In Between Men, page 30
She didn’t
He blew his brains out.
That shit alone rocketed her to fame in Culver High. The girls wanted to know her secrets to get a boy to fall that deeply in love and the boys wanted to sample what hooked a brother so bad that he’d take his own life. Hell. It was a win-win situation for Jaleesa. She still used that whole tragic episode in her movie biography as some great triumph that she had to get over to become the great piece of shit actress she is today.
Foul.
And no. I’m not a hater. I’m watching from the sidelines waiting for this bitch to finally get what’s coming to her. It’s coming. Karma is a bitch. Believe that. Don’t think that I don’t know that it’s fucking killing her that I married one of the hottest actors in the business. Shit. Jaleesa sat at my wedding with her nose damn near ready to twist off her face.
How did fat Brijetta hook someone like Trey Hamilton? Hell that’s what the whole world wants to know. My answer? I put up with a lot of bullshit. Anyone that’s been in this town more than two seconds should know that not everything that glitters is gold. Dating actors, let alone marrying them, is like having a lobotomy… daily. Their vanity, their God complexes and their constant need for love and attention is not for the faint at heart. But… I love my husband… just as I love the life being married to him has afforded me.
I grew up with nothing … less than nothing. A broken home with an alcoholic and constantly cheating father left me and my six siblings to deal with a deeply bitter mother. The kind of mother that never missed an opportunity to tell me how I was never going to amount to anything and don’t bother with ever trusting a man. I get it. She was hurt, but her words battered my fragile self-confidence until I found myself repeating her hateful words to myself in the mirror.
It’s no wonder I found comfort in food. A little pizza to smother the loneliness, a little ice cream to mute the pain of my dead-end career. Before I knew it, I was tipping the scales at three hundred and fifteen pounds and trying to convince myself that the pain in my back and legs were no big deal. Trey saved me and in return I try each and every day to save him right back.
And don’t think I’m foolish enough to ever leave Jaleesa alone with my husband. Not going to happen. Hell, I don’t even invite this trick over to my house and I certainly don’t discuss what projects Trey is working on so she can beg me for a muthafucking job. This bitch could be on fire and I wouldn’t bother to piss on her to put it out. Believe that shit.
I don’t know Sinclair that well, but she’s going to have to learn her own lessons when dealing with Jaleesa. I threw out a couple of hints and I’m going to leave it at that because bitches in this town love nothing more than to shoot the messenger.
“Oh look at the time,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I gotta head back. We’re doing some renovations on the west wing of the house and I have a team of contractors coming.”
Jaleesa frowns. “Aww. But I just got here.”
“We’ll just have to catch up next time.” I stand and brush a brief kiss against her cheek and stretch my fake smile as wide as her own. “Take care and good luck with your audition.”
“Oh, I’m not going to have to audition. My girl, Sinclair is going to hook me up. Ain’t that right?”
Sinclair frowns. “I didn’t say that. I said that I’d get you a copy of the script.”
I shake my head, but then hug and kiss Sinclair goodbye. Like I said, she’s gonna have to learn her lessons the hard way. “Check you later, girl.”
A few minutes later, I’m in my blue Mercedes and flying up Santa Monica Boulevard, basking in the afternoon sun and replaying Jaleesa’s desperation over and over in my head. Damn. I should have busted out my camera phone and taken a picture of her begging Sinclair for a script. It’s not much, but I have the sneaking suspicion that it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I pull up to the gate of my estate and punch in the code. When the wrought iron bars swing open, I get hit with that same wondrous disbelief that this is my place. My home. It’s gorgeous. Emerald green lawn neatly manicured and landscaped with blankets of flowers I don’t even know the names of. Water fountains, Cupid statues, sculptured hedges were nothing compared to the French-Chateau styled mansion nestled on the three acre estate.
My house. How you like me now, momma?
Parking the car in one of the nine car ports, I rush into the house certain that I have about ten minutes before the first contractor gets here. Plenty of time for a quick wardrobe change.
“Ah, Mrs. Hamilton, thank God you’re home.”
I look up at the top of the winding staircase to see Amaya, our four foot, husky-build housekeeper, looking like she’s in a near state of panic. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mr. Hamilton. He no come out the room. I think that something may be wrong.”
I’m already running up the stairs before she even finishes talking. “Where is he?”
“In the bedroom. That man came by again this morning.” Amaya struggles to keep up with me while I run to my bedroom. “I don’t like that man. He scares me.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I reach the door and sure enough the muthafucka is locked. “Trey?” I knock. “Baby, are you all right?”
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Trey?” I turn to Amaya. “Find me a screwdriver.” “Yes, ma’am.” She takes off.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Trey, baby. Open the door.” I press my ear against the door and I think I can just barely make out Trey whispering my name. Fear seizes control of me as I rattle the knob and bang on the door harder. “What did you do, baby?” Tears splash down my face because I’m already imagining the worst. “HURRY UP, AMAYA!”
“I’M COMING!”
My knocking is now a raucous bang. It doesn’t do any good since the door is solid oak. “TREY, CAN YOU HEAR ME, BABY?”
BANG! BANG!
Amaya races back to my side, red-faced and out of breath. “Here you go, Mrs. Hamilton.”
Shakily, I snatch the screwdriver out of her hand and get busy dismantling the doorknob. “Hold on, baby. I’m coming.” Shit. I’m so fucking nervous, I can barely get my hands to stop shaking.
“Do you think he’s all right?” Amaya asks nervously over my shoulder.
I don’t bother answering her because I really don’t need my mind going there. I stab my fingers a couple of times, chip a nail but I finally get the doorknob off and rush inside. My gaze instantly flies to the large mahogany bed where Trey is face down with a needle still protruding out of his arm.
“Shit. Shit.” Rushing over to him, I still try to push all negative thoughts to the back of my head. He’s okay. He’s okay. I desperately need to believe this. I snatch the needle out and, with Amaya’s help, get Trey flipped over onto his back. I quickly try to find a pulse, but I’m having trouble and he’s clearly turning a purplish color. “Help me get him into the bathroom.”
Amaya starts to back away. “I dunno. Maybe we should–?”
“Don’t argue. Grab his feet.” I swear to God I’ll beat the holy hell out of her if she bolts.
Amaya hesitates for just a second, but then hops to it. Together we manage to carry Trey off the bed. Getting to the bathroom is more of a challenge. I even break a heel off my shoes, trying to lug Trey’s dead weight. Eventually we make it to the king-sized tub and Amaya turns the shower on while I’m still sitting in the tub behind Trey and trying to slap him awake. The minute the cold water hits us, Trey springs to life, sputtering and gasping.
“What the fuck?” He gasps and then sputters under the icy current. “Goddamn it. TURN THAT SHIT OFF!”
Startled, Amaya quickly shuts off the water and then looks me dead in my face and says, “I can’t do this no more, Mrs. Hamilton. It’s not right. I quit!” She turns and runs off.
“Amaya, please come back!”
“Let her ass go. Fuck.” Trey huffs and then eases back against my heaving chest; like us hanging out in the tub with our clothes on is something we do everyday. My clothes are ruined, I broke my favorite pumps and chipped a nail, but Trey is all right. Thank God.
How did I snag a man like Trey Hamilton?
I put up with a lot of bullshit.
San Culberson, In Between Men
