I rewind the tape further and stop it on our wedding day, pressing play.
“Do you like my dress?” I hear my voice say with a giggle.
“I love your dress. It will forever be my favorite dress on you,” Saheed smiles.
“The rings please,” the Captain says. I watch myself look up at Saheed who is looking down at me as we both erupt in laughter when we realized that we didn’t have rings for our shotgun wedding.
“Here.” Saheed takes one of his diamond earrings out of his earlobe. I follow suit and take out one of mine as we exchange earrings placing it inside of each other’s ear. My tears are flowing as I touch the empty second hole in my earlobe. The earring is in my safe at home in New Jersey. Wiping my tears and collecting a few of the items including the camera, I walk up the hall to Saheed’s trophy room. Pausing at the basketballs enclosed inside the glass cases, I want one but not sure if this is something that Saheed would want his son to have. One of the balls is the last ball he played with as a high school student prior to getting drafted into the NBA. The other ball is when he made the game winning shot as a rookie leading the Spurs to victory in the championship. Saheed told me that he only put up six points that night as a rookie and probably played only nine minutes throughout the whole game but that’s the game winning shot that earned him respect from his teammates and coaches.
The last ball that is protected by glass is when he won MVP; the youngest player to do so to date. I grab the case that holds his high school ball.
“Don’t worry. If your son wants the ball at a later date, I won’t hesitate to give it to him BUT the jersey I’m wearing is mine. It belongs to me,” I giggle. “And if your son ever wants your jersey from when they retired your number, it’s still hanging on my wall in its glass encasing at my home in Philly. I won’t hesitate to give him that either.”
After collecting all the things I want, I walk back down into the kitchen. Debbie is now holding little Saheed in her arms, rocking him as he sleeps.
“You ready to do this?” I ask Camille, taking a seat and sliding her the papers.
“I already signed the deed and a few cars over into your name. I paid off the lease to your current place, so you don’t have to worry about that. You will get monthly deposits to take care of the needs of your son until he turns 18. If he chooses to go to college, his tuition and expenses will be taken care of. If not, he will get one lump sum when he’s 22, another at 26, and another at 33. He will still get those lump sums regardless just nothing when he turns 18 unless he is going to college. All of this will remain confidential until you are ready, or he is ready. Just know that once you make the announcement that he is Saheed’s son, your son’s life will change for a short while until a new story breaks headlines.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Camille says with tears running down her face.
“Just sign the papers, Camille,” I tell her, ready to leave and put this piece of my life to rest.
“You’re not as bad as I thought,” Debbie states, handing Saheed over to Gary as she rises from her chair and embraces me in an awkward hug.
“Well, you still suck,” I laugh, hugging her back. We were once friends prior to me breaking Saheed’s heart the first time. I guess she did what any mother would do in protecting their child.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear.
“Are we good now?” I ask.
“Yes. We’re great,” she replies.
“Can I stop paying you $30,000.00 a month now?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she laughs.
“I tried,” I smirk.
“See you sis,” Gary says giving me a hug. Little Saheed is now awake and staring up at me. I pick him up as the kitchen falls silent.
“I guess you and I will talk one day,” I tell him while handing him a bobble head of his dad. He eagerly accepts the toy and smiles, making the small cleft in his chin disappear.
“God, you look just like your dad.” I put him down and hand the keys over to Camille, grab my belongings and walk out the door.
After squaring things away with Camille, Serge and I fly to Seattle to grant Fernàn’s wish to deliver his daughter’s letter. It wasn’t easy to get into her Governor’s house. To do so, I had to use my celebrity power with a promise to make a donation towards her campaign.
“Miss Bradshaw, welcome,” she walks into the office where I am waiting. Maritsa is beautiful, a perfect combination of Fernàn and his wife except she is missing her island tan as I peer at her lily-white skin. She’s wearing an expensive red power suit matched with pearls and small gold studded earrings. Her dark-brown hair is straight and falls to the middle of her back. She has no accent like her father or brother. She is completely Americanized.
“Miss Delgado,” I greet, extending my hand. Her blood red lips that were turned upright into a smile quickly fades when I call her by her birth name and not Mrs. Daniels, her changed name. She snatches her hand away from me and walks over to the door shutting it.
“Are you here to blackmail me?” She asks, dropping her Americanized accent and now sounding more like Penèlope Cruz or Sophia Vergara.
Wow. This woman is a great actress, I think as I watch her walk over to her wet bar and pour herself a drink.
“No. Your father sent me,” I reply. Her hazel- brown eyes bulge as she walks over to her massive oak desk, taking a seat. She opens her desk drawer and pulls out a small pistol before gently placing it on her desk, pointing in my direction. Out of all the times I told Serge to wait in the car for me, today certainly was not that day.
“I’m not here to harm you,” I tell her. “I am going to dig in my bag and pull out a letter that your father wrote to you. Is that alright?”
“No,” she quickly replies. “I don’t want anything from him,” she says opening the cigar box sitting on her desk and pulling out a Cuban. She uses the antique lighter shaped like Griffin to light her cigar. Perching her feet up onto the desk displaying her black Red Bottoms, she lies her head back and makes small perfect circles with the smoke she exhales. I like her. She has a dangerous mystery to her that I find tantalizing.
“Where is my father?” She asks in her thick accent.
“Muerto,” I reply telling her that he is dead, speaking in her native tongue.
“Tu hablas espanòl?” She smiles, asking me if I speak Spanish. I can’t imagine the charade she has to succumb to, to keep up her appearance and denying her heritage and identity.
“Si,” I advise as we continue our conversation in Spanish.
“Nas did text me that he died but I just didn’t care. How did the asshole die anyway?” She questions without any remorse.
“Cancer.”
“Good. I hope he suffered,” she exhales. “Where is my mother?” She queries before I can respond as to why she is so heartless and cold towards Fernàn.
“She passed as well.”
“I know that,” she snaps. “Where are her ashes?”
“At Isle Catalina.”
“Good. I have time to fly out and retrieve them,” she smiles. “Did Nas inherit the island? I know my father didn’t give it to him, did he? My father always thought that Nas was weak, he has too much heart. He can’t do the things that have to be done without his feelings getting involved. We had a dog when we were kids. He snapped and bit Nas, so my father shot and killed our dog right before our eyes. My brother Ricardo was 13, I was 10, and Nas was 7. Nas is the only one who cried,” she laughs sadistically. “So, who has the island?” She continues.
“I do,” I reply softly.
“Christ. Even in his grave, my father is an evil asshole,” she chuckles. “Whatever. You can have it. Nas will fight you for it though. He has this idea to build real estate or hotels on it or something,” she pauses. “I only want my mother’s ashes, if you will allow me to collect them please and where is my bastard of a father buried?”
“He was cremated, and he is in an urn with your mother.” Her
eyes balloon again and the smile that she was displaying a few moments ago quickly fades. She sucks her teeth and whispers something under her breath.
“Figures. He always wins. You can keep my mother’s ashes. She has already been tainted.”
“I’m sure your father wasn’t all that bad. He talks very highly of you,” I state coming to Fernàn’s defense.
“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” she hisses, rising from her chair. “My father was evil, a monster, something that you would never understand or know about.”
“People change. I think your father was a changed man in the end.”
“He just ought to be to prevent himself from burning in hell,” she puffs.
“Well, I have this letter,” I tell her digging in my bag and placing it on her desk. “You should at least hear him out. The man is dead.” She picks up the letter, walks over to the fireplace, presses a button to ignite the flames and throws the letter in.
“We are done,” she says turning to me.
“Whatever he did, he’s sorry for,” I tell her grabbing my things. She starts to laugh.
“My father, the man that you are defending, massacred my best friend who was seventeen at the time, my boyfriend who was also her brother, their parents, and their little brother who was only ten. After that, he drugged me and forced someone to give me an abortion without my consent while I was unconscious.
“My father, the man that you are defending not only made his money by being a drug lord, he also had his hands in sex trafficking—kidnapping little girls and boys from their homes and selling them for profit. I am surprised he didn’t sell you to the highest bidder. You must have caught him on a good day.
“My father, the same man that you are sitting here defending killed his own brother, my uncle, because he didn’t want anything to do with the sex trafficking business so DO NOT TELL ME ABOUT MY FATHER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE A FUCKIN’ CLUE,” she yells shutting me up. “You my dear have been breaking bread with the Devil,” she smiles. Damn Fernàn. What have you done?
“I’m sorry,” I apologize softly before walking out the door disgusted with myself. Nyce said that Fernàn is feared and notorious but it isn’t until now that I realized just how bad of a man he actually was, but people change, right?
As I leave out of her office, I notice that I have back to back missed calls from a private number. The number calls me again. I hit the ignore button and hop in the car next to Serge.
How did it go? He signs.
“Interesting,” I reply, hitting ignore again to the private number. What the hell?
“I don’t think I will be contributing to her campaign after all,” I shrug, hitting ignore on my phone again.
STRANGER: Answer the fuckn phone Aneesah, unidentified caller texts.
ME: Who the fuk is this
STRANGER: Nas
Oh fuck. I look at Serge and then back at my phone.
NAS: U have something that belongs to me
ME: Ur father gave me strict instructions
I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t want to battle Nas. I can’t battle Nas. He will kill me and everyone I love. I think about Fernàn’s letter and think about the words that I am supposed to say for moments like this. After my talk with Maritsa, I don’t think I even want the island. I probably never did, thus being the reason why I never signed the papers and sent them back to the lawyer.
NAS: IT DSNT BELONG TO U!!!!!!!!
ME: El diablo esta vivo, I quickly text and wait for his response. 20 minutes passes by and still no return message from Nas. Please God let this be the end of it.
Chapter Six
We are finally headed back to the airport to go home.
“I know that you will be happy to finally see Philly again. Thanks for sticking by me this past month,” I say to Serge who signs no problem. I pull out my phone to call my choreographer Deana.
“Hey chica,” I greet when she answers.
“Ain’t no hey chica nothing. I am pissed at you. I’ve been calling you for months now.”
“I know Dee. I’m sorry,” I apologize. During the time that I was getting high, Deana was one of the people I was ignoring.
“I thought we were friends, Aneesah. I needed you. Friends don’t do this to each other.”
“Dee, I’m sorry. I was just going through shit and…”
“I WAS GOING THROUGH SHIT,” she shouts. “I needed you.”
“I’m here now. What’s the issue?”
“Nothing now. I’m over it but I have to reevaluate our friendship and I’m serious,” she says in a tone of voice that lets me know just how serious the situation is.
“I’m really sorry, Deana. I promise to do better.”
“Whatever,” she sucks her teeth. “What do you want?” She snaps.
“Well, did you get the tracks I sent you.”
“Yeah, I got them,” she says with attitude.
“Um, so what do you think?”
“They’re cool,” she replies unmoved.
“So, are you coming to Philly to help me prepare for this tour?”
“You can’t just expect me to drop what I’m doing to accommodate you ESPECIALLY since you’ve been incognito for months now. That’s not how friendship works.”
“I’m paying you $100,000.00,” I tell her.
“Aye gurl. What’s up? How you been? When do you need me to be there?” She asks sweetly, changing her whole tone of voice and forgetting that she is vexed with me. I laugh.
“As soon as possible. All the dancers must have graduated from my school. Eighteen and older. Morgan as well as some of my fashion students are already working on sketches for costumes and the teachers are spreading the word about the auditions. So far, the kids don’t know that they are preparing to go on tour with me and I want to keep it that way. The students of age have received emails advising of the special auditions. I mean everything is going to be done by my students including the engineers and production team.”
“Wow, Aneesah. That’s a lot to be trusting to amateurs.”
“I know but I owe them. I haven’t set foot in that school in over two years and I owe them this opportunity. I’m on this new kick where I am trying to right all my wrongs.”
“But Aneesah, you’re putting your career in the hands of children.”
“Not all children. I guess the oldest will be nineteen or so,” I giggle.
“I hope you know what you are doing.”
“Me too,” I reply hesitantly.
After hanging up with Deana, I call Larry my agent to check on the progress of landing me the Super Bowl Halftime Show and being the opening act for the Grammy’s.
“The Grammy’s are in the bag,” he informs. “The Super Bowl, I am still working my magic. Just bear with me. I am waiting for the sponsors from Pepsi who are sponsoring the show to get back to me.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“It’s going to take some ass kissing but I’m up for it. The only thing I can tell you is that they paused on Heather’s contract. You have a good relationship with Pepsi and I spun it that people, your fans will be thrilled to see you on that stage making your come back BUT I’m warning you, Heather’s team is throwing a fit.”
“It’s business,” I tell him shrugging my shoulders.
“Stepping on somebody’s toes is never good business.”
“She’ll get over it. So, since I am trying to make my come back…”
“I already know. You want an action movie,” he completes my sentence.
“Yup,” I laugh.
“Let me see what movies are in the making for 2017-2018. You should be completed your tour by then OH, and speaking of tour, because this is last minute planning, you know you have to get in where we can fit you in, meaning that your tour schedule is going to be crazy; all over the place. Bouncing around from country to country, doing it more than once.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine with that. By the end
of March, I’ll be ready.”
“Good. It’s already October. Get as much rest as you can before trying to take over the world,” he chuckles.
“Thanks Larry,” I tell him hanging up. I lie my head back against the seat when my phone begins to vibrate.
“Hey Dani,” I answer.
“Hey yourself. You in Philly?”
“No. Heading back.”
“Have you heard from my father?” She asks.
“Yeah. Spoke with him briefly this morning. He’s worried about you.”
“Can’t be that worried since he ain’t answering his damn phone.”
“I think he is just tired of you breaking his heart.”
“Whatever. I am in Cleveland now.”
“I should be home within five hours or so.”
“Your house in Gladwyne?” She asks.
“Nope. My house in Jersey.”
“You’re going back there?” She asks surprised.
“Yeah. It’s my house,” I laugh.
“Yeah but after Nyce I figured you would sell that bitch and resort to depressed Aneesah,” she giggles.
“Shut up, Dani. I’m not going to lie, I’m hurt but I can no longer let him dictate my emotions. I’m not going to continue to be his victim.”
“Who is this person I’m talking to?” She chuckles.
“Fuck you,” I laugh. “We just pulled up to the airport, so I will talk to you later,” I tell her hanging up.
During our five-hour flight home, I practice my sign language with Serge. What I find funny is that Serge can hear and understand me, so I don’t have to manipulate my fingers and hands to communicate to him, but I do anyway unintentionally. I think it helps me pick it up faster.
“I’m tired,” I yawn.
Go on and take a nap, he signs.
“See you in a few,” I tell him proceeding to the back of the cabin where the private bedroom is. I hope Serge takes advantage of this time too and takes a nap in one of the little cocoons or crashes on one of the couches. I kick off my shoes and welcome the mattress and pillow.
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