She was behind the wheel of her new friend King-Royce’s shiny yellow Bentley coupe. A dark pair of Chanel shades shielded her blood-shot eyes from the harsh sunlight and her tiny, yellow, one-shouldered Prada dress left little to the imagination. Yesterday she had watched her brother’s casket get lowered into the earth, and then she had driven home to Royce’s condo in his black Benz and curled up in bed alone, crying her eyes out and reading a LaTonya West novel on her iPad’s Kindle app. Royce had stayed at the small mansion that he shared with his wife Aesha in Bellwood, just as he’d been doing since he’d given Cresha the keys to his Gold Coast condo. She knew he was only helping her out of sympathy; She was his favorite stripper at Arnie’s, had been for months, plus she and James had just bought nine ounces of soft from Royce a couple of weeks ago, and eight pounds of Kush a month before that. Cresha took a seven-gram bag of coke out of her Coach bag and poured a little onto the screen of her iPad.
