by Ni-Ni Simone
“You so effen worthless, yo . . .” Justice’s voice stomped its way back into my thoughts as I wiped my mouth with a handful of tissues. “Just look at you. Pig. Hog. No wonder you’re so fat . . .”
My cell phone buzzed, bringing me back into the moment as I shut the car door. I quickly pulled my cell from the console, hoping it was Justice. But it wasn’t. It was my father.
“Hey, baby girl. Welcome home. Your old man missed you.”
In spite of my current dark mood, Daddy still managed to pull a smile out of me. “Hi, Daddy. I missed you too.”
And Justice more...
“I’m sorry I wasn’t home to greet you and your mother last night. I’m flying in from London today. My flight should arrive at LAX around four.”
“Oh, that’s great, Daddy. I can’t wait to see you.”
And Rich too...
“I was thinking you and me could go somewhere special for a bite to eat. Would you like that?”
“I’d love that,” I told him, pulling back out onto Wilshire, heading toward school. “What about Mother? Is she going to be joining us?”
There was a brief silence before Daddy finally spoke. “No. Not this time. This is our night, just you and me. Your mom and I will do something later on in the week.” He wanted to know how it felt being back in front of all the flashing lights and all of the pomp and circumstance that went along with being a model. I was careful to not push the envelope too far and tell him how much I hated being around all those snotty models. Or how I hated being unable to keep tabs on Justice—who I was convinced, after receiving those photos with his tattooed hand on that girl’s butt, was cheating on me.
“What?” Justice had snapped when I confronted him last night. “Are you serious right now, yo? I’m waaaay over here ’cross the water. In Cali, yo. Where you should be. Wit’ ya man, yo. But you ain’t. You somewhere tryna get ya shine on. Yet, you comin’ at me ’bout some flicks of some naked chick, like I’m s’posed to know what you talkin’ ’bout. You dumber than dumb, yo. Real spit, London. You mad silly. Why you think I’m no longer beat to rock wit’ you, huh? You still a lil girl. You ain’t ready for no real man, lil girl. How you gonna blast me ’bout some flicks, yo, when you ain’t even on ya J-O-B handlin’ ya man right? What, London? You want me sittin’ ’round on rock, mad horny, twiddlin’ my thumbs while you overseeeeeeas somewhere, huh, L-Boogie . . .”
My lips quivered. “Justice, why are you being so mean to me? I only asked you a simple question. And you’re taking it way to the left. I do nothing but love you, Justice, and all you want to do is treat me like I’m nothing . . .”
“Juuuuuustiiiice,” he mocked. “W-w-whyyyyy you bein’ so mean to poor lil London? All she’s tryna do is love you, Juuuuuustiiiiice. Boo-hoo, boo-hoo. Poor lil baby’s feelings are hurt.” He grunted. “Yo, get over ya’self, lil girl. You don’t love me. You don’t even love ya’self. If you loved me, you’d be here when I needed you to be. I was laid up in the hospital for two days wit’ a concussion . . .”
I gasped. “Ohmygod, nooo! What happened? How’d you get a concussion?”
He snorted. “What, now you care ’bout what happened to me? Just a few minutes ago all you cared ’bout is some chick’s naked flicks and some cat’s hand down her shirt.”
“But it’s your hand, Justice.”
He started yelling. “ARE you hearin’ how dumb you sound, yo, huh? STOP bein’ so retarded, yo! I tol’ ya that somebody prolly photoshopped them flicks. Think, London, think! I just tol’ you I was hit in the head ’n’ you still tryna beat me in the skull ’bout some flicks that I already tol’ you I don’t know jack about.
“See, that’s ya mutha-effen problem, yo. You don’t listen. You never listen. Because you too effen busy bein’ selfish, only thinkin’ ’bout London. You don’t care ’bout me, yo. I was practically bandaged from feet to head; just one second from bein’ dead ’n’ I ain’t get no flowers, no visit, no phone calls, no cards, no nothin’ from you. But I’m s’posed to believe you love me. Yeah, right. You can go suck a—”
I cut him off. “I do love you, Justice.”
He laughed. “Yeah, whatever. I ain’t beat. What’s up wit’ ya peoples?”
I frowned. “My peoples? my peoples who?”
He sucked his teeth. “Ya girl, Rich, who else? Why you so stupid, yo? Ain’t nobody else effen wit’ you. You was s’posed to be hookin’ that up for me ’n’ you couldn’t even handle that right.”
“I tried. But then I had to—”
“Save it, yo. I’m not tryna hear none a ya BS. I don’t need no lil silly girl tryna make moves for me. I got this. I already put work in. So go do you.”
“What are you saying, Justice? You already hooked up with her? Is that why you haven’t had time for me? Is that why you broke up with me? Because you’re giving all of your time to Rich?”
“See. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, lil girl. That dumbness you be on. That silly lil girl jealousy crap you stuck on. I already said it. I’m baggin’ that.” He clucked his tongue. “Move on, yo. It’s over. For real, yo. You straight up worthless. I don’t know why I ever wasted my time effen wit’ you.”
The tears fell unchecked down my face as Justice stabbed me over and over and over with his harsh words.
I sniffled.
“You all right, baby girl?” Daddy asked, pulling me out of my casket before the lid slammed shut.
I swiped my tears. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I think my allergies are flaring up, and I’m sort of jet-lagged from the flight. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
I guess you didn’t, piglet.
“I understand. It can definitely take some getting used to. If you want, we can have dinner tomorrow night.”
I shook my head, swiping more tears. Told him no. That it was okay. That I wanted to have dinner with him. Truth was, I needed a distraction, anything to keep me out of the house, anything to keep Justice’s cruel words from lurking in the shadows of my already cluttered mind. And I needed to be away from my hidden arsenal of snacks. We talked a few minutes more, then ended the call as I slowly pulled up to the entrance of Hollywood High with less than ten minutes to spare before the homeroom bell rang. I was anxious to confront Rich and get to the bottom of her attitude toward me. I needed to know why she had been acting funny and ignoring me. And, on top of that, I needed to know whether or not she was messing with my man.
I took a few deep breaths, flipping down the visor and fixing my face. Hollywood High was all about pretense. I might have been half a breath short of death, but I’d be damned if I was going to hand the grim reaper my eulogy.
“Well, well, if it isn’t America’s Next Top Flop,” the headmaster, Mr. Westwick, said in his nasal, annoying singsong voice as I walked through the glass doors. “Welcome back. I see you’re still on the runway thinking you can flounce up in here”—he glanced down at the time, tapping the face of his watch—“with less than six minutes before homeroom. Be late if you want, and it’ll cost you . . .”
My stomach rumbled again. I clenched my booty cheeks to keep gas from easing out. “I know, I know... it’ll be five grand, or two days detention.”
God, please let me make it to the bathroom in time.
He batted his thick eyelids. “Oh, you Miss Fancy now, huh?” A stumpy hand went up on his hip. “Should I ask for your autograph now or later?”
“No, later will be fine,” I snidely replied, parting a tight, phony smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get to my locker.”
“Yes. You do that. Oh, and London . . .”
I stopped moving but didn’t turn back to look at him. I didn’t need to. He’d walked up on me, practically charring the back of my neck with his hot breath. “It’s been real quiet around here since you’ve been overseas. I hope you left the ratchet at Customs. I won’t stand for any more of your Big Apple shenanigans. I expect you to follow the Hollywood High Academy protocol or be escorted off the grounds in handc
uffs. You New Yorkers come here and really bring down the school’s reputation and property value with all of your hoodilicious antics.”
I blinked. My nose flared. But instead of going off, I slowly unclenched my booty cheeks and gently eased out a puff of gas, then quickly stepped off, leaving Mr. Westwick coughing and wheezing.
“Someone bring me my oxygen tank,” he called out, gagging. “Hurry! Hurry! I think my emphysema is flaring up . . .”
I smirked, pulling out my buzzing cell. Choke on that! Calling me ratchet! I glanced at the screen, sighing. It was a text from my mother. NO CARBS.
I rolled my eyes. Ugh! If you only knew! I replied back as I headed to my locker. I KNOW.
Next, I decided to send Rich a text as well. HEY BESTIE-BOO. C U @ LUNCH. WE HAVE LOTS 2 GET CAUGHT UP ON. Yeah, like what the hell is up with you and Justice.
My mother sent another text. DID U DRINK ALL OF UR SEAWEED SMOOTHIE?
I huffed. God! Disappear already! No, I didn’t drink that slimy ish! I deleted the message, tossing my phone back into my bag. I reached my locker and quickly grabbed my books for my first three classes, then slammed the door shut.
I almost slid out of my six-thousand-dollar Italian bejeweled heels when some low-life banshee walked up into my space, pulling an issue of Gutz & Glam from her last season’s Bottega bag.
I blinked. “Umm, really? Can I help you?” I said, eyeing her over the rim of my diamond-studded Luxuriator shades.
She tossed the magazine at me. “Page three. Read it and weep.” And as quickly as she’d intruded in my space, she was already gone. Ghost. Missing amongst a throng of Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Mulholland deerskin backpackers.
FROM RICHES TO RATTY . . . HAVE THE PAMPERED PRINCESSES OF HOLLYWOOD HIGH FINALLY GONE ROGUE? blared the headline. I blinked as my insides twisted and knotted. First Justice dismissing me, like I was last year’s trash. Then seeing Mr. Westwick’s face first thing in the morning. And now this trash rag being tossed at me! I didn’t know how much more I could take before I snapped. I felt myself swoon as I looked on. The story read:
Looks like Hollywood High’s pampered princesses have laid down their crowns and gone ratchet for good. From mud slinging to fist swinging, these four teen divas have rolled up the red carpets and taken to the boxing mat.
In round one, socialite and scandalous sex kitten Spencer Ellington dropped down and got her bobble on as she brazenly super-soaked her bestie Rich’s then-boyfriend, the son of Senator Corey Othello Marshall Sr. And how deliciously convenient that someone would leak footage of the rising teen-porn-star’s stellar performance. Can you say tongue tricks that’ll put any Hello Kitty fan to shame? Is it safe to wonder how many licks it takes the teen sex-muffin to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
Ding, ding, ding! Round two kicked off with party vixen Rich Montgomery, daughter of entertainment royalty Richard Montgomery Sr. of Grand Records, along with New York socialite London Phillips—the daughter of renowned international supermodel Jade Obi Phillips. In tag-team pizazz, the two molly-whopped and stomped Spencer down in a ditch, then—from aerial footage we uncovered compliments of TMZ—turned on each other and cat-clawed and tiger-mauled one another up in a lily pond. Shall we say, “No tea, no shade?” Meeeeow!
But the grand-slam finale goes to teen star Heather Cummings, who slayed her bad girl counterparts by boldly firing rhymes of venom about the clique’s snobbery, denouncing her allegiance to Hollywood High’s royal court. Soon after, she threw the last punch, drugging her own mother, then landing herself in jail . . . thanks to the reigning queen of messy, Spencer Ellington, who dropped dime and got her bestie-boo serving time. So who’s saving the stitches for the snitches? Looks like someone’s gonna need their plastic surgeon on speed dial.
And now, there are rumors of a rematch bout. A source close to the teen actress reports that the heavyweight, Heather Cummings, is in the lab working on some fire tracks to set the exquisite heels of her three frenenemies ablaze...
I blinked. Dear God! These tabloid slores are atrocious. They’ll stop at nothing! My eyes traveled to the last paragraph of the article.
And most recently, in a botched carjack-kidnapping ploy, media-crazed Rich Montgomery and Spencer Ellington have dropped to an all-time low, becoming the new Thelma and Louise of Hollywood as the two thugettes in baguettes allegedly fled the scene of an assault on an unidentified man. Can we say, what’s goodie in the hoodie?
I blinked. Blinked again. Then reread the paragraph again. Oh dear God, no! Please don’t tell me Rich is back chopping it up with Spencer. So that’s why the hell I haven’t heard from her. I knew it!
I heard a scream bubbling up in my throat just as I locked eyes on Rich and Spencer walking out of the girls’ lounge arm in arm, cackling like hyenas. Then my worst fear was realized when I called out to Rich and she tossed me a quick wave, flipping her hair over her shoulder and shaking her tail feathers down the marble-lined hall, not once looking back.
17
Heather
Here was the plan: get my ish and bounce. No words. Walk straight past Camille—like the nothing she is—and be out. Finished. Never to see her drawn-up white face again.
I pulled into Sleazy Eight’s parking lot and parked diagonally across the two spaces in front of the door to our room. I raised my car’s leopard-print ragtop roof and looked at a shocked Co-Co.
“Oh bish.” He wiped invisible sweat from his brow. “You need to ferociously snatch Camille by her throat and lay her dead in the hills for doing you like this! Do it for the gawds if not for yourself, honey!” He looked around; his eyes seeming to take in the entire trash-littered, two-story complex, from the short-circuited Twenty-four Hour Vacancies sign, to the torn blinds in the windows, to the tractor-trailers parked everywhere. “This is vile!”
I sighed. We’d been together too long. He’d been living with me at my new spot for the last week but no more, because I was putting him out. I was done. I was getting tired of Co-Co and his slick mouth. I was not in the mood and today was the last day I was going to let his balls swing freely in his panties.
I already knew this place was a dreadful and run-down crack den where greasy truckers and Hollywood’s low-level drunks and junkies congregated. But I didn’t need Mister and Missus Co-Co tossing it in my face and killing my high. ’Cause God knows his empty bra would get real twisted if I went in on the tumbledown K-town he lived in.
I gave Co-Co a look that clearly said, “Don’t do me.” I took a deep breath and turned on the radio. “You can sit here until I come back.”
“Whaaaaaat? Bish, are you serious? You are not about to have me molested by some hood-hoein’ beast! You’re trying to set me up to be raped! Have all my chestnuts laid out over an open fire!”
I was two seconds from tearing out what was left of his Adam’s apple. “If you come in here with me then you better not say a thing to Camille. Nothing. We walk up in here. I get my stuff and we bounce.”
“Fine with me.” He paused and refreshed his lip gloss. “As long as she doesn’t come for Co-Co then Co-Co will be as quiet as a down-low freak.”
We eased out of the car and walked up to the door of room 111. I slid the card key into the lock and was greeted by thick clouds of cigarette smoke and a nicotine breeze as I walked in.
Camille sat at a small round card table facing the window. She took long, deliberate pulls off of her Newport before mashing it into the overflowing crystal ashtray.
She tossed back her glass of scotch and faced me. Our eyes locked. She gave me a dark stare and for a moment her brow looked creased with worry. But just as quickly as I spotted it, it dissolved and melted into her usual look of disappointment and disgust.
Eff her! I broke our gaze by waving a hand in dismissal, then I gave her my new behind to look at as I turned my back and grabbed my empty suitcase from the far right corner of the room.
I walked over to the 1970s dresser, the one Camille forced me to stuff my clothes into
, and wrestled with the handles, snatching the broken-down drawers open.
“Where. Have. You. Been?” Camille asked, tight lipped—like she owned me.
It took everything in me—or out of me, depending on how you looked at it—not to laugh. I shot a glare over my shoulder at Camille. My eyes strolled from her pink matted bedroom slippers to the murky whites of her blue eyes, and I hoped my blazing gaze delivered the message that this trick was out of line.
Waaaaay out of line.
Especially if she thought I owed her an explanation of where I’d been.
Beyotch, puhlease!
I’ve been doing me! That’s where I’ve been. Spending my money. My money. Doing me.
That’s where I’ve been.
Popping bottles. Shopping it and dropping it.
Camille’s hot breath landed on the nape of my neck but I simply flicked a few fingers and dusted her repulsion off of me; ’cause one thing I couldn’t care less about was this mad ex-starlet and her temper tantrums. Not!
“And why are you looking at me like that, Norma Marie?” I heard Co-Co say from behind me, calling Camille by her government.
Didn’t I tell him to keep his mouth shut? I turned my head and lifted an eye up at Co-Co, yet before I could say anything Camille spat, “Let me tell you something, trans-confusion. Don’t come for Norma Marie unless Norma Marie sends for you.”
“Trans-confusion?” Co-Co grimaced. “Ya see, Wu-Wu, Co-Co is trying to be nice. You do see this, right? But you better get mama-fish ’cause she just tried it!”
Camille’s gaze drank Co-Co in and then turned back to me. I rolled my eyes “You know how trash do, Co-Co. That’s why I’m out of here! Because the only thing I can do for trash is burn it.”
Camille batted her lashes and pulled out a full bottle of scotch from beneath the mattress. She walked over to the mini-fridge, took out a frosted glass, and poured her liquid crack into it. “Let me wet my tongue real good.” She gave her glass a light stir before taking a sip. “ ’Cause I’m not sure what’s going on here.” She took another sip. “All I know is that this here heifer’s been missing for far too long. Ever since she got back from Brazil.”