by Ni-Ni Simone
She shook her head, putting a hand up. “Enough! I don’t want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth because, obviously, the only thing it’s good for is blowing on some boy’s trumpet. And I’m not talking about the ones in music class!”
Kitty prissed past me, slinging her hair and almost slapping me with the curled ends as she exited the kitchen in dramatic fashion; stage left, her heels angrily stabbing into the floor.
Ole spoiled pudding pop!
“Oh, so this little sea monkey wants to go hunt, huh?” I said to myself as I dug through my bag, yanking out my cell. “I’ll show her! Trying to play me for some ole stale biscuit. I warned her!”
I waited for Heather’s phone to ring. The line rang twice, then... Oh nooooothehotholywax she didn’t! The crusty beeeeyotch sent me straight to voice mail. “Heather! This is Spencer! You have officially bent over and yanked your G-string off! You need to call me ASAP! Do you hear me? Do not have me slice into that new booty of yours, Heather! Because you know I will deflate your airbags! Now fiddle me a new roof if you want and I’ll set it on fire up in here!”
21
Heather
Slowly, I eased the gleaming silver spoon from this morning’s food tray and lifted it to my face. I could see my reflection clearly. My paper-bag-brown skin was blotched with purple bruises.
My nose: broken.
My scalp: stung.
My lips: due to burst into flames at any moment.
My stomach: sore.
My new Brazilian ached, but thank God my implants were still intact.
Camille tried to kill me.
Ruin me.
Destroy me.
Annihilate me.
And if it hadn’t been for the nurses’ station outside of my room, I would’ve sworn she had. But she hadn’t.
I was in the hospital with some dumb blonde standing at the foot of my bed.
“Heather.”
I lifted my eyes and peered at her. Her skin was the color of skim milk and the navy blue dress she wore made her look opalescent. Her dark, narrow eyes were draped with concern and I knew by the way she held her lips that whatever she had to say she’d practiced a million times before.
“I’m Mrs. Neilson,” she continued. “From Child Protective Services.” She attempted to hand me a business card. I let it dangle in the air. After seeing that I made no effort to reach for it, she tucked it into the side of the notebook she held. “I’m a social worker from the department of Child Protective Services.”
My job is to keep you safe...
“My job is to keep you safe.”
And I’m here to talk to you about what’s been going on.
“And I’m here to talk to you about what’s been going on.”
My heart thundered. I knew the script. Knew each line word for word. And I knew how the story unfolded. Ugly. Harsh. I’d been forced into the role, lived it, once before. My breath quickened as fear crept in.
Relax.
I can’t.
You’re not five anymore.
I feel five.
But you’re not!
Then why am I scared?
And why can I barely breathe?
Blondie took a step toward me and gently placed a hand over mine.
I froze.
The last time a social worker took my hand, I was five and she was squeezing my wrist, dragging me into foster care. That was not about to happen. Not this time! I didn’t give a damn what I had to do or say... I was not letting this translucent, ghostly child-snatcher drag me away from my life. From my newfound freedom. I’d slice her first before I’d let that happen again. I snatched my hand from beneath hers and her thin fingers slipped over the bed railing.
She glanced at me in shock and I could tell that she’d swallowed her first sentence. Instead of saying how she really felt, she proceeded with the rest of her practiced speech. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Oh, I know that. Because I would fly kick you in the chest first.
“I’m here to help you.”
I don’t need your help! I got this!
“You’re only sixteen—”
Sixteen and a grown woman. And have been grown. For years.
“And you deserve to be safe—”
I don’t want your safety. The last time they—Child Protective Services—called themselves keeping me safe, they’d placed me in a home with a foster mother who kept sneaking into my bedroom, slipping out of her nightgown and sliding into my twin bed, telling me it was okay for her to force my hands into unthinkable places, brainwashing me into believing that it was okay if I let a woman touch me, while whispering nasty promises to make me feel good.
No, bish! Eff you and your safety!
“Where is my mother?” I demanded, choking back tears. My lips felt like quivering five-pound weights.
Blondie’s brow creased.
“Where is my mother?” I screamed.
“Calm down,” she said in a soothing tone.
“Don’t tell me what to do! Now where is my mother?”
“She’s being detained for physically abusing you.”
Under any other circumstances, imagining Camille in jail would’ve made me smile. Trust. I wanted nothing more than to lose her. To be done with her. Rid of her. But not like this. No. It had to be on my terms. My way.
Think... Think... Think...
I don’t know what to say.
You better say something. And quick!
I hate Camille! She’s the cause of all this mess!
Then leave her in jail and be carted off to some godforsaken foster home—or worse, a group home. God knows what’ll happen to you there!
Think... Think... Think...
“What?” I spat, feigning shock while shooting poisonous daggers at her. “Are you frickin’ stupid, lady? Abusing me? My mother? Get out of my room with your lies! My mother never beat me! Ever!”
“When you were five she was a raging alcoholic . . .”
What did she say?
She continued, “And she beat you until the skin curled off of your back.” She gave me an intense stare and I could tell that her comment was payback for me calling her stupid and crazy. “She was the reason we removed you from her care the first time. And she’s the reason you’ll . . .”
I tried to chew the left corner of my bottom lip but pain shot through my face. Instead, I closed my eyes and did all I could to erase the memory of Camille slashing me with a hairbrush across my tiny back, simply because I didn’t want her to drink anymore and poured all of her scotch into the toilet.
But. That was the last time that happened.
I opened my eyes.
I’ve been fighting her back since then. And I would’ve gotten the better of her this last time had she not snuck me. And had Co-Co’s Fruity Pebbles helped me fight Camille, instead of standing there acting like he’d just won third runner-up in RuPaul’s Drag Race, I wouldn’t be the one laid up in this hospital bed.
Technically, this was his fault.
He was the real reason why I was in here like this and why this blond bish stood over me like she was God. Like she was my savior. Trick, please! If I wasn’t so sore and laid up in this hospital bed, I would find Co-Co, slap shim to the floor and drag Miss Thing around the room!
“First of all, Miss Know-It-All,” I snapped defensively, “back up outta my face. Then go get your facts right. My mother isn’t the reason I was taken from her; you people are. But it worked. My mother learned her lesson and she has never put her hands on me since then! End of discussion. She’s a wonderful mother!”
She tilted her oversized head. Gave me one of those “yeah right, try again” looks. “Oh, really? Since when? Is that before or after her first drink? She does still drink, doesn’t she? And not so long ago your mother was arrested!”
Oh, this ghost-face was way out of order. I balled my hands into tight fists. I was ready to take it to her forehead.
“I said she didn’t
touch me!”
“Well, someone did. And when the police and I arrived on the scene, you were passed out and the young girl who was there with you was screaming about how your mother beat you to death. She said your mother was always beating you.”
“It wasn’t a she. It was he. A shim!”
“Well, he, she, shim, also said that your mother spent all of your money and that the two of you were now homeless.”
I can’t believe Co-Co turned on me and snitched. Now he needed to get stitched! I took two deep breaths. “Co-Co’s a liar,” I calmly stated. “I fell into the wall. That’s what happened to me. I wasn’t beat by my mother.”
She didn’t respond. She stared at me long and hard. Blinked. Then waited for me to offer her more. I quickly dug into my virtual Wu-Wu bag and pulled out one of my scripts of lies.
On cue, tears sprang from my eyes. “I can’t believe that drug-dealing fiend would spread those lies about me! I’ve been nothing but a friend to that boy! If anyone needs help from you, it’s Mr. Confusion! I could have left him for dead when I found him passed out from a pill overdose. But I didn’t. I stayed true to him. I was there for him when his own family wasn’t. And this is how he repays me. By spreading malicious lies about my mother. His daddy kicked him out and he tried to kill himself! And you want to believe the word of some homeless high school dropout who ran off to live in K-town, where he sells drugs . . .”—I paused, shaking my head and dabbing my eyes with the back of my fingertips—“and sells his boy parts to the highest bidder.”
She frowned. “I’m not here to discuss him or his plight. This is about you. The hospital is ready to discharge you, but you have no family members willing to take you in, or whom you can be released to. So until we can find a more suitable arrangement for you, I’m here to take you into custody.”
“Over my dead body!” I cried out. “Bish! I told you my mother didn’t touch me! We were attacked!”
“Oh, now you both were attacked, huh? A few minutes ago, you reported that you fell into the wall.”
“I was thrown into a wall! Six masked men bum-rushed into my motel room and tried to rob us for what little we have. My mother and I fought them and—”
“You’re both lucky to be alive,” a voice said from the doorway. “Don’t say another word, darling.”
Pasty Face and I both turned to look. It was Kitty, Spencer’s mother.
I hid my surprise. A painful smile slid across my swollen lips and a lone tear fell from my eyes. Real tears this time! The Devil was here to pull me from the fire! “Auntie!” I bawled. “Oh Aunt-Aunt-Auntie Kitty! They’re trying to take me! Please don’t let them take me!”
Kitty rushed over to me, placed her handbag beside my right thigh, and draped an arm over my shoulders. “Oh no no no, my darling.” She pulled me into her embrace. “You hush. Auntie Kitty is here. And no one is taking you anywhere.” She looked up at the social worker. “And who are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Neilson.” She handed Kitty her card.
Kitty scanned the words on the card. “Oh, I won’t be needing that, so you can tuck that back into your little billfold. Now how can I help you, Miss... ?”
“Nielson,” she repeated dryly. “I’m from Child Protective—”
“Oh, I know where you’re from,” Kitty stated, easing up off the bed. “I want to know what are you doing here badgering my niece?”
“We were called in. There was a report of physical abuse by—”
“Aunt Kitty, I told her that my mother never touched me! But she won’t believe me. Instead she believes Co-Co and the police.”
“Co-Co?” Kitty said, surprised.
“Yes! And she said that she was taking me with her and I had to go to a group home.” More tears, this time with snot and spittle for effect.
A cunning smile eased across Kitty’s face. I didn’t know what she would pull out of her bag of treachery, but I knew she would skin Pale Face alive.
“A group home?” She batted her lashes. “And what family did you call, may I ask? Because clearly no one even bothered calling me. Nor did anyone from your agency bother to speak to my sister . . .”
Blondie blinked. Even I had to blink at that one. If I weren’t in a desperate state I would have burst out laughing at the thought of Camille and Kitty being sisters.
“Yes, dear,” Kitty continued, eyeing Blondie, “you heard me right. My. Sister. My beautiful, white-chocolate, adopted half sister, whom you clearly forgot to pay a visit to before making your way here. And you, Mrs. Lawson—”
“It’s Neilson,” she corrected.
Kitty flicked her a dismissive wave. “Whatever it is. You are out of line coming up in here interrogating my niece. Do you have a court order?”
“Well, no. But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Miss Princeton,” Kitty said, putting a hand up to stop her from speaking. “You come up in here, flaunting your authority but with no court order. And I know you have not contacted any of her other relatives in West Virginia.”
That’s because they don’t want me. Some half-black, half-white mutt.
“Well, we, uh . . .”
“Well nothing, Mrs. Jamison. You’ve crossed the line. I will not hesitate to call John Carrington, the head of your agency and a dear, dear, darling friend of mine, and have not only your job but your social-work license as well. And by the time I’m done with you, Mrs. Jenkinson, you’ll be sweeping floors! You’ll be shoveling hay to horses on some animal farm.” Kitty spun on her heel. “Now, let me show you to the door.” She stopped and turned to face Blondie. “But of course you could always stay and test me. But I promise you, dear. You won’t like the end result.”
Pow! Now kick rocks, beyotch!
All the blood rushed from this trick’s face and her skin went from skim milk to crimson.
“Choice is yours,” I said, curling the corners of my swollen lips into a smile.
Kitty shot me a scathing look. I lowered my lashes sheepishly.
The bish swallowed and said, “It was very nice meeting you two. I think you better stay away from walls, young lady. You two take care.”
Kitty smiled. “You as well, Mrs. Williamson.”
My dimples sank into my cheeks as I turned to look at Kitty, who was closing the door behind the social worker.
“Thank you,” I whispered, reaching for a few napkins and wiping my eyes then blowing my nose.
Kitty charged over to me and roughly snatched my aching chin. I tried to move away but I couldn’t. “Thank you?” she sneered. “You shut your filthy pill-trap, you sniveling little snot. You ungrateful little witch. You have lost your damn mind going missing for three weeks! Drugging your guardian! Attacking reporters! Tricking up money! And then coming back here and talking all slick-tricky to Camille when she confronts you. That little charade was not about saving you, little girl. That was about looking out for my money. My investments! And there are three things—and you had better start taking notes—that I don’t take kindly to anyone screwing with: my ratings, my money, and my boy toys. And not always in that order.”
She glared at me through slits of fire. I knew one wrong word, one wrong look, one rash move, and she’d finish what Camille failed to do. Kill me.
“I had arranged for you to have your fast tail on the set of Luda Tutor, a major production. And instead of you being on your best behavior, staying clean and focused, you take the first dollar you get and snort it as if you think I don’t know. Then you go to that rathole you and Camille were staying in and you attack her!”
“I didn’t attack her!”
“Oh yes, you did!”
“She dragged me around the room!”
“You deserved it! I’ve been too kind to you, Miss Missy. And you have done nothing but act like a spoiled, entitled, broke-down little Hollywood brat! I will not have it! Do you know how much money I have lost behind you, huh? Do you?”
“I can still be Luda Tutor,” I reasoned, sniffling.
; She scoffed. “Are you crazy? Silly girl. Disney doesn’t want to touch you. You’re too much of a liability. Your face is all over the gossip rags, the blogs, everywhere! Everywhere! And do you know what the headlines are saying? ‘Heather Cummings, Child Star, Turns To Drugs Once More!’ And the source closest to you says that this time you’re snorting some new street drug called murder.”
I felt a dropkick land in my chest. I’m going to kill Co-Co!
“No, you will not be Luda Tutor, Miss Murder! I’ve already given that part away to a clean and wholesome girl. No. You, little Miss Pill-Popping Junkie, will do reality TV.”
“What? I’m not—”
“Not is not a part of your vocabulary when you’re addressing me. So don’t you ever tell me what you’re not going to do. Whether you believe it or not, you sold your soul over to me. And my name is Kitty Ellington!”
She glared at me and pressed the tip of her sharp nail up to my eyelid.
Oh my God! Now I know where Spencer gets her craziness!
I was mortified.
“My name is not Camille. Or should I say Norma Marie. I’m not a junkie or a drunk. Therefore, you will do what I tell you. And the only words I expect to hear come out of your mouth when speaking to me are please and thank you. If not, I will pluck your eyeballs out. Have you reading braille, wondering what your cellmate looks like when I have you shipped back to the detention center. Cross me and see what happens next. I will have them put you away until you’re twenty-one! And I, my darling, have the money, the power, the resources, and the connections to do it.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
I swallowed and my tears dripped over Kitty’s finger. She viciously flicked them back into my face. “Save the crocodile tears for the cameras,” she jeered.
Maybe I should’ve gone with the social worker. Yes, that’s exactly what I should’ve done. “Wh-wh-where’s my mother?”
“In a two-day detox; apparently where you need to be.”
“I’m not using drugs. I swear to you, Aunt Kitty.”
