by Ni-Ni Simone
Right in front of us, up on the mountaintop—near the cliffs, was a 180-degree view of Los Angeles stretching out to gleaming blue water, the Pacific Ocean.
“Because, you stinking slore,” I said through gritted teeth, “this is where you get out and jump!”
25
London
For the last two weeks, I’ve done nothing but obsess over the idea, even the likelihood, of my parents getting back together. And for a fleeting moment, I actually thought that the possibility would bloom into a reality.
They’d been getting along. Laughing and even talking more, something I’d hadn’t seen from the two of them in like forever. So in that possibility came hope. Hope that we’d be a family again. Hope that I would have Daddy all to myself again. That things would somehow work their way back to the way everything used to be.
Not perfect. But perfect enough, if that made any sense.
But this morning, my mother and father managed to snatch away any wishful, hopeful, thinking that I might have had or held onto.
“Now that Mother is back home,” I said to Daddy over morning breakfast, “and the two of you are getting along . . .”
“Oh, no, darling,” my mother said, removing her linen napkin from her lap and dabbing the corners of her mouth. “I’m leaving to go back to Milan . . .”
I blinked. “You’re what? When?”
“In about another week or so,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
My heart sank.
“And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?”
“Today, actually. I thought it would be nice if you and I spent the day at the spa, then did a little shopping together.”
I sucked my teeth. “I don’t want a spa day. And I don’t want to go shopping. I can do that anytime, Mother. What I want is to know why you have to leave? Again.”
“Oh, London, darling. You make it sound like I’m abandoning you?”
I gave her a look but said nothing. She really had no clue. And she never would. So what was the point? I mean, really? Why try to get her to see that she was abandoning me? That she’d abandoned me in some way most of my life?
“I need to fly back to handle some business,” she said, missing the opportunity to assure me that I wasn’t being forsaken. “But I’ll be back before you know it.”
I scoffed. “And you can’t handle it from here? Isn’t that what assistants are for? To handle matters when you can’t?”
Mother shook her head, reaching over to grab my hand. “It’s not that simple, darling. I have a business to run. And commitments to tend to.”
“But what about your commitment to me, huh?”
“Your mother and I are very committed to you, sweetheart.”
I stared at my father. “Just like you’re so committed to chasing some other man’s wife!”
Daddy scowled. “Excuse me? What was that?”
I boldly repeated myself. Then added, “Yes. I know all about you screwing Rich’s mother! Of all the whores in the world, why did you have to pick my enemy’s mother?”
My mother gasped; the blood from her face drained. “London, stop this. Don’t disrespect your father. You’re out of line.”
I slammed my spoon down. “No, Mother,” I hissed, fighting back tears, “Daddy’s out of line.” I swiped a lone tear before it slid down my face. I’d been holding this in for far too long. I had to let it out. Dr. Kickaloo had told me that holding in my resentments was like swallowing poison. That it would slowly kill my spirit.
“Don’t either of you care about how this crap is hurting me? Do either of you even care about me and my feelings?”
“Of course, we do,” Daddy stated calmly. “Your mother and I love you.”
I gave him a blank stare. “Oh, really?” I tilted my head and waited for his response.
“London, don’t,” my mother warned.
“No, Jade,” Daddy said. “She’s entitled to know. We owe her that much.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding in, swiping another tear.
“Your mother and I love you very much, sweetheart. Period. And there’s nothing either of us wouldn’t do for you to make sure you have the very best of everything.”
“Then why can’t the two of you stay together?”
Daddy looked over at my mother, and she held his gaze for a moment, before averting her eyes. “Because, honestly sweetheart,” Daddy said as gently as he could, “your mother and I are no longer in love with each other. We care deeply for one another, but not in a way that would work in a happy marriage. She doesn’t want to pretend anymore, and neither do I.”
I swallowed, hard.
“I haven’t been happy in a very long time.”
My lip quivered. “Then go to marriage counseling.”
Daddy sighed. “Everything isn’t so cut-and-dried,” he said in a way that sounded almost lawyer-ish. “I wish it could be, but it’s not. Not always. Still, for the last two years, we’ve tried to hold on—your mother and I—to stay in our marriage, for your sake. But . . .”
“But?” I prompted.
“But it was making your father and me more miserable,” my mother interjected.
Daddy looked over at my mother and smiled wearily. “I love your mother, London. And I always will. I’m just not in love with her. And neither is she with me.”
“Your father and I want what’s best not only for each other, but for you as well. You will always be our priority.”
Yeah, right. Blah, blah, blah.
Since when?
I scoffed. “And how is a divorce what’s best for me, huh, Mother? How is that a priority for me? How am I the one benefiting from that? Sounds to me that the only ones benefiting are you and Daddy.”
More tears fell. And this time I let them fall unchecked.
Daddy cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Sweetheart, you have a right to be upset by this. And I wish your mother and I had had this conversation with you sooner.”
I looked at him through tear-drenched eyes. “Then why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “There’s really no answer to that. We—”
“We thought it best that you only know as much as you needed to know,” my mother cut in.
I grabbed my linen napkin and dabbed at my eyes. “And neither of you have yet to tell me how I benefit from any of this?”
“Well, sweetheart,” Daddy said, “you have the benefit of knowing that you have two parents who love each other enough to not want to keep hurting the other.”
I sighed, looking over at my mother. “What do I need to do to keep the two of you together, huh?” Then I glanced over at Daddy. “What do I have to do to keep you away from that married whore? Cut myself again?”
My mother gasped. “Ohmygod, no, darling. Please don’t talk like that. And don’t speak ill of another adult. We didn’t raise you to be disrespectful.”
“Well, that’s what you called her, Mother. A whore. Daddy’s slut! I overheard, remember?”
“London,” Daddy warned, his voice never rising. “Don’t let me hear you call her out again. Ever.”
I saw my mother cringe, but she kept her composure.
I huffed. “Oh, great. Defend her. Your side piece! Oh, wait. Since I guess you and Mother are still divorcing, that would now make her your main piece, right? But wait. How does that work since she’s also married? Does Mr. Montgomery know?”
“London!” my mother snapped. “This is not like you. Are you still on your meds?”
I frowned. “Seriously, Mother? Is that the best you can do? I’m trying to understand why Daddy is out there cheating on you with that ghetto-acting tram . . . woman . . . and all you can think to do is ask me if I’m on my meds?”
I shook my head, throwing my napkin onto my plate. “Yes, I’m taking them, Mother. Every day. Even on days when I don’t want to.”
“Then why are you speaking like that? Talking about . . .” She couldn’t finish the sen
tence. She simply placed her hand up over the diamond pendant hanging around her neck.
“What, Mother? Cutting myself?”
“Sweetheart,” Daddy said, “maybe we should call your thera—”
I cut him off. “I don’t need to see her. I’m not in crisis, Daddy. In fact, I’m probably the only one around here with sense, since neither of you had the sense or the decency, before now, to be adult enough to talk to me about what is going on with the two of you, instead of tiptoeing around me, ignoring the big pink elephant in the room.”
I shot my mother a hot glare. Then burned my gaze over at Daddy.
“You’re right, sweetheart,” my father said. “Your mother and I are still getting a divorce. Nothing has been finalized as of yet. But, for now, we have agreed to a separation. This is still your mother’s home, so she will come and go as freely as she chooses. We will both parent you until you turn eighteen. And then we will allow you to decide where you wish to live. Here or in Italy. That choice will be up to you. But until such time, you will remain here in L.A. And your mother and I will co-parent.”
“Finally,” I said sarcastically. “Some clarity.”
Daddy sighed. “I apologize for not having this talk with you sooner. Your mother and I really thought the less you knew, the better. But we were wrong. You did have a right to know something.”
I didn’t know how to respond to all that had been said, or how to feel about it. I felt my heart sinking in a way that I couldn’t describe. And I blamed it all on his mistress.
I pushed back from the table and stood, knocking the chair over.
“This is so fucking ridiculous! Why do you get to go off and screw some other woman? Why do I have to be the one to suffer because you can’t keep your man parts to yourself?”
“London!” my mother snapped.
“No!” I yelled back, sobbing as I stabbed a finger in the air at Daddy. “I hate you for being a cheater!” Then I stabbed a finger over at my mother. “And I hate you for not fighting to keep your husband! I hate that I’m living in a broken home! And I hate Logan Montgomery for being a man-stealing biiii-itch!”
My parents sat, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. My vehemence clearly shocked them both. It was so out of character. But necessary, I felt. And I didn’t care about what the consequences might be for my outburst.
All I knew in my head was this: I was sick of this bullshit!
26
Rich
“So we still beefin’?”
Clearrrrrrrrly this mothersucker had the wrong one. Arms folded tightly across my chest. I blinked. Stared long and hard into the face of no one other than Justice! My man! My boobie! My chocolate thug daddy! My Mr. MIA!
He didn’t even have the decency to accept my collect calls after I’d been arrested over a week ago. But he was here. Now! Looking like a chocolate God.
I’d always said Justice was an exquisite piece of black art. Sculpted goodness.
And, yeah, Justice was fly.
And a great kisser.
And he had the hands of passion.
Geezus . . .
Justice was everything that made a good girl like me sin. He was everything that made me forget my morals and values and good-natured manners. I was wholesome and pure, and all this boy did was pull me down into the sweaty sheets with him.
I bit into my bottom lip, taking in his muscular arms that were folded neatly across his chest. He licked his lips, watching me, as I stalked closer to him.
My mind flashed back to the first time I’d seen him perform at the Kit-Kat Lounge in Santa Barbara—right in the middle of his set, our eyes had locked. And instantly there were sparks shooting out from every one of my pores. Then he’d invited me up on stage to perform an Erick Roberson piece with him.
He’d stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me as I grooved my boom-bop up on his crotch. It was love at first touch. And when the song ended, he leaned into me and sank his luscious lips onto mine, and then I had to throw a hand up to the Love Goddess and wave it in the air as our unexpected kiss filled me with an explosion of heat.
I knew then. I was in love.
And he was here! On campus! Waiting for me!
Ooh, he was so fine!
My mouth watered at the sight of him, leaning against the driver-side door of my car, in his River Wash Robin’s jeans and a fitted Billionaire Boys Club tee.
I blinked. Wait. Wait. Waaaaaaaaait!
He wasn’t my man anymore! Right? We were broken up! Right?
Right. Right. Right.
So I had to let him go. It was for the best. He was too much drama. And I didn’t do drama. Ever. He played too many games. And I didn’t have time for the playground.
I was too fabulous for his childish ways.
Psst. Please. Divas didn’t get dumped. They didn’t get treated like some world-class trash! No. A diva got even. A diva gave the boy who made her heart skip three beats in a row her whole ass to kiss!
“Can I help you?” I said nastily the moment I approached him. I stepped back out of arms’ reach. And then I sneered. “Are you lost?”
“Nah, I’m right where I need to be,” he said over a smirk as his gaze dropped down to the plunging neckline of my Chanel blouse, where it stayed locked onto my bubbling cleavage.
Damn him . . .
Hand on one curvaceous hip, head tilted, I gave him a deadly stare. “Oh, really? Well, where the hell were you last night, Justice? Or the night before that, and the night before that and the seventeen other nights I’d been trying to get in touch with you, huh, Justice?”
“C’mere,” he said sexily.
“No, Justice! I’m not coming anywhere until you tell me. Why didn’t you return any of my calls or text messages? You had me looking like some thirsty thot begging you, sweating you, banging on your door all hours of the day and night, stalking your parking lot. I don’t sweat no boy. I don’t stalk anyone. Ever! But all you did was make a fool out of me!”
“Because you love me,” he said, reaching out for my arm. “Because love makes us do crazy ish sometimes. It makes us wanna fight hard and love harder. That’s what love makes us do, baby. You and I were built for this kinda love, baby.”
Lord, have mercy on me.
I moved my arm from his grasp and glanced down at his Pierre Balmain high-top sneakers, before slowly sliding my eyes back up over his body and locking onto his gaze.
“You and I are love, baby. We’re the real deal, yo. Real love. Isn’t that what you’ve told me? Me ’n’ you against the clowns of the world.”
Yes . . .
I mean, hell no!
He reached for me again. And this time, I allowed him to pull me into him, and then he tried to kiss me. But before I could get lost in his sweet kisses, I jerked my head away, and his lips caught the side of my mouth.
I pushed back from him. “No, Justice. You don’t get to show up here looking all fine and sexy and smelling all delectable, tryna seduce me, tryna get me to forget I’m not wearing any—never mind, my cookie covering is no longer any of your concern.”
He smirked again. “Oh, word? That’s how we doin’ it now?”
I rolled my eyes, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Yup. That’s how you wanted it. So that’s how it is.”
“Yeah, a’ight, yo. You got it effed up, yo. Everything about you is my concern. You mine, baby.”
Ooh, my man is so sweet.
“I’m yours?!” I shrieked, giving him an incredulous look. “Boy, bye! Lies! I wasn’t yours all these weeks of you ignoring me. I’m nothing to you!” I said, fighting back tears. “And I don’t appreciate you coming here acting like you never threw me out of your apartment or ignored my calls or blocked me from your Twitter and IG and Facebook pages! Who does that?”
“You were buggin’, yo,” he stated calmly. “Spazzin’ out on my posts, inboxin’ broads who liked or posted on my posts.”
Well . . . okay. Maybe I had threatened a few of them. Maybe I had sh
owed up at a nightclub or two and cornered two or three of his little fan club bimbos.
So what?
Those tricks needed to know I was watching their every move.
But he didn’t have to block me.
“You know I’m out here tryna get this bread, yo. And instead of you bein’ my ride or die, instead of you trustin’ in ya man, you be on some flip mode ish, goin’ through my phone, callin’ potential clients ’n’ poppin’ off at the mouth, messin’ wit’ my money, yo. I’m not feelin’ that. I tryna eat too. I’m not lookin’ for no handouts, yo. I’m out here on my grind, baby. Grindin’ for us.”
Well . . . them hoes had to know to stay in their lanes, or catch it with these hands and feet. I was a lady, but I wasn’t allergic to a good street brawl.
I pursed my lips. “Well, I didn’t want any of them skanks in your face.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t even checkin’ for any of them effen broads, yo. I’m all about this paper, yo. And you should know that.”
I grunted, giving him a doubtful glare. “Mmmph. Yeah, right. I know you, Justice. And I know you’ve been humping some tramp’s bones because you surely haven’t been humping”—I slid my hands over the sides of my body—“all of this goodness. And I’m glad you haven’t had that chiseled, sexy body all over mine because you’re so not worthy of all of my tricks ’n’ treats.”
He smirked, and his biceps pumped as his muscles flexed.
“Oh, so you’ve been givin’ out my treats to some other mofo?”
I huffed. “Boy, bye! Why you care? I’m not your girl. Remember? You tossed me out, remember? Blocked me out of your life, remember?”
“Yo, relax,” he said. “I only blocked you from my social media. You being my girl never stopped. You’re still my baby, yo. Always will be.” He reached for me again.
I slapped his hand away.
“Boy, bye! Do I look slow to you? Do I look like I’m cheap ’n’ easy to you? I’m a good woman, Justice! I’ve never cheated on you, lied to you, or mistreated you. But what do I get for being an honorable woman, huh, Justice? Nothing but games and lies! I’m done with your bullshit, Justice. And I’m . . .”
