Get Ready for War (7 page)

Rich eyed me. “London, there you go, insulting me again.”

“Rich, shut. Up. Please. This is not about you. This is about the Pampered Princesses who have been knocked down off of our thrones. Our reputations are real Humpty Dumpty right now and we're the only ones who can put it back together again.”

“Well, that's what I have a publicist for.”

“Newsflash, boo. She can only work with what you give her. And at the moment, that hasn't been much. All of our reputations are on the line. And I'm tired of it. I don't like being in the press like that.”

“All press is good press.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You know what, Rich. Forget it. I'm not gonna keep doing this with you. When Spencer gets here, I'm going to send her on her way. And whatever is said about us will just keep being said about us. But I am not going to be a part of any of it. This isn't even my crew. This is your crew. You invited me into this. Made me believe y'all had it on lock.” I shook my head. “I thought we were best friends.”

“Yeah, we are best friends. And we do have it on lock. And don't ever question if I think I'm fabulous again. And you're right. We need to get it together. Now I see why you called me over here, because you couldn't do it without me. You should have just said that. We coulda got right to the point. But, whatever. I've already been inconvenienced. So here's what we're going to do.” She paused as if she was giving it some thought. “Okay. We're going to tell Heather that crack is whack. Then we're going to tell Spencer to stay off her knees in bathrooms. We're going to let them know that we run this. And they need to learn how to behave.”

“Uhhh, excuse you. Aren't you forgetting something—or someone, I should say?”

“Oh yeah. And you, Miss Happy Hands, you can't go around tearing up the café every time someone says something you don't like. How immature is that? We're going to have to start jumping whores after school.”

“Uhhh, ohhhkaaay, Miss Fix It. And what about you?”

She gave me a look of astonishment, placing a hand up to her neck as if she were clutching jewels. “What about me? I'm going to make sure the three of you stay in line.”

Before I could check her, Genevieve's voice blared through the intercom, announcing that Spencer had arrived.

Showtime . . .

S
o this is what the inside of low money looks like
, I thought as the door opened and I was greeted by a dark-chocolate woman who was in desperate need of a makeover. She had thick, woolly hair that was twisted up in a knotted bun that needed the immediate attention of a hot oil treatment, hacksaw, hot comb, or a combination of the three. And her uniform, although neatly pressed, was buttoned up to her neck like she was a missionary or on her way to a religious camp. All she needed was a Bible and white gloves and her look would be complete. Aunt Jemima was late, wrong, and so not it. I took her in as she stepped back and welcomed me in.

“Hello, Miss Spencer. Miss London is expecting you.”

“Well, she just ought to be,” I said, shifting my chocolate crocodile tote bag from one hand to the other, “since she was the one inviting me over here. I could be on my way home right now instead of wasting gas coming here. This better be important because I'm in no mood for any of her foolery.”

I took in how lumber-jack tall she was as she towered over me. I gasped. Her shoulders were wide and it made me wonder if she were a man, or had been one in another life. But she had a womanly face. Oooh, she was a big country biscuit. I tilted my head. “Umm, did you play football in school?”

She smoothed out the front of her dress and straightened her shoulders. “No, ma'am. I most certainly did not. Why?”

I smiled. “You look like someone I saw on the cover of
Sports Weekly
once, that's all. But maybe it was your son or something. Do you have a son?”

“No, ma'am. I have a daughter.”

“Does she play sports?”

“No, she's two. Now if that's all, I have to get back to work.” She paused, pointing to the staircase. “Miss London is upstairs. Her bedroom is to the right down the west wing hall.”

Ewwww, yuck. How rude was that?
Damn linebacker! Wait . . . she's a quarterback!

I climbed the elegant curved staircase, heading toward London's room. Although the last place I wanted to spend my afternoon was here, the thought of being all up in London's pie face, knowing I was going to be leaving here then going straight home to cuddle with her man, was worth the torture I'd have to endure by being in her company.

I freakin' despised her knick-knack-paddy-whack-give-a-dog-a-bone self.

She was despicable.

And I would gladly spit nails in her face and set fire to her hair if opportunity rang my buzzer. I took a deep breath as I made my way down the long hallway. If I didn't hate her so much I would have been able to appreciate how lovely their home was. But, whatever! She was the enemy I needed to keep close.

I knocked on the door. And a few seconds later, it swung open.

“Hey,” London said dryly.

I knitted my neatly arched brows together, stepping into her bedroom. I spotted Rich stretched out on a chaise. I gawked at her, then back at London. “ ‘Hey'? Is that the code word for an apology? Because the last I checked that's exactly what you owed me. Or did you forget how you stepped your hot breath up in my face and threatened to crack my face just moments before we stepped out on the red carpet last week?”

“What? Apology? Girlie, you had better lay off the gas fumes, 'cause you got me confused. I don't owe you nothing but a moment of my time.”

Rich grunted, crossing her feet at the ankles. “See. I told you. And she done came up in your house tryna get it crunked already. Girl ain't even been here a minute and she's already at it. Mmmph. Couldn't be me.”

I placed a hand on my hip and tilted my head. “What couldn't be you? A virgin? Anti-easy? Save it. Talk to the hand. I have no time for your trampy foolishness today, Rich. Now back to you, London. You invited me over here, for what? I didn't come here to be greeted by Hannibal Lecter's twin sister, The Man-eater.”

Rich sat up in her seat. “What? I'ma show you a man-eater all right when I beat your face in, 'cause I done had enough of you and your games. London invited you here trying to be decent to you. I knew you weren't worthy of our time.” She looked over at London. “Please. She needs to go find herself the nearest train to jump in front of so we can be done with her.”

I felt myself about to go off. “You know what, Beef Patty? Obviously you have a problem with me. But guess what? You two muskrats are irrelevant. So how about
you
go find a bridge to hop off of—headfirst.”

Rich leaped up. “Oh, no this silly-willy dingbat didn't. London, I'ma have to write you a check later because we're about to tear this room up. I know she's not tryna bring it to me today, or any other day. This ho's the reason we're in all this mess in the first place.”

I slammed my purse against my leg. “
I'm
the reason we're in this mess? Trampalina, please! Are you kidding me? Has your brain been hanging outside all day? I didn't do a hee-haw thing to you donkeys.”

“Donkeys?” London snapped. “Now wait a minute. I—”

“No,” I huffed. “You wait a minute. I didn't come here to be attacked by no wildebeest. I did not see
Wild Kingdom
posted up on the gate when I pulled up. But”—I shot a look over at Rich—“I did see a low-budget C-class Benz parked at the bottom of the hill.”

Rich shifted in her seat. “Don't look at me.”

“Well, then why does the tag say ‘Rich' on it? You forgot I was with you when you got that C-class. That was what you used to learn how to drive. My guess is you've been reduced from the Bugatti back to the basics. Now what, London?”

“Uh-uh,” Rich snapped. “No, you didn't.”

“Uhhh, yes, I did,” I shot back.

Rich stood up. “I suggest you shut your mouth and let's get to the issue at hand. Apparently you don't understand the rules of the game. Rule number one: we don't keep secrets. And obviously you are still performing tricks.”

I blinked. “Trick? You wait one ding-dong-the-witch-is-gone minute. I don't do tricks, booga-boo. That's your department, Miss Trixie.” I shot London a look. “Get your pet armadillo before I skin her.”

I eyed Rich as she stepped out of her heels. “You just don't learn, do you? I thought you'd get it when London and I boom-bopped, dropped it on your head when you were upside-down in that ditch. But obviously that wasn't enough. What's left to do to you, Spencer? Peel your skin back and drag you? Is that what you want, Spencer? 'Cause you know I'll bring it to you.”

I raised a brow. “Bring it then, Crotch Rot.”

“Damn it!” London yelped. “Will the both of you stop it?!”

Rich rolled her eyes. “Well, she started it.” She eyed me. “I hope you're satisfied. Now—thanks to you and your junkie girlfriend—we're in the paper, again. I don't do Gucci. Maybe a bag or two, but not enough to be called some Gucci clique. That low-rank skank could have at least said Chanel. Like Gucci, for real? How dare she?”

“Well, how dare
you
!” I snapped. “Accuse me of being the cause of all this mess.”

Rich stepped up in my face. “Well, she's
your
friend. I don't give a damn if she went to jail or not. She was up on some dingy makeshift stage in a funky neon-green skirt rapping about me. She must have lost her mind. And you stood there and allowed it. And don't think her calling you dizzy is going to make us think you weren't in on this. Because we all know that's a term of endearment for you.”

I tilted my head. “Oh, really? I didn't
allow
Heather to do a thing. So let's get that straight. And yeah. You're right. Heather
was
my friend until she did what she did. And so were you at one point.”

“Look, you two,” London interjected. “I didn't call both of you over here for this.”

I rolled my eyes. “And who are you, again?”

London blinked. “Oh no, girlie. Don't do it.”

Rich grunted. “Mmmph. See. I knew it. I don't know why you even wasted your time inviting this space cadet over here, any—”

“I didn't ask to be invited over here.”

London snapped her fingers. “Hello! Hello! Public service announcement. This is a live broadcast! Both of you are here because we have a mess to clean up. And bickering back and forth about it isn't gonna do anything to change it.”

“And who are you, Oprah? You need to get your own crap right.”

London blinked. “Oh, no this hooker didn't.”

“Oh, yes she did,” Rich instigated. “She just called you a fat know-it-all in your own house. How disrespectful is that?” She turned to me. “Surely I must be in the twilight zone because the only two caught up in the matrix are you and Heather. If I'm gonna rock a headline, then I need to put it there. But that stunt you pulled was unacceptable. Sic her, London. Let this wench know.”

London's eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

I smirked. “Oh yes. Here, London. Here, London, girl. Yeah, bring it, Fido. Sic me. Bite me. I gotta special treat for you.”

I looked over at Rich and knew her well enough to know she was holding back a laugh. A mess.

London shot Rich a nasty look as if she was two seconds from leapfrogging up on her. “I know you're not getting ready to laugh, Rich. I'm not an effen dog.”

Rich held up her hands in mock surrender. “Look, let's not get off track. Spencer came up in here and tried to divide and conquer.”

I huffed. “Rich, please. You're delusional. The only thing that divides you are them ham-hock legs and the STD-positive scallywags you let run up in you. But you're right. You are definitely in the twilight zone because I didn't do a thing to either one of you.”

“Ding-ding-ding,” Rich said sarcastically. “Over in this corner we have the dumb blonde who finally gets it. That she did absolutely
nothing
to stop Heather from dragging us.”

“Look, girl. I didn't know she was going to hop up on that raggedy stage and say all that stuff. I was shocked. And hurt.”

Rich huffed. “Whatever. Nobody cares about you being hurt. You hurt me. We used to be AFs.”

I frowned. “AFs?”

“Yeah, AFs. Almost friends, then you turned on me.”

“Well, almost doesn't count. Obviously we were never anything.”

Rich clapped. “Exactly. Now you get it. That's why I'm going to whip you and be happy about it. The point is, you knew she had said all that mess and you came back to the school and said nothing. You coulda said something while we were in the bathroom, but nooo. You didn't. Why, Spencer? You open your mouth for everything else, don't you? Or is the only time you know how to open your mouth is when you have some boy's boxers dropped around his ankles?”

I blinked.

“Then you wonder why I don't like you or your rock star girlfriend. Please. Both of you trifling slut-buckets are beneath me.”

“Beneath you?” I screeched. “How dare you! Is that before or after you've rolled yourself out of some boy's stained sheets? The only thing
beneath
you is a towel to sop up all of your nastiness.”

“See,” Rich said, bumping her chest up into me. “You didn't hear a word I said to you in the bathroom last week.” She put her finger in my face. “I told you—no, warned you—to play nice. But you still wanna get it crunked. I don't know why you stay trying me when you know you don't want it with me.”

“Make my day, Big Bird,” I said, patting my bag. “And I will scatter your brain like chicken feed all up in here.”

Rich pushed me, causing me to stumble backward. “Well, get to scattering. 'Cause you're a punk without your Mace.”

“I didn't bring any Mace today. I brought something sharp and shiny just for you. I'ma end this once and for all. So say your prayers.” I whipped out my blade and started waving it in the air. “ 'Cause I'm gonna rock, sock, and slice you to sleep.”

Rich screamed, “Ohmygod! London, call the cops, now! I want her arrested! I want her off this property! And I want her sent to jail!”

London stepped in between us. “Both of you are crazy. Rich, I am not calling the police. And Spencer, there is no need for weapons, so put that blade away. And both of you stop.”

“That's right, London. Tell her, girl. Let her know how we don't appreciate what she did to us. And then she pulls a machete out on me. Who does that?”

“This is not a machete,” I said, pointing my knife at her. “It's a Sebenza. Strong and rugged and able to gut and fillet you in a blink of an eye. So get it right.”

“Well, that's what's going to be in the police report when I'm done with you. London, we should bring it straight to her head for that.”

“Rich, please. Let's keep it calm and cute.”

I laughed. “Oh, right. Keep it real cute; just like you did when you attacked them little girls in school Monday.” I looked her up and down. “What, you're about six feet tall? And you're the one stomping down on little peewee lightweights. Yeah, that was real
cute
all right. And you're the one worrying about the media. Please. What a two-faced bully. You invite me over here for this?”

London took a deep breath. “Spencer,” she said slowly. “I'm only going to say this once. Please don't go there. The three of us are stuck with each other. And the three of us need to figure out a way to get along long enough for the media and everyone at Hollywood High who is laughing and talking trash about us to know that we are still holding it down. We already discussed this last week. I thought we were all clear on this. Rich is right. You knew what was about to go down. You stood in front of the cameras last week and said you were sure Heather would make the front pages the next day, so how did you know that?”