Hollywood High (16 page)

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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: Hollywood High
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21
Rich
T
he 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.”
I hesitated. The sound of her voice let me know that I could handle this one of three ways. I could either retreat to being silent and postpone this for two more days, be the sweet sixteen-year-old who batted her eyes and did what Mommy said while being rewarded with a kiss on the forehead and a gift, or two. Or I could throw a tantrum.
Before I could decide what to do my mother said, “But . . . let me warn you. Watch what you say and watch how you say it.”
“So you don't really wanna know how I feel then. You just want me to be mechanical,” I said, knowing I was pushing my luck. “Okay, okay, so I'll be a robot. I'll be the sixteen-year-old with no opinion of her own, who only listens to what you tell her to do. Who obeys your rules and gives no backtalk and no drama. Is that okay?”
“Exactly,” my mother said snidely. “And you will also be the sixteen-year-old who gives me no reasons to even
think
about slapping her face again or tossing her over the cliff.” She pointed toward the mountains.
I swallowed. I forgot about the cliff. And bigger than that, I forgot that my mother was crazy enough to knock me over it.
“Now, I love you,” she continued. “But you will do what I say.”
“You were never this hard on RJ. He did whatever he wanted to do and still does!”
“RJ
listened
. You are caught up in some warped power struggle with your father and me.”
“No I'm not. I just want to live
my
life. After all it is
my
life,” I pouted.
She chuckled. Looked me over and placed her hand on her hip. “You've been misinformed, honey. You have no life, darling. I planned to have you. I gave birth to you. I named you. And I raised you.
You
are
my
child and your life is one that I orchestrate. Now you have access to a lot of things: money, trips, diamonds, parties. Things that I could only dream of at your age. And there is no way I'm going to watch you piss it all away behind some broke-down little boy because he's fine and good in bed!”
“This has nothing to do with Knox!”
“This has
everything
to do with Knox! And lower your damn voice!” She clenched her teeth. “Now you hear me and you hear me well. Everything that feels good to you is not good for you.”
“See, I told you, you didn't listen. You didn't wanna hear what I had to say. You only wanna hear what you wanna hear.”
She crossed her legs. “Oh, I heard you and I'm listening. I'm just giving you instructions on what to say and how you better say it. Or do you suddenly have nothing to say and are waiting for me to kiss you on your forehead and hand you the diamond Tiffany bracelet that I had your father pick out for you?”
I glanced over at the bag and then turned back to my mother. “Diamonds aren't always a daughter's best friend.”
“Well it better be chocolate cake then. Because it will not be the offspring of the hired help.”
“I should be able to make my own decisions!”
“Are you raising your voice at me? Do you really want to escalate this to another level? Because as long as I cover your bank account, I make your decisions. So here are your choices.” She opened the Tiffany bag and removed a chocolate and pink diamond bangle. “Diamonds or nothing. Now you decide.” She dropped the bangle back into the bag and stood up.
“Ma—”
“Be quiet. Because I will have the last word. Now if you want your life to be a living hell, then let me know and I will start the fire roaring.” She stared at me for a few moments and I decided to let it go because it wasn't worth her drama. Not when I was going to do what I wanted to do anyway.
I was grown and had always been grown. And she had run my life long enough.
“Okay, Ma. Whatever you say.”
She bent down and roughly grabbed my chin. “Now you're trying to be sarcastic.” She thrust her face into mine and I could smell the morning chai on her breath. “Rich, don't try me.” She looked me deep in my eyes as if she were trying to burn her message into my soul. “There will be no you and Knox. So you better go run along and find yourself another little love interest because if I even hear that you're back messing with him again, I will not be as nice as I was this summer. You hear me? And you better say yes.”
“Yeah, Ma, I hear you.”
“I
said
say yes.”
I paused. Swallowed. I wanted to snatch away and tell her to get out of my face but obviously that wasn't the safest thing to do. “Yes, Ma.”
She kissed me on my forehead and said, “That's more like it. Now your father is off to New York with Turner. They have business to attend to. And I'm headed to Scottsdale. Your auntie and I have a spa appointment. I need to work out some stress.”
She pointed to the Tiffany bag and smiled. “Diamonds are always a daughter's best friend.”
I watched her walk out of my room and slam the door behind her. I picked up the throw pillow in the chair she'd sat in and tossed it toward the door. This was my life!
When you gon' let me love you!
“I can't!” I screamed at the sound of Knox's voice that invaded my mind. “But I want to so bad.”
Skip it. I'm tired of thinking and I can't sit here like this anymore. I jumped out of my seat, left my half-eaten plate behind and hopped into the shower. The rain spout ran over my body and in mind's eye all I could see was Knox standing behind me . . . I could feel his hands on my body and...
Stop it!
This is crazy!
Shaking my thoughts, I ended my shower, quickly blow-dried my hair, and left my Chinese bob uncurled and fashionably blunt. I slipped on a pair of tight-fitting and curve-complimenting AG cigarette jeans, a crisp white rhinestone T-shirt from my private collection that read
MADE THE HEADLINES TODAY
?, a pair of five-inch denim Jimmy Choos, then tossed a soft pink Tori Burch frilly scarf around my neck. I put a pair of pink diamond studs in my ears and clasped my new bangle around my wrist.

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