Chapter 8Game of Chance
“Contessa?” Marshall hollered after he’d closed the front door.
He received no answer, so he checked the bedroom only to find the bed made and empty. A surge of panic shuffled through him, and he frantically searched the house for her. After coming up empty and close to calling the cops, he went back into the bedroom.
And then he saw the note.
He screamed in frustration.
How the hell I am I going to fix this?, he thought.
//
“What the fuck happened?” Curtis inquired as they drove back to his apartment.
He hadn’t expected her call this morning, and he refused to let the matter drop.
“Marshall had an unexpected visitor this morning.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“His girlfriend showed up.”
“Shit!” Curtis swore.
“You knew?” she accused.
“Yeah—”
“You bastard—you knew! You knew and you still brought me here. Take me to the airport! Now!” she yelled.
//
“Yo,” Curtis said as he flipped open his cell phone.
“Is she with you?” Marshall demanded.
“Yeah.”
“Damn it, did she tell you what happened?”
“More or less.”
“Fuck, bring her to the studio! I need to—”
Contessa yanked the phone from Curtis’ hand. “Please find another whore to satisfy yourself,” she spat.
“You don’t understand!” he pleaded.
“What’s not to understand? I was your whore, and now I’m not.”
“No—you weren’t, you aren’t!” he replied desperately only to hear a click and the resulting dial tone.
//
“Don’t you think you were a little harsh?” Curtis said after a few minutes of silence.
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s just a difficult situation that’s he in… You gotta understand—”
“Excuse me? I think it’s time you stopped trying to help because everything you’ve done has just made everything worse!”
//
“This isn’t the airport!” she shouted.
“I know! Shut your yap and get out of the damn car!” Curtis growled.
“Fuck you,” she spat and crossed her arms adamantly.
“You’ll get out of this car even if I have to hurt you to do it! I ain’t no gentleman, as you well know!”
She had the dignity to blush.
//
“She’s all yours!” Curtis growled and pushed Contessa into Marshall’s recording studio.
“Thanks Curtis—”
“Yeah, well, don’t fuck it up again!” he warned in a hushed whisper and exited quickly.
He had no desire to witness the major brawl about to ensue.
//
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”
“Right.”
“God damn it, won’t you listen to me?”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing? I sure ain’t on the plane that I’d like to be on right about now so you better keep runnin’ your mouth and not waste my time!”
Marshall grabbed her by her waist, pulled her tight and flush against him, and brutally assaulted her lips, sought her tongue with his. He had to give her credit—she put up a fight; her fists pounded against his chest, but he kept her securely in his embrace, forcing her to accept his kiss—his passion.
“Stop!” she cried.
He rested his forehead against hers as they both panted for needed breath. “When I’m with you, that’s all I can fuckin’ think about…”
She muttered something unintelligible, but her tone was so bitter and disbelieving, he cleared his throat to clarify himself.
“There’s no Kim…no Eminem… Fuck, even Hailie’s the last thing on my mind…” he trailed off, raking a hand through his short hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just told you! I couldn’t fuckin’ think past you! You coulda’ asked me anything, and I wouldn’t have known left from right!”
“Why, Marshall Mathers, are you saying you’re obsessing over me?” she smiled coyly.
He looked away. “I’m fuckin’ scared,” he replied softly.
“Marshall Mathers, scared? The nation’s fuckin’ idol scared?” she said trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled wryly. “Scared of a girl. Damn, I feel like I’m fifteen again.”
“You wanna make up now?” she quipped.
“Could we?”
“You just gotta tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Kim.”
“What about her?”
“Yes, what about her?”
“It’s…”
“What? Complicated? You better answer this carefully. So think first,” she advised.
“I ain’t with her for any of the reasons you’re thinkin’.”
“Why don’t you elaborate?”
“It’s for Hailie—”
“Oh, god, you’re an idiot!”
“I love my daughter!” he yelled.
“Loving her doesn’t mean you have to be miserable to make her happy. How’s it gonna be when she’s thirteen and starts to understand what you and Kim fight about? How’s she gonna feel when you stay at your house and Kim’s at her own? You think she’s not gonna realize the sham you guys live? Shit, do you know what that would fuckin’ do to her mind?
“Sure, she doesn’t get it now. She just understands that her mommy and daddy aren’t livin’ together and yell a lot. There’s going to be a day when she does get it. It’ll all make sense, and she’ll probably realize that she was the reason why you both stayed together. You think that’s good for her? To know she made her parents miserable for years?”
“How do you know all this, huh?” he asked in shock.
“It’s common sense, Marshall. You just can’t see past making her happy ‘cause you love her—I get that, really, I do, but you have to realize that you can’t pretend for her sake now because in the long run, it doesn’t work. You’re just causing bigger trouble later on. Plus, you want to see those psychiatrist bills in ten years?”
He shrugged.
“I’m not gonna be with you if you’re with her,” Contessa whispered. “I have my pride.”
“I know,” he sighed. “And I know you’re right…about Hailie.”
“So, where does that leave us?”
Chapter 9
Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.