by M?ta Smith
“I doubt that would happen. I’ve got an alibi. I’ve been gorging myself like a pig nonstop. The delivery guys of every joint in town can vouch for my whereabouts,” I say with a laugh. “Besides, Misty wasn’t murdered, she overdosed. But even if I was going to kill someone, Misty wasn’t at the top of my hit list, Mikhail is.”
“What happened, baby?” Amara asks. “Tell me everything.”
“I was DJ’ing at a party for Dika, the model. You know her, right? Anyway, of all people, Misty shows up and as usual she’s all over Mikhail. But I can’t confront her because I’m working. She and Mikhail disappear, and then reappear with Misty crying her big blue eyes out. Then Dimitri drags her out in a hurry. I confronted Mikhail and things got real ugly real quick.”
“You say that Dimitri dragged Misty out of the party?” Amara asks me.
“Yeah. Misty was making a fool of herself in front of everyone and trying to put Mikhail on front street,” I say. “Only I have no idea why.”
“So Dimitri was the last person to see her alive?” Amara asks.
“I don’t know. Knowing Misty, I doubt it. I’m sure she had a gentleman caller or two or twenty before she kicked the bucket,” I say.
“Finish telling me what happened that night. Don’t leave anything out,” Amara says, dramatically.
“Uh, okay,” I say. “Where was I? Oh yeah . . . I confronted him about sleeping with Rebeca . . .”
“Mikhail and Rebeca? You’ve got to be mistaken,” Amara says.
“I saw it with my very own eyes, Amara. It was the night of the opening after my set.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, baby?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I didn’t feel like talking about it, I guess. It’s embarrassing. Here I am, the toast of South Beach. Everyone seems to think that I have it all. But it’s like I’m one of Mikhail’s possessions. It’s suffocating. Anyway, I told him that I knew about the two of them, and then Mikhail slapped me, and all hell broke loose. I was not raised to let some man whoop on me, so I fought back. We had a knock-down, drag-out brawl that resulted in me having a great big shiny black eye and camping out at my crib. I lost my brandnew Louboutin sandals too. I’m almost as mad about that as I am about him jacking up my face,” I tell her.
“Mikhail hit you?”
“Yes. He hit me hard as fuck, ma. I said we had a knock-down, drag-out fight and I meant it literally. We are so over. I can’t deal with the drama. What is it about Mikhail that is making broads go crazy?” I ask.
“I—I don’t know,” Amara stammers.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. But I’m not buying it.
“Amara, this is me, Bobbi. I know that something is wrong, girl,” I say.
“How did you say that Misty died again?”
“She OD’d,” I remind her, sighing. “She was a druggie or something. You know how that goes.”
“There’s no mention of anything suspicious,” she says.
“No, Amara,” I snap. “Why are you focusing so much on Misty? I’ve told you that Mikhail has gone all psycho on me and all you can think about is the dead porn star. What, do you think she was trying to kill herself?” I ask. “Is that why you’re so stuck on Misty?”
“I—I don’t know,” Amara stammers.
“Can you say anything besides ‘I don’t know’? God, Amara. I’m trying to figure out what move to make next. What should I do?” I ask her.
“Bobbi, baby, there is only one thing for you to do. Get out,” she says.
“What do you mean get out? I can’t just leave my club and all my hard work. Besides, if I leave now I leave with nothing. There’s a clause in my contract for early termination. I’d have to pay a fine of five million. Why should I suffer anymore? He already beat me up. My face is tore up.”
“Consider yourself lucky. Mikhail very rarely shows restraint when he explodes. He can be very dangerous once you’re on his bad side.”
“His bad side? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say.
“Oh there’s something,” she tells me. “Have you done anything that would anger him?”
“Besides confronting him about Rebeca and Misty and his cheating and whoremongering?”
“Yes, besides that. Throwing those things in his face would definitely anger him, but not to the point where he’d beat you. He’d consider an act like that beneath him. It’s not his way.”
“Well, it was his way the other night.”
“Think, Bobbi. Did you overhear something? See him doing something? Oh God, Bobbi, please tell me you aren’t cheating on him,” Amara begs.
“Calm down. I haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. I haven’t done anything! Everything had been cool between us until Misty showed up and I confronted Mikhail,” I say. I think about how red Mikhail got when I accused him of being threatened by black men.
“Do you think? Nah, that couldn’t be it.”
“What couldn’t be it?”
“Well, he thinks I spend too much time with Q. I accused him of being threatened by black men and he got really, really red. I’m not sure if he was mad or embarrassed, though.”
“Are you having an affair with Q?” she asks.
“No. Of course not. I’m not the one fucking the help, Mikhail is! I’ll admit that Q is sexy, and well, once I stepped to him. But I was drunk. And no one saw us and nothing happened,” I tell her. “That’s the truth.”
“Then that probably isn’t it,” Amara says. “If he thought you were fucking Q, both of you would be swimming with the fishes. He’d kill you both.”
“If he thought we were fucking?” I ask. “Shit, he’s a crazy motherfucker!”
“Well, if he thought you were cheating he’d get evidence first. Then he’d kill you. Mikhail never acts unless he’s absolutely sure.”
I think of the abortion but quickly dismiss it. Mikhail said he’d kill me if I had an abortion, and I’m still standing, so he couldn’t possibly know. I covered my tracks well, and Mikhail hasn’t brought up any suspicions of me being pregnant ever since. And he hasn’t been around enough to know if I’ve gotten a period since then or not.
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing. Look, I know you’re Dimitri’s girl and Mikhail’s friend, but you’re also my friend. Why are you blaming the victim?” I yell at her.
“It isn’t that, baby, I promise you,” she says. “Listen carefully, Bobbi. I think that Dimitri killed Misty.”
“What?”
“Oh, Bobbi, don’t you see it? You’re right there. You’ve experienced Mikhail’s wrath firsthand. Don’t you know what kind of person Mikhail is and what happens when you cross guys like him? Remember how I told you that Dimitri is the one who keeps all the captains in line? That includes getting rid of anyone who poses a threat to Mikhail.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. You think that Dimitri killed Misty because she posed a threat to Mikhail? How?” I ask.
“Misty knew something she shouldn’t have,” Amara says.
“You say that like you know what it is,” I reply.
Amara is silent.
“Amara, are you still there? Hello?”
“We shouldn’t talk about this over the phone,” she says. “It’s not safe.”
“But when?” I ask. “Are you coming to Miami for New Year’s?” I ask, but Amara doesn’t answer.
“I have to go now, Bobbi,” Amara says.
“Wait a minute, Amara,” I yell into the phone.
“Watch your back, okay, baby? Be careful,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I’m totally freaked out. Amara is always calm, cool, and collected. She’s been the voice of reason, but now it seems that even she can’t rationalize remaining involved with Mikhail. She was definitely scared. And she left me hanging without a clue except for the fact that my life could be in danger. What the fuck am I going to do?
I nearly have a coronary when the phone rings. I take some deep breath
s to calm down. It’s just the doorman, I tell myself, picking it up. No one else would call besides my mother; I never ever give out my home number.
“Bobbi?” Mikhail’s voice barks on the other end.
“Mikhail?” I ask, shocked. I look at the caller ID box too late. “How did you get this number?” I ask. “It’s unlisted.”
“That means nothing to me. I’ve had this number for quite some time. But I only now confirmed that you were there.”
“How did you do that?” I ask him.
“You just spoke with Amara, didn’t you?” he asks. I can hear his sinister laughter on the other end.
“How did you . . .”
“Never mind how I knew, I just do. Bobbi, you need to come home immediately,” he says.
“There’s no way I can do that. I have a black eye and a busted lip. How do I know that there isn’t more where that came from?” For all I know Mikhail has tapped Amara’s phone and knows everything we discussed. There’s no way I’m going back.
“How do you know there’s not worse if you don’t come home?” he counters.
“I don’t,” I whisper. “But maybe it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“I don’t think so,” he says. “Come home and we’ll talk,” he says.
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask cautiously. For all I know, we’ll talk could be code for “say hello to my little friend.”
“Don’t make me force you to come home, Bobbi. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s better if you just come of your own volition.”
“Force me?” I ask, unable to hide the fear in my voice.
“Things will be better for you if you come home. If you come home, I promise you that I will not lay a hand on you,” he says. His promises don’t mean shit! “If you don’t, I’ll see to it that you lose everything. You know this. Your reputation will be shot. I will ruin you. Your life, if I decide that you shall have a life at all, will not be so good. No matter where you go. You can’t hide from me. I have eyes everywhere. And I have no problem breaking you in every way.”
“I see,” I say. “You haven’t left me with many choices.”
“Naturally,” he says.
I weigh my options. I can take my chances and run, but to where? I can’t go to my parents’ house. There’s no way I can drag them into this mess. And I can’t just live on the lam. If I stay here, I’m dead meat. I don’t have a choice but to go back to Mikhail.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I say.
“Don’t make me wait too long,” he says, and hangs up the phone.
“YOU MUSTN’T EVER DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT AGAIN. IS THAT UNderstood?” Mikhail admonishes me upon my return to the mansion.
“What did you expect me to do?” I ask him. “I wasn’t raised to be a punching bag. I can’t allow you to beat me like that, Mikhail,” I tell him. It’s my natural instinct to stand up for myself, but I’m scared as hell of how Mikhail will react.
“You bring things like that on yourself. Bobbi, you need to stay out of matters that don’t concern you. I don’t want to hear you speak of Misty’s involvement in my business,” he says.
“You know that won’t happen. Misty is dead,” I say. “I read it in the papers.”
“Yes, Misty is dead. Because Misty, like you, did not know when to be quiet,” Mikhail tells me.
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying that unless you want Misty’s fate to befall you, you will continue doing what I need you to do. Misty wanted to go her own way, but I couldn’t allow that. She held too many secrets and she threatened to reveal them.”
“Well, I don’t know anything,” I tell him. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t want anything to happen to Babylon. It means everything to me. I’d never betray you.”
“Good. Then you will have no problem continuing to do what I need you to do.”
“What is it that you need me to do?” I ask quietly. I’m afraid of what Mikhail might ask of me and I hold my breath. But I’m willing to tell him whatever he wants to hear.
“It’s simple. You must continue to be the face of Babylon. You’re a good girl, even if you pretend to be a badass. You have no record of criminal activity. You come from a good family. You were born and bred to be in the spotlight. You give me a certain amount of credibility. Sure, I may know some thugs, some insidious characters. I may associate with them. But it’s because of my beautiful black girlfriend and business partner. She’s hip-hop, but surely she’s no criminal. Her father is one of the most prominent attorneys in the nation. You are the perfect front,” he says.
I’m in shock. “You mean that I’ve been a mark all along? You were using me?”
“Bobbi,” he says, walking toward me. I start to back up. “Must we really be like that?” he asks. “I told you I wouldn’t hit you.”
I keep backing up until I back myself, literally, into a corner. Mikhail reaches out and touches my shoulders. I wince. “See, I’m not going to hurt you.” He looks at me with what I swear is kindness in his eyes. “Bobbi, I was using you, yes. But I wasn’t misusing you, and there is a difference. I really do love you. Can’t you see that I’m doing all this for your own good? I’m your savior, Bobbi. I rescued you from a life of boredom, of mediocrity, and I placed you on a pedestal. I’ve made you a queen. Make no mistake, you are the queen of this empire. What I have with Rebeca and what I had with Misty pales in comparison to what I feel for you. You’re my heart,” he says. He takes my hand and places it over his heart. “My heart beats for you.” He kisses my palm, then the back of my hand, and wraps me in his arms.
I’m dumbfounded, confused, and yet still very, very afraid. My lips are trembling, as is the rest of my body, but I’m determined not to let him see me cry. I’m not sure why, but I know that I can’t appear totally defeated right now. My gut tells me that it’s better to go along with Mikhail willingly, or to at least appear that way. I want him to think that I’m on his side while I figure out a way to get myself out of this mess. Mikhail, whether he did the deed or not, is a murderer. I don’t need to know about anything else he’s into. Murder is enough. I want out.
“Come, sweet angel,” he says. “Let us make love.”
I want to run, scream bloody murder or fire, do anything so that someone, anyone, can rescue me. But there’s no one to come to my aid, so I don’t run. Instead, I go through the motions. I pretend it isn’t rape, that Mikhail isn’t making me give him my body against my will. Because what good would a physical struggle be? But make no mistake, I will fight him. What Mikhail doesn’t realize is that no matter how backed into a corner he thinks I am, he doesn’t own me. He may be controlling my body right now, but not my mind, my heart, or my soul.
I RETURN TO WORK AFTER THE INCIDENT, SHINER AND ALL. After all, Mikhail and I agreed that we’d continue business as usual. Maybe in doing so I can find something, anything that I can use as leverage to escape Mikhail’s clutches with my body, my rep, and at least some of my finances intact. I rock a pair of oversized Chanel frames to hide the bruises until they go away. I wear Audrey Hepburn–inspired clothes, circa Breakfast at Tiffany’s, in an effort to not look like a total fool wearing huge dark shades indoors.
“What’s up with the Grace Kelly look?” Q says when he sees me.
“It’s not Grace Kelly, it’s Audrey Hepburn. I just feel inspired by her glamour right now,” I say, avoiding his gaze.
“And I thought it was to cover that black eye,” he says. I pretend not to hear him.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” he says. “At least you’re not fooling me and I don’t know why you’d try. You’ve been missing in action and now you come back in costume. Come on. I know Mikhail clocked you at that party at the Versace mansion.”
“You’re obviously misinformed,” I tell him. I don’t look at him; I pretend to be engrossed in a pile of receipts.
“Yeah, whatever, Boss Lady. But if you think that people aren’t talking and that
no one knows, you’re wrong.”
“It’s just gossip,” I say. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“Don’t have to. I know the signs a mile away,” he says.
“Well, in my case, you’re misreading the signs.”
“If you say so, but I think I know a thing or two about domestic violence.”
“What, did you see an after-school special?” I ask sardonically.
“No, I wish I had. My mother was battered. She used to make excuses, cover her bruises. Kind of like you’re doing now. She thought things would get better. They didn’t. She said she was going to leave, but she didn’t. She pretended that nothing was wrong. But it was. Her boyfriend beat her to death,” Q says.
I immediately feel like a complete and total asshole. “Q, I’m really sorry about your mom. That’s really fucked up, but I’ll be fine. I appreciate the concern, but everything’s cool.”
“It isn’t cool. I don’t believe any woman deserves to be hit under any circumstances. Only cowards hit women.”
“Cowards and complete psychos,” I say.
“Ain’t nobody so bad they can’t get their ass whooped,” Q says. “The bigger they come, the harder they fall.”
“Q, look, I’ll be honest with you. I want out of this but I can’t think of any way. Mikhail will destroy me if I leave. It’s that simple. I’m stuck.”
“Maybe not,” he says.
“How?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about how. Just know that every dog has his day.”
“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” I ask him. But I want him to do something crazy, like kill Mikhail. I want someone, anyone, to step in and fix this for me because I haven’t been able to come up with anything on my own.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head off, Boss Lady. He’s going to do it to himself.” I have no idea what Q means by this, but somehow it comforts me enough to get through the day, and I guess that’s all that matters.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
December 2006
WHEN THE ISSUE OF OCEAN DRIVE MAGAZINE ARRIVES AT the club, I’m astonished to find that there’s a picture of me on the cover. I knew that they were doing a profile, but I really had no idea that they would plaster me on the front. I thought magazine publishers got all freaked out about sales when there was a black woman on the cover alone. It rarely happens, and I damn sure didn’t expect it to happen to me. I’m not a huge celebrity or anything, but apparently Ocean Drive thinks otherwise.