“He was a horn player who played at the club where Lucy and my father met,” she went on. “He lived just a few blocks away from the brownstone your father grew up in.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“He died a few months after I was born. Overdosed on heroine.”
“This is so sad. I just don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t feel bad, baby. There’s nothing you did wrong. This is our stuff and that’s why I’ve been dealing with it on my own. I didn’t want to pull you into it. You’re dealing with your own life.”
“But this is my life,” I said. “You’re my family and this is my life.” I felt so helpless. Everything, anything I knew growing up just seemed like a lie. I was Troy Helene Smith—that was who I was. My family had its issues, but that was who I was. I’d learned to deal with it. “It’s all a lie,” I continued, shaking with fear. “My life.”
“No, baby. That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. You can’t believe for one second that anything you have lived was a lie. You are still my daughter and until they put my father’s body into the ground you were his granddaughter. That man loved you dearly. And he’d roll over in his grave if he thought for one minute you denied being his granddaughter. Some things go beyond blood and we can’t make him pay for Lucy’s mistake.”
I took a deep breath and sat back in my seat, trying to take it all in.
“So, that’s why you and Lucy haven’t been speaking lately?” I asked. My mother and grandmother’s relationship had always been strained, but since my grandfather had gotten ill, it seemed like they were on opposite sides of the ocean. I always thought it was because since my grandfather died, they’d had no one to play referee and keep the peace.
“I can’t deal with her right now. That woman put me through so much with her shit,” she screamed. “I just need a break. I just need to get myself together and realize that my mother is never going to change. She’s just fucked up. She’s been fucked up and that’s it.”
“Mom, Lucy’s not all bad. She has some good sides.”
“All of the stuff she put me though, making me believe I wasn’t good enough because my skin was darker than hers, making me feel bad about marrying your father, all of it was to protect her lie, to keep that bullshit going long enough so she could cash in on my father’s money.”
“Do you think that was all it was? Really, Mom? She loved Grandpa,” I said, “You know that. I don’t care if she lied. She made a mistake. We both know how things were back then. Right or wrong, she did what she had to do.”
“Well, she did what she had to do and I’m doing what I have to do,” my mother said, wiping away the last of her tears. “I can’t live in the past. I may not have a relationship with my mother, but I’m going to make sure we have one.” She looked at me and forced a smile. “If I get anything from this whole thing, it has to be that I want to have a strong relationship with you.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling bad for all the times I’d turned my back on her. All this time my mother has been going through something horrible and I haven’t been there for her. I felt selfish and mean. I had to help her though this.
As we drove to the airport, I thought of my grandfather, how he loved my mother so much he often told people she was the only thing that made life worth living. While raising her risked everything he’d had, he once told me he would rather have been a poor man if being rich meant he’d never had my mother and then had me for a grandchild. He was a beautiful man who loved us all with everything he’d had. My mother was right; he’d always be my grandfather.
My mother pulled the car to the curb outside the airport. She got out of the car, still silent with sadness, and helped me get my bags out of the trunk.
“I think we all need to go for counseling,” I said. “When I get back to town.” I looked into her eyes. “We have to talk about this. Sweeping it under the rug will only allow it to get worse.”
“We’ll see, baby,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “We’ll see about that.” She cupped my face in her hands. “But now, I want you to walk into this airport and forget about all of this drama. Go and have a good time with your girlfriends. Can you promise me that?” She began to cry again.
“Mom—”
“Just promise me that. I can’t let you have this bring you down like it’s done to me. I can’t let another generation deal with this.”
“OK,” I lied. “I’ll try.”
After I made it through the security maze, I managed to make it to my gate just a few minutes before boarding. My mother’s news was flipping around in my mind and I was struggling hard not to cry or call Lucy. I couldn’t tell if I was mad or just in shock about the whole thing, but all I had were questions that hadn’t been answered. I kept trying to stop thinking about the whole thing. If I let it take control of me, my trip would be ruined, and I’d promised my mother I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d have to wait and deal with everything when I got back home.
When I sat down and waited for the airline to begin boarding, I decided to call Julian. I wasn’t going to tell him what was going on. It just didn’t seem like the right time. I didn’t even know all of the facts yet. I just wanted to hear his voice for comfort, to remind myself that the rest of my world still existed.
“Hey, baby,” I said when he picked up the phone. He sounded like he was still in bed. “Are you sleeping?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m in bed,” he replied. “Shouldn’t you be in L.A. with your friends by now?”
“No, silly. I’m at the airport. My flight doesn’t leave until 4 P.M. I told you all of this yesterday,” I said.
“Oh yeah. I must’ve forgot. Things are just crazy right now at the hospital,” Julian mumbled. “I’m covering for someone. Been doing 72s.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was just calling to say goodbye before I left.”
“No problem. When will you be back?” Julian asked. He sounded anxious.
“Oh, it’s just for the weekend. So I’ll be back on Monday.”
“What hotel will you be staying at?”
“The Mondrain.”
“Great,” Julian said. “Well, have fun. And call me as soon as you get in.”
“I will.” I heard them call my flight for boarding.
“Have a nice trip, baby,” Julian said. “Goodbye.”
I hung up the phone and looked at Julian’s name before it disappeared off the screen.
Though I knew my mother was right about some of the things she’d said about Julian, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it. I mean, she didn’t really know Julian like I did. Yes, Julian messed up with the Miata thing. But was I supposed to make him pay for it for the rest of his life? For the rest of my life? Was I supposed to miss out on the one man I loved because he made one mistake? He’d come clean to me about her. I wasn’t ready to walk away from him yet. All I knew was that I loved that man and he still loved me.
I handed my ticket to the flight attendant and boarded the plane. Next stop, L.A.
Where My Girls At?
I know why they call Los Angeles “La-la land.” The place is so unreal. The people are unbelievably beautiful, the homes are amazing, the cars are immaculate, hell, even the dogs look like superstars. Everything “appears” as if it just came off of a movie set or a dream you wished you had every night. I don’t know why or how Tasha ever left L.A. That girl had so much drama, this place was made for her.
Checking out the city from the back of my limousine, I could already tell we were going to have a ball. Tamia had put together a list of things for us to do, and Tasha had had Lionel’s assistant put us on every VIP list in the city.
“Your first time in L.A.?” the driver asked, pulling up to the hotel.
“No, I used to come here a lot as a child,” I replied. “I guess you could say it’s my first time here as an adult.”
“You’ll have a nice time,” he said, handing me a receipt. “The Mondrain
is a nice hotel. Go see Beverly Hills.”
“Yes.”
I saw Tamia standing in the lobby as soon as I stepped out of the limo.
“Troy! Troy!” she yelled, running through the lobby of the Mondrain like it was the Days Inn.
“Hey, Mia.” I hugged her. She looked fabulous. She had a great tan and she’d let her hair down for once. “You look great,” I said, stepping back to look at her. “I see someone’s been doing more than just sitting in a courtroom all day.”
“Well, I had to make some time for the boys on the beach.” Tamia grabbed my bag. I was happy to hear that. I had been worried about her putting a lot of stress on herself and then falling back into those pills, but she seemed okay. And she sounded much better than she had the night before, like a different person altogether.
“Let the bellhop bring the rest of your things,” she said. “Penthouse,” she told the bellhop.
“Great,” I said, admiring the Mondrain’s sleek, cream-colored lobby as we walked through. It was already climbing to the top of my favorite hotels list—and it was a long list. I felt so peaceful standing at the elevator, I couldn’t wait to see the spa. In fact, the entire place looked like one big old spa. After the stuff with my mother and Grandma Lucy, I was sure there would be a dark cloud over my L.A. trip, but so far, the hotel was sure lightening things up. In the limousine I’d decided to put my best face forward and wait to tell Tasha and Tamia about my grandfather when we all got back to New York. They were my girls and I knew if I’d told them then, we’d have spent the entire trip hashing the thing out. This was supposed to be our good-time summer trip. I didn’t want to ruin it for them. Tasha was pregnant and Tamia was whooping ass in court. Neither of them needed any unnecessary drama. It would all be waiting for us when we got back. “I love this place,” I said.
“You know Tasha wouldn’t have it any other way. She told Lionel she needed to be comfortable.” We both laughed. Tasha was milking the pregnancy thing for everything it was worth.
“Wait, Tasha’s already here?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, she’s upstairs in the room taking a nap.”
“But I thought she was coming later than me. That’s why we took separate flights.”
“Well, apparently she decided she wasn’t going to her doctor’s appointment and caught the first flight out this morning. I think her and Lionel had an argument. He didn’t want her to come,” Tamia whispered. “You know how he gets when his Tasha is away for too long. And now that she’s pregnant—forget about it.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I said softly.
“Yeah, you try telling Tasha that.”
“So how’s ‘Operation Mommy Dearest’ going?” I asked.
“Well, Porshe will be here for breakfast early tomorrow morning,” Tamia replied. “She has a photo shoot or something at noon, so we had to make it early.”
“Does Tasha suspect anything?”
“No.”
After I’d put my things down and spent thirty minutes “oohing” and “ahhing” with Tamia about how much Tasha’s tummy had grown in the month she’d been pregnant, although it really hadn’t, I jumped in the shower to freshen up for dinner. Tamia got reservations at Shonda’s, one of L.A.’s hottest restaurants where anyone who was someone went on Friday night.
Before we got dressed, Tamia, Tasha, and I laid out our outfits together on one bed. It was a purely superficial ritual but it stopped many a fashion faux pas before we ever walked out the door. Whenever we were going somewhere—a frat party, nightclub, football game afterparty—we’d put all three of our outfits out together and look them over. From the earrings to the shoes, each part of the outfit was judged by the other two girls before a “hell yeah” or “hell no” was given. And if one piece resembled something from another girl’s outfit, both girls had to find a replacement. We called it the “Runway Run-through.” Tasha, obviously, was usually the most unforgiving of the judges. She’d toss our clothes across the room, yelling like she was putting together a photo shoot for Vogue.
Her stylistic fits were usually focused on Tamia, who thought anytime was a fine time to wear a turtleneck. And while I often felt sorry for Tamia as she searched her closet for something “less churchy” to wear, Tasha was usually right. “No lace, no plaid, no corduroy,” Tasha would say, standing behind Tamia in the closet.
We were years away from the low riders and hot-pink tube tops we’d worn in college, but things hadn’t changed much between the three of us. Tamia pulled a turtleneck from her bag and Tasha immediately sent it darting across the room. We all laughed.
I settled on wearing my white Gucci wrap dress. It was simple and sexy, and it made me look like a movie star—a black Marilyn Monroe. Not bad! I wasn’t exactly on the market, but I still wanted to show the L.A. boys what a New York honey was working with. I topped off the dress with matching white single-strap heels and gold hoop earrings. Sexy, sophisticated, and simple. Grandma Lucy and Piero would be proud.
Tasha’s outfit, on the other hand, wasn’t that easy. She complained that she looked fat in everything she put on. Tamia and I sat on the bed, fully dressed, as she tried on what had to have been seven outfits, before settling on the first one.
“You haven’t gained any weight yet,” Tamia said, trying to relieve Tasha. It was no use. Tasha didn’t even respond. She just kept walking back and forth between the bathroom and the closet, saying how she needed new clothes.
“Mood swings,” Tamia and I agreed, watching her. “Mood swings.”
Runway Run-through: Because It Girls Care
Remember the saying “You are the company you keep.” If you allow your girl to go out with you looking like your third-grade teacher, then you may as well throw on a plaid jumpsuit too. If you run into a situation where one of your girls needs a runway run-through before you go out, be nice, be gentle, and remember, bad fashion happens to everyone.
Instructions:
Set up a getting-ready party at your house. Invite your friend who is in need of attention. Tell her to bring her outfit so you can get dressed together. Have some extra clothes handy in case her clothes are completely awful. Get dressed and turn on some music so you can model your clothes in the mirror together. When your friend is ready, look her up and down and tell her the truth—and nothing but the truth. She may hate you then…but she’ll love you later when she has her new look.
Do’s:
1. Be completely honest.
2. Compliment her whenever she looks good.
3. Loan her something that will complete her outfit.
4. Tell her if it’s too small or tight.
Don’ts:
1. Hate on her outfit because it’s better than yours.
2. Be close-minded.
3. Lie because you don’t want to hurt her feelings.
4. Ever suggest you two wear matching outfits.
Out with the Girls, L.A. Style
Things got a little crazy after we left the hotel. Well, about as crazy as they could get for a pregnant woman and two law students.
“So who has the first round?” Tasha asked when we finally made our way to a table at Shonda’s. Tamia was right—the place was jumping. The crowd outside was spilling out into the street and if it wasn’t for Tasha seeing one of the Lakers she knew standing outside, we would’ve never gotten in.
“What do you mean, round?” Tamia said, patting Tasha’s stomach.
“I was going to order cranberry juice, Tamia.”
“And vodka,” I added, laughing. “I can’t believe this place is so packed,” I said, looking over the crowd. So far I’d spotted two actors, a washed-up rapper, and a group of huge men I suspected were football players. The L.A. scene was strikingly different from the scene I was used to in New York. People were pretty laid-back in New York, but the L.A. dream girls who looked like they were all on starvation diets and the guys who clearly had paid too much for their clothes because they were sipping on water seemed so super
ficial. Folks were posted up all over the restaurant trying so hard to look important and struggling to look like they were having the time of their lives.
“Yeah, I could’ve saved the time I spent calling to make a reservation. That woman at the door was evil.” Tamia groaned, eyeing the gaunt Asian girl standing by the door. “She doesn’t even have a list in her hand.”
“L.A. is a very selective place,” Tasha said. “Either you’re in or you’re out.”
“Like that outfit Old Girl has on,” Tamia said, pointing to a girl walking by wearing a mini-mini skirt that stopped right below her ass cheeks—well, almost below her ass cheeks.
“Exactly.” Tasha chuckled. “Who let the hoes up in here?” The girl, who had to be at least a size 22, turned and looked at our table. “Nice skirt, girl,” Tasha said, grinning. The girl smiled and kept walking.
“You’re crazy, Tasha.” I looked for my compact in my purse. I spotted a cutie standing by the door. He was absolutely gorgeous. I would’ve thought he was Larenz Tate if it wasn’t for the dreads hanging down his back.
“What are you getting all cute for?” Tamia asked. I could see her looking at me in the side of my compact.
“Four o’clock,” I replied, putting on extra lip gloss. I had only been in L.A. a few hours but the glowing L.A. sun was already affecting my skin. Just riding down La Cienega in the backseat of the drop-top Tamia had rented had turned my skin a deep caramel. It looked radiant, like I had been out sitting on the beach all day.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Tamia said, spotting the Larenz look-alike.
“The one with the dreads?” Tasha turned to get a look at him. “Yeah, he’s cute, but I could do without the dreads. Those things are nasty. You never know what he has hiding up in there.”
“I’m willing to find out what he’s hiding!” Tamia gave me a high five over the table. “I think dreads are sexy.”
He looked toward us and Tamia waved at him.
Take Her Man Page 22