Wifey: Part 1

s still early, I wasn’t ready to go to sleep for the night. But I was drained and wanted to get a quick hour or two of sleep.

“Jasmine, what’s going on?” Simone asked.

My eyes flew open in shock. “Why? What you heard?”

“Heard about what?” she asked, confused. “You’ve just been real distant with me lately and you’re hardly ever around. I just want to know what’s up. You got a new best friend or something?”

“Oh, that,” I said, dismissively. “You know you’re still my girl. I just got a lot going on.”

“Like what?” She made herself comfortable on my bed.

“Like too much to discuss now.” I gently grabbed her by her arm and guided her off my bed. “I’m really tired. I promise I’ll hit you up tomorrow and we can hang out.”

Simone looked hurt. But she’d get over it.

When she left, as I lay in the bed, I sent Nico a text message asking how he was doing. Thirty minutes went by, and he didn’t respond to me. I just took that to mean he was busy, and I went to sleep.

I didn’t hear from Nico for the rest of the night, but he called me late the next day.

“Hello.”

“Jazzy, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m just laying in the bed thinking,” I said.

“About what?”

“You know . . .”

Nico was quiet, waiting for me to say something.

“But I’m a’ight.”

“You not falling apart are you?”

“No, not at all.”

“For your sake you bet’ not be.” Nico’s statement hung in the air as a veil threat. It sent a chill down my spine.

“Of course I’m not,” I stated. “Don’t think like that.”

“A’ight, I ain’t stressin’ that shit. But, yo, keep your phone on. I’ll hit you back. I gotta bounce,” Nico said.

When the call with Nico ended, my anxiety level was up. I was wondering what he was thinking. I didn’t want him to think that I would one day open my mouth and snitch about Shabazz’s murder.

I needed some weed in the worst way to calm my nerves, but I was down to my last few dollars and didn’t want to be totally broke. I’d already blown the two g’s Nico had given me on a pair of Christian Louboutins and a Fendi bag. I got up and paced around the house, and then I turned on the TV and started watching The View. It was still early, but it didn’t matter. I went downstairs to my father’s bar and poured myself some vodka and orange juice and took it back upstairs with me to my bedroom and drank it while I finished watching The View.

The vodka wasn’t doing it for me, so after The View went off, I called in a weed order, and when my weed supplier came by my crib, I gave him the last fifty dollars I had. But it was the best way for me to calm down from all the thoughts running through my mind.

While I was getting high, I decided to post another online ad so that I could get some more money in my pocket. Only thing was, I had just spent my cab money and my four-hours’ worth of motel money on the weed, so it didn’t make sense to place the sex ad and not have money for the motel or even for the cab ride to get me there.

I sat butt naked on my bed and thought about what I should do. No ideas were coming to me, and I was reluctant to hit up Nico for any more dough. And although I knew Nico was good for some money, I didn’t want him thinking that I was extorting him now that I had murdered Shabazz. That type of shit could get me killed.

While I continued to smoke, something hit me and told me to check the prepaid cell phone I used as my contact number specifically for turning tricks.

I had four messages when I checked the voice mail. Two were from guys I didn’t even remember being with, and one was from a new prospective client who had seen one of my old ads online and was calling to see if I was available. But those three messages were more than a week old. The last message was from the white guy, Mike, who had left a message the night before.

“Hey Chyna, I don’t know if you remember me, but this is Mike. No disrespect hun, so please don’t take this as me being vulgar or anything. But I really want some more of that black nigger pussy of yours. I don’t know if you’re working or not tonight, but if you are, call me on my cell phone at 718-786-XXXX.”