The Demise of Alexis Vancamp

by Karen P. Williams

  I left my office pretty late. But since my office was located in a typically quiet and safe area I wasn’t concerned. I set my attaché case on the concrete near my car so I could dig in my Gucci clutch bag for my keys.

  It was hard to locate my keys because I had so much stuff in there. I sighed and pulled my wallet, phone, and my makeup bag out. I held all that stuff in one hand, and searched in my purse with the other. When I felt the cold iron of the keys against my fingers, I grabbed them. But before I could press the alarm to unlock the door, someone slapped me so hard I lost my balance and fell onto the concrete. I stared at the figure that hovered over me and screamed. He was wearing a ski mask.

  That’s when a gun was pressed in my face. “Shut the fuck up.”

  My right cheek burned. I closed my eyes at the burning and to block out the sight of the gun. My heart started beating so fast. I was scared shitless. Was he going to rob me? Rape me? Kill me? Or all three? I knew I needed to cooperate with him.

  “First off, you dumb ho, push all that shit toward me.”

  Since I had dropped everything in my hand when I was slapped, everything was on the ground near me. I scooted it all toward him.

  He leaned over and picked everything up, saying, “Don’t look at me!”

  I kept my eyes down.

  “Off with that ring, too!”

  At my millisecond of hesitation, his gun made a clicking sound. I jumped and shrieked when it did. He leaned down, gripped my hair, and shoved the gun in my face again. “Shut the fuck up before I kill you, tramp.”

  I nodded. He gripped my left hand and forced my engagement ring off my finger. He tucked it in his pocket along with my wallet and phone. Then he used the keys to open my Infiniti.

  “Get in the back seat.”

  I started crying again, not knowing what was next for me. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  When I guess I didn’t move fast enough for him, he gripped my hair and shoved me into the back seat of the car. I landed on my back. He immediately straddled me and slid between my legs. “Sorry, bitch. I need this car and I don’t ever leave witnesses.”

  He was going to kill me! I panicked and tried to fight him and beg him at the same time. “No! Please!”

  He smacked me, making my head reel backward. He aimed the gun at me. I prayed silently. Before he got a chance to pull the trigger, he was snatched up by someone. I sat up in the car and watched a man wrap his arm around his neck. When he moved his head back to avoid being head-butted, I saw it was Santana.

  He gripped dude’s hand that held the gun until the man screamed. Santana punched him repeatedly in his face with his free hand, until he slumped against him, breathing heavily.

  “Get the fuck off me, nigga!” Santana slammed him on the concrete. The man scurried to his feet as Santana grabbed the gun off the ground. He pointed it at the dude.

  “Give her, her shit back!”

  Dude hurried up and pulled my items out of his pocket and handed them back to me.

  He backed up some and Santana said, “Now get the fuck out of here!”

  The guy started running for his life.

  Chapter 2

  I held my hand to my chest and breathed a sigh of relief that I was still standing and breathing. But I was shocked as hell as to who rescued me.

  “Should I call the police?”

  “Naw, let his dumb ass go. He just some young, dumb kid. You all right?”

  I took another deep breath and offered a nervous smile. He walked over to me and grabbed my purse off of the ground. He then took the items out of my hands, slipped them in my purse, and handed it to me.

  I sat there like I was mute and deaf. Truth was, I didn’t know what to say. This was the same man who I had looked down on a few hours ago. And he had just saved my life. I was so grateful to him for doing that. Alone, I didn’t have a chance against that man.

  “Thank you so much!” I gushed out, grabbing both his hands in mine.

  He gave me a look like he was thinking, Bitch, please.

  Awkward . . .

  Nervously, I babbled, “I don’t know what I was thinking, leaving work so late and not paying attention to my surroundings . . . And . . .” It continued to be awkward, standing in front of the man I had treated so badly.

  To all I said, he replied simply, “It’s cool.”

  “No. It’s not. Listen. I should have not treated you so badly. Looked down on you the way I did. But I mean you were really late and—”

  “I don’t drive around in an Infiniti like you do. I got that little busted-ass Honda over there. It was giving me a lot of trouble today.”

  “But the number one excuse people give for being late to an interview or for work is car trouble.”

  “Has it crossed your mind why I’m still here, hours after the punk-ass interview? Think about it, I can’t get my car started for shit. That’s why I’m still here and was able to save you from getting killed. I called for a ride and they never showed up.”

  He was making me feel worse by the second.

  He chuckled. “You know, I had a nice shirt to wear. When my car stopped on the way here I spilled oil on it. But I figured if I could have gotten at least halfway through the interview, I could have explained that to you. Your dad acted like this was a sure thing because he liked me so much. He said things would be cool with you, not so much a formal interview. But that you liked to screen all future employees first. Still, I wanted to represent myself in a good manner. I really needed the job.”

  I was such a coldhearted bitch to him, turning my nose up at him for simply trying to get a job. “I’m going to fix this. Look. My dad owns a tow truck company. It’s open twenty-four hours. I’ll call Sal, the manager, and have them tow your car to your home. You can ride with them, and tomorrow, I will take you to lunch for an impromptu interview.” I added with a chuckle, “You can wear whatever you like.”

  He laughed at that comment. Ten minutes later, Mickey, one of my dad’s employees, came and loaded his truck up with Santana’s car. Santana gave me his address and number and I went home. I called Dannon to tell him what happened but he didn’t answer.

  Wow, I thought the whole way to my house, that man saved my life.

  Chapter 3

  Santana lived in a seedy part of Inglewood, a part I would not go to under any circumstances, unless I wanted to get robbed. He stayed in a run-down apartment building that had people hanging out. When I pulled up, I could hear someone blasting loud music inside the building. This new knowledge about his living circumstances now made me feel worse. He was simply a man trying to better himself; thus, he came to us for a job.

  I dialed his number and, when he picked up, told him, “Hi. I am outside.”

  “Cool.”

  A few minutes later, he stepped out in a crisp white button-down top and a pair of black slacks, and had a pair of dress shoes on as well. I approve.

  He stood beside the passenger side of my car. I quickly unlocked the door and he hopped in. As soon as he buckled up, I pulled off and drove toward the freeway.

  “What are you playing?” he demanded of me with his lips twisted to the side.

  I chuckled. “It’s Eric Roberson. Have you ever heard of him? My fiancé got me listening to him. After being on his feet for hours and hours because of his residency, he says his music relaxes him.”

  When we came to a red light, he took my left hand and examined my ring. He whistled. “You seem worth that, too.”

  He locked eyes with me when he said that.

  I blushed like a schoolgirl and looked down at my lap. I didn’t know why, but, coming from him, I took that as a compliment seeing as though I was a straight-up bitch to him. It was cool to see that his perception of me was shifting. All of a sudden, I felt I needed his approval.

  When the light changed, I turned and hopped on the 405 South. Our destination was Ruth’s Chris Steak House.

  Twenty minutes after being seated, Santana had me cracking up as he
mimicked how I had acted the day he came in for his interview.

  “I was an ultra bitch,” I said regretfully.

  “It’s cool.” He cut into his T-bone steak. I was surprised that he didn’t seem out of his element in such an expensive place. He ordered his food with ease. His confidence and security were attractive qualities.

  I ate a slice of my filet mignon and dipped into my buttery mashed potatoes. “You have a very different name. Where are you from?”

  “My mom is black. I’m assuming my dad was Belizean or mixed with Hispanic and black but I don’t really know. I grew up Inglewood. I never knew my mother or father. I was given up for adoption at an early age. I was raised by foster parent after foster parent. It was like by the time I made myself at home, I was sent to another home. I been on my own since I was eighteen and have been struggling to make it ever since.”

  How sad. I couldn’t imagine growing up that way. No one should. I was truly lucky to have the type of nurturing and loving parents I had. I always felt like I had a place in my parents’ heart and that I mattered beyond compare. I never had to struggle or see them struggle. I never knew what struggle looked like. My little sister and I had always been well loved. We had the best of everything our whole life. We lived in a big, warm home, always had great meals, the best clothes, rode in nice cars, and went to good schools. I think that is why I ended up so successful. But then I understood how someone couldn’t. How he could be nearly thirty years old and not have half of what I had?

  “Don’t get to looking all sad and feeling sorry for me. Life is life, and that was mine. I’m just happy to have one. I’m happy to still be here.”

  “That’s a positive outlook to have,” I said.

  “Yep. I mean I had a job I loved. The pay was pretty bad. But I was working as a counselor at a teen center not too far from where I live. But due to funding issues, it got closed down. That crushed me.”

  “A rec center?” I wasn’t expecting him to say that.

  “You know, a place where inner-city kids and teens can go after school, and in the summer. We offered art, dance, drama, cooking classes, self-esteem, and workshops to them. Well, we used to . . .”

  He seemed like a real good person. To work at such a place meant that he had a caring heart.

  “I was thinking that after I got another job and on my feet, I could look into opening up my own rec center. Man, that’s all I have been thinking about doing, getting incorporated. My old boss promised me she would help me.” He ate some of his baked potato. “But you know how you females are.”

  I chuckled. “Let me guess. You guys started messing around and she broke your heart?”

  “Naw. I never messed with her. I just wasn’t ready for all of that.” His face got suddenly sad. He cleared his throat and got silent for a moment.

  I took another bite of my steak, hoping I didn’t hit some sort of soft spot. I certainly didn’t want to do that. If anything, I wanted to make it up to him for how I had acted, and for him saving my damn life.

  “I lost my fiancée about six months ago to breast cancer. So there was no way I was going to get involved with someone else.”

  Damn. What else is he going to tell me? This man has been through so much! I wondered if I would be able to cope if I had had his life and endured so much pain and tragedy. If I had lost my sweet Dannon.

  “That had to be hard for you to go through. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He nodded and ate another piece of his steak. But as he chewed his eyes got watery. His watery eyes went to a cluster of tears that slid down his face. Then he was full-out sobbing at the table.

  It broke my heart to see him crying the way that he was. So I pushed my chair closer to him and attempted to offer him comfort by hugging him. I wrapped my arms around him and he continued to cry. I rubbed his back and whispered to him that it would be okay.

  Suddenly he pulled away from me. With his head down he said to me, “I can’t do this right now. Do you mind if we get out of here?”

  “Okay.” I figured he no longer had an appetite to eat. No matter how good the food was.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he stood to his feet and walked out of the restaurant. I asked our waiter for the bill, paid it, and then joined Santana outside.

  The ride back was the complete opposite from when we came, when we had both chatted with each other. We rode back in silence and tear after tear slid down his face, making me feel so bad for him.

  When we arrived at his apartment he turned to me and asked, “Why don’t you come in and I can get you that resume.”

  I nodded. We both got out of the car and I followed him to his apartment.

  Once we stepped inside, I looked around. “Under primitive” was the best way to describe his apartment. I mean it was. There was one couch, a crate with a small TV on it, and an old, scratched-up dresser. But one thing I could say was that it was spotlessly clean. It had the smell of bleach as if he had just cleaned up before we had left. There were different sculptures sitting on his dresser. I walked closer to them and inspected them. One was a horse, one a gladiator, and a skull.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked him.

  He was going through a backpack on the floor. He threw back at me, “I made those.”

  “You did? Wow.”

  “The skull is made of sand.”

  He is really talented. You never really know about a person until you take the time to get to know them.

  “You should be sharing this with the world,” I told him.

  “I was. I was teaching the kids I worked with how to make them.”

  I walked around his living room and spied another sculpture on top of his TV. It was a curvy-looking woman. I picked it up, examined it, and chuckled.

  “That one is made of tape. I can pretty much use any type of material, clay, wood, paper, foam, and even cardboard.”

  I set the sculpture back down. “I’ve never been really artistic, but I can definitely respect someone who is.” I walked over to his couch and sat down. He joined me while he went through a manila folder.

  He handed me a copy of his resume. Without looking at it I folded it and slid it into my purse. There was no need for me to look at it because I was going to hire him. How could I not? I knew he could bring something special to our company. He was an overall nice guy who needed a break. I liked him and I wanted to help him. He had helped me.

  As he restacked his papers, a photo fell out and onto the floor, near my feet. I bent down and picked it up. Being nosy, I scanned it before handing it back to him.

  “Is that her?”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “She is really pretty.”

  “Was.”

  “Right.”

  “So, now, what about you? I see you got a rock on your finger but I don’t know about the nigga.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked him.

  “You fine as hell, educated. It seems like you finely bred and he just lets you roll around with other niggas?”

  “My man trusts me is all.” And, truth be told, I wasn’t around many other men but family and Dannon. The only guy I was around was my bestie, Justin. But he and my girl Arianna had been my closest friends since preschool. His mother and my mother were friends and gave birth to us around the same time. We had both been singing in our church for as long I could remember. Sometimes we performed songs together.

  Justin really wanted to take this singing thing all the way, whereas I didn’t have the same aspirations. He was currently a backup singer for Trey Songz. Great gig. While I was happy for him, I was content with what I was doing and eventually becoming a wife. Nevertheless, I loved to sing.

  “Keeping it G. If you were my woman you couldn’t go to the corner alone.” He pierced me with a gaze.

  I looked away.

  “That’s the difference between your nigga and me. I don’t play with mine.”

  For some reason, a jolt went through me as I thought o
f what it would be like to be with a man like Santana. I didn’t want to be having those types of thoughts since I was in love with Dannon but I was. Shit, I am. It was one of those things I couldn’t really explain to myself. It just felt like some part of me, by the minute, was attaching myself to this man.

  “Man. I don’t play.” He licked his lips.

  He moved closer to me so I could feel his breath on my face.

  “If you were mine, I would beat that pussy up nonstop.”

  Another jolt came through me, down below.

  “How long you been with that nigga?”

  “Since I was fourteen.”

  “What? You probably ain’t had no other dick but his. How can you tell if you want to marry that nigga and be with just him for the rest of your life if you ain’t tried no other dick? You ain’t ever had another man eat your pussy and you ain’t rode another cock?”

  I knew this wasn’t what I had come here for, but, truth be told, he was right. A couple times in our relationship, I did wonder what it would be like to be with another man before I married Dannon. I would never admit this so I said, “I’m content with my fiancé.” But I had, in my mind, toyed with dabbling in another man. I mean, when Dannon and I made love for the first time, we were both virgins.

  At this point, his face was filled with desire and his lips grazed mine, due to him being so close, and I didn’t stop him. “I would eat that pussy so good you would squirt.”

  He brazenly and boldly pulled me closer to him. I didn’t accept nor decline the intrusion. My heartbeat did speed up at what I was doing. My mind was racing because I knew what I should do. I knew better. What I was doing to Dannon was wrong. But I closed my eyes and let the kiss go deeper. I parted my lips and let him explore my mouth with his tongue. With it, he teased me in a tantalizing manner. “You want me to eat your pussy from behind?”

  I didn’t respond, just kept kissing him.

  “Seems like you want to see what it feel like. I know I do. You damn near a virgin. I bet your shit is tight.” One of his hands had reached between my thighs and a finger was going up and down my love box.