Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
Crystal kept calling, but I continued to ignore her. Right now my focus was on this room, packed tight with pretty shopping bags from boutiques from all over the city.
I looked at the clock and it said it was just past ten in the morning.
I was nowhere near getting up, but a horrible nightmare nearly made me jump out of my skin.
I was at LAX waiting for my Louis Vuitton overnight bag to come around the carousel, when a young girl came up to me and tugged on my hand.
“I’m lost,” she said. “Can you help me find my mother?”
Now, I don’t usually do children. Don’t really like them too tough. But I took her little hand and started walking around the airport in search of her mother.
But as I was walking, I felt like I had to shit. I told her that we needed to stop at the bathroom. We went in and I placed her by the sink, telling her to stay right there while I went into the stall to do my business.
Once inside, I squeezed out the condoms filled with drugs. No shit at all, just the drug-filled condoms. So many of them came out of me that I could no longer see the bottom of the toilet bowl, or the water.
As I gathered the condoms out of the toilet and piled them into my purse, I yelled out to the girl that I was finished and would be right out.
When I finally opened the stall door, the little girl was still standing there, but she had a snarling German shepherd at her side and a DEA badge hanging from a chain around her neck!
What a nightmare, I thought as I turned over and onto my side.
It won’t happen that way, I told myself as I tried in my mind to put together an outfit for dinner that night.
I had to tell them tonight if I was going to do it. And I guess I either had to do it or leave town, because I didn’t have a dime left of the good-faith money Abimbola had given me.
I told myself that federal time is much easier to do. The cells are cleaner; you get more yard time than state criminals. And if I got caught it’d be my first offense, so how many years could I really get?
I was starting not to feel so bad about what I was going to do, and then I thought, What will become of my wardrobe? My shoes, boots, and coats? Can I bring them to jail, or would I have to put them in storage while I was locked up?
“Stop it, Chevy,” I hissed to myself. “You don’t have to worry about those things, because you’re not going to get caught!”
—
My eyes began to grow heavy with sleep again, and just when I felt myself slipping back into dreamland, Noah clicked his television on and I was bombarded with the heavy breathing and groaning sounds of male-on-male sex!
My eyelids flew open.
The fucking I could handle—it’s that goddamn background music that was going to drive me crazy!
I got up and began banging on the wall that separated our rooms and screamed, “Noah, Noah! Not all of us are sex addicts and need to hear that shit fifteen hours out of the day!”
The volume on the television went up a notch.
“Get some help!” I screamed in rebuttal before I leaped back into bed and pulled the pillow over my face.