The People vs Cashmere 2

by Karen Williams

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

After the madness caused by Black Mitchell, Cashmere and Demarco want to move on and build a future, but the past continues to haunt them. Now married, successful business owners, they live in a huge house in Inglewood, CA, with their timid thirteen-year-old daughter, Dominique; however, things are far from perfect or even normal. Demarco holds deep resentment toward Cashmere and wants out of the marriage. His anger toward his wife makes him unable to have a close relationship with Dominique, who looks for a father's love elsewhere.
Cashmere's past continues to haunt her. Black Mitchell might be in prison, but that doesn't stop him from his quest to destroy Cashmere's life for putting him there. As Cashmere struggles to save her marriage, Dominique finds herself pushed into the same life her mother escaped. Tragedy hits home and Cashmere loses everything. Will she be able to save her daughter before it's too late?

Release date: August 1, 2014

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

I covered my ears at the sound of our dresser mirror shattering from Demarco putting his fist through it. I wanted to go to him and help him as he looked down at his bleeding hand. But I knew he wouldn’t want me touching him. So I just sat on the bed and cried tears as he wrapped a towel around his hand and looked at me hatefully. Seemed like every day I was crying. No wonder I couldn’t get pregnant. I was always super stressed at all the arguing between Demarco and me. And I really didn’t know where we stood. But one thing I knew for sure and that was that he hated me. My baby hated me. And I loved him. I loved him like I did when I was eighteen. When I was going through all that mess with Black after I had gotten out of jail. Throughout it all he had been there for me loving me unconditionally. Even when he found out the truth about my past: that I had been a prostitute, addicted to drugs, who went to juvenile hall for murdering my sister at the age of thirteen. None of that mattered to him. He stayed by my side and never left it.

After the trial Black was locked away and no longer a threat. Demarco and I moved in together. We both bought a house in Inglewood, the city where he opened up another hair salon. I worked as a hair stylist there and cared for my man. Things were perfect. Demarco also opened a shop in Long Beach and one in Marino Valley. So he was always busy and business was thriving. I had a huge rock on my hands and bitches who worked at the salon were so, so jealous. At least twice a day I would hear, “What’s so special about her?” And I would chuckle. I had calmed down a lot and wasn’t the hothead I used to be who was always willing to fight at the drop of a hat. I thought it was Demarco I had to thank for that. He was always so calm, so happy and smiling. He was my peace. Then a few months into us living together, I found out I was pregnant. Now while I was far too young to have a baby, I was still excited. I gave birth to a little girl named Dominique. My mother and her commissioner retired from Lancaster Police Department and bought a house down here in Carson to be closer to me and her granddaughter. Now my baby, she was absolutely perfect. She had my coloring, my eyes. That was my partner in crime there. Seemed like after I laid eyes on her, everything in my world made sense. It just did. And I was the most doting, paranoid mother ever. Without a doubt, no one was going to be able to let any type of harm come my baby’s way. When I was twenty-four and Demarco was twenty-nine we got married in Vegas. Thing was part of me knew he had drifted apart from me. And part of me also questioned whether we should have gotten married. And when I asked him he told me, “It’s the right thing to do.” But it wasn’t. Life for us was not good. He drifted further and further away from me. Like he resented me. And what didn’t make the situation better was the fact that I couldn’t get pregnant again. And Demarco felt like I was doing this on purpose. That I deliberately didn’t want to give him a baby.

I thought about how loving he used to be toward me. A tear couldn’t drop without him wrapping his arm around me and kissing them away. Now he would see me sobbing and would say. “Good. I’m glad you’re hurting, bitch!”

Things between us had changed around the time Dominique turned five. He became more angry and hateful toward me and more distant. But I continued to play the role, pretending that my marriage was good and we were happy. The chicks at the shop thought I was so lucky to have such a fine and successful man in my life. But if they only knew. Despite how much I faked the funk, we were in a miserable marriage. Yet still, I loved Demarco and I was so desperate to save what we had. Because of the resentment he harbored I sometimes didn’t think it was possible.

His yelling snapped me out of my thoughts. “Get it right, Cashmere! You don’t run me. I go as I please. I have always been my own man until I let myself get pussy whipped by you. But those days are over. And truthfully I don’t want to be around you. I mean if you want to know the fucking truth, Cashmere! This shit is your fucking fault. Things between us will never be right. And you know why. If you had done one simple thing we wouldn’t be like this.”

“What was I supposed to do, Demarco?” I demanded.

“What did I ask you to do?” he raged.

When I didn’t respond he got all up in my face. I was so hurt at how he was coming at me.

“Answer the fucking question, Cashmere!” He now had his hands gripped around my shoulders and he was shaking me.

I started crying and said, “Get your hands off me, motherfucker!”

“Man, I should slap the fuck out of you.” He shoved me away. I lost my balance and fell on the floor. I just lay on the floor crying. It had no effect on him. It never did anymore. That made me hurt more.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. He stepped over me and grabbed it off of the dresser top. “Hello?” He paused. “What’s up, Dame?” He looked over at me in disgust, shook his head, and said, “Man, yeah, I can get out. Because this shit right here is for the birds. I got no time for it at all anymore.” He paused. “All right, I’m heading out now. I’ll meet you up there.”

He grabbed his wallet and keys and shoved them along with his phone in his pants pocket.

“Where are you going?” I demanded. I got up from the floor.

“Bitch, your reign over me been gone a long time ago. Don’t ever ask me what the fuck I do!”

He stepped past me like I was trash on the floor or dirty laundry that he didn’t want his legs to touch.

Things between my parents were super weird. I tell you, I just didn’t get why my daddy hated my mommy so much. But more importantly, I didn’t get why he acted like he hated me. To tell the truth it seemed like it came from nowhere. When I brought it up to my mom she would tell me I was tripping. “Look at your baby pics and see the love in your father’s eyes!” She would always shove a photo album in front of me, with pics of me as a baby with him and her in them. I don’t know; that’s just one thing I never saw in his eyes: love. But love was something my mother gave me in abundance. I knew my mother deeply loved me. She told me every day that I meant the world to her. Although my dad didn’t pay me any mind; I might as well have been invisible. Even when I got good grades it meant nothing to him. I could also play the cello so good that my mom would come in my room, lie on my bed, and close her eyes and listen to me like she was at an actual concert. But my daddy never showed any interest. He wouldn’t come to my concerts at school (so I stopped playing), or to any of my open houses, teacher conferences, or when I graduated from elementary or junior high school. Funny thing was I was a real good student. My teachers always said I was a joy to have. I knew my mother felt the same. I just wished my dad did as well; nothing meant more to me than having my father’s love. I needed it. I would always remember my mother talking about how much her daddy loved her and how much he treated her like such a princess. I wished my daddy loved me like her daddy loved her. I would do all kinds of stuff to win him over. Like baking him cakes, to washing his car. When he would nap I would take off his shoes and socks and massage his feet. He would always wake up, look at me, jerk away, and snap, “Go play.” Then finally, I gave up.

Despite my relationship with my father, our life was pretty decent. We lived in Inglewood, CA, in a nice and organized five-bedroom two-story house. My mom did hair for a living and, boy, was she super good at it. I was amazed at all the hairstyles my mom could do. My hair, which was long like my mother’s, stayed nice. In fact, we looked a lot alike. I was dark like her with her set of gray eyes. Life was really simple. Our family was a triangle with me at the tip and and my mama and daddy at the base. I went to a private high school where I was pretty quiet. My mom said I was worse than a church mouse. I just wasn’t a very social person. Sometimes other girls at school would pick on me or make fun of how quiet I was. I hated it and it made me even more closed off to people. I thought back to the last time a senior girl had shoved me down some stairs. I came home crying. The other two times she had put her hands on me, one time pulling my hair and the other time she smacked me, I kept it from my mother. But this time I couldn’t. The fall had me limping. My mother, furious, called my grandmother and the next thing I knew we all drove in my mother’s Cadillac Escalade to the school. The whole way there my mother drove like a bat out of hell. On the way there my grandmother urged, “Now, Cashmere, we are going to go in there and be ladies. No yelling or cursing; we are going to conduct ourselves with class.”

Right.

When we got there, they cursed out the entire school office. “Why the fuck are you letting little bitches at this school bully my fucking grandchild?” my grandmother demanded. I wondered how her husband would feel about the way she was acting.

When the staff in the school office didn’t respond, my mother spied the principal’s office. “Come on.” She pulled me with her and with my grandmother in tow, we walked directly into the principal’s office. In a quick motion, my mother swiped all the items off his desk while my grandmother took a fighting stance waiting for the principal to react.

“Mrs. Pena.”

“Shut the fuck up! Let me tell you something. My daughter don’t bother anyone. So whoever the bitch is who put her hands on my daughter needs to get up in here now and there needs to be some type of corrective action. There are kids killing themselves because of bullies. So guess what, Principal? If my daughter slits her wrists because she getting picked on I’m going to come in this bitch and slit yours!” she threatened.

His eyes bulged. “I have spoken to—”

“Naw fuck that. Let’s be clear, you pasty-face motherfucker. We’re not paying your punk ass seven hundred dollars a month in tuition for other girls to pick on my child. Come on, Dominique.”

Needless to say the girl ended up being suspended and she never bothered me again.

When I got out of my shell and would visit my friend Jada’s house, I saw how it was so different from my household. She actually had a close relationship with her dad that I wished to God I had with mine. In fact, I spent more time over there than I did at my own home. Jada had revealed to her father that my dad never really treated me with love. So I thought that was why he was so nice to me.

I stood on their doorstep and before I could knock Mrs. Douglas opened the door, prepared to step out but paused when she saw me.

“Hi, Mrs. Douglas.”

She gave me a warm smile. Mrs. Douglas was the color of butterscotch. She was a very pretty woman in her forties with a petite frame and a bob that framed her face. My bestie, Jada, had the same haircut. But Jada looked more like her father.

“Hi, sweetness!” she said.

I stepped back and lowered my balled left fist that was about to knock on the door, to let her pass. Before she did she planted a kiss on one of my cheeks. Whenever I met adults, teachers, family members, and parents of my friends, they always tended to call me this. My mom as well always told me I was the sweetest kid in the world. I wondered if my daddy felt the same way. Probably not. It was crazy because I loved my mom 100 percent, my mommy seemed to love me 100 percent, and it seemed my daddy loved me 0 percent and hated me 100 percent.

“Jada’s inside. You going to have to wake her behind up because I’m sure she fell right back to sleep.” She walked past me down the steps. As she walked toward her Benz she turned back to me and said, “My hubby gave me some shopping money. I was surprised. That’s a nice little treat this Saturday.” She ended her sentence with a giggle and unlocked and opened her car door.

“I asked Jada if she wanted to go with us but she said she was too tired.” She hopped in and closed the driver’s door back.

“’Kay,” I said with a smile.

She rolled her window down and backed out of the driveway. “See you later, honey.”

I waved at her as she backed out of their driveway. She was such a nice woman and was always sweet to me. Made me feel a little bad about the secret I was keeping from her and Jada.

I turned and opened the door to their house and stepped inside the living room. I called out my friend’s name. “Jada.”

When she didn’t respond I walked toward her room. I walked quickly and nervously. Once I made it to her door, my hand reached out for the knob. But before I could grasp it I felt two hands cup both of my breasts and felt a kiss planted on the side of my neck. I closed my eyes as pleasure and shame filled me.

“She’s ’sleep. Don’t wake her until we done,” a husky voice said in my ear.

I was silent but I didn’t pull away from Jada’s father.

“Why didn’t you come to my room, baby?” he asked me.

He spun me around and kissed my lips while rubbing one of his hands between my legs. “Has someone . . . ?” He gripped between my legs aggressively.

I shook my head.

“Good.”

He yanked one of my arms gently and tugged me toward his bedroom.

I protested. “Mr. Douglas, I told you. I don’t want to do this with you anymore. I feel bad about what I’m doing to your wife. It’s wrong.”

Still he was stronger and as a result managed to pull me into their bedroom, and closed and locked the door. Then I was at his mercy as my body betrayed me. But still I continued to tell him no as he peeled away my clothes.

As he did he said, “Mrs. Douglas don’t give a fuck about what I do, pretty baby. She been checked out of this marriage. Now. You know I love you.” When he had me naked, he sat down on their bed and sat me on top of his lap.

“This is wrong, Mr. Douglas. Please stop making me.”

“Be quiet, baby,” he told me gently. I gave in again. Despite the promises to make the last time the last time.

“If your daddy won’t be a real father to you, you know I will,” he always said to me. “You make love to me better than my wife ever could.”

So I gave in all the way like I always did knowing I would feel guilty later.

I stared at Mr. Douglas. He was brown skinned with a black-and-white goatee. His head was completely bald. He stood six foot four so he towered over my five foot six frame. And he was ten years older than Mrs. Douglas so he was old enough to be my grandfather. Still it didn’t stop him from taking my virginity about five months ago. He said he wanted to wait until I was a little older before taking it. And I had let him take it. I always let him take what he wanted despite the fact that I had promised myself I would no longer do this to Mrs. Douglas, to Jada, to myself. Thing was Mr. Douglas always showed me the love and attention my daddy never did. He made me feel so wanted that when he first started touching on me, when I was twelve, I didn’t see it as wrong because he said it made him feel good. And I wanted to make him feel good because that was how he made me feel. And I felt it had to stop because I always walked away feeling shame. But I loved Mr. Douglas like he was my father. And the things he did to my body felt good. But it was hard to look Mrs. Douglas in the face anymore. And if Jada had a clue she would never forgive me and I would lose my best and only friend forever.

I stood and started grabbing my clothes when he asked, “How was school, baby?”

“It was okay I guess.”

“How did you do on your test?” he asked

“I aced it,” I said with a small smile.

“That’s my girl.” He sounded really proud of me. I went into his bathroom and washed up quickly. I then put on all my clothes and left his bedroom. Then, like I normally did, I waited in the living room and sat down on the couch like I just got there, and waited for Mr. Douglas to get dressed and go into Jada’s room and wake her up.

A few minutes later Jada and I were watching music videos and laughing. Jada and I were so opposite. I was the shy, quiet one and she was the loud and wild one. A song came on by Young Money, “I Can Make Your Bed Rock.” “That’s my shit, girl.” She got up and started dancing. She pulled me and forced me do it with her. “Come on with all that butt!” she joked. I laughed and copied the moves she did while she continued to hit me on my butt. I laughed. One slap was so hard I screeched and fell on the couch.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” She laughed and fell on top of me on the couch. She hugged me. “I didn’t mean to hurt my bestie!” I giggled and hugged her back. I hoped nothing ever came between us; she was my only friend.

When she pulled away she said, “Hey, you know Nathan’s boy Manny wants to holler. And, girl, he is super fine. Puerto Rican and black.”

I shook my head. Mr. Douglas forbade me from having a boyfriend. I couldn’t tell her this but I thought of another excuse. “I’m not ready to start dating.”

“Why not? Come on, girl, you are no fun!”

“What’s so fun about having a boyfriend?”

“Nate licked on my titties and the other day he finger banged me behind the gym.” Her eyes were wide in emphasis.

If she only knew the things her father and I did.

My mom, as she normally did, made a really good meal for dinner. She made Fettuccini Alfredo with tender chunks of marinated chicken and big fat shrimps. She made broccoli spears and parmesan and garlic bread to go with it. My mom was such a great cook. She always took the extra step to make things good for my father and me. Instead of buying a bottle of already-made sauce from the grocery store my mother made hers homemade, mixing fr. . .