Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? by Wendy Williams

Author:Wendy Williams [Williams, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-48641-7
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2007-07-03T05:00:00+00:00

19

Madalyn and Cecil had gone to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Tracee was in the waiting area outside of Ritz's room, reading. Tracee was at Ritz's beck and call, but Ritz hadn't beckoned so far. The nurses were on their toes, but Ritz would rather have Tracee help her to the bathroom, help her eat, and other personal stuff like that.

Tracee had her head buried in a book when the door opened.

It was Randolph. He had taken a break from his duties and decided to see if Ritz was up for a visitor.

“Hi…”

“I'm Tracee. I don't think I told you that yesterday.”

“No, I'm sorry for being rude and not asking. I was a little nervous,” Randolph said. “I only met Miss Harper once and I felt like I might be overstepping my bounds by coming by.

But when I heard she was shot and then found out she was on the very floor I was working on, I wanted to stop by and let her know that I was praying for her.”

“I'm sure she will love to hear that,” Tracee said. “Let me go in and see if she's up.”

Tracee cracked the door to see that Ritz was indeed up, and she was watching CNN's Morning Show.

“Hey, Ritzy. You have a visitor.”

Ritz's smile turned into a grimace.

“I don't want to fucking see anybody! Do you see what I look like?” snarled Ritz. She had finally looked in the mirror. While the swelling had gone down considerably and the bruises around her eye were fading, she still was a long way away from the fabulous “Ritz Harper.”

“Who is it?”

“Randolph? He said he fixed your Jacuzzi.”

“Tall, chocolate, Morris Chestnut-looking brother?”

“Yeah,” Tracee said. “That's him.”

“Oh, fuck no! He's the last person I want to see in this condition. That reminds me— I need to get some makeup and a wig, pronto. If motherfuckers are going to just be dropping by, I need to have some sort of defense. Tell him I'm not up to seeing anyone just yet. Tell him he can come by in a couple of days.”

“Okay. Hey, were you and this guy trying to start something?”

“I was, for sure,” Ritz said, and broke into a smile. “But he said something about saving himself for marriage or some shit. But I know I can break his ass down. You know how I do. Just give me a couple of weeks of rehab and I'll be back to my old self. I can't wait.”

Shoot! Off-limits! Tracee thought. But it didn't matter. Tracee wasn't running after any man. If he or anybody wanted her, they would have to do the pursuing. And if Ritz wanted him, Tracee couldn't.

“Are you sure you don't want to see him? He doesn't seem like the type to care about how you look.”

“I don't give a fuck what he cares about,” Ritz shot back. “I care about how I look. Look at my hair, for crying out loud! Where is my fucking wig? Where is my pocketbook? Where is my left tit? I swear, I am gonna fucking sue somebody!!”

“Okay.

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