Is the Bitch Dead, Or What?

by Wendy Williams

  Jamie was on the brink of depression. Working with Ritz again was making her hate her job. She was starting to hate her life. The man whom she thought she could love had unceremoniously dumped her. The last time they met at the studio, he drove her home without saying much. He parked in front of her house and without looking at her said, “We need to cool it.”

  Jamie was expecting something totally different. She was looking forward to him saying they needed to take things up a notch, maybe even invite her to move in with him. That's how well she thought it was going. To hear him say “We need to cool it” was like a punch in the stomach. The air was knocked out of her, and it took Jamie a minute to actually digest what he said.

  “Wha… what?” she whispered, trying to find her voice.

  “Babe, we need to cool it,” he said, still not looking at her.

  “But why? What's going on?!”

  “I have a lot going on right now, and I don't have the time, and it's not fair to you. We need to just cool it for a while.”

  “What if I don't want to cool it?” Jamie said.

  “I'm sorry,” said Derek, staring at the steering wheel. He refused to turn to look at her. He didn't want to look into those doelike eyes of hers and see any hurt. He didn't want to take that away as his last image.

  Jamie had prided herself on not chasing after any man. She had never been broken down. She wouldn't give any man that satisfaction, but this time she was cut by Derek, cut deeply. So she decided to get out of the car before there was blood everywhere. She didn't look at Derek. Jamie just opened the door, got out, and slammed it shut.

  So many questions were running through her head. She didn't understand what had happened or why. And the most frustrating part was that she didn't think her questions would ever be answered.

  Derek sat for a minute outside of Jamie's home, collecting his thoughts. He did what he had to do. He didn't want her in the middle of what was going down. He also didn't want her in that way anymore. The last thing Derek wanted to do was to keep a chick around just because he could. He'd had “relationships” in the past where the woman knew what her purpose was, where she knew she was only there for physical play and nothing more. Jamie wanted more. Jamie needed more. Jamie deserved more. Derek thought he could give her more, but as soon as he realized that he couldn't, he had to let her go.

  He wasn't one for many words. He wasn't going to break everything down for her. It was better for him if Jamie just hated him. It would make it easier for both of them.

  As he drove away, he thought about the trip he would have to take in the morning to see his brother. He dreaded it. With Ritz Harper still alive, Derek knew Jayrod would be consumed with finishing the job. That conversation with Jay-rod would be ten times more difficult than the one he had just had with Jamie. While she was in limbo and in a coma, it was easy to deal with Jayrod. But now that she was back— not just back but looking to regain her former perch on top— Jayrod was about to lose it. He wanted to get her more than anything. It was all he would talk about. It was all he thought about.

  There was no way Derek could tell his brother how he really felt about Ritz Harper. How could he? He didn't even understand it himself. Derek had never been caught out there before— especially not behind a woman. But he was officially snagged. And it was with a woman he couldn't really have.

  He could never be her man. At best, he could be her secret fuck buddy. But Derek feared he wanted more.

  How ironic, he thought.

  There was no way he could tell his brother that he thought he was in love with Ritz Harper. There was no way he could tell him that he just couldn't kill her.

  23

  “Maddie, sweetie, you have to get checked out,” Cecil said. He looked worried. He'd been worried for a while. As much as Madalyn tried to hide how she was really feeling, she wasn't doing a good job. She looked pale and weak. And the recent coughing fits that kept her and Cecil up half the night sealed it.

  “I know you don't like people telling you what to do, but we're taking you to a doctor the first thing in the morning,” he said.

  Madalyn didn't say a word. She knew she had to go. She also knew what they would say. She may have been able to hide many things from others, but she couldn't hide the truth from herself. Madalyn knew that as strong as she was and as strong as she wanted to be, she was sick, very sick.

  The next day, the doctor confirmed what she knew.

  “Mrs. Robinson, we have to do further tests, but it seems as if the cancer has spread,” he said. “We are going to do everything we can. We may need to operate.”

  The color drained from Cecil's face. He had demanded to be in the examination room. He wanted to hear it for himself. He grabbed on to Madalyn, more to receive support than to give it. He had no clue what his life would be without her. He loved her more than he loved anything or anyone in his entire life. He loved his Maddie more than he loved himself. She gave him a will to live.

  When he found out that she had cancer, Cecil went into nursemaid mode. He was the one to force her to make changes in her diet. He walked with her every evening after their light supper. He even tried to keep Madalyn laughing, which wasn't one of his talents. That made it all the more funny. Cecil had read somewhere that laughter accelerates healing, and he was willing to try anything. The side effects from the chemotherapy were tough to watch Madalyn go through. It wasn't just the vomiting, but she was rendered flat on her back most days. Madalyn was one of the most active people he knew. She was a bit of a busybody. She couldn't keep still. She had to be doing and going, in constant motion. To see her in the bed until noon and then drag around the house all day nearly broke his heart.

  Then, right in the middle of this battle, they got the call that their little girl, Ritz, had been shot and she was fighting for her life. For a while, both Cecil and Madalyn forgot about the cancer. That was a mistake, because the cancer didn't forget about Madalyn.

  “Doc, what are you saying?” Cecil said.

  “We won't know for sure until we do further tests,” the doctor said. “We'll run them as soon as possible. We'll have to admit Mrs. Robinson immediately. I would suggest you get your affairs in order.”

  Madalyn refused to cry. But Cecil's eyes were watering. He was fighting it, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't cried through the whole ordeal. Cecil excused himself. He went to the men's room and he broke down and sobbed. He had never cried like that in his entire life.

  24

  Ritz was healing well. The pain was subsiding and she was getting stronger every day. She knew she was feeling better when she started asking the doctor about when she could get her implant back instead of when she would be breathing normally again. The collapsed lung was better, as was her face, which was still tender in places but was beginning to look more like the old Ritz.

  The staff at the hospital were growing tired of Ritz's divalike antics. They were looking forward to the day when she got the hell out.

  Dr. Grevious came in to tell her that she was less than two days away from going home.

  “You're doing so well, Miss Harper, that we're going to spring you from this place,” he said.

  Ritz didn't wait for the doctor to give her the green light.

  She had already made moves to go back on the air. She'd put the station and her team on notice. And she couldn't be happier. That meant she could get back to being the undisputed Queen of All Media. She could get back to her career.

  “So what's the holdup, Doc?” she said.

  “We want to make sure that no infection sets in. How's your breathing?”

  “It's much better,” Ritz said, taking a deep breath and pretending like it didn't hurt. “I'm doing a hundred percent better.”

  “I have some bad news, though,” said the doctor, whose face turned serious.

  “What's the matter?!” Ritz didn't really want to hear it. He had just said she could go home. What could be wrong?

  “It's your aunt,” he said.r />
  “Aunt Madalyn? I know she's been here. I haven't had a chance to really talk to her.”

  “Well, she's been admitted to the hospital,” he said. “I'll bring a wheelchair around to take you to see her.”

  “Admitted? What's the matter?!” Ritz said.

  “I'm not at liberty to say,” he said. “You should speak to her as soon as you can.”

  “Look, you need to tell me what's wrong with my aunt,” Ritz could turn real nasty real quick. “What the fuck is up with this cryptic shit? Just tell me.”

  “I can't tell you, but she can if she wants you to know.”

  Ritz tried to get out of the bed.

  “What room is she in?” she said.

  “Miss Harper, please get back in bed,” Dr. Grevious said. “The wheelchair will be here any minute. We don't need a relapse. You need your strength.”

  Ritz was tired of people telling her what to do. She wanted to get to her aunt and she was going, period.

  Just as she was about to leave the room, a nurse came in with the wheelchair.

  “Please take a seat, Miss Harper. Your aunt is one floor up. The nurse will accompany you,” said Dr. Grevious.

  Ritz took a seat and rode into the hallway. It was the first time she had been out of her room. It took a minute for Ritz to get used to the bright, hot fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway. She noticed for the first time the officer stationed outside the waiting area of her room. The officer followed her in the wheelchair discreetly.

  Ritz hadn't thought of the potential danger she was in until now. And that was only a fleeting thought as she headed into the elevator to see her aunt. She thought about the things her mother had said to her, and how truly sorry she was to allow her ego to stop her from apologizing to her aunt. Aunt Maddie was right. Ritz had gone too far. She just didn't want to hear it. Whatever was wrong with Aunt Maddie, Ritz vowed to herself to be there for her.

  Ritz was wheeled off the elevator, entourage in tow, and was led into a room two doors away from the elevator. It was a quiet floor; Ritz noticed that immediately. When she came, her aunt was sleeping. Uncle Cecil was in a chair next to the bed. He appeared to be nodding, too. The first thing Ritz noticed was that her aunt was bald. She hadn't put on her wig. She was too weak for vanity.

  “Hey, Unc,” Ritz whispered, not wanting to wake her aunt. “How's she doing?”

  Uncle Cecil was a little startled. But he popped right up.

  “She's resting, and that's good,” he said. “The coughing fits keep her from sleeping. But the doctors gave her something that pretty much knocks her out.”

  “So what's the prognosis?”

  Cecil hesitated. Should he tell her, or should Maddie tell her?

  “It's not good, Ritzy,” Cecil said. “I'm going to let your aunt tell you.”

  “Why won't anybody tell me anything?” Ritz whispered, but it was an angry, screaming whisper. “Uncle Cecil, please tell me what's the matter with Aunt Maddie! Please!”

  Madalyn stirred from her sleep. She opened her eyes and saw Ritz at her bedside in a wheelchair.

  “Hey, baby girl,” Aunt Maddie croaked.

  Cecil saw this as an opportunity to leave the two alone together.

  “I'm going to the cafeteria to get a snack,” he said, kissing Madalyn on the forehead and then bending over to kiss Ritz on the cheek. “I need some air. You two behave.”

  Madalyn smiled and Ritz playfully rolled her eyes.

  “Auntie, what's up?” Ritz asked when they were alone. “What's going on?”

  “I'm sick,” Madalyn said.

  “I can see that,” Ritz said. “But before you tell me, I want to say something to you.”

  She got closer to the bed. She could smell the hospital smell, the disinfectant, the medicinal odors that somehow Ritz couldn't smell in her own room. She hated hospitals. She had avoided them her whole life. Now she was a patient and a visitor.

  “I love you, Aunt Maddie. And I am sorry for hanging up on you and saying those mean things. I didn't mean it.”

  “Oh yes, you did,” Maddie said, managing a smile.

  “Okay, I did mean it. But I never meant to hurt you,” Ritz said.

  “Yes, you did, too.”

  “Okay, okay. You know me too well, don't you? But you know I never wanted us to go more than a year without talking. That was my fault. But you're pretty stubborn, too. You could have picked up the phone.”

  “I could have. And I probably should have, because I am more mature than you are.”

  Maddie smiled, then continued. “You'll be just as ‘mature' when you're my age, child. I assumed you would call when you were ready to talk. I wasn't going to push you. You needed that time to feel your way.”

  Ritz stared at her.

  “Yeah, I felt my way, all right. Right into a hospital room, shot full of holes. That's my excuse. Now, what brings you here?” she asked, reaching up and rubbing the smoothness of her aunt's head. “What happened to all of your beautiful hair?”

  Maddie had had beautiful hair. It was her pride and joy. “Good hair,” black folks liked to say about any hair that a comb could run through without getting stuck.

  “I have cancer, Ritzy. They ran some tests yesterday and found that it has spread to my lymph nodes.”

  “What?!” Ritz screamed. “What does that mean? You're going to be all right, aren't you? There is something they can do, right? I've got the money, Auntie M. Do what you have to do. Buy whatever you need to get better! I'll pay! I'll pay cash!!”

  “Ritzy, it doesn't look good, but I'm okay with it all. I didn't take care of myself the way I should have. I was stubborn. I guess that runs in the family. I thought my strength could just whip this thing. I was wrong.”

  Ritz winced. Did all of the worrying about Ritz contribute to her aunt's deterioration? Maddie looked terrible. Ritz needed to feel empowered, in control. She had money. She could make sure that her aunt got the best care money could buy. She would make it all better.

  “Where is your doctor? I need to talk to someone about this!”

  “My doctors in Virginia have been in constant contact with the doctors here,” Madalyn said. “Everybody's doing the best they can.”

  “We're going to beat this, Auntie. I know we will. Look at me. I was supposed to be dead. Now they are talking about releasing me this week. When I get out, I'm going to throw a party or something, and I want you there.”

  “Forget all of the partying,” Madalyn said. “Focus on a full recovery and don't worry about me. I'm in good hands. I have Cecil. The doctors have been wonderful. Tracee has been here for me.”

  “Tracee knows?!”

  “She figured it out. And when I ended up here, it confirmed what she already thought. She's been great.”

  Ritz didn't say anything. She was jealous that her friend knew more than she did about her own family. Ritz was insanely jealous that Tracee in the last year had developed a better relationship with Ritz's aunt and uncle than Ritz herself.

  “There is so much going on, so much to talk about,” Madalyn said, then stopped. She wanted to tell Ritz about Randolph Jordan and her father, but one thing at a time.

  Madalyn hoped there would be time.

  25

  Edwin was less nervous, less apprehensive than he had been last week. But the feeling of uncertainty still weighed in his soul. This Sunday would be the real litmus test of his forgiveness. The reporters and curiosity seekers would be gone, leaving Faith Baptist with its real congregation. There were already some who had walked out, saying they would never return. Deacon Templeton left for good, saying he couldn't be part of a church with a “fudge packer” for a pastor. He said he wasn't one of those “faggy Episcopals.”

  “Anyone who stays is going straight to hell with him,” Deacon Templeton said before he stormed off.

  Edwin understood the confusion. He just couldn't understand the anger and the venom. There were a few others who left, more out of embarrassment than
hatred. Those folks had been coming to church for appearances. They loved being a part of Faith Baptist when their pastor was featured in newspaper articles and was on the cover of Ebony. They loved being part of something that everyone was talking about. They tolerated Edwin's come-as-you-are policy, which let people show up for church in jeans or a T-shirt. They even tolerated his outreach to the prisons and the halfway house he built, which brought “another element” into the church. But this latest scandal was the last straw.

  Their leaving was addition by subtraction, the way Edwin saw it. He was glad to see them go. His philosophy was that the only folks he wanted in his church were folks who wanted to go to Heaven— and if he was left with only two congregants, he would build from there. That was God's will, as he said last Sunday:

  “The Lord Jesus left us with two commandments. Those two commandments cover all of the rest. And they are to love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, all thy soul, all thy mind, and all thy strength. The second is to love one another as Jesus has loved you. Now, with all you have heard this morning and over the last few days, if you can't love me and love this church, then you should not be here.”

  Edwin had purposely thrown down the gauntlet. What was revealed about his previous life on Ritz Harper's radio show was not just a test for Edwin. It was a test for his growing church and everyone in it. It was a test to see who was really there for show and who was there “sho 'nuff” for God.

  “This experience will separate the wheat from the chaff,” Edwin said.

  He prayed in his sanctuary as he did every Sunday. When he was done, he buttoned his shirt, tightened his tie. He left his robe hanging. He had decided the previous week that he was going to shake off the covering and come to the church without the pomp and circumstance, the royal garb, and all of that. He was but a sinner who wanted to become a saint.

  But he was just like his flock, and he was going to show that a simple man can overcome anything and do the Lord's work.

  Edwin walked out of the sanctuary and took his seat near the podium as the choir, the deacon, and the prayer leader performed their Sunday duties. He looked out at the crowd to survey what was left of his congregation. There were a few more empty seats than normal. His mother sat in the front row— her head held high, as always.