No Boyz Allowed
Page 19
I shook my head. God, I hated that we resembled. I had her thin upper lip, the same small mole on my left eyelid, her high cheekbones, her height: 5’ 6”, her shape: busty: 34D, narrow hips and small butt.
Our differences: I looked Latin although I wasn’t. I was somewhere in between my white mother and mysterious black father. My skin was Mexican bronze, or more like a white girl baked by the Caribbean sun. My hair was Sicilian thick and full of sandy brown coils. My chocolate eyes were shaped like an ancient Egyptian’s. Slanted. Set in almonds. I didn’t really look white and I definitely didn’t look black. I just looked . . . different. Biracial—whatever that was. All I knew is that I hated it.
Which is why, up until the age of ten, every year for my birthday I’d always blow out the candles with a wish that I could either look white like my mother or black like my father.
This in-between thing didn’t work for me. I didn’t want it. And I especially didn’t like looking Spanish when I wasn’t Spanish. And the worst was when people asked me what was I? Where did I come from? Or someone would instantly speak Spanish to me! WTF! How about I only spoke English! And what was I? I was an American mutt who just wanted to belong somewhere, anywhere other than the lonely and confused middle.
Damn.
“Heather Suzanne Cummings,” Camille spat as she rattled her drink and caused some of it to spill over the rim. “I’m asking you not to try me this morning, because I am in no mood. Therefore, I advise you to get up and make your way to school—”
“What, are you running for PTA president or something?” I snapped as I tossed the covers off of me and stood to the floor. “Or is there a parent-teachers’ meeting you’re finally going to show up to?”
Camille let out a sarcastic laugh and then she stopped abruptly. “Don’t be offensive. Now shut it.” She sipped her drink and tapped her foot. Her voice slurred a little. “I don’t give a damn about those teachers’ meetings or PETA, or PTTA, PTA or whatever it is. I care about my career, a career that you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything!” I walked into my closet and she followed behind me.
“You owe me everything!” she screamed. “I know you don’t think you’re hot because you have your own show, do you?” She snorted. “Well, let me blow your high, missy—”
You already have...
She carried on. “You being the star of that show is only because of me. It’s because of me and my career you were even offered the audition. I’m the star! Not you! Not Wu-Wu! But me, Camille Cummings, Oscar award–winning—”
“Drunk!” I spat. “You’re the Oscar award–winning and washed-up drunk! Whose career died three failed rehabs and a million bottles ago—!”
WHAP!!!!
Camille’s hand crashed against my right cheek and forced my neck to whip to the left and get stuck there.
She downed the rest of her drink and took a step back. For a moment I thought she was preparing to assume a boxer’s position. Instead, she squinted her eyes and pointed at me. “If my career died, it’s because I slept with the devil and gave birth to you! You ungrateful little witch. Now,” she said through clenched teeth as she lowered her brow, “I suggest you get to school, be seen with that snotty nose clique. And if the paparazzi happens to show up, you better mention my name every chance you get!”
“I’m not—”
“You will. And you will like it. And you will be nice to those girls and act as if you like each and every one of them, and especially that fat, pissy, princess Rich!” She reached into her glass, popped a piece of ice into her mouth, and crunched on it. “The driver will be waiting. So hurry up!” She stormed out of my room and slammed the door behind her.
I stood frozen. I couldn’t believe that she’d put her hands on me. I started to run out of the room after her, but quickly changed my mind. She wasn’t worth chipping a nail, let alone attacking her and giving her the satisfaction of having me arrested again. The last time I did that it took forever for that story to die down and besides, the creators of my show told me that another arrest would surely get me fired and Wu-Wu Tanner would be no more.
That was not an option.
So, I held my back straight, proceeded to the shower, snorted two crushed Black Beauties, and once I made my way to Heaven and felt like a star, I dressed in a leopard cat suit, hot pink feather belt tied around my waist, chandelier earrings that rested on my shoulders, five-inch leopard wedged heels, and a chinchilla boa tossed loosely around my neck. I walked over to my full-length mirror and posed. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the boom-boom-flyest of ’em all?” I did a Beyoncé booty bounce, swept the floor, and sprang back up.
The mirror didn’t respond, but I knew for sure that if it had, it would’ve said, “You doin’ it, Wu-Wu. You boom-bop-bustin’-it fly!”
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Copyright © 2012 by Ni-Ni Simone
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