|
THIS EXCERPT IS STRICTLY FOR THE SEASONED, MATURE, ADULT READER NOT FOR UNDERAGE READERS*
Angie Situation (NAIVETE')  SNEAK PEEK of the PREQUEL TO  <--THIS SEQUEL "Angie Situation" (INNOCENCE)
"Immediately, my first move was to whip that phone out to call a couple of my homeboys who hustled or one of my home girls to drop Malachi’s name and get the 4-1-1 on him, but I had to rethink that-be more methodical about it.
I’m not a street girl, but I know the streets about as equal as me not living the streets. Though Malachi didn't look like a thug, he said that he was "connected to" the streets, so that's thug enough to me. Though he was the first street guy I had ever dated, I know the streets enough to know that because he was so connected to them, I would not want it to get back to him that I went street-fishing on him.
That could be a cross between messy, disrespectful or both-in the eyes and mind of the streets and those whose stomping ground had footprints there. At worse, right at your door-it could get you an unexpected invite with unprecedented results-depending on who you inquired about.
Who better than to call and ask than my home girl that I grew up with: Tori. She has footprints in the streets that far outnumber the embedded stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Always kept it fly and sexy from the time she’d go to bed at night until the time she last left her footprints in the cement of the streets-no matter what, no matter where. Her hair and nails stayed Ghetto Fab-Boo and shit, shined and shellacked at all times. Nail and hair salons loved to see her coming and the streets hated to see her go in to sleep at night. The streets loved her and she loved the streets.
She was a big tipper.
She always owned the latest fashions and although she was from the deepest depths of the hood; she could still pronounce and speak of and for every designer clothier and jewelry brand as if they were on her cell phone’s speed dial-breaking her door down to rush her their: not-yet-sold-in-stores' ready-to-wears to premier out on the town.
Tori was an only child-spoiled-and always had every (material) thing most girls could only dream of, or watch television to see.
Her mother and father liked to dress her to the 9’s and buy jewelry for her even as early as ages where she knew nothing about it and what to do with it, except put it in her mouth like teething rings. But she was taught to respect the diamonds at a very early age, and that they all had blood on them...
Tori was one of my “umbrella friends” from back in my innocent years. She and I had grown up together-since second grade, and though our lives took on different directions, we still remained friends over the years.
She was a lil’ hustler and hustled with and for her boyfriend.
All she knew was street life, street people, the club scene and all things streets.
She had no choice.
She grew up around: pimps, prostitutes, thieves, heroin addicts, superstars, people who served superstars, doctors, lawyers, cocaine addicts, runners and mules, killers-you name it. When her mother and her father hustled, traveled, partied and did whatever they did, Tori was right along with them-from her mother’s womb, attached at the hip and standing right by her side.
It was just “life.” Her parents felt that it was best that she see and experience it all in their care rather than not.
Tori was no stranger to nothing-street.
In her lifetime she’s witnessed: good and bad life, good and bad living and fast and slow deaths.
So her mentality, interest, concern and area of expertise had always been “street-” that’s all she’s ever known.
It was her throne and where she felt most at home.
It was a lifestyle-a subculture: both, a job and a career for her.
When we were kids, she had the house that we would all hang at everyday in the summer to do all our bad: watch porn and do all kinds of ungodly things in that house of hers. Her mom and dad lived a fast lifestyle where every Friday night and/or Saturday night and/or Sunday night; there was a party at their house for the adult friends of theirs, who too, lived a very fast lifestyle.
Tori would be up in her big dainty master bedroom-chillin’ or peeking down at the goings on from the top of the stairs.
At her parents parties; they too, would do all kinds of ungodly things that by Monday, Tori, me, and our other friends would kindred the spirit of-Monday through Friday from the very moment that Tori’s parents were off to work; leaving me-with my responsible, mature, Queen Bee ass-in charge to check on Tori.
She would go swimming with me and tag along, following my lead for the day every summer Monday through Friday until her parents came home from work.
Tori knew the rules: everything she needed to eat should be found in the refrigerator or cabinets-no stove, no ironing, no windows and no answering or picking up to use the telephone, and lastly: do not answer the door-for no one.
She was to never answer to anything other than my kick at her bedroom wall. And if I didn’t kick anytime of the day before five when her mom and dad returned; she would have to cop a squad in the house and watch television until then.
Our bedroom walls faced one another, and whenever it was time for me to head out-be it swimming, the local store or to do or be anywhere in the neighborhood; I would slide on my handy little tap shoes, place my ear and both hands to the wall and begin to kick really hard until Tori would kick back. That was only time she would be allowed to open and peek out her bedroom window, which sat next to mine. From there, we would agree on a time for her to be dressed and ready-house key around her neck-and off, we would go.
As we grew into adulthood, Tori was slick and loved to swap the 4-1-1 about all things and all people “street”-but only to and with certain people.
She even had a name for her gossip: “The G’s.”
The one thing about Tori though-is that as long as it wasn’t about drug sub-culture secrets, then G-swapping was “equal opportunity information” unless you ended or prefaced your conversation with the words: “keep this between us.”
As long as you made that clear-your G’s with Tori was not swappable with the next man.
She knew how to act like she did not know what the hell you were talking about-easily-if you were trying to shake her down for any information that was prefaced or ended with: “keep this between us.” That was the lock and key with her. And she knew my rule: “don’t ever put me in the know about nothing I didn’t need to know. Only tell me what I asked and wanted to hear-no more-no less."
She would only share the G’s with me-whenever I put in a call to her for it. She never just-"offered" it.
Or she would dish it whenever we would get together and catch up on one another’s goings on in our lives.
Whether we were on the phone or in person, whenever Tori and I would get together, it would be for lengthy periods of time-because our lives were such that we didn’t get to do it that often.
Considering the time frame I was working with-in getting prepared for my date with Malachi-I had to put Tori on the back-burner for giving me the G’s on Malachi, because I still had to get over to my mom’s house to and check on she and Lucky while managing to get back to the house for a power nap, bathe, and get dressed to wait for Malachi to magically appear.
With the short time that I was working with, who better to call than Twin?
I knew that if Twin knew that Malachi was connected to me in any way, he would most probably give me a report on him that was less than a desirable “fit” for me-the cutting room floor version.
But I knew that if I inquired about Malachi for someone else (that he cared for like a sis) I could get the reel-to-real: clean-cut version.
So for tonight, working with what little time I had before Malachi was to arrive, I opted for the reel-to-real, clean-cut version. I just pray to God that Malachi does not make me regret not getting Tori’s version first.
Twin and Malachi are men, and although Twin is my brother, he’s still going to keep it “G.”
Tori-she’s gonna give me the “G’s”-the real. Period."
BACCK TO SNEAK PEEKS EXCERPTS OF THIS PREQUEL
|
