Lies of a Real Housewife (5 page)

In the Fall of 1995, I started getting reacquainted with family mem-

bers, and started hanging-out with my cousins. I hadn’t seen Scott, Kate, Nikki and Cookie since I was seven years old. We were all around the same age, eighteen years old, give or take a few months. It was a happy homecoming. Nikki, Cookie, and I had always shared a certain bond. Being victims of simi-

lar abuse by the same molester, we were all trapped in the same nightmare.

If they were asked, my cousins would probably say that I was lucky

because I got away. I didn’t grow up in the same home with the predator, whil
e they, on the other hand, didn’t have a choice. One of my female cousins told me that one of my aunts caught the predator greasing her up in the hallway. He had a whole jar of Vaseline, and was applying a thick coat over

her anus. This sick man was prepp
ing her to be sodomized. 

On hearing my aunt’s footsteps coming down the hall, he dropped

the Vaseline, and ran toward her shouting, “Look at what this nasty little girl is in here doing!” Enraged by the fact that she caught my cousin with her pants down, my aunt, without even giving her so much as a chance to explain,

summarily beat my cousin
like the poor girl had stolen the family heirloom.

Maybe in the eyes of my cousins I was lucky, but for me I lived

with the awful memories. Even though I tried desperately to bury them in the past, like a bad tattoo, they resurfaced and still remained a part of me. I was thin skinned and sensitive. Every time the thought came to my mind, the bad

memories would bring the abuse back to life.

In 1996 my mother had her fill of Curtis, and she moved to Atlanta.

She was ready to move on with her life. I was s
itting on my grandmother’s front porch when she pulled up in her 1991 white Lincoln Continental. All her belongings were in the trunk and the backseat of her car. She made the announcement that she was home for good, and for me, it turned into the happiest of homecomings. I had been on my own for a while now and needed the support of my mother. Even though I appeared to be as tough as nails on the

outside, the inside was soft as pudding.

By now, I had been in Atlanta for just under a year. It was very dif-

ficult to make ends meet. Every friend, boyfriend, and pal I had, was into something illegal. Hotlanta was the name of this place. Everybody had some type of illicit hustle scheme going down. Where I lived, the motto was ‘hustle or be hustled’. My cousins
and I lived for the excitement of the nightlife Atlanta had to offer. Freedom and independence were new concepts to us. We didn’t have to go to school, and didn’t have to answer to our parents. It was

all about enjoying our lives.

I was nineteen years old when Cookie and I decided to go out. The Bank Head Bounce was one of the hottest clubs in Atlanta at the time. I will never forget that night because it would be the beginning of an exciting but dangerous journey. That night I met Drama. Cookie and I had been in the club the whole night. We watched and enjoyed his performance on stage. On the way out of the club, I caught his eye, and he quickly made his way over

to me. It was the beginning of our on-again, off-again romantic relationship.

Terrance Cook went by the moniker, Drama. He had a hit single

back then called, “Left, Right, Left.” Drama was a knucklehead of a rapper, and couldn’t stay out of trouble. Raheem the Dream had signed him to a re-

cord deal when Drama was still an underage teen.

This was where Phaedra Parks entered his music career, fighting

for Drama’s money. In the midst of Phaedra Parks suing Raheem the Dream for Drama’s money, Drama got himself arrested for armed robbery. I never really heard anything else about that lawsuit, and
I don’t believe Drama ever

saw a dime.

Between late 1998 and early 1999, Drama and I were in a relation-

ship together. It was through my close connection with him that I would finally become acquainted with his high-powered attorney, Phaedra Parks. She
not only talked the talk, but dressed from heels to head in all the latest fashions, she walked the walk. If she wasn’t driving her black Benz then she was peeling off in her white Jaguar. Everybody in and around the city knew who Phaedra Parks was. When her designer heels walked into any room, she

carried a certain light about her which shone and lit up the entire place.

Phaedra Parks was a fancy entertainment lawyer who appeared to be

well accomplished. I had no idea that this was all smokescreens and m
irrors. For the most part, her act was all part of a bigger deception. She was very impressive, driving around town in her black Mercedes Benz, and turning

heads wherever she went.

Drama had everything going for him. He was at the height of his

career,
and just like the majority of rappers who allow drugs and crime to take over their lives, Drama was not different. Eventually, he was sentenced

to twelve years in Clayton County, Georgia, for armed robbery.

I wasn’t Drama’s main chick, and was always in competition with

many of his groupies. I was just one of his sidepieces, a jump-off, some may say. I don’t mind admitting to that. Being molested at a young age infected me with the capacity to have relationships with men and not get emotionally
attached. I was young and promiscuous. Drama was not the only man I was dating. I wasn’t really concerned about being in a relationship with anyone

at that time.

After meeting Phaedra Parks, she and I hit it off from the start for

some reason. I would often wonder what kind of synergy bonded us together like glue. Whatever it was, it was a strong connection. Phaedra was like my big sister and helped to shape me into the person I grew into being. She had

the answer to everything.

I was a girl who had been in and out of trouble my entire life. Be-

ing from a broken home, I was also silently suffering from being a victim of childhood sexual abuse. Phaedra was the exact opposite. She had the perfect upbringing. After attending and grad
uating from law school, she became a successful lawyer. As a young girl, I had always dreamt of being a lawyer. Phaedra was my mentor, and not only did I respect her, but I really admired her. She was like the princess in a fairytale book I had read as a child. Phaedra Parks was, in essence, the first positive female role model I had in my life besides my mother.

It lifted my spirit and revived hope inside me to have a friend who

knew exactly where I wanted to be in life. Phaedra Parks had the resources to help me get there. I saw her as someone who could show me how to stay out of trouble, point me in the right direction, and help me straighten out my life. Phaedra showed me that there was much more to life than what I had seen. To be honest, Phaedra was my inspiration. For some reason I believed that she

was somewhat my redeemer. At least that was what I thought.

Phaedra and I were very close. Her home was like a second home

to me. She was always welcomed when she showed up at my grandmother’s house. Sh
e won the approval of my grandmother. Every time Phaedra would stop by, she brought ticket loads of Scratch Off and a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka. That was all it took for my grandmother, Shug, to like you. My grandmother lived for games of chance, and the Scratch Offs provided many opportunities. Shug loved her vodka, and Phaedra brought bottles. Shug was

easily won over.

On the other hand, my mother wasn’t as easy to please, but she

loved and admired Phaedra. She wanted whatever Phaedra had to rub off on me. Phaedra was independent, successful, and had money. She was a career woman, with a very bright future. I remembered the times when Phaedra would pick me up just to ride through th
e city in one of her expensive cars. We were big sh**! My feeling of self worth rose off the chains. Although we were two diametrically different people, our relationship strongly supported the theory that opposites attract. We talked to each other on the phone on a daily basis.

Phaedra was living the good life. The money and the cars, the en-

tertainers and everything about her life, appeared to be so grand. It was the type of life I wanted, and I wouldn’t stop until I possessed it myself. As our relationship continued to grow, I kept thinking that Phaedra was too good to hang around me and my crew. I mean, we were all from the streets. All of us were illegal, drug dealers, drug users, prostitutes, and hustlers. Some of Atlanta’s finest, if I may say so myself. My title was hustler and I was a good

one. This was a quality Phaedra may have seen in me.

I hustled whatever I could get my hands on. Everyone I knew, from

family to friends, had some illegal kind of way to make fast money. Whenever they needed m
y assistance, I would provide my services for a small fee of course. My loyalty and good work ethics paid off. When someone wanted a job well done, I was that person they would call. Whether it was drugs, hot items, or my body, I did everything. From middle man, to the running man,

and the front man, I played all the positions in the game.

Street life was my expertise until Phaedra started showing me a to-

tally different lifestyle. We would attend some of the finest parties in the city together. She intro
duced me to fancy restaurants, and exquisite shopping

boutiques.

December 31, 1999, Casper, a fellow hustler from the street who

was close to me, was throwing a New Year’s Eve bash in his penthouse. Casper was that real brother from another mother, as w
e say on the streets.

He always supported me, so I was planning to attend the event. Phaedra was my close friend, and made sure my clothes game was tight. She kept me up on the latest fashion and accessories. Phaedra hooked me up by sending me to the best
boutiques in Atlanta, and I acquired the hottest in fashion. When New Years Eve finally rolled around, we were geared up to have a ball.