by Ni-Ni Simone
I looked at him with fear, surprised that he was threatening to put me out on the road in the middle of the night. I’ve done a lot of things, but Daddy has never, ever, threatened to throw me out of the car. Right then...I made a vow to myself to get my life together. London Phillips was turning over a new leaf. There would be no more running wild for me. It wasn’t worth losing my life.
I looked at him with tears rolling down my face. “Okay, Daddy. I understand.”
He eyed me long and hard, then narrowed his eyes. My whole world had crashed around me. I held my breath.
“Now shut the door.”
17
Rich
Eww, I can’t believe Mr. Phillips was sooo rude. The nerve. No door-to-door service?
He knew our shoes were stolen.
So umm, he had to notice that I didn’t have any stilettos on.
Oh God, look at my feet.
Yet he dropped me off at the bottom of the hill, like that was the move.
Who does that?
Obviously, Mr. Low Budget.
And then he made us ride with all the windows down, like it was ninety degrees out, when it was only about sixty. Maybe he needed to have his overheating, or should I say overeating, problem worked out. Like lift some weights and stay away from the plate. And no he wasn’t that big, and yeah London claimed he worked out. But, from what I could see he had twenty extra pounds that made that belly of his a little round. And whenever the Phillipses came over here and had dinner with us, Papa Bear. Got. His. Grub. On. And easily threw three, four plates of food back. Okay. Snap. Snap. But whatever, that was not my problem, being cold was.
I stood at the bottom of the hilly driveway and our estate, which my mother had lovingly named “The Promised Land,” looked massive. French chateau inspired with huge dramatic windows that towered from the first floor to the second-story ceiling and were on both sides of the forty-foot all glass and rhodium trimmed double doors. The platinum fountain of the Greek god Zeus was the crowning jewel of the English rose garden that welcomed you into paradise where there were sculptured bushes, an Olympic-size pool, a tennis court, a small golf course, and sprawling and plush green grounds that went even farther than the eye could see.
And all I could think was if my parents killed and buried me, no one would ever find me.
Damn.
At least my brother would miss me.
I smiled hesitantly at the servant crew, who were leaving out of the side entrance. “Good night, Miss Rich.” They smiled and headed to the guests’ garage, where their cars were kept.
Instinctively I wondered what time it was, because I could’ve sworn that the night staff didn’t get off until midnight and last I checked it was 10 P.M. I swallowed.
Hard.
Now I knew for sure I was about to be dragged. Because my mother never ever let the staff go home early. Ever.
Know what, this is a dream. Yup, exactly. A dream. I pinched myself just to test my theory and all I felt was pain shoot up my arm. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.
Know what, maybe, maybe my mother had worried herself to sleep and my father was tucked away in his office and was relieving stress by writing a song. This would allow me to creep into my room, lock the door, and come up with a plan by the time the maids arrived in the morning.
Or maybe, maybe when I crept passed my parents’ wing there would be slow music playing, then I could creep into my room and let them enjoy their groove. And when they woke up in the morning they would still be on their midnight high and would let this whole deal slide.
Boom!
But what if they’re up?
And Ma is massaging Daddy’s shoulders and working the kinks out of his neck when I walk in... that would be a clear sign of premeditated murder....
I got it. I’ll blame it all on London.
After all, she did call and invite me to get it crunked. I’m a lady. I don’t do crunked. And I already had a plan to get rid of Corey. I didn’t need her assistance.
And if that doesn’t work... ?
Then... I’d beat my parents to the punch and cop to their famous lines that I was spoiled, self-centered, and needed to get my life together. Boom! And it didn’t matter if I knew that none of that was true. What mattered is that they fell for it.
Now that I had my mind right and my plan intact, I squared my shoulders and strutted toward the front entrance.
Dang, I don’t have any keys. . . .
Think... think... think...
“Don’t think if you take all night to come up in here—”
Freeze.
Did someone just put a gun to my head?
My mother continued as she stood in the doorway with her hand on her slender hip and her neck contorted, “—That your father and I will be tucked away somewhere and you’ll be able to creep into your room, excuse me, my room that I allow you to sleep in, in peace. Because peace is a privilege. And your privileges, Miss Jailbird, have been stripped.”
I swallowed again.
Extra hard.
There were two ways I could handle this: Say nothing and go down quietly, or raise up and let my mother know that I was sixteen and if she put her hands on me that it was gon’ be a problem.
There it was. Solution number two.
I boldly put a little motion in my ocean, walked up to the front entrance, looked my mother over, strutted past her, and left her standing there with her mouth dropped open.
Now hit the floor with that.
But instead of hitting the floor my mother laughed. Wickedly. Now that scared me. She wasn’t supposed to laugh, especially since I knew that when she laughed like this, she was ready to get it poppin’. This was when having parents that were originally hood rats before they were bourgeois snobs went straight to the left.
Maybe it’s not too late to rewind my plan.
Yeah, that was it. Reeewiiind . . .
I turned around and said, “Oh hey, Ma. I didn’t even see you standing there.” I walked back over to her, daringly kissed her on the cheek, and turned to walk away.
“If I were you,” she said coldly, “I’d stand still until somebody told me to move.”
Ummm . . . does that mean plan number one wasn’t a good look either?
My mother walked up behind me, spoke evenly over my shoulder and said, “So you wanna be a thug, huh? You wanna rep a set now? And be like a common criminal, sluggin’ it out on the street. Is that what you want to be?”
Blink ... blink... and blink some more. What the ... “I don’t stink—”
“Are you talking back to me?” She rushed in front of me and shoved her face into mine. “Huh? Are you really bringing it to me? Answer me!”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Up in here smelling like garbage! Nasty. Sweaty. Stankin’garbage and I will not have it in my house!”
“So is that code word that we’re going to end this conversation so that I can luxuriate in a bath? ’Cause I had a hard day, Ma. London is full of drama. And Ma, Ma, you know I have never been in such trouble since I hooked up with that girl. She is a typical New Yorker. Always ready to set it off. Always willing to—”
“Shut. Up. So now what you’re saying to me is that you’re a follower. So I’m raising a follower, who’s willing to do anything that anyone tells her to do, and especially a typical New Yorker? Is that what you’re saying to me? So I swam through the swamps of Watts, dodging bullets, ducking drive-bys, trying not to toss up gang signs, and hustled my way to the top, to have a daughter who’s a follower! Are you sure that’s what you’re telling me? That all my hard work was in vain?” She mushed me in my temple and made my head jerk to the left. “Because if that’s what you’re telling me, then I’m telling you that where I come from that level of disrespect calls for a beat-down. And if you’re trying to be a jailhouse thug then you need to know that! Now tell me.” She slid off one stiletto and then the other. “Is that what you’re saying? That you want me to whup yo
u?”
“Ma, let me explain.”
“Explain what? What part, how you were all up on the news and the blogs carrying on and fighting over a boy?”
“That was Spencer’s fault—”
“Now this is Spencer’s fault?”
“Yes. Hers and London’s. And Corey’s. ’Cause had Corey been faithful—”
“No man is faithful. You know that. And don’t say that to me anymore!”
Pause... “Well. Umm, had Spencer not been a slut, sleeping with Corey. Then none of this would have happened. And had London not called me and invited me to toss it down—”
“Now London invited you to toss it down? I should willy-whop you. Now you’re insulting my intelligence.”
“Ma—”
“Don’t cut me off again! Now you know how you’re supposed to act and what I expect. Men will cheat. So that’s not the issue, you deal with that in private. You don’t ever embarrass your man by fighting in the street. That’s the move of a woman who will forever be number two. Is that what you want? Always the mistress never the wife, well then you keep it up because you’re on your way—”
“Logan,” my father called from the distance. “Turner just called and said he dropped Rich off at the bottom of the hill. She should be in here at any minute and I want her in my office immediately! Do you know she had the nerve to make travel plans to go to France? Your daughter is out of control! Yeah, when she steps in here let her know that I’m waiting.”
I wonder if they’ll bury me in all black Chanel . . .
My mother peered at me. “Okay, Richard. I’m waiting right here for her.” She continued, clenching her teeth, “When you speak to your father you better shut your mouth and listen, because if you even look at him crazy, I’ma bring it to yo’ chest. Simple. Because now you’re messing with my husband. And three things I don’t play with: my money, my man, and my children. And in that order—”
“Ma, let me just say—”
“Say? You can’t say a thing to me. Now you keep trying me, little girl, and see what’s next. And I don’t care if you are our daughter, or Daddy’s little princess, you will play by mother’s rules, and not your own. And rule number one in mother’s handbook is: Going to jail is a no-no. Rule number two: There will be no fighting in the street over some lil boy, who may be hot right now but, given the financial state of his family, clearly will not be rich forever. And rule number three: Never break rule number one or two.
“Now you go upstairs and take you a quick shower. If I find out that you are trying to luxuriate, I’ma beat you out of the stall. Now go rinse yourself and you have ten minutes to get back down here and you better know how to speak. All that laffy-taffy, boom-bop-drop, you better keep that out on the street. Now get out my face!”
I felt frozen in my spot.
“Rich Gabrielle Montgomery, did you hear what I said?” She slid her earrings off and turned her eleven-karat diamond solitaire toward her palm. “Or do we really need to handle this another way? ’Cause the way I feel I will beat you like a woman in the street. Since you’re grown as hell. Now you have an option, get the hell out my face or I’ma peel your face off!”
I felt my knees giving way. I had to go to the bathroom and I knew if I kept standing here I was seconds away from the drops of pee that had wet my panties to a full-fledged stream making its way to the floor. I squeezed my inner thighs. I knew my mother had dismissed me from her presence. But, I also knew my mother well enough to know that if I moved too quickly or turned away from her too fast, she would swear that I was snatching away from her and the next thing I would know she’d be taking a Watts-certified sledgehammer to my throat. Not. An. Option. So I simply looked at her and rocked from side to side, barely holding my pee. Before I could say anything my mother said, “You’ve wasted two minutes standing here, now unless you’re going to bring it, you now have eight minutes to get back down here odor-free!”
I zipped upstairs, barely making it to the bathroom. This was nothing like I expected my day or night to be. The last time my mother ran up on me like this was a year ago.
I think I need Jesus.
I hopped in the shower and hurriedly washed. I hopped out and changed into a champagne-colored lounge outfit and slippers. I hurried back downstairs to my father’s office with forty seconds to spare and I still felt dirty. I stood in the doorway and watched my mother massaging my father’s broad shoulders and working the kinks out of his neck. For a moment I wondered if jail with Rick Ross was a better look than this.
I looked at my mother and her eyes clearly said, “You are finished.”
“Hey, Daddy,” I said hesitantly, wishing I could run away. My father looked at me disgusted and pointed to the twin set of leather wing chairs that sat before his mahogany desk and said, “Sit down.”
I felt like I walked on glass. I tipped over, sat down, and swallowed.
Don’t say a word. Just listen. Don’t even move. Don’t even blink.
After a moment of silence and them both staring at me, not blinking, my father popped his neck and said, “I have seen the news and I have read the blogs. Now, what’s your version?” But before I could say anything he said, “And don’t start that fast talk, cause the moment boom-bop comes out of your mouth I’ma let you know exactly what a boom-bop means.”
My mother slid from behind my father’s chair, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and cocked her neck to the side. “I dare you,” she mouthed.
Immediately my left leg started to shake and I felt like I had to go to the bathroom again but I knew I couldn’t move. I swallowed and said, “See what had happened was. Ummm . . . yeah . . . ummm, yeah, see London came to Hollywood High bringing all this ra-ra—”
“Start over.” He sat up completely straight and leaned forward.
My mother reached across him and moved his glass of cognac to the side. “Just in case you need to leap over.”
My father cut his eyes at my mother and she resumed massaging his shoulders.
My eyes dropped back to my father. Veins ran across his forehead like a road map. He peered at me and said, “Now, I said start. Over.”
“See, yeah, what the problem really is, is Spencer—”
“Start over again.” He rose from his chair and sat on the edge of his desk. My mother was wringing her hands.
I broke down and started crying.
“Rich, those tears are not working with me, so suck ’em up and sit up straight,” Daddy demanded. “You played yourself on national TV, all the headlines are reading that my daughter has turned into a thug in Chanel and I know, and you know, and your mother knows, that you don’t know nothing about being a thug. Yet still you’re out in the street carrying on—”
“Daddy, it just happened so fast. I let London talk me into fighting Corey, when I knew it wasn’t right. And I knew that Mommy always said to be a lady. And I am a lady, but this girl just has a way of getting everybody—”
I paused. Swallowed. The look on my father’s face reminded me that I was going too far to the left and needed to bring it back, quick, so I said, “So, Spencer, who I thought was my best friend since kindergarten, was sleeping with my boyfriend. Did you see the video? Straight porn star—”
“The only video I saw was you acting straight hood.” He rose off of the desk and the next thing I knew he stood in front of me.
“I don’t want to hear anything about London, Spencer, or anybody else. All I’m concerned about is you. And you do remember who you are. But then again maybe you don’t, so let me remind you. You are the daughter of Richard Gabriel Montgomery Sr., founder and CEO of Grand Records. Do you understand what that means?”
“Apparently she doesn’t,” my mother added and I wished I could tell her to shut her mouth. But I didn’t, mostly because I didn’t dare to.
“Well, let me school you,” my father continued. “You don’t have a right to embarrass me. Actually you don’t have a right to breathe without me giving you permis
sion.” He paused. “And then I had three, four lawyers call here asking me if they could sample your voice screaming, ‘I’ma peel his face off!’ Really? Rich? Who you supposed to be? Queen Bee? Ill Na-Na? You ain’t put no work in. You haven’t done anything but be a snotty-nose little brat, who thinks she has the world at her fingertips. And the only reason why you have that world is because I’ve given it to you. This is my money, my house, my fortune, my reputation and I’m not going to have you and your behavior tryna do me. When I was on the street, people have disappeared for less than that. Now what you think I’ma do to you bringing lawsuits to my doorstep?”
My eyes popped open wide.
“Yeah, Corey’s parents want money for you ‘peeling his face off!’ ”
He continued, “And if we have to settle out of court, the money will come out of your trust fund, and you better hope it doesn’t deplete it. Now from where I’m standing you have some serious thinking to do. Because if you can’t get it right, you will be up out of here. There are plenty of boarding schools. Now I didn’t have these problems from your brother and I’m not going to have them from you. Now get out of my face!”
I quickly rose from my seat and I could feel my top sticking to my back and my pants sticking to my legs. For a moment I wondered if I’d left a puddle of sweat in the chair.
“And know this,” my father said as I stepped toward the door. “You are on punishment. And you will apologize to Spencer and Corey.”
Psst, please. I wish I would. I’m Rich Montgomery, I don’t do apologies.
“We will finish this conversation later,” my mother said to me as I closed the door.
As I stepped away I heard my father raise his voice and say to my mother, “You have spoiled her way too much! This is your fault.”
I hurried away from the door as my mother started fast-talking and explaining why I act the way I do, and from what I heard none of it made any sense.
It was close to midnight and I couldn’t get any sleep. I tossed and turned thinking about a million things. The moonlight streamed in from the crack in my French doors that led to my terrace. I eased out of bed and walked over to the terrace and leaned against the doorframe, looking out into the night. The cool air bathed my face and just as I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened today my phone rang.