by Ni-Ni Simone
28
Spencer
Oh poor, poor Heather. It’s so terrible how they treat her over there at that studio. I made a right turn onto Ventura Boulevard, heading toward the Hollywood Freeway. And that Mr. Fatso director of hers with that tacky-looking nose job really pissed in my sugar jar the way he yelled and screamed at her like that. It’s no wonder her Raggedy-Ann-looking self was so shaken. I’m so, so glad I was there to keep her from falling apart.
I sped down the Boulevard. Sweethairyballsoffire... this sun is blinding, I thought, flipping down the sun visor, then searching the car for the extra pair of shades I kept inside the truck. “Now I know they’re in here somewhere.” I leaned over and searched inside the glove compartment as I approached an intersection.
Boom!
Ohsweetjeezus... what in the hell is wrong with these dang, crazy drivers? I laid down on the horn, letting my window down. “What in the hell are you doing?” I yelled out. “Can’t you see I’m trying to go?” I continued pressing down on the horn.
“Ohfortheloveofhigheelsandhandbags... who would park a limo right in the middle of the road? I don’t know why these idiots have to try me today!” I put my truck in park, then swung open my door and got out. I was ready to flip somebody’s light switch for causing this mess.
A tall, dark-skinned man wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie got out of the car the same as I hopped out of my truck ready to set it off. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
I frowned. “What do you mean, am I all right? Of course I’m not all right, you’re blocking traffic and I have somewhere to be. Well, not really. But, that’s beside the point. What if I did? Now what in the hell are you doing? Why would you stop in the middle of the road at a green light like that?”
“Ma’am, the light was red.”
I frowned. “Red? That light was green, as in drive. Not as in stop in the center of the road. And tear up the front of my truck. Do you need your eyes checked, or them cataracts removed?”
“Ma’am, you ran into the back of us.”
I huffed, “Well what in the heck you expect me to do, you dumb bunny. Don’t get snotty with me. You were in the wrong. You lucky I don’t get back in my truck and run you down.”
“Ma’am, are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening. I’m informing you. You just insulted me. Usually I’d just run up on you. But I’m being nice today and giving you a warning. Any other day you’d already be on the ground rolling and burning.”
“Ma’am. . .”
“And another thing, sir, I don’t do the back and forth. You better shut your mouth. And let me see your credentials. I wanna know where you got your license from. Toys “R” Us? And did you rent them from the Matchbox aisle?” He stared at me with his old-looking self. “You need to be on that blue citizen bus that comes through here every Tuesday. What are you, about forty-five? You too dang old to be on the road, anyway, with your non-driving self. You need to hang your license up and stay off the road, buster.”
“Ma’am, I was just thinking the same thing about you. Can I see your credentials?”
“My credentials? What are you trying to say?”
My mouth flew open. I’m only sixteen. I can’t show him my credentials. I’m not even supposed to have a real license until next year. Thank God I had a connection down at the Motor Vehicles who forged the birth date on my paperwork. But I can’t tell the police that. I’d be thrown up against a wall, patted down, and strip-searched. And that big burly woman Rich and London left behind might still be there waiting for me, especially since I’m prettier. I can’t have that.
I gave him a flick of the wrist. “You know what, you’re dismissed. You’re fired. I’m not dealing with you.” I stormed off toward the side of the limo and banged on the window. It slowly rolled down. “I need to talk to you. Are you aware that your driver is. . .” I paused, taking him in.
Ohmy. . .
“My driver is what?”
“Umm, harassing me. That’s what he’s doing. And I won’t stand for it.”
“Harassing you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “How?”
“By talking real slick and nasty to me. And I’ve been nothing but nice to him while he stood there and cursed me out, talking to me any ole kind of way. Now you need to do something about him. He needs to be reprimanded for his rudeness.”
He chuckled.
Ooooh, he’s so cute!
“I beg your pardon. This isn’t funny. Now I see why your driver is so rude and obnoxious. He’s driving around the King of Rudeness. But I won’t have it. That’s exactly why I fired him. So you’re going to need to find yourself another driver.”
“Enough.”
“Enough?”
“Yeah, enough. Be quiet.”
“Be quiet? I don’t know who you think—”
“Shut. Up.”
“Shut up?”
“Yeah, shut. Up. You’ve spent five minutes making a big production about something that’s not all that serious. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Do I look hurt?”
I huffed, impatiently, “Well. No. Not that I can tell.”
“Then that’s all that matters, beautiful. Now shut them pretty lips up and listen.”
My mouth opened to say something else, then quickly shut. I don’t know if I complied because he told me to shut up. Or if it was because I needed a moment to observe just how fine he was. He had skin the color of cocoa with dark chocolate eyes that almost looked black. My mouth started watering.
“Now go back to your car, get in, and pull over to the side of road.”
“Wait a minute now. What are trying to do? Get me in a back alley somewhere? This is not that kind of party. You’ve got the wrong one.”
He shook his head, rolling the window up in my face. I heard him say to his driver, “Call the police. I’m not getting anywhere with this girl.”
I felt my knees buckle. I knocked on the window again. Flashed him a sparkling white smile, then said, “Look. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to pull over. I just want to make sure that I don’t end up in the backwoods somewhere tied to a rock.”
He gave me a confused look.
“Because in all the horror movies the black girls die first. I just want to make sure it’s not going down like that. But I’m going to walk back over to my truck, get in and pull over. It’s all good, right?”
He stared me down as if everything I said sounded ridiculous or something. “Listen. I don’t know what movies you’re talking about. But this isn’t one of those scenes. All you’re doing is driving up the street to get out of the middle of the road.”
Lord, please don’t let this fine man be a serial killer. And if he does kidnap me, please let it be somewhere safe and clean. Like a remote island, where I can still relax.
“Well? Are you going to keep blocking traffic, or are you going to move?”
“Yeah. I’ll move. But I’m going to snap a picture of your license plate and send it to my girls just in case you try some monkey business and I end up missing.”
“Trust me, beautiful. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Trust you? I don’t know you. I mean you’re cute and all—nice and chocolate. And them eyes of yours sparkle like black diamond dust but that doesn’t mean I can trust you. So you go first.”
He grinned, amused. “No, I already had you following me. That’s why we’re in this mess. You drive in front of me. And I’ll follow you. You’ve done enough for one day.”
I blinked. “I don’t appreciate what you just said to me, but before I go off on you, I’m going to let it go. And do what you said because I don’t want problems, okay. Just don’t block me in. I don’t want to cause any more damage ramming out of here. But I will.”
I flipped my hair, turned on my heels, and walked back over to my truck, adding an extra shake to my fries, hoping like heck he had his eyes zoomed in all over my juicy Whooper.
<
br /> I pulled around him, drove through the light, then pulled over. His driver pulled the limo up in front of me. The passenger door opened. And the minute Mr. Chocolate Drop stepped out of his car I immediately knew I needed to freshen my lips with another coat of lip gloss. He was so fine that my mouth watered.
He was a hot, steamy cup of cocoa that I wanted to sip and savor. I wanted him. And I was going to leave there with two things accomplished. No cops. And his phone number. Hello, Sex Kitten.
I sized him up, from the bottom to the top. I spotted a pair of leather Louis Vuitton loafers stuffed with big, long feet. The kind of feet that made me unbutton two more buttons on my blouse. Whew, it was getting hot and I had to let the steam out.
I continued my journey up his dress pants and admired how well they hung on his frame. I eyed the black Ferragamo belt that held his pants up on his thick waist. My naughty thoughts had me wondering what kind of underwear he had on. Boxers, or boxer briefs? And what he’d look like without any on. I imagined his pants dropping around his ankles and his buckle hitting the floor. I swallowed.
Come to Mama, baby...
He watched me, watching him as he made his way over to my truck. Yes, I was checking him out. Please. Guys did it to girls all the time. His head was up and he walked like he owned the streets. He took charge like he was a man on a mission. Not like that dumb bucket Corey who didn’t know who or what he wanted. And not like Joey who walked around confused and lost, carrying a cardboard box because he couldn’t get his science project right. Oh, no. This cocoa-dipped hottie glided over to me like he was a man who knew what he wanted. And he knew exactly how to get it. Oooh, he had it. And he brought the grown woman out of me. A moment Kitty would be proud of. Rrrrrrrrrrooowwwrrr!
I rolled my window down, batted my eyes, eased out of the truck, then leaned up against the hood.
He walked up in my space. “I’m not gonna stand here all day playing games with you. Now, how are we going to handle this? ’Cause your driver is fired. Oh, he’s sooooo fired. My truck needs to be fixed. And I need to know who’s going to handle it. And I don’t do roadside mechanics.”
“Well, do you do dates?” he asked, eyeing me.
“Whaaaaaat? Dates? I never dated a mechanic.” I paused. Wait. A. Minute. Dates? Escorts go out on dates. Oh, he thinks I’m a prostitute! “Oh you done tore your drawers down. And here I thought you were some fine prey I needed to pounce on. But all you are is roadkill. You think I’m some woman of the night. Goes to show how much you know, Mr. Sandman. Women of the night don’t come out in the daytime. I’m not gonna stand for you calling me names.” I put a finger up. “You wait right there. I got something for you. You don’t know about me.”
I marched back over to the passenger side of the truck, swung open the door, and grabbed my handbag. And as I yanked it open and searched for my can of get-right, he spoke over my shoulder. “Spencer, what are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready to teach you real good. I’ma mace you down.”
He laughed. “I was asking you for a date with me.”
“Oh, now you want a personal escort. I don’t do that, either.”
He continued laughing and boldly put his hand up on my waist and pulled me in front of him, causing me to drop my can of Mace. Now I was defenseless, on my way to a remote island. “Listen. I was asking you out on a date with me because I think you’re beautiful. The truck is only scratched. And there’s only a dent in my bumper. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“But your driver—your ex-driver, who I fired, remember? —was going to call the police on me like I had cracked your precious car in half.”
“Enough with the car already. How about, seven o’clock... you and me? I’ll have a driver come get you.”
“And where do you think you’re going to be taking me?”
He grinned. “It’s a surprise.”
“Now wait a minute. This surprise won’t have anything to do with corners, blindfolds, or ropes, will it?”
He chuckled again. “No.”
“Is it a remote island?”
He sighed. “Spencer. Just be ready. My driver will be waiting in front of your house at seven.”
I blinked. “Wait a minute. How do you know my name?”
He grinned. “I got it off the cover of Diva Girlz Weekly, on page seventeen. Everyone knows you.”
“Well, how do you know where I live? Are you a stalker? ’Cause I don’t do stalkers. They’re crazy. And here you want me to go off with you to some surprise. I don’t think so.”
“I’m not a stalker. I’m not a kidnapper. I’m not a murderer. And I’m not a pimp. I know where you live because I do. I’m simply interested in taking out a beautiful young woman. Now, give me a yes or no answer. No extras.”
“No.”
He looked at me. “All right, no problem.”
He dropped his hands from my waist and turned to walk away. Just as he opened his door, I yelled out, “I can’t do seven o’clock. How about seven-thirty?”
He smiled. “Seven-thirty it is. By the way, don’t you think you should ask me for my name?”
“Ooops, I got so wrapped up in you being a pimp or kidnapper that I had simply forgotten.” I tilted my head, toyed with the end of a curl. “What’s your name?”
“Anderson,” he said, slipping into his car, disappearing into the City of Angels.
29
Heather
My Dear Father:
I am who I am not because I wanted to shame anyone; I just wanted to be myself. I know this is not what you wanted for me but I didn’t choose this. And I didn’t choose this pain, but I am choosing to end it. You no longer have to wonder why God has cursed you with me. And you no longer have to carry the shame of having a son who you feel is not normal. I’m sorry that you couldn’t love me.
Your son,
Yi-Ying
aka Co-Co
Co-Co lay on his bed dead. At least I thought he was dead when I’d walked into his house and into his room. I’d knocked and knocked until my raps turned into pounds and somehow the door simply opened—it was unlocked. I walked in and my heart sank to the floor. No matter how much I shook him or how loud I screamed he didn’t wake up. There was no response. My tears wet his face as I pressed my forehead against his and called his name over and over and over again. Trying to make sense out of why he would do this to himself.
“Co-Co, please wake up!” I whispered against his lips. “Please.”
My mind kept telling me that this wasn’t real. This was a dream. That once I clicked my heels we would be in the middle of a rave, waving our hands in the air.
But this wasn’t a dream. This was real.
I picked up the phone and called 9-1-1.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“He’s dead,” I said, practically in a whisper.
“Ma’am, can you repeat that?”
“I think he killed himself!” I screamed, hysterical, feeling as if I was going out of my mind.
“Ma’am, please stay as calm as you can. I can’t understand a word you said, please tell me your location?”
“3610 Crescent Lane, Baldwin Hills!”
“Ma’am, just stay with me. Someone’s on their way.”
“Please hurry!”
“Is he bleeding?”
“No. He took a bottle of pills.”
“Are you sure he’s dead? Is there a pulse, please check to see if there’s a pulse.”
I reached for Co-Co’s wrist and pressed my index finger into it. There was a faint pulse. “He’s alive!” I screamed. “Please hurry!”
I don’t remember when the EMT workers came into the house and into Co-Co’s room. I just knew they were there, checking his vitals. There was no color in his face and his eyes sank deep into his high cheeks.
I knew the police were asking me questions. The same questions over and over again... but I couldn’t answer them. All I could see was Co-Co. All I could see was my fri
end being rushed out on the stretcher, and I didn’t understand why.
He had a mother. He had a father. He had life. He was life. And his smile, and laughter, and his snap-back-get-it-together-boo attitude made me believe that he could be who he wanted to be... and I envied that freedom only to find out that it was an illusion.
Now I didn’t know what was real.
I took a step toward the door, my head started to spin, and suddenly I felt as if I were having an out of body experience and everything disappeared. . . .
I didn’t know what Co-Co’s parents were saying. They were speaking in Chinese. All I knew is that whatever they were talking about was heated. Co-Co’s mother sobbed. She had a fistful of wet tissue and his father sat as if he were unimpressed by the mother’s emotions, as security asked them to quiet down.
I felt lost in the back of the room. The waiting was killing me. The not knowing was sending me over the edge. I wanted to beg someone—anyone—to promise me that Co-Co would stabilize and that the last time he was revived, it worked and he would stay alive. He already died twice and each time pieces of me died with him.
I didn’t know how much he meant to me. He was much more than a fan club president. My love for him went beyond the parties, the Skittles, or the bags of Adderall we shared. He was my friend, my brother, and I loved him. I just wanted him to live. I just prayed that for once God heard me and gave me a chance to tell Co-Co that if we could make it through this, we could make it through anything....
I just couldn’t take sitting here anymore so I got up from my chair and as Co-Co’s mother sobbed into her tissues I turned to his father and asked, “Mr. Ming, have you heard anything about Co-Co?”
His face turned to stone and he gave me an ice-cold stare. He clenched his teeth. “I don’t know anyone by the name of Co-Co.”
I swallowed. My heart hit the bottom of my stomach. For the life of me I couldn’t remember Co-Co’s real name. I hadn’t called him that in years, and then it came to me. “Mr. Ming, is Ying okay?”
“Yi-Ying is not okay. He’s sick.” And he quickly turned his back on me.