Money-Makin' Mamas by Smooth Silk Page B

in my ear about Chyna killing Ray. And when I asked Chyna what was up a few minutes ago, she jerked her head in another direction and refused to answer me.
    Something was up. I could feel it. The rule was for us to never lie to each other and all I wanted to know was the truth. Shit like that didn’t just hit the streets out of nowhere. Somebody knew something and the best person to shut this noise down was Mama.
    She didn’t answer me when I yelled up the winding staircase that led to her bedroom, but I could hear the shower running. I went back into my room where Simone was typing something on the computer, and Chyna’s big booty self was lying across my bed still ignoring me. There was no question that I loved my older sister to death, but I could never take her lying to me. We weren’t supposed to get down like that, so I asked her again what the fuck the chick with Tracy was talking about.
    Chyna tossed her braids to the side and sat against the headboard on my queen-sized bed that was accessorized with a metallic gold ensemble. I had a thing for gold and 70 percent of all my clothes and shoes had a hint of gold in them. Even my Mercedes that I referred to as the love of my life was gold. It was like that for me, and Mama hated it because she thought the color gold did me no justice. I was lighter than my other two sisters. They were a delightful chocolate brown. My hair was nearly shaved off, but what little I did have had a blond tint. My thin, almond-shaped eyes lured in many niggas, and the look in my seductive eyes benefited me in my profession. I could make a nigga bust a nut just from him staring into my eyes. My brows looked painted on and were perfectly arched. I was the only sister who went with the natural look and weave didn’t do shit for me. As for makeup? Not a drop of it was needed, but I sometimes used foundation to cover up a black mole on my cheek that was sexy, but too noticeable.
    â€œI wish you would stop askin’ me questions about Ray,” Chyna said, flipping through a magazine. “Whoever fucked him up is probably long gone. All I can say is it wasn’t me.”
    â€œCome over here and look at this,” Simone whispered and interrupted us talking. She was still on the Internet and had been for the last hour.
    We rushed over to see what was up. What we saw was a $2,000 deposit that had gone into Simone’s bank account. For somebody to pay her that kind of money, they wanted something heavy to go down. We all made a decent living doing video porn and paper had been falling down on us like rain.
    I had my own Web site and Chyna and Simone had theirs. Then we had a combined Web site where all three of us provided a service all at once. It was no secret that Chyna made the most money, then I did. Simone had some catching up to do, and there were times when we competed against each other to see who could make the most paper. Most of the time Chyna won. Simone had won one or two times, but I was never far behind. My body was sculptured like a Coca-Cola bottle and my ass wasn’t no jumbo booty, but it was perfect. Simone wasn’t as blessed as me and Chyna was, but Mama didn’t raise no chicks who couldn’t use what they had to make the kind of money we’d been bringing in.
    The good thing about Internet porn was we didn’t have to get physical with nobody and we avoided getting any sexually transmitted diseases. All we had to do was put on a show and bring pleasure to the men who watched us from the other side and, sometimes, gave us orders to do things that pleased them.
    These men consisted of drug dealers, married men, politicians, athletes: you name it. Our clientele was thick. Most of the escapades took place after nine o’clock at night and there were times when we’d be up until three or four in the morning showing off what Mama had blessed us with.
    â€œTwo thousand dollars,” I said, reading limited instructions the