Lights, Love & Lip Gloss

by Ni-Ni Simone

  I shifted in my seat. My frown slowly eased into a slight smile. “Well, act like it, then. Now enough of all this nicey-nicey. Get down to business, Midnight. Tell momma all about this foul creature you were talking about. And don’t be giving out compliments or talking all sideways and crazy. Give it to me straight.”

  He tells me Rich brought London down to San Diego State for one of his frat parties during the beginning of last semester. I frowned. I knew what party he was talking about. The one snagglepuss Rich failed to invite me to. The one she dragged her hyena to. I was on the verge of saying something but decided to keep my trap shut and sit back to see exactly where he was going with this.

  I tapped my fingernails on the table, waiting. One more wrong thing, and I was going to split his eyeballs open and pluck ’em out of his sockets. I slid my hand down into my purse, felt around for my diamond-encrusted nail file. I clutched it in my hand.

  “Uh-huh. Go ’head, freak daddy,” I said calmly. “I’m listening.”

  He snapped his fingers. “London. Yeah, that’s that seven-foot jawn’s name . . .”

  Mmph. London, London, London! Hearing that spineless woman’s name made my cat hairs sprout. The news of her bloody disaster on the Italian runway disgusted me. Okay, okay, and for an itsy-bitsy second it had me saddened. I wanted her gone. Not like that, though.

  FROM THE CATWALK TO THE CRASH CART read one news headline about the tragic ordeal. Another headline read: SWITCHBLADE CUCKOO! TEEN SOCIALITE AND MODELING SENSATION GOES SLICEY DICEY.

  Ooh, the minute I heard the news, my heart sank. I was so distressed by the thought of her being... of her not (deep sigh) . . . Dear high heavens. I couldn’t bear to think it. Her passed on! Perished! Never to be seen again! It was all too much of a diamond cross for me to wear. Wait. Or was I supposed to bear it? The cross, that is.

  Whatever! Wear it or bare it. The point was, I kept no secrets hidden about it. I wanted London ruined and destroyed. But I didn’t want her dying on me. Oh noooo. I needed her alive. I needed her to suffer in her misery standing on her two ginormous hooves; long enough for me to expose her for the fraudulent three-dollar trick she was. I needed to annihilate her. Strip her down to her granny panties and air out her trickery. I was so, so close to uncovering something juicy. I knew it.

  Mmph. Trying to steal my joy with her murderous antics. I think not! That moo-moo brown cow had no dang regard for anyone else’s needs but her own. Just gotdang selfish and rotten to the core! I tell you. They didn’t breed good fighters anymore. No, ma’am. These little girls today were a bunch of cotton eaters. Pussy willows dangling from rotted branches. That’s all they were. And London Phillips was the biggest dang bucket of barnyard cow crap I’d ever laid eyes on.

  She had the gossip hounds yelping and wagging their tails and tongues at the horrid details of her epic fail. London might have been trying to make her way to the promised land, but instead she landed on her back on the soil of grits and piss.

  Dear baby Jeezus. Spin the wheel and snatch the tail on the donkey! With all that was going on with Daddy at the house and Kitty being the miserable witch she was, all I wanted was to be spared the indignities of London’s thoughtlessness and have me a bite to eat with stud daddy. And here he was, bringing her name up, sucking the sap juice out of my nectarine. God, what a pound dog!

  The sound of Midnight’s dreamy voice pulled me out of the abyss of my thoughts. “Yo, that jawn is a savage. Straight like that.”

  I blinked. My ears perked up. This was the big break I’d been looking for. I could feel it in my loins. The pang. I pressed my legs shut tight. And licked my lips with anticipation. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, she s’posed to be BJ’s homegirl ’n’ she straight-up played her behind her back. Had my man all effed up like spoiled cabbage too.”

  I clung to the edge of my seat. Held on to every nail-biting second as he reached for his iced tea and took three slow sips. Ooh, he was going to make me beg for it. “Goshdangit, Midnight. Give it to me, daddy. What did that savage beast do?”

  He eyed me over the rim of his glass. “She told Knox that Rich had an abortion . . .”

  12

  London

  Milan, Italy

  Noooooo! No, no, no, noooooooooo!

  This can’t be!

  The first thing I heard was the beeping sound. Next came the muffled voices. Then I felt the squeezing on my hand.

  Then I knew...

  I was still alive!!

  Noooooooo!

  Why, God, why?

  I couldn’t even end my own life right.

  You’re so effen pathetic, London...

  My head pounded.

  This had to be some cruel joke God was playing on me. “She’s lucky to be alive,” I overheard someone say. It was a man’s voice. His English was broken and thick with the accent of his native tongue. Italian. From what I gathered from his conversation, I’d been in the hospital for two days already. I’d severed a tendon and damaged nerves in my arm. And as a result, I might never regain full use of my left hand again.

  “No, Doc, we’re the lucky ones.” Daddy’s still here, with me!

  He was sooo wrong. This wasn’t luck. There was no blessing in my botched suicide attempt. This was unfortunate. It was a travesty. What had I done to suffer like this?

  In a flash, I heard the Italian lilt. I cringed at the sound of her voice. It was my mother. Speaking to the doctor in Italian. About me! Wanting to know how long it’d take for my scars to heal, before a plastic surgeon could be called in. She didn’t sound pleased with his response.

  “Let’s not focus on the scarring, and concentrate more on the healing for now. Let’s take one day at a time, shall we? I’ll be back in a minute to check in on her.”

  “Maybe I should have listened to you, Turner . . .” This was the same woman who didn’t even have the desire to carry me inside of her womb, to give birth to me. Half admitting fault. That maybe she’d done something wrong, for once in her life. “Maybe none of this would have happened had I simply not pushed her so hard . . .”

  Her words were met with silence.

  In my mind’s eye, I imagined Daddy’s eyes boring a hole through her. I could almost see his handsome face etched in worry for me; disgust for her.

  She did this to me.

  Justice did this to me.

  I did this to me.

  I felt the tears swelling behind my closed eyelids.

  The fact that I was still here was all my fault.

  All of it.

  Why hadn’t I cut deeper?

  Why hadn’t I bled out faster?

  “Oh, dear God, what has happened to our daughter, Turner? Maybe we both should have been more involved.” Her voice cracked. Then I heard sniffling. “Look at her. Our daughter. She looks so . . . so wounded.”

  I heard myself screaming, “I am wounded!”

  Emotionally, mentally . . . physically!

  Why, God? Why would you punish me by keeping me alive?

  Daddy finally spoke. “She’s had a . . . very trying few weeks, Jade.” I could hear the tight, clipped edge in his tone. I could tell he was trying to keep it together, the way he’d do with me whenever I’d defy him. Or when a difficult client of his was working his last nerve. He was trying to choose his words carefully. It was a lawyer thing, I always presumed. “I told you to let her be, but this is what you wanted, Jade.”

  “So you do blame me? I knew it. You really do think I’m to blame for this, don’t you? Say it, Turner. You think I pushed our daughter to do . . . to do this? Attempt suicide? Never mind, you don’t have to say a word. I can see it in your face.”

  “Listen, Jade. We are going to have to figure out a way to put our differences aside, for London’s sake.”

  “Our differences?” I heard my mother say, her voice dipping to a hushed whisper. “Meaning your little hooker?”

  “Jade, what is wrong with you? We’re not doing this. Not now, Jade. And defini
tely not here. This is about our daughter. So let’s focus on that.”

  “You’ve hurt me so deeply, Turner. I’ve only wanted what was best for our daughter. Why can’t you believe that?”

  If my own eyes were open, I’d be rolling them at her. It was so typical of her to want to play the martyr. She was not the victim in this. I was. And this horror tale, this calamity, had no happy ending for me.

  Something had gone terribly awry. But what? The plan was simple. End it all right there on the runway. I did everything right. Slid the razor up through my skin, ripping open tendons and flesh. Glided down the catwalk. All I needed to do was bleed out.

  I thought it was a peaceful and surefire way to end it all.

  I remembered floating. Remembered feeling the happiest I’d felt in a long time. The runway seemed to roll under my heels. I was going to finally be free. Free from Justice. Free from his lies and obsessive mind games. Free from my mother and her constant ridicule. Free from prying eyes and gossipy, two-faced bitches like Rich Montgomery.

  I remembered the warm, prickly sensation coursing through my arm. Then collapsing. Remembered feeling the life slowly draining out of my body as I was being lifted. Thousands of butterflies covered me. It wasn’t a dream. No. No.

  I was leaving this Earth.

  I remembered the sharp pain shooting up my arm. I remembered seeing lots of white light. Blinding light. Then I started getting dizzy. Started fading in and out. I remembered the image of a beautiful brown baby’s face flash in front of my eyes. Then the aching in my heart ripped through me.

  I choked back a scream.

  I was on my deathbed. But I wasn’t dead!

  I’d been robbed of the afterlife.

  I heard Daddy say, “Seeing London through this is all that matters right now. I don’t want to point fingers, or blame. And I don’t want to discuss anything other than the two of us being by our daughter’s side. That’s all I want to focus on.”

  But you’re leaving us?

  “I know who your mistress is . . .”

  “That’s right, let’s pretend. Let’s act like you’re not screwing your client’s wife and want to abandon your family.”

  All of a sudden I felt dizzy. The air around me thickened. I struggled to take a few deep breaths, but it was useless. Maybe I’ll suffocate to death, I thought as I slowly clawed at the sheets.

  “Enough, Jade.” Daddy sounded irritated. “I’ve already warned you.” I heard movement. “I’m going out to make a call. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Whom are you running out to call now, Turner, huh? That home-wrecker of yours?”

  “This isn’t the time for that, Jade. I already told you I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

  And then he was gone.

  Even Daddy wanted an escape. At least he already had an escape. Logan Montgomery. Rich’s mother. He’d run off into her arms when it was all said and done. And I’d still be here.

  With my mother.

  Stuck.

  Doomed to a life of misery.

  Abandoned.

  I pushed out a groan. Slowly opened my eyes against the blinding brightness in the room, a stark contrast to the darkness that took up space in every part of my body.

  “London, darling. Oh, dear God. You’re finally awake.” My mother leapt up from her seat. Then she was at my bedside, touching the side of my face, choking back a sob. “You’ve had your father and me sick with worry.” I blinked her into view. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked as if she’d been crying. “Why would you do this, London, huh? Why?”

  I blinked.

  “Dear Lord. Do you hate me that much to want to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She sniffled. “How could you do this to me, to us? Have you no shame? Do you realize the embarrassment you’ve caused me? Why couldn’t you wait... one more day. That’s all you had to do. That’s all I asked of you. To wait to have whatever emotional meltdown you were having until we were back home. You did this to spite me. To ruin my good name.”

  I blinked again.

  “You have a fabulous life, London . . . you’re just ungrateful. Spoiled rotten and selfish. That you would scar yourself, knowing your modeling opportunities will now be limited to doing Sears catalogues for gaudy long-sleeved blouses. Why would you want to do something so unthinkable, like . . . like this? Why? Your father and I have given you everything.”

  A sob gurgled out of me. I knew it was too good to be true. That she’d care more about me, for once, than she cared about her precious image, of what others were saying and thinking.

  I swallowed back the bile that bubbled up in the back of my throat. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t.

  Hot tears crept out from the corners of my closed lids.

  What did I have to live for?

  “Jade, stop!” Daddy stalked back into the room toward her, yanking her by the arm. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?! What is wrong with you, huh? This is our daughter you’re talking to like that. Not some unruly model you chastise for clumsily missing a step or making a wrong turn. I will not have you interrogating her, or browbeating her. Now get your things and get out!” He snatched up her purse, shoving it at her as he dragged her to the door. He pushed her out, then shut the door behind him.

  I was beside myself. Literally on the verge of losing it all over again.

  Daddy looked at me. Studied me. He looked stricken. Sickened by the turn of events, I mused. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was uncombed. He had a five o’clock shadow. Even in his disheveled, scruffy state, I could faintly smell his six-hundred-and-ten-dollar cologne, Ambre Topkapi, still clinging to his pores. The way I was clinging to the idea of dying. Of being dead.

  I was disappointed that I was here. Strapped in a hospital bed. Breathing. Eyes open. Bandaged. Tubed up. Daddy was probably disappointed too, that he was here. Instead of being... I don’t know, somewhere, anywhere but here.

  This drastic setback probably put a slight kink in his escape plan. Might have derailed his freedom train for a moment. But he’d be on his way soon enough.

  Then where would that leave me?

  Alone.

  I was feeling somewhat conflicted: The way Daddy was looking at me, stroking my hair, being attentive and protective of me, had me confused. I was thankful, but...

  My heart ached. I knew this wasn’t where he wanted to be. He wanted to be with her. His ghetto lover.

  I know who your mistress is...

  His mouth made words I couldn’t hear. I freeze-framed this moment in my mind, before turning away. I couldn’t bear to look at him. But I didn’t want it to end. I needed to store it in my memory. His love for me.

  Beneath my bandaged limb, I felt the searing heat as it shot through my arm. I wanted to grasp my wrist, but my right hand was restrained to the bed railing. As Daddy spoke—as he assured me that no matter what was happening between him and my mother, he’d always be there for me—I half listened. Half believed.

  All I knew was, I had nothing to live for and nothing to fight for.

  Justice had stolen my heart.

  My mother had stolen my spirit.

  Rich’s mother had stolen my father.

  And God had robbed me of death.

  13

  Heather

  “You’re boring. The world is no longer checking for you. Anymore. We tested the pilot and your ratings broke a world record. They are the worst anyone’s ever seen. Something’s gotta give or you gotta go!” My producer, Philippe, had barged into my room this morning, interrupting my on-camera confessional. “You may as well drop the mic and exit stage left. Again. The critics were crystal clear. No one wants to see a has-been Wu-Wu, the ex-junkie. And her washed-up drunk of a mother.”

  “I resent that! I have an audience!”

  “You’re right, you do. But it’s one, two, maybe three of your redneck West Virginian relatives sitting around at your family barbecue, bashing you and your mother! Not enough to get you any spo
nsors or a prime-time slot. You want to be a where-are-they-now special? I can get you on at three in the morning. You want to be a star, then you get your behind up and go and get the Pampered Princesses!”

  “Never!” I jumped off the edge of my bed.

  “Then you will never be a hit.” He paced. “You will always be a has-been. And it’s not that we didn’t try. Oh, we tried. But your mother is some sloppy drunk who only wakes up once a week to refresh her drink! And to think we not only bought her act, but that dear, sweet Kitty believed she’d stopped drinking! We’ve all been duped!”

  “That’s not my problem!”

  “It is your problem!”

  “The world wants to see my life!”

  “The world wants to see you, Spencer, Rich, and London, together! The insides of the crazy antics of the Pampered Princesses! I can see it now!” He gave a tight smile and then turned back to me. “Now, if you want to continue your career on TV then you get us in the palace or get shut down.”

  “My show will be a hit! I will be a hit!”

  “At the rate you’re going, you will be no more than the new millennium’s Dana Plato married to a recycled Todd Bridges!”

  I gave Philippe a blank look and he returned my stare. “Do your history, Miss Actress!” He shoved his beet-red face into mine. “The kids from Diff’rent Strokes! Now the choice is yours. You either do what you gotta do to get back into the good graces of the Pampered Princesses”—he dusted his hands—“or our work here is done . . .”

  “A moment of silence, please.” Mr. Westwick’s voice boomed through the café’s intercom system, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Students, we need to pray for and reach out to our dearly beloved London Phillips, our little runaway supermodel who has succumbed to tragedy. As you all know, she is now home recovering, and I want to make sure each of you acknowledge her. Show her the Hollywood High spirit. I believe her knowing that we are all here thinking of her and wishing her a speedy recovery will make quite a difference. That’ll be all. Oh, one more thing. There will be a one-hundred-dollar fee billed to all the upperclassmen for the arrangement of flowers that will be sent from the school and all the students at Hollywood High. Thank you and good day.”