Sister Souljah: Life After Death

Nine distinguishes the man who’s big banking, legit and illegit, with corporate credit and corporate cash, personal cash and personal savings, and a slush fund as well as a stacked-up hood stash, from all of the lower-numbered men beneath him. Meaning a nine, in addition to his legit capital, has got to also have a dirty-money pile in his backyard, or in a super secret can’t-be-discovered place, stitched into his furniture, built into his wall, buried beneath his pool, floating in his yacht, or stuffed in his momma’s attic in the house he bought her. To be a nine he gotta be all that, as well as neat and clean and fashionable and manly. He can have any size dick because his status makes chicks overlook it and come with creative ways to get the sex and keep the sex exciting.

Ten is Santiaga and Midnight, the only men who are perfect to me. Stupid-ass Simone was talking ’bout how Midnight didn’t show up for me on my release day like I said he would. But, she didn’t know what really happened. I’m action. Simone’s after the action. She always been an after-the-action bitch. She waits for somebody else to build up their business and she robs their shit that they built. That’s why she’s after the action to me. When we was locked, our little crew was organizing in the dayroom what business we were gonna run once we got released. I of course was plotting a fashion empire. I would design the clothes ’cause I’m nice with it. Then I’d employ a bunch of chicks who was nice with the needle to sew. A lot of locked-up women were working in a sewing factory on the inside. They was nice with regular needle-and-thread sewing. Plus they knew how to work the sewing machinery.

I was not only going to be a clothing designer, merchandiser, wholesaler, and retailer. I planned to get into interior decoration. I figured no matter what anybody wore or possessed or imagined, I could make it look even better. I would set up the most meanest-looking images and make the whole hood and whole world chase it. Of course that means, more money more money for me.

Seated in a crooked circle, Simone was cheering my ideas on. Then she was like, “Winter, that’s the perfect setup. You look pretty and lure the clients with that interior decorating shit. I’ll lay low for a month or so after your work is done. Then, surprise motherfuckers! It’s a stickup! Get butt naked. Keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t make me check your orifices. If you’re hiding diamonds in your asshole, shit ’em out while I’m asking you nicely.” Simone dramatized, and we cracked up. “I’ll rob they whole crib, whoever’s home, even the bitch from next door who just stopped by to drop off a blueberry pie! I’m swiping everything that Winter convinced them to buy: their appliances, merchandise, cars, jewels, cash, credit cards, and even their dogs. Rich motherfuckers will pay high ransom just to get back one kidnapped dog. They’ll pay even more than they would for one of their kids! If not, I heard the black market for pets be bubbling.” Simone laughed. So did the rest of us. But in my mind, I knew she could never come up with a good business idea other than stealing. That shit must’ve been in her bloodline. That’s why she’s an after-the-action bitch. Oh no, my thighs are numbing. I wasn’t supposed to think about Simone. I didn’t want to get heated all over again.

Anyway, back to Midnight. When Elisha came up a week after we discussed on the phone that there was one thing I needed him to take care of that I needed to say face-to-face, he gave me a full report on the status of my reality-star demands. He said wardrobe was a 100 percent go and even threw in a diamond necklace, like a real motherfucking G. The VIP passes, liquor, parties, and perks was all a go. He got the warden and the city working on the permits and licensing to do the film shoot, and they were excited, ’cause nothing good really happens up there where I was, in locked-up territory. Plus I think they was just on Elisha’s balls and would give him anything he wanted for a close-up or selfie to brag about after he and his film crew packed up and left and their little prison city flipped back to dreary gray.

“Porsche had asked Midnight to promise that he would show up on your prison release date. She asked him way back, right after she came up here to check you. Midnight agreed. He’s a ‘word is bond’ type of brother,” Elisha said, speaking discreetly to me as every prisoner is always monitored even in visitation.

“But… when I followed up with him this week and told him about the reality show, he said, ‘No cameras.’ I started to try to convince him but he’s not the type who can be convinced once he has made a decision. So I stopped myself from asking again,” Elisha explained. “But Porsche could not be stopped. She called Midnight and said, ‘You promised, and a promise is a promise.’ Midnight told your sister, ‘I never promised to be a character in a show. That was never part of our agreement.’ ”

I was disappointed. For some seconds I didn’t say anything back to Elisha. I was thinking of ways to flip it in my favor, like how lil’ smart-ass kids used to try and maneuver that Rubik’s cube when it was hot.

“If you succeed with getting my special request done, I will still do the reality show,” I finally said to Elisha.

“Without Midnight, his black Bentley, and the red carpet?” Elisha double-checked. I hesitated and then said, “Yes, without him, but I still want a badass black Bentley and the royal red carpet. After I walk the carpet I’ll let my girls get in the whip with me. So make that six crystal flute champagne glasses.”

“Cool. I’m surprised you let it go that easily,” Elisha said.

“Midnight is not the only cool one. I’m a ‘word is bond’ kind of bitch. I already gave my word and my loyalty to you that if you handle my special request I’ll do the show. So that’s our agreement. I’m waiting to see if you can honor that.”

True, I didn’t ever explain the details of the situation to my girls about the trade-off I had to make. I did not feel like I owed any one of them a damn thing, not even an explanation. That night in my cell during lights-out it dawned on me that this was the reason I was spun out over Midnight, whipped and fixed and maybe even a little obsessed. He was the only man in my whole wide world who I wanted with my whole heart, who I put in my full effort for, who I showed my whole self and even revealed my bare body to, who I could not draw to me. I just couldn’t move him. He was the only man who nothing anybody said mattered to him. He was so solid, his mind so made up that no one could move him unless he had already planned to move. Beside the power that moved within him, he could not be forced. It caused everyone who ever seen him to want him even more. Even my girls, although none of them would ever admit it, felt it, saw it, wanted a taste or touch or to really have him all to themselves. But they knew, from when he first walked through our Brooklyn block with Santiaga, he was not a man within their reach, not within their capability, not a dick they could pull, suck or just hop on and have their whole body, every part, in a state of involuntarily continuous overwhelming orgasm.

Now I could feel the frenzy in my pussy, after not having felt it in a very long, long time. It was throbbing. That’s the type of heat that moved with Midnight. Just the mention or thought of him could even arouse a dead bitch! My breasts were hot and my chest was heaving, my nipples erect. I was dolo in da dark and just about to cum, so moved by his image in my memory that it made my whole body quake.

Suddenly, I felt a shot through my chest and I was being pulled. I’m a dead bitch back on the move again. I’m fast-forwarding through the dark. It felt so good. From orgasm to feeling high. This was a higher type of high though. The difference similar to on the one hand smoking straight weed, and on the other hand smoking weed with cocaine sprinkles on it. I was never a cokehead, but hey, when you drink or smoke with friends or lovers, you never know if they spike the Kool-Aid or punch or put sprinkles on your weed. Now this cocaine-blunt feeling had me enjoying the mysterious ride and feeling even lighter than a feather.