Break

“What is this shit? A private-style party?” I ask Tayla. I run my fingers down the sleeve of a mink coat and an alarm starts to beep.

“It’s basically like a free-for-all of credit cards, Champagne, ass-kissing, and pre-orders. She goes to them at least once a week. Spends all of Dad’s money so Lance will eat her pussy,” Taye bites.

I cough. This is gonna be a bloodbath cause Taye is on a murder rampage.

She taps her foot as we wait for the gilded elevator. When the doors open and I wrench aside the old-fashioned gilded gate, we can hear music, the tinkling of glasses, and the distinct chatter of a gaggle of rich bitches as they flash their wallets.

Taye walks in like a warrior princess. My instinct to console or protect her is way off as her eyes become daggers that she throws at anyone who dares to question her strength.

We come to the clearing, a circular room with dusky rose velvet loveseats clustered in groups of two. A box stands in the middle where a young lady models the latest designs off the runway while the women scrutinize her and sip their cocktails.

“Mother. Could I have a word?” Natayla’s tone is icy steel.

“Oh, darling! And Mr. Cunningham. Come join us. Didn’t you say you needed a new wardrobe?” Katerina Koslova’s voice, on the other hand, sounds like the ringing of bells. She smiles wickedly at us and shows her teeth. The woman is an executioner in designer clothing.

“You leaked a naked picture of me to the press!” Taye spits.

The ladies murmur, but Katerina expands her wretched smile.

“This is a strategy I learned. This is the only way for us to sail ahead. I took a course, and this will bring you more followers than you ever thought possible. It will be a rocket launch, so to speak, and give you that boost you need for real superstardom. It’s all a part of my plan.”

I’d like to break her nose. Hell, I’d like to break her legs. Toss her off one of the main balconies in here and aim for the centerpiece. Impale her on the fleur-de-lis that sits atop the tiered fountain on the main floor.

“I’m giving you official notice, Mother. I want nothing to do with you. If that means I have to build my career from the bottom up, I will. I’ll change my name to never be associated with you. Even if I end up penniless and homeless, it’s better than spending another second with you. Stay the hell away from me, and if you don’t comply, I’ll tell Dad you’re fucking Lance and do an exposé with every news outlet about how you abused me.”

“You were hardly abused, Natayla. You had the best of everything. Clothes, schools, dance teachers, vacations. You can’t imagine anyone would believe an accusation like that.”

“All I ever wanted was to be a kid for a goddamned second. A fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a hug, a walk in the rain to splash through the puddles. You starved me in every way a mother can starve a child. I hate you, and I hope you rot in hell for the rest of your life!” Natayla turns on a dime and marches back the way she came.

“This is all your fault, Cunningham!” Katerina spits at my back as I follow Sam. “She could have had it all, and now she’ll end up knocked up in a trailer park, thanks to you. She could have been a star! A legend!”

Katerina is lucky my mother and my shitty stepfather, by his horrible example, taught me never hit a woman. But I’ve got other routes to pursue, and with her picture sharing, Katerina has declared it’s open season.

“Fuck you, too, Katerina Koslova,” I tell her without turning back. I lift my middle finger high in the air so their haughty faces don’t miss it.

Back at the apartment building, I try to get Taye to come over and eat dinner with Mom and me, but she gives me the cold shoulder.

“You think it’s over now. We pretend and play nice and all the consequences are gone? You never should have sent the picture, Dash. It all started with you. You set this hideous ball in motion.”

I look down at the floor. I try to grab her hand, but Sam has transformed into the consummate ice princess. She’s pissed, and a lot of her anger is directed at me.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I thought you were one hell of a badass today.”

“I’m gonna have to be a badass for the rest of my life if I want to get through this,” she says, pulling away and heading toward her door without saying goodnight.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to be alone right now?” It feels like a dumb question as soon as it leaves my lips. Perhaps I should have instructed her to keep her phone and television off to avoid the media frenzy.