“You are not her father,” Martha spat venomously.
“You right, I'm not. And judging from the impression daddy dearest left I wouldn't want to be. Why are you even bothering to defend a nigga who left you and his seed to fin for themselves, four months into your pregnancy? That's not what a man does Mrs Jenkins. Your husband was a coward.” Stunned into silence by the true magnitude of Heath's words Martha's mouth hangs open while the accurate dissection of the situation rolls on. Much like the big wheel on the Proud Mary. “Look, I know this is a less than ideal situation but I don't see any reason why we shouldn't be able to meet each other halfway on this, seeing as how we share a common interest.” Heath reads Martha's quizzical expression and offers his version of enlightenment. “We both want whats best for your daughter.” Martha sucked her teeth sarcastically. Heath counters her skepticism with a hard dose of reality. “What, I'm just being honest with you. I hope you don't think I have to be here trying to make peace with you, do you?” Heath reads the anger that flashes across her face and knows that he's struck a cord. Martha seizes an opening in the conversation to try and alter the momentum of their exchange.
“So what are you going to do about the mortgage?”
Heath chuckles. “What would it take to bring you current? Five, six stacks?”
“About that, yeah.” Heath digs into each of his pockets and produces two knots that make Martha's eyes triple in size. For the second time in a span of less than five minutes Martha is stunned into silence. The twin knots, each consisting of only 20's, 50's and 100's, more money than she had ever seen in her entire life at one time, make her that way. Again, Dude reads her expression and is amused. He caps, “I only got like 37 maybe 3,800 right here.” He deliberately underestimates in an effort to avoid sending the attractive yet sheltered older woman into cardiac arrest. She holds out her hand to receive the 'favor', but before handing over the loot Heath poses a question. “So what do I get if I give you this?”
Martha's face twists into a patented 'what-the-Flip-Wilson' expression. “Huh?”
“You heard me. What do I get if I give you these ends?”
“How 'bout I don't call the police and tell them about how my 15 year old daughter is having sex with a 27 year old drug dealer?” Martha snarls.
“You ain't gon' do that anyway,” caps Heath.
“Oh, and whats stopping me?”
“Cause, if you get me locked up you know you getting put out the house, so stop playing. I'm doing you a favor as it is. You know, one hand washes the other.”
“Muthafucka I'm giving you my daughter, what else do you want?” Martha barked.
“I don't need you to give me your daughter, I already got her,” he states. Taking note of the way Heath ran his tongue over the surface of his lips while gazing openly at her cleavage causes Martha to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Heath continues. “Shorty don't need the mortgage caught up cause I'm gon' lace her with a spot regardless. This one is on you.” A quick mental calculation is performed on Martha's part. Every possible angle is examined with all the insight that a once upon a time top-of-the-line, flygirl from a long distant era could muster. It didn't take long for her to realize who held all of the trump cards. With her daughter already lost to the streets, and she, the unemployed, middle-aged, divorcee whose house was about to go into foreclosure, Martha knew she was at the young hoodlums mercy. Past experiences had taught her that her situation could only play out in one of two possibilities. Yet, as pathetic as she recognized her plight as being, in her small mind she felt a measure of gratitude for at least having a choice in the matter this time. As opposed to many occasions prior where any decision being made concerning her or her future, the luxury of actually participating in any capacity of the decision making process had never afforded to she.
Martha locks eyes with the cold, indifferent young G, and with a mouth filled with pride chomps down hard then swallows. “So what do you want?” She asks. The uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach only adding to her growing mental distress. Her past experiences in life having already prepared her for exactly where this was about to go.
Like a great white on the prowl in blood tinged waters, Heath peeps the weakness saturating the tone of her words. A familiar tingle begins to build in his pelvic region. With boldness he leans close to invade her personal space. He places a hand of on her knee. “What you got,” he quips slyly, as his hand begins to move inappropriately up the inside of her soft, chocolate thigh.
