Dirty Work: Part 1

Just as she was about to give up hope, her cell phone rang. It was a private number. Something told her to answer. She pushed the accept button on her phone, answering the incoming call, saying, “Who this?”

“You called looking for me, right?” someone said.

“Maserati Meek?” she inquired skeptically.

“This is him, eh. That night I saw you in that sexy dress, you blew me away. You’re gorgeous, I say.”

His charm caused Jessica to smile broadly. “Thank you.”

“Where you from?” he asked her. “Brooklyn? Queens?”

“L.A.”

“L.A., crazy town. I like it, though. But, listen, I’m not the one for small talk, eh. Are you busy?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow, what plans do you have?”

“None.”

“Then give me your address, and I shall come get you.”

Was she hearing him right—come get her? “You want to pick me up, homes?”

“Homes. How cute,” he said, admiring her slang. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I don’t, fo’ real,” she answered quickly. “I’m in the projects though, in Harlem.”

“You think I’m afraid of the projects? You do know my reputation?”

“I do.”

“Okay, so let’s not make this difficult.”

Jessica gave him her address. He promised to pick up her by noon. He wanted her to be ready and for her to wear something nice and sexy. Their conversation ended leaving Jessica blown away.

Wow! she thought. Am I really in that easy? If so, then look out, world. She was about to latch onto him and get the advantage she needed in life.

***

The following afternoon, Jessica stepped out of her building looking fabulous in a pair of tight jeans that accentuated her figure, a blazer with a corset, and heels. Her silky, long hair was flowing down to her shoulders, as she carried her Louis Vuitton tote bag. It was a beautiful warm and sunny day. It was the perfect day to get with a baller like Maserati Meek.

She walked onto the pavement and toward the street.

The fellows were gawking her way, looking thirsty. “Damn, Jessica! When you gonna let me get that?” one thug joked.

Jessica threw him the screw face and then flipped her hair from his direction. Her attitude was stink and fierce toward these broke, whack niggas in the projects. She knew she was the shit and everyone wanted a piece of her booty, but only a handful got to fuck her.

She waited on the corner of 133rd Street and Old Broadway, the back of the projects, away from the busy streets of Amsterdam Avenue. She didn’t want everyone in her business. She was hoping Maserati Meek would be on time. She didn’t want to wait long and end up looking stupid. She’d texted him her location.

He replied: twenty minutes.

She sighed, hoping it would all be worth it. It was quiet where she waited. She glanced at her watch every three minutes and tried not to become impatient.

It was a quarter to one when Jessica saw a pearl-colored convertible Maserati GranCabrio Sport. Meek was behind the wheel looking super handsome and super rich. Jessica was in awe.

He pulled up to where she was standing and smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Jessica.” Maserati Meek couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked stunning and breathtaking with her long legs, long hair, pretty eyes, and vixen figure. Her heels strutted against the ghetto pavement, and she slid into the passenger seat of the car.