“Can I talk to you for a moment?” I ask.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I never thanked you for saving my life that day, and I’m sorry for neglecting you these past few years. I promise to do better as your older sister.”
“Oh my god! Are you dying or something?” She asks cautiously.
“What? No,” I laugh.
“I love you,” she smiles, kissing me on my cheek.
“And I love you back,” I tell her, squeezing her tight.
***
I am at my house in Gladwyne, sitting on a mat in the yard meditating. I just finished my kickboxing session with Enzo and am winding down. I haven’t gotten the hang of this whole meditation thing yet. My mind always seems to wander. It’s like, how do you not think?
I’ve been home for three days and still haven’t returned to my house in Jersey yet. I plan on doing that today. I am pretty certain that I am going to redecorate the whole house.
I shower and get dressed. Hopping into my car, I make my way across the bridge into New Jersey, passing by the club that Nyce and I had together. Screeching my tires and busting a U-turn in the middle of the highway, I need to see this shit for myself. He’s even changed the club name to Hennessey Nightclub.
Parking my car at the back entrance, I watch the men on the truck make the alcohol delivery. Serita, the club manager is outside with her clipboard confirming the order. I honestly thought Nyce fired her too. I hop out the car and walk up to her.
“Aneesah,” she squeals running up to me and giving me a tight hug.
“Hey sweetie.”
“You’re looking good,” she smiles.
“Thanks,” I tell her looking around her to try to get a peek inside.
“You want to go in? He’s not here,” she offers.
“I would. I thought he fired you,” I say as we begin to walk.
“His bitch of a wife did. She fired all of us but Nyce called us back the next day and told us it was a misunderstanding.”
I step inside the club. It’s different. A lot different. I walk down the hall that leads to the entrance. What the fuck? Nyce thinks he’s Diddy now? I think as I walk through the tunnel of strobe lights and mirrors looking like the “Mo Money, Mo Problems” video. I ain’t even gonna front though, shits hott.
“Yeah. People seem to love the new look,” Serita advises. I tour the club and it looks nothing like how I left it. Nyce has added a pimped-out cigar bar called the Henny Room, a sports lounge, and hookah. I’m impressed. It really does look like a grown person’s playhouse. There are cages suspending from the ceiling along with trapeze silk ropes.
“Men seem to love the women who propel and are locked in the cages,” Serita shrugs. I make a mental note deciding to add the silk ropes to my show.
“What’s this?” I ask looking at these huge metal pillars with shower rods sticking out of them.
“When we do our wet and dirty events. Foam and water squirts out of it. Great night for the white folks because you know us Negro’s ain’t about getting our weaves wet,” she giggles, patting her weave. I laugh.
“Aneesah, will you be alright while I finish checking the order?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wonder around and walk over to the elevators that leads up to the third level of the club where the office and private bathrooms are. I punch in my code, which I am surprise still works, and proceed up to the third level. Stepping off the elevator and walking inside the office, I am immediately pissed off. Over top of the mantel is a giant print out picture of him and his bitch hanging on display.
“Bitch,” I hiss, looking up at the picture. Something about it is off though. It’s him in the photo but his eyes…his eyes seem empty. I can’t explain it. To a normal person, the picture looks like a happy couple in love but to a person who knows him, the spark, the fire in his eyes is gone or maybe I’m just trippin’; seeing shit that ain’t even there.
I wander around the office. He hasn’t changed much. Plopping down in the oversized chair behind the desk, I stare at the watch sitting in a glass case. Nyce’s mentor, Tone’s daughter gave him this watch the day he graduated from high school. The poor baby was only nine when she was murdered.
I pick up the picture of Nyce and Michael Jordan; a photo that wouldn’t be possible without me. Nyce is a groupie fan when it comes to this man so as a surprise, I arranged a dinner meeting; a night where I swear the niggah almost cried. I laugh at the memory before placing the photo back on the desk.
I try to open the desk drawers, but they’re locked. Not sure exactly what I am looking for. I guess traces of me. How can someone claim that they love me but then totally erase me?
“Don’t let this situation control you,” I exhale a breath while staring up at the picture of him and his bitch.
“You win,” I whisper standing up to leave.
I hug Serita goodbye after she agreed that she wouldn’t say anything to Nyce about me being here. I hop in my car and proceed to my house.
“Hey Kaleb,” I greet the security guard once I pull up to my estate.
“Hey Aneesah. Welcome home,” he smiles lifting the gate.
“What the fuck is that?” I say out loud to myself. I am staring at a small two-story type structure sitting on my property in between the main house and the guest house. I jump out the car and head towards it. When I open the sliding doors, my mouth drops.
“A dance studio,” I smile admiring all the mirrors and ballerina bars. I’m standing in the middle of the floor and look up towards the upper level. The building structure has to be an oval or circle because there is a railing that wraps around the perimeter upstairs.
“How do you get up there?” I question looking for stairs or an elevator. I finally find the hidden staircase and walk up. On the upper level is an indoor track that wraps around the studio. I now understand the bars as I look over the railing, looking down at the dance floor. About 12 feet off the track behind glass is humongous office space that wraps around the building as well. I find the opening to the glass doors and walk inside. It takes me a minute to understand what Nyce was trying to do. I probably still would have never figured it out if I didn’t find a yellow delivery receipt on the floor from Cybex Fitness Equipment. Nyce was turning this space into a massive home gym.
“Well, I guess it’s up to me to figure out what to put up here now. No point in letting the space go to waste.”
I walk out of the studio and up to the main house.
“Hi Aneesah,” Miss Sophia, my housekeeper greets me.
“Hey Miss Sophia,” I greet, wrapping my arms around the elderly woman. I remember the day I hired her, not quite wanting to give her the job. This wonderful brown-skinned woman is old enough to be my grandmother. It didn’t seem right, but she pleaded to me that she has been cleaning houses since she was a teen. She can still move with the best of them and I would never have anything to worry about, but it still didn’t feel right to me. I hired her anyway as head of household overseeing the rest of the staff who work here. Like I mentioned, I live in an estate and I’m not cleaning this bitch.
“Do you need anything? Would you like something to eat?” She offers.
“No. I’m fine,” I smile.
“Are you well?” She asks with concern.
“If you’re asking if I am still on drugs, the answer is no,” I smile. I know she knows. She has cleaned up my mess and helped put me to bed numerous of times during my blackouts.
“I’m glad to hear it. You are looking extremely well.”
“Thank you,” I tell her walking up the stairs. I enter my room and walk into the closet to put my bags down but as I’m standing in the middle of my closet, I snap. I don’t even know why. Not seeing his clothes hanging in his section; not having to step over his smelly gym clothes that we used to argue about because his ass never picked them up; not seeing his collection of watches, earrings, and chains on his jewelry island infuriates me. I am beyond pissed. All of his stuff i
s gone. The only shred of evidence that we ever coexisted together are the pictures that he left behind. They’re everywhere. Hanging on the walls, on the shelves, and the bed…the fuckin’ bed…the California King Bed that we picked out together sits massively against the wall looking like it belongs to royalty. I take a deep breath.
“Miss Sophia, can you please dismiss everyone? Nobody is fired. I just want some alone time,” I tell her through the intercom.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“I’m fine.” I walk out on my veranda and plop down on the chaise, waiting for all the cars to disappear so I can clean house. When the last car is gone, I hop up and run to the shed. I search through all the equipment until I find the bat I am looking for. I walk back into the house and look around.
“FUCK YOU,” I scream, slamming the bat into a blown-up picture of Nyce and I, shattering glass everywhere. I don’t stop. I walk around the house smashing every photo, every vase, everything that has a memory attached to it. I am now in the hall staring at the glass casing that holds two custom glass slippers in them. Nyce bought them for me because he knows that I am obsessed with Cinderella but instead of seeing the beauty in them, all I see is all the lies and broken promises. I lift my bat and break the case, shattering the glass. The slippers remain in-tact, so I swing again, knocking them off their holder. They don’t break. They just slide across the floor. I smash the bat into them, but nothing happens.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” I yell getting frustrated because the damn things won’t break. I throw the bat and pick up one of the slippers, smashing it into the marbled floor but all it does is bounce across the room. I pick them up again, head outside and throw them on the concrete. Nothing. Why the fuck won’t these damn things break? I sit on my steps to think.
I could just throw them into the fireplace. Glass melts, right? Are my thoughts as I stare off into space. A wicked smile spreads across my face as a master plan pops into my head.
“Well, since I can’t hurt his heart, I can hurt his pockets,” I mumble jumping up and running back to the shed. I grab a gallon of lighter fluid that Nyce seemed to like storing and jump inside my car. Burning down the club is too easy. He’ll just collect the insurance money. Plus, nobody is trying to go to jail.
I pull up to his grandmother’s house in Wynnewood, PA. He inherited this house after she died, and all of his dirty money is hidden here. Of course, I’m not going to burn down the house. Besides, the vault that he keeps his money in is fire proof. I take out my keys.
“Dumb ass never thought to change the locks.” Grabbing the lighter fluid and proceeding down the basement stairs, I let the system scan my hand and retina before the door to the safe magically opens.
“Activate lights,” I yell out. With the lighter fluid in my hands, I am prepared to burn every fuckin’ dime this niggah has but when the lights flicker on, I stop in my tracks and turn into a pile of mush as I stare at the many pictures of us neatly spread throughout the room. Pictures that I forgot we even took. Pictures of a young, naive girl at the age of nineteen. Pictures of the many memories and moments that we shared. I smile when I see that he kept some “Naughty Neesah” photos and laugh at the video collection stacked in the corner. Yeah, Nyce and I probably have over fifty porn videos.
“You motherfucker,” I laugh as the plan to destroy subsides in my heart. I walk out the vault, lock up the place and head back to Jersey. Once back home, I start cleaning up the mess I made. As I am cleaning the case where the glass slippers were, I stumble upon a bag of weed and coke. I pick up the baggies and without hesitation, walk to the hallway bathroom, flushing the coke down the toilet. Now, for the weed? That’s another story. I’m about to get blazed. I find some papers, roll a joint and walk inside the theater room, inhaling the smoke. I feel a little guilty like I’m doing something wrong, but it’s weed. God put this on Earth for me and you, I laugh, cracking up at my own dumb ass thoughts. I press the buttons on the keypad and watch the theater screen disappear and the security surveillance appear. Watching myself walk around the house smashing and breaking shit, I pause it when I catch the image of me looking possessed standing over the bed.
“I can use this for “The Burning Bed” video,” I say, thinking out loud and brainstorming. As I sit in the theater room smoking my joint and watching the tape, the whole video concept for “The Burning Bed” comes to fruition.
Chapter Seven
Fall is officially here. I walk inside my performing arts school bundle up inside my leather jacket. It’s been a crazy ass week filled with interviews that Larin set up for me to find a road assistant. I am sitting in the Director’s office with Kyle fiddling with his camera.
“You’re so young. You sure you want to give up just being a kid?” I ask him wondering if I am doing the right thing by using these babies. Most of them are barely out of high school and have no idea what the real world is like.
“Of course. This is what I want to do. I live for this shit…stuff,” he corrects himself with an apologetic look on his face. I chuckle.
“It’s alright. You can curse. Shit. You’re going to hear a lot of curse words fly out of my mouth AND not to mention, you may see me naked a time or two.” He gives me a nervous smile.
“You’re a photographer/videographer. You better get used to seeing naked people,” I tell him. I watch him set up his video camera to record the interviews. I wedge a piece of broccoli in my teeth.
“What are you doing?” He asks curiously.
“You’ll see,” I smile, knowing that I have this chunk of broccoli stuck in my teeth. He laughs before I tell one of the secretaries to send in the first interviewee.
“So, Leigh-Ann, is that seriously your name?” I rudely ask. I look at the white girl with long golden blond hair and green eyes.
“Yes,” she smiles nervously.
“Sounds like some ol’ country bama name. Like you grew up in a trailer park or something,” I laugh. She gives me an awkward giggle.
“Why do you want this job?” I hate asking this question.
“Because I’m energetic and a hard worker and…”
“What makes you a hard worker?”
“I’m willing to go out of my way to make you happy,” she smiles.
“So, you would do anything for me? What if I told you to stand up and bark like a dog?”
She laughs but I give her a serious look. She stands up.
“Leigh-Ann, you don’t have to bark like a dog,” I tell her trying not to laugh that she was actually going to do it. “Someone will be in touch,” I smile.
She looks at me for a moment before saying “Thank you” and walks out of the office.
“You were rude,” Kyle informs me. I laugh. “And that damn piece of broccoli is still wedged in between your teeth.”
“Next please,” I speak into the phone. “You’re making sure they’re handing in the confidentiality agreements, right?” I ask Mora, the school secretary that is helping me with these interviews.
“Of course. I’m sending the next one in,” she chimes in. I don’t need people talking about me being this big diva type bitch. I am just trying to find my perfect assistant.
“LaVasha. That’s your name?” I ask with my eyebrow raised, speaking to the next interviewee.
“Yes,” she smiles.
“That’s a ghetto ass name,” I laugh as her smile fades. “It sounds like a type of rash. Who named you that stupid shit?”
“My Mama I believe.”
“Can I call you Larissa? I like that name better.” She smiles nervously.
“I guess so.”
“So, you have an associates in business. Are you not smart enough to get into a four-year institution?”
“Um, I…yes. I couldn’t afford it,” she whispers.
“Are you one of those women who has a lot of kids running around?”
“No,” she answers shutting down.
“Why do you want this job?”
“Because I am a hard
worker and a go-getter,” she replies.
“Okay. Are you driving?”
“I know how to drive but I do not have a car.”
“Well, since you are a go-getter, I want you to go get me a piece of velvet cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory in King of Prussia. Here is some bus fare,” I tell her handing her a twenty-dollar bill. She looks at me like “Bitch, is you serious?” but instead she smiles, grabs the money and stands from her chair.
“I’ll have to check the bus schedule, so it may take an hour or two.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be here,” I reply pointing towards the door. She grabs her things and slowly walks out. I laugh.
“Kyle, go tell that girl that she doesn’t have to go get me a piece of cake. She can keep the twenty and someone will be in contact with her.” Kyle rolls his eyes.
“Send in the next person while you’re at it,” I tell him. He mumbles asshole under his breath.
“I heard you,” I yell after him. I do about twenty-three more interviews all the same way with me acting like a total dick.
“Next,” I yell out, not bothering to pick up the phone. I’m tired and I think Kyle is losing his patience with me, wanting to cuss me the hell out.
“Hi. I’m Estelle,” an energetic, bubbly girl comes bouncing in. She is wearing her hair in a natural fro with a pink flower stuck in it, red lipstick that looks marvelous on her cinnamon brown skin, and a blue skirted business suit that’s hugging every curve tastefully on her thick body. I think she looks stunning and very afro-centric. I can smell the coconut oil on her.
“Oh, no baby-girl. That natural shit won’t do,” I tell her before she is even able to plant her ass in the chair. She frowns her face.
“Would braids be alright?” She asks sweetly.
“I’ll think about it. I didn’t tell you to sit though,” I say when she takes a seat. She immediately stands and shoots daggers at me.
“My apologies,” she smiles.
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