Price of Fame

by Amaleka McCall

Genres: African American Mystery & Detective; African American Urban

Synopsis

Brice Simpson is a newly promoted heroic detective with a secret past. He's riding the waves of fame, but he still feels he has something to prove, so Detective Simpson picks up a cold case on the murder of a fourteen-year-old girl. He's convinced the case will bring him redemption for his past indiscretions, but he soon finds out that the details surrounding the girl's murder may hit closer to home than he expects. When his younger sister goes missing, Brice's life is thrown into a tailspin that may cost him everything he has worked for.

Casey Pete is a famous porn queen. Dominique Branch is a newly married preacher's wife with a shameful secret. They were the best of friends until they let jealousy, lies, drugs, and Jordan Bleu take over their lives. When Casey attempts suicide, Dominique is reunited with the past she wishes she could erase. Thrust back together by fate, Casey, Dominique, and Jordan are forced to confront each other and the demons from their past—one of which is murder.

When this unlikely trio crosses paths with Detective Simpson, they turn out to be the only people that might be able to help him solve the haunting cold case and find his missing sister. Will they be able to put the pieces of their lives back together in enough time, or will they all finally realize the steep price of fame?

Release date: October 1, 2010

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 208

Sample

The first time Casey Pete saw a penis she was five years old.

“How come I don’t have a worm in my panties?” Casey asked as she stared into her baby brother’s diaper.

Casey remembered the warm smile that had spread across her mother’s loving face, but couldn’t remember her answer. It had been a long time since Casey had seen her mother. She thought about her almost daily now.

Today was much different than the first time she had encountered the genitalia of the opposite sex.

“Ouch! Get up!” Casey screamed, squirming her body and wiping the stranger’s sweat off of her chest and face. Disgusted, but also the star of the show, she didn’t hesitate to display her feelings.

“Cut!” the director yelled, looking toward Jordan for an explanation. Jordan threw his hands up in surrender, clenching his jaw. The budget for the film had run over by almost $40,000. Mikey, a world-renowned director in the industry, was not a happy camper.

Jordan scrambled out of the mesh director’s chair he had taken up residence in since filming had started. He was too late. Casey had jumped up and was speeding off the set. Shielding her eyes from the bright lights dangling from the ceiling and cranes, she scowled and hurried down the long warehouse hallway.

“I need a fuckin’ break!” Casey screamed, her voice cracking. She winced as the speed of her movement caused the chafe that had developed between her legs to make her feel like someone had dragged her bare-naked ass across a concrete highway.

“Jordan, I’m going to my trailer for a second,” Casey called out, briskly walking as she wrapped a chenille bathrobe around her body. Murmurs passed among the throngs of men who stood in line, dicks in hand, looking like starving refugees. Casey was what they hungered for; she was their relief package.

Casey rushed by, never looking up. She had seen a lifetime’s worth of penises–short, long, wide, skinny, circumcised and uncircumcised. Casey felt shame flash in her chest like a newly lit campfire, with small embers escaping to burn her cheeks red.

Growing up, she had learned the hard way that being touched by a boy was like being bitten by a poisonous snake. Now, at twenty-six years old, she seemed to have become immune to the venom. Where she came from she was surely considered an apostate–a person unworthy of going to heaven or even hell, just unworthy.

Flinging open the door to her dressing room trailer, Casey rushed over to her vanity table searching desperately for her medicine. When none was located, she upturned her purse until all of the contents emptied out onto the floor. Among the mess lay a picture of Casey and her best friend, Diamond. Casey slowly lifted the picture to eye level and a sharp pain gripped her chest. She hadn’t seen or heard from Diamond in over a year. Casey had turned her back on Diamond, the only person, aside from her mother, who had ever really loved her. Casey had walked over her friend like a piece of trash on the street. Regret and grief caused her to toss the picture back onto the floor.

“Denver Peaks! Denver Peaks! Denver Peaks!” Hands trembling, Casey listened as the crowd outside started chanting her professional name. She closed her eyes tight. The muffled chants sent chills down her spine. “Fuck!” she screamed, banging her fists on the wobbly little vanity until one of her knuckles started to bleed.

Casey put her head down and rocked back and forth. The chants grew louder. Casey knew that the pussy-hungry crowd anxiously awaited her return. This was going to be her big break; at least that’s what Jordan Bleu–her manager/ boyfriend–had told her two weeks before. The rumble of the eager fans’screams started to shake the shabby plywood walls of Casey’s trailer, rattling the small bottles of polish that were thrown haphazardly atop the chipped wood table.

Casey picked up her favorite fire red lipstick, wound it all the way to the top and rubbed it against her thin lips. The lipstick’s matte finish saturated the skin around her entire mouth and chin. She felt like a sad clown even though a beautiful girl gazed back at her in the mirror. Tears welled up under her red-rimmed eyes. Casey snorted back the mucus that threatened to escape her nose.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Casey jumped at the loud knocks on the door. She looked in the mirror one more time. Tears streamed down her face like rapid waterfalls. Like a mirage in the desert, Casey spotted the bottle of Patrón that Jordan had bought her this morning. She crawled on hands and knees, popped open the top and washed her pain away. Jordan was good at supplying her with what she needed to “stay in the game,” as he would put it.

“Casey! What the fuck are you doing in there? Time is money!” Jordan called out from the other side of the door, jiggling the doorknob back and forth. Casey could tell by his tone that he was pissed–his voice always shook a little when he got angry.

She could imagine what he would do if he could get to her right now. Grab her cheeks? Pull her hair? Grab her around the throat? Maybe all, if Jordan felt it would ensure he got his cut. Casey knew she had made Jordan, but solely took the blame herself for her own self-destruction.

“I’m coming!” Casey yelled back, trying to keep the dog at bay. “Fucking nuisance,” she mumbled. Casey always grew a big fat set of balls when she was alone out of Jordan’s earshot.

Casey spotted the small tan pill bottle lying among the mess on the floor. She surveyed its contents, closed her eyes and dumped about fifty tiny blue Vicodin into her mouth. She gagged as some of the pills tumbled awkwardly down her throat. Casey knew the effects the pills had on her. She’d been taking them so often now to dull the aching pain she felt each time she performed. Maybe an entire bottle would do the trick this time. “Diamond, you are a girl’s best friend. I am so sorry I betrayed you,” Casey uttered aloud, as if her words would somehow reach Diamond’s ears. Casey didn’t know if Diamond was dead or alive, but based on her last encounter with Diamond, she knew her friend would have preferred the former rather than the latter.

“Casey! I’m not joking, open the fucking door!” Jordan barked, his voice a near shriek.

Moving her blond hair extensions aside, Casey looked at her face once more. She smiled halfheartedly. “Paris Hilton, huh?” Casey mumbled, repeating what a guy had called her the night before. Lots of people told her she looked like Paris Hilton. Looking at herself again, Casey ran the back of her hand across her wet mouth. The lipstick had run down her chin and cheeks to her neck. She looked like Dracula, or at least someone capable of sucking the life out of another. Her black mascara streaked from the corners of her eyes, mixing with the tears and foundation, making a cakey mess of her usually flawless face. Her crystal blue eyes looked a cold shade of grey, clouded with sadness.

“If you’re mad about earlier, I apologize,” Jordan said, putting his face up against the door, trying to cajole his way in. Casey saw through the bullshit. Casey felt her breathing becoming labored and her muscles begin to relax. That’s what she craved–relaxation, ease.

“Mmmmm,” Casey moaned. The pills were taking effect. She attempted to lift her hand to her head, but couldn’t feel her hand. Her entire body was numb. Yes, that was even better. Casey’s head rocked back and forth as her body fought to stay conscious. Her breathing became labored and her lungs painfully contracted. Her heart thumped wildly. Casey could hear her mother’s voice, sweet and low in her ears, chanting parables from their book.

Maybe Casey didn’t want to die after all. Maybe a Fuck Fest wasn’t the worst that she could’ve done. Just thinking about over two hundred guys having sex with her one after another just for entertainment made Casey sick. The night Jordan introduced the idea to her, Casey screamed at him. She’d done a lot of things since getting into the business, including being with Jordan, including being an accessory to murder, but the most guys she’d taken on at one time was four. Of course, Jordan had coaxed her into it, just like he’d convinced her to turn on Diamond.

“Jord . . .” Casey whispered from the floor. Maybe he could save her. She could still hear her industry name being chanted in the background. The natives were restless indeed. This event had been advertised at all of the major porn stores in Los Angeles. “Denver Peaks will take you to new heights!” the slogans read. She was slated to have every opening in her body filled with a penis or some object.

“Help,” Casey whimpered. She felt herself slipping from existence. She couldn’t control her body parts, nor could she keep her eyes open. Extending her arms, Casey made a futile attempt to shake the demon that seemed to be controlling her body.

“Casey! What the fuck is going on in there? Casey!” Jordan screamed, banging his body up against the door.

Dominique sat at her kitchen table, staring out the huge glass patio doors. The sun was shining and the grass was a beautiful shade of jade. Dominique had never imagined her life would turn out this way; she had thanked God several times a day for her good fortune. When she thought about where she came from and where she was now, something Mama Grady had said to her came to mind: “Listen girl, don’t you ever settle for the lesser of two evils. Evil is evil, no matter what the packaging looks like.”

Dominique often wondered if she’d indeed chosen the lesser of two evils with the life she had now. She missed those little jewels of wisdom from Mama Grady, who had taken care of Dominique when she was at some of the lowest points in her life. How proud Mama Grady would be if she could see her now.

A toilet flushed upstairs. Dominique glanced at the clock on the wall oven of her gourmet kitchen and almost choked on her coffee. “Shoot,” she mumbled, rushing up from the table, making sure not to leave one crumb or spill in her wake. It was already about ten minutes past Dominique’s schedule.

Today’s breakfast needed to be extra special. As with everything she did, Dominique made sure to put in 110 percent. It was a big day at the church for her husband, Alton, who would be delivering his most important sermon to a congregation of over three thousand and a visiting church. Breakfast had to be just right to ensure his day went well.

Dominique jumped at the sound of her cell phone ringing. Not too many people had the number, and someone calling her at 8:00 A.M.. would surely send off a red flag if Alton heard it.

“Hello,” she whispered, trying to intercept the call.

“Diamond?” the man’s voice rasped on the other end. Dominique’s heart pounded in her chest. She furrowed her brow and removed the phone from her ear to look at the small screen that displayed the word “unknown.”

“Diamond?” the voice inquired again. A flash of heat came over her body and her hands shook. She had recognized the voice. How could she forget it? A stabbing pain shot through her abdomen as her bowels threatened to release.

“What do you want?” she asked nervously, keeping her eyes peeled for signs of Alton.

“It’s Jordan. I’m calling about Denver . . . I mean, Casey . . . um. Something has happened to her.” Jordan stumbled over his words. The call was equally awkward for both of them.

Dominique closed her eyes and held on to the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. She wanted so badly to hang up, but something inside of her wouldn’t allow her to do it. She had expected a call like this to come sooner or later. She could only run from her past for so long. Besides Mama Grady, Dominique still regarded Casey as the only family she’d ever had.

“Diamond? You there?” Jordan asked.

Dominique stood, lost in thought, when Alton’s hand touched her shoulder. She visibly jumped from the contact.

“Good morning. Is breakfast ready?” Alton asked, looking strangely at his wife. Dominique knew him so well; she could almost predict what his next question would be, so she stayed one step ahead of him.

“Yes, you can just hold the cake for me and I will be there to pick it up,” Dominique said deceptively into the phone.

“What?” Jordan asked, confused.

“Yes, I will be there when you open,” Dominique continued, her hands so sweaty she almost lost her grip on the phone.

“Just in case you want to know, she is at Lincoln Hospital fighting for her life,” Jordan said with finality before hanging up.

Dominique held the phone to her ear a little longer. Her mind raced with questions and her nerves were rattled, but she managed to pull it together.

“What are you ordering a cake for?” Alton asked suspiciously. Dominique took a deep breath and did her best to calm her nerves.

“It’s your big day, baby. I wanted you to have something special,” she fabricated on the spot.

“I don’t need a cake. I need my wife to get me some breakfast and I am my mother’s baby, not yours,” Alton said sharply, cracking his knuckles.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Dominique said, lowering her eyes as she quickly went about preparing his meal.

Jordan paced the floor of Casey’s hospital room. He held his head down as he wore the bottoms of his shoes, pacing up and down cold tile floors. The beeping of the heart monitors was driving Jordan fucking crazy. He wanted to pull every tube out of Casey’s body, throw her over his shoulder, and take her home. How sick could she be? They had pumped the pills out of her stomach and she was still alive. Not only was he losing money, he was about to lose the only woman he’d ever really cared about. That probably bothered him the most, but he wouldn’t ever admit it.

Jordan had taught himself that money was his only motivation in life. Caring about Casey was something he pushed to the far corners of his mind. But he wouldn’t go so far as to call it love. He had decided when he was a kid that love didn’t exist; in fact, he considered the word to be as bad as all the other four-letter swear words.

Mikey had vowed that Jordan would pay him back every red cent for the cost of the film production that Casey had fucked up when she decided to commit suicide. What would he do now? With Casey all messed up, there was no telling what would happen to both of their careers. Jordan had worked hard to get himself where he was today. Granted, Casey was the reason for his success, but the fact remained that he was the brain behind the operation.

Jordan had to get his thoughts together, contemplate his next move. He stopped pacing and screwed open his third bottle of Mylanta, put it up to his chapped lips and drank it straight. Beating his chest, Jordan tried to get the burning to stop. With fire in his eyes, he walked over to Casey’s bed and bent down close to her ear. “You are a selfish bitch. After all I did for you, this is how you repay me. You better wake the fuck up or I will kill you myself,” he growled in her ear as if his words would bring her into consciousness.

Jordan’s words were interrupted by a small knock on the door. Diamond entered, looking different but well. The last time Jordan had had real contact with her, she was a halfdressed, gaunt skeleton on her knees begging him for mercy. Right then, Jordan remembered how powerful he had felt when he had left a bruised and battered Diamond lying in a putrid heap of her own body fluids.

Diamond was now dressed conservatively in an A-line pencil skirt, a neat ruffle-front blouse and classy pumps. She wore limited makeup, which showed off more of her natural beauty and strong features. When he met her, Jordan remembered thinking that Diamond was as pretty as Halle Berry, only a few shades darker and a little more rugged. Now that she wasn’t scantily clad and wearing gaudy makeup, Jordan thought she looked not only respectable but beautiful. Jordan had been keeping tabs on her over the past year. It wasn’t that hard to track down her phone number, especially because she was married to one of the most popular pastors in New York.

Neither Jordan nor Dominique uttered a word to one another. He didn’t know whether to call her Diamond or Dominique.

Dominique stared at Casey, her feet seemingly rooted to the floor. T. . .