Hollywood High

by Ni-Ni Simone

  Spencer snatched her head toward me and then parked her neck at an angle. “Didn’t I just tell Miss High Society, Miss Upper East Side, that this wasn’t a zoo? Or did that go underneath your skirt, Rich? Over there making animal sounds. Jesus, Mary, and Jaheem.”

  Screech ... now there was no question about it, this bimbo was straight bringing it to me.

  “You have two choices,” I said to Spencer, coldly with ease. “Either shut the hell up or buck.”

  Spencer looked at me confused. “Can you translate that? My ghetto is so rusty.”

  Ghetto? Oh those are fighting words. . . .

  I tucked my hair behind my ears, slid my diamond hoops off, and sat my Swarovski crystal-covered jar of Vaseline on the table. “Make a move.”

  “Rich,” London called me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ma keep it calm and keep it cute.”

  “Rich,” London snapped. “Forget the queen of classified.” She pointed across the room to the athletes’ table. “ ’Cause look who I just found. Seems someone just walked right off the milk carton and into the café.”

  I followed London’s finger and there he was: Corey. He took a seat and immediately started kicking it with his boys. I inched to the edge of my seat and, before I could get up, London said, “Don’t do it, girl.”

  I paused and as I mulled over her advice Spencer took a bite into her sandwich, looked at me, and giggled.

  What the hell... ?

  I waved her off and refocused my attention on Corey. “Text him now,” London said. “And let’s see what he does.”

  I frowned. It was one thing to play desperate when no one was looking but to be caught out there like this—in front of my friends—was something completely different.

  “Text him,” London repeated.

  Reluctantly I texted him.

  “Let’s hope he responds this time,” London said as she pulled out her mother-of-pearl opera binoculars and peered through them. “I need to see this up close.”

  A few seconds later London gasped, “That no good mother—”

  “What?!” I snatched the binoculars from her hand and looked through them. “Did he... oh no he didn’t....” I watched Corey frown as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

  I couldn’t believe this. Oh, he had to pay. “I’ll be right back,” I said and stood up.

  “Rich!” London called.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be a lady.”

  I clicked my way over to Corey’s table, slammed my hands on my hips, and as his entire table became quiet and all eyes were on me, I said, “Yeah, umm hmm, Coreeee, you didn’t expect to see me did you? Oh this is how you want to boom-bop-drop-it, Corey Othello Marshall the Fifth?”

  Corey looked at me and frowned. He hated when I called him by his whole name.

  “Now,” I said, “I need to have a word with you.”

  “You better go on, Coreeeeee,” one of Corey’s teammates said, mocking me. “Or her royal highness is gon’ lash you!” And although I didn’t think the remark was funny Corey’s whole table laughed, except Corey. He simply snickered.

  I was three seconds from settin’ it off. L.A.-style.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Corey, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” he said pissed. “Now what you want and make it quick.”

  Screech! Rewind. “I don’t know what you think this is, or why you think you can show off in front of your friends, but I don’t appreciate me texting you and you not responding!”

  “I didn’t get ’em,” he said nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Oh ... my... God... It took everything in me not to scream, “Off with his head!” Instead I said, “Corey. Corey. Look at me, Corey. Here you go lying again. I can’t do this with you.”

  “Did you just say I was lying?”

  “Yes, lying. Because just three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago I watched you through London’s binoculars pull out your phone, look at my text, and ignore me!”

  “Binoculars!” he screamed. “Yo, you real crazy. Straight buggin’. And when you start blowin’ my phone up like that I’m not going to answer.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you be on some bs. And I ain’t beat for hearing your lips yappin’. Now go on and go back to your table. I’ll call you and kick it to you later.”

  Pause. What? Blink. Blink. What just happened here? What did he just say to me? I turned around toward London, who was still sitting at our table in the center of the room, and motioned my index finger for her to come near.

  It took her two-point-five seconds to scurry her heels over to me. She instantly took position beside me, looked Corey over and said, “Is there a problem over here?”

  Corey eyed London as his phone buzzed, signaling that he had a text. “Nah,” he said reading his screen and smiling. “Ain’t no problem. I need to get this. Now go sit down, Rich. And like I said, I’ll hollah at you later.” He spun off, leaving the sound of his rubber soles screeching behind him. I couldn’t believe this.

  London and I stood silent for a few seconds, eyeballing the space where Corey once stood. I swear I didn’t know what to do.

  Should I stand here or should I run away?

  I looked around the café and spotted Co-Co Ming snapping pictures and waving. I turned back toward the athletes’ table and they were all stretched out in laughter. I wanted nothing more than to bolt out of here. But I had to play this carefully or my entire reputation would go up in scorned woman flames. So I looked at London and with nothing else to say, we locked arms and sashayed back to our table, while I did everything I could to keep my knees from buckling.

  13

  Spencer

  “Spencer, wait up, boo,” I heard in back of me as I was making my way out the door into the gleaming California sun. My heels clicked excitedly against the cobblestone pavement. The only thing I wanted to do was get home—oh, yes, home, where it was all about the zip code, not the area code—and wait for Corey to call me so we could pick up where we’d left off this morning in the bathroom. But this time with him sprawled out in the middle of my bed. Mmmph, he was finger-licking good, right down to the last drop! And I wanted me another taste of all his sweet, gooey goodness.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and smiled. It was Heather. I stopped and waited for her to catch up to me. “Heeeey, Diva. Where’ve you been all day?” I said as we air-kissed. “You didn’t even come down for lunch. And you know Rich and her pet silverback were trying to get it snap-crackling.”

  She rolled her eyes, pulling her Chanels down over her eyes. “Sugar Snaps, both of them ho-rags can bite me. I had more important things to do than looking up in their whore-painted faces today. So how was your day? You seem to be glowing. Did you use a new face cream or something?”

  “Oh, my day was just peaches and cream, boo. And no, I didn’t use any new face cream today.”

  She smirked. “Oh. Well, knowing you, I bet it was filled with more cream than peaches.”

  I tilted my head. “What was filled with more cream than peaches?”

  “Your day, sweetness.”

  I giggled. “Ooooh, you know me so well.”

  “Oh, trust me. I sure do, boo. I got your number.”

  Now, Heather’s a dang liar! And how was I supposed to trust a liar, a broke one at that. She didn’t know Jack-in-the-Box about me. Truth is, none of them cluckeroos did. Yeah, they thought I was some dumb blonde. Like, really. I don’t even have blond hair. So how ridiculous was that? Still, I wasn’t as clueless and airheaded as I seemed. I mean, really. Who cares about whether or not your elevator is going up to the top floor; or if someone doesn’t have the brightest lightbulb in their socket? I know I don’t care about stuff like that.

  I waved her on. “Of course you have my number, silly. It comes up on your caller ID every time I call or text you.”

  Heather turned and looked at me, not saying a word. Behind her shades, I cou
ld see her eyes rapidly blinking as if she had dust in them. Her contacts must be drying out. She sighed. “You wanna hang out later?”

  “I can’t. I have something to do tonight.”

  “Like what?”

  Tying Corey’s hands and feet to my bedpost, then... mmmph!

  A chill of anticipation crept down my spine. Oh, I know sleeping with Rich’s so-called man and doing all the little freaky things we did behind her back was messy and deliciously scandalous. Oh, well. It was a nasty job. But someone had to get down on her knees and do it. And it might as well have been a friend of hers. Keep it in the clique. After all, that’s what friends are for. Besides, Rich ran through boyfriends like she did stop signs, at least two every three months. So taking her imaginary future hubby-boo was like snatching bananas from a baby chimp. Easy as one, two . . . have your man doing things he thought he’d never do; three, four...when I’m done with him, he won’t be your man no more! Heheheheee.

  Oh sure, Rich would probably have one of her full-blown hissy fits. Or even better, a mini nervous breakdown, like the one she had last year after she caught one of her many exes steam-pumping his hips into the heiress of a Fortune 500 company in a chalet at Ski Dubai. Oh, how delish it would be seeing Rich hauled off in a straitjacket, being locked away in a padded room at some god-awful nut farm. I savored the thought. And, baby, Corey Lebron Richardson—or whatever his real name was—with all of his delicious swag juice—was worth the blowout. Like I said, I was the Ace of Spades of messy. And pushing Princess Pikachu down into her own trash bag is what I lived for. Because that was exactly what she was—hot gutter trash.

  I looped my arms through Heather’s as we walked. “I have a few projects to do. And like a ton of homework.”

  “Boooooring,” she said, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. “Ditch the homework, boo. And let’s do drinks.” I spotted her driver as he made his way around the winding road in their 2008 limo. Oh, dear. How late model is that? They can’t even afford an upgrade.

  “Let’s hold the umbrellas for a rain check, okay?”

  She sighed. “Umm, knock-knock, boo. They don’t use umbrellas for rain checks.”

  I flicked my diamond-covered wrist. “Well, I do. Anyway, you missed the featured attraction today at lunch.”

  She raised her arched brow. “Oh, really?”

  I nodded. “Yup. And it wasn’t even listed on today’s menu selection. Rich got her face crunched out in the café by Corey. Right in front of all his boys, he played her like the skid row trash she is.”

  “Do you mean cracked? Like in, her face was cracked?”

  I tossed my hair to the side, letting out an exasperated sigh. I hated when they did that. Corrected me as if I didn’t know what I was saying. Geesh, I’m not stupid. “Yeah, it was cracked, too, especially after he walked off, leaving her standing there looking like a raggedy-old dust rag. The whole table was laughing at her, snapping pictures and sending texts around the school. Poor thing had to call London over for backup to help her pick all the pieces of her face up.”

  Heather glanced around the campus, pulling out her phone as it chimed. A grin slid across her face as she read a text. I tried my darnedest to cut my eyes over at the screen to see who the text was from, but she quickly dropped her phone back into her bag. “I’m sure the look on her face must have been priceless.”

  “Oh, it sure was. And you missed it.”

  I handed the valet attendant my ticket as Heather pulled her shades up over her head, cupping a hand over her eyes like a visor. “Boo, you better get your popcorn, get your Twizzlers, get your Sour Patch Kids, and a tall, cold drink, ’cause it looks to me like the real show is about to begin any minute. And I’m gonna have me a front row seat. I love it.”

  “What show are you talking about?”

  “The ‘Let’s Make Up and Grind’ show.”

  I frowned. “The what show? Is that something new coming on one of the prime-time networks?”

  “No,” she said, pointing. “It’s Rich and Corey over there by the gazebo, lip-locking it up.”

  “Whaat?!” I lifted my shades, following the direction of her finger.

  I squinted.

  When my eyes zeroed in on the scene before me, I gasped. Did everything I could do to keep my ankles from snapping in half, and toppling over in my heels.

  I blinked as my mouth dropped open. That lowdown, dirty, no-good, slobbery, lying pound puppy told me he was going to drop that Chipette today. And the only thing he’s over there dropping is his spit and tongue all down in her throat!

  Heather stepped off the curb as her driver opened the car door. She slid into the backseat, then rolled her window down when the driver shut her door. “Hey, Spencer, pick your face up, boo.”

  “Unh.”

  “Your face, sweetie, pick it up.” She snapped a picture of me, smirking as she rolled up her window and the driver drove off.

  I stood there shocked. Corey had his six-foot frame pressed up against Rich’s big ole nasty buffalo-booty with his arms wrapped around her waist. She backed it up on his crotch, bent over, then grabbed her ankles. Nasty ho! I kept my eyes on them, fuming as she turned to face him. I watched as she put her arms up around his neck. Then they kissed as he snaked his big, strong, basketball-playing hands down around her waist. They dropped down on her dimpled skank-a-dank. Ohmygod, I’m gonna be sick! He was supposed to dump that oversized crack baby! Not do her! How dare he play me like this!

  “Hello? Hello? Earth to the wannabe bad girl,” I heard someone saying. But I was too stuck on stunned to know who it was. A finger snapped in my face. Then snapped again, finally bringing me out of my fog.

  “What?” I asked, blinking. It was London. She was standing in front of me with a smirk on her shiny, painted lips. I glanced down at the Kroell crystal clutch she held in her hand, then back up into her mink-lashed eyes. She’s probably bald-eyed; always wearing fake lashes!

  “You’re holding up the line.” She paused, raising her clutch up to her chest. “Oh, my . . . Rich wasn’t exaggerating when she said you tear up all of your cars. The side of your car is all banged up. How in the world did they even give you a license?”

  I frowned. Right now was not the time for her to try to get it funked up with me. I was already pissed. And I was not in the mood for any of her trick-box snobbery. “Excuse you? The same way they gave you that happy-snappy clown face you wear, that’s how.”

  “Girlie, don’t do it. I will beat you down in a New York minute.”

  I scrunched my nose up at her, then went... off! “You know, London. Your breath smells like hot dog poop. Get over yourself and go brush your gums. I don’t know how you trick-a-boos do it over on the East Coast, but you’re in Hollywood now. And I don’t give a hot damn about you or your New York minutes. The last thing I’m gonna do is let some uppity chicken ruffle my skirt. Oh, no, boo. You can go cluck yourself right on back in your coop.”

  She gave me a blank look as if I said something that didn’t make any sense to her. “Listen, girlie. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’m not in the mood. And I’m not the one.”

  “You must have cracked your coconut if you think I’m going to let you be all up in my cake mix. I’m not the two, three, or four, okay. But if you think I’m gonna let you come out of your fly trap and disrespect me you have another thing coming, Miss New York. Don’t even know where the hell you’re at. You’re on the West Coast, you dumb bunny. Ever since Rich introduced us, you’ve done nothing but look down your nose at me. And turn your broke nose up at Heather. And I do mean broke, like snap, crackle, pop, broken-glass broke.” I swung open my car door, sliding behind the wheel. I slammed the door. “Get your billions up before you come stepping to me, millionaire. Miss Low Money.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. “Now open your mouth, and suck on my exhaust fumes, you poor gutter rat!” I pressed down on the gas and zoomed off, flying past Rich and Core
y. I sideswiped two cars as I flew around the winding road. “Get the hell out of my way!” I yelled at the parked cars. I wanted to get as far the hell away as I could from Hollywood High, that pauper London, and any ugly memory of Rich and that dirty, two-timing Corey licking and lapping it up.

  “I’m gonna light your fire, Corey Richardson, or Corey Othello Marshall!” I screamed as the speedometer-thingy shot up to eighty. The wheels of my Benz slid back and forth over the curvy road. “I’m gonna tear your boxers down for the world to see, you no-good, dirty weasel! And when I’m done with you, you’re gonna wish your burnt butt never laid up on that grill!”

  Somehow I lost control of the wheel. I slammed on the brakes. SCREETCH! My car flipped up in the air. BOOM! It landed on the roof. And I was upside down, screaming at the top of my lungs.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!”

  14

  London

  Waaaaaaaaaait a minute! Reeeeeeeeeewiiiiiiiind. Hold the hell up! Did that hussy straight diss me? I looked around and all that was left of Spencer was the smell of burning rubber and smoke.

  I kept myself composed as I waited for the valet attendant to bring my car around. Poised and camera-ready, of course. Just in case someone felt the urge to take a photo. How dare that self-righteous skank call me broke! My mother was worth over seventeen million alone. And Daddy was worth close to four hundred million. That was surely nothing to sneeze at. But Spencer practically pissed on it. And what made things worse is that I could’ve sworn I heard people snickering in back of me. I started to turn around and give it to anyone I saw with a simple smile across their inflated lips. And when I was done with them I’d slap Spencer into having common sense, because apparently for her to come at me crazy—the little I thought she had didn’t exist. But Daddy said I had to get along with her and that I couldn’t get into any more trouble, but umm, hear this, if she says anything else slick that chick has a stomp-out coming to her real soon. I mean that!

  The valet attendant pulled up beside me, stepping out of my car. He held the door for me, then closed it once I slid in behind the wheel. I tossed him a twenty, then pulled off, catching this couple going at it like wild sex beasts over by one of the gazebos.