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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“Champagne?” the waiter asks as I rush by, almost bumping into him. I nod, taking my third flute as I grip my white satin Judith Leiber clutch and race out of the tent. I toss back my drink as I walk-run, gulping down my nervousness. I find refuge in the bathroom, a luxury air-conditioned mobile trailer unit, shutting myself in one of the private stalls. Ohmyfuckinggod, I don’t believe this shit! My worst nightmare is about to unfold!
“How the fuck am I going to get myself out of this mess?” I ask myself, stepping out of the stall and walking over to the sink. I freshen my lipstick, then smack my lips together. Right now I wish I could click my heels three times and disappear.
Felecia and the girl with the big ass come into the bathroom. “Oh hey, cuz,” Felecia says, walking over and giving me a hug. “I was wondering where you were. Paris and Porsha have been looking for you.”
“Girl, I had to use the bathroom. I’ll catch up to them in a minute.”
“I don’t know if the two of you have met, but this is Cassandra, one of the salon’s most faithful clients. Cassandra, this here is my cousin, Persia.” We exchange customary hellos.
“I spotted you earlier in the cocktail tent,” I say, forcing a smile. “And girl, you’re wearing the hell out of that dress.”
“Oooh, thank you, boo,” she says, smoothing out the front of her dress. “I had to get hit off with a few stacks from one of my young boy toys to…” she stops herself, giving me a confused look. “Wait a minute. I know Mother done tossed back a few rounds, but a bitch ain’t sauced. Now, out there I met twins, right?”
“No, girl,” Felecia says, laughing. “There are three of them.”
I force a smile. “Yes, we’re triplets.”
“Oooh, girl, thank Gawd y’all cleared that up. For a minute I thought I was—”
“You sneaky, lying bitch!” Paris yells, swinging open the bathroom door. “You had to fuck him, didn’t you?”
Felecia blinks.
Cassandra purses her cherry wine painted lips.
“Paris…I didn’t,” I stammer, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“You didn’t what, Persia? Didn’t mean to suck his dick? Didn’t mean to fuck him? Didn’t mean to trick him into thinking you were me? Or you didn’t mean to get caught? Which one is it?”
“I’m—”
“What, sorry? Bitch, please. Not this time.”
I cut my eyes over at Felecia and Cassandra, who opens her clutch and turns toward the sink, pulling out her lipstick while watching this whole mess unfold in the mirror. “Paris, let’s not do this here,” I plead. “We can talk about this somewhere more private.”
“Oh, no, bitch. We’re gonna talk about this right here, and right now. I don’t give a damn who hears the shit.”
Paris shoots a look over at Felecia whose mouth is wide open. “C’mon, Cassandra,” she says, “Let’s give them some privacy.”
“Oh, no, Miss Fe-Fe, I was here first. You can run along, but I’m stayin’ right here. This is ’bout to be some real juicy shit. And I ain’t missin’ one bit of it.”
Felecia opens her mouth to say something to Paris, but she shuts her down, putting a hand up. “Don’t; not a word. This is between me and my whorin’-ass sister.” She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. One hand is up on her hip and the other pointing a finger at me.
Porsha pushes open the door, racing in. “Paris, no, girl. Not here. This isn’t the place to get into it.”
Paris has a crazed look in her eyes. And if looks could kill, I’d already be dead. She ignores Porsha. “How many times did you fuck him? And where?”
“Paris, please. Let’s not do this here. I promise you. I’ll tell you everything. Let’s go somewhere and talk in private.”
“No, bitch, we’re going to either talk here or fight here. You choose.” I sigh, giving in. The last thing I want to do is get into a fist-fight with my pregnant sister. I tell her nine or ten times. She holds her stomach like she’s going to be sick. “Oh, God. Where?”
I’m so embarrassed that she wants to air this out in front of Felecia and this nosey ass woman with the big ass. “Paris, I realize you’re upset; you have every right to be. But I’m not going to do this with you here. What happened was a mistake.”
“A fucking mistake?” she repeats incredulously. “Bitch, are you serious?! You purposefully slept with him. You pretended to be me, fucked him, then gave him your phone number and deliberately erased the numbers from my caller ID so I wouldn’t be able to have contact with him. Yeah, bitch, that was Desmond—you know, the man you fucked—standing up there at the receiving line. And when I asked him why he’d stop calling me he told me that I broke it off with him. When the fuck did I break it off with him, Persia?” I am at a loss for words. “I’m waiting, bitch! I asked you if anyone had called for me and you told me no. Then after I told you I was pregnant by him, you still acted like you didn’t know who or what the fuck I was talking about. You’re a fucking lying-ass bitch! You looked me in my face, knowing you had fucked him behind my back.”
“Paris, I swear to you, I stopped sleeping with him right after you told me and Porsha you were pregnant.”
