Put Your Diamonds Up! Read Online Free PDF Page A

her six-inch pencil heels into the carpet. “What? Did you think I forgot? Dear God, please don’t make me have to Mace you for trying to insult my memory! I’m trying to be good to you, Heather. Don’t make me get ugly.” She paused. “And in case you forgot what ugly looks like”—she pointed to the hump on the bed—“it’s Camille after a few drinks. Now, let’s try this again.”
    â€œI want you to listen to Godmother. Hear me, and hear me well. Wu-Wu. Is. D-E-A-D. Dead. You understand me? Forget her. Kitty has given me permission to let you know that you are to become Luda Tutor. Medieval princess storms New York. You are lost in a time warp capsule and have been dropped in the middle of the twenty-first century. Luda Tutor does Brooklyn. Now don’t let me hear you say anything else about Wu-Wu again.”
    I could hear Camille snickering from under the covers.
    Spencer continued, “Now, I have one last surprise for you. Close your eyes and open your hand.”
    I hesitated but followed her request. I felt her place something in my hand. My eyes popped open and there was a set of car keys. She pointed out of the window to a black Lamborghini Gallardo. “That would be yours. And you may thank Godmother now.”
    I looked up at Spencer and she wore the cheesiest smile I’d ever seen. “Go on, Heather. Thank me.”
    Thank you? Thank you? First this effen trick gives me three million dollars. A step above a welfare check. And now she has the audacity to give me a black car, when she knows I hate black cars! She knows that hot pink and leopard print are my favorite! Therefore, that heap of scrap metal should’ve been hot pink and leopard. But noooooo, it’s black! And then she left the factory rims on it. No spinners. No gold wheels. Real basic. You know what, I should take this douche bag by the hand, walk her outside, and bash her face into the windshield! Thank her? Really? No, what I should do is flatten her face with the wheels!
    I looked up at Spencer and just when I thought about knocking her front teeth out, I decided to be the bigger person. “Thank you!” I said and fell into her embrace.
    â€œYou know I’m here for you, girl.” She held me tightly and patted my back. “Just don’t cross me.”

3
Rich
    Y eah, boo.
    It’s been magical: the lovemaking. The kisses: breathtaking. Your touch: like fire. But this is where I get off.
    I’m done.
    We’re done.
    It’s over.
    And last night was it.
    I know it’ll be hard for you, but you’ll have to get over me. Besides, you demand too much of my time. It’s been every other day, sometimes twice a day, with you. That’s overkill. Who does that?
    I can’t have you possessing my body all the time. Heck, even the times when we’re not together I find myself craving your touch, your mouth, the pulling, pinching, and sucking of your luscious lips on my . . . See, here I go again . . . Peeking over this letter, looking at your hard, sleeping body in the hotel bed and wondering if I should take my clothes off for a third time since last night...
    This is too much.
    And then you asked me to break up with my boyfriend. Why are you hatin’ on my relationship like that? In case you’ve forgotten, you know we had an agreement—which was: I call you. You don’t stalk me. Demand things from me. But over and over again this is what you do. You are out of control. Seriously, every time I turn around there you are—all up in my space and my face, casting spells on me. And being ridiculous. Touching my . . . squeezing my . . . whispering in my ear that you want to ease your tongue in my . . . leaving purple passionate evidence of your sweet sucks all over my body, forcing me to hide out for days from my man.
    And no matter how many times I tell you that MY hair—the hair that grows out of my scalp—ONLY reaches