On the Line (24 page)

Dressing quickly, she headed to the front door only to be met in the entryway by Juice and Kristine.

“Your tally is short,” Kristine blurted out.

Shalonda stepped back. “What? It can't be. I put it all in there.”

Kristine spat at her. “You calling me a liar?”

“I don't know, maybe you are.” Shalonda turned toward Juice. “I brought over every dollar. I swear.”

Juice shook his head. “I counted it too, baby. It's short.”

Shalonda pointed at Kristine. “Maybe she took some out. I don't have any more.”

“You lying bitch!” Kristine grabbed at Shalonda's hair and wrestled her down to the floor. As Shalonda's purse was ripped from her shoulder, most of the contents fell out including the extra twenty that Rodney gave her.

“See, there it is.” Kristine pointed. “I told you the ho was holdin' out on you, baby.”

Shalonda's heart pounded and her body trembled as she stood up. “I didn't take that from you, Juice. Rodney gave me that twenty, plus the thirty for his appointment.”

Juice reared back when he heard another man's name come out of her mouth. “Rodney? Who the fuck is Rodney?”

Shalonda backed up against the door, realizing too late the huge mistake she'd made. “He's nobody. Nobody, baby…just that guy who's been coming almost every week.”

“So you taking money from some motherfucka on the side?”

“He…I—” Shalonda couldn't get it out before Juice's fist struck her hard across the jaw. She grabbed the aching spot and slid down onto the floor.

Several of his crew joined Kristine and they watched as Juice demonstrated his title, “Daddy,” in a literal sense. Taking off his long leather belt, he swung viciously, hitting Shalonda across the back, shoulders, legs and behind.

At first Shalonda held up her arms for protection and tried to crawl to the door, but ultimately she gave up, pulling herself into a ball of confusion.

“I don't know what the hell you think you're doing!” Juice screamed after one swing and before another. “You don't take money from nobody but me. Understand, bitch?”

Shalonda's head filled with an intense pain each time the tip of the belt struck different parts of her body. She silently prayed for the nightmare to end, and finally Kristine sashayed over and opened the front door.

“Get the fuck out of here before I kill you,” Juice hissed.

As Shalonda attempted to drag herself toward the opening, he snatched the twenty-dollar bill off the floor and ruthlessly kicked her in her side.

“Juice…Juice, man, come check this shit out! Our boys are doing that song on TV, man,” one of his crew called in a frenzy.

In the midst of the commotion, Shalonda quietly gathered as many of her things as she could. She slowly lifted her body up and limped out the door. Moving cautiously toward the elevator, she allowed the tears to run, wishing she could do the same. Fifteen minutes later she fell into her apartment, spirit crushed, and lay listlessly across the wrinkled cotton sheets.

When the silence became too much Shalonda turned on the radio and listened as a woman's soothing voice washed over her. The voice asked listeners to call in and share their problems. “The only way we can discover new oceans,” the voice explained, “is if we have the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

Shalonda closed her eyes. She could feel each individual welt as it formed on her body. She listened to the inspiring words gently pulling at her soul: advocating change; promising something better; creating hope; encouraging the first step. With a deep, resolved breath, Shalonda picked up a pen and paper and began her story. “Please help me,” Shalonda whispered as the words poured onto the page.

 

When I finish and look up, tears are streaming down Dallas's face. The audience is stunned into silence. The only sound I hear is the beating of my own heart and the soft sobs coming from the audience.

My own eyes are filled with tears as I relive those terrible years that was once my life.

“Shalonda wasn't some random letter,” I say. I lift my head, no longer ashamed of who I am. “Shalonda was me.” I look out at the stunned faces.

Dallas gasps. “We'll be right back after a commercial break.”

T
he minute the cameras are off, Dallas turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I nod my head. She signals somebody and a tissue is thrust into my hands.

“Is that story true or some incredible publicity stunt?”

“It's true. Every ugly word.” I sniff real hard and wipe my eyes.

Dallas flops back into her seat. “Good thing this wasn't live. We'll have to do some major editing.”

I take a glance and see Randy standing in the wings. When we make eye contact he turns and walks away.

“Ten seconds,” one of the cameramen shouts.

“Ready?” Dallas asks.

“Yes.”

She turns to the camera. “I know you all are as stunned and as touched as I was by the revelation made by Joy.” She focuses on me. “Why did you decide to bring your story to the public's attention?”

“I've spent the better part of my career living off of the pain and confusion of others, and now I'm on the threshold of making a lot of money as a result.” I sit straighter in my seat. “I want anyone who picks up my book to know that I'm just like everyone else. And that maybe what I was doing all these years was hiding behind the problems of others so that I wouldn't have to deal with my own. I intend to include my story in the book as well. Yes, you heard it here first. And I plan to donate a portion of the proceeds to start the Joy Newhouse Foundation that will help those who are in need of counseling and support services.”

A roar of applause fills the room.

“And if there is anything that I can do to help with your cause, I'm here for you,” Dallas says. She turns to the camera. “This has been an eye-opening show. I want to thank Joy Newhouse for being our guest and for being so brutally honest about her own life. Be sure to pick up a copy of
The Best of On the Line
when it hits a bookstore in your area.”

The red light of the camera goes off. Dallas gets up from her seat and comes over to me and gives me the biggest hug. “That was a brave thing you did. I wish the best for you. Your book is going to be a blockbuster.”

“We'll see. Thanks again.” I walk offstage where Macy is waiting. She puts her arm around my shoulders.

“You okay?”

I look into her questioning eyes. “For the first time I really think I am.”

We head for the exit and Randy is standing at the door. I can't begin to imagine what must be on his mind. I walk up to him.

“I won't blame you if you never want to speak to me again.”

“Why wouldn't I want to speak to you again?” He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger. “That took guts. I don't know if I could have done it. Our skilled PR staff couldn't have done better. The minute you were done, my cell started ringing like crazy. They want you in the office tomorrow so that they can get the story added to the book immediately. Tanya can't keep up with the requests to have you on as a guest on every radio and television show in the English-speaking world.” He starts to laugh then looks me fully in the eyes. “We all have a past, Joy. Some are more drama filled than others. What happened to you happens to so many other women every day. And now that they've heard your story, maybe they can find a way to free themselves, too. I am so proud of you.”

I don't mean to start crying, but I do anyway. “You don't hate me?”

“How could I hate you?” he whispers. “I'm in love with you.”

My heart feels like it's exploding into a million tiny pieces. No one has ever loved me. Well, except for Macy. I'm not even sure if I know how to give it in return. But I want to try. I want to try and see what it's like to give of my real self and have someone know and accept me for who I am. And maybe I'll even get up enough nerve to tell Randy how I feel about him, too.

With Randy on one side and Macy on the other, we step out into the warm afternoon sunshine. Life is good, ain't it? And a fat bank account sure helps!

“Hey, Joy,” Macy says as we walk to the waiting car. “I was thinking for your next book…”

Me and Randy look at each other and crack up laughing.