17. Ginger Maree
“Delusional?”
I said it out loud to Trinity, who was sitting on the other end of the line all quiet like she ain’t just watched the same thing I watched.
“I know this bitch did not just call me fucking delusional.”
I had sent her the snippet from The Morning Hour radio show not even five minutes ago. The one where Ozy was sitting up there with that fat bitch, Noree, talking about me like I was the one who had done something wrong.
I couldn’t believe my ears. Ozy didn’t even like doing interviews, so Derez must’ve forced him to.
Trinity sighed. “Okay, friend. I’m about to play devil’s advocate. I know you hate when I do that, but did that girl really just attack you, or did you do something to provoke her? You know how reckless your mouth can get.”
I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “I already told you, I did nothing wrong, and she jumped on me.”
“And Ozy really just let her do that?”
“You know what? I’m good on this conversation.”
“Ginger, I’m just saying. Every time you tell me what happened, you skip over what you said or did.”
“So, that means she gets to put her hands on me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“No, I’m saying you know how you get when you’re mad. You say anything that comes to your mind, and then when somebody reacts, you act confused.”
“I don’t act confused. That bitch attacked me.”
“After you said what?”
I pressed my lips together.
It didn’t matter what I said. Words were words. I didn’t put my hands on her first. Besides, if the truth hurt her feelings that badly, that wasn’t my fault. Noree had lied.
She moved into his house under false pretenses and pretended like she was only there to help with his nephew.
But somehow, I was the problem.
“I gotta go,” I said.
“Gin.”
“I said I gotta go.”
I ended the call before Trinity could say anything else and tossed my phone onto the couch. I got up and started pacing back and forth across the living room.
The television was still playing the interview, but I had the volume turned down. Even without hearing them, seeing Ozy and Noree sitting beside each other pissed me off.
She was wearing this innocent look on her face like she hadn’t been the cause of all this shit. Every few seconds, Ozy would glance over at her, and it was the way he looked at her that made my stomach turn.
He never looked at me like that.
Either way, he had embarrassed me. He allowed them to paint me out to be some obsessed, delusional ex-girlfriend who couldn’t accept that our relationship was over.
Fuck that.
“Fuck it. I’m calling him,” I mumbled to myself.
I scooped my phone back up from the couch and dialed Ozy’s number. It rang until his voicemail picked up.
I hung up and called back.
He didn’t answer that time either.
By the third call, I was prepared to keep calling until he finally picked up. Before it could ring a second time, the line connected.
“What?” Ozy yelled into the phone.
“Fuck you and that big bitch!”
Ozy laughed. “You done?” he asked.
His calmness made me even angrier.
“No, as a matter of fact, I’m not done! How could you go on the radio and talk about me like that? After everything we’ve been through? After everything I did for you?”
“You went to the blogs first. The fuck is you talkin’ ’bout? You thought I was gon’ let you drag my name when you already know all the shit I go through with muthafuckas tryna tear me down?” He paused. “Man, watch out.”
“You let her call me delusional, though, Ozy!”
“Because you are.”
My mouth dropped.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Wow… I can’t believe you’re acting like this. Like… did you ever really love me?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Everything went quiet for a moment.
I stood in the middle of my living room with the phone pressed against my ear, waiting for him to answer. I could hear people talking in the background on his end, but Ozy didn’t say anything.
That silence hurt more than anything he could have said.
“Ozy?”
“Aye, I’m busy,” he finally said. “And don’t call my shit no more. We done.”
The call disconnected.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen.
He had hung up on me.
I immediately called him back, but the call went straight to voicemail. I tried again and got the same thing.
He had blocked me.
I stood there staring at my phone, trying to process the fact that he had really cut me off. After all the time we had spent together, all the things I had done for him, and everything I had put up with, he had blocked my number over Noree.
That bitch had known him for five minutes, and suddenly, she was more important than me?
I opened Instagram and went back to The Morning Hour’s page. The clip from the interview already had over a million views.
The comments were coming in faster than I could read them.
@shantheman: I met her at a meet-and-greet last year. She rolled her eyes when I asked for a picture.
@Reemabeema: My cousin worked with her glam team. She said Ginger talks to everybody like they’re beneath her.
@carameltaje: Noree is prettier and curvier anyway. Ozy upgraded.
@janeebre: Her music ain’t even all that. She had one good song and started acting like Beyoncé.
My hand tightened around my phone.
More comments loaded underneath the post, and they were all saying the same thing.
I clicked on another clip from the interview. Noree had a slight smile on her face while Ozy spoke. She tried to pretend she was uncomfortable with the conversation, but I saw through her.
She was enjoying every second of it.
The attention.
The sympathy.
The fact that Ozy was sitting beside her instead of me.
I exited Instagram and called Derez.
He answered on the third ring.
“What’s up, Gin?”
“You really planned an interview with Ozy and Noree when I’m also one of your artists? How the fuck does that make sense?”
Derez sighed. “Ginger.”
“No, don’t ‘Ginger’ me. You planned an entire smear campaign against me and didn’t even have enough respect to say anything beforehand.”
“It wasn’t a smear campaign.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was just an interview.”
“About me!” I yelled because clearly he wasn’t getting it.
“You were brought up. They answered the questions.”
“And you allowed it.”
“I don’t control what grown people say.”
“You control the interviews they do. You knew they were going on that show, and you knew what they were going to talk about.”
“Look, Gin, I’m not about to argue with you.”
“Of course not, because you know you’re wrong.”
“No. I’m not arguing with you because I called my lawyer this morning, and the paperwork has already been sent over.”
I stopped pacing.
“What paperwork?”
There was a short pause before Derez answered.
“This isn’t looking good, Ginger. I appreciate you and everything we accomplished together, but I’m cutting ties with you.”
My mouth dropped.
“What?”
“Make sure you check your email and have your lawyer go over the necessary paperwork and documentation. Effective immediately, I will no longer be your manager.”
“Excuse me? You’re dropping me? Since when, and for what?”
“That attitude of yours. The way you treat people. Your staff, fans, people at venues, anybody you think can’t do anything for you. Then there’s all the shit you do behind closed doors. It’s starting to come to light. Seems like everybody has a story about you all of a sudden.”
“So, you believe strangers on the internet over your own artist?”
“It ain’t just strangers on the internet. I’ve witnessed some of it myself.”
“If you had a problem with me, you should’ve said something then.”
“I did. Plenty of times. You never listen.”
I clenched my jaw.
“And then the shit with Ozy,” he continued. “You didn’t consult with me before running to the blogs and trying to smear his name. You didn’t ask how it could affect your career or his. You just did whatever the hell you wanted to do.”
“I told the truth.”
“You told your version of the truth. Ozy had a right to say his side.”
I laughed, but there was nothing funny.
“You know what? Fuck you, fuck him, and fuck Noree!”
“Okay. Well, it was nice knowing you.”
Derez ended the call.
I stared at my phone in disbelief before screaming and throwing it as hard as I could. It hit the wall, shattered, and dropped to the floor in several pieces.
“What happened?”
I turned toward the hallway.
Alton Denver walked into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. His chest was bare, and his hair was still messy from sleep. He looked from me to the shattered phone lying on the floor.
I forced a smile.
“Nothing, baby. Go back and lie down. The chef will prepare us a late breakfast.”
Alton frowned. “You sure everything good?”
“Yes, everything is fine.”
His eyes went back to the pieces of my phone.
“That don’t look fine.”
I walked over to him and placed my hands against his chest.
“It’s just a phone. I can buy another one.”
He studied my face for a few seconds before I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll be back in there in a minute,” I promised.
“All right.”
Alton slid one arm around my waist, pulled me against him, and squeezed my ass before letting me go.
He then kissed my cheek, and I winced a little. My whole face was still hurting, but the swelling had gone down.
“My bad, baby. You feeling better today?” He turned my head to the side gently. “Your face is going down.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Ozy wanted to sit beside Noree and make me look stupid in front of the entire world?
Fine. He could have her.
I had met Alton a few weeks ago on the set of a luxury cologne commercial Derez had booked for me long before he decided to fire me.
Baby, Alton was a tall, chiseled, chocolate Greek god of a man. Waves, tattoos, hazel eyes, nice lips, big feet, and a thuggish, ruggish demeanor. And did I mention he was carrying?
We flirted a little and exchanged numbers after filming, but nothing happened between us until recently.
Alton was younger and finer. And unlike Ozy, he didn’t have a secret baby mama, a year-old child nobody knew about, or a nephew he expected me to help raise.
I had spent all that time smiling in King’s face and pretending I wanted to be some type of mother figure to him when, truthfully, I didn’t.
But King was part of the package that came with Ozy, so I played the role because I loved him.
A whole lot of good that did me.
Let Ozy play house with Noree, that baby, and King while I moved on with somebody better. Once the blogs found out about me and Alton, nobody would care about their little interview anymore.
I glanced at the shattered phone one more time before stepping over it.
Ozy thought I was delusional now?
Okay.
I was going to show him better than I could tell him.