The Meltdown (15 page)

“Nigel, it’s eighty degrees outside. I’m not wearing this thick-ass thing anywhere,” Mickey says, tossing the leather jacket off her body and onto the floor. Does she know how many females would line up at the chance to wear one of her man’s prized athletic possessions? “Besides, why would I want to hide all of this fineness?” Still admiring her postpar-tum figure, Mickey readjusts the black tube top, shocking Nigel.

“Damn, girl. You just had a baby. Act like it,” Nigel says, picking up his jacket from the floor and throwing it on the futon against the wall.

Rah walks in, and Nigel storms out the back door with a blunt in his hand. Why does Mickey have to be such a bitch sometimes? I guess that’s like asking why do dogs bite: It’s simply in her nature.

“What was that all about?” Rah asks, oblivious to the drama unfolding in his studio. He stops in the doorway, taking me in. I know I look good, and it doesn’t hurt that I’m sporting Lakers colors—his favorite basketball team.

“You don’t want to know,” I say, smiling at Rah. I can smell the fresh herbal essence Rah’s wearing, which explains his bloodshot eyes.

“Are we ready to roll, people?” Nigel asks, returning much more mellow than when he walked out two minutes ago.

Mickey rolls her eyes at her man, and he couldn’t care less, or so I think.

“Yeah, man. Just let me get another quick hit and we’ll be on our way.” Rah claims the lighter and blunt from Nigel, ready to step back outside.

“I’ll get in on that rotation, too,” Mickey says, finally stepping away from the mirror and attempting to follow Rah outside. He stops in his tracks, noticing her attire, and almost chokes on his own spit. If it were me instead of Mickey, he’d have a heart attack.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Rah asks, looking at Nigel but talking to Mickey, now recognizing the source of the tension in the air.

“I’m wearing exactly what the hell I want to,” Mickey says, taking the tightly rolled cigar from a distracted Rah. Nigel walks out and Rah follows like the true homeboy he is, and he’d better move fast. Otherwise there might be holes present in the studio wall that weren’t there before. I’ve seen a brotha enraged, and that’s the kind of heat I’m feeling from Nigel. Maybe I can help defuse the situation before it gets out of control.

“Girl, what the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, taking Mickey by the arm. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

Mickey snatches her bare arm away from me and narrows her eyes. I understand she’s trying to get her sexy back, but at what cost?

“No, but you have, grabbing on me like that,” Mickey says. “Nigel knew what he was getting when he started seeing me: The shit ain’t changed.”

“Hell yeah, shit’s changed,” I say, attempting to lock onto Mickey’s sight, but she’s not making it easy. “You had a baby.”

“So what? Mamas can’t be sexy?”

Mickey’s beyond all reasoning and rationale this evening. “You’re not Kendra, and Nigel’s not Hank Baskett, Mickey,” I say. Hank knew he was getting a professional stripper when he married his wife, so he can’t say shit about what she wears and around whom. But this is completely different, starting with the fact that we’re minors attending a high school graduation party, not former Playmates spending a day at the
Playboy mansion, which is exactly where Mickey looks like she belongs. “This isn’t a reality show, girl. It’s real life, and you’re making it more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Whatever, Jayd. You’ve never been sexy. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Mickey says, leaving me speechless.

What a bitch and then some. Switching her ornery ass as she walks out of the room, Mickey rolls her eyes at me and I return the rude gesture. Before I can go completely off, Jeremy calls. He must’ve made it to London: They’ve been flying all day long.

“Jeremy,” I say, smiling into my cell.

“Hey, baby,” he says, sounding groggy. “We finally made it.”

“I’m glad,” I say, stepping into the hallway for more pri-vacy—or so I think. Nigel and Mickey are at war. I’ll let them continue their arguing and step back into the den where my goddaughter’s resting peacefully. At least she’s immune to the bull going on around her. “It’s good to hear your voice, even if it is on another continent.” Rah walks in and notices my demeanor. Anyone can tell I’m talking to my man, and I couldn’t care less. I wish Jeremy were here in the flesh. His ever-chilled attitude always helps me relax.

“Jeremy, your mom wants us downstairs for breakfast,” a female voice says, reigniting my fire. Jeremy doesn’t have any sisters, and I know his brothers didn’t bring their women along—his mom made it very clear it’s a Weiner-only event, even if the oldest one is married. But because his wife hasn’t spawned any new progeny, she’s out of the family loop. Their parents are no joke when it comes to the whole family-unit thing. How do they deal with such jerks for parents?

“Who the hell was that?” I ask in full neck-roll mode. Mickey and Nigel are still at it, and now Rah’s jealous. Maybe I should chill alone tonight, unlike my man’s apparently doing.

“Cameron,” Jeremy says reluctantly. Oh, hell no, that trick’s not part of the trip like that.

“Okay. So why is she in your room?”

Mickey storms into the den, picks up her daughter and diaper bag, and heads back out. I guess they’re finally going to drop the baby off.

“She’s not. I’m in the front lobby of the hotel. I was looking for some privacy, but I guess I’m not safe even all the way out here,” he says. I can hear Jeremy’s smile through the phone automatically forcing one of my own. “I miss you, Jayd. I can’t wait to come home.”

“I miss you, too, Jeremy.” And I trust you as far as I can throw Cameron, but I’ll keep that part to myself. “Call me tomorrow, okay?” I need to look up a chant or something that works across miles to keep that girl away from my boyfriend in a real way. Cameron’s not even trying to play coy and neither am I.

“What up, my peeps?” Chance says, walking up the stairs with his grill gleaming. His new platinum and gold chain matches his mouthpiece. This boy’s got too much money and time on his hands.

“Tell my boy I said what up,” Jeremy says before officially ending the call. That was too short, but it’ll have to do. We both have other people to tend to.

“Jeremy sends his greetings,” I say, closing my phone and putting it in the small purse on my shoulder. Rather than my large Lucky hobo, I opted for the petite New York & Company demi bag, another accessory courtesy of my mom’s dwindling closet.

“Cool. Tell him I said to holla at me. I’m going to be traveling myself tomorrow,” Chance says, engulfing me in his thin yet firm embrace.

“Tomorrow?” I ask, already knowing he’s headed back
down South and his mother back to the bottle, not that she ever left.

“Yeah, babe. I’m out on the first flight in the morning. Tomorrow’s Father’s Day, and I want to be with my real grandfather and his family,” Chance says, releasing me as we proceed downstairs to where the rest of our crew’s waiting, ready to go.

“Chase, please listen to me,” I say, touching his shoulder when we reach the foyer. I’ve decided to call him by his preferred name, even if I still call him Chance in my mind. Maybe the acknowledgment will cool him down a bit. “Your mom’s grieving, too. She feels like she’s lost the most important person in her life. You need to let her know she still has you.” I look into Chance’s pretty blues, unable to lock on good enough to have any real influence.

“She hasn’t lost anything she already had,” Chance says sorrowfully. I know he’s torn between two worlds and it’s difficult for him, but he still needs to be considerate of his mother’s feelings. “I just want to get to know my real family. Is that so bad?”

“Not at all, Chance,” I say, accepting his hand in mine. I squeeze tightly, letting him know I’m here for him and always will be.

Nellie comes inside and glares at us both. Oh hell, here we go: first Mickey’s foul attitude, now Nellie. They’re like the homegirl hater tag team, I swear.

“What are you two talking about?” she asks, folding her arms across her barely there chest, attempting to look badass, but sassy is as close as she’ll get.

“Nothing. Just shit,” Chance says, not ready to have this conversation with his girlfriend. Even if I think he should, I completely understand why Chance doesn’t want to talk with Nellie in depth about his family issues. She’s been less
than sympathetic about it all lately and fights him about it every opportunity she gets. I hope Nellie soon realizes Chance needs a shoulder, not a fist.

“As thick as it is up in here, it must be something heavy, so spit it out.” Nellie’s the bossiest bitch I know. Rather than hang with her man earlier today, she chose to hang out with Laura and the rest of their bitch clique, including Jeremy’s prodigal baby mama, Tania. I’m not happy about that at all, but I’ve ceased arguing with my girls about their trifling behavior. As usual, I’ll be here when the shit hits the fan, as it always does.

“Nellie, it’s nothing. Damn.” Chance lets go of my hand and heads toward the open front door. “Now let it go, please,” he says, tiring of her forceful behavior. He told her about going to Atlanta for a couple of weeks, and she was less than pleased, which is why he left everything else out. Nellie can’t stand being out of the know even if it’s something she doesn’t care about. Just the thought of Chance sharing something with me and not her makes Nellie’s ass itch.

“Am I your girlfriend or is Jayd your girlfriend, because I’m confused,” Nellie says.

I roll my eyes as high as I can, secretly hoping I’ll be carried away from this all-too-familiar scene. I wish they’d never gotten together—and Mickey and Nigel, too. It was better when my boys were my boys and my girls were my girls. All this mixing and mingling is too much for our stressed-out crew to handle.

“All right, folks. Nigel and Mickey will meet us downtown,” Rah says from the driveway. “Are we ready to roll, people?”

Chance and Nellie glare at each other, and Rah instinctively knows he’s interrupting another arguing couple.

“I am,” I say, stepping past Nellie and Chance and heading toward my car parked on the street.

Rah looks at our friends still posted and gets impatient with the drama. “Hey, tonight’s all about Nigel,” he says, having his boy’s back when he can’t be here to speak for himself. “Get over it and come on or not: I don’t really care. But if you’re coming, let’s get a move on. It’s Saturday night and the streets are packed.”

“We’re coming, man,” Chance says, pulling the door shut behind him as he and Nellie walk to his Chevy parked in the driveway.

I’m with Rah. Tonight’s all about Nigel, and as his friends, we need to put our egos aside and support him. I still wish my man were here to make it all better, but I’m going to enjoy the party tonight regardless of the madness we’re all experiencing.

A
s expected, the traffic from Nigel’s house to downtown Los Angeles is brutal. I don’t know if there is an accident or what, but it takes twice as long to get here as it usually does. Nigel texted Rah a few minutes ago and told him to have us wait for him and Mickey before walking in so we make his grand entrance together. We might be unstable at the moment, but we’re still a good-looking crew, no doubt. What’s a star football player without his entourage?

“They’re here,” Rah says, opening my car door.

There weren’t four spaces next to each other, so Chance and Nellie parked on one level while Rah and I parked on the lower deck. Who knows where Nigel and Mickey ended up.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping out and arming the alarm. We both check the number of our parking spots before stepping into the elevator. Nellie and Chance are already in the hotel lobby not talking to one another when we walk inside. Mickey and Nigel step through the front door of the snazzy hotel looking like high school royalty.

“All right, people. Let’s do this,” Nigel says, leading the way to the grand ballroom for the festivities. He’s so hyped, and I’m happy for my boy. He deserves all the good he can get.

When we step inside the massive banquet hall of the W Hotel, black and gold streamers hang from everywhere. It’s packed inside, resembling a nightclub more than a high school graduation party—minus the liquor, of course. There are teacher and parent chaperones lining the walls with students everywhere the eye can see. I bet their prom was off the chain.

“Wow,” Nellie says, expressing all our sentiments exactly.

Westingle went way out for their senior class. Even Chance’s wealthy ass looks impressed with the eloquent décor.

“Daddy’s home,” Nigel says, smiling at the warm welcome he’s feeling from the school colors and familiar faces.

Rah looks pleased with his boy’s reaction but not with the unofficial welcome committee heading our way.

“Nigel, Rah, I’m so glad you all could make it,” Tasha says with Trish beside her.

Out of the hundreds of people present, they would be the first two broads we run into. Mickey grabs her man’s hand and holds on tight with her ring finger proudly on display.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Trish says, eyeing me like shit on the bottom of a shoe. As usual, she and Tasha are dressed top to bottom in black Prada, showing off their money and boring personalities all in one outfit.

“It’s nice to see you,” Tasha says, eyeing her ex-man like candy. She looks at Mickey, who looks as uncomfortable as she ought to feel. We all tried to tell her this wasn’t the time or the place to wear that outfit, but who are we? Maybe she’ll listen the next time we try and save her ass from embarrassment.

“Okay, ladies, move it along. We’ve got business to tend,” Rah says, fanning the hoes away and leading us through the crowd. We find a standing table and post up, ready to have some fun. There’s enough food to feed an army, and I’m ready to dig in.

“Nigel, glad you could make it,” one of the football coaches from his former school says, walking over to greet us. “There are some people here from UCLA I want you to meet.” He nods his bald head as a greeting to the rest of us. Unlike at South Bay High, most of the staff at Westingle is black, including the coaches. “I took the liberty of inviting a few of our alumni to meet the new first-draft pick,” he says excitedly. Noticing Nigel’s arm candy, he does a double take at Mickey’s attire, further solidifying my girl’s shame.