No Boundaries Read online

  There was irony in the fact that I had recently acquired a law degree, while Sharif, who had never finished high school, was in a position to discard a job and pass it down to me.

  After graduating from law school, all my college buddies had headed to Cancun for two weeks of fun in the sun. But I couldn’t afford that luxury. I was deep in debt and had to find an internship that paid decent wages, but obtaining an internship that paid anything in New York had become an exercise in futility. Apparently, most firms were only interested in interns that would provide them fi:'ee labor. It was bad enough that interns were only given grunt work, but to not even offer the minimum wage for said grunt work was reprehensible. It wasn’t merely my ego that didn’t allow me to accept any of the

  non-paying positions I’d been offered, I simply couldn’t afford to work for free.

  So I tossed my resume into a national database, and ^ out of all the fifty states, the only offer for a paid internship came from a mid-sized law firm in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania—my hometown—the place I’d fled.

  Blame it on miscommunication, or an overeagerness to get my career started. Whatever the case, I gave up my cramped apartment in New York and arrived in Philly with my bags packed only to discover the internship wouldn’t be available until September. Finding myself in a desperate situation, I sought out Sharif.

  From the time we were in middle school, Sharif had always been the go-to guy; the fix-it man. Sometimes, he was true to his word, but he also had game. Like I said,

  I had turned to Sharif only out of sheer desperation.

  I glanced at my empty tip jar and sighed heavily. Surviving the night, let alone the summer, didn’t seem likely at this point.

  Many of the dudes that Sharif and I grew up with were dead, doing time, or were messed up on drugs. My main man. Curt, was serving a twisted life sentence. I couldn’t even think about Curt without getting choked up.

  I haven’t been an angel; I’ve done my share of dirt. When you start hustling at age thirteen, you grow up fast. I’ve been around and seen a lot, and by the time I was twenty, I’d cheated death at least five or six times. The last straw for me was the day Curt almost got

  smoked. It sounds cold, but I can’t help thinking that somehow Curt would have been better off if he hadn’t pulled through.

  It had been a sunny day and Curt and I were having fun, enjoying the wind against our faces as we sped along Girard Avenue on dirt bikes, laughing as we outran the cops. Zipping on and off the pavement, we gave the cops the finger as we whizzed off Girard and cut down the wrong way of a one-way street. Those lames couldn’t catch us...not with our skills.

  We’d bought the bikes from some South Philly dudes. Cash. No ID or paperwork required. Making back-alley deals was the way business was transacted in the hood. We were young and getting it, and if our bikes got confiscated by the cops, we’d turn around and buy four more the next day.

  Flexing for the chicks that were grinning and waving at us, we felt superhuman and invincible as we zoomed through the neighborhood. The noise from the bikes was so deafening, I didn’t hear the gunshots. I saw Curt pull back the handlebars, throw a leg up, and do a twelve o’clock. But when my man flew off the seat and sailed through the sky, my first thought was that there was a mechamcal problem with the bike. My mind immediately began cooking up retaliation schemes for those South Philly suckers that had the audacity to sell us a defective bike. My plan was to make sure Curt was all right and then go find those suckers; leave them facedown in the same alley where the deal had gone down.

  It never dawned on me that some hating-ass punks, hiding in the cut, had opened fire on Curt.

  Everything became a blur after that. One minute I was stunting and doing wheelies through the streets, and the next minute, I was hovering over Curt, screaming for somebody to call an ambulance. The front of his white T-shirt was sprayed with bullet holes, and the back of his head was caved in with globs of blood and brain tissue oozing onto the asphalt. Witnesses said I lost it for a minute. They said I was rambling incoherently as I tried to scoop up portions of Curt’s brain with my cupped hands. But I don’t remember.

  Thankfully, my subconscious blocked out that part of the tragedy. Still, after experiencing something so unimaginable, it’s a wonder I’m sane. Then again, maybe I’m not. Who knows what a psychiatrist would uncover if I ever let one poke around inside my mind?

  It didn’t make sense for someone so young and fun loving as Curt to be laying up in a nursing home. Seeing him helpless and paralyzed, wearing diapers, and being fed through tubes made me rethink the way I viewed the world. Doctors said Curt was brain dead, that he was a vegetable, but I didn’t buy it. Curt was still there. Trapped in that motionless, atrophied body, my boy was aware of his miserable situation. I could see awareness brimming in his eyes. And I was tortured by the fact that he knew what was going on. I would have felt better if he wasn’t conscious of the fucked-up way his young life had been altered.

  The last time I saw Curt, he was gazing at me pleadingly. Like he was begging me to help him. When the male nurse came into his room and began the process of flushing his trachea tube, Curt’s eyes latched onto mine and were wild with panic. The procedure seemed painful, and Curt’s watery eyes seemed terrified.

  Yo, that’s enough, man,” I yelled at the nurse. “You’re hurting him.”

  “Oh, he’s fine; he doesn’t feel anything,” the nurse replied casually, like Curt was nothing more than a house plant that he’d come in to water. Meanwhile, Curt’s eyes had started rolling into the back of his head. I lost it. Something inside me flipped, and without planning, I found myself charging toward the nurse and yanking him off Curt.

  Foul-smelling, milky fluids sprayed from the trachea tube and onto the walls, the bed, and on my shirt. And Curt nearly asphyxiated. Security was called and I was permanently banned from the facility.

  I was a basket case after that incident, and mad at the world. I had been taking random classes at Community College, merely to keep my grandmother off my case. As long as I was in school, she didn’t harass me about getting a real job, and a real job would have interfered with my hustle. But after what happened to Curt, my heart wasn’t in the game anymore. I saw it for what it really was a trap. The game was all smoke and mirrors. None of us were making any real money. We were young

  and gullible, and easily influenced to risk our freedom and our lives for a pair of sneakers, clothes, cheap jewelry, and a knot of cash that was large enough to impress naive, young girls.

  Through the neighborhood recreation center where I went to shoot hoops from time to time, I found out about a scholarship. That’s when I decided it was time to turn my life around. Curt had gotten an unfair life sentence and I felt an obligation to make something of myself.

  But after four years of undergrad in Virginia and three years of law school in New York, I ended up right back where I started, unsuccessful and broke. Working in a hole-in-the-wall bar seemed like a cruel joke.

  FONIA

  2005

  W hen Mr. Lord asked me what I wanted for my thirteenth birthday, I revealed, “All I want is you. I want you to adopt me. Please.” I held my breath as I waited for him to respond.

  “That’s complicated. I’d have to be married to Lena, and that’s not going to happen. Also, your biological father would have to give up his parental rights. He’s a poor excuse for a father, but I doubt if he’d willingly sign away his rights.”

  “But he doesn’t care about me.”

  “You’re right; he doesn’t care about you. But I do; I care about you deeply. That’s all that matters. We don’t need a piece of paper to think of each other as father and daughter, do we?”

  I shrugged. “I guess not.”

  He cradled my chin between his thumb and index finger, and looked into my eyes. “Don’t I treat you like you’re my daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to know why?”

  I nodded.

  “From the moment I saw you, I knew that I had to possess you educate you in the ways of my world. I enjoy molding you into becoming the perfect little submissive,” he said in a loving tone that was accompanied by a gentle stroke on my cheek.

  I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but his words sounded so lovely, I gave him a big smile.

  “I couldn’t ask for a better-behaved child. You do exactly what you’re told, and I hope you never change.”

  I won t change.” I was flushed with pride. Having his approval meant the world to me.

  He released my chin and ran his fingers over my cheek. “I’m the only man who knows what’s best for you, Fonia.”

  “I know,” I whispered, feeling mesmerized.

  “That’s my good girl.” He stroked my cheek again and I closed my eyes, craving more of his affection. As if sensing my yearning, he kissed me softly on the cheek.

  “Can I call you Dad?” I asked eagerly.

  He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, not yet.”

  “Why not?” The rejection stung, and my eyes gfistened with tears.

  His eyes hardened a little. “You’re out of line, Fonia. Never question my decisions. I prefer that you continue calling me Mr. Lord, is that clear?” he said harshly.

  “Yes, Mr. Lord!” I lowered my eyes to hide my hurt feelings. Mommy frequendy dropped her eyes when Mr. Lord was around. I never understood it, but now it seemed as if I had a better understanding. She felt embarrassed whenever she said or did something that he disapproved of. I was terribly confused about the nature of Mommy’s and Mr. Lord’s relationship. Did all bosses spank their secretaries? I wondered.

  “I don’t want to be out of line, Mr. Lord, but I really want to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he spanked Mommy, but fearing repercussions for snooping, I blurted, “Is Mommy your girlfriend?”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “Well, uh, because you stay the night sometimes, and you sleep with her.”

  He released a sigh. “Lena is my employee, and we’ve developed a special bond. I suppose you could say we have an agreement. She’s eager to succeed in the business world, and so I come over a few evenings a week to give her additional training. But in response to your question, no, she’s not my girlfriend; we’re not romantically involved.”

  I became quiet, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Spanking an adult seemed an odd method of training, but in my eyes, Mr. Lord could do no wrong. He knew what was best for my mother and me, and I hoped she’d

  quickly leam her duties and responsibilities to avoid getting spanked again.

  “Don’t trouble yourself about your mother and me. Lena is my employee.. .nothing more. On the other hand, I adore you, Princess,” he assured.

  I felt a rush of relief, and decided on that day that I would do everything I could to stay in his good graces. Maybe one day, he’d love me enough to really accept me as his daughter. In the meantime, I would strive to please him. I’d never be like Mommy; I’d never upset him to the point where he had to spank me. I’d always be his perfect, little submissive.

  Oro^wm

  2007

  On my fifteenth birthday. Air. Lord made reservations at an elegant restaurant and Mommy and I were both dressed in designer wear and were dripping in jewels. Wearing the diamond-encrusted tiara he’d given me, I felt like royalty.

  He opened the passenger’s door to his Bentley and when Mommy stepped forward, he said, “No, this is Fonia’s special day. I want my princess to sit up front, next to me.”

  “Oh,” Mommy uttered and quietly got in the back.

  Beaming with pride, I sat next to Mr. Lord.

  During our appetizers. Mommy ordered a CosmopoHtan,

  Mr. Lord had cognac, and I had a virgin margarita with sugar around the rim. “Xhis is so good,” I gushed. Wanna taste?” I asked Mommy, but she declined, wrinkling her nose.

  “I’ll try it,” Mr. Lord said and reached for my glass. He took a small sip. “Mm, the perfect drink for the perfect little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mr. Lord,” I informed him. “I’m fifteen.”

  He laughed. “You’re right. Princess, and we should toast to that.”

  Instead of joining us in a toast. Mommy guzzled down her drink and immediately waved over the waiter. “I need something stronger. Bring me a glass of bourbon.”

  Mr. Lord raised his glass. “To my little princess who has grown into a stunning young lady right before my eyes.” And then he leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

  Overwhelmed by the joy of the occasion and so appreciative of how special he made me feel, I threw my arms around Mr. Lord’s neck. “Thank you for everything; I love you so much.”

  “I love you too. Princess.”

  Mommy made a scoffing sound, and when her bourbon arrived, she guzzled the drink down.

  “Are you all right, Lena?” Mr. Lord inquired.

  “No, I’m not all right, but it’s nothing that another drink won’t cure.”

  By the time dinner was over, Mommy was slurring her words. When the valet brought the car around, she staggered over to it. “Oh, I forgot. Fm not good enough to sit up front. That spot belongs to my fifteen-year-old brat!” she complained in a loud voice as she climbed in the back seat of the car.

  I was humiliated by her behavior. But Mr. Lord didn’t seem to mind. He behaved as if Mommy didn’t exist, and focused all of his attention on me. “Did you enjoy your birthday dinner?”

  “Yes, it was wonderful.”

  “Fm sorry we didn’t get to celebrate with cake and ice cream, but Lena wasn’t feeling well...” His voice trailed off.

  “It’s fine; I had a great birthday. Besides, I think I’ve lost my taste for cake and ice cream,” I said, angling for a compHment. Air. Lord didn’t like me to indulge in sugary food, and so I was hoping to hear, ‘That’s my good girl.’

  Instead, he said, “Nonsense! Cake and ice cream once a year won’t harm you. Overindulging in a high-fat and sugary diet and drmkmg too much alcohol is what makes people sick and unattractive.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and scowled at Mommy. I turned around to see what he was looking at. Mommy was sprawled out in the back, in an undignified manner.

  “I’ll make sure you have your birthday cake next year.

  I won t allow Lena to spoil your big day, ever again.” His voice was low and cold; and he spoke through clenched teeth as if fighting to keep from exploding with anger.

  At home, Mr. Lord helped Mommy to her bedroom and then came to my room.

  I caressed the tiara that was still on my head. “I don’t

  want to take it off.”

  Mr. Lord smiled at me and gendy lifted it from my head. “Put it back in the box, and keep it in your top drawer.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lord.” Everything in our home was arranged by Mr. Lord’s standards. From the way the dishes were stacked in the kitchen cabinets to the way Mommy and I organized our closets. He often selected the clothing we both wore. Once when I asked Mommy why I couldn’t choose my own clothes, she told me that Mr. Lord had refined taste and he wanted to make sure that we looked pretty at all times.

  When he’d first entered our lives, it hadn’t been easy for me to give up control. But over time, I gave in, mostly because Mommy said he knew what was best for us. Now it seemed perfectly normal for him to control every aspect of our fives. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with kids my age. Mr. Lord wanted to protect me from bad influences. I didn’t see much of my Nana or my Poppy anymore, either. They were my biological father s parents, and Mr. Lord didn’t want them poisoning my mind, and he also feared that their unsophisticated ways might rub off on me.

  “Should I put on my blue nightie—the one with the ruffles?” I asked after I put the tiara in its proper place.

  “That’s a good choice,” he said, looking around my

  room, which was decorated with Hello Kitty paraphernalia everywhere. “I think it’s time to update your room with more mature decorating.”

  I loved my Hello Kitty-themed bedroom, and my immediate impulse was to balk at the idea of changing it, but I caught myself. I’d been taught to never disagree with Mr. Lord. I can’t wait to see the changes you make in my room!” I faked a big grin, and hoped he’d never get around to redecorating my room.

  I went inside my private bathroom, washed up, brushed my teeth and changed into my frilly gown. When I stepped inside my room, he gazed at me for a long time and then said, “You look like an angel.”

  Mr. Lord tucked me in, and when he leaned in to kiss me goodmght, I detected a pleasant whiff of the fragrance he wore. “You smell so good, I wish could smell your scent all night.”

  Giving me a look of kind understanding, he removed his tie and gave it to me. “Here you are. Princess. You can sleep with this.”

  I eagerly reached for the silk fabric and brought it to my nose. His eyes gleamed as he watched me inhale. “Thank you, Mr. Lord.”

  “You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Fonia. Goodnight.”

  Clutching his tie, I groped for his hand. “Can you stay in here with me a little while longer?”

  “Only a little while.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing for the warmth of his lips on my face again. I loved him so much. There was no one

  in the world as important to me. Except Mommy, of course. Feeling suddenly alarmed, I opened my eyes. “Is Mommy in trouble, Mr. Lord?”

  His face clouded. “I’m not pleased with Lena’s behavior tonight, and I’m going to have to address it when she’s sober.”

  I gnawed nervously on my bottom lip. “Is she going to get a spanking?”

  He gawked at me, shocked that I knew what he did to my mother behind closed doors. “How do you know what takes place between me and Lena in the privacy of her bedroom?”