A Deeper Love Inside (59 page)

“True, but that’s not because of being pretty. That’s because of what I’ve been through in my life in a short amount of time,” I said.

“I know. Everything you went through was rough while you were going through it. But, when you look back on it, every true story, every day, month, and year of your life, and all of your feelings, is pure gold. That’s why
I married you for your money
! I don’t need to hire any writers or researchers. I’ll never run out of stories. My first film was about you. Probably my next ten films will be about you.

I could go to dinner with a thousand women one by one. Business or no business, I’m just checking my Rolly waiting for them to finish up so I can get home to my wife.” He laughed. I laughed, too. I loved the way he could cure me without any drugs, doctors, or hospitals. I fucking loved that about him.

“I know no matter what girl I see, she won’t be prettier than you, can’t cook as good as you do. She wouldn’t love as deeply as you do, or feel as good as you feel to me. She wouldn’t care for my family as sincerely or have survived and fought as hard as you did. She wouldn’t have earned her own first million on her own, then walked down the Brooklyn block stealing the show in her red Converses and red ball gown. She wouldn’t have ever lived on an Indian reservation, and shopped at an expensive Brooklyn organic market even on the same day she was wearing dirty skips and a dingy white tee shirt. She wouldn’t have showed up weeks later, Gucci’d up and designer down
to her fingernails. No girl would’ve been able to get me to follow her lead through Brooklyn to any strange places I never took a look at before to find strange ingredients and things I never heard of before she came along. She wouldn’t have dropped twenty thousand dollars in a box and handed it to me with a homemade carrot cake like it was no big deal. Then disappear for eight months, return, and never ask about the cash. She wouldn’t have crashed into me with her cart so boldly, or got me so open in an underground space, and then disappeared for two more years so I couldn’t forget her and didn’t want to and had to work so hard to not lose my fucking mind. And I wouldn’t and couldn’t have loved anyone else half as much as I love you.”

My happy tears were spilling now. He was healing me. “What other woman would have a best friend like Siri, who’s a little bit sweeter and softer than her? Would she let Siri sing me a song that makes my blood boil and allow me to make love to her, too? Porsche,
no one is more fun than you.”

He wiped my tears. “Another woman could have her BA, BS, master’s, or her Ph.D. and still couldn’t figure out how to be a little moneymaker like my wife was even before I married her. She would have the degrees. But you’re the real genius. Your life, all seventeen years of it, that you shed so many tears over, is your riches.
The Adventures of Porsche Santiaga
is worth a billion or at least one hundred thousand bricks of pure gold.”

Acknowledgments

To the MAKER of all souls, I give my deepest gratitude, loyalty, appreciation, and submission.

No one else is worthy of worship.

About the Author

Sister Souljah
, bestselling author and the hip-hop generation’s most compelling storyteller, is best known for her work as an educator of underclass urban youth. a beloved personality in her community, she lives in New york City with her husband and son.

You Can Get in Touch with Sister Souljah:

E-mail:
[email protected]

Mailing address:
Sister Souljah208 East 51st Street, Suite 2270New York, NY 10020

Website:
sistersouljah.com

www.emilybestlerbooks.com

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COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY MIKE LAY-LOW

COPYRIGHT © 2013 SIMON & SCHUSTER

Also by Sister Souljah

No Disrespect
The Coldest Winter Ever
Midnight: A Gangster Love Story
Midnight and the Meaning of Love

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Souljah Story, Inc.