Heels, Heartache & Headlines

by Ni-Ni Simone

  He never wanted you. Camille’s voice sliced into my thoughts.

  I sighed. “All that sounds good, but he knows I exist. And he’s never wanted me. Has never gone out of his way to get in touch with me. Meet me. Or anything.” My eyes welled with tears.

  What are you crying for? Camille’s voice edged its way into my thoughts again. Just suck it up and deal with the fact that you don’t exist for him.

  Nikki reached over and dabbed at the wet corners of my eyes with the pads of her thumbs. “You shouldn’t be this upset. You owe it to yourself to meet him.”

  “And how will I do that?”

  “Just show up at his doorstep. Go and see him. Every girl wants to know her daddy.”

  He’s not interested in you. Never has been, never will be. He has a family. And yeah, you may have his DNA, but he will never be your daddy. “Nikki, I know you mean well, but that’s a terrible idea.”

  She carried on, “You’re a Montgomery too.”

  You are a Cummings.

  Nikki continued, “And most of the time, people are different once they find out you’re family. He just might welcome you with open arms. Besides, you’ve never done anything to him. And Rich might not be that bad.” She paused. “And yeah, she’s a liar,”

  “Check.”

  “She’s scheming.”

  “All the time. Check. Check.”

  “Can’t be trusted.”

  “Check. Check. Check.”

  “And she dates my boy Knox. Dogged ’im. Dragged him through filth. Lied about having a miscarriage and had his mind all messed up. Treating him like he’s stupid. But whatever.”

  “So are you saying thots need relatives too?”

  “Exactly. And from what you just told me, that is your sister.”

  “So, bottom line, what are you saying?”

  “You give the Montgomerys a chance. There are always two sides to every story, and you owe it to yourself to know both.”

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know. Sounds good, but my mother already warned me to leave it alone.”

  “Heather, trust me on this. I have a friend who just met her dad a few years back.”

  “Really? And what happened?”

  “He loved her from the first time he met her. They are super close now, and she says she couldn’t imagine her life without him. That’s why I’m saying you should give it a try.”

  Maybe I should.

  Maybe you should keep it movin’.

  I want to know him.

  He never wanted you. He has a daughter.

  I’m his daughter too.

  I shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I mean the first time I confronted Camille about him, she dropped her drink and it crashed to the floor. I should’ve known then that everything after that was a lie. She can’t think without a drink.”

  Nikki chuckled. “Heather, be nice. That’s your mother.”

  “That’s not my fault. If you knew Camille, you’d know that she never wastes liquor. She will Maxwell House a liquor bottle down to the last drop and then lick around the top in case she missed any.”

  Nikki cracked up. “You so wrong for that! Stop it.”

  “I’m so serious.”

  Nikki laughed so hard that tears shimmered in her eyes. A few seconds later, she looked down at her phone. “Girl, where has the time gone? I need to get back to San Diego. I have a class in the morning, and it’s getting late.”

  She stood up and placed money on the table to pay the bill and the tip.

  I stood as well and gathered my things.

  As we walked to the car, we linked arms and walked shoulder to shoulder. “You know I’ve really enjoyed you.” I said, really, really meaning it.

  “Me too. I had a great time, honeybun.” She giggled, squeezing my hand. “We should chill more often.”

  The butterflies in my stomach caused me to hesitate. “I was thinking we should too.”

  We stopped at her car. Nikki hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “Call me in two hours. I should be in my dorm.” Our eyes locked and lingered into each other’s glare, until I broke the stare and looked away.

  “Okay, Heather. Talk to you in a minute!”

  I watched her as she slid into her car and started the engine, and a few seconds later she disappeared into the distance.

  9

  Rich

  Dear Diary,

  My thugged-out boo-love was everything sweetness was made of.

  Almond Joy in the morning.

  A Sugar Daddy at night.

  Our love was hella right. Tight. And with us being engaged, it was for life.

  There was only one problem: Some raggedy ho named Nya kept blowing up his phone. And how did I know it was that particular ho? ’Cause every time she called, her name and contact pic popped up on the screen.

  Now, I’ma woman about mine. At all times.

  And no, I’m not insecure or unsure.

  But Justice is a man.

  A fine one. Who eats groceries and has a third loving leg.

  Therefore, I have to watch these dry mouth-thirsty skeezers, be on my wifey grind at all times, and let ’em know that that tall glass of swagged-out Yoohoo they sweatin’ is what? Mine.

  Damn. Real.

  Anywho, back to how my night popped off. So, after our third round of sweet heat, Justice went to shower. And I swear the Gods of I-got-your-back-homie had to be looking out for me because Justice did what? Left his phone on the nightstand.

  Ding!

  Yaaaaas, honey, and a few seconds into me attempting to break the code, the phone did what? Rang!

  Ding! Ding!

  And whose face lit up the screen?

  Nya.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  I clucked my tongue as I boldly answered the phone. “Yeah, umm hmm. Hello, Nya.”

  She hesitated. Clearly, I caught the tramp off guard. “Umm, hi. May I speak with Justice, please?”

  I could tell by the sound of her shaky voice that this was a wrinkled ho. At least forty years old. All I could do was shake my head. ’Cause God knows them cougars be outta control. “Negative. How about no, you cannot. How about you need to tell me why you’re on my man’s phone? And how about this: You better answer my question without saying something slick. Otherwise, I will get up out this bed, the same bed that me and my man been laid up in all morning, come to your crib, and bust yo’ ass. And I double dare you to say I won’t.” I paused, giving this tramp a chance to be daring and pop off. She didn’t. So I continued, “Now why are you on my man’s phone?”

  Queen Wrinkled cleared her throat. “Let me try this again. May I speak with Justice, please?”

  “Let me try this again. What part of him being cuffed don’t you get? What? You don’t speaka English, trick? You need me to translate I will whup yo’ azz over my man? Okay, here goes: I willo tappa-yo’ arsio over my man. Got it, ho?”

  “Rich,” I looked up. It was Justice, standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a towel, with fresh beads of water cascading over his shoulders and down his six-pack. He ice grilled me as he snapped, “Who is that and what is you doing on my phone?!”

  I sucked my teeth and arched a brow. “You don’t come at me like that! What, you in love with this ho? This yo’ bish or something?”

  “Yo, you outta control. Now gimme my damn phone!” He mushed me in the head and attempted to snatch it from me, but I refused to loosen my grip. I held the phone to my breasts with one hand and pushed him in the chest with the other. “Oh, you wanna mush me over some ho on your phone! I gathered the sheet and jumped to the floor. “Who is Nya, Justice? Huh? Who is this bish?”

  His eyes popped open wide. “Nya? That’s Nya on the phone!” The whites of his eyes turned to fire, and his jaw clenched. He mushed me again, and as I took my free hand and swung, he caught my fist and twisted my arm around my back. “Ahh!” I screamed. “Let me go!” His grip tightened. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Give. Me. My. Pho
ne.”

  I dropped it, then kicked that ish across the room. “There you go!”

  He pushed me, and I tripped face-first onto the bed. Immediately, I hopped up and rushed over to Justice, who was now holding his phone to his ear saying, “Nya, this Justice. Sorry about that. Wassup?”

  “Oh, you just gon’ apologize and play me by talking to this trap like it’s nothing?” I reached for the phone but failed to snatch it out of his hand.

  He palmed my entire face, gripped it, and shoved me back to the bed. “Yo, Nya. I’m sorry. Yo, no. Come on. I would love to open up at your club!”

  Club?

  “I swear, if you give me a chance, I won’t bring no drama there.” He paused. “I know you didn’t appreciate it, and I apologize. But I didn’t know she was going to do that. Can you think about it and get back to me?” He shook his head. “A’ight, yo. I ain’t gon’ sweat you. Thank you anyway.” Click.

  Now I was speechless and felt like garbage.

  “Umm, Justice, baby—”

  “Yo,” He gripped me by the neck. “You gotta go!”

  I could barely breathe, and the sheet I had wrapped around me was now dangling and twisting around my feet. “Stop!” I screamed. “I don’t have any clothes on! Stop it!”

  Justice didn’t say a word as he continued to drag me toward the front door.

  “Let me go! I don’t have on any clothes.”

  Silence.

  I did everything I could to pound his arm and loosen his grip on me. I failed, and before I could catch my breath or think of what to do next, Justice pushed me out the door, dropped a hard and swift kick on the side of my thigh, and slammed his door.

  For a moment I wondered was I in the Twilight Zone? Or was I dreaming?

  I kept banging, and banging, and banging on his door. “Justice, I’m sorry. Please, open up, I don’t have on any clothes! Justice, please!”

  “You two are at it again!” Justice’s neighbor cracked her front door and spat into the hallway.

  “You’re minding my business again! You better shut that door, lady, before I run up in your mouth!”

  She gasped. “I’m going to call the cops on you!” She slammed her door shut.

  “Call ’em! I ain’t scared!” I returned to pounding on Justice’s door. “Justice! Please!”

  Silence.

  Nothing.

  All I could hear coming from Justice’s apartment was the echo of the TV. And there I stood, wrapped in a sheet, all of my things in Justice’s place, and he was ignoring me.

  My heart dropped to my feet, and an invisible kick rammed into my gut. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, and just when I swore I could cry forever, blaring police sirens were in the distance.

  The neighbor! The police!

  I gathered the sheet and practically flew to my car. Thank God, I had a keyless entry and a fingerprint starter; otherwise, tomorrow’s headline would be RICH MONTGOMERY ARRESTED AT HER BOYFRIEND’S HOUSE, WRAPPED IN A SHEET.

  I hurried out of the parking space, and as the police were racing in, I was zooming out, leaving Manhattan Beach behind me.

  10

  Rich

  It’s been three days. Seven hours. And too many slow freakin’ minutes to count that I’ve been without my man. And I want him back.

  Not now.

  But right now.

  I just can’t take it any longer.

  All I do is eat.

  Sleep.

  And think of ways to get my wifey status back.

  I promise you, if I don’t recuff my chocolate boo-thang soon, I’ma go crazy. And me going crazy is not the hot headline I need. Rich Montgomery goes loony. Psst, please. Not. I’m already dealing with some mysterious slum-slut who videoed Justice tossing me out of his apartment, wrapped up in a sheet, lookin’ all ratchet-Greek.

  I swear, these fools cannot let you live! All up in my privacy.

  Got me all up in the blogs, with snot and tears covering my face. That ain’t hot. Had my tracks all showing. My edges all thick and bushy.

  And because of that I’m now sitting here with my party planner, Natasha, and my mother, the groupie-excon turned Queen Mother Earth, and they are both looking at me all crazy. I tell you what, though, they not gon’ throw too many more eye daggers, ’cause in ten point five seconds I’ma pop off. And it ain’t gon’ be pretty.

  Snap. Snap. Boom!

  “Rich,” my mother ice grilled me. “Are you going to answer Natasha’s question or not?”

  I blinked. “Huh? What? What question?” I rolled my eyes over at Natasha, and she shot me a fake smile. Then I looked back over to Logan, who frowned in disgust. Her beady eyes dropped from my face to my stomach and back again. She did this three times before Natasha said, “I was asking were the colors still gold and white.”

  “No.” My mother butted in. “Something tells me we’ll be doing baby blue.”

  Natasha looked confused, and a feeling of just put your head between your legs and die washed over me. “Look, are we done here? ’Cause I gotta go.” I looked at my watch. One p.m. Justice should be home by now. “I got somewhere to go. And for your information, the colors are not baby blue. They are still gold and white. Thank you.” I picked up my Louis V and shoved the shoulder strap up my arm.

  “Rich.” My mother said sternly. “You better not move one inch.”

  I sucked my teeth, but judging by the look on Logan’s face, she was prepared to drop-kick me at any moment, so I just stood there, leaning from one leg to the other. “Natasha,” I said. “You should have enough to finalize the party plans. The invites should be scrolls and delivered by way of a trumpeter.”

  “Okay, Rich.” Natasha gathered her things. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Thank you,” my mother said to Natasha, but never taking her eyes off of me.

  A few minutes after Natasha left, Logan started her BS and had the nerve to ask me, “How many months? And don’t lie.”

  I blinked. Blinked again. Then cleared my throat. “You trippin’. How many months for what? Christmas?” I said sarcastically, “’Cause I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you looking for me to bust you in the throat? Or beat you down like a woman in the street?”

  I sucked my teeth. “Oh, here we go.”

  She stood up and walked over to me. She stepped out of her six-inch heels, and her nose was now pressed into my forehead. “You stay testing me.”

  “And you stay tryna fight me.” I took a step back.

  “Fight you? Little girl, please. I don’t fight you, I eff you up ’cause you deserve it. Now I’ma ask you again—”

  “I’m not pregnant. And you need to stop worrying about me and worry about your son over in England gettin’ his swervin’ swirl on with half of the French population.”

  My mother blinked her eyes like I’d just said something dumb. Ain’t nothing dumb about me. Everybody knows people from England are French.

  She gripped my cheeks. “How many months?!”

  Silence.

  “I tell you what, before I stomp two lives outta you, I’ma give you a minute to think on the truth. But the next time I ask you how many months—which will be very soon—you better have a straight answer for me, or I’ma drag you by your tracks until you tell me the truth. And you know I will. All I know is that I’m not taking care of no babies, and you have already exceeded your abortion limit times two!”

  I started to cuss this chick slam the freak out, for coming at me all crazy, but her ringing cell phone saved her life.

  Logan loved to play Billy Bad Ass, but I kept my cool as she wildly loosened her grip on my face, stepped back into her heels, and answered her phone. “Yes,” she said before leaving me standing there, “I’m on my way.”

  I watched her walk out of the room, and the moment she disappeared from my sight, I grabbed my car keys and jetted down the stairs and out the servants’ entrance.

  11

  Spence
r

  Daddy knew I was watching him. He heard me knock on his door. Heard me walk in, then slam the door shut behind me. Heard me call out to him. Yet he defiantly stood there with his back to me—peering out the window—passing gas and digging and scratching his butt. Oooh, what a barbarian! This old hunched-back man was a dirty ole pig, clawing at his hind parts as if he were searching for some hidden treat.

  Ugh.

  He stood guard at the huge floor-to-ceiling window as if he were waiting for someone or something to come barreling through his suite’s door to save him. From what, I wasn’t so sure—maybe from himself, maybe from Kitty-Kitty-the-cat’s-meow. Oh sure, Kitty avoided Daddy at all costs. I was certain she was afraid she might trigger some long-lost memory he kept tucked away in the corners of his little dusty, cluttered mind if she were around him. Of course she denied it. She brushed it off with a flick of the hand, claiming to despise the sight of him. Claiming she loathed the smell of him. Trying to make me think I was going cuckoo-cray-cray.

  Mmmph.

  There was nothing Looney Tune foolish about me. I was as sane and lucid as could be. The only kook-a-dook in this equation was Kitty Ellington. And that lady tramp was a goshdiggitydang heathenish liar! And I smelled her fear like I smelled the stench of a skunk.

  It was rotten, just like she was.

  And I was determined to get to the bottom of her funky ways if it was the last thing I did, even if it burned out my nose hairs and killed me in the process.

  Daddy was the key to all her dirty little secrets.

  I knew he was.

  I felt it in the swell of my boobs and the arch in my back. ’Cause my back was arching, my hips just right, my boobs were shaking to the left and to the right.

  Yesssss, yesss, goshdangit! I did that. Oops. I almost got swept up into the moment. All I needed were a set of pom-poms, and one of those cute little tennis skirts to turn this mother-suckey-suckey out.

  Heeheehee.

  I swung open the door to Daddy’s suite and slammed it shut again.

  He finally felt gracious enough to turn to me. Slowly. He sniffed his fingers. Then stared at me, hard.