Page 2 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

Aimee’s always telling Suchi that her tits are too perfect not to show them off. As if summoned, Aimee comes out next.

Lyric and Suchi applaud.

She waves them off. “Oh, stop you two.”

“No. You look amazing,” Lyric replies.

“Transcendent,” Suchi agrees.

“Okay! Come on with it, Dr. Smarty pants,” Aimee teases.

They all laugh.

Aimee has naturally curly, dark brown hair, which she’s wearing down and fluffed out.

Her soft hazel eyes sparkle behind her glasses as she gives air kisses to Lyric and Suchi.

Her outfit is nothing short of divine—a royal blue long-sleeve figure-hugging dress tied at her waist. Aimee is the temptress of their group, as Roc and Pete witnessed firsthand.

She’s as sweet as pie, so men never see it coming when it turns out she’s a full-on seductress.

“Seriously, though. You look va-va-voom, dahling. Aimee, where did you get that dress?” Suchi asks.

“The Nordstrom Rack in Culver City. I can usually find some nice brands that are super cheap.”

“Man, I miss bargain hunting. Finding just the right dress or blouse on a sales rack, I miss the rush,” Lyric reminisces.

“Oh, my God! Remember that time when Lyric hustled that lady out of that discounted Gucci purse?” Suchi laughs hard holding her hand to her chest.

“Do I?” Bridget comes out wearing a black cowl neck asymmetric slit dress. “That lady looked shook when Lyric walked away with it.”

“She pronounced Gucci ‘gookie.’ She didn’t deserve it.” Lyric protests. The ladies all crack up. “By the way, Bridge, your thighs are insane!”

“Thanks. Kickboxing has done wonders for my body.” Bridget does a silly catwalk turn.

Lyric is so proud of her girl, because if it had been her, she would have killed Lamar.

For the life of her, Lyric doesn’t get why these ashy-ass niggas ask for a baddie when they can’t handle being with one.

Lamar Nelson is a piece of shit. Point .

Blank . Period . This man, who pursued Bridget relentlessly in college, finally got her, then did a switch up.

Two years ago, Lamar told Bridget he was leaving her for another woman.

“You’re picturing Lamar with every strike, aren’t you?” Lyric smiles.

“Every motherfucking time.” Bridget nods. “I just wish I didn’t have any residual anger.”

“Bridge, that man cheated on you for God knows how long and asked you for a divorce…during a party…thrown for you by your publisher. If you had killed him, it would have been justified. Picturing him when you kick a punching bag isn’t a big deal.

You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Aimee says, imitating Kris Jenner.

“She’s right. You’re in therapy, and you’re working out to help balance your mental health,” Lyric agrees.

“And you are calmer. I remember the night when you shared your plot to murder Lamar and how you’d dispose of his body,” Suchi adds.

“Yeah, that was fucking dark, but impressive. I mean, Bridge, you literally came up with a plan to pull off the perfect murder.” Aimee nods.

“Too bad I was high on edibles. I wish I could remember it,” Bridget says.

Lyric and the other ladies give her a look of uncertainty.

“Not to do in real life. I’d put it in a book.

I could make the next book in The Queen’s Dilemma series a ‘who done it?’ type of mystery mixed with fantasy.

Where the reader is solving the crime at the same time Tyberious is. ”

“Tyberious is that dude. He’s like, if you took Batman, made him Black and placed him in the fantasy version of the Middle Ages,” Lyric remarks.

“I love the chemistry between him and Queen Miranda.” Suchi swoons.

“Me too. King Rodrick needs to hurry up and die,” Aimee asserts.

“I’ll kill him as soon as you kill Queen Isolde,” Bridget rebuts.

“I know. I’m working on it. It’s hard to finally let go of the series after all these years,” Aimee says.

“I know. I’m not looking forward to ending The Queen’s Dilemma .”

Unlike Bridget’s fantasy series, Aimee’s adult fairytale series, are rooted in a real life, painful experience. She’s been saying she’s going to end The Prince’s Journey for a while, and earlier this year, she made an official announcement on social media that quickly went viral.

Aimee shakes her head. “Enough of the wretched queen, on to more important things. It’s Lyric’s turn for kudos.”

“That pink makes your skin pop!” Bridget gushes.

Lyric is wearing a soft pink asymmetrical neck ruffle trim dress with matching stilettos, red bottoms, of course.

Her hair is full of body and is giving Vanessa Williams on the cover of her album The Right Stuff .

Her make up shimmers with light pink hues on her lips, eyes and cheeks.

She looks like a pink princess and feels like one, too.

“Lyric, what can I say? Your ravishing beauty is always breathtaking.” Suchi blows her a kiss.

Lyric curtsies. “Why, thank you.” This garners her some smiles. “Well, ladies. Let’s hit it!”

The women exit the hotel to find a horse-drawn carriage outside, the coachman waiting beside it with a sign that reads Fuqua.

“Ric, you got us a carriage ride?” Bridget grins.

“Big Head did,” Lyric replies. “He insisted actually. He’s paid for a lot of stuff for this trip. Sooch, he’d kill me for saying this, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you told Aunt Shereeta about his generosity.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.” Suchi turns to Lyric while petting one of the horses.

Big Head has a crush on Suchi’s aunt. She’s not even his woman and he don’t play about her. The only thing stopping those crazy kids is that she’s still legally married.

The ladies climb into the carriage and take a group selfie.

The carriage ride is magical. They take pictures as they ride to Jackson Square and check out the numerous buskers doing magic tricks and playing jazz.

The coach man pulls over and they make their way into the square and dance with each other.

Soon, other tourists join them. One man gets a bit too familiar with Lyric and thrusts his hips against her ass.

She turns and looks at him with venom in her eyes.

“You want to back the fuck up, please,” she snaps.

“Damn, baby, you ain’t got to be so mean.” He gives her a lecherous smile. His skin is saggy, so either he’s old as hell or has been living a hard life. It’s also ashen and his eyes are sunken. He scans Lyric from head to toe. His leer makes her skin crawl, and his breath makes her stomach gurgle.

“Nigga, I said ‘please.’” Lyric takes her phone out her clutch.

“Oh, what? So you gon’ call the police on a brother? You Black bitches ain’t worth shit.” He spits. “I was trying to be nice and take you back to my place, but your ass ain’t even that fine. Where’s your little light skin friend with the glasses?”

Lyric is incensed, not because this thing insulted her looks, but because he wants to try and fuck with Aimee. She watches as he scans the crowd and spots her.

“You see, now I was going to let your zombie-looking, stank breath, ashy, dry ass sausage-lip having ass off with a warning, but you had to try a fuck with my girl.” Lyric sends the code 911 into her phone and within seconds her girls have assembled.

“You okay, Ric?” Bridget asks.

“No, this motherfucker disrespected me and said he was going to push up on Aimee.”

Aimee looks at him like he has three heads and lets out a snort.

“Oh, I see your ass is a stuck-up bitch like your friend.”

If there’s one thing Lyric hates, it’s an ugly-ass man with audacity.

“Call us bitches one more time,” Lyric says.

“What the fuck are you going to do?”

“Not me, but those two big ass niggas behind you are going to do something,” she replies.

Zombie man turns around and sees Roc and Pete standing behind him looking like two human shaped brick walls.

“You need to leave,” Roc says.

“Yeah, alright man. I was just leaving.” Zombie man rushes away.

These niggas are so predictable it’s sad. They have all the smoke for a group of women but run away like a scaredy cat when men show up.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Lyric says.

They each nod and walk away. At least Roc and Pete are discreet cause even she didn’t see their gigantic asses until they were only a few feet away from them.

“You okay, L?” Suchi puts her arm around Lyric’s shoulder.

Lyric touches Suchi’s hand and smiles. “I’m good, Sooch. Let’s go eat.”

The ladies are having themselves a time as they devour some of the best seafood they have ever had while listening to the live band.

Bridget picks up her plate and says, “Ric, trade me plates. I want to try your catfish.”

“Good, ’cause I want to try your fried alligator.” Lyric switches plates with Bridget.

“You all are way more adventurous than me when it comes to your food,” Aimee remarks.

The band plays a haunting rendition of Miles Davis’s “Bitches Brew.”

“The bass player is amazing,” Suchi comments.

“Honestly, this composition has always felt like such a mash up of sounds, I could never really hear one instrument above the rest,” Aimee says.

“Suchi’s got those classically trained ears,” Bridget teases, and Suchi smiles.

“What’s next on the list, kids?” Lyric asks.

“Tomorrow Bridget and I are visiting the plantations we mentioned,” Aimee answers.

“Your speech about respecting the ancestors did it for me, Aims. I’ll go with you,” Suchi says.

“What the hell. Me, too.” Lyric adds.

“Thank you. You ladies are in for an intense and humbling experience,” Aimee tells them.

“That’s an understatement,” Bridget says.

“Okay, thanks for the warning,” Suchi replies.

“I’m sorry, but does this tour have to be so sad?”

It’s late in the afternoon, heading into the evening.

This turned out to be a day of reflection and tongue holding.

They ended up visiting three plantations after Aimee and Bridget found out about a haunted one and insisted they go.

Honestly if it weren’t for these dense ass white folks, Lyric would be a lot calmer.