by Mark Anthony
My father went into the den and slammed the door in my face. I didn’t let it deter me. I just kept on venting through closed French glass doors.
“If you broke, then blame that on yourself. You spent money on nannies when you didn’t have to. Nannies that did nothing but fuck my head up! But you don’t know nothing about that, do you? You spent money flying all over the world with women and blowing money in casinos and partying and living good and now you want me to bail you out? Well, why the hell didn’t you bail me out four or five years ago instead of just shipping me off to Aunt Tanisha’s? That would have cost you nothing but time. Time! Time!”
I paused for a minute and waited for my father to respond, but he didn’t.
“Are you that much of a coward that you can’t even talk to me now? What happened to the tears when you found out that I got raped? Was that real or was that just crocodile tears? Daddy, you know what?” I just shook my head and right there I started crying. Inside I was just hoping that my father would say something. I wanted him to say anything. I especially wanted him to open the door and tell me how wrong I was and to hold me and tell me that he loved me and that he was sorry that I felt that way about him. But guess what? He never opened the door.
So through my tears, I continued.
“It was nice having you around the house these past couple of days, and it was nice the way you showed all that concern for me at the police precinct and all of that. But Daddy, I’m no dummy. I thought it was genuine. But the tears, they were crocodile tears. You hanging around and seeming all concerned, that was just an act to get money up outta me.”
I didn’t want to believe what I was saying, and if my father had just opened the door and attempted to convince me otherwise, I would have given him all the money I had.
What shocked me, though, was that when he did finally open the door, he stood and looked at the tears falling from my eyes. With this look of anger in his face he calmly said, “Shayla, let me explain something to you. You got that money, and it’s yours and I’m not gonna beg you for it. But so I don’t have to kill you, this is what I want you to do. I want you to take two weeks, and in those two weeks you take a stash of money, find yourself a place, and you move the hell out of my house! You understand me?”
I shook my head. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it coming but here it was again, my father was kicking me to the curb once again.
Rage and anger were surging through my body and I just couldn’t take it. I started screaming like I was a deranged madwoman.
“I hate you! I fucking hate you! How could you be so goddamn cold?” I screamed and started to attack my father. In the process I knocked down a lamp and some pictures that were in the den.
“You want the money? Okay, I’ll give you the fucking money!” I screamed as I hyperventilated and punched on my father. The blows were having no effect on him but I was letting out years of pent-up anger and frustration.
My father finally wrestled control of me. He threw me on the sofa and he held me there and I couldn’t move.
“You done?” he asked me.
I looked up at him and I just wanted to spit in his face. I squirmed and tried to loose myself of his grip.
“I said, are you done?”
“Daddy, get off of me!”
“I’ll get off of you, but let me just tell you this. Before you ever accuse me of having crocodile tears, you better check your goddamn self. You talk about me being selfish. Okay, I’m human. Maybe I am selfish. But I’m honest and what you need to do, Shayla, is get honest with yourself. Be honest and admit that you ain’t nothing but a fast-ass whore!”
When my father said that I almost blacked out from anger. I started kicking him and trying my best to crush his balls and get free of his grip.
“You know and I know that you ain’t get raped that night. I backed your ass like a father should back his daughter, even though I knew you was lying. I guess that was me being selfish too, right? Yet you gonna sit here and accuse me of having crocodile tears?”
My father finally loosened his grip on me and shoved me deeper into the sofa and he prepared to get up.
“I want you outta here in two weeks,” he reiterated.
If I had a knife or a gun on me, at that point I would have killed my father right there on the spot.
I was enraged. I reached back in my throat as far as I could reach. I hocked up the most spit that I could muster up, let it go with as much force as I could derive from my body and hurled it right at my father’s face.
The spit landed right in my father’s eye. I got total satisfaction out of seeing the spit land on his face and in his eye. That momentary satisfaction would never be able to make up for the irreparable damage that my father’s stinging words and actions had caused me.
All throughout my life he had managed to penetrate my soul and wound me deeper than humanly imaginable. As I seethed in anger, I had to remind myself that he was just being consistent with who he had been throughout my entire life.
One thing was for sure and that was that I hated his guts. He didn’t have to worry about me leaving in two weeks. I knew that I would be outta there and on my own in more like two days! I didn’t know if he was really in danger of losing the house and I really didn’t care because in all likelihood he wasn’t in as bad shape as he had made it out to be.
Unfortunately, though, I also had a strong feeling that I was about to relapse into my old promiscuous ways.
Chapter Twenty
New Friends
Tara and I did end up hooking up with each other later that night. In fact, Tara, myself, and three of her stripper friends ended up going to this club called Octagon in Manhattan. One thing is for sure and that’s that partying with money is a whole lot more fun than partying without it.
Although Tara and I both had money, I was the one who did most of the spending. I splurged and bought not one, but two bottles of Moët for all of us who were partying that night. I ended up buying a total of ten bottles!
My lavish spending and all the bottles of bubbly instantly attracted attention in our direction. In no time we had a crowd of people in the lounge area where we were partying in.
I soon found myself dancing with white guys, Colombian guys, Spanish guys, black guys, and even some chicks danced with me. Before I knew it, I was twisted and drunk as hell.
“Yo, Tara. Gggiirrrrl I love you girl,” I screamed into her ear over the loud music with slurred speech.
Tara snatched me up and hugged me. Then the two of us began dancing with each other and grinding on each other to a Shabba Ranks songs.
“Don’t be grinding on me like that,” I playfully yelled into Tara’s ear.
“Yo, hand me my bottle of Mo.”
One of her friends quickly grabbed Tara’s bottle and my bottle.
“We gotta toast to your birthday,” Tara screamed out to me.
“You know that’s right,” I said as I raised my bottle up and touched Tara’s.
We both took a swig from our bottles. When I was done, I shouted to her, “Yo, you look extra sexy tonight.”
“Money will do that to you,” Tara shot back at me as she started laughing.
Then without warning or anything, something just came over me. I pulled Tara close to me with my free hand. The bottle of Moet was in my other hand and I started tongue kissing her right there on the dance floor. Tara was caught off guard but she started to kiss me back.
“Oh, sookey-sookey now,” one of Tara’s friends said to us as she intervened and brought our lustful lesbian kiss to an end.
The liquor had me tore down. I was in such a good mood I simply moved on and started dancing with some random guy as the DJ switched up the music and threw on Naughty by Nature’s song “O.P.P.”
The crowd and everybody on the dance floor went crazy when that song came on. The funny thing is that after that song went off I literally don’t remember much of anything else that happened because I was just so damn drunk.
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The next thing that I do remember is that I was getting out of the passenger side of my car and then getting into an elevator with Tara and one of her friends who had been at Octagon with us. Her friend’s name was Juanita. We must have been at Juanita’s house but I couldn’t say with certainty just where the hell I was at.
From the time that the elevator doors opened up to let us out I barely remember much that happened after that. What I do know is that somehow at like 7:00 that next morning I woke up butt-ass naked. Not only that but I found myself in a king-sized bed with Tara and Juanita. We were all butt-ass naked with some sex toys lying right next to the bed.
I sat up on the bed trying to figure out just where the hell I was and more importantly, what the fuck had I done.
I couldn’t sit up for too long because I felt sick as a dog and I wanted to lay right back down. Before I could fully lay back down I looked across the room and saw some dude sleeping in a folding chair and all he had on was his boxers.
What the fuck? Who in the hell is that? I asked myself as I lay back down on the bed and attempted to go back to sleep. I decided to try and just sort everything out later on after fully waking up.
I eventually did wake up at about noon. When I woke up, Tara and Juanita woke up right after me.
“You all right?” Tara asked me as she got outta the bed and attempted to put on some clothes.
“Nah, my head is killing me and my stomach feels real queasy,” I said to her as I laid my ass right back down. I still had no clue as to what borough I was in or anything relevant of that nature.
I tapped Tara and got her attention and then I whispered, “Yo, where in the hell am I at? And who the hell is he?” I said while pointing in the direction of the guy who was still asleep in his boxers.
Juanita and Tara both looked at each other and they both burst out laughing at the same time.
“You joking, right?” Juanita asked me.
I gave her this look as if to say, does it look like I’m joking.
“Shayla, you was straight wildin’-out last night,” Tara said to me.
At that point the guy who was asleep in the chair woke up and he also looked like he was trying to figure out where in the hell he was.
“What up what up?” the guy said.
We all just looked at him without saying a word.
“Yo Juanita, where’s your bathroom at?” he asked as he got up and made his way outta the bedroom and into the hallway.
By that question I was able to determine that we were at Juanita’s house, but I still needed to know just what I had done the night before.
“Shayla, I gotta get this nigga up outta my crib!” Juanita whispered to me.
“And?” I said as I finally mustered up the strength to get out of the bed and stand up.
“And he’s here for you! So tell me what you want me to do with his ass!”
“What are you talking about?”
Juanita and Tara both doubled over and were laughing and covering their mouths to mask the noise.
“Shayla, you fucked that nigga last night, you do know that, don’t you?” Juanita managed to say to me through her laughter.
“You have got to be joking! That short little nigga! I don’t even know him!”
“Juanita, just round up his shit and tell him he’s got to go,” Tara said as she began scooping up the guy’s clothes and shoes while also laughing her ass off.
Juanita put on a robe. She headed down the hall and to her bathroom. After she knocked on the bathroom door all I heard was, “Oh hell nawh! Okay look you has definitely gots to get your black ass up outta here!”
Tara started to tell me something about the night before but she was quickly summoned by Juanita to come to the bathroom.
“Tara, bring that nigga’s clothes over here so he can bounce,” Juanita yelled. “Do you believe that this nigga was brushing his teeth with my goddamn toothbrush?”
“Yo, you ain’t even gotta come outta your face like that. I’m saying, I ain’t even here for yo ass anyway,” the short guy hollered at Juanita.
“Shayla, you better come speak to this dude,” Juanita screamed at me.
I quickly threw on the clothes that I had worn to the club and I scrambled and made it to the entrance of the bathroom.
“Shayla, I’m outta here, but let me get your number before I bounce,” the guy said to me.
I had the most confused look on my face.
“Yo, I don’t even know who the hell you are,” I said to the guy. “Who are you?”
Juanita and Tara tried to hold back their laughter but they couldn’t.
“Whateva man! Y’all chicks is really on some other shit,” the guy said as he finished putting on his clothes.
Juanita walked to the door and held it open for the guy. He took the hint and made his way out of the apartment before he could fully put on his shoes.
Juanita slammed the door behind the guy and it almost hit him in the ass. Tara literally fell on the floor in laughter and she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Do you believe that motherfucker? Just gonna up and use my toothbrush. What the hell is that? That’s some ol’ nasty-ass shit.”
“And you see them little ol’ short stubby legs on that nigga?” Tara said as she continued to hold her stomach from laughing.
Finally, after a few minutes her and Juanita got ahold of themselves and were in control of their laughter. They had calmed down and were able to tell me all of the craziness that I had did the night before.
In summary I had wigged out and wild out big-time.
They told me how I had started tossing hundred-dollar bills into the air and screaming that I was rich. More specifically, I was hollering, “I’m rich bitch!”
They told me how I had all kinds of men coming on to me and that I asked Juanita and Tara if they’d dare me to scoop the short dude who had just left Juanita’s house. I had done all kinds of things that I didn’t remember, like cursing out the car window at every police car that we saw on the street. Having Juanita pull to the side of the road so that I could piss in the street like a dude.
I couldn’t believe any of what they were telling me. At the same time I knew that they were telling the truth. I knew that because I had allowed myself to get drunker than I had ever been simply because I had wanted to be as numb as never before. It was like I wanted to escape being me and alcohol provided that escape for me. It helped mask the pain that I was feeling.
The funny thing was that after my drunkenness and my hangover had worn off, I felt more pain than I had felt prior to my getting drunk the night before. I guess that my pain was compounded by the fact that when reality set in, I realized that I had blown five thousand dollars in one night. I had also let my mom down by fucking some short, stubby nigga that I didn’t even know and having a lesbian orgy with Juanita and Tara. The sad part was that I had gotten to such a low level that I was having sex with strange, random people and not even remembering any of it a few hours later.
I knew that with money I would be able to medicate myself some more. Not to mention that Tara had supplied me with three brand-new friends, Juanita being one of them, who loved to have me around, or so I thought. The truth, as I would later find out, is that when you have money everybody is willing to be your friend. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t realize until thousands of blown dollars later that Tara, Juanita, mat all.
Three and a half months down the road, when my bank account began to really dwindle to the frighteningly low amount of 20,000 dollars and I pulled back on the splurging, partying, and sponsoring Caribbean and Mexican vacations, Juanita, Tara, and the crew did me like everyone else in my lifetime had done me.
Yup, my so-called new friends dropped me like a bad habit after using me and abusing me.
But it was a’ight though. I would be a’ight.
At least I hoped I would be.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ms. Boswell
On New Year’s eve 1991 I foun
d myself alone in my one thousand dollar a month two bedroom apartment, which was located just off of Queens Boulevard in the Rego Park section of Queens. Dick Clark was on TV preparing to ring in the New Year and I was on my living room sofa trying to drink myself into a coma.
I felt more depressed than I had ever been. And I had good reason to feel depressed. Yeah, granted, for the past couple of months I had been driving around in a brand-new Mercedes Benz 190E, a car which I had paid for with twenty thousand dollars in cash. For one thousand dollars a month I was subletting a gorgeous duplex two-bedroom condo with a lobby that had a twenty four hour a day doorman. My apartment was fully furnished with high-end furniture that I had also paid for in full with cash. My walk-in closets were all filled with racks and racks of shoes and clothes from all of the top-name designers. Even the walls in my apartment held pictures of me and Tara from the four Caribbean vacations that we had taken together.
Despite all of those material things that I had to make me feel comfortable, I was still feeling lonely as hell and deeply depressed. Tara and my so-called crew of friends acted so shady toward me after the money dried up that I practically stopped speaking to them. In fact, aside from calling Tara to check in on her every now and then, I really had no one else that I would speak to or deal with. No female friends and no male friends or boyfriends. My father had all but disowned me and he stopped speaking to me after I wouldn’t loan him that money. Although I had given him my new phone number and my new address, he never called me nor did he come by to see my new place. What hurt me the most was that he didn’t even call me to check on how things were progressing with my whole rape ordeal.
When the blood test of the rape suspect Antonio Reid had come back from the lab and it confirmed that his blood type had matched that of the semen stain that was found on my clothes, I thought for sure that I would hear from my father. But I never heard from him. Actually, I had this little dreamy fantasy that after my father had found out that the rapist’s blood type matched the semen stain that he would call me and apologize for insinuating and saying that I hadn’t been raped. Unfortunately, that was just a fantasy because my father never called.
