The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  You gonna just let him walk away from you like that? the small voice said, taunting her.

  She let her bag drop from her shoulder, catching it by the handle in her left hand just before it hit the ground. She hurried to catch up with Darryl who had just rounded the corner of the pool. She took quick, large strides to close the gap between them, her bag swinging wildly to balance her movements. Now only an arm’s length away, she reached out her free arm to turn him around, but just as she did so, Darryl suddenly veered left toward one of the several umbrella-shaded tables that dotted the patio.

  Moji stopped short. “Darryl!” she said, loud enough to attract the attention of most of the guests on her side of the pool, including the DJ, who lowered the volume of the background music so fast that Moji felt a momentary pang of embarrassment. She took a deep breath. “Darryl,” she said again, swallowing her anger in one big gulp and forcing herself to speak in a softer tone, “can I please speak with you in private?”

  Darryl had already reached his destination by the time Moji had made her outburst; a table occupied by two people. The first she recognized as Brute, the giant drunk man she had met earlier. The second was a woman who Moji quickly surmised was not a Hoe-girl. The woman looked to be about Moji’s age but was at least a head shorter and several bra sizes smaller. Though unabashedly dressed in a hot pink string bikini, white yoga pants, fake Miu-Miu jewel encrusted sandals, and a synthetic hair weave that look glued instead of sewn on, the woman’s body had obviously seen better days. Moji thought that the woman would be a splitting image of Nicki Minaj if Nicki Minaj were three shades darker, wore a B-cup, and had an abdomen covered with stretch marks. Darryl lowered the drink tray onto the table and turned to face her.

  “I already told you I didn’t want to talk about this today,” Darryl said with a mix of contempt and frustration, “but you keep on pushing it. Why does everything have to be about you?”

  Oh no he didn't! the voice in her head complained, You’d better not let him get away with talking to you like that! Who the hell does he think he is!

  Her eyes brimmed with hot tears as she dropped her bag and charged at Darryl, quickly covering the distance between them in three big steps. She stopped just short of running into him and shook her left index finger directly under his nose. “You’ve got your nerve saying I’m making this all about me. Need I remind you, Darryl Strickland, that when we met, you were barely making it as a run-of-the-mill football player for some no-name football team in the backwoods of Canada. It was me who made it possible for you to tryout with the Vipers, it was me who gave your broke ass the money so you could come to Houston, eat, and have a place to live, and it was me who stroked your fragile ego so you would have the confidence to even make the damn team. So don’t delude yourself into thinking that our relationship has been all about me. No, my brother, it’s been quite the opposite. From the day I met you to this very moment you haven’t thought about anyone but your damn self!”

  Darryl hadn’t spoken a word during her rant. He looked bored. His head was cocked to one side and his eyes darted around, scanning the empty sky, avoiding her own. Moji’s lungs burned. Without realizing it, she had unleashed that entire tirade without taking a single breath. She closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand. She desperately did not want to cry in front of all these people but she knew she would not be able to prevent it.

  I’ve got to get out of here! she thought.

  But no sooner than she had that thought then the woman wearing the yoga pants over the string bikini jumped up and squeezed her cellulite-dimpled butt between herself and Darryl. She jammed a ridiculously long and bedazzled fingernail into Moji’s face.

  “Who da hell do you think you are, bitch!” said the mystery woman.

  Moji just stared in shock. She felt her mouth moving but no words came out.

  “Queen,” Darryl said, “let it be. This is none of your business.”

  “Hell no Blaze. I ain’t gonna let no Jill Scott wannabe embarrass my man at his own party in his own house.”

  Queen? Moji thought. This sorry excuse for a woman is called Queen? Her parents must be heartbroken. And what did she just say? Did she say, MY MAN?

  “Queen, I can handle my own business!’ Darryl said. “I don’t need your damn help.”

  Moji looked at Darryl, perplexed. “Darryl, who the hell is this?”

  Darryl opened his mouth to speak but Queen, with a quick jab of an index finger from her outstretched hand, rebuked him into silence. Then she turned her attention back to Moji.

  “Who the hell do you think I am bitch!” Queen said, the words leaping from her tongue like sparks from a fire. “I’ll tell you who I am! I’m the Queen B, Blaze’s main bitch cause your giant uppity ass is too stuck up to give my boy Blaze some play. He says you’re saving yourself for marriage or some stupid shit like that. What you got to say now bitch?”

  She stopped talking and struck the classic what-you-gonna-do-about-it pose, then spit a short “Hmph!” at Moji’s feet. She stared at Moji, her dark dilated eyes filled with hate.

  Darryl wrapped Queen in a bear hug and half lifted, half pushed her out of the way.

  “That’s enough Queen,” he said. Facing Queen, he gently pushed her backward, away from Moji and into the crowd of onlookers.

  Moji was overcome by a feeling of anger, sadness, and betrayal. “How could you?” she heard herself say.

  He doesn’t love you. He never did, the small voice replied.

  Moji’s world seemed to shrink to a pinpoint. Queen was fighting with Darryl, trying to break through the barrier formed by his body and make her way back to Moji. The crowd responded to her ranting with whoops and hollers of their own, taking pleasure in the cheap form of entertainment her antics provided. Moji saw but did not see, heard but did not hear. All she could contemplate were her own thoughts, her mind muted reality like a silent movie run in slow motion. She could feel the sweat roll down the small of her back. She felt the press of the crowd behind her. I have to leave right now! she thought. She turned and pushed her way through the throng.

  Don’t run away! the small voice said. You always run away!

  “I have to go!” Moji said, pushing her way through the sea of silicone breasts and swollen muscles. “Please get out of my way!”

  The crowd parted and Moji found herself near the pool’s edge. “Where is my bag?” she mouthed, frantically searching for the only item that was keeping her bound to this terrible place. She finally spotted it. It had been kicked from where she dropped it to a place mere inches from the water’s edge. “That’s all I need, is for my phone to fall into the water,” she said. She bent to reach for the bag and suddenly she felt a painful sting in her left upper thigh followed immediately by a strong push, and then she was flung headfirst into the pool. She tried to cry out but her airway instinctively shut down as her head plunged into the water. The acrid taste and smell of chlorine filled her mouth and throat. She instinctively thrust her hands out in front of her to break her fall but it served to do nothing more than to accentuate her involuntary and awkward belly flop into the placid water. Panic set in as she struggled to free her entangled arms from the tunic floating weightlessly around her waist. The water stung her eyes and she could barely see. She kicked furiously until she felt her sandals touch the pool bottom. She forced her body to straighten and, coughing and sputtering, her head broke the surface. Partially blinded from the chlorine and the bright sun, Moji used her hand to squeegee the water from her eyes. She still couldn’t see clearly but she could tell by the frantic movements of blurred shapes and the clamor of angry voices emanating from where she once stood, that a fight had broken out on the patio.

  “What the hell is wrong with you!” Moji heard Darryl say.

  “Baby, that bitch don’t deserve you!” Queen said. “She punking you in your own house!”

  “Bitch sit down somewhere before I put my size eleven in your ass! Brute,
fish Moji out of the damn pool!”

  Queen and Darryl had a lot more to say to each other but Moji didn’t pay attention to it.

  Oh my god! That crazy bitch pushed me into the pool and Darryl is still not paying me any attention! Moji thought. How could I have been such a fool?

  She waded to the other side of the pool where the walk-in steps were located. A group of people surrounded her as she exited. Most looked concerned and asked whether she were ok, others just kept their distance, pointed, and snickered. Moji ignored the offers of help and ran past them all, heading toward the safety and solitude of the house. I gotta get outta here! her mind screamed at her. Her breathing was labored as she ran through the living room and into the main foyer.

  Stop running away! the small voice complained. You always run away! Go back and fight!

  “Shut up Lara!” Moji said. She clamped her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the voice. There was a grand staircase to her left. She ran up the stairs, blindly following the hallway to her right, turning door knobs until she found one that gave way to an empty bedroom. She closed the door and collapsed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

  You shouldn’t have run away! You are so weak! I hate you! the voice complained.

  Moji curled into a fetal position and hugged her knees tight to her chest. “Shut up Lara!” she said, stammering between shallow breaths.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Go away!” Moji said. “Just leave me alone!”

  “Moji, it’s Brute—I mean Bruce—Can I come in?”

  Please leave me alone Bruce,” Moji said. “I need some time alone.”

  “But I brought your bag.” The door opened a crack and a long brown arm jutted through it, with her bag dangling from the hand.

  Moji relented. “Come in.” She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.

  Bruce slid through the door, still wearing that ratty bathrobe from their first encounter but, to Moji’s relief, this time he was wearing a T-shirt underneath. In his left hand he carried Moji’s bag and in his right, a large glass of clear liquid.

  “I brought you some water too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bruce placed the glass of water on the end table within Moji’s reach and dropped the bag at the foot of the bed.

  “You should probably take that wet stuff off.”

  “What?”

  “The sweater thing you have on. It’s all wet. You probably should take it off and hang it up so it will dry.”

  “Oh, you mean my tunic,” Moji had forgotten she was still wearing it.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. You can hang it up on the back of the door so it will dry.” He pointed at a hook affixed near the top of the door.

  “You’re right,” Moji said. She removed the tunic and handed it to Bruce.

  “It’s nice. I hope the chlorine doesn’t mess it up.”

  Moji mustered a faint smile. “I hope not.”

  Bruce hung up the tunic and turned back to face Moji. “You might wanna take off those sandals too. I can put them out in the sun for you so they’ll dry.”

  “No, no. That’s ok. I’ll keep them with me.”

  “Ok, whatever.”

  “Thank you Bruce for bringing me my stuff and the water. I really appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, ok.”

  Bruce had a worried look in his eye and he seemed hesitant, like he was waiting for something. Moji was exhausted and her head throbbed something terrible. She cupped her head in her hands and massaged her temples with her thumbs.

  “Your head hurt?” Bruce asked.

  “Yeah, pretty bad. Bruce, I want to thank you again for getting my things for me so I hope you don’t take this in the wrong way when I say I really need some alone time right now. I need to clear my head, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’ll let you get your rest.”

  Bruce turned to leave then stopped at the door.

  “You know,” he said, looking at Moji over his shoulder, “Blaze—I mean Darryl—has been pimpin’ since high school. And Queen has been his main bitch or side piece since they both were slinging rocks for the Ebony Kings back in Jacksonville. A honey like you is a major upgrade for that brother and Queen knows it. So when Blaze didn’t send for her when he got his contract, she pretty much hijacked the jet and wouldn’t let it leave unless she was on it. Probably thought she was going to miss out on getting some of that sweet cheddar Blaze was always bragging about making when he finally got in the league. That’s the real reason why Blaze’s parents are not here. They refused to be anywhere near that crazy bitch. I just thought you might want to know that.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “No problem. Oh, and one other thing.” Bruce drove his hand deep into the pocket of his bathrobe, rummaged around a bit, and retrieved a small blue pill. He put on the end table next to the glass of water.

  “That’ll knock out your headache and help you rest.”

  Moji gave Bruce a wary look. “What is it?”

  “My grandma is from South Africa. She brings some of this shit back with her every time she goes over there. It’s called Mandrax. It’s safe. I use it all the time to help me sleep.”

  “No offense, but I think I’ll pass on the South African sleeping pill.”

  “No offense taken. I’ll leave it there for you. You take it if you want to.” Bruce turned and left.

  Moji watched Bruce disappear down the hallway then jumped up, closed and locked the door. She walked over to the window and stared out. This room overlooked the front of the house. Moji followed the long driveway leading back to the main road with her eyes, the long line of cars jumbled together like the scales of a multi-colored serpent, winding their way toward the main gate only to be swallowed whole by the velvet black shadow of the oak tree canopy. She sighed. Why do I keep putting myself through this?

  She slumped back down on the side of the bed. The DJ had restarted the music and Moji could hear the partiers shout out in joy as the bass beat dropped. She dug her index and middle fingers hard into her temples, hoping to relieve the pressure she felt pounding her brain.

  You ran away! You ran away! You ran away! the small voice—Lara’s voice—repeatedly violated the sanctity of her consciousness, until Moji thought she was going to go insane.

  “Please, please Lara,” Moji whispered, “just go back to sleep and leave me in peace.” She breathed slowly, trying to invoke the calm state of mind that had worked so well to placate Lara in the past, but it wasn’t working. Moji reached for the glass of water and spied the blue pill left by Bruce. She picked it up and held it to her lips. I cannot let Lara take control of my life. Not again. She threw the pill to the back of her throat and followed it with a large sip of water. “May God have mercy on my soul,” she said.

  She laid down on the bed and let sleep take her.

  7

  A dull thud nudged Moji awake. She was laying on her stomach, perpendicular to the length of the queen-sized bed, her head crushed between two tear-stained pillows. She rolled over onto her back and stretched, her hands and feet suspended over opposite sides of the bed’s edge. A flash of light strobed across her closed eyelids. And then another. And then two more in quick succession. A thunderclap slammed into the house, shaking the window and jolting Moji into full consciousness. She became aware of the rain pounding on the window in waves. Oh boy, how long did I sleep? she thought. I wonder where Tyson is? He’s usually huddled right next to me when it’s thundering like this. She opened her eyes just enough to let light in. The room was bathed in a soft, distorted twilight that streamed in from the window. She sat up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and scooted herself forward so that her feet could touch the floor. “Wha-!?” she said when, instead of feeling her bare feet rest on the familiar wood floor of her bedroom, she felt the damp leather of the sandals still strapped to her ankles. Her eyes snapped fully open and the whole terrible day came back to her in a rush. My l
ord, I’m still at Darryl’s house! How long have I been asleep!

  She jumped up and raced to the window. The torrential rain made it difficult to see but Moji could tell that most of the cars that were parked at the carriage house and along the driveway were gone. The party’s over, she thought. She listened but didn’t hear any noise coming from the hallway or the adjoining rooms. Oh my god, did I spend the whole night here? Poor Tyson will be terrified! She grabbed her bag and found her phone. She pushed the home button. To her relief, the phone’s clock confirmed that she had only slept for about four hours. Oh thank God! she thought. She checked her phone for messages. No one had tried to contact her while she slept. Not even Darryl, the small voice reminded her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Not now Lara. She wished she could just snap her fingers and be in the safe confines of her apartment. Ok, Moji focus. How do we get out of here?

  She certainly didn’t want to confront Darryl or that crazy woman, Queen. She thought about calling Crystal and asking her to come pick her up. Crystal would disown me if I asked her to drive in this rain, she thought, and when she found out why, she’d probably try to set this house on fire. Just when she was about to press the number to speed dial Darryl, she had another idea. I know, I’ll just call a taxi, she thought, happy to have a plan that didn’t involve having to talk to Darryl. She speed dialed the number of her favorite car service.

  One of the perks of being a V.P. at Leland was never having to drive yourself through Houston traffic and Moji took full advantage of it, using the complimentary car service every day for her commute to and from work. Her own car, a silver 2002 Toyota Camry, sat mostly unused in the parking garage of her building. Why deal with the expense and stress of driving when someone else can do it for you? The phone rang once, twice, three times. For a split second, dread filled the pit of her stomach. Damn it! I‘ve never called them on the weekend! What if they don’t work on weekends? Please, please be there! The dispatcher picked up on the fourth ring. Thank you Jesus! She gave the dispatcher her location, the code to get past the outer gate, and confirmed that a car was only a few minutes away. She hung up and sighed. Within the hour I’ll be safe at home. She thought of calling Crystal to keep her company while she waited for the taxi to arrive but immediately rejected the idea. What am I going to say to her? That my boyfriend has been playing me for a fool and his ghetto whore of a BFF laughed while she kicked my ass into the pool? Yeah, that sounds like the lyrics to the worst country song ever. She snatched up her bag and entered the bedroom’s private bathroom. She threw her bag onto the vanity and positioned herself in front of the mirror. What she saw horrified her. Oh my god, look at me! My hair’s all frizzy and my eyes are all red and puffy. I’m a mess!