The Sweetest Taboo (26 page)

Drae

         Drae lifted the white hospital sheet wrapped around her thighs. She wiped the crust from the sides of her mouth and looked around her hospital room. She’d been here for a week and today, for the first time since she’d been here, she awakened all alone. None of her friends were there, and Naz had long since gone home.

She tried to sit up but the I.V. in her right hand prevented her from moving far.
I’m fucked up,
she thought, now looking at her left hand and noticing how the stitches ran across her knuckles like railroad tracks.

Tears flooded her eyes. She flung her head back and looked at the ceiling. She thought about praying, but quickly changed her mind because she couldn’t think of what to say.
Am I supposed to say thank you?
she thought.
But thank you for what? Hell, maybe I should just start off with Amen. How about that? Yeah that’s it. Amen.

Drae fluffed the pillows under her head as best she could. For a moment, she thought about going to a million different places to live. She figured she would stay with Nae-Nae until she decided where she would go.

“Wassup, ma’?” Naz walked in the room, kissed her on the forehead and sat on the bed. “You look so pretty.”

“Stop lying,” she laughed. “I look ridiculous.”

“So what you been thinking about?” he asked her, stroking her cheek.

“Why couldn’t we meet under different circumstances?”

“Wasn’t meant to be that way.”

“But I care about you so much,” she cried.

“It’s good, ma’, I care about you too.”

“You don’t understand, Naz.”

“What’s to understand?” He wiped her tears away.

“I can’t see you anymore. You know I have to get away.”

“I’m a big boy, baby, I can handle it. We talked about this already, remember?”

“I don’t really wanna leave you.”

“You gon’ come back.” He smiled. “And come back sexy-ass shit, don’t go off nowhere and be all fat, unrecognizable and shit.”

Drae laughed. “I just need to get away, for me, my sake. And I have to let anything that I have from this life go.”

“It’s cool, ma’.” He kissed her on the forehead again. “Naz understands.” He rose from the bed. “Look, I’m not gon’ keep you too long. It was real while it lasted.”

After she watched him leave, Drae turned to the side and cried out what felt like every ounce of her soul. Just as she wiped her eyes and wondered if she should change her mind, she heard footsteps entering her room. “Andrea?”

She turned over and saw it was the transvestite that saved her life. “Please don’t be scared.”

“You saved my life, I could never be scared of you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you for the last week, and I think I have something that belongs to you.”

“What’s that?”

“Everything. Hassan told me everything. You need to know that Sunshine is not just a porn name, but it’s an overseas empire. It goes beyond movies: there are dildos, erotic mouths, wax pussy imprints, blow-up dolls…and then there’s the lingerie, the leather, chains, whips, candy, chocolate and crotchless underwear, lotions, jellies and condoms called ‘Exclusively for Sunshine’s Pussy.’ It’s a multimillion-dollar industry. Here is all the paperwork you’ll need. Get you an attorney and take him for everything he’s got.”

“Why are you doing all of this?”

“Because it could be me lying there in that bed, and I feel I owe it to you. Besides,” he smiled, “I have his three-million-dollar stash, so I’m okay.”

“Thank you, Crystal. Thank you.”

Drae

         “Good morning!” The Wake Up Club belted through the radio as Drae turned over in her bed. It’d been a week since she was released from the hospital and had returned to the scene where she’d been robbed of herself. She sat straight up in bed and decided today was the day she would choose for it to all end. All the pain, the crying, the suffering and the never-ending questioning why: Why didn’t she see? Why didn’t she know? Why didn’t she leave a thousand times before? Why? Why? Why? Well, fuck why! Why hadn’t done shit for her but cause her a bunch of grief. So here she was, looking around a multimillion-dollar pornographic Broadway wondering when it would be okay to not give a fuck anymore.

Drae opened up a new bar of Lever soap and stepped into the shower. After ten minutes of bathing her skin, she was out and dressed in a new pair of formfitting Norma Kamali jeans, a sleeveless cow-neck sweater and navy stilettos. She grabbed her hobo Coach bag, picked up the keys to the brand-new white Mustang convertible she’d purchased the day before and walked out the door.

She threw her purse and a suitcase she’d packed in the Mustang’s backseat and slipped into the front. The early-morning sun was gleaming as she put the top down and started the engine running. She stared at the house that she became a star in before blowing it a kiss and yelling, “Take that and kiss my ass with it, Sunshine!” Finally the fat lady had sung, and it was time to take a bow.

Watching everything get smaller behind her, Drae took off and headed west. She had no particular destination in mind, other than a place to get away to. Somewhere she could breathe and cry and scream, and no one would know why…and no one would care to know why. Somewhere she could rock her new honey-colored bob like a fierce top model and no one would ever know she worked it because her husband had cut all her hair off. And she could lie and say that the railroad tracks, running across her knuckles, were from botched stitches she got as a kid, and no one would ever think they were from her getting her ass kicked.

Everything was official and it was time to let it go. There was no Hassan, there was no Sunshine, there was simply Andrea Shaw, ex-porn star, and now was the time to take charge of her life.

Drae slid her round-eyed Gucci shades on, leaned back, gripped the wheel and raced up the highway headed for the sunset….

Britt

         Britt couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Billboard had his self-entitled CD at the top of the charts, and the acclaimed dancehall artist, Lady Saw, who he was able to sign on his imprint, was climbing the charts right behind him.
Rolling Stone
had contacted him for an interview, one of the first of this kind. He was scheduled to be on the cover of every major magazine, and his agent had him booked on BET, MTV VH1 Soul, and a zillion other cable shows. He was even booked for
Good Morning America, The View,
the
Late Show with David Letterman.
Finally he was taking off, and he couldn’t wait to go home and celebrate. He had a special bag of weed for this occasion and along with that, he had a four hundred dollar bottle of vintage wine. There was only one person in the world who would feel what he felt about his success and he couldn’t wait to bust through his front door and bellow out that he’d finally made it. Finally, after all this time, he’d arrived.

Once he parked his truck in the garage he practically fell, skipping the elevator and rushing up the stairs, taking them two at a time, all while singing his favorite cut from his CD.

When he stepped to the door, he noticed how quiet everything was on the inside, but he quickly dismissed it. He turned the knob and the door flew open, “Yuri!” he yelled, “Yo, my man…” his words began to fade. He walked around his loft, looking for absolutely nothing. He remembered that Yuri wasn’t there. She was gone and there was nothing left for him to do other than deal with it. And he did, at least until today. He dealt with her not being there by keeping himself busy, by recording enough tracks and writing enough songs to fill a thousand CDs. He’d even written songs for other artists and not just reggae or soca; he’d written R&B and jazz tunes and even recorded a song with Jay-Z where he laid the hook. But now, today, at this very moment there was nothing left to do but face what he was: alone and in pain. He missed his lover, his best friend and his soul mate. His everything. He sat down on his piano bench, lifted the cover to the keys and began playing a song. Any song, some song, he didn’t know what it was until he realized he’d been playing “The Sweetest Taboo”…“
Sometimes,
” he sang in a whisper, “
I think you’re just too good for me…
” As the tears filled his throat he started banging his fingers on the keys, each key crying out in a loud thud sound. Britt held his head down and for the first time since Yuri left, he cried, and he cried, until he couldn’t cry anymore. He cried until all he could do was get up from the piano, turn on Sade’s CD and set “The Sweetest Taboo” on repeat. Then he lay back on his bed, lit a blunt and sang the song so low it was almost incoherent. “
There’s a quiet storm and it never felt this hot before…
” Britt sang, cried, and got high until all he could do was close his eyes and eventually fall asleep.

When he awoke hours later his doorbell was ringing. He hopped out of bed, praying that it was Yuri but somehow knowing in his heart of hearts that it wasn’t. As he approached the door, the bell rang again.

He opened the door and Troi was standing there with the Billboard list in her hand and a bottle of champagne. Britt looked down at his watch; it read ten
P.M.

“Britt!” Troi screamed, “I can’t believe it! Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!” She jumped up and hugged him around the neck.

He pushed her off of him, “If you don’t step the fuck away from me, I swear to God I’ma fuckin’ hurt you!”

“Britt,” Troi said in disbelief, “are you”—she sniffed—“high?”

“Nah. This is the clearest I’ve ever been, because right now at this moment I get it. I really fuckin’ get it. I fucked up my life for nothing. I didn’t love you.”

“Excuse me? You came back for me.”

“Nah,” he said as if a lightbulb had just gone off, “I didn’t. I didn’t love you. I didn’t want you. I was just scared, scared to love somebody the way that I loved Yuri and now I get it. I have to find her.”

“You love Yuri?”

“Yes”—he smiled—“I do and I gotta find her. I gotta go and get her.” He went back inside and grabbed his keys and then returned to the door.

Troi’s mouth was dropped open. “Oh now you think you love Yuri. You always did like to dream.”

“Yo for real, keep her name outcha mouth. She too fuckin’ good for you to even call. You too fuckin’ grimy and I know you tried to make her think we slept together, when we didn’t. But it’s cool, ’cause the only way for me to really show you is not to cuss you out, but it’s to let you watch me lock my fuckin’ door and go get my wife.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“And by the way,” he said as he turned to leave, “don’t ever again say shit to me.” Then he hit her with the peace sign and walked out the door.

Hassan

         Hassan sat in his isolated jail cell in what appeared to be complete and utter silence. His eyes danced across the room and his dick constantly rested in his hands. But inside everything was screaming. There was too much noise, which is why he couldn’t speak. People were always talking to him, telling him what to do, how to act, and that he needed to kill Drae. That if he ever got from between these cement walls, he needed to slice her throat and then kill himself. It would be classic and everyone would understand that if he couldn’t have her no one could. And who would care that he liked men, because he loved her and there was no way he could let her go.

He lay back on his bunk and stared at the ceiling. He was due to be sentenced today, yet in his mind he’d served his time. He knew the judge refused to give him bail and that he’d been charged with two crimes, but attempted murder was the only one he could remember.

All of his assets were frozen, because his lawyer told him that Drae was suing him for divorce and wanted all of his money. And that was the only day anyone in the prison other than the people locked in his brain heard him speak: “I’ma…kill…that…bitch!” After that he said nothing and neither did they. They all sat in silence looking at him, wondering if he even knew what the fuck was going on.

Three guards dressed in riot gear came to get Hassan from his cell. They made him stand against the bars for handcuffs and shackles. One of the guards, who wore white rubber gloves, shoved his dick back in his orange jumpsuit. And Hassan’s face lit up as he imagined the guard who’d just tucked his dick away fucking Drae.

Once they were at the court and Hassan stood before the judge, he had intentions of speaking, but the judge interrupted him. “Mr. Shaw, please stand. Do you have anything you wish to say to the court?”

Hassan stood as best he could given his hands were still cuffed behind his back and his feet were shackled together. “Wassup?” he said inside his head, but no one on the outside heard him.

“Mr. Shaw,” the judge repeated, “Do you have anything to say?”

“Check this”—no one could hear Hassan but himself—“this bitch who was nothing when I saved her, fucked me over and now I’m in here. So peep this, I’m paid as hell so, I’ma hit you off with some dough, you let me out and then I can kill this bitch. You know what I’m saying?”

The judge stared at Hassan, whose eyes danced all over the court room. His facial expressions changed but nothing came out of his mouth. It was obvious that he was off in another world someplace where nobody else wanted to be.

“On the charge,” the judge began to speak, “of attempted murder I sentence you to twenty years. No possibility of parole. On the charge of exploitation I sentence you to ten years. No possibility of parole. Both sentences must run concurrently and based on the prison’s psychiatric reports and evaluation your time will be served at Fishkill Correctional Facility.” And he slammed his gavel.

“I was still talking motherfucker!” Hassan screamed but nobody heard him. He started banging his head on the table, over and over again, until his skin burst open and there was blood everywhere. It took about five guards to take him out and all the way to the hospital for treatment as he screamed in silence.