Price of Fame Page 8

  Dominique had no idea what she was getting herself into, but even if this stranger killed her in his car, it had to be better than living with Awilda or living in the streets.

  Arriving at Jordan’s apartment, Dominique wasn’t even afraid. She just desperately wanted to take a hot shower and get some sleep. Dominique told herself that she would not sleep with Jordan, nor would she stay at a strange man’s house. All she needed to do was find out what kind of talent connections he had and get herself a job.

  “Make yourself at home,” Jordan said, opening his arms and welcoming her to his home. Dominique looked around in awe. She would’ve never known from the old building that the inside of the apartment was going to be so nice. Jordan must’ve owned every gadget imaginable. He had a sixty-five-inch LCD television hanging over an old-fashioned fireplace. The entire living room was decorated in light blue and brown. The chocolate-colored leather sofa and accent pillows definitely looked like they had a woman’s touch. He gotta have a girl or something.

  “You want something to eat or drink?” Jordan asked.

  “Why you being so nice to me?” Dominique asked curiously.

  “You look like you need a daddy, ma. I’m the type of niggah who can make your life right,” Jordan said, handing her a glass of lemonade.

  “A daddy?” Dominique asked, gulping the drink.

  “I’ll explain it all later. For now you need to wash because you smell like a straight sewer rat,” Jordan said, chuckling.

  “Thanks,” Dominique said, heading in to the bathroom.

  That night they stayed up late, talking. Dominique was aware of Jordan’s phone ringing every twenty minutes or so. He had yet to tell her what type of talent scout he was. Dominique fell asleep on Jordan’s couch. He covered her with a comforter and went to bed. Jordan knew he could play the nice guy for a while. He thought of it as a worthwhile investment that would pay handsome dividends in the future.

  The next morning when Dominique woke up, Jordan was gone. She sat up and looked around, making sure she was alone. Dominique could not believe he would leave her in his house alone. He didn’t even know her–she could be some psychopath for all he knew. Dominique looked around and thought about lifting some of his shit and running back to Brooklyn. He would probably never find her, she rationalized. Before the thought could settle deep in her mind, she heard Jordan’s keys jiggle in the lock. Dominique quickly lay back down and placed the comforter over her head.

  Jordan rushed into the apartment and went straight into his bedroom. Dominique could hear rubber bands popping and rolling. She heard computerized beeping noises, then silence. She peeked out from under her blanket.

  “So you up,” Jordan said, standing over the back of the couch where she had slept.

  “Shit! You scared me!” Dominique jumped.

  “I got you some shit to put on. You can toss that three-pete outfit,” Jordan cracked on her. Dominique took the shopping bag and looked inside. He had gotten her two pairs of jeans and two sweaters. It was more than anyone had given her in a long while.

  “Thank you so much. I will pay you back as soon as I can,” Dominique replied gratefully.

  “Yeah, you can pay me back by going with me to a party tonight,” Jordan told her, tossing another bag at her. Inside was a beautiful black satin dress. Dominique took it out and surveyed it. She noticed the price tag, too.

  “How did you know my size?” she asked him wearily.

  “I’m a ladies’man. I can probably tell you your exact measurements. Now, get dressed and let’s go get some grub,” Jordan told her, walking out of the room so she could have some privacy.

  Dominique was impressed. No guy had ever bought her anything without her first giving something up. Jordan hadn’t even attempted to sleep with her last night. She wasn’t going to front; the thought left her feeling somewhat disappointed.

  “Dayum, ma, you lookin’ right in that dress,” Jordan complimented, making Dominique blush. She spun around so he could check out her assets. Her C cups and round hips made it look like someone had poured her into the dress. Dominique had slicked her hair back into a neat, classy: bun simple, yet sexy. She had never dressed up in classy clothes like this before. The closest she’d ever gotten to dressing up was when one of her johns asked her to wear a costume.

  Jordan bowed his head and slipped his obligatory diamondencrusted Jesus piece around his neck. Rubbing his hands together, he checked himself out in the mirror. The all-black linen outfit he’d chosen was elegant against his smooth midnight skin. He reminded Dominique of pure black silk. His face looked so inviting, she wanted to reach out and touch it.

  “You look real nice too,” Dominique repaid the compliment. Looking at Jordan made her heart flutter and she had a feeling all over her body that she had never experienced before. Her face felt warm and her stomach churned. She now knew what the phrase “hot and bothered” felt like. Dominique had never experienced love before. She wondered if she could love a stranger so instantly that it rocked her off her heels.

  Jordan placed his hand in the small of her back. “You ready, Diamond?” he asked, lowering his voice, the scent of his cologne and mint Altoids dancing in Dominique’s nostrils. When he touched her so gently, Dominique was finally able to place her feeling. It was fear; an overwhelming fear, like someone who’d realized they’d just cheated death.

  Dominique prayed all the way to the door that the bouncer did not ask for identification. She had never told Jordan her age, and he had never asked. To her pleasant surprise, Jordan did not wait in the long line that was wrapped around the building. Instead, he walked up to the front, nodded at the bouncers and he and Dominique crossed the threshold into the club. A thick cloud of smoke cast a hazy grey film over the place. Dominique hadn’t had a cigarette since her last pack had been stolen, but the smell of smoke and the anxious feeling in her stomach made her crave one.

  She looked around and immediately felt out of place. The bass from the music ripped through her rib cage, making her feel like her organs were knocking. The women in the club were absolutely gorgeous in Dominique’s eyes. She felt like a rented date. Jordan noticed the look on her face and reached down to grab her hand. His touch sent a stab of electricity up her arm. “You a’ight, Diamond?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” she yelled over the music, glad that Jordan couldn’t really read her mind.

  “Stay right here,” he instructed, letting her hand go. He moved like a panther, sleek and stealthy, through the throngs of partygoers. Dominique swallowed hard as he approached the bar. Dominique kept her eyes trained on him for some time, but after he stopped to speak to at least sixty people, she’d lost interest.

  After some time, Jordan returned to her side with a long bottle of Grey Goose in hand. Dominique remembered the bottle and the taste of the vodka very well, because Awilda had made her drink it a couple of times to loosen up. “C’mon, I want you to meet my peoples,” Jordan said, gesturing with his head for her to follow him. Dominique did as she was asked. She noticed more than a few eyes on her. Maybe Jordan wasn’t bullshitting when he said I looked nice. Dominique didn’t know how to take a compliment from a man who wasn’t about to sleep with her.

  “Ay, everybody, it’s young blood. He showed up and graced us with his presence,” C-Lo called out as Jordan approached his table.

  “What, niggah? You thought I was gonna miss your shit?” Jordan replied, smiling brightly and sticking his fist out for dap. Dominique felt the heat of the man’s eyes on her.

  “You ain’t gon’ introduce me to your beautiful lady friend?” C-Lo asked Jordan, his gaze fixed on Dominique. Jordan’s face changed; his smile turned into a sneer.

  “Oh yeah, yeah. Diamond, this is C-Lo . . . C-Lo, this is Diamond,” Jordan said.

  Dominique smiled and extended her hand in response to C-Lo’s outstretched hand.

  “I love diamonds,” C-Lo said, kissing the top of Dominique’s hand, leaving it a little
wet.

  “Stay and celebrate with me, young blood,” C-Lo instructed, patting the seat next to him.

  Reluctantly, Jordan sat down and Dominique followed his lead. He opened the Grey Goose and poured them both a shot. “Here . . . drink this and relax. You look all uptight,” Jordan said, handing Dominique the small glass. She already knew how to take the shot. She felt a small explosion of heat in her chest after taking the hit.

  “Who’s the beautiful lady?” C-Lo asked, leaning in to Jordan’s ear. He wasn’t going to let it go and Jordan guessed as much. Since being on his own, he never brought his chicks around C-Lo.

  “Met her on the street. Trying to feel her out,” Jordan replied, leaning away from Dominique’s earshot.

  “I might wanna get to know her,” C-Lo said, trying to gauge Jordan’s reaction.

  Jordan clenched his jaw and tapped his foot. “She is green right now. Runaway . . . Aunt tricked her out, I think. I’ma handle her and get her seasoned up myself,” Jordan responded, trying to say “hell no” the politically correct way.

  “Young blood . . . don’t you think you owe me?” C-Lo asked, cocking his head to the side.

  “I thought we were squared up,” Jordan said. Thinking about the murder he had committed for C-Lo and all of the young girls he’d turned over to him, he’d more than paid him back.

  “Look over there . . . we ain’t never gon’ be squared up,” C-Lo said, pointing. Jordan looked on the other side of the VIP section of the club and spotted his chick, Tiger. She was sitting at a table nursing a drink. Jordan’s heart jerked in his chest and he shifted on the seat. “You know her, right?” C-Lo asked.

  “Hell, yeah, that’s a bitch I turned loose,” Jordan lied, grinding his back teeth.

  “Yeah . . . you turned the bitch loose on my tracks and she snitched,” C-Lo said, throwing his toothpick on the table and taking a fresh one from behind his ear. Jordan was quiet.

  “Cat got ya tongue, young blood?” C-Lo asked calmly.

  “Yo, man. I don’t know what that lying-ass bitch told you, but it’s not even like that. Let’s talk about it later,” Jordan replied, putting his drink down.

  “Yeah. We can talk about it later, like you said. But don’t leave until I get to speak with your little Hershey’s Kiss,” C-Lo said, laughing.

  A fire flashed in Jordan’s stomach. He could have used his bottle of Mylanta right now. “Let’s dance,” Jordan shouted to Dominique over the music. He wanted to get away from C-Lo.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” she complained.

  “Ain’t nothing to it but to do it,” Jordan said, pulling her out of her seat. She smiled and followed him toward the dance floor. Before they could make it, two of C-Lo’s dudes interrupted their stride.

  “Jordan, C-Lo needs to see you out back for a minute,” one of them grumbled in Jordan’s ear.

  “I already spoke to him and told him we would talk later,” Jordan replied, annoyed.

  “Nah, niggah, he wanna talk to you now and he said bring your friend with you,” the other husky guy interjected, touching Jordan’s arm. Jordan jerked away.

  “I can fuckin walk,” he growled.

  “C’mon, Diamond. I need to talk to C-Lo for a minute,” Jordan explained. Dominique was there for the ride, so it didn’t make a difference to her either way. Jordan followed the two men through a maze of people toward a small back door at the side of the bar. Dominique followed him closely. Once outside, C-Lo was standing with Tiger and three other men. Jordan squinted his eyes into little dashes and stared Tiger down.

  “Young blood, I’m hurt. I’m seriously hurt,” C-Lo started.

  “C’mon, man, I told you . . .” Jordan interrupted. One of C-Lo’s henchmen walked over and punched Jordan in the stomach. Jordan doubled over, blood immediately bubbling up into the back of his throat. Dominique flinched, her knees knocking against each other.

  “Now, like I was saying. Your bitch Tasha here says you made her stand on a hun’ed and sixteenth and St. Nick. You know that’s my track,” C-Lo said.

  “Yo, man. This bitch a liar,” Jordan wheezed, holding on to his stomach, trying to will the pain away. A different thug from C-Lo’s camp came over and punched Jordan square in the face this time. Jordan screamed, feeling his cheekbone shatter into shards under his skin.

  “You wanna be a pimp? I’ma show you what happens when one pimp step on the toes of another,” C-Lo said, stepping aside to sic his crew on Jordan.

  Dominique covered her mouth now in shock. Pimp! Dominique could not believe she’d fallen into this trap. Dominique stood there watching, quaking like a leaf in a wild storm. She was afraid that they were going to kill Jordan. Her mind told her to run, but her legs would not move.

  Another closed-fist blow landed to Jordan’s face and this time he fell to the ground, unable to brace himself. The four men threw punches at free will, letting the blows land wherever they wanted. They kicked Jordan in the ribs and stomped on his thigh. One kick even landed on his chin. Jordan curled into a fetal position, helplessly jerking with every violent blow.

  Satisfied that Jordan had gotten the message, C-Lo put his hand up to halt the beating. “Now, young blood, I want you to pack up your shit and get the fuck outta Harlem. If it weren’t for your mother, I wouldn’t be so nice. Next time I won’t be so forgiving,” C-Lo spat.

  Walking over to where Dominique stood, C-Lo smiled wickedly. “Diamond . . . when you ready for a real man, you come see me,” he said, grabbing Dominique forcefully and kissing her on the mouth. Her eyes popped open and she felt a small amount of urine trickle from her bladder. When C-Lo and his thugs left, Dominique bent down to see if Jordan was still conscious. It was the least she could do. When he failed to respond, she became a bit hysterical.

  “Help! Somebody help!” she screamed into the night air. Jordan needed her just as much as she needed him right now.

  Chapter Seven

  Searching for Redemption

  “I got her legs . . . you hold her arms,” Earl instructed as their classmate fought under his strength.

  “C’mon, sissy-ass niggah. Get ya dick out and fuck this bitch!” Earl screamed. Brice stood stock still. The three other boys were screaming at him to hurry up. He fumbled with his zipper, his hands shaking. Brice gulped the golf ball–sized lump at the back of his throat and moved toward the girl. She was flailing futilely, no match for their strength.

  “Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her,” the others chanted. It was like something out of a movie. Brice could hear Earl’s Eddie Murphy–sounding laugh. It made Brice’s ears ring. Brice climbed up on the bed, the girl’s legs already forcefully spread waiting for him. He prepared to enter her against her will.

  “Brice?” the girl’s strangled voice sent chills down his back. It was a voice he recognized very well.

  Brice woke up from his sleep, breathing hard. He squinted at his cable box and realized it was 4:30 A.M. He rubbed his hands across his face and flopped back on the bed. Brice often thought about going to a doctor for some Ambien to help him sleep. If he was drugged up, maybe then he wouldn’t have such vivid nightmares. Brice hadn’t seen or heard from his sister since their incident downtown. Maybe his worry had caused him to become a recurrent figure in his dreams. His mother still reported that Ciara was coming in late from school every day. Brice needed to get his emotions in order before he tried to speak to her again. Closing his eyes, he willed himself back to sleep.

  Who was he fooling? Brice knew he wasn’t going back to sleep. Walking over to his desk, he grabbed his case file folder and read over the notes he’d taken. Brice had gone out to the old crime scene where the fourteen-year-old girl had been found. The bodega owner told him about two months after her body had finally been identified, the girl’s mother and family came to lay a memorial of candles and stuffed animals behind the store. The name “Arianna Coleman” had been spray-painted on the wall behind the Dumpster. Brice had looked up the family and was scheduled to meet with Ari
anna’s mother today. He planned to find out all he could about Arianna. Brice didn’t know if his fervor to solve the cold case had as much to do with making a name for himself in the department as it did with redeeming himself for his past.

  Brice had grown up in the Kingsborough projects in Brooklyn. As a child, he had watched helplessly as his alcoholic stepfather beat his mother. Each time he tried to help her, he’d end up beaten up so bad that he’d have to miss school the following day. Brice took to the streets and started acting out as a way to vent his frustration with his home life. He and Earl Baker had been friends since before they were born. Their mothers had met in the free prenatal clinic downtown and realized they only lived a block from each other in the same projects. Brice and Earl were born two months apart and had literally grown up together. On each of their first birthdays, the other was the first guest to arrive. Before they started school, they had play dates when their mothers had face-to-face appointments at the welfare office, and when they started kindergarten at the same school, they had held on to each other like Celie and Nettie from The Color Purple when the school tried to put them in separate classes. Brice and Earl were inseparable in everything they did. For as long as each could remember, they had done everything together, including commit the heinous act of rape.

  When Earl first suggested that they rape one of their middle school classmates–a special-education student who had a huge crush on Earl–Brice had told him no. But Earl always had a way of getting in Brice’s head, calling him a faggot and sissy if he didn’t give in to Earl’s every whim. Brice remembered that day so clearly: the girl’s screams; her vacant eyes after the third boy climbed off of her; and the fact that she never returned to school.