Hollywood High (19 page)

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Authors: Ni-Ni Simone

BOOK: Hollywood High
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25
Spencer
“T
hey'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.
“And I'm no troll doll, you are a drop-to-her-knees whore! How could you sleep with my boyfriend, you freak?!”
“He wasn't your boyfriend! And I know it and you know it, matter of fact the whole world knows all your chubby behind can keep is a plate of food. You definitely can't keep a boo! So don't worry about me and what I did with my man, Corey, worry about the waistline you lost last week! For the next month all you need to eat is yogurt.”
I could tell that messed her up.
“You little—” Rich said.
“Stop it!” Heather screamed. “Would both of you shut the hell up! Enough!”
“You don't tell me to shut up!” Rich said.
“I just did!” Heather yelled. “So you better shut your trap, or else!” She looked at me and I shook my can of Mace. Heather continued, “I swear you all are soooo selfish! Here you all created this damn mess, and then you rotten hoes drag me all up in it!”
“I'm not rotten!” Rich insisted.
“Would you shut up!” Heather screamed. “Because none of this had anything to do with me. Nevertheless, in every paper, every article, there I am standing right in the middle of your foolishness. I'm the star here! I'm the one who has the most to lose. Not you, but Wu-Wu!”
“Tell 'em, Heather!” I said, giving her a sympathetic look, then looking back at these two smutty maniacs. “Unlike you two silver spoon beasts Heather can't afford to lose it 'cause like you told me last year in homeroom, Rich, she is really one step away from trailer park trash. So she really does need her money.”
“Ohmy, clutching pearls,” Rich said, placing a hand up to her neck.
“Oh, Rich. Stop. You're the one that said Heather was living down in the projects so stop acting surprised. And you're right, they are doing hard time. It's a crime! They can barely keep up with that eight-thousand-dollar-a-month rent as it is, or keep their other bills paid. It's a mess. So, Heather's right. She does have a lot to lose. It's bad enough she said her drunken mother is nothing but a Hollywood nobody. Norma Marie—”
“Norma Marie?!”
Rich and London both shrieked.
“Clutching pearls, diamonds, and momma's favorite emerald ring,” Rich added.
Poor Heather was standing there looking like someone had wrapped her in a white sheet. That's how pale her face had gotten. All she did was blink.
“Heather, it's okay,” I continued, walking over to her and rubbing her back. “I know it must be hard to live with a drunkard who sits around groveling about how she's still Oscar-worthy. I don't want you to lose everything because of us.” I shot a look over at Rich and London. “We can all look at Norma . . . I mean, Camille, and see what it's like to be blackballed. Is that what y'all are trying to do? Have Heather out on the streets moving into a shelter? The last thing she needs is a bunch of untamed animals rolling through here like this is a zoo. This is not Disneyland, or a safari, this is Heather's life. And right now it is a tragedy!”
“This is
not
about me!” Heather snapped. “This is about you three wretches. Now let's get back to why we're really here, and get to the business of being friends so we can clean up all the nasty things the media is saying about all of you.”
Rich and London folded their arms, staring me down.
I grunted. “Well all right, I'll be the first to forgive. Even though I know one of you sent that video of me in the bathroom, and I have all these new followers on Twitter now, I'm not trying to be a porn star. Who knew I would break a YouTube world record. I didn't expect to be offered covers of magazines and have to do a press release telling the world that no one was peeing on me and that the boy in the bathroom was Corey and not R. Kelly. I never expected any of that but still I'm willing to be the bigger person and move on.”
Rich scowled. “Well, you can forgive all you want. But, I'm not willing to get past you sleeping with my boyfriend. Why did you do that?”

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