“Why would you say something like that?” Dylan came from out of the kitchen and got in his face. Right then and there, she realized that if she ever lost Angel, she would die.
“You know I love you.” She reached up and stroked his cheek with her hand.
“Do you? ’Cause lately you ain’t been actin’ like it.”
“Of course I do. Angel, I love you.” She tried her best to make him see, despite her inability to look into his eyes when she said it.
“I wish I could believe you, but until you can say it without lookin’ everywhere but at me, I think it’s best we spend some time apart.” He stepped back.
“But—” Dylan tried to object, but Angel wouldn’t let her.
As she parted her lips to speak, he placed his finger up to her mouth. There was nothing else to be said. It hurt like hell, but he had to walk away from her. He’d given all of himself and more to Dylan ,but it was like it wasn’t enough. She didn’t even seem to care that she was the first women he’d ever given his heart to. This whole thing hadn’t been easy for him to accept, but Angel didn’t fight it. His biggest fear was like anyone else’s in love: he didn’t want to get hurt. But with each call that went unanswered, empty kisses, and distant presence, Dylan shattered his heart.
Clouds of cigarette smoke danced in front of Dylan’s face as she gazed absently at the paisley print comforter resting on her legs. State lay next to her, puffing on a Newport. The smell of the cigarette, stale Thai food, and sex made Dylan want to vomit. She felt dirty, sticky, and tainted. How she’d ended up in this predicament of lies, secrecy, and betrayal she didn’t know. All she knew was it had become too much for her to stomach. Angels and devils weren’t supposed to look alike, but somehow, she’d blurred the lines with her choices. This was not her destiny. Somehow she’d forgotten State’s ID and mistaken him for a man of comfort, when all he’d really done is cause her more pain.
After the first time they had sex, she vowed to herself that it would be over. But the urgency of intimacy outweighed her better judgment. Angel’s demanding schedule and constant vacancy in her life became too much for her to handle. Loneliness consumed her constantly, and only being able to see him every other weekend wasn’t cutting it. With Angel she felt whole, loved, relevant, and pure. Without him, her insecurities shone brighter than the sun.
Every fiber of her being wanted to believe that his actions and his words were real, but she’d felt the same way with State in the beginning, and he’d hurt her in the worst way imaginable. Maybe her fucking State was her way of hurting Angel before he hurt her.
Dylan glanced over at State, who’d been talking the whole time about God knows what. All she saw was a silly grin plastered on his face. It was as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Homeboy was on cloud nine. He’d been fed, fucked, and sucked. It fucked Dylan up to know that once he went home, he’d get the same treatment all over again from his wife, when she’d go home alone and fade into black.
His wife,
she thought.
Girl, you are a fuckin’ mistress. But hell, you ain’t even that no more. He treatin’ you like a fuckin’ whore. Got you up in a goddamn Super 8. You ain’t even worth the cost of the Four Seasons anymore.
But you can’t be mad at him, Dylan,
she told herself.
You met his ass here like a fool, so what does that make you? A goddamn dummy. At least Angel respects you enough to treat you well. State don’t give a damn about you, Ashton, or anybody else. Angel ain’t did nothing but try to love you, and this is how you repay him, by breaking his heart?
Dylan looked over at State again. She wanted to hurl. He was never going to change, and Dylan didn’t want or expect him to. He was always going to be a self-absorbed, cold-hearted snake who couldn’t care less about anyone else’s feelings. He was the same guy who led her to believe she was the one, while he was married to another. And that wasn’t what she wanted, so she decided to walk away, because she knew he never would.
Dylan pulled the horrible, cheap covers off of her and got up.
“Where you going?” he asked. “You about to get in the shower? ’Cause if so, I’ma get in there wit’ you, ’cause I want to hit it again before we burn out.”
“No.” Dylan slipped on her jeans. “I’m going home.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I have no business being here, and neither do you.”
“Here we go with this shit again.” State sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dylan, you know damn well you wanna be here.”
“Not anymore.” She pulled her T-shirt on over her head.
“Why, ’cause of ol’ boy?”
“Yeah.”
“Now all of a sudden you wanna act like you got a heart. You don’t give a fuck about that man. Face it, Dylan, the shit between you and him ain’t workin’. If the man was holding it down like he should, you wouldn’t even be here right now.”
Dylan stopped and stared at him. “And the sad part is you believe every word that is coming out of your mouth. Let me explain something to you.” She got into his face and pointed her finger. “Angel holds it down in ways yo’ simple-minded ass would never be able to understand. That man is the best thing that has ever happened to me. And trust and believe that any problems we have is not because of him; it’s because of me. And you wanna know why? ’Cause I let men like you fuck it up for a man like him to come into my life.”
“Okay.” State yawned, unimpressed. “Blame everything on me. Dylan, if you love him so much, then why are you here with me? Huh? Answer that.”
“You’re exactly right.” She smiled.
“I know I am.” State pulled the covers back so she could get in. “Now, come lie down with me.”
“I’ll pass, but thank you. For the first time since I’ve known you, you’ve said something that was true. Why am I here with you? Hmm.” She smirked before walking out.
“I told ya I was trouble.”
—Amy Winehouse, “You Know I’m No Good”
Chapter 19
The scene was set. Mos Def’s underground smash “The Panties” floated throughout the room. Chamomile- and honey-scented candles were lit. The table was set. White chicken lasagna with spinach baked in the oven. With all of that taken care of, Dylan put the finishing touches on a freshly made romaine salad. The French chocolate strawberry torte she baked was on the counter, ready to be devoured.
Dylan knew she only had minutes to spare before Angel walked through the door. He had no idea she was even in L.A. They hadn’t spoken since the day he left her house upset, which had been two weeks before. She couldn’t wait to see the reaction on his face when he saw her. It was now or never for them, and if Dylan didn’t make things right, their relationship would be over for good. Dylan had a lot of making up to do. A romantic dinner for two was just the start of her showing Angel just how dedicated to him she was.
And yes, it would take time for him to believe in her again, but she was willing to do anything to gain back his love and trust. She wasn’t trying to be without him at the right moments. He was everything she’d been missing and more. She just hoped that she hadn’t waited too long to get her shit together.
Suddenly, Dylan heard the sound of him entering the house. Wiping her hand on a towel nearby, she headed out of the kitchen to greet him.
“Hey.” She smiled nervously.
“How you get in here?” He eyed her suspiciously.
“I had the doorman let me in, but don’t be mad at him. I bribed him with a hundred dollar bill.” She laughed to ease the tension.
“Oh.” He set his keys down on the table.
“Surprise!” Dylan tap danced then raised her arms in the air.
“You should’ve called before you came,” Angel replied, not impressed.
“I know, but I hoped that you would be happy to see me.”
“I mean, I don’t know what you want me to say. Things between us ain’t good.”
“I know.” She spoke in a soft tone.
Dylan stood before Angel and gazed into his warm brown eyes. “And it’s my fault that we’re in the mess we’re in. I know that things between us have been a li’l fuzzy, and I’m to blame for that. I just didn’t want to believe that this was real, that we were really a couple, and that you loved me as much as you said you did. I mean, look at you. You’re beautiful. You can have any woman in the world, but you chose to be wit’ me. Me.” Dylan pointed at her chest with skepticism. “Broke-ass, uneducated, ditzy Dylan Monroe.”
“It’s not good for you to talk about yourself like that.” Angel took off his coat.
“Hell, its true.”
“A’ight, if that’s how you feel.” He walked past her.
“Look, I ain’t even mean to get off into all that. Angel, I love you.” She reached out for his hand and pulled him back. “And I don’t wanna lose you. You’re all I know, and I ain’t tryin’ to get to know nobody else and their weird-ass quirks and the shit that make them tick. I wanna be wit’ you,” she cried.
“I ain’t never tryin’ not to wake up to your face, have you sing to me at night even though you can’t sing, have you hold my hand when we cross the street, or at night remind you to pick your cup off the floor ’cause after a while you’re sure to knock it over with your big-ass feet—”
“Look, Dylan,” Angel said, cutting her off. “What you said was nice and all, but the last few weeks for me been hell, and I ain’t tryin’ to go through that again. You gotta understand that I’m scared too. I ain’t never gave my heart to a woman, and I’ll be damn if I let you or anybody else play wit’ my heart.”
“But I’m not playin’. I love you, Angel, and I promise I won’t hurt you again, straight up. And I know that things between us are fucked up right now, but I’m willing to do anything I gotta do to get you back. Just please”—her bottom lip trembled—“don’t leave me,” she begged as tears streamed down her face. “I couldn’t take it if you did.”
Angel wished to God that his heart was made of stone as Dylan stood before him on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, but he loved her too much not to feel a thing for her. He’d given too much of himself to let go of her now. She was his first true love, the yellow to his blue. And yeah, there was more to her erratic behavior than she let on, but Angel would rather not know the truth and be with her, then be hit with something that might cause his heart to bleed.
“Come here, man.” He pulled her into him. “Stop cryin’.” He kissed her tear-stained face. “You ain’t never gotta worry about me leaving you. As long as you act right, everything gon’ be cool.”
“I promise things between us gon’ be better than ever,” Dylan declared. “I promise on everything I love, including my bracelet and my grandmother Dahl’s vintage Chanel necklace, that I will make everything right. My main concern from this point on is making you happy.”
“That’s wassup, but what you mean about being broke?” He held her at arm’s length. “The last of your money is gone?”
“You might as well say it is. I don’t even have enough money to pay my rent this month.”
“I got you,” Angel said, hoping he was making the right decision.
“No, I’ll handle it myself. You’ve done enough for me.”
“Fuck that. I want to. Plus, if I don’t, then what you gon’ do? Move to L.A. wit’ me?” he replied.
“The offer sounds tempting, but St. Louis is my home. You know that.”
“I feel the same way too.” He kissed her softly. “But fuck all that right now. My stomach growling like a muthafucka. What you got in there to eat?”
Ashton sat alone on the couch with her legs crossed. The heel of her Stella McCartney two-tone pump touched the marble floor. All the lights in the house were out. The only thing that lit the room was the light from the television screen. Pent-up anger filled her veins to the point she couldn’t think straight. She wanted to throw plates, rip up State’s clothes, spit in his face, and scratch his eyes out. The good part was she would be able to do all of it in a matter of minutes.
At any minute, State would be walking through the door. He had no idea that he was in for the surprise of his life. Ashton reached over onto the coffee table and grabbed her lighter and a cigarette. Placing the cigarette in her mouth, she lit the end of it and inhaled the potent yet calming nicotine. Ashton took the cigarette from her mouth, tilted her head, and exhaled the smoke up toward the ceiling. She couldn’t wait for State to get home, ’cause as soon as he did, she was gon’ . . . get . . . in . . . that . . . ass!
“Yeah, a’ight,” she heard him say from the other side of the door. Ready to strike, Ashton flicked the ashes, which dangled from her cigarette, into the ashtray sitting beside her, then picked up her glass of Merlot.
“I’ma get at you, though.” State talked on his cell phone as he walked inside the house. “Just hit me on the jack tomorrow. Bet, one.” State was so consumed with his conversation that he didn’t even notice what was going on around him.
“Wassup, baby?” he said to Ashton while taking off his coat.
“You muthafucka!”
“What?” State turned around, alarmed.
His concerns were answered once his eyes landed on the TV screen. A sick and twisted smile formed on Ashton’s face as a look of shock and horror spread across his once he saw a recording of him and Dylan fucking. Photos of them going out to restaurants, concerts, and shopping while she was on tour were sprawled all over the coffee table and floor. Ashton even had voice recordings of their phone conversations.
The biggest surprise was not only did she have evidence of his dalliance with Dylan, Ashton even had evidence of State and another woman. State couldn’t believe his eyes. He hadn’t suspected a thing. He thought that Ashton was young and naïve and that she was none the wiser of his infidelities, but Ashton was by no means a fool. She understood from the moment she said “I do” what she was getting herself into. State had an infamous reputation that preceded him. He was a liar, a manipulator, and a cheat. Ashton didn’t expect that just because she wore his ring he’d be faithful; so, before she left to go on tour, she had surveillance cameras placed strategically around the house.
She also hired a private investigator to follow his every move. When she first saw the footage while on tour of him on his knees, hitting Dylan from the back and slapping her hard on the ass while shouting, “Whose pussy is this? You wanna have my baby? What you want, a girl or a boy?” tears the size of lemon drops tumbled down her rosy cheeks; but after she cried herself to sleep, she vowed to never let another tear fall. No, she’d gather all the ammunition she needed to not only get his ho ass back, but to trap him in his own deceit.
“Listen, baby. Let me explain,” he began.
“No, you listen to me.” Ashton raised her voice, shocking State. “Is she worth one hundred fifty million dollars?” Ashton cocked her head to the side and took a sip from her glass, her hand shaking nervously.
“Yo’, Ash—” He tried to explain once more.
“Is she worth a hundred fifty million dollars, niggah?”
Fuck!
State placed his head down. Ashton straight had him by his nut sack. If they divorced, she’d take everything, including the kitchen sink. State was backed into the corner with no way out. He couldn’t lie or bullshit his way out of this one. He couldn’t pretend that Dylan was just a friend anymore.
State sucked his teeth and held his head up high. Now was not the time to buck. Ashton had a peculiar look in her eye, one that reminded him of Rebecca De Mornay in the thriller,
The Hand that Rocks the Cradle.
“No.”
“All right, then.” Ashton stood up, pleased. “I’m really glad that we could have this conversation. I feel a lot better. Now that that’s settled, what should we have for dinner? I was thinking about ordering Chinese.”
Stunned by her sudden change in attitude, State stood puzzled. He didn’t know what type of emotion to feel. Should he be scared or relieved? Should he try to talk to her, or give her time to cool off? It was all too complex, especially when he couldn’t get a good read on Ashton. She was behaving like a lunatic. Most women would’ve cussed him out, cried hysterically, or at least tried to fight him, but not her. Ashton held all the cards in her hands, so she didn’t have to wild out to prove her point that she was hurt.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said, peeking her head out of the kitchen. “I fired Lisa today. How long did you actually think you’d get away with fuckin’ my assistant? That’s the problem; you never think. But that’s all water under the bridge now.” She smiled with delight. “But I do want my new ring by tomorrow. As a matter of fact,”—she took off her wedding ring—“give this piece of shit-ass ring back to that bitch the next time you see her.” She threw it at him, hitting him directly in the center of his forehead.
A stream of warm water ran through Billie’s hair. The shampoo girl at Mina’s Joint Salon and Spa was doing a fantastic job shampooing and massaging her scalp. The soothing sensation felt so good, she damn near fell asleep. The chitter chatter around her and the music playing didn’t even bother her.
Billie loved coming to the salon. Mina’s Joint had become known for its work with models and celebrities. It sprawled over 1300 square feet and was one of the largest hair salons in St. Louis city. The chic salon sported a palette of various brown shades and silver, issuing an air of elegance. Luxurious cushioned panels were suspended from the ceiling, and silver blinds formed several gateways for clients to cross before they finally reached the heart of the salon, which was the styling area.
Billie was high off life. Cain and Becky were planning their wedding, but she couldn’t care less. She’d finally moved on. She had no time to fret over a man that didn’t want her, because she knew eventually another one would.
Plus, it felt good to make all the rules. Cain no longer controlled every aspect of her life. She didn’t have to cook. The French chef she’d hired now did that for her. She didn’t have to clean the house from top to bottom anymore either. That was now Zoila, her maid’s job. The best part of it all was that she didn’t have to keep her hair the way Cain wanted her to. She was now free to do whatever she pleased with it, and on that cold November day, she was getting her hair cut and styled they way she desired it to be.
Delicious, stylist to the stars extraordinaire and the queen of all queens, was going to cut the sixteen inches of hair she’d taken eleven years to grow into a short pixie cut inspired by Nia Long. After getting her hair washed, razor cut, and set, Billie sat underneath the hair dryer. Author TuShonda L. Whitaker’s bestselling novel
Millionaire Wives
’
Club
was her book of choice while waiting. Once she got to chapter five, she was ready to get into the chair, so Delicious could work his magic.
“You ready, B?” He looked at her through the mirror.