“No individual has any right to come into this world and go out of it
without leaving behind him distinct and legitimate
reasons for having passed through it.”
George Washington Carver
THE SPICES IN LIFE begins with the fast-paced introduction per the upbringing of an African American baby born into the very wealthy yet very abusive Webbster household. This 70,000+ word Urban/Mainstream novel urged me to write it to tell a story about a female child who emotionally struggles to become a woman and does so, accumulating millions in the process; whose 'self' is divided by two.
Christine has integrity, stamina, wherewithall, understanding, motivation while Veronica is daring and bold and controversial.
Christine Veronica is born into lavish wealth. Her self-made parents have accumulated so much financially and materially, that all they do is travel the globe, ignore their parenting responsibilities and be vain in the process; but God don't like rich ugly just as much as He doesn't like poor ugly.
Christine has integrity, stamina, wherewithall, understanding, motivation while Veronica is daring and bold and controversial.
Christine Veronica is born into lavish wealth. Her self-made parents have accumulated so much financially and materially, that all they do is travel the globe, ignore their parenting responsibilities and be vain in the process; but God don't like rich ugly just as much as He doesn't like poor ugly.
BOLD STATEMENTS
Why are so many people needing to be un-exceptable. Why do they reach out to me in such a forceful manner. Do I appear to relinquish my RIGHTS as an achiever in any given effort. Read me my MEMORIES and the answer will reach out and touch someone; any one. The remedies that reside within my mind are consequences that may render one USELESS in their efforts. Recycle mandatory affections and reside amongst the COMPETITION that may master anger’s rejects. What we fail to sometimes realize is that we make MISTAKES but we are not to be held accountable for the such. RECAPTURE every demeanor that may fight to survive and within that circle, may become beknownst to you. When a TIGER cries and that they do, we can’t hear it as well as when a TREE falls and yes, it does make a SOUND. Feel me when you can’t and even when you won’t because everything I ATTEMPT to become only remembers that which may bring about my DEEPEST fear. ROARING is a call of the wild. Screaming comes from inside the closet and the mercy never rest. FAILURE can never be accounted for if the attempts are MEASURED. Record the evidence and scream it from within. Never allow FORCES to be with you; there is a heaven and the only way to know that, is to FORGIVE. Forgive when you can’t or simply when you don’t want to. Escape and FREE your…..
Knowing their mind allows the PLEASURE to revolve around what I resolute; and the REWARD will be all mine, no yours too. Support that which is MANDATORY. I don’t think so far that which we accept is only as far as the eye can see and to only see can bring about UNBELIEF. Boldness is a fortified ELEMENT that will extinguish an enormous, burning DESIRE; there is another understanding which must be LEANED on.
Kim Wilson (OOWEE Poetry)
The Spices in Life
Christine Veronica Webbster is an unrecognizeable symbol for some black women, such as myself, defeating at best the purpose of numerous passions, in order to tackle the challenges of a rapid and emotional upbringing.
It would seem fortunate being born into lavish wealth, but when you’re being scrambled into adulthood, it doesn’t mean anything but a lot of money, and a lot of madness.
Starting in public elementary education through private high school ‘habilitation’, Christine is viciously scolded and phsyically abused to become accomplished in everything academic, yet remaining unschooled in love; all she absorbs with grace, and war.
One of her unwise efforts was making an enemy of Angelia McCarthy; someone she’ll never be able to shake, until death does them apart.
What had happen was..., Angelia’s been snorting powder cocaine since age 12. With the numerous high-profile parties her 'judicial' parents attend almost nightly, it leaves her room to act an undercover fool. Being an only child, super spoiled and aggressively charming, she misuses parental trust to the utmost. Angelia and her best friend Heather decide to challenge Veronica and her best friend Tracey to a fist-off. Before things could escalate, in front of witnesses, the ladies take separate “ladies' Room' breaks.
“Stop moving before you blow my shit off” 16 year-old Angelia begs, while masturbating 15 year-old Heather.
“SSshhh” Tracey whispers, animatedly calling Christine to the stall next to the episode.
Veronica steps up on the toilet in the stall next to them bitches and three quick flashes of the camera, “You bitches are busted” she screams like she lives in a haunted mansion; before the junkies could gather themselves.
Over twenty years later the two meet again; a stunning Christine Veronica Webbster and a sophisticated Angelia McCarthy. Not a great job, not forgiveness deferred, nor an adult situation can halt Angelia’s earth-shakin’ get back. Seeing that both her parents are Federal Court judges, she’s the one taking pictures now.
Christine financially reaches and becomes a polished, well rounded black woman; riding Harley Davidson motorcycles and Kawasaki jet-skis; driving luxury cars and antique whips to include her off-the-showroom-floor custom Phantom and her restored 76’ candy-orange Impala. She attires fabulously in Vera Wang and House of Dereon and dresses fly in Baby Phat and Apple Bottom. Her stimulating determination lies in becoming a recognized, woman entrepreneur while remaining close enough to the streets to not lose her 'street pass', so when so starts paying it to their asses forward, she wouldn't have to get her hands dirty.
At age 27 she still suffers hereditary ‘migraine’ misery but affords herself the best in medical care after almost becoming addicted to Stadol and Xanax and Valium prescribed by her ‘currently unavailable’ erratic braggart of a mother.
Christine, sliding into her 30s single, is residing in the shady suburbs of Sandy Springs, Georgia, acquiring millions, and minds, to fit in her pockets by consistently and with unwavering loyalty building her two entities DECISIONS and GIVE ME A MINUTE. What’s beginning to cramp her financial flow are the photos circling like vultures; Christine; cocaine; cameraman.
Christine feels robbed by her parents, played by her acquaintances and, ignored by God.
Christine strikes lightening to the men and women she allows to know her; some mental the others sexual.
She sits on her balcony, overlooking Atlanta's lighted night, sipping room-tempered Chardonnay, tripping about the fork in her road. After having gathered her information and having gone through hell and back she pin-points the one trying to snuff her financial and emotional life out; that bitch Angelia McCarthy. That’s why that undercover ass conviction went so smoothly, and why there was a vacancy at the Brown Wood Asylum for the Mentally and Criminally Insane.
The 'social' team the D.A. interviewed fell short when it came to Webbster loyalty and she wasn’t about to let it pass; hell no. After all she’d done for them; had given them and forgiven them. All her life she’s waited to explode; to really explode.
Becoming institutionalized for a year and a day didn’t help matters in her existence, but it was better than prison, especially after 4 days in the County. What kept her there so long were the outright fits she threw; being deemed a danger to herself.
The prescribed and unwarranted medication is killing her slowly; Chlorpromazine, Clozapine, Risperidone, Olanzapine and Quetiapine. She knows that life is trying to kill her yet she also trust that through Christ she can get through all things. Cold lifeless rooms; emotionally vacant surroundings, total internal failure; all are evident.
The same God Christine Veronica is mad at she comes to love. That same God who she thought forgot about her in the beginning is carrying her through ‘til the end.
Christine loves all the things she lost and lost all the things she wanted to love. After all is said and done vengeance should be hers she screams to the Lord.
Christine exist using the Spices to flavor her prayers, her emotions, her reactions, her responses; her Life. In the end she gets exactly what she deserves; heavenly peace.
At the distinguished Café, a meeting is called to order in grand style. The ambiance is subtle in browns and beiges and creams. The foot tall round vanilla-scented candle centers the 6 foot long dining table along with the sparkling dishes and polished silverware throws her guest off to the actual fact of this gathering.
The remaining Spices gather around their sustenance to await her verdict; after all had been said and 'did'.
“In these manuals I have provided for each of you a copy of my journal, the one I’ve been writing in since childhood; Deeds, titles, Power of Attorneys, a copy of my Will and a host of VIPs. You all have loved me for what seems an eternity, here is my appreciation. You all go add some spice to your life” she whispers in an unfamiliar voice.
Slowly, quietly appearing to succumb to the half of cyanide pill she swallowed minutes earlier; with a smile on her face she relaxes into the butter of the leather chair. McKenzie notices her sedate state and summons a rescue team, who wrestles with the grim reaper for possession of Christine's mind, body and soul.
Starting in public elementary education through private high school ‘habilitation’, Christine is viciously scolded and phsyically abused to become accomplished in everything academic, yet remaining unschooled in love; all she absorbs with grace, and war.
One of her unwise efforts was making an enemy of Angelia McCarthy; someone she’ll never be able to shake, until death does them apart.
What had happen was..., Angelia’s been snorting powder cocaine since age 12. With the numerous high-profile parties her 'judicial' parents attend almost nightly, it leaves her room to act an undercover fool. Being an only child, super spoiled and aggressively charming, she misuses parental trust to the utmost. Angelia and her best friend Heather decide to challenge Veronica and her best friend Tracey to a fist-off. Before things could escalate, in front of witnesses, the ladies take separate “ladies' Room' breaks.
“Stop moving before you blow my shit off” 16 year-old Angelia begs, while masturbating 15 year-old Heather.
“SSshhh” Tracey whispers, animatedly calling Christine to the stall next to the episode.
Veronica steps up on the toilet in the stall next to them bitches and three quick flashes of the camera, “You bitches are busted” she screams like she lives in a haunted mansion; before the junkies could gather themselves.
Over twenty years later the two meet again; a stunning Christine Veronica Webbster and a sophisticated Angelia McCarthy. Not a great job, not forgiveness deferred, nor an adult situation can halt Angelia’s earth-shakin’ get back. Seeing that both her parents are Federal Court judges, she’s the one taking pictures now.
Christine financially reaches and becomes a polished, well rounded black woman; riding Harley Davidson motorcycles and Kawasaki jet-skis; driving luxury cars and antique whips to include her off-the-showroom-floor custom Phantom and her restored 76’ candy-orange Impala. She attires fabulously in Vera Wang and House of Dereon and dresses fly in Baby Phat and Apple Bottom. Her stimulating determination lies in becoming a recognized, woman entrepreneur while remaining close enough to the streets to not lose her 'street pass', so when so starts paying it to their asses forward, she wouldn't have to get her hands dirty.
At age 27 she still suffers hereditary ‘migraine’ misery but affords herself the best in medical care after almost becoming addicted to Stadol and Xanax and Valium prescribed by her ‘currently unavailable’ erratic braggart of a mother.
Christine, sliding into her 30s single, is residing in the shady suburbs of Sandy Springs, Georgia, acquiring millions, and minds, to fit in her pockets by consistently and with unwavering loyalty building her two entities DECISIONS and GIVE ME A MINUTE. What’s beginning to cramp her financial flow are the photos circling like vultures; Christine; cocaine; cameraman.
Christine feels robbed by her parents, played by her acquaintances and, ignored by God.
Christine strikes lightening to the men and women she allows to know her; some mental the others sexual.
She sits on her balcony, overlooking Atlanta's lighted night, sipping room-tempered Chardonnay, tripping about the fork in her road. After having gathered her information and having gone through hell and back she pin-points the one trying to snuff her financial and emotional life out; that bitch Angelia McCarthy. That’s why that undercover ass conviction went so smoothly, and why there was a vacancy at the Brown Wood Asylum for the Mentally and Criminally Insane.
The 'social' team the D.A. interviewed fell short when it came to Webbster loyalty and she wasn’t about to let it pass; hell no. After all she’d done for them; had given them and forgiven them. All her life she’s waited to explode; to really explode.
Becoming institutionalized for a year and a day didn’t help matters in her existence, but it was better than prison, especially after 4 days in the County. What kept her there so long were the outright fits she threw; being deemed a danger to herself.
The prescribed and unwarranted medication is killing her slowly; Chlorpromazine, Clozapine, Risperidone, Olanzapine and Quetiapine. She knows that life is trying to kill her yet she also trust that through Christ she can get through all things. Cold lifeless rooms; emotionally vacant surroundings, total internal failure; all are evident.
The same God Christine Veronica is mad at she comes to love. That same God who she thought forgot about her in the beginning is carrying her through ‘til the end.
Christine loves all the things she lost and lost all the things she wanted to love. After all is said and done vengeance should be hers she screams to the Lord.
Christine exist using the Spices to flavor her prayers, her emotions, her reactions, her responses; her Life. In the end she gets exactly what she deserves; heavenly peace.
At the distinguished Café, a meeting is called to order in grand style. The ambiance is subtle in browns and beiges and creams. The foot tall round vanilla-scented candle centers the 6 foot long dining table along with the sparkling dishes and polished silverware throws her guest off to the actual fact of this gathering.
The remaining Spices gather around their sustenance to await her verdict; after all had been said and 'did'.
“In these manuals I have provided for each of you a copy of my journal, the one I’ve been writing in since childhood; Deeds, titles, Power of Attorneys, a copy of my Will and a host of VIPs. You all have loved me for what seems an eternity, here is my appreciation. You all go add some spice to your life” she whispers in an unfamiliar voice.
Slowly, quietly appearing to succumb to the half of cyanide pill she swallowed minutes earlier; with a smile on her face she relaxes into the butter of the leather chair. McKenzie notices her sedate state and summons a rescue team, who wrestles with the grim reaper for possession of Christine's mind, body and soul.
"For what is a man profited if he gains the whole world, and loses or forfeits himself?
Luke 9:25
Not, The End
Kim Wilson
If youth knew what age would crave,
it would both get and save.
A proverb of the twelfth century
First 5 chapters to wet your literary appetite.
Introducing Christine Veronica Webbster......
First 5 chapters of The Spices In Life
BIRTH
As normal for an Atlanta summer, it's a bright, hot morning as Enjoila rises onto one elbow from another unrestful night's slumber. She'd tossed and turned all night hoping she'd be a mother, for the first time, before the day was through. She had more important things to do; damn. Everette, having been unable to catch a wink at all last night because of Enjoila's midnight madness, shuffles around the lavish room looking for nothing; just trying to stay out of his insanely grumpy wife's way as she rants and raves about being 15 days overdue; shit! He assures her that everything is already packed in her Calvin Klein overnight bag and her personal physician and his staff is at the ready, so on that great day all he has to do is get them dressed and get them to the hospital when her contractions became 8 minutes apart.
Four days later Everette piles them and the essentials into the Suburban, sliding from the graveled driveway to head down the nearly deserted street at 4:08 am. They arrived with not a minute to spare; today was that day. Doctor Anglish and his team meet them at a the side entrance, reserved for the rich and richer, patiently guiding her through the entire episode, as she screams and threatens and begs for more medication, any kind of medication. The LVNs can only scurry around her trying their best to comply as much and as quickly as possible; hoping this'll be the last time.
On July 31, 1970 at 8:10am, a baby girl burst into the world, healthy, screaming and cocoa powder brown with a perfectly round head covered with a mass of shiny, tightly curled, black hair which had given Enjoila severe heartburn. The University Hospital pediatric nurses’ verbally admire her angelic beauty, voting her, “The prettiest little thing born at this hour.” God has truly done her physical justice; she’ll use every bit of it.
A day and 15 hours later she arrives home, to no fan-fare, swaddled in a luxuriously soft pink cotton wrap. Ms. Kaci, the 19 year old professionally trained nanny, carries her gently up the winding white marble staircase to place her, alone as ordered, in a baby daughter’s palace.
Her original, ivory sculptured Onda Convertible crib would adjust with minor adjustments as she grows. Its sweet mahogany boasts about the platinum spoon. She’s surrounded by Afro-centric artwork, statues from Zimbabwe and toys from Malawi. Her furniture consists of an ultra-padded wooden rocking chair and ottoman so Ms. Kaci could comfort her. Two area tables made of crafted mahogany are placed beside the pink and lavender two-seat sofa.
Christine Veronica Webbster is home. They'd soon find out that she's accompanied by vicious headaches; movement stopping migraines caused by the grief Enjoila put on everyone around them while she was pregnant.
BIRTH
As normal for an Atlanta summer, it's a bright, hot morning as Enjoila rises onto one elbow from another unrestful night's slumber. She'd tossed and turned all night hoping she'd be a mother, for the first time, before the day was through. She had more important things to do; damn. Everette, having been unable to catch a wink at all last night because of Enjoila's midnight madness, shuffles around the lavish room looking for nothing; just trying to stay out of his insanely grumpy wife's way as she rants and raves about being 15 days overdue; shit! He assures her that everything is already packed in her Calvin Klein overnight bag and her personal physician and his staff is at the ready, so on that great day all he has to do is get them dressed and get them to the hospital when her contractions became 8 minutes apart.
Four days later Everette piles them and the essentials into the Suburban, sliding from the graveled driveway to head down the nearly deserted street at 4:08 am. They arrived with not a minute to spare; today was that day. Doctor Anglish and his team meet them at a the side entrance, reserved for the rich and richer, patiently guiding her through the entire episode, as she screams and threatens and begs for more medication, any kind of medication. The LVNs can only scurry around her trying their best to comply as much and as quickly as possible; hoping this'll be the last time.
On July 31, 1970 at 8:10am, a baby girl burst into the world, healthy, screaming and cocoa powder brown with a perfectly round head covered with a mass of shiny, tightly curled, black hair which had given Enjoila severe heartburn. The University Hospital pediatric nurses’ verbally admire her angelic beauty, voting her, “The prettiest little thing born at this hour.” God has truly done her physical justice; she’ll use every bit of it.
A day and 15 hours later she arrives home, to no fan-fare, swaddled in a luxuriously soft pink cotton wrap. Ms. Kaci, the 19 year old professionally trained nanny, carries her gently up the winding white marble staircase to place her, alone as ordered, in a baby daughter’s palace.
Her original, ivory sculptured Onda Convertible crib would adjust with minor adjustments as she grows. Its sweet mahogany boasts about the platinum spoon. She’s surrounded by Afro-centric artwork, statues from Zimbabwe and toys from Malawi. Her furniture consists of an ultra-padded wooden rocking chair and ottoman so Ms. Kaci could comfort her. Two area tables made of crafted mahogany are placed beside the pink and lavender two-seat sofa.
Christine Veronica Webbster is home. They'd soon find out that she's accompanied by vicious headaches; movement stopping migraines caused by the grief Enjoila put on everyone around them while she was pregnant.
FIVE
In the beginning the headaches are far and few between, coming about once a month or so, yet allowing her to absorb; German- “I am a ‘das Madche’, my die Katze name is Fresh.” Swahili– counting “moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, nane, kimi, and Chinese, along with the use of the Abaci for fun. All the academic pressures dumped on her, are already beginning to be too much; dang. This is when the Common migraines rampantly reveal themselves with a vengeance. Headaches so fierce they cause her to halt all childhood activity, to hang her head in a desperate hope of relief; neither one of her parents rushing to aide her.
“Enjoila, Veronica’s head is hurting her desperately. She needs more medical attention, Joila.”
“She’ll get it if I think she needs it,” waving her away like a bothersome bug.
“How are you going to know if she needs it if you never take her to see a physician” Rammen yells.
Turning to look at her boldness, “I’ve suffered from migraines all my life and I’m fine, she confirms sternly waving a wicked finger all up in her face. A child of a migraine sufferer has a fifty percent chance to suffer intense headaches. She just needs to adjust her diet or something, Enjoila waves off by snappin' her neck in the opposite direction. Take it up with Kaci.”
“That is so like you to not give a damn about your own child, your only child” she says a bit to loud.
Enjoila froze. She is not use to being talk back too for any reason; venomous words rising from her gut to fill her mouth, “You are out of line in my damn house, she barks as veins bulge in her thin neck and botox’ed forehead, speaking to me like that! E.L.! Come get your rude ass niece out of my house NOW!” spinning back to Rammen, to be ignored.
Enjoila marches the perimeter of the huge living room raging; out loud, looking for the cause of this chaos.
“Christine, get your ass in here!” she spits.
“Yes” she responds like a cowering squirrel.
“Look what you've caused! Most times I wish you were never born! You run around here whimpering about your head hurting, causing me grief from everyone about your mess! Why are you so damn selfish” Enjoila literally spits in her daughter's brown face.
“Mother I didn't...”
“Shut your fucking mouth and get out of my sight” Enjoila seethes.
Christine hurriedly retreats to the comfort of her personal space, where she can allow her rage to build inside of her; one day.
She misses the verbal turmoil heaped on her little cousin, because of the massivesness of the mansion, “Uncle E.L. let me speak to you, because your wife is not hearing me clearly, short-stopping him before he reaches to comfort the target, she redirects him by his elbow through the immaculate kitchen onto the decked out patio,sliding the stained-glass door closed behind them. The air-conditioned enclosure allows her to calm down. Why they keep it so cold in here is beyond her; most likely because Enjoila's hot as hell attitude. Unc you know my cousin is suffering from these debilitating migraines. They are so intense at times they cause her nausea and vomiting and her vision is becoming all screwed up. Noise and lights bother her badly Uncle, even different smells. E.L. they are so bad it staggers her and Enjoila won’t stop taking care of everybody else long enough to see to it, even worse let anyone else; what a sorry ass mom, and wife” she adds with emphasis.
“Well Rammen darling I understand your emotions. Kaci has informed us of all this and Enjoila will see about this as quickly as she can. You know your aunt is extremely busy with...”
“Unc Veronica is starting to get disoriented at times. Y'all gone wait til she dead then do all that fake ass hollering and crying when you can do something about it right now; ain't like y'all can't afford the best. Why do y'all act like y'all don't want her or love her. She's the only child in here. Y'all been treating her like crap since she was born. That shit gonna come back on y'all just wait. God didn't tolerate ugly in the beginning and he ain't tolerating it now. He is not a respecter of bank accounts” reaching to slide the door open.
“I’ll get her what she needs darling and right away” E.L. promises, yet never bothers with the subject again.
“Yeah; whatever” sliding the door closed to leave him all alone.
PIANO
“You’ll need this attribute to be a decent young lady, now go practice and stay out of my face!” Enjoila yells.
Veronica’s piano skills are professionally polished by age seven and almost of prodigy quality by eight. Her trophy case holds numerous musical achievements and accolades.
Veronica unleashes an eccentric rhythmic intensity on her Kawai to secure a slot on Showtime at the Apollo-Kids, at which she wins first place.
“Look mommy, I won” trying her best to impress her wicked biological mother.
Enjoila snatches the trophy to get a closer look at it; “This is nice but what you should be worrying your self with trying to win is..., and slaps her daughter three feet away from her for no reason at all. Stop trying to outdo me heifer.”
“Yes mother” hanging her head in shame.
“I overheard Kaci speaking about you being apart of the Junior National Kawai Presenters. Why didn't I know about this?”
“You never asked” rubbing her stinging face, and with that exits Enjoila's presence.
PAIN
Enjoila replaces Christine's prescribed medication with something from her own pill stash.
“Mom! Kaci! Somebody help me please” she screams in agony as the Valium kicks in for all the wrong reasons.
The pleading comes from around the carved archway down the drawn mirror-littered hall.
“Mommm!!!, as the migraine curls her in a hideous knot under her hand-crafted comforter, gnawing into every nerve in her brain; I’m exploding!!!”
Kaci and Carter hurl themselves through the double doors of her dimly lit bedroom.
“The migraines” Kaci motherly soothes as tears well in her eyes.
“Can’t we do something for her Kaci, these headaches are going to kill this child” Carter mentions, time after time.
“Go see if her mother is available.”
“Not on your life, grimacing through an episode; I’ll get through this without her, OOooohhhh, as I have with all the rest” scrabbling around in the comforter trying to reposition herself to try hide from the pain.
Kaci begins to croon a soft melody as Carter showers her with affectionate strokes of empathy. Christine attempts to fall into sleep.
TEN
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dearest Christine, happy birthday to you” the party of ten to twelve year olds try to sing in unison.
At Christine’s fabulous 10th birthday celebration she’s allowed to invite the six friends she manages, and a host of estrange family members whom she can’t seem to avoid, but whom Enjoila would permit into her castle. The party room is delightfully decorated in various shades of purple and green and orange. The 8by4 Greeting table holds an expensive party-favor bag for each guest upon exiting. On top of the Center table sits the biggest vanilla-flavored cake, that she's ever seen, decorated with all her favorite Scooby-doo characters.
Her guest are running around enjoying themselves with all the games a child could want while the adults are sipping Chardonnay out on the balcony.
“Where's your mother...” Tifni's mother questions after leaving the spit-polished bathroom.
Right on que Kaci enters with another bundle of joy. Enjoila selfishly chooses this time to showcase Glory, 8lbs 6ozs, who becomes her precious needle found in a haystack of gold straw; seeing that she didn't gain nearly as much weight as she did with Christine or have as difficult a time with delivery.
Enjoila had stayed in their luxury home in France during this pregnancy so no one would know until showtime.
Veronica feels stifled and embarrassed by the unnecessary attention bestowed on Glory, at her party. Also in attendance, in her white party dress with ruffles around the collar, is her rival stinky Angelia McCarthy, whose socialite parents are both Federal Court Judges, plus the six cousins she loathes; Ashly 10, Ashton 11, Auginese 12 and triplets Fransesca, Franklin, and Francina 11. Her mother’s brother drunk uncle Rayford and his high-strung wife aunt Rainelle. Jeremiah and Claudette are home from college just in time to witness their cousin’s agony; too
bad they brought several of their friends who wouldn’t understand how so much pain could exist amongst all this money. A set of the four doctors in the Webbster/Walker/Williams family show followed by cousins, Synthian 14, Imunique 16, and Beblessed 18. Scott fell in moments later after twisting the cap real tight on his Bailey’s Irish, which he keeps in a small ice chest under his Chevy truck’s front seat. Immediately her world is socially ambushed, so she equips her emotions to handle it, her journal begins to live.
AUGUST 1982
Dearest journal, E.L. and Enjoila left for the Alps promising to return in a month. We haven’t seen them in 8 months. Glory is beginning to talk and they haven’t heard a word. Kaci, seems unwilling at times to care for her. I haven’t anyone to tell. Every now and then Rainelle and Rayford come by to borrow money from Kaci or Carter. They seem to rush out after leaving the E’s bedroom; Rainelle’s purse bulges and jangles while uncle Rayford stumbles and staggers. Carter fell in the Rose bushes and had to get stitches in his forehead, legs and butt. He is so broke down why he doesn’t sit down somewhere. He says when I ask him why after working for the Es for over twenty years, ‘There’s not enough in my pockets to leave.’ I think he just doesn’t have anywhere else to go and anybody else to love him. Maybe he should hook up with Kaci but maybe he thinks she's to young or something. Denise, with her stank attitude made piano lessons almost unbearable today because of something going on at her house. Thank God for the gift. Why doesn’t she just have sex with her man, giggling after writing. She comes in here yelling on her cell phone to somebody about her man not being happy; just sex him and shut up, giggling again. This woman Fanny Daniels works for E.L. but I think it’s more than that. She comes and goes when she feels, usually when they're not home, which is usually. She’s in and out of Enjoila’s things, which she has so much of she doesn’t miss. Madame Fenisha brought her smelly kids over today, all funky four of them. James Jr., James ll, James Three and Four James, whom all have different fathers, named James something. I ask Kaci to keep them outside and to not let them in our swimming pool, but she ignores me, now Carter has to strain his old self cleaning it out, because I’m not getting in it with them smelly kid’s dirt. My life and the people in it sure have changed, never an end.
DECEMBER 1985
Hello journal. I am exhausted! E.L. is selling his construction kingdom and has almost convinced
Enjoila to do the same with her cosmetics empire which is not surprising since they won’t be
handing them down. He mentioned that the combined assets total over 35 million after debts and dues. E.L. wants to spend the remainder of his days sailing the seven seas he says but Enjoila cannot think past crimson lipstick and jet-black eyeliner and he wouldn’t dare leave her
unattended with his checkbook to ravage. She’s accumulated more money than E.L. so she thinks that his underlying motive may be to have her swim in the seven seas: ha. At 52 she should be sailing all seven of the seas. She’s no longer needed here, or wanted, or missed. Kaci and the servants are raising Glory and I. Who really needs her but E.L. Yesterday Aubrey knocked over Enjoila’s Fabergé egg and blamed me. Why would I be near something so meaningless? I was scolded yet the same; the snitch. Glory banged her face on the two-inch thick glass table, I was blamed, I was punished; that witch. Enjoila really needs to sell and see; that bitch. Never an end.
1985
“I’ve been thinking, when Christine graduates in three years we can be off, and done with this. We’ll take Glory and hire help.”
“Caregiver. E.L. corrects, stuffing his Benni Jorgensen pipe with McConnell tobacco, without a second thought of their first offspring’s long-term well being. I’ll have the affairs put in order Enjoila my love. Pack your luggage sweetness because it’s smooth sailing from here on out” E.L. boasts, sucking his pipe to life.
“I know you hear me yelling for you Christine Veronica. Don't make me come up those stairs after you” Enjoila spit.
Walking from her room, “Yes Enjoila; what did I do now.”
“Are you trying to be flip with me young lady. Do I need to remind you that I pay for everything that makes your world go around. Do I need to remind you that without me you'd be even more of nothing. Just as Christine reaches 2 feet in front of her raging mother, you make your self invisible you soar that won't heal...”
YET ANOTHER
She returns to the comfort and sanctity of her bedroom, “God help me!”
Lightning strikes in her head and it explodes. The cold compresses, removing herself from bright lights, neither lying on her side works. Veronica spins around, slamming against the wall, melting to the floor. As she sees death approaching through blurred vision, she blacks out.
1987
“I don't want to attend Emory. I'm want to attend Clark, Christine commands. Just because Emory was your Alma Mata doesn't mean it's best for me and if you force me to attend Emory...”
“You'll what, Enjoila screams fogging up Christine's eyes with her sweet but hot breath. You'll what, run away again. You'll what Christine Veronica” seething one inch from her eldest daughter's face.
Christine stands her ground; “You act as if you'll be attending anything per my academics. You never show for any of the numerous award ceremonies or my debates. So what do you care where I attend. You shouldn't have promised all your high-class friends that I'll be there, right next to there boring ass kids. I want to go back to San Antonio to my aunt's house.”
“Okay. You go wherever your money can afford” Enjoila ends as she feels herself about to sweat, knowing Christine doesn't have enough money to pay her way through four years of college; and she better not ask her father.
“Bet.”
“Bet what bitch; bet what, shoving Christine up against the wall. Bet your ass had better be out of my house by sunrise you nothing sad ass excuse for a child.”
My emotional breath catches in my throat. Fuck her, I remind myself; I've already laid-out my master plan; huh.
COLLEGE
‘Christine Veronica Webbster, Masters in Business Management’ is what she hears as she struts across the vast stage, in her tailored cap and gown.
“Thank you” smiling from ear to ear, shaking the Dean's hand.
Not E.L., who secretly helped pay for her education, not Enjoila, who’d made herself invisible through it all, not Glory, not even Carter or Kaci was in attendance to applaud her accomplishing her Masters after struggling through it with her head aching. Only Alyxandria, her new best friend and roommate.
“I'll take this side, stepping passed a friendly looking young lady. I’m your roommate Christine Webbster.”
“Hello. I’m Alyxandria Gayles. Where are you from?”
“I was born in San Antonio.”
“Texas?”
“Yep, hot ass Texas, she laughs. When I turned three my folks relocated to Atlanta, so this is really my hometown except for some aunts, uncles and cousins that still live there; you?”
“Cali-for-n-i-a. Home of mad entertainment and crazy violence.”
They both laugh out loud as they finish unpacking and instantly become life-long friends. Too amped to relax, Christine invites Alyxandria to a late lunch.
“On me, your choice.”
They include sightseeing on their expedition. They talk about their many common interest; values, morals, principles. Lunch comes and goes without a remembrance of what was eaten.
“Now about you becoming a college professor at UCLA. You realize the Legislature voted in 1990 to support fellowships for the graduate study of people like you, Christine tells. They find that blacks, Asians, Native Americans and females continue to be underrepresented in graduate education and among those employed at colleges and universities. So you have a double blessing.”
“I know, and I’m glad you know too. I’ma’ triple threat cause I’m part Asian.” Alyxandria mentions with a big laugh.
Christine looks over at her and joins in her side-hugging laughter.
“I read everything I can get my eyes on. Check this, in the 97-98 Academic year 2.4 was rewarded to 764 recipients; now that’s the bomb if you can get a slice of that pie.”
“Girl I’ma’ have to let you help me through this with yo’ knowledge about where I’m headed.”
“Bet; Veronica smiles. What are you writing your thesis on?”
“Well I’ve process of eliminated down to two. Politics and Government or David Geffen, a blessed man, in the history of American Culture Capitalism to succeed in three different industries; popular music, Broadway theater and Hollywood film. I’m leaning more towards Geffen.”
“That'll be more interesting, because until they fix P and G it's stuff Americans already know, and don't trust.”
“And a lot less mental anguish.”
“And you know this.”
“ Well I’m going to get to my workload at hand and kick as much of these papers out before deadline. Talk with you later” Alyxandria ends.
“I’ma’ put something on paper for you” Veronica smiles.
Dear Father God in heaven,
I pray you are still the awesome God
you’ve always been when I've needed you most.
and you must be because my life
is going just as I hoped it would; no family-induced stress.
I would like to ask that it be Your Will to do
something about these headaches.
My generational curse is not my fault
so I should not be held liable for what I know not.
I thank you God for my gift of music and I thank you for
Alyxandria, also for all the wisdom you
have found me worthy to behold.
Thank you; in Your Son’s mighty name, Jesus the Christ.
Amen and amen again.
***
Geffen’s story fuels the imagination of millionaires like Sean Combs, Spike Lee and Russell Simmons. From a working class Jewish family from Brooklyn, Geffen builds himself to multi-millionaire status, gaining great influence in Hollywood. His role as a philanthropist may have had the most relevance in hip-hop culture’s ability to achieve this level of success and clout. By serving on National and State boards he identifies issues he cares about so passionately; the power he has extends far beyond the entertainment industry and is yet to cultivate.
He recognized the need to broaden his reach and to interact with his peers outside the cultural sphere, which is precisely the lesson that new black millionaires have yet to learn. Elites of all races have played a major role in philanthropy by founding, sustaining and overseeing non-profit sectors. Philanthropy has become a ‘Mark of Class’ that contributes to the maintaining of the boundaries of the elite society. It involves far more than monetary contributions but is the overall involvement with non-profit causes, portraying a sense of involvement with non-
profit causes. Portraying a sense of involvement is a strategy that is quite consciously incorporated into fund-raising among elites. Contributions accompany social relationships and organizational involvement. David Geffen, an activist, advocate and fund-raiser for gay-rights and AIDS awareness and prevention organizations, uses his power inside and outside the entertainment industry as leverage with politicians, scientist, bureaucrats and anyone else that has power to affect his issues. Within the black community the lack of black wealth and the existence of racial discrimination profoundly shape the tradition of philanthropy. The history of black philanthropy coincides with the self-help ideology that dominates African American social and political thoughts since slavery. With no persons or institutions to depend on, the black community primarily through its churches, social and civic organizations consistently raise capital to educate their youth, care for the sick, bury the dead, build educational institutions, youth and community centers and black-owned businesses. Black philanthropists actively support the non-violent direct action social movements of the 1960s that dismantle legal segregation in the American south.
Over the past 30 years black Americans have experienced phenomenal growth in both business leadership and actual number of millionaires.
‘The New Black Power’; August 1997 Fortune magazine proclaims from Wall Street to Hollywood; African Americans are capturing real power in the world of business. Young hip-hop artist use records as a stepping-stone to develop business ownership, ‘The New Black Powers’ are ambitious on a scale that predecessors underestimated, for they know money is power. It is the wealth accumulation that distinguishes them from their predecessors. As black millionaires turn to philanthropy their legacy remains to be seen. Hip-hop entrepreneurs are no different from their white Generation X dot-com counterparts; lacking confidence in the Government’s ability to solve problems or guarantee secure economic futures. White Internet entrepreneurs and black hip-hop entrepreneurs believe in clout, money and ownership. The members of this new generation will definitely have acquired the means to finance new movements for justice and equality; which depends on their ability to build networks and institutions that combine hip-hop sensibilities with a broader understanding of how wealth and power operate in society at large.
***
Geffen’s story fuels the imagination of millionaires like Sean Combs, Spike Lee and Russell Simmons. From a working class Jewish family from Brooklyn, Geffen builds himself to multi-millionaire status, gaining great influence in Hollywood. His role as a philanthropist may have had the most relevance in hip-hop culture’s ability to achieve this level of success and clout. By serving on National and State boards he identifies issues he cares about so passionately; the power he has extends far beyond the entertainment industry and is yet to cultivate.
He recognized the need to broaden his reach and to interact with his peers outside the cultural sphere, which is precisely the lesson that new black millionaires have yet to learn. Elites of all races have played a major role in philanthropy by founding, sustaining and overseeing non-profit sectors. Philanthropy has become a ‘Mark of Class’ that contributes to the maintaining of the boundaries of the elite society. It involves far more than monetary contributions but is the overall involvement with non-profit causes, portraying a sense of involvement with non-
profit causes. Portraying a sense of involvement is a strategy that is quite consciously incorporated into fund-raising among elites. Contributions accompany social relationships and organizational involvement. David Geffen, an activist, advocate and fund-raiser for gay-rights and AIDS awareness and prevention organizations, uses his power inside and outside the entertainment industry as leverage with politicians, scientist, bureaucrats and anyone else that has power to affect his issues. Within the black community the lack of black wealth and the existence of racial discrimination profoundly shape the tradition of philanthropy. The history of black philanthropy coincides with the self-help ideology that dominates African American social and political thoughts since slavery. With no persons or institutions to depend on, the black community primarily through its churches, social and civic organizations consistently raise capital to educate their youth, care for the sick, bury the dead, build educational institutions, youth and community centers and black-owned businesses. Black philanthropists actively support the non-violent direct action social movements of the 1960s that dismantle legal segregation in the American south.
Over the past 30 years black Americans have experienced phenomenal growth in both business leadership and actual number of millionaires.
‘The New Black Power’; August 1997 Fortune magazine proclaims from Wall Street to Hollywood; African Americans are capturing real power in the world of business. Young hip-hop artist use records as a stepping-stone to develop business ownership, ‘The New Black Powers’ are ambitious on a scale that predecessors underestimated, for they know money is power. It is the wealth accumulation that distinguishes them from their predecessors. As black millionaires turn to philanthropy their legacy remains to be seen. Hip-hop entrepreneurs are no different from their white Generation X dot-com counterparts; lacking confidence in the Government’s ability to solve problems or guarantee secure economic futures. White Internet entrepreneurs and black hip-hop entrepreneurs believe in clout, money and ownership. The members of this new generation will definitely have acquired the means to finance new movements for justice and equality; which depends on their ability to build networks and institutions that combine hip-hop sensibilities with a broader understanding of how wealth and power operate in society at large.
***
WORKIN'
“I'm sure you can finish up the inventory and receipts before you leave; correct” Mr. Stapleton tells.
“Sure I can. I'm your best employee” she smiles appropriately.
“I need you to schedule a board meeting for Thursday Christine.”
“Yes sir. Anything in particular you want included” Christine questions.
“Oh, let's see. Wear a casual business suit.”
“A business suit?”
“Yes a business suit. You do have one correct? I know I pay you enough.”
“Yes you do and yes I do, as the smile grows on my face. Any particular color” she laughs.
“You decide.”
“The focus of the meeting will be?”
“The focus will be you being promoted to Executive Director of Foreign Relations” he smiles.
I can hardly catch my breath. Even a migraine couldn't crash this party being celebrated in my head.
“Bet; I mean yes sir.”
1998
“Christine Veronica Webbster, Masters in Literary study.”
Again only Alyxandria is in attendance, overcome with proud emotions.
At 28 Alyxandria Gayles has reigned as a black business owner for over 4 years, after inheriting an already thriving marketing firm from her grandfather, Beacon Gayles ll. She tediously works overtime rehiring and restructuring to update new implements and employees. She hires 90 percent under 40 and retires in financial style all over 65 to include a trip to any place on the globe they’d like to spend two weeks; family included, plus a $250, 000 retirement package. She utilizes her knowledge of Black American business leaders to gross 2.7 million dollars in her first year. She also finds it profiting to acquire bids with underground African Americans and urban
companies and catapult them into the social limelight, which ultimately lends to their public awareness and success; her main focus being the Hip-Hop culture; taking those underground and being their driving force to the forefront. Alyxandria’s royal looks, hard knock tactics and Harvard University education are a combination to be reckoned with.
JUNE 2002
So much has happened journal. I apologize for not writing in you for such a while. Let me catch you up briefly while I have time. I’ve accomplished two major goals of receiving dual Masters. Now to get my own business started. What shall I call it; watch out now, she laughs out loud. Glory has two kids, Samuel and Samantha, and is still honeymooning after 2 years of marriage with Taylor, her black knight in a shining white Lexus, in his final year of Aeronautics Engineer training; and their only source of income. I don’t see them as much as I’d like but oh well. That girl is truly lucky journal. What troubles me is she’s never wanted much from life but to be married with children; that’s sad. What if Taylor dies, she’s acquired no employable skills unless buying a bunch of useless shit counts, especially since Enjoila came to her senses and stopped her allowances plus cut her out of the Will just as she did me. What would she do living without her Platinum Card lifestyle. How can a woman be that happy with no control over her financial future? They went to Haiti last year to meet his folks and she didn’t bring me back so much as a picture, not one. Not a trinket or treasure. Kaci is in and out of the hospital because of her strained back. I told her all that lifting she was doing was doing damage. ‘Enjoila says it’ll be alright.’ Carter passed. He fell in the pool and couldn’t get his old ass out. No one was home so the story goes. His funeral was small. Glory, the twins, Rayford and Rainelle, Alyxandria and I. No one came to either my graduations as I expected of all the 40 something relatives I have; I guess they didn’t know. Only Alyxandria showed with bouquets of roses and envelopes stuffed with cash and gift certificates and stuff. She bought me a beautiful diamond watch and matching earrings. God bless her soul. She has something important to tell me. I just don’t understand why I’m meeting her at the hospital, maybe she’s pregnant; I can only hope. Journal we may have a baby to celebrate. I’ll write in you later. Never an end.
IT’S GETTING EMOTIONAL
“Can you direct me to room 714? Alyxandria Gayles” Christine smiles.
“7th floor, make a right; stop by the nurses’ station.”
Instead of a right she makes a left and misses the sight of the gurney entering the elevator with a body covered with that last white sheet they’ll ever use.
Back on track she stands at the door eying the room full of mourning faces and hesitantly asks, “Is this Alyxandria Gayles’s room” I whisper.
A shuddering, thick, middle-aged woman wearing massive pearl earrings, steps towards her.
“And you are honey” dabbing her red eyes.
“Christine Webbster. Alyx and I were college roommates. And you are might I ask.”
“I’m Alyx’s sister.”
“Where is Alyx” beginning to feel her head churning; nauseous.
“Alyx has told us so much about you, guiding her back into the hallway to the cushioned benches. Alyx had breast cancer of the worst kind. She decided to keep it hidden from everyone even her own family until she started making calls last week for this gathering. She passed on to glory today.”
Christine slowly rises. She could feel a migraine beginning to erupt; nausea. Her nose had stopped up seconds ago making it hard for her to breathe; she needs to go home, when the eruption takes place. She nods to show she understands all the words that were coming out of Alyx’s sister’s mouth. She floats to the exit and the 8 miles to her condominium not hearing a sound except the escalating hammering of the migraine; not the stop and go traffic, not the sultry sidewalk conversations. She unlocks and opens her stained-glass front double doors, neglecting to close them behind her. She lets her purse and emotions and tears fall to the cream-colored tile floor as she sluggishly forces herself up the polished staircase. After five hours of soul-wrenching crying and mental memoirs, she opens her comfort zone.
FEBRUARY 2004
In 1991. I began my quest to secure a future within this life of mine. Goals I've reached are of my own doing; by the grace of God. I enrolled in an accredited, prestigious college and made the right friends. As smart as I am, my plate consist of why was it necessary to learn all that I have learned if no one is going to be around to show me how to use it; my parents; time and time again not at current available. My capabilities versus my triumphs. Will the stink in my life ever smell better? Dr. Meckos is working on my migraines. I’ve taken almost everything, Ergotamine. Migranal, Imitrex. I am becoming slightly addicted to Stadol; and through all the emotional bullshit in this life, Alyx died from breast cancer today. Why she never told me I don’t know. Well yes I can guess. ‘You have other things to concern yourself with, so why worry you. Concentrate on Christine. Alyx is going to be alright.’ Her sister called and left a message about Alyx’s Will being read tomorrow and that I need to be in attendance. I have to go to the hospital to get my car. I’ll write later. Never an end.
OH YES!
Dressed casually and relaxed in her flowing pant suit and matching calf-high boots, Christine enters and sits slightly on edge through the formalities, stifling at best an emerging migraine.
“Not now. 1, …, 4, …, …, 7, 8, …, 10. 1, 2, …, …, 6, 7, …, …, 10.”
“Christine Veronica Webbster is to receive 100% ownership of ‘GIVE ME A MINUTE’, wholly and solely.”
“Oh hell no” coming from behind her head.
“We don't even know this woman” came another threat.
“We'll see her in court” yelled another.
Dear Father God, hallowed be your name;
once again you have seen fit to bless me
and overflow my cup. I thank you for every
breath I’ve taken. May Alyxandria’s soul and spirit
rest peacefully in Your loving arms.
May Your shoulder be her resting place.
I thank you for allowing such a precious being to be
a part of my life because of all the wonderful
things I have learned. Amen and amen again.
THE SEA
In the presence of hundreds of jealous onlookers, and those full of imaginable envy, a $10,000 bottle of vintage champagne christens the bow of the nine million dollar yacht the ‘E’. They set sail on the grand yacht knowing everything is going to be all right; oh my Lord!.
“Phone the children. Have something soft and melodic on the stereo. Swab, is that right E.L., swab.”
“Yes Enjoila, it’s swab.”
They both heckle impish laughter.
“Swab the deck. Set Mr. E.L. and I something fantastic to dance the night away in. I’ll instruct you further when necessary. That’s all,” waving her away like smoke.
Heloise disappears quicker than she’d appeared at the ding of the bell, hating their presence but loving Mr. E's money and all the precious things she's able to collect without them knowing.
On a king size triangular bed stuffed with ostrich feathers covered with 700-count silk sheets, the E’s make love.
They involve themselves and bind one another up with the most passionate, somewhat humbling super-rich older people sex they could muster. After a matter of minutes of fulfilled exhilaration; they slumber.
“What’s that horrible noise E.L.” she questions sixteen hours into the voyage, jolted from her relaxation.
Enjoila pulls on her satin robe and satin slippers and steps up the stairs to the spotlessly swabbed deck. The wind kicks and howls and is unsettled. They'd made deserving love. Slept more that they had in well over twenty years. Rekindled what had ignited lives of wealth and splendor; always careful to avoid being on-hand parents, and made multi millions upon semi-retiring.
“What’s that E.L.” she cries as he steps up behind her.
The yacht has sailed into the sometimes unrelenting Atlantic Ocean.
“Come Enjoila! Hurry” E.L. urges, pulling her away from the violently swinging door.
The engulfing yet serene wind along with the the humongous and punishing waves make the ocean a frigid black-blue bottomless abyss, which beat the ‘E’ unending. For all the beatings they’d orchestrated, the ocean beat just as fierce. For all the missed moments, the Atlantic left no secrets untold. Every un-honorable reaction; exploited. Things better left unsaid; screamed! Heloise and the others had gone ashore at Trunk Bay; surviving.
Headline News
“Ms. Christine, you need to come to Trunk Bay right away” Heloise urges.
“What's the matter Heloise; I'm truly very busy.”
“It's your parents Ms. Webbster.”
“What about them. Have they been arrested”sneaking a smile across her face.
“No Ma'am; it's worse.”
“What are they in the hospital” beginning to get emotionally aroused.
“Please come here Ms. Webbster.”
“I'm on my way.”
DEAL
The military helicopter whirls down to the beach blowing sand upon the onlookers, Marine CSIs, police and Christine. Out strolls a dark, history-making looking face in a dark-blue suit decorated with all the right medals, followed by several others in slightly lesser authority.
“We are sorry to inform you that your parents’, Enjoila LaiVerne Webbster and Everett Laurence Webbster yacht capsized in a Freak storm. There were no bodies or possessions recovered. Our condolences” Coast Guard Commander Randy Nice speaks solemnly then immediately returns to the comfort of his duties. Christine stands, not knowing whether she should be laughing or crying. Her serotonin soars. She crashes. She spills to the sand.
She reaches for the telephone not realizing she’s been unconscious for 80 hours and had missed the fireworks of the memorial services.
The Spices
Tracey Carter and Christine's friendship goes back to their teenage years. It appears that they'll be best friends forever; but seasons change. The last time they were together they were 18 years old sitting in front of a Western Union,in Los Angeles, California in Christine's black convertible Jaguar waiting on a transfer of $22,000 from Kaci. They'd decided to take this much needed vacation before life gets hectic with growing up and all. After 14 months in sunny California Tracey dreams of becoming a Commercial Real Estate agent; and sets off to do just
that. Angelia McCarthy, 5'10, with a workout body and small perky breast that seem to always be alert for one reason or another burns with a hell-heated fire needing to payback Christine and Tracey, for the horrific stunt they pulled when they were in high school, which caused her and her family to have to leave Georgia and disappear in Montana. After surfacing right under Christine's nose, incognito, she is determine to use her social muscle to influence the outcome of Christine's fate; 10 to 25 Fed. Ruthless and raw in relationships, Angelia orders her own steps with her own words. She works from the inside out to get Ms. Webbster’s ass back for such an unforgivable sin. Frederick Franks, a 21 year old, undercover brother, well-educated young man raised and educated in France in a bi-racial dynasty. He arrives in Atlanta after four years of University education and much parental prodding to continue his education at the renowned Georgia State University. His goals include becoming a respected photographer and or somebody 'important' personal assistant, by all means necessary. The means include late night parties, men, secrets and Veronica Webbster. Maxila Davis is a handsome light-skinned stud with 22 well placed red freckles that loves herself some Veronica. As a financial genius for Fortune 500 clientèle, she easily affords rendezvous in any country she chooses. From their initial contact she decides to spoil Veronica from coast to coast until she begins making excuses about every damn thing. When she thinks she’s about to lose Veronica; she loses it; and death does them apart. Rich’nald Regis is a 35 year old brilliant business man and undercover government agent and cheating husband and ladies man and attentive father; whew. He is a forced-upon friend outside of Christine’s immediate social circle but kept close to her all the same; for her own personal reasons. Maybe it's because he's married and can only demand so much or maybe it's because his career takes him, to foreign lands and she's always invited or maybe because his sex is top-notch; whew again. A beautiful black man with an awakening character. Rich'nald chooses his smiles and cries carefully when it comes to beautiful black women. He never imagines an Angelia McCarthy and a Veronica Webbster. 20 year old wild child Tammy Stuart inherits $5,000,000 from her grandfather's Will. Her wildly animated, self-entertaining lifestyle challenges every one she meets until she meets Veronica Webbster on a much needed cruise around St. Croix. Her older sister Wanda gets nothing. With that Wanda allows her trusted friend, the neighborhood serial rapist, to do with Tammy as he pleases, almost taking her life. Whether it was fate or circumstance Tammy is allowed a get back so heinous
that it should be counted as an unforgivable sin. Her crack head sister betrays her in the worst of ways and Tammy re-pays her equally the same. Desire Floute, is like fiiire baaaby; is a 19 year old erotic, exotic dancer with a rap video body. She stands 5’10, royally beautiful and playboy sexy. Her only flaw is being too vulnerable to Veronica. She’s been on her own for 5 years and avoids the dangers, toils and snares the hard way; by being consistently persistent in pursuing becoming a top magazine and runway model. She has everything in her favor except...
Mackenzie Phelps is a gentle soul that enjoys throwing parties for his friends, cooking culture-influenced meals, flirting with gorgeous women and being of assistance to anyone that may need him; exactly what he does for Christine Webbster. Dennis Carroll, is a universal gangster making his ends meet. He's been in Atlanta 2 years and has accumulated 4 baby mommas. His lust for Veronica has no end plus he'd love to make her a baby's momma; or is it more about her money and mild ghettoism. Their relationship is emotionally strained because of him trying to make a thoroughbred drink the water she’s being led to; though she’s not that thirsty. 6’3, 27, stocky, sexually handsome in his light brown skin, short naturally curly hair, brown cat-eyes with a flair for putting clothes together. His thuggish roguish attitude is what turns Veronica the hell on and he knows it. He tries forcing her to comply but she’s not having it; no not one bit. Charlston Hays, the avid traveler, researcher and writer, heads off to Africa with his significant other, Raymond, to express what they deem still unnecessary suppression of the
majority of the black folks of the Motherland; proving that the pen is mightier than the sword. He creates an Africa to America newspaper 'Listen Up' and it sings. Antonio Conseulo at 25 decides that the only way of becoming a notable writer is to leave his comfort zone; America would suit him just fine. His current credits include 6 published short stories and numerous awards and acclamations plus a portfolio of his professional photographs. Antonio relocates to Atlanta where he enrolls at Georgia State University to further develop his literary, photographic and social skills. He blindly engages in unprotected orgies, with high-maintenance gay men, just to fit in with what he’s told is a natural American custom; lier. They find out later a mutual friend of the three die of AIDS, from a down low that almost seemed worth it; damn.
In Life
Christine Veronica Webbster;
an emotional wreck that becomes a financial powerhouse,
having spent secluded years building her world to fit
securely into her sanity. Her experiences with life’s
ups and downs, its ins and outs, tricks in her
emotional trade, allows her to refocus her
instilled views of the harshness of potential relationships;
refusing to be sucked up out of her spirit.
Her personal psychological fits fight her every step of the way as
she steps into adulthood knowing she is about to face an unknown reality
truly alone. The spices in her life define her morals,
morals that cause her to maintain a certain distance
from people; it being necessary for her mental stability.
Veronica’s principles guide her to the beds of many and
into the hearts of none. With her headaches in and out of remission,
she rushes from her past, blaming her beginnings.
She blossoms; one of the many things she’s great at.
At 35, with two established businesses and more money than most
in her amazing social circle she lives with the spices in her life to the fullest;
on her own terms; until...
1
Tracey Carter
In the muggy heat of a San Antonio summer, when I was 14, I'd finished and passed all my Summer School's required classes to float into the next 8th grade with no academic problems. Two hours before it was time to go home to my favorite Aunt's house I decide to celebrate by catching some quiet time in thought all to my self. I held my head back as i walked into the sun's shine to sit on the concrete steps outside of the gymnasium of MLK middle school not really wanting to leave the social comforts of its grounds yet knowing that high school is next in line. I reminisce about all the trials and tribulations I'd gone through, and survived, after everyone found out I was living with my aunt Margie just so I could attend public school, but mostly to get away from my relentlessly evil birth mother. Most of the kids thought I was a snobby goodie-two-shoes, fakin' the funk. I really wanted to fit in but it was hard seeing that the 'rich' girls wouldn't have me and the less fortunate couldn't stand me; would high school be any different? I hope so.
“You know this is where I smoke my weed at don’t you” says a voice hovering somewhere in back of me.
“Who the hell…” I think, quickly snatching my head up and around.
“I usually sit back here and smoke to get away from the bullshit floatin’ around summer school” she spills like we've known one another forever.
The voice is coming from a pencil-lid black girl everybody calls Tiny, although there isn’t anything tiny about her.
She's not fat, just stocky and cocky and bold and fierce-looking.
“Well sit yo’ ass down and smoke” is all I can muster not knowing whether or not I’d have to fight this girl for a space that isn’t neither one of ours. She can have these crappy sticky steps, and this crappy school.
Stepping down two steps, “Them lame ass cop security guards or whatever don’t check back here during the summer. They don't really want nothing to do, especially paperwork or having to chase somebody especially my ass. They just want to get home everyday. I feel for those related to a cop; glad I'm not. Me, I be doing to much stuff.”
A polished white smile comes across her face, making her not appear as dark-skinned. Her deep dimples sit pronounced in her fat cheeks. She boldly sits down and pulls out a sandwich bag. She takes ZigZag papers from her top pocket and begin to sprinkle weed along the paper. She twists it like a professional, licks up its length and leaves it dangling between her lips. She puts the papers back, shakes the remainder the back into the plastic, rolls it tightly then pulls out a BIC, all in a sweeping motion.
“If you ain’t smokin’ then you better scoot over cause this here skunk” she laughs wickedly.
“Girl I ain’t been square since 4th grade, put some fire to it” I laugh back, hoping I look like I fit in; wanting to truly know what is smoking weed like.
After that one joint, my first, we remain friends for the next 25 plus years until....
A week later Tracey invites me to a neighborhood called the Eastside. Even though I had my driver's permit and my aunt Margie would let me use her car if I asked, I decided to hop VIA, seeing I wasn't sure how long I'd be gone. After following the directions I find her house in a cul-de-sac decorated with, to say the least, shabby looking houses; all which are in desperate need of serious paint jobs. It's far from what I'm use to but what the hell. The outside of Tracy's house is suppose to be bleach-white paint, but it's not exactly. With all the mess strewn everywhere; how many people live here is the question. A yard says a lot and her yard was screaming help me please, help me help me please. My parents would drop dead from the sight.
I knock lightly praying the front door wouldn't fall off. After hearing 6 locks unlock her mom opens the heavy wood door and unlocks the burglar-bar and invite me in. The inside is from a different dimension; cool but far out.
The living room is decorated from the seventies and eighties; wild yet organized. As I glazed over the site, I can see the kitchen has something special going on in it with the black-and-white checkerboard high-back chairs and matching table; the mix-matched off-hand tableware and a few other things I can't quite make out. I don't know if I moved passed the kitchen in a blur or if it blurred passed me. I see why Tracey smokes weed. One has to be high living up in here.
“Good day Mrs. Carter” I greet with a smile, standing in the middle of the neatly crowded living room. She returns to her special indentation at the corner of the couch as the soulful sounds of Third World's 'Ain't giving up' fills the air.
“Hey baby. Tracey” her mom yells after swallowing a sip from her warm-looking Pepsi.
Tracey rushes into the living room like something might have been on fire. I just stare at her animated self.
“What is… Hey girl. Momma why you yell like that? I thought I was gonna’ have to get wit’ somebody, up in here.”
We all laugh.
“Hey Trace; you hanging” I ask, as her mom nestles back into the butt mold on the sofa.
“Bet, come in my room first then we can be out.” Tracey leans over and hugs her mom for no reason and it trips me out. I think I was a bit jealous. The act was foreign to me. Tracey and her mom share the same name plus they act just alike; wild.
I relax my eye muscles knowing her room is about to trip me out if it's anything like her personality. We enter a room full of sport trophies and awards and ribbons. Volleyball. Track and Field. Basketball. The girl's mad gifted at sports. Her walls don certificates for being Class President, being on the Honor Roll, heading numerous student organizations. I’d stumbled upon a genius who acts afraid of tapping into her academic and athletic potential; but the child could smoke some weed and if there’s an award for it it’d be right there in the center; Tracey Marie
Carter- Weed Head For Life.
“What we gon’ do today” I inquire, looking for a particular smell that I couldn't make out if it was a stench or what, that was floating around her room. Looking for a safe place to sit, I sit on a pile of name brand clothes that's sitting on a green beanbag.
“I was thinking that after this, waving a joint in the air, we could go to Copernicus and watch who playin’ ball. It do be some fine ass brothas up there” Tracey motions with potential hooker-like actions.
“Tell me about it” flipping through a VIBE magazine.
“You know who I have my eye on” moving stuff around on my dresser, searching for my lighter.
“You gon’ spark that in here?”
“Where’d you want me to spark it” looking at Veronica, with that dumb ass question.
“Whatever. Any way who” Christine questions.
“Anderson” I tell.
“He is hella fine but Gerald, now that’s what you call the shit. My aunt would kill me if I showed up with him to her house; so he only fine outside from a distance” Christine laughs, putting the magazine on top of the stack of 50 or so on the floor.
“That fool be all over the place. He been with everybody we know.”
“I know but he ain’t been with me, Christine mentions. You see that big green ass car look like a boat he drives. That fool even got two flags on it.”
“He thinks he's the president of the Eastside.”
We both laugh out loud and uncontrollably as the skunk starts stinkin’.
“His crew is tight though, I tell after catching my breath, fanning the thick smoke from in front of my burning brown eyes. Pooney, Cleo, Tone, Darryl. Could you imagine being caught up with them negroes.”
“Well we the shit too so let’s go get caught up with dem negroes” slappin’ dap.
“Are you still a virgin” Tracey inquires.
“Not after this weekend” Veronica assures.
We laugh hysterically, passing the joint back and forth. Tracey dresses in her skin-tight blue jeans, bleached-white sneakers and denim-colored halter that barely hold up her 15 year-old C-cups.
Copernicus' parking lot is full to capacity. The parking lot pimps are in full swing running game on the young minds dressed to deceive; if their mothers only knew. We step through the outside clutter into the sweat and fineness of the inside crowd where the game is straight on. The Eastside boys versus the Westside crew, 98 to 56- home. We slide upfront to be seen by all and to catch sweat flying off the Eastsiders. Team captain Gerald is animated in instructing his team of hard heads.
The hour and a half game comes to a celebrated close 120 to 118- home.
“This shit is over” Gerald yells as his last 3-pointer goes swoosh.
As the crowd empties out, we hang back to see what I night will bring.
“Young booty” Cleo instigates, rushing up behind us.
“Young and plump” Tracey encourages.
“Let's wait until to night girl” he bellows.
“Boy please, we chase big fish; you a big fish now Cleo baby” Tracey keeps it up.
“A shark.”
“Whatever boy. What y'all up to for later; after y'all wash that funk off.”
“Funk makes a man.”
“No, funk makes funk stinky boy.”
We laugh at his crazy butt.
“Where your boys at” I jump in.
“Why bright eyes bushy tail?”
“Asking for a reason.”
“What's the reason?”
“You so nosy.”
“You, so nosy. You ask me a question first.”
“Just tell us what y'all...”
“Let's go sit on Gerald's car” ignoring Cleo's crazy ass.
What a wicked web we weaved that night.
2
LOCKED UP
“Veronica you coming by today.”
“Sure, in about an hour. I'm putting up groceries and waiting for my aunt to get off the phone so we can go over my school curriculum for 8th grade. Is something the matter; you out of weed” I laugh.
“I wish it was that simple” Tracey says, alerting Veronica to the bigger picture.
“What.”
“Pinky swear.”
“Damn, it must be serious if it calls for a pinky swear.”
My aunt looks over at me; “Sorry auntie. Spill Trace.”
“Two months ago, you know, I was with Stan doing all the things he wanted. He gave me 100 reasons to jump on his, you know, and I did” I stutter.
“You a whore now” I whisper, seriously. Sorry” looking over at my aunts expression.
“Hell nah; it was worth every minute it took to get me, me to get, for me to get pregnant. Damn!”
I just stare into the phone at my 16 year old trophy having, athletic genius, boy-hustling best friend, knowing tears are welling up in her eyes.
“Trust?”
“What we gon’ do” Tracey relaxes, now having gotten that off her over-developed chest.
“You want to keep it” I ask, stepping into the hallway, not knowing what else to say.
“Not sure.”
“Well you better get sure. I’m in this all the way with you girl” I confirm.
“Well what you think I should do.”
“I don’t know but I don’t think it’s good to start killing babies at such a young age; you might not ever be able to stop.”
“Bet.”
When her sixth month started showing, Tracey's called into the Counselor's office for the 'talk'. I wait on her after school at our regular spot but she's a no-show. At 3:40 I go ahead and walk to my aunt's house hoping she didn't get into any trouble without me. As soon as I'm unlocking the door I feel my cell phone vibrating.
"Holla."
“I need to talk real bad.”
“What's up. Did you ditch school without telling me...”
“Can I come to your aunt's house right now, it's important.”
“I'll be waiting on the porch.”
“Auntie I'm waiting for Tracey on the porch then I'll get right on my homework okay.”
“Yes sweetie. Your piano teacher rescheduled for 6:45 okay. Let me know if you need me, I'll be in my office.”
I grab two ice cold lemonades and a bag of Munchos. I lounge in one of the two lawn chairs , looking down the street. I'm getting anxious to know what's up with Tracey.
My aunt Margie's house was comfortable from the inside to the outside. She'd spend 35 percent of her monthly income adding to its ambiance original, hand-crafted pieces of wood furniture by DajaVu, the neighborhood craftsman. Aunt Margie has 11 very expensive pieces of hand-blown glass and marble vases of various heights, shapes and designs from four different countries; elegant. Her 5500 square foot house is absolutely mesmerizing.
A quarter way through my lemonade, Tracey walks up behind me with a depressing look on her face. She reaches to hug me; all I can do is let her hold on, and she holds on for dear life.
“Trace. What's not alright.”
“My life” gathering herself.
“What happen to you at school. Why'd you leave me.”
“The Counselor called for me. That cunt chewed me out about getting pregnant. She threatened with them CPS folks being all up in me and my mom's business. She was like, my mom didn't raise me right is why I'm pregnant.”
“I hate to say it, but fuck her. When we get through handling this that bitch face gon' be cracked. I got you, don't be worrying about nothing.”
“How you got me” she sniffles.
“Oh yeah, I smile, I forgot to tell you, my mom is Enjoila of Enjoila Cosmetics and, my father is Everett of Everette's Construction...”
“Bet, she begins ti smile too. So what you saying is...”
“Exactly.”
“What exactly does that mean for me.”
“You my girl right.”
“Right” reaching for her lemonade.
“You good at your mom's house. You good with ends.”
“I can't do no wrong before my mom but she ain't all happy and shit. Ends are like they have been.”
“Well first off no baby killing, you knew this could happen when you dove in unprotected. I'ma make a call to my nanny and see if she can be available for you in the event we need somewhere to put you; fuck Child non-Protective Services. I know she'll be cool with it. Next ask your mom if she can transfer you to another school or home-school and I'll get it paid for then I'll have my aunt transfer me.”
The tears are so huge falling from Tracey's eyes they cause her to heave. Christine reaches to hold on to everything that's making sense; her best friend's life.
3
A CHILD IS BORN
9:39pm on March 18 Tracey is rushed to University Hospital after her water bag burst while rolling joint.
Christine, Stanley and Ms. Carter all pace the waiting room in anticipation. March 19, 6:23pm, Stephen Carter makes his painless grand entry looking for his folks. After about six seconds in the world his eyes roll upon his moms and then he speaks. Tracey's breath catches. She can hardly believe her eyes is so proud of her accomplishment that she vows to do more than her best; as her 'family' enters. Immediately his features take a ‘Smart Guy’ appearance. They joke about how cute tiny wire-rimmed glasses are going to look on his sweet face. And who’s going to buy him his first corporate tie when he enters pre-school.
“Ms. Carter, I'm sorry that I made this happen, Stan man-ups. I'm not going to flake out on your daughter even if we're not together; my parents didn't raise me like that...”
“They raised you to have unprotected sex with...” Christine begins.
“I'd hope not. I don't know how long y'all have been knowing one another but this is a good girl that made this one issue; we're not going to let that throw a monkey wrench in our groove. Doesn't take away from her being brilliant” rubbing Tracey's forehead and stroking her grandson's fluffy copper-brown cheeks.
“May I ask y'all to step into the waiting room so we can finish up here” Nurse Williams ask, reaching for the bundle of joy.
“Sure thing” Ms. Carter assures, as Stan follows be hind her.
Christine allows the closed door to separate her from Ms. Carter and Stan, “You did it girl, kissing Tracey's forehead. Tracey, I decided to move back to Atlanta after high school, San Antonio can do nothing for per my career moves. I just thought this was as good a time as any to tell you.”
“Say what.”
“The day after graduation, I'm o-u-t.”
Tracey looks into her son’s baby genius eyes, as the nurse gives her a few more minutes to welcome him; “Stephen, this is auntie V. Aunt V this is Stephen Elan Carter. Christine Veronica Webbster you take care of yourself” sitting up in the hospital bed as best she can.
"Don't sounds so slag about it."
"How am I suppose to sound?"
"Girl we have months more before I go."
"How we gon' wring it out" Tracey smiles.
"With fire like always."
"Hope you don't forget me all the way out there. Maybe we’ll get that way one of these days."
“Bet; and when y’all do, I’ma hook y’all up.”
“Bet.”
4
A GIFT
After weeks of rehearsing for her solo she's ready. Tracey meets Christine for talent night at the Jazz Club. Though her musical skills are polished, the butterflies still flutter, trying to escape from within her stomach. For some strange reason she wishes her parents would have at least called with well-wishes.
“You straight. You need me to cut the rug or something” Tracey jokes.
“Girl no, laughing. You know my folks not showing.”
“That's not hard to believe. You the only one keep hoping they will; and do they ever” Tracey mentions, directing her mom, who's stylish in her low-hung Faded Glory jeans, yellow designer T-shirt and high-heel calf-high sneakers.
“Girl yo mom never let's me down” Christine mentions, then thumbs up Ms. Tracey's outfit, who's front and center with Hennessey water chaser and Newports on the table.
“Why you think I got so much accomplished; parental support honey child.”
“I hear that; lucky you. No sweat though, you can't start missing what you've always missed. I'm
about to do my thang, go take your seat.”
“Now you sure you don't want me to boogie on down in the background” cracking up as she gives her best friend her spotlight.
The curtain is drawn. Christine could hear the crowd of about 200 taking their seats, ordering drinks and something to eat. She craved the laughter and comedic conversations going on.
“Tonight we have a new lineup of entertainment. We begin with Ms. Christine Webbster, a 17 year old accomplished pianist, with an original score.
The heavy curtain separates. Christine ignores everything outside of her brain. She begins gently tapping on the keys,....,....,...., as the intro of her avant-garde unfolds. Two minutes later she's building to her climax; having a total of four minutes to move the crowd. The last thirty seconds are so dominating that half the audience is on their feet. The last thirty seconds rises the rest. Tears stream down Mrs. Carter's face feeling the intensity of her play daughter's pain, as she unleashes from within her emotions. Tracey nods in a hypnotic state, unfamiliar about her
best friend's parental pain. Christine finishes; she nods with respect to her piano, then stands and bows to the crowd. Slowly she exits stage right; the butterflies having flown away three minutes fifty seven seconds ago.
5
Before I go....
Christine spends a thousand dollars on Prom, for her and Tracey, at Malcolm Davis High School and another thousand for her and Tracey's Prom at their current high school, Divine Minds Academic Preparatory, to include $100 to Ms. Carter for baby-sitting expense.
DePaul slides to a smooth stop in front of the crowd in front of the entrance.They exit the white stretch Cadillac limousine dressed in custom-made outfits with matching accessories; handbag, shoes, jewelry; all custom-made for said event. They choose to be exclusive the entire night, going without dates to have the choice of leaving with any body’s date they so choose.
“Looky looky” Tracey instigates, stepping into the decorated place looking like a wheat-bread complexioned Naomi Campbell, in a beige hip-hugging pencil skirt, a matching bust-lifting blouse and Veronica in a cream, fitted, pleated, flaired-at-the-bottom dress.
“What” I question, doing my cream-colored, pleated, calf-length gown major justice.
“Looky looky from where all the seniors and thugs get their nooky.”
Christine scans the room, under her Diva-Style glasses, looking for Heather Motr.
“Bitch in sight. Where’s her left nut.”
“I heard they moved to Montana after her folks got our mail.”
“You know I heard that too but I thought she was coming back or at least wouldn't miss tonight so she can showoff some expensive bullshit. I see a rat in a corner all alone.”
“Let’s go offer her some spoiled cheese.”
“Let's get a little bit of our party on first; we not looking this good for everybody not to see us.”
Christine and Tracey dance within groups of their boy friends who are trying to be the first and best to rub against them as Egyptian Lover fades into Purple Rain fades into something by Stacy Lattisaw. Tracey looks up and notices Heather giggling in a group of girls and sweatin’ them.
She taps Christine's bare shoulder, “Look” pointing at Heather until she notices them noticing her.
“I wanna slap her ass sillier than she already is.”
“Keep yo' cool girl; times coming for all that.”
The high-spirited dance is coming to an end as midnight fast approaches. All the awards and accolades have been given out and the King and Queen have been selected. Heather collects a small group of secondary friends just in case those two bitches want to act up. She can’t believe Angelia left her while the shit was still stinking.
“Who we gon’ leave with” Tracey questions, wiping sweat from her brow with her silk handkerchief.
“You know what girlfriend, we gon’ end up at home alone, if not in juvenile. But what we gon’ do first is get as many new numbers, quality numbers in 10 minutes, then we gon’ get in the limo change into our shorts and T-shits and sneakers and when Heather gets outside we gon’ smash her ass.”
“Bet.”
Heather steps out into the outside crowd without looking in all directions. Tracey and Christine stand behind Heather's car hoping she'd bring at least two or three of her home girls with her; so it'd be a fair fight. As Heather is waving her good-byes and see-y'all-laters, Christine steps up and taps her on the shoulder. Heather turns around shit-stunned. Tracey steps to the three girls that Heather must have been giving a ride home; they've heard about Tracey and her fists so they slowly raise their hands to show they want no part in Heather's mess. They scadattle from the scene, headed to gather adults to intervene.
“What I told you bitch” Tracey spits in Heather's made-up face.
“Look, I don't...” catching no less than five straight-to-the-face blows.
“Shut yo ass up” Tracey orders as Heather is introduced to the concrete.
After a multitude of kicks, stomps, threats, Christine moves Tracey out the way; my turn. There's not a such thing as a fair fight, so to her ass Veronica takes it in remembrance of Heather and Angelia double-teaming her in the gym on a day Tracey was absent; took her a month to heal. The two school officers stand guard around Veronica and Tracey as the Principal scolds them in front of their eavesdropping and cheering peers while the emergency techs comfort and bandage Heather and the two girls that tried to help.
“You two young ladies are lucky you two aren’t criminally charged for the way that child looks. What has gotten into you two that during and after school, and on the weekend you two are jumping on someone. You two have been doing this mess for years. Ms. Carter, one of the chaperons, your daughter will be expelled if it happens again, making her have to repeat the 12th grade, and I don’t care where. There are only weeks left before you two are out of here. If I get wind of mess out on their butts they will go and I'll request to the School Board to hold them back. This is starting not to make sense. If I hear that you two are thinking about it, if I get wind that you two have attitude with anyone out you go; please understand my alarm. Tracey you are not only a top student you are a mother, act like it.”
“Go home Ms. Webbster” Principal Candlera spits with her hands firmly on her hips.
Her aunt is working tirelessly in her home office when the late night call interrupts her. She's informed that Christine has been involved in a potentially criminal physical altercation and that she is being sent home with a verbal and written and final reprimand and notification that charges may be pressed in the near future.
“Call her mother” was her only response.
Enjoila is sound asleep when the phone quietly purrs into her dream of more money from those who can afford her and more makeup for those who desperately need her.
“Yes. My daughter. Okay. Yes. I'll deal with it officer. Thank you” and she hangs up to fall easily back into a peaceful slumber.
Christine waves see-you-later to Tracey and Ms. Tracey and quietly enters her aunt's house. She steps to her office door and taps twice.
“Come on in darling.”
Christine enters passed two 6foot tall Palm trees outside her office door, steps into the coziness of the mahogany scented space, which is the size of an efficiency apartment; “I'm sorry about tonight auntie.”
Reaching for her niece,“Darling I don't know what happen and I don't care. If you felt it necessary to risk your freedom and reputation then it must have been worth it. I simply instructed them to contact your mother.”
“Gosh darn it, I swear. I'd rather have went to juvenile.”
“That's easy for you to say you've never been to juvenile. I don't think it's a pretty place darling.”
Christine's heart beats a hundred miles an hour knowing her parents are going to be hectic on her. She wishes she didn't have to go, but she does; it's part of the arrangement.
Her flight lands in Atlanta Friday evening. Carter is there right on time, waving his sign: C.V. Webbster.
The early part of Friday night is peaceful because the Es aren't due back in town until 9pm. About 9:15 she says her good nights to Glory, Kaci and Carter. She dials Tracey and they reminisce about beating the snot out of Heather and her weak-ass posse and how Principal Candlera almost fainted when she seen Heather's smashed up face; thank God no charges.
7am Saturday morning Christine is up and dressed and ready to escape the emotional dungeon before her mother wakes. She steps into the calm aura of the light-blue painted kitchen for some OJ and a cinnamon crescent.
“Morning Christine Veronica Webbster, Enjoila snobbishly throw out her eldest daughter's full name, positioning herself at the sink, wrapped in a pink Victoria Secrets satin robe and inch-high matching slippers. I heard you had a fantastic night at your prom, searching for words to spit early morning sarcasm. Why you have the police wake me in the middle of the night behind your mess. Why must you insist… Where’s your sister? I need to talk to someone with some sense, because you definitely have none; with your smart ass. I knew sending you to your father's sister's house was a mistake. If it wouldn't show I'd punch you in your ugly face” Enjoila reaps.
“That's never stopped you before” she smarts.
Enjoila clutches her chest; “I see someone has become quite bold in my parental absence. Let me tell you something, stepping in her daughter's face, poking her nose with her polished fingernail, I will take your life if you ever break authority to me again you hear; I will take your worthless life” her mother seethes.
Christine Veronica absorbs her mother’s psychological abuse, for the umpteenth time; for she hopes it will only make her emotionally stronger; she prays without ceasing.
Journal if I could only express how good it felt to smash Heather. I hope she tells Angelia when
her mouth un-swells. She got exactly what she had coming to her. The Principal and teachers think Trace and I are menaces. They don't walk in my shoes and what it takes to get through a damn day! They should try coming into this home; insanity. They're not the ones exposed to this madness. I'm leaving with a bitch that birthed me to hate me;insanity. I fight because my emotions have to, not because I’m trying to be a bad ass; I’m trying to emotionally survive; mentally speaking. I’m mad at every freakin’ body and when I get super rich I’ma pay all their asses back; nothing. I'ma go back to San Antonio and beg my aunt to please let me stay with her forever; it's only 3 months to summer. Later.
Things didn't go as I planned and I had to go back to the Es for two years; it was in the new arrangement. I spend the remaining months saying my good-byes to my Texas friends.
Friday evening Kaci rings Christine's aunt's doorbell to retrieve the 'black sheep', as Carter steps from the polished cream-colored Cadillac Sedan to put her suitcases in the trunk.
“Hey young lady, ready to go” Kaci questions while hugging the breath out of Christine.
“As ready as I can be. Is Glory home yet.”
“She should be home about the time we get there.”
“Auntie I'm leaving now. Thanks for everything and you know I'll see you soon.”
Margie grabs her temporary ward, “Alright baby, it's been good loving you and if you ever need me for anything great or small don't hesitate to get here. Tell your parents hello, if you feel like it” with a laugh in her voice. She knows Enjoila's demons real well.
During the long road trip back to Atlanta, because Kaci won't fly, I stare out into the open sky's heat daydreaming.
A day and a half later, they pull into the semi-circular driveway, which is long enough to park 10 cars, along the manicured bushes, in the manicured subdivision. Carter steps out, stretches his full 6'3 length, then removes everyone's luggage from the trunk. Kaci and Christine head inside the sparkling 300,000 square foot custom-built mansion while Carter puts the luggage in the foyer then goes to pull the Sedan to the rear so Sylvester can complete a full detail. Christine feels heavy in her heart. The decision to relocate back home was already causing her emotional grief. Is she ready to face the stress of the E's for the duration. Will emotions have changed in her favor; I doubt it.
The Webbsters haven't arrived home so Christine visits with Glory, who is busy organizing and filing while talking; Miss busy body.
Veronica disappears into the comfort of her massive bedroom after 20 minutes of trying to distract Glory from whatever it is she's doing. After seven years, not a thing's changed in her space. It's like she's locked away and forgotten about. She floats around in its bliss contemplating her move. In a couple of years she’d be on her own, making her own choices and decisions, which was no different from now. If it wasn't for Aunt Margie, where would she be. She takes note that she’d be an adult without the consistent financial assistance of her wealthy parents but she'd have a quality academic education, a bank account containing a mere $100,000, her own
permission to have a great life and the ambition of a well-fed champion thoroughbred; with the Christ my aunt knows, I can do all things....
6
Angelia McCarthy
As the only child of two Federal Court Judges, none of her troubles ever amount to anything. Angelia, as a teen, lives life on her own terms, establishing herself as a force to be reckoned with. She can and will fight; flagrantly omitting the discipline of Karate.
“I'm not a bully. Either me or my parents gon' back my shit up” she warns her fellow classmates, especially those who choose to have beef with her. Not even the instructors would openly discipline her.
Angelia is born into the necessary finances, develops the appropriate eloquences and receives all the parental support mandatory for her to believe she can do all things; through her parents who strengthens her. Weekends spent in different cities. Winter breaks in Aspen or Miami or St. Kitts. Summer trips to California or the Bahamas or Venezuela. All she knows is 'Yes'.
“We gone ride with the big boys, Angelia informs Heather as they sit in her humongous room putting on just enough makeup and Karl Kani clothing to be stunners. That bitch Christine thinks she’s all that well I’ma’ show her ass.”
“I still don't understand why you and her are at odds...”
“Because she's a spoiled bitch. She's always thought her family was all that because of their wealth and they don't even like the bitch. I've hated her every since we were about 7 I guess.”
“7; how can you make an enemy at seven” Heather questions.
As the only child of two Federal Court Judges, none of her troubles ever amount to anything. Angelia, as a teen, lives life on her own terms, establishing herself as a force to be reckoned with. She can and will fight; flagrantly omitting the discipline of Karate.
“I'm not a bully. Either me or my parents gon' back my shit up” she warns her fellow classmates, especially those who choose to have beef with her. Not even the instructors would openly discipline her.
Angelia is born into the necessary finances, develops the appropriate eloquences and receives all the parental support mandatory for her to believe she can do all things; through her parents who strengthens her. Weekends spent in different cities. Winter breaks in Aspen or Miami or St. Kitts. Summer trips to California or the Bahamas or Venezuela. All she knows is 'Yes'.
“We gone ride with the big boys, Angelia informs Heather as they sit in her humongous room putting on just enough makeup and Karl Kani clothing to be stunners. That bitch Christine thinks she’s all that well I’ma’ show her ass.”
“I still don't understand why you and her are at odds...”
“Because she's a spoiled bitch. She's always thought her family was all that because of their wealth and they don't even like the bitch. I've hated her every since we were about 7 I guess.”
“7; how can you make an enemy at seven” Heather questions.
For more, critiques and comments, shoot me an email:
Kim Wilson OOWEE
The Spices In Life will be release August 2010. To PRE-ORDER ($11) , shoot me an email.
