His Last Name

by Daaimah S. Poole

  I was scared. Morgan was crazy, but she had never talked about hearing voices before.

  “Morgan, are you okay? Maybe you need to get some more rest.”

  “I don’t feel so good. I might have taken too much medicine. Help me get dressed. I think I want to go to the hospital. I don’t feel right, like something is wrong in my head.”

  I helped her put on a t-shirt, jeans, and her sneakers and then walked her to the car.

  I took her to the hospital, but they transferred her to the Psychiatric Center at Century City Hospital. I signed her in and we had a seat. She was in and out of consciousness. She had to sign paperwork saying that they could discuss her medical history with me. It was a responsibility that I really didn’t want.

  I waited with her, and I became afraid watching all the other crazy people around us. Some were talking to themselves, others staring into space. Interestingly enough, Morgan would fit right in.

  Morgan’s name was called, and we were sent into a room. A male doctor came in, examined her, and questioned her about her symptoms. He told me he was going to keep her for a seventy-two-hour evaluation.

  “Okay, make sure she changes into this gown and she has to remove her shoelaces.”

  The moment he left the room, Morgan stood up and demanded I take her home.

  “I can’t take you home. The doctor wants to treat you.”

  “You have to. I’m not staying here.” She paced the room. “Did you hear what he said? He said he wants to take my shoelaces. Why do they want my shoelaces? What the fuck are they going to do with my shoelaces? I got to get out of here now.”

  “No, I think it is a good idea if you stay.”

  “But I’m not giving them my shoelaces.”

  “You have to.”

  “No, I don’t have to do shit. I’m leaving.”

  “Morgan, you can’t leave. You said your head is hurting and you’re hearing voices. He’s going to help with that. Just give me your shoes and I will give them back to you as soon as you get out.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay, but as soon as I call, come get me.”

  “I will.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Tiffany

  How many times do you have to be ignored before you get the message that the other party is not going to respond to you? I asked myself this question as I stared down at my cell phone. Damien had yet to give up so I had no choice but to answer his call.

  “What do you want?”

  “Tiff. Tiffany. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not.”

  “So just like that we’re done? You’re never coming back?”

  I sighed and tried to make it as easy as possible, but there is no easy way to leave a marriage.

  “No, I’m not coming back. I will send the divorce papers once I get a draft.”

  “You left me, and you are going to stick me up, too? Good luck with that. I don’t have any money left to give you.”

  “I wasn’t with you for any money, Damien. I tried to stay with you. You were cheating. You were drunk. You are depressed.”

  “Funny. When I had money I could drink, cheat, and you didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Good-bye, Damien.”

  “So, this is all my fault? Tiffany, please come home. You are my wife. I need you here. I swear I can make a comeback, but I can’t do it alone. I need you. We can get through this together.”

  “Oh, no, we won’t. I’m not supposed to have to slave at a job. You call that taking care of me? You embarrassed me in front of the world, and you were still cheating. All of this was preventable.”

  “How could I prevent an injury?” All of a sudden, I heard a weeping noise come from the other end of the call.

  “Are you crying? You are a man. Men don’t cry.”

  “Please come back home, Tiffany. Please. It’s been so hard without you.”

  “No, leave me alone. Take care of yourself. Stop it! Damien, stop calling me. I want to make this as easy as possible.”

  “So, that’s it? I lost everything. My job, my money, and now you are going to walk out on me, too?”

  I ended the call and saw my mother standing in the doorway.

  “Was that Damien again?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I am very proud of you. Take the time you need, but don’t allow grass to grow under your feet while getting husband number two.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to be married again, Mother.”

  “Okay, understandable. But it will be a little sad if you don’t bounce right back. You are too pretty of a girl to end up a cat lady with no husband or children.”

  “I will bounce right back, and I won’t let myself go.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Adrienne

  “Good morning, this is Angela Ramirez, a nurse at the Psychiatric Center of Century City Hospital. You are the contact person for Morgan Coleman?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “She is being released at eight and she will need to be picked up.”

  I pulled my phone away from my ear to see what time it was. It was almost seven. I sleepily told her I was on my way.

  I didn’t know what to expect when I picked up Morgan. Who was going to come out of the seventy-two-hour hold? Would it be the nice lady, crazy lady, or just a manic mess? Better yet, maybe she invented someone new while she was in there.

  When I got in front of the facility, she was already waiting for me. She jumped in, took her hoodie off, and said, “I’m so hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

  I turned onto the highway and handed back her cell phone.

  “Did my baby call?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. No one had called her, but I didn’t want her to have a relapse if I didn’t say the right thing.

  We went through the Burger King drive-thru, stopped at the Rite Aid, and got her prescription filled. Then she told me that the doctor had told her that she experienced some mental stress brought on by RJ getting married, and if she took her medicine she would be able to cope better.

  Once we were home, she showered and changed her clothes. So far, she seemed like the nice, calm Morgan.

  “That medicine they gave me is working. I feel a lot better. Thank you for taking me. Now I am ready to finish planning my party. Here, I want this. Look. This is who Morgan Tucker was. I want my hair done just like this. The makeup, everything.”

  The picture was of a thinner, younger, happier Morgan with box braids, a cropped shirt with her abs exposed, and a smile.

  “This picture is right before I met him. I want to be her again. It is more than a name-changing party. It is a reinvention party. I am going to pursue my dream as an actress. That revelation came to me when I was away.”

  She handed me a folded piece of paper.

  “Here, I wrote down my guest list. I want everyone to wear white and I’m going to wear a stand-out color, like gold, red, or purple, because I’m a star and there is no one else like me.”

  Morgan’s name change party was only weeks away. She hired a publicist named Terrance, who worked for Halle Berry in the nineties. She also hired a party planner, who hired a decorator and caterer. The party was easily costing around a hundred thousand dollars. Morgan didn’t even blink. I just hoped there would be someone in attendance I could slip my script to.

  We were on our way to meet her wardrobe stylist, Roosevelt, at the Shoppes at Beverly. He came from the back of his studio door, twirling, with two assistants.

  “So what are you doing? What’s the look you are going for, M?” She pulled out her picture and they were not impressed.

  “This is okay, but I thought you wanted a fiercer look. We can put the box braids back in, but I want to reinvent you. Why don’t you become my painting and let me paint you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have some looks I want you to try on.” He pulled out an off-white pant suit, sheer blue dress, and a silver mini dress. Everything she tried on was hideous, but that
didn’t stop him and his team from applauding and screaming, “Yes, honey. Work, boo. You’re giving me life.”

  Morgan turned to me and asked my opinion: “Adrienne, what do you think?”

  “They’re okay dresses . . .”

  Roosevelt looked at me with his jaw dropped, like how could I disagree with him and his staff.

  “What else do you have?”

  He rolled his eyes at me and said he would pull a few more things. I walked back to the dressing room. This time, he pulled a black dress with a long slit up the side, a pink halter mini, and a gray, ankle-length pant suit. She tried on the black dress and turned side to side in the mirror.”

  “Do you like this one?”

  “Yes, it’s very feminine and elegant. Sexy but classy and it will stand out since your guests are wearing all white.”

  “You think so? I guess . . .”

  “Yeah.” This was my perfect opportunity to tell her that Poetic Justice braids weren’t going to achieve the glamorous look that she wanted. “I think you should get the black dress. And I also I think you should wear your hair out and get Chike to give you curls for your reinvention party.”

  “All right. Well, I can’t decide which one I want. I’ll just buy them all. I’ll get a chance to wear all of them eventually. I mean, I am going to be walking red carpets solo now.”

  When we arrived home, Alexandria was there. She ran up to Morgan, hugged her, and said, “Mommy, I missed you!”

  “I missed you, too. How was the wedding?” she quizzed.

  “Mom, somehow the paparazzi found out where Daddy’s wedding was. Daddy was so mad. He fired all of his security team. He thinks one of them leaked the information.”

  “Wow, that’s a shame. How was everything else?”

  “It was nice, but mostly they argued because Daddy made her sign a prenup right before the wedding. I think you are right. It might not last.”

  “Well, hopefully it will.” Morgan cracked a grin at me, and I just turned my head.

  * * *

  The day had arrived, and everything was in order for Morgan’s party. The setting was perfect by the pool. Her vision had come together. The DJ was spinning old-school and current hip-hop and the table across from him was an assortment of Asian cuisine. Long tables were set for her guests. The tables were adorned with white tablecloths and mirror tops with cascading light pink and hot pink flowers.

  Everyone was in all white, so when Morgan entered the party, she truly made an entrance: a drama queen in a pink halter dress. Her hair and makeup were on point and she looked stunning as she worked the room by double kissing and air kissing her guests. I saw her take two drinks in fifteen minutes. I was concerned, but I didn’t want to say anything. She had been taking her medicine and it had been working well.

  The party was filled with a bunch of D-list celebrities and their lesser-known friends. We used every contact she had left. They mostly were people who were hoping their picture would end up on a blog.

  After all her guests had arrived, Morgan stood in front of the pool with a lit candle and a big picture of her and RJ. She grabbed the microphone and gave a speech. “Thank you all for coming. A lot of you know me as being the wife of a certain person who will remain nameless, but I wanted to let you all know she is gone. No more Mrs. Coleman. Tonight I am going home. I’m Morgan Tucker, motherfuckers,” she screamed, then set her wedding picture on fire. She looked like a madwoman in front of the flame. Then she threw the picture into the pool. Everyone applauded and she worked the room some more.

  She ran over to me excitedly and whispered, “He’s here. Oh, my God. He came. That’s Warren Michael Joseph. Terrance invited him, but I didn’t think he would show up. How do I look?” She pointed to a handsome man with an athletic build in a nice fitted white suit.

  “You look fine. Who is he?”

  “He’s my future costar and hopefully husband number two. He is retired from the NFL and in the new movie with Gabrielle Union, Crossing Hearts. Go up to him and tell him I want to meet him.”

  I walked over to the handsome brown-skinned man wearing a tailored suit and illuminating smile. “Hi, I’m Morgan Coleman—I mean, Morgan Tucker’s assistant. She would like to meet you and asked if you would be able to meet to discuss her acting.”

  “Give her my card and tell her to call me. I might know of a role that she can audition for.”

  I took his card and instantly knew that I would be contacting him, too.

  I took his information down and then gave his card to Morgan and told her he said to call him.

  I wasn’t sure how successful Morgan’s name change party would be. She was hoping that it would tell the world she was Morgan Tucker. In actuality, I don’t think anyone really cared.

  CHAPTER 40

  Monique

  I missed being in Philly. The people and the hustle and bustle of the city. The stores on every corner, buses riding past, the smell of cheesesteaks and the taste of soft pretzels. It had been months since I had been home. I missed being Monique from Seventeenth and Erie Avenue. The Monique who didn’t receive calls asking for money or game tickets. The Monique who could see her son just by knocking on his bedroom door or going to his practice. She didn’t have to check his schedule or plan a date with him. I was grateful, but still missed my baby boy.

  I was back in Philly to visit CeCe and Mom Laura and also to make things right with my mom. Dele had been encouraging me to talk to her. He was so family-oriented. His mother called every morning, and he always FaceTimed with his brothers. They were such a close unit and they were all over the world. He didn’t understand how my mom was in the same country and I didn’t even speak to her. And although I didn’t want to admit it, he was right: no matter what she did, I was her child and it was my duty to take care of her.

  I came to her house and banged on her white screen door. “Mom, it’s me.” She looked through the blinds and then opened the door. She let me in and took a seat on her brown love seat. I sat across from her on the gray recliner she had had since I was ten.

  “What brings you to walk among the common people?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, I wanted to come and check on you and also tell you that I’m paying off your house and buying you a car. And taking care of any other bills you have.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but that’s okay. See, money don’t make me. It might make you. But not me. I don’t need your money.”

  “Mom, I just want to help.”

  “Then help yourself to the door. My grandson already paid my mortgage off and bought his grandmother a car and set me up a bank account.”

  “He did. That’s good, but I still . . . That’s not the only reason I came here. I want to talk to you. Mom, I’m sorry, I haven’t been the easiest to deal with. But ever since I had Kadir, you’ve treated me like I was your biggest disappointment.”

  She sighed and then said, “I was disappointed. I wanted so much more for you. I worked two jobs so that you could go to Catholic school and to keep you away from neighborhood boys. But you still managed to get pregnant. So when you had that baby, I just thought, I can’t sugar-coat anything. I have to prepare her for the real world and make her raise that baby on her own. Yeah, I was hard on you, but I thought I was making you strong. And it worked out. Look what happened, you raised a good boy, be proud of yourself. Kadir calls me all the time. He even got me cable so I can watch his games.”

  She got up from the sofa and came over to me and gave me a hug. “We got years to make up for. Just be better than me. Don’t be so hard on him.”

  “I will.”

  I felt so much better that my mom and I were going to be okay. I felt a weight ease off my back. I decided to surprise CeCe at her job. She was an office manager for a doctor’s office. She was on a call when I arrived at her office. I smiled at her and she signaled to me to give her one minute.

  “What’s going on?
What are you doing here?”

  “I came home to help my mom. My friend and I were talking about family and I felt like I had to help her, but Kadir already has been helping her. Plus, I wanted to see you and Mom Laura.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “It was, but he is supposed to run everything by me.”

  “Hold that thought. Let me get my coat and clock out. I’ll be right out.”

  We could go eat and drink anywhere in the city but we still ended up at Copas, a small Philly favorite with finger food and great margaritas. We got a table by the window and ordered two double mango margaritas with sugar rims.

  “So what’s going on here?’

  “Nothing much. What’s up with you? Are you going to reveal who your mysterious boo is?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe you are going to keep a secret from me! I’ve been your friend for how long?”

  “Next conversation.”

  “I’ll remember that. Anyway, things are cool. Faheem is doing real good. I’m chilling and working. What’s going on with Kadir?”

  “He’s fine, but keeping Kadir focused is a full-time job. His biological father’s people tried to hit him up, and this little girl named Abigail, who has gold digger written all over her, is after him.”

  “Yeah, we have to protect our boys.”

  CeCe and I had been through everything together, including her marriage and divorce. After another two double margaritas and her begging me to reveal who my boo was, I finally caved and told her.

  “Cee, it’s the guy from London.”

  She put her hand over her mouth. “Hold up, the African guy that plays on Kadir’s team?”

  “Yes, him. I’ve been seeing him ever since we met that night. That night you fell asleep, I met up with him.” I waited to see how she was going to respond to my scandal.

  “So you think this is cute. I’m shocked. Have you lost your motherfucking mind?”

  “CeCe, I know you are not judging.”

  “Yes, I’m judging you. My brother, who has done everything for you, doesn’t matter now because you’re dealing with some young basketball player.”