The Demise of Alexis Vancamp

by Karen P. Williams

  As he ate, I played his CD. His style reminded me of the singer Tank. Justin could give you R&B but go to church as well. He had an array of songs. There were three that were fast tempo, four moderate tempo, five slow, and two gospel songs.

  “What do you think?” he asked me. By the time I listened to the CD he had already eaten, belched, used the bathroom, and was lying on his back on my sofa with his shoes kicked off.

  I was impressed. “You know you sound good. You were going to church, boy.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks. You know what I was thinking. We could rerecord ‘I’m Lost Without,’ by BeBe & CeCe Winans. What do you think? You know you got the voice for it.”

  He stood to his feet and snatched me up. Playing around, he pretended he had a microphone. “‘Day by day, no more reaction.’”

  He held the imaginary mic to my mouth. “‘You are my center attraction,’” I sang.

  “See!” he exclaimed. “We sound good together.” I laughed at his enthusiasm.

  We continued to laugh and sing the song. He sang BeBe’s part and I sang CeCe’s. We were having a ball. It reminded me of when we used to sing together in church; that’s when Santana walked into the living room.

  He took one look at Justin’s arm around my waist and scowled. I scooted away from Justin, walked up to Santana, and tried to kiss his lips but he turned his face away, so I only ended up kissing his cheek.

  I turned back to Justin. “Justin, this is Santana. Santana, Justin.”

  “Hi. How are you doing?”

  Santana gave a quick nod and walked into the room. I had hoped he would be friendlier to Justin. Justin didn’t comment on it, which I was glad about. And I honestly felt a little embarrassed. But the good mood was pretty much ruined, Justin felt it. From the point of Santana being home, my thoughts were distracted by him; what he was doing, thinking, if he was talking to someone who it was and what he was discussing. So Justin said, to my relief, “Well, I need to get going.” He stood and kissed me on my cheek. “So what are you singing?”

  “Huh?”

  “For your parent’s anniversary party.”

  Shit. I had completely forgotten about it. It was usually a really big event where my parents got a DJ, had it catered, family, friends, and most of the members of my church came. I was always allowed to invite friends to it as well. Justin and Arianna along with their parents went every year.

  Last year I sang “So Amazing” by Luther Vandross. Now with all the problems between my mother and family and friends I didn’t even know if I was going to sing. Although I knew I couldn’t miss it, I was in no mood to sing. I also knew that I could not bring Santana. Maybe going would be an opportunity to mend things between my mother and father. I didn’t care if I ever saw my skank bitch of a sister, though, and if she was there, I wouldn’t even acknowledge her.

  “I’ll wing it.”

  He laughed and walked toward the front door. I followed him. “That’s one thing you can do, Alexis. Trust. With that voice of yours.”

  “Aww. So sweet.”

  Santana came out of the bedroom. He was on the phone. I heard him say, “Okay. Y’all on the way?” He walked right by us and went into the kitchen.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Justin called out to him.

  Santana didn’t respond.

  “He probably didn’t hear you,” I lied.

  He gave me another winning smile before walking out the door. I watched him leave.

  “Aye. What the fuck I’m going to eat?” Santana yelled.

  I walked into the kitchen and found him going through the fridge. “You in here entertaining niggas and shit.” He slammed the fridge closed.

  “It’s not like that. That’s—”

  “Miss me with that shit! Where the fuck is dinner?”

  I went to the oven, opened it, and grabbed the plastic container that held Santana’s food. I put it in the microwave for two minutes. Once it was done, I set it in front of him. He ate it all while eying me with an evil look.

  I wrung my hands, wondering if I should try to explain again who Justin was or if I should leave it alone so I didn’t anger him further. I mean, the other day when we discussed how each other’s days were, I told him I had lunch with an old friend and that it was Justin. I thought it would impress him if I told him that Justin had been away singing backup for Trey Songz. It didn’t, but the point was I told him specifically who Justin was, so why was he tripping?

  I decided to just leave it alone for the moment. If Santana brought it up, I would remind him that I had already spoken to him about Justin. If he didn’t, he didn’t. I would just chalk his behavior up to mere jealously. When Bria was living with us, there were several times that I had gotten jealous and had major attitude. In my jealous moments, Santana simply ignored me. And the thing was, our relationship, Justin’s and mine, was completely harmless. Santana had my heart. He had a lock and grip on that shit that no one could break. He had to know that. So I left it alone.

  A few minutes later, as I started on the laundry and was busy putting a load of clothes in the washer, I was surprised as hell to walk back into my living room and see Santana seated in the living room with three different girls. None of them looked familiar to me in the least and all were pretty and half naked, sitting on my couches.

  Santana lit a rolled-up blunt and took a long drag before passing it around to the brown-skinned chick with a pair of lace leggings, a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and a half top, with some lace-up boots. Another girl had on a wife beater and a spandex skirt, the same type of boots as the other girl, and a hat. The other girl had on a pair of leggings and a half top like the other girl and the same fucking boots. This was how my sister dressed. Why the fuck are they here?

  One girl was pouring herself a drink from a vodka bottle on the coffee table. “What you want to hear?” she asked Santana with my iPod in her hand.

  “Put on that 2 Chainz shit. I fucks with that.”

  “Hay. That’s my nigga too.”

  Then they all noticed me standing there. But none of them bothered to speak to me. I looked at them all like they were shit. And they looked at me right back with the same expression.

  One of them said, “Who is this bitch?” I became a little fearful as she gave me a hostile look. I released the frown from my face.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Santana.” He looked my way, blew out smoke, but ignored me. One of the girls rushed over to him and opened her mouth so the smoke could go into her mouth.

  I gasped and repeated, “Santana.”

  “Man, what?”

  “Who are they?”

  “The fuck you mean who are they? Why you questioning me? Didn’t you have a nigga in here earlier?”

  “That was different. He—”

  “He had his motherfucking hands all over you! That’s what made it different. You wanna have random niggas in our pad, I’ll have random bitches in our pad. I wish you would say some shit.”

  “But—”

  “Man. Shut the fuck up!” he yelled.

  The chicks looked from me to him and busted up laughing at my humiliation. I wished if I knew they wouldn’t fight me back, I could beat all of their asses. But they looked like some project whores who would hand my ass to me. So I resisted the urge.

  I stood there like a prisoner. I didn’t like the way they were now standing in my living room, now dancing in a sexy manner, grinding in front of my man. I didn’t like the way he was watching them, licking his lips, his eyes raking up and down their curves. Staring longer in spots he shouldn’t have: their breasts, hips, vajayjay, and asses as they popped it like they did it professionally. They seemed like they were strippers for hire. They were a fucking threat to me and I needed them out of my house.

  “You had a nigga in here remember?”

  I had to prove to Santana that it was nothing remotely similar to him having three sex kittens in my house. I had to. So before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Justin is
gay,” while flapping my arms to my sides. “So don’t you see how this is different?’

  He paused and looked at me.

  I bit my bottom lip waiting to see the impact, hoping he would now feel bad and send the trash in my living room home.

  I was shocked when he said, “I don’t give a fuck. The way I see it, gay or not, if some pussy around, a nigga gonna hit on it. Miss me with that shit. Take your mo-thafucking ass in the room and think twice before you have a nigga all up in here!”

  So that’s what I did.

  Chapter 25

  As I sat in a corner of my parents’ house during their anniversary party, over and over again guests stared at me. I knew they were perplexed as to how I could come so far and, in their eyes, sink so low. What they didn’t understand or tried to ignore was that you can’t control who you love, when love is going to find you, nor the magnitude of it. What I had experienced with Dannon was purely puppy love. But in the eyes of my family and friends, Dannon was the better man for me. It didn’t really matter who they felt was better for me or if I felt that Dannon was better for me, because no matter what, I could not shake or rid myself of the love I had for Santana. At this point, with all the problems with my family and friends, and the hurt he had caused me, there for some reason was something that bound me to him. He was like a drug I couldn’t kick. My thoughts were always floured with him, no matter how busy I was. I always wondered what he was doing, thinking, if he was thinking of me or missed me. I always ached to be back with him. This was something that I had never experienced before. My motives for life were to keep him by my side. For me, it had come to a point that it was at all costs. At least three different people from my church had come up to me that night and asked me, “Why? Why? Why?” But my reply was simply, “I love him. You can’t control who you love.” There were women who had married murderers who were going to be in prison for the rest of their lives and even on death row. Some of these women had never even met these men prior to their incarceration. Yet they remained faithful partners to them. There were women who agreed to share their husbands with five different other women who lived with them. They raised their children together. There were women who let their man beat them day and night and they didn’t leave, and women who had allowed their man or husband to give them AIDS and they stayed. My point was simple: who you loved was who you loved and there was nothing more powerful than that. It was like that song by Kelly Rowland, called “Addicted”:

  I’m addicted to you

  When I see you

  Wanna be with you

  Everything you do

  All I dream of

  When I wake up

  My every thought is you.

  That was how I felt about Santana. I loved him. No matter how many times he made me upset or did something to hurt me, the love just wouldn’t leave . . . and the fact that I couldn’t parade him in front of my family proudly made me feel bad. Granted, I know he had made some bad choices. But still . . .

  When I was getting dressed to come to my parents’ party, I felt bad. Here I was getting all pretty and he couldn’t get handsome and party by my side. It sucked. He said he wasn’t tripping, that he was going to throw back a couple drinks and watch a movie at home. So I had smiled sadly and left.

  I had always had fun at my parents’ party. Not so this year. I felt like an outcast. Arianna and a lot of the members of the church pretty much gave me the silent treatment. Although it bothered me, I told myself that since they wanted to be funny, they didn’t deserve to be in my life anyway. My mother and father both seemed like they were in a good space. My mother looked beautiful and she partied the night away with her girlfriends. A couple times, she and my father danced together. The only one who really talked to me was Justin, and my daddy danced with me once. I was surprised that my mother didn’t even bring up Santana, and, from the looks of things, my father didn’t tell my mother I had stolen from him. I knew if he had, it didn’t matter if we had Obama in the house, she would have brought it up. And it didn’t appear that sweet, innocent Bria had told my mother that she had slept with Santana. I would have heard about that, too.

  Justin came over and grabbed me just as “Cupid Shuffle” came on. “Come on, bestie. You know we can do at least one stepping song tonight.”

  I laughed and joined the others on the dance floor, finally for once that night having fun. It brought back memories of New Year’s Eve. Every year my church had thrown a worship party and we always did all the stepping songs.

  Justin and I laughed while doing the steps. My mother and father joined in the fun on the dance floor. But Arianna kept her distance. Bria was surprisingly missing. And I didn’t inquire as to where she was because I didn’t give two shits. Even some church members hit the floor. Then the DJ played some clean hip-hop songs like “Teach Me How To Dougie,” which we started grooving to. I was having a blast and it felt good to push aside all those thoughts I was having prior to Justin grabbing me. He always had that ability. Even in school. That’s why I loved him.

  I was so into the music and the steps I was doing that I almost missed Santana coming into my parents’ house, staggering like he couldn’t stand on his feet.

  He bumped into a table, causing people to look his way. Then he grooved his way over to the dance floor, yelling, “That’s my shit!” He danced for a minute by himself and then yelled, “Play some motherfucking Too Short!” He started doing what looked like the Crip Walk. I knew it was the Crip Walk because I had seen Snoop Dogg do it in some of his videos. The people around him stopped dancing, and he was causing a big scene. I looked at my mother’s disapproving expression, and my father refused to look his way. I was so embarrassed. He was pissy drunk. He continued to groove and even went so far as to take from his pocket a blunt, which he lit.

  I tried to make my way over to him but he puffed on it, Crip Walked his way over to the DJ booth, and yelled, “Aye, nigga. Play some back-that-ass-up motherfucking music. Don’t nobody want to hear that dry-ass shit!” He turned to people at the party and said, “Do y’all want to hear that shit?”

  When no one responded he tossed a hand and said, “Fuck y’all.”

  “Santana!” I rushed up to him and grabbed his arms in mine, shaking him. I pleaded with my eyes before he said something else crazy. I put my finger to my lips.

  “Hey, baby!” He struggled to stand up and tried to kiss me on my lips, but ended up kissing the air.

  “You’re drunk, Santana. What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I’m not invited? You don’t want me here?”

  “No. I—”

  “Oh, y’all mothafuckas don’t want me here huh?”

  I looked at my mother and my daddy coming our way. “You need to leave,” she said breathlessly to him.

  “Why the fuck I gotta leave?”

  “You were never invited. You are never ever welcome in my home!”

  Santana tilted his head back. “Damn like that?” He turned and looked at my father, who had his head down.

  “Yo. Bobby. I gotta leave, dawg?”

  My father initially didn’t answer.

  Santana drunkenly tapped him on his shoulder. “Nigga, I’m talking to you! I gotta leave?”

  “My wife wants you to leave so you gotta go.”

  “Nigga, I didn’t ask about your wife. Fuck her.”

  “Santana, stop!” I yelled. My dad looked furious but it appeared that he was mentally trying to calm himself down.

  “Move and shut the fuck up.” He shoved me out of the way. “I asked you.” He tapped my dad again. “You want me to leave?”

  My father closed his eyes briefly and said, “Yes.”

  “Okay, nigga.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and fiddled with it. After a few seconds, he said, “Mrs. VanCamp. I got something to show you. It’s an anniversary present.”

  A crowd formed around us. Justin stood nearby with his eyes wide.

  “Look at this!” He shoved his cell pho
ne in her face. Whatever he had on his phone had her so alarmed she had both palms of her hands on her face. But she wouldn’t look away. Sound came in as Santana put his phone on speaker. Moans were heard.

  My dad stood back as if defeated at this point.

  “Santana. What did you show to my mother?”

  My mom moaned in her throat, shoved Santana’s hand, and ran off.

  “You piece of shit.” My dad tried to swing at Santana.

  “Daddy, no!” I jumped in front of Santana, causing my father immediately to restrain himself or he would hit me. Justin came behind my father and grabbed one of my father’s arms, telling him to calm down. My father snatched away, looked at Santana hatefully, and ran off, shouting my mother’s name

  This all caused the phone to fall to the floor. Santana struggled to stand, and laughed. “Happy anniversary. Fucking cat is out the bag, man.”

  I leaned down and grabbed the phone off the floor. I looked at the phone and gasped. My father was on the screen with a young girl and they were having sex.

  “How the fuck could you?” was the look I gave Santana.

  Santana wasn’t paying me any attention; he then focused in on Justin. “What’s up, cuz? I know you.” Santana pointed at Justin. “You was at our crib the other day, man. Well, check this out pimpin’; you’s one nigga I never have to worry about pushing up on or sniffing after my girl.” He pointed at Justin again and said, “’Cause I know you don’t get down like that. You into that freaky shit, sucking dick and getting fucked up your dook-shoot.” Santana laughed loudly and repeated, louder, “Yeah! You like to get dug out, in your dook-shoot. A fucking flamer. So, nigga, you is welcome at my crib anytime. Gay niggas is welcome all day! Now if you was straight I’d have to shoot your ass for how you had your hands on my bitch.”

  I cringed as Santana spoke and didn’t have the guts to look at Justin’s face. I was terrified. His secret had gotten out and he had only shared it with me.

  But when I got the guts up to look him in his eyes, the look he gave me was one I would never forget. He was so hurt. His lips trembled and his eyes locked with mine. Tears started sliding down my cheeks. My thoughts raced as to how I could fix this and I came up blank.