Chapter Five
Lyric
“Mom, my teacher said you haven’t paid my tuition yet, so I can’t go on the field trip tomorrow,” Leslie, my 12-year-old daughter, said after joining me in the kitchen.
With my eyes wide, I continued scanning the contents of the refrigerator as an attempt to conceal my facial expression from my child. “I was thinking about doing some fish and shrimp tacos for dinner. What do you think, baby?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Mom, did you hear what I said?” Leslie took a seat atop the barstool resting in front of the counter. “My teacher said you haven’t paid my tu—”
“I heard you.” I closed the sub-zero stainless steel refrigerator doors, then turned to look at my daughter. “Some things came up, baby, and Mommy had to push some bills around. I promise I’ll pay it next week.”
“Okay.” Leslie sighed.
“Where is the field trip going to be?” I knew my daughter was disappointed. Leslie was a good kid who barely asked for anything. I felt like shit to not be able to send her on this trip.
“We were going to the California Science Center.” Leslie was a scientist in the making. She loved everything about chemistry, biology, and formulas. This meant she was heartbroken to not be going to the one place she had her heart set on all year. “It’s okay. Maybe you and Dad can take me this summer.” With a shrug, Leslie turned to leave the kitchen.
“Hold up, baby. Grab the checkbook out of my purse.”
“Thank you, Mommy. You’re the best!” Leslie flew to retrieve the checkbook and was back in no time. I really couldn’t afford the $12,000 for school tuition right at this moment, but it didn’t stop me from writing the check like it was nothing. By the time they cash this, I should have money in the bank. Writing a bad check was a daring move that could’ve landed my ass in jail, but dammit, my baby deserved to see the fucking science center.
“Go put that in your book bag, then finish that homework.” With a smile, I watched my daughter skip happily away. It felt good to be able to save the day, but I also felt terrible for committing fraud. “The storm won’t last forever,” I mumbled before returning to the task of making dinner.
“Hello,” I said after grabbing the phone from its wall-mounted cradle in the large chef’s kitchen with bronze and brown backsplash and matching butcher block countertops.
“Care to comment on your husband’s drug habit, Lyric?” a voice heckled on the other end.
“Don’t call my house again.” Flustered, I ended the call.
“Who was that, bae?” Damien, my husband of eleven years, called from the dining room. He was sitting there reading a script his agent sent by courier this morning.
“Nobody,” I lied while holding back tears.
“Well, why are you crying?” Damien entered the kitchen wearing nothing except a pair of Hanes pajama bottoms and a smile. His golden dreadlocks hung over his shoulders, and his hazel eyes sparkled in the light.
“Those tabloid people keep calling the fucking house, and it’s pissing me off.” I had already changed our number five times. It was supposed to be unlisted, but somehow those fuckers just kept on calling. “I’m tired of this, Damien,” I confessed.
“I know, baby. I promise it will get better soon.” Damien pulled me into his embrace and held me, allowing my tears to wet his chest.
“When, Damien?” I shouted. My ass was furious. “The fucking bills are past due. The bank is trying to take our house. Hell, we can barely afford food. So tell me when it’s going to get better.”
“Screaming isn’t going to make the situation better.” Damien tried to remain calm. He understood that I was hurting and it was all because of him, but I guessed he didn’t want the kids to be alarmed. “We’ll figure this out.”
“I’m tired, Damien. I don’t have anything left.” I was done with being the resolution expert for everybody in my damn life. The pressure was unreal. Sometimes I just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up, but I knew my children depended on me. “I didn’t create this mess. You did. So you fix it.” Pulling back, I wiped my eyes and walked away.
As Damien watched silently, I knew he wished he could go back to when life was simple, when we were just two poor kids growing up in Boston. Money and fame had complicated things to no end. Life had taken a turn for the worse. Damien recognized that I was at my breaking point, praying for a breakthrough before it was too late.
Slipping into the guest bathroom on the main floor, I flopped down on the toilet and cried hysterically. I turned on the water to mask my sobbing. Apparently, it didn’t work, because within ten minutes, there was a knock on the door.
“Mom, are you all right in there?” Jonah, my 8-year-old son, asked.
“I’m fine, baby. I burned my hand, that’s all,” I lied.
“Want me to get you some ice?” Jonah called out.
“No, I’ll be all right, baby. Just give me a minute, okay?”
“Okay. I love you. I hope you feel better.” Jonah was a sweetheart by nature.
“I love you too,” I said while suppressing the sound of my cries. However, now the tears flowed quicker than ever. I loved my children with everything I had, but sometimes I wanted to give up. My shoulders had been carrying a heavy load for quite some time, and I was beginning to feel defeated. “Where did we go wrong?” I asked the question aloud, although I already knew the answer.
Eight years ago, Damien and I were on cloud nine. His first sitcom had just been picked up for national syndication. He had also landed a movie role with some of Hollywood’s vets. From there, his career took off. Before either of us knew it, we were chartering private jets around the world. Our money flow appeared to be never-ending, and struggling was a thing of the past, until addiction showed up and showed out.
Four years into living the good life, Damien felt the pressure to experiment with some Hollywood friends and cocaine. Soon enough, he was addicted. At first, I paid his habit no mind. Hell, I was too busy enjoying my newfound fame and fortune to pay attention. Being young and naive, I had even dabbled in it a few times with him. Thank God I didn’t form an addiction, but the same could not be said for Damien. Initially, I thought my husband was only going through a phase. However, I soon learned otherwise.
After a few run-ins with police and several tantrums on movie sets, Damien found his way into the unemployment line. No one wanted to do business with him. As a result, our bank accounts took a nosedive. Nonetheless, in spite of his downfalls and shortcomings, I remained by his side. I started a celebrity styling business to keep funds coming in. With my connections in the industry, the company took off and was doing numbers. Things were looking up for my family until one of Damien’s last bouts with drugs.
As a result, I ended up spending a great deal of money on Damien’s treatment as well as bribing the media to keep it hush-hush. I realized it was a gamble when I invested in his sobriety. Even so, it was a risk I was willing to take to save my husband. Unfortunately, the gamble didn’t pay off. Damien couldn’t even stay clean for six months. For that reason, all of our accounts were in the red. My company was practically bankrupt. Eventually, everyone would know my business—family, friends, and the world. I wasn’t ready to face the music and prayed like hell I didn’t have to.
Again, someone was pounding on the door. “Jonah, Mommy is fine.” I turned the water off and stood.
“It’s me, Lyric,” Damien sighed. I wanted to tell him to get lost, but I couldn’t. Damien was the love of my life. He was my everything. I couldn’t turn my back on him no matter how badly I wanted to.
“I have this new script, Lyric. We’re going to get back on top.” Damien’s voice seeped through the space at the bottom of the bathroom door.
“I hope so, Damien.” Tissue in hand, I emerged from my sanctuary. “I really hope so.”
Stepping into the hall, I took a quick look around the urban contemporary mansion with gold posts and marble floors. In a matter of sixty days, my beautiful home was going to become property of the bank. I hadn’t paid the mortgage in almost a year. It wasn’t due to neglect. I simply couldn’t afford it. Our house payment was a whopping thirty grand a month. Add that to the children’s private school tuition, car notes, other bills, groceries, as well as my and Damien’s parents’ mortgages, I was almost $6 million in debt. The sum once sounded like pennies to us young millionaires. Now a bitch was practically counting pennies to keep the lights on and food in the fridge.
“Just have faith in me,” Damien pleaded. “I know I’ll land this one.”
“I have faith, Damien,” I lied with a straight face, only saying what he wanted to hear because that was who I was. What I wanted to tell him was that my faith in him died the last time he snorted a line of cocaine.
On the other hand, I did have faith in myself. The last few years had been rough, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve. This hood chick from Boston still knew how to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. Where I came from, only the fittest survived. Dammit, I was a survivor—always had been, always would be.