Chapter Fifteen
Dom
One Month Later
I
'm tryin' to avoid Corey's ass flirtin' with me from across the room as I finish readin' to the circle of children at my feet. The shit might sound crazy but I'm enjoyin' the story about Rumpelstiltskin my damn self. That's the thing. Workin' here made me realize that I like to read. I get lost in the stories and shit. It makes me forget my own drama with bills, my mama, and anythin' fuckin' else.
After puttin' Kimani to bed at night, books about the hood been keepin' me occupied. (I'm still a late owl. Shit I don't get sleepy 'til 'bout one in the mornin'.) Right now I'm blazin' through this book one of the girls at work let me borrow called
Desperate Hoodwives
. That shit about these four crazy bitches got me carryin' that motherfucker with me everywhere so I can read some whenever I get a chance. And the more my ass be readin' books and writin' in my journal, the more I feel like I can write a book too. Shit, growin' up in the projects, my ass plenty of stories to tell.
“Miss Lands? What happens next?”
I look down at one of my students and then all the rest of them. Each one is lookin' up from their spots on the floor, waitin' on me to stop daydreamin' and finish the story. That makes my ass smile. “I'm sorry,” I tell them playfully.
Some of them giggle. It's funny as hell that I didn't use to like to spend time with my own child and now I love being around her and the rest of the carpet crawlers.
I search the page to find the spot where the hell I left off. I look up and catch sight of Kimani's class walkin' like little soldiers in one single line behind their teacher. Mrs. Harris don't play and she keeps her class in check all day everyday. Kimani waves at me with her curly Afro puff on top of her head and I give her a wink. When she leans forward to talk to a child in front of her, my eyes shift. Her friend Hiasha got the same damn black girl puff on the top of her head.
They look like twins.
I frown with my eyes goin' from one to the damn other.
Now this the shit. As much as I see Kimani and Hiasha together, this the first time it hit me that them two heifers look a lot alike. Like sisters.
Even after Kimani and the rest of the pre-schoolers go down the stairs to their area, I think about Hiasha. While I'm readin' this story to the kids. While I'm serving them a snack of pineapple juice and oatmeal cookies. Even when me and Corey sneak off for one of our lunch hour fuck fests, I think about Hiasha. When the bank calls my job talkin' 'bout repo'ing my Lexus 'cause I'm two payments behind I got right off the phone with they ass and thought about Hiasha.
Did my babydaddy, Deon, have another bitch pregnant the same time that I was? How sorry would it be that if that motherfucker know he got two daughters the same age and ain't said shit about it?
Is Hiasha my daughter's sister? Her last name is . . . Kingsley. It ain't the same as my babydaddy but that don't mean shit 'cause Kimani ain't got that nigga's name either.
At the end of the day, I make my way downstairs to the colorful play area of the pre-kindergartners. Kimani's class is in the back rear corner. I am lookin' at they asses sittin' side by side on the carpeted bench lookin' in a book together. Them two been thick as damn thieves since Kimani's first day here.
I'm schemin' on gettin' into the daycare's record and gettin' some info but Yoba, the clerkâwith her lazy fat assâdon't leave her desk for shit. If I ask, will she tell me the name of Hiasha's daddy? Probably the fuck not. She 'bout a stupid big headed bitch.
My daughter looks up and she smiles at me with all this love and trust and shit. She relies on me. Depends on me. Needs me. Loves me.
If Hiasha is her sister a bitch like me need to get on the grind and find out for sure. I ain't tryin' to be one of those fuck the next bitch type of chicks no more.
Might be time for me to look up my babydaddy. Plus, if his ass working he gone give me some child support. Hiasha sure don't look like she lackin' for a motherfuckin' thing. Yup, my ass gone kill two birds with one damn stone.
Chapter Sixteen
Cristal
N
ow
this
is the life.
A Central Park West penthouse. A guest roster filled with an eclectic mix of New York's A-list celebrities and socialites. Veuve Clicquot champagne flowing like water. Appetizers by Wolfgang Puck. Wynton Marsalis and his band playing the best of the best from the stage in the corner of the ballroom. The Ingrams' dinner party is the crème de la crème.
And I am right in the midst of the world of being rich, beautiful, and philanthropic. The socializing is great but a sister like me is also networking. Carolyn says the best way to become rich and famous is to hang around the rich and famous.
In fact these past couple of months I have been to more soirees than the entire year I was with Sahad. Benefits, charity events, and store openings. It was the perfect start to a summer in New York. Some of New York's high profile celebrities and socialites knew me by name because of my association with Carolyn and because of my prior relationship with Mr. New York himself Sahad Linx. I have even received a few mentions in the gossip rags, who knew being Sahad's ex had benefits.
I take a sip of my champagne as I stand in a circle made up of Carolyn, the Reynolds (Star and Al), and Kimora Lee Simmons, looking just as fine as I want to be in a strapless gray sequin dress by Diane Von Furstenburg with Giuseppe on the heels (like Ms. Mary of course). I am so loving my life right now.
My cell phone rings inside my clutch. The sounds of Kanye West's newest song drifts up. Carolyn raises a disapproving eye and I make a mental note not to forget to put it on vibrate again. At the sight of Mohammed's number my stomach nearly drops to the floor.
“Excuse me ladies, I will be right back,” I whisper to them before drifting off to the guest bathroom in the gold trimmed hall.
As soon as I close and lock the door behind me, I pull out my BlackBerry. I have five voice mail messages. I sit my purse on the marble counter and take a deep sip of my champagne before I check them.
“This is Cristal the fabulous one enjoying an uberfabulous life. If you're calling you're not with me living it up too. Aw. Too bad. Too sad.”
Beep.
“Danielle, you forgot we supposed to go to the reggae concert? Why you not answering your phone?”
Beep
.
“Danielle, what going on with you girl?” Mohammed asks with his accent even heavier in anger. “You no wanna be with me no more? 'Cause that's what gone happen.” Click.
Beep.
“Cristal, girl you are missing it. Dom just pimp slapped some damn girl for spilling liquor on her dress. Möet is in the middle of them trying to break it up. Girl, call me. Call me!”
Beep.
“Cristal. Bitch, how 'bout Ze's mama here with Rockman trickin' ass. Humph. Ze 'bout to flip in this bitch. Oooh, Ze, your mama know how to supersoak that ho better than your fuckin' ass.”
Beep.
The line just hangs up during the last message. I know it was Mohammed and even as I stand in the midst of the world I longed to be a part of, I miss him. I wish that he could stand beside me and enjoy this world just like I do. But I know he wants no part of it. He is a simple man who just wants to work hard and be a good man. He could care less about wealth and fame.
Lose Mohammed? I cannot do that.
Lose the new spot I am claiming in a world I felt I belonged in? I did not want to do that.
For the last two months I have used every lie imaginable to get away. The girls and Mohammed would not understand. They would think I am back on the prowl for a wealthy husband and I am not. Several menâseveral wealthy menâ-several wealthy
celebrity
men mind youâhave stepped to me and I have nothing but Mohammed on mind. Me, the
ultimate
gold-digger, is quite happy with my handyman with the little house in Newark. I am not here on the prowl. There is no other man for me but Mohammedâthis I know for sure.
I look down at my silver BlackBerry and my thumb is right over the speed dial button. I cannot call him. Not right now. I have to make my apologies in person. As much as I would love to hear his sexy Jamaican tongue wrap around my name, I push my BlackBerry back into my purse.
I turn to check my flawless makeup in the mirror. Everything about me being here seems right. A piece of me is still that little orphan girl nobody wants with the high water jeans and dirty no-name sneakers wishing her wealthy parents would swoop in and rescue her from a life of poverty and no heritage. A piece of me wants to make everything right. Restore order. Set it all straight.
With one last check of my appearance, I swallow down the last of my champagne and leave the bathroom to get back to the party.
Chapter Seventeen
Moët
T
onight I am on a mission.
Cristal has hooked me up with an attorney, a Helen Jacobsen, from the firm where she works. I have an appointment with her tomorrow. She's supposed to be one of the best attorneys in the tristate area . . . so at least for tonight Tiffany is safely asleep in her crib in my bedroom. For the first time since I got those papers, I feel like I have the will to fight forâand winâcustody of my daughter.
I had to testify for the first time in family court about the background and emotional stability of a child ordered to testify against her mother in a neglect case. My supervisor praised me for my performance and we believe the judge's decision not to let the child testify was mainly due to that. So workâfor nowâis a non-issue.
My sister, Latrece, called complaining about my parents' not letting her join the debate team because it would mean her having to travel out of town sometimes. I called them and gently suggested loosening the strings a bit or they would lose her. They compromised and said she could join and attend all local events but anything out of town would have to be supervised by my mom. It's not much but it's something. Family drama handled? Check.
My friends are getting along. In fact, Alizé, Moët, and Dom are out enjoying a movie, dinner, and of course . . . drinks. Another check on my “things to worry about” list.
Tonight? Tonight is all about handling my personal life. Taking it to the next level.
Ding-dong
.
I check my appearance in the mirror and for one second I doubt myself. Am I wrong?
I leave my bedroom and walk across the plush carpeting in the rhinestone stilettos I borrowed from Dom. They were from her “Juicy” days and just what I needed for tonight. With one last lick to my lips, I open the door and try to look my sexiest.
Taquan's eyes travel from my soft curled hair to my elaborately made up face. I bite my bottom lip a little bit before his eyes drop down to take in the sheer pink teddy I'm wearing.
He swallows over a lump in his throat and suddenly shoves his hands into the pockets of his vintage jeans. “Jesus,” he says huskily before he averts his eyes.
I reach out and take his hand to pull him in. He resists. “Taquan, come here,” I order him softly. He relents.
His mouth is moving and his eyes are focused on the ceiling as I pull him behind me to push down onto the couch. It's not until I try to straddle his hips that I realize he is praying. Good grief.
I lean forward to wrap my arms around his neck and he brings his hands up to block me. His hands accidentally touch my breasts and I feel his dick jump inside his pants. “Taquan, please,” I beg shamelessly. I haven't had sex since the night I told Bones I was pregnant. That was over a year ago. Oh, choir boy gone give me some. Shoot.
I reach for his dick and he grabs my wrist. I try to wrestle free but of course, he is stronger than me. Shoot, I'm sitting here in a crotchless teddy begging for sex and he isn't giving in. Look like his will is stronger than mine too.
“Jesus, we pray for the strength to resist temptation and rebuke sin,” he prays.
“I know that the flesh is weak, Moët. Trust me I am human and I have . . .
needs
too but this isn't right,” he implores me as he looks into my eyes with the utmost seriousness.
I try to press my breasts closer to his face. His eyes drop down to take in my hard nipples through the sheer material and I don't miss the little lick of his lips. “Taquan, I want to be with you in every way.”
He gave himself one last long look at my body before he shifts his eyes to mine again. “And we will . . . one dayâ”
“Today,” I stress.
“One day,” he stresses.
“Today,” I stress again.
“The Bible says âFor this is the will of God, even your sanctification, that ye should abstain from fornication.' ”
The man I want to make love with is throwing Bible verses at me while I am straddling him in a crotchless see-through teddy. Talk about a mood killer.
“I'm sorry, Latoya, but if you can't understandâand respectâhow serious I am about this then I don't think we can be in a relationship.”
His words make me climb right off his lap. I cross my arms over my exposed breasts as I step back from him. “You know, Taquan, a lot of my life has been filled with lies and deception on my part. This last year I have really tried to find myself and be true to myself. Be it right or be it wrong.”
He stands and removes his suit jacket. “So what are you saying?” he asks softly as he moves behind me to place the jacket around my near nudity.
I have to swallow back a shiver at the feel of his hands on my body. Even the most innocent move from him makes me want him even more. “It's hard for me to be around you so much and to want you so much and not have you,” I admit, turning so that I can look up into his face.
“This is very important to me, Latoya,” he stresses with conviction clearly in his face.
What can I say? Sex is important to me? That would sound trashyâespecially to a church boy like Taquan. God, this would be so much easier if Taquan looked more like damn Flavor Flav's oogly ass than Idris Elba.
“Maybe I should go and give you time to decide,” he says.
I feel alarm. “Decide what?”
“If a relationship with me without sex is what you want,” he answers without hesitation, his voice hard and certain.
Dang on it. The man or the sex? That's a crazy choice for a woman to make. I will never make love with Taquan unless we get married. Hell, what if he never proposes? What if I don't accept?
Maybe I do need to think this over.
He must have seen that on my face because he leans down and kisses me on both my cheeks and my forehead before he turns to leave. I turn away because I can't watch him go. Is this the end for Taquan and I? I'm not promiscuous, but can I grab the celibacy torch from Alizé and run with it? I've had some really good sex and it's going to be hard to forget that.
I slump down onto the couch and wince as the cool leather sticks to my vagina lips. It's a shame that's all the action I'm getting tonight.
Cash rules everything around me. Humph. How true that is.
Cristal stands up from behind her desk as soon as I walk out into the reception area of Lowe, Ingram, and Banks. “Oh, God, Mo, what's wrong? What did she say?” she asks with concern as she comes from behind her area to take my hands in hers.
Does my face show how scared I am?
I look up at her and I feel the tears in my eyes. “Last night I'm trying to make Taquan make love to me like that's important. How stupid is that when I don't have two red cents to rub together to pay for this . . . this child custody suit. He can afford the best and I can't afford . . . to fight for my baby. She needs ten thousand dollars just to get started.”
My chest heaves as I fight to breathe in air. I feel like I am drowning. “I told her about the rape thing. I told her how rich Bones is and . . . and . . . that he hates me. She thinks he's going to file papers for temporary custody. Oh, my God. I'm gonna lose my baby.”
My legs give out from under me and Cristal struggles on her stilettos to hold me up.