4 The Bride Of Michaelstein

In the days after the fire settlement, Bernadette moved into my Encino condo. I purchased a pool table that almost filled the entire all-white living room. When we were not planning and fantasizing about being stars, you could catch us cruising Ventura Blvd with our convertible top-down.

One beautiful, sunny afternoon, while perusing the valley, two handsome guys with big Afros reminiscent of the Jacksons pulled up beside us; we learned that they were also musicians and invited them over to hang out later that evening. Preparing for their visit, Bernadette and I did some shopping; we purchased wine, cheese, and crackers, and upon returning home, we hid a gun under the middle couch cushion. We practiced getting to it in time, just in case our newly found friends turned out to be psycho killers.

Upon arrival, we graciously greeted them and guided them to the couch. We began chatting while remembering our seating arrangement, positioned around the Smith & Wesson.

Michael was a strikingly attractive Creole guitar player, thin and dressed with his shirt partially open to reveal a slight layer of chest hair. Terren was a handsome 6’1 bass player with cocoa skin. They were in a band called ‘Cold Desire.’ Having a thing for skinny guitar players with big naturals, Michael reminded me of a light complexion Jermaine.” He was apple pie sweet at the beginning, and I fell madly in love with him and began cheating on Eddie.

Michael and Terren made a living performing in Japan with their band, often leaving for months at a time. I fell hard for Michael, and before his band’s next performance, I made Michael aware of my relationship with Eddie. I explained, “Eddie is my dear friend, my older benefactor, and sometimes lover, but I’m not in love with him.” Michael got the point and went along with it. Whenever he came back from Japan, he stayed in my apartment with Bernadette, the kids, and I without Eddie knowing.

Although Bernadette had doubts about Michael, I noted her concerns and continued my deep affection for him regardless. But it wasn’t long before the monster hidden beneath the handsome mask showed itself. Michael and Bernadette clashed, mostly over his selfishness. She voiced her dislike of his disrespectful tone against me and his meanness toward my children.

“Why did you drink the last of the milk when the children hadn’t eaten breakfast yet?” Bernadette asked him.

Or Michael questioned me, “Why are you girls always hanging out, pursuing a band that ain’t gonna happen?”

Bernadette believed Michael was using me. Her sentiments rang true, but I fell in love with him.

She didn’t find his jokes funny, and he hated her and became jealous of our friendship. They didn’t argue much, but the air was thicker than mud. Michael wanted her to disappear.

Although I wouldn’t ask Bernadette to move, she recognized my love for Michael and knew my history. I was my abusive mother’s child, and I needed a man no matter what; my anxiousness was obvious to her. Not wanting to stand in the way of my happiness, Bernadette sadly moved out of my apartment into her own in Hollywood. Even though we continued to meet at band rehearsals, Michael damaged our bond.

Before this point, I had always been in control of my relationships, as evidenced by my past mistreatment of men.  I reckoned this coldness derived from my father’s lineage and his selfishness. But, I will soon discover that Michael is the karma that came back to haunt me. Unexpectedly, I became pregnant by Michael, albeit I tried to pin it on Eddie.

Previously, in Texas, I dated a guy who paid me child support for a baby that did not even exist. I used one of my friend’s infant pictures to make him believe he was the proud Papa. The married high-roller compensated me for my silence. The point is that I am no stranger to deceit, but I was torn because I loved and did not want to lose Eddie.

I excitingly announced to Eddie that he would be the father of our unborn child. He then informed me, “Bonnie, it is impossible that I am the daddy of this baby; I had a vasectomy many years ago.” He busted me, and we separated.

After many years of his loyalty, I, Bonnie, betrayed Eddie, one of the two men in my life, including my granddaddy, who genuinely cared for me. I ditched my dearest friend Bernadette to pursue a relationship with the Monster Michael.

“It’s okay to leave those people in the past,” Michael proclaimed. You are leaving the fast life behind and now slowing down the pace to be with me.” These were the words laced with ulterior motives, spoken daily in various forms to control my mind, and they worked.

He would not allow me to run freely and isolated me from my friends, and I began a regular nine-to-five job at the security agency. Michael became extraordinarily possessive and violent towards my children and me. Whenever someone smiled at me, acknowledged my beauty, or if I looked in a male’s direction, he beat me up. And god forbid if I gave a kind compliment, under my breath, to a man or woman, Michael swore I had a past relationship with them and punched me. I hid the beatings from Bernadette at our rehearsals. However, my children observed him pounding me.

Even though I hurt Eddie, he remained loyal and available as a friend. His loyalty to me triggered the monster. Describing Eddie as a best friend was not satisfactory for Michael. He forced me to explain every detail of my past relationships. I had to specify all of my previous funding arrangements and describe ‘in detail’ the sexual favors given to Eddie and every other man. After I explained each situation, he balled up his fist and beat my beautiful face until I was black and blue.

I worked overtime and often went to work, covering up my battered and bruised body while financially taking care of Michael. He never provided a penny to the household. Michael had always been jealous of Bernadette and the band, viewing it one day as bullshit and the next as competition. He finally discouraged me from hanging out with Bernadette and being a part of the band.

Through it all, Bernadette continued auditioning for female musicians. She regrouped the band several times before the lineup that I watched from a distance became famous.

Trying to understand my sick devotion and why I stayed, they now call it ‘the battered women syndrome,’ In my mind, Michael would soon change; we would marry and fall in love, like my great grandparents. The cocaine he and I started using convinced me of this, and a habit of a tremendous magnitude developed.

Sadly, my friendship with Bernadette suffered because of Michael. As friends, we went our separate ways, and I left the band behind. Distancing myself from her dream and the destruction of our lovely friendship became the foundation of my drug addiction and made me an addict.

Here was my dear comrade with who I never had one argument, my best friend who made the pain of my past disappear with laughter and camaraderie, no longer in my life.

Understanding that her family had turned against her for choosing to follow her passion in music, having a grandmother who never accepted her because of her skin color, a Father who was dead but never a part of her life, and a brother who turned his back on her. I was Bernadette’s only family. With every hit of cocaine lining  the walls of my raw nostrils, I thought, “We had a lifetime of memories, and our friendship is now gone!”

My kids and I continued living with Michael, and while pregnant, I developed a troubling cocaine habit that was out of control. Now described as a functional addict, I became a frequent user, and my daily thoughts consisted of, “How do I get more?” While still working at the security agency and performing various jobs, I became my boss’ temporary secretary while he searched for a replacement. Desperately needing money for more cocaine, I devised a plan.

The Louisiana Fried Chicken company was the security firm’s biggest client. The Crenshaw location became a significant risk because money was always short at the register. Therefore, the company instructed the manager to take a polygraph test. My job as secretary included typing the results and forwarding them to the company owner. My boss trusted me and never reviewed my scripted results. By this time, I had become the consummate opportunist in criminal activity and planned to visit and manipulate the manager at the chicken location.

When I arrived, he greeted me, and I coldly replied, ” You collect the money from several Louisiana Chicken locations, right?

He responded, “Yes, I collect the payroll from four locations on Thursdays and place it in the safe at my main location.”

I explained with ease, “The results of your polygraph show deceptiveness; you are stealing from the safe and the cash registers.” In between a slow drag from my cigarette, I stated, “However, if you want to keep your job and make more money than you have been ripping off, we can talk.”

With a nod of approval, he asked. “What do you have in mind?”

He listened while I explained the deal. “I will falsify the report if you let me stage a robbery during your shift. We will split the money. You keep your job, and I will remain professional at mine like nothing ever happened.” He agreed.

I then approached a girl, Renee, to be my accomplice; she was dating Michael’s band member Tarren now and desperately tried to buy his affection. She said, “Okay, I’ll do it, and whatever money I get from the heist will go to Tarren.”

My next move was to reach out to Bernadette. I described my plan and asked her to drive the getaway car, thinking, ‘She can make money for the band.’ Without hesitation, Bernadette declined. Thus, I needed a driver and decided on my homegirl, Bridgette, who was visiting from Texas. She accepted.

I worked out the details with the manager, and he decided that we would enter the store, rob him when the other employees were at lunch, and leave before he rang the alarm. He suggested on a Thursday when he prepared the cash for the business’s monthly payroll and bank deposits. The plan for a stick-up was in motion.

The following Thursday day, we disguised ourselves with wigs, oversized coats, and dark sunglasses; Bridgette stayed in the car while Renee and I perused the area before entering. All seemed clear. When walking into the chicken store, the manager immediately noticed us and portrayed his acting skills well for the hidden security cameras. With a fake gun, I demanded the money; he appeared petrified, emptied the cash register, and handed me the money bag. Up to this point, everything went as planned until we exited. Unexpectedly, an armed security guard entered, noticed our costumes, and became suspicious. Our hurriedness caused the guard to assume a robbery. “Hey,”  He hollered, and Renee and I ran towards the waiting car. The guard yelled again, “Hey, what are you doing?” And then fired a gunshot, hitting Renee in the leg as we jumped into the vehicle.

Bridgette burned rubber from the Crenshaw district to the freeway, and we returned to my house in Encino.  Blood ran down Renee’s leg, and we tied a towel tightly around her wound. We poured the money bag on my bed and counted the bundles of loot, split the money, and then Renee drove herself to the hospital, claiming to be the victim of a robbery.

Since that day, Renee and I have never spoken to each other again. We crossed paths only once at our boyfriend’s performance but acted as if we did not know each other. Tarren eventually moved in with Renee and spent all the money. At least her plan worked out for her.

Bridgette stayed in Los Angeles and used her portion for an apartment, new furniture, clothes, and a down payment on a car, and I met up with the chicken manager and gave him his share from the robbery.

One day, returning home from work earlier than Michael expected, I found my daughter, Myaa, bruised and battered. Michael had viciously beaten her with a belt and buckle because she wet herself. I wondered what would make someone persecute a child like that. Flashbacks of my past as a child haunted me, and now I am witnessing the exact abuse happening to my flesh and blood. I lost it and attacked him both verbally and physically. Once again, he continuously hit me, knocking me down the stairs, punching and stomping me. I was so bruised and swollen; I appeared the victim of a car dragging me down the street and then running over me again.

Two days later, Michael left for Japan. My pain did not stop him from going. It was so severe that at five months pregnant, I delivered a deceased baby boy on my living room floor. I called the paramedics. When I arrived at the hospital, with the fetus in a bag, still attached to my umbilical cord, the Doctor examined and informed me that I had suffered a miscarriage of two babies. One born and the other still in my womb. Michael murdered the twins. I refused to report this incident, fearing Michael would kill me, and protection for a black woman in an incident like this in the 80s was next to impossible,

I stayed in the hospital for three days. Bridgette, who stayed at my apartment with Jai and Maya, stated, “Your all-white condominium looked like you slaughtered a hog in it. There was so much blood splattered on the floor and walls; I could not clean it all.”

My apartment held memories of Michael’s beatings and my twins dying; I knew returning to the scene of the crime was not an option for me. Fearing that he would destroy me or that I would murder him, I decided to leave Michael. I hid out with friends who moved my belongings into a storage unit. When Michael returned from Japan, he desperately tried to find me but discovered no traces of the kids or me. Even so, revenge was on my mind.

This incident changed me. I became bitter and cold-blooded towards men again. I realized that the boogeyman is not a caricature; he is a handsome, black man who lived with me and wears a mask of deception, a magnificently wrapped Christmas present until you open the box. After the punches to my daughter and losing my premature twins, I planned to have him killed.

At this time, I was a frequent cocaine user and in contact with unsavory people. I purchased Michael a new Lincoln Continental in cash from the robbery money. For three grams of cocaine, I hired a dope fiend to make a homemade explosive and connect it to his car ignition. Unfortunately, it did not explode; therefore, my spitefulness continued, and I prepared my next plan. Next time, I will do the duty myself. I thought, If I go, the Lincoln goes as well.

It was the evening of his show at a club on the south side of Los Angeles. Michael was to perform on stage with his band “Cold Desire.” My friend Bridgette and I waited in my car, hiding until the group members arrived and Michael parked the Lincoln. Three songs deep into their performance, Bridgette, my lookout, gave me a signal that the coast was clear. I took a rag, stuffed it into the Lincoln gas tank, lit a match to it, and set the car ablaze. We parked down the street just far enough to watch his vehicle go up in flames. We took a few hits of cocaine and waited.

Frantically, Michael came running out of the club,  screaming as we laughed our asses off. I started my car, flashed the headlights a few times, and drove past him, ensuring he saw me.

That car represented an extension of Michael’s “Godzilla” ego. Now, his facade is dismantled. Hence, in retrospect, “Godzilla” was kind towards women; he only ate men. So let me change that reference to his demonic vanity. With the assurance that another chick would not ride in the automobile that I bought and got beat-downs for, I felt the victor and relaxed.

To feed my addiction, I found another job as a bank teller. A year later, through friends, I’d heard that Michael was searching for me and soon discovered the location of the bank where I worked. He appeared with flowers and a smile, but never an apology for the damage he caused to my life. Hence, this time, I stood before Michael as a different woman, no longer afraid of him, albeit concerned for my children’s safety. Therefore, the next day, I quit and moved to another job. Michael never found me again.

I hated him for destroying everything good in my life. Bernadette Cooper went the right way and continued with her vision for KLYMAXX, finally finding the correct girls for the band. In 1980, she achieved a recording contract. KLYMAXX had their first hit record in 1984, ‘The Men All Pause.’

I went terribly left in my life. Even though there was an entirely new set of girls, I shared Bernadette’s passion and helped pave the way for her success. I will always cherish the times she and I shared; they were the happiest days and the best moments of my entire life.

With Bernadette gone and my dreams shattered, I struggled to find a purpose and soon discovered the world of drugs, prostitution, and murder.