His Last Name

by Daaimah S. Poole

  CHAPTER 13

  Tiffany

  Damien had been lying in the bed lifeless for weeks. My once handsome, clean-shaven, ripped husband had turned into an average looking, scruffy-bearded, unkempt man. As each day passed, I was becoming more aggravated and disgusted by him.

  He barely got up to go to the bathroom and would hardly eat. When he was up, he was staring at the ceiling or at the television. I wanted to not care, to give up and hide away from the world in the house, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I was being suffocated by his depression. Being crazy wasn’t an option. There had to be one sane person in this marriage. Somebody had to get up and make some money. I came to the realization that I had to get a job and feed us.

  He filed for bankruptcy, and we had to move out in six weeks, by August 15. I began packing, but I didn’t know where we’d be moving to. That’s one of the things that frustrated me about Damien. He kept me in the dark about everything, and that’s why we were in the predicament we were in.

  I couldn’t live like that anymore, so I applied for a few positions at various companies and even some temp agencies. I worked at an agency when I was in college, so I knew that their hiring process was fast and I would get paid quickly. I used my maiden name on my résumé. Damien’s name was plastered everywhere, and I didn’t want anyone to know I was his wife.

  I got a call back from an insurance company, and I was on my way to interview with the company. “I’m going out. There’s some soup and crackers on the table if you want it. I’ll be back after my interview.” I stopped and came back. I felt like I had to say something reassuring to him. “When I get back, you better be up.”

  The interview went well; I was hired on the spot. I thought I would go right into management or something, but I didn’t have any experience anywhere doing anything, so the only position that I was qualified for was entry level, which meant I would be answering telephones and informing people of their benefit options. I would make two dollars more than the people who didn’t have a degree. Which didn’t make any sense, but it was what it was.

  I dialed my mother, and my stepfather, Wilson, answered the telephone. “May I speak to my mother, please?”

  “Your mother is out in the garden. Do you want me to get her?”

  “What is she doing in the garden?”

  “Telling the gardener what to do, of course.” He laughed, and I gave a fake laugh. I was used to his dry humor.

  “Yes, I really need to speak to her. She is not answering her cell phone.” He called out for her and then she came to the phone.

  “Tiffany, what is it? Is everything okay? I see I’ve missed your calls.”

  “Yes. Mom, have you seen my degree?”

  “No, I haven’t. I think it may be upstairs in your room. I’ll look for it. What do you need it for?”

  “I got a job and they need a copy of it.”

  “A job? Oh my,” she gasped.

  “I’m working for an insurance company. I’m going to finally put my business degree to use.”

  “I’ll look for it and if I see it, I can overnight it. But this is insanity. It is embarrassing enough for me to have my friends call me and say that my daughter is on the news with her broke DUI husband, but now you are working at an insurance company? So I suppose you’re trying to take care of him now?”

  “No. He’s looking for a job.”

  “Enough is enough, Tiffany. I raised you better than this. I will not have my daughter stuck in a dead-end job for the rest of her life and taking care of a no-good man. You showed your support for long enough. It’s time for you to leave him.” The tone of the conversation was harsh—even for my mother.

  “I can’t just leave him. He’s my husband and I love him.”

  “Love doesn’t pay the bills. Get off of that train, Tiffany, because it is about to crash.”

  “Mom, we are going to be okay. Damien has a plan.”

  “You are not going to sit here and waste your life with him. You are getting a divorce.”

  “Mom, I can’t believe you. How could you say something like that? He bought the car you are driving and has sent you on plenty of vacations. And now—just because he is down and out—I’m supposed to leave him.”

  “You would if you were smart. Do you need any money?”

  “No, we will be fine. Everything is going to work out.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Shanice

  I was hosting rapper Don Santos’s mix tape release party with Ashley V in New Orleans. The front desk at our hotel called to tell me our car was here.

  My wand curls flowed past my breasts and I was wearing a cream bodycon dress with a plunging neckline. I thought I looked great until I saw Ashley V. She looked gorgeous in a black one-piece. She had all ass with no stomach and the tiniest waist. She walked over to me, told me to fix my hair, and said that I had lipstick on my teeth.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We represent the Eye Candy Queens. I can’t have you out here looking a mess.”

  “Thanks. So what do you think about the show?”

  “I think by this time next year everyone will know our name. So get your business together right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, girl, you have to get these coins while you can. I have a t-shirt and swim line, I act, and I have a cell phone store back home in Dayton. I’m saying while we got this opportunity you better start yourself a business, so you can eat forever.”

  “Okay. You’re right. I have to think of something to sell.”

  I heard that Ashley V was stuck up, but she wasn’t. We talked the entire ride to the release. She was smart and sweet and shared a lot of information with me.

  We entered the club, and the promoter, Jahti, took a picture with us and said, “So, ladies, we’re sold out. Everybody in the city is here to see the lovely Ms. Ashley V and Shani Amore. Make sure y’all work the room.”

  The music was blasting, and the entire club was filled over capacity. Santos’s people made sure we were taken care of. People wanted to take pictures with us and Don Santos.

  “Hey, beautiful. Don’t I know you?” a deep, sexy voice asked. I turned to see a handsome guy who could be the rapper Common’s cousin. He had a rugged beard against his almond-colored skin. I wasn’t interested in meeting anyone, but my mind could be swayed by the right man.

  “I don’t think so,” I responded.

  “I do know you. You’re the chick from the ‘Slide It Down’ video with the fat ass.”

  “Yeah, that was my first video.”

  “How could I forget that ass? Damn,” he said, eyeing every curve in my dress. “Can I get a picture?”

  I struck a sexy pose, leaning over the cute guy’s shoulder. I thought he was going to ask me for my number, but he didn’t. Instead, he tried to grab my ass and asked, “How sweet is that pussy?” Before I could answer him, he said, “Let me buy you a few drinks. I bet you take it in that big ass?” I thought about slapping the fuck out of him, but I remembered I was working. Instead I whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry about it. You can’t afford it.”

  “You sure I can’t?” He pulled out a stack of twenties, and I laughed. I knew he was flashing his paycheck that took him two weeks to make. Dudes like him were the reason I was single. I looked around the club, and in every direction I saw couples. Loving couples who were dancing and hugging each other. Watching them dance reminded me of Jabril. Suddenly, I became jealous, because me and my bae used to club together. I don’t know why I was in my feelings, but I was. Five glasses of champagne does that to you. Alcohol brought out true feelings. I wished I could stop thinking about him. I missed his scent and his touch. I used to love the way we would go at it all night. He would fuck me so good that I couldn’t think straight. Besides the good sex, he was my friend and just an all-around good person. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t in my life anymore. I looked on his Instagram, and I saw pictures o
f him, his daughter, and his fiancée. That made me sadder. I was hoping to see pictures of him being single, not as a family man. At least then I would have thought I had a chance. Seeing him happy let me know it would never happen.

  I had thirty minutes left at this club, and then I would be on my way back to the hotel and hop on a plane home in the morning.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said, as I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “I’m not taking any more pictures tonight.”

  “I don’t want a picture, I want to introduce myself. I’m the owner and producer of Don’s label. Deuce.”

  I turned around and said, “Okay, nice meeting you.” I wasn’t interested. He smelled good and was handsome, but he had about a hundred and fifty extra pounds on him that I didn’t find attractive at all.

  “So, how long are you in New Orleans?”

  “Tomorrow I leave.”

  “Shanice Whitaker, when you get home, you need to let me take you out.” He thought he was special because he knew my real name.

  “You don’t even know where I live.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can fly you to me from anywhere. You have to give me your number.”

  “Is that so?” I liked his confidence, but that was all. I’ve never been into big guys. I liked my men in just about any shade of brown, but I had an over five foot eleven requirement and a nice body was just one more category on the checklist. With my heels on, I was taller than him. He couldn’t have been over five foot seven. “All I have to do is stand here and look good.”

  “I need to take you out, and you will lose that little Philly thug attitude.”

  “That was kind of funny. You sure know a lot about me, Deuce. Are you a stalker?” I smirked at him.

  “I’m not. I just know things. But I’m serious. When you get back, I want to take you to dinner.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Now, that was funny. Let me see your phone.” He grabbed my phone and stored his name and number. Then he called himself. I had to admire this confidence and how he stole my number.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The next day, I hopped on my flight, and after we landed, I powered on my phone, only to see five text messages from Courtney. She was a pain in my ass. I posted a picture on Twitter with the caption: “Just landed!” and two minutes later my phone started ringing. It was Courtney again, stalking me. I knew I should have blocked my number when I called her.

  “I see you’re back in Philly, can you come to the apartment?”

  “Courtney, tell your mom I’ll be there.”

  “Like, what time?”

  “By four.” I wanted to tell her to stop harassing me, but I just hung up instead.

  I pulled up to my aunt and cousin’s apartment. There was trash on the ground and a few dudes in front of the corner Chinese store. I got out of the car, and one of them shouted if I could give them a ride and did I have a man. I ignored them and banged on the door. Courtney answered. I hated my cousin, but she was still pretty, skinny, and cute with a short blond haircut. She forced a hug on me. “Oh, my God, I’m so happy you’re here!”

  I looked around, and everything was still in place like how it was when I left years ago. I was so happy the apartment no longer felt like home.

  “Have a seat, cousin. I am so proud of you.” She immediately started taking pictures and behaving like I wasn’t the same person who shared a bedroom with her all her life.

  She pushed some mail and a blanket off the sofa so I could sit down.

  “So, cousin. I missed you. What’s up? How you been?”

  I didn’t bother to hold in my dislike for her. I yelled out, “Bitch, I still don’t trust you.”

  “Why, Shani? I’ve changed. I swear on my kids.”

  “Kids? You have one daughter.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. But, no, I go to church now. I really have changed. I have a job at a day care and everything. When I was dropping my baby off, I asked the lady if she needed help. She hired me. And I’m helping my mom.”

  “So, what’s going on? Why are y’all contacting me?”

  “My mom will tell you when she gets here.”

  “Where is your mom?”

  “She went to the store. She will be right back. Sit down. So how you been? What’s going on? I see you still doing videos and parties. That’s so good. Remember when we were kids, we said we were going to grow up and become famous? You really did it!”

  “Courtney, you said your mom had something she wanted to tell me about my mom. I don’t have time to sit here with you and reminisce. I didn’t forget all that trouble you started, or how you talked about me to the radio stations and blogs.”

  “Whatcha mean? I never started trouble before! I know we went through what we went through, but I’m different now. I don’t even go out anymore. I don’t drink and I have a boyfriend. I just be chilling with him. Back then, I was getting high and drinking. You know that.”

  “Smoking a little weed doesn’t make you tell your family’s business.”

  “I was on more than that, but that’s another story.”

  I missed my cousin Courtney, but she wasn’t trustworthy. I knew she could strike again. Courtney’s daughter, Ayana, came up the steps, carrying a white plastic bag with bread in it.

  “Where’s Grandmom?” Courtney asked her daughter.

  “She is coming up the steps.” I ran up to give her a hug. She pulled back. It was messed up. Her daughter was acting like she didn’t know me.

  “Shanice, oh my! I’m so glad you’re here. You look so beautiful. I am so very proud of you!” my aunt Rhonda said, coming in behind her granddaughter.

  “Aunt Rhonda, why are you walking so slow?”

  “I’m sick. I’m going to be okay, though. My doctor said I just have to slow down and take my medicine.” I let her have my seat. She coughed before speaking and said, “So, the news I have for you is that your mother was given parole. She is coming home next month.”

  Next month? I hadn’t seen her since I was six years old. She killed my stepfather for abusing her. I didn’t think I would ever see her again, and now she would be home?

  “What? How?”

  “She knew she was up for parole, but didn’t want to get her hopes up high. I couldn’t believe she called me. I was so happy to hear my only sister’s voice. We caught up for over an hour on the telephone. I told her you were out here being a model and making lots of money.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she couldn’t wait to see you and meet your little girl. That’s why Courtney been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “So where is she going to live?”

  “Here. I know we don’t have much room, but we will make do. Courtney is going to go on the sofa. And I’m going to put her in her own room. And when she gets on her feet and starts working, maybe we can afford to move.”

  I hadn’t seen or heard from my mother in more than twenty years, but I couldn’t imagine her leaving jail to come home to a dusty apartment. I loved my mom, even though she wouldn’t talk to us. I knew I had to get her and my aunt a bigger place, but I didn’t know how.

  CHAPTER 15

  Adrienne

  I could not sit in Philly for two more months. I was thinking about going back to Miami, or to Atlanta to be with Malaysia. I needed to get my old life back. My current life of deprivation had to end. I sat on the bed, undecided. What the hell was I going to do? At least I had a tenant who could pay my mortgage, but I needed another stream of income. I was not used to being broke. I needed to find a rich older man or something. I couldn’t live like this forever.

  The mail came and another letter from Ian arrived with another copy of his script.

  Dear Adrienne,

  I don’t know if you have read any of my letters I’ve sent. If you have, you haven’t responded. I want you to take my script and sell it. It is the only way I can pay you back. You don’t have to do any work, all
you have to do is get it to Blackground Films. And if they don’t want it anymore, hire a film agent. The minimum it should sell is for fifty thousand dollars. You can take sixty percent and give the other forty percent to my dad and stepmom. She is going to invest it for me, so I can have something when I come home. Please, I’m begging you. If you don’t do it for you, do it for Malaysia, give the money to her. Please, I know you need this money. Let me make it up to you and this is the only way I know how to do this from where I am. I pray that you both are okay. I think about you constantly and hope that you take advantage of this opportunity. Adrienne, please write me back.

  Please respond,

  Ian

  The script sat on my dresser for several days, and I finally got around to reading it. Pages one to ten were good. Then eleven to thirty-five caught my attention and made me want more. I kept reading. Within an hour, I finished reading all one hundred and twenty-five pages. I remembered it being an excellent read, but I think my hate for Ian made me discount his work. The script was about five guys who all lived in the same dorm, Falcon Hall. They made a vow to each other that they would all graduate college no matter what. Some made it, others didn’t.

  The more I thought about it, the more interested I became in Falcon Hall Boys. Maybe Ian was right. This could be what got me out of all my debt. If I was going to sell it, I needed to register the script with the Writer’s Guild of America. It belonged to whoever registered it, and then it would be me. I did a little research, and I learned that I should make a minimum of fifty thousand dollars—maybe a million. It was worth a try. He fucked me out of my dreams and hundreds of thousands of dollars, and it was only right that I got some of my money back. I took the liberty of changing a few things and making it my own. I read a bunch of articles on screenwriting and selling scripts. I contacted Blackground Films, like Ian asked, but they had merged with another company and weren’t accepting any unsolicited scripts. So I submitted Falcon Hall Boys to some other small film companies and a few agents and hoped that someone would be interested in it.