Free GHETTO SUPERSTAR by Nikki Turner

lately.”
    “A'ight then,” she said, accepting his apology. “I'll be out in a minute.”
    Fabiola finished touching up her makeup and then pulled on her thigh-high boots on top of her Frankie B jeans. She took one look in the mirror and then slipped on the mink jacket that her mother had bought hot off a crackhead and stepped out ready for her date. When she got to G.P.'s truck, the wheels were so big she damn near needed a stepladder to get in the thing.
    G.P. was a certified d-boy, dope dealer, trap star, or whatever the slang term for them was these days. He had tried to keep it from Fabiola at first but it was too entrenched in his blood. G.P was the type of fella that needed to let people know that he was getting money and a lot of it. G.P. flaunted his cash. Normally, Fabiola wasn't interested in the trapper type of cats, especially the young and dumb ones, but she tolerated G.P. He did buy her nice things, made her laugh, and his sex game was indeed something a best-selling author could write home about.
    “We going to that new club tonight,” G.P. said when she climbed in the truck. “What's the name of it?” he asked. “The Diamond Mine—that's it,” he answered his own question.
    “I don't want to go to any club,” Fabiola protested. “I thoughtwe were going out to a movie and a restaurant.” She felt like she was hanging out at work when she went to clubs.
    “I'm trying to floss for my lady, the baddest bitch in the city. Fuck a tired-ass movie. Tonight we gon pop hella bottles of the most expensive bubbly they got … do it up in baller-status style. We gon make this grand opening legendary. Let me spoil you, let me show off those boots I bought you,” G.P. begged.
    That was one of the problems she had with G.P.: He could buy her clothes, make it rain all night on sweaty stripper chicks, and buy out the bar, but when Fabiola asked him to invest some money in her career he looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. G.P. had no vision, therefore he failed to see her vision. The furthest his sight went was hustling narcotics; if it couldn't be bagged up in a plastic bag and sold … it didn't make sense.
    Fabiola knew that a real relationship wasn't going to work out for them in the long run, but the last six months had been fun. She'd give him that. What girl didn't like to go on getaways to Atlantic City and New York City and receive expensive gifts? She worked hard and G.P. was just the distraction that she needed.
    “I'll go if it means that much to you,” she gave in.
    “Thanks, Boo.” He smiled, showing victory all over his face. “And I tell you what I'm going to do: After the club, I'll cook you a gourmet steak dinner at my house. One of dem steaks that Biggie rapped about.”
    “But”—Fabiola matched his smile—“I don't want no shit out you come two in the morning after we leave the club when it comes to my steak dinner. I don't want to hear you too pissy drunk to cook for me.”
    “Nah, I can handle my liquor, plus I can hook a steak up,” he boasted.
    “Okay, we'll see.”
    Every baller and wanna-be baller in the city made the grand opening of The Diamond Mine, which had three floors, with a different style of party happening on each one. Downstairs was hip-hop. Dance hall on the second level. And on the third, it was anything goes. That's where the pole was, and the strippers were putting that sucka to work—overtime! G.P. spent most of his time and money making it rain on the third level. He had women circling him like vultures all night long, and he was loving every minute of the attention. At that moment, it didn't matter to G.P that the prettiest girl in the club was there with him.
    Maybe it is time for me to upgrade
, Fabiola thought as she looked at how engrossed he was in his surroundings.
He's never going to understand anything other than this
.
    “Boo,” she called out to him, but he didn't answer, since he was mesmerized by an African chick with