Hollywood High Read online

  “And what would that be?” I asked.

  “What do we need to do to fix this?”

  “Spencer’s at six o’clock and don’t be late.”

  Click!

  I jumped up off the bed and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Who shot ya!”

  “HEATHER!”

  24

  London

  The minute I disconnected the call with Rich, I started hyperventilating. That whole conversation had me rendered speechless. I felt paralyzed.

  This little light of mine...

  I’m gonna let it shine...

  “Baby, baby . . . you all right?” my Boobie asked, rubbing my back, and feeling my head.

  No I’m not all right. I’m about to be put out on the streets.

  I broke out in a sweat. The only thing I could see was Daddy kicking in my bedroom door like a madman, taking back all of my designer handbags, shoes, and jewels and tossing the rest of my things out on the lawn. If everything Rich had said was true, I needed to grab my passport and flee the country, pronto. Like right now. And join one of those indigenous tribes over in the South Pacific. My life, as I had known it, was about to be over.

  “Baby, baby, baby,” he said again. “What’s going on? What happened? You look like you’re about to pass out. You need some water? Talk to me. Tell me what’s the matter?”

  I slowly turned my head, and stared at his nakedness. “I need you to leave.”

  He frowned. “What? Leave? Why? Who was that you were on the phone with?”

  “Unless you want to go with me, you need to disappear now.”

  He looked at me confused. “Where you going? I thought we were gonna lay around in bed all day and chill.”

  “Change of plans,” I said, jumping up from the bed, wrapping a sheet around my naked body. “I need to start packing my bags—”

  “Yo, hold up. What are you talking about? Pack your bags to go where? You need to calm down because you’re not making any sense right now, for real. You’re scaring me.”

  “Well, you need to be scared. ’Cause if Turner Phillips catches you up in here, we are both going to be tagged and bagged.”

  “What? You’re talking crazy now. Tagged and bagged? Can you calm down for one minute and explain to me what the hell you are talking about?”

  “Calm down? Calm down?!” I screamed, racing into my walk-in closet and frantically pulling clothes out of my island dresser. “Are you serious? I can’t calm down. My life is about to end. I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I gotta get out of here before my father gets his hands on me and kills me. You can stay if you want. But I won’t be coming back to claim your body. So you need to get up. Get dressed. And get out!”

  He followed behind me. “Look, baby. Calm down, and tell me who was that on the phone and what happened? ’Cause you are really buggin’ hard.”

  I stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. “That was Rich. I’m all over the Internet.” He looked at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

  “And?”

  I recapped the whole conversation, pausing every so often to stuff more clothes and jewels into another travel bag. I screamed, “I got to get out of here! Hollywood is the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

  He walked over and grabbed me. “That’s not true. Hollywood brought you back to me.”

  “Yeah, and now it’s about to tear us apart. I gotta run now while I still have both my legs. I am so dead when my father gets wind of all this.”

  “Wow,” he said, rubbing his chin. “This is crazy. Slow down. You know what? I’m going with you. I’m not losing you to anything or anyone, ever again. We’re gonna bounce outta here together.”

  I jumped in his arms and kissed him. “Oh for real, boo. I love you so much.”

  He looked me in the eyes. “Wait. They really said that: NEW YORK AMAZON TAKES DOWN L.A.?”

  “Yeah, they did. It’s horrible.”

  He burst out laughing. “Yo, that’s hilarious. They got you soundin’ like a real gangster-type chick.”

  I frowned, pushing him away from me. “Oh, you think this is funny? My life is a joke to you?”

  “Nah, you already know what it is. I’m sayin’ . . . I know you upset about being plastered all over the Internet, but baby . . . it’s not that serious. Sounds like you’re making it out to be more than what it is. But if it makes you feel better, you should definitely get up with your girl and go handle ya scandal.”

  I punched him in the arm. “This is so not funny. I hate you.”

  “No you don’t. You know you love me.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He cracked up again. “C’mon, baby. It is funny. You know you’re not an amazon. So what if that’s what they called you. They’re just jealous of my baby. Let the media say what they want. You know they’re a buncha haters, anyway. Besides, all press is good press.”

  I pulled in a deep breath. “Well, tell my daddy that.”

  He pulled me into his arms, and said, “Right now I’m your daddy.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Boy, you’re delusional. You’ll never be my daddy.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, a’ight. But I will always be your man.” He slapped me on the behind. “Now go get showered. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “I’ma beat her, I’ma beat her, I’ma beat. Her. Boom. Boom,” Rich chanted over and over as we walked up the circular driveway of Spencer’s home.

  I pulled her by the arm. “No, you’re not. If you go up in that girl’s house and get to busting it up all crazy, you are on your own. I don’t need any more media attention. I don’t need any more cameras flashing in my face. As a matter of fact I’m getting ready to change my whole identity.”

  Rich looked at me, putting her hand up to her mouth. “Clutching pearls. Are you getting ready to go into the Witness Protection Program or something? Do you think they’ll have room for me?”

  “Girl, what are you talking about? I’m getting far away from you. You have brought me down with all of your media shenanigans. I can’t deal with you anymore. I’m tired. I’m done. It’s over. Now we’re going to go in here, we’re gonna handle these two hoes. You’re gonna act right. You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. . . .”

  “Hold up. You don’t tell me what to do. I’m a lady.”

  “You’re not a damn lady!” I screamed in her face. “You’re a barbarian. A media whore! A thug in Chanel! I’m sick of you!”

  “Whaaaat?! How dare you! And you’re an amazon!” Rich yelled back. “But they shoulda called you King Kong!” She started beating her chest. “You monster!”

  The next thing I knew I had swung my handbag upside Rich’s head. And we started fighting, rolling around on the grass, and down the hill, punching and slapping each other. Ripping and clawing at each other’s faces and clothes.

  I rolled on top of her and yelled, “Let me explain the rules to you!”

  She rolled up on me. “You don’t explain nothing to me!”

  I rolled back on top of her. “You will learn how to act.”

  She flipped me over and jumped back on top of me. “You don’t tell me what to do, King Kong. You gotta problem, London! You’re nothing but trouble! And I’m not gonna tolerate it!”

  “Get it off of me!” Before either one of us could do anything else we had rolled all the way down the hill and into the enormous man-made pond. We both screamed at the same time as we hit the water. I flung my arms around wildly trying to gather my bearings, jumping up. I didn’t see Rich anywhere. All I saw were large goldfish swimming around my feet. “Rich!” I screamed. “Rich, where are you, girl? Oh God, no. You’re not a barbarian. I’m sorry for calling you that. You have a little thug in you, but you’re not barbarian. Rich! I didn’t know.”

  I walked aimlessly through the water calling out for Rich. I was in a state of panic. Then out of nowhere I heard her sputtering, “London! Over here! London!”

  I ran over to her. We hugged tightly. “Girl, I th
ought you had drowned.” I looked at her. And she looked at me. We both screamed at what we looked like. Our clothes were ruined. Our hair was wet, soppy mops. Rich had a lily pad stuck on the side of her head. I felt something flopping around in my bra and screamed. Trying to get it out, I tore open my blouse and yanked up my bra. And a fish popped out. My boobies bounced and shook as I hopped up and down.

  Rich and I ran out of the water, screaming and hanging on to each other for dear life. “I’m so sorry, London.”

  “I’m sorry too, Rich.”

  “We have let them two subpar hoes tear us down to the dogs. We’re both better than that. Better than they’ll ever be.”

  “I know, girl, you’re right,” I said as I tucked my breasts back in my bra and tried to fix my blouse. All the buttons were ripped off. I reached over and removed leaves from Rich’s hair. “No more. No more.”

  Rich and I held hands as she said, “From this moment on, it’s you and me against the world, London. Not even the headlines, nor those two dollar trollops can keep us apart. Because for all we know they could be setting us up.”

  I had to agree with her. “Mmmhmm. They’re jealous. Spencer slept with your man and now she wants to do high tea. Yeah, I smell a setup.”

  Rich put a hand up on her hip and rolled her neck. She was the spitting image of her mother. “Well, I tell you what. The first one who even looks like they wanna buck, we’re gonna leap up on ’em, body rock ’em and drop ’em.”

  “And there you have it,” I said, high-fiving her. “That’s how we’ll do it. All while keeping it calm and keeping it cute.”

  25

  Spencer

  “They’re here,” I said as the doorbell chimed, yelling for Heather up the dual staircases that flowed elaborately down to the first floor of my home. A few seconds later, she came cascading down the right side of one of the staircases, holding on to the wrought-iron railing as if she were prime-time royalty.

  “Wu-Wu loves you, boo,” she said, waving and blowing kisses and smiling wide with each step. She stopped, placed a hand up over her heart. “I’ve waited all my life for this moment. I’d like to thank the Academy.”

  “Heather, will you snap out of it!”

  She giggled. “Oh, right-right. Let me bring it back. I almost got caught up in a new sitcom I have in my head.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Well you need to save that. Now is not the time to be thinking about Web sites. Right now I need you on deck here.”

  The doorbell chimed again.

  “Oh, and trust me. This is right where I want to be,” Heather said as she walked over to me. She flashed me a toothy smile, then followed behind me to the door. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”

  I opened the door and Heather and I both gasped.

  “Ohmysweetluckycharms . . . I do believe my eyes deceive me,” I said breathlessly. “They look like two wild boars. I’m thinking I may need my spear,” I whispered to Heather, who was in such shock that her bottom lip drooped.

  Maybe they think its Halloween? But whether they do or not, there’s no way I can let them in my house. “Excuse me but you two—”

  “Are here.” Rich slammed her hand on her hip. And I couldn’t help but stare at the green leaves stuck in her teeth.

  “That’s right, we’re here,” London said, as water dripped from her tangled hair and down her scratched face. They both looked like they’d been wrestling wild sheep, no . . . I mean, deer. No. Not deer . . . hungry mountain lions. They were tore-up-to-the-door down! “And,” London continued, “we’re not in any mood for your tomfoolery!”

  I frowned, mostly because looking at these two tore my stomach up. “I think you’re at the wrong house. Tom Foolery’s estate was foreclosed on about three months ago.”

  “Whatever,” London huffed as she pushed her way through the door and into my home’s three-story foyer. All I could think about is how she and Rich looked as if they were melting all... on ... my... floor. London carried on, “The point is that what you did was whorish. . . .”

  Wait, what did she say?

  “Straight skeezer,” Rich stated.

  Are they talking about me?

  “Sluttish,” London added.

  “Real STD-like,” Rich continued.

  I know they are not talking about me. . . .

  “And you and your overused coochie, Spencer,” London snapped, “are a train wreck headed straight to skid row!”

  Screetch! These two wild hawks are talking about me!

  “And you’re lucky,” Rich interjected, letting her handbag drop down into the crook of her arm, “that I’m being a lady about it instead of boom-bop-droppin’ it upside your head for you being a nasty, lowdown, dirty, trifling skank. Because had I gone with my first instinct I would’ve bashed your head in and that would’ve been the real reason that London and I did hard time!”

  “We were only there for a few hours, Rich,” London said.

  “London,” Rich said, shaking her head. “Now, you and I both know that you were seconds away from being some muscular woman’s wife!”

  I gasped.

  Rich continued, “What you did to me was downright rat-certified!”

  “For what I did to you?!” I screeched. “What about what the two of you did to me? Both of you attacked me for no reason!”

  “Bzzz,” London interrupted. “Wrong answer. We didn’t attack you for no reason, we attacked you because of your mouth!”

  My eyes bucked. “Whaaat? Wait a minute—”

  London pointed a dirt-caked finger at me. “No. You wait a minute, Miss Drop Down and Get Your Bobble On. We didn’t come way over here to argue with you . . .”

  “We came in peace,” Rich butted in, waving her arms and flinging water all over the marble floor. “Something we didn’t have to do. Therefore, we don’t have any time for your drama, your rants, or your trickery. We’ve had enough. So you will speak to us like ladies. And—”

  London jumped in and snapped her fingers. “Keep it calm. Keep it cute.”

  Rich tilted her matted and tangled head. “Or there will be a problem.” She looked over to Heather. “Or two.” Then these two freak-nasty-beetle-juice boogers high-fived each other, then slammed their hands up on their hips for emphasis.

  I blinked.

  Heather blinked. “Who let the hood out?” Heather asked. “I mean really, I could’ve sworn the po-po and racial profiling shut y’all down.” She dropped down and popped back up. “Is this supposed to be a part of your initiation?”

  “Excuse you?” Rich snarled.

  “You heard me,” Heather went on. “You two came up in here like y’all have left Hollywood to run the skreets now. Seriously, are we supposed to be scurrrrrrrred, homie?” Heather exaggerated her voice as she did a two-step, then a Michael Jackson moonwalk.

  Rich popped her lips and rolled her neck. “Listen here, little crackhead baby.”

  “No, you listen here!” I snapped back, pointing a finger at Rich. “Because now you’re going too far! Heather hasn’t done crack up in here. Crack is whack! The only thing she’s done is tequila. Now get out of my house, you swamp creature, and take your clucker-doodle-do with you. I don’t allow Section Eight to run through here! And I don’t need either one of you leaving your wet, nasty feathers all up in my house. Now out!” I pointed toward the door. “Before I call the police and have both of you tossed out on your funk-buckets.” I walked over to the door and swung it open. “OUT!”

  London and Rich both folded their arms and said, “We’re not leaving.”

  I blinked again.

  “Psst, please I wish I would.” Rich popped her huge lips.

  I tilted my head, then glanced over at Heather. She shrugged. “Drop it, boo. Give ’em what they came here for.”

  I walked over to the marble-topped console, pulling open a drawer. “Oh, you little Miss Potato Heads think I’m playing, huh?” I pulled out a fresh can of Mace, shaking it. “I’ll show you.” I walked
back over to them. “Now, what was that you two pigeons were saying? You said you weren’t gonna do what . . .?”

  London and Rich started backing up toward the door.

  Heather laughed. “No. Don’t leave. Y’all bad; real gutter-gangster with it. Real Long Beach, real Watts with it. But let it be known. The next slore who runs her mouth”—she pointed her fingers at Rich and London like two loaded guns—“will get dropped.”

  “Now tick-tock, tick-tock,” I said, holding the can of Mace in the direction of their faces. “I’m about to spin your clocks.”

  They both put their hands up in the air. “You know what,” Rich said, easing back. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll just slide quietly on out the door. We see you wanna get it crunked and we don’t do drama. We didn’t come here for that. So we’ll come back at another time when you’re feeling better.”

  “No, you were the one busting up in here tryna get it stunk!” I said. “Didn’t your mommas tell you never bring lip gloss to a gunfight?”

  Heather fired an imaginary shot up in the air. “Pow, Pow! ’Cause we got guns blazing over here. Now how you wanna do this?”

  Rich huffed as they stood in the doorway. “Heather, get over yourself! You’re the one who told London and me to meet you over here because Spencer was distraught over what she did to me!”

  “And what about what you did to me?!” I screamed.

  “I didn’t do anything to you!” Rich screamed. “You’re crazy, Spencer! You should be begging my forgiveness, not getting all nasty and pulling out weapons and whatnot on us. Obviously, the two of you didn’t call us over here to deal with how we’re being dragged in the media. You called us over here to set me and London up!”

  “Set you up? You two barged up in my house,” I snapped, lowering the can. “Like both of you wanted to set it off.”

  Rich flicked her hand at me. “It’s not even my style to set anything off! That’s all you, trampy-boo! ’Cause obviously you like to set it off wherever there’s a bathroom!”

  “Oh no you didn’t call me a tramp, you troll doll! Lady and the Tramp may have been a great movie but I’m no dog!” I waved my finger.