Price of Fame

by Amaleka McCall

  It was a Saturday morning and Casey had just returned to the apartment from one of her high-class “dates.” Dominique sat at the kitchen table sipping tea. The night before, she had been out in the cold rain for so long that she felt like ice chips had frosted to her bones and she would be defrosting for days.

  “Diamond, I got exciting news!” Casey said, rushing over to the table where Dominique sat. Dominique looked up at her “friend” with disgust. “I know you’ve been mad at me, but look

  . . . look at this,” Casey said, tossing a business card down on the table. Mikey Cuntmore, Cuntmore Productions.

  “And?” Dominique said, unenthused.

  “My client from last night works with this guy and he could make us movie stars,” Casey said excitedly.

  “I’m not interested,” Dominique grumbled.

  “C’mon, Diamond . . . we can be big stars,” Casey pleaded.

  “You are already a big star,” Dominique said enviously. Dominique sucked her teeth and stood up to leave. She needed to get her fix of heroin, which she now used on a regular basis. The monkey was slowly crawling onto her back. Dominique started walking away, but Casey continued talking anyway.

  “Just consider it,” Casey yelled at Dominique’s back. Casey threw the card down on the table and flopped into a nearby chair. It was times like these that she wished she could have pursued her dreams of becoming a ballerina.

  Jordan rushed into the apartment in a huff. He raced into the bedroom he now shared with Casey to get his weapon from his safe.

  “Diamond!” he called out. Casey tried to walk over to him to give him the good news, but he brushed past her like she was invisible. “Diamond!” Jordan called out again, banging on the other bedroom door.

  “Yeah, Jordan,” Dominique answered, snatching the door open, her face twisted up in disgust.

  “We need to go to East New York right now! There’s a problem,” Jordan huffed.

  “A problem with what? You haven’t taken me to collect in a minute,” Dominique said, looking at him suspiciously. All of a sudden he wanted her help?

  “I need you to talk to one of these bitches. She bugging right now,” Jordan panted, sweat dripping down his temples. “Get dressed and let’s go,” Jordan said with finality. Dominique mumbled and did as she was told. She didn’t want to hear his mouth. Besides, she had just gotten her mind right with a little help from her new best friend–heroin.

  “Can I go?” Casey asked, like they were going to an amusement park. Dominique looked at her like she was crazy. Casey was still a bit of a lost child.

  When they arrived at the apartment on Stanley Avenue where Jordan kept his girls, he rushed out of the car with the urgency of somebody going to save a dying friend. Dominique and Casey were right on his heels. Once they were inside, Jordan rushed toward one of the bedrooms. “Where is she?!” he called out. Several girls pointed, their eyes wide with fear. “Get the fuck out on the streets! I want everybody the fuck up outta here!” he screamed.

  Jordan opened another bedroom door to find the girl sitting on a dirty mattress that had no sheets. She was naked and trembling. A tall, skinny teenage boy stood in front of her, a silver .22-caliber revolver tucked in the front of his pants. Jordan had hired two ruthless teenage boys to ensure that his girls were out on the streets when they were supposed to be and that they didn’t try anything funny at the apartment. The boy had kept the little shivering girl there long enough for Jordan to get there.

  “So what’s the problem now?” Jordan asked, sucking in his bottom lip.

  “She said she was going back home. Then I heard the ho tell one of the other girls that she would be sending the cops back to get us all locked the fuck up,” the boy explained. Hearing the news, Jordan popped open his Mylanta and took a long swig. He was circling like an animal ready to attack.

  “A’ight, I got this from here. I want everybody up outta here until I can sort this shit out,” Jordan said, dismissing the boy.

  “Yo, niggah, I’m telling you, I can take care her for you,” the boy assured, wanting to get on Jordan’s good side.

  “Nah, dude, she wanna go home . . . I’ma let her ass go home. Now get the fuck out,” Jordan ordered. The boy bopped out of the room, trying hard to keep up his tough-guy demeanor. Jordan couldn’t risk that kid running his mouth on the streets to win brownie points with his little cronies. He had to take care of this shit himself.

  Jordan walked over to the little girl. She looked up at him with eyes that resembled a Precious Moments figurine.

  “So you goin’ home all of a sudden? You wasn’t saying that shit when you was enjoying the wining and dining, right?” Jordan grabbed the girl by the neck and positioned her face so that she would have to look him in the eye. Dominique knew that all the little girl had to do was say that she would work for her daddy forever and Jordan probably would’ve been satisfied. But no, the little girl kept insisting that she wanted to go home.

  Dominique stepped up from behind Jordan, her eyebrows furrowed. Most of the girls in the apartment were new and very young. Dominique squinted her eyes into little dashes and shook her head from left to right. Jordan had violated the one rule Dominique asked him not to–no fucking with little girls. Disgusted,

  Dominique stormed out of the room.

  As Dominique headed for the door of the apartment, she heard loud bangs and crashes coming from the room. Jordan’s voice could be heard rising and falling like booms of thunder, then the girl’s screams resounded like high keening notes that cut the air into almost suffocating slices. Dominique paced outside of the room while Casey bit the acrylic off of her nail tips. Dominique decided she had to stop Jordan’s crazy tirade before it was too late. If he kept it up much longer, he would definitely catch an attempted murder charge.

  Dominique rushed through the doorway of the bedroom, Casey fast on her heels. Casey hated violence, having witnessed numerous public beatings as a child on the compound.

  “Jordan, I think–” Dominique started, but stopped as soon as she took in the scene. The smell of fresh blood was so potent she could taste it on her tongue. Jordan was stomping the little girl in the chest. His eyes were flashing red and his nostrils flared. He was clearly in another place. Dominique had never seen him like this before. She looked at the heap of flesh that was once a little girl and then back at the crazed maniac who had done this to her. Dominique could hear her own heart beating in her ears.

  “Jordan, what did you do?” Dominique screamed, placing her hand over her mouth as she looked down at the bloody mess that was once the little girl’s face.

  “Oh, my God! She is not breathing!” Casey screamed, jumping up and down in a panic.

  “Everybody just shut the fuck up and calm down!” Jordan barked, pacing the floor a few feet away from the girl’s limp body. Jordan reached in his back pocket to get his relief. He took a gulp of his third bottle of Mylanta for the day and continued to pace.

  With her hands trembling fiercely, Dominique bent down and touched the girl’s neck. “She’s dead, Jordan! You fuckin’ beat her to death!” Dominique screamed, placing her hands on both sides of her head, pulling her hair.

  “Well, we just gon’have to get rid of a body then. Y’all stood here and watched, which makes y’all accessories to murder,” Jordan replied menacingly, stepping closer to Dominique and Casey, flashing the gun that was stuffed in his waistband.

  Jordan forced Dominique and Casey to help him roll the little girl up in a comforter and carry her to his car. Dominique moved like a zombie and Casey sobbed loudly as they did the deed. Jordan went outside and surveyed the block, looking around nervously to make sure no one would take notice.

  Once they had the body in the backseat, Dominique climbed in the backseat, cradling the swaddled girl. She touched the dead girl’s hair, reminded of the last time she’d encountered death.

  “This was a fucking baby, Jordan,” Dominique sobbed. Casey popped two pills in her mouth and swallowed th
em without anything to drink. Jordan realized he would be leaving one of his main sources of income behind. Their new secret formed a solid barrier between them like the Great Wall of China. They could never come back to that apartment again.

  In the weeks following the murder, the television and newspaper reports sent Dominique further and further into depression. Dominique kept envisioning dumping the poor little girl’s body in an alley behind a bodega in the thick of the night. As a result, she became increasingly dependent on her drugs. The heroin addiction had become a bit expensive, so Dominique took to smoking weed laced with crack cocaine. When she had the money, heroin was always her first choice.

  Although Dominique wasn’t physically showing the effects of the deadly medicine, mentally she was a shell of a person. Casey’s nerves were also on edge. She cried constantly, forcing Jordan to obtain more illegal prescription pills to calm her down. Neither girl could sleep at night, as they were both haunted by visions of the girl.

  One night while Dominique lay tossing and turning, Jordan entered her bedroom.

  “Diamond,” he called out, but she was already awake. She stared at him blankly. “I got an idea that can make us some money and you won’t have to go back on the stroll,” Jordan offered. Dominique sat up at attention–more money meant more drugs. “Casey got the number of a movie producer . . .”Jordan started. Dominique rolled her eyes and lay back down. “Diamond, look, I’m sorry about everything, a’ight? But you can’t act like a baby now. We all need to do this. You wanna grow old selling your shit on the streets?” Jordan asked.

  “What’s the difference?” Dominique asked.

  “Exactly! So why not be famous for it?” Jordan’s face lit up with possibility. Dominique had never thought of it like that. She did have an expensive habit to feed. “What do we have to do?” Dominique asked resignedly.

  Jordan was happier than Dominique had seen him in a long while. He was dressed up in a grey Sean Jean business suit and wing tip shoes. He told Dominique and Casey to wear their best form-fitting dresses. Dominique donned an all-black, one-shoulder spandex dress with black fishnet stockings, and Casey wore a tight, red, ruche-front, satin mini with no stockings. When they were all ready, Dominique thought they looked like an entourage of pimp and hoes. Dominique commented on the fact and they all shared an easy laugh. It was the first time in a while that the atmosphere didn’ t crackle with tension.

  They rode to Manhattan in style–Jordan had recently purchased a new BMW. Dominique ran a thousand possible scenarios through her mind about what she would do and where she would go if she made it big. First thing, she would make sure Mama Grady was taken care of with a new house and servants who would wait on her hand and foot. Then Dominique would buy herself a house away from the big city, near a beach with clear blue water. Most importantly, she would put away enough money that she could focus on getting an education.

  When they arrived on West Fifty-seventh Street, Dominique looked around in awe. Mikey Cuntmore’s office and studio were located amid some of the richest properties in New York. Dominique would’ve never guessed it. Jordan parked the car and they all took the parking lot elevator to the sixth floor. Mikey’s office had beautiful glass doors and an intercom system.

  “Looks nice!” Casey whispered to Dominique excitedly.

  “I hope it pays as nice as it looks,” Dominique replied.

  “Don’t mention money when we get in there,”Jordan instructed just before they were buzzed in.

  “Jordan Bleu is it?” asked a young man who looked like he could be a college intern.

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s me,” Jordan said, flashing his pearly white teeth.

  “I’m Dave, Mikey’s assistant,” the man said, looking at his occasional fuck-buddy, Casey.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jordan replied, trying his best to bring back the college-graduate demeanor that he’d buried so long ago for the street-dude façade he kept up with these days.

  They all followed Dave down a long hallway to a huge conference room with a long, glass-top table and several high-back, leather swivel chairs. Inside were large framed posters of some of the most beautiful naked women Domnique had ever seen. Dominique didn’t know if it was airbrushing or surgery, but those bitches were hot.

  Dave noticed the girls ogling the pictures. “Yes, these are some of our girls. Most are the biggest stars in the industry. Mikey is amazing,” Dave said proudly.

  “Well, we are ready to rock,” Jordan interjected, rubbing his hands together to calm his nerves.

  “Ready to rock . . . I like that,” a voice boomed from behind. They all jumped, turning their attention toward the door.

  “This is the man himself, Mikey Cuntmore,” Dave introduced, stepping aside. Jordan rushed toward Mikey like he was the Dalai Lama, grabbing his hand for a shake. Mikey took his hand back and rubbed it on his pants leg as if Jordan had a disease.

  Dominique gave Mikey the once-over. He was about 400 pounds, with three chins and a stomach that bulged unhealthily over his belt buckle. His hair was a slick mess of grease and mousse. He had attempted to take the six strands he had at the top and comb them over the ever-present bald spot in the middle–but had failed miserably. He smelled of Old Spice and cigarettes. Dominique shuddered, not getting a good vibe from the dude. He reminded her of some of her less-than-pleasant johns.

  “Let’s get started . . . Time is money in my business,” Mikey informed. Everyone took their seats. Mikey asked for Casey to do a 360, then he began his interrogation.

  “She on any drugs?”

  “Nah, she’s clean,” Jordan answered.

  “What’s her measurements?”

  “Thirty-two; twenty-six; thirty-two,” Jordan replied.

  “Has she ever had the clap?”

  “She grew up a Mormon . . . She’s clean,” Jordan answered.

  They kept this up for about ten minutes, talking about Casey as if she were not there.

  “Take it off, baby. I need to see the merchandise and get some test shots,” Mikey said, licking his lips. Casey raised her eyebrows and looked at Jordan helplessly. She didn’t know she would have to undress in front of everyone–although that’s what porn was all about.

  Casey slowly peeled off her clothes, feeling like she was taking off layers of her skin until she was down to bones.

  “Come over here,”Mikey instructed, with a yellow-toothed grin. Casey slowly ambled over to where he sat. She shrank back when he reached out to touch her breast.

  “Pretty nice,” he said, squeezing one of her breasts. “Turn around,” Mikey instructed, breathing hard. Casey closed her eyes and turned. Mikey squeezed one of her ass cheeks and then slapped it. Casey jumped. What was he going to do next? Check her teeth like the farmers did when selecting good livestock?

  “She’s good,” Mikey said, motioning to Dave. Dave slid some paperwork toward Jordan. Casey gathered up her clothes and ran out of the room. Dominique was next up. She had slipped out while Casey was being poked, prodded and slapped. She returned so high and mellow, she didn’t take offense to his questions or instructions. When she bent over to show him the goods, she had a big smile plastered on her face. They wanted acting; she’d give them acting. Mikey was done with her in less than five minutes.

  “I like the white girl. I’m not so sure the black girl is marketable. She got some scars that people just don’t wanna see,” Mikey told Jordan.

  “Nah, she is hot. She ain’t got nothin’ a little makeup can’t fix. They could be a good mix–vanilla and chocolate,” Jordan said, trying to push for a package deal.

  “I don’t know. I’ll try it for the first run,” Mikey said skeptically. “They need names,” he said. Jordan had already thought of that angle. He’d spent a couple of days reviewing names of the biggest porno stars and he came up with Denver Peaks for Casey and Diamond Tiara for Dominique. Mikey liked the names. Jordan served as Casey and Dominique’s agent, so he conducted all of the monetary negotiations. Mikey offer
ed Jordan $10,000 for their first movie. If it did well, the next deal would be much more lucrative.

  Casey’s hand trembled as she tossed in her mouth four Vicodens that Jordan had given her. She prayed that they would take effect quickly. The movie set was crowded. Casey didn’t know how she could perform with all of these people watching, although it wouldn’t be the first time.

  On the night of her wedding at the compound, the prophet and several of his main elders had watched Casey lose her virginity to ensure that the wedding had been consummated. Casey had lain on the clean, flowered sheets like a sacrificial lamb. Several men stood at the foot of the bed, while the prophet doled out instructions. Her vision was blurred from all of the tears. She felt the bed dip and bow as Samson climbed onto it. Closing her eyes tightly, Casey began to sob so hard she felt like the veins in her temple would burst.

  “Shhhh,” Samson hushed her, forcing her handsewn nightgown over her hips.

  “Please don’t!” Casey begged.

  “It’s God’s order,” the prophet intoned. Samson tried several times to get her to submit, but Casey continued to resist. Her small frame was a challenge even for Samson’s strength. It had taken him several hours to enter her body. Casey screamed when he finally penetrated her. Ignoring her outrage, he continued to move in her until the elders were all satisfied that God had blessed the marriage.

  Casey blinked away the memories and smiled, feeling the effects of the new shit Jordan had given her begin to “take the edge off.” Casey was ready to get this show started. She frowned, noticing that Dominique was taking forever in the bathroom to get ready.

  “You ready to be a star?” Jordan asked her. Casey had a lazy grin on her face. When she was like this, it was anything goes. Jordan walked back to the bathroom door behind the set. “Yo, Diamond! What’s up?” Jordan called out, hitting the door with two knuckles.