Читать книгу Body Heat - Adrianne Byrd, Pamela Yaye - Страница 7

To no one’s great surprise, Hot Comb & Hair Grease opened and closed on the same night. For Nikki, reading the reviews was about as much fun as having her skin ripped from her body with a steel cat-o’-nine-tails. Nah. That would’ve been more fun.

Seriously.

For the next seven days, Nikki buried herself in her bed under a mile of sheets and comforters and kept the phone off the hook. She didn’t watch television or listen to the radio. She just wanted silence, but was denied even that when a long line of concerned friends and family paraded up to her door and banged on it endlessly. Some even threatened to break it down, but then slumped away when Nikki called their bluff.

Even worse, in between visitors, Nikki couldn’t shut off her brain. All her woulda, shoulda, couldas just chased each other around her head until she was dizzy enough to pass out. When she woke the whole thing would just start all over again.

In the back of her mind, Nikki knew she was just being stubborn and childish. But she couldn’t help it. Everything she’d dreamed of, worked for and slaved over had just blown up in her face. She was a joke in the theater world. Her name will become a verb. You don’t want to pull a Nikki Jamison on opening night.

Nikki grabbed her favorite pillow and covered her head. “Aaarrrgh!” The scream felt good, but the relief it brought would only last for a couple of seconds. After that there would be more tears. More “what ifs,” and “why me’s”.

And she still hadn’t figured out what she was going to say to her parents. Somehow “sorry” didn’t quite seem like it would be enough or even adequate. She just lost them a good chunk of their retirement money with no way of getting it back.

Her mother would just pretend like it didn’t matter. Her father would demand that she face the truth and grow up—which she was willing to concede at this point and admit that maybe he was right. Maybe it was time for her to face the music—she was washed up. A has-been even before she’d ever been anything. Did that even make sense?

She had no problem imagining her parents’ disappointed faces because it was a look she’d become accustomed to. Her mother would look like her smile was pinned on and her father would look as if he’d spent the last twenty years sucking on lemons.

Ella Joyce Jamison was a soft spoken woman—unless you started messing with her children—then she would turn into a raging lion. She was convinced that Nikki just wasn’t challenged enough in life and tended to have an active imagination. This was all true. But Wilbur Jamison saw his daughter’s inability to finish what she started as a sign of complete laziness and lack of discipline. There was a little bit of truth in that statement as well. At least it was true when it came to her dropping out of ballet, gymnastics, track, the softball team, the basketball team, college, design school and even cosmetology school. Every new hobby or project or school, her parents were right there—one reluctantly so—writing a check and hoping for the best.

The other parent rolled his eyes and counted the minutes until he could shout from the rooftops, “I told you so!”

This time, however, was different. Nikki did complete something. She wrote this damn play, financed it—well, begged her parents for the money—and even had an opening night. In some cynical way her father could read all of this as progress.

Then again, maybe she shouldn’t hold her breath on that one.

Nikki removed the pillow from her head and just stared at the ceiling until she started making a game out of discovering different shapes and patterns in the chipped paint. A rattling at the front door caught her attention. Then there was the unmistakable sound of a key slipping into the lock.

Barbara.

She was the only person entrusted with a key to the studio apartment. Nikki closed her eyes and made a weak prayer for her baby sister to go away.

Nikki was the older sister. She was supposed to be the leader, grounded—someone her sister should or could look up to. Instead, Barbara was the perfect child. The child that could dance circles around Baryshnikov and play piano like she was born with keys glued to her fingertips. She was the straight-A student who was always at the top of every honor roll throughout her junior and high school years. From there she conquered medical school and was now dating a freaking neurosurgeon.

Bottom line: Barbara Rihanna Jamison was the daughter her father was always proud of—the one that he could never stop talking about. The one he kept saying Nikki needed to be more like.

“Nikki?” Barbara chirped when she cracked open the front door.

Nikki’s hand shot out, grabbed the pillow again and smacked it down onto her head. She gave a less than one percent chance of her sister believing that she wasn’t buried under the covers in the bed.

“Nikki?” Barbara rushed into the apartment, closed the door and then tiptoed her way toward the bedroom sectioned off by a room divider. When she reached the foot of her sister’s bed, she started pulling the sheets and comforters from her sister’s body. “I know you’re in there, Nikki.”

“Go away!” Nikki shouted into the pillow.

“I can’t.” Barbara said. “Not until I at least know that you’re okay.”

The pillow popped off again. “See. I’m okay.” She forced a joker’s smile. “Now go away!”

The ever-smiling Barbara cocked her head. “You can’t lie in bed all day.”

“Sure I can. Watch me.” Nikki rolled over and tried to pull the comforter back over her body, but Barbara held a firm grip and refused to let go. Instead of giving up, Nikki redoubled her efforts and before she knew it, she was engaged in a full fledged tug-of-war.

“Let go,” Nikki hissed, tugging.

“You’re acting ridiculous,” Barbara reasoned, tugging right back.

“So what! Nobody asked you to come here anyway.” Tug.

“I was worried!” Tug.

“Well, who asked you to worry? I just want to be left alone!” Tug.

“Fine!” Barbara let go of the comforter just when Nikki was about to throw her full weight on the next tug.

Next thing Nikki knew she was careening over the side of the bed and the left side of her face smacking against the hardwood floor. “Ow.”

“Ohmigod, Nikki!” Barbara raced around the bed. “Are you all right?” She knelt down and turned her sister over onto her side. “It sounded like you hit your head.” She immediately started examining her.

“Will you stop it?” Nikki said, pulling away.

“Just hold still. I need to make sure that you don’t have a concussion.”

Nikki swatted her sister’s hands away. “I’m fine.”

Barbara finally snapped. “Why are you always fighting me?”

“Why do always think you can fix things?” Nikki barked as her eyes welled with tears. “You can’t fix this, Barbara. So please, please stop trying.”

Her little sister’s eyes glossed with tears as her bottom lip started trembling. “Okay.” She glanced around. “Then I guess I better…” She stood up and hand-ironed her skirt down. “I’ll just…talk to you later.” Barbara turned and headed toward the door.

Nikki watched as her sister walked away with her shoulders slumped and her head hung low and felt like a complete ass for blowing up at her. “Barb,” she called.

But Barbara didn’t stop walking.

“Barbara!”

Her sister opened the front door and then slammed it behind her.

Fearing that she had finally done it, Nikki jumped to her feet and ran after her. “Barbara!” Damn, me and my big mouth. She gave chase all the way out of the building, but like in everything else, Barbara was a better runner, too. Great. Just great.

Later that night, Nikki’s girlfriends Antoinette and Gwen pulled off a miracle and actually managed to get Nikki out of her self-imposed exile and dragged her down to their favorite hole-in-the-wall club, Sparkle. The place was fairly popular with the artsy crowd where everyone pretty much just bragged about whatever project they managed to snag over the loud eighties music.

“See. Don’t you feel better getting out of the house?” Antoinette said, wearing her usual sunny smile.

As far as Nikki knew there wasn’t a tragedy that Antoinette couldn’t put a positive spin on. That habit had a way of being both endearing and annoying. “I guess it’s all right.”

“Well, I think it’s awfully brave of you,” Gwen said, expressing her usually pessimistic view. “Had it been me up there flashing my ass to a theater full of people, I wouldn’t come out of my apartment for at least a couple of years.”

“Good night,” Nikki turned around on her bar stool and started to climb off when Antoinette grabbed her by the shoulders.

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” She twirled Nikki back around. “Gwen, you’re not helping.”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just keepin’ it real.”

“No. You’re just—”

“Just let it go,” Nikki said. “I’m not in the mood to play referee.” She held up her empty glass toward the female bartender that was splitting her time between flirting with the male customers and working. “Refill.”

“Isn’t that your third drink?” Antoinette asked.

“Oh, please,” Gwen rolled her eyes. “The only time to get concerned is when she starts ordering drinks that actually have alcohol in them.”

Nikki twisted her face into a comical frown. “I may be depressed, but I still know that me and alcohol don’t mix.”

“Amen,” Antoinette agreed. No doubt she was remembering a college spring break that landed Nikki a starring role in Girls Gone Wild.

“Another virgin piña colada?” the bartender asked in a dull voice.

“If you don’t mind.” Nikki smiled tightly because she detected the woman was struggling to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Comin’ right up.” She took Nikki’s empty glass and walked away.

Once her back was turned, Nikki felt free to roll her eyes first. Then as she started to turn her attention back to her two girlfriends, she caught a few stares and hand-pointing aimed in her direction. “Just great,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Antoinette said, without having to be told what Nikki was referring to—which meant that she saw them, too.

“Yeah,” Gwen said and then yelled above the music. “What the hell are y’all looking at?”

The staring and pointing stopped. Not too many people were bold enough to challenge Gwen. On top of being loud and boisterous, she was a very large and rather intimidating woman who’d rather knuckle up than talk it out.

“Mmm-hmm. That’s what I thought,” Gwen mumbled.

Nikki shook her head. She didn’t know if her friend was making it better or worse.

“One virgin piña colada,” the bartender said, returning. “I even added an extra pineapple wedge.”

“Thanks,” Nikki deadpanned. But as she stared down at the tropical drink, she didn’t really have the urge to drink it. “Maybe Gwen is right,” she said. “It’s too soon for all of this.”

Gwen bobbed her head in agreement.

“Nonsense. Whenever you fall off a horse, you get back up,” Antoinette said, pushing Nikki’s drink toward her.

Nikki didn’t respond. She was too busy listening to Michael Jackson scream “Beat It.”

“Maybe what you need is a little vacation,” Antoinette finally conceded, “someplace where you can just get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.”

“Yeah, someplace where they don’t know your name,” Gwen added.

Antoinette angled a hard glare at her friend.

“What? I’m just keepin’ it real.”

“Well, unless this magical place can be reached by the subway, I can’t afford it. And hell, to be honest, I can’t afford that.”

Her friends’ faces collapsed in disappointment. After a few jams from Bobby Brown and Prince, Nikki sighed. “It would be nice to get away.” She took a long sip of her frosty drink. “Somewhere tropical, exotic.”

“Hmm. I know a place like that,” said a woman sitting to Nikki’s right.

“Really?”

The woman shrugged. “I used to date this really good-looking guy out in Atlanta. Actually, he was more along the lines of gorgeous.” She laughed. “Anyway, he has a beautiful vacation home out in Saint Lucia that he hardly ever goes to. Have you ever been to Saint Lucia?”

Nikki shook her head.

“Beautiful.” The woman rolled her eyes. “White sand and a breathtakingly blue ocean. And the people there are so nice. There’s not a day that I don’t dream about going back to that island. Hell, I could stay at that big old empty house of his and he’d never know it.” She laughed.

Nikki perked up. “Really?”

“Really,” the woman reaffirmed.

The wheels in Nikki’s head started turning and a smile started to creep across her face.

“Oh, how I wish I could have snagged a ring from that man.”

“Why didn’t you?” Gwen asked, leaning forward. It was nothing for Gwen to jump into someone else’s Kool-Aid and stir it around.

“Because Hylan Dawson is not the marrying kind.”