Excerpt: Apple Tree by Jessica Tilles

 

Chapter 1
 

Jalisha and Corine peeped through the crack of their bedroom door and watched as their mother’s head bobbed back and forth, in a circular motion, into the abdomen of a man they had never seen before.

“What is she doing?” asked eight-year-old Corine. “Why is her head moving like that?”

“Hush. Do you want her to hear you?”

The sisters observed as their mother worked her fifth trick of the night.

“Is she almost done?” Corine asked.

“Looks like it,” Jalisha guessed.

“Lisha, how can you tell?”

“How can I tell what?” Jalisha snapped, totally annoyed at what was taking place before her.

“That she’s almost done.”

“His legs look wobbly.”

“Oh. . .” Corine trailed off with a look of confusion on her face.

Jalisha was right. The man’s knees buckled and his head tilted back as he expelled a deep, hearty moan from his esophagus. A white liquid arch discharged from his waist and into the air, splattering onto the burnt orange, shag rug.

Camille Thomas stood to her feet, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and scratched her ass.

“Fifty bucks,” she spoke in a monotone voice.

“For what? You ain’t doing shit.”

In a defensive gesture, she folded her arms across her chest and slowly repeated, “Fifty bucks.”

Camille reached for the partially crumpled Newport Menthol 100s from the aged end table. “I need some smokes,” she huffed.

With a quick roll of the eyes and snap of the neck, “Lisha!” she called out as she turned her back to the stranger zipping up his tattered denim pants.

As if propelled by an explosive force, Jalisha hopped up from the bed and darted toward her bedroom door. She recognized the ‘about to get your ass whipped’ tone in her mother’s voice. When she tried to speak, her voice wavered. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Get in here, girlie.”

Jalisha flinched at Camille’s order. She became more uncomfortable by the minute as her dismay grew. What now, she thought to herself.

Camille faced the stranger, tilted her head back, and peered at his face with disgust. “I said fifty bucks,” she growled, her eyebrows raised into a perfect arch.

She amused him. “Woman, you crazy,” he chuckled. “I want more than you wettin’ my dick.”

“Well that’s all you gonna get,” she snapped, rolling her eyes toward Jalisha.

Jalisha entered the living room, her head lowered, hands folded behind her back, and her face clouded with uneasiness. Nervously, she bit down on her bottom lip.

Camille reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a twenty. She purposely lowered her voice to be mysterious. She knew how doing so kept her girls in line.

“Run to the store and get me a pack of smokes,” Camille ordered as she balled up the twenty and tossed it at Jalisha, where it bounced off her chest and onto the floor. “Bring me my change back.”

Anxious to escape from Camille’s disturbing presence, Jalisha reached down, snatched up the twenty, and ran out the front door, leaving Corine hunched down in the corner behind the bedroom door with her face pressed against the crack and her eagle eye focused on Camille.

Camille smoothed her bangs with her fingertips. Her eyes squinted. “A’ight, niggah, I ain’t gonna tell you no more. Give me my damn money and roll the fuck out,” she demanded. She wrapped her chapped lips around the cigarette, while the tip turned a bright, fiery orange as she inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, I’ll give you your money, but you will give me my monies’ worth first.”

She drew deeply on the cigarette and slowly blew a cloud into the stranger’s face. “Niggah, I ain’t giving you shit,” she declared as she turned her back on the stranger.

With the swiftness of a sprinter, the stranger snatched Camille by the arm and yanked her toward him. “Look here, bitch. Don’t be fuckin’ with me,” he snapped, showering Camille’s face with his venom. “Now, you want fifty bucks and I wants me some pussy.” His grip tightened. “You gonna give me what I pay for.” His eyes were cold as ice. She shivered from the chill ravishing through her.

Fear whisked across her face. “A’ight, damn. Chill out, niggah,” she whined.

Roughly, he thrust her away from him and straightened himself. The imprint of his hand throbbed down to her bone. “You want some pussy, it’s gonna cost you twenty extra,” she sniffed as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

His brows drew together in an angry frown.

“Okay, okay, damn. I’ll give you what you want. However, let the record show this pussy ain’t cheap. So next time you bring your cheap ass around here and you want a blow and some ass, make sure you bring enough money,” she informed. She had pushed the envelope. The possibility of getting her ass whipped had mounted.

Camille turned her back toward him, bent over, and pressed her palms flat against the badly-in-need-of-paint wall.

He walked up on her and raised her skirt up to her head, resting it on her shoulders.

“Come on, niggah. I ain’t got all damn day,” she sighed.

He unzipped his pants and allowed them to fall down around his ankles. He bent at the knees and positioned himself so his waist would be level with her hind part. He stuck his index finger inside his ear and pulled out a glob of earwax. He then pulled her underwear to the side. A tart odor shot from her snatch up to his nose and throughout the apartment. He wrinkled up his nose, leaned his head back, poked out his chapped bottom lip, and inserted his index finger into her vagina.

“Finger fucks are extra, niggah!”

“Making sure you ain’t got nuttin’. You don’t smell so fresh.”

He wiggled his finger in, out, and around her walls. Camille flinched. He pushed his finger deeper inside, purposely scrapping against her walls. For a hot second, Camille’s feet left the floor.

He jumped back, smacked her on the ass, left his imprint, and snatched up his pants. “Bitch, you nasty! Naw, I don’t want that shit and I ain’t giving you fifty dollars!”

“Keep ya goddamn money and get the hell out. Don’t bring your tired lil’ dick ‘round here no mo’.”

He smacked her on the ass again as hard as he could.

“Ouch, bastard!” she cried.

“You need to stop selling tainted pussy!” he howled.

As he reached for the door, Camille picked up a porcelain vase, filled with a polyester floral arrangement of reds and blacks, and threw it. The vase crashed against the wall. It barely missed his head.

“Bitch, is you crazy?” His eyes grew large as he stomped toward Camille. “Is you crazy?” He raised his arm in the air and like an axe; he swung his fist down across her face. She tumbled to the floor like a freshly cut oak tree.