by Imani King
“I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘situation’. You’re having a billionaire’s child, not some unemployed bum’s. Your financial support will never be an issue.”
“But Tiff, that’s probably not the support that he deems most important for me.”
“You’re probably right about that, but it sure as hell is high on my list Chelsea!”
Tiffany’s big genuine laugh raised my spirits like it always did.
“Thanks for your help. You always know just the right thing to say. I love you, Tiffany. And best of luck to you and your new relationship with Rolande.”
“I love you too, Chelsea. I don’t know what it is but I just can’t get enough of his sexy little bald head! What are you and lover boy up to today?”
“I’m going to the airport with him this morning. I’ll be keeping the Jag while he’s off on his east coast book tour. He’s also got an appearance on the late-night Johnny Allen talk show in New York. Actually, I better start getting ready.”
I got up, gave Tiffany a big kiss on the top of her sweet head and headed for the shower.
“Poor girl! What a horrible ‘situation’ you’re in………having to drive around in Blaize Simon’s Jaguar!”
While showering, I thought more about everything Tiffany had said. I could see why daddy would want more for me than just “an arrangement.” I still felt sad about our visit and also the fact that Blaize was leaving for 10 days. We really hadn’t been apart since we met and my loneliness was already setting in, along with a bit of jealousy and insecurity.
Blaize uncharacteristically honked the car horn out front. I wondered what that was about as I grabbed my purse and ran out.
“So…….has it really come to this? My gentleman caller honks me to the curb? No flowers, no nothing. Very classy!”
Blaize knew I was teasing. Well, semi-teasing.
“Forgive me your royal highness!”
He got out and opened the car door for me.
“That’s much better!”
We sped off toward the airport with the top down and the wind in our hair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your door, Chelsea. It’s just that I’m in sort of a hurry and I knew I would end up spending too much time chatting with Tiffany if I came inside.”
“It’s okay, Blaize. It didn’t really bother me. It sure would have bothered my dad though!”
“Shit yeah, your dad……..I wish I could’ve made a better impression on him. He’s going to be a tough old nut to crack. How are you feeling today Chels?”
“I’m pretty good. Still feeling a little queasy and kind of emotional, though. I’m gonna miss you while you’re away…….”
We stopped at a red light and Blaize leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the lips.
“I’ll miss you…….. little mama. I hate to press you, but we really need to do the public marriage ceremony when I return. It’s getting close to the wire now. I’ll tell Rolande to start making the arrangements, if you don’t mind.”
“Now I kind of wish we’d already had it, so you would at least appear to be ‘taken’. I hate the idea of all those beautiful women throwing themselves at you while I’m not with you. Isn’t Rolande joining you?”
“He’ll be joining me in a couple days. But you better get used to those women, Chelsea. A wedding band doesn’t mean anything to them. Fans are fans. And many of them are attractive. But they’re not you, and they don’t interest me one bit. I’m a taken man…”
We pulled up to LAX and I got a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I dreaded seeing Blaize leave.
He took me in his tender but strong arms and kissed me in the most reassuring way he could.
“Be careful please, Blaize. I love you.”
“You have nothing to worry about. And for your information I really am ‘taken’.You own my heart, Chelsea. I’ll see you in 10 days. I love you too. Fuck! I wish I could make love to you right now in the backseat…… but the pilot’s waiting for me.”
“You’re not flying yourself?”
“No, I’ve got that script to work on. Bye Chelsea and……. good-bye little one.”
He kissed and patted my baby belly and gave me one more passionate kiss on the mouth.
I took the driver’s seat and we both waved and threw kisses at each other as he walked up the stairway and into the plane.
The coming 10 days would probably pass quickly. Tiffany and I were booked solid for the coming week. But something told me I should avoid reading and watching the news while Blaize was out traipsing around the country………
33
Blaize
The East coast leg of my book tour was a big hit with my fans, but it was not nearly as fun without my French Chocolate vampire vixens by my side. It was their presence that really made the whole boring, promotional event a true delight for me. I missed their delectable pastries as well. No bakery out here sold anything near the same caliber as their desserts. Rolande joined me after a couple of days, so at least I had some enjoyable company for most of the trip.
The Manhattan bookstore we were in was getting ready to close and the last handful of customers were filtering out; each one carrying a signed copy of my Midnight Hunter: Sweet Revenge. Rolande was wanting to go out to eat but I was leaning more toward a room service dinner in our hotel room.
“Let’s go find a pub Blaize. I’m in the mood for bar food and a tall cold beer.”
“Rolande, I’m exhausted. Aren’t you tired? I thought short bald men tired more quickly.”
“No. Quite the contrary. It’s actually tall, arrogant assholes who run out of steam first.”
“Oh touché! I stand corrected! All right, if you want, we can just tell our driver to take us to a pub he recommends.”
“Great! Let’s go. I’ve got a craving for a giant meat sandwich and some greasy fries!”
Our driver dropped us off at a bar and grill near Times Square. It was historic-looking and had a rowdy robust ambiance; perfect for rugged beer-swilling, blue-collar French guys like ourselves. In reality, we stood out like nuns in a whorehouse.
Rolande and I snagged a couple of seats at the bar and ordered pastrami sandwiches and a pitcher of beer. For the most part, nobody bothered us and the evening was uneventful. That is, until we were leaving.
While I was paying our tab, Rolande left for the bathroom. And that’s when I overheard a couple seated in a booth behind us start arguing. I heard the man call the woman a “fucking cow” and that was enough for me, but the sound she made when he slapped her across the face got me out of my seat. I immediately got up and went over to their table. Admittedly, I was more than a little belligerent.
“Hey asshole! How dare you treat this woman with such disrespect! Apologize to her right now!”
The ox-sized man stood up and leaned over the table into my face.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you mind your own fuckin’ business Frenchy?!”
I wasn’t intimidated by his girth. Only his putrid breath.
“I said apologize to the lady this instant!”
“And what are ya gonna do if I don’t? Throw down a fancy white glove? Or maybe challenge me to a pistol duel? Maybe you just need someone to show you your fucking place.”
Mr. Hugefist swung first, his knuckles smashing into my cheek and causing a rather unpleasant buzzing noise in my right ear.
I was rather determined to correct his mistake. Before I could even think it through, I swung at the Jolly Green Giant and connected, hard. Predictably, a brawl ensued between the two of us. Rolande came out of the bathroom and tried to break it up, as did the bartender, but me and Gigantor just kept throwing blows. He knocked me out and I woke up with his girlfriend kissing me on the lips. She claimed to be giving me CPR but I was pretty sure life-saving resuscitation doesn’t normally involve tongue action! The cops were called and my sparring partner and I were hauled off to jail. Rolande followed me down there to post bail, but thankfully I was released after w
itnesses relayed the whole story… I’d acted in self defense, and in defense of that woman…
And I’d do it again, if necessary…
“No more bars, Rolande. At least not for me. It’s strictly restaurants and room service from here on in.”
“I got bad news, Blaize. That fight went viral. And the picture of the girlfriend kissing you back to life made page 8 in this morning’s New York Times.”
“Bloody fuck!! Fuck Fuck Fucking Fuck! Chelsea is not going to take this well! I am in such deep fucking shit it’s not fucking funny! What am I going to do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. You’re just fucked like you said.”
“Thanks, that’s helpful, Rolande.”
“Hey……..you might be able to do damage control on this tonight, when you go on the Johhny Allen Show. You’ll have the perfect opportunity to tell your side of the story to the millions of viewers!”
“Yes of course! That’s a great plan actually.”
“Thank you, Blaize. I do have a spark of brilliance occasionally.…..”
“What shall I do about Chelsea in the meantime? Avoid her calls? Keep my fingers crossed that she doesn’t hear about the bar incident before she watches me on the show? What would a mature, responsible family man do in a situation like this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should go find one and ask him…….”
“Rolande! I’m serious! We need to think about this…….. I think it’s probably best to avoid any and all communication with her before the show. I’ll just assume she hasn’t heard any news bout it. Then, she’ll watch me on TV, hear the complete truthful story, and she’ll have no reason to be mad at me.”
“No reason?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong! I was defending a woman’s honor!”
“Knowing Chelsea, she’s still going to be pissed about your negative publicity, one way or another, plus the fact that you made her worry herself sick.”
“Fuck! You’re right Rolande! I’m in the fucking doghouse no matter what! On second thought, send her and Tiffany a message saying I’m fine, not to worry and I’ll explain later on TV.”
Rolande looked down at his phone.
“Shit Blaize, I’ve got a voicemail on my phone from Tiffany already. I wonder when she called.”
“Fuck Rolande! I’m afraid to look at my phone. If Tiffany’s trying to reach you, I’m sure Chelsea’s trying to reach me too.”
“Let me get you a drink to calm your nerves, and an ice pack for your face. Then you need to lie down and get some sleep before the show. They tape the show at six-thirty, and you can’t go on there looking like a prizefighter with a hangover. The last thing you need is to look like you’ve been partying it up while you’ve been apart from the Mrs.”
“The Mrs.? Did I hear you say the Mrs.?”
“Yeah. Don’t you think of Chelsea as your Mrs.?”
“Wow! You’re right, I do! How ‘bout that! That reminds me, I need you to make those marriage arrangements right after we get back.”
“Definitely, Blaize. Your time's running out for keeping your deal with Homeland Security.”
34
Chelsea
I stared at the mug shot photo on Tiffany’s phone in disbelief, and read the news caption:
Best-Selling Author/Playboy Blaize Simon Jailed in NYC Bar Brawl.
“I need to sit down, Tiff. I feel like I’m going to faint.” I plopped myself down at a sidewalk bistro table even though we weren’t customers. “Go in and get us a couple lemonades please, so they don’t make us leave.” I fanned myself with a menu.
I looked at the picture again. Oh my god! Blaize looked horrid! One eye was swollen shut and his perfect cheekbone was encrusted with dried blood. A friend of Tiffany’s sent her the photo along with the text: “Isn’t this the writer dude you work with?”
Tiffany brought out 2 ice-cold lemonades and took the seat next to me. I took a long gulp of my drink and tried to keep myself from hyperventilating.
“Tiffany, I can’t stop looking at this! Look at his beautiful face!”
“Beautiful? That sure doesn’t look beautiful to me! Poor bastard!”
Tiffany’s phone chirped in my hand, indicating another text message. I handed it back to her so she could read it.
“Oh boy! Shit! Chelsea, you really don’t want to see this one. Trust me!”
“Why did you tell me that? Now I have to see it! Give me your phone dammit!”
Her friend sent another photo of Blaize. My head started swimming when I saw it. It was a picture of him sprawled out on the ground with a woman kneeling next to him…….kissing him on the mouth!
“Now Chelsea, before you get too upset over that one, he does appear to be unconscious…..”
“I can’t live like this Tiffany! I just can’t! I won’t stand for it! How could I have been so stupid? Getting involved with him and having a child! It’s like he’s still a child himself!”
“Chelsea, why don’t you call him? There is probably a perfectly good explanation for all this. You need to stay calm, and don’t jump to conclusions.”
“How can I stay calm? What can he possibly say to make any of this acceptable?”
“Call him!”
I dialed him up and his phone rang briefly before going to voicemail. My message was brief: “Blaize please call me!”
“He isn’t answering Tiff. Can you call Rolande please?”
“Sure. He’ll answer if he knows what’s good for him……” She called his number and waited…….
“His went to voicemail too! That bald little fucker!”
“Great! Now I’m forced to sit here seething all day until he calls me. He’s supposed to be on that talk show tonight. I wonder if he’s still gonna be on it. What a nightmare. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Let’s go home, Chels. You need to rest for your sake and the baby’s.”
“You’re right Tiff…….I need to lie down…… Oh no! I just thought of something!”
“What is it Chels?”
“My pop! I can just imagine what he’s going to say when he reads about this. That’s all I need.”
Suddenly my phone started ringing in my purse: I Left My Heart in San Francisco….
“Daddy! I knew it!”
“Don’t answer it Chelsea! You already know what he’s gonna say. Talking to him will not help matters right now. Wait till you have all the facts. Just let it ring.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you Tiff. You always know what’s best for me.”
“I try girlfriend. Lord knows I try! I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”
By the time we walked home, I was exhausted. I stretched out on my bed hoping to nap a little bit but my mind wouldn’t let me. There was so much I wanted to say to Blaize. And I was also seriously worried about him.
My phone suddenly chirped and vibrated, alerting me to a message. I snatched it off the nightstand and read the group text that Rolande also sent to Tiff. It said Blaize was okay and he’d explain everything on TV tonight. I felt a little better knowing Blaize was well enough to go on the talk show that evening. But I was still furious with him. I closed my eyes and took some deep relaxing breaths.
I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes my room was dark and Tiffany was frantically shaking my leg.
“The show’s going to be starting soon. I’ve got the TV turned on in my room, when you’re ready.”
I felt very groggy so I freshened up in the bathroom before joining Tiffany in front of the TV in her room. She summoned me to lie next to her on the bed.
The Johnny Allen show came on and he did his usual topical opening monologue. He announced his guests which included actress Sandra Block, Blaize, and a boy band called No Direction. I sat on pins and needles waiting for his appearance. I could hardly breathe from the nervous tension.
Sandra came on first, promoting her latest romantic comedy movie, and then the show went to
a commercial break. I scurried to the kitchen for a banana, to calm my nerves and my unsettled stomach, and then hopped back into bed again beside Tiffany.
The show returned and Johnny Allen announced his next guest, Blaize Simon.
“That makes me so mad, Tiff. Why do they always have to label him as ‘Best-selling author, filmmaker and International Playboy?!”
“It’s hard to change a public image overnight, Chelsea!”
Blaize sauntered onto the stage just as cool and relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. Like he hadn’t a care in the world. The nerve of him! Doesn’t he realize the hell I’ve been through today over his shenanigans?
Johnny Allen focused his interview more on the bar incident than he did on Blaize’s latest book and film.
“Looks like our make-up girl did a splendid job of covering your bruises Blaize!”
“She did indeed, Johnny. Unfortunately, there’s not enough face powder in the world to cover my bruised ego. I’m afraid that bar brut got the best of me.”
Blaize spent most of his 15 minutes on the show laughing and making light of the situation. An opportunity to promote his work and his new image was wasted on nonsense.
He described how he ended up in jail, but I could barely stand to listen to it. Something about defending a lady’s honor, yadda yadda yadda. He briefly mentioned me, incidentally, saying he was probably in the dog house with “the Mrs.”. I was mortified. He didn’t seem the least bit sorry. It was all a big joke to him. Of course, the audience loved him and cheered his ridiculous underdog story. I grabbed the remote and switched off the TV.
“Does this mean you don’t want to watch the boy band that’s comin’ on next?”
Tiffany was trying to cheer me up with her usual funny commentary but I was too full of despair. Suddenly, my phone rang, The Way You Look Tonight. It was Blaize. I hesitated to answer it, since I was seething with rage and disgust. I knew I should try to calm down first, but I picked it up anyway. Might as well just get this over with…..
