by Nikki Turner
“Hello,” she said, waiting and hoping.
“Happy birthday to you!” It was Don, a day late and a dollar short to wish her a happy birthday. He sang before going into a special birthday rap that he had written just for her. As well-thought out and executed as it was, it should have cheered her up, but it didn’t come anywhere close. She only could give him a dry thank-you for his efforts.
“Damn, I know shit ended on a real foul and sour note between us but I hope you can accept my apology.”
“Um-hum,” she said without much emotion at all. “Whatever.”
“That’s water under the bridge. I’m back now. I was under the influence of so many drugs, I couldn’t see clearly then.” He was waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t. Of all the people in his life, he’d expected her to be more thrilled about his successful trip to rehab.
“Good for you,” Beijing said.
“Beijing, what’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you would have more to say.”
“Nothing,” she murmured, her voice cracking.
“That nothing sounded a little weak to me. B, are you crying?”
“No,” she lied. It was none of his business. He’d had his chance to be in her life, but he chose drugs over her.
“Yes, you are. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing you can fix,” she shot back.
“Try me?” Don pressed.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it, and I am really glad you went to rehab. Now I will talk to you later.” She hung up.
Don could not believe she’d left him listening to Mr. Tone. He kept calling back until she finally answered again.
“What is it, Don?”
“Obviously, there is something bothering you,” Don stated. “Is the family okay? Your dad? Greta? Chyna? Your mom? Your sister?” he asked in one breath.
“Yup, they all fine.”
“You’re not sick, are you?”
Lovesick, she thought, but said, “No, I’m fine.”
Don tried to think what could possibly have his friend, ex-girlfriend, and manager down like this.
“Are you pregnant?”
“Hell no,” she answered a little louder than she meant.
“I mean if you are, I can stand in as the baby’s father. We don’t have to tell anybody anything different.”
That made her chuckle.
“How noble of you, but it’s not that.” Tears were falling from her eyes. “I just need to get my shit together and concentrate on me and my business, that’s all—how to build my multimillion-dollar empire.”
“I know the feeling. I had to get a clear mind. A cloudy mind will block a sunny forecast. Now that I got my shit right, I’m about to get ready for this big tour.”
“Oh that’s so wonderful, Don.” She was really genuinely happy for him, but his good fortune wasn’t good enough news to stop her tears. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Maybe you should get away,” he suggested. “Come to Atlanta.”
“For?” She had no intention of getting back with him.
“An escape. Remove yourself from your usual surroundings.”
“I’m not escaping with you … or whatever you want to call it. Not happening.”
“Get yo’ mind out of the gutter, girl.”
“You said come to Atlanta.” She was puzzled. “That’s where you are, right?”
“Right, but no strings attached. I just want to show you a good time, get you away from whatever it is that has you feeling the way you feeling. Look, you held me down at a time when I didn’t even know if I was coming or going. You saved me when I was unable to save myself time and time again doing the same crazy-ass shit day in and day out. Through all my bullshit you’ve been nothing less than a real friend to me from Day One when I walked into the hotel and four hours later you were driving the getaway car for me. You didn’t know me from a can of paint, yet you treated me like a friend.” He paused for a brief moment then continued. “For that reason alone, you will always be my nigga. Straight up! So, if I can help you in any way, shape, or form, I got you! If it means you coming to A-T-L is the way to help, then it’s settled. You need to be on the first thing smoking to the A.”
Beijing was touched by Don’s feelings. “How sweet,” she softly said. “But thanks but no thanks.”
“Please, come to A-T-L baby!” he urged. “Sun, fun, relaxation, plus I know you could network your ass off here. This is a good place to get your business popping.”
She was thinking about what Don was saying, about the contacts she could make in Atlanta. Her father always said, Success is the best revenge. She smiled when she saw a future where her exclusive concierge business could be launched and she could be working for no one but herself. And how one day Lootchee would see her again and when he did, she’d be living a life of luxury; her business would be booming louder and more legitimately than his shady ventures. Don snapped her out of her daydreams.
“My label got me set up in this mansion, so I can be near the rehearsal site by day and mingle with the A-town moguls by night. You can have your own wing if you want. It ain’t costing you shit. Just two friends in a big house trying to get their A-games right, tight, and back on track. Maybe you could transfer to the Tabby down here for a while.”
“I don’t think I’m going to transfer to Atlanta, but maybe I would see if I can work there for a couple of weeks to help out. My boss has been asking me to go down there and help out.”
What did she have to lose? Maybe a new atmosphere would help her get Lootchee off her mind and her money and business back on it.
CHAPTER 22
God Don’t Like Ugly!
Beijing stopped by her mother’s house and could not figure out what was happening on Willabee’s block. It was so packed that she had to leave her car a couple of blocks down the street; there was no place to park. As she closed the distance on foot to the house, she discovered the source of the crowd.
Momma’s having a party and didn’t even tell me, Beijing thought to herself as she caught the eyes of a few people hanging out in the yard in the cold, drinking cocktails. As she was walking up the sidewalk, she passed another couple with Styrofoam carry-out trays of food in their hands. Once Beijing hit the porch she could smell the fried chicken. Willabee loved to cook and she made the best soul food Beijing had ever tasted in her life, so her mouth was watering just thinking about what her mother had cooked up.
Beijing walked into the house. Everyone seemed to be having a grand ol’ time. People were sitting and standing around, stuffing their faces, drinking, smoking cigarettes, and placing orders for liquor and food.
Beijing moved around the crowded smoked-filled bungalow, putting drinks on coasters and picking up empty beer bottles and abandoned cups while all the time trying to find Willabee. She spotted her mother across the room interacting with her guests acting like she was some rich lady entertaining the likes of dignitaries and diplomats. Beijing was tickled by Willabee’s ensemble: a long electric-blue sequined gown with the same-colored heels to match, with a sequined beret cocked to the side and a long fox boa thrown on her shoulder. She looked like she was from the Roaring Twenties. Even in her fifties, her mother was as beautiful as ever.
“Momma, what’s going on?” Beijing approached her mother.
“Just having a little social, that’s all.” She was holding a plate filled with fish, greens, corn bread, and macaroni and cheese.
Beijing was used to her mother having card games, going to bingo, and even taking trips to the casino, but not all of these people at her house. “You always told me that you didn’t like a bunch of people in your house.”
“And that hasn’t changed. I don’t normally, but I’m not dealing with the norm right now.”
Before Beijing could comment, Willabee continued, “I have to raise money for Chyna.” She exchanged the food with a lady for a ten-dollar bill.
“Raise money for Chyna?” Beijing was baffled. “Mom
ma, why? I gave you money for Chyna’s spring break program already. That wasn’t enough?”
“It was more than enough,” she informed Beijing and then turned to someone else. “Marvin, did you pay for that drink?”
“Yeah, Willabee. I paid Sharon,” he said.
Willabee turned back to her younger daughter. “I just ran into a little problem and I’m trying to fix it. Now let me go entertain and make this money.”
“Momma, you don’t have to do this. How much do you need?” Beijing went into her bag and flashed out her checkbook.
“I don’t want your money, baby.” She patted Beijing’s hand and gestured for her to put the checkbook away. “I just can’t take it. It wouldn’t be right for you to have to pay for one program two times.”
“What do you mean two times? Momma, what happened to the money? Did you have to pay a bill or something with it?” Beijing asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
“Harry, you want another one?” Willabee asked a guy who was standing nearby.
He nodded as he passed her a five-dollar bill.
“Go in there and see Sharon,” she directed him as she went in her bosom, pulled out a bankroll, and added the five spot to it.
“Momma,” Beijing pressed.
“No, I didn’t. I would never do that to the baby, you know that.” She added, “Not even off my meds.” Willabee shot Beijing a look.
“Then what?” Over her mother’s shoulder, Beijing could see Paris coming in the front door and walking toward the kitchen.
Willabee sat down in an aluminum folding chair that one of her patrons had just gotten out of and dropped her head in shame. “Paris stole the money and smoked it up.”
“She did what?” Beijing raised her voice and put her hand on her hip.
“Yup, doing the same bull …” Before Willabee could finish, Beijing stormed into the kitchen and was up in Paris’s face.
“The damn baby’s money? You know you should be ashamed of yourself, Paris.” Beijing was so mad that she wanted to take her sister out in the backyard and kick her ass.
Paris raised her hand palm out, “Talk to the hand ’cause I don’t want to hear no fucking lecture from your Goody Two-shoes ass.”
Beijing looked at her and if looks could kill, Paris would’ve been six feet under. “How could you steal from your own child?”
“I didn’t. I took the money from Momma, not Chyna,” Paris said without remorse.
“But it wasn’t yours to take and furthermore how could you steal from your own damn mother?”
Willabee came in between them. “Please don’t do this here. I’m begging you, Beijing.”
“Why you gotta say something to me all the time, when I ain’t stole a goddamn thing!” Beijing asked her mother.
“Watch yo’ mouth, I’m talking to you because you are the only sensible one,” Willabee answered her daughter.
“’Cause she don’t want me to whip your ass in here, bitch,” Paris said, sounding more like a boxer at a press conference, than a crackhead.
“Whip my ass?” Beijing pointed around her mother, trying to reach Paris. “I’d like to know how you intend to do that. When you a junkie who probably ain’t even ate ’cause you jonesing.”
“Beijing. Please Beijing.” Willabee was trying to keep the punches from flying.
“You right, Momma, I wouldn’t even fight this trifling-ass bitch. What would I look like fighting a stone-cold druggie bitch? I’ve got the upper hand, simply because I eat three meals a day and I drink milk. The only thing this bitch done had to drink is cum!”
“No you didn’t. Meet me outside.” Paris started taking off her earrings.
“No problem, crackhead, but not until you come back from rehab. I wanna beat yo’ ass fair and square.”
“Beijing! Beijing! Beijing!” Willabee looked at her with the evil eye, surprised that Beijing was even entertaining Paris’s bullshit.
“You better get yo’ daughter, Momma, before I treat her like a bitch in the streets,” Paris said, adding fuel to the already burning house.
Two friends of Willabee’s helped to keep the girls apart.
“Beijing, you know better,” said Sharon, Willabee’s friend.
After Beijing had calmed down, she decided to leave—but not before going into Willabee’s room and putting a check on Willabee’s dresser.
On her way out, she stuck a finger in Paris’s face and said, “God don’t like ugly and anybody who can rob a fucking kid ain’t shit and damn sure ain’t gonna have no good luck! May God have mercy on your soul when it comes back to you!”
CHAPTER 23
Business as Usual
The next day when Beijing’s flight touched down in Atlanta, Don sent a car to pick her up and take her back to the mansion, since he was busy at rehearsal. To her surprise Don had given her the master suite; he had selected one of the smaller bedrooms for himself.
After taking a shower, changing clothes, and putting her things away, she looked around the place. Don had clearly finally cleaned up his act. He was back to the Don she’d known and loved at one time. She was so glad. She couldn’t understand how someone with so much talent could throw his life away the way Don almost did.
She had set up a meeting with Lamont Rowe that evening, but she was supposed to have dinner with Don before. Then Don called and threw a monkey wrench into their plans, telling her things were running a little longer at the studio than he had anticipated and that he would probably make it in by ten or eleven. It was only six now, and Beijing was growing hungry. She wanted to get out and see the town.
She decided to call Rayna, who was supposed to be in Atlanta for a few days chilling out with York. Maybe she could get out from under him for a few hours and hang out with Beijing. Beijing hit the button to speed-dial her girlfriend’s number.
The phone rang three times.
“Hey bitch, what’s up?” Rayna answered, glad to hear from her girlfriend.
“I’m in Atlanta,” Beijing said, sighing. “Tell me you’re still down here.”
“So you did make it down to see that dope fiend rehab going muthafucka,” she said. “Yeah I’m in the A.”
“Then what it do, girl. I’m in this big-ass mansion the record company has Don staying in and I’m bored to death. I would’ve stayed in Charlotte if I wanted to be by myself.”
“I know that’s right, girl,” Rayna agreed. “Where’s that dust-head fiend of yours anyway? Only he would invite a muthafucka to come in town to visit him and not be home to greet them.”
“Don,” Beijing said, ignoring Rayna’s dig, “is in rehearsal. He sent a car to scoop me from the airport, but it’s going to be a while before he’s home.”
“Say no more. I mean, we still celebrating your birthday and all, right? You can’t stay there alone. Give me the address and I’ll be by to grab you,” Rayna said. “We can go out for something to eat. It’ll be a belated birthday dinner. Just you and me.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm, girl.” Beijing rattled off the address, and asked, “How long before you show?”
Rayna was pushing the coordinates into the navigational system. “According to the Tom-Tom—” She paused for a moment to allow the machine to calculate. “—seventeen minutes.”
“Wonderful, darling, I’ll be waiting out front,” Beijing declared before hanging up to get ready.
Rayna arrived right on schedule. Beijing was slipping out of the mansion when her friend pulled up in a midnight-blue Benz 600.
“This shit is plush, girl,” Beijing gushed, getting into the luxury vehicle. “I thought you like to keep it plain Jane?” She looked at Rayna with a shocked expression.
“I do,” she admitted. “York got this for me.” Then she lowered her voice in a conspiracy whisper as if someone else were in earshot. “This bitch does ride sweet, tho.” They both erupted with laughter, giving each other high fives.
They ended up at a trendy, upscale steak house in Buckhead. Valet
parking, nicely dressed waiters wearing black shirts and pants with a white stripe down each leg, capped off with a fancy red jacket with gold buttons.
“Smoking or nonsmoking?” a gorgeous female attendant asked.
“Nonsmoking, please.” Rayna took the lead, following the hostess to their seats.
After directing them to a cozy table, she said, “Your waiter will be here to greet you shortly. Here are your menus.”
“Thank you,” both Rayna and Beijing sang in unison.
Before the attendant was out of earshot, Rayna squealed with wide eyes, “Did you see the ass on that bitch? I bet she used to be a stripper. I can tell by the way she struts.”
“You don’t know that girl from a ham sandwich,” Beijing playfully said from over the top of her menu.
“Believe me when I tell you,” Rayna insisted, “if that child ain’t never worked a pole you can best believe it’s in her future.”
“You are terrible.”
“Maybe so, but I know what I know.”
“Let’s just order, girl.” Beijing shook her head with a smile.
“Whatever. Don’t get mad at me because I know the business.”
“Aight, Madame Adult Sex trade,” Beijing joked.
They both decided on the eight-ounce steak cooked medium well, and broiled butterfly shrimp with a baked potato. Rayna ordered an apple martini while Beijing sipped on a glass of pinot noir. The food was delivered quickly, and it looked delicious.
For the next twenty minutes there was nominal chitchat and an abundance of chewing. The food was even better than it looked. The steak was tender enough to cut with a fork, and the shrimp tasted like it had been pulled from the ocean minutes before they ordered. Both dishes were prepared by either a master chef or a magician.
Beijing was musing on how thoughtful Rayna had been to bring her to a fabulous restaurant to celebrate her birthday until she heard Rayna ask, “You got the check?” Beijing was patting her slightly protruding stomach.