Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? (23 page)

Ritz, who had been back in the studio for less than a month, didn't bother to look up and acknowledge Jamie when she walked in. Ritz was too preoccupied with getting a back-ordered Fendi bag. With the shooting thing and the killing thing and the dead aunt thing behind her, she was ready to get back to her other hobby— discount shopping.

“Jamie, call the guest for my third hour and confirm the
time,” Ritz barked. “I'm sick of these rappers thinking they can just do whatever the fuck they want!”

“I'm on it,” said Jamie, knowing that this would be her last couple of weeks working in this gulag camp.

“Get Chas on the phone and let him know that we should be able to hit both clubs tonight,” Ritz continued. “I should have three bottles of Moë t chilling at my table once I'm off the stage. At each club, that is. And don't forget to invite the new head of black music over at Universal. It's important that I have a connection with all these new artists.”

“Okay,” Jamie said, but she didn't move immediately to get on it the way Ritz expected. So Ritz looked up from what she was doing, looking puzzled. Jamie stood before her confidently.

“Ritz, I need to speak with you at the end of the show,” said Jamie, who knew that Ritz never would engage in any conversation that didn't pertain to her before she went on the air.

Ritz nodded an okay. Then she started looking in her purse for her favorite lipstick, when all of a sudden the most irritating case of heartburn came over her. Ritz knew that she needed to stay still or her pink office/studio would be splattered with a different kind of animal print.

Jamie was surprised that Ritz didn't give her a smart remark. So she simply turned and began to fulfill Ritz's many orders.

“How much time before we go on, Aaron?” asked Ritz, using one hand to brace herself as she slowly stood up.

“We have about ten minutes,” he said. Aaron shrugged his shoulders, amazed that Ritz was such a damn diva that she couldn't look at her fifteen-thousand-dollar watch to see the time for herself.

I guess that thing doesn't tell time
, Aaron thought.
Too many diamonds
.

Aaron's patience was wearing thin, too. He was her biggest fan, but since Ritz came back, life had been hell for him, too. She was just a bitch. There was no comedy anymore. Anytime there would be a remote hint of fun, Ritz would go on about how she “almost died and nothing is fucking funny!” That was getting a little tired for Aaron— and everyone else.

Nothing was fun about working there anymore. His crush on Jamie had waned, and she was even more standoffish after she was dumped by Derek. Chas wasn't around as much, and when he was, he didn't seem to be totally into it. So what was once a fun career was now just a job for Aaron.

Aaron was jarred out of his dark thoughts by Ritz, who bolted out of the studio. She ran to the bathroom, kicked open the last stall, and barely made it to the toilet seat, where her stomach flipped inside out. All of its contents landed in and around the toilet.

Ritz hovered over the seat, still feeling queasy. She knew she didn't have much time. She just hoped she had some gum in her purse. Ritz got out of the stall, ran some cold water over a paper towel, and wiped the back of her neck, her forehead, and her mouth.

“Shit! I can't be sick!” she said to herself. “I have too fucking much to do.”

She'd been going at a thousand miles an hour since she came back, not going to sleep until three in the morning most nights. She needed to slow down.

As she gingerly walked back to the studio, she bumped into Chas in the hallway on his way to the studio.

“Hey, Chas,” Ritz said. “Listen, I'm not going to be able to make both of those appearances tonight. Maybe I can do just one.”

“Hold on, Miss Diva!” said Chas, very annoyed. “I put my word out at the clubs that you would be there. I can't have you not show up!”

“Look, I need to slow down. I feel like shit,” she said. “I've been going nonstop since I got back. You didn't just almost die, Chas, it was me! Can I get a little compassion?”

Chas walked ahead of her and opened the door. As she passed by, he rolled his eyes and gave her the middle finger behind her back. But while his middle finger was still waving in the air, Ritz turned quickly. She saw it, but she wouldn't be able to acknowledge the insubordination, as she had to hurry back to the bathroom to toss her cookies again.

“One minute before we go on!” Aaron yelled out.

Ritz would make it back. The show must go on. Ritz wouldn't even hint at an illness when she got back to the studio. She just did her show and did it well, as she always did.

The last time Ritz Harper was in a hospital she was clinging to life, riddled with bullets. She didn't even visit the hospital during her aunt's last days, she hated it so much. Ritz hated the smell, she hated the nurses, she hated the whole scene. Sure, she got star treatment, the special private room with all of the amenities. But it was still a hospital.

This occasion, however, made it bearable.

Ritz was there doing something she never thought she would ever do— have a baby. She delivered in a room by herself, just as she wanted. There was only her doctor, a nurse, and an anesthesiologist. Yes, she was having an epidural.
All of the pushing and hollering and that natural childbirth shit is for the birds
, she thought.
I want this baby to slide out, pain free
. But even with the epidural, Ritz swore it felt like she was
pushing an Escalade through her coochie. And she wasn't sure, but she thought she pushed so hard that she even shit on the delivery table.

But all of those thoughts were erased like amnesia, because all Ritz could remember before she passed out was the doctor saying, “You did great! It's a girl!”

Ritz woke up in her private room. A nurse came in, holding a little bundle in a blanket, talking about feeding time. Ritz had not planned on breastfeeding, not with her implants just getting settled after having one of them replaced following the shooting. It was bad enough that she had to mess up her figure for a few months, and God knows how long it would take before she'd be back to her diva shape. She also knew that a little nip and tuck would be in order after she fully recovered.

“Whatever God didn't do, I know some doctor will fix,” she said to herself, knowing she would have at the very least a tummy tuck, a butt lift, and some liposuction around her thighs.

The nurse had no expression as she handed Ritz her baby.

“The doctor will be in in a moment to speak with you,” said the nurse solemnly before leaving the room.

Ritz looked puzzled. She held her baby and a serene sense of joy washed over her. Ritz was surprised. She didn't know she would feel this way.
Unconditional love? Is this what that feels like
? Ritz realized that she had never experienced this before in her entire life.

Ritz was alone. Derek wanted to be around. He wanted to
be a father, but Ritz couldn't see herself with him. He was a drug dealer, after all. And young, too young. She had decided she would raise this baby herself. She would be there for her little girl, the way her mother was not.

“I will never leave you,” Ritz said, pulling back the blanket to get a good look at her baby. It was the first time Ritz had really gotten to see her daughter. She stared into a face that, less than an hour into this world, had a striking form. Ritz was looking into a mirror when she looked into the face of her baby girl, who had the same pretty, smooth complexion, a few shades lighter. The little girl looked to have the beginnings of the same deep dimples that Ritz had.

Ritz saw herself for perhaps the first time in her life. She saw herself in a way she never expected. There was an innocence in this baby that Ritz could hardly identify with, but it seemed to crack open a window inside of Ritz. It began to melt that solid-ice-cold heart Ritz had developed over the years. Ritz knew for the first time that she never knew love until this day.

She was madly, wildly in love with her baby.

Ritchie tucked the address into his jacket pocket. He gave himself one final once-over before leaving the house. He wanted to look perfect, and he did. He was in his early sixties, but he didn't have a single wrinkle. His dark, chocolate complexion was smooth and strong. His mustache was salt-and-pepper and his hair, which he kept real low, was a beautiful silver. The contrast of the white hair and the dark skin made him even more handsome.

In his day, and even this day, he was the kind of man who would turn heads. But there was only one woman he had his sights on— his daughter.

He hadn't seen her since she was a baby. Ritchie didn't have many regrets in his life. He considered himself a good citizen. He had a beautiful wife, a great son of whom he was
very proud. He was fairly successful— had the house, a nice car, and all the trappings of someone who lives well.

But there was one blemish on an otherwise stellar record.

He had his reasons for not being there for his baby girl— his namesake, no less. He even secretly followed her career and fame with both pride and shame. But who was he to judge?

He thought the hardest conversation he would ever have would be with his son. And it was tough. Randolph felt betrayed and lied to. And he was. His primary concern was his mother, but he was also shocked to learn that she knew— she knew it all.

Randolph said he needed time to process it all. And he was taking his time. He had a new woman in his life and he wanted to start a new life free from drama, lies, and chaos. And this Ritz situation— everything around Ritz period— was a bit much for Randolph. He made himself unavailable to his parents for the time being.

Ritchie felt it was time to step up and put his family back together. Or, at the very least, it was time to face the consequences of his actions of thirty-plus years before.

He had to face his daughter, look in her eyes, and tell her the truth. She deserved to know why her father wasn't there for her. She deserved to know the whole story.