Divas Don't Cry

by Ni-Ni Simone

  “London, one thing I know about you is this: you’re no dummy. So stop being one. Leave that position for Rich and that troll doll, Heather.” She frowned. “Wait. Rich prefers being positioned on her back. Anyway. That’s beside the point. The point is, you’re not the ugliest thing in the world. But you’re not the cutest either.”

  I blinked. Was this girl serious? Was this messy beeeyatch trying to serve me?

  “What you are,” she continued, ignoring the look of disgust on my face, “is airbrush pretty. So just embrace your ugly side, London. We all have one.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but then realization bloomed, and so I quickly shut it. Spencer in her most doofy form was simply trying to be nice in a messy, underhanded way. And that knowing made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  This whole scene had become eerily awkward.

  She gathered her bag, allowing its straps to drop into the crook of her arm. “Well. My charity work for the day is done here.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Play hooky tomorrow, London, and I will hunt you down. Harpoon you right in them big ole whale humps you call a booty.”

  I frowned. “Get out, Spencer.”

  “With pleasure, chickie. This trap house has given me nothing but gas.”

  She spun on her heel, then sashayed out the same way she’d come in, her honey-colored curls bouncing and her booty shaking every which way.

  And there I sat.

  Flustered.

  Staring down into a tub of melting ice cream.

  29

  Spencer

  R J.

  RJ.

  RJ . . .

  Mmmph. Mmmph. Mmmph.

  Hot like butter. Smooth like silk. Sweetest man I’ve ever milked. I mean, known.

  Heeheehee.

  My boo was finally home. Oooh, yes. Mm-mm-mmmph. He was smack your bald-headed Grandmama finger-licking good! And he was all mine. Yessss, goshdiggitydanggit. Pull up to my bumper, baaaa—

  RJ put his hand on mine, and electric sparks shot through me. My whole body shook. I swore right then that God had swept down from the moonlit sky and blessed me with one of his most heavenly gifts.

  Ooh, he made my Duncan Hines all moist and gooey.

  RJ was the light to my fire.

  Yes, yes! Come on, Daddy, light my fire, goshdanggit!

  Ooh wee. Yes, yes!

  He was the wave to my rippling sea.

  Oh, say can you see . . . by the size of my boo’s hands?

  Yes, honey, yes!

  He was my twinkling star.

  Twinkle, twinkle . . . turn out the lights, goshdiggitydanggit!

  My, my, my . . . mmm . . .

  My body shivered just at the recollection of our earlier daytime romp.

  RJ was the heat to my sun. Blazing hot and bright.

  He was a sudden burst of fireworks. Boom. Crackle. Pop.

  He was red tulips on a snow-capped mountain.

  He was like riding all the fast water rides at an amusement park, especially the ones that soaked you. Sweet heavens. I loved the way he splashed me and wet me up. Yes, yes, yes! Splish-splash, splish-splash. I was taking a hot bubble bath!

  Anywho . . .

  I forced myself back to the moment, back to RJ, back to my boom-shaka-laka, my chocolate warrior with the long, pointed spear. RJ had spent most of the morning snacking on my sweet rolls, while I marinated his meat basket in all of my special sauces. Heeheehee. And then we’d spent the rest of the afternoon lounging by the pool house under the dazzling sunshine. Then by dusk we’d nibbled on lobster salad and sipped fresh mint and cucumber water (you know to keep us hydrated and refreshed—heeheehee) before feasting on dessert.

  Each other.

  And now gaslight torches illuminated the perimeter as RJ and I sat side by side in two of the many cerulean chaise lounges that dotted the deck. Ours were situated at the edge of the infinity pool.

  RJ looked at me, and his dark eyes flashed. “You’re so sexy, Spence, baby.”

  I tooted my lips. Batted my lashes. Then blew him a kiss. “And you’re so . . . mmm. Delicious.” I started licking my fingertips. “Finger-licking good.”

  He laughed. Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips. We were still in our swimwear, still wet from our most recent romp in the heated pink Himalayan salt water.

  He looked at me, then waggled his brows. “Wanna go again?”

  I giggled. “Oooh, you greedy hound. Have you no shame?” I licked my lips. “Come to Momma.”

  He laughed. “You’re a beast, bae. But I meant as in swim.”

  Oh.

  Heeheehee.

  Standing, I reached for my goggles and put them over my eyes. RJ did the same. And then I reached up and pulled out the diamond hair clip that kept my still-damp hair up in a bun, letting my mane fall freely to my shoulders.

  RJ stood, smoothing down his trunks, then reached for my hand.

  We both jumped in. And I giggled.

  RJ dove down. And so did I.

  Like two dolphins, we swam down, down, down until we were almost at the bottom of the pool. Pulling with my arms and kicking with my feet, I shot back up for air. And a beat later, so did RJ, popping up beside me.

  My sweet daddy-boo’s skin glistened like melted chocolate, as tiny droplets clung to his lashes. Lawdgawdsweet-babyjeezus. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from licking his face.

  He grinned at me. And just as he leaned in to kiss me, I ducked back under the water and swam away.

  “Oh, real cute, bae,” he said over a laugh. “I’m gonna get you.”

  I giggled to myself as I flipped and flopped like a mermaid. And ha! I beat him to the ledge, grabbing hold and wriggling myself out. Instantly, the night air turned on my headlights, and I shivered. Beep, beep... who had the keys to the Jeep? Turn out the lights!

  I reached for my towel and wrapped it tightly around me as I watched RJ climb out of the pool and move toward me. “You got that, bae. And now I got you.” He grabbed me and pulled me into his arms and kissed me, and all I could do was back it up on him and let it jiggle, baby.

  “I’m crazy about you, Spence,” he said, all low and sexy-like.

  I turned to face him, and he looked down at me and grinned. I grinned back and felt myself go all hot and tingly.

  Kissmekissmekissme. Ohpleasegiveittomegoodohplease-giveittomegood—

  And then, before I could jump his bones and dial up my ho-girl meter for another round of boo-loving, he snatched away my almond joy.

  “I gotta get back.”

  “I gotta get back?” I echoed, giving him an incredulous look. I was seriously taken aback. Where in the heck did he have to get back to? Everything he needed was right here—with me. And last I knew, he wasn’t going back to Oxford until the end of the week.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he said apologetically as he pulled me into him. “I have to meet with my pops over at the label.” He glanced at his watch. “He wants me to sit in on some meeting.”

  And he was just now telling me this? Really?

  Blank-goshdang-stare.

  This boy must have thought I was about to fall for the whoopty-wham. Ha! He had another think coming.

  “Then I’ll see you later tonight, no?”

  He grabbed me and stole a warm, juicy kiss, then slowly pulled away. “I wish, bae. But I gotta chill with the family.”

  I blinked. “Then what about tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure, bae. Maybe for an hour or two, but I can’t say for sure. My moms seems to have my whole day planned. She wants me to show up for Rich’s court hearing tomorrow.”

  I rolled my eyes. Oh, so, Moo-Moo the Drunken Cow had court? Mmmph.

  “Why does she have court?” I asked, feigning ignorance. Something I did so well.

  “You know, for her DUIs.” He shook his head. “Rich stays doing BS.”

  That’s because she’s dumb and nearly brain dead. But I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from spilling that
from my lips. “You know, boo,” I said sweetly. “Your sister could be halfway good and decent if her heart wasn’t soaked in embalming fluid.”

  RJ chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re so cute, babe. I love your way with words.”

  I twirled a lock of hair around a finger and popped my lips. “And I love your way with me. But don’t sidetrack me, RJ, or have me get it crunked out here. Now tell me. Why do you have to babysit Rich in court?”

  He laughed. “It’s my mom. She wants me there for support.” He shook his head and let out a chuckle. “And you know there’s no saying no to her when she summons you.”

  I raised my brow. Oh, joy! What a momma’s boy! I bit my tongue, though. There was no need for me to drag his ole hoodrat mother or his drunkard sister. Well, not to his face, anyway.

  “Then what about afterward?” I asked.

  “I might be able to sneak off for a bit. I’ll have to let you know,” he said. “My moms called a family meeting, and then I’m catching the jet back to Oxford. I have to be back on campus.”

  “Whaaaat? You have to be back on campus?” I repeated, not caring to mask my disappointment. “Oh, really?” Skepticism coated my tone. I tried to stay cute and coy and cool as a cucumber dip, but my insides were churning butter at the thought of him running off to be with some British strumpet, some, some yuck-mouth crusty dragon. And since when did the Montgomerys start holding family meetings?

  Mmmph.

  RJ was another lying horndog. Another man-boy with loose loins who ran through girls’ cute little panty-sets, then tossed them aside, taking all of their silky goodness along with him, like Joey and Curtis and Corey and—

  Wait.

  Anderson?

  Scratch him. He didn’t count. He wore panty-sets too. Or maybe he didn’t. I didn’t know for sure. And I’d only had the word of a junkie-skank—Heather—that Anderson was secretly dating her lady-boy friend, Co-Co. But who knew how true that was. I was still waiting for the Rainbow Coalition to expose Anderson, to turn his boxer briefs inside out for all to see if his man tank was full of sugar or hot cream.

  RJ frowned. “Damn, bae. Why you say it like that?”

  I returned my attention to him. “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t believe me or something,” RJ said.

  I stared at him, taking in all of his milk chocolate goodness, his defined chest and chiseled abs—a rippled eight-pack of never-ending muscles, his dripping-wet swim trunks, his, his, his—

  He was not about to clown me. No, no, no. I was not going to be his Becky stuck on his stick, his dumb, goofy bobblehead. He had me all kinds of cuckoo-cray-cray. I was not the one, two, or the goshdang three!

  I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me now, RJ. What English tea whore are you over in England making it rain on, huh, RJ? And don’t lie, or I swear on every precious heel and handbag I own that I will slice open your meatballs and fry them on an open fire.” I tilted my head. “I will claw your gizzards out, RJ. Now try. Me.”

  RJ shuddered. “Ouch, bae.” He cupped his family treasures. “Why you gotta go for the jewels?”

  Hand on hip, I shot daggers through him. “Because if you think I’m going to stand for you letting some lollipop-licking trollop, some little British cockroach, wear any of your pearl necklaces you have another think coming. I will shut the jewel shop down.”

  RJ shook his head, then a slow, lazy grin eased over his handsome face. And all I wanted to do was leap in his arms and bite his one dimpled cheek out.

  How dare he stand here and try to use his trickery on me! I was not to be fooled or toyed with.

  “Listen to me, bae.” He reached for me, his arms encircling my waist. “You have no reason to be jealous, babe. It’s you and me.”

  I pulled away from him, before I got too caught up in the feel of his hands on my skin and forget I was trying to be mad at him.

  I gave him an incredulous stare. “Jealous? Boy, bye. You had better do a Google search on me. Check my stats, boo. Check my credentials. Check my YouTube pages. I have nothing to be jealous about.”

  He smiled, pulling on his T-shirt. “You definitely don’t, bae. Not when I’m all yours. You’re all I think about, Spence. Them other girls don’t have nothing on you, baby. You got this on lock.”

  “Oh, do I?” I asked, unsure. I pressed my lips together and waited for him to respond.

  “Yeah.” He licked his lips. “No doubt, bae. You’re the only one who holds the key.”

  “Oh, really?” I reached for the waistband of his swim trunks, then yanked them down. I looked up at him and said, “Then prove it.”

  30

  London

  Hmmpf!

  Finally. The tabloids and the bloggers were right for once. Anderson was back in Tinseltown. I knew he was due to travel to the West Coast, but his social media pages hadn’t really given much of a hint as to exactly when. Soon was all that had been posted.

  Something about that news of him being here made my heart skip several excited beats. Seeing him in New York a few weeks back hadn’t quite gone the way I’d envisioned it in my head. But I realized my visit had gone awry because I hadn’t thought it through. I’d gone to see him impulsively.

  Seeing him, and his standoffish demeanor toward me, had disarmed me. Had unexpectedly jumbled my thoughts and given me a bad case of the babbles. But with him back in L.A., with him close enough to touch (oh, how I wanted to run my fingertips over his skin!) I had a chance to redeem myself. All I needed now was a way to run into him.

  Still, bloggers and tabloid rats couldn’t be trusted to print the truth, mostly never. They lied and stretched truths to spin salacious tales all the time. Like how I was a snob and thought I was better than everyone else, which was so far from the frickin’ truth. Like how I had a rare form of alopecia, which was why my hair was now short. Some messy bloggers had even gone as far as to say that hair scalpers had held me down and hacksawed my hair out to sell to weave shops.

  God, how frickin’ awful was that?

  Had they had their facts straight, they would have known that I’d been left no choice but to cut my luscious hair off after Spencer had come into my home and attacked me with a handful of hair remover. Clumps of my hair had fallen out. Hence the now stylishly short hair.

  Now.

  Back to my new, very pressing, very important dilemma.

  Anderson.

  I reached for my iPad. Powered it up. Then slid my finger over the screen and began surfing the Net and clicking through all his newly tagged pictures. Ugh. There were a few photos of him with a group of AKAs at some pink and green affair, some photos of him on his yacht, Buff Daddy, with bikini-clad girls. There were other photos of him with girls in tiny shorts and no bras in wet T-shirts.

  Ugh.

  Sluts.

  And pictures of him with Ivina, his new boo—or whatever she was to him. Skank.

  Seeing him with her bothered me, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  For now, I reasoned in my head as I stared at all his photos, dissecting them as I scrolled through each one. And each photo led me right back to one person.

  Anderson.

  Where are you staying?

  I quickly scanned his Twitter feed:

  @ANDERSONFORD DID U REALLY REPLACE LONDON PHILLIPS WITH THAT SKINNYBISH? #IHOPENOT #PLEASESAYITAINTSO.

  @ANDERSONFORD HEY BOO! WHEN U READY 2 DROP WHITE CHOCOLATE COME C ABOUT ME! #IGOTTHATGOODGOOD.

  @ANDERSONFORD U SO FINE! I WANNA CALL U BUFF DADDY N SCREAM UR NAME.

  @ANDERSONFORD AKA BUFF DADDY CAN I GET A TASTE?#THISHEADGAMEONPOINT.

  @ANDERSONFORD I LIKED U BETTTER W/THAT LONDON CHICK #SOR-RYNOTSORRY.

  @ANDERSONFORD @MIDNIGHT WATZ GUD FRAT? PARTY NEXT SAT NITE@CLUB66? MAD BIDDIES GONNA B UP IN THAT JAWN. U WIT IT?

  I found myself aching a little. This wasn’t the Anderson I knew. Since when did all these thirsty tricks start throwing their panties at him?

  Urgh. I tossed my iPad. I’d s
een enough for one sitting. Groaning, I sat in the center of my huge bed and pulled my pink Betty Boop T-shirt over my knees and wrapped my arms around my legs; then I buried my face there.

  God.

  I used to think I had it all. Money. Beauty. Heels. Handbags. Fabulous jewels. A boyfriend (Justice) who loved me—or so I thought. I thought the world was mine. That everything I wanted was at my fingertips. At least everything used to be. But now I knew that everything that I thought mattered, that I thought I needed, was everything that I was still missing.

  Anderson.

  God. I was so frickin’ stupid, blinded by fake love and the likes of Justice, for not seeing Anderson for who he was. My mother saw it. My father saw it. And all I saw at the time was an arrogant, egotistical cornball. A boy too educated. Too driven. Too proper. Too gentlemanly.

  All I saw was a boy not rugged enough. Not rough enough. Not street enough. All I saw was a boy who wasn’t Justice. And look where that had gotten me.

  Nowhere.

  Well, no. Wait. It’d gotten me an extended stay at Heartbreak Hotel.

  I’d kept Anderson dangling on a string. Even after he’d professed his love for me. And still, I shunned him. Pushed him away.

  For what?

  Sleepless nights. Betrayal. Tears. That was my reward, my prize, all that I’d gotten for choosing Justice over Anderson.

  God. What an effen bitchy snotball I’d been to him. I had to make it up to him. Somehow, some way, I had to get him to see that I wasn’t the same confused girl he remembered. That I had grown. Matured. That I was ready to be everything he needed, wanted. I needed him to know that I was ready to open my heart to him and give him every part of me.

  I ran a finger over a picture of him—a selfie—my fingertip lightly caressing the screen as I traced over his features. God. His mouth, his lips...

  I reached over and shut off my lamp, sinking my body into the warmth of my comforter. A smile eased over my lips as I closed my eyes.