I Gave Him My Heart

by Krystal Armstead

  “She’ll be here.” Yandi assured me. “You know she wouldn’t miss this.”

  “We’re waiting on my boss, Priscilla Bailey, to get here. Her flight just got in.” Trench smoothed out my dress a little.

  I looked up into his face, squinting my eyes, looking at him like he was speaking a language I didn’t quite understand. “Pr-Priscilla Bailey? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Everyone in the room looked at me.

  Trench made a face. “What do you mean?”

  “Y’all got me fucked-up if you think I’m about to work with Priscilla Bailey!” I started removing the microphone from my dress.

  “Whoa, whoa, boss lady. What are you doing?” Pretty hurried over to me, trying to stop me from removing the microphone from my dress. “What’s wrong? Why you trippin’?”

  “I’m not working with that bitch!” I shouted.

  “What bitch?” Trench laughed a little.

  “That bitch! My cousin!” I exclaimed.

  I hadn’t seen Priscilla since I was ten years old. The last I saw her, she was making me put her boyfriend’s dick in my mouth while she played in my pussy. This bitch was the fuckin’ head of got-damn production Reelz TV? The most popular reality television station in the country? Why didn’t I know about it? Where the fuck had I been? Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told me? I guess because I hadn’t told anyone what she’d done to me until that day, when I poured my heart out to Saint. I had to find him. He had to get me out of doing that show.

  Trench laughed out loud. “Wait. Priscilla is your cousin? Why are you acting like this?” He watched me run my fingers through my hair anxiously. “Do you two not get along or something? How do you not know your own cousin is the executive producer at Reelz TV?”

  “I have my own life, Trench. I don’t keep up with anyone in my family but Nina and Aunt Rayna when she’s not being a bitch.” I fanned myself. “It’s too hot in here. Y’all are gonna have to give me some time. Someone please go get Saint for me. Please!”

  It didn’t take my girls five minutes to come back with Saint and a glass of wine for me. The camera crew tried to put a microphone on Saint, but he wasn’t having it. He shook his head at them, making his way over to me. He watched Pretty hand me a glass of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon.

  “We planned on popping this bottle open after we closed tonight, but it looks like boss lady needs a drink now.” Fallon sighed, rubbing my back.

  “Que pasa, mami?” Saint watched the wrinkles etched in my forehead as I drank from the glass.

  I drank the glass until the last drop and then handed the glass back to Pretty. I wiped my lips, looking into Saint’s face. “I can’t work with her, Saint! I can’t do this! Opportunity of a lifetime or not, I’m not doing this shit!”

  “Can’t work for who, Ma?” Saint was confused.

  “My cousin, Priscilla!” I watched Saint’s eyes widen a little. “Yeah, that bitch! How does someone who does another person so wrong end up in a position like this, Saint? This isn’t fair! I’m trying to let go of my controlling past and here it is again, controlling my got-damn future!”

  “Por favor calmate. This is a fuckin’ awesome opportunity for you! Fuck your cousin; she doesn’t control shit!” Saint told me.

  I disagreed. “The fuck you mean ‘she doesn’t control shit’? This is her got-damn shit, Saint! I can’t do this! And then some muthafucka invited Niq’ and Peanut’s ass! Somehow, they knew about my cousin! It was Niq’s idea for me to do the show, but I’m sure Peanut was behind it! I don’t remember telling her anything about Priscilla, but I must have! The things she made me—”

  Saint held my shoulders, shaking me a little. “You are stronger than this, Kourtney, I know you are. If you wanna back out of this, it’s up to you. But if you wanna show that bitch that you made it, despite of the shit that she tried to do to break you, then you need to stick with this. I got’cha back. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

  I looked into Saint’s face, biting my lip, trying my best not to cry. “And Nina’s not here…”

  Saint looked at me. “She’s about to roll through with Ricque; he just called and said they were on their way.”

  I exhaled.

  “You good, Ma? Esta bien? They’re waiting for you out there, Ma. C’mon, you got this. I’ll do the toast if you’d like, Ma.” Saint fixed the collar on his shirt. “Y’all want me to say something on this show, right? Well, this is all you’re gonna get out of me.”

  Brianna rushed over to him to set him up with a microphone.

  Trench looked at me. “Do you need another glass of wine, sweetie?”

  I sighed. “Hell yeah.”

  “I don’t know anyone who does it like my sista-in-law, Kourtney Chambers. How many of you know a sista who can run three businesses while trying to help her sista run three of hers?” I walked in on Saint delivering the speech that I was supposed to be giving in front of the camera.

  Saint stood in the center of the crowd, holding up a glass of Domaine de la Romanee Conti. He saw me walking up to him and held out his hand for me to take it. I blushed walking up to him, taking his hand in mine.

  “She’s fearless. Not afraid of anyone or anything. If you need anything, she’s got you, no questions asked. Who could ask for a better sista? Who could ask for a better friend?” Saint held my hand in his. “She gives so much of herself to us; it’s time we give back.”

  “Kourtney!” My girls hollered my name.

  I laughed, crying at the same time.

  “You’re not alone, hermana, we’re in this thing together. Viva Bébela!” Saint exclaimed.

  “Viva Bébela!” Everyone held up their glasses to me and Saint.

  I turned to my brutha, hugging him tight.

  And Saint kissed me on the forehead. “A’ight, let’s turn this muthafucka out!”

  I should have been partying, having a good time, showing out for the camera like everyone else was doing, but no. I was in my feelings, trying to avoid confrontation. I sat at my bar, getting drunk as fuck. It was my party, and I wasn’t even the life of it. Once Nina and Ricque showed up in the spot, oh, all the attention was towards those two. I wasn’t a got-damn hater, don’t get it twisted, but those two showed up and, purposely or not, they stole the show. The whole world wanted to know how their baby was doing and how Nina was holding up after losing London. They all wanted to know Ricque’s got-damn tour schedule and when he was going to be finished filming his latest movie. I might have gotten five minutes in with Nina before the press was pulling her away from me.

  “It’s about time the cameras stopped flashing in your face, beautiful.” I heard Niq’s voice over my shoulder.

  I sighed, rolling my eyes to myself as this nigga sat down on the stool alongside me. “Get lost, Tyson.”

  “Why are you not over there with your crew, in the camera? This show is about you, shorty, not ya friends.” I felt Niq’s eyes tracing my profile.

  I looked at him, folding my arms. “Whose idea was it for me to do this show? Yours or Peanut’s? Hmm? I need to know.”

  Niq’ laughed a little. “What difference does it make?”

  “A whole lot of got-damn difference! Did you know Priscilla Bailey was the executive producer of Reelz TV?”

  Niq’ made a face at me. “Who the fuck doesn’t know that?”

  “Did you know she was my cousin?” I asked.

  Niq’ shook his head. “Nah.”

  “But Peanut did. She may not have known to what extent Priscilla abused me, but she saw the bruises on my back and my ribs from when Priscilla used to beat the shit out of me when I was a little girl. She knows I hate Priscilla!” I exclaimed.

  Niq’ looked like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Kourtney, a’ight, Peanut told me that she worked with Priscilla and that Priscilla asked about having you on her show. That she asked for you specifically. When Peanut told me to get you to do the show, I didn’t stop to think why she was so adamant about it
. I just saw it as an opportunity for you to showcase your skills. I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you. Priscilla is a very well respected part of Hollywood. For the past twenty years, she’s been working for Reelz Television. She abused you, Kourtney? She beat you?”

  “You know,” I laughed off my pain. “I don’t owe you any explanation. You just tell your bitch that she needs to stay the fuck away from me. If she wants to pay me back for fuckin’ around with you, this is definitely not the way to play. How can I take something that was never hers to begin with? You lied to me, you lied to her; tell her to get the fuck over it!”

  “Kourtney, you know I never meant to—” Niq started to tell me how much he didn’t meant to hurt me and blah, blah, blah.

  “Nigga, save it. And stop calling and texting me. It’s been over a year, and I still haven’t answered any of your calls. One day you’re gonna text me, and I’m gonna be fuckin’ married,” I hissed, getting up from my seat. I turned around to walk away from the bar to see Knox walking towards me.

  I looked back over my shoulder at Niq’, who stood from his stool.

  Knox walked up to me, glancing at Niq before looking down at me. “Everything straight?” I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him all night. Once the crowd found out he was Timothy Knoxberry, that was a wrap. Everyone wanted to book him for events. Everyone wanted a panting done by him, no matter the cost. Knox wasn’t picky about payment methods; from what I heard, he took gifts as payments and offered financing for his work. The more I got to know about that little nigga, the more impressed I was.

  I looked up at him, nodding, the liquor kicking in. “I am now.”

  My favorite song, “Exchange,” by Bryson Tiller, flowed through the loud speakers.

  Niq’ cleared his throat. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I looked over my shoulder, back at Niq’, shaking my head. “No, you won’t. Bye, Tyson.”

  Niq’ laughed a little to himself before turning around to walk away.

  I sighed, sitting back down at the bar.

  Knox sat down beside me. He signaled the bartender to make the same thing for him that I had in my glass that sat on the counter. Knox looked at me. “Why aren’t you out there having fun with your people?”

  I looked at Knox, shaking my head. “This night is just not going how I planned. First you and then all this. And the night is still fuckin’ young.”

  Knox laughed. “I told you that shit is about to get real. The world is gonna know I’m a part of the Knoxberry family by tomorrow morning. My sista, Roxanne, just texted me, saying she heard I was at the grand opening of a bar in Punta Cana, DR. I never tell anyone my whereabouts.”

  “So, why start now, Knox? I don’t know about your family, but you’ve stayed hidden from the media for so long, why show up now?” I needed to understand.

  Knox sighed as my bartender, Ria, slid him a drink. “Well,” Knox looked at me, “I already knew when I saw you that you were mine, even though your ass still don’t know the shit.”

  I laughed a little, shaking my head at him.

  “I heard about you through ya nigga, Saint. I saw your picture when he asked me to paint that portrait for your sista. I was like, got-damn, I don’t even do redbones, but you were bad as fuck. I had to get to know you.” Knox watched me trying not to smile. “You know you’re a bad muthafucka.”

  I nodded, taking a sip from his drink. “Yeah, I do.”

  Knox laughed. “Seriously though, I started following you in the media, always seeing you hide behind Nina or Ricque or Saint. It’s almost like their identity defined who you are as a person when I knew there was more to you. I had to find out for myself. You’re that party girl, the it girl, the girl everyone wants to be like. So, you already know it was no problem finding out about you. I don’t even do expos and shit because there is no money in it for me. No one big enough to afford any of my paintings comes to those events. I own tattoo shops, but for the most part, my niggas run the shops for me. But when I found out that you were running the expo, I had to sign up. Your sista can ink a badass tattoo, so I already knew that you could, too. When I saw some of your designs, I was like, ‘What can I do to get this girl to spend some time with me?’ As soon as I met you, I made sure to book an appointment with you. I live in Baltimore, and your ass lives in the Caribbean! That’s how pressed I am!”

  I laughed out loud.

  “Call me a stalker or whatever, I don’t give a fuck. I just knew that I wanted to get to know you. And I knew that knowing you would mean I’d have to expose myself to the media. That it was time to stop hiding. The world needs to know my face and not just my art. They needed to know my family’s secret. They needed to know that my father is King Knoxberry, and my mother was Ama Adrande, his African and Portuguese maid,” Knox admitted.

  My eyes widened a little. “Was your mother, Knox?”

  Knox nodded. “She committed suicide. At least that’s what I was told.”

  “Oh my goodness, Knox, I—” I started to sympathize with him when I was rudely interrupted.

  “Kourtney Chambers? If it isn’t my long, lost, beautiful cousin.” I turned around to see Priscilla standing before me.

  I slowly got up from my stool, standing before her.

  She was still that same tall, brown skinned, model-type, with long, wavy hair and high cheekbones. This woman was damn near fifty but didn’t look a day over twenty-five. That bitch was evil. Evil muthafuckas never get what’s coming to them. But I had something for her ass that night.

  I clenched my fists. Oh, I was just waiting for her to say something inappropriate out of her mouth.

  I was sure it was my fists clenching tightly that caused Knox to rise from his seat and stand alongside me.

  “Miss Priscilla Bailey is it?” Knox leaned forward to shake her hand. “Timothy Knoxberry.”

  Priscilla’s hazel eyes widened as she firmly shook Knox’s hand in hers. “Timothy Knox—” She cut herself off, looking back at me and then back at him. “Are you two—”

  “No,” I said while Knox said, “Yes.” I looked at Knox.

  Knox grinned at me and then looked back at Priscilla. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”

  Priscilla smiled with that same evil ass grin she was probably born with. Triflin’ muthafucka. “You two make a beautiful couple. How did you two meet?”

  “Oh, we met in ‘mind ya own got-damn business.’” I rolled my neck and my eyes at the bitch.

  Priscilla grinned, looking me over a little. “Still a little spoiled bitch, I see.”

  I folded my arms. “What is it that you want, Priscilla?”

  “I didn’t see you at Aunt Hillary’s funeral.” Priscilla eyed my thigh-high split, and then she looked back into my face. “Why didn’t you show up to your own mother’s funeral, Kourtney?”

  Knox glanced at me and then back at Priscilla.

  I stepped in closer to her, waiting for her to say something else smart out of her mouth. “What the fuck were you doing at my mama’s funeral? You never gave a fuck about her or her got-damn daughter.”

  “You need to watch the way you talk to your elders, Kourtney. You never did have any respect for authority.” Priscilla grinned.

  “Bitch, authority? You don’t own me!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh, but I do.” Priscilla grinned. “You signed a three season contract with Trench. This is my got-damn show. I run everything and everyone involved, and that includes you. So, as long as you’re working for me, you do as I say. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna make sure you work right underneath me, each and every muthafuckin’ day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It will be like old times. It’s been a long time, Kourtney. Didn’t you miss me?”

  That did it.

  And I completely lost it.

  A bottle of Crown Royal sat on the countertop.

  Without thinking, I reached for the bottle and cracked that bitch’s face with it.

  Chapter Seven


  The Dress

  I woke up the next morning with the sun shining through my bedroom window, into my face. “Shit…” I moaned, head pounding like a muthafucka. I turned my head away from the window, only to see Knox sitting up, asleep in the over-sized chair that sat in the corner of my bedroom. And my got-damn Rottweiler, Cleo, had her head resting in the nigga’s lap.

  I scoffed, shaking my head at my fuckin’ so-called protector. “Bitch, you’re supposed to be protecting me from strangers, not inviting the niggas in. Ugh. I’m dropping your ass off at the pound as soon as the room stops spinning.”

  Cleo blew her breath at me, like I wasn’t talking about shit, and turned her head the other way.

  I sat up in the bed, pushing my hair from my face. I looked down at my clothes to see that I was dressed in a fuckin’ tank top and boy shorts, something I know I wasn’t dressed in the night before. All I could remember from the night before was busting my cousin in the face. I looked down at my knuckles; they were bruised, so apparently me and the bitch got to scrapping in that muthafucka. Obviously, no charges were pressed against me because I was lying in bed instead of a jail cell.

  “What’s good wit’cha, Lailah Ali?” I heard Knox chuckle under his breath.

  I looked up at Knox. He opened his eyes, his eyes smiling at me. He was dressed in a gray hoodie, loose fitting gray sweats, and fresh white and gray Jordan’s. A few gold chains hung around his neck, with a gold Rolex on his wrist to match. Why the fuck did this man look good in whatever he wore? Why couldn’t he be just a few years older, got damn?

  “Nigga, you saw me naked?” I watched the dude burst out laughing. “Did we have sex last night after I beat my cousin’s ass or something? You brought in the New Year inside me, muthafucka?”

  “Whoa!” Knox rubbed my dog on her head as he sat up straight. “Nah, Ma. Man, it took all your girls to pry you off of Priscilla Bailey last night! Y’all were throwing blows in front of the bar last night. You broke her jaw, her nose, and knocked out one of her teeth!” Knox shook his head at me. “The press was all over that shit, homie. It’s all over the radio! It’s all over the paper! The shit is on the news! And you already know Trench is gonna use the footage in The Life of a Nicholas! Priscilla was banged up bad. Yo, she just got out of the hospital this morning!”