Diamond Life

by Aliya S. King

  “Bunny’s just your meal ticket. You don’t really give a shit about her.”

  “Neither one of you care about me.”

  Robert and Zander spun around to see Bunny slumped in the doorway that led out to the balcony, the one place Zander had not looked. Zander raced over and grabbed her by the arm before she completely fell over. Robert moved clothing and extra pillows off the couch just before Zander helped her lie down.

  “I just want to take a nap . . .” Bunny said, turning her head to the side.

  “Are you still taking Percocets?” Zander asked. He used his fingers to open her eyes. Her pupils were completely dilated.

  “Zan,” Bunny mumbled. “I just drank too much. Need to sleep it off.” Bunny tried to wriggle out of Zander’s arms and curl up on the couch.

  “Let her be,” Robert said. “I’ll stay here until she sobers up.”

  “How come I don’t smell alcohol on her breath?” Zander asked, standing up and looking around the room. “And there’s no bottles here.”

  “She was probably already drunk when she got here.”

  Zander went out onto the balcony and stopped short. He saw a small plastic bag underneath a recliner. There was a small, thin rubber hose sticking out. Zander grabbed the bag and went back into the room, slamming the sliding glass door shut behind him.

  “Wake her up!” Zander yelled out, throwing the plastic bag in Robert’s direction.

  “What the hell is this?” Robert whispered, dumping the contents on the floor.

  “Bunny, get up. Bunny! Get. Up.”

  Zander snatched Bunny up to her feet. Her knees buckled, and he struggled to keep her upright. She began to open her eyes and tried to stand up on her own.

  “Ohmygod . . .” Robert said. He was still sifting through the contents of the bag. There were handfuls of syringes, vials, and glassine packages.

  Zander pulled up one of Bunny’s arms and pushed her sleeve back.

  “We can’t let her fall asleep.”

  Within minutes, Zander knew there was no way he could keep Bunny up. Her eyes were rolling back in her head and she’d completely stopped communicating. He leaned in near her chest and listened to her breathing. He looked at his watch, waited for a full minute and counted her breaths. In sixty seconds, he’d counted ten deep breaths. When he pulled away, he heard a gurgling sound coming from Bunny’s throat and her lips were starting to turn blue.

  “She’s ODing.”

  Robert’s eyes widened as he fumbled for his cell phone.

  “No,” Zander said. “Wait a second.”

  Zander bent down and massaged Bunny’s breastbone with a heavy hand. He kept leaning down, listening to her breaths and then rubbing harder. He switched from rubbing her breastbone to rubbing her lips with his thumb and then back to her chest again.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” Robert screamed.

  Zander ignored him and listened again to her breathing. Twelve breaths in a minute. Better. But not good enough. He tilted Bunny’s head back, used his hand to purse her lips, and pressed his lips firm against her and blew three short, hard breaths into her lungs. He sat up, watched her for a moment. And then leaned in and did it again. He listened to her breathe. Thirteen breaths per minute.

  Zander put Bunny back down on the sofa and ran into the bedroom. He pulled down the duffel bag he always brought with him when he traveled with his father on tour. He’d learned to always be ready to hit the ground running when his dad gave him the opportunity to travel with him. Many times, his father would come home and give him five minutes to get on the tour bus. He started having a bag packed at all times after he got left behind more than once. The red and white canvas duffel bag hadn’t been used in so long that the clean clothes and underwear packed inside were three sizes too small. But it wasn’t clothing that Zander was looking for.

  He threw the bag on the bed, unzipped a side pocket, and took out a small sealed plastic bag. He tore it open with his teeth, dumped out the contents, and grabbed a small nasal spray pump. He ran back into the living area and knelt down next to Bunny. He twisted the top off the pump and squeezed a mist of spray into the air before easing the nozzle into Bunny’s nostril. He squeezed lightly, waited, and then squeezed again. He didn’t realize until he put the spray bottle down that his shirt was soaked and his breathing was coming in shallow.

  “What the hell was that?” Robert asked.

  “Narcan. It’s for—”

  There were a few short knocks on the door. Robert and Zander froze in place. Robert snuck to the door, looked through the peephole, and then put his finger to his lips and mouthed the word police. Zander dragged Bunny into the bedroom while Robert stuffed the paraphernalia back into the bag and threw it in the shower stall.

  Zander sat on the bed, petrified, waiting to get some kind of response from Bunny. He whispered her name and gently shook her shoulders. He patted her face with his hands softly and then with more force. She remained as still as a corpse. He looked at his watch. It had been ninety seconds since he gave her the Narcan. She should have been conscious by now. Zander had watched his mother bring his father back from an overdose dozens of times by the time he was sixteen. He’d done it enough times on his own to remember to always bring Narcan in his travel bag. But Z always came to almost immediately. Maybe Bunny needed more. Was he supposed to give her three pumps or two? Zander searched the room for the spray bottle and remembered that it was in the front room. Zander came back out and saw the two officers in the living area of the suite.

  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

  “She’s gonna have a hell of a hangover,” Robert said. “But yes, she’s fine.”

  “Do you mind if we take a look at her? Just to be sure.”

  The officers looked at Zander, who still had his hands on the doorknob to the bedroom.

  “She’s right back here,” Zander said, waving them over to the bedroom.

  Robert looked at Zander, questioning him with his eyes. Zander looked away and turned to lead the officers into the bedroom.

  “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

  Zander held his breath.

  “Ma’am?”

  Bunny opened her eyes a quarter of an inch. She looked at each of the four people, then blinked. Zander saw Robert close his eyes and murmur the words oh thank God under his breath.

  “Do you know where you are?” one of the officers asked.

  Bunny opened and closed her mouth and ran her tongue across her lips. Robert grabbed a bottled water off the bureau and tipped it into her mouth. Bunny leaned up, took several gulps of water, and then exhaled and fell back against the pillows. Bunny’s mouth moved, but no one could hear anything.

  “Can you repeat that, ma’am?”

  Bunny cleared her throat and tried to sit up.

  “I’m at the Parker Meridien,” Bunny whispered, her eyes closed.

  “And can you tell us who these two gentlemen are?”

  Bunny kept her eyes closed, raised her hand, and pointed in Zander’s general direction.

  “That’s Zander. He’s my boyfriend. I mean, my ex-boyfriend. The other one’s my manager. His name is Robert.”

  The officers looked at each other and then over at Zander and Robert.

  “You should probably keep an eye on her for a few days,” said one of the officers.

  “Of course,” Robert said. “Thank you so much for stopping by.”

  As soon as he closed the door and locked it, Robert sunk to the floor. Zander flopped into a chair and threw his head back. He tried to take deep breaths, but his heart was beating too quickly.

  “What did you give her?” Robert asked.

  “Narcan. Brings you back from a heroin overdose.”

  “You got her hooked on heroin?”

  “Hell, no,” Zander said. “I would never touch that shit.”

  “I see,” said Robert. “But you just travel with Narcan just in case. Right.”

  Robert shook his head and go
t to his feet. He pulled out his cell phone, walked out onto the balcony, and started making phone calls. He could hear him reassuring someone on the video set that Bunny was fine and that she would be on-set in a few hours. Zander stood in the doorway of the bedroom and watched Bunny. She looked like she was sleeping. But Zander knew she just had her eyes closed.

  “Hey,” said Zander.

  Bunny opened her eyes and focused on Zander.

  “Hey,” she said. Her voice was scratchy and weak.

  “I love you,” Zander said.

  Zander stared at Bunny for a few more minutes and then turned around, closing the door behind him. He heard Bunny calling his name as he walked toward the door of the suite. He hesitated just a few seconds before he grabbed his bag and walked out.

  Birdie was in that halfway place. The sun was pouring in from the window because he hadn’t drawn the shades the night before. So he was awake, but only barely. Without opening his eyes, Birdie stretched out his arm, knowing Alex wasn’t there. His arms moved across the empty space in the bed his wife had picked out.

  Birdie sat up in bed, still not opening his eyes. There was a crippling headache spreading across his temples. He forced himself out of bed, pulling the curtains to block the sun and then limping back to bed.

  Something was wrong with his hip. Birdie laid back down gently to assess all the damage. There was a raging headache, courtesy of a fifth of vodka straight from the bottle and six shots of Patrón at the impromptu party in his basement eight hours ago. His left hip was aching. He vaguely remembered pinning Travis to the ground in an ill-advised wrestling match. At some point, Travis was able to overturn Birdie and ended up flipping him onto the hardwood floor. There were various cuts and scratches that didn’t come with any kind of memory. In general, it was just another Tuesday. Birdie rolled over onto his stomach at the same time there was a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” Birdie asked.

  The door opened and Dylan poked her head inside.

  “You got a meeting in thirty minutes.”

  “I said who is it. Not come inside.”

  Dylan slammed the door and knocked again.

  “Who is it?” Birdie asked.

  “The only person who gives a damn about your career, obviously.”

  Birdie swung his legs over to the side of his bed and planted his feet on the floor. Dylan opened the door and walked directly to the window and swiped the drapes open.

  “Damn, Dylan,” Birdie said, shielding his eyes with his hands. “Chill out. I’m up.”

  “Looks like you had a good time last night,” said Dylan. She snapped open a garbage bag and began dumping ashtrays, empty beer bottles, and fast-food wrappers into it.

  “I don’t need you to clean up after me,” Birdie said, making a grab for the bag. Dylan moved away and kept it just out of his reach.

  “You go take a shower. I’ll finish up in here.”

  Birdie dragged himself to his bathroom and pulled open the shower door.

  “Oh shit!” Birdie yelled out, jumping back a full foot. There was Corey, in a crumpled heap, curled up in a ball inside the shower stall. Dylan rushed in.

  “Oh my God, is he dead?”

  “No,” said Birdie, nudging him with his toe. “He’s asleep.”

  Dylan knelt down and shook Corey, who began to wake up.

  “Dude, you can’t be falling asleep in my damn shower! Get the hell up!” Corey pulled himself up to his knees, leaned over, and threw up all over Dylan’s feet.

  “Ohmygod, eeeeeewwww!” Dylan said. She froze in place, her eyes wide.

  “Birdie, get this off of me!!”

  Birdie tried not to laugh and went into the hallway to find towels. On his way to the linen closet, he looked over the railing and got a glimpse of the first floor.

  His house was trashed. Top to bottom.

  There was a roll of toilet paper inexplicably threaded around all the furniture, from the couch to the lamps and the side tables, all the way into the kitchen. The empty cardboard insert was stuffed into a half-eaten cake. Birdie remembered singing (or rather screaming) “Happy Birthday” to someone he didn’t know at some point in the night. He even vaguely remembered driving to go get the birthday cake.

  There was something that looked like frosting all over the television screen and a pile of coats were on the floor. Birdie could make out Daryl on the sofa, in nothing but a pair of boxers. A girl Birdie had never seen before was curled up next to Daryl, in a bra and panties. There were two girls sharing a pallet on the floor. One had a mustache drawn on her face with a marker.

  Birdie shook his head and continued down the hall. The only thing he could think was: Better than last weekend.

  “Birdie!!” Dylan screamed.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming . . .” Birdie muttered to himself.

  After Dylan’s shoes were cleaned off, she and Birdie hoisted Corey onto a bed in one of the guest rooms. Corey burped, groaned, and then immediately went back to sleep. Birdie went downstairs and began cleaning up. Dylan was on his heels with her head buried in her BlackBerry.

  “I need you to get on the phone with an editor at Vibe at three. They need a quick quote about the Kipenzi tribute album.”

  “You told me,” said Birdie. He stopped and gently shook the shoulder of one of the two girls sleeping on his sofa. The woman roused and then sat up abruptly.

  “Where’s my shirt?” the girl said. Her voice was low and sleepy.

  “I’m not sure,” Birdie said. “But you need to go.”

  The girl rooted around the sofa, pulling clothes out of the sofa cushions. She woke up the girl who had been sleeping next to her and they both began whispering to each other while they got dressed.

  “You have a photo shoot for Men’s Health tomorrow,” Dylan said. “And I can’t reschedule it, so please don’t ask me to.”

  “Dylan, can’t we do this over the phone?”

  “Do you know where your phone is right now?”

  Birdie looked around the living room and then patted the pockets of his robe.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Dylan. “I can never get you on the phone. That’s why I end up just coming over here.”

  “I just think you should let me—”

  Before Birdie could finish his sentence, the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, and your daughter’s coming over today.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bird whispered. “Why isn’t she in school?”

  “No school today,” Dylan said. “I guess you don’t remember talking to her mom about this last night?”

  Birdie’s eyes widened and he held a finger up to his lips as he crept to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Jen holding Tweet on her hip. Jen’s face was stone. She rang the doorbell again and then knocked hard on the door.

  “Birdie! Can you open the door, please?”

  Birdie tightened his robe and tried to think. There was no way he could let them in right now. He’d have to stall them somehow. He ran upstairs, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and dashed back downstairs, going outside through the back patio. He walked down the driveway and came around to the front of the house.

  “Daddy!” Tweet said, scrambling down from her mom and making a beeline for Birdie.

  “Hey, sweets,” Birdie said. “How’s my little girl?”

  “Birdie, why are you outside?”

  Birdie pretended he didn’t hear his ex-wife. If he could just get Tweet inside from the kitchen, he could take her upstairs through the back staircase and get Dylan to keep her in the bedroom until he got the house cleaned up and kicked everyone out.

  “Let’s go, Tweet,” Birdie said, picking up the little girl. He waved to Jen and turned around to make his way back up the driveway.

  “Don’t even think about it, Birdie,” Jen said, walking close behind him. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean, what’s going on? I’m taking Tweet inside. I’ll see you when you pick he
r up.”

  Jennifer walked up, passed Birdie, and then turned around to face him.

  “What’s going on?” Jen asked.

  Birdie cleared his throat.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I need to come inside.”

  “For what?”

  “Bathroom.”

  “Place is a mess,” Birdie said.

  He tried to step out of her way, but Jennifer continued to step directly in front of him.

  “I lived with you for three years,” she said. “I don’t care about your dirty bathroom.”

  Before Birdie could stop her, Jennifer dashed ahead and went into the house through the kitchen patio.

  “Jen,” Birdie yelled out. “Don’t go in the—”

  Birdie heard Jen gasp and closed his eyes.

  “Daddy,” Tweet said. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Yeah, Tweet,” Birdie said. “I’m in big trouble.”

  Birdie took Tweet up to her room, turned on Princess and the Frog, and closed the door tight behind him. As soon as he stepped into the living room, still strewn with garbage and random people, he saw Jennifer standing in the hallway, surveying the scene. She shook her head from side to side when she saw Birdie walking up to her.

  “I can’t believe you’re living like this,” Jen said.

  “I had a little get-together last night and it got a little out of hand.”

  “A little?”

  “Jen, I left my mother in Brooklyn. I don’t need another one.”

  “Well, you obviously need something.”

  “I need you to go.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m leaving Tweet in this house with you? You’ve gotta be insane.”

  “Look, I’m gonna get this place cleaned up and it’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not the point, Bird.”

  Birdie exhaled. He knew Jennifer was right. But he wasn’t in the mood for trying to placate her. He still needed to take a shower, get all these fools out of his house, and start the day.

  “It’s gonna be fine,” Bird said. “You go.”

  Jen crossed her arms tight over her chest and set her lips in a thin line.