Payless: A Novel

By Skyelar Nelson

La Vicha Brown is a hardworking mother who is steadfastly committed to two things: her love for God and partying. As she attempts to straddle the fence between attaining her desires in life and meeting the needs of her three children, La Vicha has no idea she is about to discover that there are consequences for every one of her choices.

Quisha, Jerome Jr., and Niqua are three children with minds of their own. As La Vicha subjects them to demanding and abusive tirades that accompany her self-obsessed mindset, it is not long before one of her poor decisions intertwines with Niquas life and leads to a tragic event with long-term effects. Now only time will tell if La Vichas world will crash around her or if she will do what it takes to avoid permanent emotional damage.

Payless shares the tale of a narcissistic single mother as she juggles a lifestyle of church and partying and discovers the significance of her choices in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480834217

Skyelar Nelson

Skyelar Nelson has been writing books, plays, and poetry since he was thirteen years old. He currently resides with his beautiful wife and three children in Flint, Michigan, where he continues to nurture his dream of inspiring others through his writing. Payless is his first book.

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Copyright © 2016 Skyelar Nelson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3419-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3420-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3421-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016914471

Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/16/2016

Contents

Chapter 1—Watching in My Sleep

Saturday, 9:51 p.m.

Seven minutes later…

10:01 p.m.

11:01p.m.

11:51 p.m.

Sunday,12:20 a.m.

Hours prior, 10:17 p.m.

9:00 am- The next morning

Worship Service, 12:03p.m.

Chapter 2—Kick It

Mid-September, Tuesday, 5:50 p.m.

Twenty minutes later….

7:37 p.m.

Two days later, 4:15 p.m.

6:37 p.m.

7:06 p.m.

Chapter Three—Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

Seventeen day later, Homecoming game night, 2:26 p.m.

Flint Northwestern, Houston Stadium bleachers, 8:07 p.m,

The nursing home, 8:23 p.m.

Patrice’s home, 10:30 p.m.

Fishbones, Downtown Detroit, 11:37 p.m.

The next day, 12:07 p.m.

Chapter Four—The Bad, the Ugly, the Scarred

Same night, 5:37 p.m.

After worship service, 1:37 p.m.

Chapter Five—Hitting the Ceiling Fan

Two weeks later, mid- October, 3:18 p.m.

The next day, La’ Vicha’s home, 8:37 p.m.

9:57 p.m.

12:08 a.m.

Chapter Six—The Light Bulb Theory

Chapter Seven—Deuces Wild

Man, I can’t get used to this shit!

Friday morning

Sixth hour, 1:52 p.m.

2:02 p.m.

Sixth hour, 1:51 p.m.

2:28 p.m.

Chapter Eight—Rooohude Awakening

2:17 p.m.

The Next Day, 7:45 p.m.

8:49 p.m.

9:13 p.m.

9:30 p.m.

The next day, 12:15 p.m.

Chapter Nine—The Domino Effect

December 19th

11:53 p.m.

The next day, December 20th, 12:17 p.m.

2:45 p.m.

Saturday, January 15th

Later on.

Tyrone’s house, 10:31 p.m.

10:56 p.m.

Weeks later, 2:32 p.m.

Change without working towards that change will never change your chance to change.

Chapter 1—Watching in My Sleep

Saturday, 9:51 p.m.

G et y’all asses downstairs! We ‘bout to go!

La’ Vicha’s voice penetrates through the emotionally drained eardrums of her children. Even the mirrors in the bathroom where she applies her mascara trembles.

I look good as hell, La’ Vicha mumbles as she lays down her mascara. It’s a usual stance that the self-imposing La’ Vicha takes. She does look good in the eyes of most, especially to herself. Her aura is suffocating. It intimidates most. Her pecan skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Flawless. La’ Vicha’s hazel eyes always tantalize even the most egotistical individual. Flawless. Petite, but shapely. Flawless. God’s gift to everyone, she figures. She smiles and then looks down at her black and silver Christian Louboutin heels. She smiles again nodding in approval. The smile quickly turns into a frown as La’ Vicha remembers her yell just seconds ago.

I guess y’all muthafuckaz didn’t hear me the first time! Get y’all asses down here! I got places to go and people to see, La’ Vicha yells as the Winterfresh gum bounces around her cheeks.

Meanwhile, her young adults are all letting out different sighs of un-belief. Quisha, the eldest of the three increases the volume on her iPhone 6. Kindred the Family Soul harmonizes Far Away into her spirit. She hums, tuning out her club ready mother.

I’m so sick of her shit, Quisha whispers, shaking her head. She stuffs her phone inside the left pocket of her navy blue Rocawear boot cut jeans. Quisha Brown is the leader of the young adult gang in the Brown household. She is fearless and determined to succeed.

The chaotic, unstable atmosphere od her home forced Quisha to grow up early. Constant nagging, nit- picking, and lack of love from her mother continues to break Quisha’s heart daily. To get away from all the madness, Quisha turns to track and field. Jackie is her running stage name, reminiscent of track and field legend, Jackie Joyner- Kersee. She has what you call a track build. Small and petite and she stands at five six. Her facial features are similar to her mother’s, as well as the same hazels. Along with track Jackie has a 4.0 cumulative GPA and is hoping to one day attend her grandfather’s alma mater, the University of North Carolina. She would love for her younger brother, Jerome Jr. to come along.

Jerome Perry Jr, or Junior is in his athlete-decorated room zipping up his black Nike duffel bag. Trophies and posters suffocate the vicinity. It is a testament of what he is most passionate about, football and academics. He has always dreamed of playing under the bright lights of Michigan Wolverine football, a dream he’s had since he laid eyes on his idol, Charles Woodson. He is considered a freak of nature. A six three and one-hundred ninety-five pounds with speed and agility, his play on the field alone could easily land him at any Division One college. Not to mention charm and drive that inspires his teammates and others. With all his accolades, the groupies flock. His boyish good looks keep the ladies around him, much to the dismay of his longtime girlfriend, Tabitha. A sleek weekly haircut keeps his facial features intact, similar to his father. Pictures of he and his sisters stare out the window. A grin covers all of Junior’s face. That grin stems from the love he has for his sisters. Next to his pictures is his iPhone 6, which he grabs as he walks out of the room with duffle bag in hand. Niqua, the youngest, passes by. She is grooving to Trey Songz’s Touchin’ Lovin.

Niqua Mansfield, or Baby Girl is the spitting image of her mother the eyes, the build, the voice. Even more than big sis, Quisha. Most wouldn’t believe that she is only fourteen years old. She is often confused for being older than she really is. It always causes problems for her parents. Older men gawk at her voluptuous figure petite, but with the thickness of her mother. Slim Thick is another way of describing her. One very noticeable gift she possesses is that of song. Her voice is similar to a young Whitney Houston. Right now, she is not hitting those four-range octaves. Instead, she is playfully singing her favorite song, annoying Junior to no end.

She-neh-nehSongz, calm it down, teases Junior with a chuckle.

Niqua throws Junior an evil look. You got jokes, huh, Michael Dickhead? Don’t you have something better to do, like catch a football meathead?

"I got cha meathead. You ready to go?

Quisha walks into the room.

Are y’all ready to go?

Fa’ sho, Niqua sings with a slight bobble and bounce to her step.

Yep, Junior responds, tapping his right pants pocket to make sure he has his keys. Just as the teens stroll down the steep wooden steps, La’ Vicha’s voice booms again.

Do I gotta beat y’all asses to get y’all fucking attention? Let’s go!

Mama, calm down! We are walking down the steps. We hear you, Junior responds. As much as he loves his mom, his anger toward her starts to intensify. With fists clenched, Junior is ready to take out anything standing next to him. He is the first to reach the bottom of the steps with his sisters in tow.

La’ Vicha’s stare at Junior is as hot as the palms on Junior’s hand. La’ Vicha’s left hand presses hard on his forehead. The clicking of her French- manicured nails sends a nervous chill through the teens.

Who the hell are you getting smart with, nigga?

La’ Vicha’s menacing question is intended to insult. Insult indeed, but Junior knows that the battle is not in his favor.

I can’t believe this crazy nut chick is coming at me like I’m one of her dudes, Junior thinks to himself. In La’ Vicha’s eyes, Junior is a replica of Jerome Sr. In La’ Vicha’s case, BD2, or baby daddy number two, carries his mannerisms, attitude, and build. Jerome Sr. was a standout athlete in high school, owning numerous records in track and field and also baseball. Junior is a phenom in his own right. He plays wide receiver and cornerback on the best football team in Genesee County. College scouts from every depth of the US are already comparing Junior to all-time great wide-out, Larry Fitzgerald of the Arizona Cardinals.

Although Junior has skills far superior than most peers, he stays grounded. It reminds La’ Vicha so much of BD2. He reminds me of his damn daddy, La’ Vicha often tells herself. Right now, Junior and her kids are in the way of her partying. La’ Vicha continues her assault.

Humph, don’t get it twisted…. She moves closer to Junior’s face almost daring for him or anyone else to flinch. Junior fists are still clenched, but tighter. "Just because you can catch a football don’t mean shit. I will drop you if you get smart with me again. Got that?

Quisha walks past her bickering mother, rolling her eyes. Niqua does the same, but without eye movement. Junior evilly stares into his mother’s eyes.

This chick is a serious nutcase. I’m so sick of her bullshit, Junior’s mind lashes out, but his mouth speaks up rapidly, sounding defeated.

Yeah man.

That’s what I thought, huh? Not so smart mouth now, huh Mr. Football? Ya’ll get y’all little simple asses to the car! Got me in here about to fuck up my makeup!

La’ Vicha marches toward her car. Niqua, without a thought, follows suit. Stares of disappointment, despair, and anger follow La’ Vicha, as Junior puts his arms around an emotional Quisha who stomps to the door and slams it!

I’m so fucking sick of her shit! I can’t take it no more! Quisha cries with a piercing yell. Tears cover her Quisha’s pecan-colored cheeks. Days, months, and years of pain spill onto her tee. Junior gives a sigh. The anger from seeing his sister weep erupts with sweat steaming like lava.

You’re not the only one. I can’t wait to leave here.

Right.

And that’s crazy that I feel that way about my own damn mama.

Junior and Quisha give each other a short hug. Quisha sighs, and turns around to walk out of the house. Junior sets the alarm and closes the door behind him.

Seven minutes later…

L a’ Vicha’s head is bobbing harder than a Waka Flocka Flame video. Smoke churns from her weed filled nostrils. We Dem Boyz by rapper Wiz Khalifa blares loud through the factory speakers. Pedestrians and drivers quickly glance at La’ Vicha’s belligerent excitement.

This is the normal ritual the teens deal with almost every Saturday night, minus the marijuana puff. Never has La’ Vicha lit a cigarette in front of her kids, but that all changed once she was introduced to the pharmaceutical drug by a friend of a friend awhile back. In order to get a mood for the jam packed evening, Miss Brown disables care for others while enabling what she wants to do.

"I deserve to have some fun. Hell, I bust my ass at work for these kids. Plus, I’m grown. I do whatever the fuck I wanna do," La’ Vicha convinces herself. It is what she lives by, her own world and rules. Opinions of others are put on hold, even those of her own children. It has been that way for quite some time. Raising three beautiful children by herself, she feels entitled to having a little fun. She owes it to herself to provide joy in her own life for a change. And La’ Vicha expects everyone to succumb to her desires and be quiet! Quiet is the Brown clan as they marinate in La’ Vicha’s narcotic- filled Chevrolet Trail Blazer. Niqua keeps a constant cough. Quisha has her iPhone on the highest volume possible. Junior is texting Tabitha. Everyone is still angry with their lovely mother.

While texting, Junior, like Niqua, lets out a nasty cough. La’ Vicha exhales another puff, followed by a slight chuckle.

Can’t handle it, huh? La’ Vicha mocks with another chuckle. Mocking is not something the teens take kind to. Quisha as the front seat passenger, shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Niqua coughs again. Junior pauses his text. Wiz fades and is proceeded by Studio by rapper Schoolboy Q. Mr. Football cannot bite his tongue any longer.

Mama, can you roll the window down? You got us in here about to die from weed smoke? Junior’s plea is polite. Niqua grins, and Quisha gives a half-hearted smile. La’ Vicha’s constant yelling usually prohibited the kids from commenting. They all realize it is always her way or the highway. To avoid conflict, the clan usually refuses to speak up at times.

That was until tonight.

However, when the first inhale of marijuana took place, Quisha’s initial thought was, Wow! Weed huh?

Junior’s thinks, I hope she seriously isn’t gonna fire up a blunt with us in the car going to Grand Blanc.

Niqua is in observation mode, and La’ Vicha begins to mock the teens again.

"Humph? I see. Don’t wanna catch this contact huh?

Oh my God! This broad is serious, Junior thinks to himself. Quisha has her turn to comment.

Mama, really? You cannot be serious.

Quisha takes the initiative and rolls down the window on her side. La’ Vicha’s pride immediately kicks in. She stares down her oldest teen while approaching a red light.

Who the hell told you to let my damn window down, La’ Vicha growls. She puts the window lock on and rolls the window up.

Mama!

What, La’ Vicha yells. The car begins to move again. The thick fog smothers the car.

You got a problem little girl?

Quisha puts her verbal boxing gloves on.

Yes I do have a problem, Quisha removes her Beats by Dre pink solo headphones. You are being ridiculous. Didn’t know that it was the in thing to smoke weed with your kids in the car going to copville. Very smart, mom.

La’ Vicha’s judgment is completely clouded. A chill of attitude punches her nerves and is ready to land a haymaker. Quisha is her victim. La’ Vicha’s back hand fly towards Quisha! Wham!

Have y’all lost y’all fucking mind? Oh, all of a sudden y’all got some balls tonight! Not one of y’all little muthafuckaz better say another word. And y’all better be lucky that I’m nice enough to drive y’all over to ya’ weak ass daddy’s house, La’ Vicha screams. Quisha holds her right hand to her left cheek. The moisture from her eyes flow rapidly. Niqua sits tight like a statue, refusing to move. Junior rage flames high.

Mama, are you crazy? Why did you just do that?! That was so unnecessary, Junior yells. He puts his right hand on Quisha’s right shoulder.

Little boy, I can do whatever the fuck I want to do. And, didn’t give you a warning earlier? Next is gonna be my foot in ya’ ass. Keep on, and all of y’all will be walking, La’ Vicha spits with venom. Quisha sobs heavily. Niqua stares into outer space, feeling embarrassed. La’ Vicha returns to her weed ritual and outrageous head bobbing. The car ride remains silent until Tyrone’s house is reached.

10:01 p.m.

T he radio is reduced to a low pitch. La’ Vicha pulls into Tyrone’s long fresh rat smelled driveway. She is welcomed by a solar light, letting Tyrone and his three Rottweiler’s know that there is company. A silver Range Rover and black Buick Lacrosse greets La’ Vicha. Once the dogs bark, Tyrone is alarmed.

Who is the hell is in my driveway this late?

Tyrone Niles, or BD1, is a successful entrepreneur and mogul, C.E.O., and president of Unity Inc. Unity Inc. is an entertainment company that specializes in different fields of entertainment. It includes a nationally publicized magazine, photography, and independent movies. Tyrone and La’ Vicha met in junior high. They attended the now vacant Longfellow Middle School. Tyrone, or Ron as his family calls him, is considered to be La’ Vicha’s first major boyfriend. They were introduced to each other by Ka’ Trina News, La’ Vicha’s best friend and Tyrone’s cousin.

Once they reached their senior year of high school, the two were together for two years. Mostly to the displeasure of Tyrone’s mother, Yvette. Yvette never liked La’ Vicha and often referred to her as the little proper hood girl. Once La’ Vicha became pregnant at age fifteen with Quisha, Yvette was beyond upset. She went as far to claim that La’ Vicha purposely got pregnant. Tyrone was always great as a father, even at a young age. Once Quisha was presented to the earth, Tyrone and La’ Vicha’s relationship was scarred. La’ Vicha started running the streets and Tyrone decided to leave her alone. He found out that La’ Vicha cheated with one of his friends. It was viewed as utterly trifling and Tyrone kept his distance from La’ Vicha, but remains heavily involved with Quisha. He loves his eldest.

His eldest favors him tremendously. He was often teased for doing all the work with Quisha’s features. The distinctive hazels is what attracted Tyrone and La’ Vicha to each other. Most boys were intimidated by La’ Vicha’s pupils. Tyrone’s outspoken personality and athletic physique is what La’ Vicha noticed. It was also his baby face and fascinating fashion sense. Most nowadays call Tyrone, T.I, rapper and actor.

Right now, Tyrone walks to his double plexiglass living room windows and moves the blinds out of the way. He frowns when her notices La’ Vicha’s vehicle.

What the, Tyrone grumbles. He walks outside to meet La’ Vicha. His eyes travel around to see if any of his nosy neighborhood neighbors are peeping tom. Quisha quickly jets out of the blazed Trail Blazer. She runs and grips her father as tight as a steering wheel.

Daddy, Quisha gasps like she was five years old.

Tyrone’s frown is glued. La’ Vicha rolls her window down.

Hey pumpkin. La’ Vicha, what are you going here this late?

La’ Vicha giggles. This is late to you old man?

Tyrone sniffs. He quickly notices the marijuana aroma.

And why does my daughter smell like marijuana?

Oh, the loud you mean, La’ Vicha teases with a cough and laugh. No laughter is nowhere near Tyrone’s exterior or on Quisha’s face, who is still in tears.

La’ Vicha, I don’t care what the hell it is, I know damn well you didn’t smoke that shit with her in the car!

Tyrone peeks inside the SUV.

"Is that Junior and Ne-Ne in there? You were smoking weed with all of them in the car coming to Grand Blanc. Are you out of your fucking mind?

Junior and Niqua jump out of the car quickly with bags in hand. Slanted eyed La’ Vicha again jokes.

Uh, yeah. Pretty much. It was good weed. I didn’t wanna waste it.

Hey, y’all go in the house, Tyrone orders. The teens run off.

Look at chu taking charge, Mr. CEO, La’ Vicha says until interrupted.

Look god damnit. This is not a game! You’re riding around with these kids smoking weed in the car like this is a game and shit…

Negro, please. You act like it was crack or something.

What?

It was just some fucking weed. Quit being a little bitch, CEO.

Quit being a bitch, Tyrone’s voice raises.

Yes. Quit being a bitch! Crying and shit over some weed like…

Tyrone lowers his voice to avoid disturbing his neighbors.

Like, it’s a big deal? Ya’ damn right it’s a big deal! If you would’ve got pulled over cause your ass is high. I would’ve had to kill you!

La’ Vicha bursts out in loud laughs. The teens all stare out of the living room window.

Man, I feel like I’m five years old watching this, Quisha says.

I feel you on that one, Que. I feel the same way, Junior adds.

The parents continue to argue.

Yeah right, Tyrone. You wouldn’t do shit but complain like you doing now. Ha!

Oh really, Tyrone huffs. You’re trying to call my bluff?

Well…

Suppose I just decide to turn you in for possession of….

Sure. I would love to see you expose yourself in front of the whole world.

Complete silence. La’ Vicha takes advantage.

Yeah, you wouldn’t go public with that kind of negative publicity. Your little secret lifestyle wouldn’t be so secret. Isn’t that right, Mr. CEO? Seriously, Tyrone. Your super protective over your empire. You turn me in and there goes your image. Two baby mama’s? You really want people to know about that, huh?

Silence, but Tyrone smiles sheepishly.

Really? Okay, I’ll make this short and sweet for you.

I bet.

Tyrone chuckles.

First off, you can’t threaten me with anything. Your little bluff doesn’t harm me none. Second, don’t ever ride around with these teens in the car and you smoking weed cause if you do, I will have you locked up quicker than you can say Wiz Khalifa.

La’ Vicha rolls her eyes. Her attitude and her high are on top of Tyrone’s roof.

Whatever, Tyrone.

Short pause and Tyrone takes advantage.

Besides, I don’t mind exposing you. Seeing as though you, uh, wanna puff that loud with your kids in the backseat. I can just as easily go to your job and get you fired, Nurse Brown.

The look of death that La’ Vicha’s eyes give makes Tyrone continue his wrath. He ignores the evil stare as he continues his assault. Remember, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. If I really want to, I can make sure that you will never have another nursing job wherever you go. You must’ve forgot, La’ Vicha. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. And you know I’m the wrong one to play games with.

La’ Vicha’s brain sizzles with anger and bites back.

Okay, Tyrone. You sound all big and bad, but remember, I have custody of your daughter! Me! I’m the one taking care of her!

La’ Vicha’s pitch escalates. Tyrone tries to quiet down his weed filled baby mother.

Shhh! Calm…

Tyrone nervously looks around the vicinity, hoping no one is listening in.

Calm the hell down. You gonna wake up the whole neighborhood. This isn’t Pierson and DuPont.

Just what I thought. Typical bitch ass move, Tyrone, La’ Vicha wonders. She takes the remains of the swisher and presses it against the cup holder. Now, La’ Vicha’s mindset is to insult.

Oh yeah, I’m sorry Tyrone. This is GRAND BLANC! MY BAD!

As La’ Vicha raises her voice, Tyrone follows with shhh, but to avail. La’ Vicha continues.

DON’T WANT NO ONE TO SEE WHAT KIND OF BITCH YOU ARE!

It’s the ala mode to Tyrone’s already angry mood of dessert. Tyrone nervously looks around the neighborhood. The nuclear bomb in the back of Tyrone’s cranium explodes.

That’s it, La’ Vicha! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! Matter of fact, don’t bring your ass back around here! From now on, I’ll pick Quisha up or even better, I’ll let her have one of my cars. You can’t come around here on your Maury Povich shit! Go ahead. I know you about to…

Tyrone…

Go to the club and let some broke chump clown buy you some cheap ass liquor and you’ll probably let him hit. Bye Felisha, before I call the police and my lawyer!

A part of La’ Vicha feels bad, but that is the only way she knows how to react. The fantastic Victorian style home, success, and not to mention, his beautiful fiancée makes La’ Vicha incredibly jealous.

This is supposed to be my house, La’ Vicha would often think when she would drop Quisha off. At this moment through the clouds of puffs, La’ Vicha thinks that very thought. She dilutes further insult and tries to remain calm in the process.

Okay, okay, Tyrone. I’ll go. Just drop the kids…

I know. Drop ‘em off at the church in the morning. Don’t you think I’m used to this from you, La’ Vicha? Honestly, you need to sit ya’ hot ass down somewhere.

La’ Vicha frowns.

Yeah, hot ass.

Humph. You weren’t complaining about this hot ass when you wanted it, now were you?

Tyrone chuckles with a half- smile.

This girl is still witty as hell, he thinks. At one point, he did love La’ Vicha, but no longer is that love present. He responds.

Yeah. You do stupid things when you’re young. Anyway, go ahead and do you. But, this’ll be the last time you pull this shit, and I mean it! Get outta here!

Tyrone’s stern-face walks away angry. La’ Vicha gives a heavy sigh as Tyrone leaves her sight.

Fuck being reasonable! I’m doing me, she tells herself as she rolls her window up. The swisher she had on hold is ready for re-launch. La’ Vicha waits until she is away from Tyrone’s residence to smoke once again. Her head bobbing and churning is back in effect as she leaves Grand Blanc.

11:01p.m.

C lub City Life is Flint’s premier nightclub. The capacity is five hundred plus and multiple levels of entertainment. The nationally known DJ Illest, controls the main level where the majority of the dancing takes place. It is where La’ Vicha showcases her superior dance and vocal skills on a weekly basis. Although La’ Vicha is in her mid-thirties, she rocks the stage like a young starlet. Other young starlets envy due to La’ Vicha’s striking beauty. A physique well- toned, but not muscular. She has an exotic look, because of her African-American and Indian roots, with long jet black hair and tantalizing hazel eyes that drive men wild. La’ Vicha knows it, flaunts it, and is drowned in a pool of conceit with attention as her backstroke.

The attention is on her once again. La’ Vicha strolls into the club like she is skating on Olympic ice. The place is jam packed. Chris Brown’s popular song, Yeah 3x is booming through the airwaves. All eyes are magnetized on La’ Vicha. A skin tight BeBe strapless black jean dress shows her petite, yet voluptuous frame. Frank Taylor, club owner, high school buddy and former flame is the first to speak as he walks towards her.

What up, La’ Vicha?

La’ Vicha grins as she acknowledges Frank with a simple nod. Aw shit. Here we go, La’ Vicha thinks with a slight smile. Frank and La’ Vicha at one point were very good friends, especially in high school. The once close relationship turned sour once Frank became a well- known player because of his success. Women flocked to the former football stud. As the groupies invaded, La’ Vicha was approached as a thot rather than a friend. As a result, La’ Vicha left him alone until Frank apologized. Although apologetic, Frank still approaches La’ Vicha with slick advances, just like now. His smile is as wide as the Amazon River.

Sup Frank, La’ Vicha dryly responds. Her body language screams depart. Her smile is as wide as a hair follicle. Frank senses resentment for his presence.

Damn Vicha. That was a dry hello. It’s like that?

La’ Vicha stands with her hands on her hips, displaying a model pose. Frank’s nature starts to rise.

Was it dry, Frank? My bad, my bad. I just didn’t wanna alarm, uh, you know, the admirers that are staring at you.

The admirers or the club groupies stare from afar. They are yearning for Frank’s attention. Although Frank’s nightclub is the most popular in mid-Michigan, his good looks, celebrity, and charm is what wins’ women over and he knows it. He studies his circumference to see who is staring. The boyish smile never leaves, despite La’ Vicha’s obvious discomfort. Once he sees the stares, they wave. Frank smiles harder and turns back to La’ Vicha. Her smile is stagnant. Frank tries to ease things.

Oh them? Ahhh, they’re just groupies. That’s all.

Humph, like I haven’t heard that one before. You love those little hoes on ya’ balls, Frank, La’ Vicha taunts. Her hazels sparkle like a dying firecracker in the dim multi-colored neon lights. All Frank can think about is the thought of La’ Vicha in his bed. His nature grows again.

Those little hoes are not the ones I want on my balls, La’ Vicha.

Frank baritone voice whispers into La’ Vicha’s ears. La’ Vicha is not hearing that.

Pssh, whatever. I’m not trying to heat that, La’ Vicha responds coldly. I knew he was gonna try that bullshit, La’ Vicha thinks silently. Chris Brown’s musical energy transferred to Usher as the DJ spins OMG. Frank knows that his fling with La’ Vicha is over, but still likes to test the waters."

Alright, Vicha. I see you. You do look great tonight though.

Thank you, La’ Vicha blandly responds. She decides to end the conversation.

Look, I’m meeting my girls up here. I’m a try and see if they’re here, La’ Vicha lies. She came alone with no intention of meeting any of her friends. Getting Frank away from her is her only focus. He gets the picture.

Alright. I’ll see you later on.

Un, hum. Bye Frank.

La’ Vicha walks away with the meanest switch this side of Naomi Campbell. She smiles, knowing that Frank is staring. Frank is staring.

11:51 p.m.

T urn Down for What, La’ Vicha chants like a cheerleader in a prep rally. The familiar tune echoes loudly with soft scratches by the disc jockey. He mixes DJ Snake & Lil’ Jon’s party tune with Tinashe’s 2 On. The dance floor is completely crowded with bottles of different liquors parade around everyone. Drunken thoughts and actions take over the club. La’ Vicha as well. Her original state of mind is blacked out. She is hot and bothered while backside slides, rotates and moves against a guy. Sensing nervousness, La’ Vicha grinds harder with each treble and bass. The disc jockey reminds the crowd to have a great time and have fun. A slur of cheers erupts. La’ Vicha’s dance partner responds to La’ Vicha grinding with grinds of his own. A lightning bolt storms La’ Vicha’s nerves. She smiles, yearning for more movement. Once rapper Schoolboy Q finishes his verse on the song, the DJ backspins and yells.Alright y’all. We’ve been turning up for the past couple of hours. It’s time to slow it down. Fellas, don’t leave the dance floor. If you plan on taking somebody home tonight, here’s your chance to show the ladies what you got.

The ladies roar and the mood shifts as sexual ecstasy takes over the club. DJ Illest spins, Say It by singer songwriter, Ne-Yo. Slurred cheers erupt as people move quickly to find a dancer. La’ Vicha does not move. She stays with the same guy that she has danced with for the past couple of hours. The mysterious gentleman decides to remain in La’ Vicha’s presence as well.

Still wanna dance, little mama, Mr. Mysterious whispers in La’ Vicha’s ear. His eyes size little mama up and down, observing beauty in his sight. His handsomeness and her lust is all Miss Brown can fester. She grabs his left hand and drags him to a wall near the second floor elevators. La’ Vicha smiles while gently pressing him against it. Mysterious man gives a mild shiver. The cold, as well