“Word?” Angel massaged his chin. “That’s wassup, but let me hit you with this real quick.” He got into her personal space. The sweet smell of his breath tickled her nose he was so close. “You can feed yourself, my sister, and anybody else that nonsense, but I know wassup.” He looked down at her titties, which were pressed up against his chest, then back up to her face.
“Oh, really,” she challenged.
“Just by lookin’ at you I can tell that you ain’t benefiting from being wit’ him. If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you gettin’ what you need in your heart,”—he placed his lips up to hers and lightly ran his thumb across her right nipple—“in your head . . . in the mall . . . in the bed, I’ll never say anything else to you about him.”
Dylan was speechless. In a matter of seconds, he’d reduced her to a mere puddle. Angel had conjured up feelings in her she never felt before. She’d never felt sexier and more wanted. Angel was all the medicine she needed to cure her broken heart, but she belonged to another.
“Since you can’t answer that, does he spank you?” His lips softly touched her ear. “Does he bite . . . does he hit it just right? Is the sex so good that he make you wanna cry?”
Dylan wanted to speak. The words were there but refused to come out. Angel wasn’t playing fair. He knew that she was going through changes. With each second that went by and he touched her body in forbidden places, she grew more and more confused.
“That’s what I thought.” He stepped back. “And while you tryin’ to flip off at the mouth with a bunch of foul shit, you need to go holla at your so-called man, who you thought was in New York.”
“What?” Dylan blinked her eyes, confused.
Angel pointed with his head in the direction of State, who was holding a conversation with someone. A mixture of emotions hit Dylan at once. A part of her was overwhelmed with joy and excitement to see him. It had been almost a month since she last saw his face. But then the other side of her wanted to know what the hell he was doing in L.A. He hadn’t told her a damn thing about coming there.
Oh my God! How romantic! He’s here to surprise me,
she thought.
“If you’ll excuse me ...” Dylan shot Angel a look over her shoulder while walking away.
With the meanest walk she could muster up, she headed over in State’s direction. Questions needed to be answered, and only he could give them to her. He had no idea she was coming toward him. The sight of him captivated her like the last time they ran into one another at the Wale concert. Dylan didn’t understand why, but she was a slight bit nervous. For some reason, being in State’s presence always made her feel off kilter.
“Hey, you.” She tapped him on the shoulder then stepped into his view.
State was at a loss for words. In a million years he never expected to see Dylan.
“Hey.” His voice cracked. Frantic, he searched the room nervously.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Dylan eyed him suspiciously.
“Me either. Wassup wit’ you, though?” He hit her playfully on the arm.
“Umm . . .” Dylan stalled, wondering what was going on with him.
State was behaving totally out of character. Since she spoke, he hadn’t even looked her in the eyes, and he seemed extremely jumpy.
“I mean, what are you doing here? The last time I talked to you, you were supposed to still be in New York,” she quizzed.
“Yeah . . . see, what had happened was, uh . . . I heard about the party and decided to come down. But yo’, that ain’t even important. Me and you need to talk.”
Dylan’s heart instantly stopped beating. Any time State uttered the words “we need to talk”, bad news for her was near. But before he could say what he needed to say, R&B singer Ashton appeared out of the blue. At first Dylan was thrilled to see her, but when Ashton wrapped her arm around State’s waist like he was her man and State didn’t budge, Dylan began to feel faint. Sister girl was so caught off guard and overwhelmed, she could have sworn she saw a couple of purple monkeys run across the room.
“You gon’ introduce me to your friend?” Ashton gave Dylan a once over glance.
“Ashton, this is my homegirl, Dylan. Dylan, this is my wife, Ashton.”
Dylan’s focus immediately went to Ashton’s left hand. To her shock and utter disappointment, not only was there a ring on her finger, but it was the same one Dylan and State had custom designed a year before for her. It all made sense. Ashton was Ash.
Dylan couldn’t breathe. With each breath she took, the room got smaller and smaller
.
It was like she was in a dream where she was falling and wanted desperately to wake up before she hit the ground.
No way is this happening,
she thought, rubbing her forehead.
This niggah is married and his wife is a superstar dressed in one-of-a-kind Dior, and I’m in a lousy T-shirt and jeans.
“Dylan, you okay?” he asked, concerned, but the words she wanted to convey like
Fuck you, you low down dirty dog
wouldn’t come out. Instead, tears stung her eyes, dying to spill out onto her cheeks; but she knew that she couldn’t let them see her cry.
“Yo’, Dylan,” Angel said out of nowhere, taking her hand. “Come get a drink wit’ me.”
He’d seen the entire fiasco go down and had seen enough. Dylan had a mouth on her and oftentimes spoke out of her ass, but he had too much love for her to let her get played out.
With her hand in his, Dylan floated towards the exit. She knew physically it was impossible, but her whole entire being seemed to have teleported to another realm. Her body morphed from human flesh to an oasis of tears. A sea of emotions traveled through her veins. She felt like Jello, like shit, like mud, like a sucka, like a plaything, but more than anything, like a fool.
Angel pushed open the doors and led her outside. The warm air soothed Dylan’s skin, bringing her somewhat back to life.
“Oh my God, oh my-God, oh my God.” She took her hand from his and massaged her temples as a headache came on.
“Calm down.” Angel tried to take her hand again, but Dylan yanked away.
“I will not calm down! That funny-lookin’ muthafucka is married, and that bitch has on my ring!” Dylan screamed, crushed.
“I get that.” Angel glanced around, embarrassed. “But screaming and making a scene ain’t gon’ do nothing but get yo’ ass locked up. And trust me, you are way too fine to be going to jail. Taxi!” He raised his hand and hailed down a cab.
“How could he do this to me?” She stared Angel in the face as the cab stopped in front of them. “Huh? What did I do to make him treat me like this?” A river of tears fell from her eyes.
“I wish I had the answer to that, beautiful.” Angel gazed deep into her bloodshot eyes and brushed back the hair that was stuck to her cheek. “Just go back to the hotel, chill out, and blaze one. I’ll be there to check on you in a minute.” He held her face and looked into her eyes.
“Okay.” Dylan nodded before getting into the cab.
Once she was gone, Angel headed back inside.
“Hey.” Billie stopped him. “Have you seen Dylan?”
“I just put her in a cab.”
“Why? Is she drunk? Is she sick?” she asked, worried.
“Nah, never that. She just ran into ol’ boy she fuck wit’.”
“Who, State?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought he was in New York.”
“So did yo’ homegirl. Apparently he and his wife are here.”
“You say what now?” Billie placed her index finger behind her ear like she hadn’t heard right.
“Yeah . . . dude straight got a wiz, and you won’t believe who it is.”
“Who?”
“Ashton.”
“The tone deaf, non-singing bitch?” Billie’s eyes grew wide.
“Yeah, but let me wrap up this shit. I told Dylan I’d check on her in a minute.”
“Okay. I’ll get Tee-Tee.”
Billie marched through the crowd, heated. She’d felt it from the start, but to know for a fact that she was right about State didn’t settle well in her soul, mainly because her being right meant that her best friend would in turn be in a great deal of pain. Pissed off, she stopped her search for Tee-Tee and began to look for State instead. She’d tolerated his crap on behalf of her friend long enough, and if Dylan didn’t cuss his ass out, she sure in the hell was going to. Billie spotted him and Ashton on the dance floor.
“Excuse me.” She interrupted them.
“Yes?” Ashton answered with an attitude.
“Bring it down, homegirl.” Billie pointed her finger in her face. “Can I have a word wit’ you?” she said to State.
“Sure.” He spoke up quickly. “Baby, give me a second.” State gave Ashton a speedy peck on the lips.
Once they were out of listening distance of Ashton, State tried his best to speak first, but Billie wasn’t having it.
“No! You don’t get to speak. For some odd reason or another, my friend has put up wit’ yo’ tired ass for the last three years, despite you repeatedly treating her like shit!” She pointed her finger into his chest. “But let me tell you one thing: no more. As of today, you two are done. You stay the fuck away from her. Do you hear me? If I even hear about you breathing within a five mile radius of her, I will tell Miss R&B Queen over there everything.” Billie gave him a robotic smile. “Do I make myself clear?”
State didn’t respond. He simply hit her with a look that said she had him fucked up then walked back toward Ashton. Little did he know Billie was hot on his trail.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said to Ashton, “nice ring. A friend of mine used to have one just like it.”
“Impossible,” Ashton scoffed. “My ring is one of a kind.”
“Hers was too.”
“Love, you said you’d never go away, but you’re gone, and I’m right back where I used to be, wondering if you really were for me.”
Chapter 12
With her cell phone in her hand, Dylan stepped onto the hotel balcony, trembling. She felt like under her feet was air made of glass. It cut her deep and made her bleed for him. This time, she couldn’t give into pretending and forgive him. All she wanted to know was how long had this been going on. Was this some recent shit, or had he been married the whole time they’d been back together? Crying uncontrollably, she dialed his number, but State didn’t answer, so she left him a message.
“Like . . . I’m trippin’, right, because you couldn’t be married. I mean, married? It don’t . . . really make any sense. I mean, it’s not like we weren’t supposed to be seeing other people, but . . . you knew what this is . . . you know what it was,” she said desperately into the phone. “Like, just please tell me that this isn’t true,” Dylan cried, hanging up.
If she had the courage, she would’ve jumped off the balcony. That’s how much pain she was in. She didn’t understand how State could treat her so bad when she’d done all she could to love him wholeheartedly. Dylan had never loved a man like she loved him, so how could he discard her feelings as if they were an empty paper bag?
A comforting breeze drifted by as Dylan sat on the ground, leaning her back against the wall. With her knees up to her chest, she cried a gallon of gasoline tears. Each one scorched her skin like hot flames. This was the part of love she hated, when you were left with only you and a bunch of what-ifs, whys, and what-have-I-done-wrongs. It just sucked that from that day forward, Dylan wouldn’t be able to cry enough or ponder it enough to get over his unfaithfulness. She just wished she understood why she let him do these horrible things to her. Everyone had warned her that she’d be left in this position, but no, she was so dead set on making State be the man she’d always wanted him to be. Now Dylan was faced with the harsh reality that State was who he’d always been: a liar and a cheat.
Not able to stay in L.A. a second longer, Dylan caught the red-eye out the next day. Billie and Tee-Tee begged her to stay, but she just couldn’t. Dylan needed to be alone to gather her thoughts, but the more time she spent with herself, the more depressed she felt. She wanted to face the truth, but living in denial felt better. The entire ride home on the plane, she drowned herself in alcohol. By the time the plane landed, Dylan was past tipsy.
But this was nothing new for her. Dylan cherished the dark part of her life ’cause being in the center of drama was all she knew. She never felt comfortable when things were good. She hated when the sun shone down on her, ’cause it never lasted long.
Inside the security of her home, she placed her bags down by the door. Finally, she could be unhappy in peace, without Billie and Tee-Tee trying to lift her spirits.
“Consuela!”
“Yeeezzz,” she huffed, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Can you get my bags for me and take them upstairs please.”
“Sí.”
“Has anybody called?”
“Sí.”
Consuela struggled to pick up one of the heavy suitcases.
“Who?” Dylan asked, going through the mail.
“Jour accountant, Morty.”
“What the hell does he want? He’s been blowing my phone up the last couple of days.”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Candy? Let me guess. Somewhere around here with a glass of Jack in her hand, drunk like me.” Dylan laughed.
“Jour mother not here. She left days ago.”
“Left and went where?”
“I don’t know. I jus work here, unfortunately.”
Perplexed by the news, Dylan headed up the steps to her mother’s room. The bed was made and all of her things were gone—clothes, shoes, wigs, fake eyelashes and all. Dylan couldn’t decide whether to be happy or sad. She’d kinda gotten used to Candy being around; but with everything that was going on, maybe it was a good thing that her mother had bounced. The last thing Dylan wanted to hear was that she was stupid and “I told you so.”
The only thing Dylan was concerned with was Fuck ’em Gurl. She’d really grown to love the dog, and now that she was gone, Dylan didn’t know who she’d turn to when she needed comfort.
Jet-lagged and even more depressed, she walked down the hall to her bedroom. Surprisingly, Fuck ’em Gurl lay in her favorite spot on the middle of Dylan’s bed. Overjoyed, Dylan ran over to the bed and scooped her up.
“Hey, baby. I missed you.” She kissed Fuck ’em Gurl on the head. “You look so pretty.”
After playing with Fuck ’em Gurl for a while, she put her down and took off her shoes. Dylan was tired as hell. The bed was calling her name, but so was the blinking red light on her phone, letting her know she had a voice mail message.
Pressing the number one, Dylan learned she had fifteen new messages. Silently, she prayed that at least one of them was from State.
“I don’t even see why I continue to call you,” Morty barked into the phone. “It’s obvious that you don’t care about your finances, but I still don’t understand why you withdrew such a large sum from your account without consulting me first. I mean, c’mon, Dylan. Fifty thousand dollars!”
After that, Dylan didn’t hear a thing Morty said. She hadn’t withdrawn fifty grand from her account, but she knew who did. Pissed, she disconnected the call and dialed her mother’s cell phone number. To her surprise, the number was disconnected. All of her life, Dylan associated her mother with a lot of things—a lousy mother, a freeloader, and a drunk—but never did she think she was a thief. Dylan didn’t think that things could get worse, but obviously they could. In a matter of twenty-four hours, she’d been dumped by State and robbed by her own mother. If things didn’t get better quick, Dylan was sure to snap.
Dylan couldn’t go anywhere, listen to anything, or see anything without being reminded of State and Ashton’s secret marriage. Each entertainment show, radio show, newspaper, and magazine was talking about it. Dylan was in hell. All of her favorite gossip mags had them on their cover. They’d given interviews with everyone from
US Weekly
to
OK!
magazine. Even Page Six in the
New York Post
had an article on how they kept their love a secret, and details on their quickie wedding in Vegas.
Dylan knew it was suicide to feed into the media frenzy, mainly when she knew State wasn’t the dedicated, faithful husband he’d made himself out to be. Yet something in her needed to read every word that was written, so she got dressed and headed to the newsstand down the street from her building. Feeling exposed to the world and like every person walking down the street knew her shame, she stood at the newsstand dressed all in black.
Heavy raindrops poured down from the sky, tap dancing onto her Louis Vuitton Arc en Ciel umbrella as she glanced at each cover, each one killing a piece of her soul softly. State and Ashton appeared so happy and content with one another. Dylan wished she hadn’t noticed, but State gazed into Ashton’s eyes the same way he did hers. She felt lower than low. In the past two weeks, she’d died a hundred times. All she wanted was closure, but State was too selfish to give it to her. He wouldn’t answer any of her calls.
“Ma’am, you’ve been standing here forever,” the loud Italian gentleman behind the stand said. “Are you gonna buy something or what?”
“Yeah, I’ll take anything that has him on it.” She pointed.
After buying six magazines and five newspapers, Dylan hailed a cab and headed to Billie’s apartment. There was no way she could face this alone. On the way there, she couldn’t help but flip through some of the gossip rags. Suddenly, it all made sense. State was never going to make her his wife. Dylan was a well-known party girl, but by no means a star. State was all about enhancing his career, and Dylan had nothing to offer to make it better. Ashton, on the other hand, did. She was a successful singer—although she was notoriously talentless—a Cover Girl model, and a media darling. Making Ashton his wife only made his social status go up. The public adored the alliance of two mega stars.
Minutes later, Dylan was at Billie’s door.
“Explain to me why you’re dressed like a cat burglar,” Billie asked, letting her in.
“I’m in mourning,” Dylan said in passing.
“Seriously, Dylan, it’s the end of June and you have on a scarf draped over your head and tied under your chin like an old lady, Chanel shades—which, by the way, are fabulous—a leather jacket, leggings, and rubber boots. I know you’re in pain, but what the hell is wrong wit’ you?”
“I feel like I’m dying, that’s what’s wrong. The man I thought I would one day marry is married!” Dylan sat at the kitchen island and plopped her head down. “And here I am dressed like a goddamn spinster, while they’re off globe trotting the world, planning their second wedding.”
“Stop talkin’ crazy. You are far from a spinster.” Billie packed the kids’ afternoon snacks.
“These magazines don’t say so.” Dylan reached into the bag and pulled them all out.
“What in the psycho hell?” Billie said, shocked. “Why did you go and waste money on this crap?”
“’Cause I wanted to know what was going on.” Dylan took off her shades.
“You already know what’s going on. That bastard fucked you for four months while he was married to someone else. You were his side pussy, and I’m sorry to stress it like that, but it is what it is.”
Dylan understood everything that Billie was saying, but coping with that realization was another thing. What State did was unforgiveable, but there was no way they could’ve dealt with each other for three years and he not feel anything for her—or could he? In her mind, there was no way he could love Ashton more than he loved her.
He just couldn’t,
Dylan thought as a single tear trickled down her face.
“Oh, baby cakes, don’t cry.” Billie ran over and comforted her.
“You just ever felt like your whole body couldn’t breathe?”
“Every day,” Billie replied sincerely.
“I just thought that one day he would stop with all the games and finally be ready to commit, and we would get married, or hell, I would be married to somebody by now.” Dylan sobbed.
“Honey, the reason you’re not married yet is because you’re not single. Just ’cause you’re technically alone”—Billie made air quotes with her fingers—“doesn’t mean anything. You still hung up on State, Billy, Bob, Larry, and Joe. You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to be set free in your heart by any of them. When God sends you your mate, there has to be room for him, and right now, Dylan, you don’t have not an inch of space for someone new.”
“Wow.” Dylan sat back, shocked. “I never knew that.”
“You would if you would take the time to listen to me sometimes.”
“I do listen to you,” Dylan objected.
“No, you don’t, and another thing I wanted to tell you. And, Dylan, please believe I’m not tryin’ to hurt your feelings, but how you gon’ be somebody’s wife?”
“What you mean?”
“Being a wife is more than ‘I love you.’ Love ain’t gon’ keep a roof over your head, the lights on, and food in the refrigerator. You have to be able to contribute. As a woman, you should know how to cook, clean up a house, and budget your bills, and honey, you ain’t there yet. If you got married today, what would you be bringing to the table, mascara and lipstick? You’re in debt. You don’t even have a savings account, Dylan. You got a shit load of stuff that you need to take care of sista–girl before you even think about being somebody’s wife. Quit tryin’ to be a diva and prepare your mind to be a wife.”
Dylan wanted to object, but what her friend was saying was the truth. “You’re right. I do need to grow up. I just don’t wanna.” She pouted.
“Whateva. Now, pull it together before you make me cry. We are too fly for this sad shit.” Billie rubbed her back then resumed packing.
Taking her friend’s advice, Dylan gathered her emotions and stopped herself from crying. Then suddenly, she heard a loud thump come from upstairs.
“What is all that noise?”
“Girl, Angel and the kids.” Billie closed the refrigerator.
“You didn’t tell me he was here.” Dylan shot up.
“I didn’t know you would care.” Billie looked at her funny.
“I don’t.” Dylan untied her scarf.
“Mm-hmm.”
With lightning speed, Dylan reached inside her purse and pulled out her compact mirror. “Fuck!” she screeched, looking at herself. Her hair was flat, and she didn’t have on a stitch of makeup.
Bitch, are you insane? You don’t leave the house lookin’ like Cruella Deville,
she thought, hearing the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the steps.