Buck Wile finds himself in jam after jam because of that “Ol' Eleven.” Can a Black man get any love? Not if he's Buck Wile. Ladies may hate to love Buck Wile, but can't help themselves. Brothers will want to create their own Lady Cop fantasy after reading Buck Wile's “Lady Officer.”
Excerpt:
And I’m going to sue that singer Charlie Wilson too. He’s the one who put the notion in my head about going out to the mall and meeting some chicks. And just like he sung, there she was sitting in the food court sipping lemonade. Well, my mama had been riding my butt about me needing a job, so I said, let me kill two birds with one stone and go fill out some job applications and see some fine women too. I had on my nice blue business suit when I introduced myself. She was coy and pretended to be uninterested, but I made sure my eleven was nicely outlined in my pants as I sat down at her table. I told her I was into investments. That’s not a lie. I spend a lot of time in the study of making money. Me and an older chick spent a weekend down at the casino investing her husband’s money. She told him she had gone to Louisiana to attend her aunt’s funeral. Well, she did go to the wake. But that’s another story.
So my girl sipped her lemonade. I asked her name. She said, “Celie.”
“What kind of countrified name is that?” I blurted out before thinking.
“So. My mama liked the Color Purple when she was carrying me. If you don’t like my name, you sho ain’t got to call it. It’s plenty other women out here with prettier names looking for some broke busters.”
