Page 66 of The Mob: Shio Cuppacio
I couldn’t fathom how this girl was having a whole conversation with me, like there wasn’t a fight going on, only a few short feet away. “I hope you not out here by yo’self. Cuz unless you stickin’ to the Collierville, Germantown, and Cordova areas… Shit, Cordova even getting outta hand.” She shook her head, looked toward the fight through her phone, and then back at me. “Yeah, you either out here for a nigga or for the net.”
Gray Wig looked at her phone again. This time, she stared at the screen while moving her lips slowly. Shifting to get a closer look, I realized she wasn’t recording the fight, but actually live-streaming it on one of the social media platforms. From the icons flying on the screen, I assumed it was Facebook.
“Whoo… you talking… to,” she read. “Oh, D-Baby, you nosey as hell. Tell Mel I’m coming by soon as I leave this airport to get me a three-point-five. I done had to leave them hoes in Miami. They was too cheap for me!”
Black sweatpants had now snatched the suitcase and hauled it across the concrete, which was baffling to me, considering he claimed it to be his.
“Ohh! Y’all nosey. Everybody wanna see who I’m talkin’ to.” She pointed the camera at me. “Turn straight, boo! The people wanna see my new friend. Look at her, y’all. Ain’t she pressure? I told her she better watch out for dem YNs. They don’t give a fuck ’bout no bad bitches. Dem niggas will put dey own mama on her asses for a come up.”
My heart was racing, pores sweating, fingers twitching, and face tight. I was overstimulated like hell, but I still waved at her camera.
“Ohhh, they sayin’ you fine, boo.”
Clearing my throat, I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Peebo! Don’t nobody want yo’ twelve-baby-mama-havin’ ass. Ain’t you got dat lil’ young hoe pregnant? Yeap! You do; that’s twelve.” She read more words from the screen, while I stood there not knowing whether to laugh or walk away. “Coulda! Shoulda! Woulda! But I ain’t. Don’t get blocked! I could’ve been the thirteenth but that abortion was a blessing, baby. Stop bringin’ up old shit, po’-ass nigga. Dis girl don’t want cha. You can tell she fuck with ballers! She ’bout here for Ja Morant. She don’t want no nigga dat’s a professional baby mama player when she got a pro baller. Da fuck!”
Security had finally come out, and just when I sighed in relief, I clutched my pearls seeing that he, too, stood back and watched the two men claw at each other. This was a mess—a mess I wasn’t use to in no shape or fashion.
“She is The Pretty Eater… The girl on TikTok with the seafood boils.” Wig looked from reading her phone to me again.
Beep! Beep!
A horn not only paused the fight but halted ole girl’s next words. Turning to see who had pulled up, we all took in the black Mercedes-Benz on to the curb. There was a pretty lady leaning over the passenger seat, scanning the small crowd. Her skin was light brown and reminded me of a honey cake recipe I’d saved on TikTok. The beat on her face was clean and should have been on the cover of a cosmetic magazine.
“Hey, boo. Tunan sent me,” she stated, pulling me from the trance I was in, looking at her.
Eager to escape the chaos, I tugged my luggage behind me and nearly tripped over my own feet while heading to the car. The trunk popped open, and even though I wasn't sure if the pretty girl was driving me to my doom, I tossed my carry-on inside, careful not to hit the folded Burberry stroller.
When I closed the trunk, the fight was finally being broken up by a different security guard, who was an older White guy. The young Black one was still standing idle.
“Heyyy, Tuscany, boo!”
Gray Wig was now bent, with her whole head sticking inside the vehicle. I had no choice but to stand idle while she finished her conversation. This Memphis heat was proving to be no match for my edges and makeup, but I waited patiently for Gray Wig to finish talking to Tuscany through the passenger-side window. Since I wasn’t in my element and hadn’t heard from Tunan, it was best I now make a fuss over anything minor. For a fake pre-husband, he was already fucking up. He’d been adamant that I come see him; the least he could have done was wait outside the airport for me to arrive.
“So, the Pretty Eater done took my boo.” Gray Wig’s face was twisted up, but the amusement in her expression gave away that she was joking.
Good; I wasn’t up for tussling with anyone over a man that wasn’t mine in real life—or in fake life either, since we hadn’t made the agreement official.
She pulled the door open for me and took a step aside so that I could get in. Giving the driver, whom Gray Wig had acknowledged as Tuscany, a small wave, I placed my purse between my legs and got comfortable in the E-Class vehicle. Gray Wig pushed the door closed gently, and I turned to her before she could walk off. “Thank you for keeping me company.”
“Girl, boo. You don’t gotta thank me. Just shout ya girl out on TikTok. I’m tryna get the fuck up outta that messy-ass warehouse I call work. I’ma have to dog walk a hoe clean off the assembly line! They need to quit playin’ and accept me in the creator fund.” She huffed and pulled the phone up to my face.
If I had a dollar for every time a person asked me to help them grow their following, I would be rich. Social media seemedlike it was easy money, but it was far from it. Was I able to live a lucrative life from it? Yes, but she probably worked fewer hours in the warehouse than I did by as an entrepreneur. Still, I winked at her live-stream and said, “I got you.”
Leather, the tangerine-like notes from her Chanel perfume, and the faint smell of something fried lingered as my ride navigated through the nearly nonexistent traffic. This is probably the first time I’d ever seen an airport without an influx of traffic.
Not wanting to be rude, I turned slightly in my seat to at least thank her.
To my surprise, she was already eyeing me as we came to a stop sign. Now that we were inches away from each other, the resemblance to Tunan was uncanny. They shared the same thick brows, except hers were perfectly groomed. From the small nose, high cheekbones, and semi-round chin, I could tell they were related.
Tuscany. That was his sister. She’d birthed two sons—his nephews. The conversation from our meetup at the restaurant came back full force. That wasn’t the only thing that had come back, and since I didn’t want my pheromones floating around the car, I squeezed my legs shut and cleared my throat.
“Glow Eats,” she said before I could say anything. “Pretty in person, just as you are on those seafood boils.” Tuscany smiled, nearly blinding me with her stark white teeth.
I didn’t think women outside of the mob actually walked around with teeth that white, but Tuscany had proved my theory wrong. She was gorgeous, looking like the female version of her brother.
“You’re pretty too. And you watch me? Thank you for the views.”
