What You Don't Know, page 20
“Mom?”
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Mama’s here.”
Farrah sobbed when she saw Malcolm, for all intents and purposes, blind and mute, taped to a chair. On instinct, Blair attempted to bend down to help her daughter to her feet, but as usual, Cookie was there to stop her.
Dio stood in uncomfortable silence as Tree and Cookie cackled and pointed at Farrah’s distress. Her tears.
Tree stopped laughing and sniffed as he pushed against the table to hoist himself up to a standing position.
“Untie her. We about to take a little trip.”
The hairs prickled along Blair’s neck. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Where are you taking her?”
“Oh, we ain’t going far. Just to the living room,” he said as he watched Dio cut Farrah’s restraints with her kitchen scissors, then jerk her to her feet.
Blair took a shallow breath. Maybe they weren’t going to do anything except tie them up and leave them in the living room.
Except why leave Malcolm in the kitchen?
Because something bad was going to happen in the living room.
“Mom?” Farrah lisped and sputtered, which brought a fresh round of tears for them both.
Tree motioned for Cookie and Dio to take them into the living room. She tried again to reach for Farrah, managing to break one arm free and grasp her daughter’s wrist.
“Why do you want us to go in the living room?” Blair rasped.
For once, Tree didn’t have a snappy comeback, just repeated his command to his minions to take them into the living room. Cookie pushed Blair, while Dio shoved Farrah, the ringleader following close behind, grunting with each limp he took. The cold barrel of Cookie’s gun in her back was the only thing propelling Blair into that living room. Tree directed his crew to make Blair and Farrah sit on the couch where they huddled together. Tree eased himself down into the white overstuffed chair opposite them and steepled his fingers together as he stared at them through the slits of his eyes.
“You know Ol’ Mally Mal is right about one thing. I do want that money on Monday. Now, he don’t know this yet, but for all my aggravation, for all this shit I’ve had to put up with today—getting bit, my hand, my foot’s all messed up—the price has gone up to a hundred thousand. You hear that, Mally Mal?” he yelled in the direction of the kitchen. “I want one hundred thousand dollars on Monday.”
“My husband already told you he’ll pay you whatever you want,” Blair said. “That he’d give you whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want…” Tree shifted his gaze to a trembling Farrah, huddled against Blair, who gripped her to her as tightly as she could.
“Look, you’ll get your money, I swear—”
Tree leapt across the room in one surprisingly fluid motion and slapped Blair, who screamed.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said, flopping back against the chair. “I do want that money and believe me, as much as I want to bust Mally Mal in the face, bust him till the white meat shows, I can’t do that. That’ll attract too much suspicion. No, I got to have him stepping into that bank looking right.”
“And I know my husband appreciates that—”
“I don’t give a fuck what he appreciates.” Tree shifted in his seat and propped his bad foot up on the coffee table, his eyes rolling back at the apparent relief. “So, since I can’t beat that bitch like I want to, I got to find another way to show Mally Mal just how disappointed I am in him for disrespecting me.”
Blair went cold.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
He stood up, shaky on his good foot, and reached across the table. He snatched Farrah’s arm, pulling her toward him.
“No.” Blair tugged on Farrah’s other arm and grabbed at her waist. A literal tug of war. Farrah pulled back toward Blair, her muffled whimpers growing into thunderous sobs as she shook her head repeatedly.
“Leave me alone. Leave me alone!” Farrah screamed.
“Hold that bitch!” Tree yelled at Cookie as he continued to wrestle with Blair.
“What you about to do?” Cookie asked. Blair could hear the fear, the uncertainty vibrating in the girl’s question.
“I’m gonna show Mally Mal that you don’t fuck with me.” Tree grunted, trying to wrest control of Farrah away from Blair.
She threw herself against Farrah, hoping to knock her to the ground, and by extension, Tree.
It worked as all three fell down, Blair scrambling to pull Farrah up, to use her own body as a shield. Tree screamed at Dio and Cookie to restrain Blair. Although she couldn’t see them, from the sounds of their leader’s increasingly agitated demands, they didn’t seem to want to follow his orders.
Blair grasped Farrah and pulled her up in one swift move before shoving her behind her. Farrah quivered against her back.
She held out her palm toward Tree, who struggled to stand.
“Leave my daughter alone. Whatever it is you’re planning to do, just please—she’s a child, she has her whole life ahead of her. Whatever you’re going to do, do it to me instead. Please.”
“Oh, Wifey, don’t you worry … you gonna get yours, too. Know that.”
Blair’s heart rammed against her chest. Her words stuck in her throat, her mouth gaping.
“Please. Tree. Please—I’m begging you.”
He was on his feet. In one swift motion, he wrenched a hysterical Farrah from behind Blair’s back, who leapt toward them.
“Grab her. Grab her!” he yelled at Dio and Cookie.
Dio was the first to snap out of his malaise, hooking his hands around Blair’s elbows, jerking her upward. She flailed against him, shrieking. Farrah writhed and twisted around in an attempt to unscrew herself from Tree’s grasp.
“What you about to do?” Cookie asked again, her voice shaky. Quiet.
Blair whipped her head in the girl’s direction. “Cookie, please,” she pleaded. “Please, don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do anything to my daughter. For God’s sake. You can stop this. You can—”
Cookie looked helplessly from Blair to her boyfriend and to Farrah. She pursed her lips, her eyes cast down as she shuffled over to grab one of Blair’s arms from Dio. Tears exploded against Blair’s eyes, the dread and terror welling inside of her.
Tree grinned and pushed a wailing Farrah to the floor, straddling her. She squirmed and kicked and beat her fists against him. His belt buckle clanked against his hand as he unzipped his pants and revealed himself. Both Dio and Cookie looked away while Blair continued her useless struggle to save her daughter from the monster.
“Damn, I been wanting to do this all day,” he whispered as he lowered himself to the ground.
PART 2
* * *
Sunday, April 2
Highland Park, Illinois
The Residence
of
Malcolm and Blair Gilbert
6:45 a.m.
Blair jerked awake, her head swerving, eyes blinking, breath racing, the natural on-waking instinct to stretch her arms and legs, roll over and kiss Malcolm good morning on the cheek, curbed by mounds of tape locking her hands, waist, and feet to her dining room chair, her mouth stuffed with a kitchen towel. Last night’s thunderstorm was gone. Sunlight streamed in through the picture window, warming her neck and face. Birds chirped on the other side of the glass.
Farrah was asleep in the chair next to her, her chin tucked into her chest, her mouth similarly corked with a towel, soft snores somehow floating from the swollen, broken fragments of nose. Blair breathed a sigh of relief before panic surged through her at not seeing Malcolm. She whipped her head to the other side, the crick in her neck protesting, to see that unsurprisingly, he was wide awake, watching her. He was still bound to the chair, but the tape had been removed from his eyes. She gave him a questioning glance. He pointed his head in the direction of the living room.
All three captors were sprawled across the furniture: Tree splayed on the chaise lounge, strings of drool falling out of his open mouth. Cookie was in the fetal position on the settee, one of the couch cushions wedged beneath her head. Dio was on the couch on his stomach, one hand resting on the floor below, the other flung across his back.
She wrinkled her nose at the rancid smell. Not just Dio, but something else—
Her. She’d vomited on herself after … Blair squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his skin slicing into hers like a razor, of his crudeness, his stench.
Of him raping her.
The torture of it flooded back like the horror movies she so desperately avoided. After assaulting Farrah, Tree demanded Dio take his turn with Blair, since she, in his words, still looked good for an old bitch. Taunting Dio for being unable to get it up, mocking him about his father, an indignity Blair couldn’t decipher, before finally declaring he’d show him how it was done. Cookie’s stony silence as she watched the revolting scene of a daughter and her mother being raped, and doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Malcolm’s muffled screams from the kitchen, not seeing the scene, but hearing every grunt, every sob. Blair’s heart broke at the sound of Malcolm helplessly hopping up and down, scooting his chair forward in stuttering stops and starts in a futile attempt to get to them. Dio hunched in a corner, crying quietly, as he too, banished himself to the sidelines, complicit.
But it was watching Tree violate Farrah … that was really what triggered her sickness. Watching that animal desecrate her … it had roiled her stomach acids, had strangled something deep inside of her. She’d move past this, would find a way to squash it down and never think of it again.
But her little girl … her little girl would never be the same.
Her gaze fell on Malcolm once more.
I’m sorry.
A tear slid down her cheek and she shook her head.
It’s not your fault.
A primal yawn thundered from the living room. Blair froze. Tree was up and moving around. She shot Malcolm another look.
What now?
He wiggled the blisters of his fingers in her direction, an attempt at soothing.
Stay calm.
She watched Tree work his way around the living room, slapping Dio awake, shaking Cookie. Slowly, they all stretched to life, rolling cricks from necks, picking crust from eyes as their heads swiveled slowly around the room to reacquaint themselves with their current sleeping quarters.
Tree limped into the dining room, scratching his bare chest with one hand, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the other. Dio and Cookie followed dutifully behind. He sniffed under his arms, his face scrunching up at the smell.
“Whew! Damn, I stink.” He laughed. “I need a shower. Or maybe I’ll have me a little morning swim before breakfast. Isn’t that what rich people do? Get in a swim before breakfast?”
Dio hung back in the entryway, eyes cast downward, Cookie looking equally sheepish as she glanced at Blair and a still-sleeping Farrah.
“What you think, Wifey? After I get me a little swim and a shower, you make me some breakfast? Huh? Huh?”
Blair stared at him through her own half-awake lids, tears simmering beneath the surface.
Don’t show him. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
She blinked, relieved no teardrops snaked down her cheek. Tree laughed out loud as he shed everything but his dingy boxers, leaving the clothes on the floor where they lay, commanding his soldiers to stay behind and keep an eye on them. Dio dropped to the floor, his knees pressed to his chin, staring at the Gilberts, though Blair didn’t think he really saw them.
Cookie looked as though she wanted to protest but decided against it. Instead, she slumped down in a chair, never making eye contact with Blair.
And she cried.
Green-Eyed Monster
Dreena Harrison Grace: Bridget’s Captivate audition. What a disaster that was.
* * *
Gwen Majors: Did you ever see the movie Fame? You know Leroy—the dancer? So Leroy goes along with his friend, like as a favor, ’cause she asked him to, to her audition for the school. And she’s terrible. I mean, homegirl’s got no business in a leotard and tights, right? But Leroy just blows everyone away with his moves. He winds up getting a spot and she doesn’t and she just goes off, “F*** you, this was my thing, not his, blah, blah.” I mean that is almost verbatim what happened at that Captivate audition with Bridget and Blair.
* * *
Dreena Harrison Grace: Blair tagged along because her sister asked her to. Then, Bridget was so nervous, she couldn’t get out a note, like nothing at all, so she asked Blair to sing with her, some little song their mother used to sing to them or something. Anyway, Bridget opens up her mouth and it’s a disaster—can’t sing, can’t dance. It was like what gets the hook at the Apollo.
* * *
Anyway, Slick, our producer, stops the audition like not even midway through, says thank you, and for them to wait outside. Slick and Skinny have their heads together for like five minutes, then they send out their assistant to grab Blair, and the three of us sing together for the first time. They asked us to sing “Lovergirl” by Teena Marie.
* * *
Gwen Majors: They had us sing something by Janet Jackson. I’m pretty sure it was “When I Think of You.” I think. Anyway, Blair was kind of surprised and kept asking if they were sure they wanted her to sing some more and what about Bridget, blah, blah, blah. Skinny and Slick were like, no, no, no, we want to hear what you three—meaning me, Dreena and Blair—sound like together.
* * *
Dreena Harrison Grace: We did it on the fly and it sounded like we’d been singing together for years. It was that good.
* * *
Gwen Majors: Slick sends Blair out, and he and Skinny put their heads together again—and you know for whatever reason they asked me and Dreena for our opinion, which, let me tell you, was the first and last time that happened (Laughs). And we’re like “she’s the girl” and they agreed.
* * *
Dreena Harrison Grace: They send their assistant out again to tell Blair she’s in and you could hear Bridget go off. Nuclear-grade meltdown—“F*** you” and “F*** this” and “What do you mean she’s in? What about me? What about me?” I couldn’t hear what Blair was saying, but I’m sure she was upset. I mean you’d have to be.
* * *
Gwen Majors: Slick and Skinny had to physically walk Bridget out of the building. It was like she was possessed or something, the way she was screaming.
* * *
Dreena Harrison Grace: We had to start rehearsals the next day and to be honest, I didn’t think Blair was going to show up. You know loyalty to her sister or whatever. Months later, she let it slip one night after a show that after all of that with Bridget, she wasn’t going to join the group, but her mother made her.
* * *
Kiki Downs: The official story in the press packets and all their interviews was that Blair tagged along with a friend to the audition as moral support and wound up being chosen for the group. No one ever said it was her sister. It wasn’t a lie so much as omitting certain details.
* * *
I only met Bridget once, when she was supposedly Blair’s assistant and she came with the group to an in-studio interview we were doing. Bridget threw a fit because she got told where to stand off-camera during the interview, because she kept getting in the shot. She didn’t like where she was being told to stand, so she had a meltdown. Throwing things, spit in our floor director’s face, screaming like some kind of—I don’t even know what. Blair was mortified and you know, as a result, Bridget was banned from our New York studios. I mean, listen, we were used to diva behavior or whatever, but from the stars so, you know, you kind of have to put up with it. But from an assistant? No way.
* * *
Gwen told me about the botched audition years later and I was of course, shocked. I don’t know if Blair told her to keep quiet about it or if Bridget just decided on her own not to say anything—or maybe it was the mother—but she never made a peep about it. In the end, she was probably too embarrassed. So, she kept her mouth shut all those years.
* * *
Apparently, though, Bridget never forgot.
9:15 a.m.
The scent of soap, her soap, wafted under her nose, waking her all over again. Original Musk. She’d just bought four bottles last week. Her eyes drifted open to find Tree tucking one of Malcolm’s Polos into a pair of his pants as he staggered into the dining room. He looked ridiculous, like a little boy playing dress-up in his father’s closet. The clothes billowed around his string bean frame and he’d looped one of Malcolm’s belts around him twice to keep the pants from sagging to the ground.
“Whew! Damn, I feel good. Damn! I see why rich people like to get in a swim before breakfast and yo, that shower, that shower was no joke.” He looked down at Dio. “You ain’t never seen a shower like this. Five showerheads, all coming at you at once and steam. Man. I won’t be able to take a regular shower again.”
Neither Dio nor Cookie answered him, shame still smeared across each of their faces.
“Hope you don’t mind, Mally Mal, but I borrowed a little something out of your closet. Now that I’m all fresh and clean.” He laughed as he eased himself down into a chair. “Yo. Wifey. I’m hungry. Fix me some breakfast.”
Blair inhaled, staring at him. Tree reached over and tapped his girlfriend on the shoulder. “Untie Wifey so she can fix me something to eat.”
