Cairo: Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

My cell rings. I grab it off the nightstand, peepin’ the digits.

“Bitch,” Chanel snaps in my ear the minute I answer. “What took ya ass so long to answer?”

“Slut,” I snap back, “the last time I checked I wasn’t suckin’ ya clit, so pump ya raggedy brakes ’fore you get ya fronts knocked.”

She laughs. “Trick, puhleeze. Ya ass ’posed to pick up on da first ring. You know what it is, boo. Don’t have ma-ma spank that ass.” She laughs harder. Oh, I see this ho is in rare form this mornin’, I think as I try ’n hold back a yawn.

“Yeah, I know you better fall back wit’ all that boo ’n ma-ma shit. I done warned ya ass ’bout that lesbo shit. It’s too early in the fuckin’ mornin’ for that clit-lickin’ bullshit.”

She continues laughin’. This bitch is my girl ’n all, but I swear sometimes she be on some real extra shit. Not that I give a fuck if she’s poppin’ tits ’n clits in her mouth, ’cause she’s gonna be my girl, regardless. But a bitch like me is only takin’ a dick that’s attached to a real nigga in the back of her throat and deep in her fat pussy. “Hahaha, hell, bitch. I can’t stand nuthin’ yo’ cum-guzzlin’ ass stand for.”

“Yeah, right,” she says, crackin’ up. “That’s what ya mouth says.”

“ Whaaat eva. Why the fuck is you callin’ me, tramp?”

“Fuck all that you talkin’,” she says, chucklin’. “Oh, before I forget, guess who I ran into the other night and was askin’ ’bout you?”

“Who?”

“Patrice. And as usual ya aunt was dipped in some ill shit.”

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’ll give it to her ass, though. The ho definitely knows how’ta throw it on. But, she still ain’t as bad as me. And she damn sure ain’t servin’ me. I bet her ass is still livin’ up in da projects wit’ Nana, triflin’ bitch! “Mmmph, where you see that roach at?” She tells me she ran into her at the Ledisi concert at BB King Blues Club and Grill in Times Square. “Well, I don’t know why the fuck she was tryna check for me.”

“She wanted to know what you were up to, then started talkin’ ’bout how you done got all brand-new on e’eryone, changin’ ya numbers ’n shit.”

“Yup, fuck all’a them hoes. And I hope you didn’t tell that bitch shit, either.”

“Oh, she was tryna fish me, but trust…you already know. I got you. I kept it real cute.”

“Good. They all dead to me.”

“I hear you, girl. But, damn…that’s kinda harsh.”

“Harsh my ass. It is what it is.”

“Kat, you know I usually keep my mouth shut, but this craziness between ya’ll has been goin’ on for too long. That’s still ya family, girl. Don’t you think it’s time ya’ll try ’n peace shit up?”

“Yeah, when that bitch’s in a box and I spit on her grave. Then it’s peace. Until then, that bitch is invisible to me.”

“Well, alrighty then. Movin’ right along. The reeeeal reason I was callin’ ya ass is to find out when you bringin’ ya dusty-ass back to the East Coast. There’s this bangin’-ass party comin’ up the end of next month and you need to have ya ass here for it.”

“Umm, Sweetie, you know I ain’t beat to be ’round a buncha played-out, dick-thirsty Wal-mart bitches.”

“Trick, don’t clown me. You know I wouldn’t be callin’ ya ass for no low-budget showdowns. This is all top-of-da-line dick and dollas, boo.”

“Hmmph. Who’s givin’ it?” I ask, tryna decide if I wanna blaze. I glance at the clock. 8:45 A.M. I get outta bed and walk over to my armoire and open it. I pull out a bag of purple haze. Open it, then take a deep whiff, closin’ my eyes. Yeah, this that good shit right here, but I ain’t feelin’ it. I reseal the bag, then toss it back in the drawer, pullin’ out the chocolate thai. Yeah, this is what’a bitch needs to jumpstart the mornin’ .

“Remember that baller nigga Thug Gee from Newark who gave that party at Studio 9 before the shit shut down?”

“Yeah,” I state, pullin’ out my Dutches. I lay my stash and cigars on the nightstand, then go into the bathroom. I sit on the toilet. How could I ever forget that party? That’s the night I met Grant. The night I dropped down low, popped my hips, and pressed my juicy ass up against his cock and grinded into him ’til his shit bricked up. The night I knew I’d end up fuckin’ him. It’s the same night e’ery bitch on the floor wished they coulda been me.

“Well, he’s throwin’ another one in Manhattan at Eden….” Mmmph. She’s talkin’ ’bout that spot over on Eight Ave between Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh streets. It used to be the China Club back in the day. Anyway, it has a lil’ rooftop area for peeps to sit ’n chill and get they drink on wit’out all that loud music beatin’ ’em in the head when they tired of bein’ hemmed up inside. And the music’s real cute. But from what I remember, the two times I went there, the drinks weren’t hittin’ on shit and they had more bitches than niggas up in there. And most of ’em wasn’t even dimes. And the few that did look like sumthin’, they weren’t no high-end bitches. And the truth is, I ain’t have no business up in there wit’ ’em.

“If I decide to come through, you need to make sure ya ass gotta back-up plan for us in case that shit is busted.”

“Oh, trust. Word has it’s gonna be fiiiyah. You know that nigga only rolls wit’ them balla niggas.”

I roll my eyes, wipin’ my snatch, then flushin’ the toilet. This thirsty bitch stays tryna find her next trick. “Umm, what’s good wit’ Divine?” I ask sarcastically, checkin’ to see if the nigga’s still dickin’ her. I’m at the sink washin’ my hands, admirin’ my reflection in the mirror. Hmmph, even wit’ ya hair tossed all over ya head, and sleep in ya eyes, you still a hot, buttery bitch!

She sucks her teeth. “He’s just dandy. Thank you very much.”

I step back into my bedroom, sittin’ on the side of the bed while I split open a Dutch and pack it wit’ my mornin’ get right. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve always liked that nigga. Is he still rabbit-fuckin’ you, or has his stroke game improved?”

Now, typically askin’ a bitch ’bout her man’s dick game is a no-no, but since she’s always put it out there in the past that his dick game was mad whack; that he be fuckin’ her mad fast and whatnot, then nuttin’ off in minutes—then it’s a fair question.

“OhmyGod, I can’t believe I told you that, and you remembered. Girl, he finally got that shit together. Took him two years to learn how’ta slow it down and not be so damn eager to nut. I mean, damn. I know I got that bomb pussy, but still.”

I suck my teeth. “Ho, please. Ain’t nobody tryna hear ’bout how ill ya snatch work is. I asked you ’bout Divine handlin’ his. I’m glad he finally got that situation together, though. I’d hate for him to get fucked over ’cause he ain’t fuckin’ you right, even though the nigga’s been damn good to you.”

“Sweetie, don’t think I don’t know what you doin’. Fuck you.”

I laugh, tightly rollin’ my blunt. I spark it, takin’ a toke. “Ho, I got nuthin’ but love for ya silly ass. But that nigga Divine needs to straight dip on ya ass ’cause you ain’t ever gonna ’preciate what you got.”

“Bitch, how you sound? That shit ain’t true. I know what I got.”

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

“I gotta nigga in my bed,” she snapped, servin’ me up a dish of ’tude. “What’a ’bout you?”

I ig the ’tude and keep pressin’. “Ho, yeah, you might gotta nigga. But ya ass is still scrapin’ the barrel tryna find ya next catch. I’m paid, bitch. I don’t need a nigga. And a bitch ain’t trickin’ no niggas to make shit pop. That’s what about me.”