by Ni-Ni Simone
The camera shutters clacked in response, leaving me standing smack in front of the photogs, trapped like a deer in headlights.
“Heather, over here!” called out a voice.
“Please, Heather, just one over here!”
“Are you and the Pampered Princesses no longer friends?” one of the paps barked.
“Puhleeeze. We were never friends,” I snapped back. “They’re all insignificant, pampered trolls.”
“Heather, what about you and Rich Montgomery?”
I scowled. “What about us?”
“Will the two of you ever be close?”
I slung my ponytail. “Never. She’s fat trash.”
“Heather, baby, what will you do now that you’ve been fired from the Kitty Network . . . ?”
“Check your facts, boo,” I cooed. “I was never fired. I’m on break. I told them”—I turned to the side, and Co-Co slapped my rump—“to eat the cakes!”
“Please, Heather, just one over here!”
Co-Co stood in front of me and pulled open his kimono. “Who wants a pickle?” he said, striking another pose.
Everyone gasped. And then there were a few chuckles. But no cameras flashed, and Co-Co huffed, tying his sash back and then tugging me by the hand. “Enough,” he snapped. “Me and my client have dragons to slay.”
As I was being dragged inside, I turned, blew a kiss, and offered a finger wave to the reporters. More flashes went off, and then suddenly I was yanked inside.
“Co-Co Ming here for Kitty Ellington,” Co-Co announced, snapping open his fan and waving it over his face. The hostess, dressed in all black, ignored him and stared at me instead.
Her eyes widened. “Ohmygod! Heather? Heather Cummings? I know you! I loved you in Kickin’ It with Heather ! Ohmygod!”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ohmygod. Do you think I can take a selfie with you?” The hostess whipped out her cell phone and thrust it at me.
I shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”
As the girl positioned her camera to capture us together, Co-Co tried to photo-bomb us, but the girl was not having it. She shot him a nasty look. “No. Not with you in it.” She pushed him back, then snapped her photo with just the two of us.
“You oversized giraffe! You and your family are officially banned from any of the sixteen Ming buffets,” Co-Co snapped. “I will have your atrocious face plastered everywhere, biiiish! I will ruin your chances of ever getting a hot buffet the rest of your pathetic life.”
She snubbed him. “Right this way, Miss Heather.”
I rolled my eyes at Co-Co. “No one cares,” I said as we followed the girl to a private dining area where Kitty was sitting. Kitty set her wineglass down and peered at us as we made our way over to her. And then she frowned.
“Why did you bring that with you? I thought I told you to come alone, Heather.”
I shrugged. “You said not to bring my mother.” I pulled a chair out and slid into the padded seat.
“I’m Heather’s new manager,” Co-Co stated.
Kitty scoffed. “And what exactly are you managing, huh? Her trips to the welfare office? Because that’s exactly where she’ll be, digging clothes out of Goodwill bins and eating day-old bread, if she doesn’t get her mind right.”
“Ooh, the shade,” Co-Co said, sitting as well.
Kitty glanced down at her diamond watch and tsked me. “And you’re late. Time is money, little girl. And you’ve just wasted several thousands of it by being late.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
Co-Co reached over and popped a complimentary piece of tuna roll in his mouth. “See. I told you to be on time,” he said between bites of the savory, spicy treat. “Miss Kitty, girl, I tried to get her here, but she said you could wait.”
Kitty shot me a scathing look. “Listen here, you little Pop Tart. You are here because you have potential, Heather.” She placed her wrists on the table and steepled her fingertips. “That’s the only reason I would be caught dead out in public with you in that hideous whore suit.”
I shifted in my chair.
“You look like you just rolled out of some cheap, sleazy movie.” She shook her head, and I felt myself shrinking in my seat. “You’re too pretty of a girl, Heather, to be coming out in the streets looking like an Xtube clip of Sluts Gone Wild.”
Co-Co giggled. “Ooh, the shade is real.”
I sucked my teeth, ignoring him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” I asked, defensively.
Kitty gave me a blank stare. “And the fact that you can’t see what’s wrong with it is problem numero uno.” She sighed. “Do you know why I fired you, Heather?”
I shrugged. “Because you don’t like me.”
“Ooh, the lies, hunnnnty.” Co-Co reached over for another piece of tuna roll. “You told me she fired you because she was a jealous whore.”
Kitty snarled. “Co-Co, isn’t there a toilet bowl you can go lick clean while Heather and I talk? Another word from you, Tinker Bell, and I will have you thrown out of here.”
He tooted his lips and snapped open his fan again. “Well, then I guess I’ll just sit back and catch the breeze.”
“Heather,” Kitty continued, staring at me, “I fired you because of your lackadaisical attitude, because of your poor work ethic, and your addict behaviors. The world could be yours if you learned how to cut off ”—she glanced over at Co-Co—“the trash. And put down the drugs.”
I shifted in my chair. “Miss Kitty, I don’t do drugs.”
Co-Co snickered.
“Shut it, Heather,” Kitty hissed. “Your mouth reeks of filthy lies. But I have a way for you to redeem yourself, for you to get your life and your career back on track.”
I sat up in my chair. Tilted my head. Oh.
“I’m going to help you save your life—and your career. I’m sending you to rehab for three months. All expenses paid. In Coral Springs, Florida.”
I blinked. Oh, she had me all the way effed up. I didn’t need treatment. And I definitely didn’t need three months in some corny Florida. Waaaaay across the ocean! I was not about to sign up for that. No. Hell no! I didn’t have a problem.
“And then when you return,” Kitty continued, “you will continue your studies at Hollywood High, graduate, and remain drug-free. Then—and only then—if you have successfully passed drug screenings and have gotten your diploma, I will roll out the red carpet for you and give you the career of a lifetime in television and film. The world of entertainment could be yours, Heather, dear. But you’ll need to choose. Live your life as a junkie. Or live it as one of the world’s most coveted actresses. Which is it?”
My mouth watered. Ohmygod. Did she just say movies? Could it be true? Was Kitty offering me stardom?
“Well?” Kitty drummed her nails on the crisp white linen. “What will it be?”
“I-I . . .”
“Ooh, Miss Heather,” Co-Co cooed, pointing at my face. “What’s that caked up around your nose?” A nervous laugh escaped my mouth before I could swallow it down. Co-Co played too much. He stayed being messy.
Kitty narrowed her eyes as I quickly reached inside my bag and pulled out my zebra-print leather compact. I flipped it open. My eyes rapidly blinked, like that of flashing lights.
Oh. My. God!
There was a layer of white powder caked around one nostril. Why the hell hadn’t Co-Co said something while we were in the car, cackling?
Kitty tilted her head and stared, her eyes flicking with a hint of disgust as I quickly dabbed the corner of my napkin in the glass of water, then wiped my nose, glaring over at Co-Co.
Kitty cleared her throat, reaching for her wineglass. “This meeting is over. Get clean, Heather, before it’s too late.” She snapped her fingers, and then out of nowhere four buffed men in black appeared. “Please show Miss Cummings and her teacup pooch out.”
“Ooh. Yasssss,” Co-Co said. “Who needs drugs with all this fine chocolate?” He grabbed two more pieces of tuna r
oll and stood to his feet. “Cuff me. Show me the way to ecstasy,” he said around a mouthful of tuna roll.
He flicked his gaze over at me and pursed his thin, glossed lips in a way that felt messy, and I knew then...
Trust no one.
22
Rich
1:43 a.m.
That was the time that glowed back at me in burnt orange lights on the dashboard of my Hennessey Spyder. I’d traded in last month’s version for another customized upgrade. And it was evvv. Errrrry. Thang!
The world was mine, honey. And the only thing that could have made my already fabulous world more fabulous was Justice. But noooo!
Jussssssstice was not answering his damn door. The door I’d been banging on for the last forty minutes, up until that nosey ole biddy across the hall from him came out with her cell in one hand and a baseball bat in the other, threatening to break my kneecaps, then call the cops on me—again!
Old snitch! She was lucky I didn’t believe in violence and I’d given up my collection of switchblades and razors or I would have given her a face full of stitches for her snitching. My alias-ego, Shakeesha Gatling (my mother’s birth name before she transformed her groupie-self into Logan Montgomery), didn’t play those kinds of games.
Anywhoooo. Screw that prune-faced trick!
Jussssssstice was ignoring me. Jussssssstice was still sending my calls to voice mail. Jussssssstice was ripping my heart out from my chest. And Jussssssstice didn’t give a damn!
He was spiteful.
He was trying to hurt me purposefully. He was trying to have me lose all of my fabulous edges missing him.
Not!
Who did that?
King Petty Justice, that’s who!
He was so frickin’ childish!
Ugh!
I banged my fist on the steering wheel. “Damn, you Jussssssstice!” I screamed. “You basssssstard! You no good motherfu—!”
My phone buzzed. I quickly grabbed it from the passenger seat and stared at the screen, thinking that just maybe my man had come to his senses and called back.
Urgh. It was Spencer. Hating troll!
WHERE R U, RICH? HOPE YOU’RE NOT SOMEWHERE FLOODING YOUR THROAT WITH BOOZE.
I frowned. This slore was out of order! Who texted someone at this time of the night? She was selfish. She was inconsiderate. She had no regard for my emotional turmoil. No respect for my love jones.
I replied back: DON’T DO ME, MEAT GOBBLER! WORRY ABOUT YOUR OWN THROAT N WAT U KEEP IT FLOODED WITH!
The nerve of her!
Coming at me like I was some drunk. Girl, bye!
A second later, she responded back.
U HEATHEN! U NEED BABY BLACK JESUS! MY PRAYERS CAN’T SAVE U, TRAMP! GOOD DAY!
I don’t need your damn prayers! I need my man! He was my salvation! My road to joy! My love and light to the Promised Land! To the land of milk and honey!
Justice was what sweet dreams were made of. He was homebred goodness. My boo, my present and future, my always and forever, my chocolate knight in the hood, Justice was every part of me. My body ached for him. My skin burned for his touch. My lips craved his butter-soft kisses. It’d been days since me and my man had torn up the sheets and cried out like wild cats, and I was starting to get the shakes.
“Justice, baby,” I whispered sweetly into my cell. “I’m out in the parking lot, waiting for you to get your mind right. Don’t you miss this sweet cookie? She misses you. I’ll sit out here all night, if you want me to. You want me to be a fool for you, is that it, boo? Well, fine. I’ll be your fool. Just answer my call, please.”
I ended the call.
This boy wanted to play games. Wanted to play me like a violin. Wanted to stomp all over my good loving.
I redialed his number again. Then left another message. “Jussssssstice, this is it! I’m not gonna keep calling you, not gonna keep sweating you. I’m not even about to be no damn fool for you, boy! If you don’t want me, just be a man about it. Come outside and tell me to my face. Just be a damn man about it . . .”
And then I broke out into my own version of Toni Braxton’s “Just Be a Man About It.” “Justice, stop your bullshit/Just be a man about it/oooooh-oooooh, yeah, yeah/If you can’t give me what I need/If I’m not what you’re looking for/then let me go/if I’m too much woman for you . . . just be one hunnid with it/stop playing games with my heart, baby/don’t have me slashing tires tonight/don’t have me busting windows out tonight/pick up your phone/ooooh-oooooh . . .”
I sang the chorus a few times, then ended the call.
I wasn’t gonna cry. Nope. I was too fabulous for tears. I didn’t have any more to shed any-damn-way. These tear ducts were dried up. I had nothing left to give.
I reached for my forty ounce of St. Ides tucked between my legs and took a sip.
“Jussssssstice!” I screamed inside the cabin of my car.
I loved that boy. But he was making me hate him, hate everything he stood for, when all I’d ever been to him was G-U-D. Good.
I was a good woman. Period.
I didn’t lie. Ever. I kept it one-hunnid with him, always.
I belched. Then frowned, fanning a hand over my nose. I belched again. Everything about this beer I was drinking was rotten. But it was soooo good. So hood. It quenched my thirst. And gave me the buzz I needed for the night.
I belched again. Then cracked the windows.
Why couldn’t Justice appreciate me? Why couldn’t that boy love me? Why was he tryna play me for a fool?
I didn’t play games. I played for keeps.
I’d been nothing but faithful to him. I was a good, faithful woman. A born-again virgin. Wait. That one night of sin I’d had down at the Pink Lounge several months back with that Latino cutie-boo didn’t count, did it? I mean. That sexy butter-pecan Puerto Rican had been ripe and ready and (whew!) I’d plucked him every which way through Sunday and still had time to make it to church to get my praise dance on.
Amen?
Amen.
And so what if I’d let him melt all over me. He wasn’t the love of my life; he had been a love for the night. Besides, I’d told him my name was Sasha Fierce. So no—hell no! I hadn’t cheated.
Not Rich Montgomery.
That was all tequila talking that night. It was not me!
It was the devil in disguise.
Jose Cuervo.
3:39 a. m.
That was the time glowing back at me. I blinked. Two forty ounces and another bladder full of urine later, and I was still sitting outside Justice’s condominium complex.
I’d already been reduced to using the bathroom outside twice. I wasn’t gonna do it again. I was done!
“You know what, Jussssssstice! I’m done with you!” I yelled into my cell. “You win! I’ve been out here allllll frickin’ night, burning allllll my good gas, waiting for you to open your damn door! I don’t know what beeeyotch you have up in there with you, but I know she can’t drop it low like I can! But whatever! Now you can throw her up against a wall! I hope she’s worth it! But don’t let me catch that whore, because I’m gonna punch her eye sockets out, then stomp her face in! I promise you, Jussssssstice! I’m gonna—”
The call dropped.
“Aaaaah!” I screamed as I called back.
“Yo, you know what to do. Lick the tip. Leave a message.” Beep-beep. Then came the dreaded recording, “I’m sorry, but the mailbox is full.”
I tossed my phone over onto the passenger seat, slid my Chanels back on my face, then sped out of the parking lot, like a bat on fire. I swung out into the street, did a U-turn, and raced through a stop sign.
I needed to get to a bathroom. Quick!
I zoomed down every shortcut and secret alley, practically taking corners on two wheels. My legs shook as I floored the gas. I saw the light ahead of me. But then I blinked, and it was now a yellow blur, then red.
I said four quick Hail Marys and flew right through. This was an emergency, dammit! I would purge my s
oul and ask for forgiveness later.
For now—
Whoop, whoop!
My gaze slid up to my rearview mirror, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I blinked.
A police car was behind me. Me!
I cursed. The police stayed tryna do me. All I ever did was mind my own fabulous business, and all these hating-azz cops wanted to do was see a beautiful woman go down. They really wanted to see me wading in muddy waters.
My whole body started to overheat as my bladder stretched to full capacity. Lord Jesus! I was gonna burst if I didn’t get to a restroom.
I pulled over, my whole body practically convulsing.
Surely, the cop in back of me would understand.
I eyed him through my side-view mirror as he walked up to my window.
My window slid down. “Hi,” I said calmly. “Can you make this quick, kind sir? I’m having a bladder emergency.”
“License, registration, insurance,” he said rudely.
“Clutching pearls! Is there a reason why you’re stopping me?”
“License, registration, and insurance?” he repeated more forcefully. Ole prick!
“What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“I said license, registration, and insurance. Don’t have me ask again.” And then came blinding lights—his flashlight all up in my personal space. “Have you been drinking?”
I hiccupped, squeezing my legs shut and bouncing in my seat. “No, not tonight.”
I belched again.
“Can you please lower your flashlight? You’re violating my civil rights,” I sputtered. Then I belched again. “This is racial profiling. This is illegal stop and seizure! I will have your badge for this!”
“Step out of the vehicle” was the last thing I heard him say before I felt the golden flow of warm fluid seeping out of me.
23
London
“Oh, there you are, my darling . . .”
I cringed as my mother whisked into my bathroom and stood behind me as I sat at my vanity. I fastened a diamond stud into my left ear and then gazed up and looked at her through the mirror.
