Hollywood High Read online

“Mr. and Mrs. Ming,” the doctor called as he walked over and tapped Mr. Ming on the arm. “He’s conscious now and you can go in to see him.”

  My heart felt lighter. “Doctor,” I said. “Can you please let him know that his friend Heather is here to see him?”

  The doctor nodded and then he led the way to Co-Co’s room as his parents followed behind.

  For the next twenty minutes I paced the waiting room area. Hoping that his parents would hurry so that I could get to see Co-Co’s face. I desperately needed to erase the image of him lying lifeless on his bed.

  I chewed my inner cheek. I’d lost my patience and was barely holding on.

  You need a Black Beauty. . . .

  No I don’t. . . .

  I did all I could to shake the thoughts from my head. Unable to keep waiting I eased toward Co-Co’s room. His father spoke to him in Chinese and I heard Co-Co cry, “Where am I supposed to go? I can’t help who I am.”

  I wished I could understand what his father said. All I knew is that his tone was cold as he spoke. A few seconds later he turned toward the door, looked through me, and left the room. His wife cried as she followed closely behind him.

  I walked slowly toward Co-Co, who lay in his hospital bed with his head turned toward the window. I grabbed his hand and he slowly turned his head toward me. I gave him a faint smile and said, “I’m so happy to see you’re alive.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t say that. You have so much to live for.”

  “I don’t have anything to live for. I couldn’t even kill myself right. Why am I still here? My father thinks I’m a queer. He can’t accept me for who I am. My mother has no voice. I’m not allowed back in my home. The guy who I thought loved me and accepted me for who I am has abandoned me. He won’t return my calls. He doesn’t want to be seen with me in public, because he wants to pretend that he’s straight. No one wants to accept me. So no, Heather, you’re wrong. I have nothing to live for.”

  “Co-Co...” I squeezed his hand and sat on the edge of his bed. Tears crept down my face. I felt like his words were slicing me. His words were my reality. I never thought they were his. I was unloved. Nobody wanted me. People only loved who they wanted me to be. I thought everybody loved Co-Co just as he was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what, Heather? That I’m gay? That my father thinks I’m a queer who chooses to like boys? A father who doesn’t want to accept that I was born this way and I’m tired of hiding it.”

  “Then don’t hide it. I love you and accept you the way that you are.”

  “So what about my father?”

  “Then it’s his loss. All I know is that you have to love yourself.”

  Co-Co’s eyes welled with tears and he turned his head away from me and toward the window. I got up and crawled into bed with him. I draped my arm over his shoulder and kissed him on the side of his forehead. “Don’t worry, Co-Co, no matter what we’re in this together.”

  30

  London

  I knew he had no business being here again—beneath the covers, lying next to me, locked behind the double doors of my suite. But, he was. And I knew that I was playing with a loaded gun that could, and would, go off in my manicured hand if I didn’t handle it with care. But, I was still toying with it. Still willing to spin the chamber and put the barrel to my head.

  I glanced over at my secret weapon as he slept. He looked so peaceful. As if he didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t. I had all the worries.

  My mind flashed back to the first time we shared a kiss. It was two weeks after we’d met at the fashion show and exchanged numbers. He’d asked me out. And, although I knew he was someone who my parents would have never approved of, I snuck out to meet him, anyway. Nervous that someone would spot us; that my parents would find out and ground me for the rest of my life. But he didn’t care who saw us, where we were, or what would happen if we got caught. He simply pulled me into his arms and kissed me right in the middle of The Top of the Rock Observation Deck at Rockefeller Center. His lips were soft. And I could taste the watermelon Jolly Rancher he’d had in his mouth. He was the first boy I had ever kissed with an open mouth and with a lot of tongue. I kissed him back. Tongued him as if I had been tonguing boys all of my life. And it was something in those sweet, warm kisses that told me he was the one; that we were meant to be together. And there were no coincidences. I was thirteen. He was sixteen. Now, fast-forward three years later and so much had happened between us. Yet, so much had remained the same. We were forever connected. My parents still would never approve of him. And I was still sneaking around with him, defying my parents at every turn. All in the name of love.

  “Why you up?” he mumbled, lifting his head up from his pillow.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He reached out for me, pulling me into his arms. “I got something for that.”

  I fell into his embrace, closed my eyes, and tried like hell to steady my racing thoughts and beating heart. “I love you like crazy, girl,” he whispered in my ear as he started nibbling on my earlobe. A rush of desire immediately coursed through me. I needed this boy like I needed air. He was essential to my existence. And I had become dependent on him for survival. He was everything.

  His hands roamed my body. I could feel his excitement rising as he pressed up against me.

  You will learn to love him. . . .

  I don’t want a repeat of what happened in New York. . . .

  “Justice, we need to talk.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “C’mon, baby. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of trying to rock you back to sleep? We can talk after.”

  I broke free from his embrace, sitting up in bed and flicking on the lamp on the nightstand.

  “I was, uh, thinking that maybe... um, we should come up with another plan.”

  He quickly sat up in the bed. “Another plan? Like what?”

  I took a deep breath, to calm my nerves, and then continued. “Like, maybe you could go, um, independent.”

  “Independent?”

  “Yeah, baby, there are a lot of independent labels out there. And a lot of their artists are doing really, really well.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked, bewildered. “Is that why she hasn’t called me back?”

  “Whaaat? What are you talking about? Who hasn’t called you back?”

  “Rich.”

  “I introduced you. It’s not my fault she hasn’t called you back. I did my part. She’s barely even calling me.”

  He huffed, “Yeah, right. You half introduced us. Nothing like what we planned. You’re a liar.”

  My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe he had called me a liar.

  “And now you want me to go to independent because your jealousy sabotaged everything for me.”

  “Justice, what are you talking about? You think it’s that easy to hook you up with my friend? That’s my friend. How do you think I feel about that?”

  “Your friend? Oh, now she’s your friend. Now you running to parties and plastered all up in the newspaper with her, and she’s your friend. Before you couldn’t stand her, remember that? Fat, bougie, worked your nerves. Now all of a sudden y’all sisters.”

  “Yeah, in the beginning I did say all that because I didn’t know her like that. But I don’t feel like that now.”

  “So, it’s back to how you feel again. Everything’s always about you. This ain’t about you. That’s the problem. You just don’t want me to do better than you.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, defensively. My lips quivered. “I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

  He screwed his face up. “Yo, you must be on crack! Talkin’ about some independent. I haven’t been puttin’ in all this time with you to be hustlin’ out of the trunk of my whip. I coulda stayed in New York for that. What the hell I look like? I’m mad talented. And I damn sure didn’t have to be laying up here with you if you
weren’t gonna follow through. Got me sweatin’ you. Got me caged in your room, like I’m some animal.”

  He scowled at me. “Independent? I don’t need you to tell me to be independent. What, you wanna be my manager? I need you to handle your damn business like we discussed. I need you to be a grown woman to support me the way you’re supposed to. Stand by your man. That’s what a grown woman does. And I’m supposed to be ya man. I asked you to marry me. And this is what you do. Everybody else comes before me. Justice ain’t nothing. Is that what you believe, London? Miss Hollywood. Miss All Up in the Press. Got me sitting around here lookin’ like a clown. I ain’t diggin’ that.”

  I gulped hard. At that moment, I regretted ever bringing any of this up to him. But there was nothing I could do to change what had already been said. “Baby . . . you know I love you.”

  “You don’t love me,” he scoffed. “You love ya damn self. You too effen selfish to love anyone other than ya’-self.”

  I winced. “That’s not true. I love you and I believe in you.”

  “Yeah, right,” he snorted. “Like I’m supposed to believe anything that comes outta ya mouth now. You standin’ here talkin’ real sideways. I put my life on hold for you. And now you wanna play games, after all we’ve been through together.”

  The way Justice glared at me with contempt made me feel like I had opened a hornet’s nest and stuck my head inside. The stinging of his words was killing me. “Justice, please, baby. You have to believe—”

  “What? That you’ve gone out and found Jesus and now you have a conscience? Is that what ya want me to believe?”

  “No, that I love you.” I reached for his hand, but he jerked it away from me.

  “Tell that to someone who really cares,” he spat. “Let me know what you gonna do, London. You gonna get ya mind right? Or are you still gonna be hung up? ’Cause now you wanna be friends with some damn media ho.”

  I was torn by emotions. Love. Hurt. Fear. Disgust. And the fear of losing my man was the most intense. Right there on the spot, I wanted to vomit, or run into his arms and hold him tightly, or fall to my knees and plead for mercy.

  “I’m not playin’ with you, London. I’ve already wasted too many years effen around with ya. I’m tryna make moves and you tryna play games. I ain’t got time for that. I need a grown woman. I don’t need no lil girl and her games. Save that for ya billionaire ’cause I’m a real dude. So you’re either with me, or against me. What’s it gonna be?”

  My knees were weak as he went on. “Everything’s what’s best for London. First I thought it was ya parents. But now I realize it’s you. You’re the problem here. Not them.”

  His words slapped me across the face. I blinked back the burning sensation, trying to absorb the meaning behind everything he was saying to me. I struggled to wrap my mind around what had just happened between us. He had turned on me, and I didn’t understand why.

  I put a hand up. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re going too far. I’m trying to put things in motion, but it’s not that simple.”

  He grunted. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be that simple if all you’re doing is BS-ing me.”

  “I resent that. That’s not what I’m doing. That’s so unfair of you to say that.”

  “London, quit the theatrics. What I resent is the fact that you’re stylin’ ’n profilin’ like everything’s everything while I’m playin’ the background. That’s not how this was supposed to go down. All this was your idea from the rip. You’re the one who said you’d do whatever it took. You were supposed to play house with the billionaire and put me on. But from where I’m standing, you the only one bubblin’ up. What, you wanna be with him? Is that what this is really all about?”

  “Ohmygod, nooooo,” I said incredulously. “I can’t believe you’d ask me something like that. You know he’s not who I want to be with.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I can’t tell. You said you were going to come out here and hold me down. Now you’re standin’ here hittin’ me with the okey-doke like I’m supposed to be good with that.”

  “I did say that. And I meant it.”

  “Then why you standin’ here now, tryna throw salt all up in the mix? You must think I’m some crab-type dude, like I’m supposed to keep scraping at the bottom of the barrel waitin’ on you. Like I should just be some broke-down nothing. How long before you look at me and laugh? I wanna come up, too. Don’t you think I wanna shine, too? But you wanna keep me up in here like I’m ya sex slave. But check this. I’m not ya damn daddy, I ain’t gonna keep givin’ you what you want. It’s time you start givin’ me what I want. Starting now. So, what’s it gonna be?”

  The tears built up in my eyes, matching the hurt and disappointment that were already eating away at my heart. “What are you saying? What do you want?”

  “I didn’t stutter. Right now, I wanna be away from you.”

  “So you’re breaking up with me?”

  “You figure it out since you so busy figuring out everything else except for how you gonna stick to the plan.”

  I felt like he had hit me over the head with a brick, then hit me in the chest with it. He had knocked the air out of me. I gasped. Here I was risking everything for him. And the only thing he’d done for me was leave an imprint on my sheet. And now he was standing here telling me that I was making a fool out of him. That I was jealous of him. When all I’ve ever done was love him.

  I couldn’t help it if Rich wasn’t calling him back. And, no, I didn’t feel bad about it. Still, I had upheld my part of the plan. I did what I was supposed to do.

  I wanted to beg and cry at his feet, for him to forgive me for what he said I’d done, even though I wasn’t sure if I had really done it. But at this moment it wasn’t about love. I loved the hell out of him. This was about pride. And if nothing else, I had pride. I fought back the tears.

  “You know what, Justice? You’re right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “About everything you just said. Now get your things and get out.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. “What?”

  “You heard me. I love you and all. But, uh, I’m good.”

  I said this, but knew I didn’t really mean it. But he played me so hard, cursed me, and had taken my heart and pissed on it, then threw it in my face.

  He snorted. “Oh, you good. You follow me all the way out here to L.A. to be with me, but you good. London, please. But, yeah, I’ma leave. That’s probably the best idea you’ve come up with yet, Miss Independent. But I tell you what. I’ma show you what being independent is all about.”

  He grabbed his bags, threw up the two-finger peace sign, swung open the bedroom doors, and walked out.

  I wanted to break down. But I was scared because he had boldly walked out of my bedroom and stomped down the front staircase instead of using the butler’s stairs that led directly to back of the house, where I had diverted the security cameras. Now I knew anyone watching the security monitors would see him. I raced down the stairs after him.

  “Justice, wait. Please,” I whispered, hoping no one was in earshot.

  He kept walking.

  I grabbed him by the arm. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

  He yanked his arm away from me and continued his cocky stride toward the front door. He treated me as if I were some two-dollar trick with stained teeth and bad breath. I stopped in my tracks.

  Our housekeeper, Genevieve, popped out from nowhere just as Justice walked past her, not caring who saw him, or what would happen to me if my parents caught him. I was terrified. I watched as my man opened the door and walked out, never looking back.

  “What is all that noise out there?” I heard and almost fainted. Ohmygod, Daddy’s here. I felt the floor open up and suck me in. I could hear him walking down the hall headed toward the foyer. I jumped.

  Genevieve pursed her lips, raising her bushy brows. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was sinking into a deep, dark hole. And this time I wo
uldn’t be able to get my way out of it. “Genevieve, please don’t say anything,” I said, no, begged, putting my hands up as if I were praying to her.

  She eyed me. “I won’t. But you know better.” Her tone sounded as if she were trying to scold me. But right now I needed her on my side, so checking her wasn’t in my best interest at that moment.

  I lowered my head. “I know. Please.”

  I held my breath.

  “Mr. Phillips, sir,” she said, swiftly walking toward the direction of my father’s footsteps. “Sorry for disturbing you, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Everything’s fine. Would you like me to bring you a light snack or something?” Daddy told her that wouldn’t be necessary, then headed back down the hall and back into his study.

  I exhaled.

  “He’s not good for you, Miss London,” Genevieve said the moment she returned. “That boy means you no good. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  I frowned. See, now she was crossing boundaries. Her job was to dust, mop, wax, and clean up behind me. Not dole out opinions, or any damn unsolicited advice. “He’s not trouble. And I didn’t ask you for counsel on the matter. I just asked you not to say anything.”

  I narrowed my eyes for emphasis.

  “My lips are sealed, Miss London.”

  “Good.”

  I took a deep breath, breaking my stare from her long enough to glance back at the door, hoping like hell that Justice would miraculously come to his senses and walk back through that door, scoop me up in his arms, and tell me this was all a bad dream. That he hadn’t meant any of those cruel things he said to me.

  He never came back.

  I raced back to my room, horrified. My man had just cursed me out. My daddy was home. Genevieve saw. And only God knew who else. I could only hope that the surveillance cameras hadn’t been recording. In a state of panic, I started crying, and ended up in the bathroom, crouched down on the floor between the bidet and toilet. Glad no one was around to hear me boo-hooing like a two-year-old, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was overwhelmed. I knew Justice loved me. And I knew he wanted to secure his future, and mine, so that we could be together, forever, like we’d promised one another. But everything had changed. Not because I wanted it to. Not because I didn’t want to follow through. But because I had allowed someone else to come into my space, besides Justice. I allowed Rich to become my best friend and I knew—in the end—someone was going to end up getting hurt.