Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

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Charlie and Ahbou didn’t stay long. They left, and Pyro and Chanel decided to stay longer to comfort Bacardi and Butch. Bacardi was grateful to see Chanel, and she continued to hug her daughter tightly. She excused herself and asked Chanel to come into her bedroom to talk while Butch and Pyro remained in the living room.

Bacardi closed the bedroom door and first asked her daughter, “How’s Mateo doing?”

“He’s doing fine,” she said.

“Good. Now, are you fuckin’ Pyro?”

Chanel was taken aback by the question. Bacardi wanted to ask her that at a time like this? But that was her mother; she said what was on her mind, no matter what.

She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. With her mother’s eyes fixed on her, she replied, “Yes. We had sex. But it happened just once.”

She would have confided in Mecca, but for obvious reasons, she couldn’t. Chanel’s eyes started to well up with tears and then she started to cry.

“And I feel so guilty about it. I don’t know what to do. It just happened, and I got feelings for him. But I’m still in love with Mateo,” she cried out.

Bacardi sighed. One daughter was dead, one was the devil, and her youngest was confused. She sat with Chanel at the foot of the bed and placed her arm around her. She knew what Chanel was going through far too well.

“Listen to me, Chanel. We all make our mistakes in life—some more than others, and you’ve made yours and you’re gonna have to deal wit’ them. But a little warning to you, if you want to continue your relationship with Mateo, then don’t tell him about you and Pyro. Men are different creatures than us. He will dwell on that until the end of time. Keep it a secret and take it to your grave.”

Chanel nodded, taking in her mother’s advice. She did leave one thing out. She didn’t tell her mother about Mecca and Pyro being in a relationship.

“Chanel, I’m gonna tell you something, and I tell you, it needs to stay in this room,” said Bacardi.

Chanel nodded and hung her head, awaiting the sermon she figured she was about to receive.

“I had an affair on Butch a long time ago,” she confessed.

Chanel’s head snapped up and her eyes locked onto her mother’s.

Bacardi stared at her daughter and continued with, “In fact, Butch isn’t your real father. I was once in love with your biological father.”

Chanel’s eyes narrowed as if Bacardi was pulling her leg. “What? Are you serious?”

“It’s one of the reasons why I gave you such a hard time growing up. Your father broke my heart, when I wanted to run away and only be with him. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want me. He left me—left me pregnant with you—and I took out that anger and hatred I felt toward him on you,” Bacardi confessed.

It was a lot for Chanel to take in. She was speechless, but the outpouring of emotion came instantaneously. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled, and as she exhaled the angst and pain of the situation, the tears rolled down her cheeks.

Bacardi was broken up inside. She had caused all this pain and then some. What kind of parent was she? She gave birth to Charlie—a real menace; Claire—who ended up mentally unstable; and Chanel—the victimized product of an affair. Bacardi decided then and there that she and Butch needed to have an introspective talk about parenting the two children they had left.

Finally, Chanel pulled herself together and asked, “Does Butch know?”

“About the affair? I just said no.”

“That’s an assumption, Bacardi. Do you think he knows that I’m not his daughter?”

Bacardi shook her head. “He thinks you’re his without a doubt.”

“What about Charlie and Claire? How everyone treated me, they had to have suspected this, right? They always said that I wasn’t their sister.”

“Those spoiled bitches—” Bacardi had to bite her tongue. Claire was dead. “Chanel, their disrespect was all my fault. They picked up on my negative energy toward you and ran with it, but I promise you they didn’t know. It’s our secret now. Just you and me.”

Despite the tragedy that brought them together, Chanel and Bacardi enjoyed their mother-daughter time, even though it was under such traumatic circumstances.

Two hours later, Pyro and Chanel left the apartment. Chanel exhaled. She was still sad and troubled by Claire’s suicide, but the talk she had with Bacardi was needed. She even smiled when she got into the passenger seat of her Range Rover.

“You okay?” Pyro asked her.