Put Your Diamonds Up!

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I weighed 357 pounds.

  My eyes snapped open. I lay in the dark, crying, aching in silence. Contemplating my demise until I heard the stash of snacks I’d discreetly packed and hidden inside various handbags calling out to me, taunting me, from inside my Louis Vuitton trunk.

  “Lonnnnndon! Ohhh, Lonnnnnndon!”

  “Eat me, London. Eat me!”

  “Come sink your teeth into me . . . !”

  I glanced over at the time: 2:33 a.m. I shut my eyes. Willed myself still. Don’t do it. Do not give in to temptation. It’s way too late. You’re going to be weighed in three-and-a-half hours.

  “You know you wanna wrap your lips around me. Sink your teeth into my cream-filled goodness . . .”

  Lead me not into temptation...

  “C’mon, you greedy cow . . . you pig . . . you ugly moose head . . .”

  I bit the inside of my lip.

  Deliver me from this evil...

  “Come gobble me up, Lonnnndon . . . Come stuff your mouth, jabber jaws . . . you beached whale... You know you want it . . .”

  Ohmygod! Will you pleeease shut up! Leave me alone! Get out of my head!

  The taunting wouldn’t stop. The voices kept getting louder and louder until I could no longer take it. I flung back my comforter, throwing my feet over the edge of the bed. My feet hit the floor with a heavy purpose. My head swooning, tears sprang from my eyes as I knelt down and slid my hand up under the edge of my Persian area rug and retrieved a small key.

  Walking over to my travel chest, my hands shook as I quietly slid the key in and unlocked the latch, flipping open the trunk. My hand slipped in and pulled out a red Valentino tote bag.

  I raced over and locked the door to my bedroom, then positioned myself on my bed. My heart raced as I opened my bag and dumped its contents in the center of the bed.

  “Yeah, that’s it, greedy . . .”

  I tore open two small packs of honey-roasted peanuts, then tossed my head back and emptied them into my mouth, chewing and swallowing as the voices kicked my brain around like a soccer ball.

  “Peanuts, London? Really? You can do better than that, Chunky Monkey . . .”

  I blinked back tears, ripped open two oatmeal cream pies. Smashed them together, then bit into the sweet double-decker as if it were a Big Mac.

  “Yeah, that’s it . . . gobble, gobble . . .”

  Justice dumped me! And with the snap of a finger, expected me to forget about him, about us! How could I forget, when I couldn’t stop feeling his fingertips dancing along the curve of my hip every time he’d spoon himself behind me. How could I forget when I’d risked everything to be with him?

  Damn you, Justice! You bastard! I gave you every damn part of me!

  The rush of sugar burned through me, dissolving in my mouth, clinging to my tongue. My stomach heaved a little as I sent Justice another text.

  U DIDN’T HAVE TO HURT ME LIKE THIS!

  I was rocking, my knees pulled up to my chest, my arms wrapped around them. Then I was crying—hard and without control. I needed to get out of my own way. But my mind wouldn’t shut off.

  “That boy is not to be trusted, London, do you hear me . . . ? He’s troubled and from the wrong side of the tracks! I don’t want him sniffing around here trying to manipulate his way into your life . . . He will do nothing but ruin you! I do not want you anywhere near him . . . !”

  Waves of anger surged upward, crashing into view the memory of Justice taking my hand and placing it over his heart. “Feel that?” I’d nodded, feeling the galloping beat of his heart against his chest. “That’s us, baby. One heart, one beat... one love. Nothing can ever change that . . . I’m all yours in mind, heart, and body.”

  “Liar!” I hissed. “Then why is there a picture of your hand down some skank’s shirt?!”

  “I forbid you to see him, London!”

  I reached for a Capri Sun, stabbed into it with the pointed tip of its straw, then slurped the wild cherry–flavored drink in thick, greedy gulps and swallows. I opened another, did the same thing. I coughed and spit, gasping and choking as juice went down the wrong pipe.

  Justice wanted me to forget him. But I couldn’t stop remembering. Remembering the first time he’d pulled me into his grown-man-like body and boldly kissed me under the light of a streetlamp. “See. You stay playin’. Stay teasin’.” He grabbed my hand. “You feel all this?” He pulled me back into him. Started kissing me again, his lips trailing along my neck; his hand slipping into places where I’d never allowed any other boy to venture.

  I couldn’t escape it. The memories. The emptiness. The craving. The hurt. The guilt. My mother kept my passport and bankbook hostage so I was trapped in this cage. Couldn’t flee without money or documentation. But it didn’t matter because regardless of where I ran off to, she’d eventually find me. And when she did, she’d be standing there, sneering, with her trusted tape measure in one hand and her electronic scale close by. Narrowing her eyes, foot tapping, waiting for me to undress—to strip down to the naked truth—and step onto the scale, just so she could remind me of what I was, of what I’d always be... a beached whale stuffed in a sardine can.

  My stomach burned. I was almost at the end. My end. Not quite there yet. But I felt it as I crawled back up under the covers, unconcerned with the empty wrappers, cake crumbs, empty boxes, and half-eaten sleeves of cookies that lay scattered all over the bed. I clutched my stomach and wept into my pillow as honey-roasted-nut gas and loads of sugar bubbled up from my insides, then burst out in loud, angry rumbles.

  No. There was no escape. There was no hiding from this, or from her. I was sentenced to a life of suffering. This was my death row. A fat, three-hundred-and-fifty-seven pound girl stuffed in a skinny girl’s body, waiting for execution.

  London Phillips . . . we hereby sentence you to death by way of lethal ingestion.

  I closed my eyes . . . and waited.

  11

  Rich

  For twenty-four hours I’d been wrapped in a fairy tale and for once, dreaming about the right knight.

  Knox.

  But.

  In the whistle of a text message, it all ended.

  I was lying naked in the center of Knox’s bed in his dorm in San Diego, next to the warm spot he’d left behind. My iPhone clutched in my right hand, my brown gaze locked on the screen and my thoughts racing alongside my thunderous heartbeat, I was trying to figure out what Justice was tripping about.

  Instead of being thankful he wasn’t dead, and paying homage to the Second Chance gods, he was on my phone and coming at me all shades of crazy. Yeah, I dumped him. And, yeah, we left him for dead. But still. Don’t disrespect me.

  U MAD FOUL, SON! WORD IZ BOND, YO. U LET YA PUNK DUDE SNEAK ME, YO? DAT WAZ SUM REAL SUCKA ISH YO! ITZ COOL THO. I C U. U REAL GRIMY! THEN U GONNA LEAVE UR WHIP TRYNA GET ME ALL HEMMED UP. ITZ ALL GOOD. I GOT U. REAL SPIT.

  What. Is. He. Talking. About?

  I read the text again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Mad foul?

  Who’s mad foul?

  Me?

  And dude?

  What dude?

  That was Spencer.

  There was no dude.

  Tired of his dumb riddle, I texted him back. HUH? BOY, BYE! DON’T COME 4 ME! WHAT U NEED 2 DO IS STOP BEING SO PRESSED. AND FOUL? U MUST BE CALLING URSELF OUT! WHACK NINJA!

  He texted back, 4REAL, LIL HOMIE. RUN ALONG N GO PLAY WIT′ OLE BOY. LIKE U SAID THIS IS DONE. NOW STEP!

  I blinked. Suddenly, the air was stale. No, no, actually there was no air in here. All of the oxygen had fled the scene. But somehow I pulled in a deep breath. Inhaled it through my nostrils and forced a gush of it through my lips.

  I gathered the white sheet over my bare breasts and sat up. I pressed my back against Knox’s wall and just as my eyes scanned the texts from the top again, another text binged in. U AIN’T SHYYT, YO!

  What? I squinted. Blinked. And before I could read the r
est of his text I had to go back and read the first line again: U ain’t shyyt, yo! A raging dropkick landed in my gut. I swallowed, cleared my throat and continued to read about how he’d parked my car across the street from where I’d left it. That my purse and the five hundred dollars I’d left on the nightstand were in the glove compartment. And how I was lucky my car wasn’t set on fire and floating in the bay somewhere.

  Screech!

  He got me all the way twisted!

  I hopped off the bed and paced from one end of the room to the next.

  I need a cigarette. And I don’t even smoke.

  Calm down.

  Eff calming down! This howling mofo came straight for my throat! Spraying bullets out of his mouth like a drive-by! He ain’t no ole G, he better watch how he’s comin’ for me!

  I’m ’bout to read this Piru for blood, honey!

  I stopped in my tracks as the thought of what he’d said played around in my head.

  “So he wanna get it crunked?!” I laughed in disbelief. “Oh, okay. Well let’s do this then.”

  I raced over to Knox’s bedroom door and locked it. Leaning against the door, I called Justice, held my breath and chewed the corner of my bottom lip as I waited for the phone to ring. It didn’t. Instead I was greeted by his voice mail.

  My eyes bucked and my heart tried to claw its way out of my throat.

  Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

  I pulled in another deep breath and called this jank again.

  The phone rang.

  I let out a sigh of relief. I could feel my mouth about to burst into flames. I couldn’t wait to aim and mouth-piss on this silly loser! The ringing stopped and just as I was about to let loose, a recorded operator said, “You have been blocked. This user does not desire to speak with you at this time.”

  I blinked.

  Reeeewind!

  I called again. “You have been . . .”

  “Ahhhhh!” I flung my phone across the room.

  I don’t believe this.

  Really, Justice?

  Are you serious with this?

  Chill... Chill... Relax.

  He ain’t mean ish to you anyway!

  What you sweatin’ it for?

  I stormed over to the window and placed my forehead up against the thick pane, the sheer purple curtains shielding my naked silhouette.

  I stared out into the courtyard and watched an energetic line of pledges stomp their loosely tied combat boots, lift their chins and howl into the early morning breeze. I caught the reflection of my face in the glass and saw tears dancing in my eyes.

  What the hell are you crying for?

  He ain’t your man.

  You dumped him, remember?

  He was just a toy.

  A thing.

  I turned back from the window and my eyes landed on my phone.

  Call him again.

  I yanked the phone off the floor and noticed my screen was cracked.

  WTF?!

  I swear on everything I love, I hate this mofo!

  I dialed his number and again the same robotic trick delivered the same message. I’d been blocked.

  “Screw this!” I scrambled around the room trying to find something to wear. I found an old pair of jeans, snatched one of Knox’s hoodies out of his drawer, stuffed my feet into an old pair of sneakers, then pulled my hair into a messy bun and charged out the door.

  I swung open Midnight’s bedroom door, startling Spencer, who lay alone on the bed. She sat up as I eased her car keys from off of the nightstand.

  “Rich?” she asked, half asleep.

  “I need to use your car. I’ll be right back,” I said abruptly as I walked back toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  I didn’t have time to respond. All I had time to do was get out of here!

  No purse.

  No license.

  Nothing.

  But a tank of gas to get to my destination.

  A road trip that usually took me two hours, took me an hour and fifteen minutes to be at this mofo’s building and ringing every bell until somebody finally buzzed me in.

  Once I was in the white tiled lobby, everything moved in fast-forward motion. I was so focused on bashing Justice’s face in for talking to me slick and crazy that in a flash, I’d covered four flights of stairs and was now pounding on the door to his studio apartment.

  “Justice!” I kicked and banged over and over again. “Open this damn door!”

  Every door on the floor opened with the exception of his.

  “Justice! I know you’re in there! Open up this door! Right now! You gon’ talk slick to me and then block me?! Don’t hide! Open up this motherfuckin’ door!”

  I took six steps back and just as I was prepared to sprint down the hall and kick in his door, one of the neighbors two doors down stepped into the hallway with her phone to her ear. “Hello, police,” she said. “Yes, yes, a black girl. Long hair. Jeans. Hoodie. Threatening to burn down the building!” She squinted and then whispered into the phone, “She looks like that crazy girl Rich Montgomery. You know. The one who was on the front page of Gossip and Stars. Page twenty-four. Showing her bare beaver. Yeah, uh-huh . . . that one. I don’t know what this world is coming to! We’re in the last days! These rich kids today are out of control. Too much money on their hands. Please hurry up and get here!”

  A wave of nervousness and defeat washed over me as that nosy bird kept whispering into her phone. I shot her a nasty look. “For your information, granny, my name is not Rich Montgomery! It’s Shakeesha Gatling! Get it right!”

  I pulled the hoodie over my head and made a mad dash for the stairs, brushing roughly against her shoulder as I fled. I couldn’t afford the cops coming after me. And at this moment I didn’t want any part of the media! I shook my head, doing all I could to find a thought... any thought that would calm me because I was clearly out of my zone. I couldn’t believe I was playing myself in some low-budget hallway. Sweatin’ some broke dude and chasin’ him down like some desperate needy chick.

  Psst, please!

  Eff him!

  This was my world!

  I was queen!

  I reigned supreme!

  And yeah, Justice made love to me like the best there ever was.

  And yeah, if I really kept it one hundred, I didn’t leave him alone because I wanted to be faithful to Knox. I left him alone because I felt myself being captured by his smile. His laugh. His eyes. The feel of his hands. His corny jokes.

  Too many times I found myself drifting off to a place beyond space where I envisioned being with him all the time. Calling him mine. And me his. Doodling his name.

  Getting butterflies.

  And all kinds of corny, mushy, and silly little-girl ish.

  I didn’t have time for that.

  I couldn’t get caught up in any man. Ever. Not even Knox. And definitely not Justice. I knew by watching my mother that you could be the baddest chick in the world and you could love your man more than you loved yourself. But no matter what, he would never love you back.

  I tried hard as I could to fight them back, but a rush of hot, blinding tears erupted from my eyes and covered the sides of my face. I felt myself starting to heave as I raced out of the building and into the parking lot.

  I froze when I spotted his car.

  So he was up there! Like I thought he was!

  Oh, you wanna play! Oh, you wanna disrespect me! You wanna say I ain’t shyyt! Oh, I’ma show you!

  I gripped the car key in my hand, slid it in between my middle and ring finger and clutched it real tight as I clawed up the entire driver’s side of his car.

  Oh, I ain’t shyyt! I ain’t shyyt! You gon’ talk sideways to me? Oh, you gon’ block me? You wanna come for me? Pop all kinds of craziness in text! I got your lil homie, punk! I’m about to give it to you real good!

  I looked around the parking lot until I spotted what I needed to leave my last mark. I ran over, picked it up, then hu
rled it through the air with all my might and watched it kiss his windshield, sending an explosion of glass into the air.

  12

  Heather

  Two weeks later

  Showtime . . .

  I took two deep breaths in an effort to calm my racing nerves as Jackson, my new driver, rounded the corner in my brand new silver Mercedes limo, bringing Club Noir Kiss into view. People were everywhere and the line to get inside was roped off and stretched for blocks.

  I was back home. This was the first time I was rocking my new look and I didn’t know what to expect, given that paparazzi had already tried to slay me after that Brazil fiasco. I lifted Teen Enquirer and scanned through the headlines :

  FROM BRONZING TO BRAWLING

  “A heated war of words turned vicious when teen actress Heather Cummings, known for her eccentric style and over-the-top sass as the once-upon-a-time star of The Wu-Wu Tanner Show tossed her drink in a reporter’s face, then burned him with the tip of what sources identified as a blunt, before attacking him with the shell of a coconut . . .”

  Lies!

  I tossed the magazine across the backseat and blinked my eyes.

  And he has the nerve to be suing me.

  I took in another deep breath and noticed that standing outside of the club’s blue glass entrance was Co-Co—voguing. In electric-pink kitten heels, silky hot-pink boy shorts, a vintage striped beige suit jacket, an iridescent pink tie, and a leopard bra wrapped around his flat and hairy pecs.

  My heartbeat matched the thumping bass in the club’s music as Jackson parked alongside the red carpet. “Make room! Make room!” he shouted—in the exact way that I’d told him to—as he walked around the limo and opened my door. The crowd standing in line gasped and shrieked as I swung one black five-inch pencil heel onto the red carpet and then the other. Cameras flashed and shouts of, “We love you, Wu-Wu!” filled the air.

  Co-Co slowly looked me over. Stopped dancing. Placed his hands up on his narrow hips. Posed. And served me his best high-end mannequin.

  A few seconds after giving me frozen fever, Co-Co broke his trance and said, “Geisha. Black girl. Goddess.” He did a ballet twirl. Stopped. And snapped his long fingers with every word. “You. Better. Work! Bow down, bishes!” He dropped to one knee. “You have slayed every fish in the place.” He popped back up and smiled. “Now gimme love. Miss Co-Co needs a royal hug.”