“Is there a problem here?” Charlie asked coolly.
The girls didn’t want any problems with Charlie, so they relented. “Nah, no problem, Charlie. We were just about to leave.”
The girls made their way toward the exit, and Charlie shot an angry look at her sister. “You fuckin’ up our money by kickin’ people out. You shouldn’t be reading a fuckin’ book at a party anyway! Why can’t you leave studying alone for one day?”
Claire sucked her teeth and simply walked away. She didn’t want to hear her sister’s rants. Charlie found God in the crowd and decided to do a little dirty dancing with her man.
The DJ got the crowd hyped when he played Childish Gambino’s “This is America.” It was like setting off a bomb. Everyone began doing the Wobble, Shmoney dance, Stanky Leg, and a host of others. Charlie backed her ass up against God, twerking and grinding her body against his. His hands were all over her like an octopus. They left nothing to the imagination—dirty dancing at almost a pornographic level.
Bacardi stood there and observed Charlie’s wild behavior with her man at the party and slightly grinned. A bitch should keep her man happy by any means necessary. She almost wished she could trade places with her daughter. God was a fine man.
The music continued to blare inside the project apartment like it was a nightclub, and Bacardi’s bra shrouded close to four hundred dollars in profits. It wasn’t a bad take for a New Year’s Eve party in Brooklyn. Bacardi had something to smile about.
Once again, a drunk Butch approached her for a dance, and this time she gave in. After seeing Charlie dance with her man, she decided to get her own groove on. Besides, it was a party. Butch pulled his wife into his arms and thrust his pelvis against her backside. Bacardi happily moved with her man to Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September.”
Butch continued his dance and started singing in her ear—out of tune of course. His hand reached up to cup her right breast and she allowed the fondling. It was cute how he touched her in public, not caring who was watching them. In fact, the fondling kind of turned her on. It was a peculiar sight to see mother and daughter both dancing passionately with their men.
Keisha arrived a half-hour before the countdown to the New Year was to begin. Dressed fashionably in a red lace dress that hugged her thick frame and red shoes to match, Keisha had all the boys eyeing her goodies.
Bacardi saw her and gave her the cold shoulder and continued dancing with her husband. She felt ambivalent about K
eisha showing up. Her supposed best friend already had two strikes against her—owing her money and not having her back at the apartment when those bitches tried to jump her.
It took a moment for Bacardi to corner Keisha in a private area to finally ask her what she told their supervisors about the incident. Bacardi needed to know. She wanted to believe that Keisha had her back and her best interest at heart. She couldn’t afford to lose her job—not now.
“What’s good, Keisha? What did you tell them?” she asked seriously.
Keisha could only lock eyes with her friend and confess the truth. She knew that Bacardi would eventually read the deposition about the incident and find out.
“I told the truth, Bernice,” said Keisha.
Bacardi was baffled by the statement. “The truth? What you mean you told the truth? What the fuck does that mean? You had my back, right?”
“I just told them what happened.”
“You know what happened, them bitches tried to jump me—and that dumb bitch pulled out a knife on us.”
“Look, I couldn’t lie for you, Bernice. I told you to chill and just follow protocol. You did overreact somewhat,” Keisha said.
“Are you serious, bitch? That bitch pulled out a knife on us and you wanna fuckin’ blame me! You shoulda fucked that bitch up too!”
“I just can’t lose my job over some foolishness,” replied Keisha.
“Lose your job!” Bacardi shouted. “Bitch, you supposed to be my best friend! I thought you had my back on this!”
Bacardi stepped closer to Keisha. Her angry voice was starting to boom over the music.
“Bernice, get out my face like that,” Keisha warned.
“Or what, bitch? What the fuck you gonna do!” Bacardi replied.
“You know what, bitch? Fuck you!” Keisha shouted.
Those two words—“Fuck you”—were fighting words for Bacardi. Folks were watching, anticipating a fight. And that’s exactly what they got. Without warning, Bacardi swung first, striking Keisha in the face. As expected, Keisha reacted, and a full-scale fistfight ensued. Bacardi and Keisha thumped like animals in the wild, and for a split moment it was pound-for-pound. But that soon changed. Bacardi, who was drunk and short-winded, was having a hard time. Keisha had her backed into a corner and was hammering on her like a prize fighter going for the knockout and shouting, “Fuckin’ dumb bitch! I’m sick of your shit!”
Seeing this, Charlie and Claire immediately jumped in on their mother’s behalf. It was almost like a reverse replay of Bacardi’s fight with the mother in the Bronx. Now Keisha was outnumbered and being attacked from both sides. She felt her real hair almost being pulled out from its roots, and fists were banging into her from left to right, front and back. She went down from the series of punches and now she felt strong kicks slamming into her ribs and face. Her sexy red outfit was being torn to shreds, her breasts were becoming exposed, and she could feel the blood coating her face. She hollered and pleaded for help—but there was no help coming her way. Bacardi, Charlie, and Claire were like a pack of wild hyenas tearing into meaty flesh with their razor sharp teeth. Keisha didn’t stand a chance against the three of them.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” Bacardi screamed, followed by a hard kick to Keisha’s face.