The Demise of Alexis Vancamp

by Karen P. Williams

  Santana broke up silence in the car by asking, “You still mad at me, baby? You still love me?”

  “No and yes. Always,” I said in a quiet tone. I was still angry though.

  He smiled as he steered and used his free hand to grab my hand and kiss it. “Damn. I love you for holding me down, baby. As soon as I finish school and I get a job, I got you, baby.”

  I smiled, my anger slowly melting the more he talked.

  “I promise not to do anything else stupid. And you got my word. I’m going to stay the fuck off the Internet!”

  I tossed my head back and laughed, despite the situation.

  Santana joined me in the laughter, saying, “Man! What I wouldn’t do to find that lying-ass African nigga and kick his ass.”

  “Good luck on that.”

  “I’m saying.”

  I didn’t bother going back to work that day. Santana had a craving for some greasy, messy burgers and fries. So we ate at Master Burgers on Western. Then we went home, bypassed my sister, and went into our room.

  I stripped down, ignoring my mother blowing up my cell phone and the text from her saying she wanted Santana out of my father’s house. If my daddy wanted him out he would come put him out, but my daddy hadn’t even contacted me about the incident. If he wasn’t going to bring it up to me then I wasn’t going to bring it up to him. In fact, I turned off my phone and made passionate love to Santana again and said I would worry about any other pressing matters another time. I simply drowned in my man.

  Chapter 20

  I let a week pass before taking my mother’s call. I was in my car, on the way to work. The two times she had stopped by to see me, luckily I was gone. One of those times, Santana was home. My sister Bria had called me and said it was pretty bad. My mother cursed him out for a good fifteen minutes. Bria said Santana just sat there and stared out into space. I was relieved that he didn’t argue back with my mother. And when my sister refused to leave with my mother, Bria said my mom called her an “ungrateful bitch.” My mother had even called the police to get Santana out. But they informed her that, according to the new law, in order for her to get Santana out, she would need to go to the courthouse and evict him, and that could take months.

  I had dodged her for a week because I didn’t want to deal with my mother being so pissed off. I also figured after a week my mother would have not only calmed down but she would also get her house back together and replace all that was destroyed. I also knew once she did this, I wouldn’t have to give her any money for the damage.

  When Santana spoke to me about her visit, he told me that we should move out of my father’s house. He said he had the hookup on a low-income apartment in the Carmelitos Housing Complex, if we came up with $500. I looked at him like he was insane and said no. There no way I was going to live in the projects.

  I answered my mother’s call as I drove to work. “Mommy. I’m so sorry for what happened last week. I’m going to replace all that was lost.”

  “Save it! You’re selfish just like your sister. Don’t worry. I made a police report about it! But I don’t want to even think about that day. I have relived it over and over again, and each time, I’m no less furious.” She paused. “Has your father even bothered to call you?” she asked me.

  “No, he hasn’t.” And that was the truth. My dad had been out of town since the incident happened. I was sure my mother had called him and informed him of what went down but he hadn’t called me, thank God.

  “I told him that I want Santana out of that house! I don’t care where he goes. He needs to get out.”

  “Mom! No! Listen. I’m sorry for what happened but I can’t put him out.”

  “He needs to leave and if you don’t have him out by—”

  My line clicked. I looked at the caller ID. It was Marisol.

  “Mom, let me call you back.” I clicked over and demanded, “What is it?”

  “We have a problem. You need to meet me at the complex in Compton! I’m there now.”

  “Shit.” I busted a U-turn and hopped on the 91 Freeway. I exited at Santa Fe Boulevard, made a right, and drove, toward my father’s complex.

  I saw Marisol standing near her busted-up Honda Civic. I cut my eyes from her as she pointed at the complex. I scanned the building and gasped. Someone had tagged on every outside wall of the complex.

  “Shit!” I got out of my car, slammed the door, and stormed up to Marisol. “When did this happen?” I demanded.

  “Last night. There is more to the story. More to see. You should come have a look for yourself.”

  I followed her. Distressed was the only word to describe how I felt when I saw the inside of the building. The tagging was inside as well. There were several windows that were busted. The railing on the stairs was bent back and there was trash thrown all on the ground. Someone had busted the sprinkler system and water was splattering everywhere.

  I put my hands to my face and looked around. “Where is the manager you hired?”

  “He’s here.”

  I walked with Marisol upstairs to the manager’s apartment. I didn’t even bother knocking. I open the door and stormed inside.

  The worthless excuse of a man was a tall, black square-looking dude with glasses. He had the look of a coward. He was going back and forth in his living room, placing items in a big cardboard box. Was he leaving?

  “Why are you in your apartment and not fixing the problems a manager is supposed to fix?” I snapped, shaking my head in disgust. “My father’s building looks like crap!”

  “Well, it’s on you now. I’m leaving. I will be out of here in the next two hours.”

  “And this is who you hired!” I demanded of Marisol.

  She shrugged. “He seemed like he had integrity.”

  “Integrity! He is worthless. We needed someone with street smarts! You knew that.”

  “No. I didn’t,” she said defensively. He continued piling his stuff in boxes. “That’s why I wanted you to do this.”

  “You really have no common sense, Marisol. It’s Compton!”

  She started crying. “I’m really sorry, Alexis. What can I do to do to fix this? I feel really bad.”

  “Let me think.” I took a deep breath and tried to figure this out. Marisol and I could paint over the graffiti and clean up the building. I would just have to call the handyman we used to put in new glass windows and call the gardener to fix the sprinkler system.

  I turned to the manager. “We will be back in an hour. I want you and your shit gone and you off these premises! Don’t expect a good reference from me. Let’s go, Marisol.”

  She followed me out of the apartment.

  Marisol and I went to Lowes. We stocked up on paint, rollers, and paint brushes. I even bought a coverall suit for myself, threw on my tennis shoes I kept in my trunk, and we went to work painting the outside of the building. It was smarter for us to do it ourselves. In the past, I had hired painters. But since I had taken money out of the account to pay back the Jamaicans, the money from that account remained unaccounted for, so I needed to preserve as much as possible. By not hiring painters, I had done this. I called Santana to see when he got out of school but he didn’t answer. Marisol’s husband, who had just gotten out of the hospital a few weeks ago, came instead and helped us by getting on a ladder and getting the spots we couldn’t reach. We got up all the trash and her older brother, who looked like a hoodlum, was nevertheless very helpful to us by repairing the sprinkler system. I was able to save money by him fixing it. He even repaired the railing for me, which he fixed with a crowbar. The only real big expense was replacing the broken windows.

  By the time we finished, it was late. I figured that I could have Santana come and take over until I filled the spot. I was sure his presence would help keep the hoodlums away. I texted him and told him I would be home pretty late after midnight. I wanted to stick around and monitor the place. But I was so tired I wanted to go home and get into bed. Marisol saw it.

  “G
o home, Alexis. Don’t worry. My brother and I will stay tonight. And my younger brother is on the way for extra backup. Don’t worry, he is major muscle. And if we see anything suspicious we will call the police. I’ll make it back to the office in time to open up first thing in the morning. Don’t worry. I will also rerun the ad. You need to go get your rest. You look like you are about to fall out.”

  Truthfully, I was beat. I had paint all over my face and in my hair. I just wanted to soak in the tub. “Okay. If you are sure you got this. Remember, if you see anyone suspicious, call the police.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “Thank you, Marisol. I don’t know what I would do without you.” I meant that. I realized I could not completely blame her for the fiasco. I was the one who told her to pick and she chose to the best of her ability. He was weak sauce, and clearly, he had absolutely no presence, or else the hoodlums would have thought twice before doing what they did. And with all the hard work she had been doing, she was entitled to make a mistake.

  Chapter 21

  I was so beat that I had no energy at all to cook. I didn’t feel like being creative or driving far out to get something for dinner. I ended up getting a pizza and a six-pack of Coke, and drove home. It was a far cry from the Harold & Belle’s I had planned on picking up but Santana would just have to understand. I had a very rough day. I always made sure we ate well so I needed a break today.

  I unlocked the door and held the pizza box up to my chin as I turned the doorknob, trying not to drop the cans of soda and my purse that were in my other hand. Just in case Santana was asleep, I tried not to be loud as I stepped into the house and kicked the living room door closed.

  I turned and the sight I saw before me horrified me to no end.

  My sister. Bria. She was naked and she was on top of Santana, riding him.

  I watched her toss her head back and moan deep in her throat.

  Everything I was holding came crashing down to the floor as I let out a loud, piercing scream.

  Bria looked up and so did Santana. But before she could get off Santana’s lap, I rushed forward and grabbed her by her hair. “You fucking whore!”

  “Baby!” Santana said.

  But it was too late. I yanked her off of him and dragged her until she was on my carpet. In her nakedness, I punched and punched and punched her until her face was all bloody. I wanted to kill that bitch. She tried to get away from me, begging, “Alexis, stop please!”

  But I wouldn’t let her get away. I wasn’t a good fighter but I sure was whipping her ass. I straddled her and started slamming her head into the ground. She tried to scratch my face but I tilted my head back so she couldn’t. I then grabbed her hands in one of mine and went back to punching her. When I started strangling Bria, Santana grabbed my arms and pulled me off of her.

  “I’m going to kill you, you fucking whore!” I tried to get away from Santana but he held me in a tight grip.

  She scrambled away and pulled on a dress that was on the floor near the couch. I yanked myself out of Santana’s arms. I ran into her room and started grabbing all her things: her purse, shoes, clothes, and jewelry.

  I heard her on the phone saying, “Mom, I’m coming home.”

  I rushed back out of her room with a handful of her stuff. “Yeah, go home, bitch!” I yelled. I walked outside and threw all her items on the sidewalk. When I went back inside, she was sniffling on the couch like she was hurt or something.

  I marched back toward her bedroom again, sobbing all the way. I couldn’t get the image of them out of my head. Santana tried to block me.

  “Get out of my way!” I raged.

  “I’m saying, baby, calm down.”

  I shoved him out of my way. I grabbed more things and took another trip outside with more of her items. I came back again and got the last of her things. By this time she was outside, picking up her stuff and putting it in her car. I threw the rest of it on the curb.

  Then I ran back inside and got my broom. I ran back outside and started hitting her in the head with the broom. “Get out of here!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  She covered her head with her hands and screamed.

  But I kept beating her in her head until she opened the door to her ghetto-ass Charger and dived inside. I kept hitting the car with the broom until she backed out of my driveway and sped down the street.

  Once the tramp was gone, I then stalked back into the house. I looked for Santana and saw he wasn’t in the living room. I walked into the bedroom and saw him standing near the bed as if he was now waiting for me to retaliate against him.

  I walked up to him and slapped the shit out of him. “How could you sleep with my sister huh? You lying, cheating bastard! How the fuck could you?” I continued to beat him in his face. “I try my best by you to make you happy. I make love to you just the way you want me to. I cook the best foods I can. I make sure you have everything you need and you do me like this. Get out!” I punched him in his chest. He backed up a little.

  “Get out!” I punched him again.

  But this time he took steps forward, causing me to back up into the wall, but he wouldn’t hit me. “Baby. Sorry.”

  I slapped him over and over again, yanking at his hair to inflict whatever pain I could on him. “Get out.” I punched him in the chest again.

  He hemmed me against the wall and continued to let me hit him.

  “I hate you!” He kissed me. I drew back and punched him in his face again. “Get out!”

  He kissed me again and I hit him again. But he continued to give me kisses all over my face, whispering, “I’m sorry, baby.”

  I felt myself weaken at his lips. “Get . . .”

  He moved in and started kissing me on my lips, repeating, “Sorry.”

  I retuned the kiss, then tried to push him away, but he was relentless and each kiss brought my rage down a notch until I was kissing him back with the same fervor. “Why can’t I hate you!”

  I twisted his shirt in my hands. Then I went to cup his face for a kiss, then went back to twisting his shirt in my hands. I was fighting, then giving in to him. “Why can’t I hate you! Why?”

  “Because you love me, baby.”

  “I don’t want to,” I sobbed. “You hurt me. You’ve done me so bad, Santana.”

  “Let me fix it, baby.”

  “No.” I slapped at his hands as he stripped me of my clothes. He started rubbing all over me, making my body betray me. He had slept with my sister and here I was against this wall, moaning because of his touch, his lips. And not just because of this but because of how I felt in my heart. I loved him even after he had done the ultimate betrayal. And what he was doing to me, I honestly didn’t want him to stop. This shit was fucking up my thoughts, actions, and my sound decisions. He was making me an idiot. A dumb, naïve bitch. A pitiful bitch. One who other women would look at and say, “Damn. She is just plain stupid.” Why I couldn’t just break away? Because I loved him.

  He lifted me in the air and ate my pussy. When he flipped me around and fucked me from behind on that wall, my eyes rolled back in my head and I threw my pussy right back at him. I knew as I came (and I came hard) that there was no way I was ever getting rid of this man. I was hooked. No one could do anything about it. Although this actuality was very scary, for the moment, I accepted this . . . I didn’t really see anything that I could do about it. Like I said, he had me hook, line, and sinker. And I was sinking.

  Although I told myself that it was best that I didn’t even bring it up, Santana sleeping with my sister, I knew I had to have at least one conversation with him as to what happened.

  “She kept walking around half naked and shit. I was high as fuck that day from some bomb-ass Stress and here comes her ass with an X pill. I took it and the shit had me so fucked up I was out of it. The whole time she was on top of me it was like her head was spinning like some exorcism shit. That was some potent-ass ex. But that shit . . . What happened between me and her don’t mean not
hing. She don’t mean shit to me because you have my heart, baby. And I was fucked up! I didn’t mean to hurt you, that’s for sure.”

  What a conniving bitch. What I believed was that she did what she did on purpose to hurt me. I was glad I put my foot down and kicked her out of my damn house. But I was still hurt. The hurt came from both directions. Santana’s part and my sister’s. I found my sister to be the main culprit though. I mean, Santana was a man, and you are throwing vajayjay at him; what do you expect? He’s not going to try it? That bitch gave him drugs and deliberately seduced him. Just trash! That’s what she was. I wasn’t justifying Santana’s part, just stating the facts. Our relationship was repairable but not my relationship with my sister. Bitch was dead to me. She just couldn’t stand to see me happy! She had to taste the ripe fruit. I knew it was tempting to be around him. I mean he was drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as hell. But that was a line she should have never crossed.

  “Well, I’m definitely hurt by what you did, Santana. But at the same time, I get it; the bitch set you up to deliberately hurt me.”

  “I’m saying, you know I wouldn’t have touched your sister if I wasn’t lit. I’m damn near thirty years old.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about it. I need to get it out of my mind so I can move forward. I love you and I think this is repairable.”

  “I love you too, baby. Only you. I mean you, my boo. No other bitch will change that. “

  It was a relief to hear that it was just sex, because to tell the truth, when I saw them starting to bond, it made me jealous. I just never anticipated them having sex.

  Just then I got a text from my father saying he was coming back home tomorrow, and asking how was everything going. I wondered if I should tell him what happened at the Compton complex. Then I thought better. I sent a text saying everything was good. I then called Marisol.

  She answered cheerfully. “Hey, Alexis.”

  “Hi. How is the building?”