From Publishers WeeklyLast seen for the duration of a short walk-on (or rather, incall) in Thug-a-Licious, Saucy Robinson returns with a payback in Noire’s latest Harlem street tale, with Noire’s most sophisticated plot to date. Born in Harlem to a black ex-G.I. father and a junkie Korean prostitute mother, Saucy (named Seung Cee by her mother and Sarita by her father) ends up in her uncle Swag’s care by age eight, after her mother pimps her out to respective men and her lesbian lover. Saucy’s upstairs neighbor is a black girl named Tai, and the two are on-again, off-again frenemies for the rest of the book. Saucy, a total hottie, ends up attached to respective drug dealers and working at a strip joint, the G-Spot. She breaks into doing rap videos, and ordinary-looking Tai, who is working for super-rapper Freedom Moore, hooks them up. Free wants Saucy to act straight, and if she can, her pleasure might be assured. Beyond the sex, what drives the book is Saucy’s vivid, trash-talking unreliability—except perhaps in describing her own pleasure. (Mar.)
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About the AuthorNoire is an author from the streets of New York whose hip-hop (erotic|sexual pleasure|sexually arousing stories pulsate with urban flavor. She is the #1 Essence bestselling author of G-Spot, Candy Licker, Baby Brother, and Thug-A-Licious, and the editor-in-chief of NOIREMagazine.com. Visit her website at www.asknoire.com or e-mail her at noire@asknoire.com.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.ÔªØ
Chapter 1
This was gonna be my last damn time riding somebody’s nasty Prison Gap bus. Babies were crying, music was blasting, and each ghetto trick in New York City was attempting to get upstate for a trailer visit. I elbowed the hefty sistah who was sitting on my right. A licked-down watermelon stick was clutched in her fat fist, and she was snoring like a truck driver when we hadn’t even hit the highway yet. I pushed her ass even harder. She had the whole damn window to lean up against, but she insisted on pouring that chocolate Jell-O all over me.
I crossed my legs and tried not to let too much of my Fendi jacket touch the stained cloth seats. There wasn’t no telling how numerous skeezers had sat their stank asses here before me, and I wasn’t anxious to pick not one thing up on my last trip.
New York was hot as hell for September, and right outside, Columbus Circle was live and jumping. Brothas was hoopin’ beneath lights and slamming killers on the handball courts in Central Park. White boys skateboarded off half-pipe ramps with regards to to bust they asses. A Sabrett cart sat on the corner where tourists lined up to buy dirty franks with onions and sauerkraut.
The bus I was on had a big number 4 taped to both sides. Fifty dollars and an eight-hour ride would get me upstate to Sullivan County’s Woodburne Correctional Facility where my gangsta boo, Sincere, was finishing up his last two months of a one-year bid.
Sincere was in the first place from L.A., but had come to Harlem to run product with galore Haitians that he was down with in a major way. But you recognise how it goes. Niggas got shiesty, shit got shady, and Sincere ended up getting knocked for associating with known felons and violating his parole.
For the past ten months I’d been climbing my ass on the bus right along with all the rest of the jailhouse wifeys, and enduring that long-behind ride upstate, not only to see my sugar daddy, but to keep his game alive. Shit, couldn’t no prison bars keep a gangsta like Sincere on lock. My boo was getting his hustle on from deep inside the joint. He controlled the cash game by keeping his buyers and his suppliers apart and wholly dependent on him for all contact, and my occupation was to be the selective information broker who helped him keep the two ends from meeting.
Life with Sincere was sweet, even if he was locked down. He did his bid, while I kept down his three-bedroom apartment that he had let me decorate with the finest shit cash could buy. I shopped my ass off, tricking his chips to keep myself looking and sentiment grand. And best of all, I didn’t have to worry in regards to shit except helping him keep his empire thriving while he chilled lovely in the belly of the beast.
So twice a month I made a product run. I picked up a sample package from a indicated location, and carried it behind the walls of the medium-security prison where I tongue-slipped it to my boo. And in return he slipped me two addresses. One to the spot where the remaining product could be found, and the other that told me where the cash would be waiting to change hands.
Even altho I was journeying on a lot of phony ID I had purchased from a good deal of white businessmen in Midtown, shit could go wrong at any time. It was highrisk as hell transporting drugs into a state prison, but today’s trip had a dual purpose. Nothing coulda stopped me from getting next to Sincere’s black ass on this goddamn visit. The game had changed, but that nigga just didn’t recognise it. A little birdie had dropped a lot of real gutta shit in my ear, and if I played my cards right, I would walk outta that prison with a lot of chips and numerous payback all at the same time.
Tossing my curls, I checked out a great deal of of the stunts who were straggling onto the bus. According to my Rolex we must have been moving by now, but there were so a lot of baby mamas dragging their whining kids and buying goods bags full of feed and toys, that we were running behind.
I elbowed the snoring Fat and Fruity sitting there leaning left and flopping all over me until she opened her eyes and straightened her ass up. That watermelon stick wasn’t doing shit to cover up all that Henny coming outta her pores. She gave me a shitty look and sucked her teeth, then pressed her face versus the booger-crusted window and went right back to sleep.
Unlike a lot of these chicks, I never slept on the bus. I didn’t care how tired I was or how long I had to ride. I never closed my eyes anyplace unless the atmosphere was right, and them gangsta bitches riding the Prison Gap bus didn’t make me feel precisely cozy.
Twenty minutes later the bus was full and I was watching the streets of Manhattan slip past outside. Big girl was still knocked out on my right, and a heap of bugged-out chick with three stair-step kids was fussing on my left.
“These goddamn kids!” she complained, slapping the bottom of her toddler’s sneaker to get it back on his foot. “Ain’t not anyone tell you,” she said, twisting and turning his foot and attempting to strength it back inside the highpriced little sneaker, “to take off your goddamn shoe!”
The baby hollered like she was breaking his ankle.
“Shut the fuck up!” I muttered, turning away from them. I hoped like hell he wasn’t gonna be crying and fussing all the way upstate. At least not sitting next to me. I knew his mama had heard me because she sucked her teeth real loud.
” ‘Scuse me?” This ho was actually tapping on my arm.
I looked down at her grimy-ass hand with the raggedy, bit-back nails, then straight into her face with much heat in my eyes.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” I snapped, shaking her off.
She quit messing with the baby’s shoe and gave me the bitch-hell-no-you-didn’t look.
“Well fuck you too! I was just gonna ask you what time it was, but now I see! Ya Chinese-looking trick!”
“Well stop smoking crack and buy a fuckin’ watch!”
“You better leave her crazy ass alone,” a girl who was sitting in front of her turned around and laughed. “Bitch prob’ly know karate.”
I knew where this chick was going, but like most persons she had altogether missed the mark. Don’t let the chinky eyes fool you. At five feet nine, with a hundred and twenty pounds of titties, ass, light brown skin and slanted eyes, I’d been hearing that “Chinese” shit all my life. The real scoop was, I was half black and half Asian. My father had been a heroin fiend from Harlem, and my mother was a Korean prostitute who had turned him out while he was stationed in her country with the marines. Daddy had married Kimichi and brought her back home to New York with him, and when he got popped in an armed robbery a few years later, me and my moms were left stranded on 128th Street with nowhere else to go.
I kept my eyes forward and ignored the chick in my ear. What she necessitated to do was take care of all them nasty-nosed kids and keep her dirty hands up off of me. A lot of bitches assumed I was soft because of the way I looked. And yes, I was a dime from head to toe. I’d gotten the best of both worlds. Long, curly hair, soft brown skin, chinky eyes and a dazzling smile. And the body. Yeah, the body was from Bally’s and each inch of it was tight. A nigga could eat a whole meal off the hump in my ass. In fact, if you put me in a butt-out contest with hoes like Buffie, or Nutmeg, or Ki Toy, I’d shut all of them down. My lady lumps were just that humped.
We made our basi stop in regards to an hour later, someplace outside of the city.
“Okay, people!” the bus coordinator yelled as we pulled into a gas station that had a comfortableness store attached. “This is a ten-minute stop! You may go in the store and get something to eat, use the bathroom or do whatever. Just be back on this bus in ten minutes, or be left!”
Big girl next to me was still snoring up versus that nasty window and I left her ass right there. The wheels had hardly stopped turning when I grabbed my Dior purse and sameness during one night bag. I jumped out my seat and beat most of the mamas and their babies down the aisle, then hopped off the bus.
A second bus going to Woodburne had just pulled up behind us, so I hurried up inside the store and found the bathroom. A few people had gotten in there before me, but I cut the line and pushed my way in front of two little girls, then found an empty stall and locked the door behind me.
I checked my bag and made sure my doe and my sample product was straight, then I flushed the toilet with the tip of my shoe and walked back out. At the sink, I washed my hands and pretended to mess with my hair. I arranged my jet-black natural curls around my shoulders while I looked in the mirror and checked out every one who stepped through the door behind me.
And they were checking me out too.
I had on a pair of Baby Phat jeans that showed off my little waist and bubble ass and a satin corset under my jacket. I laughed inside as chicks walked in the bathroom and glanced around, then zoomed in on that full phatty package in my trunk before looking away, like what I was keeping could perhaps be ignored. My attention shifted when a tired-looking wide walked over to the sink and smiled at me through the mirror.
“Hey,” she said shyly. She had red freckles on her yellow pie face and a huge rotten grin. “You going to Sullivan?”
I shook my head as I calculated her circumstance at a glance: She was young, broke, trifling, and going upstate to visit a criminal nigga who was depending on her to keep his gear fresh and his commissary fat.
“Nah. I’m going to Woodburne. They right next to each other though.”
She pumped soap from the dispenser and rubbed it all over her hands.
“This my introductory time riding. My baby’s father just got sent up for something he didn’t even do! But I’ma keep it real, regardless. He got five years, and me and my son gone do all five of them years right along with him.”
Stupid ass. She was looking at me like I was supposed to agree with that nonsense. Her picture came through real clear. Home-permed hair that had broken off all around the edges, dirty sneakers, nice body, but no style. I gave her a phony smile, then strutted out the bathroom wi…
Down and Dirty
Too Hot to Trot!