by Tiana Laveen
“But you’d never gotten serious about them! You never fell in love with them!”
He drew quiet, no doubt realizing she was right.
“That’s true, Promise. But falling in love isn’t planned, or something that can be prevented. It happens organically. If it wouldn’t have stopped me from dating you, and that’s a fucking fact, then why in the hell would it have stopped me from falling in love with you? I would’ve still wanted you… still loved you, still been obsessed with you. You think I don’t know the difference between being paid to fuck on camera and being in love?! Like I’m so stupid that I can’t understand people can very easily separate the two? It’s fucked up that you are not getting what I’m saying to you. You are projecting your own shit onto me. The fact of the matter is, you put me in a bad spot because people can say and do things with that kind of information, twist it all up, make false accusations and claims, say stupid shit like I promote rape culture, have no respect for women. A bunch of bullshit I then have to deal with. It’s best to know in advance what’s going on.”
“Right, so you can protect your image.”
“No, Promise. If the fucking former President of the United States can marry a Russian immigrant whose tits have been plastered all over the internet, and guys in my camp are having babies with strippers, and one of the most prolific comedians of our time is married to a woman whose former boyfriend was a huge drug dealer, and recording artists are doing red carpet walks with chicks who were just on the ho stroll, do you really think I give a shit about you shooting a few low budget naked movies back in the day?!” Her face flushed. “That’s YOU who cares, Promise!” he yelled.
“I don’t give a shit how many men you’ve fucked and sucked! I only care about what you’ve done with me, how you feel about me, and what you can do to enhance and better my life!” He pointed at his heart. “I’m not what you’re used to, and you should know me better than that by now! It’s the music industry! I don’t sing Christian rock, Spiritual or Gospel music! I sing about sex, drugs, and rock ’nd roll! I sing about pain, losing control, one’s soul being crushed from the pressure of the world, and falling in love so deeply, it turns men to mice, makes us physically ill. I’m in a lane of my own. That’s why one day I can work with Shy Carter, and the next, Jay Z. I have Black fans, White fans, Indian fans, you name it. Young and old. Rich and poor. Christian, Jewish, Muslim and Atheist. I don’t make choices based on what someone else thinks I should be doing or feeling. This is MY life, and I chose YOU.
“I’m an entertainer. There’s no off time from being a celebrity. I can’t walk out on the street without being spotted, you know this. You’re with me half the time now too when it happens, and anyone who would dare to step to me with some bullshit about my woman that is none of their fucking business would get fucked up. My name is Gutter for a reason. That’s EXACTLY what happened last night. Some rude shit was said by a motherfucker I didn’t even know. He ended up on the floor. I woke up and chose violence.”
“This is… this is so fucked up.” She shook her head. The ball of yarn had unraveled. The snowball was going downhill, gaining traction. “I wish you had not found out that way. I’m sorry you got into a fight over me. This is a disaster.” She rubbed her forehead, trembling. “I know you won’t believe me, but that’s what I had been calling about last night. I was going to tell you. I tried to tell you a few times before but chickened out. I had a bad feeling. A sense of urgency. Looks like I was right, but I was still too late.”
“…Protect my image,” he repeated her words from earlier and rolled his eyes. “What sense does that make, huh? I can handle my own shit, but I need to be informed. Protect me from WHAT?!” He kicked the trash can, and it toppled over as he raged. “No… I should have known about the movies because people talk slick, and they’re ruthless. I would never let anyone disrespect you. Not in a million years. This was never about my image, and for my own protection. It has everything to do with being the man and boyfriend I am supposed to be, so I could protect the woman I love. YOU.” She tried to shut her eyes to stop the tears, to no avail. “Please leave.”
“Gutter…”
“Go.”
She slowly turned away from him, her heart and soul shattering. Tears fell freely now. She chanced a glance over her shoulder but he gave her his back. Wrapping her hand around the doorknob, she opened the door and walked out. When she heard the locks turning, something inside of her died, and she felt the worst pain within—a tightness in her chest, sending her gasping for the next breath. Not a heart attack, but the workings of a breaking heart…
…Three days later
“Come on in here. Let’s eat. Stop cryin’,” Westley urged, clad in his police uniform. He took her by the arm and led her into the Red Rooster restaurant on Lenox Avenue, one of his favorite spots.
Promise was being forced into this. For two days and nights, she licked her wounds by sleeping as soon as she got off work, going through the motions and ignoring calls. Westley wasn’t having it. He popped over and demanded she get cleaned up and dressed. As she reluctantly did so, he washed her dishes that had piled up in the sink, mainly wine glasses, and tried to pry the troublesome truth from her. She said little to the man, but it didn’t deter him. He was like a persistent fruit fly, and she an overly ripe banana. There was no way out. Once they were seated inside, he made her look at the menu.
“Come on, open it.” She huffed, then did as told. “Get the chicken sandwich, Promise. It’s good.”
“I don’t want any chicken. I’m not hungry.”
He slapped his menu on the table and glared at her.
“Look at you, all mopey. Droopy faced. You got dark circles under your eyes. Promise, tighten up, with your raccoon lookin’ ass.” She grimaced. “Usually, you don’t act like this over men. Easy come, easy go for my sister.” He chortled.
“I didn’t say I was upset about a man.”
He clasped his hands on the table. “What else would this shit be about? Niggadamus can see clearly this is about that big mountain man lookin’ songbird, guitar playin’ mothafucka, Gutter.”
She picked up the menu and pretended to read it.
“What’d he do? Cheat?” He sipped from his glass of water.
“Westley… come on. I appreciate the gesture, but I’m tired. Just… just take me home, please.”
“So now you’ve gone from a raccoon to a mole. Digging dark holes to jump in. It’s not gonna happen. You had it so dark in your apartment, it looked like a damn haunted house. Boooo! Mothafucka! You might be used to that creepy shit though due to your job. I see enough freaky stuff after hours my damn self, but I’m not returning you to your self-made depression tomb until we eat and talk. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. No call back. I called a couple of your friends too, one of whom was paranoid, telling me weed is legal now, so I, as the police, shouldn’t even be calling her. All of this was said before I even had the chance to say hello.”
Her lips curled a little at that. “Must’ve been Joycelyn.”
“Of course. Your weed head friend who works at the sauna. She looks high naturally. Goofy ass. Anyway,” he said, perusing his menu. “What happened, Promise?”
She hesitated. What could she say? Her peace was gone, her hope locked away.
“I tell you what. I’m going to the bathroom. When I return, I expect you to talk.” He got up and left.
She had no appetite for anything other than the taste of dread, and her eyes were swollen from crying so much. She was sick of herself. Loathed how Zake had turned her inside out. One hundred percent lovesick—she’d tested positive for it. A face full of makeup at work kept questions at bay as she tried her best to get through her work day. She’d blamed the allergies for her puffy eyes, a condition she didn’t have but it sounded convincing enough. At the end of the day, she crawled under the sheets and wallowed in the darkness. Now, she’d been forced out into the light. A cold slab of Earth beneath her form would be
far more comfortable than the skin she was in.
“All right, I’m back,” her brother announced, his face all twisted up. “Whew! Somebody blew the damn bathroom up. They were in there shitting their brains out. Smells like somebody died up in that joint! I could barely take a piss without vomiting. Mothafucka just sitting there in the stall, like all was well, making a bunch of Jabba the Hutt noises.”
Just as she was about to concoct the perfect lie to skateboard away from her brother’s inquisition, a waitress approached and took their orders.
She got the chicken sandwich after all but had no plans to eat it. Certainly, he would wolf it down on her behalf.
“What’s up?” He leaned forward, making it clear he hadn’t forgotten where they’d left off. For a split second, he reminded her of the boy who’d held and hugged her in times of distress.
“I’m going to come clean.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Come clean? Did you cheat on him?”
“No.” She took another inhale, then exhaled, fighting tears all the way. “Westley, remember when I divorced Trevor and stopped talking to everyone for a little while?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it… Jesus.” She brought her hands to her face and sobbed.
“Come on now, Promise.” She could hear him get up from his seat, come around to her side, and sit right next to her. Then, his arm came around her, holding her tight. After a few moments, she dabbed at her eyes and sat straight. “I’m fine. No more crying.” She took a sip of water and turned toward him. “I had saved up a lot of money for nursing school. Mama had given me some, too. What she could afford.”
“Yeah, I remember. You worked like three jobs tryna get that money to attend.”
“Yes, so, the first couple of years were fine, but then, the third year, Trevor took a bunch of money out of the account, my school money, and blew it.”
“What?!”
She nodded, took another breath, and continued. “He used it for some scam someone pulled on him! Thousands of dollars—gone! Trying to flip it. He got played, didn’t tell me first, and we were in dire straits. I needed money, and I needed it fast. I couldn’t get enough from a loan, and I had expenses. Trevor didn’t make much money working at the airport to fill in the gaps. I was trying to figure out what to do, and then, one day, while getting off the train, I was approached by this guy. He made movies. Adult movies.”
Westley’s complexion washed out as soon as the words left her mouth.
He reached across the table for his water and sipped some. “Go on.”
“He handed me his card, and I took it home. We were about to be evicted from our apartment. Again. I didn’t tell anyone. No one could help me so what would’ve been the point? We were all broke.” She shrugged. “I told Trevor about it, like a joke, ya know? Like, this guy makes dirty flicks and told me I could make $900 per movie, sometimes more, and they’re shot within a two-to-three-hour window. I thought he’d laugh it off or be like, ‘Hell no.’ Instead… instead, he wanted me to do it. He said we could use the money, and it was just fake stuff. There was no love or relationship involved. We got into a big fight about it, and he dropped it.
“Then, another month passed, and we were put out of our apartment, living with his sister, and I got a notice that if I didn’t pay for school soon, I couldn’t complete the year.” Her stomach churned with nausea. “Mama had been in and out of the hospital for her back at that time and could barely afford what she needed, especially with Dad in prison. You were in school, too, and working, as well as dealing with your ex’s crap. It just became too much. My friends were no better off financially. So, I dug up that card… and called.”
Westley took a deep sigh and it was obvious he was finding it hard to look at her. Not that she expected anything different.
“The first movie was the worst. These aren’t things you discuss with your brother. I’ll spare you the details, but I was sick afterwards. When the shoot was over, I became literally ill. Throwing up. The shakes. Not because it was sex… Sex is normal. It’s beautiful to me, especially when done with the right intentions. I’m comfortable with my body, with human anatomy, but this was different. I didn’t really wanna be there…” She wrapped her fingers around her glass and tapped on it. “I didn’t know this man I was performing with, and he didn’t know me. I was married. I loved my husband, and yet, he was okay with this. He encouraged it.
“Never before had I felt ashamed of a sexual act, or anything I’d done regarding my own sexuality until that day.” She batted away tears, determined to stop crying. “And I’m not even anti-porn. What I’m against is women and men feeling forced to do it. Regardless of all of that, apparently, I’m a good actress though.” She shrugged. “Because that first movie of mine was a hit. So much so, the guy told me he wanted me again and offered extra money. Doing one movie I thought would be enough. That was the plan, to help us get out of our situation, but that one time turned into two, then three, then four… and on and on it went until I was making so much money, I was able to pay for the rest of my nursing classes well in advance, including books and supplies. I was never comfortable with it, though. It made me feel… dirty.”
Westley ran his hand soothingly across her back. She could see on his face it was taking all of him to keep quiet. To not say what was really on his mind, and in his heart.
“What was that punk ass husband of yours doing all of that time?”
“I came to him often, wanting to stop. He always said, ‘Just one or two more, and we’ll be set.’ But it was never enough. He became greedier and greedier.”
“He was a fucking pimp. If I ever see that mothafucka again, Promise, I’m going to beat the shit outta him.”
She patted his leg and shook her head.
“He’s not worth it, Westley. It was a long time ago. Besides, I could have said no. I was in too deep. Then, it was nearing time to graduate. I knew I was doing my last movie. Again, sparing you the details, I did it, and cleaned myself so hard afterwards, I had fabric burns from the washcloth. Nothing mattered anymore, though. My marriage was falling apart. I hated my husband, and he couldn’t understand why. I felt weak when I looked at him. Fearful.” Like Mama… “Unprovided for, and unprotected. He had no remorse. In fact, he bought a car and showed it off, wore all the latest fashions with the money I made while lying on my back, being fucked by random men who laughed about me once we were off the set.” Her voice trembled. “They got a badge of honor, a high-five…
“I was labeled a ho. I wasn’t a ho, Westley! I promise.” He held her in his arms. “I was a woman. A daughter. A sister. A friend. I had a name, and it wasn’t Maddison St. Claire. It was Promise… because Mama promised Daddy another baby. My marriage, though, was over. I told Trevor he could keep all that shit—the clothes, the jewelry, but I wanted out. I didn’t love him anymore because if he could let me do that for almost two years, seeing how it was tearing me apart, he obviously didn’t love me, either.”
Their food arrived, and oddly enough, the aroma made her want to take a nibble.
“Mmmm… this is good.”
Westley grinned. “I told you.”
They sat there side by side, eating for a while.
“So, that’s how you paid for nursing school, and the reason your marriage ended, but why have you been so upset lately and avoiding people?” he asked after chasing a mouthful of food with a gulp of soda.
“Gutter found out.”
“Just now?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell him earlier, Promise? Why in the hell would you keep something like that from him?”
“Westley, I don’t need a lecture. You’re a hundred percent right. I should’ve told him and now, I have paid the ultimate price and lost him.”
“Right, because he’s a celebrity and he posted pics of y’all, and you left him in a bad spot.” She spun around and glared at him. “Look, I know you don’t want a sermon, but I’m
surprised at you, Promise. That doesn’t sound like something you’d do, keep information like that.”
“I don’t sound like the kinda girl who would do porn movies, either… and yet, here the fuck we are.” She laughed mirthlessly, hating every moment of her life right then.
“Good point, but you know what I mean.”
“Oh, but it doesn’t end there though. Let’s back up for a second. I loved my nursing job, and abruptly quit. You know why?”
“Let me guess. Someone found out about the movies.”
“Yup, but not only that, they lied and said I had solicited a patient, and a doctor, to perform one with me. I never knew who made the allegations, Westley, but I had my suspicions. Things got dicey at work. I was under investigation, so it all ended up being for nothin’. Did the movies to pay for nursing school and now, I had to leave because of the damn movies.” She took another bite of the sandwich, feeling more angry than sad.
“I’m done bullshittin’. I was wondering when you were going to tell me.”
“What?”
“Promise, I heard rumors about the movies, all right, but it was waaaaay after the fact.”
Her face felt like it had cracked and dropped to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.
“You’ve known all this time?”
He rolled his eyes, looking embarrassed. “No. I didn’t know for sure, but I had convinced myself it wasn’t true. They say we all have lookalikes. I had a couple friends tell me, ‘Yo, your sister looks like this one chick from this movie.’ I told them it wasn’t you, but inside, I was never sure. That was around the same time you’d gotten married and told me to stop trying to boss you around. You knew I didn’t care for Trevor, Dad was back in prison again, Mama was having issues, I was swamped with work and back and forth in court with my crazy ex-girlfriend… It was the only time in our relationship when we weren’t talking much. After your divorce, we reconnected. It was both of our faults for drifting apart. We’re friends, not just sister and brother. I vowed to myself that I’d never let anything, or anyone, come between us again.”
