The Trophy Wife (18 page)

London's voice was like sweet music to Kalil's ears. He thought he'd never hear it again. “London?” He looked back at Peanut, who had been like a little brother to him for many years. “Fuck did I do?” Kalil knelt down beside Peanut. “I thought he killed you. I thought he killed my daughter,” Kalil tried to explain.

“You didn't know,” London said softly.

Kalil was silent for a minute as he closed his eyes and said a quick prayer to God for Peanut's soul.

He stood to his feet, and just as he turned toward London, he saw Hova come out of the bar and approach her from behind.

“London, watch out!” He tried to warn her, but his words were not quick enough. Hova was already positioned behind her with a pistol to her head.

Kalil ran toward London, tripping over the dead bodies that lay scattered throughout the room. He tried to reach her, but Hova quickly halted him by aiming the gun in his direction.

“You can be Superman if you want to. I guarantee these bullets won't bounce off of you, though.” Hova knew that he only had one bullet for one person, but he figured that he had room to bluff, now that he had London's life in his hands. The tables had quickly turned back in his favor.
I'm in control,
he thought to himself.

London screamed, “Kalil!” as she reached for him.

“You hear that, Kalil? The love of your life is calling for you.” Hova stared Kalil down with hatred. “Now put down the fucking gun, unless you want me to splatter her brains on the fucking floor.” He pressed the gun firmly against London's head.

“Aghh, Jake, please,” she begged. “I'll do anything. Just please don't hurt him.”

It was at that moment that Kalil realized that London loved him in the exact same way that he did her. Her only worry was for his safety, and for that he would always love her, even in his death. He knew that if London was still alive then so was Jada. They would be fine as long as they had each other. She was the type of woman that he wanted to raise Jada. The type of woman that he wanted Jada to be when she grew up. He trusted her with his daughter's life.

I'm willing to leave this earth today so that London and my daughter can live tomorrow,
he thought to himself. He still had the gun gripped tightly in his hands, and tears flooded his eyes as he realized that his time in this world was about to come to an end.

“Put the gun down,” Hova stated again.

“You want to be a part of this game, Hova. Well, this is a game that is played among men. I need your word as a man that if I put down my gun you will let London go. You can do what you want with me, but let her walk out of this with her life.”

“Kalil, no!” London screamed. “Kalil, I love you.” She began to buck against Hova so that she could get to Kalil.

“Bitch, shut up!”

“Do I have your word?” Kalil waited for Hova's response.

“You have my word,” Hova said, knowing good well he would never let London see another sunset.

Kalil put the gun down on the ground in front of him and raised both hands slowly.

Hova laughed wholeheartedly. “You really are as dumb as you look. Sucker for love! You're a pussy! You really think I'm gonna let this cheating bitch get out of here alive?”

“Jake, please . . . I'll do anything,” she whispered.

“You hear that, Kalil. This bitch will do anything. Let's think . . . what should I make her do?”

Kalil could tell from the sinister tone in Hova's voice that he had something in store for her. “I love you, London,” he said.

London's head hung low in defeat.

“Look at me,” Kalil told her.

She raised her head and met his gaze.

“I love you, ma,” he repeated, accepting the fact that his life was about to end.

“I love you,” she answered, not caring that her husband could hear her. She knew that Kalil was saying good-bye to her. “I'll always love you.”

London's words must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because Hova pulled the trigger, sending his last bullet into her back. Her face contorted in pain as the hollow-point ripped through her insides, destroying the organs that sustained her life, and her limp body fell forward.

“No!” Kalil's voice came from the pit of his stomach and echoed through the entire club as he rushed toward Hova.

Hova didn't even get a chance to run. Kalil tackled him to the floor and rained punch after punch down on him. “Why!” he yelled in a voice that even he didn't recognize. Blinded by revenge, he beat Hova mercilessly. He hit Hova so hard that he could feel the bones in his hand breaking on impact, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. “You took her away from me!” he roared.

The sound of Kalil connecting with Hova's head was sickening.

Hova's Abercrombie-model features quickly became unrecognizable as Kalil brought the man closer and closer to death.

“Kalil,” London muttered weakly.

Kalil turned around and saw London fighting to breathe. She was fighting for her life as her body shook on the floor. His anger instantly turned to concern as he scrambled on his knees to her side.

“London,” he cried as he looked down at her. She was just as beautiful as the day she'd first entered his life. He rolled her onto her side and saw the hole in her chest and the huge puddle of blood that had formed underneath her. “Aghh,” was the only sound that left his lips.

Kalil quickly lifted her body onto his lap. “London, don't leave me. Come on, ma, I need you.”

He stroked her hair and looked her in the eyes.

“I'm dying, Kalil,” she whispered.

“No, no, you're not, baby. Don't say that. You can't die on me. You still got to marry me. You still got to have my kids. London, just breathe for me!” he begged her as if she could stop what was happening.

“It's okay, Kal—” She stopped because it was getting hard for her to speak. She opened her mouth again. “You have given me so much. My life wasn't worth living until I met you. You showed me what love is, what it's like to be with a real man. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change anything.”

Kalil was falling to pieces right in front of her. He was supposed to protect her, and now the woman of his dreams was dying in his arms and it was all his fault.

“Remember what you told me when we first met.”

Kalil was too stricken with grief to respond.

“You said that as long as you were in here”—she pointed to her heart—“then you would always be with me. It's true, Kalil. We'll always be together. I'll never leave you, even in death. Every time you feel the wind blow across your face, that will be me kissing you. Our love will never die, Kalil. It is too—” London coughed violently, causing blood to come out of the sides of her mouth. “It is too great,” she finished weakly.

“London, don't talk like that, baby. You're going to be fine. You have to be with me. I can't do this. Come on, London, stay with me, ma.”

“I can't, Kalil. I love you. I love you more than life. You saved me, Kalil, and I'll always be with you. Can you do me one favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you make sure that my tombstone reads with your last name?” she asked him. “I know we're not—”

Kalil put his finger to London's lips. “It doesn't matter. You are my wife. We don't need a man to confirm what God already knows. You're the only woman that I will ever give my last name to, I swear on my daughter's life.”

London weakly grabbed Kalil's hand. “Just stay with me. Please don't leave my side until it's over,” she said.

He nodded and leaned over to kiss her dying lips. It was the first time that he'd felt true heartbreak. He looked down into her eyes and could see that she was leaving the physical world and entering the spiritual.

“I'm right here, London,” he whispered in her ear as he placed one hand on her chest. “I remember the first day I saw you. You were so beautiful, dancing on that stage. I knew that I needed to be with you. You were made for me. You've changed my life in so many ways, London, and I thank you for gracing me with your presence, even if only for a little while.”

He felt London's grip loosen on his hand. She gasped lightly and, with a blank stare, said, “I'm always with you.”

Kalil gently closed her eyes and cried like a newborn baby.

He heard the sounds of grunting from behind him. Realizing it was Hova, he lifted London off him and weakly walked over to the man who was writhing from the beating that he had received.

Kalil picked up Hova's gun, which lay at his feet. The same gun Hova had used to kill London. Kalil felt that he should send Hova to hell with the same gun. He got up, stood over Hova, and looked him directly in the eyes. He pulled the trigger, but of course the clip was empty.

“Freeze! Drop your weapon and put your hands where I can see them!”

Kalil didn't comply. He had to bring death to Hova. He couldn't let him live. Kalil attacked him, pistol-whipping him only for a short time before he was apprehended by the police.

Kalil felt a bullet rip through his leg as he fell to the ground. “Aghh!” he screamed in pain.

The bullets were followed by a parade of police batons pounding on his head and back.

As they carried Kalil out of the club, he could hear his daughter screaming for him.

“Daddy! Daddy! Wait, don't leave me!” Jada yelled as she hopped out of the car and ran toward him.

Kalil looked up to see his daughter crying. “Don't touch her! Don't you fucking touch her!” he yelled, jerking wildly in an attempt to free himself of the police restraints.

One of the officers yelled, “Listen! Listen! You need to calm down. Don't act a fool in front of your daughter. She's already traumatized enough. We'll make sure everything is okay with her.”

Kalil's nostrils flared when he saw a policewoman escort Jada away from the club and into a police car. Jada was the only thing that he had left. He calmed down for the sake of his child and allowed the police to take him into custody, mouthing the words, “I love you,” as the car pulled away.

It was the last time that he ever saw his daughter and the most tragic day of his life, one that would haunt him for the rest of his years.

We're here to see Kalil Kelly,” JaQuavis said as he and Ashley stood at the check-in desk at Rikers Island Penitentiary.

Ashley held the completed manuscript of Kalil's story in her hand and wanted him to be the first to read it. They'd worked nonstop on it for a whole week and completed it on the seventh day. The both of them were so involved in the story, it seemed as if they'd known Kalil their entire lives. Kalil told them his story so vividly that it was etched in both of their brains.

The guard who sat behind the desk looked at JaQuavis like he was crazy. “I'm sorry, but Mr. Kelly passed. One of the guards found him yesterday in his cell, dead. The poor fella hung himself.”

“What?” JaQuavis said.

“That can't be right.” Ashley put her hands on her hips in disbelief. “We just saw him a week ago.” Her lips began to tremble in sorrow, and her eyes watered. Kalil had touched her with his story, and she couldn't believe he was dead.

“I don't know what to tell you, ma'am. He's gone.” The guard tapped his pen against the desk.

The authors left out the prison in total disbelief. Of all their books, this particular one was closest to their heart. Kalil had taken them on a journey, giving them his uncut life story. It hurt even more, knowing that he would never see his story in book form.

How could Kalil hang himself? He seemed to be stable and content with his situation.

Maybe the closed-in walls and ills of being locked up behind jail bars took its toll on him. Maybe the guilt of leaving his baby girl to grow up without a father got to him. Maybe the death of the only woman who held his heart provoked it. The authors would never know the final chapter.

 

 

 

 

“Fuck you! I'm glad this is our last book together.” Ashley snapped her head from side to side like only a black girl can.

“Fuck me? Fuck you! Yo' solo book gon' flop anyway. You ain't shit without the kid!” JaQuavis rubbed his hand over his goatee.

“Nigga, please! My shit gon' sell, believe that. Ain't nobody gon' buy yo' corny joint. You know who the better writer is. Don't play yourself!”
This nigga really getting on my mu'fuckin' nerves,
she thought to herself.

“Yeah, sure. We'll see. I'm the better writer, and you know it. The streets gon' love my shit!”

“Yeah, the streets, and that's it,” Ashley yelled. “That's all you know how to write about!”

“And the only thing you know how to write about is hustlers' wives and around-the-way girls. Yo' shit is wack! Fuck outta here!” JaQuavis waved his hand, dismissing her statement.

The very thing they were bashing each other about was the same thing that made them successful together. They told both sides of the story, which distinguished them from the other authors. Women and men could feel their work because of the unique blend that they offered their readers.

The two authors were arguing smack-dab in the middle of the 2007 Harlem Book Fair, trading insults and degrading each other's writing style, no holds barred. The disagreement had started because they couldn't agree on the direction of their next novel.

Readers and fans began to crowd around the spectacle. That's when the authors noticed that the argument was getting out of hand. They put on fake smiles, but both were boiling on the inside.

After they settled down, a crowd formed in front of their table, and immediately the two authors got back on task and began to sell and sign their own books.

Ten minutes later the crowd had left, and JaQuavis noticed a white envelope on the table in front of them that read
To Ashley & JaQuavis.
He looked around to try to figure out who left the envelope, but he had no clue. All the fans were gone, except for the last Latino woman, who Ashley was signing her book for.

Ashley pushed the book toward JaQuavis so he could sign it also, and that's when she noticed the envelope. JaQuavis signed the book and gave it to the woman before focusing his attention back on the envelope.

Exactly one year earlier someone had left them an envelope full of cash, so this envelope grabbed their full attention.

Ashley picked up the envelope and found four pieces of folded paper.

JaQuavis looked at Ashley. “What is it?”

“I don't know. Looks like a letter or something.” Ashley pulled out the paper and unfolded it. In neat handwriting, the paper read:
Kalil's final chapter.

Both of them immediately sat down and read the last chapter carefully.

 

 

Hova kneeled at the altar praying to God. He began to think about his late wife, London, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. It had been years since he'd brutally killed her, and the guilt was tugging at his heart. Even though he didn't show it while she was alive, he did love her. Every day he regretted the day that he killed her. He began to think about how he'd driven her into the arms of another man and realized that London was not being promiscuous, but just being human. She needed to feel loved.

Since the tragedy, his near-death experience had caused him to change his lifestyle and he gave his life to the Lord. He stopped going by the name Hova, reverting back to Jake. He closed his club down and left the drug game completely.

On this particular day, his conscience was eating at him. He was preparing to ask another woman for her hand in marriage. He felt he had to ask God for forgiveness one last time before popping the question. He'd found a new love and was ready to treat her like London should have been treated. He had turned over a new leaf in life and catered to her like a queen. In a sense, he was trying to find redemption. She had a beautiful child, whom he planned to treat as his own when she'd finally let the two of them meet. He had been seeing her for three months and knew that she was the new woman for him.

Later that night, he would propose to her. He wanted her to be his wife—not his trophy wife, but his wife. Jake glanced back and smiled at his love, who was sitting in the front row. He asked her to accompany him so he could settle one thing for good. Jake loved her because she was a woman of God and a faithful Christian. They bonded, not physically, but mentally. Jake had yet to make love to her, but he loved her. If she said yes, he was planning on telling her about his past, since he wanted all of the skeletons out of the closet and off his conscience.

The beauty walked behind him and began to massage his shoulders, noticing something was really bugging him. She looked down at her man's blond hair as he prayed and continued to massage his shoulders. She could tell that he was deeply in love with her. That's why what she was about to do became more difficult.

Hova unclasped his hands and reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. “I have to ask you something, Sunshine,” he said, referring to her by the nickname he'd given her.

“What's that, Jake?” she inquired in her sweetest voice.

Jake, enjoying the massage that his woman was giving him, began to try to gather the courage to pop the question. “We've been together for three months now, and I ain't getting any younger. I want you to be mine before God. I really want to be with you for the rest of my life. Sunshine, will you be my—”

A knife swiftly sliced across Jake's throat, suddenly cutting his air supply, and blood gushed from the wound as he gripped his neck, desperately searching for air.

Destiny stepped around and let Hova see her face. She smiled at the sight of him losing his life. She opened her blouse, exposing her breasts. She wanted him to see the
RIP Kalil
tattoo she'd just gotten.

Jake read the name and the moment before he died, knew that karma had come back to bite him.

Destiny smiled and watched as his life began to slip away. “That was for Kalil,” she whispered, buttoning her blouse.

She'd put on an act for three months just to get to this point. She had to do it for Kalil. She tossed the bloody knife into the pulpit and stared at the gigantic statue of Jesus that was bolted to the wall, thinking about the deceased father of her child. He had helped her in so many ways, and although she'd done him wrong, she would always love him.

Destiny left Hova's body in the church on the altar and couldn't wait to get home to her daughter Jada, now that Kalil's soul could rest in peace.