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    Tales From Sha-Hair-Azad:

    These Walls Can Talk

    By Najya Yasirah





    What if Antoine and Reyjah had met under totally different circumstances? Would things have been the same? Would she have been as sweet? Only one way to find out!!

    Disclaimer: Antoine Laconte is not mine ( Argh!) Neither is Fluisia, Natalie Tina, Susan, Kate, and Deuce Bigalow. Neither is anyone from the Mummy. Reyjah and all her crazy friends are mine. Rated R for you know what; and there’s a WHOLE lotta You- know-what!! Kids, go to bed, you got school in the morning!! Please feel free to send comments to: lilchikieboo@yahoo.com or lilchikieboo@hotmail.com .


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    Prologue: “Pain in the ASS”

    “Dammit, not again.” Reyjah angrily woke up. It was 3:00 in the morning and her noisy, next door neighbor was being just that. She had moved into her new studio apartment just three months ago. She wanted to be closer to the beach so she could run sprints in the morning. Reyjah had moved to Los Angeles from New York six months prior. She had gotten awarded 23.5 million dollars from a gymnastics accident due to faulty equipment on the committee’s behalf. She had undergone 9 knee surgeries, the ninth resulting in a screw. During the process of her trial, she attended cosmetology school and worked as a waitress. Once she passed the board, she worked at a 24-hour hair salon. She got interested in fitness modeling, but the demand for muscular models was not very high in New York. Hell, she liked hot wings too much to be superskinny. Feeling she had nothing to lose, she bought her parents a home in Manhattan, purchased a Lincoln Navigator with cash, rented a U-Haul, and relocated to Los Angeles. Reyjah wisely put her money in the bank. She didn’t want to live as a wealthy person, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with luxury. Her apartment featured reupholstered, blue Asian-style furniture that she had purchased at the Village. Her carpet even had stain-guard on it. Her appliances, that were of the latest technology, were purchased at a pawnshop. She had bought her collection of Asian weaponry at different flea markets and ‘chop shops’. Her video collection was mostly blackmarket/bootleg. Reyjah’s philosophy: “The best way to stay rich, is to buy cheap.” She begrudgingly rose out of bed. She looked in the mirror. Reyjah was a beautiful, African-American woman. Her cheekbones were high and her nose was pronounced. Her lips were full, similar to Angelina Jolie’s. Lately, people were saying that she looked liked the brown version of the Oscar- winning actress. “Damn, I keep forgetting to take these contacts, out,” she said in reference to her sapphire- blue Colorblends, that showed no trace of her naturally, amber –hued eyes. Her mamma, Gia, always fussed at her about being happy with what God gave her. She grinned as she put Visine in her eyes. ”Damn”, she sputtered She hated it when the saline solution ran into her mouth. God had indeed given her many talents; she could sing, dance, and she was a smart girl. Her personality was simply unique. She held her tongue for no one, but she was very down-to-earth and very hilarious. That’s why her new LA clients liked her. That’s why her old NY clients missed her. Reyjah was always told that she had a gift for people. Meaning that when someone met her, they would tell her their life story. She looked at her own jet –black hair. It had finally grown back out, long to the middle of her back. Derrick, at her new salon, Sha-Hair-Azad, had relaxed it for her. It had been a curly mess for so long; people had starting calling her “Macey Gray.” It was in a tousled mess. She hadn’t felt like wrapping it. “Oooooh!!!!! Antoine!!!!!!!” was the noise through the wall. Reyjah dropped her Visine in the sink. “That’s it!” she said firmly. Not caring that she was dressed in a Victoria’s Secret mint green demi bra and matching string bikinis, she stormed out of her apartment.

    “Ooooh Antoine!!” screamed the young brunette. Antoine Laconte loved his job. He was an internationally known gigolo. Women all over the world would summon him for his services. And judging by his apartment, he was doing it right. He had a $6,000 custom-made Living Color fish tank complete with a $300 Chinese Tailbar Lionfish. “You like that, huh?” he growled into his young client’s ear. Antoine was drop-dead gorgeous. He was very tall, with defined muscularity. His dark, curly hair hung to his shoulders in waves and curls. His Italian heritage blessed him with smooth, olive skin and beautiful coffee-colored eyes. His accent could melt wax off a candle. That night was insured for $10,000. Every man’s dream job, right? Riiiggghhhhht.

    Reyjah was nervous. She didn’t want to be completely rude; maybe just a little bitchy, but not rude. After all, she had been subjected to this crap for far too long. Couldn’t he have sex quietly? Better yet, be like her and have none at all. “I’m mad I’m standing out here in my draws,” she said to herself in realization. She gently pressed the doorbell with a perfectly French- manicured fingernail. “BUZZZZZZZZZZZBUZZZZZZZZZBUZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!”

    “Hot Damn!!” said Antoine. ”Where’s the fire?!” “Just ignore it,” said his client, whose name was Celeste. Reyjah kept buzzing. “Bring your ass on, please!” she said to herself. She hoped there were no peeping Toms around.
    “Man..just let me get rid of whoever the hell this is,” said Antoine. He was pissed. “Go ahead, three orgasms is enough for me, Antoine,” said a breathless Celeste. Antoine put on his Joe Boxers. Incidentally, they featured a Smiley face licking its lips on the front. Aren’t we just a bit cocksure, Antoine?

    “What the hell do you want?!” Antoine yelled as he opened the door. His jaw dropped at what he saw. As far as black women were concerned, he found them intriguing, but yet intimidating. He had always though that Halle Berry was hot, but the woman that stood in her green Vickie’s Secrets in his doorway was absolutely gorgeous. He could not help but stare at her ample cleavage; her bra was cut so low. Her hair was pretty, in his opinion. Nothing complicated, just jet-black and long. Her brown skin was very smooth looking over her impressive muscle tone. Her stomach, complete with two belly rings, would have made Janet Jackson cry. Her blue eyes looked angry. “May I help you?” he asked, annoyed. After all, she interrupted him while he was “working”. “Look,” Reyjah began, “I don’t mean to come off like a bitch, but I live right beside you, and I hear –EVERYTHING!” she said with emphasis. “I don’t know whose dugout you’re digging in, but from the noises I hear, you hit a home run every time.” “Where are you from?” he asked making a face. “New York.” “You sound like a Yankees fan.” “Anyways, can y’all just keep it down, y’know, put the pillow over her damn face or something..anything?!” she pleaded. He chuckled. “Man, look at my eyes.” she pointed underneath her eyes. “These are bags, caused by YOU!” she said. “Man, I’m too young to carry luggage.” He laughed. “What is so damn funny?” she asked with a puzzled look. Antoine looked her up and down. “You sound like you haven’t had a man in years, and from your attitude, I can see why.” No, the hell he didn’t. “I know you ain’t talking junk wearing those damn, silly-assed boxers,” she said pointing to his crotch. “Is it so small that you have to embellish? Did she need a microscope to find it? I’ll go ask her!” Reyjah boldly pushed past Antoine and rushed into his bedroom. Celeste shrieked as she covered herself. “Excuse, me..what’s your name?” “Ce-Celeste.” “Okay, Celeste, I live right through that wall right there, I have to go to work in the morning, so could you please, just for me…bite the pillow? I would appreciate it so much!” Reyjah said. Antoine was embarrassed. Celeste dropped her jaw at the scantily clad, but beautiful black woman’s boldness. “By the way, is it as good as you scream it out to be, or are you just being nice?” asked Reyjah curiously. Antoine was burning angry. “That’s it! I want you out!” he demanded. When he picked up Reyjah he felt her warm, soft skin against his. He flung her over his shoulder. “Put me down, you filthy McNasty!!” she screamed, as she struggled against him. He opened the door with his free hand. “The next time you hear me hit a home run, I suggest you sleep outside!!” he hissed. He dropped her on his welcome mat. “OW!!” she said. “You asshole! I hope your dick rots off!!” she taunted as he closed the door. Peeping through his curtain, he got a good look as she stood up and brushed off her muscular butt. Her glutes were high and very tight. Her cheeks were perfectly rounded. He looked away, realizing that he was aroused. “Antoine?” Celeste called from his bedroom. She was wrapped in a sheet, standing in the doorway. “Who was that girl? She was really pretty. She reminds me of Angelina Jolie.” “I don’t know who the hell that was,” said Antoine gruffly. “Nor do I care to know.”


    Tales From Sha-Hair-Azad: These Walls Can Talk - Chapter 1