Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick(64)
Apple had changed so much that the hood was saying they could no longer tell the difference between the two sisters, both of them now in the same in style of dress and with fierce attitudes. Apple used to be the nonchalant, quiet one that the neighbors liked better. Now the only way the community could tell them apart was by the cars they drove—Apple in her powder blue Benz or Kola in her BMW 5-Series. The other distinction was by their boyfriends, Kola being with Cross, and Apple with Guy Tony.
*****
It had been over a month since Supreme’s death, and Apple was growing tired of Guy Tony’s complaints. She thought he was bugging out, losing his mind. Every day it was the same thing with him. His conscience was eating him up inside, and he reminded Apple constantly.
“Shit is f*cked up, Apple,” he would say. “He’s haunting me, yo. He is. I can feel him coming after me.”
At first, Apple thought the feeling would pass, but with it being October, Guy’s paranoia was becoming a problem for her. She knew he had killed before and wondered why he was suddenly bugging out over one murder.
“Guy, he’s dead! He ain’t comin’ back! He’s f*ckin’ dead!”
“Nah, you ain’t the one that bodied him. I was. He’s pissed at me, Apple. What we did was f*cked up. You knew he was like a father to me. He helped me out, and I turned my back on him. Now his spirit is after me.”
Apple knew the only way to shut Guy Tony up was through sex. She would f-uck him so good, his paranoia seemed to fade for days at a time, and he would be back to his normal self. Then the two would continue to get money through their loan-sharking and bookkeeping in Harlem and elsewhere, with Guy Tony being on point when he wasn’t going loco.
But then a week or two later, it would be the same with him. Apple was growing tired of hearing his grievance about death, his guilt, and ghost stories. She once had the same horrid nightmares about Nichols, but with time, she had gotten better; money and power helping to relinquish the anguish.
Now she had a business to run, and Guy Tony wasn’t making it any better with his antics. She needed him, though, because he was still her backbone, her muscle in the streets. She fed off of his reputation, while building hers.
Apple was enjoying the fruits of her hard labor, frequenting the top clubs in the city from downtown to uptown, sitting in VIP, popping bottles, dancing with the cuties, and flaunting her wealth. With tons of cash to spend, she had the world at her feet and felt unstoppable.
From Club Velour in midtown to the Versace Palace in downtown, Apple was the baddest chick making a name for herself. She didn’t wait on any long lines or have to deal with the security. She and her crew would just roll up to the front entrance of the clubs in their motorcade of high-end cars, sometimes with more than a dozen people, and bypass the wait to get inside the happening party that night. Apple loved the nightlife like she loved sex. She worked hard during the day, and partied even harder when the lights went out.
She sat in the VIP section surrounded by her crew in Club Velour on Sixth Avenue, a sexy two-floored lounge housed in a candle-lit space with chocolate-brown walls and a Spanish-inspired décor, and a bar on each floor. The upstairs DJ had set the mood with ’80s- and ’90s-style hip-hop and rock. Apple had bottle service the entire night and admired the state-of-the-art technology with twenty large flat-screen TV’s.
Apple, her long, black hair dancing around her shoulders, was dressed in a very tight Dolce & Gabbana dress that accentuated all her curves, and sported a pair of Versace shoes that seemed to give her long, defined legs six more inches.
She sat next to Guy Tony, who seemed removed from everything going on around him. He sat back in the VIP area and took a few sips of Mo?t.
“Guy, you a’ight?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m good,” he replied flatly.
Worried, Apple looked at him. He hadn’t been himself lately. She was hoping he didn’t bring up Supreme’s death tonight. She just wanted to have a good time and enjoy the club scene. She downed Mo?t and Cristal, eyeing a few cuties that passed her way. The manager didn’t care or ask about her age. Apple knew that money talked and bullshit walked, and with the small fortune she was spending in Velour, the staff, security and management just looked the other way.
The DJ played Drake’s “Find Your Love,” and Apple jumped from her seat, swaying her hips to the beat and singing along to one of her favorite tracks. With the half-empty bottle of Mo?t clutched in her hand, the seventeen-year-old showed the boys her rhythm on the dance floor as she moved to the beat, keeping up with the other girls.
The men stood back and watched the show she put on, craving to push up on her smoothness, place their hands upon her soft thighs, and grind against her for some pleasure. But her reputation had preceded her, and she intimidated a lot of the men standing around.
One individual quickly caught Apple’s eye in the crowded spot. She noticed him by the bar standing next to a few goons, sipping on drinks and displaying that hardened thug image. Apple hooked her eyes on his smooth, dark skin and long braids that fell behind his head like tightropes. He was tall, well-dressed in a crisp white jacket and jeans, and sporting a pair of fresh white “Ups.” From afar, the man had Apple’s undivided attention without having to say one word to her. His demeanor kind of reminded her of Cross’—unconcerned about anything or anyone because their presence was authority enough to shut things down.