Divas Don't Cry

by Ni-Ni Simone

  My voice trailed off the moment I caught sight of London.

  Yeah, tramp. I see you watching me. Way over here, I see the envy in your eyes, boo. Yes, bish, I see the jealousy all over your face.

  I smirked. She wanted my life. Wanted what I had.

  But she could never be me! Or have what I have. And I wasn’t ever gonna make it easy for her to try to imitate me.

  So I did what any fabulous diva would do.

  I forgot all about how Justice had been treating me and pulled him into me, then stepped up on my tippy-toes and slid my tongue into his mouth.

  27

  Spencer

  “Oooh, yes, RJ. Right there,” I said over a giggle. I was in bed, with my plush blankets pulled up to my chin, staring at him—well, most of him (heeheehee)—on my phone screen. We were having our nightly ritual of late-night FaceTiming, something we did until we were able to claw each other’s clothes off again.

  Right now, RJ was showing me what was in store for our next meet and greet.

  “Mmm. Stop,” I cooed. My cheeks bloomed with fresh heat. “You’re going to make me have the pilot fuel up the jet and whisk me across the Atlantic to get to you, boy.”

  He laughed. “C’mon. I dare you.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  And then he said something too private and too cute for me to repeat, but I grinned wider. “Mmm-hmm. You know it, boo.” And then I meowed.

  “I miss you, baby,” he said, bringing his chocolately face back into clear view. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. We’re forever, Spencer, baby.”

  Aww. My man was too cute. “I miss you, too,” I whined, poking my bottom lip out. “When are you coming back to pet my—”

  My phone beeped. A 619 area code flashed across my screen.

  I narrowed my eyes at the screen, trying to figure out whose number it was. But I couldn’t. Probably some solicitor, trying to get my good coins on some makeshift invention, I thought as I sat up in bed and adjusted the straps to my sheer teddy.

  Finally, I had a man who appreciated all my good panty-sets, a man who deserved all of my tricks and treats. But sometimes RJ couldn’t keep up. Sometimes he ran out of gas and left my engine revving.

  But I was loving and kind. And always thoughtful, so I never threw him out or disconnected our calls when his choo-choo train sputtered, then stopped, while I was still ready for another ride.

  RJ was a good man. He was my man. And, for once, I didn’t have to worry about my mother trying to sample his goodies, like she’d done with Curtis and Joey (my two other boyfriends) in the past, and like she had tried with Ander—

  Wait. He didn’t count. All Anderson was, was a tease, a quick fling, a light appetizer with no finger samplers on the platter. He was a waste of my good panty-sets. That man-boy was too busy pining over London back then, mooning and cooning for a sniff of her bathwater. But all that hobbit wanted at that time was that ghetto-boy, that thug-daddy in Timbs—Rich’s now boo.

  Ha. You see the mess in that?

  Anyway. So, nope—scratch Anderson off the list.

  Still, Kitty had tried to crawl her way into his boxers too. She was shameless. But I will never forget her words to me: “Do you actually think Anderson is going to be with a girl like you? Ha! You’re too unstable, dear. A man like Anderson needs a strong, powerful woman who knows how to follow rules and play the game the way it’s supposed to be played, then alters the rules when he least expects it. Not some dizzy little tart who gets her panties all up in a knot every time she gets knocked off base. Learn how to play your position, darling. And you won’t ever have to worry about someone else coming along and taking your spot . . .”

  That’s what she’d said to me when I’d threatened to claw her eyes out for looking at Anderson. Ha! What did I know? He was never really interested in me like that.

  All he wanted me to be was his sideshow piece. But Kitty’s words stayed tucked in the back of my head. Anderson may not have wanted me, but RJ did. And Kitty knew better than to even think about trying to seduce my man. I’d sic his guard dog on her real fast. Logan would leap on Kitty, then bite out her jugular, if she even tried it.

  I bit back a snicker at the visual.

  “I’ma be back home in a few more weeks, baby. Maybe sooner,” RJ said real low and husky, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Ohhhhh, okay,” I said, feeling a tinge of disappointment wash over me.

  “But you can always come here,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Me and your friend would love to have you.” He winked.

  I giggled. “Oooh, I know the two of you would. But I can’t play hooky from school, and my weekends are—”

  My phone beeped again. The same 619 number popped up on the screen. Seconds later, my phone buzzed, alerting me that a text had been sent.

  I rolled my eyes up in my head. Then slid the straps of my negligee off my shoulders again. “Are you ready for round three?” I said to RJ all flirty-like.

  He yawned. “Damn, bae. You’re killing me.” He yawned again. “Sorry, babe. I’m worn out. Ready to knock out.”

  I blinked. “You’re tired?” I frowned at the absurdity. How could he be tired—already—when I was just getting started? “Are you serious?”

  “Sorry, bae. I really need to get some sleep.”

  My eyebrows dipped low. “You have got to be kidding me,” I murmured.

  RJ apologized again, cursing under his breath, then blowing me a kiss. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. Promise. Okay?”

  Now, I’ll admit, I was hotter than a Texan heat wave. I had more fire than an inferno blazing through me, but I wasn’t going to go all Shotgun Suzie on my boo.

  No, no. I was loving and kind—remember?

  I nodded. “Okay. I guess I can keep a lid on all this goodness until then.”

  RJ smiled, and my heart melted. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Give Daddy a kiss.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Boy, you know I don’t play them daddy games. I already have one of those, even though he’s halfway out of his mind.”

  “Stop, bae. You know I’m only playing with you.”

  I smacked my lips together. “Well, you better learn how to play with something else.”

  He laughed. “I got you, bae. Give me a kiss.”

  I pursed my lips. “Oh, all right. I guess you deserve a few wet kisses,” I said in between heated breaths. And then I started making kissy-sounds, kissing the front of my phone screen. He kissed me back, then gave me one last man show for the road, before saying good night.

  I leaned my head back against my headboard. Then closed my eyes and tried to savor the memory of our heated phone time. But my eyes popped right back open as I remembered the text someone had sent.

  I grabbed my phone. The text was from the same 619 number.

  HEY SWEET MUFFIN. ITZ ME. YA BOY MIDNIGHT. I CAN’T STOP THINKN BOUT U. LIL BIT VIOLATED PAROLE, SO SHE BACK UP THE RIVER 4 THE NEXT 3 TO 4 YEARS. I MISS U. AND I MISS THEM SWEET CAKES WIT ALL DAT SWEET CREAMY FROSTING . . .

  I frowned. That man-dog had lost his mind if he thought I was going to hop back on his meat wagon. He and that humpback prison whale he’d chosen over me could go eat rocks.

  I deleted the text. Blocked his number. Then snuggled into the comforts of my warm fluffy bed, with loving thoughts of RJ.

  I was a changed woman.

  28

  London

  Istood in front of the open doors of the Sub-Zero, leering desperately into its icy depths. Seeing Justice and Rich in the parking lot of Hollywood High yesterday, all lovey-dovey, had brought up so, so many memories and feelings.

  Hurt and betrayal clawed at my heart the worst of them all.

  I was over him. But I wasn’t over what used to be my so-called friendship with her. That snake, that skank, had really hurt me. She’d turned her back on me. Didn’t even have the decency to accept my apology and try to act like she wanted to be friends again. Time and
time again, I’d offered her an olive branch. And she couldn’t even be woman enough to know how to be civil. But what did I expect? Rich was a barbarian.

  I knew it was bound to happen. Running into Rich with Justice. But I hadn’t expected it to be on campus. And then Rich—mmmph. The nerve of that messy tramp to grab all over Justice, her hands gliding all over his body and then... and then . . . lifting up on her tippy-toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. Being all territorial and clingy, marking her claim to her man. Girl, bye. If what she had with Justice was all that, she wouldn’t have had to put on a borderline burlesque show for my benefit.

  Now would she?

  Mmmph.

  “Goddammit,” I hissed. “Where are you?”

  God, no, no, no! I knew I’d hidden it. But where in the heck was it?

  Frantically, I searched for my secret stash. Ah, yes. There it was. Hidden beneath slabs of ribs and a beef brisket.

  Ice cream.

  A carton of butterscotch pecan, it was exactly what I needed to throw myself into an immediate sugar rush. My mouth watered in anticipation.

  I knew I didn’t need it. Ice cream was the enemy. I had a love/hate relationship with it. It loved my hips and booty. And I hated its power over me. And yet I needed it, its cool, creamy sweetness. Something to soothe me, to ease my rattling nerves.

  It was just a matter of time before Rich and Justice would most likely land on the cover of some filthy gossip rag with a full-page spread. Calling them the face of young love, the hottest young couple in Hollywood.

  God, gag me. Please and thank you!

  Ugh.

  I reached for the carton of ice cream and then slammed the freezer’s door. I grabbed a large spoon out of the utensil drawer, then sat at the breakfast nook. Licking my lips, I pried off the tub’s lid, then gazed lovingly down at the rich swirls of butterscotch. Spoon poised over the tub, I hesitated.

  If I eat this, I will suffer later.

  Girl, go for it. You know you want it. Yolo, boo! Eat it and be merry.

  I groaned inwardly.

  The thought of being plagued by cramps and bloating, crawling to the bathroom, and clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl in the middle of the night should have been motivation enough for me to toss the twenty-five-dollar pint of heavy cream and sugar down the drain.

  Ha. It wasn’t. My inner greedy girl won over everything else. One teenie little bite wouldn’t hurt me, now would it? Sneakily, I glanced around the palatial kitchen to make sure no one was looking over my shoulder, although I knew Daddy wasn’t here and my mother was at some charity fashion show event. So, aside from the housekeeper, I was home alone.

  Finally came the moment I’d been craving for. The moment—

  “Oooh, goodie! Just in time to stop you from a sugar binge!”

  I jumped, dropping my spoon.

  It was Spencer, in all of her nuttiness, standing in the archway of the kitchen, her lithe dancer’s body sheathed in a silk multi-print bodysuit—all crazy swirls of color—with a white wrap skirt that wrapped softly around her hips. Red strappy sandals adorned her feet, and her full, pouty lips were set aglow with fire-red lipstick.

  Ohmygod, what is she doing here? And how the heck did she get in?

  I blinked, taking in her flawless skin as she stalked her way toward me, her six-inch heels clicking against the tile.

  “No need to go all Adele on me with the hellos. I won’t be staying long.” She tossed her oversized Hermès bag atop the counter. “I see you didn’t try to run off with the grim reaper again. Whew.” Tossing her hair, she added, “God, I hate you, London. You’re so dang selfish.”

  I took a deep breath. “Spencer, who let you in?”

  “Why weren’t you in school today?” she asked, dismissing my question, head tilted, both hands positioned on one hip.

  I frowned. “That’s none of your business. So why do you care?”

  “Actually, I don’t. I just don’t want you doing anything stupid either. And we both know how pathetically impulsively dumb you can be. Godjeezus, London. You’re almost as dumb as Rich, and that’s a real stretch. But at least she pays someone to make her look smart. So what’s your excuse?”

  I heard Dr. Kickaloo’s voice in my head, telling me to stay calm, stay focused, to stay centered. And so I took another deep breath.

  “Spencer, see yourself out the way you came in. Please and thank you.”

  Ignoring me, Spencer boldly leaned over and stuck a manicured finger right into the tub and scooped out a dollop of ice cream. She stuck her finger into her mouth, then moaned.

  “Mmm, yes. I go wild for caramel.” She used the same finger and swiped another dollop out, sucking her finger back into her mouth. “Ooh, yes, goshdiggitydanggit. This is what will have you rolling around in a wheelbarrow. Yes, you Lorax. Get your fat girl on, London. Moo-Moo the Cow is depending on you. It’s what you’re destined to be. A big wide Mack truck. I mean, look at you. You’re already a fifty-foot tree. So you might as well be—”

  I gave her an incredulous look. “Are you fricking kidding me? Get out, Spencer! You will not come up into my home and insult me. Ever.”

  “Oh, shut it, London, you ole street urchin. It’s your parents’ home. Not yours.” She flicked imaginary dirt from beneath her fingernail. “You’re simply the house pet. Wait, your mother does still live here, doesn’t she? I’d heard she’d made the great escape a few weeks ago. Fled the scene.”

  “Spencer, get the hell out,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m so sick of you and your mean girl act. You don’t like me, fine. Then stay the heck out of my life. I don’t need your approval or your friendship.”

  She clapped. “Yes, yes! Encore! Encore! Give it to me, baby! Now listen up, chipmunk. I’m not here offering you friendship. And your approval rating is already down in the poop chute. Have you not seen your Twitter feed lately? Crickets, chickie. Cric . . . kets. Chirp, chirp. No one’s talking about you, London. Hash-tag-hot-mess-dot-com; you’re insignificant. A nonfactor to the world.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Mmm, that caramel is still clinging to my gums, so yummy and sweet. Decadent. Mmm. Reminds me of when my ex-boo, Midnight, marinated his sausage in honey, then let me nibble on it all night.”

  Spencer’s shoulders shook.

  I cringed. This girl was so vulgar. “I don’t care what people are saying or not saying about me, you freakazoid. Next.”

  She waved me off dismissively. “Oh, London. Liar, liar, pants on fire. You know you care. It hurts you knowing you’re a flop. A catastrophic mess. A national disaster.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. And why exactly are you here again, Spencer? You were not invited here, so take your insults and go hop back on your broomstick and fly yourself off the nearest cliff.”

  Spencer snorted with laughter. “Clap. Clap. Oh, London. Stop with the dramatics. You’re such a wild little pussycat. I didn’t insult you. All I did was state a fact. Obviously, you haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror lately. But let’s not quibble over details of how atrocious you are. Oh, wait. Did you know there’s a video of you on Facebook, picking your nose at a stoplight?”

  Mortified, my stomach flipped over. “Whaaaat?” I shrieked, reaching for my cell. “Ohmigod! When? I don’t recall picking my nose out in public. Ever.”

  I began scrolling through my newsfeed.

  “Ha. Ha. Gotcha! Thought you didn’t care?”

  I sucked my teeth, rolling my eyes. “You’re such a bit—”

  “Unh-uh. No, no, no.” She waved a warning finger. “Don’t do it, chickie. I came here to forgive you, but don’t make me regret it.”

  I scowled. “Forgive me? Forgive me for what?”

  “For being a loser. A quitter. A weak little girl. I used to think you were this uppity hooka from the trash-ridden streets of New York. But then I saw right through your Charlie Brown charade and saw you for what you were-slash-are: a fake, a phony. A projects girl who—”

  “I’
m not from the projects,” I snapped.

  “Oh, shut it, London, before I take my fingernails and claw out your cheekbones. And you know I’ll do it. Don’t test my gangster, London. You know I will. Claw. Your. Whole. Face. Off.”

  Shaken with fury, I hopped up from my chair, fists balled. “Screw you, Spencer! If you want a piece of me, then come get it. It’s just you and me in here, and I am ready to see you leap so I can finally give it to you real good. I’m sick of—”

  “Well, you should be sick, London—sick of yourself. You get around Rich and crumble into tiny little pieces because she doesn’t want to play in your little sandbox anymore. Boo-hoo-hoo. Poor London. Well, get over it, London. You and Rich will never be friends again. You ruined any chance of that with your lies, chickie. And that’s why she stole your little thug-daddy boo right from up under your pointy little snout.

  “You couldn’t even sniff your way out of that from happening. So chalk it up. It isn’t a loss. It’s a win for you. A blessing. So good riddance to him! That delicious hunk of street trash did you a favor, London. So get over it. Stop whimpering and acting all cuckoo-cuckoo, and let Rich be happy with that nobody. Because, clearly, he likes it fast and easy, and it’s where he wants to be.”

  I stared her down, contempt flickering in my eyes.

  And she stared back.

  I folded my arms. Spencer folded hers.

  The clock ticked. Seconds swirled into minutes. And yet stubbornly we both stood and stared until I had had enough.

  “This is ridiculous,” I finally snapped, sitting back down. “State your business, and then be on your merry way.”

  “Oh, London. Unknot your panties. I’m not here for a fight. Not today anyway. I don’t fight on Tuesdays, Thursdays, or Fridays. Today’s only Thursday so you have a two-day pass. But don’t test me. Anyway, I came by to make sure you weren’t—once again—laid up on another makeshift deathbed. I told you the last time I had to come up in this little shanty to nurse you back to health that I needed you alive—heeled and jeweled. Not rolling around in the sheets with death. You ole little dirty harlot.”

  I took several deep breaths. Practiced my breathing techniques. Counted backward from fifty in my head. Kept from balling my fists. Kept my feet planted in place. God knew I felt like slinging my tub of ice cream in her face. And I would have if the greedy part of me hadn’t wanted to eat the whole tub.