“Towanna? Hello?”
Tapping the Bluetooth to redial her number, I cursed silently and crept back toward my bedroom. The line wouldn’t dial out at all and I could feel the sweat beading on my upper lip as sheer panic set in. Towanna had gone over at least a thousand different scenarios after we’d moved in, but none of them were like this. I went back to my room to put Lataya down in the middle of the bed, piling pillows on either side of her in case she rolled. I’d just started to go check Trey’s room one more time—the closet, under the bed—when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was that sixth sense you develop from playing hide and seek in the dark. Where you can just feel when someone or something is around a corner or in a darkened room.
My feet moved in the direction of the Lataya’s room, even though my brain said to be still. I was making my way back to Lataya’s room.
“Michelle, where y’all at?” Towanna called out from downstairs.
“I’m up here. I don’t know where Trey is.” I was on the verge of a complete meltdown, and my voice cracked.
“Get Taya; come here.”
I did as told, making my way toward Towanna. Her heavy-lidded eyes were wide and disturbed, her cheeks flushed. The crisp black uniform she always took so much pride in was wrinkled with dirt on the knees. Gone was the calm and reserved officer I’d spoken with on the phone. She actually looked frazzled and worried with her pistol drawn and her back pressed against the wall by the front door. The domino effect took place. That’s when one person freaks out or runs without saying a word and then everyone runs. She looked flustered, so in turn I got even more flustered.
“What is it?” I pleaded with her, “Please don’t tell me what I think it is. Did someone take him? Is he okay? Is he outside? Just let me see him,” I rambled at her wildly.
“Calm the hell down. The window was pried open around back and the panel box looks like someone fucked with it. Ennis, my partner, is out front calling it in now. Can’t figure out why the hell the alarm ain’t go off.”
“Where’s Trey? Towanna, did someone take my child?”
“Calm down, babe. I need you to focus while I sweep the house. Go get in the squad car; you’ll be safe while I check shit out. I’ma find him, okay?”
All I could do was nod. My heart was hacking away at my breastplate like a painful pendulum. It banged harder and louder by the second. I watched Towanna do something for me not many people would be willing to do. She was doing her best to stay brave and calm when my own hands were sweaty and shaking. In those quiet, painful seconds I came to the official conclusion that God punished Eve when she bit into that apple, and it wasn’t by giving her a monthly cycle or direct knowledge of good and evil. God’s specific punishment to Eve and all women was our hearts. Our hearts are our natural defects, our self-destruct buttons. We give our heart to a person and they have the power to destroy us with it or they can bring us back to life. Childbirth is a painful process that bonds us with our children. Yet it’s still possible for us to have spiritual, emotional, even heartfelt bonds with children who aren’t our own.
Shit, at the moment, my heart was damn near imploding from fear and simultaneously melting at the sight of Towanna taking care of me and my kids. I swore whoever or whatever was in the house wasn’t gonna have to lay a finger on me. At any moment my heart was gonna bust right out of my chest and kill me in the process. Oh, yes, hearts could also kill hearts. God gave Adam a little this and a little bit of that but he got Eve real good.
My ears rang like a silent fuse and I shook my head trying to clear it as I shuffled past her, trying not to wake up Lataya. A million crickets chirped in greeting as I made my way to the squad car where Officer Ennis sat waiting inside. My senses were on high alert. Everything from the stillness of the air to the lavender baby shampoo that lingered in Lataya’s hair bombarded my frazzled nerves. I gave Officer Ennis a soft, nervous smile as I opened the passenger side door of the squad car. It was a little embarrassing to meet him, as we’d never been formally introduced, and here I was in my damn robe with my hair all tied up. He was a cop; he probably met a ton of people looking this way though, if not worse.
He was focused on typing something into the laptop in the patrol car. The scanner in the car was going crazy, blaring so loud I was worried it’d wake Lataya up. She could sleep through a tornado, and with the rum I’d given her she wasn’t budging, but that shit was overly annoying. Instead of sitting down, I opted to stand beside the car where the door could still shield me. Nervous and fidgety, I tried to make small talk.
“Hi, Officer Ennis. I’m Michelle. Officer Towanna said to come wait out here. Any idea how long before backup arrives?”
Something brushed up against my ankle and my nerves were so shot I screamed, waking Lataya in the process. She instantly started wailing. A white Persian kitten with cotton ball–fluffed fur purred up at me. I glared down, debating on kicking the living daylights out of its little ass. Towanna came running up behind me.
“What the fuck is it? Michelle? Ennis? What’s wrong?” she demanded.
I couldn’t answer. My eyes were glued on the ribbon tied around the kitten’s neck.
“Oh no, Ennis! No. No. No. Michelle, take Trey,” Towanna screamed, but her words fell on deaf ears.
There was no way in hell this could be possible. That Persian was Sodom and Gomorrah and at the moment I was Lot’s wife. I stood there, nothing but a useless pillar of salt punished for daring to look at it. Attached to the blue ribbon around the damn cat’s neck was a little card; even from where I was standing I could see the bright gold letters. Towanna’s voice was panicked and frantic in the background; she was in the squad car calling in Ennis’s murder. His throat was slit.
Trey quietly scooted past me.
“Ooh a kitty, Mommy.” He kneeled down to pet her.
Tears fell down my face as I was motionless, afraid to move, afraid to look around, and even more worried about the fact we were all outside in the open, exposed.
Trey continued to admire the tiny fluff ball. He was determined to pick her up. “Is dis for my birfday tomorrow, Mommy? It says my name, see?” He pointed to the card and went back to cooing at the kitten. “You can sleep with me under Taya’s crib. I don’t like my new room.”
Somewhere in my head I was screaming for him to get away from it, afraid that it’d blow up or try to claw him to death. As if Honey had actually sent some kind of trained attack kitten. How could she possibly even know when Trey’s birthday was and how the fuck could she have found us? My knees felt like they were about to give out and my stomach was queasy.
There was no way in hell Rah could be—
“Michelle . . .”
Towanna’s strained voice broke through my cluttered thoughts.
“Get Trey; we need to get inside. Right now.”
I barely nodded, grabbing Trey by the hand. He cradled his newfound fur ball from hell like he was carrying a football. I didn’t feel like arguing with him over that damn cat. There’d be time for me to launch it out the back door or chuck it down the garbage disposal later. Right now, my main concern was getting us inside safely.
Chapter 2
The Miami Blues
The view from the window of our penthouse on the top floor was depressing. It was a “tired after a long day, going to check your mailbox and getting a postcard of a beautiful beach at sunset” depressing. I got the honor of having an upper-level front-row seat to one of the most beautiful attractions in the world. Yet, I wasn’t allowed to feel the sun and the sand or smell the salt spray from the ocean on the breeze. This had to be one of hell’s third dimensions. It was like baking chocolate chip cookies without eating a single one, or hitting a blunt without inhaling.
In my jealous state of envy I’d started calling the little shadowed figures in different stages of beach enjoyment “sheeple.” I’d combined the words sheep and people. That’s how all the little blotchy outlines looked from where we sat. The sheeple
always followed all the rules and did as they were told. The sheeple didn’t break laws. The sheeple bought the movie tickets and were instantly in love with me. The movie premiered a week ago and its instant success made me feel almost like being an escaped convict again. Cameras were starting to appear everywhere we went, and I had interviews lined up all over the place. Angelo had already accepted another script on my behalf. He didn’t ask my opinion or anything. Since the directors didn’t want a reading I wasn’t sure if he’d paid them off or if they’d requested me. I’d had the script for a month and only half-assed studied my lines. That was pushing it with filming set to start in a day or two. It was whatever; they could fire me for all I cared. I thought I’d be flying around the world actually doin’ shit. Here I was still stuck up in my glass cage, Angelo’s little identity reassignment program sucked. Watching my sheeple be boring sheeple was slowly helping me get over the anger I felt every time I thought about it. Instead of stressin’ over movies and appearances I could be making sure Michelle was getting dealt with.
Yeah, but the sheeple’s asses are down there enjoying the beach while you up here.
“Jimmy One Side is the only person I got who’ll vouch for yous right now. We still need more of the family to speak up in your favor so she’ll forget about all this retribution foolishness.” Angelo sat across from me at our little dinner table, jabbing his fork in my direction to get his point across.
I hated that fork pointy shit; it made me feel like he was subliminally stabbing me every time he jabbed it into the air. “Why do y’all call him that anyway? Wait, I know. It’s because of those burgers that he makes at all the barbeques. They all charred black on one side and still mooing when you flip ’em over?” I giggled at my clever observation.
Every time we went over that fool’s house I had to make sure I ate beforehand because nothing that man cooked was edible. The macaroni and cheese would be crisp on top with half-cooked noodles halfway toward the bottom; fried chicken would be smellin’ all nice and when you bit into it, ugh. It’s a wonder he didn’t get married just so he’d have someone to cook for him.
The sound of Angelo’s fork clattering to the table made my laughter stop. I’d done gone and pissed him off again.
“No, lucky for yous they call him that because he only gots to hear one side of a story before he decides to body a man or not. The rest of the family ain’t been so keen on losing blood over . . .” His sentence trailed off as he sneered at me across the table and my appetite was immediately gone.
“Over what? Go ahead and say it, Angelo. It ain’t like I can’t figure the shit out. Over a black woman? Because aside from you and Mommy dearest I think eight-tenths of your family’s in the system, so I know they can’t have a problem with that part of my background.”
Sliding my chair out from the table I threw my napkin down on my plate. I’d barely touched my baked ziti and garlic sautéed zucchini I spent half the day making. Yep, I’d learned a thing or two up in the kitchen. Boy, if Mimi could see me now she’d cluck her tongue and ring a bell to get rid of the demon she’d say I was possessed with. The old me would have never stepped foot in a kitchen unless it was to fix myself a plate or look in the fridge. What else did I have to do with my time these days? Once we wrapped filming, if we weren’t at a club hosting an event, I was here online socializing and gossiping with Sir’Tavius pointing out who’s who. There was only so much of that I could do in one day. Sir’Tavius would then come by and force me into umpteen different outfits and show me what went with what so my look would “stay ahead of the game.”
Angelo refused to order out from Olive Garden or IHOP, even though they were still my favorite spots. If it wasn’t home cooked he’d scrunch his face up, calling it “overpriced airplane food.” The cooking network was my best friend and my ass was getting fluffier by the day. Angelo’s ungrateful behind was getting spoiled, too. I never got a “thank you” or “the food’s good,” nothing. Even now, he just sat there anxiously pushing food around on his plate, and when he wasn’t doing that he was air forking me to damn death.
I’d learned that you never got up from dinner without being excused. These folk took meals serious as all hell, and walking out in the middle was rude and beyond disrespectful. “I’m gonna take a walk; I need some fresh air, Angelo. We’ve been up under each other too much. I really just need to get up out of here for a few minutes.”
Rumors had started circulating within the family again about Angelo’s mom holding his half brother and sister Lania and Key’s death over my head and it was absolute bullshit. Angelo got all prune-faced when I asked for details about his last conversation with his mom. It couldn’t have been good if he’d actually refused to never speak to her again afterwards. It wasn’t my fault. It was Angelo’s decisions to solicit their help in dealing with Michelle and then Keyshawn being a typical man had to go get his dick caught up in the spokes of Michelle and Larissa’s love triangle. They got sloppy doing their part with Michelle, not me. Yeah, some fresh air would really do me good right now.
“And what if someone recognizes you? Been starin’ at that TV so long it’s done started to addle that brain of yours? You forgetting yous not a regular person anymore, huh? Come back here,” he shouted, kicking his chair from under him. He marched over and planted himself in front of me, blocking my path.
Angelo’s little temper tantrum didn’t mean shit to me. I was undersexed, under stress, and so over his ass at the moment I didn’t even care. His eyes were dark and turbulent like the underside of a thundercloud. They always got that way when he was excited or irritated, like right before we fucked or moments before he had to kill someone.
His voice was now cold and unemotional. “So, no talkin’, jus’ like that? We have a disagreement and this one needs to take a walk, huh?”
I ain’t pay him any mind. The only reaction he got from “this one” was an eye roll and a smirk.
I pulled the door closed behind me, tilting the brim of my fitted baseball hat so low it touched the frames of my sunglasses. It felt like I hadn’t been outside on my own in ages as I took in the sights and sounds of Miami nightlife like I was seeing it all for the first time. For October it was still humid as hell so I tied my jacket around my waist, loving the feel of the moist air as it kissed my skin.
At least something was kissing my skin. Angelo won’t doin’ a damn thing for me except workin’ my nerves.
All the boutiques on this part of the strip were flashy and crowded. The storefronts all seemed to be fighting with each other for attention. There were plenty of pretty sundresses and heels that caught my eye. But Lord knows I had more Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs, and brands in my closet than I knew what to do with. The only reason I stopped at one particular spot was because I wanted to relax and stay low-key. It seemed conducive to both. After debating whether I should go in, I found myself in the small parlor, staring down into a pond filled with the prettiest fish.
“Those are Japanese koi. The gold ones are the most popular. They’re called Yamabuki. They represent wealth.”
I turned to address whoever had spoken to me and froze. He looked familiar as hell, and faces ran through my brain as I tried to remember every man I’d ever seen or spoken to. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.
“Um, Honey?” He pointed at me, waiting.
My mind went blank, like I literally couldn’t think of a lie or an alibi, so I slowly started to shake my head no like a mute fool. I began backing away with my heart in my throat.
“Oh, sorry about that. The tattoo on your shoulder, I thought it was your name and um, I knew a stripper with that name. Not that I’m calling you a stripper or anything, ma’am. I’m sorry. Let me shut up.”
Oh hell on hot wheels. Does this mothafucka know me from the Hot Spot? Did I dance for his ass or something? The door wasn’t but four steps behind me. I could’ve been out of it and on my way when my adrenaline finally slowed down enough to let his words register. How the hell cou
ld I have overlooked my tattoo? My mental Rolodex finally kicked in and I was so excited all the refining and training flew right out the window. I debated for a hair of a second on whether or not I should say something, but I was just so excited at seeing a familiar face.
“Hold the fuck up . . . ain’t no way,” I blurted out, staring up at him in complete shock.
He nodded and smiled in confusion, his rough lumberjack features softening as he broke into a slow grin.
“Big Baby, what in the hell? I thought you was locked up! It is me; well, a new me. I go by Desi now. But yes.” I threw my arms out like I’d just flashed before him like ninja magic. “It’s me, Honey, or the actress known as Desivita Dulce’.”
“Well, look at yo’ li’l escapee superstar self. Congratulations, girl. You’ve got to tell me how you did it,” he responded before scooping me up into a tight bear hug.
It felt so good to see someone from home; hell, Big Baby felt good as a bitch, too. The thin fabric of his clothes didn’t leave much to the imagination. His body was like a rock wall pressed up against mine. They looked something like doctor’s scrubs except they were all black. My mind went to some domination bondage shit. As soon as my feet were back on the ground I took myself back over to look at the damn koi. I needed a dickstraction, as in something to distract me from the “bad touch” thoughts I was suddenly having about Big, even though I needed some kind of distraction from Angelo’s sudden lack of not knowing how to put it down at home. I hope this next movie has some love scenes or something gracious.
“I’ll tell you what I can tell you one of these days. You just have to swear that you’ll neva eva eva in your long-legged life say you’ve seen Honey. You can’t remove tattoos up in this shop can you? No, I’m messing, but I wanna hear about you. What happened to you? How’d you get out? You feel goo . . . I mean you look good. You look really good. The beard is mad Paul Bunyanish on you but I kind of like it in a ‘chop down some trees’ kind of way.”
Baby Momma Saga, Part 2 Page 3
