by Ni-Ni Simone
I laughed. “Ha! Leap! Jump! Make my day, slutisha . . .”
Out of nowhere Anderson’s voice floated around in my head. “I don’t like it when you call her names, gumdrop. Actually, you shouldn’t call anyone names . . .”
I hadn’t given that no-good man-tart, that . . . that purse bumper a thought since he turned on me weeks ago. Well, okay, okay... he didn’t really turn on me. He just dumped me to be with this boar-faced dog. But it felt like he’d turned on me at that moment. Anyway, I’m over that. I didn’t really want him; just what was in his goodie bag. And now he was in my ear.
“London doesn’t want me . . . we have an arrangement . . . she uses me as a cover... she keeps her dirty little secret well hidden . . .”
I blinked. Shook his voice out of my head. Wellsweet-jigglymanbiscuits! That was it! Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? I had my priorities all screwed on backwards. If I wanted to get rid of a snake, I had to chop off its head, then sling it into the fire. Yes, that’s what I was going to do to London. I was going to use the biggest and sharpest ax I could find, then...
I tapped a manicured finger up against my lips. “I know all about you and your secret boo, too . . .”
She blinked.
“How’s Justice? Mmph. All that fine, deep, delicious, thugalicious man kept locked away in your secret chest of lies all because your parents don’t approve of him. They want to make believe you’re perfect. But you and I both know you’re pathetic.”
I watched as her chest heaved in and out. Her eyes widened beyond what was humanly possible. Oh yes. I had struck ET’s nerve. I went in for the final dig as my phone buzzed. “If it ain’t rough, it ain’t right, huh, rough rider? You like it hood, don’t you, ooga-booga. You like it when he treats you like crap, don’t you? No wonder you’re such an ugly mess. He uses your face as a doormat to stomp all over you. And you sit up all night crying and begging and feeling sorry for yourself. How pathetic. Desperate.”
I remembered something Rich said to me one day, after sliding me a note in Mr. Dante’s finance class, asking me to meet her in the girls’ lounge. “Remember Justice from the Kit-Kat Lounge? He’s. Crazy . . . Justice has been sweating me for the last two weeks . . .”
Ooh, how tempted I was to let her know that I was the one who’d sent her the text message that had her stalking the Kit-Kat Lounge’s parking lot waiting on her dirty little secret to come out from his sweaty night of raunchy playtime with Hot Drawz herself, the queen of easy sleazy, Rich Gabrielle Montgomery. I’d waited and watched in the hotel’s lobby as they stepped into the elevator, groping and grinding and lip-locking it up. I watched until the elevator closed and stopped on the twenty-first floor, then graciously sent this subway rat a text letting her know there was a freak on the loose doing her man.
Ha!
I couldn’t show my full hand, but I wanted so, so, so badly to smear it in Boo-Boo the Fool’s face that her so-called wannabe bestie had slept with her boo. And probably still was if he had enough energy and kept her interest long enough. Mmph.
Humpback stared at me. Her eyes were filled with anger. I’m sure she was wondering how I knew so much about her boo-thing. I decided not to tell her it was Anderson who’d first whispered that little piece of information into my ear in between whispering a bunch of sweet lies to me, getting me all juicy and wasting my dang time. But that was neither here nor there. Anderson wasn’t my issue, or problem. This barracuda was.
“Ummm. What were you saying, London? You’re mighty quiet. Not now, but right now. Oh, this is going to be delish. First, I’ll send those luscious photos I have of you sitting here on the toilet with those ugly faces you were making, then I’ll expose your filthy backside for the world to see. Oh yes. Glamdalicious and Teen Gossip will love an exclusive, I’m sure.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, of course I wouldn’t. I’m not desperate for money, silly. I’ll give the photos to Heather or some homeless person and let them be the ones to auction them off to the highest bidder for a few dollars. I’m sure the gossip rags will pay quite a penny for these photo gems.”
She blinked.
“Be lucky I don’t give you a makeover beforehand. The only reason I don’t slice your face from ear to ear, from forehead to chin then peel the skin off, is because I want you to be able to keep modeling. I want you out of Hollywood High and out of Rich’s life.”
She glared at me. Her nostrils flared. “Screw you, bitch! Do and say whatever you want. But be clear. I’m not going anywhere! So get used to seeing this beautiful face, because everywhere you are, it’s going to be . . .”
My phone buzzed again. “We’ll see, queen of the desert,” I warned as I quickly dug my cell out of my bag, keeping my eyes on London. “We’ll definitely see. Trust me. You’ll be going in a burning handbasket straight to hell. And I’ll be the one tossing the gasoline on you. When I’m done exposing you for the fraud you are, London, you’re going to curse the day your mother fished you out of that swamp she found you in.”
London’s eyes bulged. “Exxxcuuuse you?”
I sneered at her, sliding my hand down in my bag. “Don’t get all Helen Keller on me, you trash bucket. You heard what I said. You’ve been trouble from the moment you arrived. Well, put your diamonds up. It’s about to get real messy. And I’m going to be the one to sweep you up, you dirty birdie.”
I spun off on my heel, answering my phone as I shook my bouncy cakes out of the bathroom, leaving ole Miss Slumdog with her jaws askew, and her lace panties wrapped around her ankles.
19
London
As I sipped my apple martini—knowing I shouldn’t have been drinking anything except sparkling water laced with antacids after spending most of the day slumped over, on a toilet—I crossed my legs and eyed Rich over the rim of my frosted glass. I’d been watching the clock slow-tick all day at school, counting the hours until the last-period bell rang. My first day back at school was H-E-double L. I tried everything I could to get back into the groove of things, but to no avail.
I tried to block out Justice’s voice jarring and jabbing away at me. “I got this. I’m baggin’ that wit’out you . . . it’s over between us. I’m done wit’ you, London . . .” There was a hundred-and-sixty-pound weight crushing my heart and I needed help lifting it from my chest. And the only way to do that was by confronting the root of my anxiety. I needed to know just how much of a lying whore Rich really was.
It was a little after four o’clock and Rich and I were sitting at Club Tantrum—a swanky martini bar on Sunset Boulevard—having cocktails. And for it to be early in the day, it was already swirling with some of Hollywood’s youngest who’s who.
After Rich’s icy greeting this morning, then acting all shady during lunch, being her messy self, I decided to take the high road and extend an olive branch by inviting this borderline alcoholic out for drinks. It took a little . . . okay, a whole lot of prodding to get this moo-moo to finally agree to fit me into her life schedule.
So here we sat . . .
Rich frowned, tucking her hair behind her ears. “So what, you have no conversation, London? You invited me here and you haven’t said a word. Like, really? Seriously? I’m busy and I have other things to do, like ensuring my house manager oversees the organizing of my shoe closet, or she will be fired. I can’t sit here in silence with you. So you know what?” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her purse. “I’ve had two martinis, and unless you can find something to say, I’m out of here.” She flicked her wrist and the money floated onto the table.
I blinked.
She carried on. “Staring at me like I have hair between my teeth. Is that what they’re doing on the runways these days? Cat walking rudeness?”
I tilted my head, taking a deep breath. I didn’t come out to argue with this drama queen. My nerves were already rattled after my encounter with that Looney Tune psycho Spencer, kicking in the bathroom stall while I was using the bathroom, snapping ph
otos of me, then threatening to expose me. I was exhausted. Drained. And I was not in the mood for this. Not today.
“So, what’s new?” I forced myself to smile. “Give me all the dirt on what’s been going on since I’ve been gone.”
Rich waved me off. “Dirt? Girl, bye. Had you stayed in touch with me instead of pretending I didn’t exist when you were over in Milan with the French, thennnn you’d remember that I don’t sling dirt or gossip. No shade.” She looked over to the waitress coming our way and said to her, “Be a dear and get me another martini, please.” She then returned her attention to me. “Next conversation. Please and thank you.”
I stared at this bed bouncer like she was half-crazed.
The waitress quickly returned with her drink and Rich drained it in one gulp. Practically slamming her glass on the table, she spat, “Why are you recklessly eyeballing me? Do I need to snap for security?”
I cleared my throat, then took a deep breath and made an attempt to start again. “You know, Rich, we haven’t seen each other in forever, and haven’t spoken because you’ve been too busy to stay connected with me. And not once have you asked me how Milan was. Or welcomed me back.”
She bucked her eyes. “Whaat? Clutching pearls! Is that why you invited me out for drinks, so this could be all about you? You selfish slore! Is that all you think about, yourself? Jeezus, London, nine-one-one, what’s your emergency? Whatchu need, a hug? Besides, everyone knows London’s her own greatest cheerleader. You don’t need me screaming ‘Give me an L! Give me an O!’ What an epic fail! Humility is the new black, London. You better get into it.”
I banged my glass down on the round table in front of me, then took another deep, slow breath. I was three seconds from tossing the rest of my drink into Rich’s flawless face, then slamming my purse upside her dome.
She waved a finger at me, shaking her head. “Oh no, oh no, I don’t do violence! I’m a damn lady, honey, and I suggest you get your manners together. Is that what they’re doing over there in Peru?” She paused, as if she really expected me to answer that. “London, when I graciously accepted coming out with you I didn’t expect you to get all ghetto and low budget. Banging glasses, who does that? It’s not my fault that you have to wallow in self-pity, knowing you weren’t missed. Do you know how many years I spent at Hollywood High without you? What, did you think I would die? Girl, bye.” She gathered her purse, standing up. “I’m outta here. Thanks to you, my stress level is on ten and the only thing that will calm me at this moment is a pitcher of beer and some damn hot wings! Good day, ma’am! I’m trying to make moves and I refuse to be associated with rebels in heels.”
I pulled in another deep breath, counting backwards in my head. Ten, nine, eight, seven... I was really, really, on the verge of slipping out of my heels and slamming Rich to the floor. But I was trying my best to hold on to my damn cool. “Rich, wait. You’re right. That was so unladylike. Sit.” She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Please,” I added, forcing another fake smile.
She dusted invisible dirt from the sides of her black pencil skirt, then flopped back down. “Oh, I’ma sit. But. Don’t. Do. It. Again.”
I bit into my bottom lip as I opened my purse and pulled out my compact and a tube of Lip Rewind. I tossed my hair, composing myself. “Rich, girl. I’m stressed.” Well, that was true. “I’ve only been gone for two weeks and it feels like I’ve been gone for months.” And that was true, too. “Someone sent via courier”—I pulled out the two photos I’d had folded in my bag—“these anonymous pictures of some nasty whore’s fat ass while I was over in Europe. And I have no idea who the tramp is.”
I attempted to show them to her. She frowned and shifted in her seat, ignoring my outstretched hand. I shrugged it off and quickly stuffed the flicks back into my bag.
“Hmph. Well, don’t take it out on me. Stress kills. And being a freak does as well. So what is your obsession with walking around carrying naked booty pictures of another chick, anyway? Is that no homo or all homo?”
I frowned, trying to contain my annoyance. “It’s no homo. And I am not obsessed. I was simply sharing with you, someone who is supposed to be my best friend.”
“Yeah, supposed to be. That’s what I’ve been telling myself. That’s what I thought. Well, you know what? I’m tired of being the perfect best friend to everyone else. And I get nothing but backstabbers in return. All these tricks wanna do is turn on me. Talk to me crazy. Bang glasses down on tables before me like some backroom hoedown showdown! Which is exactly why my motto is no new friends.”
I blinked, stunned. “Wow. Where’s all of this coming from? Before I left we were besties, closer than ever. And now... seems like I’ve missed a lot since I’ve been gone.” I pulled the cap off my lip gloss then twisted a few clicks until a dollop of pink liquid popped out of the tiny sponge applicator. “I see you and Spencer are back cheesing it up. How’d that happen?” I glided the applicator over my lips. “Last I checked she was your enemy.”
Rich frowned. “Clutching pearls! Spencer was never my enemy. She’s yours. Spencer and I have been down from day one.” She paused. “And since when do you start questioning me, anyway? You’re the one who chose to chase dreams over the Italian rainbow. Tryna be the black Kate Moss. No, no . . .” She twisted her lips, shaking her head and clearing her throat. “Wait. Wait. Waiiit for it . . . Let me get my Mr. Westwick voice together in the same way he had when he told me over tea in his office how he had to set you straight. Tryna be ‘the Next Top Flop.’ He dragged you for filth with that, honey. Dead to the bed!”
I rolled my eyes. Screw Mister Westwick! And screw you! I popped my lips together, tossing my lip gloss back into my purse. I was seething inside. How dare this cheap, sleazy, slut muffin try to do me! Still, I managed to keep a phony smile plastered on my face.
Rich snapped her fingers to get the waitress’s attention and once the waitress turned around, Rich said, “Sweetie, I need another drink and this time can you bring me a pitcher of beer? These martinis aren’t doing a thing for my stress. God, I need me a glass of corn liquor to the head.”
“Coming right up.” The waitress gave a tight smile.
“Oh, and bring me a small platter of hot wings. Extra sauce. I’m eating light tonight.” Rich looked back at me. “Look, London. No shade. But don’t come back here two weeks late and wrong, after you’ve been play-pretending to be some famous nobody, trying to interrogate me like I’m some low-down jewel thief. You had the number-one slot before you left. And now you’ve been dropped down to number three. If you keep it up you’ll drop off the list.”
I shot her an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Ohmygod! And how am I now number three? And let me guess, Spencer’s number two, huh?”
This flesh eater!
“Girl, bye. If that’s what they’re teaching you over in the land of milk and honey and snow-covered hilltops, then take the wheel and spin off a cliff because you are out of control. Tryna do me. The fact Spencer’s number one is none of your business. All you need to know is, I’m keeping the number-two slot empty for someone who’s worthy of it. So count your blessings that you’re still in the top three . . . for now. And I recommend you not becoming my next top enemy.”
“Or what, Rich?” I rose up in my seat, placing a hand up on my hip, ready to slap this trick into next week. “You’ve been nothing but goddamn nasty to me since you got here and I’ve put up with it. But now it’s working my nerves. Now, what is wrong with you? I’ve been nothing but loyal to you. Obviously something you know nothing about.”
She turned her lips up. “You know what, London? You stay hatin’. Why would you care if I decide to be nice to a trickazoid? Spencer’s my homegirl. Always has been, always will be.”
In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but laugh at this silly clown. “Mmph. Really? Spencer’s your homegirl? Wow.” I shook my head. “You two chicks are real amusing. Mmph. I guess she would be your homegirl; both of you are two peas in the same damn h
o pod. I read all about the two of you trickin’ it up. You hookers are full of stunts. But it’s all good. I just can’t believe that you’d want to be friends with someone who tried to break you and Knox up.”
She rolled her eyes, flicking imaginary dirt from beneath her fingernails, slowly shaking her head. “Uh-uh. Spencer didn’t do that. I know her. She’s two thousand and one messy things, and yeah, she likes being the cleanup woman, neck bobbing someone else’s man, but the one thing I know she didn’t do is try to turn Knox against me. No. That was someone messy and desperate.”
I shifted in my seat.
She glared at me. “You and Spencer are the only two who knew. So I’m going to ask you. Were you the one who told Knox I had an abortion?”
I gave her a stunned look; feigned hurt that she’d even accuse me of doing such an awful thing. Then told her emphatically, without blinking an eye, “No.”
She stared at me long and hard. “Well, someone told him. And I know it wasn’t Spencer. Knox wouldn’t tell me who told him. But he did tell me I needed to watch the company I keep.”
“Well, I was the one who told you Spencer couldn’t be trusted. To watch her.”
She grunted. “No”—she tilted her head—“who I need to be watching is the messenger. But I’ma let it go . . . for now.”
I eyed the barmaid as she finally returned with a platter of hot wings glazed to perfection, a pitcher of beer, and one frosted mug. The waitress set the platter down in the center of the table, along with two plates and two forks and a stack of napkins. Then she filled Rich’s mug to the rim with beer. The waitress turned to me and asked if I wanted another martini. I told her I’d have a pomegranate one this time, and a glass of sparkling water.
I shifted in my seat, feeling my stomach knot as Rich dug into her wings. My lashes fluttered several times before my lids finally popped open. She licked her lips, dipping a wing into blue cheese sauce and sliding the whole thing into her mouth. When she pulled back, the bone was clean.
