His Last Name Page 2

  On our wedding day, I vowed to love him in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer . . . but what did they say about repossessions and foreclosures?

  CHAPTER 2

  Monique Hall

  “Guard your man! Guard your man, Kadir! Come on, guard your man!” I shouted from my seat to my six-foot-four-inch son who was running down the court at the packed and noisy Liacouras Center. He was a sophomore shooting guard for Temple University’s basketball team.

  “Don’t make the boy nervous, Monique.”

  “Be quiet, Carl. He needs to be pushed. These are the last few games before the draft. June is only three months away.”

  Kadir’s teammate made the shot, taking their lead from three points to five, and then the time ran out for UCF. The Temple Owls won eighty-three to seventy-eight.

  My son, Kadir, started to play basketball when my boyfriend, Carl, placed the ball in his hands. He was only two years old, but he never put the ball down. Some kids had blankies, but Ka-Ka had his ball. He slept with the ball and started dribbling it when he woke up every morning. He would say, “Ma ball. Ma ball.” It went everywhere with him. In the tub, at the playground—he even tried to take it to day care.

  I knew he loved basketball, but I realized he was good when he was about ten and teenage boys would knock on the door to play with him. By sixth grade, there was always a league, tournament, or summer camp. If he missed a game, his coaches would call and offer to pick him up because they needed him in order to win.

  Five summers ago, Kadir grew from five foot seven to six foot four in three months and schools began to call. Prep schools and colleges started ringing my phone at work, at my house, and even on my cell phone. How they got my numbers, I’ll never know. I let Carl talk to most of them; I didn’t know much about the schools. I just wanted Ka-Ka to have the best opportunities possible.

  It was important for Kadir to go to college and become someone because I missed my chance. I wanted to go to college, but I had Kadir at seventeen and had little support. His father was killed before he was born, and my parents made it known that they would not be my babysitters.

  My mother, Dottie, told everyone in our family that nobody was to help me since I had embarrassed the family by getting pregnant. There was no baby shower or happiness at the hospital. There was only one thing that I remember my mother saying when Kadir was born: “You better be glad I’m not making you give this baby up for adoption.”

  My mother was upset about my pregnancy, but she never told me how to use a condom or what birth control was. Her only rule was no sex before marriage, because if you have sex, you will get pregnant and your life will be over.

  That summer, it was just me and Ka-Ka. I took him everywhere with me. My mother was so mean to me and even refused to pay my tuition at school. She said, “Teen moms don’t go to Catholic school.” According to her, I wasn’t going to amount to anything anyway.

  For eleventh grade, I attended Simon Gratz High School instead. It was down the street from my home in North Philly. Gratz was so different from the all-girls Catholic school that I had attended for so long. The biggest difference was that they had day care at the school. There were a bunch of other teen moms just like me, and some even had two babies. It wasn’t a big deal. No one judged me and everyone was supportive. Kadir was safe while I went to class, and I was able to visit him during my lunch period.

  That’s where I met my best friend, Celestine, whom everyone called CeCe. She also had a son, who was three months older than Kadir. We liked the same things and bought a lot of the same clothes for ourselves and our boys.

  We took our sons to the park, and I spent a lot of time at her house. Her mom was the complete opposite of mine. Ms. Laura would watch the boys for us while we went to the movies or any parties.

  CeCe had two younger sisters and one older brother, Carl. In CeCe, I found my sister, and in Carl, I found unconditional love. From the very beginning, Carl accepted Kadir as if he were his own son.

  We were committed to each other for more than eighteen years. He was a good guy, but not perfect. Carl and I never had any children together, and sometimes I felt we acted more like siblings than an actual couple. We loved each other, but we weren’t “in love” anymore. I never would have left him, though. I didn’t know what I would have done without him. Besides, I couldn’t afford to leave him even if I wanted to. I worked a part-time job to make sure I was there for all of Kadir’s games.

  After Kadir’s win, I met him and the rest of the team at Maxi’s, the pizza shop on campus. It was a tradition after each home game to go there. All of the cheerleaders and coaches were sitting at the tables in the front of the restaurant.

  Once he saw me, the head coach stopped mid-sentence to greet me. “Hey, coach! Good game!” I responded.

  “Thanks! Enjoying the last days while we still have Kadir. After this, he’s off to the big leagues . . .”

  “Yes, absolutely! Praying and crossing my fingers,” I said proudly.

  I looked around the back of the restaurant for my son, when a young man approached me and said, “Who you looking for?”

  “Kadir.”

  “Forget Kadir. You can have me, beautiful. I’m B, Allen Richardson’s cousin.”

  “Really? Well, I’m Kadir’s . . .” Before I could get “Mom” out, Kadir came over and interrupted the barely legal boy’s game.

  “Bryan. B, that’s my mom, man!”

  “Oh, for real? My bad. She look good, though. I might have to be your step-pop.”

  “What you say?” Kadir looked like he was ready to punch the boy in his throat.

  “I was joking.”

  “Yo, I’m not, man. Say something else about my mom.”

  “I was giving your mom a compliment. We good, Kadir. Relax.” The young guy playfully smacked Kadir’s arm and walked away.

  “Mom, what I tell you about dressing like that?” Kadir said as he looked over at my outfit. I was wearing a black sheer shirt and tight jeans. He steered me to the table past his other teammates.

  We sat down at the table and I picked up a menu. Carl joined us. Carl was two years older than me, but looked his age. He was still handsome, but he had picked up a few pounds over the years. His fuller light brown face was complemented by his trimmed beard and brown eyes. His five feet ten inches almost seemed short now next to Kadir’s six-four. He gave Kadir a fist bump.

  “Son, I saw you make that three in the fourth. You have to keep that up. All eyes are on you.”

  “No. Right now, all eyes are on Mom. Dad, tell her to stop dressing like that. She’s not going to the club.”

  “What I’m wearing is fine,” I protested.

  “No, those pants are too tight, and your shirt is see-through. You are showing too much. And you’re wearing high heels. Most moms wear sneakers and sweatshirts to the games.”

  “Most moms don’t look like me.”

  “But, Mom, you are thirty-eight.”

  “And I still look like I did when I was twenty-five.” Kadir hated when anyone except for his dad paid attention to me. I couldn’t help it, my wheat-toast-brown skin didn’t have any blemishes nor were there bags under my eyes. I usually wore my hair in a weave with a part in the middle; even when I tried a different style I still looked young. I didn’t necessarily eat well, but I had a toned body and I didn’t mind showing it off. Kadir would have to get over the way I looked and dressed.

  “Whose father are you, Kadir? Don’t worry about what I have on. You should be more focused on your game. I saw that pass you threw away.”

  “I know. I didn’t see it coming.”

  “Exactly. When you go to the pros, there is no missing passes.”

  “I know, Ma.”

  “I’m not getting on you. I know you are great, Kadir. But you have to make sure you’re always ready.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Enough. Tonight, let’s relax, eat, and count our blessings,” Carl demanded. “Say y
our prayers, Kadir, and leave your mother alone. Mo, start dressing your age.”

  “Amen to that,” Kadir said as we laughed and talked about the future.

  There were so many sacrifices over the years that we all had made. Carl worked two jobs, and I made the money stretch. We scraped, saved, and did whatever we had to do so that I could be there to cheer Kadir on at every home game as well as some away games. I was the coach’s extra set of eyes, the baker, the therapist, and the surrogate mom for kids whose parents never made it to any of the games.

  Now, everything we worked so hard for was about to happen. Kadir just entered the NBA draft, and when he walks across that stage and the commissioner shakes my baby’s hand, I’m going to be right there.

  CHAPTER 3

  Shanice Whitaker

  A lot of girls dream of one day being famous. They work on being sexy daily. They get ass shots and breast implants, trying to achieve the perfect body. Some even think all it takes to be a model is to post pictures all day long on social media. But me, I’m sexy effortlessly. I was born that way. My ass and titties are all mine. A few years ago, my only dream was not to have to worry about my rent every month and to be able to fill my refrigerator.

  That was then, and this is now. Who would have ever thought I would be where I am today? My name is Shanice “Shani Amore” Whitaker and I am a video vixen, men’s magazine cover girl, and model, a.k.a. your boyfriend’s #WCW (Woman Crush Wednesday). I’m living a life I didn’t even think was possible. I’m traveling all over the country and making good money just to pose or host parties, but I know it won’t last forever, and that’s why I’m trying to expand my brand. I know there are other girls with cuter faces, longer weaves, and super snatched waists, ready to try to step into my heels. That’s why I’m transitioning into commercials and acting. I never want to be known for just one thing.

  My career began when I worked in a Philly nightclub called Belize. There, I met a lot of powerful people and made a lot of connections. I worked for this lady named Adrienne who knew everyone. I also met my homegirl Darcel, who put me on to do video shoots. From there, it was on. I started appearing in music videos and getting more modeling work and hosting parties. I also met the love of my life, Jabril Smith, who played basketball for the Oklahoma City Thunder. He had a girlfriend, but he still invited me to his games and flew me out to his city. From then on, I humbly accepted the position as his main side chick. He bought me a condo and gave me a nice monthly bag and shoe allowance. Yes, he was in a relationship and had a baby on the way, but he was kind and I didn’t have to lie about who I was and what I did. I was a girl from North Philly, with a daughter that I had at sixteen and a mother in jail. I didn’t graduate high school, and I fucked him and his teammate the same night I met them. He knew all of that and still loved me and treated me like a princess.

  I loved Jabril so much I took a case for him. One of his boys left some weed in the car and we were pulled over by the cops. I claimed it as mine and for being his down-ass chick, Jabril rewarded me by never calling me again. At least he was nice enough to hire me a lawyer, who got all of the charges dropped. He also sent me twenty thousand dollars in “thank you” money. None of that meant anything to me, because all I wanted was him.

  Our breakup devastated me, but I still had to move on so I could eat. Tears don’t pay bills. I picked myself up, and I’ve been hustling hard ever since.

  Since then, I landed six magazine covers and was both the lead and love interest in eight music videos. Life was good and about to get even better. My management was in talks to have our modeling agency be a part of a television show.

  But until then, I was in New York City rehearsing lines in my head for a national flavored-yogurt commercial audition. I prayed that I booked this commercial. It was my third audition this week and I was a little discouraged.

  “Shanice Whitaker,” a woman with a clipboard in her hand called out.

  I walked into the audition and introduced myself. There were two young white women and a black guy with orange-blond hair. The woman who called me into the audition told me to begin while the black guy and a blond woman read over my résumé. I cleared my throat and began. Thankfully, I had memorized the lines on the train because they didn’t give me a script. I smiled and then began: “Yogi Fat Free Yogurt, it’s just what I need after the gym. Only ninety calories with a lot of flavor—without all the bad stuff.” I smiled again and held up the yogurt. I added my own twist on the commercial by holding up the yogurt at the end.

  “Very good,” the man said. He looked over my résumé again and asked me what my measurements were.

  I hesitated. Although I took yoga and spinning classes and had slimmed down from a size ten to a size eight, I was still a little self-conscious about my weight.

  “I’m thirty-eight–twenty-seven–forty.”

  “Yeah, I think you are beautiful, but . . .”

  The other lady interrupted him. “To be honest, your photo made you look a lot thinner. In person, your look is too pinup-girlish. But thank you.”

  “I think I look like the average woman.”

  “You do, but we are looking for slim and athletic. Thank you,” the woman said. She dismissed me and called in the next person.

  I walked out, and the man from the audition ran up to me. “Listen, your look is good for music videos, but to be taken seriously as a commercial model or actress, you need to lose thirty pounds. I know a trainer in Brooklyn. His name is Marco.”

  “With that much weight gone, I would look anorexic.”

  “No, you would look like an actress.” He handed me a card.

  I thanked him and left the audition depressed. They made me feel like I wasn’t good enough—something I dealt with all of my life. I balled the trainer’s card up and walked out of the building. I felt so alone again, like I always did.

  I had family, but none living with me. My daughter, Raven, had lived with her grandmother since she was born. I got to see her when my schedule allowed me to. My mom is in prison and I don’t know when she will be released. I didn’t speak to my aunt—who raised me and my cousin for years—because my cousin was a hater. My cousin Courtney went to blogs and radio stations talking shit about my relationship with Jabril. She said that I was a former stripper and that I fucked old men for money. It was true, but as my cousin, she should have kept my secrets and tried to build me up. Instead, she wanted to bring me down. She was so jealous and set on destroying me, but all she did was raise my stock. Dumb bitch. I missed spending time with Courtney and my aunt, but I can’t forgive a disloyal bitch.

  Well, Jabril ain’t loyal, either, but I was still in love with him. I watched his games a few times and checked for him on Twitter and Instagram. I wondered if he ever thought about me. I didn’t want to hurt his girlfriend or their daughter, but I had feelings, too. I just wanted for him to look me in my eyes and tell me what we had didn’t mean anything to him. I knew what we had was real, and I knew that one day we were going to have our face-to-face. Until then, I knew it would be hard to give any man my all.

  CHAPTER 4

  Zakiya Lee

  “Jabrilah, what are you doing? Give mommy back her necklace!” My daughter ran clumsily through my spacious living room and down the hall with my necklace in her hand. I chased her and caught her. We both giggled. I gave her a bunch of kisses on her cheek, and she kissed me back. My baby was a beautiful miracle. I know all moms think their babies are cute, special, and smart, but I knew mine was from the moment I held her.

  Not being able to carry a baby full term made me long for a healthy baby. Once I had her, I just wanted to be the best person I could be. I loved becoming a mommy. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted to ensure that I gave Jabrilah everything that I didn’t have—like a mother, a father, and a happy home. So far, so good. Today, my fiancé and I are still in love and going strong—even though everything and everybody tried to rip us apart. I suffered a stillborn baby, and t
hen there were the side chicks and groupies, the breakups, makeups, and setbacks. Him being in the NBA meant many women threw themselves at him daily. Knowing that, I tried to keep our communication open. Over the years, I learned so much from other players’ wives. I used to hang out with Nichelle, the wife of Jabril’s teammate Lloyd De-burrows. Nichelle’s advice for me was to look the other way when it came to cheating and have my own life. Then Christie, the girlfriend of one of Jabril’s teammates, told me the key to keeping a man from straying was to be freakier than him. She said that if you fucked him all the time everywhere, he would be too tired to cheat. But she was really crazy—she had me throw a baby shower for a nonexistent baby. So I couldn’t really take her advice and I’m not looking the other way either. I listen to my own advice but I have learned from their mistakes.

  We are a young couple—I’m twenty-four, he’s twenty-five—and I know that there is a lot of temptation out there. So I have to make sure he doesn’t get caught up. And I have left him before. When we first met he was out there with a lot of girls. And I lost our son and just got tired of it, so I left him for like six months. He couldn’t live without me, so he came to Philly and brought me dozens of roses and all this jewelry to win me back. At first I wasn’t impressed, but then I realized I loved him. I knew he would do right when he begged me for another baby and we planned the second pregnancy—but he didn’t. Instead, he had this video chick named Shani something who thought she was special, but I shut that down and got rid of her. He was parading her around everywhere while I was in the house, pregnant with his child. I didn’t have any other choice. I planted drugs in his car and then called the cops. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. He could have lost everything. Luckily, she took the charges for him and he cut her off. So it was a good thing . . . but I would never do it again or tell him the truth. His near miss to jail gave him a wakeup call. We got engaged, he doesn’t smoke weed anymore, and he barely drinks.