Fabulous

by Simone Bryant

  “I’ve missed you, Marisol. You had a good time at Starr’s?” Yasmine asked in Spanish.

  “It was a lot of fun.”

  “And did she like the charm bracelet you gave her?” Yasmine asked as they sat down on the black wrought-iron furniture surrounded by the beauty of the flowers and the plants.

  Marisol nodded, instead of explaining Starr’s custom of opening her gifts alone.

  Yasmine flipped her hair over her shoulder as she lightly patted her daughter’s hand. “Okay, so, Sasha called me,” she said, reverting to her slightly broken English.

  Marisol’s eyes widened.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that and first let me apologize for not keeping you out of this.” Yasmine’s eyes were filled with love as she looked at her daughter. “I had no idea that you knew of our troubles.”

  Marisol looked away but her mother lightly touched her chin and turned her head back.

  “Next I want to assure you that I love your father very much and I know he loves me, as well. We are not getting a divorce and we will get through this and come out even better.”

  Marisol frowned in confusion.

  Was it true?

  Was it not true?

  Did her mother forgive him?

  Did he deserve to be forgiven?

  What the…?

  “In time everything will go back to normal. But for now there is nothing you did wrong and there is no reason for you to let our burdens weigh you down.”

  Marisol had so many questions, but she held them. From a young age, the Rivera children had been taught to respect their elders and she wouldn’t dare think of questioning her mother. No matter how confused she was.

  So it was okay for her father to cheat?

  Marisol frowned as her mother hugged her close to her chest.

  Her mother said everything was going back to normal, but the question was—when? And even more—why?

  NOBODY BROUGHT ME BAD NEWS!!!

  Posted in Good Gossip on October 6 @ 1:00 p.m. by thedivaofdish

  So everyone had a ball at Starr’s party this weekend. Big whoop-de-doo. That’s right, no one had anything bad to say. My spies said they had a good time. Guess all that free swag she gave out bought their loyalty. Of course, getting another gas-guzzling, environment-hating SUV is soooo irresponsible, but of course to be fabulous is always like…whateva. *side eye*

  Of course we all heard about Starr passing out onstage and even giggled (or laughed hysterically in my case) at the idea of it—until we heard that she has some illness. I have way too big a heart to joke about something like that or post the pictures that flooded my inbox.

  In other news, heard Marisol Rivera was back to her old ways. Dang, I thought we had a convert. Starr probably wouldn’t let her in unless she played dress-up. LOL.

  Smooches,

  Pace Academy’s Diva of Dish

  55 comments

  thirty-nine

  Dionne

  October 6 @ 4:25 p.m. | Mood: Loving

  Dionne took a huge bite of her Mrs. Field’s white chunk and macadamia cookie as she walked alongside her mom in Livingston Mall. “That’s cute,” she said around a mouthful, pointing to a pair of shoes in the Nine West window display.

  Risha’s earrings hit against each other as she turned her head to look where her daughter pointed. “Do you ever wish I could buy you all those expensive things like your daddy?” she asked.

  “Nine West? That’s not expensive,” she quipped, bumping her thin shoulder against her mother’s. “But I know what you mean. I’m not crazy, Ma.”

  “Neither am I. Answer me,” she pressed.

  Dionne wiped her hands in a napkin. “Well, I don’t understand why you won’t take money from Daddy,” she said simply, tossing her napkin and now-empty cookie bag into the trash. “We could move to a better house in a better neighborhood. And you could buy yourself some of those nice things. You deserve it, Ma.”

  Risha sighed as she sat down on a wooden bench outside Victoria’s Secret. “First off, I work every day. And if I want to buy me a hundred-dollar bag I can—”

  “Uhm, Ma, most of those bags are like five hundred dollars or more,” Dionne told her. “Starr just got a Ricky bag that was twenty thousand dollars.”

  Risha arched an eyebrow before she fanned herself. Her mother always fanned when she was confronted with foolishness. “My point is…that I can take care of myself. The only thing I want your father to do is take care of you and I have to admit that he does that.”

  Dionne nodded, wishing her mother wasn’t so independent. “But he wants to pay you child support. He wants to give you a house in a better neighborhood.”

  Risha shook her head. “And what’s wrong with our neighborhood…It’s not like your daddy’s, right?”

  “Well…”

  Risha laughed as she nudged Dionne with her knee. “You know your father has asked me a few times to let you live with him since I won’t take the money.”

  Dionne tensed as she waited for whatever was coming next.

  “I’m not crazy. I understand that it can’t be easy for you going between my world and his—especially with his being so fabulous,” she said, jokingly mocking her daughter.

  Dionne could see that her mother was hurt and that hurt her deeply. “Ma—”

  Risha held up her hand. “No, let me finish. I’m not saying yes but I’m not saying no anymore. I’m saying that I will think about it…if it’s what you want.”

  Dionne did a major pause. A full-time life of luxury with her dad or staying at home with her Moms? It was like her dreams were being offered to her on a silver platter. So why didn’t she jump at the opportunity? Why didn’t she run her mouth and push her mother onto her side when she was so obviously on the edge?

  Why did a tiny piece of her feel like her mother didn’t want her around anymore?

  “Is that what you want, Dionne?” her mother asked again. “Do you want to go live with your father?”

  Dionne wished in a big-time way that she had a cookie to shove in her mouth because she wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.

  Dionne was sitting on the front stoop listening to her iPod and hoping Hassan would come and see her. She missed him.

  Ding.

  Picture mail, she thought as she used her thumb to open the text.

  “No, he didn’t!” Dionne laughed at the picture of her dancing with Reggie in the center of the crowd at the party. Beneath the photo it read:

  CUTE COUPLE, RIGHT?

  She shook her head as she texted him back:

  DIVADIDI: MAYBE 1 DAY

  BIG REG: 1 DAY SOON, LIL MA. 1 DAY SOON.

  BIG REG: I’M GONE CALL U LATER.

  DIVADIDI: K.

  Dionne just put her phone down on the stoop as the sounds of Keyshia Cole filled her earbuds. The music made her think of Hassan—definitely not Reggie.

  Reggie’s money and looks just didn’t compare. No boy made her feel the way Hassan did.

  “Grandma was right,” Dionne muttered as she dropped her head down and looked at her iPod. “You never miss your water till your well runs dry.”

  Dionne looked up at the park and frowned at the sight of a teenage couple walking and holding hands. “I bet Hassan likes to hold hands and walk,” she said, sounding dejected and down. Big-time.

  She called his cell phone and after one ring it went to voicemail. More like was sent straight to voice mail.

  “If it ain’t Miss Bourgie slummin’.”

  Dionne looked up from her phone to find Joshia and Kim walking toward her. She hated that their friendship had come to this because the three of them had been so close. But was it her fault her daddy made a hit record? They flipped on her.

  She slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans as she eyed them as they walked by her stoop.

  “Hoping you wasn’t calling Hassan because Jalisha got him on lockdown right now, boo-boo,” Joshia said over her shoulder.

  “Oops!
” Kim laughed. “How sad, too bad for you.”

  Dionne’s heart sank at their gossip but she didn’t quit staring back until they had turned the corner. Hassan and Jalisha—she was the hood version of Heather. Heck, no.

  Is that why he sent her call to voice mail?

  “Oh, no, he didn’t!” Dionne hopped to her feet, leaving the porch to head down the street. Hassan lived in the big apartment building on the corner of 18th Avenue and 18th Street—just two blocks over.

  The streetlights came on as the sun started to set. Dionne was halfway there when she thought about turning back. Once she turned the corner on 18th Avenue she wished she had.

  Hassan was sitting on the front stoop of his building with some thick, red-boned girl sitting on the step beneath him…between his legs.

  Dionne stood there on that corner and felt like her heart broke into a thousand pieces, especially when Hassan dipped his head and pressed a quick kiss to Jalisha’s big, juicy, wet-looking mouth.

  Her breath probably stinks like Puffed Cheez Doodles, Dionne thought, knowing she was acting like a grade-school kid.

  Turning around, Dionne walked head-on into a solid chest. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping past them to quickly walk away.

  Reggie was looking a lot more appealing right now, she thought as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather motorcycle jacket.

  “Yo, give it up, Ma.”

  Dionne stopped and looked sideways. A tall skinny dude in a hoodie walked up onto the sidewalk beside her—a stick-up kid. (Side note to God: What in the world did I do 2 deserve this?)

  Dionne’s heart beat like crazy as she started taking off the big bamboo gold earrings she wore. And I love my throwback doorknockers, too, she thought as he snatched them from her hand.

  “iPod and bracelets, too,” he demanded, his face masked by the darkness of the hood.

  Her gifts from Starr and Marisol! Okay, she loved them. She hated to part with them like this, but she wasn’t trying to die for them.

  She handed over the iPod and then removed each of the bracelets: LOVE, FAITH, PEACE and STRENGTH.

  Humph, I need those mugs more than ever right now.

  “Matter of fact my girl gone like that jack. Run that, too.”

  “Ain’t this ’bout a bunch of bull,” Dionne muttered as she unzipped it.

  “Ain’t it,” he had the nerve to joke with a laugh before he snatched the coat from her hand, and ran across the street to hop up the stone wall like a dang-on frog before the darkness of the park cloaked him.

  Dionne ran home, not caring that she probably looked crazy.

  She didn’t stop running until she was banging on the front door of their apartment. As soon as her Moms opened the door, Dionne fell into her arms. “I got robbed, Ma.”

  Risha rushed to close and lock the front door as she held Dionne with one hand. “What happened?”

  “I got robbed!” Dionne wailed as she dropped down onto the sofa.

  Risha grabbed the phone and called the police. “They’re on the way, baby,” her mother said. “You okay?”

  Dionne nodded as she laid her head in her mama’s lap. “They just made me take off all my jewelry and my coat.”

  Risha stroked the length of Dionne’s hair. “You think it was somebody that knew who your daddy was?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “We need to call your daddy,” Risha said, reaching for the phone to quickly dial him.

  Dionne wished they didn’t, because she knew he was going to flip out.

  “Lahron, hey, this Risha. Listen, Dionne just got robbed.” Risha winced and held the phone from her head.

  Dionne was right.

  “She’s fine. We’re waiting on the police.”

  Dionne closed her eyes at the sound of her father’s voice echoing through the phone line—but then when she closed her eyes she clearly envisioned Hassan and that girl.

  Between them and the robbery, Dionne was sure she had just experienced the worst night of her life.

  After the police came and left, Dionne sat on the sofa and waited for the fireworks to kick off.

  “This never would have happened if you moved out this neighborhood like I told you, Risha, or you let her live with me,” Lahron told her, his bodyguard standing by the door looking like he was waiting for a chance to break someone—anyone—in two pieces.

  “You’re right,” Risha admitted softly, wiping her face with her hands.

  Dionne looked at her mother in shock.

  “You can’t always be right, Risha.” Lahron stopped and then swung around to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “Dionne and I were just talking about her living with you and I told her I would think about it…and this mess happens,” Risha sighed. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  Dionne’s head swung from left and then to right as she eyed her parents. She felt like her life was moving in slow motion as her parents started discussing the who, what, when, where and why of her moving in with her daddy.

  Dionne eyed her mama. How could she bounce to the lap of luxury and leave her mama behind her? Even though she prayed for this day like her grandmama prayed for winning the lottery, Dionne felt panicked. “No!”

  Lahron and Risha looked down at her.

  Dionne jumped to her feet. “I’m not going. I’m not leaving my mother.”

  Risha frowned. “First off, watch your tone, Dionne.”

  Okay, Mama never play. “Sorry.”

  “Second, I love you, little girl.” Risha pulled Dionne to her feet and hugged her close. “But this might be for the best.”

  “Do we have to decide tonight?” Dionne asked, wanting time of her own to think it through.

  Lahron shoved his hands into the front pockets of his distressed jeans. “Risha, let me holler at you in private,” he said, nudging his head toward her bedroom.

  Dionne watched as her parents disappeared in the room. Now a really big solution would be for them to start kicking it again, she thought, knowing that it truly was wishful thinking.

  Sighing, she looked down at her bare wrist, wishing she had her bracelets to play with. How was she going to explain that to Starr and Dionne? Oh, I was walking home in Newark—you know, the place where I live but you guys don’t know it—and a stick-up kid got me.

  Obviously that was not going to work.

  Hopefully they won’t notice while I think of something to tell them.

  Or maybe I can just ask Daddy to buy me a new set?

  Sighing, Dionne tucked her legs underneath her on the sofa. She felt anxious and jittery from the robbery…and from seeing Hassan with another girl. Needing a distraction, Dionne reached for the remote and turned on the TV.

  She was flipping through the channels when her mother’s bedroom door opened. Dionne put the TV on mute, silencing a Jordan Sparks video.

  “Okay, Dionne, your father is going to buy you a nice small house—”

  Dionne screamed before she rushed off the couch and squeezed her daddy with her arms and then shifted over to hug her mama hard. “Thank you, Mama,” she told her, because Dionne knew how hard this was for her.

  Dionne started doing a dance.

  “The house has to be something you can buy so that the deed goes in a trust for Dionne until she is twenty-one. I’m not moving to no white neighborhood—there are plenty of decent black neighborhoods. I will be paying rent because I’m not having anybody try and run my home. And lastly, I’m not moving too far from my job.”

  Dionne didn’t care if her mother had a thousand more stipulations. They were moving and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of her fabulous life with her daddy could merge with her normal life with her mom.

  forty

  Marisol

  October 6 @ 6:00 a.m. | Mood: Rejuvenated

  “Good morning, Marisol. Rise and shine. Today is the first day of the rest of your fabulous life.”

  Marisol grunted softly as she rolled over on the Egyp
tian cotton sheets on her bed. With a long stretch and a yawn she reached over to her nightstand and turned her alarm clock off.

  She flipped the covers back before she hopped to her bare feet. She was getting up extra early. She had a lot of catching up to do.

  Marisol headed straight to her adjoining bathroom and began going through her prestrike morning ritual. When she emerged forty-five minutes later, she felt more like herself than ever.

  Hair: freshly shampooed, conditioned, dried and then straightened with a ceramic flat iron in a glossy side ponytail.

  Face: a minifacial left her feeling tingly beneath the light moisturizer she wore with just very light mascara, a light dusting of blush and sheer lip gloss.

  Body: soaked and scrubbed in a milk bath that left her light brown skin soft.

  Marisol turned on her iPod docking station and the sounds of Beyoncé filled the air. With nothing but a plush towel wrapped around her, she danced over to her walk-in closet.

  “‘Standing in the light of your halo, I got my angel now…’” Marisol said as she tried to mimick the lyrics. She was Beyoncé’s off-key backup singer. She rushed to get dressed in her perfectly coordinated Ralph Lauren outfit.

  Once she was dressed, Marisol stepped onto the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror. She smiled and posed.

  Mrs. Lester was right. The real Marisol was all about the hair, the makeup and the clothes. Always had been, always would be.

  The cream silk blouse opened just enough to show a hint of the gold chains she wore—a perfect complement to the stiff cotton gaucho pants she wore with a braided leather belt and the “it” accessory of the season, the Louis V Spicy sandal. Beyoncé, Christina Milian and Ciara all rocked them—which made them a must-have.

  She walked to her round dressing table and opened the suede jewelry box to pull out a huge turquoise ring to wear on her index finger and her diamond Rolex.