by Amarie Avant
“Yeah, oops, Mila. She came to my house and spent the night.”
Mila leaned back and gave her a once-over, looking her up and down. “What?”
“You know what. If not, I’d have come here bloated and disgusted with myself. Lido’s taking her medication. If we’re can keep her on it, Mila . . .” Veronica sighed, blue eyes wide with hope. “I believe she can be a better person.”
Before Mila could ask about what medication her sister was on, the Nigerian poetess, Nkem, caught her eye. The young mother stood back a bit, gnawing on her lip, but looked desperate to speak.
“Hey, Nkem,” Mila included her into the fold.
She hardly stopped battering her bottom lip to speak. “Ms. Mila, can I ask you a few questions?”
Veronica pulled back somewhat, offering a smile.
“Sure,” Mila said.
“If I got a modeling gig, can I still be in the competition? Or is it for people who’ve never done anything?”
“Hmmm, I haven’t thought of that,” Mila said. She looked to Veronica.
“When I was a kid, my mom spent any money she could hide from my father on pageants. Most of them had rules, which implied if you had made X amount of money, you were unable to sign up. We were good at pretending, so we were able to get around that rule. You know, if you need some tips, thrift stores in rich neighborhoods are a saving grace. And every once in a while, I spoke in a French accent,” Veronica said, quickly changing up her dialect. “I still do it now when I feel like poor white trash. Everyone loves the French. Anyway, getting back to your question. It’s really up to Mila, and what the rules will be for this competition.”
“Damn, you are like a sistah dipped in vanilla.” Nkem stopped biting her lip. She had clung to Veronica’s words. “I just thought of rhyme that I wanted to share based on what you’re saying. And you, Mila,” Nkem gestured toward a worker in the background. “Mila, when you and Stacy were talking the other day, it did something to my soul. Many of these girls don’t think shit about themselves unless a guy tells them so. Excuse my language.”
“Thank you, Nkem. I hope the other young ladies get that message too. Well, I don’t mind you competing.” Mila smiled. This caused a rush of relief to flood through Nkem. “I might have to figure out what we can do about you winning if you do.” Mila smiled. “Maybe, if you win, we will have to have two winners or something just to placate everyone else who would like a chance. So, tell me, what kinda gig did you get? Congratulations, by the way, sweetheart.”
“Kenya, the woman who—”
“Oh!” Mila hugged her instantly. She and Nkem began to jump giddily.
“Wow, I’m out of the loop here,” Veronica smiled at their excitement.
“I’m sorry,” Mila apologized but gave Nkem another hug. “Veronica, do you know Kenya Arnold?”
“Can’t say that I do?”
Nkem spoke up. “Kenya is starting a street clothing line.”
Mila nodded. “Yes! We all need to support, Kenya, so get to know her Veronica, and Nkem, that woman is on the climb. My hairstylist is good friends with Kenya. She is an up and coming designer. Initially, I mentioned it to Lido, but . . .” Mila gave an embarrassed smile. “The line was too new for her taste. Also, it’s more urban, but I swear it has a couture feel to it—well, you know I don’t know couture, but I like it. I fast-talked Kenya into a new face for her new brand.”
Nkem beamed from ear to ear. “I actually didn’t get a call until three days ago. It was the day you got engaged Mila, so I couldn’t steal your shine.”
“My number is always available to you,” Mila said. “We have to support each other. It’s the only way.”
Veronica gushed. “Well, this sounds exciting. I wish you all the luck in the galaxy.”
By this time, Nkem’s rich, dark skin was glowing, and her cheeks were stuck in a shy smile.
“Aw, you will do well,” Veronica said.
“That’s right.” Mila nodded her head. “Move over Lido and Lupita.”
The comment made Nkem place a hand over her face. “I wish.”’
“Move over Lido?” Lido’s voice rang out. “And who is Lupita?”
Mila and Veronica looked over. They hadn’t even noticed she’d arrived. Nkem gawked at her, star-struck to the hundredth power.
“Um . . . um . . . Lupita Nyong’o.” Nkem spoke up. “She’s one of my favorite actresses. And you, oh my God!” Her enthusiasm now exceeded Mila’s. “You are Lido Ali! I grew up eating every single magazine you were in. I can’t get enough of you.”
Lido’s dark face moved from Mila to Nkem. “You’re the newbie Kenya Arnold just chose?”
“You know about that?” Nkem was excited. “We did the shoot this morning.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Lido finally responded, with a sardonic voice.
“Hey, sis, how do you like the place?” Mila asked. “You should’ve texted when you arrived. I could’ve given you a tour.”
Lido glanced around. “There are a lot of people.”
“Yes, more than I imagined.” Mila went to hug her sister, but Lido was already addressing Veronica.
“Why’s sexy lips here?” Lido asked, pushing closer to Veronica.
Nkem did a double take, looking at Lido and Veronica.
Veronica’s cheeks reddened as Lido grabbed her ass. “Don’t touch me.” Veronica’s growl landed on deaf ears.
Lido placed a hand around Nkem’s shoulders.
“Let her go,” Mila began.
“Really, Lido,” Veronica argued. “She’s just a kid.”
“Nah, this ain’t no baby right here,” Lido said. With her arm draped over Nkem’s shoulder, she grabbed the teenager’s breast. The nineteen-year-old was frozen in fear. “See, once you get like me, you can be a Top Model, and fuck top model bitches.”
Mila tried to grab her sister. “Lido, let Nkem go now before I knock your damn head off.”
Lido paid Mila no attention and continued since Nkem hadn’t moved. “I’ve had about half the hoes off American Top Model back in the day when I hosted. Sorry, Veronica, but you’re my main one.” She tried to rub Nkem’s cheek. “Good bone structure. I can teach you how to walk. It’s all in the pussy.”
Mila slapped her sister. Nkem seemed to awaken from her catatonic demeanor and stormed off. Silently, Mila started after her.
“Why are you running after that fool xun—ugly—Nigerian girl, Mila, I’m your sister. If I have tears in my eyes, would you cry.”
Mila turned around and stalked back to Lido. “That young woman has gone through shit you don’t even understand, Lido. She has been . . . She has . . . I could fucking punch your face right now. If you’re not gone by the time I come back, I will kick you out on your ass myself.”
Lido stood there for a second. It didn’t take long for her to realize that the young lady had been raped. “Well, let me go on record and say that everyone comes to me freely.”
“You are so disgusting,” Veronica said.
***
Stacy, the worker who was helping the teenagers with their competition applications, stepped away from the area and caught up with Mila just as she got to the exit.
“What happened?” Stacy asked.
“Did everyone see it?”
Stacy grimaced. “Yes. Is Nkem okay? No matter how outgoing she is when it comes to poetry, she’s still . . .” Stacy sighed.
“I’m gonna go talk to her. It looks like Veronica is supposed to be helping with the younger kids. The teens seem to be self-sufficient with their applications now. Can you trade spots with David? Have him escort Lido out of here.”
David worked minimum wage security before starting at The People’s Love Project, and although he had a professional demeanor, he stood at six feet nine with jailhouse tats that he was in the process of removing. It might have seemed stereotypical, but Mila wanted the big guy with a teddy bear’s heart to escort Lido off the premises.
“You know what? Have Ve
ronica trade with David. You and David escort Lido out. If she comes at us sideways, we have insurance, and an entire room that saw her act a fool.”
Stacy nodded, her eyes wide as Mila left the room.
***
Mila stopped short of following Nkem. She watched as Lido glanced at the big black guy headed toward her. Mila saw her almost crack a smile. Before he could reach her, Lido turned toward the hallway that Mila had just gone down. Mila took a few steps back, so her sister wouldn’t see her.
“Wait a minute.” Veronica caught up to Lido, and Mila relaxed, inching closer to see what would happen. “You’ve really made a fool of yourself. Why don’t you just leave, and you can apologize to your sister later.”
“Apologize?” Lido glared at her woman. Her lips sneered in disappointment. “And how do I make a fool of myself? We’re in a room full of nobodies!”
“Lower your voice.”
“I’ll lower my voice when you let me come home for good, sweetie pie. Mila just—”
Veronica stepped closer to her, as David and Stacy stood close. Mila saw her eyeing them, but before Lido could snarl an insult at them, Veronica caressed her cheek.
“If you care about me, Lido, you will leave,” Veronica said. “You have a bad, bad mouth, Lido. I know you didn’t think much of what you said to Nkem. Yet, think back, honey. You have been in her shoes.”
Like a caged animal, Lido glared at Veronica. “How dare you.”
“Lido,” Veronica called, as she hurried out of the building.
Mila waited a moment longer. Her eyes met Stacy’s, and Mila knew she’d not misheard what Veronica had said. Mila wondered if it was true, or if it had just been some lie her sister had told Veronica for sympathy. Mila didn’t want to think about it right now, but based on Lido’s reaction, she guessed it was the former.
***
Mila stood just outside of the ladies’ restrooms. When having the place designed, she had also requested a seated area, which she now realized she would need for her competition. Why that thought popped into her head, she did not know? Multi-tasking maybe?
Nkem sat on the couch with a suede pillow in her hands. Tears streamed down her dark skin. She stared off into oblivion as Mila sat next to her.
“I keep thinking about my old foster mom,” Nkem said.
Mila instantly felt worse. She knew the young woman’s story. Nkem hadn’t just been raped, but she was raped by someone who swore to offer care and love to a population that had already been thrown away by his or her own biological parents. Instead of telling her social worker about her foster mom’s fondling, Nkem AWOL’ed from her foster home and ended up being raped on the street.
Mila was speechless, though she was well trained. Due to opening up an organization with an underprivileged population, she had received the fundamentals as to what word, phrase or touch could trigger certain people. She knew the basics for communicating with a battered woman. She was aware of how the LGBTQ community needed certain services, and how some young women who strove to become men were physically damaging their mammary glands to bind down their breasts. Little things she never considered now shocked her. But this situation—her own sister causing this pain—she hadn’t been trained for that.
She wanted to hug Nkem and tell her everything was going to be okay. It wouldn’t erase the molestation she endured for years by her foster mom and the one shitty night she left and ended up pregnant, but would it help her forget for just a moment?
“I just wish that woman was dead.” Nkem’s voice hardly rose above a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me . . . about her.”
A moment passed, Mila offered her a chance to say more. She gave a sympathetic smile, trying to encourage her. She’d arrived at The People’s Love Project for judge ordered parenting classes. Nkem shared her history on a piece of paper and learned to love her child in those classes. And then she joined more classes and stayed awhile.
“She’s in jail, Nkem. Although, I believe, knowing that doesn’t take away what you’ve endured.”
“It doesn’t.” Her response was harsh. Instantly, Nkem shook her head. “Ms. Mila, you’ve been good to me. But I just felt like a piece of . . . gum out there. Gum that has been spit out, trampled on, stomped on. I need a piece of paper.” Nkem’s fingers began to fidget. “I need to write something. Shit, it feels like I’m gonna die if I can’t write something.”
Mila’s hand engulfed hers. She looked her in the eye. “You need therapy, Nkem.”
“Nah, I don’t need that shit. The judge gave me group counseling. With your help, I met those requirements. Wanna know why I stuck around?”
Mila sighed. She still believed one-on-one sessions were for the best.
“It’d be nice to know why. If I know, I can try to help someone else,” Mila replied.
“The book you gave me. I stayed for that. And my son, he likes the kids’ club. I’m gonna write.”
“And don’t you ever dare stop writing. But you need individual therapy, Nkem,” Mila stressed again. “When you met with our on-site therapist, and she agreed that journaling helped. She also recommended for you to continue seeing her. If you want to be in my competition, you will have to agree to see the therapist until she properly discharges you. Understand that I can’t make you attend, but I can hold your application.”
“Tsk, damn,” Nkem said. She leaned back in the chair with a heavy huff. “You always have my best interest at heart, Ms. Mila. I guess I have to sit in a seat and talk until it tears my fucking heart out.”
Mila could hardly look at Nkem. The preaching she’d just given went both ways. Hell, I need to talk out this anxiety about Todd. Was she ready to tell Blake about how she felt regarding being accosted by Todd? Could she follow her own advice and get some therapy?
She’d only had the one bad dream, and she was able to equate that to sleeping away from home. But her heart clenched each time she glanced in a mirror.
Counseling would help. She knew it. As she gave Nkem one last hug, she determined that she’d speak with Blake after the wedding.
Mila
Mila sat in traffic while on the phone with Zenobia. They caught up like old friends, and Mila was grateful that Blake’s family had befriended her so readily.
Wondering how good of a bachelorette party they’d have with Lido’s current antics, she hesitantly asked, “So did my sister, Lido, ever call and invite you to Tres Chic Winery?”
“Girl, yes. I was so happy when she called. That place looks amazing—the subtle animal print with the stone accents—just beautiful. I have been sharing their article on Facebook for weeks, showing my support. Don’t tell Blake, I’m on Facebook. You know, I can use a vacay before the wedding. I actually won’t be able to make it to Napa until the next morning, though.”
“Well, I’m glad that you can come.”
“So, tell me more about these wedding plans?”
They chatted for a while longer, and then Mila had an incoming call from Yasmin.
“Zennie, looks like I will see you in a week and a half, wine in hand,” Mila concluded. “My sis is calling me.”
“Okay, chat later.”
Mila switched over at the last minute.
“I am so mad at Lido I could just ring her scrawny ass neck,” Yasmin said.
“Who you telling? I cannot believe Lido would do such a thing. Did you have a chance to talk to her about it?”
“Yes. The moment you told me I called her.” Yasmin sighed. “Our sister is becoming more manipulative by the second. It used to be that our spoiled brat couldn’t hide her true colors.”
“You’re right.” Mila played with the hair at the nape of her neck. “When we went searching for her in New York—”
“She was playing nice, Mila. Nobody ever pulls the wool over my head. Listen, do you honestly still want her in the wedding, Mila?”
“For the first time, Yas, I honestly don’t know if I want her at the wedding, sitting with associat
es—as opposed to family and friends. I mean, she’s our family, and I’m transfixed on my childhood memories. I keep contemplating on all my daydreams of marriage, how we as sisters would plan it . . . even mom.” Her voice was stifled for a moment. With more conviction, Mila stated, “It was a hard road to happiness. Very hard. And for African women—black women—stats on marriage makes it worse. But I finally have my knight in shining armor. Nevertheless, I always saw the two of you in the wedding. Honestly, the answer to her being in the wedding is a hard no. But as a guest, Yas, is that even a viable option?”
“Tsk, I would give you advice in a heartbeat, but Lido practically assaulted that young girl for no apparent reason. Well, you could sit her next to Mom . . . and Dad? Will she sit next to Dad? She’s hated him for years.”
“Damn it, Yas,” Mila grumbled. “Lido is entirely too complicated. Will I regret it? Being seventy, eighty years old, looking back at photos, and she’s not standing in the photos as a bridesmaid, will I regret that? Or will I regret her actions if she’s there?”
***
The home Mila shared with Blake in Santa Monica was like a fortress off in the distance. Today, before she knew it, she was there. She always felt comfortable sitting in her car, singing music whether it was Alicia Key or Tamela Mann, but after her call with Yasmin, it had been a long, quiet road home. Now, she dragged herself out of the car and into the house.
Blake stood at the top of the stairs. Just the sight of him caught her breath and put her mind at ease.
“You have to change.” His emerald eyes twinkled as he drank her in.
“Humph, looks like you don’t mind eating me up in this.” She tried to smile.
“Mila, there isn’t a piece of clothing in this world that can take the focus off your beautiful face. Baby, you could never model a thing. You are too fucking gorgeous. But for the sake of me eating you at Ryan’s, you must undress.” He tapped the banister. “You also don’t look like you’ve resolved things with Lido.”
“Sounds like you don’t wanna know. I love the compliments, but the clothing reference was a tad corny.” Mila cocked a grin.