The Prada Plan

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Disaya Morgan, a character first introduced in Girls from Da Hood 4, returns in this gritty tale of a money-hungry woman who finds her life spinning out of control. When Disaya meets Indie and falls hopelessly in love, she is determined to keep her lifestyle a secret—but everything done in the dark eventually comes to light. When she loses control of her own hustle, things go horribly wrong, and she learns the hard way that, in the game she’s playing, there are no winners.

Release date: September 20, 2022

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 432

Sample

“Where the fuck is my pumps? YaYa! You better not have your little hot-to-trot-ass in my shoes! Mama gon’ light fire under your behind. If I done told you once, I’ve told you twice about being in my shit,” Dynasty yelled as she walked into her daughter’s room. When she saw her daughter standing in the full-length mirror wearing one of her black sequin dresses and a pair of her designer high heels, she had to smile. All of the anger left her face as she admired her only child’s curly, untamed hair and beautiful green eyes.

Dynasty didn’t know where her daughter got those damn eyes from. She always suspected that Disaya was really the illegitimate child of one of her clients, but Buchanan Slim, her pimp and lover, would never hear of it. He loved Disaya the minute she came bursting out of Dynasty’s pink pussy and had laid claim to the child despite the speculation of his other hoes and business associates.

Having Disaya was like a blessing to Dynasty. When she had given birth she had immediately been upgraded. She went from a street-walking, dick-sucking ho to a high-paid, dick-sucking ho; not that it made a difference, but in her world, where pussy was worth more than gold, there was distinction between bitches who got on their knees for fifty dollars and those who got on their knees for thousands. She was the HBIC of Slim’s operation, and although their relationship before Disaya was strictly business with pleasure, after her daughter was born Slim and Dynasty quickly fell for one another.

Slim loved Dynasty and worshiped Disaya. He didn’t care that Dynasty was a prostitute. In fact, he kept her working purposefully because she brought in more money than any of his other hoes, but instead of servicing regular everyday-type niggas, she began to service Wall Street–working, pulpit-preaching, and moneymaking mogul-type niggas. In simple terms, she became that bitch in the sex game.

Dynasty didn’t mind that Slim continued working her because theirs wasn’t a fairy-tale love. They lived the street life in the underworld, where Prince Charmings had never been heard of. Dynasty did not believe in white ponies and happily ever after. All she knew was struggle, and the fact that Slim could provide her security and comfort was all that mattered to her. The way that Slim loved her was the only way she knew of it to be, so she accepted it gratefully . . . pimping and all. Dynasty was a hot commodity in her profession because she became the woman to see for an amazing night.

“You look gorgeous, baby doll, but Mama needs those shoes,” she stated as she approached Disaya and picked her tiny body up and out of the size eight heels. “Why you always pick the most expensive shoes in Mommy’s closet to play in? You never go for the old Payless shit. You put your stankin’ little toes in the same pair of Prada pumps every time.” Dynasty grabbed the side of her daughter’s face and shook it gently as she playfully reprimanded her. Disaya laughed and revealed a toothless grin as she exposed her two missing front teeth. She was only six years old, but Dynasty already knew that her daughter would be one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the earth.

“I like Pada, it’s cotor,” Disaya stated as she watched her mother slip into the shoes and walk toward the dresser to apply her makeup.

“That’s Prada, baby, and you mean couture. I see your damn daddy done had you around one of your tacky-ass aunties. Where did you learn that word?” she asked her daughter.

“Auntie Lai taught me,” Disaya responded cluelessly.

“Fuck does she know about couture? That busted bitch wouldn’t know couture if Donatella Versace personally handpicked her tramp-ass for a ho-stroll down the catwalk,” Dynasty stated heatedly.

Dynasty and Slim had explained their lifestyle to Disaya by convincing her that all of Slim’s hoes were her aunties. Dynasty hated the fact that Slim still had sexual relations with his other hoes, and especially didn’t like the fact that he was taking Disaya around them so regularly. That mu’fucka is definitely gon’ hear my mouth about that shit. His slick-ass, she fumed silently.

“Why I can’t wear your Prada, Mommy? I can pay you. Daddy gave me a lot of money,” Disaya stated naively, the innocence of her youthful voice filling the room and making Dynasty look at her daughter with love.

Dynasty remembered when her own view of the world had been so vague. It was before she had known anything about bills and eviction notices. . . about cockroaches and mice . . . or about debt and taxes. Now her viewpoint was much more cynical.

Dynasty sat down on Disaya’s bed and patted her knee. “Come here, baby doll,” she stated.

Disaya climbed onto her mother’s lap and began to play with her hair. “You’re so pretty, Mommy,” Disaya said as she pretended to fix her mother’s hair.

“Yeah, Mommy’s pretty, YaYa, but you are beautiful, baby doll. You like fine things. You like to walk around in six-hundred dollar shoes, huh?” Dynasty asked her daughter.

Disaya just nodded her head as she continued to play in her mother’s hair.

“That love for the finer things in life ain’t gon’ ever change. You like Mommy’s things, but Mommy won’t always be here, baby doll. You have to learn to get it on your own. You have to have a plan, YaYa,” Dynasty preached.

“A plan for what, Mommy?”

“A plan to survive, baby... to go after the things in life that you want. One day you are going to be a beautiful, beautiful woman. You have been blessed, girlfriend. You will have the type of beauty that makes grown men stop dead in their tracks to look at you. You are rare, YaYa. You can get whatever you want in this world, but you have to use your blessings to your advantage. Have a plan, baby. Have a hustle and use what you have to get exactly what you want in life . . . including all that Prada you love so much,” Dynasty stated.

“If I make a plan then you and my daddy will buy me Prada?” Disaya asked ingenuously as she wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and hugged her tightly.

Dynasty laughed and replied, “Little girls don’t get Prada, but when you’re a little older you’ll understand what I’m trying to teach you.”

“What are you trying to teach her?” The baritone of Buchanan Slim resonated through the room as his tall, lean frame leaned against the doorway. His dynamic presence demanded attention.

“Mommy’s teaching me how to make a Prada Plan,” Disaya chimed.

“A Prada Plan?” Slim asked as he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and approached his daughter’s bed. “And what exactly is that?”

“It’s a way for me to be pretty and wear lots of Prada and have lots and lots of money and make people give me whatever I want,” she said happily, revealing her spoiled and materialistic nature.

“Is that right?” he asked as he pulled a black box from his pants pockets. “Well, it looks like your Prada Plan is working already.” He handed the box to Disaya and kissed her on the cheek. She eagerly removed the ribbon and opened it to find two gold necklaces with two heart lockets inside. “I wanted to give you my heart, baby girl,” he said as he pulled out one and fastened it around his daughter’s neck. She opened the locket and saw a tiny picture of the three of them.

“Who is the other necklace for, Daddy?” she asked.

“It’s for your mama,” he answered as he placed the other locket around Dynasty’s neck. “You are the only two women that I’d ever give my heart to. If anything ever happens to me, the two of you will always have my heart.” He leaned over and kissed Disaya on the cheek. He then turned to Dynasty and said, “Hurry up and finish getting dressed, ma. We’ve got to make this move. Time is money and you know I don’t waste either, baby.”

Dynasty nodded and blew her daughter a kiss before leaving her room. It was the last time that Disaya would ever see her parents again, and the Prada Plan would be the last words of wisdom that her mother would ever give her.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep that bitch Lai away from my daughter, Slim?” Dynasty fussed as she opened the car door and plopped down in the passenger seat. “You know that jealous bitch doesn’t like me. She’s probably putting all types of shit in YaYa’s head about me. I swear if one hair on my daughter’s head is missing, I’m going to beat the brakes off of that bitch.”

“First of all, you need to check that mu’fuckin’ tone, Dynasty, and remember who the fuck you addressing,” he replied, one finger pointed sternly in her face. He then turned that same menacing finger into a gentle hand that rubbed the side of her face.

Slim had been a pimp for more than twenty years and was seasoned in the art of intimidation and manipulation. It was not hard for him to keep women in line. He had a finesse that exuded confidence, and if he had been in any other profession there was no doubt that he would have been the best at it. In another lifetime he could have easily been the CEO of a major corporation. Many poor decisions had led him down the train-wreck path that he was on, and it was too late for him to pursue anything else. There was no turning back. He couldn’t see himself doing anything different. He had become so accustomed to using women for his personal gain that he felt there was no other avenue for him. He never thought of the women he steered wrong, or of the lost souls that he helped to breed. Even the woman before him, Dynasty, did not cause him to change his perspective. Yes, he loved her but he did not know how to respect her, so therefore she remained one of his hoes.

“Why do you let her get under your skin? Lai is just like every other one of my hoes . . . a means to an end. I don’t give a damn about her.”

Dynasty knew that under the hypnotic spell of Buchanan Slim she would let him get away with murder. She loved him, and he could tell her that the earth was indeed flat and she would have believed him. Since having Disaya, her priority had been her family and she had never known that she could love anyone other than herself, but having a child had changed her. It was the most selfless act she had ever committed, and she loved her daughter dearly, valuing each moment that they spent together. It was the only type of emotional attachment she had ever felt, and she was grateful for Slim for accepting the role as Disaya’s father, even though physically it was so obvious that the child wasn’t his. The fact that Slim loved Disaya without doubt or regret made her trust him with every fiber of her being. If he said that there was nothing going on, she would force herself to believe him, even though her intuition told her otherwise.

“Fine, Slim. Just please keep her away from Disaya. I don’t trust her with my daughter and I’ve been hearing the shit she been talking about her kids being yours. You better check her ass because if I see her, I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” she stated.

“I already told you, I ain’t her baby daddy. Those boys don’t belong to me. I’d never deny my seed. You should know that,” he said with a tone that let her know the conversation was over.

Slim parked his car up the block from the Benjamin Hotel and got out with trademark finesse that only he could possess. His patent leather gator shoes were symbolic of his slick personality, and his Kool-Aid smile was all he needed to talk any woman out of her panties.

From the looks of the couple, one would never guess that they were prostitute and pimp. Outwardly they appeared to be among the wealthy. They always dressed the part when they entered the five-star establishment, because they wanted to blend in. The clientele that Dynasty attracted was of a high social ranking, and Slim never wanted her to feel out of her element. She played the role like a pro too, eating it all up and enjoying the pedestal that Slim had placed her on. It was like her throne and she wore her crown as his queen proudly.

Dynasty glided through the lobby with Slim’s hand placed gently on the small of her petite back as they approached the elevators. Riding to the twelfth floor, Dynasty was ready for business. She closed her eyes and went through the mental preparation that she had mastered over the years.

It took a confident and strong woman to turn a trick. A simpleminded ho would have looked down on herself and let what she was doing alter her perception of herself, but Dynasty was a bad bitch and she knew what was up. She always made the money, and never let the money make her. Her self-worth was not defined by what she possessed between her legs, but rather what was in her heart, and she had always held herself in high esteem. Therefore, no matter how many different inhabitants took turns in the dwelling she called a pussy, none took ownership. She decided who, when, where, and how, and if a nigga didn’t pay the rent, then he got evicted quickly. She was about her money. Her motivation was no different than the street hustlers that lived on the block . . . they were all chasing a dollar, trying to get a piece of the pie and solidify their own American dream.

This is business, she thought to herself as she deeply inhaled and then exhaled in meditation. What I do does not define who I am. This is about the money . . . about my livelihood and the livelihood of my family. The ring of the elevator bell caused her to open her eyes and end her mental psychology.

“You ready?”

“Of course, Daddy,” Dynasty answered before placing a wet, sensual kiss on his lips.

“Hmm,” he complimented as he enjoyed the taste of her honey-dew lip gloss. Slim felt himself growing excited. Being a pimp, he was around pussy every day, all day. He could have it anytime he wanted it, but sex with Dynasty was his weakness. Her ripe, wet flesh made him weak in the knees, and he knew why she was able to charge so much for a taste of her pie. She was a necessity, and he made sure to partake in her goodness whenever he could. “Let Daddy get some of this before your first client arrives.”

Dynasty never broke their kiss as Slim picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to her room.

Slim laid Dynasty on the bed and stood up as he removed his shirt. He admired her curvaceous body. He watched lustfully and stroked his stiffening manhood as Dynasty removed her dress slowly. Her long blood-red fingernails contrasted against her skin. He lay down on top of her. “I love you,” he whispered as he entered her.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Open up this door! Slim, I know you’re in there!” they heard someone scream through the door.

“Who the fuck is that?” Dynasty asked. “I know that ain’t who I fucking think it is!” Dynasty yelled as she pushed Slim off of her.

Slim quickly threw on his boxers. He opened the door so hard that the doorknob put a hole through the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked Lai as he snatched her inside of the room so hard that her arm popped out of the socket.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here, Slim?” the girl asked him as she shot a hateful glare at Dynasty.

Slim could smell the liquor on Lai’s breath and knew that she was drunk. It was the only way she would have the balls to boss up against him. The liquid courage she had consumed had her in another element. The girl was determined to come and claim her man from Dynasty.

“Bitch, he’s recuperating from that rotten-ass pussy you’ve been giving him,” Dynasty said.

“Sit down. Let me handle this,” he said.

“Well, handle it then,” Dynasty shot back. She rolled her eyes as she leaned back on the bed and lit a square, intentionally keeping her composure, to show Lai that she was the Queen B around here and that the little intrusion hadn’t ruffled one feather. She blew the smoke from the cigarette out of her mouth seductively as she looked Lai up and down, shaking her head in disgust. “Obviously if you got to chase him, he don’t want you, bitch,” she mumbled.

“You were supposed to leave her! You promised me,” the girl shouted hysterically as tears came to her eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me?”

Slim was losing his patience with the young girl before him. He faulted himself for playing with her emotions. He had made her promises that he never intended on keeping. He had crossed the line with her and had gotten into her heart instead of her head. Now he was dealing with the drama of a woman scorned.

Dynasty began to chuckle to herself, which infuriated the girl. “Loved you? Leave me? Maybe if you were rocking some of that couture shit you’re teaching my daughter, you could find your own man, bitch, ’cuz mine ain’t going nowhere. So you and that bastard-ass baby need to find another sponsor,” she stated, her words being absorbed like poisonous venom.

“He doesn’t love you!” the girl screamed. “Don’t you wonder why he’s always in the street? Where do you think he is when he stays out all night? I’m the one cooking his meals and sucking his dick every damn day! He’s leaving you!”

Dynasty stood up and walked toward the girl until she was within arm’s reach. “I’m not the help, bitch. I don’t have to lift a fucking finger. He has bitches like you come and clean our house and cook our meals. The spit you’re putting on his dick is only cleaning off the cum I left there, you trick-ass ho. How does it taste?” Dynasty was lethal with her quick tongue and was known for putting chicks on blast and making them feel stupid.

“Like fish, bitch!” Lai shot back.

Without hesitation, Dynasty slapped the shit out of her, but the girl was not easily intimidated. She snatched Dynasty’s necklace clean off her neck, but not before Dynasty hawked up a huge gob of spit and deposited it on the girl’s face.

The smirk of satisfaction drawn across Dynasty’s face disappeared instantly when she saw the chrome handle of a small handgun emerge from beneath the raincoat that the girl was wearing.

“No!” Slim screamed, as he lunged for Lai and muscled the gun out of her hands.

Pow! Pow!

“Bitch, what have you done?” he asked as he slapped her across the face with all his might. “What the fuck did you do?”

Two bullets were all it took to end a life.

The deafening blasts seemed to echo its vibrations into space as the entire room seemed to stand still.

The girl shook uncontrollably as she snapped out of her fit of rage and the realization of her actions hit her. “Oh my God! What did I do?” she asked as her gloved hands shook with terror and regret. She watched in horror as blood leaked from Dynasty’s body and soaked into the light carpet beneath her. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she mumbled as she backed out of the hotel room, gun in one hand, necklace in the other. Before she had time to think she bolted from the room, her legs barely strong enough to carry her away.

Slim rushed to Dynasty’s side as he tried to plug up the holes and stop the bleeding. It didn’t matter what he did. His efforts were futile. One of the bullets had pierced her heart, killing her instantly before she even got the chance to feel any pain. “Don’t die on me, baby girl. Damn it, Dynasty, breathe for Daddy!”

“Somebody call an ambulance!” he screamed frantically.

Slim heard a crowd forming in the hallway, but he ignored it and tended to Dynasty as best as he could. He covered up her body with the bedsheet, desperately trying to respect the body that he had disrespected for so long. He didn’t leave her side until he was forced to.

“Drop the weapon! Put your hands in the air!” he heard a police officer scream as he pointed a department-issued 9 mm in his face.

“I didn’t do this. I would never do this to her,” he said calmly as he used two fingers to close Dynasty’s eyes. She was the mother of his beloved daughter and the only woman who had ever been able to capture his heart. His foolish infidelity had gotten her killed and he knew it.

He looked at the gun that he had taken away from Lai. It was still in his left hand, and he shook his head as he realized how the scene must have looked. “Fuck!” he muttered as he put the pistol down. He knew that his fingerprints would be the only set on the gun. “Bitch wore gloves,” he whispered as an odd chuckle tickled his throat. “The bitch had on gloves!” he shouted.

“Sir! Step away from the body and put your hands in the air! If you do not comply, we will shoot you.”

Buchanan Slim stood to his feet like a man and turned his back on the officers with his hands placed behind his back. He didn’t resist his fate. He did what every black man dreaded, and assumed the position, making sure that he did not look threatening. He gritted his teeth as he held his head high. If he was going to go to jail, he was going to do so just like he had done everything else in his life: with pride and with style.

They escorted him out of the building and disregarded everything Buchanan Slim told them about what had led to Dynasty’s death. In their minds he was already guilty . . . the case was closed and another little black girl was to be tossed into society without anyone in the world to turn to for help.

Disaya had the worst possible background. Her father was a pimp, her mother a whore . . . she was the product of a dysfunctional home. From the very beginning she was expected to fail. Nobody could ever understand her struggle. It was official. Disaya was on her own.

When Disaya awoke the next morning she was surprised to see that her mother and father had not yet come home. They had never left her this long before. Usually they would tuck her into bed, and before she opened her eyes the next day they would be over their daughter, showering her with hugs and kisses. This time was different, however, and she knew in her young heart that something was dreadfully wrong. Today they were nowhere to be found.

She wandered from room to room, but the fact that her mother’s bed was still made and there was no scent of incense burning meant that no one had been home since last night. One of the perks of living in Marcy Projects was that everybody knew everybody. Most of Disaya’s “aunties” were only a building or two away, yet she was reluctant to go and ask for help. Dynasty had always drilled that privacy was important. Disaya had been taught that family business was for family only and that whatever happened underneath their roof stayed there. She didn’t want to . . .