Read Online Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? by Wendy Williams - Free Book Online

she would be in no condition to appreci-ate— and after the hoopla died down maybe every now and then there would be a few lines about her in David Hinck-ley's “Radio Dial” column in the
Daily News
. And her name wouldn't be in boldface type in that column.
    The News did not boldface the names of dead people.
    There was a part of her that wanted to give up, a part that wanted to just let go. What did she have waiting for her back there? She didn't have a man. There was a career that wasbooming, but it took all her energy to keep it hot, and that career did not make her happy, though she tried to convince herself that it did. She felt so bad for herself.
    Ritz tried to process everything her mother had said to her and it added up to one thing: She was a bad person. She had no friends except for Tracee, and Tracee had changed so much. She wondered who Tracee really was now.
    Despite the temptations of that bright light, Ritz had a burning desire to come back. She wanted to live. She had things she needed to take care of. At the top of her list was revenge. Ritz wanted to get whoever shot her. She wanted to live so she could get them. They say that living well is the best revenge. No, revenge is the best revenge.
    The Sicilians have a saying: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Ritz once heard somebody on The Sopranos say that. At the time, she didn't know what those words meant. But now she did.
    It would all come later. Let the dish get cold. Right now, she had something else to do.
    She reached deep inside herself to that place in her heart that made her special, the place that made her strong, the place that was Ritgina “Ritz” Harper.
    Live. Live. Live. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
.
    She felt a tingly sensation that seemed to be a mile down south. Then she realized: Those were her toes. She wiggled them.
    Then she felt another tingly sensation— coming from her left and from her right.
    They were her arms. She could feel them. Then she felt her hands coming back.
    Could she give someone the finger?
    She tried, and she could feel the middle finger of her right hand rising.
    Yes!
    Then she could feel that she was on her back and that all kinds of things were stuck in her body. They hurt. She could hear an air conditioner humming. She could feel a harsh light on her eyelids. She could make out faint voices; she couldn't understand what they were saying, but the voices were getting clearer and clearer. Her left butt cheek itched. She ran her tongue along her teeth. They were still there.
    Ritz tried to talk, but there were tubes stuck in her mouth.
    “Thank you, Mama. I love you, Mama.” That's what she was trying to say.

    “Doctor, come quick! I think Ritz Harper is coming out of her coma!” said the nurse who was on duty.
    Paul Grevious was at the nurses' station. He had just checked on his most famous patient and was going to finish his rounds. There was a lot of attention around this case, and Dr. Grevious was taking his time to make sure he didn't make a single mistake. This case could make his career. He was a solid neurosurgeon, but he wanted to be known as the best.
    This case had already brought him the first press conference he had ever done. That was the night after Ritz Harper was identified. He didn't have much to report other than that she was in critical condition and in a coma.
    There would be many more press conferences if she held on, and lived, and was able to discuss her “progress” with a tabloid press that would pant like a puppy dog after his every word.
    And if he played his cards right, Dr. Grevious figured, there might even be a book deal in the mix somewhere. He was going to make sure that Ritz Harper got the best care possible, and he was also going to make sure that everyone knew who provided that care.
    When his beeper went off, Dr. Grevious raced to Ritz's room. Lights! Camera! Action!
    Ritz's eyes were fluttering. The pace on the heart monitor was quickening. She seemed to be