by Tracy Brown
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
—Jeremiah 29:11–13, (NIV)
Thank You, God, for the angels You placed in my midst to remind me that all I need to do is stay out of Your way and trust You to guide me. Thank You for the gifts You blessed me with, and for this career that allows me to share those gifts with the world. And thank You for forgiveness, the greatest gift of all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My beautiful “children” (who blossomed overnight into my beautiful “young adults”), you are my biggest fans, my truest inspiration, my greatest motivators, my very best friends. Thanks for putting up with my melodrama and teasing me about it, and for never letting me take myself too seriously. (Special shout-out to Q for helping me brainstorm over the last chapter of this book. You’re a genius!) I love you, guys!
To my readers, THANK YOU for your continued support. (Especially to my girl Gigi McDonald. ☺) Every tweet, every Facebook message, and every e-mail is received with love and gratitude. You all are the greatest!
Monique Patterson, who else could put up with my missed deadlines and indecision but you? ☺ Thank you for your patience and understanding. Looking forward to our next field trip to the bookstore! Geeks rock!
To the greatest book club on the planet, Between the Lines Book Club (BTL), I love you all! I was an avid reader long before I became a writer. And there is nothing like having a group of friends who love a good book as much as I do, and having the luxury of sharing great stories, intense debates, and good food and drinks with all of you each month. We’ve become more than a book club. We’re now a big ole extended family, and I am sincerely grateful for each and every one of you. XOXO
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
2009
1. Sweet Dreams
2. Food for Thought
3. Lights, Camera, Action!
4. Pop Life
5. Switching Lanes
6. Broken Promises
7. Face-to-Face
8. Lush Life
9. The Great Escape
10. Ungrateful
11. Soul Food
12. Forbidden Fruit
13. White Christmas
14. Fireworks
2010
15. Surrender
16. Human Nature
17. Bitterness
18. Self-Defense
19. Second Thoughts
20. Misery
21. Cutting Edge
22. The Great Escape
Also by Tracy Brown
About the Author
Copyright
A man’s face is his autobiography. A woman’s face is her work of fiction.
—Oscar Wilde
Prologue
SUNNY DAZE
March 2010
It was just after dawn on a rainy day in New York City, and Olivia Michaels stood silently, her arms folded across her chest as she watched the photo shoot taking place. She was launching her own clothing line—Vintage—and today’s shoot was the first stop on an international ad campaign featuring none other than her longtime friend, Sunny Cruz.
Her lips painted crimson and pursed in a sexy pout, Sunny glowered at the camera as the photographer’s shutters flashed. Standing under a yellow canopy, her makeup was perfect, her hair slicked back off her flawless face. Olivia had styled Sunny in a skimpy safari animal–print one-piece swimsuit and sky-high heels. Despite the damp chill in the air, Sunny felt no pain. Today’s setting was a graffiti-filled alley in Harlem, reminiscent of old New York—one in which fluorescent colors, boom boxes and colorful people peppered the scene. As Sunny stood in a sexy and defiant pose, shifting angles and positions subtly while the camera flashed, Olivia smiled, pleased. This was going to be a great launch.
Even at the age of forty-two—considered quite old in the modeling industry—Sunny was still a beauty with youthful features and a figure that twenty-year-olds would envy. She confidently stared at the camera without a hint of insecurity as the crew sized her up and passersby gawked at her. Sunny loved the attention as she winked at the camera flirtatiously and stuck out her tongue, her hands perched defiantly on her hips.
“I love that!” Olivia yelled. “More like that!”
Sunny obliged, sticking her middle fingers up and snarling, then laughing uncontrollably. The photographer for today’s shoot, world-renowned Kareem Moody, clicked away rapidly, eating her up.
“Yes, Sunny!” Kareem yelled, smiling. “Yes!”
“She’s killing it,” Lucky said, standing beside Olivia. “You couldn’t have picked a better model.” Lucky watched Sunny and admired her confidence.
Laila “Lucky” Mattheson was Olivia’s longtime friend, and the ex-girlfriend of Olivia’s brother Lamin. She was also the director of marketing at SistaGirl Magazine. Lucky had moved to L.A. not long after their relationship ended for good and she was here today to help Olivia ensure that the ad campaign would be a success. She watched the photo shoot closely, her Asian eyes squinting against the light, her toned brown arms folded across her chest. The product of a Korean mother and a black father, Lucky had grown up as an Army brat and had lived all over the world before her family settled in New York in 1989. She had fallen head over heels in love with Lamin as he built an empire, only to have him break her heart. Still, she and Olivia had managed to remain friends as each of them climbed the ladders of their respective careers.
The crew scuttled Sunny into a trailer to change into her next look: a Vintage Couture gown—long and black with a mermaid bottom, fitted bustier-style at the bosom. The stylist put Sunny in a top hat and painted her lips even redder than before, gave her a bright red rose as a prop. Olivia could barely contain her excitement when she saw her vision come to life. Even the gritty backdrop was perfect for what she wanted to represent. She had conceived Vintage as a clothing line for mature women—women like her who had grown up in the golden age of hip-hop and had a style all their own. It epitomized hip-hop style without all the gaudy brand imagery. There were no logos, few bells and whistles, and a price tag conducive to successful urban women in the Waiting to Exhale age and tax bracket. This line would be for women too mature to wear an apple on the ass of their jeans, yet too fashion savvy to settle for the Jaclyn Smith Style Collection. Olivia knew that she had chosen the perfect model to represent the brand.
“Sunny, baby, you look delicious!” Kareem shouted as she came on set.
“Thank you, thank you,” she sang out as she took her position and struck an instantly stunning pose.
“Brilliant!” “Gorgeous!” her audience called out.
Sunny laughed as she watched everyone fawning over her. Her energy was high, and so was she—high off of both cocaine and adrenaline as she smiled for the cameras, laughing at her own private joke. She stuck the rose between her teeth and kicked her leg up into a perfect ballet pose, her arms spread wide like a beautiful bird, her eyes staring beyond the sky.
2009
1
SWEET DREAMS
Six months earlier …
September
She stood beside Dorian Douglas and took in his majestic presence. He stood tall, strong, almost head and shoulders above every other man in the room. His deep, chocolate brown skin shone as he held his drink in one hand, the other wrapped securely around Sunny’s slim waist. He practically towered over everyone, his regal aura seemingly r
adiant around him. Looking at her man, Sunny’s lips spread into a smile without her even realizing it. She loved him so much.
He stared down at her and she watched his lips as he spoke. “You okay, baby?” he asked.
She could see the other women in the room—women dressed provocatively in designer clothes, jewelry and expensive shoes just as she was. Each of them watched Dorian hungrily, wondering what it would take for them to snatch Sunny’s spot by his side. But even with all the sexy women practically stripping for him on the dance floor as the reggae music pumped through the speakers, Dorian’s gaze was fixed on her. He searched Sunny’s eyes as if he could see past them.
She smiled at him and he returned the gesture, kissed her softly on her lips, and held her closer.
“Yeah,” Sunny said. “I’m good.”
* * *
She didn’t realize that she was dreaming until the alarm clock blared in her ear, startling her. Sunny awoke, glanced around her large bedroom and came back to reality. Dorian was dead—had been for more than ten years now. And her daughter, Mercedes—tall like her daddy and as stunningly beautiful as her mom even at the tender age of twelve years old—was sprawled out across the other half of Sunny’s California king–size bed. Sunny turned off her alarm clock and smiled at the sight of her beautiful baby sleeping soundly beside her.
Mercedes had her own room—spacious, professionally decorated and full of every amenity any kid would ever wish for. But she still preferred to slip under her mother’s covers every chance she got and fall asleep beside her, inhaling that maternal scent that gave her comfort like no other smell on earth.
Since the day she was born, Mercedes had seldom been far from Sunny’s side. Sunny adored her, doted on her and would have only the best for her baby girl—her one and only child with the one man she had ever truly loved. Mercedes was the perfect combination of Sunny’s sass and Dorian’s cleverness. She was pretty, smart, and quick-witted like her mother, yet perceptive, aristocratic and calculating like her father.
Sunny appreciated that her daughter still longed to be in her bed at night. She knew that Mercedes was approaching a difficult age when teenage angst and rebellion could come between them.
Sunny had worked hard to get noticed by the elite of the entertainment industry and her persistence had certainly paid off. Over the years she landed major ad campaigns and had established an impressive portfolio for herself. She had been seen on the arm of more than one major player in sports or entertainment and was a favorite of the gossip pages. The name Sunny Cruz rang bells from New York to L.A. and she was doing her damndest to keep it that way. Some questioned Sunny’s motives for remaining constantly in the public eye, when so much of her life as a hustler’s wife had been lived in caution and discretion. Few knew that what truly drove her was an ugly unhealed wound that was so much deeper than what people saw on the beautiful surface.
Sunny leaned over and kissed Mercedes on the cheek, smoothed a lock of her thick and flowing hair away from her face, and softly shook her awake.
“Rise and shine, pretty girl,” Sunny sang. “It’s time for school.”
Mercedes peeked through sleepy eyes and smiled at her mother. “Good morning, Mommy,” she said. “It’s always time for school.”
Sunny laughed and nudged her playfully. “Come on and let’s have Jenny G make us banana pancakes.”
Mercedes bounded out of bed then and scampered off toward her own bedroom, excited that their live-in servant Jenny Gonzalez would be making her favorite breakfast.
Sunny smiled as she watched her go, then went into her bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She stared into her eyes and tried to see what Dorian had found when he looked into them the way he had in her dream. But all she recognized was the same pain that had taken up residence there the moment Dorian had drawn his last breath in her arms all those years ago.
Thinking of him caused her instant heartache. She had loved Dorian Douglas with such intensity that his absence made her feel hollow. She reached up to the top of the medicine cabinet and searched around with her hand until she touched the soft silk satchel that held her pain reliever.
She reached into the small black pouch, retrieving a tiny white pill. Sunny popped the Percocet in her mouth and sipped some water, eager for the drug to take effect and numb the pain to the point where she could slip out of her mind, just a little bit, for just a little while. Sunny wasn’t in any physical pain. She popped Percs like Tic Tacs throughout the day as a way of coping with the feelings she had struggled with for years—loneliness, pain of love lost, fear of boredom, and of a life filled with monotony and routine.
She got her Percs from Gillian Nobles, an old family friend who was a queenpen in her own right. Thanks to the Nobles family’s access to a cache of prescription medications, Sunny enjoyed the numbing relaxation of a tiny white pill. Pushing thoughts of Dorian to the back of her mind, she went about her morning ritual and emerged from the bathroom feeling ready to face the world.
Ninety minutes later, after a five-star breakfast, showers and hairstyling, Sunny and Mercedes sat side by side in the backseat of her Aston Martin, both of them relaxing with their legs crossed so perfectly they looked like an ad for an etiquette class. Mercedes was clad in her prep-school uniform, while Sunny was decked out in a DKNY blazer, white V-neck, and black leggings. Her red-bottomed riding boots and bright yellow BCBG clutch gave her outfit her signature flair for the dramatic.
Sunny’s driver, Raul, climbed into the driver’s seat and smiled at his two lovely passengers.
“Good morning, ladies,” he practically shouted, his hearing having deteriorated over the years. “Y’all ready to get going today?”
“Yes, we are,” Sunny confirmed. She leaned forward in her seat to speak directly into his ear so that her instructions could be heard clearly the first time. Sunny hated repeating herself to Raul—to anyone for that matter. “We’re dropping Mercedes off at school. Then I’m going to Midtown to meet with Olivia at Shootin’ Crooks.”
The driver nodded and buckled his seat belt. He was familiar with Shootin’ Crooks and with Sunny’s friend Olivia, who worked out of the company’s office on West Fifty-third Street, where she toiled nonstop in conjunction with her brother’s rap empire. Raul had been driving for Sunny for several years and Olivia had played an integral role in getting work for Sunny. Her referrals had garnered some great publicity and priceless contacts. It was one of the many reasons why Sunny counted Olivia as one of her few friends—a term she didn’t use loosely.
Sunny slid back into her seat beside her daughter and crossed her legs once more. She stared at Mercedes and could see Dorian in her. She was a lovely young lady and she was smart. Sunny couldn’t be prouder.
She watched as Mercedes toyed with her BlackBerry. “When you get out of school today, call me. I should be wrapping things up in Midtown by then and we can hang out,” Sunny said.
Mercedes finished reading her horoscope and nodded at her mother, smiling. “Okay. But can I hang out with Genevieve instead of meeting up with you?”
Sunny thought about it. Genevieve was Mercedes’s classmate—a caramel-complexioned Michelle Obama in the making. She agreed. After all, the two girls never got in any trouble—together or separate. “Where are you two trying to go?”
“Bloomy’s,” Mercedes answered, her face as sweet as could be. Shopping at Bloomingdales was one of her favorite pastimes.
Sunny had given her daughter her own credit card long ago, although Mercedes knew that her every transaction was being monitored. She was careful with her spending, but knew that her limit was bottomless.
“Genevieve’s sister works there so we’re gonna stop in and say hi to her and then do a little shopping.”
Sunny pretended to think about it, but she trusted Mercedes and really had no problem letting her go.
“Okay,” she said at last. “Call Raul when you get out of school. He’ll take you and Genevieve wherever you wa
nt to go and he’ll drop you both off at home afterwards.” Sunny leaned forward in her seat. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?” she bellowed into her elderly driver’s ear.
“Yes!” he assured her hurriedly so that she would stop yelling. “I will wait for Mercedes to call.”
Satisfied, Sunny patted him on the back appreciatively and sat back.
“Thanks, Madre.” Mercedes looked at her mom and smiled. “You look nice today,” she observed.
Sunny playfully pinched her daughter’s cheek. “I look nice every day, Mercedes.” Sunny winked at her. “And so do you. It’s in our genes.”
Mercedes thought about that, and decided that she agreed. “Yes. Bella is beautiful, too.”
Sunny smiled. “Bella” was the name Mercedes had given to Sunny’s mother, Marisol, as a child. As a toddler, she had a difficult time pronouncing abuela or abuelita, the Spanish word for grandmother. So “Bella” was the name that stuck.
“Yeah,” Sunny said, gazing out the window. “Your Bella is beautiful indeed.” Sunny got lost in thought for a moment as she recalled being a little girl dreamily staring at her mother, Marisol. Sunny had thought her mother was angelic, that her lovely face had been prettier than all the other mommies in Brooklyn. She smiled to herself now, thinking that her own daughter might see her in the same light. Her smile faded slightly as she reflected that she was as far from an angel as it gets.
“Why do you do that?” Mercedes asked.
Sunny frowned. “Do what?”
“You daydream all the time. We’ll be talking about a topic and then you get this funny look on your face and I can tell your mind is drifting.”
Sunny chuckled slightly. “Well, aren’t you Ms. Observant!” She nudged Mercedes playfully.
Mercedes watched her mother closely. “Yes. I am.”
“I guess I’m getting old,” Sunny said, fanning her hand dismissively. “My mind wanders when I least expect it.”