“Okay, okay, angel, I hear you. Not another word. The last thing I want is for you to be upset at the dinner.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to say another word?” I question sharply.
“You’re so right. Real quick before you go, I just confirmed next week’s Dead Straight in-store appearance at the Target in South Central. It shouldn’t be too long, maybe two hours.”
“Jesus, I totally forgot about that,” I sigh. “How much am I getting for that?”
“Um, lemme check. Okay, here it is. This one is a five-hundred-dollar appearance.”
“I swear this movie can’t drop soon enough. I promise I’ll never do another one of these godforsaken Dead Straight appearances again,” I complain bitterly. “All those hateful women coming out just to see if my hair is a weave. That and psycho stalker-men, talking about they just want to get a box signed for their wives—whatever!”
“Don’t worry, it’s almost over.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you when I finish if it’s not too late.” And with that, I decisively shut my phone.
I’M ABOUT TO meet Carter James! I feel giddy just thinking about it. I’ve been a fan for so long, I can barely believe that we’re actually going to be working together. Carter is one of the few African-American A-listers in Hollywood. He’s costarred alongside everyone from Julia Roberts to Harrison Ford, and easily earns eight million a movie. Nowadays, Carter has the ability to green-light any project he wishes. His word is gold. And if I have anything to do with it, after working on this project with him I won’t be trekking across Los Angeles for another open casting call as long as I live.
I asked Clarence to set up this dinner so that our first meeting will be in a more comfortable environment than the first principal-cast read-thru session next month. After several weeks of going back and forth between Clarence and Carter’s management team, they were finally able to pin down a window of time in the veteran actor’s schedule when he and I could get together for a little meet-and-greet.
I’d done my research on Carter and discovered that he is an avid fan of seafood, so I requested that Clarence make reservations for us at Crustaceans in Beverly Hills. Luckily, the restaurant is only a hop, skip, and a jump from my apartment, so for a change, I’m able to be on time for a dinner. As I walk across the aquarium in the entrance floor, I spot Carter in a corner of the balcony. God, he looks good! In black slacks and a fitted black knit top, it’s easy to see why he’s consistently voted one of People magazine’s top ten eligible bachelors. Following the maître d’ over to a hostess waiting to escort me up to our table, I say a quick prayer for the strength not to giggle like a little child in front of this man. As I near the table, Carter stands to greet me. For the first time in my life, I have the distinct feeling more eyes in the room are directed at the man I’m dining with than on me.
“Amaya, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” he says as he takes my hand and kisses it. Every hair on my arm stands at attention as his voice rumbles in his chest.
“The pleasure is truly all mine, Mr. James,” I respond with a shy smile. Wow, I can’t believe that this man is making me nervous.
“Please, call me Carter. So I understand that you picked this restaurant,” he continues once I’m comfortably seated in my chair. “Great choice, I love seafood.”
“Really,” I answer, feigning ignorance. “I’m so glad.”
“You’re all right with me if you know your fish,” he says, flashing a perfect smile.
“Well, I definitely want to be all right with you,” I answer coyly, feeling my confidence returning as I catch him peeping down the V-neck of my silk, lilac and cream spaghetti-strap Betsey Johnson cocktail dress.
“Mmm, I hear you,” he answers just as the waiter approaches the table to fill my glass with the white wine that Carter has already requested for the table and ask if we’re ready to order. “May I have the pleasure of ordering for you, Amaya?”
“Please be my guest,” I respond graciously as I sit back and cross my legs.
“Great. We’ll start with an order of steamed oysters for the table, then I’d like the one-pound lobster and garlic scallop over pumpkin pilaf with asparagus for the lady, and I’ll take the one-and-a-half-pound lobster with the sautéed spinach and the scalloped potatoes, thank you,” he states authoritatively.
“Mmm, it all sounds so delicious,” I say as the waiter walks away.
“I’m glad that you’re pleased,” he responds with a devilish grin.
“I am. And let me just say what an honor it is to be chosen to work with you on this film,” I start as I sip from my glass of wine. “As I’m sure you know, The Black Crusader will be my very first major release.”
“Well, have no fear, Amaya, this will be my second Soular Son production. Adolphus is an amazing director and producer. Not to mention, I think you’re a perfect fit for the part of Tatiana. You should have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to the actual filming,” he says and leans into the table.
“Just when it comes to the filming, huh?” I joke.
“Well, how you get along with the cast, or should I say your costar, is completely up to you,” he says as he reaches across to stroke my hand and stares with a raised eyebrow.
Despite my initial attraction, there is something in his tone that sets off a huge alarm in my brain. This feels wrong. Still smiling, I slowly pull my hand away from him and say, “Aww, you’re so sweet, Carter. I’m sure the two of us are going to get along magnificently. But unfortunately I’m in a very committed relationship right now,” I exaggerate ever so slightly. “Perhaps you know my boyfriend, Troy…” His laughter interrupts me before I finish my sentence. “I’m sorry, did I say something funny?”
“Not at all. And, yes, you could say I know your boyfriend Troy. As a matter of fact, I play golf with him at least once a month.”
“Really? I had no idea,” I answer, instantly annoyed at Troy for failing to mention this to me, and at myself for not following up on his whereabouts while I was running around with Keith.
“Yes, really. Honestly, why do you think I made time to meet with you? I’ve heard all about you from your boyfriend Troy,” he continues with a slight sneer.
“I’m not sure I understand exactly what that’s supposed to mean,” I ask, measuring my words as I remind myself that I’m seated across from my future costar and not some random man that I can curse out from top to bottom and never see again.
“What it means, my dear,” he says in the same tone of voice as he puts his hand firmly on my knee and rubs under the edge of my dress, “is that you’ve been the talk of the golf course for months. You’re his girlfriend, all right—maybe his Los Angeles girlfriend. But trust, he’s got one in every city that he travels.”
I am stunned. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I’d worked so hard on my career and this is what it was all going to come down to? Ruined by straight-up locker-room gossip? This whole time I thought I was using Troy and that low-life bastard was putting my business out in the street. Luckily, the waiter arrives at that exact moment with our order of oysters. Carter casually pulls back his hand off my knee and sits back in his chair.
“Don’t look so surprised, my dear. From what I’ve heard you’re one of the best he’s ever had,” Carter states smugly as soon as the waiter walks away. “He’s been talking about you ever since that first night after the Rap Renegade party. Whipped cream and honey on the first date? My, aren’t you a naughty girl, huh?”
More than anything, I want to dump the entire bowl of steaming oysters on his head. But instead of reacting, I calmly reply, “I don’t know what it is you think you’ve heard. But I assure you that you’ve somehow gotten me confused. And if you don’t want me to press charges for sexual harassment and begin the biggest smear campaign you’ve ever seen in your life as soon as I leave this restaurant, you will pretend this conversation never happened. I assure you I’m not playing with you, C
arter.” I stand up and gather my belongings, as I watch the color drain from his face.
I walk away from Carter almost completely numb with anger. I can barely see straight for the tears clouding my vision. I’d been played by my own pawn. As soon as the valet pulls the car up, I jump in without even bothering to tip and peel off. I’m about to K-I-L-L Troy Bennett.
AS I SCREECH to a halt in front of Troy’s mansion, I’m completely emotionally exhausted. I’d called Elise to brief her on what happened and see what she thought I should do. While she was shocked and agreed that Troy was a complete waste of space, she begged me not to do anything too crazy. But, I mean, what’s really too crazy, considering that this man practically ruined my entire career trying to show out for his boys?
Now that I was actually here, I didn’t know what to do next. I briefly toy with the idea of burning down his home like Left Eye had done to Andre Rison’s Atlanta mansion but I realize that I don’t care enough. I don’t love Troy, never did. I’m certainly not about to go to jail over him. I’m just pissed because he embarrassed me. What the fuck did he think, that I was never going to get to the point where I was working with someone as large as Carter? Acting like he was so happy for me when I got the part… Whatever. I just need to get my shit and get as far away from him as possible… oh, and maybe key his new tricked-out Cadillac truck as a parting gift.
As soon as I open the front door, I hear Jay-Z’s The Black Album blasting from the playroom. Huge surprise—his little sidekicks are over again. I head directly up to the master bedroom, hoping that the music is loud enough to muffle the security system’s entry-notification beeps. Thankfully, Troy had only given me the keys to his place a couple of months ago, so I don’t have that much stuff at his place yet. I quickly jam all my clothes, shoes, and lingerie back into the same Louis Vuitton travel duffel that I’d brought them over in. As I walk out of the bathroom with the last of my beauty products, Troy appears in the doorway.
“Hey, sexy, I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says, his lips curved in his characteristic lopsided grin. As he surveys the pulled-out drawers and empty hangers on the floor, he quickly changes his tune. “Whoa, what the fuck is going on here?”
Without even bothering to respond, I put the last of the beauty products in my bag and proceed to zip it up. I survey the room one last time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything and start to walk out the bedroom door.
“Hello… earth to Amaya. What in the hell is going on?” he says, grabbing my arm to stop me from passing by him.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I hiss from between clenched teeth.
“No. Not until you tell me what’s up. ’Cause this ain’t cute. You got my house looking like a tornado ran through it and you walking out with all your stuff, looking like I shot your mom dukes or something. I want to know what’s going on,” he answers refusing to release my arm from his tight grip.
“I said, get the fuck off me,” I scream as I pull from his grasp and push him away from me. “You want to know what’s going on? Why don’t you ask your golf buddy, Carter, what the fuck is going on! Wait, why bother, since you’ve already taken the liberty of telling everyone what’s going on, you pathetic little piece of shit.”
“Yo, for real, you’re gonna lower your voice…” he responds as he nervously pulls at the collar of his white T-shirt and quickly shuts the bedroom door.
“No, Troy, I’m not gonna do a damn thing that you tell me. Why don’t you go tell your New York trick or your Detroit whore to lower their voices. The only thing I’m gonna do is walk up out of this bullshit house and never look back at your sorry ass,” I respond, heading past him out the door.
“Please, just let me explain, Amaya…” Troy calls from behind me.
As soon as I hear my name, I stop, turn back around, stare him dead in the eyes, and warn him, “For real, keep my goddamn name out your mouth. I have worked too long and too hard to build up a reputation, and the last thing I’m about to do is let your trifling, young behind come along and ruin it. So trust me when I say, whenever you see me out, act like you know, and keep it moving. Don’t get embarrassed. ’Cause I will embarrass you.”
I rush down the stairway only to discover Troy’s tired-ass boys all gathered at the bottom, eavesdropping like a bunch of bitches.
“Oh, hey, Amaya. What’s happening, girl?” they greet me uncomfortably.
“Puh-lease, fuck all y’all.” I shoot back as I walk out the front door.
AS I JUMP BACK on the highway, I feel only a brief sense of relief before I start to work myself up again. I wonder how many others are privy to the details of our sex life. Lord knows that it only takes a minute for hot gossip to get around Black Hollywood. Negroes kill me, I tell you. I knew I shouldn’t have bothered giving his young behind a real taste of the goodies. Shit is so good, he didn’t even know how to act. But the worst part is, none of this would have ever happened if I hadn’t been trying to impress Keith. And for what? I still haven’t seen any divorce papers. In fact, the only difference between now and ten months ago is that now he’ll return all my pages, come to see me three times a week, occasionally spend an entire night, and, oh yeah, toss around the word “love” a whole lot. However, we’re still running around after hours, denying our relationship, and acting like it’s something to be ashamed of in front of folks. Bottom line, absolutely nothing that’s getting me any closer to an engagement ring. Fuck that. It’s time for me to play all the cards left in my hand. I pick up my cell and call Keith.
“Hello?” he answers in a slightly hushed voice.
“I need to see you right now,” I say urgently as I turn down my Eminem CD.
“Huh? Amaya? It’s late. I’m already in the house.”
“I don’t care what time it is,” I whine, my voice getting slightly louder. “Baby, please, I need to see you right now. Meet me at my house in forty minutes.”
“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, his voice starting to sound strained. “Why are you tripping? Can’t you just tell me? Or can we do this in the morning?”
“I’m not tripping, Keith. It’s important. And I promise you, it’ll be worth the little drive,” I say confidently and hang up the phone before he has a chance to further protest.
I cannot believe he just said, “It’s late.” So goddamn what? As many nights as he allegedly spends in the studio working till the wee hours of the morning? Let me find out that he is laid up with Trixie and that’s why he doesn’t want to come back out. Whatever the case may be, all I know is Keith had better bring his black behind out of that house tonight. He doesn’t want me to come ring his front doorbell.
FORTY-THREE MINUTES later, my front doorbell sounds. Ha, I knew it—that Negro knows he can’t tell me no. Changed out of my dinner dress, I open the door in a hot-pink satin robe and a pair of clear Lucite hooker heels that I’ve been saving for a very special occasion, to find a very annoyed Keith huffing on my doormat.
“Yo, this better be some shit,” he says, pushing past into the candlelit apartment.
“So much for the sweet talk, huh?” I reply sarcastically, still bitter from earlier.
“Listen, you know I’m not for all this drama. I said I was already at home, and you dragging me back into the streets all crazy is just gonna make things hot for me.”
“Keith,” I answer, trying to soften my tone as I close the door and follow behind him. “I don’t want to make things hot for you. It’s just that I had a very disturbing evening and it’s forced me to rethink a lot of what’s going on in my life.”
“I don’t know what the hell happened to you, but this shit is not cool,” he replies dispassionately, sitting down on the edge of my beige suede couch.
“Fine, Keith. It doesn’t even matter what happened, the bottom line is that you’re here with me now.” I stand in front of him with my hands on his shoulders and slowly push him back into the deep couch. I start to massage his shoulders as he parts his legs further to allow me to
stand closer.
“Mmmm, Amaya, you can’t be acting like shit is an emergency for nothing,” he grumbles into my stomach as he massages my naked butt under the flimsy robe.
I slowly end my massage and climb onto his lap facing him. Slowly kissing on his neck, I untie the robe so that my body is fully exposed. It’s obvious from the change in his breathing pattern that I’m going to have to say what I have to say before we get caught up. I gently grab a hold of his chin and raise his face until our eyes meet. “This is an emergency,” I state firmly. “You know how much I love you, right?”
“Of course,” he replies trying to tug his face from my hand so that he can focus on the breasts in front of him.
“Wait, Keith,” I gently reprimand with a quick kiss and devilish grin. “Let me say what I have to say and then we can do whatever you want.”
“Fine,” he pouts like a bad five-year-old. Looking at him makes my nipples hard.
“So, like I was saying, you know I love you. You turn me on physically and mentally. It’s obvious that we’re made for each other—both of us are happiest when we’re together. Or at least that’s what you always tell me.”
“Yeah, okay so what’s your point, Amaya?”
“My point…” I pause for emphasis, “is that I’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life as your woman—your real woman. Not your piece on the side.” I can feel his body tense beneath me but I know that it’s now or never, so I continue. “And if you haven’t already, I want you to start the divorce proceedings tomorrow morning.”
“Amaya! I know that this is not what you dragged me out of my house at the middle of the night for!” he explodes, then pushes me off of him and immediately stands up. I scramble to my feet, struggling to retie my robe.
“Yo, I’m out,” he says as he strides toward the front door.
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