Put A Ring On It (11 page)

Though her mind chatter seemed to go on and on without cessation, at some point drowsiness seeped in between her troubled thoughts, pulling her in a peaceful slumber.

But something that sounded as explosive as a bomb detonation yanked Nivea from the serenity of sleep, had her out of bed and on her feet. Clutching her chest, mouth agape in fear, she ran out into the hallway. Had terrorists attacked her tranquil community?

Wearing only boxers, Eric came rushing out of the guestroom with the baby in his arms.

“What’s going on, Eric? What was that noise?”

“I don’t know. Something hit the front door.” He passed her
the baby. “Here, hold Lil’ Junior. Take him in the bedroom and close the door.”

Nivea hesitated, unsure of what had caused the commotion. She didn’t want to hold Little Junior or take him into her bedroom. But another boom—this one louder than the first—had Nivea screaming and running. Inside her bedroom, she followed Eric’s suggestion, and turned the lock for extra protection.

Boom, boom!
“Open da fuckin’ door, Eric! Ain’t nobody playing with yo’ ass! Open da goddamn door!”

Recognizing the voice, Nivea gasped in shock and outrage. Though slurred, it was unmistakeably Dyeesha’s ugly voice.

No that slut didn’t have the nerve to bring her drunk, skank ass over here, kicking on my door like she’s the one paying the bills!
Nivea leapt from the bed. Carrying the baby, she hurried to the bedroom door. Vibrating with anger, she imagined herself inviting Dyeesha inside and showing the ghetto tramp what was really hood. Nivea was so revved up, she could feel her fingers itching to tear that red weave off the bitch’s head.

She opened the bedroom door and could hear Eric yelling, “Go ’head, Dyeesha! You drunk…that’s why you acting up! Go home and sleep the liquor off!”

That bitch is the one trespassing now. Standing on my porch, kicking and cussing and creating a scene. I got something for that drunken ass,
Nivea thought as she rushed down the hallway.

“Open up the damn door before I blow this bitch off the hinges!” Dyeesha shouted. Her command was followed by the sound of locks being turned.

Eric opened the door and Dyeesha burst inside the living with sneakers on her feet, but for some reason, she was carrying a pair of thigh-high, shiny black boots in her hands. They were most likely the boots that she wore during her stripper routine.

Dyeesha proved to be crazier than Nivea had imagined. She
started swinging the boots through the air. Holding onto the shiny plastic end, she began wielding the boots like they were a set of nunchucks. Nivea began backing up, deciding it was best if Eric took over the situation. If anyone got clobbered with those boots, it needed to be Eric.

“Do something, Eric,” Nivea said sharply.

“Why you got my son in your arms? You ain’t his mother. Hand me my goddamn baby,” Dyeesha demanded.

Static had Dyeesha’s red weave sticking out all over her head. Drool trickled from the corners of her twisted lips. Nivea would have gladly handed over the child, but she didn’t dare get too close to the boot-swinging enemy. “I don’t want your baby,” Nivea said with revulsion. She shot a glance at Eric, and noticed he was standing in the background as if helpless. “Do something, Eric. Call the police.”

His brows drew together in a frown. “I can’t call the cops on my baby mom.” His voice came out low and weak.

Nivea gawked at Eric.
What a pussy!

Wearing a maniacal smile, Dyeesha inched up a little closer. “First you try to steal my man, now you tryna play mommy to my son. You crossed the line, bitch. Now, hand me my son.”

Take your little bastard,
Nivea wanted to say, but she couldn’t risk provoking drunk-ass Dyeesha. It occurred to Nivea that she could make a quicker getaway if she tossed the baby like a football toward his father. It would be on Eric if he missed the catch.

“Watch the way you swinging them boots, Dyeesha!” Eric bellowed. “I’ma fuck you up if you hurt my son.”

What about me
? Nivea scowled at Eric.

Dyeesha kept swinging, and deliberately smashed a lamp. The blast of noise made Nivea jump. The baby screamed with fright.

“Yo, what the fuck is your problem?” Grappling with Dyeesha,
Eric managed to confiscate one boot. Arms wrapped around her waist, he confined her, holding her in a steely grip.

Dyeesha twisted and lurched forward but couldn’t escape Eric’s grasp.

“Calm the fuck down, Dyeesha,” he bellowed.

Trapped inside Eric’s strong arms, she hissed at Nivea, “Give me my fuckin’ baby!” Nivea noticed that Dyeesha seemed to be frothing at the mouth, and that her teeth were bared—like a vicious animal. “Oh, you like playing Mommy to my baby? Okay, alright, then.” She gave a menacing chuckle.

Nivea cringed at the sound of that threatening chuckle. She’d obviously misjudged Dyeesha, thinking she could win a fight with her due to the hussy’s undernourished appearance. Dyeesha had crazy working to her advantage, giving her the rage and most likely the strength of the mentally insane.

Nivea glared at Eric. “I’m calling the cops. You have exactly five seconds to get her out of here.”

“I ain’t going nowhere without my baby,” Dyeesha insisted as she struggled with Eric.

“Stop clownin’, girl. You can’t take Lil’ Junior nowhere in your condition,” Eric responded brusquely. “And I can’t let you get behind the wheel, either. You gon’ wind up with the car wrapped around a tree.”

Nivea raised an eyebrow at Eric. “What do you plan to do, Eric? Invite your jumpoff into my kitchen…sober her up with a pot of my gourmet coffee?” Nivea said sneeringly.

This is it. I’m really through with Eric. I’d rather stay single for the rest of my life than have go through eighteen years of this madness.

With a burst of unexpected energy, Dyeesha broke free from Eric’s clutches. She used the heel of her stripper boot to bash Nivea in the head, staggering her.

Eric rushed over, but it was his son that he rescued. “Y’all acting all crazy; the baby could get hurt,” Eric scolded, giving both Nivea and Dyeesha equally dirty looks. He stormed out of the living room with the infant in his arms.

Nivea’s head was spinning, and she was stunned that Eric had left her to deal with Dyeesha, a scrawny but brutal opponent. While she tried to get her bearings, Dyeesha delivered a swift kick to her groin.

“Ugh!” Nivea grunted. Her face contorted in pain, she grabbed her crotch and bent over in agony. Next Dyeesha used her bony kneecap to jut Nivea in the chin, knocking her completely off her feet. Nivea went down, and Dyeesha leaped on top of her, pinning Nivea to the floor with fingernails embedded in her forearms, and teeth implanted in her shoulder.

Nivea shrieked in pain. “Eric! Get this bitch off me!”

A
fter getting Nivea’s frantic phone call, Vangie threw on a heavy coat, a hat, earmuffs, scarf, gloves, and boots and rushed out into the cold night. She drove as fast as she could to Nivea’s townhouse. She had no idea what was wrong with her girl, but Nivea was crying and begging her to come over.

It was a good thing that Shawn was over and could watch Yuri; otherwise she would have had to drag Yuri out in the middle of the night. Thinking about Shawn’s reappearance in her life put a faint smile on Vangie’s face.

Her smile faded when she arrived on Nivea’s doorstep. She stared in puzzlement at the chinks on Nivea’s beautiful red door.
What the hell?
Anxious, she jabbed the doorbell four times in quick succession.

Nivea opened the door. “I’m sorry you had to come out so late,” she said weakly, her eyes bloodshot from crying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vangie said, her breath forming into a small cloud of fog. Questioningly, she nodded her head toward the damaged door.

“Come on in, before you freeze to death,” Nivea said without responding to Vangie’s unspoken question.

“You really had me shook, so I got here as fast as I could. Seeing those gashes on your front door doesn’t make me feel any better. What’s the deal?”

“It’s a long story.”

Vangie nodded toward the smashed lamp. “That’s not a good
sign, either. Will you please tell me what’s going on, Niv? And where’s Eric?”

Tears welled in Nivea’s eyes at the mention of Eric’s name. She wiped her eyes. “The wedding is off, Vangie. I can’t marry Eric.”

“You can’t be serious. Your wedding is all you’ve been living for. Did you and Eric have a fight? Where is he? I saw his truck outside.” Vangie’s inquisitive eyes darted about as she looked for more signs of violence and mayhem. But aside from the broken lamp, Nivea’s townhouse appeared to be in pristine condition.

“Eric is not the person we think he is,” Nivea murmured.

Vangie knew Eric to be a gentle spirit, but maybe he’d finally gotten tired of Nivea bossing him around. Maybe he finally exploded. “Did Eric mess up the front door?” she gently prodded. Vangie nodded toward the shattered lamp on the floor. “Are you calling off the wedding because he…uh…snapped?”

“No, his baby mamma did,” Nivea spat.

“His baby, what?”

“Eric has a four-month-old son. He got some skanky stripper pregnant.”

Vangie gasped. “Eric has a baby?”

“That’s right. The no-good bastard was leading a double life. He got a stripper pregnant and had her and the baby living in his old apartment. He’s been lying to me regularly, pretending that he was working double shifts while he was shacking with the stripper.”

Too stunned to speak, Vangie covered her mouth with her hand. All she could do was grimace and shake her head.

“This is between you and me, Vangie. Do not share this information with Harlow.”

“Why not? After you announce that you’re cancelling your wedding, the truth is bound to come out.”

“I don’t want Miss Priss all up in my business.”

Vangie wrinkled her nose. “Why are you making digs at Harlow? She hasn’t done anything to you and after the hard life she’s had, growing up in foster care, she certainly doesn’t deserve to be labelled Miss Priss.”

“I know. But her life is so perfect now. She’s going to marry a handsome, successful man. And she doesn’t deserve him. I don’t want to share my dirty laundry with her. Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself, Vangie.”

Vangie squirmed a little, and then gave in. “Okay. But what are you going to tell your parents? Are you going to tell your mom and dad the truth about your break-up?”

“Absolutely not! My mother would ridicule me for the rest of my life if she knew what Eric did to me. I’m going to make up a story…tell my parents that I finally came to my senses and realize that Eric isn’t good enough for me.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.” Vangie eyed the shattered lamp. “So, what happened here? Did you break the lamp over Eric’s head?” She caught a quick glimpse of something unidentifiable in Nivea’s eyes. “And how did you get those little chinks in your door?”

There was that look again.
Shame!
She saw shame in Nivea’s eyes as they shifted uneasily away from hers.

“The stripper fucked up my crib,” Nivea admitted with her head lowered. She looked up and released a sigh, and then began telling Vangie the entire, sordid story from the day she had stopped by Eric’s old apartment until tonight.

“That rat bastard,” Vangie spat when Nivea concluded her awful story. Uttering sympathetic sounds, Vangie drew Nivea into a sisterly embrace.

“Ow.” Nivea pulled away. “It hurts where she bit me.”

“Do you want to go to the Emergency Room and get some shots? You don’t know what kind of diseases that slut is carrying in her nasty mouth.”

“No, I don’t need a doctor. She didn’t break the skin.”

“Well, you can’t let that smut get away with violent behavior. She needs to be held accountable for her actions. Damn, I can’t believe that crazy bitch kicked you in the pussy. You sure every-thing’s alright down there?” Vangie’s eyes travelled down past Nivea’s tummy area.

“It hurt like hell, but I’m not injured.”

“Nivea, you really should press charges,” Vangie said, her voice angry and indignant.

“I can’t,” Nivea whined.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She paused and let out a mournful sound. “It’s all so sordid and embarrassing. I just want to forget that it happened. I want to move forward.”

“That’s crazy, Nivea. That loony toon chick maliciously assaulted you—scratched and bit you. And she kicked you all up in your vagina. That’s not something you can easily forget.” Vangie slid her cell phone out of her purse.

“Who are you calling?”

“Nobody, but I’m taking pictures for evidence, just in case you come to your senses.” Vangie swivelled her head toward the toppled lamp. She walked over to it and began snapping pictures. “I can’t believe Eric is such a punk ass. After that tramp broke in your crib, destroyed property, and attacked you, he drove her home!”

“He claimed that she was too drunk to drive.”

“She wasn’t too drunk to get here.”

Vangie sucked her teeth. “Shit, his ass needs a beat down and he needs to get slapped with some criminal charges,” she said as
she clicked on the porch light and aimed the camera phone at the splintered door. “You need to have the police waiting on that ass when he comes to pick up his truck.”