Maxine looked out her window at the neighborhood from her second floor, blowing halos of smoke from those dark lips and lactating while the baby lay screaming in the crib. The perfect life of birthing a child and marrying Sammy hadn’t come together after all. Never had she figured he’d lay dead by her hands for wanting to leave. Sure did wish the child would cease all that hollering. She finished out the last of her smoke and pushed back from the window opening. Darn near tripped over Sammy, blood still warm, when she lifted the baby to feed it.
Copyright 2014 Totsymae
Myrna’s heels were worn down from walking in her own kitchen, feeding her husband who’d grown old and solid in weight. Day in and day out, she whipped up meals according to his taste buds but she often had a mind to poison him. While he sat and seemed helpless enough sitting on two bone-rotted hips, he talked too much. Sometimes, he’d ring a bell to be served a glass of water or holler out some command while she was watching her soap operas. Myrna simply loathed the idea of a broken down man issuing commands to her. If she could just kill him and get away with it, she would’ve taken them both out of misery.
“Shut up, you old buzzard!” Myrna had jumped off her warm seat on the couch, missing a cliffhanger to fetch Paul’s spoon off the floor he’d dropped. “I’ll burn up this house and leave you here if you don’t stop messing with me.” Her lips were tight and hearing her deepened voice, Paul’s eyes bucked.
He looked to be marinating a thought. “No, you won’t, you ole crusty woman.” He then worked up a wad of spit and blinded Myrna’s right eye.
“Uggghhh!” Myrna balled her fists and threw Paul an uppercut, sending his bottom gums bumping with the top, as his teeth were soaking in a glass in the kitchen window.
She then stared at the sagging old man Paul had turned into. Couldn’t believe she’d fallen in love with him twenty years ago. Had she envisioned the scene she was in with him now, she’d have stayed single and whorish. And just that quickly, she began missing those Friday nights at Foxy’s Club, eating smoked ribs and collards in a haze of tobacco-stained teeth men who only desired a soft round bottom against their palms at the end of the night with no strings. What was in her mind that made her give away that kind of freedom? What lines had this drooping buzzard laid on her ears all those years ago to ultimately bring her life to this?
Hello, darlings. Beatrice is back and looking as fine as I am fabulous. I don’t have to tell you that, however. Make note people, I shall be the new trophy at George Clooney’s side in due time. Don’t hate or do a double-take because it’s high time he ceased locking lips with stick figures, okay? In the meantime, I’m having an affair with life and down at Kim Soo’s getting a pedicure and bikini wax. Please, don’t go green-eyed on me, though you may want to write a letter to your bathing suit manufacturer in China and blame them for you not looking as hot as me, okay? DEFECT!
I want to send a special shout of thanks to all of those sponsors who dropped Paula Deen. You shall be blessed with an autographed copy of me in a two-piece. Do keep it well hidden from the little wifeys who will, no doubt, be fetching a tall glass of Hatorade as soon as they lay eyes on all this fabulousness.
What is the Hollywood scoop today? Me! I am too cute and luscious for the likes of Hollywood today. I’m on my way to Paris to meet my nouveau beau, Jacques Etienne Savoire. I shall ponder if I’ll share the details of our rendezvous. Oui, oui mon ami. What happens in Paris may very well stay in Paris. You feel me? Besides, there’s no telling how this encounter may turn out. I met him on the Internet and his name may be Bob Sandwichead. Me being the meat, okay? But who in their right or wrong mind passes up a private jet to the city of love? I may at least send you a rear view photo of our hands in each other’s back pockets. If he’s not as cute as moi, you will definitely get a shot from the rear, okay?
Glory to the friendly skies and that big fine plane where I shall enjoy bonbons. George will have to wait until I return to see if I still have even a vague interest in pursuing him. After this ride Georgie, The Beatrice may not be into men without their own 747.
Beatrice Got Back
Rosie, O’Donnell that is, is like The Terminator, people. She won’t quit and she’s back on the air with a new talk show, co-hosting with NeNe, from The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I hope she doesn’t screw it up this time. Not that I’m crazy about you Rosie but you’re okay in a way like dessert. You’re good until I can no longer snap my pants together. In other words, you can be too much sometimes but I’m tuning in to see who you’re ranting on.
Today, she and NeNe were hosting Anderson Cooper’s show since he’s in the middle east, and made the big announcement. I’m not one to be in people’s business, no more than my job as a National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent (NHGC) allows me to be but I’m a tad curious about what happened with Oprah and Rosie. I’ve gotten word on the street but I want to hear it from one of the horses mouths. Know what I mean? We won’t harp on that sour note, however.
I do want you to boycott that reality show with Bobbie Christina and her aunt. I’m so off-put with it, I won’t even put a link here. I can’t recall the name of it exactly. Something about being on their own. A few weeks ago, I caught snatches of it and that aunt…Whitney’s manager and sister-in-law, is a slithering snake. Do you realize they were filming for that show three months after Whitney was laid to rest? And she, the aunt, has the audacity to say Bobbie Christina is still grieving and she’s concerned. Oh, really?
Now, you know Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber broke up, right? As if we were really expecting to see her walking with a train down the aisle. I mean, really. Very few relationships last in Hollywood, or on Main Street, for that matter. But it is official that Rihanna and Chris Brown are back together. They are in love, people. You can’t fight love, is all I’ll say on that but we’ll see.
And people, did you see Hammer get his groove on at 50 ontstage? He’s been through a financial war zone and is still too legit to quit.
That’s a wrap, people. I’m online shopping for my dress to wear to Jennifer Aniston’s wedding. I do believe that marriage will last and am ever so happy for her. I don’t have a wedding date set for the Bradgelinas. They keep toying with the media about marriage but as it stands to date, they’re still shacking up.
Beatrice from Apt 7B
In this life, you must be about the business of performing the work you were called upon to do. To be involved in anything else is time wasted. While I serve as your National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent, well, until my International License is approved, I’m also the Relationship Police. Since that says it all, I want to head right into my subjects for the day, people.
First of all, I’m truly sorry The Voice, which was Whitney Houston, has left us. I rooted for her comeback, because really, why would I not? Why would I have wanted to see her remain on a downward spiral and poke fun or play self-righteous? All of us have our demons. We all fall down but not as publicly, outside of my little mishap yesterday. Though, anyway…
I want to address you today, Little Bobbi Christina. I know you don’t know me but I’m very well aware of you. And your mother’s manager, who was surely “managing” alright. She’s the one who took the photo of your lovely mother as she lay for her last viewing. It was during the private viewing that this photo op took place, which then went on to the gossip rags. I know she’s family but she’s lowdown and dirty for what she did. Though. the bigger matter is this little relationship you’re carrying on, Little Bobbi.
You’re still a babe and need to hop a plane to Jersey to be with your grandmother. Sweetie, you don’t need to be down here in Georgia living and engaged to that young man. He’s been living as your brother and it should remain as such. I caught the interview you had with Oprah. I’m truly at peace that you’re at peace with your mother passing. That’s healthy because I know initially, it wasn’t. But Baby, what isn’t healthy is you parading all over town, hugging and sporting this 2-pound diamond. I want you to know, I’m carrying a good stock of switches should I happen upon you at some point. Both you and the boy will feel the wrath of the Lord should I be fortunate in meeting your acquaintance. As a matter of fact, I’ve been hanging out at Lenox Square Mall hoping we’d bump into one another. Enough said, Baby Girl. (Now braiding the switches)
And Ariana, as for the Jolies or Brads getting engaged? Well honey, all I can say is that’s more attention for the Leg Woman.
Angelina, well Sweetie, I’ve never been particularly crazy about you or your acting abilities but do your thing, if that’s what you feel is your gift to the world. Whatever. I’m just not into female action heroes, that’s all. Brad, I do want you to clean up for this wedding. Don’t let Angelina have you waiting for her at the end of the wedding aisle barefoot and wearing cutoff jeans, with your beard braided up and beads dangling from it. I can see this so clearly and I so wish I didn’t. Honey, your mother raised you better than that. I know it’s challenging to be weird in Hollywood but be yourself and smell good at least. You don’t look like you smell too well, Baby. Other than that, I’m most appreciative of what you do. Oh, and should these nuptials actually take place, check your woman for those side splits to ensure we’re not flashed with another leg. As my good friend Totsy would say, “That’s ridamndiculous.”