Platinum

by Aliya S. King

  “Good morning,” Kipenzi said, as she slid in next to Cleo.

  “Can I help you?” Cleo asked.

  “You don’t recognize me? Damn! I should have bought some sneakers years ago.”

  Cleo stared at Kipenzi. And then her face revealed a mixture of disbelief and fear. Kipenzi took off her baseball cap and shook out her hair, a five-inch fluffy afro of soft curls she’d cut herself after getting released from her contract with Happy Hair and having her weave taken out, again, for the very last time.

  “Yup. It’s me. Crazy. I’m so loving this! I stopped at a traffic light on the way here and this girl did a triple take. But she didn’t think it was me. She just pulled off.”

  “You’ll have to talk to my attorney if you wanna know anything about the book,” Cleo said, moving closer to the wall and away from Kipenzi.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “You want to know if Jake’s in the book,” Cleo said.

  “I believe he has a responsibility to me,” said Kipenzi. “To be honest, loyal, and faithful to me. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Agreed. So why are you here?”

  Kipenzi sighed heavily. “Because I’m weak, like most women. And I can’t take his word for it.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Sadder than targeting rappers so you can write a book about them?”

  “I never thought about a book until recently.”

  Kipenzi propped her chin in her hands. “So what’s your motivation?”

  Cleo stirred her coffee so hard that drops of liquid began to slosh out. “You know how a man looks right when he’s about to come?”

  Kipenzi didn’t answer.

  “I’m talking, like, two seconds before it happens. Maybe one little drop has spurted out. His eyes glass over or he closes them tight or he stares at you … I feel like that’s the only time you really see a man’s soul. How he looks at you then is how he really feels about you.”

  Kipenzi thought about every time she’d had sex with Jake. Every time, he held her chin in his hands and stared at her, sometimes biting on her bottom lip as he came. He always, always looked her in the eye when he came. Usually whispering her name as he did.

  “I love that intimacy,” Cleo said. “I love that closeness.”

  “You can have that with one person,” Kipenzi said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I love that feeling of control. I love knowing that whoever they’re married to or dating or in love with—at that very moment, it’s all about me.”

  “See, that’s what I don’t understand. Why? What does so much promiscuity do for you?”

  Cleo waved a hand in the air. “That’s too easy,” she said, opening up her laptop and tapping the keyboard. “Let’s Google it.”

  Kipenzi didn’t move. She just watched as Cleo typed.

  Cleo began to read. “ ‘Causes of promiscuity.’ Let’s see, we have depression …” Cleo dug into her bag and took out a vial of medication. “Fluoxetine. Don’t leave home without it.”

  Kipenzi just stared.

  “What else do we have here? Ah, the classic: ‘an insecure attachment to father.’ Check! Ooh, look. New study says that promiscuity could be caused by a hormonal imbalance.”

  “So there might be a cure for you,” Kipenzi said.

  “There’s a cure. Unconditional love. That’s not likely to happen for me.” Cleo shrugged. “So here I am.”

  “Are you going to tell me if Jake’s in your book?”

  “Are you going to leave him if he is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Beth won’t leave Z. No matter how many times I sleep with him.”

  “That’s Beth.”

  “And Josephine wouldn’t leave Ras. Even though Ras almost left her for me.”

  “Almost.”

  “Jake’s known for not fucking with groupies.”

  Kipenzi locked eyes with Cleo and didn’t blink.

  “Don’t be relieved,” Cleo said. “He’s just got OCD about fucking random chicks. He’s had sex with his exes since y’all have been together. Some girl down south? The one who got pregnant by him and then miscarried? Yeah. He was still hitting that a few months ago.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Why is every woman so obsessed with her man being with me? I mean, I’m flattered, but I just don’t get it.”

  “You’re the one who’s writing a book.”

  “So you don’t care? As long as the affairs are not in print?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So what are you saying, Kipenzi?”

  “You’re right,” Kipenzi said, nodding once. “I don’t need to know. If Jake’s in there, I’ll deal with it.”

  “I need to go now,” Cleo said.

  Kipenzi slid out of the booth and waved Cleo out.

  “Here,” Cleo said. “Take a copy of the book. You might recognize a few folks in there.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Kipenzi said.

  “Yeah. Whatever,” Cleo said.

  Kipenzi stayed in the booth, staring at the first page of Cleo’s manuscript. The word Platinum was spelled out vertically over a black background. Kipenzi rolled her eyes. Platinum. Of course Cleo would go for a title that was obvious and over the top. She turned the page, read a few lines about someone who was clearly Z, and then closed it.

  Did she really want to know? Would it change anything? The answers were yes and yes. But she still couldn’t bring herself to open the manuscript again.

  Kipenzi got back in the Hyundai and drove around Brooklyn aimlessly, humming to herself and thinking about the manuscript on the back seat. She felt as if that pile of papers were glowing green, like the little bit of radioactive matter than Homer always brought home in the opening credits of The Simpsons. Even when she wasn’t looking at it in the rearview, she could see it. She could swear she heard Cleo’s voice narrating every word. Her cell phone rang and she pressed the device to her ear.

  “Auntie, turn to Hot 97,” Zander said.

  It was Kipenzi’s swan song, featuring Z. Kipenzi felt far removed from the song. As if she’d written it for someone else. Her voice wasn’t flawless anymore. But Z sounded as fresh and clean as the eighteen-year-old rappers being discovered on the internet instead of at open mic nights.

  “We sound pretty good, right, Zan?”

  “For some old folks? Yeah, y’all sound all right.

  “Now turn to Power 105,” Zander said. “Hurry.”

  Kipenzi stabbed the dials on the radio a few times and then stopped. It was Zan’s latest, a midtempo song with Bunny on the hook.

  “I told you I liked that song when you recorded it,” Kipenzi said, rolling her eyes. “But if I hear it one more time, I’m going to scream. You’re oversaturating the market and you don’t even have a deal yet. You’ve put out two mix tapes! Why would anyone want to spend any money on your actual album?”

  “They won’t,” Zander said. “They’ll download it for free. I haven’t paid for music since I was in the seventh grade.”

  “What about my last album, Zander?”

  “Two words, Auntie. Bit. Torrent.”

  “Bit what?”

  “It’s a file-sharing site. C’mon, Auntie. No one buys albums anymore. It’s about establishing a brand,” Zander said. “I don’t care how many records I sell. The way contracts are these days, I’ll never see any royalties anyway. The album is just marketing. You gotta get people to love you. If they decide they love you, they might actually spend money to see you in person or join your fan club or download your ringtones. That’s how I’m getting my money.”

  “It used to be the other way around,” Kipenzi said. “You sell records and the fans will come.”

  “I’ll bootleg my own music if it will help me go on tour faster.”

  “And this is why I’m retiring,” she said. “I’m on my way to your house now. Tell your mom and I’ll see you guys in an hour.”


  Kipenzi took out her earpiece and got the Hyundai up as fast it would go, humming along to everything on the radio and occasionally still glancing at the manuscript in the back. Maybe she’d give it to Beth, let her be prepared …

  As soon as Kipenzi’s car pulled around Beth’s circular drive-way, a 4Runner came roaring up the gravel. The driver nearly sideswiped Kipenzi’s car and seemed to jump out before it was fully in park.

  Kipenzi got out of her car at the same time that Zander came out of the house, throwing up his hands.

  “What is wrong with you? You drove all the way from Greenwich for what?”

  Bunny walked toward Zander, a pointer finger in his face.

  “I heard that voice mail some chick left you. She said she’s pregnant.”

  “You still hacking into my shit?”

  “You still want to fuck around?” Bunny screamed. Her weave was gone again. Her spiky hair was now dyed blond at the tips, making her every move seem more dramatic than usual. She had acrylic tips on her nails, filed out to V-shaped talons.

  Kipenzi went to the front door and began banging on it. “Somebody get out here and separate these two,” Kipenzi yelled.

  Bunny dashed for Zander, who grabbed her and spun her around, wrapping her arms around her chest like the straps of a straitjacket.

  “Stop. Fucking. Playing,” Zander said, squeezing Bunny tighter with each word.

  “Zan,” Kipenzi warned, still banging on the front door. “Let her go.”

  Zander shoved Bunny, who stumbled but quickly recovered. She ran over to Zander, cocked her fist back, and punched him square in the jaw.

  “Oh, girl, you are wildin’,” Kipenzi said, coming down the steps and heading straight for Bunny. But it was too late. Zander had lost it. He mushed her face with his entire palm, knocking her to the ground, and then kicked her in the side.

  “Fucking bitch,” he said, kicking her again in her ribs. He leaned down and pulled his fist back.

  “Zan! No!” Kipenzi screamed.

  Zander pulled back a few more inches and then punched Bunny in the nose. She screamed. He pulled back his fist, now bloody, and punched her again. Zander got up quickly, his eyes wide. He ran to one of his father’s cars, got in, and peeled out of the driveway in reverse.

  Bunny sat up in the gravel and put her head down, her hands covering her nose. Kipenzi went over and kneeled down next to her.

  “I’m calling the police,” Bunny mumbled, holding in the blood pouring out of her nose.

  “You hit him first,” Kipenzi said.

  “So? You won’t see any bruises on his face.”

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  Bunny stumbled to her feet, keeping one hand over her nose. “Look at this,” she said, pushing up the sleeve to her shirt. Her arm was marked with purple bruises. “Zander did this to me in the studio last night. It’s even on tape. The surveillance camera caught everything.”

  “Bunny, what do you want?” Kipenzi asked.

  Bunny pulled her T-shirt up to her face and wiped the blood away from her nose. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Finally Beth appeared in the doorway of the house. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’ve been banging on the door for five minutes!” Kipenzi said.

  “I was asleep. The cops just called. Neighbor said someone was …” Beth’s voice trailed off as she got a look at Bunny, her left eye turning purple, her lip split open, and her nose still dripping blood.

  “I expect you’ll be pressing charges,” Beth said, her voice flat and lifeless.

  Bunny smiled, showing off bloody gums. “Hope you guys have a good attorney.”

  Kipenzi went inside with Beth. Zander returned, slinking into the house and onto the sofa without speaking. Kipenzi watched out the living room window as the cops pulled up. When they knocked on the door, Beth, Kipenzi, and Zander all looked at each other.

  “Just tell the truth,” Kipenzi said.

  Twenty minutes later the police were pushing down Zander’s head and guiding him into the back seat of the patrol car. Kipenzi choked back her own tears and concentrated on comforting Beth, who was sobbing.

  “I need my husband,” Beth said, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t deal with this.”

  “Call Boo,” Kipenzi said. “Have him find out when they’re setting bail and how much. Then have Boo go get him. Zander won’t be there longer than an hour. I promise.”

  “I told Zan to stay away from her, Kipenzi,” said Beth. “She’s deranged.”

  Kipenzi stayed with Beth until the judge set bail and Boo was on his way to pick up Zander.

  “I’m going home,” Kipenzi said. “Call me.”

  Beth nodded and walked Kipenzi to the door. They hugged tight and Kipenzi got in the Hyundai and headed for home.

  WITHIN AN HOUR, KIPENZI HAD GONE HOME, HAD CHANGED HER clothes, and was on her sofa, dozing. Just as she slipped into a real sleep, her cell phone rang. She was in that halfway world: she knew the phone was ringing but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for it. It stopped. Then rang again. Stopped. Then rang again. She reached over and pressed talk.

  “Kipenzi, where are you?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Dylan. I’m at Teterboro. Where are you?”

  Kipenzi smacked her hand against her forehead. She’d completely forgotten that she had one final shoot to do for Happy Hair. They’d paid ten thousand dollars for a custom hybrid wig with clip-on pieces that matched the last weaved hairstyle she’d worn in their ad campaign. She had to endure one final shoot and then she would be done. She’d scheduled the shoot to take place on Mead’s Bay so she could fly back with Dylan and Z. “I can’t make it, Dylan,” Kipenzi said, sitting up and rubbing her foot, which was throbbing as always. “Just make sure you get Z here in one piece.”

  “You need to get here now.”

  “I can’t get on a plane right now. I’ll reschedule with Happy Hair.”

  “If you don’t come now, they’re automatically extending your contract for a year.”

  “Shit. Send a car to come get me,” Kipenzi said.

  Jake walked in the door, wrinkling his eyebrows as he heard Kipenzi talking about leaving.

  “Where are you going?” he said, as soon as she closed her phone.

  “Anguilla. Last shoot for Happy Hair.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Fine,” Kipenzi said, looking down at her cell phone. “There’s a car on the way.”

  “Bet. I’ll be right back.”

  Kipenzi sat down at her kitchen table and sent a few text messages. She picked up a folder her attorney had left behind and signed a few release forms to dissolve three more of her business ventures.

  Jake came downstairs with a leather overnight bag over his shoulder and his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Why does it have to be tonight?” he barked into the phone. “We’ve been trying to sign her for six months!”

  Jake sucked his teeth and closed the phone and threw it on the sofa. Kipenzi could tell that he’d hung up on whoever had called.

  “Where do you have to go?” she asked.

  “Fucking Harlem. We’ve been trying to sign Zander’s girl Bunny for months. Now she’s got an offer from Puffy. His people are up there now with paperwork. She wants to go with them. The manager wants to go with us. Thinks it could tip in our favor if I show up in person.”

  “Shouldn’t she be in a hospital or something?” Kipenzi said. “What is she doing taking business meetings after what happened with Zander?”

  “She’s fine. Now Zander, on the other hand—no one is gonna sign him after this.”

  “And you shouldn’t sign Bunny!” Kipenzi said. “She’s insane. And she’s been baiting Zander since the very beginning. Don’t sign her at all.”

  “She’s fiery, temperamental, and she can sing her ass off. I’m signing her. And the first thing I’ll have her do is refuse to testify against Zander.”

  “
Fine. I’m leaving. Be back in the morning.”

  Jake kissed Kipenzi on the forehead before unlocking the private elevator and closing it behind him.

  Kipenzi sent a text to her driver to make sure he was ready and checked her purse for all her essentials. She had her cell phone and keys. She looked across the room and saw the three-pound makeup bag she used to lug around everywhere she went. She smiled and lifted up her bag. It was light and manageable. No extra tracks for her hair. No makeup bag. No flat shoes for an emergency.

  Kipenzi glanced down at the smaller bag she’d taken into the diner that day. Cleo’s manuscript stuck out and she bent down to pick it up. She flipped through the first pages with her thumbs and then shoved the whole thing into her bag, threw it on her shoulder, and walked out of the apartment.

  She thought about throwing the manuscript out in the lobby of her building, but she didn’t. Someone could find it. She thought about taking it back upstairs and telling Ian to come over and shred it. But she didn’t.

  Instead, when she boarded the private jet at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, she peeled off her sneakers, adjusted her seat until she was almost completely horizontal, and began to read.

  BUNNY OPENED HER EYES AND IMMEDIATELY SQUINTED. THE ROOM was too bright. For a split second, she had no idea where she was. She tried to sit up and her belly cramped. She fell back onto a hard surface and looked to her left.

  A nurse appeared at her side. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Take it easy for the rest of the day. You’ll feel some mild cramping overnight. Anything excessive, give the doctor a call. Robert’s waiting for you in the lobby whenever you’re ready. Take your time.”

  The nurse squeezed her shoulder and left the room.

  Bunny sat up slowly. Before she could sit all the way up, Robert and Sal were in the doorway.

  “Can we come in?”

  Bunny shrugged.

  “How are you?” Sal asked, rubbing Bunny’s shoulders.

  “Going to hell,” Bunny said.

  “No, getting on with your life,” Sal said, fluffing Bunny’s spiky bangs with her fingers.

  “I want to see Zander.”

  Robert walked over to Bunny’s side, cell phone outstretched. He put a finger to his lips and gave the phone to Bunny, mouthing the name Melinda.