27
BRENDA PARIS HAD become the woman you never wanted to cross or dupe. And as the famous saying goes, Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me! Brenda had learned all too well from her cheating ex-husband—and now her own daughter—ALWAYS have a plan B!
The air conditioning was roaring at full blast attempting to cool down Keisha’s black, stretched Escalade parked on the access road out front of the Intrepid Museum. Comfortably seated inside, and leaning back in her daughter’s luxury ride, Brenda Paris felt like the ultimate feminist icon and her hero, Doris Payne, who’d pulled off some of the greatest jewelry heists in history by pretending to be affluent women. When Keisha had been 13 years old, and they were practically starving, Brenda had decided to do the unthinkable to save her kids, just like Doris had in trying to save her own mother.
Unfortunately, Doris had landed behind bars just like Brenda. Brenda had only planned on robbing the unguarded morgue safe, where she worked overnight shifts, once. It was a once in a lifetime chance to score a massive haul that could set her family straight. Brenda’s kids depended on her and she’d been in desperate need of cash. After all, she justified, dead people didn’t need jewels. Thank goodness, she hadn’t pulled off the heist alone. And with her accomplice making off with the loot, the blood vial that took her years to procure had become the key to her release and salvation. Without question, it linked her accomplice to the crime scene.
The sky had been grey and threatening a storm the day Brenda heard the lock to her cell click open. It was a few hours before dinner was to be served and she needed one last favor.
“I can’t keep doin’ you favors, Brenda,” the muscular female prison guard had said, “but my niece won’t stop beggin’ me for that Model Muse zip-up that Keisha’s wearing all over Instagram.”
Brenda had one left, with her daughter’s signature across the back to boot, so she’d handed it off in exchange for the folded shred of paper that had the 911 # 917-555-8691 written on it. When she’d gotten the note, Brenda had no clue that the phone number on that paper was her lifeline and was going to change her life. Now, today, she was about to change Keisha’s. Brenda had come up with a new plan B, and his name was Pablo.
Gazing with delight, she watched her daughter slip into the Escalade opposite her.
“Oh no, Joe,” Keisha called out. Joe Vong was trying to skulk past. “You’re back here with me.”
Joe reluctantly stepped into the Supermodel’s ride, sitting next to Keisha, and closed the door. Brenda was seated directly across from the guilty duo, with her back to the driver. Banging on the partition she said, “Put the window up.”
Brenda meant business.
Keisha’s eyes widened, her breathing became shallow and nervous. “So, wow. You look great. How did you—”
“Let’s just cut the shit! Okay, Miss Kiki?”
The pimped-out Escalade slowly pulled away from the curb and merged into the southbound West Side Highway traffic. Both Keisha and Joe looked terrified to speak.
“You think you’re the only ones with high-powered friends? I’ve got eyes and ears all over your world,” Brenda snapped.
Keisha tried to jump in. “I’m assuming you’ve been talking to—”
“Mama always figures out a plan B, Baby. Didn’t think I needed one, till I found out you were tryin’ to keep my ass in jail. Don’t forget, every trick you got you learned from me.”
“Pablo’s not to be trusted…”
“Pablo’s innovative methods of research are what have me sitting here today,” Brenda fired back. “My new buddy uncovered a simple truth. The diamond engagement ring I was accused of stealing was never found or cut down into pieces.”
“So?”
“So, that meant it could only be in one place, and I no longer needed the blood vial that you DESTROYED.” Brenda felt like she was possessed by a demon now. Her voice rumbled and grated her vocal cords.
“Blood vial? Diamond ring? What are you guys talkin’ about?” Joe asked sheepishly.
Brenda shifted her gaze, to where Vong was huddled, and slowly transformed her scowl into a big disingenuous Hollywood smile. “And look at you. Big, little man on campus. You step in a pile of shit and come out smelling like roses.”
With strikingly different alert tones, both Keisha and Joe’s cell phones started sounding off in dissonant song.
Brenda continued scathing Joe, wagging her finger in his face. “How do you go from some low-rent COPS knockoff shit show, arrest me on camera for your entertainment, to running my baby girl’s hit TV empire?”
“Well, I…”
“Will you both just put that shit on silent,” she screamed. Frustrated with the incessant ringing, Brenda became distracted.
“Ms. Paris. I literally have different execs trying to call—”
“Oh, nooooow it’s Ms. Paris? I see Keisha’s pint-sized dog training has you good in line.”
“Mama hold on for a moment.” Keisha flipped the intercom switch next to her shoulder. “Can you activate the Wi-Fi so we can stream something on the screen back here? Quickly.”
Brenda’s bemused expression didn’t distract Keisha as she flipped on the TV that stretched between them. Turning to channel 51, a live, breaking news story was already in progress. Keisha turned up the volume.
“You heard it here first, on Celebrity-Buzz TV,” the show’s host said. “Things are really heating up over on Model Muse and not on-screen with the contestants. It appears the real show is behind the scenes.”
“Here we go.” Brenda shifted her position to see the screen a little better.
“By now, you’ve all seen this viral photo of Tyreeq Levern Jackson, known as Miss Thing….”
“Tyreeq?” Brenda and Joe shrieked in unison. The screen then swiped to a blurred photo of an unidentified man’s pubic region and his hand flipping the bird.
“We’ve confirmed with Pablo Michaels, the show’s new executive producer, and our very own fashion correspondent, that the he/she judge was a victim of an elaborate hack.”
“At least he’s doing his job,” Joe muttered to Keisha.
“Shhh.”
“We’ve also obtained shocking new images of Sasha Berenson, the self-proclaimed original Supermodel of the world, revealing she’s evolved into this.” The screen swiped to an unflattering paparazzi photo of Sasha in Silvercup’s catering area. “The world’s first Cat-lady Supermodel.”
Glancing down at her iPhone, now buzzing on vibrate, Keisha squirmed in her seat looking very uncomfortable.
“Bribery allegations have also been brought forward involving Andy Levenkron, Keisha Kash’s very own celebrity business manager. He’s being accused of paying off a former Model Muse contestant, who he allegedly had sex with.”
“He’s so, fucking, fired,” Keisha uttered with her jaw clenched.
“Aw, Baby! Things aren’t lookin’ so good for you,” Brenda giggled. She began wheezing and coughing.
“Shhhh,” Keisha snapped.
Brenda glared at her daughter.
“…and speaking of Keisha Kash, her very own mother has been sprung from the clinker. An anonymous tip allowed detectives to recover the infamous 8.8 million-dollar Asscher cut diamond engagement ring, given to the late, great Elizabeth Taylor by Richard Burton. It had sold at auction weighing more than 33 carats and investigators had charged Ms. Paris of stealing the rare gem, years ago. With the ring being considered ‘too hot to move,’ police now have the actual perpetrator in custody, as evidence found at the scene of the crime also confirms the young man’s extremely rare blood type of AB-. The California DA’s office will be holding a press conference, later today. However, sources are telling us Ms. Paris is thrilled to be back and involved in her daughter’s life again.”
“Sources, Mama?”
“Shhh! I don’t wanna miss anything….”
“Now, probably the most surprising news to come out of Keisha’s Crashing Model Drama mill, TMZ.com is reporting they plan on releasing a verified video that alludes to a potential sexual harassment lawsuit between crew members, AND it’s rumored that Ms. Kash allegedly squashed the incident to save her show. Harvey Levin has implied our very own Pablo Michaels is the victim here. A lot more tonight at…”
“Ooooooooo, Baby. See? God don’t like ugly.” Brenda snapped her fingers and pointed at the screen. “Payback’s a bitch…bitch.”
Keisha flipped off the TV in a huff and glared back at her mother.
“Things are about to change around here,” Brenda said. “Mama’s back calling the shots,” she chirped with delight.
Joe Vong barely moved, but his eyes betrayed him. There was nothing worse than a mother scorned.
Feeling like a baller in a music video, Brenda leaned back in the plush leather seat and took in the speechless Supermodel. She smiled. “Ava DuVernay’s people have already reached out. She’s interested in writing a biopic about my life story. Looks like Brenda Paris is taking over Tinsel Town!”
“Mama, I should warn—”
“Ohmigod! Do you think that Viola Davis will wanna play me in the film? I love me some Annalise Keating.”
Keisha simply looked down at her iPhone in silence. She turned the device towards Joe, who was also engaged with his own phone.
“What is it?” Brenda asked.
“A text from Broyce Miller, our executive in charge of production.”
“And? What’s it say?”
Keisha held up her phone to her mother’s face.
“Oh baby, I can’t see that close, further back.”
Keisha slowly moved her device a decent distance away, in order for Brenda to read the message. The group text chain had been addressed to three people: Keisha, Joe and Pablo.
Broyce TEXT: Drop what you’re doing. My office in an hour!
“How ‘bout I drop you off, real quick, before I head over to The Plaza Hotel. I’ll send your car right back, don’t worry.” Brenda’s day was about to get better.
“The Plaza?” Keisha quipped. “Who’s paying for that?”
“My new son, Pablo, hooked his mother up!”
“Your who?”
“Don’t be jealous, Baby. Pablo’s not replacing you. You’re just demoted.”
Brenda could see the lace-front, along the edge of Keisha’s wig, lift up as the Supermodel clenched her jaw. Her daughter was fuming now, but didn’t dare challenge her.
“He got me a full suite overlooking Central Park, on the house. Apparently, he and the manager are close. The Plaza loved the publicity they got from being on a new hit TV show.”
“That I host, Mama.”
“I know,” Brenda snapped. “But look how you’ve treated me. Pablo’s got the right idea.”
“Pablo’s a liar.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He’s proven himself. As for you?” Brenda cackled. “Looks like truth hurts.”