The Real Hood Wives of St. Pete. (Chapter Two)

***WARNING*** This excerpt contains strong language and adult situations. Read at your own risk.


Chapter Two: Sharniece Brown

Sharniece had just finished dropping her five-year-old daughter, Shantae, and four-year-old, Alizé, off at the Jordan Park Head Start Center. Two-year-old, Courvoisier, was in the stroller acting up.
“Girl, cut out that cryin’ and shit befo’ I beat yo’ ass,” Sharniece yelled, only furthering increasing the toddler’s wails. “You getting’ on my fuckin’ nerves. Shit, I wish I coulda had my tubes tied after havin’ Alizé.”
A white Cadillac Escalade with shiny spinners pulled up, slowing so the driver could let down the dark-tinted, automatic window.
“What’s up, Red?” he greeted, looking Sharniece up and down. She wore tight booty shorts, a spaghetti sleeve tank top and wedge sandals. Her hair was on point, and her nails had recently been hooked up with a French manicure.
“Ain’t nothin’ up. I’m just tryna get this cryin’ ass baby home,” she said.
“You need a ride?”
“Nah. I live right on the next street.”
Sharniece could tell he was a dope boy. Otherwise, he’d already be at work or on his way to work since it was almost eight o’clock. From what she could see, he looked good. He was a light-skinned dude with dimples and, he had a flashing gold-grill. It was real gold too, not that fake, dull shit niggas in the ‘hood fronted with.
“You ‘bout makin' some money, lil Mama?” he asked.
“It depends. How much you talkin’ ‘bout?” She knew what was up. She wasn’t new to the game. If she wanted to get out of the projects, she needed to get her money up. The only way to do that was by keeping her legs open. Dope boys paid for pussy, and she was no stranger to selling them what they wanted.
“You need yo’ electric bill paid, lil Mama?”
“Actually, I do. Duke Energy trippin’. They done already sent me a shut-off notice.”
“Well, I don’t want you and ya baby in the dark. Let me help you out.” He flashed a stack of money, baiting her. “How much you need?”
“It’s a hundred and eighty-one dollars.”
“That ain’t shit. I got you.” He’d reeled her in. She wasn’t about to turn down the offer. Why go down to the Urban League, Salvation Army or Human Services to beg to get her light bill paid when she could fuck for twenty minutes and get the money?
“I live right there.” She pointed to her apartment. “You can park and come inside,” she invited.
“Aiight. That’s what’s up. What’s ya name, lil Mama?” he thought to ask. She didn’t feel offended because she really didn’t give a shit. She wasn’t trying to marry the nigga, just fuck him and move on to the next one.
“Sharniece, but everybody call me Niecey.”
“I’m ‘bout to beat the brakes off that fat pussy, Niecey. You sure you ‘bout it?”
“Hell yeah. Hurry yo’ ass up and show me, nigga.”
He was talking like he could really fuck. That shit turned her on. She hurried up the steps of her apartment, struggling to get the stroller up them because she didn’t feel like taking Courvoisier out of it. She saw Tina the Crackhead at her next door neighbor’s house looking pitiful. Tina always looked like she was about to cry. She was forever begging, too.
“Hey, Niecey,” Tina called to her when she left Makayla’s house. “You seen J’Aisha?” she asked.
“Nah. Not today. The last time I seent her was yesterday.” She knew seent wasn’t a word, but she wasn’t in English class. She was in the ‘hood and would speak accordingly.
I hope her ass don’t start begging. It’s too early for that shit.
She was glad when Tina took her ashy, chapped-lipped ass on down the sidewalk. A few minutes later, Draya stormed out of Makayla’s apartment looking pissed. She walked so fast that she twisted the heel on one of her Red Bottoms.
“Shit,” she swore, bending to inspect the heel. “Fuck this shit.” She threw up her hands. “Fuck that hoe. Fucking bitch is just a hater.” She ranted all the way to her car. She got in and took off like a bat out of hell, tires screeching and leaving skid marks in the road.
What the fuck is wrong with that hoe? Sharniece wondered. She really didn’t care, because she and Draya had fucked the same man. She didn’t have any animosity toward the bitch, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. John-John was community dick, but Draya acted like she couldn’t understand that. The way Niecey saw it: every dick could be borrowed. The hoes got lucky when she decided to give it back. She just hadn’t met a man that she wanted to settle down with. Until that time came, she’d continue to stick and move, getting their money and catching a nut in the process.
She went inside, grabbed a Pop Tart and Capri Sun juice box. She put Courvoisier in the bedroom after giving her the food and juice.
“Eat this and drink ya juice. Watch TV and don’t come out of the room until I say so,” she said. “If you come out, I’ma beat yo’ ass,” she threatened and shut the door. The room was filled with toys, a TV, PlayStation and everything else that kept children entertained. Courvoisier would be fine for a couple of hours.
When she went to the door to wait for the dope boy, she saw Missy Poo, AKA Stank Cooch, get out of her car and head toward Makayla’s house.
She had to give Makayla her props. She got up and starting doing hair early in the morning. Ain’t no way in hell she’d be up at eight o’clock working on nobody’s head. She could braid, but she only braided her own shit. Besides, bitches in the hood were always trying to get something for free. They’d promise to pay you, but would have an excuse as soon as you finished hooking their shit up. She wasn’t about to be wearing an orange jumpsuit because she had to slap somebody’s teeth out behind her money.
The dude sauntered up the sidewalk. He looked better than she’d thought. He was about six feet four and all solid. He might have done a stint in prison and had worked out to pass the time.
She opened the door and invited him inside. She escorted him straight to her bedroom to get right down to business.
“Put the money on the dresser,” she said as soon as she’d shut the bedroom door.
He did as instructed and dropped his pants. “That’s five hundred. I want head and everything,” he said watching her get undressed.
“You can fuck me in the ass for another $200,” she told him.
His brow rose, but he peeled another two crisp hundred dollar bills off the stack and placed them on the dresser with the rest of the bills.
“That’s what’s up. You my kinda bitch,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m glad that ass caught my attention, and I stopped you.”
“Shut up talkin’ and fuck me,” she snapped, bending over and bouncing her ass like a stripper. She reached back and parted her pussy lips with her fingers, letting two slip inside. “Come get this pussy and act like you own it.”
“Well, damn, Red. Aiight. If that’s what you want. Shit that pussy glistening.” He tore the plastic off the Magnum fast and rolled it on his dick. “Shit. I’ma bust one befo’ I even slide it in if you keep playin’ with that monkey, Shawty.”

Almost two hours later, after getting pounded by the dope boy, Niecey could barely walk. He’d been hung like a fucking horse, and he’d liked it rough. Since he’d given her money, she couldn’t tell him no. He’d shoved his huge dick into every crevice she possessed. She almost thought she would end up in the ER. She was glad when he’d finally busted a nut.
“Damn, you got that good pussy,” he exclaimed. “Lil Mama, I’ma hafta come back through here from time to time. That’s straight?”
“Yeah,” she said. As long as he paid, she didn’t give a fuck how often he came by. She watched as he got dressed thinking the nigga had to have a hard time getting women to let him fuck them. He could damage a bitch’s fallopian tubes, cervix and ovaries with his massive dick. Her mouth, throat, pussy and ass ached.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, catching her staring at his penis.
“Nothin’. I think I’ma have to soak in a tub of Epsom salt. You got me sore as fuck.”
“I told you I was gon’ beat the brakes off that pussy. I’m a man of my word.”
“Well, you could have taken it easy,” she said.
He finished getting dressed and gave her a smirk. “Ain’t nothin’ easy ‘bout me, lil Mama. That’s why they call me Dangerous.”
She walked him to the door and let him out. “Keep that pussy tight for me, aiight Red?”
“I will, Big Daddy,” she said while she thought, Whatever, nigga. She hated being called Red. She’d told the nigga her name.
She took a shower then went to check on Courvoisier. When she saw the two-year-old had scribbled on the walls with crayons, she went ape shit. She grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on and beat the child with it. Thankfully, it was just a Fisher-Price Laugh & Learn Puppy. Even so, Courvoisier screamed and cried, begging her mama to stop hitting her. She finally got her temper under control and left the room.
“I swear, one day, I’ma been done killed that girl,” she muttered going into her own room. She couldn’t stand that child because she looked just like her trifling daddy. For the hundredth time, she regretted her decision to let Antony go raw the last time they’d had sex. He’d promised to pull out, but hadn’t. Nine months later, Courvoisier came out screaming and Antony got ghost. She hadn’t heard from him in almost three years. She’d finally given up on thinking he’d come to his senses and want to be a part of his child’s life. She made that trek to the child support office and took the necessary steps to put him on papers. The state of Florida could deal with his ass. She hoped he still worked at the nursing home, too. Last she’d heard, he’d gone to school to become a physical therapist. Good. More money for him meant bigger child support payments for her. She couldn’t wait until they garnished those wages.
She already received $400 a month from Shantae’s dad, Shane. Since he was a drug dealer, he paid her in cash every month to keep the man out of his business. He wasn’t the best father, but he wasn’t the worst either. He got his daughter sometime, and he even treated Niecey civil when he wasn’t dating anyone.
Alizé’s dad was another story. He paid child support but that shit he’d been order to pay was wack. He was a male stripper who had about thirteen kids in St. Pete., Tampa, Sarasota, Clearwater—whatever city his dick traveled to. She received less than $20 a month from his trifling ass. He didn’t come see his daughter, call to check up on her or nothing. He had been a true sperm donor. She regretted the night she’d ever gone backstage to help him get ready before a show. Neither of them had a condom, but she’d wanted to fuck him so bad she’d let him go in unprotected. To that day, she was thankful a baby had been the only thing he’d given her.

Sharniece picked up the seven hundred dollars she’d made that day. She spread it out in front of her face and stared at herself in the full-length mirror. “Damn.” One of her tracks was sticking up. Dangerous had pulled on her hair and slapped her ass a few times while hitting it from the back. She hadn’t realized how hard he’d pulled. She would have to go next door and see if Makayla could sew her track back in. She couldn’t be walking around looking all jacked up. If she wanted to use her money maker, she had to be on point at all times.
Holding the money in one hand, she did a duck-mouth pose in the mirror and took a picture with her new iPhone. She sent it to her Facebook account with the caption: “You betta werk, bitch!”
Since she’d calmed down, she went back in the girls’ room and got Courvoisier. She felt kind of bad for losing her temper and taking it out on the child. After all, the crayons had been the kind that could wash right off. She took the two-year-old into the bathroom, let her use the potty and cleaned her face.
“You need your hair done. I’ma see if Makayla can braid your hair for me. I don’t feel like doing it.”
“I love you, Mama.” The little girl looked at her with expectation in her soft, brown, trusting eyes. Niecey wanted to say the words back, but they stuck in her throat. Besides, if she said them, they’d be a lie.
“Come on. Let’s go.” Feeling angry for no apparent reason, she snatched her daughter by the arm. She almost dragged the toddler, because she couldn’t keep up with her long strides. “Move yo’ ass, Courvoisier, befo’ I smack the shit outta you.” She hurried and put Courvoisier back in the stroller that she’d left by the front door and strapped her in. “Don’t start that damn cryin’,” she snapped and gave her another Capri Sun to keep her quiet.
She had to go to Amscot to pay the electric bill and buy a money order to send to someone. She hated catching the bus, but a cab would take too long. A cab cost too much anyway. Bus fare was only $2.00.
I wish I had a car, she thought. She didn’t have to wait too long before her wish came true. She’d almost saved up enough to get the 2004 Lexus RX 330 she had her eye on. She didn’t care if it wasn’t a new vehicle. New meant she’d have to make payments. She planned to drop ten grand in somebody’s palm and own her shit. That way no tow truck could come and jack her auto up while her nosey neighbors watched and laughed.
She was on her way to the bus stop in order to catch the Route 7 headed for Grand Central Station. She hadn’t even made it down the block before a maroon-colored Chrysler with dark tinted windows slowed down. The dude inside stopped and opened the door. She almost laughed. If he had so much money, why didn’t he get his window fixed?
“What’s up, Shawty?”
“Nothin’.” It wasn’t even nine o’clock and the sun already made it feel like ninety degrees. “I’m on my way to this bus stop.”
“Where you headed?”
“Amscot.”
“I’ll give you and ya baby a ride,” he offered.
“I don’t know you like that,” she said, trying to pretend to be cautious. It was just a game she played. She’d already made up her mind to get a ride and to blow him for some extra cash if necessary.
“I’m not an ax murderer. My name’s Sean Johnson. What’s yo’ name?”
“Sharniece, but you can call me Niecey.”
“Okay Niecey. Now that we’ve become acquainted, can I offer you a ride? I don’t like seeing such a fine young lady as you walking in this hot sun trying to catch a bus.”
Sean seemed like an okay kind of guy. He got out and helped her let down Courvoisier’s stroller and put it in the trunk. Even though she fucked most of the men she met, she did keep a few as platonic friends. Sean would remain in the platonic category. He didn’t look like he knew how to fuck anyway.
“You lucked up. I even got a car seat for lil mama,” he said.
Niecey watched him put her daughter in the car seat and fasten it. She was starting to like him a bit more by the minute.
“So, you got a kid?” she asked, climbing in on the passenger’s side.
“Yeah. I got a two-year-old son, Stephon. What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Courvoisier,” she said.
“What? Like the cognac?” he asked.
“Yes. I was drunk when I got pregnant with her and with my other daughter, Alizé. You got a problem with their names?” she asked, her tone loud.
“Whoa. Hold up. I was just making conversation. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with the names Courvoisier or Alizé.” She could tell he was lying and it made her smile slightly.
“I have another daughter, too,” she said.
“Did you name her Hennessy?”
“Real funny.” She gave him a playful punch in the arm. “She has a normal name. Well, at least I think Shantae is normal.”
“Yes, it’s normal,” he agreed. “Ghetto, but normal.” She laughed again, really starting to relax. “So, how old are they? Three girls are all you have, right?” he asked, and she nodded.
“My oldest is five, Alizé is four and that one-” she indicated the one in the back seat with a nod of her head. “-is two.”
“Wow. You must have your hands full,” he said in a sympathetic tone.
“Tell me about it. I’m so glad the oldest two are in head start. If I can find somebody to babysit Courvoisier, I plan to start school in the fall.”
“Really? What do you want to be, Sharniece?”
She rolled her eyes at the use of her first name. “I want to learn hotel and motel management.”
He nodded. “That’s cool.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a corrections officer at the Pinellas County Juvenile Detention Center.”
He wasn’t a dope boy after all, just liked to front in a car that looked like a drug dealer’s. That explained why he couldn’t get his window fixed. On a correctional officer’s salary, he probably barely kept his rent and bills paid.
“We’re here,” he said, pulling up in front of Amscot. “You can go in and take care of your business. I’ll make sure you daughter is safe. I won’t let anything happen to her,” he said.
Sharniece hesitated, but when she turned around in the seat to look at Courvoisier, she saw the baby was nodding off. She didn’t want to move her. It would only take a few minutes to go inside Amscot, pay the bill, get a money order and come back out.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him, getting out to head inside the facility. Two homeless men stood on either side of the door begging for money. She didn’t understand why the manager at Amscot let them hang around panhandling. Seeing their scraggly asses, standing there with their dusty hands out, probably scared off potential customers.
“Got any spare change?” One with oily blonde hair asked.
“Hell nah. You not about to get drunk off my money,” Sharniece said and rolled her eyes.
“Got a dollar?” the other one asked.
“Fuck outta here,” she said and pulled the glass door open to enter.
For some reason, everybody and their mama seemed to show up at Amscot the minute she did. The line was pretty long and only three people worked the windows. She waited impatiently for her turn. When she finally got up to the window, she paid her bill and asked for a money order. The dude assisting her looked like a square, but he was cute. She gave him a flirtatious smile.
“How are you today, ma’am?” he asked politely, sliding the receipt and money order under the hole in the glass partition.
“I could be better if you gave me your number-” She glanced at his nametag “-Bruce.”
His brow rose in surprise then his face broke out in a big grin. She’d probably made his day. He appeared to be Hispanic or biracial. She could tell he wasn’t used to black women hitting on him. He grabbed one of the Amscot brochures and jotted his number down on it. He slid it through the hole. “You can call me any time. I get off at six,” he said.
She smiled and put the brochure, money order and receipt into her Ralph Lauren purse. “Bye,” she said and sashayed away. She knew he was looking at her ass because every other man there was, too.
When she got back to the car, Sean had the back door on the passenger’s side open.
“I’m sorry it took so long. Did she wake up?” Sharniece asked. She stepped around the door to look at her child. She couldn’t believe that Sean had just finished changing her diaper. The diaper bag he’d put in the trunk sat on the back seat next to the baby wipes. She didn’t know what to make of it.
“She was crying because she needed to be changed,” he told her as if a grown man changing the diaper of a baby he’d just met was completely normal.
“Why didn’t you come get me?” she asked.
“Why? I know how to change a diaper. I’ve done it hundreds of times,” he stated.
Sharniece didn’t want to cause a scene in the parking lot of Amscot. She just got a weird feeling about him changing the diaper of a complete stranger’s baby. Who did that?
“Next time, just tell me,” she said, forcing herself to calm down. Maybe he was just a nice, generous person who liked to help other people. She wasn’t used to men being nice unless they wanted to fuck.
“No problem. Do you want to stop somewhere and get something to eat?” he asked. “My treat,” he added.
“Well, yeah. Okay. Some garlic crabs sound good. I think T & T is just opening right about now.”
“We’ll stop and get some on the way,” he told her. “Can you buckle her back in the car seat while I throw this smelly diaper away?”
Sharniece put her baby back in the car seat and got in on the passenger’s side. She watched Sean as he returned to the car. He was a tall, handsome, well-dressed dude. He didn’t seem like a child molester at all. She had to stop being so suspicious. She didn’t want to run him off when they’d just met.
Sean slid into the driver’s seat and looked over at her. “Sharniece, you got a man?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“I’m going to work on changing that.”

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