S1Ep4: Hollywood Hookah

Onyx

Sachi has her customary hip poked out, a satisfied smirk on her done up face as I stand horrified in my vanity mirror.

“Sachi,” I whine, drawing out the syllables.

“Unt, unt. You look good. Lucky I like dick.” She flicks her tongue to punctuate her point, but even her praise can’t calm my nerves.

My bodysuit is long-sleeved, but it’s see-through, my black petal pasties barely covering my areolas. The mini skirt has built in shorts, but somehow, my asscheeks are still out. 

The platform mules we stuffed my feet in, I know, are gonna be hurting my ankles later.

“This is too much.”

“It’s not enough,” Sachi spat, turning from angle to angle to get a selfie. “My first pop out after my ex, I was damn near naked. Whole pussy out. Got like ten numbers that night, and ended up on his favorite rapper’s IG story. That nigga is somewhere having boring sex with that homewrecking tramp, and you need to show the world not only do you not give a fuck, but you better off without his pompous ass.”

“Pompous?” I giggle, turning away from the mirror to face her.

“Yes, Onnie. I don’t need a fancy, shmancy college education to know what that means.” She sticks her tongue out before beckoning me to come to her.

Sachi jokes that she was born in heels, and I know she feels comfortable in her sky high red bottoms. Her black jeans look painted on, and they, coupled with her very cropped petal-collared shirt, show off her flat stomach and underboobs.

To offset the all-black outfit–since we’re celebrating the demise of my relationship, she changed her wig to a three-sixty platinum blonde unit that she pulled into a messy bun.

“Loosen up. I need the people to see my bestie is back and she going!”

“Sachi,” I hiss, before she turns on some music and points the camera at me.

“My beeeest biiiiiitch, show them that ass, guh!” she screeches. I smile and do as she says, hoping my giggle isn’t nervous sounding. 

“Don’t we have to leave soon?” I whine, grabbing my clutch.

“Lani gon’ hold our section until we get there, but it’s cool. I can get more pics when you sucking on the hookah.”

Thankfully, Sachi takes pity on me and makes a beeline for her car while Obi is in his room. It doesn’t matter how old I am, I know he wouldn’t let me leave the house with my titties out, and I don’t think I have the strength to fight him on it.

“Now, my lil’ side nigga hit me up saying he gonna roll through, but he the big dog in his lil’ crew, and yo rebound gotta be a upgrade.”

“So, you’re dating?” I ask, keeping my attention on the tequila bottle I’m trying to open.

Just because Sachi and I haven’t talked for ten years, doesn’t mean I don’t know the circumstances surrounding Franco’s father.

He’s always been a sore subject.

“I got niggas on my line, but that’s nothing new. The rare occasion I’m out and shit, I call up my lil’ side nigga and he have a ball. I did have a boyfriend, years ago. Franco was calling him daddy just like I was, but you know how niggas do. I was more mad he drug Franco into it, so I told myself he my main man until he eighteen and these niggas can be sidelines. Ain’t no one breaking my baby heart, or worse; teaching him to be a dog ass nigga.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re still having your way,” I smile, finally opening the bottle and taking a double shot to the head.

We stop at a red light and she takes the bottle from me with a wink. “I was gon’ do that anyway, Miss Thang.” She waterfalls a shot, shaking her tongue out like that’ll help, before handing the bottle back to me.

It feels like we’re seventeen again, using Sachi’s grandmother’s old Buick to ride around after she goes to sleep. Only back then, we drank wine coolers and smoked swishers.

“Don’t get all sentimental, Onnie. You really ain’t miss much. You woulda came home during break, seen me all fucked up, and never wanted to leave. Shit happens for a reason. I needed to know I could stand ten toes down, and you needed to boss up away from Black and L.”

“No one’s sentimental,” I sniffle, before we both laugh it off. Cars are spilling out of the strip mall where Hollywood Hookah is, so she park on a residential street, nearly blocking a driveway.

Even on the cracked sidewalk, she’s strutting. Arm and arm, we weave through the sea of people. Men are catcalling, but Sachi pays them no mind.

“We too cute to be standing outside with niggas,” she hisses under her breath, opening the door for me.

Inside, the lights are dim. There’s sections everywhere, with people smoking hookah, and drinking bottles. There’s a long bar to our right, and a girl behind it mixing a drink. 

We walk up to her left, where there’s an empty spot. She looks up and brightens immediately.

“There you are!”

Sachi grins and slaps hands with her. “This my bestie Onyx. She just moved back.”

The bartender winks at me before wiping her hands and rounding the bar. She moves her long goddess braids to her shoulder before she pulls me into a hug.

“Girl! Thank you for moving back! Maybe now Sachi can stop being so stank face!”

“Fuck you, Lani!”

Lani blows a kiss at Sachi before leading us to a section in the middle of the room. She picks up the reserved placard as we slide into the buttery leather seats.

“I’ll bring you guys some tequila, and then is peach and raspberry okay for the hookah?”

“Can we smoke my good shit, too?” Sachi volleys, bringing a joint to her nose.

“Bossman’s not here, but he told me to tell you to stop calling him a trick.” 

Sachi cackles as Lani walks off, and lights up immediately as we bop our head to the music.

The sections around us are full, and one of the men to our right nods at us before taking his shot.

“It’s some niggas in here,” Sachi says, blowing smoke away from us as she hands me her joint.

“I just wanna have a good time,” I murmur. The smoke fills my lungs, and I hold in my urge to cough. For so long, my ex claimed that smoking was unladylike. Even he partook only in social settings, when he had to show he wasn’t the Uncle Tom people claimed he was behind his back.

The only thing I took from him, besides that gaudy ass engagement ring, was his weed, but it wasn’t the good stuff.

Not like the kush we’re blowing on now.

“Where you get this from?” I ask, handing her back the joint.

She looks at me, blinking as the server gives us a bottle of top shelf tequila, some juice, and glasses, without the fanfare. “I’m not even finna ruin our night answering your question. Shot up, Miss Thang.”

I roll my eyes, knowing what that means. Figures.

But I shot up anyway.

The DJ switches his vibe, and soon, people begin dancing in between the sections. Sachi keeps her camera in my face, posting pictures and videos of us turning up all on her feed, and showing me messages of people we know commenting and showing me love.

Soon, my eyesight is blurry. I don’t move my hair out my face as I sip the water bottle Sachi handed to me.

Sachi stands and gathers me. It’s so funny, me weighing two of her, and yet her grip is hard on my arm as she leads me through the crowded room.

“We gon’ go get some food.”

But alas, I felt the telltale signs of something more urgent.

“Swing me by the bathroom,” I push out.

She does a detour, pushing people out the way.

“Ay, she going next,” I hear her grit, as she pushes me into the bathroom and locks the door behind her, over some protests.

I make it to the toilet, squat, and purge all the liquor I ingested over the past few hours. Immediately I feel amazing, and rise to my feet and grin at Sachi.

“Go wash your mouth out, nasty. We gon’ build your tolerance back up because my bitch can’t be throwing up like that!” She scrunches her face as I cackle, but I wash my mouth out, wash my hands, then go ahead and pee before washing them again and taking the gum Sachi has ready for me.

“I’m good now. Let’s go eat.”

Sachi winks at me as we float out of Hollywood Hookah. It’s amazing how you get a second wind after puking your guts out, but a win is a win.

“You good to drive?” I ask as the night air hits us. It was too damn hot inside.

“I ain’t fucked up like you was, but nah. I ain’t driving.” Sachi steers us toward a clean white Maybach parked at the end of the parking lot.

“Ummm… Sachi?” I whisper, as we strut toward it.

“He’s so embarrassing. Please don’t mind him.”

We’re a few feet away when the driver’s door opens.

And the finest man steps out into the fray.

I stumble as recognition dawns on me. 

“Bitch,” I whisper. “Your sideline is thee Primetime Prince?!” I don’t really need a reply, since I–and the rest of the parking lot–are staring at Kenton Eagles’ star wide receiver Dontaé Prince.

But she doesn’t answer, because he begins to walk toward us, his lips spreading to a smirk.

“Wazzam, slim?” he drawls, hints of his Louisiana accent making his words sound silky.

He towers over my friend, who lets me go to accept his hug. He drops a kiss onto her forehead, and keeps his arm around her when he turns to me.

“Miss Thang, Woadie. Woadie, Miss Thang.”

Dontaé grins, showing his gold slugs, as his big ass hand shakes mine.

He walks us to the passenger side, opening the doors for both of us as we slide into his car.

“I can’t believe he’s just out in the hood alone picking us up,” I cheese, sinking into the expensive seats.

“Oh, girl, Big Swole is right there.” Sachi points a long colorful nail to the impossibly huge man climbing into a running escalade across from us.

My eyes stretch, but I get myself together when Dontaé slides into his seat. He pulls off first, the escalade following behind him.

“Pancake house?” he asks.

“You know it.”

I geek out when he slides his hand into her lap and squeezes her thigh.

Lil’ side nigga. Sachi done snagged a pro football player.