Wifey

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It's 4:30 am in the morning and I've been pacing back and forth from my bed to my bedroom window, which overlooked the driveway of my six-hundred-thousand-dollar house, waiting for my husband Ricky to bring dat ass home. Who cared about all the plucks he had to make every other night? I kept telling him, all money ain't good money! But he didn't listen. Not to mention, I had to deal with all his hoes on a daily basis. We've been married for seven years now, and since then I've had to spend a whole lot of nights alone in this gorgeous five-bedroom home he got for us two years ago. That's how his three children came into play. All of them were by different chickenheads who lived in the projects. But one of them had a Section Eight crib somewhere in D.C. and she was ghetto as hell. Just like the other two, who lived not too far from here.

Now, Ricky didn't have enough sense to go out and donate his sperm to women with some class. Every last one of them were high school dropouts, holding eighth-grade educations and an ass full of drama. They figured since Ricky had a baby by them, that he was gonna leave me to be with their nasty tails. Oh, but trust me! It won't happen! Not in this lifetime. Because all they could offer him was pussy. And the last time I checked, pussy wasn't in high demand these days like themhoes thought. That's why I could say with much confidence-that Ricky needed me. I kept his hotheaded ass straight. And not only that, I've got assets. I'm light-skinned and very pretty with a banging ass body! Niggas in the street said I reminded them of the rapper Trina because both of us favored each other and we had small waists and big asses. And to complement all that, I knew how to play most of the games on the street, as well as the ins and outs of running the hair salon I opened a few years back. Not to mention, Ricky gave me the dough to make it happen. Now you see, he was good for something other than screwing other chicks behind my back. This was why I was always trying to find reasons not to leave his ass.

So, after pacing back and forth a few more times, Mr. Good Dick finally pulled his sedan into the driveway. I made my way on downstairs to greet his butt at the front door. "What you doing up?" he asked as soon as he saw me standing in the foyer.

"Ricky, don't ask me no stupid-ass questions!" I told him with much attitude. Then I moved backwards two steps, giving him enough room to shut the front door.

"What you upset for?" he responded with uncertainty.

I'm standing dead smack in front of my husband, who is, by the way, very, very handsome with a set of six packs out of this world. I'm wearing one of my newest Victoria's Secret lingerie pieces, looking extra sexy; and all he could do was stand there looking stupid and ask me what I'm upset for? I wanted so badly to smack the hell outta him; but I decided to remain a lady and continue to get him where it hurts, which is his pockets. This dummy had no clue whatsoever that I was robbing his ass blind.

Every time he put some of his dough away in his stash I was right behind him, trimming the fat around the edges.

"Kira, baby don't give me that look," Ricky continued.

"You know I'm out on the grind every night for me and you."

"Ricky, I don't wanna hear your lies," I tell him and walk to the kitchen.

And like I knew he would, he followed in my footsteps.

"Baby!" he started pleading. "Look what I gotcha!"

I knew it. He's always pulling something out of his hat when I'm about to put his ass on the hot seat. He knows I'm a sucker for gifts. "Whatever you got for me, you can take your ass right back out in the streets, find all your babies' mamas, play Spin the Bottle and whoever the fuck wins, just give it to them." I fronted like I wasn't interested.

"Shit, them hoes wouldn't ever be able to get me to cop a bracelet like this for them!" Ricky tells me.

"They weren't hoes when you were screwing 'em."

"Look Kira, I didn't come home to argue wit' you. All I wanna do right now is see how this joint looks on your wrist."

Curious as to how iced out this bracelet was, I turned around with a grit on my face from hell. "You look so sexy when you're mad," he told me.

Hearing him tell me how sexy I looked made me want to smile real bad, but I couldn't put my guard down. I had to show this clown I wasn't playing with his ass and was truly tired of his bullshit. All his baby mama drama, the other hoes he was seeing and the many trips he took out of town, acting like he was taking care of business. Shit, I wasn't stupid! I knew all them trips he took weren't solely for business. But it's all lovely. While he thinks he's playing me, I'm straight playing his ass, too.

"Where you get this from?" I asked, continuing to front like I wasn't at all excited about this H series diamond watch by Chopard.

"Don't worry 'bout that," Ricky told me as he fastened the hook on it. "You like it?"

Trying to be modest, I told him, "Yeah." And then I looked him straight in his eyes with the saddest expression I could muster. I immediately thought about how I lost my mother to a plane crash just hours before I graduated from high school. I tried talking her into taking an earlier flight from her vacation in Venezuela, but she refused to leave her third husband out there alone and wanted to guard him from walking off with one of those young and beautiful women roaming around the beaches. So once again, she allowed her obsession for wealth to dictate her way of life. I hated to admit it but over the years, I had become the spitting image of her. I wanted nothing to do with a man who couldn't give me all the fine things in life. And since my mother had not been married to her third husband long enough, I got stiffed when his will was read. The only two choices I had was to either move in with my uncle and his family or my grandmother Clara, who were my only living relatives. So, guess what? I chose neither. I did this because I just felt like I didn't belong with any of them. I mean, come on. Who wanted to live in a house that always smelled like mothballs? Who wanted to live with an uncle who forced you to be in church every Sunday? Plus, you had to abide by his rules. And he didn't care how old you were, either. So, it had to be fate when Ricky came into my life.

He got me my own apartment not even a week after we met. The fact that he loved to spend his dough on me made it even sweeter. He tried really hard to make sure I got everything I needed, and I let him. Hell yeah! That's why most of the time when I'm upset, I can make him feel really guilty about how he's been treating me lately.

"Why do you keep taking me through all these changes?" I asked as I forced myself to cry.

"What you talkin' 'bout, Kira? What changes?"

"The constant lies and drama!"

"Tell me what you talkin' 'bout, Ma!"

"I'm talking about you coming in this house two, three, and four o'clock in the morning, every damn night, like you got it like that! I'm just plain sick of it!"

"Come off that, baby," Ricky said as he pulled me into his arms. "You know those hours are the best time for me to work. I make mo' money and get less police."

"Who cares about all of that? I just want it to stop!"

"It will."

"But when? I mean, come on, Ricky. You got plenty of dough put away. And I've got some good, consistent money coming in my salon every week. So, we ain't gon' need for nothing."

"Look, I'll tell you what? Let me finish the rest of my pack and make one last run down to Florida, then I'll take a long vacation."

"What you mean, vacation?!" I raised my voice because I needed some clarity.

"It means I'mma chill out for a while."

"What's a while?"

"Shit, Kira! I don't know! Maybe six months. A year."

"You promise?" I asked, giving him my famous pout.

"Yeah. I promise," he told me in a low whisper as he began to kiss my neck and tug on my ear lobe.

That instant, my panties got wet. Ricky pulled me closer to him. He cupped both of my ass-cheeks in hands, gripping 'em hard while he ground his dick up against my kitty cat. I couldn't resist the feelings that were coming over me. So when he picked me up I wrapped my legs around his waist, only leaving him enough room to slide his huge black dick inside my world of passion. I'm so glad I had on my crotchless panties because if I had had to wait another second for him to pull my thong off, I probably would have exploded.

"Hmmm, baby fuck me harder!" I begged him as I used the kitchen sink to help support my weight. His thrusts got harder and more intense.

"You like it when we fuss and make up, huh?" Ricky whispered each word between kisses. But of course, I declined to answer him. Swelling his head up about how I like making love after we have an argument, was not what I deemed to be a solution to our problems. After we got our rocks off, he and I both decided to lay back in our king-sized bed until we both dozed off.

Around 12:30 in the afternoon is about the time Ricky and I woke up. I hopped into the shower and about two minutes later, he hopped in right behind me. I knew what he wanted when he walked in the bathroom. It's not often that he and I take showers together, unless he wants to bend me over so he can hit it from the back. He knows I love giving it to him from the back, especially in the shower. The slapping noise our bodies make together in the water, as he's working himself in and out of me, turns me on.

After Ricky got his rocks off, he left the shower and returned to our bedroom to get dressed. "What you gon' do today?" I asked him as I entered into our bedroom, wrapped in a towel.

"Well, I'mma run by the spot out Norfolk and see why Eric and them can't get my dough straight."

"Please, don't go out there and scream on them like you got something to prove."

"I'm not. I'mma be cool 'til one of them niggas step out of pocket."

"See, that's one of the reasons I want your ass to stop hustling!" I pointed my finger at him.

"Won't you stop stressing yourself? Believe me, most niggas out there got nothing but respect for me."

"What about the one who don't?" I continued with my questions as I started to lotion my body down.

"I've got plenty of soldiers out there that'll outweigh that problem."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" was my response, hoping he'd catch the hint and shut up.

Unfortunately this wasn't the case. Ricky kept yapping on and on about how good his product was, and how the fiends were loving it. Once I had gotten enough of hearing about his street life, I grabbed a sweatsuit and a pair of Air Force Ones that matched my outfit and threw them both on. I scooped up my car keys and my Chanel handbag, and headed out the front door.

When I pulled up in front of my salon, it was packed. I knew I had at least four, if not five, of my clients waiting on me already. I know they were mad as hell, too, considering I was supposed to have been here three hours ago. My first appointment was at ten o'clock. Hell! I couldn't get up. After waiting up all night for my trifling-assed husband to come home and then after all the fussing I did, I still let him con me outta my drawz. As I made my way through the salon doors, I greeted everyone and told my ten o'clock client to go and sit at the washbowl. "Tasha, girl, please don't be mad wit' me," I began to explain as I threw the cape around her neck.

"Oh, it's alright. I ain't been waiting that long," Tasha replied.

"What you getting?"

"Just a hard wrap. I got two packs of sixteen-inch hair I wantcha to hookup."

"Did you bring a stocking cap?"

"Yep."

"A'ight. Well, lay back so I can get started."

Within the next two hours, I had all four of my clients situated. They were either under the dryer or on their way out the door. Seven more of my clients showed up, but three cancelled. I thanked God for that because I wouldn't be getting out of this shop until around ten or eleven o'clock tonight. That couldn't happen. I had to get home and wash those two loads of clothes I had packed up top of my hamper before I heard Ricky's mouth about it.

He loved for his house to be cleaned at any cost; If his ass wasn't so unfaithful, we could have had a housemaid, because nothing must be out of place. This fetish for absolute cleanliness got on my nerves sometimes. I mean, shit, ain't nothing wrong with leaving a damn dirty glass or a plate and a fork in the sink every now and then. As for certain garments in his wardrobe, I was forbidden to throw them in the washing machine. I was always reminded to read the label instructions for every piece of clothing he had. If it said "Dry Clean Only," then that's where it was going. I got a headache just thinking about it, so, I made a rule to put a big "H" on my chest and handle it.

A few more hours flew by and my other stylist's clients started falling out the door, one by one. This meant our time to go home was coming.

"Rhonda," I called out to one of my hair stylists, who happened to be one of the hottest beauticians in the Tidewater area.

"Yeah," she replied.

"You feel like giving me a roller set after I put my last client under the dryer?"

"Girl, you know I don't mind," Rhonda replied as she bopped her head to Lloyd Bank's single, "On Fire."

Rhonda's good people. I knew she was going to tell me yeah, before I attempted to even ask her. That's just her personality. She'd been working with me ever since I opened the doors to this shop four years ago. From day one, she's showed me nothing but love, even through all the drama her kid's father had been giving her. Her kid's father, Tony, is also a ladies' man; just like Ricky. I keep telling Rhonda to get him like I get my husband. Stick him where it hurts: either steal his money or his pack. It can't get any simpler than that. But nah, she ain't hearing me. That's why them hoes Tony's messing with was laughing at her, 'cause she was letting that nigga play her.

Now my other stylist, Sunshine, was working her game entirely different. She was your average-looking chick with ghetto-assed booty. Niggas loved her. Every time I turned around she had somebody else's man walking through my salon doors, bringing her shit.

Sunshine was strictly hustler bound. No other kind of man would attract her. You had to be driving a whip, estimating thirty Gs or better. And his dough had to be long. I'm talking like, from V.A. to the state of Rhode Island, to mess with that chick.

Oh, and Sunshine's wardrobe was tight, too. She wasn't gonna wear none of that fake-assed, knock-off Prada and Chanel that these hoes were getting from the Chinese people at the hair stores. No way. Sunshine was a known customer at Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy's.

I've seen the receipts. Sometimes I thought she was trying to be in competition with me, considering I was like a regular at those stores and all. But there can be no contest because when it's all said and done, I am and will always be the baddest bitch.

Since the day had almost come to an end, I sat back in Rhonda's station as she did her magic on my hair. We were in a deep conversation about her man Tony, when Ricky walked through the door. "Good evening," he said.

"What's up, Ricky!" Rhonda greeted him.

"Nothing much," he responded.

"Where you just coming from?" I wanted to know.

"From the crib."

"Our house?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's up?"

"I need to switch cars witcha," he said as he took a seat in one of the booth chairs across from me.

Something must be getting ready to go down. And he wasn't gonna spill the beans while Rhonda sitting up in here with me. I let her finish my hair and in the meantime, Ricky and I made idle conversation until she left. After she finished my hair, it only took her about ten minutes to clean up her station. Then Rhonda said her goodbyes and left.

"So, what you need my car for this time?" I wasted no time asking Ricky the second Rhonda left out the door.

As I waited for him to respond, I knew he could do one of three things. He could either tell me the truth, which could probably hurt him in some way later down the line. Or he could tell me a lie, which would really piss me off. And then he could throw Rule #7 at me from the Hustler's Manual, which insisted that he tell me nothing. A hustler's reason for that was: "The less your girl knows, the better off ya'll be."

"I need it to make a run," he finally said.

"What kind of run?"

"You don't need to know all that!" Ricky snapped.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Wifey by KIKI SWINSON
Copyright © 2004 by Kiki Swinson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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