Page 32 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

No, not tonight!

“Oh, really?” I ask, stoppin’ him wit’ the palm of my hand up on his chest to hold his ass back from pressin’ all up on me. “Well, the only thing you should be tryna figure out is ya way back home; so good night.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight. I’ma be findin’ my way back to you tomorrow night at six so make sure you’re ready.”

“I got plans,” I tell ’im, openin’ my door tryna hide my grin. Truth is I don’t have shit planned, but I’m not ’bout to make it easy for this muhfucka to get at me. Bein’ at a nigga’s beck ’n call ain’t what a fly bitch like me does. And, trust. A butter bitch like me won’t b

e home.

“Cancel ’em.”

“I don’t think so; wrong answer.”

“Then I’ma be sittin’ out this muhfucka waitin’ for you to come home.”

I shake my head. “And ya ass’s gonna be out here lookin’ like a damn fool,” I tell ’im.

“Yo, you heard what I said. I’ma be here at six.”

“Muhfucka, and you heard what I said. Now good night.” I shut the door in his face, makin’ my way upstairs to get outta these clothes, pull up Spartacus on On Demand, and ride the shit outta a dildo ’cause that black muhfucka got’a bitch’s pussy boilin’.

SEVEN A.M. MY CELL STARTS GOIN’ OFF NONSTOP, AND A BITCH’S pissed she didn’t mute the shit. I reach for it off the nightstand, glancin’ at the screen. It’s a 347 area code number that I don’t recognize. I press IGNORE. Three seconds later, the same number calls back. “Yeah?”

“Kat, when the fuck you bringin’ ya selfish ass back to Brooklyn to see ’bout your moms?”

The voice catches me off-guard. “Whaat? Who da fuck is this?”

“It’s ya aunt Rosa, bitch. Don’t play stupid. You know my damn voice. Now why the fuck nobody can get in touch wit’ ya disrespectful ass? What da fuck you changin’ ya numbers for ’n shit?”

A bitch is too fuckin’ through. And not in the muthafuckin’ mood, okay?! She’s one’a the last bitches I wanna hear from. “How the fuck did you get my number?” I ask, swingin’ my comforter off, then sittin’ up on the side’a the bed. I realize it’s a stupid ass question, knowin’ damn well Chanel’s stupid ass gave it to ’er. I’ma fuckin’ curse that retarded bitch out for filth!

She starts spazzin’. “Bitch, ya muthafuckin’ mother is in the goddamn hospital on life support and the only fuckin’ thing you worryin’ ’bout is how the fuck I got ya number, is you fuckin’ serious?”

“Yeah, Rosa, I am. And what?”

“Rosa? Oh, bitch you done ran off and got real glossy callin’ me some muthafuckin’ Rosa. I’m ya aunt, ho.”

“Sweetie, you ain’t shit to me. And for da record, I’ve always been shinin’. So, yeah, I’m real glossy, ho. Now how can I help you? You got three minutes to say what you need’a say and then get da fuck up off my line.”

She gasps. “Bitch, I’ma fuck—”

“Two minutes and forty-seven seconds,” I warn, cuttin’ her off. “Say what da fuck you called to say, and be done wit’ it.”

The crazy bitch keeps tryna bring it. “Bitch, on e’very-muthafuckin’-thing I love, I’ma beat the dog shit outta you. You ain’t shit for turnin’ ya back on ya family; especially ya moms. I’ma give you the beatdown she shoulda gave ya ass a long time ago, you stuck up lil’ bitch.”

I laugh. “Bitch, you must be back on crack talkin’ that whack ass shit to me. You need to grow da fuck up; for real ho. You got da nerve to be someone’s grandmother actin’ like a certified trick-ass, gutter-rat bitch. Fuck outta here wit’ ya clown ass. Boo-boo, you got da game fucked up if you think I’ma stand ’round and let you or any muthafuckin’-body else do shit to me. You got two minutes, and countin’.”

“YOU FUCKIN’ SNOTTY-ASS BITCH!” she yells into the phone. “FUCK ALL THAT DUMB SHIT YOU TALKIN’. MY FUCKIN’ SISTA IS ON MUTHAFUCKIN’ LIFE SUPPORT AND YOU NEED TO GET YA ASS DOWN TO THE GODDAMN HOSPITAL TO SEE HER!”

Interestin’ly, I keep it cute; stay calm. “Thanks for the public service announcement, Sweetie. Time’s up,” I say, disconnectin’ the call. My cell rings, again. This time it’s Chanel’s ass. “Oh, bitch, you must know you ’bout ta get cursed da fuck out for givin’ that crazy bitch my muthafuckin’ number after I specifically told ya cock-washin’ ass not to give my muthafuckin’ number out to none of them bitches.”

“Damn,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “I was hopin’ to get to you before she called you.”

“‘Damn hell, ho. I hate e’erything ya stankan azz stands for right now. You always doin’ dumb shit, bitch.” She laughs. “Bitch, ain’t shit funny. That ho called here tryna bring da noise. And you know a bitch wasn’t feelin’ that shit.”

“Ooops, my bad,” she says, gigglin’.

“Ho, I should slap the shit outta ya ugly-ass face.”

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