by Ni-Ni Simone
“Is that why they call you STD?” I reached up and smacked him on the back of his head. “Now move and let my friend in!”
Of course Spencer was grinning like she’d just walked up on Mr. America. This girl was so easy. She must’ve forgotten she was on the run.
Anyhoo, I was doing my best to act like I didn’t smell Midnight’s food when the truth was I wanted to spread out at the table and get my eat on! After the morning I’d had, a plate of everything would have done me just right.
But I couldn’t sink my teeth into a thing. Not without seeing my man first.
I walked over to Knox’s room and pushed the door open. Empty. I turned around. “Midnight, where’s Knox?”
“With Nikki,” he said with ease, like this was a daily thing.
I felt like someone had put me in a chokehold. “What?”
“With Nikki,” he repeated with the same level of ease, as if I was stupid to think he would be anywhere else.
“What the heck is he doing with her?”
“Why are you concerned?” came from the direction of the doorway. It was Knox and this chick. The same chick I’d seen him with before. The same girl he swore to me was just a friend. But, clearly, I could see—and Spencer, who had her mouth hanging open, could see—that this man-hungry bish, Nikki, was a little more—maybe a whole lot more—than a friend. If anything, she was a fraud trying to steal my man.
“Where are you coming from?” I asked Knox, but clashed gazes with Nikki.
“The question is: Where have you been?” Knox asked calmly.
All the places that I’d been appeared in short clips before me. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t even think of what lie to tell. All I knew is that I had to tell him something. Something that made sense. But what? “Um, baby, can I um, speak to you? Now?” I asked, my tone giving away that I was frightened he would refuse. “Please,” I added for good measure.
I could see the hesitation on his face. He wanted to say no. I knew he did. And I was preparing myself to hear it. But instead he sighed deeply and turned to Nikki. “I’ll call you later.”
Call her later?
I don’t think so!
For what?
And why would he want to call her later?
Relax.
Breathe.
Don’t flip. You know he can’t stand it when you go off.
I’m losing him.
I can tell.
I eyed him as he walked Nikki to the door, then whispered something in her ear. She shook her head. And I felt like someone had taken a jagged edge and sliced my throat with it. I felt my blood run cold. I wanted to boom-bop-drop it on his head. But I willed my temper in check as he walked up on me, eyeballing me all crazy. He broke his gaze and looked over my head at Spencer and smiled. After she gave him a small wave, his eyes came back to me. He smirked and headed to his room.
I followed him and closed the door.
“What are you doing here and why aren’t you in school?” he spat.
“What the fu—” Relax. Breathe. “What the heck was that about? What were you doing with that trick?”
“Don’t question me. Don’t call her names. And lower your voice.”
I threw a hand up on my hip and my neck went into full swing. It took everything for me not to slap his face off. “Don’t call her names? Really, Knox? So this is how you’re dropping it now? This is why I haven’t heard from you? Are you cheating on me? Is that why Nikki is always around?!”
Knox ran a hand over his shadow beard and looked over at me. “Let me tell you something. Check this. Don’t come up in here questioning me. Demanding things. And now you wanna talk to me about cheating? Really? Maybe that’s something I need to be checking you on since I haven’t heard from you all week.”
I scanned his face and wondered for a moment if he knew. Justice’s face flashed through my head and guilt suddenly ripped through me. Tears filled my eyes and my heart thundered. And just as I was about to run out the door, the look in Knox’s eyes kept me planted still. I knew then that it was safe to say...
“I would never cheat on you! Never! I can’t believe you would say that to me! I’ve been nothing but true to you! If you don’t trust me then maybe we don’t need to be together! I refuse to be with anyone who can’t trust me.”
“You know what? Maybe you’re right. Bounce. I’m not gon’ sweat you because either way, you’re moving like you’re single.”
“I’m not moving like I’m single.” My lips quivered. “I’m moving like a woman in love.”
He shot me a look that said, “Bull.”
“So you don’t love me? Is that what you’re saying?!”
“This is not about my love. That’s not up for discussion. It’s you and yo’ ish I’m starting to side eye.”
I don’t believe this. I need to say something to make this better. Let me think . . . “You know I love you! You know I’ve always loved you.”
“No. You’ve always expected me to sweat you.”
“I’m not asking you to sweat me.”
“Then what are you asking me? Because, on the real, I’m confused. All I know is, your mouth says one thing, then you turn around and do something else.” He paused, keeping his eyes locked on mine, shaking his head. “Every time I turn around, Rich, it’s something different with you. And it’s getting real old, real fast. For real.”
“Knox.” I walked up on him and reached for his hand. He pulled away. And instead of me reaching for it again, I draped my arms around his neck and braided my fingers together. He stood stiff, unimpressed. I went to kiss him and he turned his head, my lips landing on his cheek. But that was okay. I still had this under control. Now I knew exactly what I had to do to make this all go away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my first step into turning this around. Apologize.
“You’re always sorry.”
“You’re right. I am. And I know I’m always doing something that makes you doubt my love for you.” That was step two. Acknowledging I’d done something wrong, even if I thought I hadn’t.
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. And it’s getting tired.”
“Can you forgive me?” I kissed him softly on the left side of his neck. “I’m just going through so much at home.” I moved my kisses to the right side of his neck. “My mother is always on me. Nothing I do is good enough. You know how she is.”
Silence.
“You know how hard I had to fight her just to be with you. And now that she’s finally given in, I’m not going to let anything ruin that. I’m not tryna ruin it.”
More silence.
I moved my kisses to his collarbone, working my way to step three. “I’m not going to mess up again. I promise. You’re always on my mind. I won’t ever go more than a day without calling you.” I lifted his T-shirt above his head. I moved my kisses over his chest. “You’re all I need.”
He let out a deep sigh. He wasn’t saying much. No, no... he wasn’t saying anything at all. But I could feel his body starting to relax. That was all I needed. My magic kisses were slowly working.
“I know you still love me.”
Silence.
I unbuckled his pants, dipping down low and planting kisses around his waist. I gazed up at him. “Do you still love me?” I asked, my tongue teasing him to ecstasy. “I love you.” Then I heard him groan as I eased back up, running my hands up his chest. “Tell me, Knox. Do you still love me?”
“Yeah.” He moaned. Then, catching me by surprise, he scooped me up into his arms, walked over to the bed, and laid me on it. “I love you . . . maybe a little too much.” His mouth covered mine and I closed my eyes, getting swept up in the heat of his kisses.
Step three, completed.
My work here was done.
7
London
Milan, Italy
Five a.m., I sat before the vanity table in my room, naked underneath my robe, gazing into the large mirror outlined with huge light bulbs. I’d just finished my mot
her-obsessed-weigh-in thirty minutes earlier. One hundred and ten pounds is what the digital scale read when I stepped on, holding my breath as she logged my weight into her leather-bound journal. I had passed with flying colors.
Mmmph. Whatever...
I wiped the remaining tears from my eyes, rubbing the side of my still-stinging face from where she had slapped me just fifteen minutes ago. I stared at the welt slowly spreading across my cheek; then closed my eyes . . .
“Look at you, my darling, London,” my mother had gushed earlier, standing slightly behind me, her hand placed gently on my shoulder as we both stared at my naked reflection in the full-length triptych mirror. Full, firm breasts. Ultra small waist. Slightly curved hips. “Your face, gorgeous. Your neck, fabulous; so graceful and swan-like.” She eyed my boobs, practically pushing out a sigh of disgust. “We’ll keep taping your breasts as needed, for now.” She turned me sideways for a side-view of my reflection. There sat two brown, rounded globes of all-natural goodness.
“Dear God! There is just waaaay too much of this.” I cringed as she ran a manicured hand over the curve of my behind. “If we can just do away with this camel hump. I need to do damage control. The sooner we get all this removed, the more shows I’m sure you’ll book.”
I fought the urge to grimace. I was so tempted to smash an egg in her flawless face and tell her how I’d recently read in Teen Runway Fashionista that just as the days of thin, nearly nonexistent lips were long gone, so too were flat-back, invisible booties. Just as they looked for full, pouty, ethnic lips, designers were now craving models that had a little more junk in the trunk. But somehow I figured it didn’t matter to her what the fashionistas in the teen world had to say about it. As far as she was concerned, my plump rump was a hindrance. A distraction. A liability.
And she wanted it gone!
I eyed her questioningly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I folded my arms.
Three years ago, she wanted to drag me off to Mexico to have me infected with a tapeworm—a procedure illegal in the U.S. The year after that, she wanted me to have my jaw wired. Then, last summer, she wanted to have a hard plastic mesh sewn onto my tongue for a month with fishing line as sutures—some crazy weight-loss procedure started somewhere over in Latin America that some nutty whack job cosmetic surgeon brought back to the States—knowing damn well it would be extremely painful if I tried to eat anything.
And now this!
I stepped away from her and the three-panel mirror, slipping back into my robe. “I’m doing everything you ask of me, Mother. IV therapies. Colonics. Wheatgrass smoothies. Belly wraps. Master Cleanses. But surgeries . . . ” I shook my head. “No. That is one of your crazy plans I am not doing. My butt and my breasts stay.”
She huffed. “The breasts we can work around, but that backside of yours, not so much. I fear your work in the industry will be limited to print ads. And . . .” she paused, shaking her head. “At some point, plus-size fashions.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, what difference does it make if I’m modeling print ads or end up a plus-size model? It’s still modeling, isn’t it? That is what you’ve wanted, right? Me modeling?”
She frowned. “What kind of foolish question is that? Of course I want you modeling. As a high-fashion model, London, not traipsing around on some disastrous cattle circuit for Ashley Stewart or Lane Bryant.”
“I am not doing it, Mother. And you can’t make me.” I eyed her sternly for emphasis, placing a hand on my hip. She might have been able to control my trust fund and dictate where I lived; she might have monitored my weight and bullied her way into my personal life and directed who I dated and stayed friends with. But she was not going to make me have plastic surgery. She’d taken enough away from me already!
It was too early in the morning for this. And I had a mother I couldn’t even talk to. All I wanted to do was stay curled up in bed with my head beneath my covers. I wanted to sleep away the rest of my time here on this earth. Pretending to be happy with my new forced life was beginning to wear the edges of my nerves thin.
And I wasn’t up for being pinned and prodded and shouted at and shoved and critiqued by a group of bubblehead assistants and demanding designers. No. I wasn’t up for it. Not today. The idea of keeping up with the farce for appearance’s sake 24/7 was becoming too much to bear. I was homesick.
Lovesick.
And sick and tired of being sick.
Everything was slowly crashing down around me.
Ain’t no body checkin’ for ya . . . but me . . . and I don’t even know why I eff wit’ you . . . I feel sorry for you . . .
I blinked back tears, recalling my argument with my mother earlier this morning. “You say you love all of me? Yeah, okay. Whatever! I can’t tell. And I can’t wait to see just how much you and your uppity fashion houses really love me when these 34C’s and this camel hump booty are bouncing down the catwalk! Or have you already told them that you planned on dragging your property into some plastic surgeon’s office for reconstructive renovations?”
Slap!
My mother’s hand landed on the side of my face, swift and hard. And a fresh gush of tears sprung from my already weeping eyes. I couldn’t believe she’d slapped me. Stunned, I held the side of my face in my hand.
“I know this isn’t the life you asked for! I gave it to you! And, make no mistake, London. Like it or not, this is your life! This is your world! Fashion! The lights, the cameras, and all of the glitz and glamour that come along with it, is yours! If I seem harsh to you, if I seem cruel to you, it’s what I’ve been preparing you for from the moment you took your first step. Everything I have taught you, told you, shown you, has been to protect you! And hopefully prevent you from making some of the same mistakes I made.
“You have an advantage over the rest. You don’t ever have to worry about being on the bottom, because I am one of the few on top of the fashion-industry’s totem pole, still racking in millions without stepping a heel on a runway. I’ve paved the way for you! You don’t want this life... ?”
She glared at me. “Too goddamn bad! Until you are eighteen, until you are sufficiently able to take care of yourself without getting your hands on one damn dime of the trust fund that your father and I have so graciously entrusted to you, this is the only life you will have!”
She was about to turn to leave, then stopped. “I love you, London. You are my child—my only child. And the only reason I don’t beat you senseless and have you rolled out of here on a gurney is that you have castings today. You had better work as if your life depended on it. Because it does!”
I watched my mother through furious slits of rage as she disappeared, her fashion glide still evident in each elegant step she took, slamming the door behind her.
I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. Screw her! I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Putting her damn hands on me! You want me to be your protégé, your puppet? Then so be it! I reached for a jar of Annick Goutal’s face cream, removed the lid, and gingerly applied the multivitamin moisturizer to my face. I’ll give you exactly what you want and be the model you’ve always wanted me to be! Even if it kills me!
I glanced at the itinerary my ever-so-efficient mother had set aside for me, feeling overwhelmed. How did she expect me to get through all of this crap with a wide smile when she’d practically slapped my face off and I had so many other things weighing heavy on my mind?
And right now, the thought of Justice possibly breaking up with me was all I could think about. That and the fact that Rich was blatantly avoiding me was pissing me off. I’d done nothing to that bed-hopping whale to warrant her opening my text messages and not replying back. How did I know this? Because we all had iPhones that indicated when someone opened a text you’d sent to them. And I knew she wasn’t dead because she was constantly updating her Facebook status, tweeting, and Instagramming. So there was absolutely no excuse for this level of rudeness. None whatsoever!
Glancing at the tim
e. I sighed, and reached for my cell. I’m going to try this hooker one last time. I dialed Rich’s number. Then I’m done calling her. I’d decided late last night in between bouts of crying that I would wait until I got home to address her. What other choice did I have? It wasn’t like she was breaking her neck to fly out here for the weekend like she’d promised.
Lying beeeeyotch!
“Heeey, Rich,” I chirped into the phone, my tone seventy-eight percent sweet and twenty-two percent nasty. “The least you could do, heifer, is return my calls. And I know you’ve seen my texts. And you’re all up on Facebook. Don’t get cute. Anyway, whatever. It is what it is. I really wanted to talk. But I’ll be home in two weeks. Hopefully, you’ll find time to squeeze in a phone call or two between now and then.” I ended the call, then tried Justice again. The phone rang once, and went straight to voice mail. I couldn’t leave a message. The mailbox was full.
I stared into the mirror.
My life was in turmoil. And my mother had the audacity to want me to slay a bunch of fashion dragons. Yeah, I’ll work it all right! I slung my call sheets to the floor. Then used my fingertips and began gently massaging the moisturizer into my face, glaring at my reflection. All I saw was my mother staring back at me.
I hated her!
I hated Justice!
And I hated me more!
I wiped my hands, sighing. And Rich can’t even be a friend when I need her to be! All that selfish ho ever thinks about is who she can lure next into some motel room. She’s probably somewhere right now tricking with Spencer!
I stared at my phone, checking for messages that I knew weren’t there. Damn you, Justice!
I choked back more tears. Nope, I said I wouldn’t cry. Said I wasn’t shedding another tear on that boy! If he doesn’t want me, then I’m not going to beg him to be with me! I swept my manicured fingertips over my eyes before tears fell.
