New York Shorties

Copyright

Copyright© 2017 Bad Apple Cru Publications, LLC all rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and publisher Bad Apple Publications, except brief quotes used in reviews. This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person.

All the characters, incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author/publisher.

Amazon.com, Kindle, KDP, etc. are registered trademarks of Amazon.com This eBook is not written, published, or endorsed by Amazon.com or its affiliates or any other party mentioned.

––––––––

Published by~ Bad Apple Cru Publications, LLC

Formatting by Blurred Lynes www.blurredlynes.com

Join our social networks like us on Facebook Bad Apple Publications Follow us on Twitter @badapplecru Visit our website www.badapplepublications.com

Bag Ladies!

(A New York Shortie Tale)

By Aaron Bebo

All You Have To Hold Onto Is You

Aaeesha let the razor glide over her vulva one last time in an attempt to remove any fuzz on her peach. According to her hadith and personal teachings instilled in her by her father, in the way of her father. She should only be shaving her pubic hair every 40 days. But she liked that area bare, it was her choice. The Muslim girls in her country were ruled over like slaves concerning their life choices. She was in fact a Muslim, but she was a resident of Harlem!

Her family owned a grocery store on 112th street and Eighth Avenue. She arrived in America 9 years ago, at age at age ten. Her family lived in The Bronx for the first 5 years once they arrived. Her father worked at the grocery store of a cousin from also from their homeland of Iraq, until he was able to open his own store and moved the family to Harlem. Her mother and 3 brothers. They all worked the grocery store and lived in the four-bedroom apartment above the grocery.

Her father was a wise Oldman who surrounded the home in traditional Middle Eastern Muslim culture, but absorbed from the land around him outside the home. As much as he preached about the curse of this soiled land. He ate from it, and it fed his children. He moved like an American businessman without ever putting on a suit. He was very shrewd and secretive, like an attorney. Like a Jew.

He took her brothers on hunting trips. While he sent her away to camps with other Middle Eastern girls to privately owned property in the country. Spacious valleys beneath high mountain peaks. A man built well provided energy to the log cabin style homes. They prepared breakfast with fresh goose eggs, turkey bacon, and whole wheat toast. Huge sheep dogs patrolled the pastures protecting Angus, sheep, goat from Wolves. The stables housed once wild Arabian Stallions.  Her time there was always serene and rich with experience.

These trips were her father’s way of guiding them into what he expected them to be. In her case, she assumed he wanted her to understand richness in life and the serenity one can acquire by being self-sufficient. Surrounding one’s self with all one’s needs. They never left the camp grounds for one thing. Food, water, and energy was all in one place and it was all provided by the land.

She tapped the metal razor on the edge of the porcelain sink, and ran the blade under the hot water once more before putting it away. She turned off the water and stepped in front of the mirror on the door, looking herself over. Satisfied with what she saw. She gathered her clothing and stepped out of the bathroom into her bedroom.

She lay across her bed, and let her fingers beat against the keyboard. She looked at the screen after logging into her Charmed Lyfe account. She seen all her pending orders had been paid. $7.500. For a few bags and shoes.

She sold just as much merchandise online as she did moving through the streets of Harlem. But her biggest cash flip came from the small department and clothing stores on 125th and Fordham Rd. She did a lot of business with the stores who wanted the top designers in their store, but couldn't really afford to purchase even at a wholesale rate. The mark up on high end designers wasn’t much from the retail Maybe, $600, $700 the most, but she would sell them the merchandise at a rate below the wholesale rate, with no obligation on a minimum number per order.

For example, she would sell a pair of Ralph Lauren Alligator Celia Pumps for $3.500. The store could easily mark them up to $5.000. The wholesale price would be around $4.200. She sold directly to the store owners, so there was no service fee. Like there was when she used Charmed Lyfe.

She transferred the money to her bank account, and logged out of her account. She stretched and thought about what she was going to do today. She picked up her phone, and strolled through her missed calls, and text. There was nothing from her brother Yohan. No one had seen him in two days. They were close. He was 15, and just like her he loved the American culture. But he was infatuated more with being infamous in the streets of Harlem. He ran the streets day and night, sleepless like the city. But for her not to see him in two days was strange. They always crossed paths, or he would call her. She hadn’t heard from him at all.

Their father showed much favor to Yohan. Not only was he the youngest boy, but he was the spitting image of her father. He allowed him to wander the city unsupervised. While the rest of them were expected to work the store, and supply some other fuluus to the family savings. She paid the little tax her father set, and if she did. She could move however she wanted. Back in her homeland, a woman could never pay for their independence.

Each of her family members had their own hustles that bought in money, except for her mother. Her duty was to take care of the household, and keep the store orders correct. She had no idea what her other brothers did. Her eldest brother Harim was away studying at some university in Massachusetts, but he was still responsible for paying his share to the family, and working the store during his vacations. She suspected her father was into some real underworld dealings. He often met and went on trips with Saudi’s and she knew how most of them moved.

She chose one of the oldest professions, mastered by women from her culture. She pilfered, and she was good. She quickly became one of the stars on her team. The girls were already established and doing their thing. But when Andrea put her down with the team. She earned her spot. She came from a long line of thieves. She was a professional. 

She walked to the hanging shoe pouch that was on the wall and pushed her Puma sneakers into the slot they went in. She folded her Hijab and placed it on the shelf next to the shoe rack. She went to her chest and spun the dial on the combination lock. She unlocked the chest, removed the lock, and opened her treasure chest. She reached into the chest and took out a matching panty and bra set. The tags were still hanging from the undergarments

She removed the tags and slip the panties over her legs and pulled them over her bare snatch. She put on the wireless bra, and moved to the next chest, removing the lock. She squatted before the trunk, it was filled with purses, clutches, bags. All high end, most still with the tags still on them. She picked up a sky-blue leather Alexander Wang bag. She put the bag on her bed and moved to her closet.

She opened the closet and selected a sky blue Bebe dress. She laid the dress next to the bag, and examined the match. Perfect. She smiled, and continued putting together her outfit. Placing more items on her bed until she had assembled the perfect stitching for the day the sun sewed.

She hid her top incisors behind her lip, as she bit down tucking her bottom lip. She narrowed her eyes at the reflection of her golden-brown skin, appearing to be kissed by the sun all its days, and she never enjoyed a moment on the beach. The mirror should bow at such a sight.

She grabbed her bag and stepped out her room. She walked down the hall heading toward the back entrance. Her brother Abdul stepped from the shadows, and spoke to her in harsh Arabic, Are you a merchant of flesh, you’re dressed like a whore

She heard him and continued to step down the hallway. Abdul was what the Americans called a radical Muslim. He was 19 when they arrived in the states. In his mind the entire American culture was wrong, even though they sold pork to the poor, and went into business with the Government with programs like EBT, and WIC.

He would walk around the house in Bisht chanting Arabic war songs. She mostly avoided him. She did feel safe whenever he was in the gun hole, during her hours at the store. She was sure he was sitting comfortably with the AR-15 in the portion of the wall they cut out on the upper back wall that looked over the store.

There had never been a robbery attempt at their store, but her father always told the story of the two would be robbers he gunned down from the gun hole, in The Bronx. Years ago, when she was a teen. She had no recollection of the incident, but she read the newspaper clippings when she got older.

Her mother was in the kitchen standing over the stove as she walked by. She retraced her steps and stepped into the kitchen. Her nostrils were stung by the smell of grilled halloumi. Her father’s favorite. She preferred King’s Pizza on 145th street. She slipped her hand in her bag and pulled out a small roll and handed it to her mother, and kissed the old woman on the cheek. Her mother nodded and smiled.

She walked out the kitchen leaving her mother standing over the pots. She felt sorry for her mother. She was still a victim of the submissive woman from back home, even though she was in the land of the free.

She unlocked the door to the back staircase and headed down the stairs. Once she stepped outside the bright afternoon sun greeted her. She paused to check her reflection in the paint of a 600 Benz parked at the curb. The dress had a Herve Leger fit, the V-Neck dipped low enough to display enough cleavage, to make her B Cups appealing.

She did a small turn displaying the heart shape effect the material had on her butt. The funky silver, sky blue and black, studded Alexander McQueen 4" stilettoes, were hot enough to match the sun’s heat.

She stepped away from the Benz heading down 112th street. She cut through the school yard to 113th and headed toward Seventh Avenue. She heard Andrea’s mouth before she got to the corner. 

So, check it, I walked back up to the register with the two bags. I could already tell by the look on the bitch face, she was going be a problem.

Aaeesha walked up on the group of girls standing right off the corner, alongside the building. There were four girls to be exact, and they were all wearing high end fashion. Everything from $3000.00 Gucci sneakers, to Vera Wang shoes and purses. They were walking fashion models for every top end designer with a name. These were the girls she hung with whenever she could get away from the store, and her father’s demands. This was her crew; The Bag Ladies.

She looked at her girls. Tootsie with the hi-top skin fade, dyed pink. Her wide eyes and thick lips, the freckles that spotted her cheeks, and her curious personality. Lil Bit was ‘4 11", and was the loudest one of them all, and possibly had the biggest heart. She was a proud dark skin female with a Napoleon complex. Then there was Gabrielle, she was the wild card of the crew. Dominican with long pretty hair and a island complexion. Despite her sunny isle features, she would probably be the first to throw shade. Finally, there was Andrea. She was brown skin with chinky eyes, and a video vixen figure. 

Andrea paused to greet Aaeesha, Hey boo.

They kissed each other on both sides of the cheek. Their ritual greeting. She did the same with the rest of the girls, and Andrea went back to holding court.

I tell the bitch; I want to make a return. The first thing out her mouth is we don’t do gift cards. I looked at that bitch and rolled my eyes.

She pointed at Gabrielle, You know it was a high yellow bitch, such as yourself.

Andrea giggled, and the other Bag Ladies did as well.

Yeah, the ho’ was so busy trying to look down a bitch. She missed what I was putting right in her face. I said I don’t want a gift card dear. This bag was a gift; I don’t like the color. I’d just like a simple exchange. Bitch was like oh. Right!

She cocked her head to the side and rolled her eyes in her head.

I kindly handed that bitch both bags. Waited for her to bag the one I wanted up, and give me the exchange receipt, and threw that bitch the deuces.

Get the fuck out of here. Wow. Gabrielle said, So you just went in the store got both bags, and took them to a register?

Yup. I told them I want to do an exchange and I don’t have a receipt. See most these stores is up on the gift card shit now, so I’m just doing exchanges, and getting the merch.

Yo that shit is dope as fuck, cause they bagging the shit up for you, and giving you the receipt. Lil Bit said.

Right. Gabrielle chimed in.

Nino, you... you... you... a genius! Lil Bit said laughing.

Pure unadulterated! Andrea said with a smirk, Nah but true song Aaeesha schooled me to that.

The other girls looked at Aaeesha. She smiled slyly, What I don’t know. I tried that shit downtown and it worked. I would never pull the shit downtown again, but out of town that shit platinum.

So, when were you going tell us, I think you an Andrea fucking on the low. Lil Bit said.

Nah you know I only want you. Aaeesha said, reaching out and pinched her butt.

I’m serious ho’ ya’ll always doing shit without us.

I wasn’t with Drea when she did that shit. I just told her about it last week. When I came back from Connecticut.

Oooooh I heard you kilt them out there. Tootsie said.

I did though. Shit sweet. But see Naomi and them bitches will never take me nowhere again, ‘cause they talk too much. Whatever I did up there wasn’t for nobody to know that wasn’t there.

Well you know she know we all down.

So, what. Ya’ll wasn’t with me. I don’t play the game like that."

True song though! Andrea said, offering her a hi-five.

Aaeesha touched her palms to Andrea’s that was her girl. Out of all the girls they were the closest. She was the first one who had talked to her when they moved from The Bronx to Harlem. She was 15 and they were attending Whatley at the time. Andrea was the only one out of the entire crew who been in her home, and seen how her family really lives, and her personal network she had developed.

Aaeesha was the only