Wifey Status Read online

  As he pulled up in front of my building, I felt sad. I didn’t want the night to end, but I was at a loss for words.

  “Bye,” I said, opening the door.

  Alijah grabbed my arm. “Ma, that’s all you gon’ say, ‘bye’?”

  I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. I was speechless.

  “Ma, I’m diggin’ yo’ style, and I’m tryin’a see what’s really good wit’ you; real talk.”

  “I like you too, Alijah. Let’s see where our feelings take us.”

  “A’ight, that’s whassup! Good night, sweetheart.” He reached over and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Good night. I’ll call you,” I said, exiting the car.

  As I walked to my building, I noticed all eyes were on me. I felt what Tupac, the rapper, was talking about. I took a look at the scenario that surrounded me. There were some hood buggers hanging out on the steps; then there were the old heads who sat out there in the same spot from sunup to sundown playing cards and talking shit, and let’s not forget the crackheads and the dopeheads. These were their favorite hours. I shook my head in disgust. I couldn’t wait for the day to move out of the slum that I called home.

  Alijah Jackson

  Ever since I left the shop last night, I was in the zone. I didn’t like the effect shorty had on me. I had dealt with all types of broads before, but she ain’t like no other. She seemed independent, which was a plus because I didn’t like fuckin’ wit’ no dizzy bitch.

  I was tired of the suspense, so I jumped in my money-green Lexus GS 300—my favorite ride. I usually don’t drive around town in it, but today, I was on a mission. I drove over to the West End to handle some business, then breezed through Jackson Ward to holla at my homeboy. I didn’t like going through the Ward like that ’cause jakes was always posted, like a fiend waiting to cop their drug of choice. I had been careful thus far to avoid being on their radar. I planned to keep it that way because I’ve heard plenty stories about the federally in Virginia.

  My stomach was growling, so I decided to go see if shorty wanted to join me. I parked at the corner of the building and checked my burner. When I walked up in the crowded shop, I spotted her right away. She was doing some dude hair. I tried to read her expression, but she didn’t let on. I felt all eyes on me, so I played it cool. I wasn’t goin’ to get played in front of all these cats.

  “Whaddup, ma, I come through to see if you wanna join me for lunch.”

  She busted out laughing. “Do I look hungry or something?” she snickered.

  “Nah, it ain’t that. I felt like we started off on the wrong foot, yameen? Just wanna make up.”

  “Just finished eatin’, plus I’m busy.”

  “A’ight, that’s cool. Take my digits and get at a nigga when you not busy.”

  I got into the car. I had to sit down for a minute before pulling off. I was tight as fuck that I just got played by a bitch. I smacked the steering wheel to release frustration, then pulled off and sparked me a blunt.

  My attitude was on one thousand. I wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone. Instead, I decided to go to the Telly on Midlothian Turnpike, but before doing that, I called my bitch Luscious. Then I went and bought me a six-pack of Guinness and a pack of Dutch. My intention was to get fucked up and get fucked.

  * * *

  Time waits on no one, so I returned my focus on what I knew best. I couldn’t let pussy get in the way of my hustle. There’s plenty of bitches tryin’a get at the kid. I had a feeling that she was digging me, but instead, she insisted on playing her little-ass games. She had the game fucked up. I wasn’t into chasing bitches. I get pussy thrown at me on the regular. She would realize soon enough that she was missing out on nine-and-a-half inches of the best wood in town.

  I made a few stops, then headed out to Henrico County. The guys were waiting on me. Business was crazy for a few days; my money kept coming up short. I had Markus going over the count a couple of times before I called the meeting, and he assured me it was still the same.

  As I drove, all different scenarios ran through my head. It better be a good fuckin’ reason why my shit keeps comin’ up short, I thought. I strongly believed in loyalty and would hate for one of my niggas to be the culprit. Death was the only solution I knew when it came down to disloyalty. Mmm . . . I hope I was tripping for niggas’ sake.

  The block was quiet, as usual. I scoped out my surroundings before I pulled into the back. Everything seemed straight. I checked my waist. Even though those were my family inside, I still came prepared, and money is the root of all evil. I entered without warning. Niggas’ voices could be heard blasting from the living room. When I entered the room, everyone’s attention turned to me.

  “What’s up, fellas?” I gave dap to each of them.

  “Whaddup, Boss?” they replied in unison.

  I sat across from Darryl. I wasted no time on small talk. I started to spit out what I had to say, the whole time gritting on them. They started to throw blame elsewhere, mostly on the runners. No one wanted to man up and take responsibility.

  “Yo! Yo!” I said to end the bullshit.

  “Listen, y’all, I ’on’t kno’ who fuck wit’ mi bumbo claat money, but bottom line is somebody gon’ pay wid dem fuckin’ life. Dats mi rass word.” I paused for a second, then continued. “I can’t say fo’ sure who the pussy claat culprit is, but I can’t have no rass claat snake pon mi team. So, yes, you are yo’ brotha keeper when it cum dung to my bread.”

  “Yo, son, what the fuck you mean by that?” Darryl lashed out.

  “Brethren, no disrespect, but you know how I feel ’bout mi money. Niggas is tryin’a disrespect me.”

  “Yo, Marcus, I want you to pay full attention. From now on, count the bags in front of dem. That way, a nigga can’t claim it was all there, and y’all do the same wit’ y’all workers.” I looked directly at Chuck and Dre.

  Then I got up and walked out without any response, slamming the door behind me. I’m pretty sure that niggas got a clear picture that I wasn’t playing around. I knew Darryl was feelin’ some type of way, but I wasn’t gon’ back down. I knew he wasn’t no punk either, but at this point, it’s whatever. I needed to know that I could trust the people around me. If I had to question their loyalty, then who the fuck could I trust? No one . . .

  I was beat as hell. Whoever said hustling was easy told a damn lie. I couldn’t complain because I came from nothing to having a couple of pieces of real estate, expensive rides, and more money than I could ever spend in this lifetime.

  It surprised me that shorty didn’t get back with me. She had managed to do what no other bitch had been able to do—captivate my mind. I’ma punish the pussy when I finally lay hands on her. I pulled my phone out and dialed her number. The phone rang a couple of times before she picked it up. I was shocked that she wasn’t on no bullshit. She had finally come to her senses, and we decided to kick it for the night. I hung up and headed on home to get dressed.

  I wanted to impress her. I put on a pair of dark indigo jeans by DKNY with a Sean John shirt to match and a fresh pair of Jays. I kept the jewelry simple; didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention.

  I made a quick turn on Q Street; then I headed to Creighton Court Projects. The apartment number was visible because I wasn’t going to waste my time searching. I checked my waist; I had to make sure that my burner was in place. I didn’t like being in the projects in the daytime, much less at the night.

  I approached her building with caution. A few cats were standing by the corner. I kept eye contact until I passed them; all along I kept my hand on my nine. I was also on the lookout for jakes; they were known to be patrolling on dirt bikes or just walking around.

  She opened the door on the first knock, which was a point for her. I didn’t want to linger out in the open. I was stunned when I noticed just how radiant she looked. She was in a skintight dress. My mouth popped opened as if I was in a trance, and she caught me staring.

  “Hellooooooooo, I’m
right here!”

  * * *

  I really enjoyed dinner with her. The night was about to end, and I didn’t want it to. I wanted to take her to the Telly and fuck the shit out of her but decided to take it slow for once. I was really digging her style. We hadn’t said much of anything to each other since we left the restaurant. I met plenty of bitches who wouldn’t shut up for a second, but she was laid-back, listening to the Carter 11 CD.

  I was shocked when I felt her hand on my dick. I felt like I wanted to bust outta my pants. She then leaned over and started to give me some good-ass head. It didn’t take long for me to bust. I totally forgot that I was in public. I pulled some napkins out and wiped my hand off before pulling off. I didn’t want the night to end, but I was cool for the moment. I made a mental note that I was going to cuff her. The rest of the ride was on quiet mode. I think we were both lost in our thoughts.

  When I pulled up by her complex, she tried to leap out of the car, so I grabbed her and sat her ass down. I let her know what my intention with her was. I wasn’t into playing little kiddie games. After I got that out of the way, I kissed her on the cheek. I had certain rules ’bout kissing on females. She got out. I waited until she got in her building; then I pulled off. I was exhausted, so I headed home.

  Chapter Four

  Shayna Jackson

  I’m the bitch that rewrote the meaning of high definition. I’m intelligent, independent, and sexy. I was born and raised in Hempstead, Long Island. My parents were prominent civil case lawyers in NY.

  I was exposed to the good life from birth, so it’s only right that I continued on into my adult life. I was molded to be someone of importance, from living in a gated community to playing the piano, and then later, ballet classes to gymnastics. You name it, and I’ve done it. I had all the finer things money could buy. Being an only child only helped the situation.

  I graduated from high school at the top of my class. I then went on to college, then law school. Now I was a top-of-the-line defense attorney. I was the head bitch in charge!

  I learned early on, everyone came with a price in life. So whether it’s opening my legs or getting on my knees, I made sure the judges that presided over the cases I represented were well taken care of. Truth be told, it’s well worth it. Everyone was content in the end. The judges got a taste of some of the best-bred pussy they ever had in their lives, the drug dealers got little or no time, and me, I got a fat-ass account at Bank of America.

  Every man I knew wanted a chick like me to call wifey. Who could blame them? I’m five foot eight, dark chocolate, with a straight face and slanted eyes. I had a body like a model. My long, coal-black hair reached all the way down my ass. I’d say I favored Naomi Campbell. I was all natural. Money could buy you beauty, but you had to inherit class.

  I met my husband Alijah in February of 2002 at a Valentine’s Day party that one of my clients was hosting. It was love at first sight, or so I thought. From the moment that I laid eyes on him, I just knew I had to have him. He was a tall, handsome brotha; the type that make you stop dead in your track and say, “Damn, who is that.”

  The way he was dressed, I could tell he was a major player in the illegal world. Nevertheless, I was attracted to him. There was something about thugs that gave me a rush. Their in-control attitude really did something to a sister.

  On my way out the door, I slipped him my business card, and within a few days, he called me. I knew he wasn’t locked up, so it wasn’t business; it was personal. We went out for drinks all the way on the Upper East Side in one of Manhattan’s elite bars.

  Alcohol and a sexy woman can sure alter a man’s persona. It didn’t take long for Alijah to start bragging about who he was and how well connected he was. My type of dude. A thug with long pockets. His destiny was controlled after that night without him even knowing it.

  After a couple of months of wining and dining at upscale restaurants, weekends in the Poconos, and trips to Jamaica, my ass got pregnant; then he proposed to me. He almost blinded me when he popped out the 4.5-carat diamond ring. That’s what I was talking about; a man that didn’t care about how much he spent on me. After all, I gave good head and ride a helluva dick.

  Don’t be fooled by this good-girl persona. I knew how to get what I wanted in life, so playing the submissive wife was easy. Whatever my husband wanted, he got. However, the honeymoon was over before it started. It didn’t take long for him to show his real color.

  At first, I wouldn’t feed into the bullshit. He’s a major player, so at first, I didn’t fuss when he was never at home . . . I gave him an inch; he took a whole fucking yard. I would call his phone, and it would be turned off. See, Mama didn’t raise no fool. A drug dealer only cuts their phone off when they didn’t want to be found.

  He had the money, good looks, and nine inches of a woman’s wish. With that, all these project-living, loudmouthed, weave-wearing bitches came a dime a dozen, trying to get their measly hands on my husband in hopes that he was going to take care of them and their badass kids and move them out of the projects. Over my dead body was that going to happen. Them hoes would get nada but a wet ass and nightmares.

  I kept tabs on his money, but he was smarter than I thought. Even though we had a joint account, I later found out that he had a personal one. I had to figure a way to get into that account too. It was easier than I thought. My husband’s accountant, Markus, was no different than the men that I’ve dealt with before. He was weak, so I played on him with my sex appeal. It was scary at first because I didn’t know how he was going to react or how loyal he was to Alijah and that would’ve been a death sentence.

  It had been two years since we started our rendezvous behind Alijah’s back. I couldn’t front; he gave some good head, but his dick game was as weak as a severe case of anemia. He should’ve been ashamed to whip that little-ass dick out in front of a dame like myself. Another place, another time. If I were another bitch, I possibly could see a future between us. However, as of the moment, his money was chump change when compared to my husband’s money. Plus, he wasn’t no gangsta.

  Lately, he made me nervous talking about he was in love with me. I had to bust out laughing when he told me that crap. For me, it was strictly business, nothing personal, and I could tell he was serious by the look on his face. If I didn’t know how scared he was, I’d consider him a liability.

  * * *

  I fell out of love with Alijah a long time ago, but I damn sure loved his money. When he told me we had to move to Virginia, I quickly agreed. It was time for a change. I was running out of judges to blackmail, and I couldn’t risk some ass prosecutor catching on to my scheme. That would be an embarrassment I couldn’t endure. I couldn’t jeopardize my relationship with my parents, either. It was already strained because I didn’t marry a corporate husband. They’d definitely disown me, and getting cut out Daddy’s will was not what I had in mind. The more money, the happier I would be.

  I was glad to move elsewhere. Alijah had been fucking everything with a pussy. He thought that I wasn’t aware of all his affairs with all the different women, but Markus’s mouth be having a severe case of diarrhea. After sex, he spared no details of all the dirt that Alijah was dishing out.

  The house we bought was beautiful; it reminded me of one of those old Victorian houses. By the time I put my final touch of decorations and purchased the finest furniture money could’ve bought, it was nothing short of a palace for a queen like me.

  We lived in a boring-ass town a little outside of Richmond, but I could adapt to whatever situation as long as it involved the dead presidents. If I thought the move would bring us closer, I was wrong; it was a new saga about to start.

  Chapter Five

  Sierra Rogers

  Me and my boo became inseparable. He’d pick me up after work, and we’d hang out. We would hit the croaker spot over on Jefferson Davis Highway and get us some steamed crab legs or to the Jamaican spot for some jerk chicken. After that, we’d go to the crib and smoke bl
unt after blunt of some high-grade herb.

  My feelings were getting stronger by the minute. I ended up giving him some of this bomb-ass pussy on the third date. I was pleased by this man because he was a pro at eating pussy. He ate me up as if I were his last supper; then he laid the dick game down. I was hurting for days, but I loved it and wanted it on the regular. I knew I blew his mind after performing my dick-pleasing skills, and then rode him from the back, all along in my mind singing a verse out of Lil’ Kim’s, “I used to be scared of the dick, now I throw lips to the shit, handle it like a real bitch.”

  * * *

  It was Thursday night, and we were kicking it. I wasn’t feeling him coming over because I could tell niggas were already hating on him by the stares they gave us when we walked by. I was no fool. I knew it was a matter of time before one of them would approach me. I wasn’t going to sit around and watch them fuck up my only chance of getting out of the projects. He wasn’t flashing his money, but seeing is believing, and anyone with good eyesight could see money from a mile away.

  I wanted to warn him of possible danger but didn’t want to scare him off. I’d let him know soon enough, though. By then, I should be out of the hood and living more upper class.

  A lot had changed between us, including me opening up a little more in conversations. So far, everything about him seemed right, even though I sensed there was someone else in his life. I was nervous about asking him, due to the fear of the answer I might get. I really didn’t give a rat shit because a new sheriff was in town (me), and I was running this show.

  I learned that he was from Jamaica, but grew up in New York. He was an only child like me. I sensed he was close to his mom, the way he talked about her with pride. It made me a bit envious because I lost mines to the streets. I hated to speak of her, but deep down, I wished she had chosen me instead of the streets.