Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? (14 page)

“If your father is Ritchie Jordan,” Uncle Cecil said, “you are Ritz's brother.”

When Jamie first came aboard the Ritz Harper Excursion, she was a bright-eyed, excited student, eager to learn everything she could from a woman who was what Jamie thought she wanted to become. There weren't many women in the radio game, and there weren't any women commanding the kind of attention and money that Ritz Harper was. Jamie figured she could learn at Ritz's knee, go to a smaller market, get some experience there, then come back to New York and take out a washed-up, semi-senile Ritz.

In this culture, a woman was considered to be a “hot babe” between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, tops. But Jamie was realizing that didn't apply to women of color. Black don't crack. J-Lo, who was pushing forty, was still being written about in the tabloids as “bootylicious.” Janet Jackson, who
was in her early forties, was still getting her rhythm nation on, appearing on magazine covers with her eight-pack showing. Halle Berry, fortysomething. Nothing more need be said. Madonna, who was Italian (and you know what they say about Sicilians), was still holding it down, pushing fifty.

Jamie knew that while she didn't have much time to make her mark, she had more than enough time.

She had her plans all mapped out. She knew she was smarter than Ritz. But brains never mattered. The most successful were rarely the most intelligent. Intelligence is one of the least important traits to success. Guile, craftiness, having the right connections, and being cutthroat were way more valuable tools for success than intelligence.

Jamie watched her dad work his game in the corporate world. And while he made enough money to keep his family in a nice-sized home, in a beautiful, well-manicured neighborhood, and was able to send all of his children to college, he was not wealthy.

He was not the kind of wealthy that Jamie wanted him to be. On some level, her father was living a lie. He had to tuck his penis down and stick it between his butt cheeks, like a transvestite, and smile as he did it. He had to keep his mask on tight. By the time he came home, he was worn out. His job wasn't fun. Jamie never heard her father say that he liked what he did.

What's the point in going to school and working hard to spend twenty to thirty years doing something you absolutely hate? Jamie often thou
ght.

The world of radio and entertainment was stressful, but the games and the characters, the wealth and excitement, and the unpredictability made it fun. Just thinking about it would get Jamie's adrenaline flowing.

But she was about to blow it all because she couldn't keep up the facade of being a good team player on the Ritz Harper Excursion.

Ritz was hard to work for before the shooting. She barked orders, she undermined and belittled everyone in the studio, including Chas. But she seemed to be doing it by accident, like some little four-year-old who lets fly with whatever is on her mind.

Only those who truly knew her understood that Ritz was not the unfeeling, nasty, horrible bitch that many thought she was.

Ritgina Harper was just a grown-up, big-boobed, big-wigged little girl who said whatever came to her mind. She spoke before she thought.

That was okay with little girls, but little girls who blurted out whatever came into their little heads did not have an audience of millions, like Ritz did.

There was a different edge to Ritz now, a more purposeful edge. She was not just mean and bitchy. She now seemed like she was on the prowl, like she was determined to destroy everything in her path. She would not be denied. Ritz was preparing to come back the following week. The station was setting up a studio in her home. They asked Jamie to help make the transition smooth.

She talked to Ritz in the days before her “comeback broadcast,” and Ritz was bitchier than ever.

“I want you to make sure that I have everything in place. I want to be better than before I left, so I need you to cover every little fucking detail, you got it?!” Ritz was talking to Jamie as if she were the most incompetent intern Ritz had ever worked with, bar none. Ritz spoke to her like she was some dumb-ass, snot-nosed kid who didn't know what the hell she was doing. Jamie resented the tone.

Jamie resented Ritz.

“Oh, and Jamie? I'll set up a room for you in my house. I want you to be there twenty-four/seven to take care of anything that may come up. That won't be a problem, will it?”

“No, Ritz” is what Jamie's mouth said.
Oh hell no, who the fuck does she think she is? was what her mind was saying. That bitch wants me to be her nursemaid? I know she just got shot, but is she crazy, too
?

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.

“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.

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.

“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.