Real Wifeys: Get Money by Meesha Mink Page A

stressed.
    Eve flipped Michel the bird. “Y’all know what the fuck I meant,” she said.
    “Barely. Shit, I was looking for ice cream, bananas, and whipped cream and shit. I was lost like a motherfucker for a sec,” Michel teased.
    Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . . Bzzzzzz . . .
    I picked up the vibrating BlackBerry just as Michel jumped to his feet and started rapping the hook from Wu-Tang’s “Ice Cream.” “French vanilla, butter-pecan, chocolate deluxe. Even caramel sundaes is gettin’ touched.”
    Laughing, I answered the call without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
    “Oh, you fucking laughing and my son in fucking jail, bitch!”
    My heart dropped into my stomach at Peaches’ words. I waved my hand for Michel to be quiet. “What did you say? Make$ locked up?” I asked.
    “Yes, he told me to call you. We need to get to Philly ASAP.”
    I jumped to my feet, already sliding on my shoes. “In Philly? What happened? What’s going on?”
    “That bitch Goldie said Fiyah and Tank raped her and then said my mufuckin’ son helped cover the shit up. The police locked all three of they asses up.”
    The strength left my knees and I sat back down. Michel and Eve were looking at me for details, but what the fuck could I say? The same bitch I caught my man eating out in the club just got him locked up in another state and now he want me to come be by his side like one of those wives of a cheating politician or minister or some shit. Looking stupid. Looking played out. Caught up in they bullshit.
    “I will handle it, Luscious.”
    All of a sudden, his promise after I saw the DVD of Peaches getting that girl jumped came back to me.
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    Did him trying to handle or take care of what his crew did to Goldie get his ass in jail? But why would he cover up them raping his side-chick? And did he forget that he told me he fired Goldie?
    “The twins drove the truck to Maryland, so I need you to come get me, Luscious.”
    I bit my lip as my thoughts raced just as hard as my heart.
    When was enough enough?
    “Luscious!”
    I wanted to tell her, Fuck your son, because he’s getting what he deserves for even dealing with that ratchet bitch behind my back. I wanted to hang up the phone in her face. I wanted all those crazy motherfuckers out of my life.
    But that would piss him off and my money would be shorted. I wanted no part of a stripper pole again, and Make$ owed me the good life.
    “I’m on my way,” I said, ending the call.
    Damn.
    Goldie had been raped.
    That’s all that kept playing in my head as we drove through the busy Philly streets to the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility.
    Not “My man is locked up.”
    Not “I hope my man is okay.”
    Not “Make$ is already on probation.”
    Not “I can’t wait to get to the police station.”
    Not “Has his lawyer gotten to the police station yet?”
    Not even “I wish Peaches would stop complaining about me bringing Eve and Michel with us.”
    Goldie got raped.
    Bitch probably lying , I thought as I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
    And if she wasn’t?
    Fuck her. Serve the bitch right.
    You lie down with dogs and you get up with fleas.
    And I meant that shit. Fuck Goldie. She deserved one of those beat-downs Peaches’ ass had put on that girl.
    Funny how hate will make you see—and feel—shit differently.
    My BlackBerry vibrated in my left hand while I steered with the right. “It’s the lawyer,” I told Peaches, while I answered the call and pulled over to park in front of a homeless shelter.
    “Hurry up and answer,” she snapped, sitting tense as hell in the passenger seat decked out in twelve shades of blue.
    Shut the fuck up! “Mr. Levitz, I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
    “Mr. Gardner just had his bail hearing and there was no bail set—”
    Peaches cried out and then slumped down in the seat so low that I thought she passed out completely. I ignored the bitch.
    “Also he failed a drug test and I already spoke