Hollywood High Read online

  This was Wu-Wu’s night. Not only had I daringly changed my looks and put hot pink highlights in my hair but I had a black Chinese dragon tattoo on my right arm with Wu-Wu blazing through his mouth like fire.

  I was hot.

  Sizzling.

  Boiling over with joy.

  My Wu-Wu was back.

  Swag was in check.

  “Ahhh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!” I tossed up five hundred singles in the air and made it rain in the center of the dance floor. Puddles everywhere.

  This was Wu-Wu’s world and there was nothing anyone could do to ruin my night.

  “Bust it, Wu-Wu!” Co-Co Ming spun around on his strappy heels while his matching Burberry blazer and tie floated in the air. His plaid shorts were super tight as he did a Rockette’s kick and waved his arms in the air. After a few minutes of dancing Co-Co Ming topped it off with what he called the Wu-Wu duck walk. A mix between the Pop-Lock-and-Drop-It and the Wheelchair.

  “Roll it! Ride the chair!” I yelled, dancing in my rainbow sparkling seven-inch platforms and canary booty shorts. My cleavage was busting out of my tiger bra top, ready to be shook free. “Do it, Co-Co! Make it work!” I shook my shoulders. “Who loves you, baby! Pop them hips! Vogue with it, Co-Co! Shimmy, shimmy, Co-Co, pop!”

  Co-Co did a fly kick and landed into a Russian split. He started pumping the floor and the crowd who’d been dancing around focused their attention on us and started egging us on. “Ain’t no party like a Wu-Wu party!” Co-Co and I sang simultaneously as we got lost in the movement of our bodies.

  This was the truth.

  The hottest party ever.

  “Hey Wu-Wu,” the D.J. called me and said from the D.J. booth. “Come say a little something and hit us with a freestyle!”

  The crowd cheered as Co-Co Ming encouraged me to go and spit something on the mic. I was definitely not a rap artist but when I was feeling this good I was willing to dabble a little bit. I bounced my way over toward the D.J., took the mic, and said, “I need you to drop that classic Game beat from ‘Put You on the Game.’”

  The beat boomed from the speakers. All eyes were locked on me. And the vibrations of the beat went through my bones.

  “One time for your mind!” Co-Co Ming yelled, slinging his hair back and forth. He was smiling so hard that his eyes sank into his high cheeks.

  I waved my arms in the air, directed the crowd which way to sway, and rapped:

  Let me tell you how...

  I brought the Gucci clique down...

  Click, click,

  With the camera . . . behind the bathroom door

  And smiling away.

  Thought they could get away with the dirty tricks and their best friend’s boyfriend.

  Little did they know I was recording on the other end!

  Click, click...

  “Two times for your mind!” Co-Co yelled. And the crowd chanted, “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”

  My rap continued:

  And then I pressed send.

  Brought their world right to an end.

  Next thing I know Spencer got whupped down in the ditch.

  Rich found out she was tricked by the dizzy bitch.

  London got caught up in the matrix.

  And the Gucci clique was clearly not ready for war!

  Click. Click...

  “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!” the crowd chanted. “Ahh, Wu-Wu’s in the house!”

  I bunched my shoulders and slid across the stage. The crowd went wild and as I went to take a bow the crowd shouted, “Go, Wu-Wu . . . Go Wu-Wu!” And the next thing I knew I was taking a handful of Skittles to the head and spitting my rhyme all over again.

  20

  London

  Early Saturday morning found me lying in my man’s muscular arms, basking in the afterglow of the hot, steamy, body-rocking lovemaking session we’d just had. Forget the fact that I was on Daddy’s Ruin My Daughter for Life list. Let’s forget that he had practically grounded me until my thirtieth birthday. Well, okay, not that long, but long enough—at least until he had to fly out to London for business in a few days. I was supposed to be locked away in my room thinking about my behavior. A teenager’s version of a time-out. But Daddy would absolutely flatline me if he even caught wind that I had snuck my Boobie into my bedroom two nights ago and was lying up with him right under his nose, underneath his roof. Yeah, I knew I was playing Russian roulette with my life and my inheritance. It was a dangerous game. But, like with everything else in life, love was a gamble. There were people in this world who were addicted to gambling. Then there were people like me. Addicted to love. Strung out on fairy tales and happily-ever-after. Caught up in the thrill of doing something you knew you shouldn’t be doing all for the sake of experiencing that same exact rush you felt the very first time you did it.

  Yes, love had me. And it had me betting high. I was taking a big risk. But when you’re with the sexiest man on the face of the earth, who makes your heart flutter and your body shake—when you experience the kind of euphoria I was feeling with my man being in my bed, his hands roaming my body—you threw caution to the wind, tossed your chips up in the air and let them fall where they may. With Lady Luck on my side, nothing could ever go wrong. I was in it to win it.

  Nothing else mattered to me. Not Daddy’s wrath. Not the threat of being shipped off to a convent, or the threat of a nuclear war. I was feeling good ... no, great! No, scratch that . . . fabulously on top of the world.

  Then why am I feeling like the rug is about to be pulled right from underneath my baby-soft feet?

  “I love you so much, baby,” floated from my Boobie’s lips, as he nibbled on my ear. He whispered it again. And the uneasiness that gathered in the center of my chest slowly vanished. He caressed my face, then lightly kissed me on the lips. “You know you my world, right?”

  I lifted my head off his chest and looked him in the eyes. For a brief moment I wondered if he loved me in the same way that I loved him. Would he risk losing every ounce of who he was for me if the diamond were on the other hand?

  He kissed me on the tip of my nose.

  “What you thinking about, baby?”

  I shifted my eyes, trying to keep my insecurities from sneaking up on me. “Nothing.”

  “Yo, c’mon, London. Don’t play me. You know I can tell when there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours. Talk to me.”

  “Do you love me?”

  He scrunched his face. “Of course I do. What kind of question is that? Didn’t you just hear me tell you how much?”

  I nodded. “I know what came out of your mouth. But did you mean it? Do you feel it?”

  “Yo, word up, baby. Don’t do that. After all we’ve been through, do you even have to ask?”

  I ran my hand over his smooth chest. “I just don’t want anything to change between us, that’s all.”

  “Baby, stop. Nothing’s gonna change with us, ya hear? We’re in this together, thick as thieves, for life. You and me against the world, baby. You’re the Bonnie to my Clyde.” He took my hand and placed it over his heart. “Feel that?”

  I nodded. Beneath, his hard pecs felt like the thundering of horses.

  “That’s us, baby. One heart, one beat... one love. Nothing can ever change that. But if you’re feeling some kinda way about what we’ve been planning, then we can squash it all.

  “Everything?” I asked, surprised, feeling a tinge of relief and guilt wrapped up in one.

  “If that’s what you want, hell yeah.”

  I eyed him. “And you’d be okay with that?”

  “Damn straight, baby. I’ll give it all up for you. I don’t want you doing anything you’re not feeling. If you say it’s a wrap, then eff it. That’s what it is, real talk.”

  I lowered my head. I loved my man. And I was willing to do anything for him. But there was a nagging in the back of my mind that told me it could all blow up in my face, leaving me to pick up the pieces, again, if I wasn’t care
ful.

  I could feel tears rimming my eyes.

  He lifted my chin. “Baby, listen. I’d cut out my heart before I ever hurt you. Your happiness is all that matters to me. So it’s whatever.”

  The tears started falling.

  “Damn,” he said, taking my face in his hands. He leaned in and kissed my tears as they fell. I closed my eyes. “Don’t cry.” He kissed my right lid, then my left. “I’m right here, baby.” He kissed the tip of my nose. Then my lips, taking his hand and gently wiping my tear-streaked face. “I’m not willing to lose what we have.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to be selfish.”

  “You’re never selfish.”

  I sighed. “It’s just that I’m risking a lot.”

  “We both are.”

  “I know that. I only want to be sure that we’re in this together.”

  He pressed his lips softly against mine. “That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always gonna be.”

  “I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “Me either, baby. Life is about chances. Look at us. We were built on chances. And we’re still standing. I remember the first time I peeped you, sexy. You remember that?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, it was Fashion Week.”

  “And you had just finished tearing the runway up. You were mad sexy . . .”

  My eyes drifted off to the distance. As beautiful as the memory was, it was equally heartbreaking. I tried to not think about how that was the last time I was on stage. And how that was the last time my mother looked at me with pride beaming from her eyes.

  You’re nothing now. You’ll never be anything.

  He stroked my hair. “. . . You hear me, baby?”

  “Yeah . . . yeah, I hear you.”

  “Then why you looking all sad?”

  I stared into his eyes. My stomach was aching. “I’m scared and nervous.”

  “You have nothing to be worried about, baby.”

  “But I am. I’m worried that you’re going to not want me anymore. That someone is going to take your love from me.”

  He pulled me into his arms. “Never that, baby. You’re all I want. All I’ll ever want. We’ve been through too much together for that to ever happen. I’m all yours. In mind, heart, and in body. I don’t see anyone else but you in my life. Ain’t nothing gonna ever come between us. You’re my heart. I love you, girl. You hear me?”

  I let out a sigh of relief, nodding. The fear of him leaving me, not loving me, all pressed down on my chest. I knew he was here with me. Knew I was in his arms. Knew that we had just finished making love, but still there was a nagging sense of doom that gnawed at my spirit. I could feel it, could smell it; could almost touch the heartbreak.

  “What, baby, you don’t believe me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s—”

  He cut me off, climbing out of the bed. “I was tryna wait to do this . . .”

  “Do what?” I asked watching as he walked over to his weekend bag.

  “I wanted to get things right for us, first. I’ve been walking around with this for about a week.”

  I giggled. “Walking around with what for a week?”

  He walked back over to me holding a small Tiffany’s box in his hand.

  “I love you so much, baby. From the moment I saw you I knew you were the one. I never thought you’d check for a dude like me, but you did. It was never about how much money I had. Or what I did or didn’t have. It was about me. It was about us. We’re a family, baby.”

  He dropped down on one knee. I quickly sat up in bed, feeling overjoyed. Ohymgod, ohmygod, ohmygod, he’s about to . . .

  “London Elona Phillips, will you marry me?”

  21

  Rich

  The early morning smog hugged my view of the Santa Monica Mountains as I sat on my terrace, sipped vanilla chai, and struggled like hell to figure out my life. Like how and when did it become so complicated? Yet tucked and fluffed so neatly below the crystal chandeliers and platinum guise of me having it all. When really, I had nothing. It all belonged to two egomaniacs: Richard Montgomery—a high school dropout, turned rap star, turned billionaire businessman; and Logan Montgomery neé Sha-keesha Logan Gatling—a ridiculous groupie turned rich Stepford wife.

  My life was nothing about me.

  It was all about them.

  Their money.

  Their image.

  Their dreams.

  Their wishes.

  Their plans for me.

  They were the puppeteers and my little diamond-laced strings were to dance, move, groove, and love . . . however they wanted them to.

  I’m tired of loving you and not getting anything back. . . .

  I shook Knox’s voice from my head. The last thing I needed was to be haunted by one of his late night I’m-tired-of-only-being-friends guilt trips. I just wanted to skip to the next track of my life instead of being stuck on the same eight-year-old crush.

  Damn.

  I bit into my bottom lip.

  I should run away . . .

  I nodded.

  Yeah . . . I should . . .

  But then again ...I thought as the chef sat my silverdome breakfast tray on the small café table before me and smiled. Maybe not . . . I don’t think I’d have enough money for the chef to come with me. And if I didn’t have a chef how would I eat?

  “Good morning, Miss Rich.” The chef smiled and waved his hand toward the dome as if he’d just delivered a grand prize. “Hopefully you’ll join your parents at breakfast in the morning. Two days away from the table is much too long.”

  I frowned. “I wasn’t missed.”

  “Quite the contrary.” He grinned—all teeth. “The table seemed rather dull and besides I missed you telling me how hot and boppity boom—”

  “It’s boom-bopped.”

  “Well how hot and boom-bopped I made the food this morning. And your parents looked rather sad. Particularly your mother.”

  Good. Let me them feel my wrath.

  I lifted the dome and pointed to the plate of strawberry and banana crêpes with whipped cream, eggs, and bacon—fried hard. After money—oh and the press—food was definitely my main boo. “Bam!” I said with glee. “You boom-bopped dropped and popped it this morning, Chef Jean.” I snapped my fingers and broke out into a slight dance in my seat.

  Chef Jean giggled. “That’s my Rich. And I knew crêpes were your favorite. Now tomorrow if you change that frown into a smile and join your parents at the breakfast table I will make chocolate chip pancakes.”

  I simply smiled. I guessed now wasn’t the time to tell him that I’d planned to never speak to my parents again.

  “Maybe,” I said as I placed my linen napkin across my lap and picked up my fork. “Maybe.”

  Chef Jean smiled. “Good day, Miss Rich.”

  “Good day.”

  “Is it a good day?” my mother bogarted onto my terrace. She smiled at the chef as he left and kissed me on the forehead. Then she had the audacity to take a seat at my small pink table with me.

  The nerve of her!

  I started to tell her to run along, that her suite had a much better view so she didn’t have any reason to be all up in here with me. All up in my space. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to take the chance of her bringing it to my face again. So, I took another route and punished her with my silence.

  That always killed her.

  “Richie-poo,” my mother said as she scooted her chair next to mine, placing the Tiffany bag she held around her wrist in the center of the table. “Are you still mad at Mommy?”

  Pissed. Off. I know going to jail wasn’t the thing to do but I’m sick of you and your husband telling me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. And I didn’t appreciate the way you or your little gang-star ran up on me like that was cool.

  No matter what I thought I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up a forkful of eggs and placed them in my mouth. Then I looked at my mother and
chewed . . . slowly.

  “Don’t be like that,” she said. “I hate when you shut down. It makes me feel terrible.”

  Duh, that’s the mission.

  She reached in my plate and took a piece of bacon. “You know I love you.”

  No, you love the perfect daughter. You don’t love me.

  Silence.

  I stared at her and it took everything in me not to smile as I saw the screws of guilt driving deeper into her. But whatever, she needed to feel guilty. She and my father were completely out of pocket.

  “Richie-poo, your father and I aren’t trying to hurt you.”

  I started to roll my eyes, but instead I did one better—I dabbed at the corners of them. Of course they were dry. It took a lot for me to cry, but my mother didn’t know that.

  “Awwl, Richie-poo.” She leaned over and pulled me into her bosom. “I know you think that your father and I were hard on you. And maybe we were. Just a little. But, you have to understand you’re not just anyone’s daughter. You are the daughter of a high-profile figure and people are watching everything you do. Everything that you do matters. It matters to us. It matters to the public. And it should matter to you, first and foremost.”

  I dabbed my eyes again and sniffed.

  She continued, “We only want what’s best for you. It may not make sense to you now but it will in the end.”

  Whatever!

  “If you just do what we tell you to do. You will see how much better things will be. I promise you one day it will all make sense.”

  “And when will that day be, Ma?” I blurted out and immediately shook my head. There goes the silent punishment.

  My mother gave me a relieved smile, as if something in her mind told her we were friends again. Not.

  “When you become a mother,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t want to wait that long,” I said.

  My mother released me from her embrace and eyed me. She took a deep breath, and said, “Exactly what are you talking about?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. You never listen anyway.”

  She leaned forward in her chair with one brow raised. She tilted her head. “No, I’m listening. Now go on.”