Dirty little secrets #2

by Deja King

  “You bastard! Fuck you and your damn money!” I screamed. Ian cursed me out, calling me bitch, whore, and slut—all the names that men throw at women when they can’t put together a coherent sentence. Instead of saying something that makes sense, they call you everything but your given name. Ian was driving all crazy, swerving into the other cars’ lanes. I thought we were going to crash.

  With fear I squealed, “Ian, slow down!” Ian had all this built-up frustration due to his presumption that I wasn’t putting him first in my life. He wasn’t interested in me pursuing a career. He wanted a twenty-four-hour sex slave at his beck and call, and damn the bitch who wasn’t down for the cause. Luckily we made it back to the house in one piece, but the argument continued. This time, there was no Ian coming to the airport to save me, there was no Ian being my knight in shining armor. I was annoyed and disgusted with his attitude. Never one to hold my tongue, it was my pleasure to tell Ian what an idiot he was.

  That night there was no making up and making love. Ian was sprawled out on one side of the king-size bed, and I slept on the other. In the morning, he left without saying good-bye. I stayed home and surmised where our relationship was going. Circumstances were different this time. At the end of the day, what could we really do? We were two different people. I wanted to be successful in my own right. I wanted to have my own money, my own possessions. Ian wanted a doormat. Our personalities were on complete opposite sides of the spectrum.

  I lounged by the pool waiting for Ian to come home, dreading our talk. He finally made an appearance five hours later.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, part missing him and part hating him for leaving me for so long without even a call.

  “Out,” Ian snapped.

  “Out doing what?” I thought maybe he had been with another woman.

  “Doing me,” Ian said, throwing me shade. The conversation was going nowhere.

  “That’s cool; your stank attitude is speaking volumes. You obviously feel that whatever is out there is better than what you have right here, so you win.”

  “What you mean, I win?” he asked.

  “It means that the relationship is over. Finished.”

  “Finished?”

  “Yeah, finished. You do know what finished means? Over. To bring something to an end, which in this case is our relationship.”

  “What are you going to do without me, Tyler? I’m the best you’ll ever get.”

  “Well, then you must have a low opinion of me, if you’re the best that I can get.” I cruised past Ian with contempt. How dare he insult my intelligence as if he were the be-all and the end-all. Ian remained at the pool smoking his weed and drinking some Hennessy. He was in his own zone and didn’t seem to either realize or care when I packed my bags and left. It was good-bye to Detroit and hello to New York.

  Chrissie and I were lying out in Central Park in our pink bikinis, soaking up the sun. It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon and we both needed the relaxation. I was dozing off to sleep when Chrissie decided to strike up a heart-to-heart chat.

  “How are you dealing with the whole Ian situation? I know you must miss him.” Chrissie knew that I didn’t want to discuss Ian, but insistent was Chrissie’s middle name.

  “I’m doing okay. I talked to him yesterday, but his attitude hasn’t changed much. He is totally stubborn. But he did say he was willing to try to change some of his barbaric ways. It’s not much, but a start.” When I first got back to New York, Ian had left numerous messages berating me for leaving. It wasn’t until he’d gone upstairs and noticed all my stuff was gone that he realized I had left. He was furious. But finally calmed down and gave me a half-ass apology.

  “I agree. With Ian being such a tyrant, that’s a huge step for him. Plus I know how much you love him,” Chrissie said.

  “Yeah, I do love him. What can I say? Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m still hoping that Ian can get control of his temper and we can be happy together. He’s coming to New York sometime this week for a couple of days. We’re going to try to work things out.”

  “Great, but Tyler, don’t let him pressure you into conforming to his barbaric ways.”

  “Okaaaaay,” I gestured. Chrissie was right: I had to remain strong because Ian could be so persuasive.

  But my outlook on our relationship was different now. No longer was I on cloud nine and caught up in the excitement of being with a star athlete. I was maturing and trying to grow up. Even though the ad campaign was courtesy of T-Roc, making my own money was liberating and a natural high. I wasn’t getting that same high attending basketball games, eating at fancy restaurants, or shopping. At the end of the day, how many designer bags did I really need? It was becoming a bit repetitive. Plus Ian wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, and I was craving intellect. I felt inadequate with Ian because my opinions didn’t matter. I was there strictly to please him when he beckoned. We were no longer connecting. When he met me, I had really just got off the bus. Initially, being exposed to the excitement of the NBA was thrilling. Bragging to my friends that I was dating Ian Addison, superstar point guard for the Detroit Pistons, or seeing him on a commercial and know that I was in his bed the night before would pump my adrenaline. I felt privileged to get on a plane and malinger in a big old mansion, lounging around being glamorous. But, that wasn’t my plane, it wasn’t my pool, and that damn sure wasn’t my mansion. I was a visitor!

  “Tyler, I’m ready to go. This sun is burning me like a piece of toast.”

  “That’s cool because my head is killing me.” Chrissie and I were gathering our shoes and zipping up our cutoff jean shorts when I heard the chiming of my cell. When I finally located the miniature phone, I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello.”

  “Tyler?”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  136 Joy King

  “Hi, it’s Sasha.”

  “Hi, Sasha, how are you?” I was surprised to hear her voice.

  “Wonderful, your pictures came out fabulous. I can’t wait for you to see the final product. But that wasn’t what I was calling about. I’m having a small get-together tonight at my penthouse in the Trump Tower and would love for you to come.”

  “Party at your penthouse in the Trump Tower,” I repeated out loud. Chrissie nodded her head yes again and again.

  “Sure, I would love to come. Is it okay to bring my friend Chrissie?”

  “Of course. I’ll see you around nine.” Sasha gave me her apartment number and hung up the phone.

  “This is so cool. I’ve never been in the Trump Tower before, no less a penthouse. Your life is so cool, Tyler. Thanks for bringing me along.”

  “Chrissie, if it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t even be going.” I had a feeling T-Roc would be there, and I wasn’t up to seeing him. T-Roc gave me a powerless sense of being that scared me.

  I didn’t know what to wear. It was burning up outside, so I wanted something sexy but not too revealing. My lime-green satin halter dress by Miguelina would be perfect. I sleeked my hair back in a bun and wore the strappy Emilio Pucci heels Ian purchased for me a couple of weeks earlier. Not to keep Chrissie waiting, I gave myself the once-over and I was the vision of summer perfection.

  “Chrissie, why didn’t you come upstairs instead of waiting outside?”

  “Because I needed to smoke and I know how much you hate the smell of cigarettes.”

  Dirty Little Secrets 137

  “Oh, yeah, you did the right thing.” Chrissie knew I was damn near allergic to the cancer sticks.

  “Oh, my gosh, Tyler, you are unbelievable in that dress. You bitch,” Chrissie said, teasing.

  “Look at you, Chrissie! You’re putting Carrie Bradshaw to shame in that skin-tight powder-blue one-piece short suit.” Chrissie loved to wear microminis and microshorts to show off her toned curvy legs. Besides her bottled-blond perfect ringlets, her legs were her next best asset.

  For Chrissie, entering Sasha’s penthouse in the Trump T
ower was like hitting the lottery. I hadn’t seen her this excited since she got the deal of a lifetime on a vintage Chanel dress. When Sasha said a small get-together, I figured ten to fifteen people, maybe twenty at the most. But there were about forty people scattered around, and I assumed there were at least ten more lurking around the corner somewhere. Sasha immediately strolled over, giving kisses on both cheeks and a counterfeit hug.

  “Tyler, I’m so glad you could make it, and this must be your friend.” She approached Chrissie with the same fake kisses and hugs.

  “Come have some champagne, and relax. We also have excellent blow and ecstasy available if you like.”

  “Champagne would be great.” Chrissie and I followed Sasha over to a couch in the corner, where the waiter brought us a bottle of Cristal.

  “Cheers, ladies,” Sasha chirped before going off to mingle with her other guests.

  “Her penthouse is amazing,” Chrissie said, gazing around. Sasha’s place was no doubt beautiful, but it didn’t come close to touching T-Roc’s grand town house. I scanned the room, but I didn’t see him. I was actually disappointed. After thirty minutes of having three glasses of champagne and dissecting every person at the party with Chrissie, I was having a great time.

  “Here comes Sasha again,” Chrissie complained.

  “Tyler, I have a proof of your ad shots in my bedroom. You should go up and see them, and tell me what you think.”

  “That’s okay; I can wait,” I said, not feeling all that comfortable about going in Sasha’s bedroom.

  “No, you have to. I really want to get your opinion.”

  “Well, if it’s that important to you, I’ll go. Chrissie, come with me.” As Chrissie was standing up to follow me, Sasha grabbed her hand.

  “Actually there’s this actor that wants to meet her.”

  “Really?” Chrissie said with eyes beaming.

  “Yes, he’s extremely cute too,” Sasha added.

  “You two go ahead. I’ll go look at the pictures and let you know what I think.” Sasha gave me directions to her bedroom, and once again I put Sasha’s behavior on odd. Her aura rubbed me the wrong way. When I finally made it upstairs to her bedroom, the door was slightly ajar, a dim light was on, and the sounds of Lenny Kravitz were playing. I peeked around the door and gawked at the spectacle I faced. After a full sixty seconds of digesting the scene, I stood in the hallway against the wall to catch my breath. There was no way I saw what I just thought I saw. I closed my eyes, reopened them, and scrutinized the spectacle one more time. The picture didn’t change; it was still the same. Brianna and Sierra, the stepsisters from the ad campaign, were having a ménage à trois with my Prince Charming, Ian. Brianna was giving hima professional and fingering Sierra at the same time. My, what skills she had. Ian was sucking on Sierra’s breasts, and then he flipped her and started fucking her doggy style, while Sierra munched on Brianna’s bush. It was all so sick and disgusting.

  I wanted to scream, break shit, and fuck all three of them up, but my mouth wouldn’t open. My body was numb and my heart was frozen. What was it with men and ménages anyway? One piece of pussy wasn’t enough? They had to indulge in two? Ian hadn’t even called to tell me he was in town. Instead he rushed over to Sasha’s for some fucking and sucking. I closed the door without interrupting the private party. I drifted downstairs, knowing the tears were coming and wanting to leave this place now. I searched the room for Chrissie, and to my disillusionment she was at the table snorting coke with some soap opera actor. It was time for me to go, and when I turned to leave there was T-Roc.

  “Tyler, are you okay? You seem distraught.”

  “I’m fine. Now please excuse me,” I said, walking away.

  “Tyler, wait,” he said, grabbing my arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me. It’s obvious something is terribly wrong. I want to help you.”

  T-Roc seemed so concerned, and honestly I wanted someone to confide in and hopefully numb the pain, if only momentarily. “No, I’m not okay. I feel terrible.” I put my head down, not wanting T-Roc to see the tears in my eyes. He gently lifted my chin and gazed in my eyes, full of concern.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Can we leave here, please?”

  “Sure, where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere but here.” There was complete silence until we got inside his Bentley, which was waiting outside.

  “Tyler, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go back to your place? I’m not ready to go home.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “Positive.”

  That night T-Roc and I made love as if it were our last night on earth. My emotions were disseminated all over the place, which caused me to grasp on to him for dear life. Making love to T-Roc overshadowed the pain Ian had caused me. With every stroke, T-Roc entered my body and Ian left my mind. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Ian’s once warm and secure embrace was now replaced by his cousin’s.

  “Rise and shine, pretty girl. I know you must be starved.” T-Roc had breakfast for me with fresh flowers on a tray.

  “Is it some sort of family trait, cooking breakfast for your women friends?”

  “Only the special ones.” T-Roc smiled. T-Roc was an excellent cook, and I devoured the French toast and home fries and downed it with a Bellini.

  “That was delicious!”

  “I see! You didn’t even come up for air. So are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

  “What’s there to tell?”

  “Why you were so upset at Sasha’s party.”

  “I wasn’t upset; I was just ready to go.” In the middle of answering T-Roc’s question, my cell phone started ringing. It was Ian. I tossed the phone down, not wanting to see his name or hear his voice.

  “That’s my cousin calling. You’re not going to answer?”

  “For what? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

  “Talk to me, Tyler,” T-Roc demanded as he sat at the edge of the bed looking at me. Observing him in his white terry-cloth robe, I saw he was sincere, and that prompted me to open up to him.

  “At Sasha’s party I walked in on Ian having a ménage à trois with these two model chicks.”

  “I’m sorry, Tyler.”

  “Why are you sorry? Ian wasn’t using your dick to fuck those two bitches. Call me naive, but I never thought Ian would cheat on me. I thought he was different from my father.” The words seemed to just slip from my mouth.

  “Your father?” T-Roc asked, clearly surprised by my admission.

  “Yes. My father cheated on my mother, but she continued to stay with him because of his money. She claimed she loved him, but how can you love someone and stay with them when you know they’re seeing someone else? Now I’m confusing myself, because in the same breath I’m the first to say that all men have secrets. That belief also came from watching my father’s behavior when I was growing up. He seemed so perfect on the outside, but soon it became clear that he was just like every other man. I guess I was making myself believe Ian was unlike my father. But I was wrong.” Words were coming out of my mouth faster than I could get ahold of my thoughts. Once again I found myself comparing my relationship with Ian with that of my parents. Was I the product of a dysfunctional home?

  “I’m sorry, because I know how devastated you must be.”

  “I’m over the devastated part. Now I’m just empty. Can you hold me? I just want to feel loved.” I fell back asleep in T-Roc’s arms, wishing I could erase the revolting images of Ian. He completely ruined my fantasy, and I didn’t know if I could ever recapture it. As T-Roc held me closely, I thought maybe all hope wasn’t lost.

  Secrets Exposed

  When you have a secret, you know it will more than likely come to light. You may cover it with layers of disguises, but eventually any secret worth keeping will be exposed. All you can try to do is prepare for the ramifications once it’s unbu
ried.

  Dealing with Ian’s betrayal was a lot harder to swallow than I thought it would be. I was spending a lot of time with T-Roc, but it still wasn’t enough to suppress the pain. While I was sleeping beside T-Roc one night, I woke up crying because I missed Ian so much. “Tyler, what’s wrong?” T-Roc asked.

  “I’m okay; I just had a nightmare.” I didn’t want T-Roc to know I was yearning for his cousin.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” I said, wanting it to be true, but not sure if it would be. T-Roc got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He came back a minute later with a bottle in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

  “Here, Tyler, take one of these.” I looked at the small pill in his hand.

  “What is this for?”

  “It’ll relax you and erase any pain that you’re feeling.”

  “It’s not harmful, is it?” I asked, needing some reassurance.

  “I would never give you something that was harmful. I use them myself when I need to unwind. Just take it. I promise you’ll be happy you did.” I put the pill in my mouth and washed it down. Within a few minutes I became light-headed, and a warm sensation ran through my body. T-Roc was right: that pill was exactly what I needed.

  “Tyler, what would you like to order?”

  “Nothing; I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a glass of chardonnay.” “Baby, you need to eat something,” T-Roc stated in his “I’m your daddy, so listen to me” way.

  “Fine, I’ll have a salad. Is that good enough?”

  “I see you’re in one of your moods. Take this. It always makes you feel better.” T-Roc handed me one of the tiny white pills I had been taking for a couple of weeks. I called them dolls, like in Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls. I didn’t know what was in them or even the name, but they always relaxed me and kept my mind free of bullshit, which meant not thinking about Ian. I hadn’t spoken to him since the peep show, and he still didn’t know why I wouldn’t accept his calls or see him. I went home only once, to get some of my belongings, and I had been staying with T-Roc ever since. I almost broke down a couple of times and called Ian, but then I would take a doll with a glass of champagne and forget all about him. Sometimes I felt addicted, but hey, it was just dolls. It wasn’t like it was coke or something. But I was a tad curious.