"Man, who been pissing in your spot?" Paul picks up the gold hoop earring off the floor, next to the couch.
"Must be a little momma wit' some class for a change, this sucker is 14k. Betta not let ya girl find you slippin' like this bruh."
"It is my girl's." Tyrus snatches the earring out of his partna's hand, with enough gesture to ask whether he was mad that she left it, or that his partna found it.
"Man, you betta watch **** like that. First an earring, then a toothbrush, next thang you know a brutha be on lock down like San Quentin." Paul cracking up laughing at his friend's defensive disposition. He hadn't seen Ty flash like this, since they was in the eleventh grade and he caught him buying balloons and a stuff bear for some girl, Ty had met at the mall. Rule number one was that no girl then, woman now should or could ever claim her name to famous men.
Paul and Ty were best of the best-according to themselves. Track, Varsity Football, College GQ's-too good to pledge a fraternity, too fine to be somebodie's man, too occupied with how good they looked and how well they were put together. They spot checked each other's fly status constantly. If you didn't see the woman constantly, back street, late night creeping with them, you'd swear they was in love with each other. Truth be told, loving woman, anybody's woman, was there favorite past time, but loving themselves came first. It was a shame, at a young age some female messed up and told them they were going to be fine as hell when they grew up. It became their goal.
Tyrus took the earring in his room and threw it in a change bowl. It hit a quarter and landed on a pile of nickels and pennies. Usually, he would just throw them away, but this earring was different. For one it was a woman he digged a bit more than a little bit, which meant he was going to see her again-definitely. Second it was a piece of jewelry that looked like somebody would come back looking for it.
He had other woman leave earrings before. Only one earring though, always ONE. Not a pair ever, just loose mismatched earrings. Mostly fake rhinestones, chipped goldtone, hoogie specials. You know the kind that probably cost .99 cents at the beauty supply. Nobody ever came back for them. Nothing to be missed.
"Why broads always trying to stake they claim up in a brutha stuff. They act like pissing in your spot mean they the only ones gonna be up in here. You know what be trippin' me out, bruh? How we can walk around our joints two, three days and don't see something as little as an earring dangling. But the minute you got a nosey *** chicken up in your joint, she find a scent, a lipstick cap, or BOW! An earring. Man, check ya' girl, I'm telling you it ain't cool!" Paul was determined to put the player code back in check. The one he and Ty had lived up to since they was sneaking girls up in they momma's house. Rule number two was that all incriminating evidence i.e. love notes, pictures, personal items, gifts may be discarded or filed away, but NEVER displayed.
Paul prided himself on being careful. Ever woman he had was to be made to think, feel like she was the only one. Of course what she didn't know was she would be the only one that day. Maybe the only one that moment. It was nothing for Paul, he got letters and cards, soft porn photos, all kind of things from woman digging his style. What the woman didn't know is that there photos, letters, and perishible gifts, like candy and money was shared between all his friends. They called him Pimpin' *** Paul and his stable. They quizzed Paul on how good the 'p' was and how to hit it like that to where they was loosing they mind. They compared breasts, behind, faces. Paul was considered "The Man wit' the ****, ****!" Every one of his women fine, everyone of them thick, every one of them thinking she was the one...****, ****!
Once he fixed the room up with this girls cards she sent him, when he was in college. Even though she lived on campus, she would send him "I Miss You" "I Love YOu" cards every other day. He would arrange them on the wall and on top of the dresser in perfect order, an hour before she was coming through. He was careful to put them in the spaces they had been in the last time he called her over for some overnight,
one- on-one humping. That's really all it every was.
On one particular night, he put the cards up as usual. He had her candles and bears and all the **** she had bought out the container he stored in the back of the closet, spread around the room. She was looking fine that evening. She would wear them tight stretch skirts. No panties. Half the time, Paul didn't even have to undress her, he would just slip up and slip in. She liked it like that.
Paul came in the room after getting some wine coolers out the kitchen. She was holding a card in her hand.
"Who sent you this?"
"You baby, you see all your stuff is catalogued in the Hall of Paul."
"This ain't my card." She rolled her eyes at Paul, through her head to the side, like only a Black woman does when it's about to be on.
"Baby stop trippin' all these is ALL you." Paul told her, placing the bottles down, hands shaking, and needing to keep his cool.
"I said this ain't my card. Who sent you this? I'ma give you one more chance to be a man and explain this, or I'm out"
Paul hated ultimatums. "Bounce then, that's all you was gonna do on this d..." He was grabbing himself, feeling himself, but before he could get his slick statemate out, she was tearing up and throwing everything she could put her hand on.
"Aw, heeeellllllll nawwwww.....I new you was a crazy bi...!"
"What you call me..." Before the word even came out, she had turned head and attention towards him, like The Exorcist revisted. She took her right shoe off and started beating Paul up one side and down the other.
Paul was caught off guard and did all he could do to cover himself from getting hit in the eye. He grabbed her by the waste and man handled her enough to get her out the front door.
The next morning and for the next two months, he would find his windows busted out and dog **** on the hood of his card. He bundled up all the cards and bears, and candles and gifts-tore up, broken up and all and sent them to the girl with a note which read "CRAZY *** *****!" She sent three of the cards back with a note that read "These Ain't Mine Either!" He tried to press charges on her for breaking out his windows eight times, but he couldn't prove it was her. Ever since then, rule number two was strictly enforced.
Paul kept about three woman close to him at all times. Two on the side for the hard times. Like when his baby mommas is trippin' (He had three children between the two of them). Or like when his girl Iris, was trippin' 'cause the baby momma's were playing phone tag team games when she was over visiting. That's when he'd keep his DL stash....for just that time of emergency. For the times he didn't wanna do nothing, hear nothing, or see nothing, but ***.
Wasn't much of nothing. He liked it like that. Nobody could say it was nobody's spot, but his. Ask him and he's tell you why the nothing in his living room matched.
"'Dis here is just a spot to plot, man. Just a spot to plot ya dig?"
That was a typical Paul reply. Dominoes and scratch paper scattered on the coffee table, floor. Always a look of last night. by the empty plates and plastic fast food containers. Just a spot to plot.
It was the place where the fellas gathered to do they thang. It was the place where you take your lady friend when you didn't want your woman to know where you was. It was the place where you could sit back and be guaranteed to get high; either by hitting the weed or contact. It was just the spot to plot.
Ask his momma, she'd say she didn't raise that boy to live in squander. His refrigerator was filled with her tupperware plastics of meals she still cooked for her son. She would come over every sunday after church services to see if laundry was clean, dishes were in order and bathroom had toilet paper. Every Sunday, she found her last week janitorial/maid services done in vain.
"Hey momma, how's preacher man doing? Your bread keeping him spread like butter, still?"
"Lord don't like ugly, Paul." She stuck her cheek out to get her kiss.
"'Dat's what I been trying to tell the Rev, but he still begging."
"Ain't Pastor Fairor's money. It's God's money. Ain't even my money or none of your business. What belongs to God belongs to God."
"'Den throw it up in the sky and let God catch it momma, that's all I'm saying."
"Don't get slapped boy. You ain't too grown to be slapped." Got her big momma hands on her big momma hips. "Need to be slapped about how you living in here. Look at this mess. I swear, one day, I'ma come and you gon' sho nuff be buried in all this....ummmmmhummmm, buried and ain't nobody gonna find you. 'Cept them dopefiends you call friends."
"Momma, my friends ain't dopefiends. We just smoke a little herb. My crib is how it is, 'cuz I like it like 'dis." He sits on his pea green couch, looking like it was covered with carpet fabric. Looking like it's been sat on, layed on, jumped on, spilled soda water, smelling like stale...The cushions had been turned every which way they could be and still had burn holes in them. If you layed down on the pillows, which nobody did and was never suggested, it would be a dip so low, half the couch would dip you in....soon it would be hitting the mid board, but Paul didn't care.
"Ain't buying nothin' new in this joint. I don't need nobody coming in my house and posting like they comfortible." He would say. But they did post. Let one of his friends get kicked out, where you think they was going to stay? Paul's crib. Let one of his peeps come up on some Saturday snatch. Not ladylike enough for an overnight stay you pay for, Paul's crib was known for the skirt drop. Some of his friends would bump heads coming in and out late night. Paul's crib could of been rented by the hour, 'cuz nobody ever made it to the noon check out. That was a violation.
"Man, just hit it and get it good for me. Open the window, before you leave. A brother ain't trying to smell no *** in in the morning...at least not none I ain't rubbing, ya' dig? It's condoms on top of the t.v. Flush ya stuff, brother. Ain't nothin' tight about leaving something floating in the toilet. Ya dig?" He would always look for the hand pound and then disappear into his room. You might here a yawn and then a snore, but that would be it. That's why Paul's crib was the spot. He'd let it be known from the gate, that no freakiness was allowed accept if he was invited and remind his partna's that no means no.
Not that Paul would know. He slept hard, when he did sleep. He woke up about 2-3 in the afternoon and then did the same ol', ol' everyday unemployed hustle. A crap game here, a little welfare sugermoney from a sugar momma there. After the first son was born, college was out, fatherhood was in. Not that he was good at either. Each one gave him an excuse about why he couldn't do the other.Paul was one of those hella cool brothas, who maintained his life on being hella cool. It just worked for him. Pitiful as it seems, it really did.
As many women who had been to Paul's crib, truth be told, he didn't entertain his own women there. He was a visitor. The kind that would come over, kick it, get a lil' piece (money, fried chicken, fish, ***) and then cut. Nobody said he was the one. Nobody wanted him to be. He was cool with that and so were they.
"Ain't never gonna have you a wife living like this." His momma would say.
"Momma, you my wife."
"Hush your mouth son."
"(laughing) See momma, if I had a wife, which I ain't-it would be her duty to clean this up."
" Umhhum, and what your duty would be."
" Now momma them man things, you know man things. I can't share everything with you. Put it like this, I'ma put it down like my daddy did you."
"Ummhumph, the same daddy that you ain't seen since you was five. That one?"
"Shhhhhit, y'all was together for at least eight years so must a been something. 'Sides you got me out the deal.
"Watch your mouth, boy. I think you wanna try and see if I can still slap that mouth of yours. I don't care who house we in, I'ma be your momma here, my house or the white house. You respect that. "
"****, I mean dag momma you know I love you."
"Ummhummmm, love ain't got nothin' to do with your cursing tongue." She putting clean clothes and linen up.
"If your daddy was putting it down, like you say, you wouldn't be needing your momma to come do these things for you. It ain't like you don't know how to clean. You know this ain’t nothing, but triflin’.” She was turning the pillows on the couch. She would do that every other month. Like it was a new couch. She would always find change, matches, opened up condom packages, (brothas was good about flushing, but not about picking up they trash), corner left liquer bottles, cigarettes butts left in soda bottle top ashtrays, broken pencils and pens, receipts and at LEAST two loose earrings.
“Ummmm, ummm, ummm, trifling….”She’d be mumbling. She could stand everything else, but it was something about those earrings that hurt her to see.
“What kind of woman-well, ain’t much of a women, if she losing earrings on this dirty thing.”
“Momma, there you go all in my mix. Just throw them earrings in the trash.”
“How a woman just leave earrings like this?”
“Maybe it ain’t just one.”
“Ummm, ummmm, ummmm.” Shaking her head and looking at them earrings.
(more to come)
"Must be a little momma wit' some class for a change, this sucker is 14k. Betta not let ya girl find you slippin' like this bruh."
"It is my girl's." Tyrus snatches the earring out of his partna's hand, with enough gesture to ask whether he was mad that she left it, or that his partna found it.
"Man, you betta watch **** like that. First an earring, then a toothbrush, next thang you know a brutha be on lock down like San Quentin." Paul cracking up laughing at his friend's defensive disposition. He hadn't seen Ty flash like this, since they was in the eleventh grade and he caught him buying balloons and a stuff bear for some girl, Ty had met at the mall. Rule number one was that no girl then, woman now should or could ever claim her name to famous men.
Paul and Ty were best of the best-according to themselves. Track, Varsity Football, College GQ's-too good to pledge a fraternity, too fine to be somebodie's man, too occupied with how good they looked and how well they were put together. They spot checked each other's fly status constantly. If you didn't see the woman constantly, back street, late night creeping with them, you'd swear they was in love with each other. Truth be told, loving woman, anybody's woman, was there favorite past time, but loving themselves came first. It was a shame, at a young age some female messed up and told them they were going to be fine as hell when they grew up. It became their goal.
Tyrus took the earring in his room and threw it in a change bowl. It hit a quarter and landed on a pile of nickels and pennies. Usually, he would just throw them away, but this earring was different. For one it was a woman he digged a bit more than a little bit, which meant he was going to see her again-definitely. Second it was a piece of jewelry that looked like somebody would come back looking for it.
He had other woman leave earrings before. Only one earring though, always ONE. Not a pair ever, just loose mismatched earrings. Mostly fake rhinestones, chipped goldtone, hoogie specials. You know the kind that probably cost .99 cents at the beauty supply. Nobody ever came back for them. Nothing to be missed.
"Why broads always trying to stake they claim up in a brutha stuff. They act like pissing in your spot mean they the only ones gonna be up in here. You know what be trippin' me out, bruh? How we can walk around our joints two, three days and don't see something as little as an earring dangling. But the minute you got a nosey *** chicken up in your joint, she find a scent, a lipstick cap, or BOW! An earring. Man, check ya' girl, I'm telling you it ain't cool!" Paul was determined to put the player code back in check. The one he and Ty had lived up to since they was sneaking girls up in they momma's house. Rule number two was that all incriminating evidence i.e. love notes, pictures, personal items, gifts may be discarded or filed away, but NEVER displayed.
Paul prided himself on being careful. Ever woman he had was to be made to think, feel like she was the only one. Of course what she didn't know was she would be the only one that day. Maybe the only one that moment. It was nothing for Paul, he got letters and cards, soft porn photos, all kind of things from woman digging his style. What the woman didn't know is that there photos, letters, and perishible gifts, like candy and money was shared between all his friends. They called him Pimpin' *** Paul and his stable. They quizzed Paul on how good the 'p' was and how to hit it like that to where they was loosing they mind. They compared breasts, behind, faces. Paul was considered "The Man wit' the ****, ****!" Every one of his women fine, everyone of them thick, every one of them thinking she was the one...****, ****!
Once he fixed the room up with this girls cards she sent him, when he was in college. Even though she lived on campus, she would send him "I Miss You" "I Love YOu" cards every other day. He would arrange them on the wall and on top of the dresser in perfect order, an hour before she was coming through. He was careful to put them in the spaces they had been in the last time he called her over for some overnight,
one- on-one humping. That's really all it every was.
On one particular night, he put the cards up as usual. He had her candles and bears and all the **** she had bought out the container he stored in the back of the closet, spread around the room. She was looking fine that evening. She would wear them tight stretch skirts. No panties. Half the time, Paul didn't even have to undress her, he would just slip up and slip in. She liked it like that.
Paul came in the room after getting some wine coolers out the kitchen. She was holding a card in her hand.
"Who sent you this?"
"You baby, you see all your stuff is catalogued in the Hall of Paul."
"This ain't my card." She rolled her eyes at Paul, through her head to the side, like only a Black woman does when it's about to be on.
"Baby stop trippin' all these is ALL you." Paul told her, placing the bottles down, hands shaking, and needing to keep his cool.
"I said this ain't my card. Who sent you this? I'ma give you one more chance to be a man and explain this, or I'm out"
Paul hated ultimatums. "Bounce then, that's all you was gonna do on this d..." He was grabbing himself, feeling himself, but before he could get his slick statemate out, she was tearing up and throwing everything she could put her hand on.
"Aw, heeeellllllll nawwwww.....I new you was a crazy bi...!"
"What you call me..." Before the word even came out, she had turned head and attention towards him, like The Exorcist revisted. She took her right shoe off and started beating Paul up one side and down the other.
Paul was caught off guard and did all he could do to cover himself from getting hit in the eye. He grabbed her by the waste and man handled her enough to get her out the front door.
The next morning and for the next two months, he would find his windows busted out and dog **** on the hood of his card. He bundled up all the cards and bears, and candles and gifts-tore up, broken up and all and sent them to the girl with a note which read "CRAZY *** *****!" She sent three of the cards back with a note that read "These Ain't Mine Either!" He tried to press charges on her for breaking out his windows eight times, but he couldn't prove it was her. Ever since then, rule number two was strictly enforced.
Paul kept about three woman close to him at all times. Two on the side for the hard times. Like when his baby mommas is trippin' (He had three children between the two of them). Or like when his girl Iris, was trippin' 'cause the baby momma's were playing phone tag team games when she was over visiting. That's when he'd keep his DL stash....for just that time of emergency. For the times he didn't wanna do nothing, hear nothing, or see nothing, but ***.
Wasn't much of nothing. He liked it like that. Nobody could say it was nobody's spot, but his. Ask him and he's tell you why the nothing in his living room matched.
"'Dis here is just a spot to plot, man. Just a spot to plot ya dig?"
That was a typical Paul reply. Dominoes and scratch paper scattered on the coffee table, floor. Always a look of last night. by the empty plates and plastic fast food containers. Just a spot to plot.
It was the place where the fellas gathered to do they thang. It was the place where you take your lady friend when you didn't want your woman to know where you was. It was the place where you could sit back and be guaranteed to get high; either by hitting the weed or contact. It was just the spot to plot.
Ask his momma, she'd say she didn't raise that boy to live in squander. His refrigerator was filled with her tupperware plastics of meals she still cooked for her son. She would come over every sunday after church services to see if laundry was clean, dishes were in order and bathroom had toilet paper. Every Sunday, she found her last week janitorial/maid services done in vain.
"Hey momma, how's preacher man doing? Your bread keeping him spread like butter, still?"
"Lord don't like ugly, Paul." She stuck her cheek out to get her kiss.
"'Dat's what I been trying to tell the Rev, but he still begging."
"Ain't Pastor Fairor's money. It's God's money. Ain't even my money or none of your business. What belongs to God belongs to God."
"'Den throw it up in the sky and let God catch it momma, that's all I'm saying."
"Don't get slapped boy. You ain't too grown to be slapped." Got her big momma hands on her big momma hips. "Need to be slapped about how you living in here. Look at this mess. I swear, one day, I'ma come and you gon' sho nuff be buried in all this....ummmmmhummmm, buried and ain't nobody gonna find you. 'Cept them dopefiends you call friends."
"Momma, my friends ain't dopefiends. We just smoke a little herb. My crib is how it is, 'cuz I like it like 'dis." He sits on his pea green couch, looking like it was covered with carpet fabric. Looking like it's been sat on, layed on, jumped on, spilled soda water, smelling like stale...The cushions had been turned every which way they could be and still had burn holes in them. If you layed down on the pillows, which nobody did and was never suggested, it would be a dip so low, half the couch would dip you in....soon it would be hitting the mid board, but Paul didn't care.
"Ain't buying nothin' new in this joint. I don't need nobody coming in my house and posting like they comfortible." He would say. But they did post. Let one of his friends get kicked out, where you think they was going to stay? Paul's crib. Let one of his peeps come up on some Saturday snatch. Not ladylike enough for an overnight stay you pay for, Paul's crib was known for the skirt drop. Some of his friends would bump heads coming in and out late night. Paul's crib could of been rented by the hour, 'cuz nobody ever made it to the noon check out. That was a violation.
"Man, just hit it and get it good for me. Open the window, before you leave. A brother ain't trying to smell no *** in in the morning...at least not none I ain't rubbing, ya' dig? It's condoms on top of the t.v. Flush ya stuff, brother. Ain't nothin' tight about leaving something floating in the toilet. Ya dig?" He would always look for the hand pound and then disappear into his room. You might here a yawn and then a snore, but that would be it. That's why Paul's crib was the spot. He'd let it be known from the gate, that no freakiness was allowed accept if he was invited and remind his partna's that no means no.
Not that Paul would know. He slept hard, when he did sleep. He woke up about 2-3 in the afternoon and then did the same ol', ol' everyday unemployed hustle. A crap game here, a little welfare sugermoney from a sugar momma there. After the first son was born, college was out, fatherhood was in. Not that he was good at either. Each one gave him an excuse about why he couldn't do the other.Paul was one of those hella cool brothas, who maintained his life on being hella cool. It just worked for him. Pitiful as it seems, it really did.
As many women who had been to Paul's crib, truth be told, he didn't entertain his own women there. He was a visitor. The kind that would come over, kick it, get a lil' piece (money, fried chicken, fish, ***) and then cut. Nobody said he was the one. Nobody wanted him to be. He was cool with that and so were they.
"Ain't never gonna have you a wife living like this." His momma would say.
"Momma, you my wife."
"Hush your mouth son."
"(laughing) See momma, if I had a wife, which I ain't-it would be her duty to clean this up."
" Umhhum, and what your duty would be."
" Now momma them man things, you know man things. I can't share everything with you. Put it like this, I'ma put it down like my daddy did you."
"Ummhumph, the same daddy that you ain't seen since you was five. That one?"
"Shhhhhit, y'all was together for at least eight years so must a been something. 'Sides you got me out the deal.
"Watch your mouth, boy. I think you wanna try and see if I can still slap that mouth of yours. I don't care who house we in, I'ma be your momma here, my house or the white house. You respect that. "
"****, I mean dag momma you know I love you."
"Ummhummmm, love ain't got nothin' to do with your cursing tongue." She putting clean clothes and linen up.
"If your daddy was putting it down, like you say, you wouldn't be needing your momma to come do these things for you. It ain't like you don't know how to clean. You know this ain’t nothing, but triflin’.” She was turning the pillows on the couch. She would do that every other month. Like it was a new couch. She would always find change, matches, opened up condom packages, (brothas was good about flushing, but not about picking up they trash), corner left liquer bottles, cigarettes butts left in soda bottle top ashtrays, broken pencils and pens, receipts and at LEAST two loose earrings.
“Ummmm, ummm, ummm, trifling….”She’d be mumbling. She could stand everything else, but it was something about those earrings that hurt her to see.
“What kind of woman-well, ain’t much of a women, if she losing earrings on this dirty thing.”
“Momma, there you go all in my mix. Just throw them earrings in the trash.”
“How a woman just leave earrings like this?”
“Maybe it ain’t just one.”
“Ummm, ummmm, ummmm.” Shaking her head and looking at them earrings.
(more to come)
