“The little fucking ingrate,” Ritz seethed to herself.
But the diva couldn’t let anyone see her sweat.
“I’m so happy for you.” Ritz was so phony that even she couldn’t believe it. “We all wish you well, Jamie.”
Jamie smiled. But inside she knew Ritz’s Ms. Nice Guy act was just that. But Ritz couldn’t do anything to her now, Jamie thought. So for the following week she had a little pep in her step as she removed the remnants of being Ritz Harper’s lackey. She was darn near whistling a happy tune as she neared her final days under Ritz’s thumb.
On Friday, September 26, Ritz had a little going-away prize for Jamie. They were nearing the end of the final hour of the show, and Ritz sidled up to the mic, getting close and intimate as she did when she was about to drop a bomb on her audience.
“I want to thank someone very special to our team here at the Excursion,” Ritz began. “Jamie has been with us for the last few years, and she has seen us through so much. But she will be leaving us. We’re going to miss her, everybody!”
Ritz told Aaron off-mic to cue up Diana Ross’s slow “Missing You.”
“So where are you going, Jamie?” Ritz asked, motioning her to pull up to the guest mic. Jamie couldn’t believe it. Ritz Harper, the cow that never shared her spotlight or her mic, was thanking her for a job well done and allowing her to give a few shout-outs on her last day? WOW! Maybe the Ice Queen did have a heart.
“I’m heading over to Smith Barney,” Jamie said. “I’ve been hired as a market analyst. I’m very excited and I thank you for the opportunity, Ritz.”
Ritz shot Jamie a look that she had seen before. Ritz had a smile on her face, but behind the smile in her eyes were shards of glass. Jamie had seen the contrast quite often, right before Ritz went in for the kill, like a vampire right before sinking its teeth into an unsuspecting victim.
Jamie’s blood grew cold. She knew what was coming next: humiliation. Dangerous, embarrassing, no-holds-barred gossip. Aaron keyed up Prince’s “Scandalous,” laying the sound track to Ritz’s sneak attack.
“And I want to thank you, Jamie,” Ritz said, cutting her off before she was able to get out another word. “I want to thank you for serving up the most delicious meal I ever had in your man, Derek. I really understood why you were so in love with him. That boy really knows how to put it down. That’s probably how I got pregnant. That was his beautiful little girl—our baby girl. Well. That really feels good to get that off my chest. You can’t imagine how hard it’s been coming in here every day and having you living with me knowing I was sleeping with your man. I felt so guilty. Now we can part ways with the air all cleared. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I just dropped twenty pounds.”
Aaron had his finger on the button to censor the string of cuss words that were sure to follow, but there were none. Jamie’s silence said volumes.
Ritz was disappointed, expecting more of a reaction, and decided to bait her.
“Oh, come on, you know he only dated you to get to the Queen, right?” she cooed.
Jamie broke down. Her bottom lip began to quiver as she clenched her jaw, trying to hold back the floodgate, but she couldn’t. The dam broke and the tears came in a rush. It was as if Jamie’s very soul were in pain and she sobbed, snot and all.
Aaron was supposed to cue up Beyoncé’s “Irreplaceable,” but he couldn’t do it. He’d had a crush on Jamie once upon a time, and seeing her in so much agony bothered him. He had seen Ritz do many cruel things, many of which he’d actually egged on and encouraged, but she had crossed the line with him today. This was too much. She had gone too far, even for Ritz Harper.
“Well, it’s Friday, September twenty-sixth, and that’s it for the Ritz Harper Excursion,” she said. “I love you for listening! Have a funky weekend, everybody. And, Jamie, how you doin’?”
Ruffin, the studio manager, cringed. He pushed his Aeron chair away from his desk in disgust. He despised Ritz’s antics, especially when she railroaded common, everyday people. Jamie worked for her, lived with her, catered to her, and Ritz still dogged her out like that? That was horrible enough, indeed, but that wasn’t the primary reason that the stunt bothered him. Ruff knew that these Ritz antics would earn higher ratings. Ritz Harper knew exactly what she was doing.
The clip of Jamie sobbing would become an instant “Best Of” contender, and the downloads from the Web audience would make it last forever. This was not a good scenario if he wanted to dethrone the Queen. If Ritz had good numbers the Three Suits, that is, the conglomerate that owned the radio station, and Abigail Gogel, the station head in name only, wouldn’t touch her.
And Ritz would only get worse—if that was possible.
Jamie stormed out of the studio and raced to Derek’s house, for what she wasn’t sure. She wanted to confront him. She wanted to look into his eyes and see for herself if the stuff Ritz had said was true. Jamie knew deep inside that it was all true, but she wanted Derek to tell her. And she wanted to know why.
7
Ritz Harper had really fucked him good this time. Derek, the redhead, redbone dope dealer to the stars, had studied enough gangsta films to know that if he didn’t go incognito, a bullet would be his end.
Derek’s older brother, Jayrod, was doing time because of the mouth of Ritz Harper.
After their mother overdosed, Jayrod raised and nurtured Derek like his own son. And the living was good, while they were supplying and serving pharmaceuticals to the stars. But then Ritz Harper entered their life. Ritz made frequent commentaries on the Excursion about how the dope game fused with the rap game, and the feds were listening. Jayrod got caught and ended up serving fifteen years to life for racketeering.
Jayrod wanted Ritz’s head for it.
Staying true to the family creed, he ordered Derek to do the deed. But Ritz Harper had told Jayrod and the whole world that Derek didn’t do the deed. Jayrod had assumed that the hit put on Ritz, those bullets that pierced the diva, had come at his brother’s command. They had to have. Jayrod wanted Ritz dead, and his brother always followed through. That she survived was just luck on her part. But Jayrod had had no reason to believe that this baby brother didn’t do it, until this day.
Jayrod was even more furious.
“That bitch put me in here and that motherfucker gave her a shorty?” he said to his cellie. “My own flesh and blood crossed me for some pussy? I hope he savored it. His days of fucking are numbered.”
During their formative years in the dope game, Derek and Jayrod watched the Godfather trilogy at least twice a year to learn the tenets of successful gangsterism.
The brothers learned life’s lessons through the eyes of Michael Corleone.
Their eyes were watching the same movies, but their brains were registering very different lessons. For Jayrod, the reckless spirit, the Godfather taught him to live in the now because nothing was guaranteed and every moment was to be lived to the fullest—never mind the consequence.
For Derek, the cautious spirit, the Godfather taught him to plan for the next. One had to accept the unpredictable nature of the now and, in doing so, must always prepare for the next, and Derek lusted for long-term security.
What the two brothers did agree on, however, were the lessons of family loyalty: Early on in the film, Michael warned his older brother, Fredo, “Never take sides against the family.” When Fredo double-crossed Michael, Michael killed him.
Jayrod and Derek agreed that Michael was right to do so.
“If you can’t trust your own flesh and blood,” Jayrod would say each time they watched Fredo get whacked, “that motherfucker needs to die.”
By sleeping with Ritz Harper, Derek had become Fredo, and he knew that Jayrod wouldn’t think twice about whacking him.
Buy. Sell. Buy. Stash.
Repeat.
The more Derek looked at his life, the more he realized that he lived in the now. And the now was vicious and all-consuming.
Buy the shit from sha
dy individuals.
Sell the shit to shady celebrities.
Buy items that made him feel worthy. Stash money for a rainy day; and in the dope game it always rained when you least expected it.
The now made no promises of security.
Derek could show up to buy the shit and get robbed. He could show up to sell the shit and get stiffed, or even arrested. And he could buy something nice for himself, only to need that extra money for an emergency.
And so it went.
Ritz Harper, his secret, elusive lover, was a welcomed interruption to the monotony that his life had become. The mischievous couple would fuck against the wall of Ritz’s home. They rarely made it to the bedroom. Her long legs would wrap around his torso, her arms would hug him so close, her neck would repeatedly fall onto the pathway of Derek’s relentless, warm kisses.
Ritz felt so good to him, so right, so natural, and Derek wanted more of her.
Ritz was an independent woman who could be a bitch at work, a siren on the radio, and a submissive freak who wasn’t afraid to step out of her panties and let him bounce her around during their raunchy rodeo.
Derek knew that Ritz was pregnant before she knew it. It was a weird connection, as if a zap of electricity had traveled between them. Derek felt it, and at that very moment Ritz stared deep into his eyes to confirm that she felt it, too.
Derek wanted to pull out, he knew he was supposed to, but how could he when everything about Ritz Harper was pulling him in?
They were straight sexin’, no doubt about that, but their passion had reached a destination where the fucking stopped and the lovemaking began.
Creating a daughter, seeing his daughter, then having her ripped away from him changed everything. He yearned for the next now more than ever, and he wanted Ritz to be at his side.
Who was this woman that beguiled him so? What was it about this woman that conquered his mind and heart?
One thing Derek knew for sure was that he was not caught up in the rapture of Ritz’s celebrity—not by a long shot.
Derek was a dealer to the stars. He served women that the average man would kill to meet. Derek routinely served celebrity hotties in their VIP parties, in their homes, and in their limos. He saw them in various degrees of drug-induced euphoria and in various stages of undress. But the coke-, heroin-, and meth-using little vixens never enticed him.
Ritz Harper, however, had his full attention.
But now she had sealed his fate.
Derek paced the floor of his quaint apartment roaming from room to room looking for something to pack. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stay put.
Derek’s body was one big oxymoron: His mouth was dry, his hands were sweaty. He was hot, then cold; his stomach was churning although he hadn’t eaten all day. He was breathless at times and had to rest, only to feel his heartbeat thumping at double the speed.
Derek tore apart his closets and pulled out his favorite outfits, too many to pack at one time, but he took what he could—shoes, watches, sweaters, jewelry. He tossed the expensive items about, making piles in order of importance: things he had to have, things he’d like to have, and things he could do without.
The luggage set had been tucked away in the walk-in closet since he and Jayrod took that trip to Vegas. It had been five years now. Damn, time travels fast.
Derek grabbed a suitcase and a matching duffel bag. He laid them in the center of the bedroom. That’s when it hit him—the two luggage pieces represented two different options. Derek could take the road trip to the penitentiary and plead his case to Jayrod: “I know I was supposed to kill her, but I love her…”
Or Derek could hit the open road and try to start a new life somewhere else, somewhere his brother couldn’t exact revenge. Derek’s brother knew people that owed him favors, too many of them to count. There were few places Derek could go where Jayrod didn’t know somebody willing to do Jayrod the ultimate favor.
The thought of fleeing his own flesh and blood triggered a wave of uncomfortable memories of Jayrod. Derek wondered which of Jayrod’s homeboys would be hired to kill him.
He reached on the top shelf to retrieve his .45 automatic pistol. He checked the ammo, engaged the safety lock, and tucked the gun into his back pocket. The doorbell rang, shattering Derek’s frenzied silence.
Derek was frozen.
The doorbell rang again.
Derek was so still, he held his breath.
Perhaps it was just the mailman, or more likely, the hit man. Maybe they didn’t know he was home.
The bell rang a third time, this time accompanied by loud knocks on the door.
Derek was terror-struck. Derek pulled out his gun from his back pocket. He disengaged the safety lock and crept to his own front door.
“I know you’re home, Derek!” Jamie yelled as she simultaneously banged on the door and rang the bell. “Let me in! I ain’t got nowhere to go, I will stay out here as long as I need to!”
Derek produced a long, heavy sigh, engaged the safety lock, and returned the gun to his back pocket. “Stop knocking. Hold on!”
“Yeah, I’ll hold on!” Jamie yelled. “Open the fucking door!”
Derek was running out of time. The last thing he needed was to talk to Jamie. She was loud and mad and one false move and his neighbors would call the police. Derek had to get out of town, he didn’t have time for this.
He opened the door.
“This ain’t a good time, J, come back tomorrow,” he said curtly.
Jamie opened her lungs and screamed from her belly, “Oh hell no! Tell that little ho you with to get out. We gotta talk. Don’t play with me.”
Derek grabbed Jamie by the collar and yanked her inside.
“Don’t make a scene, J, don’t even do it. You got five minutes.”
Derek shut the door and locked it. The young woman adjusted her collar and faced him, arms crossed, eyes bloodshot.
“I heard the show, trust me,” Derek offered. “I didn’t think you’d come over here.”
“And why the fuck not? You owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you an explanation?” Derek was ready to argue, but he thought better of it. Why take the time to win an argument with Jamie—only to get snuffed out by a hired hit man later? He had to get out of there.
“You’re right, J, I fucked up. I’m sorry,” Derek said, using his body to block the pathway to the front room. “Ritz didn’t mean shit to me. I’m really sorry.”
Jamie sensed his urgency to put her out, so she planned to linger. She planned to be there if Ritz stopped by to fuck him after work.
“What’s up, Derek?” Jamie brushed past him, bumping him as hard as she could.
“You know what’s up, J. Look, I’m not in the mood, not tonight.”
“Oh, really?” she said, kicking off her shoes and planting her behind firmly on his couch. “Because I’m in the mood, Derek. Tell me a story.”
“About what?” Derek picked up Jamie’s shoes and placed them on her lap. “You can’t stay. I’m in the middle of something.”
She threw the shoes across the room. “Tell me about how you dumped me and had a baby with my boss. That’s the story I wanna hear.” Jamie stretched out and unbuttoned her jeans. “And I’m not going nowhere until you tell me something.”
Derek knew Jamie well enough to know that she wasn’t leaving. He wanted her to leave as much as she wanted to stay, and there were no two ways about it. He could break her heart, but it wouldn’t send her scurrying out the door; she’d want to hang around and fight. Perhaps break some shit. Perhaps get him thrown in the county jail so that one of his brother’s homeys could shank him as he slept.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” she crowed. “Open your mouth and talk. What’s wrong? Ritz’s pussy got you tongue-tied?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, J. Honestly, I don’t know why you came here.”
“So you caught your baby mama’s little stunt?”
Derek withdrew the gun from his pocket and checked the safety lock. He laid it on top of the television set. Only then did he notice Jamie’s wide eyes.
“Oh, it was bothering me, weighing down my pocket, you know how that is.”
“Why do you have a gun, Derek? What’s going on?”
Derek joined Jamie on the couch. He scanned her, head to waist and then up again. He used to like her…so why did he dislike her so much now? Her timing was off, Jamie’s timing was always off. She came around at the wrong time, always, and tonight was no different, with the exception that this was her absolute worst timing of all.
“J, if you want to talk about this, we can, just this once. Then I don’t want to bring it up anymore. Remember, my daughter died, too. I don’t wanna go back to that.”
Jamie changed her tone and body language. A loaded gun tended to bring out the calm in drama queens.
“You cooled it with me so that you could creep with her. Why? Is it because she got money? Derek, she’s old as hell, I don’t understand.”
Derek crossed his arms to block Jamie’s bullshit. “She’s not that old. She’s just a few years older than us, and she’s sexy.”
“You dumped me because she’s sexy? Derek, I thought you were better than that, always talking about the business, and having a strategy behind the struggle, and you mix it up with Ritz?”
Actually, Ritz had mixed him up. Derek was going to leave the drug game, the life, one day, but Ritz had forced his time and he had to do it now.
“You’ve got it wrong, J. I didn’t leave you for her, it didn’t happen that way. It was just a bad timing for you. I’ve always had a crush on her. I would see her here and there, when I was at some events working, you know.”
Jamie sucked her bottom lip. “So, you ever serve her?”
“No. Never. She was there working, doing her radio thang and I was slanging…but that was it.”
Ritz Harper Goes to Hollywood! Page 3