Page 38 of The Perfect Verse
“I love you too.”
Hours later, and because she didn’t follow her “to-do” Donovan list, she was starving. She also didn’t want any of the food the other ladies brought in or were ordering. Thai, like her name, would often bring some Asian dish or what was calledAsian, since it was mostly fried chicken wings with special fried rice. Marcelina was on her fifth diet of the year. She’d tried them all, from the South Beach diet, Mediterranean Diet, Weight Watchers, you name it. Brianna was into heavy food, the kind that made you want to sleep. Every night was a Sunday night dinner in her house, from cabbage to macaroni and cheese to pigeon peas and rice and smothered pork chops. She’d already put on a little weight. Donovan called it “happy weight”, but it didn’t make her happy. It made her feel like she needed to slap a bitch who looked at her man too long.
“I’m stepping out. My two o’clock is running behind, but if she comes, can someone wash her for me?” She hoped Brianna didn’t volunteer, because she had the heaviest hands.
“I got you, boss lady.”
She tittered since it was Brianna who answered first. She’d trained them all to engage each person and treat them based on their own personal preference, but Brianna was still learning. She would go to her last, but she was always the one on time and willing to stay late. That counted, especially the nights she needed someone to walk out with.
“Thanks, Bri.”
She hit her key fob to her Genesis truck, which she’d gifted herself the Christmas before. She wasn’t flashy or a label whore, but once she left The Palace and her relationship with Kaleela, she felt compelled to start anew. She found her playlist and wagged her tongue. It was something Donovan had put together. Immediately, she felt better, lighter. She was still hungry, though, and then it hit her when she decided she was in the mood for some Mexican food.
“Oh, I should go to Taco Casa.”
She became excited, thinking about what to order. Donovan would bring food from Taco Casa after a late-night session sincethey were close by. They’d share tacos, quesadillas, burritos, and her favorite—enchiladas loaded with salsa and sour cream.
“Dang, the line is kind of long,” she whispered, seeing the lunch crowd rush. She knew she was taking a chance of being late, but quickly whipped into an empty parking slot. She hopped out of her truck, tossed her Chanel tote that Donovan had surprised her with on her arm, and jetted toward the front door.
“I should have placed an order,” she muttered, staring at the menu. The line stalled when a couple came rushing back inside, upset about their order. “Oh, God. Now I’m about to be late.”
She loved her girl Brianna, but the more she thought about it, the more she wished she’d just taken Thai up on her offer and ordered a small shrimp-fried rice. A large group of girls entered behind her, laughing and ragging on each other. A faint grin appeared. It was the second time that day she thought about how much fun she, Reagan, and Kaleela used to have.
They’d sit at Kaleela’s house when she lived with Shonasia, drinking mocktails while eating finger foods like meatballs, mozzarella sticks, egg rolls, and chicken tenders. Then Reagan would turn on the music, sway her hips, and turn around and twerk against Chaney.
Kaleela would pull out a wad of money and make it rain like they were in a strip club. They’d come a long way—no other women, no arguing, and no fighting, until Kaleela had one taste of liquor, then another and another, before the Kaleela she’d fallen in love with stopped showing up.
“Oh, girl. Hold on. That’s Dread Man. Told you that nigga can’t get enough of me. What, bitch? These hoes be playing themselves because he always comes back to me.” Chaney frowned, her body tensing as she listened to who she knew had to be Donovan’s ex behind her.
“He just called asking about Granny. You know he always makes sure we’re straight. Hoes think because they have a little money and rode a little dick, they can knock me off my throne.” She popped her lips as Chaney took a deep and slow breath, clutching her purse tightly. He hadn’t made time to call her, but his ex was on his line.
“Girl, that nigga ain’t gone never leave you alone,” some girl with her chimed in. “I told you, all you needed to do was remind him that it ain’t no Dread Man without Shay. Tell him I said what’s up and run us a few tickets. I heard they are performing in Tampa next week. That’s a little road trip for us. Lanky can get it.”
“Oh, most definitely. That new bitch will probably fold on his ass first quarter. I took that charge ‘cause this is what real bitches do. Oh, here he is calling again.”
While the others cheered her on, talking shit like being incarcerated behind a man was something to brag about, she whipped out her cellphone. She couldn’t dial his number fast enough. It rang about five to six times before it went straight to voicemail. She called two more times and received the same results. She was livid, her body trembling.
“Dread Man, please. I ain’t post shit, and why would I?” Sashay complained.
“Shocking,” another friend sang. Chaney could hear the disdain in her tone. At least one of them had sense, but the fact that they were friends was still telling. “Me, personally, I would have cut your ass off after Gucci.”
“Bitch,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Gucci’s dick ain’t hitting on nothing.”
“I’m saying, though. Can’t be me.”
“Because it ain’t. Bitches jealous ‘cause the right nigga didn’t choose them.”
Chaney slowly glanced over her shoulder, bile threatening to expel from her mouth. She immediately scrunched up her nose at the entire ensemble Sashay wore—pink, thigh-high boots along with a pink and yellow bodycon dress that hugged her wide hips just below her ass. Instead of her usual red hair, it was hot pink and unmovable, like a helmet.
“Dread, I ain’t gone say shit to your bitch. Run me what we discussed when I pulled up and Lank ain’t have it. You shorted me two grand.”
Two fucking grand.
Chaney was fuming. She couldn’t after what they agreed he wouldn’t do. Her chest heaved when she looked at her friends, whose outfits were just as hideous, if not more, than Sashay’s. She could tell that Sashay was the leader of these rejects, one who wore a cat suit that was two sizes too small, the other with ripped jean shorts that had seen better days with a halter top. Together, they looked like The Real Crackheads of Miami.
“Had me out there until two in the morning, and I don’t give a damn if I had you late to your precious girlfriend.”
“Next!” one of the cashiers yelled, waving her over. Chaney could barely breathe, let alone think about ordering food. She’d immediately lost her appetite, and sadly, a fucking boyfriend too.
