“You think I didn’t know about this? Ohhh yes! Martha found these! She told me all about it. Now why don’t you explain this to your father!” my mother screamed. Her tears were all dried up. She was jutting her fingers toward me accusingly, complete with full dramatics. This entire confrontation was unfolding like some soap opera or a bad melodrama. My mother held the bag containing my shit up by her pointer and thumb and flicked it back and forth as she ranted out her findings. “What is it, Megan? Go ahead, tell your father! Tell him!” she ranted like a mad woman.
My father was staring at her quizzically. Then he looked at me. My face was beet red and I felt real dizzy.
“Go ahead, Megan ... tell your father what this is,” my mother demanded cruelly, with her eyes squinted into little dashes as she was still waving the evidence in front of her.
I remained silent. I guess my silence was sort of like an admission of guilt.
My father looked from my mother to me and back again. I didn’t open my mouth. I was too stunned and too angry to answer her. My father walked over to my mother and snatched the package. He examined it closely and then looked over at me. I could’ve sworn I saw fire flashing in his eyes. Mixed with his anger was apparent hurt.
“Tell me this bag does not contain drugs, Megan,” he said, seemingly fighting back tears. I just put my head down in shame. My BlackBerry started buzzing on the glass top coffee table and kind of startled everyone. It definitely was a welcome distraction. I looked at it and saw it was Eric. Now I was really feeling anxious. I knew if I didn’t answer Eric’s call he would disappear with my car for the rest of the day or even longer and shit would just get worse.
“Answer me, young lady!” my father boomed, rushing into me and grabbing my arm roughly. He caught me off guard because he had never put his hands on me in my life. I was truly shocked.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I squealed like a big baby. My father tightened his grip on my arm and squeezed harder. “Owww!” I hollered. I could feel the blood pooling in my arm and just knew I’d have the ugliest bruise after he loosened his grip.
“You answer me ... answer me right now, Megan! Are you taking drugs?” my father huffed. Small drops of spit flew from his mouth and landed on my face. He was like a damn possessed demon. He tightened his grip even more when I didn’t answer him. The pain was unbearable now.
“Get off me!” I screamed, trying to wrestle my arm from his painful grasp. He wasn’t letting up. “It’s not mine, okay?” I whined, letting the lie slip from my mouth as easy as the truth would’ve. I was squirming, trying to get away. “It’s not mine, Daddy!” I cried in a baby voice. My father eased up his grip when I whined like I used to when I was a little girl. He was butter against the sun when it came to hurting me. I got free and moved far away from him.
“Megan ... I’m ...” my father started, his voice cracking. It was hard for me to see him so disappointed in me.
“What? You believe her, Gavin? These are drugs and they are hers! I had them tested. It is MDMA or ecstasy pills. C’mon, Gavin. Don’t let her manipulate you right now!” my mother yelled. She was avoiding eye contact with me.
“Why don’t you mind your business!” I screamed at her.
“This is my business! You show all of the signs of using drugs! I read up on it. Just look at those bags coming up under your eyes. All of the money you spend, dropping out of school, all of the secrecy, all of the lies. Megan, I know the truth even if your father is too naive to believe it!” she replied.
My father was shaking his head. He was caught in the middle, I could tell. I had put some doubt in his mind about the drugs, which was just what I had intended.
“Megan, I don’t know if you’re using those pills or not,” my father started again.
“Oh my God, Gavin! So now I have to lie on my own child? Is that what you think of me? I have nothing better to do but to lie on your precious princess?” my mother interjected, her voice a shrill cacophony. I don’t know who had hurt her more ... me with my drug use or my father for not siding with her against me.
“Shut up, Priscilla! This is not about you! I am talking to Megan ... my daughter. Give me a damn chance to handle this situation without any input from you! Letting you make decisions is why we are in the financial fix we’re in!” my father retorted.
My mother’s face changed. She had been shut down. I felt a slight sense of satisfaction too. I didn’t know what financial fix my father was referring to, but I didn’t care. I was still going to spend money just like I wanted to spend it. My father turned his attention back toward me. I was standing with my arms folded looking dead at my mother. If eyes could kill she would’ve dropped dead right then and there. She realized she was losing ground in her campaign to bring me down.
“Megan, I’m going to tell you this just one time. I am fed up with your partying and expensive spending habits. And if you’re taking drugs you better stop it as of today. You have only one choice. Yes, this is a goddamn ultimatum. If you don’t enroll back in school or find yourself a job, come work for the company, or do something I deem worthy, then your mother and I are going to cut you off financially. And I do mean
completely off
... no credit cards, daily cash, no new things, no vacations. . . nothing, Megan. When I cut you off and say I am done, there will be no turning back for you. No turning back,” my father warned, his pointer finger extended out in front of him for emphasis.
His words stung like hard slaps to my face. In fact, I put my hand up and held my face like he had really slapped me. The tears came in uncontrollable streams now. I hated when my father was mad or disappointed in me. My mother looked on like she was very satisfied with what he had just said.
I didn’t have anything to say to either of them. I snatched up my BlackBerry from the coffee table and stormed past my mother, bumping her shoulder as I went by. I went into the guesthouse master bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. I flopped down on the bed and buried my face into one of the pillows.
“Megan, this is your fair warning. If this all doesn’t stop, you will be cut off!” my mother screamed from the other side of the door. I guess she thought she had to emphasize the point.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed in reply. I picked up my phone to dial Eric back. Little did I know those words I had just said, especially “alone,” would surely come back to haunt the shit out of me.
3
My Rude Awakening
I
guess you could say I didn’t believe my father’s threats the day he and my mother barged up in the guesthouse. In fact, I was daring them to go through with their threats. I was pushing the envelope in more than one way. That very same day, I pulled myself together, left the house, and met up with Eric. We went on yet another shopping spree. This one I did on purpose. I mean, who the fuck did my parents think they were throwing those threats around like that? During my and Eric’s spree, I had purchased what had to be no less than eight pairs of Louboutins that I definitely didn’t need. I already had a closet full of shoes. I bought two or three high-end pocketbooks, even though my bag collection was over the top and I didn’t need another at all. I purchased a short mink jacket for Eric and two pairs of Gucci shoes. He also got a diamond-encrusted pinky ring and a diamond cross pendant that hung from a long platinum chain. We had literally shopped until we were dog tired. It was all out of spite too. I was basically saying fuck my parents and what they had to say.
I also ramped up my recreational drug use. I was still popping ex, but I had also moved past the purple haze and started giving all of my attention to my mother’s prescription drug collection. I had Vicodin, Oxycontin, and Percocet to keep me high as a kite whenever I wanted. My mother had so many different legally controlled substances that she didn’t even miss them. Eric had also showed me how to do lines of coke, but that shit had hurt my head for at least two days after I first did it, so I wasn’t a big fan.
I kept doing my thing for another year at least. When I turned twenty-four, I noticed that my father didn’t give me a gift. He was out of town on my birthday, something that he had never let happen in my entire life. My mother barely said happy birthday to me that day either. To fix them, I took a large lump sum of money out of the bank. When I had told the bank teller my withdrawal amount was going to be fifty thousand dollars, the woman looked at me like I was speaking the native language of the planet Mars. It had taken a long time and a slew of signatures before I was allowed to get the money. I had even been given a room in the back of the bank near the vaults so that the money could be counted in front of me. It was an exciting experience, I must say. I guess my father was used to shit like that. I knew then I could get used to that type of royal treatment as well.
When I walked out of the bank with that money, Eric was sitting in the Range waiting for me patiently. He was happier than a faggot with a bag of dicks. I liked making him happy but it was starting to wear on me. He was always so demanding and if I didn’t have something to offer him, he would do shit like disappear for the day or act stink toward me. Most of the time his little antics worked to get me back on track handing over money or taking him shopping. There were a few times when he could tell I was slipping and I had gotten tired of him. Whenever Eric would see me slipping, he would offer me some type of substance of comfort. The day we went to the bank was the first day he gave me crystal, aka metham-phetamine. I had heard it referred to as the housewife drug, but I didn’t know what the hell that meant. I surely wasn’t a housewife but my mother was. I wouldn’t put it past her to have used crystal at some point. When Eric gave it to me, I had smoked it the first time, but Eric quickly showed me how to shoot it into my vein for a much quicker high.
Damn. There was nothing like that shit. I had taken enough recreational drugs to know the difference. Meth was hardcore and it made me forget everything. I got so fearless with my shit that I started boldly taking Eric to the guesthouse on my parents’ estate. I didn’t care anymore if my mother and father came back from one of their trips and saw him there. At that time I was clearly convinced that their threats and their ultimatums were baseless and full of shit. I will admit that I never believed that my father would follow through with his threats.
So what did I do? I continued on with my drug use, my absenteeism from home and definitely from school, not to mention my reckless spending sprees.
I remember my rude awakening as crystal clear as if it were happening all over again.
“Yo! Wake your fiend-ass up!” Eric had called out, shaking me roughly.
“Mmm,” I groaned. One thing about using crystal meth was it made me always want to either be high or in the damn bed.
“Yo! Megan, I said wake the fuck up! I need some cash and we need to go to the bank! Let’s go!” Eric barked, slapping me hard on my bare legs. I rolled my eyes and buried my face into the pillow. He always needed more and more cash. That day it seemed to me like I had just turned over fifty grand to him the week prior. I mean I knew it had been a couple of months, but that wasn’t a little bit of money either.
“I don’t know if I can get any more right now. The last time I was home I overheard my father complaining to one of his business associates about the recession and things changing,” I told Eric. It was true. My father had been acting as if he needed to scale back our spending. My mother had even stopped getting so much Botox and plastic surgery. My father seemed a bit more stressed out lately, but he had not said anything to me about it yet.
“Your father got money to fuckin’ burn. You probably got a trust fund bigger than some banks. Get the fuck up and let’s go. I need you to front me some cash for a re-up,” he demanded. Then he threw a small pack of meth at me.
I was up after that. I grabbed the bundle and padded into the bathroom to get off. When I stepped up to the hotel sink, I noticed how fucked up I looked. My hair was in desperate need of a wash and set, which I used to get every other day but hadn’t had in over a month now. I looked down at my nails; they were chipped and the nail polish was a mess. This was all uncharacteristic of my usual. “Ugh, I look like a fuckin’ mess. Pull yourself together and stop this shit, Megan,” I said to myself.
When Eric and I pulled up at the bank, I had to cover my eyes with a pair of out of season Gucci shades. Damn, that wasn’t like me either. I usually stayed on top of my fashion game and would have the very latest of everything. I walked into the bank and went to the familiar teller, the one I had used before to take out large sums of money. The woman smiled at me like she’d known me my entire life. I just nodded and smirked. I knew she was being phony because she and I both knew I was looking terrible compared to the last time she saw me.
I filled out the withdrawal slip and gave her my identification, although I know she knew who I was. She looked down at the amount, twenty thousand, and she didn’t even flinch. She just kept that phony ass smile plastered to her heavily made-up face. I guess she was used to me by now. The woman began pecking on the computer keyboard as I tapped my foot waiting.
I wanted to get high again and I planned on taking some of the money for myself before I handed most of it over to Eric. I was kind of tired of Eric piecing my shit out to me like he pleased. He said he did that to keep me from getting addicted, but I think it was too late for that now.
The teller looked up at me with a serious, even ominous look on her face.
“Um ... Ms. Rich, are you sure this is the account you want to use?” the woman asked nervously. Her smile had faded.
I pulled my shades down a little bit on my nose and looked at her over the top of them. “What? Isn’t that the account I always use?” I asked impatiently.
“Yes, ma’am, but this account has been frozen. I am unable to process your transaction at this time,” the woman said.
My face must’ve told her what I was thinking. She didn’t give me a chance to open my mouth before she began to explain. “It has a note here saying the main account holder, a Mr. Gavin Rich, has frozen the assets in this account and will come into the bank to liquidate the account and close it. No funds are to be released from this account. I cannot even give you an account balance. I am afraid you have been shut out of this account, Ms. Rich.... I am very sorry,” the woman rambled.
My body was hot all over with anger. My heart raced inside my chest and my stomach churned. I wanted to just melt away, but I had no choice but to stand my ground. “Is there another account I can use? I mean, what am I supposed to do for cash?” I asked, my voice cracking. The woman was looking at me sympathetically, which just made me even angrier. I wasn’t a goddamn charity case like she was making me out to be.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. All of Mr. Rich’s other accounts are single owner or joint with another party. There are no other accounts that contain your name. You are not authorized to receive funds from any other account. I am so sorry, Ms. Rich,” the woman said apologetically. I believed that she sincerely felt sorry for me.
“That’s fuckin’ impossible! My father wouldn’t cut me off like that!” I screamed, hurt evident behind my words. Everybody in the bank turned to look at me. The woman began blinking rapidly. She was clearly nervous as hell.
“Get your fuckin’ manager now!” I barked at the woman. I knew that the answer wasn’t going to be any different from the manager, but I didn’t know what else to do to quell the ache of embarrassment and hurt I was feeling.
The manager, a tall Hispanic man, came rushing over to me. “Ms. Rich, maybe we can go to the back and speak,” he said calmly, with his hands up in a sign of surrender.
“I don’t wanna go in the fucking back! I want to get my money out of the bank right now!” I screamed. I didn’t even realize I was stomping my feet for emphasis.
The man was clearly trying to remain calm and to calm me down as well. “I’m afraid that your joint account holder has requested to take you off the account, ma’am. This is out of our control now. You will have to speak with him or her,” the manager said curtly. Now he was growing irritated with me because we had drawn the attention of a crowd.
“Fuck you! Don’t tell me who I need to speak to, you bastard! I will have you know that I am rich! My family has done business with this bank for years. I will have your job by tomorrow so you might as well quit right now! We won’t be doing business with this piece of shit bank again!” I screamed as I stalked toward the door. The heat of what seemed to be a million gazes was burning a hole in every part of my body.
My words were a bunch of empty threats and I knew it. I knew the manager and the teller were only doing their jobs, but I couldn’t control the sheer anger that had grown into a palpable ball inside me. I stomped toward my car and I could feel Eric’s hard glare following me around the car through the windshield. The fallout from coming out of the bank empty handed was one I wasn’t up for. Whenever I couldn’t get Eric what he wanted, it was never a good outcome.
“What the fuck happened?” Eric asked before I could fully put my ass into the passenger seat of
my
car.
I just busted out crying as I slammed the door. I thought maybe my tears would soften the blow of what I was about to tell him. I thought maybe, just maybe, he would feel the least bit of sympathy for me.
“My fucking father froze my account! They wouldn’t even let me get a dollar out of it! They said he took my name off, froze the money, and plans on liquidating it and closing it all together!” I relayed through tears. I covered my face with my hands.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Megan?” Eric screamed, totally unsympathetic. I moved my hands from my eyes and looked over at him like he was crazy. No apology, no sympathy or empathy from Eric, just pure selfishness coming from his ass. He slammed his hands on the steering wheel and startled me.
I jumped and looked over at him. “Eric! Did you hear what I said? My father cut off my money! I don’t fucking know what you’re supposed to do!” I barked at him. My head was spinning. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my father and beg for mercy. I wanted to say sorry, but I knew that wouldn’t work at this point. I was feeling a nauseating rush of mixed emotions.
Eric started rubbing his chin like he was in deep thought. “What about your credit cards? Can you get a cash advance off those?” Eric asked frantically, like he had come up with the next great idea or invention.
I was shaking my head from left to right. I couldn’t believe him. “I can try,” I mumbled, defeated.
Eric wasn’t going to let this slide. He would hound me until he got what he wanted. “How much can you get from each card?” he asked.
My shoulders slumped in defeat and I just threw my hands up “I don’t know.... I’ve never had to take a cash advance from a credit card,” I said honestly. I had never been in this position before. No cash on hand and no access to any. It was a new low for me.
Eric whipped the car from in front of the bank. “Call your credit cards and find out—now,” he demanded.
I called the customer service lines for all ten of the credit cards I had in my wallet and once again I was defeated. My father had closed every single credit card account that I had. I don’t think anything except a dagger to the heart could’ve hurt more than finding out that my father had actually cut me off. I didn’t think it could get any worse.
“Eric, I need to go home. I need to see my father and talk to him in person. I have to do it alone,” I cried. I dropped Eric off back in his hood and drove straight home. I needed for my father to tell me in person that he had definitely cut me off for good.