Going Broke (6 page)

I had forgotten about the woman until then. I ran over to the bathroom door, and he tried to block me.

“Move out of my way.” I wanted to see this woman's face. I wanted to spit on her, scratch her, and put my foot deep into her backside. “You better jump out of the window,” I yelled at her through the door as I pounded his chest with my fists, “'cause it's over when I get my fuckin' hands on you.”

“Look,” he said, trying to block the door and put on his pants at the same time, “this is between you and me. Just leave her alone.”

“You're hitting me but protecting the whore you brought here?” I looked at him and wished that just for a minute, murder wasn't a crime. “Fuck you.”

I built up the strength to push him away. I didn't care if he slapped me again; I wanted to see her. I reached for the knob before he could grab my hand. The door swung open and slammed against the tile. I fell into the dark room and almost hit my head on the sink, but I quickly assessed the situation and flipped on the light.

I was confused, when I looked around and saw no one. I heard whimpering coming from behind the shower door. I rushed towards the sound, pulled the door back, and saw her thin body rolled up in a fetal position in the far corner of the tub.

“Who in the hell are you?” Her head was face down into her knees, and her hands were covering her head against the blows she knew to expect. “Look at me,” I screamed at her. “Look at me.”

In extreme fear, India looked up at me. “I'm sorry, Sarai.” Tears streamed down her face, snot drained from her nose, and she could barely speak. “I'm sorry. Please don't . . .”

I couldn't hear anything else. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk, I couldn't even cry anymore.

It all suddenly made sense. This “new guy” that India met at Randy's birthday party when I was out of town was my guy. I walked in on Damian right after he masturbated, cum all over his chest. He was on the phone with India, but said that she called while he was talking business.
They
were having phone sex.

India left Nat's party because she was jealous when my man and I were having a good time together. She found out about my trip to the Bahamas through him. All the questions she asked me about my trip to Orlando were so that she and
my
man could plan their booty call.

She was trembling, but I didn't see “our” man coming to her rescue now.

“I can't believe you. You nasty, fake-ass bitch.” I reached down toward her and came up with a handful of expensive weave. I grabbed her again. “Come here!” I shouted. This time I grabbed the hair that she was born with.

“Sarai, I'm sorry.” She continued covering her face as she moved across the tub at my command. “Please, please forgive me. I didn't mean to—”

“Is this what you meant when you said that what's mine is yours?”

“Sarai, I didn't—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Before I could pull her to her feet, my rage took control, and I yanked her head up and punched her in the face.

Immediately, blood splattered from her mouth to the wall, and she let out a sound as though her life was through. She fell back into the tub.

I had no remorse.

As her body slid down the wall, I climbed into the tub and yelled, “Look at me.” I bent down and slapped her like I wanted to for the past three months. “Look at me.” I turned on the hot water and held her still between my legs.

She begged, pleaded, and even tried to fight back, when the scalding water began to burn her skin.

While she was pinned beneath me, I hit her repeatedly before Damian pulled me off, kicking and wailing.

He carried me back into the bedroom, threw me on the bed, and yelled to India to get out. He informed her that her clothing was already out the door.

She never looked at me, but I threatened her over and over. “I know where you live, bitch. I know where you fuckin' live.” I watched her narrow ass run out and heard the front door slam behind her.

My rage turned back to Damian. “Get out!” I shouted and tried to bite him. “Get your ass out of here.” I bucked like a wild horse until I was free from under him then ran to the kitchen. I raced into the bedroom with a meat cleaver, but what I met him with was no match.

“Sit your stupid ass down.” He cocked the 9 millimeter three feet from my head. “Sit your ass down,” he yelled.

I walked toward the bed and did just what he asked.

“I'll be out of here in ten minutes, but if you say another goddamn word, I'll be out in twenty and I'll be dragging your wannabe-bad ass behind me in a garbage bag.” He approached me, and with every step he took, the gun got closer to my forehead until I felt the frosty steel kiss my temple. He snatched the knife from my hand and threw it into the closet.

“All this excitement has my dick hard again.” He dragged the gun down my face and stopped at my neck. With his other hand, he reached down to remove his boxers and this maniac really did have an erection. “Suck my dick like you said you wanted to.” He pressed the gun into my neck.

I was paralyzed with fear. I forgot how to move, talk, or feel. I just sat there waiting for something to happen.

“Suck it.” He laughed maniacally. “You know you want to.” He began beating his hardened stick up against my mouth. When I started to cry, he moved it over my cheeks to wipe the tears away. “Open your muthafuckin' mouth, Sarai.” He positioned the gun to my ear, and my mouth flew open. He fell into the gap, moving his body back and forth.

Tears fell in abundance as I smelled India's juices on him, but I couldn't stop. I was careful about my teeth and continually moistened my mouth so things would be over with faster.

He moaned, grabbed the back of my head, and stabbed me deeply with his body. “You know you like this.” He pushed my body back on the bed until I was lying flat. “Didn't you tell me to fuck your mouth earlier?”

I kept my lips fastened tightly around him. I had to suck him like there was no tomorrow because if I didn't, that might be the case.

Plunging in and out of my mouth, he pounced and pounded wildly like I had no face. Seconds later, he spat his thick, evil liquor down into my throat.

For the first time in my life, I swallowed, but I welcomed it. It meant that the torture was done.

With his 9 millimeter still in hand, he rolled off me and walked into the bathroom.

I heard the water falling into the sink and watched him toweling his privates. I continued lying on the bed like a helpless blanket.

Without a word, he grabbed his suitcase, tossed some things into it, threw on some jeans, sneakers, and a shirt, tucked his gun into his waistband and smiled. “We're going to the bank on Monday. I want all of my money out of your account—
all
twenty Gs.” He began walking out, then stopped. “If any of my money is missing, or if you even dream of getting lost with my shit, I will fuck you up so bad that dentist records won't help them identify you.”

When I heard the apartment door shut, I scurried out of the room to put the two extra bolts on. My face was hurting, the corners of my mouth felt ripped, and I was petrified to say the least. I barely made it into the bedroom, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I even wanted to go back there. The phone was making that off-the-hook noise, the water was still running into the sink, and I was still naked. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 9-1, then paused for a moment. Damian was no joke! Reporting this crime could mean paying a bigger price in the end. I never wanted to see him this way again, and I wanted no retaliation. I left well enough alone and dialed another number.

I couldn't remember whom I called or what was said, but Nat and Nick were there in forty minutes.

Nick stayed in the living room, while Nat and I cried together in my room. I told her the entire story while she held me, rubbed my back, and wiped my nose and my mouth.

Realizing that she couldn't leave me in my current state, Nat told Nick that he could leave because she'd be spending the night. However, Nick didn't want to leave either one of us alone, fearing the return of Damian, so he made himself comfortable on the sofa.

I never fell asleep. I was shaking, throwing up, and crying uncontrollably throughout the night.

Thanks to India and Damian, I was too uncomfortable to lay my head down at night, in too much pain both emotionally and physically to make it through the day, and suddenly too confused about everything in my life to think that it had any meaning.

The next morning, not only did Nick make breakfast and serve it to us both in bed, but he had already gone to both his house and Nat's for a change of clothes. He was all right again in my book. He even helped me box and bag up everything that belonged to Damian then bring it to the living room. This was so he wouldn't have a reason to pass the kitchen counter if he ever came back.

“So what about tomorrow?” Nat asked.

“What about tomorrow?” I plopped down on the couch, after dragging the last garbage bag of clothing to the front.

“How are you guys going to work out the money situation?”

I hadn't even thought of it since I first told her the story. “I've used so much of his money.” I rolled my eyes.

“So it's short?” Nick asked.

“No, there is more than twenty in the account, but over the months I spent more than I should have because he told me that it was mine as long as it was there.” I sighed. “So he really only has about thirteen. But whatever, I can't keep it.”

“Well, just give him the thirteen.”

I didn't tell them about his threat. “Naw, he can have it all.” That bastard was crazy, and I wanted him out of my life.

“So how much will you be left with?”

“I know that heifer will cash that check now.” I grabbed my checkbook from my purse and did some quick math. “Two thousand, five hundred twenty-seven dollars and ninety-two cents.” I tried to smile. “Rent is three weeks away, so I'll make it.”

“How much is that?” Nat asked.

“Fourteen hundred.” I continued to smile because I was too proud to do anything else. “I do have a job, guys, and the websites.”

“What about your father in the nursing home?” she asked.

“Savvy is going to have to start helping.”

Since my brother moved to Atlanta five months ago, he still acted brand-new. I hadn't seen him in over a year, and hadn't heard from him in about a month.

“He'll be getting a phone call from me this evening. I can't do everything all by myself.”

“And your student loans, credit cards, and other bills?” Nat was starting to stress me out.

“Damn, Nat. I know what I owe. Fuck the student loan people.” I sighed. “And Chase Manhattan, Sears, and Discover can kiss my ass.”

We all laughed.

“Just promise me that if you need anything you'll ask me,” she said.

“Nat, it's not that serious.” I giggled.

“I didn't say that it was.” She smiled at me. “Just promise me.”

“Okay.” I gave her a crazy stare. “I cross my heart.”

“Well, at least you'll be in the Bahamas this weekend.”

I had totally forgotten. “That's right.”

Nick joined in. “When are you leaving?”

“Friday morning.” Now I did have something to smile about.

“Good for you,” he said. “For how long?”

“I'll be back next Friday.” This vacation was coming right in the nick of time.

I was grateful for Nick and Natalya. They were too sweet, spending not only the entire day at my place on Sunday, but also another night. My best girl had already gotten me through my first day, so I took two sleeping pills and vowed that tomorrow would be the second day of the rest of my life.

“No one can earn a million dollars honestly.”

—William Jennings Bryan

Bank Statement # 4

 

 

I
woke up around 6:00 to lock up after Nat and Nick left for work. It was Monday, and that meant Friday was only four days away, so I stayed up and started packing. I didn't care if it was hurricane season. I could almost hear the Bahamas calling my name, and I was answering, “Hey, mon.”

I called the landlord about changing my lock then double-checked my checkbook, but the balance wasn't changing. After Damian wiped out my account, I'd be left with just a thousand dollars.

I checked my orders for both websites, and there were only three picnic basket orders and seven trip queries. This wasn't bad, but with things going the way they were, it wasn't enough. “I have to start advertising,” I said to myself.

My ghetto style of advertising was paying a few crack addicts a hundred dollars apiece to stand on various street corners and hand out a thousand flyers each. I couldn't even afford to advertise at my own radio station. Mr. Motes wasn't letting anybody get away with anything close to free.

Around noon my phone rang. I said, “Hello?”

“What's up, sexy?”

I didn't recognize the voice, and the caller ID wasn't telling me enough. I hit the mute button and made Oprah's guest be quiet. “Hello?”

“What's up, sexy?”

“Who is this?” I was nervous.

“This is a very damn sexy man.” He laughed. “You know how I know that you're sexy?” He didn't wait for my answer. “'Cause I'm your sexy-ass twin brother.”

I was able to breathe again. “Don't scare me like that.”

“I wasn't trying to scare you. I thought you'd be flattered.”

“Maybe last week, but not today.” I turned the television back up.

I didn't feel like telling the story again. “Damian and I aren't together anymore.”

“Thank God.” He laughed. “Is Tupac really dead this time, though?” He was referring to the one other time we split.

I sighed. “Thanks for the comfort.”

“You know I could never stand him.”

Yes, I did. Savion made that known, and Damian didn't like him either.

“I think you can do a lot better than someone like him.”

“Well, apparently he thought that he could do a lot better than me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was cheating on me. I walked into
our
bedroom to find a woman on top of him.”

“Shut the hell up, Sarai.”

“I'm serious.”

“You're not serious.”

“I'm very serious, Savvy.” He could hear it in my voice. “Wanna hear the worst part of it?”

“Anything worse and I'll be flying down there,” he joked.

“I guess I'll start planning your trip.” I sighed. “The woman was India.”

“India?”

“India,” I repeated.

He was quiet for a while. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” I asked again.

“India
is
fine as hell, though.” He went on. “That's one sexy bitch.”

“Thanks for your continued support.” I rolled my eyes. “I was thinking about calling you last night. I'm going to need your help.”

“With what?”

“Daddy.”

“Sarai, I haven't even found any real clients here yet.”

“Nobody told you to move from Houston. You had clients coming out of your ears there. You still haven't told me why you moved to Atlanta.”

A personal trainer, Savion's good looks, seductive speech, and charm brought him more clientele than he was ready to handle. It wasn't a surprise to anyone, when he started mixing business with pleasure and was in and out of bed with his female clients.

“I couldn't stay there any more,” he said.

“What—one of those ladies' husbands finally found out how his wife was really losing weight?”

“I wish it was that simple.”

His new tone concerned me. “I haven't seen you in over a year. Come and see me.”

“We'll see.” His voice saddened.

“What's wrong?” Being twins, I felt emotional pain that confused me. Something was going on with my clone soul. “Talk to me, Savion.”

He didn't speak right away. “I'm in a little bit of a fix.”

“What's wrong?”

“I can't burden you with my problems.”

“Shut up,” I said, “and tell me right now.”

He sighed. “Trina died a few months ago.”

“What?” I shrieked. “What?”

Trina was his old girlfriend back in Dover. They were together until he went to Houston. She didn't move because of her “promising” career as a stripper. She was a good girl who took the wrong road. She started dancing to pay for college, and all of a sudden she forgot higher education and was buying a car, a house, then along came the silicone, and that was all she wrote.

“My life”—It sounded like he was crying—“my life has been a downhill plunge since then.”

“Savvy, I'm sorry.” I was crying now too. “Why didn't you call me?”

“Sarai, I couldn't.” He barely got it out. “There is so much going on in my life, I had to just pack up and leave everything and everybody. I just needed time.”

“I'm so sorry, Savvy,” I said. “Did you go to the funeral?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“What happened?”

There was a long pause. “Somebody killed her.”

I was in shock. “Jesus.”

“Shot her dead.”

I wish I had him in my arms. “Savvy, it'll be all right.”

“You don't understand, Sarai.”

“Understand what?”

“It's just like they killed me too.”

“Why?”

Why was he trippin'? He and Trina had broken up months after he moved to Texas, and he was in Houston for at least three years. To my knowledge, there wasn't anything still going on between them.

“What's going on?”

“I had to move to get my mind together.” He sniffled. “I had to start a new life.”

I didn't understand what he meant, but I guessed he'd explain later. “I'm sorry. I wish you would've called me. We could've gone back home to the funeral together.”

“Naw, I couldn't go to the funeral. I just couldn't go.”

I didn't know what else to say. “Have you talked to Daddy lately?”

“I called him yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? How is he?”

“Terrible,” he said. “It's so damn sad.”

I wanted to cry again. “I hate it.”

“What are we going to do?” he asked. “It pisses me off to talk to him.”

We were feeling the same way. “Somewhere inside he still loves us.”

He giggled. “Yeah, I can hear it in his voice sometimes. It's like the old him wants to scream my name, but his mind is too confused to do it. He's in there; I just wish I was lucky enough to talk to who he used to be for at least a minute again.”

“Me too.”

Over the next hour, Savion and I melted into being two happy people again. When he learned of my trip to the Bahamas, he told me to be like Stella and “get my groove back.” With him not working, I knew that I would have to keep pulling the weight of Daddy's nursing home cost. I saw the signs. I was going to be struggling for a while. I told him to use his big mouth to spread the word out about my sites.

“Bye, Savvy.”

“See ya, sexy,” he said.

 

 

“It's midnight.” I hoped that no one could tell that I was crying. “Is your lover next to you?” For the first time, I hated my opening line. “If they're not, then Sarah is here to give you a little something to hold on to.” All I was holding was the microphone. “I'm here to give you something that you can feel.” All I felt was pain. “Let me ease your troubled mind.” Who was going to ease mine? The first song in my set was Leanne Rimes' “How Do I Live Without You.” I played it especially for me, but I was hoping that no one knew.

Around three in the morning, my cell phone rang. It was Damian. I didn't know if I should throw the phone, turn it off, or answer it. Tommy, the segment producer, was in the bathroom, so I flipped some switches to play one more song rather than me having a talk spot after the Reba McIntire song was over.

I took off my headset and grabbed my phone. “Hello?”

“Are you purposely trying to piss me off?” he asked.

I decided to be a smart-ass. “Good morning to you too.”

“Good morning, Miss Emery,” he said. “How is your mouth?”

“Fuck you.” I wasn't afraid of him over the phone. “What do you want?” I went on, “Oh, I know what you want—How could I forget?—You wanna fuck my friends.”

“I have no time for your drama,” he said. “Why didn't you show up at the bank?”

“You never called.”

He spoke as though nothing was wrong. “I called the apartment all day.”

I remembered that I had the ringer off. “Well, I didn't know.”

“You knew. You were probably hoping that I would show up and make you suck my dick again.”

“You know what, Damian?—You're a real sick muthafucka.” I stood up. “You are an exact replica of the man you've hated since you were a boy.” I wasn't regretting anything I said. “You
are
your father, holding a gun to my head and doing what you did to me. I guess you think that made you a man, but that just made you a fuckin' rapist. Next you'll be killing somebody, and then what?” I felt empowered. “You'll be somebody's bitch in prison, just like your sorry-ass daddy.”

“That'll be a hell of a lot better than being like yours—At least my pops knows my damn name.”

After two years of pretending that he cared about my father's condition, the truth was finally out. “Fuck you,” I blared. “You are a sorry-ass excuse of a man, Damian.”

“I was your sorry-ass excuse of a man for two years, though, so shut the fuck up. All I want is my money.”

“You're gonna get what's coming to you.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” He repeated, “All I want is my money.”

“You're going to regret fuckin' with me,” I cried. “You'll pay for this, you and India. You'll both burn in hell.”

“You're probably right.” He pretended to yawn. “All I want is my money.”

“Fuck you, Damian.”

“Meet me at the bank at noon,” he said nonchalantly.

“You're an evil muthafucka. You don't deserve anything,” I said. “You don't deserve to breathe. One day you'll be so sorry for doing this to me. Just watch and see.”

He laughed loudly. “What, are you putting a curse on me like that Esther lady did to your home-wrecking mother?” He continued, “That's what she got. She is the one who didn't deserve to breathe, and oops—she's not. If you wanna be a witch, don't take lessons from Esther, because her weak-ass spell obviously wasn't enough since you and your sissy fuckin' brother are still alive.”

I was speechless, but I guessed this was what I got for telling him too much of my family's business. My newfound strength was a thing of the past.

“Just meet me at the bank at noon, Sarai.”

“You can have your money, Damian, and it's the last thing you'll ever get from me. After tomorrow, I don't want to see your damn face again. Do you hear me? Fuck you and the fuckin' pit bull you rode in on.”

“Fuck you too,” he said peacefully, almost in the same tone he used to say he loved me. “Fuck . . . you . . . too.”

I was screaming like a lunatic. “You're a fuckin' lunatic,” I cried. “I hate you.”

Tommy ran into the booth with a look on his face like he had just heard that there was a bomb in the building. He didn't say a word. He just pointed upward, and when my eyes followed his fingertip, my mouth dropped open, and the cellular phone fell from my hands. I had been on the air. Whoever was tuned in to BIG COUNTRY got an earful. My stomach balled up into a knot the size of Tommy's fingertip.

Within ten minutes, Mr. Motes was on the phone demanding not only an explanation, but also that I stay at the station until he arrived at 9:00.

I drank a lot of coffee, got a bunch of evil looks from the morning crew, and boxed up my belongings. I wasn't stupid. I knew what was coming. I had to work three times harder than the others just to earn my place in the country radio industry, but I knew that all I had to do was make one mistake for all of my work not to mean a thing. I had given them exactly what they wanted—a valid reason to send me packing.

Richard “Country Ass” Motes walked into his office at quarter to ten. “Well, Sarah,” he said almost with a smile, “I listened to the tapes three or four times, and each time it sounds a little worse.” He sat down behind his desk and shook his head from side to side. “We're going to have to suspend you.”

“For how long?”

“Well, when you come to pick up your next check, you'll know something definite.”

Lord, please don't let my ghetto spirit show
. “I'm not coming in here to pick up my check and learn that I no longer have a job.”

“Well, I really can't say anything until then, Sarah.”

“Of course you can say something.” I was still suppressing the
chiquita
within. “I've worked here long enough to know that when folks are suspended that just means they're really fired, but given a chance to cool off. I don't need two weeks to think.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “You don't have to worry about me coming back to shoot you. If I was going to do that, I'd have done it by now.”