"Kenya, let's go!" Trey yells for the millionth time.
I take one last look at the small, brick house. After all, I'll never see it again.
*****27 hours later*****
"This is it?" I scrunch my nose up. The tiny apartment has yellowish walls and a squeaky front door. Living nice my butt! My eyes float to the rusty windows that have probably never been closed.
Trey's eyes follow mine. "Kenya, this is LA. You know how hot it is. And it's been what--a minute and you already complaining? I thought we was done with this childish shit. I'm thirty-seven motherfuckin' years old, and I ain't babysitting no kids. We gon' do what we came out here to do: make money."
More like what you came out here to do, I think to myself. I stare at him for three seconds without saying a word. It's probably best to stay quiet, 'cause ain't none of this permanent. Still, I always found it hard to bite my tongue. Ha. Let's see how long this quiet nonsense lasts.
Ain't this what you chose? A voice in my head taunts me. It's right, though. I'm not in Jackson no more. As shitty as it is, I've made my bed, and now I gotta lay in it.
A grin spreads across Trey's stubbly face. "Aw, c'mere, baby," he teases. Within two seconds I'm engulfed in his arms. He leaves a nasty, sloppy kiss on my mouth, and I can only focus on the weed aftertaste. Yuck! I'm honestly too tired to fight it, though. A few boxes to unpack and then I can rest.
When I wake up it's 7:36 p.m. Shit! I forgot I promised Trey I'd do the cooking. I tiptoe downstairs in only a white t-shirt and underwear. If a killer were in the house, and I tried to be quiet, these damn stairs would be a dead giveaway. I stop in my tracks when I hear laughter.
The son of a bitch has company over and didn't tell me ahead of time! Who the fuck does he even know out here? Oh yeah, "I got connections, girl." I see a Hispanic looking man, about fifty, laughing on the couch with two girls on either side of him. Oh no, this can't be the guy...
What's worse is that Trey has the audacity to be eyeing the blonde hoe. The raven haired girl ain't getting no love. I have to keep reminding myself I don't love Trey--I could never--because men are nasty as hell. He was just a scapegoat in my plan to leave home. Now I need a plan to leave him.
As I turn around to go back upstairs and sleep, I bump into the closet door by the stairs. Who left it open anyway?
"Kenya?" Trey calls. Fuck.
"Yeah?"
"Come here. I got somebody for you to meet."
I shuffle in the living room awkwardly, trying to stretch the t-shirt as far down as possible as the old man stares shamelessly. Hell, I'm a stripper. I don't think I have morals anyway.
"Nice to meet ya, pretty," the old man says to me. "You told me she was hot, but I had no idea she looked like this, Trey." I'm surprised to hear this, considering he walked in with Long Legs #1 and Long Legs #2.
"Mhm. This is your new boss Nico," Trey says to me sternly. "He owns the hottest strip joint down here."
"O-ok, when do I start?" I ask.
"Tonight."
**********
"Whooahhh! That was liiiive!" I scream to Long Legs #2, the one with black hair. She's laughing. I found out her name's Shevaun, and she's a part-time student. We ain't worrying 'bout that right now, though. After my first night, we go out and get drunk. I count my money and decide on just one more shot.
"Girl, he was fiiine," Shevaun screams in my ear although I'm right next to her. We climb into her black Mercedes-Benz.
"Dude was a'ight." I laugh.
"You really that into Trey's saggy ass that you was gon' pass up a young brother who obviously had money? You tryna be lame or what?"
"No, and no. I'm just trying to live."
We fly down Melrose Avenue, drunk and incapable, and I think to myself. The west coast ain't lookin' too bad, although my vision just might be tinted by the green I'm seeing right now.
