Full Figured 9

by Carl Weber

  Although Victor made money hand over fist, he wasn’t a frivolous spender, so I was pretty sure my argument would convince him. At least that’s what I hoped, until I got home and he told me his plan.

  “What the hell you think you are going to buy her a new car for? We’re just coming out of the recession. You just started the corporate delivery business a few months ago,” I fussed at Victor. “What if that flops? You put so much money into it. We could take a really bad hit. We need to be smart. We need to be wise.” I tried to calm down a tad. I walked over to Victor seductively and rubbed my hand down his cheek. He’d heard me roar. Now he needed to hear me meow. “I say we wait to see how the new business does. Let’s give it a year. By then Jamela will be a sophomore in college. She’ll be able to drive on campus. It just makes more sense,” I reasoned, knowing that next year I’d come up with yet another excuse why we shouldn’t purchase Jamela a new car. “We can’t risk financing another car at this time. You’re a savvy businessman, so I’m sure you’ll agree.” I began beating him down with the batting of my eyelashes.

  Victor was already worn out from his long day. First work, then dinner with Jamela, a pit stop at the dryclean-er’s, and then a night at the scholarship event. We hadn’t been home but ten minutes. Victor hadn’t even gotten out of his tux yet. He stood in front of the mirror, removing his tie. I stood behind him, still rubbing my hand down his cheek, staring at our reflection in the mirror.

  The event had gone very well. I was marking my territory for when it was Brielle’s time to be considered for a scholarship. I had truly felt as though the night had been a success, until Victor dropped this bombshell on me on the way home. He wanted to get Jamela a new car for her high school graduation. He swore it was his idea, that Jamela hadn’t said a word about a new car, but I doubted that. That heifer had been working on him just as I had expected.

  Victor kept his voice low and even. “I really did want to surprise her with a car. It’s not every day you get a 2200 on the SAT. She doesn’t ask for much.”

  On top of everything else, he wanted to throw how smart she was in my face. Really? “I don’t care what she got on the SAT. We can’t afford it. Period,” I snapped.

  “Please lower your voice,” Victor whispered. “I don’t want her to hear us.”

  She couldn’t hear us. I’d made sure of that when I moved her ass into the maid’s quarters.

  “Why must you be so difficult?” Victor continued, now at his normal speaking level. “When she first started high school, I told her if she did well I’d buy her a car for graduation. I’m going to keep my word. She has kept her grades up in spite of all the things that she’s had to deal with.”

  “Like what?” I said, a little paranoid. That little bitch had better not be running her mouth about me.

  “She lost her mother at a young age. She had to share me with you and your children. She’s worked for everything she has. I don’t just hand her allowance. She works for it at the restaurant. She’s earned it. It’s just a car note. She makes enough money in tips alone to pay for her own car insurance and tags.”

  I was not used to Victor going back and forth with me. Usually I said what I had to say and that was it. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and listen to you make excuses for why she’s too good for the car she’s already driving. It works just fine. I just think this is you slipping back into the days of trying to buy her happiness. Money cannot buy happiness, Victor.” Ha! Wasn’t I one to talk? “And what’s this about her having to share you with me and my children? You pay her more mind than you do my children!”

  I knew as I said it that I was lying. The one thing I could say was that Victor was good to my children. Throughout the marriage, I could not think of a single time he ever treated my kids badly. He always treated them as if they were his own. Strangers on the street wouldn’t known Brielle and Brendon weren’t his blood children.

  “That’s a lie and you know it.” Victor wasn’t concerned about keeping voices down now as he raised his. “Your children get child support from their dad, and I still provide for them and get them things. All Jamela gets is a roof over her head and food. Any clothes she does get, hell, I see Brielle in them the next week.”

  Damn, he noticed that, huh?

  “Jamela pays for the little things she wants and any activities she wants to do with her own money. Brendon and Brielle get to spend the money from their dad on whatever they want. And from what I hear, Brielle is spending her money on street pharmaceuticals, if you know what I mean.” I could tell by the look on Victor’s face that he wished he could take those words back. It was as if he’d been keeping a secret and had let it slip out.

  My blood immediately began to boil. I knew he was getting worked up about his little princess, but how dare he try to throw Brielle under the bus in the process? “Don’t you dare tell that lie on my child!” I yelled at him.

  He came over to me and took me gently by my shoulders. “Honey,” he said as he softened his tone. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. But I’m back and forth at restaurants across town. The kids come in, and kids talk.”

  “So you believe rumors, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then by all means, please get to telling me just exactly what it is.” I put my hand on my hips and stared him down. Using my daughter to change the subject was not sitting well with me at all.

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how quickly Brielle goes through her money.”

  “Yeah, but she has things to show for it.”

  “Like what?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He’d asked me too quickly. Anything I could think of was something he or I had purchased for her.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Unless she left remnants of crystal meth somewhere in her room, we’ll never see where her money is going.”

  “How dare you!” I hauled off and slapped Victor with all my might.

  Victor grabbed my wrists while I tried to continue swinging on him.

  “I know you’re upset, Glendora. The truth hurts.”

  “Truth?” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “You said they were rumors. You’re standing here accusing my daughter of being a drug addict based off rumors of what? Some stupid high school kids who are probably just jealous of her?”

  “Based on rumors that I’m starting to believe, and that, if you were any kind of mother, you would start to look into.”

  If I were a dragon, I would have spit fire and burned the muthafuckin’ house down. “You son of a—”

  Suddenly our bedroom door flew open, just as I’d broken one wrist free from his grip and had my hand extended up in the air, ready to hammer down on Victor.

  “Leave my father alone, you old witch!”

  I looked up and saw Jamela coming through our bedroom door. The next thing I knew, she’d lunged at me and was now gripping my wrist. Now Victor had one, and Jamela had the other. I was in total disbelief. I looked at her hands on my flesh. No, she didn’t put the paws on me. Fuck that! We were both about to be on some reality TV show shit.

  “You little bitch, if you don’t get up out of grown folks’ business, I’ll knock you out,” I said to her.

  Hearing me call Jamela a bitch must have stung Victor. Sure, I’d called her that name more times than I could count, but he’d never heard me do it. I’d gotten caught up in the drama, and in turn got caught slipping.

  Victor’s shocked reaction to my referring to his little princess as a female dog had him releasing my arm and stumbling backward. I immediately used my free hand to pry Jamela’s fingers from around my wrist while I snatched away from her.

  “What? You tried to hit me?” I said to her. “Did you see that, Victor?” I said without taking my eyes off of Jamela. “Your perfect daughter just jumped on me.” I tightened my lips, still glaring at her. “I wish she would try to lay a hand on me. Try that shit again and see w
hat happens. Your father already lost a wife. Would you really want him to have to bury his daughter as well?”

  “I was defending my father,” Jamela snapped. “So if keeping you from jumping him means jumping on you, then let’s do this.”

  I watched as Jamela’s eyes watered with anger. Her fists were clenched and her chest heaved up and down. Little bitch had heart. Who knew?

  “I’m not a child anymore, Glendora,” she spat. “I’ve only put up with you and not told my father what a mentally abusive bitch you’ve been to me because you were the only thing that seemed to make him happy. But now you wanna put your hands on him? That’s where I draw the line. So let’s do this. You and me.” Jamela didn’t even give me a chance to respond before she came charging at me.

  I managed to catch both her wrists. I planned on releasing them so we could get it in, but there was something I needed to say to her first. “I’ve been wanting to whip your ass for years,” I said, looking her dead in her eyes. “But out of respect for my husband, I didn’t—that and the fact that I didn’t want to go to jail for child abuse. But you just said it yourself: you’re not a child anymore. So let’s get it.” I released her hands and then immediately grabbed her head of thick hair.

  “Let go of me,” she said, reaching around and grabbing a handful of my virgin silky hair extensions.

  She pulled so hard that they came out in her fingers. Damn this little bitch. I knew I should have gotten a weave instead of these hair extension clips. The fact that I was going to have to spend unnecessary money getting it done all over again made the fire that had already lit up under me that much hotter. I was now smoldering.

  We scrapped and tussled. This was more than a knock-down, drag-out fight. We were both determined that only death would end this battle. Not even Victor could tear us apart—not that he was trying. I was surprised he wasn’t trying to get in between us. He was just standing there watching. At least I thought that’s what he was doing. I couldn’t tell. I had to keep my eyes on Jamela.

  “Let go of my hair!” Jamela shouted. “Fight me like a real woman. Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re not a real woman. You’re a gold-digging h—”

  While she was poppin’ off at the mouth, I managed to let go of her hair and quickly pop her on the jaw. This caused her to lose her balance, and we both stumbled backward.

  Jamela wiped her mouth and looked down at her hand. The sight of blood turned her into someone I had never seen before, someone full of rage. Made me wonder if I could take her on.

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to fight, little girl?” I smirked at her. I knew it was a dirty move on my part, but I had to hit her where it hurt.

  “I’m going to kill you,” she growled. She charged back at me. I stuck my hand out, scratching her face.

  We continued round two of tussling, swinging, kicking, and scratching. When it comes to physical fighting, I’m not sure age and experience overpowers youth, but I sure as hell was going to give this chick a run for her money. I didn’t give a damn if she was about to be out of the house on her own. Right now she was living under my roof. The nerve of a child, eating my food, lying up in my house, raising her hand at me. Even if I did get the worst end of this fight, oh, she was going to know better than to try this shit again.

  I learned quickly that this bitch was stronger than I ever would have guessed. It got to the point where I couldn’t keep up with her and had to go old school on her. I dipped my head, closed my eyes, and just began to windmill.

  I felt like I had been windmilling for an hour, like I should have taken off like a helicopter, but she was still coming for me.

  Eventually, I heard a loud thump and a crashing sound. At first I thought I had managed to knock her out or something. That couldn’t have been possible, though, because I could still feel my fists landing on her.

  “Daddy!”

  Jamela yelled for Victor, her attention now on him instead of me. This would be my chance to take her down. I could sneak her the same way Floyd Mayweather had done that Latino boxer. Protect yourself at all times. Well, that was a rule Jamela wasn’t following right now. There was something about the look of horror on her face, though, that made me decide to follow her eyes instead of sneak-attack her.

  I turned my head to see Victor sliding down the dresser. His eyes were blank, and he was slumped over.

  It was at that moment that Jamela and I were no longer concerned about being the last man standing. We each raced over to him.

  “Victor, honey. Are you okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay,” Jamela said. “Look at him,” she yelled. She was yelling out of fear, so I let it go. “Call 911,” Jamela said to me as tears began to spill from her eyes. She started patting Victor’s cheeks. “Daddy, please be okay. Stay with me, Daddy, please. Not you too, Daddy.”

  Believe it or not, standing there watching that poor girl plead for her father’s life really did break my heart. Yes, we had our differences, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in that moment. She’d already lost one parent, which had benefitted me greatly. In all honesty, I didn’t want her to deal with the death of two. Not this soon anyway—for her sake and for mine.

  With Victor being older than me, I figured he’d be the first to go, but we hadn’t even gotten to the point where he was worth more dead than alive. He still had a few good miles left on him—and money to make for me to burn.

  “Please, Glendora. Call for help.”

  Jamela’s cry tore me out of my daze. Victor’s lips were starting to turn blue. “Okay, yes, okay.” I panicked, running over to the nightstand and grabbing the house phone. When the operator answered, I gave her our address and said, “Please hurry. It’s my husband. He’s lying on the floor. His lips are blue.” I looked over at Jamela, crying over her father.

  “Daddy, Daddy, wake up. Don’t do this to me.”

  At that point, the operator walked me through the steps that would enable me to determine whether Victor was breathing. In my current mental state, all my years of nurse’s training did me no good. I couldn’t think straight. “No!” I yelled. “Dear God, he’s not breathing.”

  Jamela began giving Victor CPR. I watched as she tried her best to breathe life into him, then placed her hands on in his chest, pumping up and down.

  All of this felt surreal. I listened numbly as the operator told me that an ambulance was on the way. My only concern now was, would the help be on time?

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRIELLE

  (Long Island, New York)

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked when she called me at my father’s house. She usually sounded so happy and upbeat, especially when she was calling to tell me about a purchase she’d made. Today, she sounded like she was crying.

  “Bri,” my mom said. She swallowed so hard I felt like I was traveling down her windpipe. “It’s . . . Victor.”

  Okay, now she was scaring me. She needed to say whatever it was she was trying to say. I was all the way in New York with no connects. The last thing I needed was to get all hyped and anxious and not have anything to bring me down. “Mom, what about Victor? Is he okay?”

  I could hear a swishing sound as if my mom was shaking her head.

  “Ma, please tell me.” My voice began to tremble.

  “Victor had a stroke, sweetie.”

  My stomach plunged as if I’d been kicked. I pulled my iPhone away from my ear and looked down at it like a snake handler. I couldn’t believe the words that had had the nerve to slither into my ear. Not that I wanted to, but I needed to hear them again. I needed to make sure of things. “What did you say?”

  “Victor had a stroke,” my mom repeated in a shaky voice. In spite of what Jamela wrote in her diary about my mother being a gold digger, I knew Mom loved Victor. There were so many times I’d wanted to call Jamela out on the things she said about my mom in that stupid diary she kept hidden in her sock drawer, but I couldn’t let her know I’d been reading it. Hearing how brok
en up my mom was right now just proved to me how wrong my stupid stepsister was about her.

  “When? What happened? Where is he, Mom?” My anxiety rose with every question I asked. “Is he in the hospital? Is he . . .” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word. It would have been harder for me to accept Victor’s death than that of my own father. After all, it was Victor who saved us from living the life of a low-income family, with Brendon and me having to walk through the doors of public schools every day. Yeah, our pops paid child support, but that’s where the support stopped. No extras, with the exception of the health care the courts forced him to provide for us and the roundtrip flight tickets he provided every spring break.

  I didn’t really trip about it all that much. Hell, I knew my dad had kids all over the map he had to pay child support for. I couldn’t imagine he had any left over to give, especially with trying to maintain the New York lifestyle he shared with his current wife and their child.

  Brendon, on the other hand, despised our father for not doing more. I don’t think he meant doing more when it came to money. I think Brendon would have taken more father-son time with our dad than anything. He was a growing boy becoming a man. Victor was a great example of a hardworking man who took care of his family, but I guess for a boy, there is nothing like having your biological father take you under his wing and teach you how to be a man.

  “It happened last night,” my mother said. “He’s in the hospital and, baby, it’s not looking too good.” She started crying loudly.

  I put down my turquoise fingernail polish. My toes were only half done, but my hand was shaking so bad that I wouldn’t have been able to finish.