Diamond Life

by Aliya S. King

  “Tonight.”

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” Ras mumbled.

  Cleo walked to the bathroom.

  “I’m sorry I called you.”

  Ras stepped into the bathroom and stood behind her.

  “I meant it when I said you deserve better than this, Cleo . . .”

  Cleo turned around. Her left eye was swollen and her cheek was still red where Ras had hit her.

  “I know what I deserve,” said Cleo, as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  “I have a car downstairs waiting for me,” she said. “Do you want me to leave first? Or should you?”

  “I’m going first,” Ras said. “Wait at least twenty minutes.”

  “Ras, wait,” Cleo said. “Take this. Just in case.”

  Ras looked back and saw a business card in Cleo’s hand. He looked at it without touching it.

  “I don’t need to know how to contact you.”

  “Take it anyway,” Cleo said, pushing it into a pocket of Ras’s jeans. “In case of an emergency.”

  Ras walked to the doors of the hotel suite.

  “Do not contact me,” Ras said, as he turned the locks on the door. “Do not call me. Do not text me. Nothing.”

  Someone turned the lock on the door and Ras stepped to the door and looked through the peephole. A housekeeper stood there. Ras opened the door and someone immediately pushed her away.

  “Well, hello there, you two!” said Josephine, sweeping into the suite. “Fancy seeing you here!”

  Ras was always under the impression that Josephine was just slightly afraid of Cleo. But it was Cleo who crept backward. She kept moving back until her entire body was pressed against the window. She turned her head and saw the busy streets of Kingston below.

  “Don’t worry,” said Josephine, still smiling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I-I-I . . .” Cleo sputtered.

  “Why the shades?” asked Josephine. “I hope my husband hasn’t been violent. He does tend to have quite the temper when it comes to his other women. Thankfully, I’ve never seen that side of him.”

  “Let’s go, Josephine,” said Ras, taking his wife by the elbow. Josephine snatched herself away.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “I just came here so you could stop hiding. I know you’ve been seeing Cleo in New York when you’re supposed to be working. And I’m sure this isn’t the first time you two have liaisoned here on the island.”

  Cleo kept her back against the window, her palms pressed against the glass. It was as if she thought Josephine could push her out of the window and into the street below with just one light breath.

  Ras’s mind raced. How could he get Josephine home and clean this up? Just the fact that he was there with Cleo didn’t mean anything had happened. Deny ’til you die, his boys always said.

  “Nothing happened here, Josephine,” said Ras.

  Josephine laughed.

  “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  Josephine’s face twisted quickly into a snarl.

  “You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you in the back of the head like a two-by-four. Don’t talk to me about truth. Ever. You don’t know shit about it.”

  Josephine took a step close to Cleo, who managed to press herself even harder into the glass.

  “I’ll bet Cleo here knows a little about truth. Don’t you?”

  Cleo was silent, her eyes invisible behind the shades.

  “The truth is, my marriage is over. And it has been for some time. You won, Cleo. You can have him. He is all yours.”

  “Josephine,” Ras said, his voice a near whine. “Don’t do this. It’s not necessary.”

  Josephine took another step toward Cleo cowering in the corner.

  “You were not the first woman my husband screwed behind my back. But you have the honor of being the last.”

  Ras made one last attempt to grab at Josephine’s arms as she walked toward the door. But Josephine snatched her entire body away before he could reach her. She pulled a sheaf of paperwork out of her bag and thrust it into Ras’s chest.

  “You’ve been served,” Josephine said.

  Ras looked at the paperwork and then threw it to the ground and raced out of the room behind Josephine. He got to the elevator just as the doors were closing. He slammed his shoulder into the tiny opening and stopped the elevator from moving. The elevator opened back up and Ras saw a group of cleaning women in uniform staring at him in fear.

  He stepped out of the elevator just in time to see the door at the exit stairwell slam shut. Ras raced to the door and took the steps back down to the lobby. He saw no sign of his wife. He checked the elevator. It was coming down slowly, stopping at what seemed like every floor. Ras waited. He had no magic words. He just had to pray that seeing him standing there would at least buy him a few seconds.

  The door opened and a bustling group of English businessmen in suits hurried out. No Josephine.

  Ras went to retrieve his car from the valet and gunned it all the way home.

  He knew before he walked in that she was gone. Before he walked up the steps. Before he turned the key in the lock, he could feel the emptiness and lack of warmth. Before he noticed her bare closets and little Reina’s missing luggage set, he knew his wife was gone.

  So you don’t know for sure that he cheated,” Z said to Alex, over breakfast at the Brooklyn Diner.

  “A woman answered his phone in the middle of the night,” said Alex, rolling her eyes. “He calls me back, the next morning, with some bullshit story about one of his boys having his phone. He cheated.”

  Z nodded. He didn’t agree with Alex’s logic. But he didn’t want to upset her.

  “Until you know the whole story, maybe you should just—”

  “Z, let’s get started.”

  Alex’s eyes were red, and her hair was a knotty mess pulled back into a fuzzy ponytail. Z found himself feeling guilty and ashamed for all the times he’d made Beth feel this way: alone, betrayed, and vulnerable.

  “I’m sorry,” Z said.

  “What are you sorry for?” Alex asked, her eyes on the table.

  “For telling you not to trust him.”

  Alex sat up straight in her seat and clasped her hands together on the table.

  “You were just honest with me,” said Alex. “And I appreciate that.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Get a divorce.”

  “No way.

  “Do you know for a fact that Birdie loves me?”

  “Yes. I know that for a fact.”

  “Then why would he cheat on me? Why?”

  Z couldn’t think of a single word to say. So he didn’t say anything. Alex continued to glare at him.

  “Can we start over?” Z finally asked. “We’ve gotten way off course from what we’re supposed to be doing with this book. I promise to stay out of your personal life. Interview me for this book. And let’s get it done.”

  Alex’s face softened.

  “Deal.”

  Z sat back and closed his eyes.

  “Where did we leave off?”

  Alex dug a notebook out of her bag and flipped through some pages.

  “You were telling me about being a father.”

  “I’m still learning how to be a father. Haven’t been so good at it for the past nineteen years.”

  “What’s your relationship like with Zander?”

  “Zander’s the only child who knew me before I blew up. He remembers having a regular father. So we have a different connection than I do with the younger ones. It’s like Beth. She’s been there since day one—composition notebooks and nursery rhymes.”

  “Zander’s a celebrity now . . .”

  Z exhaled.

  “He is . . . and I’m watching him make some of the same mistakes I made.”

  “Like what?”

  An image of Zander throwing a punch at Bunny fla
shed before his eyes. But he held his tongue.

  “He’s just young and feeling things out. I worry about him. He’s put a lot into his music and if it doesn’t jump off the way he wants it to . . .”

  “What will you do if your career never jumps off again?”

  Z sat up and cleared his throat.

  “Listen. I’m healthy. I’m drug free. I’m alive. My kids are healthy and safe. My career . . . well, I’m not on fire like I was five years ago. But I’m doing okay for myself. I’m sitting here with you, writing a book about my life. Sometimes I’m in awe of how far I’ve come.”

  “I’m really happy for you, Z.”

  “I want you to think about me before you file for divorce from Birdie.”

  Alex narrowed her eyes.

  “I thought we were going to stick with the book.”

  “Men are animals,” said Z. “We think with our dicks.”

  “Please don’t make excuses for Birdie.”

  “I won’t. I’m just telling you facts. He’s hot shit right now. And yes, he’s messing up. But it doesn’t mean that’s the man he’ll be forever. This could have been a onetime lapse in judgment. It doesn’t mean he’ll go as far as I did—having babies by other women and all that.”

  “So if he cheated me, that’s supposed to be okay because he didn’t cheat too much.”

  Alex sucked her teeth and stood up.

  “I think we’re done for today.”

  “We can’t end a session without you being pissed off, can we?”

  “I don’t know? Can we?” Alex asked.

  “What are you about to do now?”

  Alex held up her recorder.

  “Go back to Jersey, transcribe today’s interview.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  They left the diner, drinking in the bright sunshine that warmed them up. They both took their jackets off as they walked and talked. They chatted about the weather as they reached the parking garage where Alex parked her car.

  “I tried yoga a few times,” said Alex, reaching for her keys. “I’m too out of shape.”

  “No such thing,” said Z. “You just have to—”

  Alex and Z both stopped abruptly. Beth was standing in the driveway of the garage, her face frozen and her teeth clenched. She had the baby on her hip.

  “Beth?” Z asked, taking a step toward his wife.

  “I know you’ve been fucking her,” Beth said flatly.

  “Who? Alex?” Z exclaimed, pointing to where she stood. “No!”

  “Beth, that is not true,” Alex said, one hand over her heart. “I swear to you, nothing—”

  “Whatever!” Beth screamed. “I’ve been dealing with Z’s shit long enough. I know when he’s messing around.”

  “Bethie,” said Z. “You know that’s not me anymore.”

  “You roll up to this diner with Miss Priss every other day. And then a few weeks ago, y’all went to church together. I saw you.”

  “We went to a twelve-step meeting,” said Z. “That’s all.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with writing a book?” said Beth.

  Alex stepped back from both of them.

  “I’m gonna go.”

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s been going on with my husband.”

  Alex opened her mouth to speak, but Z interrupted.

  “Beth, I said nothing’s going on! Now, let’s talk about this at home.”

  “I’ve been coming here every week. Watching the both of you.”

  Beth hoisted the baby up higher on her hip and pointed at Z.

  “You know I always know.”

  “Beth, can I please say something?” Alex asked. Beth just stared at her.

  “I am not involved with Z in any way,” said Alex. “We got cool while working on this book. I’ve confided in him about stuff. But I would never disrespect you like that. I swear. Nothing happened.”

  Beth stared at Alex. The baby began to whimper and struggle in her arms. Z, Alex, and Beth looked at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Beth turned to get into her car.

  “Bullshit,” she spat. “And you both know it.”

  Z and Alex stood there silently, while Beth strapped the baby into her car seat, climbed up to the driver’s side of the Land Cruiser, and slammed the door. Z and Alex stood stock-still and watched Beth speed out of the garage and down Atlantic Avenue.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said to Z when they couldn’t see Beth’s car anymore.

  “I can’t believe this,” Z said, shaking his head. “All these years, she’s never said a word. Never confronted me about anything. And now, the first time she decides to stand up for herself and step to me—she’s wrong. And she won’t believe me.”

  “Let’s take a few days off. Call me when things settle down,” Alex said, handing her ticket to the valet.

  Z nodded and walked away. His mind raced, thinking of all the women. All the affairs. All the babies. Beth kept a stiff upper lip, complained to Kipenzi, and hardly ever said a word to Z. As long as he came home at some point, she was cool. And now that he was sober, she was seeing things where there was nothing.

  Z got to his own car and jumped inside. His car roared down the street, toward the Manhattan Bridge to find his wife.

  Birdie barely waited for the driver to stop before he jumped out of the car, leaving his luggage inside and the car door wide open.

  “Alex!” he yelled out as soon as he pushed the front door open. “Where are you?” His voice echoed through the house, scaring him. He hated the oversized mansion. It was way too big for two people. He could never find Alex when he came home. If she were in the attic working or in the basement doing the laundry, she couldn’t hear him until he was practically in her line of vision.

  “Alex? Are you here?”

  Birdie whipped through the front foyer, past the living room and the family room. He stopped in each doorway, scanning for his wife.

  The morning after the episode with Cheka, Birdie woke up with a splitting headache, and the reality of what had happened the night before crashed down on him. Did that woman really have the nerve to answer his phone and talk to his wife?

  He’d called Alex nonstop from one end of Europe to the other. He got her on the phone just once. He made up a quick lie about Travis having his phone. She hung up on him and refused to take any more of his calls. He even resorted to calling one of Travis’s girlfriends, Jess, and begging her to get a message to Alex. Nothing had worked.

  Immediately after his show in Prague, he flew back to New York, his knee jumping up and down for the entire flight. He’d gotten a second chance with Alex. Last year, after she found out about the blow job from Cleo, she could have left forever. But she didn’t. She forgave him and moved on with him. She married him. She was helping him to raise his daughter. She dealt with his ex-wife. She stood back and let him enjoy his newfound fame. And this is how he paid her back. By deciding that cheating wouldn’t hurt as long as he didn’t get caught. The problem with that stupid-ass theory was that there was always the possibility that you could get caught. And he did.

  “Alex!”

  Birdie went up the third flight of stairs to the office. It was empty. He doubled back and went into the bedroom to make sure she hadn’t actually packed up and left. In her walk-in closet, the size of their old guest room in Brooklyn, her luggage was lined up neatly, and it didn’t look like any of her clothes were missing.

  Birdie’s cell rang and he fumbled to answer right away.

  “Yo.”

  “You talk to Alex yet?” asked Travis.

  “She’s not here,” Birdie said, walking to the window and looking out at the cul-de-sac at the front of the house. “Her car is here. But she’s not.”

  “Yo, Jess told me the chick in Australia talked to some British newspaper about you.”

  Birdie froze.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty bad. She talks about . . . st
uff she would only know if . . .”

  “Let me call you back.”

  Birdie hung up the phone before Travis could respond. He sat down hard on the too-high bed and rubbed his temples.

  Birdie thought of something. He snapped his fingers and ran downstairs to the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, they kept the key cup. It had random keys to everything—the garage, the tool shed, extra sets of car keys, and various other spares. Birdie shook out all the keys. And he immediately realized which set was missing. It was so obvious he didn’t know how it hadn’t come to him sooner. He picked up a set of keys and dashed out of the house.

  Although he had the key, Birdie rang the doorbell to the old house in Brooklyn and waited for his wife to answer the door. She’d never wanted to leave the brownstone and so he knew, in this time of crisis, she’d come back to the first home they shared together. This was the place that represented life without the fame, the money, and the groupies that were threatening to end it all.

  Alex opened the door and stepped back to let Birdie into the foyer. He expected her to be red-eyed and weepy. Instead she looked radiant, though she wore a weak, pained smile.

  “I figured you’d find me eventually.”

  “Alex. Baby.”

  Birdie reached out for his wife and she pulled back.

  “Don’t,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

  “Are you okay? Is everything—”

  Birdie put his hands to his wife’s belly and looked at her. Tears streamed down Alex’s face as she shook her head back and forth. “I lost the baby,” Alex said.

  Birdie sunk down to his knees and wrapped his arms around Alex’s legs.

  “Oh no. Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Shit.”

  “While I’m here, trying to hold it together, you’re out—” Alex cried harder.

  “I didn’t touch that girl, I swear to God. Travis borrowed my phone and he was with some—”

  Alex raised up a hand to stop Birdie from speaking.

  “You think I didn’t go over all the possibilities?” Alex said. “You don’t think I tried to make myself believe that story was true? You don’t think I cried over it? Wanting to believe it? I saw the story. She said your dick curves to the left. How on earth would she know that?”