Roman and Jewel

by Dana L. Davis

  “Judas!” I lurch forward and hug him.

  He shouts, “Glad you made it back from your trip in one piece, sis!”

  I turn to Zeppelin. “This is Zeppelin. He’s okay!”

  Judas extends his hand. “Happy to see you alive, man.”

  “Happy to be alive.” Zeppelin and Judas shake hands.

  “So what’s going on?” I ask.

  “Jerzie,” he starts. “First of all, when I got to the door, I wasn’t on the list. I thought maybe I could get in on your name. No dice. You weren’t on the list either. I didn’t have a phone or a way to contact Cinny, so I stood outside for like forever. Lookin’ like a damn fool. Thank goodness I ran into your friends from the show. They sneaked me in through the back. Speaking of which, Damon’s got the video on his phone, they’re upstairs.”

  Video?

  We follow Judas up a set of stairs lit and somehow glowing from underneath. When we reach the top, I see Angel, Damon, and Lorin playing a game of pool at one of the many tables. I can’t help but glare at the three. One of them has added ruining Zeppelin’s life to their plush résumé.

  “Oh my God, he lives.” Damon tosses his pool stick on the table, and suddenly all three descend upon Zeppelin in a mash-up of hugs and happy greetings.

  “Why haven’t you called me back?” Lorin is squeezing Zeppelin, her eyes tightly closed, her head resting on his shoulder. “I thought you were dead or something.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Zeppelin replies. “My phone got smashed. Couldn’t contact anybody.”

  Lorin’s eyes are welling up with tears. Was it her? Was she the one who did it? She has been moping around the studios.

  “How’d you get in?” Angel asks us. “Don’t tell me She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put you on the list? I won’t believe it.”

  Zeppelin turns to me. “Jerzie used her internet stardom to get us past security. What about you guys?”

  “Same,” Damon admits. “That bitch didn’t have any of us on the list like she said she would. Thankfully fans recognized me from Sing Star and I was able to get Lorin and Angel in by saying they’re in the show with me. We sneaked your brother in after that.”

  “Cinny’s performing in one of the upstairs rooms. Right now,” Angel says. “Select guests only. But Wesley recognized us earlier, and we got to watch her mic check.”

  “Wesley?” I repeat.

  “Her security guard,” Damon reminds me.

  “And it’s crazy dark in there,” Angel adds. “So she didn’t see us come in. She had no clue we were watching her.”

  “Show her the video.” Judas motions to Damon.

  Damon extends his phone. A video is playing on his screen. I watch as Cinny finishes one of her most popular songs. She brings the mic closer to her mouth. “So then I’ll talk for a few seconds about the new song? Right?”

  Not sure who she’s talking to and can’t hear their reply back to her. But Cinny replies, “I’ll say something like, Spade produced this. We laid down the vocals tonight actually. Blah blah. It’s gonna be my new single. Yada yada. Y’all are gettin’ an exclusive listen. Then I’ll start the song.”

  I recognize the song as it begins. It’s the track Cinny played for me and Judas earlier today. But then she begins to sing. It’s the melody I made up. The lyrics are not mine. But the melody is.

  “She’s singing my song.” I look at Judas and smile. “She’s using my melody?”

  Judas shakes his head despondently. “Keep watching.”

  The song ends and someone steps to Cinny. She’s still mic’d so I hear her when she says, “Omigosh thank you. Me and Spade wrote it. It’s our very first collab.” She laughs. “It’s like our ode to Steven Tyler. An R & B rock fusion. We decided to get grimy with it. You know? I’ve been trying to get Spade to write a song with me for years, and he finally likes something of mine. Finally.”

  And then the mic turns off, and I can no longer hear her. Nothing else I wanna see anyway. An ode to Steven Tyler? Ha! She didn’t even know who he was! I hand the phone back to Damon. The Earth is slowing to a screeching halt once again. Tsunamis are destroying the coastlines. Trees are being uprooted. But the world isn’t ending. Just me being sensible is. Though, if I’m being honest, sensible went out the window quite a few hours ago.

  “She’s not gettin’ away with this. This is where I draw the line.”

  I storm off.

  “Jerzie, wait!” Zeppelin rushes to catch up with me, grabbing my arm and stopping me at the base of the stairs. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Confront her!” I cry. “Zeppelin, I wrote what she’s singing. I came up with it today. It was on the fly, but still. She told me it wouldn’t work for what she wanted, and now she’s trying to pass it off as her own? Zeppelin, it’s not right. I’m not as good as you, okay? What’s right is right. She’s wrong.”

  “I know, but...” He takes my hand and pulls me away from the foot traffic flowing up and down the stairs. “Jerzie.” Zeppelin’s eyes look desperate under the glow of the lit staircase. “You can’t prove it. She’ll deny it.”

  “So what? She might deny it, but at least she’ll know I know.”

  There’s suddenly a lot of commotion coming from the third floor. Cheers, screams, people shouting Cinny’s name. She’s emerging. I dart away from Zeppelin and race up the stairs. I hear him calling after me, but I’m moving so fast, I’m not sure I could stop if I wanted to, racing up two steps at a time.

  When I reach the top, I see a crowd has gathered at a door to one of the rooms near the back. Cinny’s being guided by two security guards plus Wesley, and waving as she’s being led toward an elevator. She’s leaving? I can’t miss this opportunity.

  “Cinny!!” I scream so loud it gives her instant pause.

  I push through the crowd and easily make it to the front. Cinny looks downright spooked to see me emerge. A few seconds later, an out-of-breath Zeppelin has made it to my side. He places a hand on my shoulder. Ha. As if that can stop me.

  One of the security guards steps in front of her as I shake off Zeppelin’s hand and approach.

  “Nah, it’s cool.” Cinny extends her hand, gently pushing the guard to the side. “The fuck, Jerzie? What the entire fuck are you doing at my party with Zeppelin Reid?” She motions toward him. “You know what he did to me. Why would you think this would be cool? I should have him arrested for trespassing.”

  “Cinny, have a heart.” Adrenaline is pumping, my heart is beating so fast, I feel faint. “He’s your ex-lover. Don’t be cruel.”

  “Seriously, what are you doing?” She crosses her arms. “You making yourself look mad stupid right now.”

  “Am I? Oh, by the way, how’d your set go, Cinny? How’s your new single?”

  She takes a step closer to me, whispering, “I was gonna tell you the good news. The label liked the melody, so we’re gonna use it.”

  “Sweet,” I whisper. “Do they know I wrote it?”

  “Jerzie.” She cocks her head. “Be sensible.”

  “I’m the very antithesis of anything close to sensible.”

  “What does that mean?” Her brow furrows. “Look, don’t be weird about it, but Spade isn’t gonna put his name next to yours. You’re like, nobody.”

  No, she did not. “So, you’re really gonna pass off my work as your own?” I cry. “Cinny, I realize you’re a hot-ass mess, but don’t be this bad.”

  “Who are you, Jerzie?” She’s speaking loud enough for people to hear now. Which makes her security guards take a protective step toward her. She waves them away. “Can’t you motherfuckers see I’m not in any danger?” She turns back to me. “Jerzie, honey.” She’s smiling, talking softly again. She places a hand on my shoulder, as if we’re having a peaceful chat. “You think you get to write a song with Spade?” She laughs. “You think you get to come ou
t of nowhere? Out of the freakin’ New Jersey sticks and one-up me?”

  “Careful, Cinny,” I reply. “I’m your best friend. You wouldn’t talk to your best friend like this, would you?”

  “Bitch, bye.” She laughs again. “Literally. Bye. Get the fuck out of my party before I have you charged with trespassing, too.” She looks over my shoulder at Zeppelin. “And take him with you. How’s the unemployment line, Zepp?”

  She tries to move away, but I grab her arm.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Is your boyfriend here, Cinny? Your real one? The one you saved as Zeppelin in your phone because you’re a maniac, a psychopath, and probably a sociopath, too?”

  She snatches her arm away and steps back to me. “You think you’re better than me, Jerzie? Little Miss Goody Two-shoes. ‘Nothing’s going on with me and Zeppelin, I swear to you, Cinny.’” She dramatically imitates me. “That’s what you said. You’re a liar, too! You’re no better than me. Don’t you dare judge me!”

  “I am better than you,” I cry. “I didn’t tell you about Zeppelin because I didn’t wanna cause trouble. To hurt you. Then I find out you were only pretending to like him, in some sick and twisted game meant to hurt me.”

  “I wasn’t pretending!” she yells.

  I notice the crowd that’s gathered. Some of them have their phones out now and are recording this little interaction between Cinny and me. We’re officially making a grand scene.

  “I wasn’t pretending. Okay?” She looks at Zeppelin now. “Please explain what it is about her? She came out of nowhere, and suddenly she’s the one that gets your attention?” She looks back at me. “I’ll never get what he could possibly see in somebody as basic as you. It’s the new mystery of my life.”

  “Wow, Cinny.” I shake my head. “At least I know what you really think of me.”

  “Trust me, I’m being nice.”

  My hands ball into fists.

  “Oh, what?” She laughs. “You gonna hit me? Lay one hand on me! I dare you. Your ass will rot in jail.”

  Temporary insanity. I’m convinced now it’s a thing. Because surely that’s what comes over me as I take Cinny up on her dare, lurch forward, and grab ahold of all parts I can grab hold of. Her hair. Her clothes. Her arms, flailing about. In a moment of temporary insanity, you become mad. That’s what’s happening here. I am a madwoman.

  We tumble onto the floor as more cell phones point and flash in our direction.

  “Omigosh, they’re fighting!”

  “Somebody break it up!”

  “Help her!”

  “This is insane!”

  “She’s attacking Cinny!”

  We are a tangle of limbs, hair, and screams for I don’t know how long when, at last, my body is lifted off Cinny by one of her guards. Strong arms forcefully pin mine behind my back.

  “Get a cop up here. Now!” Cinny cries as she’s helped up by Wesley. “You saw it. She assaulted me! I want her arrested.”

  Her clothes are in disarray, her makeup smeared, her perfectly styled updo now lopsided and pointing in so many different directions she looks like she definitely lost this fight. I glare at her, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “Don’t even think about coming to work tomorrow, Jerzie! My restraining order will ensure you can’t even see a Broadway show, let alone be in mine!”

  “I hate you, Cinny,” I cry. And boy, do I ever mean it. “I’d rather have nothing and be a nobody than be anything like you.”

  “Good,” she barks back. “Because having nothing and being a nobody is your destiny, Jerzie Jhames.”

  “Myself Condemned and Myself Excused”

  Being arrested is not as bad as I thought it would be. Okay, full disclosure, I’ve never thought about being arrested. I will say that being read the Miranda warning, then stuffed into the hard and extremely uncomfortable plastic back seat of a squad car while hundreds of Cinny’s fans stand on a New York City street corner laughing, pointing, and taking photos of me—that was probably not a life highlight. But the ride in the squad car is downright fun.

  Okay, fine. Fun is an overstatement. Sure, I’m crying. And yeah, I’m a bit of a mess. Hair, pretty much disaster status. What was once a beautiful array of glitter, gloss, shadow, blush, and foundation on my face has turned into what I imagine a drowning clown would look like. My T-shirt is ripped, my skirt, too, and I can’t even wipe my nose because my hands are in metal cuffs behind my back. So I may or may not have snot dripping down my face. But one thing I have intact.

  My pride.

  Okay, fine. My pride is not intact. But how many girls can say they fought Cinny, and then got arrested. On their birthday! That’s nothing to be ashamed of.

  Oh, God. What the hell am I thinking? That’s everything to be ashamed of.

  Voices blare through the officers’ radios as we rush around busy nighttime traffic. I’m imagining what being in a jail cell will be like. I’ve binged every single episode of Orange Is the New Black, but that TV series sorta ends my prison studies.

  “Do I get my one phone call?” I sob. “Please let me have my one phone call.”

  The officer who’s driving laughs. “You been watching too many movies, kid. You can make as many calls as you need. Might wanna start with your parents.”

  Oh. My. God. My parents. I’m crying even harder now.

  * * *

  I have to take off my boots so that another corrections officer can frisk me. I guess the first frisk didn’t count? It’s a female, but that doesn’t make it any less demoralizing as she runs her hands up and down my legs, butt, hair, and everything in between.

  I’m walked to another section of the station, where I’m fingerprinted and positioned in front of a gray backdrop to be photographed. I’ve seen enough celebrity mug shots online to know this picture will be pretty much everywhere. For eternity. Now that my hands are free, I wipe my face as best I can and twist my hair until it’s in a bun on top of my head.

  Front. Click click.

  Left side. Click.

  Right. Click click click.

  There. All done. Now everyone will have confirmation of my official arrest.

  “Jewelry. Take it off.” Another officer thrusts a plastic baggie into my hands. My trembling fingers remove Aunt Karla’s rings, earrings, teardrop necklace and finally, I swallow, Zeppelin’s bracelet. Taking it off leaves me feeling like a strong winter wind is blowing, chilling the air in the muggy hallway.

  Now I’m led into a small, cluttered room where I’m seated on a chair in front of an older officer. He seems nice. Or maybe I think that because he’s eating a cheeseburger.

  “Are you wearing an underwire bra, miss?” the officer asks, his mouth full. “We typically have women take out the underwires before being transferred to a cell.”

  “A cell?” I’m crying again. “They said I wouldn’t have to go to a cell.”

  He must be used to crying teenagers, because he takes another bite of his cheeseburger and nonchalantly continues with his paperwork. “So is that a yes or no on the underwire?”

  I’m not even wearing a bra. “It’s a no. Can I make a call yet?”

  “Almost done here. Few additional questions.” He takes another large bite. Chomp chomp. Chew. “Are you suicidal?”

  “No,” I reply. Though if I was, I’m pretty sure the stench of charred meat, cheese, and mystery sauce would not be the last thing I’d want to smell.

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “No,” I reply again.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Huh?” I look up.

  He laughs. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. I heard you beat up Cinny? The singer?” He whistles. “Some nerve you got, kid.”

  “I didn’t beat her up, sir,” I wail in defense. “I just...” Geez, what did I do? I shake my head in agony an
d decide to exercise my right to remain silent on this one.

  After the questions are complete, I’m finally led to a phone. Officer Cheeseburger dials the number I give him. It’s not that I don’t want to call Mom and Dad or Aunt Karla, it’s just that this is the only number I know by heart. He answers on the first ring.

  “Hello?” Judas’s voice booms in the sterile space.

  “Sir, this is Lieutenant Sandvig with NYPD.”

  “Uh. Okay,” Judas replies.

  “I have somebody here who needs to speak with you.” The lieutenant motions to me.

  “Judas?” I step up to the receiver.

  “I’m here, sis. I’m waitin’ on Aunt Karla. There’s some sort of real bad accident, she’s been stuck in dead-stopped traffic on the freeway for over an hour. As soon as she gets here, I’ll hop in her ride share and we’ll be there. Don’t be mad. But I had to tell Mom and Dad, too.”

  “I’m not mad.” I sniff. “Are they upset? On a scale of one to ten, how upset would you say they are?”

  “Uh.” Judas pauses. He must be standing on the street corner because I can hear the roar of city traffic. “Aunt Karla is holding steady at a 9.5.”

  I swallow.

  “Mom and Dad?” he goes on. “I’d say they’re hovering somewhere around one million.”

  I survey the space around me. There are three cops behind the desk, and others moving through the hallway. So, privacy? Not so much. It is what it is. I have to ask.