Get Ready for War (14 page)

“I'm not hungry,” I responded, keeping my eyes on Justice.

“Your father has requested your presence at the dinner table.”

Justice smirked, then mouthed, “Go run to daddy, lil girl.”

“Genevieve, please tell my father I'm not feeling well.”

“Okay, Miss London.”

“Yo, I want my ring back,” Justice said, opening his hand.

My eyes popped open. “I'm not giving it back. You gave it to me. You asked me to marry you, and I told you I would.”

He walked up on me. “Nah, I'm good. I ain't beat. Give me my ring, yo.”

“No, Justice.”

He grabbed me by the arm. “I'm not playing with you, London. I want that ring back.”

“Ow, you're hurting me. Get off of me.”

Why was he turning on me like this? He wasn't even acting like this until he got off the phone.
Is he seeing somebody else now?

“London?” my father's voice blared through the intercom. Justice let me go.

“Yes, Daddy?” I answered, moving to the other side of the room.

“You need to get down here for dinner, now.”

“Daddy, I'm not feeling well.”

“London, I'm not trying to hear it. I let you stay up in your room last night, but tonight you need to get down here. Your mother's home and Anderson just got here. And the four of us are having dinner together, so you have five minutes to pull yourself together before I come up to bring you down.”

I sighed, feeling defeated. “I'll be down in a minute.”

“Make it quick,” he replied, shutting the intercom off.

“Go on, be wit' ya lil perfect family,” Justice said sarcastically, rolling his eyes up in his head. “And ya future baby daddy, Mister Billionaire wit' his whack-azz. As a matter of fact, get him to buy you a ring, Miss Desperate. I'm outta here.”

I was feeling helpless and hopeless all in one. “Justice, pleeeease. Don't leave. Give me ten minutes, Justice. That's all I ask, ten . . . minutes. I'll be right back.”

“Yeah, a'ight. Go do you.”

I hurriedly stepped into my walk-in closet, pulled a Diane Von Furstenberg print dress off the hanger and slipped it over my head, then put on a pair of slides. “I really don't want us to argue and fight anymore. Baby, you have to know how much you mean to me. I don't want to give up on us, ever. And I hope you don't either. I really love you.”

I smiled when I felt him behind me. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around me, pressing his lips up against the nape of my neck. I closed my eyes and pressed my booty into him, leaning my head back on his chest.

“I love you so much,” I said, slightly grinding my backside into him. Something didn't feel right. I snapped my eyes open, looked down at the hands around my waist, then froze. It wasn't Justice. Those hands belonged to someone else. I jerked my body around. “What the hell are you doing in here?!” I yelled, pushing him away from me.

“Awww, how's that for a Hallmark card?” Anderson said snidely. “I love you, too.”

I blinked.

“Don't look so disappointed. Who'd you think I was? Juuuuuustice?” He chortled.

I was in shock that Anderson was standing in front of me. And that Justice was nowhere around. He had really left. Something he had never done before. He'd always be down for camping out here, locked in my room for two and three days, waiting for me to return to him.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked tight-lipped.

“Your father sent me up to get you. No, actually... I volunteered to come up, hoping to catch you with your legs up in the air, doing what you do best. But judging by the rumpled sheets and”—he sniffed the air—“and the love funk still lingering, I must have just missed the performance.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him, walking back into my room. “Screw you, Anderson.”

“From where I'm standing, looks like you're already screwed, or been screwed—in more than one way.” He shook his head. “Pathetic. Speaking of which, where's your little slimy boyfriend, Justice the YouTube king of scams. Don't tell me he's had a better offer and has found himself another fool to use.”

I huffed. “Mind your business. Don't worry about Justice. Worry about your own self.”

“Poor, pathetic London,” he taunted. “Wasting her life away loving a wannabe celebrity.”

“Shut. Up! What are you doing here, anyway? I called you-all last week and you didn't return any of my calls.”

He flicked his wrist out, glancing at his watch. “I had more important things to do than to deal with the sickening musings of you. Besides, I don't need an invite from you. Your parents love me.”

I scowled. “Well, I don't, so get the hell out.”

“Yo,” he said mockingly. “Don't flatter yourself, mama. Dig what I'm sayin', home fries?”

“You pompous, arrogant, egotistical sonofa—”

“Watch your mouth, London.”

“You don't tell me what to do. I'm so tired of living this lie.”

He straightened the sleeve of his Prada blazer. “Let me tell you something, London.” He paused, flicking imaginary lint off his shoulder. “Your life of lies started long before I came into the picture. Every day you open your pretty little brown eyes, you're living a lie. So spare me your tired tirade.”

“Whatever. I can't keep doing this. I'm so sick of playing this charade with you. I'm breaking this thing off, now.”

He smirked. “Go 'head, end it. And your little ho-house of cards will come tumbling down. So do it. And let's see how far that gets you. My guess is straight to some skid row ho-trap where some dope-fiend pimp will trick you out for his next hit.”

I wasn't hearing anything Anderson had to say. He was of no consequence to me.

And I had no idea where he had gone, or who he was going to be with. I couldn't even pick up the phone to call or even text him, with Anderson standing right there in my face, my father downstairs at the dinner table—commanding my presence—and my mother somewhere with a scale and tape measure ready to measure my body fat and weigh me in. I couldn't even fall out and have a breakdown. This was too much to deal with.

I glanced around the room, then frantically walked into my bathroom, looking behind doors and into closets, searching for him, hoping he was hiding out. He wasn't.

I stepped back into my bedroom to find Anderson stretched out on my chaise, one big loafer-clad foot crossed over the other. His hands were behind his head. “You know, the two of you really deserve each other.”

I eyed him, both hands on my hips. “I'm glad you've finally realized that.”

He snorted. “Of course I have. Project gutter trash meets Upper East Side trash.”

“You know what, Anderson? Kiss my a—oh, wait. I forgot. That's not your thing, is it, boo-boo?” I said snidely. “You like it when yours is being kissed instead.”

His eyes narrowed. “Watch your step, London.”

I snapped my fingers at him, smacking my lips and swiveling my neck. “No, you watch yours. And, as a matter of fact, get the hell out of my room. And stay the hell out of my life.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the doors to my armoire were ajar. My stomach dropped.
Oh God no!

I raced over and pulled open the doors. I pulled out the antique box filled with precious jewels, given to me by my great-grandmother. I searched through its contents, then dumped everything out onto my bed. I almost fainted. My engagement ring was gone! I shook the jewelry box upside down to be sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. They weren't.

My heart thumped like crazy. I started hyperventilating and choking. I started rummaging through my jewels again.

I anxiously ran back over to my armoire, tearing open drawers and knocking things over. My chest tightened.

I'd been robbed! Justice stole my ring! I couldn't have hurt him that bad for him to take my engagement ring. With Justice gone and my ring along with him, I felt like I had lost everything. I had nothing! My life was over!

What did I do for him to hate me like this?

Tears started falling from my eyes as I heaved in and out.

Anderson clapped, standing up. “Bravo! You get a standing ovation. I always said you should be an actress. You'll get your gold star on the walk of shame after all for your starring role in
Thugalicious
. Speaking of thugs, what'd he steal from you this time—another family heirloom? Don't expect me to replace it!”

I wanted to cry. And I wanted to slap that smug look off Anderson's face. “I hate you! I hate everything you stand for. Go find a bridge to jump off of.”

“I hate you more. But I'm going to pretend that I like you to get what I want, and I suggest you do the same. We have a year and a half left until you turn eighteen. I marry you, I get my trust fund, you get yours, then I can be rid of you and you can run off into the ghetto with your bum boyfriend.”

I sneered, hands flying and fingers snapping everywhere. “Marry
me
? Boyfriend, puhlease. How's that going to happen? I could never be your groom. Sissies don't get married . . . not to women. Or did you forget that?”

He glared at me, stone-faced. “You better watch yourself. We both have secrets to keep.”

I flipped my hand in his face and switched my hips back into my closet, then came out with my handbag. “Well, I'm not so sure how much longer I want to keep mine. Now get out of my face.”

I headed for the door, flicking the light off on him.

“And where do you think you're going?”Anderson asked, following behind me.

I ignored him, taking the back stairway that led to the south side of our estate.

“London,” Anderson hissed. “You can't just leave like this.”

“Watch me,” I said, turning to face him. “And there's nothing
you
or anyone else can do to stop me.”

“And when you can't find him, don't call crying to me.”

I threw my hand up in the air and flipped him the finger. I walked down the flight of stairs that led into the solarium, then slipped out the side door and into the garage where my car was. I had had enough. I was tired of bending over and letting everyone screw me up the rear. Justice, Anderson, Rich, my parents, eff 'em all!

“H
ello, my name is Heather. And I'm a junkie.” The very words that not even Jesus pointing an Uzi could force me to say.

Puhlease.

I was a lot of things—a drunk's kid, fatherless, a tiny bit of a fame whore, an estranged member of the Pampered Princesses—but one thing I wasn't, was a junkie.

Hmph, I didn't get high.

I didn't do dope.

Meth.

Crack.

Ecstasy.

I had parties.

Lotza fun.

I didn't nod out.

Beg for money on the street.

Drool at the mouth.

My lips weren't white, pasty, and cracked up.

I had all my teeth.

For all intents and purposes I checked all the boxes for being cute—more so for others than for myself—but still, I wasn't a junkie. And the only two things I needed to change were my mother and my location. Because I couldn't stand Camille . . . and this druggie jail, better known as rehab or hell. I needed to blaze my way outta here!

I'd been in this boring, sad, and pathetic place for four days too long and even The Blind Rapper could see that Always Hope
was not
the place for me.

I needed to cruise down Sunset Boulevard in a chauffeured drop-top Benz. Profilin' and freestylin' in BumbleBee Chanel's. Crushed black beauties in my hobo Hermès purse.

I needed the set of my sitcom.

The Wu-Wu Tanner Show
.

I needed to live my starring role . . .

I needed to be free.

Not stuck in here and wondering why every waking moment was an evolving nightmare.

“Heather, are ya lissstenin' to me?” Camille shouted into the phone.

“Thass your fffreakkin' problem, misseee. Ya don't lisssten.”

Given the way Camille's voice slurred, I knew she was drunk off of vodka and not her usual scotch. Which meant one thing—it would be impossible to get her to shut up.

I could hear Camille toss back a gulp and then push cigarette smoke out through her thin lips. “And ya need to lisssten up. Because ya not coming back, coming back up in here until your thoughts are in order. I can't. And I won't live with a junkie. Now I don' mind a little drankin'. We can clink a glass or two. Maybe even do a little hash—”

“Hash?”

“You know, a lil weed. But I will not, and I mean it, I will not tol'rate a pill poppin'. Junkie. Up. In here. Next thing I know you'll be stealing and I'll wake up one morning screaming. And you know why I'll be screaming?!” She paused. “Answer me, Heather, do you know why I'll be screaming?”

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. “No, Camille, humor me. Tell me why.”

“ 'Cause you would've ripped off my Oscar and sold it on the street—”

“Oh, Camille—”

“And my furs. And my jewels. Oh no, M-Misseeee.” She stammered and I swear I could see her wagging her long, thin finger. “Not up in here. Not today. Not next week. Not next year. Not ev-veeer. My mother didn't tol'rate it from me and I will not tol'rate it from you. So you better figure out a way, figure out a way, to fall in line with that, umm . . .” She paused. “That umm . . . umm . . .” She snapped her fingers in the background. “That, umm, yeah, treatment. Oh, and you better see to it that that counselor doesn't call me again. Claiming that I need treatment. And I
know
you put him up to that—”

“Camille—”

“All I do is drink, Heath-thooor!” Camille exaggerated my name the way she always did when she was attempting to beat me over the head with her point. “And I've never heard of anyone who drinks being a thief!”

“Camille—”

“And by the way this rent has to get paid. We are going on two months behind and there's no way I can be evicted.”

“What did you do with that money Kitty gave you?”

“Heath-thooooor! How dare you bring that up!”

“Because you got a million dollars from that woman for interviews and exclusives that I didn't even want to do! And you mean to tell me that you didn't pay the rent? Really?”

“First of all, Heathooor, you're out of place. You don't count my mon-ney, hon-ney! I'm the parent here and if you would've listened to me you'd be at home getting your buzz on instead of being locked away like some caged animal who needs to be tranquilized! So don't bring drama to me because you didn't know how to act.” She paused, blew a puff of smoke, and continued on. “And I still haven't forgotten about how you drugged me. I was 'sleep one moment and the next thing I knew I was being fingerprinted in a paddy wagon—”

“Camille—”

“And now I'm being dragged through the media like some Kartrashian—”

“Would you. Shut. Up! It is not all about you!”

“So this is what you're learning up there in trea'ment? How to disrespect your mother?” She sniffed. “I'm the only one who likes you and will tol'rate you. No one else can stand ya. Just like Spencer, who you thought was your friend—just the other day you told me you called her and what did she do? Gave ya the dial tone. And what did you do? Cry. Like a baby! You bet-ter learn to appreciate people! Starting with me. Your mother, Heath-thooor.” She sniffed again.

She continued, “From the moment I gave birth to you it's always been about you. I lost everything to keep you. Had I known life would turn out like this I would've kept my appoin'ment, but now I'm stuck. And I've made lemonade out of sour lemons and no sugar. And still found a way to make it sweet.”

Camille's rant carried on. “You did me proud until you turned out to be a crackhead. We were almost back on top and then you wanted to sniff glue and drink hand sanitizer. And give parties encouraging kids to rob their parents' medicine cabinets. I'm ashamed and I have never been more humiliated in my life. Now I have to run from the paparazzi. Run. Run. Run. I am under tremendous emotional distress. Your mission in life is to ruin me,
Heathooor
! I had to see my psychiatrist to get some Xanax because of this stress! And that's another thing—now I have to buy a lock and chain for my booze and medication because I might wake up one morning to find you stoned off of my stuff! And I will not have that!”

“Camille—”

“Don't cut me off,
Heathooor
! What you need to do is work on getting your job back, because your last check just came here! And sixteen thousand—no, eighteen thousand—needs to come out of this check. Sixteen for rent and two for my peace of mind. I am stressed,
Heathooor
. It's bad enough I have to call that Kitty again to get a couple of dollars. And the last time I was on that show she called me an alcoholic!”

“Oh no, not you, Camille.” I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.

“Can you believe that? That Kitty has a filthy litter box. Nasteee! She plays dirty.” She paused. Belched. “But she also pays good money.”

“So in other words she's your welfare check. How anti-Hollywood. Selling your soul to the highest bidder. You have a problem, Camille.”

“I don't have a problem! That's you with the is-sues! Now I have to go. You have insulted me. I have a headache and I have to refresh my glass. Now you be sure to tell that counselor not to call me. I'll get there for a session with him, when I feel like it. And not before. Now tell me you love me.”

I held the pay-phone receiver in my hand as my thoughts trailed off to a thousand other things I'd rather be doing.

I shook my head and rattled the change in my pocket. I had three dollars in quarters left—since druggie jail didn't do cell phones.

How played was that?

God, I needed a picker-upper.

Camille had sucked all of my energy and I needed an escape or I was going to blow. My eyes skipped across the pale blue walls where anti-drug posters hung like works of art, blaring pathetic messages of
JUST SAY NO
and
DRUGS KILL.

I was so over this!

Drugs didn't kill.

People killed.

They killed your kindness.

Killed your spirit.

And they killed my tolerance for bull, which is why I could barely stand people anymore.

Except Co-Co . . .

I lifted my eyes and smiled, only for them to land on this dumb poster that read SAY NO TO PRESCRIPTION DRUG ABUSE.

I dropped my money into the phone and waited for it to ring. Immediately Snoop Dog and Wiz Khalifa's “Young, Wild and Free” greeted me.

“Turn the music down,” Co-Co screamed into the background. “My girl is on the phone! My Wu-Wu! What's doin', boo?”

“What's all that music in the background? Y'all are having a party without me? You couldn't wait for me?” I was two seconds from being full-fledged pissed.

“Wu-Wu, this is a campaign party to get you back on the set, babe. That rat-face-wannabe Hollyhood trick they replaced you with is horrible! Grotesque! Oh, girl. I ran up on her the other day and tossed my slushy in her face. Hollywood High is giving her no love. We have petitions all over the place! We have
Free Wu-Wu
posters, we have egged up the producer's car, staged marches. We are not playin'! We are doin' it for you! Who shotcha, baby! Wu-Wu's in the house!”

All I could do was smile. At least Co-Co was free enough to have his mind right. He continued. “Now let me tell you what's been going on at the ranch.”

“What's that?”

“The farm animals are out of control! First of all security is on high alert because some freshmen claimed they were robbed and their hair was shaved off by two masked women.”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as your rehab sentence.”

“Dead.”

“Umm hmm. And oh, let me tell you about the Horse. She got beat down by a bunch of ninth-grade baby thugs!”

“What?”

“Yes, girl. Slaughtered! They dragged her all over that café. Don't worry, I have pics and all the uncut and raw video footage you need to see. As a matter of fact I just made a guap selling them to the blogs! That money went toward your campaign and a sweet bag of beauties.”

“Word?”

“Thunderbird! And by the way, I'm in West Hollywood now.”

“Serious?”

“As an STD. I could no longer deal with my father trying to give me straight-man fever. Obama set it off for me! I'm a queen all day and proud of it! I'ma always have a switch in my Asian hips and my father may as well get with it! Now what you been up?”

“I'm up here surrounded by junkies, high killers, and stupid anti-party posters!”

“What? We gotta bust you up out of there. What a mess!”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, I miss you so much, boy!”

“I miss you, too! And I have some champagne on ice waiting to celebrate the day you come back.”

“I'ma need more than some champagne. I'ma need to be beautified.”

“I gotcha, girl. I got that goodness that sent Lindsay Lohan crazy and made Brittany lose her mind that time. I got that fire, girl! Everybody that comes through here has to pay fifty dollars a pop, but for my Wu-Wu it's free all day. You'll be stockpiled.”

Electricity shot through me and joy made my heart skip a beat.

“One time for your mind,” Co-Co said as if he'd read my thoughts. “By the way, don't worry about Camille, girl. She called here drunk, but I handled her. I paid the rent for y'all!”

How embarrassing! How could Camille call my friend, drunk?
“What? You paid the rent? When?”

“I paid it two days ago.”

“And with the money I'm bringing in I might even buy that house for you.”

“It's like that, Co-Co?”

“It's like
that
. I'm killing it. I'm shuttin' corners down and bringing 'em to the living room. I'm not taking shorts anymore, I'm taking jackets! In a minute I'ma have half of Hollywood High gettin' high! One time for your mind!”

“And there you have it, Co-Co. And while you're taking jackets make sure you get the kitten heels to match.”

“And you know it, boo. And you know it. Who loves ya, Wu-Wu?!”

“You do, baby!” I laid a big, juicy kiss on the receiver.

“And don't forget that. Now bye, darlin'. Stay strong, 'cause when you come home it's gon' be on!”

“Owwl,” I squealed, and snapped my fingers as I dropped down low and snaked back up. I didn't have my booty pads on, but I felt Beyoncé-bootyfied. All that was missing was a pill or two. But that was okay because talking to Co-Co always got me juiced up. “One time for the mind!” I said for the hell of it as I hung up the phone.