Outta of Dime

|One|

Ringing! Uriah had just laid down and hour ago, and was knocked out as if Mike Tyson had sucker-punched her, when the phone rang. She groaned and rolled over to peek at the clock on her nightstand. The white numbers read 4:57 a.m. Rinng! Damn, who the hell was calling her at five in the morning?
It dawned on Uriah that it had to be about money. She quickly cleared the sleep frog from her throat so she wouldn't sound crusty and picked up her phone. "Hello?" It came out sounding sweet and velvety. "Why yo' ass ain't sleep yet? What, some nigga over there? I'm coming through in like fifteen, so get rid of the cocksucka."
Uriah recognizes the voice immediately but played him. "who's this?"
"Yo you on some bullshit. You got too many niggas. Bye man." He sounded real pissed.
"Amil wait! I'm just playing with you dang. i was sleeping, boo. And ain't yes babe nigga up in here. I told you I don't get down like that. Now what's up daddy?"
"I'm on my way to your crib now. Get up." Amil's tone was serious and demanding, as usual. "Take a shower and put on something sexy."
"Nigga, you know you ain't gotta tell me to wash my ass. I'm one of the cleanest chicks you fuck with. But make it thirty minutes, Amil."
"Nah, man, that's too long," Amil exclaimed, as if he'd temporarily morphed from a thug to a child on Christmas Eve.
"Oh, bae," Uriah cooed, like he was a little baby. "Just go to the store and get the rubbers. I'ma make it up to you."
"Yeah you better."
"Amil buy the condoms. You know how big Rocky is." Uriah meant to boost his ego, but she spoke the gospel truth. Amil was packing. She casually threw in her pitch. "So, am I getting blessed?"
Amil sucked his teeth impatiently. "Come on, don't play me like some broke-asses chump. You know how I get down. I ain't that you was fucking with earlier. Thirty minutes, man. See ya." Amil hung up before she could say another word.
Uriah stretched and gave herself a pep talk. "Get up and get that money, girl." Amil was a big tipper, so she smiles and slid out of her queen sized bed.
It wasn't just about funds. Uriah couldn't front; she really dug him. Unlike the others, Amil wasn't just some trick. There was something extraordinary about him. But Uriah didn't want to cross that line. Their arrangement was fine the way it was. Still, Amil was the one guy she'd consider loving outside of the life. That is, if he would have her.
Amil glances out the window of her condo window high up looking at the things below her. As dawn peeked through the clouds, Amil was discreet with where she lived because she was yes babe drama queen. She didn't like her business through Miami street, so outside of work, she kept a low profile. She fought to keep the two spheres of her life separate; the things she did for a living were taboo to her friends.They see all morning people with careers.
  Uriah didn't have to do what she did. She'd had a strict upbringing from decent, church-going parents with Southern roots. She's seen her father dib and dab and a couple of the over the years, though he always schooled her about morals and respect and made sure she knew right from wrong. But Uriah was a natural-born hustler. She had it in her blood.
She'd obtained her street savvy and prudence coming up in the learning institution of the hood, so she could take care of herself and wasn't afraid to go anywhere. She'd traveled along the coast paper-chasing, leaving a trail of satisfied men with lighter pockets in her wake. To Uriah, pussy was gold and should be treated as such; men were just big wallets. She chose the life, although she could get down intellectually also, because she had an education. Uriah was flexible and never ruled out any options.
Her friends knew she was an exotic dancer but were ignorant about the "privates" she did to keep her bank account fat and stayed laced. Uriah was a glamour girl, and it cost to dress in designer European threads. Make no mistake, she was fly as hell. When she wore Gucci, she did Gucci from shades to shoes. All official. She'd never be caught dead in any of that bootlegged knockoff shit. That's how Uriah whole crew rolled. They rocked top of the line shit, like, Marc Jacobs, Rene Caovilla, Prada, and Vera Wang. The only difference is that they had day jobs, while Uriah was queen of the night. Her girls didn't knock her, but they urged her to reach her full potential.
Ironically, Uriah got turned out trying to hustle up some extra cash in college. She completed school, but after she got-accustomed to the fast money and excitement, she couldn't escape the nightlife. Her logic was simple: Why work a day job for hundreds of dollars a week when I can make thousands?