Read The Glamorous Life 2 Online
Authors: Nikki Turner
Tags: #Fiction, #African American, #Urban, #Contemporary Women, #Coming of Age, #General
The Glamorous Life 2
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This book is dedicated to two men with amazingly impeccable spirits who touched the lives of so many.…
Eric “Von Zip” Martin
I know for sure there will never be another like you to walk this Earth. I was blessed to be able to learn so much from you and share a great part of my life with you. Your illuminating personality will be deeply missed.
Matthew Shear
You not only believed in so many of our books but you also gave us opportunities.
Acknowledgments
First all credit and
praise must go to the most-high God Almighty. He is the real author of this book. It is
only
through him that I’m able to do this. Without him none of these words would even be possible.
My editor, Monique Patterson, for having so much patience while still maintaining your enthusiasm about this project. Through this hard labor, you were the perfect birthing coach—you always stayed calm, reminding me to breathe when I could see no end. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
To the love of my life, my son, Timmond. I’m in awe of the gentleman you are turning into. Always know that you can do anything that your heart desires. Stay focused on your goals because dreams do come true. Kennisha, you have matured so much over such a short time as you have evolved into a lady. Love, laugh, and continue to press forward to your goals.
So many have come and gone through my life, but there are a few permanent fixtures that always remain. My lifelines: Craig, even when I take you for granted, you always remain so consistent with me. I will always love you for that. My brother and best friend, Curtis Chambers, over the years you kept me on my toes, trying your best to keep me foolproof. Tony Rahsaan, you should coin that phrase you are only a phone call away—literally, by the time I hang up with you, my problems are always solved. Bonnie Bling Grier, you have undoubtedly been my lifesaver more times than I can count and I love you for it and I’m so grateful to you.
My lifelong friends: Nikki Gillison and Dame Wayne, you two never disappoint me, always there with your logic and love, only wanting the best for me.
My brothers: Tim Patterson, you always seem to know the right words at the right time. EJ Matthews, you allow me to see things just as they are, even though most of the time I don’t want to see it the way you see it, but I take heed. Les Seide, you keep it so real and are always there with the answer I need. Jason Solomon, through our differences you will always be my brother. My cousins: Evan and Latimer, you should have been my brothers. I appreciate you both for your unconditional love. Angela Flunoroy, our talks and laughs really got me through a tough time! Yolanda Chester, I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the weekend you came over to cook for me so I could stay focused on my deadline; a small thing to you yet so huge to me. Moyn, what can I say? I honestly appreciate the role you played in my life, while I wrote this book, and through all the craziness you will always have a special place in my heart.
Marc Gerald, after over a decade you still are excited about my new ideas and continue to bring me amazing projects.
Always the best for last: My loyal, die-hard Nikki Turner readers! I’m so humbled by your undying support for my works. You drive me, you inspire me and show me the true meaning of love. I thank you from the bottom of my heart that you continue to allow me to share my stories with you. THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!!!!
Contents
Prologue
“Get the fuck out!”
Shelly screamed at the top of her lungs, then took another deep breath. “I said, get the fuck outta here.” Nobody moved, and then she gave a look that should’ve intimidated the two little people standing in front of her. When nobody moved, she stressed the word, “Now!”
Fourteen years old, Calliope stood there listening to her mother (in name only, because God knows she didn’t act like one) talk to her like a dog. But, hell, a dog got more compassion.
“I said get the fuck out!” Shelly screamed again after not getting the results she wanted the first time. She had that nasty look on her face. The one that said, “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Compton, only ten, held on to Calliope’s leg for dear life. She’d always protected him, and she wouldn’t stop now.
With tears in her own eyes, Calliope confronted their mother. “Momma, please don’t do this to us. Please,” she pleaded not even for herself, but more for her brother. “I’m begging you, Momma, don’t do this to us … at least not tonight. Please, Momma.” The desperation in her voice intensified with each plea for compassion.
Shelly, who was in fact her biological mother, was unmoved by her daughter’s pleas. With no kind of remorse at all, Shelly firmly said with the nastiest demeanor, sucking her teeth so hard that she spat the words out like a spoonful of shit she was trying to purge from her mouth, “What the
fuck
I tell you about begging a motha-fucka to do shit for you?” She snapped her neck and added, “And that includes me. Now”—cold eyes, as intense and lethal as deadly lasers, stared back into Calliope’s eyes—“now, lil’ girl, get the fuck outta here.”
Incendiary words, as damaging—if not more so—as a runaway meteor crashing into a metropolitan city.
But Calliope’s feet were Gorilla Glued to the old carpet, and she stood her ground. Face-to-face with her mother, she couldn’t move. She stared into Shelly’s face, thinking a few choice words:
Why are you such a bitch, Momma? We’re your flesh and blood and you treat us worse than dirt. Is it because you’re lonely and thirsty for a man’s attention? Or are you just a mean nasty bitch by nature? I can fend for myself,
she wanted to say,
but Compton is only ten. I don’t need your love. But he does
. All those things she wanted to say, but she didn’t. As she always had in the past, Calliope bit her tongue.
Unable to comprehend why his mother would put him out in the cold in the middle of the night, Compton started crying, not wanting to go anywhere.
“Shut up, you lil’ faggot! Crying is for the weak,” Shelly said to her son. “And I don’t raise no weak-ass, pussy-ass, faggot-ass niggas. Matter fact, I should give your sorry ass something to cry for.” She raised her hand up in a striking pose as if she was going to hit him, but before she could follow through with the threat the trill of the ringing of a phone snatched her attention and stopped her in motion. With one hand on her hip and the other pointed at Compton, Shelly said, with a deep passion, “That crying shit is for pussies! And I should beat the shit out yo lil’ ass fo’ crying,” but Compton ignored her and bawled even louder.
The worst part wasn’t getting put out in the rain. Calliope had grown used to her mother’s whimsical bullshit. Numb by it all, she realized at a young age (younger than Compton even) that life wasn’t fair, and her mother damn sure didn’t play fair. But it cut Calliope all the way down to the marrow in her bones to see her brother cry this way, a way that she would never get used to.
Unable to stop it before, Calliope had witnessed firsthand her mother whip Compton unmercifully until she got tired of swinging the belt for things so small as him dropping a piece of noodle on the floor. At times Calliope even jumped in front of the belt, and it was brutal. That was something that Calliope didn’t want to happen to him again. The thoughts of such uncalled-for brutality toward an innocent child compelled Calliope to bend to her brother’s height and comfort him with a hug.
Shelly put a hand on one hip and pointed with the other and said, “You best shut that lil’ motherfucka up and do what the fuck I say before I put my foot up you and that lil’ fucka asses.” She reached for the phone, and the look she lobbed in their direction was more effective than a live grenade in a field of battle. Immediately Compton swallowed his cries, but the poor child’s tears still poured down his dispirited face uncontrollably.
Wrapping her arms around him was all that was left for Calliope to offer for comfort for her brother. The embrace felt good, and she prayed that it felt as good to him as it did to her. After the hug she took her brother by the hand and slowly led the way out of the house, onto the long covered back porch.
The porch stretched the width of the house, encased by a rickety screen and a roof that had no chance of keeping the rain off them.
This wasn’t the first time that Shelly had made them sleep outside on the back porch (sometimes it was kind of fun), but this was the first time that it was pouring down rain, thunder-storming, and flashing lightning, with the weatherman and every citizen of Miami, Florida, anticipating a hurricane.
A few minutes passed with Calliope and Compton sitting on the porch, hoping that their mother, or Mother Nature, would somehow have a change of heart.
Then, through the pregnant raindrops whistling and whipping every which way, Calliope saw a big, red, shiny long Cadi bend the corner and park in front of the house.
The Cadi belonged to Big Jack, her mother’s current boyfriend, and he hated kids.
Reality set in; she knew they were really going to be out back, figuratively as well as literally. She thought about what kind of man or human would allow a woman to put her two kids out of the house.
A selfish-ass nigga with control issues, she concluded. One that when she got older, she would positively not tolerate in her life.
* * *
Inside, Shelly opened the door for Big Jack with a wide coquettish smile and wearing a tight red dress. “I thought you wasn’t going to make it—with the weather and all.” She graciously accepted the brown paper bag Big Jack offered her—an open bottle of Hennessy, her favorite Cognac.
She was brick-house thick and her hair was long, black, and naturally curly, and she had a complexion that resembled raw gold. Shelly wasn’t always so needy for a man. In high school she could’ve had any guy she wanted. But she only had eyes for a new guy who transferred in from California, Compton Sr., who revolved in and out of her life but was her children’s father, and who she thought was her soul mate.
Silly Shelly.
Too bad that saying that everybody plays a fool, no exceptions to the rule, was true.
He left her with two kids and a ran-down house with major repairs that he promised to fix, but it was now barely worth half of what she had paid for it. At least she still had her Coke bottle figure though, and she thanked God every day for that.
All she ever wanted and dreamed of was to be loved and rescued by a decent man. And most men, the ones she met anyway, weren’t in the business of raising another lion’s litter. That, especially, was the case with Big Jack. Though he had paid for a babysitter for tonight, he hated kids and made it clear that he wanted them out of sight. Shelly had used the money to help get her hair, nails, and lingerie tight. Big Jack wasn’t going to make some jacked-up bitch his wife, she reasoned with herself. So she had to get creative when it came to finding a place for the kids to stay.
A handful of her left cheek in his right palm, her butt cozying between his cupped fingers, Big Jack gave her that satisfied smile, the one that promised that, if only for tonight, he was her man.
The rain poured from a pitch-black sky, and Calliope knew she couldn’t worry about Big Jack or Shelly. The only things on her mind were survival and keeping her and her little brother safe and out of the storm.
Trees were bending to their limits, looked like they would be uprooted under the strong, penetrating force of the wind. Clutching Compton’s hand, she said, “We’re gonna have to make a run for it,” meaning the outhouse.