loved her for sharing her beauty with her and for her hands, her soft and gentle hands. But at sixty-two, Gah Git had patience and a lot of wisdom. She definitely had taken care of her grandbaby Gena. Gah Git took care of all her grand-babies. She told them stories about where they came from, she taught them all right from wrong, and she made them all go to Sunday school when they was little. She was a miraculous, God-fearing woman, and very strong. Gena loved her grandmother; she was the only mother she knew.

  Quadir walked into her room. He had just taken a shower. “Will you put this on my back?” he asked, handing her the lotion. “We can go look around the island tomorrow, if you want to.”

  “Okay, I want to.”

  After she lotioned him down, she went into the bathroom, showered and changed into a baby blue satin pajama set. Then she laid down beside him.

  “You want to go swimming tomorrow?”

  “Whatever you want to do,” Quadir said, reaching over her and turning off the light. He laid back down and pulled her close to him. His strength could be felt as he consumed her in his arms, holding her close to him. Gena could feel his breath and hear his heartbeat as she laid next to him. He was divine; she couldn’t believe it. He felt so warm and his hold on her was so relaxing and so comforting. She felt safe.