Get Ready for War (13 page)

I snatched her hands away from my face. “You're such a hater! You are so jealous of me, Mother. It's sinful. I'm everything you're not. Young, beautiful, and rich!”

She laughed, placing her hands up on her hips. “Yes, darling. You are definitely all of those things. But you won't be young forever and beauty fades over time if you're not careful. Then what? You end up a rich, lonely hag who's sucked down the whole city and has had multiple plastic surgeries desperately trying to hold on to her youth.”

I frowned. “You wait one dang minute, Kitty! How dare you disrespect me! Who in the heezy-jeezy are you speaking of? Surely not me! And I will never be lonely. You better check my YouTube stats. I have fans who adore me. So, go suck on that! I'm done with this conversation because it's obvious you don't know a dang thing about me. So you can't tell me what to do, or how to do it.”

She grabbed me by the arm again as I turned to walk out of the room. She swung me around to face her. “Let me tell you how a real diva does it, Little Miss Grownie. You snag an old, fatherless billionaire—with maybe a good ten to twenty years left on his life sentence. You sex him down real good. Make his eyes roll back in his head and have him begging to God to keep him alive long enough for another round. You pump out a baby. Then get your own TV show. You secure your future, darling. Then you take your fallopian tubes and donate them to science. That's what you do, dear. Not become some starry-eyed lunatic over a boy who will never be yours.” She let out a disgusted grunt. “You're an embarrassment. And I will not have it. Do you hear me, Spencer? I will not stand for it. There are three things you don't ever do: You don't beg a man. You don't cry over a man. And you don't ever get desperate for a man. You get paid, darling. And you get even. And if you can't get even, then you find yourself a nice little boy toy, or two, to help you sleep at night.”

I blinked.

“Now do I make myself clear?” She tilted her head, waiting. She tapped her high-heeled foot. “I said. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?”

I blinked again. Sweet jiggly booty juice! Kitty was . . . was . . . a heartless, conniving witch! I clenched my teeth. “Very. Now get your hand off of me.”

She let go of my arm. “Perfect. Now go make yourself useful, dear, and track down some juicy dirt for me to dish. You know I have to keep my ratings up.” Her cell rang. I eyed her as she pulled it from out of her pocket. “Kitty here. Oh, Camille, darrrrrling ... yes, of course ... Talk to me...”

I watched as she walked out onto the terrace, closing the glass doors. Whatever!

“I can't stand that woman.” I sneered, storming into my bedroom. Anderson was stretched out across one of my pink leather chaises, talking to someone on his BlackBerry.

“Yes, sir . . . What time? . . . Okay, sounds good. Yes, yes . . . I can't wait. See you in a bit.” He hung up.

He watched as I paced the room.

“Everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay. I walk in here and find my mother practically in your lap. Then you stand up and I see your goody bag is stretched and ready to be had. If I hadn't walked in when I did, Kitty would have had a mouthful of . . .”

He chuckled.

Oh, he must want his face rearranged
. I narrowed my eyes. “I don't see anything funny about that. That was downright disgusting what Miss Trick-A-Lot was trying to do. That woman has no shame.”

“Gum drop, that's no way to talk about your mother. And you're blowing things way out of proportion. She was simply being a gracious hostess.”

“Mmmph, graciously ho-ish is more like it.”

He stood up and walked over to me. He pulled me into his arms. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you're having a tantrum?”

I poked my lips out, then pressed my body into his. “No. But why don't you tell me. No, show me.”

He grinned, kissing me on the forehead. “I wish I could. I have to go over to London's.”

“London's? What do you have to go over to that boar's house for?”

“She's not a boar, gum drop. She's my fiancée or have you forgotten that?”

I frowned. “Don't remind me. But why do you have to go over there now?”

“Because her father called and invited me over.”

“And you have to go now, this very minute?”

“Yes. We're going to hit the court for a game of basketball. Then I'm having dinner with him, Missus Phillips, and London.”

I blinked. “Dinner? Oh, a regular ole family affair. How cute.”

Anderson cupped my chin and planted a sweet, juicy kiss on my neck, then my lips—no tongue though. Damn him! Then he took my hands and lifted them to his lips. He kissed them. I poked out my lips.

“Well, go be with your future wife and her family. Obviously you'd rather be with that ole big-hoofed slutasaurus than stay here with me.”

“I don't like it when you call her names, gum drop. Actually, you shouldn't call anyone names; especially when it's someone who's never done anything to you.”

Oh, no he didn't. I frowned.
I'll call her what the hell I want!
See. I was trying really, really hard to be nice, but... sweet joy oh joy, was Anderson really asking for me to skunk it up in here and take it right to his face? First Heather, then Kitty, and now him! But I knew one thing: if he called himself trying to wreck me for calling Trampali-cious names, then he had another ding-dang thing coming. I was going to get down and funky on him. I counted to ten in my head.
Two... four... six... eight... eleven, I mean, ten...
I took a deep breath.

I folded my arms across my chest, narrowing my eyes. Then Kitty's voice floated in my head.
You don't ever beg a man . . . And you don't ever get desperate...

“You know what, Anderson. Maybe we should leave each other alone. Let's just part the seas, now, before it gets flooded and one of us gets drowned.”

Anderson pulled me closer. “Gum drop, stop talking foolish. That's not what you want, and neither do I.”

I raised a brow, stepping out of his embrace. I turned my back to him, shutting my eyes. I took a deep breath. “I mean it, Anderson. Bow out gracefully or get plowed down.”

He stepped in back of me and pulled me in by the waist, then pressed his thick, hard body into mine, stroking my hair, then nibbling on my ear. He lightly flicked his tongue into my ear, then whispered, “Cut it out. Stop acting jealous.”

There goes that word again!
He and Kitty both had me confused.

I turned to face him, hand up on my hip. Head tilted. “Jealous? Oh no. I don't do jealous. I do revenge. I just want the truth, Anderson. Give me the truth and nobody gets hurt. Give me lies, and somebody's got to die.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “What am I gonna do with you? Here you go again. Come here.” He pulled me into him again, then cupped my booty-cheeks. And squeezed. And I felt my Duncan Hines get moist.

“If you take me right now, I'll let all of my aggression out.”

He chuckled, kissing me on the lips again. “You're too much, gum drop.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, obviously not enough to keep you from running out on me. You must really wanna be with that bit . . . her.”

He eyed me. “You have it all wrong, gum drop. Trust me. London doesn't want me. And I'm not interested in her. One, what we have is an arrangement, period. Two, she's not attracted to me. And three, she already has a boyfriend. But her parents don't approve of him so she uses me as her cover. And I'm cool with it. As long as I get my trust out of the deal, I don't care who she does.”

“Shut. Up,” I said, inching closer to him. Oooh, this was starting to sound juicy. Kitty would love this dirt! It was straight filth! I drooled, wanting more. “I mean, don't shut up. Keep talking, boo bear. So you mean to tell me Queen Kong—” Anderson raised his brow. “I mean... London has a secret boo?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I'll be spit-shined and polished. Isn't that something? Who is he? Wait—” I stopped, remembering the sexy drop of man-meat that showed up at her bedroom door a few weeks back. Sweet Almond Joy . . . London was an undercover hoodlum. I knew she was ghetto-trash. “I think I've seen him before.”

“I'd be surprised if you had. London usually keeps him well hidden. The only one who even knows that she's still seeing him is her house manager. She keeps her dirty little secret well hidden.”

“No, I'm certain that guy who showed up at her house is him.”

“What'd he look like?”

I closed my eyes, picturing him in my mind. And how I wanted to eat him up, but was too dang busy rushing back to Anderson's sexless behind. “Like deep, delicious trouble,” I pushed out absentmindedly.

“Justice is a user.”

I tilted my head. “Seems to me all of you are. You're using Ama ...I mean London, to get your inheritance. She's using you to keep her parents off her back. And Mister Trouble is—”

“Bad news,” he said, cutting me off. “That bum means her no good. All he does is hurt her and treat her like crap. She's never going to be happy with him. He doesn't deserve her.”

I blinked. What in the world?! “Wait a minute. Why do you care how he treats her? Or whether or not she's going to be happy with him? If that's who she chooses to be with, then obviously she must like it. Obviously, she's happy with him. So what's it to you? Do you have feelings for her?”

I stared into his eyes. Oh sweet juicy fruit . . . he had beautiful eyes. But I decided that I would gouge them out if I found out he was playing me like a spoiled shrimp dish. I was going to slice him three ways to Sunday, right down to the bare meat.

“Absolutely not. How many times do I have to keep telling you? It's an arrangement.”

“So then why do you care about what happens to her so much?”

“Because I'm the one she calls on every time he makes her cry. I'm the one who's there to pick up the pieces every time that scumbag hurts her. That mofo is poison.”

“Listen, I don't do sympathy. Let her get her dose of toxin. And if I'm lucky enough, it'll be something poison control can't treat. Good riddance. Now back to you. I'm gonna ask you again: Do you have feelings for her?”

“Listen, gum drop. I already told you, no. Now if you can't play your position the way I need you to, then maybe you're right. We shouldn't see each other. That's not what I want. But I'm not interested in being questioned either. And I'm definitely not interested in some insecure little girl. So can you handle this thing between us or not?”

In my mind's eye, I could see Kitty shaking her head, laughing at me. Oh no. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of being right. And I definitely wasn't going to let a good man like Anderson slip through my fingers. Oh no, Spencer Ellington was no dang fool. I was horny. I was determined. And I was going to have every inch of Anderson if it was the last thing I did. And if not, I would make his life a living hell!

I tilted my head, grabbed at his goody bag, then squeezed. “The question is, can you?”

S
o many emotions were running through my heart and mind. I was still hurt and angry at Justice for how he spoke to me yesterday, then put his hands on me. And I was disgusted at how he disrespected me with Rich. Still, I loved him deeply. Problem was I only felt closest to him when we were wrapped in each other's arms. I only really felt loved most by him when we were caught up in the throes of a hot, sweaty, sexathon. And I was still basking in the afterglow. And it was a feeling I didn't want to let go of. This thing between us—with him running hot and cold; his constant moodiness—kept me on edge. But it also kept me wanting to love him more. Wanting to prove to him that I was all he needed. All that he'd ever need. I couldn't let him go.

Still, snatches of our argument from yesterday nagged at my soul.

My head began to ache. I closed my eyes and put my hands up to my face. I knew I wasn't ugly. My parents always told me how beautiful I was; passersby always did double takes whenever I walked by. I was a cameraman's dream. But Justice said I was ugly. Who could imagine one word would have so much power over me . . . over anyone. I was gorgeous, damn it! And the world should have been mine to do whatever I wanted, yet I was stranded on a four-letter island named
Ugly
.

Feeling emotionally shipwrecked and alone, I felt nauseated. It wasn't how Justice said it that hurt the most; it was the way that he looked at me when he said it that drove the nail into my self-confidence. And now I didn't feel so beautiful anymore. I didn't feel desirable to him. And that killed me. I opened my eyes and stared at myself in the vanity mirror, struggling to keep my emotions intact.

But Justice had made love to me as if I were the only girl on earth. And, most importantly, I felt loved.

Then why did he say all of those mean things to me? Why did he have me questioning myself?

I opened my towel, then stood in front of the floor-length mirror and stared at my nakedness. I studied my appearance. I wasn't fat. Still I didn't like what I saw.

Justice was all up in my head. I was consumed with him. And soooo confused. I couldn't get enough of him. But I didn't want the abuse, or the disrespect; I just wanted him. And as long as we stayed rolled up in my sheets, I knew I'd have him.

“Damn you, Justice,” I whispered to myself as I applied a coat of lip gloss over my pouty lips, then dabbed Coco Mademoiselle behind both ears, over my wrists, then along the center of my breasts. I didn't want to think negative thoughts, didn't want to harp on yesterday. Today was a new day. And it had been great so far. I wasn't going to do or say anything to ruin it. No matter what, I was going to enjoy what was left of our day together.

I stared at my reflection one last time, tightly tucking my towel back around my body, then opened the bathroom door and walked back out into the bedroom. There he stood with his back toward me, fully dressed, talking on his cell and clearly in a hurry to be somewhere else. The question was, where and with whom?

I watched as he shifted from one socked foot to the other, then shoved his hand down into his baggy Gucci sweats.

I blinked.

“Yo ... keep talkin' slick... Oh, word ? . . . Yeah, that's wassup . . . We'll see . . . yeah, a'ight, bet. I'll meet you there. Don't front.”

He turned around. “Oh, snap,” he said, seemingly surprised to see me standing there. “Don't be sneaking up on me like that, yo. How long you been standing there?”

“Where are you going?”

He walked over to the foot of the bed and sat, reaching for his Timbs and working his feet into them. “I gotta make a quick run.”

“Now?” I asked, disappointed.

“Yeah,” he replied dryly.

I eyed his cell lying on the bed beside him. I wanted to run over and snatch it so I could scroll through his call log. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

He stood up, tucking his phone into his front pocket. “Yo, why you questioning me?”

I blinked, placed a hand up on my hip, then took a deep breath. I didn't want to set him off, or give him any reason to run out the door. The truth was I wanted him to stay. I needed him to hold me in his arms a little while longer. “I don't want you to leave,” I said . . . no, whined. “I thought we were going to lie around and cuddle the rest of the day.”

He smirked. “Yo, you mad funny. You still on punishment, yo. I'm rationing out this good love. When you know how to act, then you'll get more. When you get your mind right, don't give me a buncha grief, and know how to respect me as your man, then you can get all I got—anytime you want it. Until then you get the bare minimum.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I looked around, hoping there was a punch line to follow. There was none. I was standing there letting let this boy play me, once again. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. Why wasn't I strong enough to be done with him? I didn't deserve to be treated the way he continued to treat me. Yet... there I stood, begging him to stay.

“Justice,” I said with pleading eyes, dropping my towel to the floor and walking over to him. I reached for his hand, then placed it on my bare breast, cupping my hand over his. “Please don't leave me. Make love to me again.”

He pulled his hand away and scowled at me. “Yo, London, you buggin' for real. Pick that towel up and go put some clothes on. Stop actin' all thirsty. You think sex is gonna change what you did? How you treated me?”

Treated him? How about how he treated me? I really wanted to confront him about it, but I didn't want to argue. So I let it go.

“I thought we had made up.”

He tsked. “Well, you thought wrong. We ain't made up. I'm still pissed behind how you played me yesterday.”

“But what about all the lovemaking we did?”

He sniggered. “All that was, was sex. So get over it. It didn't change a thing. And it definitely didn't change what you did.”

“What?” I screeched. “Are you serious? You lay up all night with me, and allllll morning with me, and practically all afternoon, acting like everything was all good. Now all of a sudden, you get off the phone and are back to having a problem with me. How is me wanting you to stay and make love to me again, being thirsty? I call myself loving you and wanting to be with you. Now all of a sudden it's a problem.”

“Well, yeah . . . and you're smothering me, too.”

“How am I smothering you? I don't sweat you. Yesterday was the first time I saw or spoke to you in over a week. I'm not trying to smother you, or upset you. But I really want—no, need—to know what I've done. How can I make this work for us? How can we go back to the way we used to be?”

He twisted his face up. “We can't.”

I felt my cheeks burn. My lips quivered.
Don't you dare cry, girl.

“Why can't we?”

“You've changed,” he said, looking at me disgustedly. “You're different. You're too needy. And it's a turnoff.”

I gave him a confused look. “Needy? You're the one who's changed.”

“You just are. And I'm tired of arguing with you about it. Always clingin' up on me. I ain't changed. I'm still me. Still the one making all the efforts, still the one putting my life on hold for you. Everything's still about London. It's like every time I turn around, it's something different with you, yo. You got too much going on for me. You got too much lip. And you're acting desperate. It's a headache, yo. I thought I could do this wit' you, but”—he shook his head—“yo, I don't know. I don't think I can. I need some space—a lot of it.”

I felt my stomach drop to my feet. “What about the plan? What about everything we talked about last night? How we were going to get you on top, then get married.”

He scoffed. “Plan? Screw the plan, yo. You the one who had a problem with it. Now all of a sudden you back on. Yo, I can't keep goin' back 'n' forth wit' you. This is what I'm talkin' 'bout. You confused, yo.”

“You asked me if I would handle Rich, and I told you I would. How is that me being confused? Whatever you need me to do, Justice, I'll do it. I just can't do all of this arguing. It stresses me out.”

“Stresses you out? What about me?” He beat his chest with the palm of his hand.

“Who is it, Justice? Who are you trying to be with? What skank-whore are you trying to run out of here to be with?”

“What?” he asked disbelievingly. “See. Here you go wit' the dumbness again. If I wanted to be with someone else I'd be with them.”

“What about the plan? Like where is all this coming from? We just lay in bed and agreed with going forward with everything so you can become a superstar. We were supposed to elope and get married.”

“After the performance you put on yesterday, chasin' ole girl up outta here, she ain't checkin' for me.”

“Oh, so that's what this is about? Rich again.”

“No, it's about you again. And if she ain't checkin' for me, we can't make nothin' happen, stupid.”

“Don't call me stupid, Justice.”

He scoffed. “Well, that's what you are. I'm tired of creepin' up the backstairs and sneakin' up in here, hidin' out like some fugitive. I'm ready to be free and do me. As a matter of fact, I see ya maid more than I see you. She seems to have my back better than you do. She looks out for me. But you”—he shook his head again—“nah . . . it's all about you. At first, yo, I did think it was gonna work wit' us, but...I just can't shake that every time the plan gets ready to go into effect, you flip on me. So what that says to me is, you frontin', London.”

“Frontin'?” I questioned, shocked.
The nerve of him!
“I'm not frontin', Justice.”

“Then what you call it, London, huh?” He stared at me, then started moving around as if he were dancing, waving his hands up and down. “Ohhhhh, Jussssstice, I got this girl I'ma hook you uuuuuuup with,” he mocked. “Ohhhhh, Jussssstice, this is how we're gonna be able to run awaaaay and get maaaaarried. Allllll I need is the ring, Jussssstice. Well, you got the ring. But what did Justice get.” He snapped his finger. “Oh, wait. I got it. Too many nights closed up with you. I don't have no gigs, no record deal, and no Rich. But here you got all of me. And I'm cold on all of that. No more.

“I'm done wit' you sellin' me a buncha pipe dreams, gettin' my hopes up, makin' a fool out of me. All you want me for is sex, like I'm some closet freak. You'll say anything to keep me down. I'm done.” He shot me the peace sign. “Yo, you do you, 'cause you sure not doin' anything for me.”

I stood in the middle of my bedroom in complete disbelief. This came out of left field. I didn't know what to say, or think. I really meant it this time that we could go ahead with the setup. Yeah, the other times I was scared, hesitant. But this time I really meant it. I was so serious. I would do whatever Justice needed, wanted me to do. I'd been without him, and I'd been with him. And I didn't want to be without him anymore.

“I understand why you're mad at me, Justice. And it might seem funny, but it's not really that way.”

“I'm tired of figuring out what way it is. The girl was right here, and you blew it, yo. You yankin' on her, comin' at her all sideways. Yo, c'mon now.” He shook his head. “You're too insecure.”

Everything he was saying was true. I was insecure. I did blow it. I let my emotions get in the way of what I knew I had to do, what I was supposed to do—for my man. But, there was Rich. Really liking her wasn't supposed to be a part of the plan. But it was. I really cared about her. She was my friend. And knowing that Justice expected me to keep my end of the deal, I had to swallow the bitter pill of knowing that I could lose her friendship. But Justice was my man. So, eff Rich. The way she came at him all up in my face, popping and dropping her booty and pushing her breasts all up on him, like she was Miss Universe—that let me know, right there, that she'd do my man. She was a whore!

All those secrets she told me, especially the one about her doing Spencer all dirty, sleeping with her boyfriend Chris, then flipping out when Spencer did it to her with Corey. Fact was, Rich didn't care about anyone except Rich Montgomery. And she'd lie, cheat, and creep with whomever she had to, to get whatever she wanted.

Bottom line, Rich was scandalous.

So how could I choose a chick like that over my man?

Justice stared at me long and hard. “Do you love me, London?”

Tears started stinging my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had hurt him so much. “Yes, I love you. I hate that you have to question that.”

“Then step off. If you love me, let me breathe for a minute. Can you do that? Back up off of me, and let me figure out if I really wanna keep goin' through all this extra wit' you. Let me deal wit' the hurt.”

I was ready to hit the floor; ready to roll up and die.

“Yo, you—”

“Miss London,” Genevieve said through the intercom, cutting Justice off. “Dinner is ready.”