Between Reel and Reality (Short Story #1): Protector

Amel and Cierre get their getback...

CAUTION: You will need to read my book (completed), “Between Reel and Reality,” to know what’s going on.

Between Reel and Reality readers, proceed.

AMEL

I don’t wanna be at this bitch, and it’s clear all over my face. I’m giving Tupac in this angel white three-piece suit, but I’m sweating, burning up like Lucifer himself. If Ci and I ain’t outta here within an hour, I’ma start stripping like Carter the Body.

We're trapped in the backyard of Boris Carrington's mansion, the esteemed founder of the Black Actors Guild. It’s in the mid-eighties, but Atlanta's humidity makes it feel like it's 500 degrees. The sun beats down on Boris's bald head as he faces my fiancée. He holds her hands, shaking them as he expresses how overjoyed he is that she made it to his annual event. Four years have passed since she last attended, but she’s still the biggest starlet on the scene.

Boris blabbers about the importance of Black unity in Hollywood, squeezing Cierre’s hands tighter as he becomes more passionate. I consider telling the eager nigga to back the hell off, but my woman seems comfortable and invested in the conversation. I let them have their little heart-to-heart while my eyeballs search for some grub.

I won’t lie; I’m a little “cranky,” as Cierre calls it. Boris's all-white attire party kicks off at noon, so we've been in wardrobe and makeup all morning. I had enough time to devour a croissant while make-up brushes assaulted my face. Other than that, I’m fucking starving.

I spot a table of refreshments: little finger sandwiches, fruit, and stupid shit like that. Where’s the real food at?

Boris’s passionate speech gets sliced in half. “Aye, mane, where’s the food?” I ask.

Boris chuckles awkwardly. He sounds like one of those Black TV dads on white-washed sitcoms. He glances at the refreshment table and then back at my unsatisfied glare. “Brunch will be served in the next hour,” he says politely, flashing his big-ass veneers.

Cierre links her arm with mine and bats her beautiful eyelashes at the host. "Well, could we sneak into the kitchen? Have a little early taste?" she sweetly asks. "We skipped breakfast."

Now, Cierre ain’t built like me. She can go until 3 p.m. without a nibble of food. Being a high-demand, on-the-call, perfectionist actress, she has trained her stomach to work on her schedule. She couldn’t care less about eating, but she made the request specifically for me. My heart sings along to “Made for Me” by Muni Long as it plays from the DJ booth. I thought I’d pass out from hunger, but my woman might take me out first. Swooning, I bask in her desire to take care of me.

Boris is just as disoriented as me. He stutters, “Wh-what, why yes, of-of course! Just for you two!” He snaps his fingers in the air, and like magic, a waiter poofs behind him. “Will you please escort these two to the kitchen?” he asks a young gentleman with a septum piercing. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re giving them a tour inside. Don’t let people know we’re giving special treatment.” He shoots us a half-charming, half-corny wink, then turns back to the waiter. “Ask the kitchen staff to serve them until they’re satisfied.”

Now, that’s what the fuck I’m talking about! It pays to be with a boss bitch that everyone wants to please.

The waiter leads us through a beautiful garden path adorned with colorful flowers. Every few steps, we're interrupted by folks congratulating Cierre and me on our engagement. Whenever we’re stopped, Cierre proudly flaunts her ring. The sparkling diamond has adorned her finger for three months, and she still gushes about it every day. I did better than I expected. The ring was made for Cierre. Anyone else’s finger would be unworthy.

Walking inside, we’re teleported into a kitchen that looks curated for a Michelin chef but smells like the warmth of a Southern granny’s home. Black hands work, a group of caterers traversing the space with ease and communication. The smell of fried chicken grease wakes my stomach all the way up. I rub my hands and lick my lips as the waiter instructs the staff to allow us first dibs on the food. The caterers treat us like we’ve just walked into a friendly diner, telling us to sit at the kitchen bar.

They have my favorite: chicken and waffles. And this chicken, whew… they have it crisped to motherfucking perfection.

“Uht uhn,” Cierre says, her pitch rising. “Not you eating it like it’s better than mine.” She swirls her fork around in her sample of shrimp and grits. She went the polite route, only asking for “a little taste.” My plate’s stacked with a whole chicken and two strawberry-topped waffles. And you know I got my Auntie Jemima on the side.

Cierre pops her fork in her mouth, her chocolate eyes bursting with delight. “Mmm, wait, this is bomb.”

The head caterer, Erin, watches our first impressions of our meal, her chubby cheeks presenting a kind-hearted, gap-toothed smile. With a satisfied point of her fork, Cierre says, “Erin, girl, you did that. Can I have some more, please? I promise I won’t eat it all.” My fiancée side-eyes me. “Unlike this greedy nigga.”

Erin gives us an auntie-esque cackle. “Don’t worry. We got plenty,” she says, filling Cierre’s bowl to the brim. “We’re just happy to serve.”

“And we’re happy to eat,” I say, taking a big ass bite out of a chicken leg. The flavor justifies the burning sensation on my tongue. “Damn, peaches, their chicken got a little edge on yours,” I tease. Cierre pauses just before her fork reaches her mouth, giving me the stank eye. “You should ask them how they get the exterior to have the right amount of crunch.”

“And you should ask them for the recipe since I ain’t making your ass chicken and waffles anymore,” Cierre retorts with a lighthearted eye roll. “Since you have your fried chicken degree and know every fucking thing.”

“I’ll never know more than you, my peaches.” I kiss one of her dimples, and it deepens even more. Fuck, I’m so blessed to spend the rest of my life with this woman. The wedding can’t come fast enough. “Let’s get eloped.”

Cierre glares at me as if I’ve just cursed the heavens. “Negro, no!”

“We can still have the wedding,” I chuckle.

“I want everything to happen all at once,” she says, moving her fork in a circular motion. “Plus, I really like rocking this engagement ring.” She waves her hand as if she’s doing the “Single Ladies” dance, even though she’s tied down, and I’m never letting her ass go. The rock on her finger glistens as she waves her hand.

We chow as Cierre leads the conversation with the kitchen staff. They’re asking her to rate every movie she’s ever played in. The actress thoroughly analyzes each one, leaving no minor detail unexplored.

“The Forsaken Vow? Ten out of ten,” she says as if it shouldn’t have been a question. “I got to work with my favorite person.” She clutches my shoulder and shakes it. “Even though they got on my nerves sometimes.”

“Yeah, I got on your nerves so bad that you fell back in love with me.” I smirk with my comeback, and Cierre rolls her affectionate, gleaming eyes. There’s nothing like being on the same team as her. We had our beef, but I could never go to war with this woman again. Could never go a day without hearing her voice.

We laugh and joke around as we finish our meals, the kitchen laughing in tune with us. At one moment, I’m tossing my head back, cackling without a care in the world. The next, all joy sucks from my soul. The river of peace that I’ve filled over the past few years runs dry. Waves of hatred, resentment, and the need for revenge flood my inner being. Cierre’s smile fades, and then she turns to where I’m staring.

Cierre’s old “friend” and ex-manager, Syd, stares back at us, looking like a lamb who has walked into a lion’s den. I had two theories about her disappearance. The first: she was overseas, waiting until everything blew over. The second: she was hiding in her home city, Atlanta. I guess my second theory was correct because here she is, looking almost the same, except she has finally let go of those thinning-ass locs.

I wordlessly take off my blazer, dismissing it with a shrug. Syd must be running out of money and trying to get her foot back in the industry; she probably didn’t expect Cierre to show up since she’s been skipping Boris’s event for years. But my, oh my, has fate twisted in favor of my wrath.

Syd looks like she’s about to add a yellow hue to her white capris. Who the fuck even still wears capris, anyways? I swear this hoe can't dress. Maybe her family and friends will do her some justice for her funeral. Because that's the next main event she’ll be at when I'm done with her.

Cierre faces me, her eyes teeming with tears. “Amel, no,” she says, her voice unnaturally deeper. Her gaze, saturated with pain, multiplies my rage. Syd hurt Cierre, and now I’m gonna fucking hurt Syd. I had told Cierre there would be no expiration date on Syd’s ass whooping, nothing, and no one could stop me from beating the brakes off of her. And I meant it. And Cierre knows it. She’s saying “no,” but she doesn’t extend a hand to stop me as I charge off the barstool.

 Syd tries to back away, but I have her in my grasp before she can take a step. I yoke her by her baggy ass dress shirt and slam her against the wall. “I’ve been looking for you, bitch!” I say, staring straight into her cowardly eyes.

“Look, Amel, I don’t want any trouble. I came here looking for new talent. I didn’t know y’all wo—”

“Nigga, I don’t give a fuck! You’ve been having trouble with me since you’ve been shit-talking me to Cierre. Since you tried to fucking stab me. Since you betrayed my fucking woman. It’s been on sight for your bitch ass for a year now!”

I glance over at the kitchen staff, and as I expected, they’re staring us down. But nobody’s reaching to call the police or stepping in to intervene. They’re gonna let me handle this.

“Cierre, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” the bitch ass nigga has the nerve to say, looking over my shoulder.

“Don’t fucking address her!” I say, my hand wrapping tighter around her shirt. I wanna go straight to pounding my fists into her face, but Cierre has questions. She may not be strong enough to ask them right now, but I owe it to her to at least try to get some answers before I break Syd’s jaw. “Why’d you leak that video, huh?! You cut it to make Cierre look bad.”

I know damn well this girl ain’t crying as if she’s the fucking victim.

“I-I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight.” Her reply bursts forth as if she’s on an ass-beating timer. “She was spending all her time with you and falling for you again. And I knew you’d hurt her again. I was trying to save her from that pain, even if it meant leaking that video. I knew she’d bounce back, and she did! The only issue is she’s still with you.” Syd looks at me as if I’m a plague that has run through her village and taken everything from her. “You don’t deserve her, and you know you don’t! That’s why you get so defensive when—”

I cut off the water to her bullshit campaign. “I’m defensive because she’s mine! That’s my soul over there! And you crushed her. You lied to her! You manipulated her! You were so obsessed with her that you wanted to fucking hurt her rather than let her be happy. Some days, I don’t feel like I deserve Cierre myself, but I know she’s happy with me. I also know I’d never do any bullshit to her, unlike you.”

The longer I observe her, the less I want to go to blows. She is as soulless and dull as a pebble. I don’t even want to give her pitiful ass a drop of my energy.

“Did you hate me this whole time?” A small voice asks from behind, a sniffle following it.

“What? No, Cierre. I loved you. I always have,” Syd claims.

“You exposed me at my worst to everyone in the fucking world, Syd. That’s not love. That’s not fucking protection,” Cierre says, her voice raw. I’ve witnessed Cierre at her meanest, but I’ve never heard her sound so resentful. Her tone’s like a discordant note, sharp and jarring, cutting through the air with a buried bitterness. “I kept you around because I trusted you. Because I thought you were one of my best friends. But all you were was fucking loser who couldn’t accept that I didn’t see you in that way. You could’ve quit or stopped being my friend if you thought you couldn’t handle me being with someone else. I would’ve respected that more than what you fucking did.”

“Cierre…”

“Do not say my name! Don’t ever say it again! Fuck! You!” Her shouts echo through the walls of the mansion. I’m still hearing the reverberations when she says what she says next. I almost second-guess that I’m hearing things. “You can beat her ass now, Amel.”

I had second thoughts about exerting my energy into this bitch, but what my woman says goes. She wants me to beat some ass? I’ma beat it. Gladly.

A right hook sends Syd’s weak ass straight to the ground. She grunts, blood pouring from her mouth. I crack my knuckles. “Get up. I want a fair fight.”

She spits a tooth into her hand. “I’m not gonna fight you,” she says.

“Then you’re gonna get your ass beat like a pussy? You’ve been wanting the fade for years. Come get it.”

Her ego drives her to get back up. I raise my fists, ready for her to make the first move. She throws a wild but sluggish left hook. Before she realizes she missed, I've landed two jabs and an uppercut so forceful it stings my knuckles. Her chin juts up, and her body slumps to the ground. K.O. The Stunning Stunna still got it, baby. And I didn’t even get blood on my suit.

Syd lays sprawled out on the ground. Two guys from the kitchen staff intervene, but only to drag her pissy ass out of the kitchen. Everybody else goes right back to work after their brief entertainment break.

“You okay, hummingbird?” I ask Cierre, wiping her dried tears with a wet cloth.

“Yes,” she whispers. “We should go.”

“You sure? We can still enjoy the party.” I stroke my thumb against her delicate collarbone. “You look so pretty. I want everyone to see you.”

She laughs airily. “Yeah, but I just want you to see me. You’re the only person I want around me right now.” She grabs my blazer and drapes it around her arm. “Let’s go before Syd wakes up and causes more drama.” She rolls her eyes a little. “And before Boris tries to talk my ear off again.”

We say our goodbyes to the kitchen staff, who humorously promise not to tell anyone what happened. I believe them. But even if my fight with Syd does leak, everyone knows she had that shit coming. Half of America would throw something on the grill to celebrate Cierre’s revenge.

“You knocked her out so fast that I almost missed it,” Cierre giggles as we hold hands in the backseat of a black SUV. Our driver’s taking us back to our hotel. I can’t wait to get out of this suit, cuddle with my future wifey, and watch a few flicks. “It was so clean and professional.” I chuckle as she gives me a review of my knockout. “You said…” She mimics the two jabs and uppercut.

I howl louder, throwing my head back. “So, you’re satisfied, huh?” I ask.

“Highly satisfied.” She grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. “Thank you for protecting me. No one deserves me like you do, angel.”

My heart warms as I release a blissful sigh. “I’ll always protect you. Do you feel like everything’s settled with Syd? Do you have any more questions?”

Cierre shoulders shrug as she gives me a half-hearted smile. “I realized today that nothing she answers will be enough. But I finally feel like I closed that chapter of my life. Yelling at her and getting out my frustration, and watching you knock her out so hard that she pissed herself has filled a void in my soul. I feel lighter. How about you?”

“I got my revenge, but most importantly, I avenged you. She did you dirty, and she’ll never forget that. You destroyed her with words, and I lit that ass up with fists.”

“We make a good tag team, huh?” She leans against me and encircles my arm. Her hands gently run up and down my forearm, giving me goosebumps.

“We really do, peaches. I can beat anything with you.”

And there you have it, Amel and Cierre got their revenge. It probably wasn’t as dramatic as some of you wanted it to be, but hopefully, it gave y’all closure.

If you have any more requests for “Between Reel & Reality,” short stories, or anything else, send them here.

Thanks for reading. I hope to post at least one BRR short and an original short story a month. Stay tuned and join the chat.

Zavan (he/him)