Snapped

by Tracy Brown

  “Thanks!” Camille touched the necklace delicately as it graced her neck. She was so happy to be the envy of all her friends. Camille was going to rock Frankie’s world tonight to express her gratitude. She loved it when her husband spoiled her like this. “You look great, Toya,” Camille said. “You must’ve lost weight or something.” Toya did look wonderful. She had always had a small waist and a big ass, and that hadn’t changed. But her body was much more toned as a result of her crush on her personal trainer at the gym she belonged to.

  “Thanks,” she said, noticing that Camille had put on a few pounds since the last time they’d seen each other. She was still a lovely woman, but Toya felt that Camille’s figure couldn’t afford the big hunk of cake she was devouring. Back in the day, the two of them had been the most sought-after girls in their age group. Camille had been a new girl in their circle, since she was from Staten Island and had attended high school in Brooklyn at the illustrious Brooklyn Tech. While Toya had the appeal of being a typical Brooklyn bombshell, Camille’s unique appeal had been that she was someone unfamiliar to them. All the guys from around the way wanted them, and all the girls wanted to be like them. Toya enjoyed her status as the center of attention and had always ensured that she looked flawless wherever she went. So had Camille. Toya hated to think that Camille might be letting herself go. But she kept her mouth shut. After all, today was Camille’s birthday and she had a right to enjoy her own damn cake.

  Toya scanned the room, watching everyone getting liquored up and having a good time. She spotted Frankie across the room standing with a stunning woman with long hair and frowned.

  “Camille, who’s the bitch that’s been chilling with your husband all night?” Toya asked, nodding in Frankie’s direction. “Every time I see him, she’s never far away. She ain’t trying to give him no breathing room at all!”

  Camille looked over and waved her hand as if it were no big deal. “That’s Frankie’s best friend, Gillian. They work together.” Gillian was Doug Nobles’s daughter—Baron Nobles’s younger sister from a different mother.

  Silence shrouded the table as the women digested this information. “Wait a minute,” Toya said. “Your husband’s best friend . . . Gillian, the one you’re always talking about . . . is a female?”

  Camille nodded. “Yup. She’s cool.”

  “Oh, hell no!” Toya bellowed, setting her glass down heavily on the table. “Cool, my ass! I thought Gillian was a guy the way that you talk about him—her. ‘Gillian came and got Frankie and they went golfing.’ Or ‘Frankie and Gillian just got back from out of town.’ You were talking about a female all that time?”

  Camille smirked and sipped her drink. She couldn’t help being amused by how worked up Toya was getting. “Yes, Toya. Gillian’s a female.”

  Toya shook her head and reached for her own drink. “I would never go for that shit. That woman is beautiful, Camille.”

  Camille smiled. “Well, so am I, Toya.”

  Toya nodded, agreeing. “Yes. Yes, you are.” Camille was beautiful. She had the type of face that was so flawless people often caught themselves staring at her. Her impeccable style didn’t hurt, either. But Toya couldn’t help noticing that Gillian was strikingly beautiful. She looked like Alicia Keys, with a body like a Coke bottle. Camille’s weight gain seemed even more tragic now that Toya knew that Frankie was keeping time with America’s Next Top Model. Judging from how Frankie was hanging on her every word, Gillian appeared to be a very intoxicating woman. “But what’s the saying? ‘The only thing better than pussy is new pussy.’ As long as you and Frankie have been together, you can’t tell me that he don’t wanna sample something different from time to time. And you’re cool with him being that close with a chick like that?” Toya looked at Gillian’s hourglass figure in a short red jersey dress. Her hair was perfectly coifed, and her shapely legs were accentuated by four-inch Gucci heels.

  “I trust my husband,” Camille said simply. She shoveled a forkful of cake in her mouth and washed it down with a swig of champagne. Gillian and Frankie were like brother and sister. Their families were intertwined in a way that Toya could never understand.

  “Really? You really trust that he has never sampled that?”

  Camille nodded as she struggled to keep her game face on. Inwardly, she was seething that Toya was making such a big deal of the fact that Gillian had been so close by her husband’s side all night. He never gave Camille any reason to doubt that his relationship with Gillian was anything but platonic. Gillian had been around for as long as Camille could remember, so her presence just sort of came with the territory.

  In truth, Camille wasn’t necessarily thrilled about Frankie’s friendship with such an attractive woman. But she didn’t make a fuss over it. Frankie was a good man who didn’t ask for much from his wife. After all, she was the one with his last name, the allure of being married to the hottest hustler in the game. And tonight he had thrown her a lavish party to show the world how much she meant to him. True, she secretly resented Gillian’s presence there; resented the way she had Frankie hanging on her every word even at this moment. But Camille would never let these bitches know that. Camille’s insecurities were her best-kept secret.

  Toya looked at her for a long time. “Hmmm!” she muttered. “She probably picked out your necklace.”

  “I doubt that, Toya.” Camille sighed, trying not to show her annoyance.

  “Look at him over there Chi-town stepping with her. Hmmm! Not me, honey!” Toya shook her head in disbelief as she looked at the stunning woman Frankie was dancing with.

  Camille waved her hand at her friend as if to say, Please! “Gillian has a man. She’s been dating some stockbroker guy for a while now.”

  “Iiiiiiiiiiii wouldn’t give a damn. She still wouldn’t be two-stepping with my husband!” Toya took another swig of her drink. She was growing agitated the more she thought about it. She wondered if Camille was naive or just plain dumb.

  Dominique was feeling the effects of her Long Island iced tea and she liked it. She, too, thought that Camille was crazy to let her husband gallivant around town with someone like that. But it was Camille’s business. Besides, surely there must be more to the story. “Well, maybe Camille has a male best friend to keep her company when Frankie’s out with his female best friend.” She smiled at Camille. “Do you?”

  Camille shook her head vehemently and laughed. “No, nothing like that.”

  Toya looked at Camille with mischief in her eyes. “You’ve never cheated on him?”

  “Never.” Camille was proud of that. She was committed to her husband.

  “Do you think he’s ever cheated on you?” Toya sipped from her glass and looked at Camille over the rim of it. The question was a test to see how dumb Camille really was.

  Camille laughed. “No, I don’t. Frankie loves me.” She made up her mind that Toya was just jealous. Camille had learned that women will often try to fill your head with doubt about your man when they wish he was their man instead. She shook her head at Toya and changed the subject. “So where do you live, Dominique?”

  Toya noticed the shift in topic and smirked. Camille was the ultimate dumb bitch! But she was her friend, so she dropped it.

  “I have the most fabulous apartment on the Upper East Side, thanks to the best real estate agent in the world!” Dominique clinked glasses with Toya, who appreciated the compliment. “That’s how I met Toya. A coworker of mine told me about her and I gave her a call. We became instant friends.”

  Toya waved her hand. “Please. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be living in small-town Staten Island hanging around with a bunch of chickenheads.”

  Dominique laughed. But Toya was right. When the two of them met, Dominique had been surrounded by a bunch of so-called friends who hated on her. She was the single mother of a thirteen-year-old daughter she had given birth to while just a senior in high school. Dominique hadn’t let that deter her. While many had written her off as just another baby having a b
aby, she had gone to school part-time while interning at radio stations and record labels in order to get her foot in the door of the entertainment industry. With her father’s help she’d made it, graduating with a degree in communications from the College of Staten Island while he babysat her daughter, Octavia. Today she was a top A&R at Def Jam and working her way up the ranks. Octavia was now an eighth-grader at an exclusive prep school scoring straight Bs and playing in the school symphony to boot.

  Because she was so young and had climbed the ladder to success so rapidly, Dominique had little time to form new friendships. She had resigned herself to hanging out with the same girls she’d been friends with since grade school—girls who were stuck in dead-end jobs and shitty relationships. They envied Dominique, who rubbed elbows with all the hottest stars and traveled to exotic locations constantly. When she met Toya—a successful real estate broker who lived life to the fullest—Dominique had found her first friend who had success equivalent to hers. It felt good to be able to eat dinner at the finest New York City restaurants with a girlfriend who could also afford it due to her own hard work and perseverance. Hanging out with Toya was one of the few occasions when Dominique neither had to hide nor be apologetic for the wealth she had amassed over the years.

  “But Toya underestimated me at first,” Dominique said, sipping her drink once again.

  Toya looked confused. “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.” Dominique laughed and looked at Camille. “After I closed on my house, Toya and I agreed to keep in touch since we hit it off so well. So one Friday night I had tickets to a Mary J. Blige concert at the Garden.”

  “Oh, damn!” Toya began to laugh as she realized which story Dominique was about to tell.

  Dominique laughed, too, and Camille was more eager than ever to hear the rest.

  “So I invited Toya. I told her that I had two tickets—floor seats—and I had no one to go with. But Toya already had a ticket to the show that night. I suggested that she sell her ticket and take my spare one so that we could enjoy the show together. And what did you say?” Dominique asked, looking at Toya, smiling.

  Toya shook her head, laughing. “I said, ‘Excuse me? My seats are in the thirteenth row. Where are yours?’ ” She spoke in the same stuck-up tone of voice she’d used that night before the concert.

  Dominique nodded. “So I explained that I hadn’t picked my tickets up from my coworker yet, so I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that he promised me they were excellent seats.”

  Toya sighed. “So I declined.” She stirred her drink, then shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “Uh-uh, I wasn’t giving up my row-thirteen seats for some unknown section just to sit next to Dominique.”

  Dominique laughed. “See how she is?”

  Camille laughed, too. “I know exactly how Toya is. She hasn’t changed a bit since high school.”

  They all chuckled and Dominique finished the story. “So we agreed to meet for drinks before the show. I gave my spare ticket to a friend of mine and we all met at a T.G.I. Friday’s near the Garden. We had drinks and finger food and then headed to the concert. When we got inside, the usher came over to show us to our seats. He took Toya to her row, then he turned to me and my friend and told us to follow him.”

  “I was waiting to see where their seats were, and he started leading them closer and closer to the stage. I was pissed already!” Toya was laughing at the memory.

  “We just kept going farther and farther,” Dominique reiterated. “We kept walking, and my friend turned to me and asked what kind of seats I had. I still had no idea. The tickets only said section A, seats seven and eight. We were walking down, closer and closer—till we got to the front row! I could not believe that we were in the first row at a Mary concert at the fuckin’ Garden! Me and my friend started jumping up and down. We were so excited! Then we heard a voice from the thirteenth row yell out—”

  “Oh, hell no!” Toya finished the sentence for her. All three friends laughed till their stomachs hurt. “I was so mad! These two bitches were sitting front and center and all of a sudden my seat felt like it was all the way up in the fuckin’ balcony. I was heated!” Toya paused to compose herself after so much laughter. “During intermission I went down there to talk to them and I turned my nose up. I said, ‘Ain’t nobody in the front row tonight but hoodrats.’ Dominique’s friend said, ‘We may be hoodrats. But we’re in the front row!’ I had to watch the whole show with them right at Mary’s feet and me all the way back in row thirteen. I was furious!” Toya chuckled.

  Dominique laughed. “Taught her not to underestimate my connections. She should have just snatched up the ticket I offered to her, but no. Miss Thing had to be a diva till the end.”

  Camille had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. Toya had been the same way in high school. She was always bossy, always boisterous, but she was also always the life of the party. As long as she could have a drink in her hand and be snapping her fingers, Toya was happy.

  A petite young lady with the baddest haircut on earth approached the table grinning. “This table is having too much fun,” she said.

  Camille looked at the young woman and smiled. “Toya, remember her?” Toya looked confused. Camille laughed. “Dominique, this is my little sister, Misa.”

  Toya’s smile broadened. “Oh, my goodness, I haven’t seen you in years! You’re gorgeous!” she yelled. Toya could see the resemblance between the sisters and felt silly for not guessing who this was. Both of them shared smooth, flawless, dark chocolate skin, striking eyes, and full lips. But Misa was clearly younger and about fifteen pounds lighter than Camille. “Misa, sit down and join us.” Toya remembered her as a nappy-headed little brat who tagged along with Camille every once in a while in their teenage years. Now she was very much a young lady—at least by the looks of it.

  Misa smiled, liking her sister’s friend already. Compliments were a surefire way to get on Misa’s good side. She didn’t remember Toya, but it seemed that she was a friend of Camille’s from way back. Already she was more interesting than any of the desperate housewives in Camille’s usual circle of friends. Misa and Camille were native Staten Islanders who grew up in the borough’s gritty Stapleton projects. Their mother raised them as a single parent on welfare, and their upbringing had been rough. Those days were long gone now that Camille was married to one of the most powerful men on the streets of New York. Now their mother lived in a split-level home on Long Island that Camille paid for. Misa contributed to their mother’s living expenses, but not much. She figured that Camille could afford to do it all, so why should she do more than necessary? But while Misa still maintained friendships with the girls she’d grown up with in the projects, Camille’s friends these days were very far removed from the life they’d once lived. Toya was a breath of fresh air to Misa. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside Toya.

  “So you’re what . . . twenty-one or twenty-two?” Toya guessed, noticing that Misa had a flair for fashion. Tonight Camille was reserved in a black sheath dress, while her edgier sister wore patterned black leggings with a red minidress and heels.

  Misa shook her head. “I’m twenty-four. Freshly divorced and ready to take over the world!”

  Camille rolled her eyes as Toya slapped her sister a high five. “Take over the world.” Camille would have been happy if Misa just took over paying her own car note!

  “You’re on the right track,” Toya observed, building her up before tearing her down again. “But you’re only twenty-four. And you’re fierce! Why would you get married so young in the first place?”

  Camille frowned. She felt that Misa had let a good guy get away. Marriage and children were supposed to be sacred things . . . gifts. “I don’t think age matters.”

  “Of course you don’t! You got married early and it worked for you.” Toya managed to bite her tongue but was fiending to point out that her marriage might not be working out as well as she thought, with Gillian in the picture.
She decided not to rub it in Camille’s face on her birthday. “But most of the young ladies in Misa’s age group aren’t ready for marriage and kids, and neither are the boys they’re marrying.”

  Misa had to agree. “That’s true. You live and you learn. I was looking for a fairy tale and it didn’t work out. I got pregnant with my son, and his father asked me to marry him. I wanted to have the whole family for my son—father, mother, child, white picket fence. All that bullshit.” Misa poured herself a glass of the champagne sitting on the table.

  Dominique leaned in Misa’s direction. “I had my daughter when I was young, too. You can still be a success story even though you’re a single parent. This is only the beginning.”

  Misa clinked glasses with Dominique. “My aunt told me that women marry for love the first time, and the second time it’s for the money. That’s my way of thinking these days. But I’m in no rush. I’m having fun being single!” Misa was determined to come back to the single life, better than ever.

  “I like you,” Toya said, relieved that at least Camille’s sister seemed to have some hope. Toya didn’t believe in soul mates, happily ever after, or any of that bullshit. In her mind, that nonsense didn’t exist. The sooner women figured that out, the better off they’d be.

  “Thanks,” Misa said, smiling.

  Dominique snapped her fingers to the beat of the music. “Did your brother-in-law ask you to help him plan this party?” she asked Misa. Dominique was having a blast!

  Misa shook her head. “Frankie did all this on his own. If I would’ve planned it, the budget would’ve been a lot smaller!”

  Camille and Misa shared a laugh at that one. But deep inside, Camille knew that her sister meant that sincerely.

  “Well, he sure pulled out all the stops,” Dominique observed. “All this food, the deejay is excellent, we got Hennessy, Patrón, Absolut, Jack Daniel’s . . . chicken! What more could black people ask for?”

  Misa laughed. It was about time Camille found some real friends! She liked Toya’s bold personality and Dominique’s sense of humor. She crossed her legs and sipped her drink. Then she nudged her sister playfully. “Camille, introduce me to some of Frankie’s friends,” she coaxed. “There’s some ballers in here tonight.”