West End Girls 2:

by Lena Scott

Genres: General Fiction; African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

With everything they've come to rely on suddenly gone, sisters Tanqueray, Unique, and Sinclair Nation should be facing the tragedy together. But instead, they begin to pull apart in their search for a way out of the ghetto. This divide nearly conquers them, as Tanqueray drifts further into the life she swore she would never be brought into. Unique, overwhelmed with concern for her sick child, follows the misunderstood guidance of an overzealous preacher, whose advice places her life in jeopardy. Sinclair, looking for love, finds trouble instead when she again turns to the streets. These sisters will have to fight hard to keep it together through all their hardships.

Release date: November 1, 2010

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Hollup Shawty!” the big man with the dark menacing eyes said to Tanqueray, who let the bat be seen and her intent to use it known. He spread his large hands out to block anyone who may try to run up on him. He was all bulked up, as if he’d just walked out of the pen. His complexion was smooth and dark except for the lines that aged his face and the scar that probably had a hell of a story behind it.

One of the local W.E. boys was highly agitated. Maybe it was because everyone had agreed to lay down weapons, yet this man had come all up in the joint strapped back to back. Anybody could tell he was set tight. “Nigga can’t just be walking up in here like he own the street. Asked him what set he was wit’ and—”

“And I told you to get the fuck out my face punk-ass bitch nigga!” the big dude’s bodyguard said aiming the gun right at the W.E. boy’s face. It was obvious that the dude was ‘somebody’ as he had folks guarding his ass. Nobody from the Palemos, the P, had even bothered to come inside, so they must have known who the Negro was.

“Who are you?” Tanqueray asked, feeling Sinclair cowering behind her a little bit.

“I’m Markey,” he said, showing nothing in his voice one way or the other. It was as if just that name was supposed to make Tanqueray see past his guns any more clearly. “Senior, I guess,” he added. No one had called Marquis, Markey before, or anything remotely like that. He was called Marquis, and so implying that he was a junior Markey just didn’t sound right at the moment.

Sinclair stepped out from behind Tanqueray on that one. Even the boy who had jumped bad just a few minutes earlier seemed to back the hell up. Tanqueray lowered the bat just a little and gave the man a good gawking. “Markey? You mean Marquis? As in Marquis, senior?”

“Damn, I didn’t know there even was a senior,” Sinclair admitted.

“The boy had to have a daddy somewhere,” the man said. He smiled. His teeth were perfect and white as if he’d spent the last few months in a dental chair before walking out of those prison gates.

Just then, Unique pushed through the folks gathered in the living room, ready for whatever might jump off. “Marquis?” she said, her voice just above a whisper, tears again rushing from her eyes. She fell into his arms.

Neither Tanqueray nor Sinclair expected Unique to receive this man this way. This man had taken her innocence at thirteen and disappeared leaving her to bear up alone under the wrath of their mother and to face the scorn of society without support. No one would have thought she would have wanted to see him again. No one could have even imagined that Unique remembered what his face looked like, let alone that she cared about him at all. Yet here she was weeping bitterly into his chest . . . and he—he was comforting her.

Tanqueray’s heart melted for a half a second before she snapped back to alert. Maybe it was the fact that his goons hadn’t laid down their shit that made her worry. Maybe it was the tats they wore and intensity of their faces that kept her on alert. They bore gang colors and markings she didn’t recognize as local. They were bringing heat from somewhere else. All she could hope was that the place wasn’t hell. However, the closer she looked the more familiar the tats were. She knew them from somewhere. Somebody she knew used to have the same ones. Who?

It didn’t matter right now. She’d figure all that out later. In her heart, right now, she knew that it wasn’t just the funeral that brought Marquis Sr. from the dead. How she figured that out, she didn’t know, but as much as Tanqueray wanted to get off the streets she was one with them. She was street and had a good strong vibe when it came to what was really what. There was something about big daddy Marquis that didn’t sit well with her. She was gonna keep her eyes and nose open until he left ,which she hoped was soon because by the looks of Unique’s soggy, snotty face she was weak and just prime for picking.

The scene at the house had just gotten too thick for Tanqueray. It was a bit too serious. She left right when all the church ladies finished piling in. Why the hell they thought Unique was a church girl was beyond her comprehension at that time. “She ain’t seen a church since their feet still fell asleep from hanging off the edge of the seat,” Tanqueray mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of her drink.

While Tanqueray sat in her favorite spot, she pondered Markey and his gang affiliation. He wasn’t tagged with any set, but it was clear he was connected to some tough dudes. She was curious and wanted to ask Finest who the dude was. In a way, Finest had become her man. She was pretty pissed at him right now, but still, Finest was the one to ask as he had his ass all up in the gang, set tight. He’d done some things that Tanqueray was still hearing about. He was going to end up doing some time for sure. But still, he was slowly making his way into her heart. The whole time they were raising money for the funeral he was always cruising by the car wash, pulling in and letting the kids wash his big-ass Escalade. He’d throw in an extra twenty just for shits, you know. He knew it would make Tanqueray smile even though she would fight it. Sometimes he wouldn’t pull off until she did. She hated feeling like she did about him. He wasn’t any good.

Tanqueray hesitated before dialing the number to Dustin Sinclair. She had a feeling the rich white voyeur she’d met a few weeks ago and entertained for a few hours, had also come to her family’s aid where the funeral was concerned. He told her many times he was taken with her and that she was perfect for his fantasies. Why he was so into her she didn’t know, but he was rich and nice and didn’t treat her like a ho. So, it all worked for her, no questions asked.

The day that he met her was a rough one. She’d just found out her ex-boyfriend, a damn pimp named Omar, had traded her goodies for a pile of money, as if she was just some ho—a real ho. He’d ‘sold her’ to a rich white man named Mr. Sinclair for a grip of money. He had some Negro named Cecil, in a penguin suit, coming up to the door to ‘take her to the limo’ like she was a package. Cecil worked for Mr. Sinclair.

Hell, yeah, I beat that nigga down and ran, Tanqueray remembered, thinking about her and Cecil’s first meeting. She smiled thinking about Cecil. He was a pretty cool cat. He seemed to be hard working. He’d grown up in the ghetto, just like everybody else, but he’d made a move and got out. He was now working for a very wealthy man. Sometimes he even got to travel with Dustin Sinclair.

“Yeah, I’ve traveled with Mr. Sinclair,” he answered, the night he was taking her to the hospital to see about Cammie. She and Mr. Sinclair were about to have dinner when the call came that Cammie had been hit by a car and was in intensive care. Cecil was quick to get the car and take her to the ER. On the way, he was working hard to get her mind off the emergency. It was the most he’d ever said to her since their first meeting, which had not been pleasant.

“Must be nice to get out of the hood, mah man. I wish that was me,” she had said, looking out the window, noticing the familiar coming into view. She was almost back home now. It was strange how just a couple of bridges separated the mighty rich from the sho nuff po. Looking toward the rearview mirror she noticed Cecil’s eyes looking back at her. He had familiar eyes but she didn’t ask him who he was related to in the hood or who his mama was. She probably knew them. He hadn’t volunteered anything, so in a way, maybe she was right not bringing any of that up.

“You just gotta want it, homey,” he had said. “If you can dream it, you can have it. But you have to work for it, if you get my meaning. You gotta earn it proper.”

She was thinking about those words now while pondering a call to Mr. Sinclair. Was he truly going to be her ticket out? And what did Cecil mean by proper?

She glanced around for her friend Kashawna. They were supposed to meet for drinks. Kashawna was a working girl, a real working girl, as in nine to five. She was legit, fitting the ‘steady job’ profile. Even in school when Tanqueray was playing, breaking rules, cutting class and smoking blunts, Kashawna was walking closer to the right side of the line. Once they graduated she took the job that was offered to many of the under privileged kids with decent grades. It was minimum wage, but hell, it was enough to keep them off the streets if they wanted it. Kashawna apparently did. Five years later she was some manager of something. Who the hell knew what position she had. Anyway, she pulled in a fat check, so it was all good. She was getting married too.

“And ain’t even pregnant,” Tanqueray said thinking about her own life. She was coming up on twenty-five. Well it was a way off, but still, she had nothing to show for her life, except a major hang over. Last night was a humdinger. The funeral was nice and all that, as nice as a funeral could be, short of Marquis’ daddy showing up at the repast. Again she thought about his familiar looking tats. Damn that was straight up freaky. He only stayed an hour or so, talked to Unique for a while, then left. Unique was in shock. She didn’t even beg him to stay. It was as if she didn’t really know him or maybe it was as if she had known him her whole life. They didn’t even talk much. Tanqueray shrugged wondering how she would have felt under the same circumstances. Dunno, but at least his being there got Unique out of the bedroom. Tanqueray was going to ask Unique what they talked about but by the time she’d gotten up this morning Unique had gone to the hospital. She’d spent every day there by Cammie’s side.

Kinda late to start being a good mommy though. Ya shoulda been there when that fool was ripping her apart. Tanqueray shook her head at the visual of big ol’ Curtis having oral and regular sex with that nine year old child. “Damn pervert. I wish I had known. I’d have killed him my damn self,” she said under her breath, accepting Marquis’ actions as warranted. “How could Cammie have not told anybody?” She sighed heavily again, realizing the cost of Marquis Jr.’s brave acts.

“Where is Kashawna?” she asked in an undertone, looking at the time on her metro phone. She’d just bought this raggedy thing and already it was showing signs of wear.

Tanqueray wasn’t used to all this ghetto shit. She hated Omar with his pimp-ass but at least he kept her in all the latest gadgets and hooked up to all the latest toys and clothes. “But selling me as a whore . . . you done lost me fa sho,” she grumbled, not sounding as convinced as she was a month ago when she left him. Right now, she was sober, straight, broke and a little bit horny. None of that was a great place for Tanqueray to be. It had been just a bit too many days between her last hook up and she was getting fidgety.

Just then he walked in. “Ugh,” she gasped. It was Finest. What an unresolved problem he had turned out to be.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into her booth. She twisted her lips and started to stand but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down to the seat.

“Hey, what nigga. I’m so through wit’ choo,” she said, sounding as tough as she could. Finest’s name said it all. He had light eyes and soft wavy hair and a diamond inlay sparkling in his pretty, bright-white teeth. He was mixed with something because he was the color of Sinclair. It was for sure she wasn’t all black, even though Tanqueray never remembered her mother kicking it with no white dudes.

Javina Nation, their mother, was something that none of her kids had opened their eyes to accept, especially Tanqueray. None of the five children, Larry, Debonair, she, Unique, or Sinclair, had the same daddies, which was obvious. Tanqueray had done that math long ago. Now Javina was dead, so what did it matter anyway. Let the haters say what they want about my mama, Tanqueray thought. Truth be known, Tanqueray had to wonder if her mother ever did it for money, considering she never had a job and they did have a house. Well, until Debonair and his drug-selling ass got locked up and the dope man collected payment by blowing the house to hell! “Ugh,” she said at the memory, although Finest had to think she was making that disgusted sound in his direction.

Finest’s grip brought her mind quickly back to the moment. She looked down at his hand around her arm. “We need to talk!”

“About what, nigga? You up here playing me for a fool. Fucking my sister behind my back and—”

“I didn’t know she was your sister, and I’m telling you I didn’t fuck her. I told you that.”

“Then why did you say that? Why did you say you were. . . .” Tanqueray started speaking but stopped. She knew he was lying. Even when he said it that night she knew. Sinclair was a virgin. They were close like that, well maybe not close—like that—but she knew her baby sister, and Finest was too grown of a man for her. Shit, even Tanqueray had to admit that some of the tricks he’d pulled on her in the back seat of his Escalade had been something new for her! She missed his dick for sure. She fought now to keep the want off her face. She wasn’t sure what it looked like but she wanted to make sure he didn’t see any of it. Kitty was purring hard between her legs and if he didn’t hear it, for sure he was going to smell it soon. He brought it down in her real quick. But no! She had to drop him like a bad habit, one she really wanted to quit.

“I was just trying to piss off Malcolm with his punk ass . . . Ionknow. Look baby,” he said, softening his voice.

Finest was a thug, straight up street meat, but when it came to her she could tell he was going soft. She had him whipped. It was funny. She could see it so clearly. Never had she gotten a man so close to the palm of her hand like this. She looked around and again at her phone. Kashawna had exactly thirty seconds to get there or she was about to give this nigga a romp.

“You got anything fa me?”she asked, slowly sitting back down.

“You know I got you baby. I always do.”

“Why didn’t you come to the house yesterday for the food, show some respect? You weren’t even at the funeral. My family was there and my sisters had their support. Hell, even Marquis’ daddy showed up—”

“Little Soldier got a daddy?”

“Everybody got a daddy,” Tanqueray said, smacking her lips after saying the words. “I was just up there alone with nobody to lean on in my time of need.”

Finest looked around. “Waddn’t about to be there with all them niggas. I got beef wit . . . .”

Tanqueray shook her head. “You always got beef and shit. Where’s the beef? Show me the beef,” she joked, and sort of flirted. His eyes locked on hers. She recognized the look in his eyes. He wanted her as bad as she wanted him. Now she knew he could see the feeling returned. Damn, she had it bad for this nigga.

Finest one! Kashawna zero!

Standing again, she pulled one of Unique’s older bags over her shoulder and dropped her broke-ass phone inside. “How did you know I was gonna be here?”

“I seent your friend on her way in. Told her you and I had some business to tend to. She seemed to understand. Said you was missing me.”

“That’s a lie, Kashawna wouldna told you no bullshit like that,” Tanqueray said before breaking into a tell-it-all smile.

Finest draped his arm over Tanqueray’s shoulder as he led her to his car.

“Where’s the Escalade?” she asked, looking at the sharp, shiny, new black Lexus.”

“Draws too much attention. I didn’t want our time interrupted.”

“Like you know I was gonna give you any time,” she said, sliding into the comfortable seat. Damn, this nig was putting it on thick today. Tanqueray quickly reached between his thighs as soon as he got in; she wanted to feel a hint of just how thick Finest was.

He smiled. Scooping up her hand he sucked on a couple of her fingers. He smiled again, that diamond sparkling bright, and started the car before sliding on his dark glasses.

“I wish you had come to the funeral yesterday,” Sinclair said to Malcolm. They had been friends forever, until they decided to take it further. Sex ruined a lot of stuff Sinclair figured. Malcolm didn’t seem to even want to hang out with her, let alone try finishing what they started a couple of weeks ago on the day Cammie went in the hospital. They had gotten in the shower and Malcolm had felt her up, got her all hot and ready and then—blam! The whole world changed. Cammie was on life support and Marquis was dead. Thinking of that she said, “Marquis’ daddy showed up.”

Malcolm looked at her, his eyes widening in interest even though she could tell he was trying to hide it. “Marquis gotta daddy?”

“Yeah. Ex con, big nigga, all tatted up and shit. Rough nigga. Came in with his crew—”

“Wow, buste. . .