by Ni-Ni Simone
“Yes, it is.” She tossed her bangs from out of her eye. “Glad you finally realize that.”
“Correction. The only thing I realize is, you’re effen delusional. You walked into my space. You’ve insulted and disrespected me, so if anyone should be speaking to anyone, it’s you. If anyone should be apologizing to anyone, it’s you!”
Spencer giggled. “Ooh, this is starting to look like old times already.”
Rich and I ignored her, staring each other down with burning glares.
“Oh no. Oh no. We are not doing this stare-down contest.” Spencer clapped her hands. “Not up in here. Not today.”
I refused to back down from Rich. She was a loud-mouthed bully, two-faced troublemaker. A man stealer!
“Why are you here, Rich?” I finally asked. My eyes remained locked on hers in a defiant stare-down. To think I used to really like this girl. Now I couldn’t stand the sight of her.
She sneered. “I came to see what misery looked like. Why else would I come to the lowlands? To trash central?”
My heart sank, my bubble of hope burst. It was painfully clear she’d only come to gloat.
“Then it should have been staring back at you this morning in the mirror,” I spat, propping another pillow behind me, then folding my arms over my chest.
“Be glad I’m here, London. It’s not like anyone else cares about you. You don’t even care about you. Who tries to slice their own wrists? I mean, really? How deep is the scar?”
She stalked over to my bed and tried to grab my arm. “What, did you use cheap blades? Admit it, London. All you wanted was attention, making superficial cuts. What, you wanted your neglectful mommy to spend more time at home with you? You wanted your daddy to give you hugs?”
“Screw you, Rich!” I snapped, feeling my cheeks heat with anger as I yanked my arm from her grasp. I fisted my hands at my sides and did my best to restrain my rage. Beating the skin off this hooker would be the highlight of my day, but I needed to keep my temper reined in. “You’re always so quick to talk about someone else’s parents, but you need to take a look at your own. At least I have a father who acknowledges me instead of one who ignores me. And the only reason your mother pays you as much attention as she does is because her real pride and joy is in England.”
“Whatever, London. Unlike you, at least I have a life worth living. I’m not trying to kill myself because I’m worthless. What a waste of a good hospital bed. And my tax dollars! If you really wanted to check out, you shoulda called me. I woulda gladly spared you the ambulance ride.”
The hurt in my voice sliced through the silence in the room. I fought conflicting urges to clutch her to me in a big embrace because a part of me missed her and to snap her neck because I now hated her. Rich and I had—operative word—been friends. Maybe not the best of friends where we’d both shared our dirty little secrets and confided our fears and giggled over boy crushes. No. We’d—okay, okay, I’d—kept some things secret from her. I’d drawn the line in the sand long before our family jet ever landed in the City of Angels, where hellfire was burning hotter than ever the day I’d schemed along with Justice to introduce the two of them so that he could manipulate his way into her heart, then into her father’s record label for his own recording deal.
Shamefully, it all backfired on me.
My friendship with Rich was ruined.
My relationship with Justice was over.
And now this . . .
Justice. Just the thought of them together, the image of them entangled in heat and desire and dirty deeds, had my heart pounding and my blood pressure rising.
Spencer flicked imaginary dirt from beneath her fingernails. “So, if Knox wasn’t dumb enough to marry you, then exactly who is this heinous barbarian who holds your devotion?” Spencer eased back in her seat, crossed her legs, and tightly pressed her lips together. She clasped her hands over her knee, waiting.
Rich craned her neck over at Spencer. “And why do you care? I mean, really? Why you so worried about my hot pocket?”
“Oh, trust me, girlie. I’m not concerned about that corroded septic tank of yours.”
“Oh really? I can’t tell.”
“Well, I’m telling you, sewer rat.” Spencer edged up on her seat, tilting her head combatively. “So don’t try me. Try keeping your legs shut, instead.”
“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut instead of hatin’ on me. Do I do that to you, Spencer? Do I hate on you and Midnight? No. I don’t. Why? Because I’m a grown woman, doing grown things. Not playing kiddie games. I’m royalty, honey. Now both of you, bow down”—she held out her hand—“and kiss the ring.”
Spencer huffed. “Rich, kiss my dang duck sauce. I’m waiting for you to tell me who asked you to marry him.”
I blinked, blinked again. The answer to Spencer’s question was boldly staring back at me on Rich’s ring finger. Dear God! Nooooooo! I choked back a scream. Not my diamond! This trick is standing here flaunting, flossing! Wearing my ring! Justice gave her my engagement ring!
I barely heard anything else being said in the room. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Hurt and anger and resentment swirled and swelled to dangerous levels, twisting inside of me like a roaring wildfire. I felt my body convulsing as I leapt up from my bed. Darkness danced at the edges of my vision as I swung my fists with all my might and everything around me faded to black...
18
Spencer
How dare Rich try to do me!
And she didn’t just do me raw and dirty. She did me right here in front of this bubblehead, London! She didn’t even have the decency to do me in private, in the comfort of my own home, or hers. No. She did it right here at the Wastelands.
Ooh, I was hotter than a rattlesnake.
Ole ratchet snatch patch!
But I kept it classy and ladylike as always. And smiled and played along real nice.
But inside, I felt like burning the balls of Rich’s feet for prancing up in here and announcing some dang engagement like that. Rich. Muddafrickin’. Man-eater. Montgomery. Officially made me sick!
I’d been nothing but loving and kind to that ole crotch-rotted heathen. And that’s how she showed her appreciation. By sideswiping me with some news like this.
“I’m getting married...”
Really? Where they teaching that at?
I couldn’t believe my ears.
Then that three-faced, cotton-pickin’, two-bit floozy had the audacity to try to bring the noise, talking all lickety-slick to me in front of London like that, looking at me all crazy. Like I was a meatless bone. Oh, when Miss Sophia was locked in her padded room overseas it was all coochie-oochie-yah-yah-crunch-crunch. But now that Miss Sophia was home, back in La-La Land, rocking and wringing her hands, Rich wanted to show me fever.
Well, guess what, goshdangit?
Spencer Ellington was not checking temperatures. Not today. And I wasn’t checking the inside of panty liners, either.
No. I had to take a stand. I had to stop the spread of hoetry and slutism.
The revolution had to be televised.
And that’s why—while London went happy-fist-and-feet on Rich—I sat here and recorded Rich getting her scallops tossed. Then I slowly eased on up out of my seat and slid over to London’s panic button, heehee—and rang the alarm.
I sure did!
That’ll learn that trick to do me.
Whoop! Whoop! That’s the sound of the police, gosh-diggitydangit! Whatchu gonna do when they come for you?
Now marry that, you Judas in a skirt, I thought as three muscled Mandingos stormed into London’s suite and dragged Rich across the carpet by her ankles, then hoisted her up by her wrists and feet, then carried her down the stairs and tossed her out onto the lawn, like the sewer trash she was.
I giggled, imagining that I’d whipped out my cell, placing it to my ear, feigning panic. “Umm, nine-one-one. There’s a whopper with a weave on the wild at Low Money’s Estate. She’s five-six. Half-cute c
hick with big thighs, big boobs, and a whole lot of junk in her caboose, and she has a permanent fat pocket where I think she’s hiding a baby kangaroo. Yes, yes, yes . . . Holmby Hills. Yes, yes . . . she’s the world’s first fat Barbie. Get here quickly.”
Heeheeheehee.
Ooh, that loose-lipped louse was lucky I didn’t make that call for real and have her served a pair of shiny steel handcuffs. It would have served her right for what she’d done.
I’d never felt more hurt in my life by Trampette. Well, wait. That’s not completely true. She’d hurt me deeply when she snuck off and slept with that man-boy, Xavier—the tall, strapping, sexy caramel tenth-grader who dated one of those god-awful Beanie Baby tricklets. Oh heavens, what the heck are those Nine West slores calling themselves?
Strumpets?
No, no. That’s not it.
Payless Bandits?
No, that’s not it, either.
Fortheluvofgoodmanmeat . . . Lawd have mercy! I couldn’t think. That mess with Rich had my noodles soggy. I couldn’t believe her! The gotdang nerve of her!
Anyway, ole Miss Jane Pittman snuck Xavier down into the underground railroad and had her way with him, knowing I wanted to sit down on his face and ride him straight to freedom. Mmph.
Ooh, nookie-nookie now . . . the Starlets!
Yeah, that’s the clique! The one with the big, oversized forehead, the one I had to fly-swat in the mouth, then greet her in the girls’ lounge with duct tape and Nair. Her boyfriend. That’s the one Rich snuck off with. Leaving him slumped with his pants wrapped around his ankles.
Stankin’ thot!
And that’s not the only time Rich hurt me. She’d cut me deep when she traded me in for this ole pumpkin-head troll doll sitting over there in the center of her bed with an ice pack to her face.
Public Enemy Number One, Two, Three, and Four!
“Ohmygod!” London groaned, snapping me out of the monologue in my head. “I can’t believe Rich came up in here and treated me like crap! Couldn’t she just once think about someone other than herself?”
I shot her a dirty look, rolling my eyeballs fast and hard around in my head. I had to talk myself out of hopping up from my seat and tearing this trick’s face off.
Oh no, oh no... breathe in, breathe out . . . Don’t do it, boo. Stay loving and kind...
I regarded her for a hot second in silence. Then got up from my seat and sat on the bed alongside her, sandwiching her big left paw between my two dainty hands.
London gave me a stunned look.
“Oh, relax,” I said, slapping the top of her paw with my hand. “I’m not going to gut you or anything like that. Not yet, anyway. Heeheehee.” I stroked her paw, locking my hazel eyes onto her swollen red eyes. “Rich failed you as a friend. She knew you were lost and alone and that no one liked you, so the least she could have done was been a little more sympathetic to your poor, pathetic soul . . .”
London blinked.
“London, I’m sad to say, Rich failed you as a friend. She should have been a shoulder for you to lean on, a hand for you to hold, an ear for you to bend. She let you down. And she let me down. But, oh well. You got what you asked for.”
“Excuuuuuse you?” She yanked her paw back. “What exactly are you trying to say here, Spencer? That I deserved her rude, nasty treatment?”
I snatched her paw back and gripped it. “Yes. You did deserve it. But I told Rich to not bring it to you while you were afflicted and pitiful. At least I have the good grace to pretend to like you while you’re going through this grievous time. You should be thanking me. But, Rich . . .” I shook my head, clutching my chest. “She has no couth. No social etiquette. What kind of friend does that? Turn on you in a time of need? Rich was dead wrong for that. But, oh well. I told her to check her attitude at the door before she got here. But obviously she didn’t take heed to the memo. Now if you’d pull the ants from out of your molehill and sit still, I’ll tell you exactly why.” I popped her paw again. “Stop trying to pull your hoof back from me and let me finish.”
She blinked again.
“See. Once upon a time, not long ago, there was this cute little chunky princess who thought she was the flyest of them all. Yeah, she gave you face. And she gave you booty and a busload of boobs, but she didn’t have much of a brain. But she had a best friend who knew all of her dirty little secrets. They fought no-good slores together. Tag-teamed boys together. And traveled and shopped until they dropped together. But then came along a snaggle-toothed witch whom I’m going to call Dogzilla . . .”
I paused, narrowing my eyes. “Are you paying attention, DogKeesha, I mean, London? Are you listening? The story gets real juicy, I promise you.”
She huffed. “Will you hurry up and get to the point, please and thank you!”
“Oh no! Oh no! You will not rush me. And you will not disrespect me or use that filthy tone with me. I’m the only one who has cared enough to come and sit with you during this horrific time. So don’t you dare go getting all snot-box messy with me.”
She yanked her beefy mitt from out of my grasp, folding her arms across her chest.
“Fine. Tell your story. Just get on with it already.”
I started from the top again.
“See. Once upon a time . . .”
Then I told her how the princess and her bestie were inseparable. How they shared everything. Well, everything except for wearing each other’s garter belts and panty and bra sets. Heehee. Still . . . there wasn’t anything that this bestie wouldn’t do for her little Teletubby friend who once had teeth so big she looked like a chipmunk, even knocking a boy upside the head with nunchucks and leaving him for dead if he put his hands on her.
London’s mocha-brown face blanched.
“Then came along Dogzilla with the big globe head and rhino hoofs from the East Coast, who traveled three thousand miles across the dirty Hudson River to the West Coast in pursuit of sugar and spice and everything nice . . .”
London rolled her eyes. Squirmed in her seat.
“See. But the princess was gullible and she easily fell into Dogzilla’s trap of lies. But her bestie wasn’t buying what the tramp was selling and knew she was a scam. The princess’s bestie knew that Dogzilla was a conniving troll with more secrets and lies than a nun posing for a centerfold. But the bestie couldn’t get her fingers on the pulse of it. Until said bestie met Buff Daddy . . .”
London gave me a blank stare.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Queen Kong, I mean, London. You know exactly whom I’m referring to. I’m talking about Mister Big Daddy In Heels. Mister Toot ’Em Up Bang Bang. Mister Cooter Teaser. Mister Trisexual himself, the crumb snatcher. I’m talking about Anderson Ford, your cover-up.”
She blinked.
“Yes. Anderson. Ford. The drag-sexual in training. See. He told me after a night of me stretching his goodie bag out that you didn’t want him. That you were only with him out of convenience, to keep your secret lover-boy hidden from your parents. That your secret boy-toy was driving you crazy.”
London blinked again.
“Yes, ma’am. I know all about your delicious thug daddy! The bum who you kept locked in a closet. Anderson didn’t say his name, but I put two and two together and came up with six. I mean, four. Then I started watching you.”
I walked over to her chaise and snatched up the large manila envelope I’d had in my hand earlier before I shot her up with my water gun. I walked back over to her bed and slung the envelope at her.
“What is this?”
“Open it and see for yourself.”
I eyed London and smirked as she tore open the sealed packet. She slid her hand inside and withdrew an eight-by-ten glossy photo of her standing outside in the wee hours of the morning in the parking lot of the Kit Kat Lounge. The night I sent her those anonymous text messages and sent her on a wild-goose hunt for her thug boo. The one Miss Freaks R Us, I mean Rich, was up on the twenty-first floor with, putting it on him like her one-legged
grandmother Rovina SueDeeka Gatling aka Momma Deeka had shown her in that homemade porn video she’d made of her and Poppa Long Tongue Gatling.
She pulled out another picture and frowned. It was of her speeding out of the parking lot, tailing behind Justice. Another was of her pulled over on the side of the highway, crying. “W-w-what, w-w-where did you get these pictures?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I warned you, you ole moose face, that one day I was going to unearth the dirty trick you are. You lucky I don’t split your sockets and saw down your ankles for how you played Rich and manipulated her into believing you were her friend.”
“I was her friend,” she shot back.
“Oh really? Were you her friend before or after you whispered in Knox’s ear and told him Rich had an abortion?”
Her mouth dropped open.
“I-I-I . . .”
I put a hand up. “Save it. You waited for the right moment, until you could get Knox alone at that frat party, then turned on Rich for your own sleazy gain. Now you done ran her crazy. She’s crazier than she’s ever been. I know all about it. And now so does Rich, so no need to try to spin another web of lies. The gig is up, chickie. You’re lucky I don’t claw out your guts and peel back your rocket. You had Hot Drawz slap me over something you did. You set it up to make it look like I was the traitor, like I was the one who betrayed Rich’s trust. When all along it was you.”
I clapped my hands. “Bravo. Yes, Miss Girlie. Bravo. Standing ovation to you for almost getting away with it. Almost.”
I slid my hand down into my bag and pulled out a tube of what looked like hand cream. But she was none the wiser that it was really fast-acting gel cream hair-remover. I discreetly smeared some into the palm of my hand, then swiped a dollop up onto my fingertips. I closed the tube and tossed it into my bag.
“You thought you were so clever, huh? Thought you were two-pennies slick, didn’t you? You got greedy, heifer. You got sloppy. You betrayed your only friend all over a piece of man trash?”
