Price of Fame

by Amaleka McCall

  “You will. Right now!” he huffed, his face in a deep scowl. Casey just stood there in a daze.

  “I’m sorry!” Dominique screamed, in a last-ditch effort to save her life. Her screams fell on deaf ears.

  As Jordan dragged her on the ground, she felt the skin on her breasts peel back. She felt like somebody poured gasoline all over her body and set her on fire. Her once perfectly erect Chocolate Kiss nipples were being shredded to pieces. The skin on her stomach, thighs and knees were damn near gone, too. Dominique could feel small pebbles sinking into her raw, open flesh, each piece finding a place to embed itself.

  Jordan was dragging her around the back of Mr. Wonderful’s house, where the dogs were kept.

  “Aggh!” She screamed even louder now, thinking Jordan was going to take her back there and kill her. She tried to hold her head up so her face wouldn’t drag on the ground, but she couldn’t fight against Jordan’s strength. Her face had been scraped raw with road rash.

  Suddenly the motion stopped. Dominique tried to open her battered eyelids, but the effort wasn’t worth the pain. She was so beat up even her eyelids hurt.

  “Now tell me where the fuck my money is!” Jordan growled, rolling her over onto her back. Dominique couldn’t open her mouth; both of her lips were beating like they had a heart of their own. Blood filled her mouth, covering her teeth like mouthwash. The metallic liquid dripped into the back of her throat. Dominique gurgled, feeling like she was drowning. The pit bulls barked like crazy on their leashes, smelling her blood.

  Dominique never thought she would pray for death, but she did now. God, just take me now. I know the things I’ve done were horrible, but I never made anyone suffer.

  Jordan’s footsteps crunched the gravel next to her ear. Jordan lifted his boot and stomped on her rib cage.

  “Jordan, man, I think that’s enough,” Mr. Wonderful said, coming between Dominique and Jordan.

  “Get the fuck back!” Jordan screamed, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it at Mr. Wonderful and the other men who stood outside. Casey swallowed hard and covered her eyes. Jordan had changed. He often lost control like this, but lately it had gotten much worse.

  “Whoa, whoa man. What type of shit you smokin’?” Mr. Wonderful asked, lifting his hands in surrender. This sure wasn’t worth the money Jordan had paid him to turn Dominique over.

  “Open the fuckin’ dog cages and bring me the breeder,” Jordan demanded, his chest heaving.

  “Man . . . c’mon. That dog will ravage her,” Mr. Wonderful pleaded.

  “Not for what I got in mind,” Jordan huffed, his gun roving back and forth at the men.

  “You are one sick muthafucka!” Mr. Wonderful spat, reluctantly doing as he was told. He gingerly handed Jordan the leash of his biggest dog–a grey, red-nosed, male pit. Jordan smiled wickedly. Holding on to the leash with the dog pulling forward, Jordan walked the dog over to Dominique’s writhing body. The dog was going crazy trying to get to her.

  “Get up!” Jordan barked, struggling to control the hungry animal. “You wanted to be a porn star, right? Well let’s see what you got,” Jordan spat. All of the men turned their faces away.

  Mr. Wonderful closed his eyes and shook his head. Casey began to cry and shake her head.

  “Suck it!” Jordan barked, pulling the dog closer and choking it with the leash to prevent its escape.

  “Jordan no, please!” Dominique begged, her face a bloody mess streaked with tears and makeup.

  “No? No one says no to me,” Jordan hissed. Jordan stepped back, still holding the leash with one hand, and used the other to charge his gun. He placed it to Dominique’s temple. Barely able to move her aching body, Dominique was about to do as she was told in a last-ditch effort to save her own life. Jordan snatched the leash, yanking the dog away, just before Dominique could take in a mouthful of the foul, beastly piece of flesh. Instead of going through with his sick acts of torture, Jordan made Dominique think that he was going to let the dog eat her alive. The fear in her eyes made him feel powerful all over again. Jordan let out a loud, cacophonous laugh, as Dominique lay there helpless. He thought of C-Lo and what he had said about when a bitch wasn’t useful anymore. Dominique looked up at Casey, barely able to stretch her eyes that far. Why didn’t Casey help her when she’d been so good to her all these years?

  When Jordan was through with her, he left her there for dead. Casey stepped over her like she was piece of trash. Nobody dared to call the police.

  Mr. Wonderful paced back and forth as he looked at Dominique’s battered body lying in his backyard. It didn’t take him long to realize his culpability if anyone called the authorities. Mr. Wonderful finally decided to help Dominique only to keep his own ass from getting locked up.

  As Casey came down off her high, she was racked with guilt. She cried for weeks and was unable to perform successfully on the job. Her name was losing value in the industry. To add to her guilt, Casey recently received news that the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and the Utah sheriff had raided Backwater Creek. Her father had been killed and her mother and sisters had gotten locked up for child abuse. God must have been punishing all of them, including herself, for their sins.

  “You know you can’t lay your ass around here and do nothing but fuckin’ cry all day and night,” Jordan said, yanking the bed covers off of Casey. He wasn’t about to ever go broke again, but their new lifestyle and Casey’s expensive pill habit was depleting their funds.

  “Mikey called and sales are at an alltime low. How the fuck did it get out that you were a fuckin’ polygamist cult member?” Jordan continued. Casey just stared at the wall, too weak to even pick up her pills.

  “He suggested a Fuck Fest . . . you and hundreds of guys. He said it would be a huge payday and make everyone forget where you came from.”

  “No,” Casey rasped.

  “What? You ain’t go not fuckin’ choice, Casey. Look, money is low and shit is slow right now. You think living in this fuckin’ condo is free? You think your pill habit is free? You think all those nice clothes you got in the fuckin’ walk-in closet are free?” Jordan asked, taking a swig of his Mylanta. His ulcers lately had begun to bleed.

  “I wouldn’t know if it was free or not because I don’t see a dime of the money. You choose what I eat, where I sleep and what I wear . . . remember?” Casey said rationally, still staring at the wall.

  “This is gonna be your big break! Fuck those last projects that everybody had you gassed about–this is it. I’m signing the contract,” Jordan said, walking out of the room.

  Casey closed her eyes but the images were too painful. She could still see Dominique’s battered body being degraded like an animal. She could also envision her father being shot down like an animal and her mother and sisters being hauled off like criminals.

  Carissa held onto Dominique’s neck and they both sobbed.

  “I am still sorry I wasn’t there when it all went down. I woulda fuckin’ killed him. I am gonna miss your ass, girl,” Carissa said through sobs. Enduring the pain of the embrace, Dominique hugged her equally as hard.

  “I know . . . I know. As soon as I get on my feet, I’m gonna send for your ass. You hear me?” Dominique croaked out, her voice still hoarse.

  “Make sure you call me as soon as you touch down. Don’t forget to change those bandages on those burns before you get an infection. Keep those shades on so people don’t be looking all up in your grill and shit . . .” Carissa rattled off a list of instructions, sounding like a mother sending her child off to summer camp.

  “C’mon, you need to get inside before you miss that plane,” Mr. Wonderful said, breaking the girls up. Dominique limped forward as he helped her into the terminal.

  Mr. Wonderful and Carissa waited until she had gotten her ticket. Dominique turned to Carissa for one more hug. Then she hugged Mr. Wonderful.

  “Thank you for getting the ticket for me and for the money. I’ll repay you one day,” she promised.
<
br />   “Yeah, sure, baby girl. Just get ya head on straight,” he said, finally seeming like he had a heart.

  New York

  When Dominique’s plane landed at LaGuardia Airport, she felt her stomach muscles clench. It had been almost three years since she had been home. Dominique hailed a cab and gave the address of the only place she had ever felt welcome.

  Huge bats fluttered around in her stomach as she approached the building. She climbed the stairs and knocked tentatively at the door.

  “Who is it?” the voice called out. Dominique’s heart melted and her shoulders slumped with relief.

  “It’s me, Mama Grady . . . Dominique.” When Mama Grady pulled back the door, Dominique looked down at Mama Grady, who now sat in a wheelchair.

  “Ohhh, chile. Where you been? I was so worried about you,” Mama Grady cried out.

  Dominique immediately began to cry as she reached down and hugged Mama Grady’s neck. She had lost so much weight and she seemed so fragile.

  “I’m so sorry I went away that long,” Dominique cried. Closing the front door, Dominique looked at the familiar apartment. Everything was the same, except for the hospitalgrade equipment scattered throughout. A large green oxygen tank sat in one corner, a portable commode in another, and the coffee table was littered with prescription medications.

  “What happened?” Dominique asked, looking down at the wheelchair.

  “They say I got the sugar and they had to take off one of the legs,” Mama Grady explained. Dominique shook her head sympathetically.

  “Sharon said she had seen you on those streets,” Mama Grady announced, switching gears. Dominique didn’t think she would ever have to tell Mama Grady what she really did.

  “Yes, Mama Grady. I was selling my body. It was all I have ever been taught to do,” Dominique lowered her head and confessed, feeling her heavy burden lift as she did so.

  “Well, you gonna stay here and get better. The street ain’t no place for a good girl like you,” Mama Grady consoled. “I can see the God in you, chile. You ain’t evil.” Dominique was speechless. No one had ever said something like that to her before.

  “You need something to eat,” Mama Grady said, breaking the silence.

  When Sharon came home, Dominique bolted upright in her chair, ready for the tirade. Sharon walked in with a scowl on her face. When she noticed Dominique, her face softened a bit.

  “I was hoping you would finally come back and see her,” Sharon said, sounding miffed. Sharon had listened to her mother talk about Dominique almost daily. Sharon realized that as wary of Dominique she was, Mama Grady had a special place in her heart for her.

  “I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” Dominique apologized, shocked to the core by Sharon’s uncharacteristic kindness.

  “You know she was worried sick about you. She really loves you,” Sharon whispered. For the sake of her ailing mother, Sharon wanted to keep Dominique around.

  “I know,” Dominique managed, officially choked up.

  “She is getting old and won’t be here much longer. You need to do something to make her proud,” Sharon said plainly. “After you left that day, I got a card from this program. The girl who started the program spoke at our church. Said her program was for sexually exploited women and girls. She was a victim herself and now she’s married to a big basketball star,” Sharon explained, digging into her bag for the card. “I held on to this waiting for you to come back,” Sharon said, handing the crumpled card to Dominique. My House–Myra Holson–555 Fulton Street, Brooklyn, NY 11216.

  Dominique held on to the card like it was a treasure map. Something told her this little card could be her ticket out of hell.

  Jordan and Casey packed the remainder of their things that hadn’t been pawned or sold for cash. Casey threw two pills into her mouth as she looked down at the eviction notice on the table.

  “We wouldn’t be going through this shit if you would’ve just got up off your ass and worked,” Jordan complained, downing almost the entire bottle of Mylanta. Casey simply ignored him. “You are very fuckin’ lucky that Mikey is letting you come back to New York to do this movie. Your ass is a washed-up porn queen. You better hope this ‘comeback’ pans out, “Jordan continued cruelly.

  “You know what? You are an ungrateful black bastard. Nothing is ever good enough. I could fuck until my skin fell off . . . it still wouldn’t be good enough for you. You kill people, you beat people up, thinking about how you can benefit from it. Just like Diamond said, you are a selfish bastard! And another thing, when this movie is over and I get my money, I’m going to Utah to see my mother too,” Casey railed, her words choppy and awkward.

  Jordan started laughing. “You ain’t shit without me. I am the only reason you ever got anywhere in this business. You are just a backward-ass white piece of shit. Don’t you ever bring up Diamond or the murder again! If you do, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” Jordan threatened, gripping Casey’s cheeks roughly. Casey swallowed hard and yanked her head back. She needed to finish packing her bags for New York.

  When Dominique stepped off the A train at Nostrand Avenue and Fulton Street, fear gripped her tightly around the neck. She hoped she didn’t see anyone she knew. She hurriedly walked to Restoration Plaza to find My House. A collage of beautiful women of various ethnicities was taped on the front window. Every one of them was smiling; some even looked as if they were laughing out loud. Dominique didn’t think she’d ever been that happy. Above the images a caption read: I am a strong woman, fashioned by God to be beautiful and radiant.

  Dominique entered the building’s lobby, which closely resembled a private living room. There were soft couches, oversized beanbag chairs, coffee tables and a huge, flat-screen television hanging on the wall. A few girls sat on the sofas in different stages of conversation.

  A chubby girl with a beautiful face and neatly twisted dreads spoke to her first. “Hello and welcome to My House. I’m Ambrose. How can I help you?” Her voice was melodic; her words were strung together like a soft string of pearls.

  “I’m here because I need help,” Dominique blurted out, the words feeling like hard marbles stuck in her throat. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “It’s okay, here at My House we provide help,” the chubby girl said as she approached Dominique.

  Ambrose led her to a small office and asked her a series of questions about her history. For every answer Dominique gave–no matter how horrible her answer–Ambrose did not flinch or make a face. Dominique felt at ease talking to the girl.

  They accepted her into the program and provided her with an itinerary that consisted of group therapy; one-on-one therapy; Narcotics Anonymous meetings; and a health and wellness program designed to build back the abused body.

  “It’s Wednesday, so our founder will be here today. She will want to meet you. She is really God’s gift to women,” Ambrose said with pride.

  “I heard she was famous or something,” Dominique commented.

  “She is married to NBA star Bradley Holson. Her name is Myra and her story is so inspiring. She grew up right there in the Tompkins projects. She is really one of us; she never looks down her nose at anyone, even though she’s filthy rich now. Her best friend, Quanda, comes in from time to time to lighten the mood after some of our deep and painful sessions. Quanda is a trip when you meet her, but you can’t help but love her,” Ambrose explained.

  Dominique couldn’t wait to meet Myra. She had to be an extraordinary person to fund a place like this for women.

  Dominique anxiously awaited Myra’s arrival as she sat in the group therapy session. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she listened to stories from girls who looked as young as fifteen. These girls had been beaten by pimps; sold by parents for crack; and raped by relatives or people they trusted. Dominique wasn’t ready to share her story with so many people just yet, so she remained silent during the sessions.

  When Myra walked into My House, she bore a regal presence. Although she was
dressed in a simple pair of jeans, pumps and a tunic, Dominique could tell everything she wore was expensive without being flashy. The woman was truly beautiful and she seemed always to be smiling with her halfmoon eyes.

  “Good morning, my queens,” Myra sang, flashing even, white teeth.

  “I hope everyone is feeling loved and loving themselves today,” Myra continued. “Today we have a few newcomers to My House so as always I will share my story with the group. For those of you who have heard it before, I hope you take something new away each time.” The room erupted in applause.

  Myra began her story and Dominique didn’t remember blinking or breathing the entire time Myra spoke. She couldn’t believe she had so much in common with Myra. Leaving the session, Dominique felt like she could conquer anything. She had enjoyed her one on one with Myra, it had made her feel special.

  Dominique had been in the program for four months when her therapist dropped a bomb on her. “We are at the point in your treatment where you have to confront your past in order to move on to a better future,” Theresa said. The therapist suggested she visit her mother’s grave to grieve properly over her death. Next, she suggested that Dominique visit Awilda and confront her about the way she treated her. Lastly, Theresa wanted Dominique to file a police report against Jordan.

  “Even if he never gets arrested, it will at least give you release from all of the things he has done to you,” Theresa counseled. Dominique thought she could complete all of these steps, except confronting Awilda. She didn’t think she was strong enough for that. Ambrose seemed to agree with her.

  The day Dominique and Ambrose went to the Pink Houses, it had been raining buckets outside. A cold sweat broke out all over Dominique’s body as she climbed out of the cab. She had literally not returned to her childhood hell in all those years. Seeing Dominique’s look of horror, Ambrose grabbed her hand and they entered the lobby together. Dominique inhaled deeply and pressed the button for the elevator. When she reached the floor and stepped out into the hallway, her knees all but gave way. Ambrose had to physically hold her upright.