White Lines III (10 page)

The photo of Sunny flashed across the screen once more. “This is so unfortunate. This is a tragic situation for Sunny's career. She caused quite a stir at New York Fashion Week earlier this year when she strutted that runway with such fierceness that her breasts broke loose and made their debut.” The audience cracked up, as they had all heard about that. “And now we see why she didn't notice!” Mindy laughed some more, and then composed herself. “Seriously, though. Sunny has dated many high-profile men in recent years. She dated football player Michael Warren, and later his teammate Sean Hardy.” Mindy gave the camera a side eye that said everything that she didn't verbalize. “She accompanied the actor Jamie Knox to the Golden Globe awards years ago. So, this is why I call her a professional girlfriend. She has no problem snagging a great catch. But until she leaves that coke alone, she is going to be doomed to follow in the footsteps of the Lohans and Sheens of this world. And I'm praying that she pulls it together before it's too late.” The audience clapped and cheered. Then Mindy was on to the next story.

Jada grabbed her car keys and her purse and ran toward the door. “Mr. Baez, I have to go out for a minute!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Call me if you need me.” Jada raced out the door without waiting for a response. She had to get to her friend immediately.

*   *   *

Sunny heard voices in her parents' living room, and approached warily. The voices were lowered, hushed, as if the speaker didn't want her to overhear. It was approaching noon, and Mercedes had just returned from her last day of school—a half-day schedule in which the students only had to report to homeroom class to pick up their final report cards for the semester. Raul had driven her to school, waited for her around the corner, and then returned her to Sunny's parents' home. It hadn't gone well, by the looks of it, because Mercedes had come in, stormed up to the bedroom, and slammed the door. She hadn't emerged since then. Sunny half expected to find her mother and father talking to some school administrator. As she got closer, though, she recognized the familiar Southern drawl of Dorian's mother, Gladys, as she addressed Marisol.

“You know that I have always loved Sunny. No matter what ups and downs her and Dorian went through, I always stayed out of it. And soon enough, they always got back on track.”

“I know,” Sunny heard her mom reply. “I remember the way those two went back and forth. In love one day, and at each other's throat the next.”

The two ladies chuckled at the memory.

“Dorian loved Sunny so much that it would be impossible for me not to love her, too. When he died…” Gladys's voice trailed off. “Sunny did a good job picking up the pieces. Mercedes is a smart young lady. This time, I think she's too smart to ignore what's going on. Sunny's all over the news. BET,
TMZ
, Mindy Milford's show. This is gonna embarrass Mercedes, and the entire family for that matter.”

Marisol's heavily accented voice sounded unusually shaky. “Gladys, this was a mistake that Sunny made. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes.”

“This mistake keeps happening with Sunny, though,” a deep voice countered.

Sunny recognized it instantly. It was Patrick, Dorian's brother. Sunny was convinced that he and his brother Christian wanted nothing more than to get their hands on Dorian's money. Ever since his death, Sunny had been constantly on guard against Mercedes' greedy uncles. In the days after Dorian's funeral, Sunny had fled to her mother's family home in Puerto Rico to escape the danger she felt existed for her as the sole beneficiary of Dorian's money. Everybody knew how ruthless his brothers were. Patrick's presence now only confirmed that.

Sunny stepped into the room. “What's all this about?” she asked, gesturing toward Gladys and Patrick. “Why are you here?”

All eyes turned to her, and an awkward silence followed as they all searched for what to say. Finally, Gladys spoke up.

“Sunny, we came over here to talk about Mercedes.” Gladys sized up Sunny, noting that she'd lost some weight since the last time she saw her. “Maybe it's time she came to stay with us, since you need to get yourself together.”

“Get myself together?” Sunny smirked. “Miss Gladys … with all due respect. When have I ever looked to you or your family for help?”

“Sunny…”

“No, seriously.” Sunny stepped closer. “You came over here to be nosy. Because you heard about some
lies
they put out there. You don't have to worry about my daughter. She's fine.”

“Dorian would want me to look out for Mercedes. She's my granddaughter,” Gladys reminded her. “I have a right to question the way she's being raised.”

“Okay, you asked your questions. I answered them. Now it's time for you to go.”

“Sunny—” Marisol hated to hear her speak to Gladys so dismissingly.

Gladys held up her hand to halt Marisol. “It's okay. She's right. It's probably best for us to leave now.” Gladys turned to look at her son. “Let's go, Patrick.”

Patrick watched as his mother pulled her purse strap up on her shoulder and rose to leave. Despite these signs of readiness, Patrick remained seated, staring at Sunny. She noticed, and glared at him.

“What, Patrick? What the fuck is
your
problem?”

“Sunny!” Marisol was livid. She didn't like Dorian's family sniffing around any more than Sunny did. But she was old-fashioned. And the thought of having guests in her home cussed at and yelled at was just too much for her.

Patrick looked sympathetically at Sunny's mom. “It's okay,” he said. “She's not herself right now.” He looked at Sunny and could tell that the stories were true. He had hustled drugs for years, so he knew an addict when he saw one. Sunny was fidgety, wild-eyed, and agitated. She was skinnier than the last time he'd seen her, only weeks ago. She kept sniffling absentmindedly, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She was longing for another hit, and Patrick shook his head in pity as he watched her.

“My mother is a nicer person than I am. She likes to pray about things, and she stays calm in situations like this because she don't like confrontation. So she's willing to let you off the hook right now, because she can see that you're upset. But I'm not like her. I didn't come all the way over here to get disrespected. And I don't care how aggravated you get. You don't scare me.”

Sunny sucked her teeth hard. “Please, Patrick! You don't scare me either!”

“Good,” he said, calmly. “I'm not trying to. But I am gonna say what's on my mind. And after that, I'll leave.”

“No,” Sunny said, her voice raised. “You can leave
now
! I don't give a shit about what's on your mind!”

“Maybe you'll give a shit when you get served with papers!” Patrick was done handling Sunny with kid gloves. “I'm gonna make sure that my niece is okay.”

“You don't even care about your niece! This shit is all about the cash, Patrick. And you can kiss my ass, cuz you will never get your hands on Dorian's money!”

“You're paranoid! See what I'm saying? What the hell does this have to do with money, Sunny?” Patrick demanded.

“You tell me!” she yelled back at him. “What's the plan? Get Mercedes and then sue me for support? You must be crazy!”

Patrick laughed. “Nah. You're the one who's crazy.”

Jada approached the door to Sunny's parents' house and heard raised voices coming from the other side of the door. She could make out Sunny's voice above the others, and a booming baritone countering her. Jada wondered what hell had broken loose in there, and for a moment she considered leaving. Perhaps this was a bad time. But she had to see Sunny. She needed to give her friend a hug and some reassurance, and to hear her version of the events in Mexico. Jenny G had answered the phone at Sunny's apartment when Jada called, and warned her that the press was staked out all around Sunny's high-rise. She said that Sunny and Mercedes were hiding out in Brooklyn and Jada had sped right over. She couldn't leave now without seeing her friend. She took a deep breath, said a quick and silent prayer, and rang the doorbell. A minute later, amid the noise of the continuing argument, Marisol opened the door. An expression of pure exhaustion was etched on her face. She sighed with relief at the sight of Sunny's one true friend.

“Jada!” Marisol unlocked the screen door and ushered Jada inside. Pausing in the foyer, she turned to Jada and shook her head. “
Mami
, thank God you are here. Sunny really needs you.” Marisol stole a glance toward her kitchen before turning back to Jada again. “Dale ran out to get us some groceries. Dorian's mother and his brother are here. They are threatening to fight her for custody of Mercedes.”

Jada sighed. This was the last thing Sunny needed right now. “What the hell happened?” Jada asked in a muted whisper. “Last I heard, Sunny and Malcolm went to Mexico to celebrate her birthday. The next thing I know, Mindy Milford and
TMZ
are showing pictures of Sunny surrounded by cameras at JFK.” She searched Marisol's face for answers. “Is it true what they're saying? She's getting high again?”

Marisol nodded, then looked down at her hands and burst into tears. She sobbed silently, squeezing her eyes shut as she wept. Jada hugged Sunny's mom, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“My God.” Jada whispered. “Don't cry,
mami
. Sunny will get herself together, you'll see.” Despite that reassurance, Jada wasn't really sure about that. She knew how hardheaded Sunny could be. This relapse could be hard to overcome.

The sound of glass shattering in the kitchen caused them to put an end to their emotional exchange. Marisol wiped her eyes brusquely, shook her head in exasperation, and the two women rushed in the direction of the kitchen.

The scene they beheld when they stepped inside was disheartening. Sunny and Patrick stood on opposite ends of the kitchen from one another. Gladys stood near the refrigerator with both hands clasped over her mouth, stunned. Mercedes stood in the center of the room near the island, surrounded by shattered glass, tears cascading down her lovely young face.

“What happened in here?” Marisol asked, her eyes scanning the room for blood or other signs of trauma.

“Mercedes overheard all the arguing and yelling, and she got upset,” Gladys explained. She looked apologetically at Marisol. “She broke your vase of flowers,” she explained, nodding toward the mess at Mercedes' feet. “But it's our fault because we should have left when I said we were leaving.” Gladys shot her son an evil sidelong glance when she made that last comment. Patrick stared at his hands in silence.

Gladys walked slowly over to Mercedes, the sound of glass crunching under her feet audible. She stopped in front of her granddaughter and waited until Mercedes lifted her gaze to meet hers. Gladys reached forward and wiped Mercedes' tears.

“Don't cry,” she said. “Crying won't fix a thing.”

Somewhere down inside, those words resonated with Mercedes. Mercedes sniffled, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, doing her best to control her heaving chest.

Gladys stared into Mercedes' eyes. “You are your father's child. I see him in you, do you know that?”

Mercedes nodded slightly. Gladys was a warm and loving grandmother, who told her all the time how similar she was to Dorian.

Gladys smiled a bit. “If he was here, he would beat your butt for breaking your grandmother's vase.

Mercedes slowly came back to herself. “I'm sorry,” she offered meekly.

Gladys nodded her approval. “Take a deep breath.”

Mercedes did as she was told.

“Good.” Gladys brushed an errant strand of hair out of Mercedes' face. “Now listen to Grandma. The adults in this family don't always do what we're supposed to do. That goes for all of us, not just a few. We owe you more than the nonsense you've had to deal with.”

Sunny and Patrick were both quiet, convicted. Marisol and Jada looked on in silence.

“But don't stoop to our level. Don't be like us—yelling, screaming, throwing things. You're better than that. You're better than us.” Gladys smiled weakly at Mercedes, winked an eye at her. “We don't get to pick our family. We have to play the hand we're dealt. And all of us know that
this
family is a mess.” She laughed. “But hang in there with us. We're gonna get it together.” Gladys stole a glance at Sunny. “I'm gonna call you tomorrow.” Then she turned to Patrick and coldly stated, “Let's go.”

This time, Patrick didn't hesitate. He quickly mumbled good-byes to Mercedes and followed his mother outside.

Mercedes was calmer now, thanks to Gladys. She took a deep breath and then walked over to the utility closet to retrieve the broom. Marisol took it from her and sent her upstairs. “Go put your shoes on. Dale and I will take you home to get some of your things.”

“Ma, Raul can bring us—”

“
I'm
taking her home to get her things!” Marisol was adamant. “
You
are staying here.” She shut her eyes against the pain of a migraine coming on. She took Gladys's advice to Mercedes, and took a deep breath herself. Opening her eyes, her voice was calmer when she spoke again. “It's a good chance for us to have a talk about what's been happening around here.” Mercedes left the room and ran upstairs to clean her face and to get her belongings. Marisol took the opportunity to address Sunny.

“You better have a talk with her, Sunny. Today! With no one else around. Just you and her, the way it's always been. She needs to hear from
you
about what happened. She needs to be able to yell at
you
, and get mad at
you
, and tell
you
how she feels. So when she gets back here today,
you
make it happen. And I'm not fucking around, either!” Steamed, Marisol angrily swept up the glass, tied up the garbage, and marched upstairs to get her car keys.