Rich Girl Problems (20 page)

“A
re you sure he's dead this time? I'm telling you I'm not getting my hopes up,” Journee mumbled to Xavier as they paced the hospital waiting area. “Every other year he pulls this ‘I'm dead' shit and I fall for it.”

“I think he's done,” Xavier said. “The nurse said she couldn't wake him this morning and he didn't have a pulse.”

“I don't trust it. He has nine goddamn lives.”

Journee's heels clicked against the tile. “What's taking the doctor so long to come out here?!”

“I don't know.”

“I know he isn't dead. I just know it. Trust me, they'll come rolling his decrepit ass out of here at any moment.”

“Mrs. Dupree.” The doctor stepped into the room. It was hard to read his face, but Journee tried. “He's alive!” she attempted to say with glee.

“I'm sorry. We tried all that we could.”

“He's gone . . .” Journee moaned.

“I'm sorry.” The nurse offered her sympathy.

Thank you, Jesus!
“Oh no, not my Zachary!” She turned to Xavier and he held her.

“Mr. Dupree was a great man,” the doctor said. “And he held on as long as he could.”

Too goddamn long.
“He was a wonderful man, Doctor. I loved him so much!”

“I know.” Xavier's voice trembled. “I loved him too!.”

B
rnggg.

Milan looked at the number on her cell phone and a smile ran across her face. She closed her bedroom door before answering. “Hello?”

“Milan?”

“Yes.”

“This is Charlie, the PI. And I have that information you need.”

 

“So this motherfucker's fuckin' some Garden State wanna be Hollywood skeezer,” Milan said to no one in particular as she drove over the George Washington Bridge headed for Jersey. “Tinsel Town ho and shit. I guess reality TV wasn't enough for this son of a bitch! He had to go and get some video, movie, red-carpet, walk-of-the-stars ho! Honey, I'm going to slice her fuckin' throat.”

No you're not.

“Right. I will try and talk to this slore, woman to whore. Try and be really calm. Cool. And I'm going to ask her when she discovered Kendu was married—before or after she became the stalking-ass sidepiece. Because maybe, maybe she didn't know.” Milan paid the toll. “You know how niggahs do. Lie and shit. Deny their whole damn family for some pussy. And maybe, maybe this blonde bimbo has been under a rock. You know how white girls get. Dizzy-ass shit. Don't know a damn thing. Think all black folks look alike. So maybe she didn't know that Kendu was married. But”—she exited the highway—“if she gets flip at the lip and admits that she knew he was married, babeeeeeee, I'ma grip her by her blonde-ass scalp and teach her ass about trying to up her pussy mileage off my husband! And you can put five on that!”

Milan parked her car on the tree-lined street. “Oh, this here home wrecker is straight up cookie-cutter middle America. White picket fences, dog over there in the yard. And if I'm not mistaken”—Milan walked up the front path and peeked around the side of the large colonial—“that's that damn baby she's been taunting me with. Is Kendu paying for this cunt to be tucked away in the burbs? He has to be, 'cause Charlie said she was a Z-list actress. Lowballin'. And everybody knows those hos are broke.”

Milan pushed the bell and then she could hear the sound traveling through the house.

“I'm coming!” a happy valley-girl voice said from inside before she opened the door and cocked her neck to the side.

“Yeah, bitch,” Milan said, sticking her foot in between the door and the doorpost. “It's me.”

“What are you doing here?!”

“Oh, you know what the fuck I'm doing here! Don't be scared. Were you scared when you were stalking me all over New York? Were you scared when you were fuckin' my husband? Hell no. You weren't scared. But you're scared because I'm at your door!”

“What do you want?”

“Well, Susan,” Milan said in perfect sarcastic diction, “shall we start with did you know that Kendu was married?”

Susan frowned and snickered. “Are you serious right now? What are you? Stupid? Of course I knew he was married. He's a football legend. An ESPN commentator on the number-one sports show in the country. He's been on reality TV for three seasons. Not to mention he is fine as hell. And you're asking me if I knew he was married? How silly. The real question is did it matter? And that answer would be no. Now what you'd better do is get out of here, go back home, and watch me work as I continue to take your man!”

POW! BAM! WHAP! BOOM! AHHHHHH!!!!

Milan dragged Susan out of her doorway and slapped her so hard that the strike against her skin made the sound of wet leather. Susan was able to grip Milan by the hair, but that didn't stop Milan from punching her in the face. “I will kill you!” Milan roared as she and Susan scrambled across the grass.

“Get off me!” Susan yelled.

Milan right hooked her and Susan swung, but missed. “It's gon' be more than me on you. It's gon' be six feet worth of dirt on your ass!”

“Stop it! What are you two doing?!” Two men pulled the clawing women apart.

“Let me go!” Susan yelled.

“Yeah,” Milan said, waving her hand for Susan to come near. “Let her ass go so I can stomp that hooker's face in. You stalk me and fuck my husband! Make a fool out of me and think you won't get your ass beat! Bitch, please!”

“I'm not sleeping with your husband, you dumb broad! Stupid ass!”

“Lying ass.”

“Bipolar slut! I was hired! You lunatic! Bridget hired me!”

“Liar!”

“She did! She told me your ass was boring and she wanted me to help you spice things up. But I didn't sign up for this! Tell Bridget that I quit! I'm done! You've come to my house where I live! My children are in the backyard and you've attacked me! Oh, you will see me in court!”

“You pretended to be my husband's mistress?!” Milan clawed at the air because she couldn't get around the man holding her back. “You ruined my marriage and act like you're the victim! You'd better watch your back, because the first opportunity I get I'ma snatch your scalp off and beat your goddamn face in!” Milan stormed toward her car, got in, and took off.

D
ear God, why?

What the hell am I going to say to this man?

Just tell him.

Tell him what? “I'm your sister. You need to come and meet your mother because she snorted the wrong bag of dope and will probably die”?

I need to go home.

Vera slid her keys back into her Range Rover's ignition.

I can't do this.

What if she dies!

Then die, damn it! I'm soooo tired of always being worried about her. On edge. Not sure if today's the day she's going to go back to using. Can I trust her now? Can I . . . ? I'm tired of being the junkie's kid who just wants a mother . . . a mother! She's been clean for years and in one night, she throws away her whole life. One night!

She pounded her fist on the steering wheel.

Fuck!

Tears filled her eyes.

A brother. She has a son. Who the hell leaves her baby in the hospital to go and get high? My mother, that's who. God, what the hell do you want me to do?! Why'd she have to dump this shit on me?!

“I'm not doing this,” Vera said to no one in particular as she picked up her cell phone and dialed a number. “Aunt Cookie, I can't do it. I can't. I'm tired. I'm confused. And I can't go in here and tell this man that I'm his damn sister and Rowanda is his mother. He's going to think I'm crazy! Hell,
I
think I'm crazy!”

“You know what, baby girl? I love you like I gave birth to you, but sometimes I wonder if I kicked your li'l ass enough as a child! And it's your Uncle Boy's fault 'cause he helped me to raise a selfish, spoiled, and self-centered damn brat. What the hell is wrong with you?! Your mother is on her dying bed and you are contemplating not telling this man, who knows he was a foster child, who knows he was adopted, who he really is. I could halfway understand it if it was a secret, but it's not. Now your mother asked you to tell him and you need to do that!”

“She should've never left him!”

“Well, she did! She was a junkie. Hell, she
is
a junkie, and you are expecting her to act and think sober. She couldn't do that at the time. You have to stop trying to make your mother someone else and accept her for who she is. No one wants a mother who gets high, but this is your damn life. Now work with it!”

“Suppose he doesn't go to the hospital?”

“That's not your problem. Now go in there and tell him!”

“Aunt Cookie—”

“Vera Bennett! Get off this phone and go talk to your brother now!”

Click.

Vera looked up at Milan and Kendu's house and shook her head.

Fuck it.
She grabbed her purse and rushed out of her X-6 before she changed her mind.

Here goes.
She sighed as she rang the doorbell. She could see the hanging mic and the cameraman's shadow as someone approached the door.
Damn it. The camera.

Kendu opened the door. “Vera, hey. How are you doing?” Vera could tell by the creases in his face that he was upset. She stared into his eyes and for the first time, she realized they had the same almond-shaped eyes, full bottom lip, and mole in the center of their left cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Huh, what?” she said, startled. “What did you ask me?”

“I asked if you were okay. You're just standing there staring at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Umm . . . Is your wife here?”

“No.”

“Do you know when she'll be back?”

“Vera, believe me, I don't mean to be rude, but given the last few days that I've had, the last thing I want to do is stand here and answer a million questions. So what you can do is call Milan tomorrow.”

“Look, I don't want to be here either, trust. But I really don't need to speak to Milan. I really need to speak to you.”

“Me? About what?”

“Can we step inside for a moment?”

Kendu hesitated.

“It won't take long,” Vera said, looking into the camera.

“Can you please turn that damn thing off and give us a minute. Damn.”

The crew, who were trained not to respond to the cast, didn't say a word. They simply kept recording.

Aggravated, Kendu said, “Vera, would you just say what you have to say?”

This motherfucker here . . .

“Look here.” Vera handed Kendu the picture of him that Rowanda gave her.

Kendu's gaze sank down into the picture and Vera could see the reflection in his eyes of the red Transformers' sweatshirt he'd had on in the photo. He looked back at Vera, confused. “Where'd you get this from?”

“Our mother gave it to me.”

Kendu stared at Vera and she could see a million emotions running through his eyes. She wondered if he noticed that, with the exception of their complexions, they had the same face. He walked up close to Vera and said, “Our mother? What are you talking about . . . our mother?”

Unwanted tears streamed down Vera's face. “You're my brother. Rowanda Wright is our mother. She left you in the hospital at birth.”

“Rowanda Wright, the woman you brought with you to my birthday party?”

“Yes. She didn't know you were her son until after she came here, heard your story, and saw pictures of you as a child. She knew then.”

“What? She's not my mother. My mother abandoned me when I was born. She was a junkie, a fiend, and she's probably dead somewhere in the damn street.”

“She's not dead, Kendu. Look at me. We have the same mother. You are my baby brother. I was nine and living with my Aunt Cookie. I had no idea that Rowanda had a baby until last night.” She wiped tears. “And, no, she's not perfect. She's not. But she's all we have. She couldn't take care of you or me. And I know it's hard and it's hurtful, but it is what it is.”

“After all of these years? Man, please. Fuck that. I'm good and I don't want shit to do with her.”

“She's in the hospital dying!”

“From what? AIDS or an overdose?”

“That's fucked up!”

“No. What's fucked up is leaving your newborn in the damn hospital so you can get high, and instead of getting your ass together you continue to get high, and now you want to come and dump this shit on me? Hell no. I was never her damn priority and she damn sure isn't one of mine. So if she dies, then oh well.” He shrugged. “Shit, she's already been dead to me.”

“You know what? Let me leave here before I mess your big ass up!”

Kendu's eyes dropped down nine inches. “Yeah, okay.”

“I didn't want to come here in the first damn place. If you don't want to accept her or come see her before she dies, then don't. You have to live with that! Not my damn problem. All I know is that she gave us what she could, which wasn't much. Now either you stay here and pout like some mad-ass little boy or you be a damn man and get your ass to the hospital and see your mother!”

“I don't have a mother!”

“And maybe you don't!”

T
his is going to be the best season yet,” I said to a boardroom full of executives. “All of the women are on top of their game. Which is why I called this meeting. I think now would be the perfect time to add
Millionaire Wives Club LA
to the lineup. I can see it now. We'll have an entire franchise sweeping the nation. And if I may toot my own horn, I believe I deserve—”

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP- WHAP!

Suddenly my face was on fire and all I could see were stars. For a moment, I thought I was back in the convent and had gotten caught by Mother Superior giving the Father a blow job.

I was wrong. Because when the stars floated away, there was Milan being held back by security.

“Oh, baby!” I grinned, stepping out of my heels. “You have slapped the right one now! I've been wanting to kick your ass. Bad. I swear I can taste your blood in my mouth!”

“Bring it, bitch!” Milan invited Bridget. “You hired some actress to play my husband's mistress.”

As the executives looked on in shock, I chuckled and said, “Oh, you found out about that, did you?”

“You ruined my marriage!”

“Trick, you need to thank me! Thank me for revamping your career and making you the star you are! You were a raggedy-ass mess and I turned things around for you!” Bridget took a quick peek in the mirror. “Dear God, you have ruined my makeup!”

“I'm going to ruin more than that!”

“You are incredibly ungrateful! Here I've made you a star and this is how you repay me! You'd better find your damn self, mind your manners, and kiss the screen instead of trying to fight me!”

“I didn't sign up for you to ruin my life!”

“You're on reality TV! Your life belongs to me!”

“My marriage is off the table!”

“Please! Spare me!”

“I quit.”

“Quit. But you'll be back. You're a fame whore, and as much as you hate them, you need the cameras in your face because you don't have any talents. You have a degree you don't use and a life you aren't happy with—unless there's a camera around. And if all it took was for me to hire an actress to get your ass goin' then I would do it again! Now go!” Bridget pointed toward the door. “Before I order the guards to ax your head off!”

“Fuck you, Bridget!”

“You already said that! Now get out!”