Drama Is Her Middle Name

by Wendy Williams

  Reverend Jerome Batton, a good friend of the Lakes family who had a rather large ministry in East Orange, New Jersey, had three children. His youngest, a daughter, had a baby out of wedlock at sixteen. His only son, Jerome Jr., ended up in jail for assault with a deadly weapon when he shot his girlfriend when she attempted to leave him. Reverend Batton’s oldest daughter dropped out of college and ended up married with two children, but none of his children followed in his footsteps—they rarely even made it to church.

  Edwin was the model. He always did the right thing. He never gave himself a chance to make a mistake. As a teenager, Edwin stayed away from the kinds of things and people that would normally land normal teens in hot water. While other sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds were experimenting with weed and sex and clubbing, Edwin was studying and leading a youth ministry. He went right from high school into college and then into seminary—all with honors and distinction—as expected.

  Once he stepped off the airplane in Miami, smelled the air and saw the palm trees, his world began to blossom. Miami in the mid-1990s was turning around—it had moved from the old-folks’ retirement and Cuban refugee spot to the place for beautiful people, famous people, and rich people. This was before fashion designer Gianni Versace was shot to death in front of his home right on Ocean Drive. At that time it wasn’t unusual to see Madonna at a club or strolling along Ocean Drive. Things were always happening. From Thursday to Sunday, Miami’s South Beach turned into one big party. It was New York City, Times Square—only cleaner and more fun with the ocean and a clear sky as the backdrop. Edwin thought he had landed in heaven. He felt at home, strolling along the beach at night alone, listening to the waves and letting the moon light his path.

  Edwin had found his center. Being in Miami around the beautiful people, beautiful beaches, and carefree lifestyle, he felt like he was sprouting wings. He felt like he was smelling the air for the first time. He felt like he could see colors he had never seen before. He was alive for the first time in his life.

  Edwin got a small apartment on Collins Avenue, just around the corner from the beach and across the street from Hotel Leon. He had withdrawn enough money from his account to live on. He had been very good with his money, and his parents actually gave their blessing. They knew that Edwin needed this time away before he had to take on the Lakes family tradition—settle down, get married, have a couple of kids, and start his own ministry.

  Edwin fell in love with Miami. And Edwin fell in love in Miami (or what he thought was love). They met at the Bed, a club/restaurant that was luxuriously made up with beds instead of tables and chairs. It was a trendy place with trendy people. Edwin didn’t have many friends in general. And he had no friends at all in Miami. But he was determined to go to interesting places where he would meet interesting people. And on one particular night, “interesting” was an understatement.

  As he sat at the bar, he struck up a conversation that led to the couple sharing a bed for dinner, then later a bed for other things. It was love at first sight. Electricity ran through Edwin’s body with such a force that it scared him. He started to get warm around his ears. But he kept his composure, and he was expert at that. It was one of the first lessons he learned as a boy. As the son of a preacher, he could never be out of control.

  Edwin was being groomed for the ministry before even he knew it. But he still listened to his father’s advice. “You must control your emotions, Edwin,” his father would say. “You must always maintain control. People are depending on you to be their pillar, their rock.”

  For most of his life, Edwin maintained control. That’s why he never really had a relationship that lasted. All of the women he dated complained that he was too cold and detached. His last girlfriend, Rebecca, who thought she would be Mrs. Pastor Lakes Jr., finally got fed up waiting for him to say “I love you.” She had given him everything, but Edwin couldn’t bring himself to open up. It was frustrating for her. And it was frustrating for him.

  He’d made a promise to himself that he would never let another one go. Rebecca was special. She deserved more. Edwin knew that he had to have “it” in him before he could give “it” to someone else—whatever the “it” was. But he was determined to find out. Edwin was in Miami to get something to take back to the next one—the one who would eventually be Mrs. Pastor Lake Jr. She would get it all.

  For the first time in his life, Edwin was living—really living. He was filling up his emotional tank.

  He was dating, going to clubs and museums. He even went to a Miami Heat basketball game—this was before Shaq and Dwyane Wade and the all of the winning—but it was still exciting. He sampled all that Miami had to offer. He got to show off the physique that he spent some time crafting but never ever showed in public. The women in church could only imagine what was going on underneath those sharp, well-fitted suits, but the folks in Miami got to see the finely cut triceps, the chiseled back, and the hint of his six-pack as he took morning runs along the beach, followed by sit-ups and pull-ups at the workout bars on the beach. He would meet up with his newfound love for a smoothie at the Israeli-run health joint off Collins Avenue.

  Edwin was living his dreams—a wild, crazy, frenetic love affair, which lasted for what seemed like the longest eight months in history. It was eight months of exploration. He had no idea how much light strokes of a tongue along his spine and the base of his behind would drive him crazy. No one had ever done that before. It was eight months of examination. It was eight months of being totally, unabashedly free.

  One phone call at two in the afternoon as he was preparing to go Jet Skiing brought it all to an end.

  “Ed-win . . .” He could tell it was his mother on the other end and she was crying.

  “Edwin . . . you have to come home. Daddy had a massive heart attack. He died, Edwin. He died in the church office. . . .”

  Edwin was numb. The senior Edwin Lakes wasn’t just his father, he was Edwin’s hero. His father was his teacher, his role model.

  He held the phone close to his chest, trying to maintain his composure. Edwin, who always was prepared with the right thing to say, was at a loss for words. All he could muster was “I’ll be right there, Mama. I’m coming right home.”

  Edwin started to pack up everything he had collected since he’d been in Miami. He’d purposely come with very little—a duffel bag with underwear, toiletries, two shirts, and a couple of pairs of shorts. He had planned on shopping in one of the best places in the world to shop—Miami. He was leaving with some fine linen slacks, a couple of dress shirts, jackets, and memories. Nice memories.

  Edwin was taking the clothes and leaving the memories behind. He recalled the scripture about Lot and his wife. He would not be turned into a pillar of salt. He would have to be a pillar for the church and all that his father dreamed. Edwin would never turn back. He was moving forward. It was Edwin’s time. Time to fill his father’s size thirteens. Time to fulfill his destiny.

  He had to leave Miami. Leave behind the beach, the fun. He had to leave everything—including the love he’d found, and that was tough. But he couldn’t take it with him. The farewell would have been too painful, and he was already going through enough pain dealing with his father’s death. Edwin didn’t even want to think about saying good-bye. Good-byes only left open possibilities, and there were no possibilities where he was going. Edwin made a clean break, the break that was necessary for him to start his new life. No good-byes. No looking back.

  Most of the congregation at Faith Baptist Church knew Edwin. They knew that he was away for further study—that was the story his parents told anyone who asked. While his parents didn’t agree with his Miami frivolity, they knew he would be back. Edwin always knew he would be back, too— just not so soon.

  10

  ON THE AIR

  “So, Heather, I hear you and your adorable hubby, Lorenzo, are still very frisky, how do you keep the magic alive?”

  Heather Jones was a former child star who was one of th
e few child actors able to break out and succeed after puberty. There was Jodie Foster and Raven-Symoné and, of course, Ron Howard. But Heather Jones was on track to be bigger than all of them. She had a Grammy-winning CD and was starring in a new movie opposite The Rock. Her husband, Lorenzo Co-hen, a star wide receiver for the San Francisco 49ers, had been named one of the sexiest athletes alive. Together, Heather and Lorenzo were also one of the hottest couples in the world.

  Ritz had gotten some information from Chas, however, that would turn that picture perfect marriage into something out of Kill Bill. Ritz was itching to ask the questions, but she had to slow-walk it. Restraint was one of her strong suits. She was the consummate interview tease. Ritz knew she had to thread her needle carefully, butter Heather up, and help her let down her guard.

  Ritz was known for plying her in-studio guests with food and liquor during the show. She would have the best champagne on ice with some lovely Tiffany glasses, courtesy of Mariah Carey. Mariah was the only artist who was smart enough to turn the tables on Ritz.

  “Oooh! No fair!” Ritz said when she saw the gifts. “Don’t think this is going to make me go easy on you!”

  But it did. She and Mariah ended up talking and laughing and eating for two hours like old girlfriends. There was no mud-slinging, no juicy gossip, just girl talk. It was so anti-Ritz. And she vowed after that never to drink again on air.

  So while her guests sipped on the strong stuff, Ritz had her glass filled with sparkling cider or diet ginger ale, poured before they came in.

  Heather was starting on her second glass of champagne. Ritz had asked her about her new CD and movie during the first half hour, and now she was ready to move in for the kill. She was ready to talk about the things Ritz Harper was known for—the stuff her audience waited for every day.

  “Let’s talk about you and your man,” Ritz started. “I hear lots of things about you two.”

  Heather blushed easily and squirmed a little in her seat.

  “Well, what have you heard?” Heather said. “Wait. Don’t answer that! Let’s just say we’re still very much in love.”

  “I heard that!” Ritz said. “You two are so much in love that you survived quite a strain on your relationship. I’m not sure if many couples could endure what you two have gone through and still be so tight and together.”

  Heather looked puzzled. She squirmed more and flashed a nervous smile as Ritz continued.

  “Heather, girl. You must be a real special woman. Your man. Wow. I just don’t know if I were in his shoes . . .”

  Heather’s milky complexion began to turn a shade of crimson that Ritz wasn’t sure she had seen before. Was it anger or sheer embarrassment? It was certainly acknowledgment and recognition. Heather knew where Ritz was going even if the audience didn’t know. Yet.

  Heather sat frozen in her seat. She didn’t speak.

  “Woman to woman, Heather, how were you able to get through coming into a relationship with herpes?” Ritz said. “I know your husband didn’t give it to you. But he accepted you anyway, married you, and you two are still happy. He clearly could have had any woman—any woman without herpes. But he chose you.

  “There are thousands of women out there living with the shame of having a disease like herpes, and they don’t know how to cope. Some don’t know if they will ever have a relationship again. Next to HIV, herpes is about the worst thing you can think about having. There is no cure.”

  There was a long silence. And Ritz noticed Heather’s bottom lip begin to quiver a little. Ritz gave a look to Aaron, who immediately put on what Ritz called her “sob story” music— music she played very low under her unsuspecting guests to let the audience know that the guest was crying or about to cry.

  “I—I didn’t come on to talk about this,” she said. The music grew a little louder. Ritz looked into Heather’s watering eyes as compassionately as she could. She reached across the desk and grabbed Heather’s hand and said, “I know and I’m sorry. I just thought your story could help some of the women listening to us today. But I understand if you don’t want to talk.” It was classic Ritz—the ability to be a real bitch and nasty, and at the exact same time be a soft, compassionate woman. It confused people. While a person was in the hot seat they knew they were being roasted, but it was almost like Ritz somehow hypnotized them. Once she locked them in her gaze, they were done. They would spill anything or give a reaction (like rage) that would keep the drama going. And don’t let there be a little liquor in them.

  Heather swallowed hard. “I contracted herpes in college from my college sweetheart. He was a star basketball player. He’s in the NBA today.”

  “He is?” Ritz was practically salivating. This was better than she ever expected.

  “Don’t even bother asking, Ritz,” Heather said. “I am not outing anyone. I’ll talk about my business but no one else’s. Really, this isn’t any of your business. But perhaps I can help someone out there because I had no place to turn when it happened to me. And only by the grace of God did I meet someone like Lorenzo. I never thought I would have another relationship after my college boyfriend. I even thought because he gave me herpes that I was stuck with him so I put up with a lot that I shouldn’t have.”

  “So you had herpes when you were on the last hit show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow,” Ritz said. “How did you have the confidence to wear that skimpy bathing suit? Weren’t you afraid of an outbreak?”

  “They do have medication to control the symptoms, and thank God I don’t have outbreaks frequently. I have a very good gynecologist who has helped me through this ordeal tremendously.”

  “So what about kids?” Ritz said. “I hear herpes is dangerous for a baby. And how do you even, um, how do I put this, um, get to the point where you can have unprotected sex to produce a baby?”

  “There are ways,” Heather said. “And that’s all I’ll say about that. I would advise anyone who has herpes to check out the details with their doctor. Everyone is different and the disease affects different people differently. I have been very blessed.”

  “Yes, you have,” said Ritz, turning the People magazine faceup to expose the couple on the cover, to rub it in even more. “Well, thank you so much for being so sweet and open. It was refreshing. You are now officially a part of the family here. We love you!”

  Heather didn’t say anything. She sat in her seat as Ritz went to a commercial break.

  “It’s five-fifty on the Ritz Harper Excursion. When we come back we’ll take your calls. Stay tuned! You miss a minute, you miss a lot!”

  When the “On Air” sign went dark, Heather got within inches of Ritz’s face. “Did that feel good?” she hissed. “I hope you got everything you wanted.” With that, Heather collected her bag and walked gracefully out of the room. Ritz looked at Aaron and shrugged.

  “She was nice, huh?” Ritz said to Aaron, who broke out into laughter.

  “You are a real trip, Ritz!”

  “An excursion, love. An excursion!”

  The phones were going crazy throughout the interview. Chas, who had been helping Jamie man the phones, jumped up from the studio and ran after Heather. Playing good cop, Chas caught her at the elevator and walked her out of the building, where her car was waiting. With his charm he convinced Heather that what happened with Ritz would not ruin her career.

  “Heather, you have to know that there are so many women, maybe millions, who are suffering and thinking they are all alone,” Chas said. “Now you are their role model and they know that there is hope because of you. Thank you for having the courage to be so honest.”

  Chas made Heather feel a little better. But deep down inside she knew that herpes would be a tough thing to overcome. She was on her way to being a big-time Hollywood leading lady. Herpes would make that a hard role to hold. It would be hard for an audience to see her in a love scene with a star like Will Smith and not think, “Ewww! Will, watch out! She has herpes!”

  It was Chas wh
o had booked Heather for the show. He knew her manager. It was Chas who slipped the herpes news to Ritz. He knew Heather’s ex, the basketball player, who was a secret member of the Spy Room. And when he drank too much, he talked too much. Chas was someone everyone felt comfortable talking to. He was a very good listener.

  These were the kinds of stories Ritz depended on Chas to deliver. After her Delilah Summers moment, there wasn’t much else left in her repertoire. She needed help to take her thing to the next level.

  “Chas, I know I have what it takes to be the very best this business has ever seen,” said Ritz during one of their brainstorming Fridays over sushi while sitting at her kitchen island.

  “Diva, you more than have what it takes,” Chas reassured. “You just need a few more accessories. I promise I will take you to the top. I will take us to the top.”

  “I see what’s out there, Chas. No one can touch me. But I also know I can never relax. I have to keep raising the bar, so none of those bitches out there can even get a leg on my shit. I want to raise this thing so high that they give up trying to catch me. Delilah was just a casualty—a necessary casualty. But we can take this even higher.”

  “No doubt. We will!”

  Ritz needed Chas. She just didn’t know how much. Chas was responsible for keeping Ritz at number one. For every single interview after Delilah that made the news or gossip pages, Chas, as promised, delivered the goods.

  11

  MIAMI, FLORIDA

  It had been quite a few years since Ivan Richardson could remember having any real fun. Those were the days before he became a workaholic, the days before he was consumed with success, the days before his heart was broken. Ivan found satisfaction and fun in creating buildings from his imagination. He gained his pleasure from his latest projects.