The One I've Waited For

by Mary B. Morrison

  I guess I’d have to try harder.

  CHAPTER 15

  Devereaux

  Trending on social media, my panty-dripping sex scenes and jaw-dropping drama ranked number one. Probably the only person on set who wasn’t getting laid was me.

  Watching Emerald’s sex scene with her guy had me sweating between my thighs. Her lover eased the red lace bra down until her nipple popped out. Tilting her head back as he bestowed feathery fluttering strokes upon her breasts, she opened her mouth. His middle finger slid along her tongue. Slow. Steady. I watched her lips suction him in up to his knuckle. When he pulled out, with baited breath, soon as I saw his cuticle, I clinched the walls of my vagina from the opening, up to my G-Spot, and didn’t stop until I couldn’t squeeze any higher.

  Desperately, I wanted to take over my director’s role and yell, Cut!

  What I really needed to emotionally rid myself of was my ex, move on, and let a new guy fill my void. In hindsight, I was relieved Phoenix hadn’t stayed the night that night he went to jail. My sister was looking out for me, couldn’t hate her for doing what I wasn’t brave enough to do. I would’ve given in to Phoenix. Mercedes knew it. He knew it. He’d be in my house right now while I was at work. I’d worry the entire time I was here, who he was calling a bitch in my bed.

  I exhaled. Ebony Waterhouse no longer being on my payroll was a relief. Would memories of my ex cheating ever fade to black? Could I trust him again? Should I?

  The director said, “Everyone take fifteen.”

  My panties were moist. Motioning to stand, I needed to freshen up before the next scene.

  West-Léon swooped in from my left, sat beside me dressed from the waist down. I stared into his eyes. My peripheral soaked in his nakedness. When I had a man, lust never lingered. I’d never, nor would I ever cross the line of professionalism but Lawd this man was salacious. And he did not come packaged with off-set sexcapades.

  “Devereaux,” he said, touching my thigh. “Don’t hire anyone to replace the role of Ebony. I met someone that’s a perfect fit for me. This chick is super-bad, drop-dead gorgeous, all the way turnt up. I want you to give her a shot.”

  His brown skin embodied strong broad shoulders, lean protruding biceps, a well-defined chest with areolas the size of a nickel. I had the director make sure the camera angles kissed all of West-Léon’s body, especially his protruding massive groin area that drove women, and men, in Atlanta insane.

  West-Léon’s stomach abs rippled down to the smooth pubic hairs above his belt. I knew more than I should because I’d seen him nude during a wardrobe change for one of his bedroom scenes with Phoenix’s ex-side. Feeling West-Léon’s hand on me made me hotter than filming him coming out of the water on the beach in Puerto Rico. Waves crashing against his dangling—

  Pausing mid-exhale, I’d refrained from exhibiting one of Mercedes’s habits. “I know you’re concerned about your character but trust me, your fans’ momentum is unwavering. In fact, it’s growing with anticipation. We’ll select someone soon.”

  Anxiously, he asked, “Are you open to my recommending this person? Please, Devereaux.”

  Wouldn’t hurt. My casting director hadn’t found the right fit thus far. If this actress was his smash piece, both of them could forget about it. I nodded. “Like you guys, she has to be a fresh face to television.”

  “She’s brand-new,” West-Léon said, standing.

  “Wait. Before you refer her, know that your reputation is on the line. If you blow it, you cannot bring anyone else to me. I need a woman who looks the part and she’s ready to work immediately. And don’t bring me your cousin, sister, friend, or ex. Agreed?”

  “Cool. Thanks,” he said. “You can checkout her social pages. Her name is—”

  “Dev! Dev!” A familiar voice shouting from outside interrupted.

  West-Léon laughed. “You want me to get rid of him, again?”

  “I’ll do it.” Sighing heavily, I told West-Léon, “Excuse me,” getting up from my seat. How many noes would it take to keep my baby’s daddy away?

  I opened the door to beautiful sunshine, and eighty degrees warmed my face. Beneath a clear blue sky, there stood my ex.

  “Dev!” Phoenix yelled as though I were still inside.

  Approaching him, I said, “Please stop. Don’t come on my set embarrassing me. Time is money and right now you’re wasting both, again.”

  “So you don’t care about me, the father of your child. I can’t even see my baby. I know you don’t want me to let your crew know you’re a deadbeat mom. Where’s Nya?”

  I prayed for a strong breeze to carry the stench oozing from Phoenix’s body in the opposite direction. He had on the same shirt and sweats when he was arrested almost a week ago.

  Sighing heavily, I asked, “What do you want?”

  “I want to come home where I belong Dev. Please. Just one more chance.”

  His breath smelled like week-old garbage. I stepped backward across the threshold. “You made things this way. Not me. I gotta get back on set.”

  “No, you’re covering for that bitch Mercedes! Watching me be cuffed, then stuffed in the back of a police—”

  That bitch as he’d called her was watching our daughter. I’d heard enough. “You never accept responsibility for your actions. You had an FTA on your record. That’s the real reason the cops took you to county.”

  He should be grateful he was out. The BMW I’d paid for, I noticed he’d parked it next to my car. He could sell it, pawn it, do something to generate enough cash to wash his ass.

  “That was a bullshit traffic ticket. My mama didn’t tell me I had a court date,” he complained. “I—”

  Why hadn’t he used our address? No doubt he was someplace inappropriate when the police stopped him. Interrupting his pitch with, “I’ve got to get back to work,” I began closing the door.

  Walking toward me, Phoenix would not let the conversation end. “My mom said I can’t stay at her place. She won’t even take my calls since you bailed me out.” The closer he came, the louder he became. “All I have is the clothes on my back! Let me come by and get some of my stuff, Dev! At least let me wash my ass! I smell like shit.”

  The last thing I heard Phoenix say was, “I’ll be out here when you’re done!”

  I could have him arrested for trespassing but it wasn’t worth it if I was the only one who’d get him out. Undoubtedly, I loved Phoenix.

  West-Léon said, “Time is up,” then closed the door.

  Getting pussy was the least of West-Léon’s problems. Having my vagina stroked would be nice. Foreplay. Penetration. Inviting my employee to my home tonight would be my biggest mistake.

  I knew that, yet I was torn.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sandara

  I wasn’t in the habit of turning down paid jobs.

  Black had no idea how much more I could’ve lost. His bruising my neck almost cost me thirty thousand dollars on the runway, fifteen in catalog ads, and an additional ten for an appearance at Baylor University

  One thing stayed with me when Fortune battered my mother. Witch hazel helps get rid of passion marks and bruises. I wrapped soaked gauze from my ears to my collarbone, chilled at home while Remy kept the kids. Now I was in the Big Apple doing what I loved.

  Getting hair and makeup done, I smiled. Stared at myself in the mirror thinking, You’ve done good for yourself, chicka-chick. I bet my dad would be proud of me if he were here? Glad my mommy was coming back from Paris sometime today, I prayed I’d made her proud despite that I’d given birth one less time than her in the same manner. Well, not exactly, my kids knew of their daddy.

  A call from Black registered. I curled the left side of my lips, then took the deepest breath before answering on my Bluetooth, “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Where you at?” he said with urgency as though we were married and I was late walking in the door.

  Proudly, I looked at my reflection. “Getting prepped for my show.”


  “Show? You need to start telling me your schedule. Where’s Tyson? When you gon’ be done? It’s almost eight. I need you to suck my shit in two hours. Lay them kids down soon as y’all hit the do’ so I can lay this pipe. Get some strawberry ice cream for Daddy. Be ready.”

  Black had feelings? The curves of my mouth stretched to the max. “I’m in New York. I can’t.”

  If I were home, I’d stop at the grocery store. Get some marshmallows and chocolate syrup, too. But ice cubes never got old. Sexing Black had to wait. I wouldn’t be back for a few days.

  “Stop lying. You know you in the A. I was knee-deep in it less than forty-eight.”

  Yeah, where was his dick last night? After Black choked me out, I hadn’t heard from him until now. Mercedes had advised me to stop telling my baby daddies when and where I had a show. I didn’t need Black; he didn’t want me. I wanted him. He needed my money. We were both messed up. Four years of fornication and, I paused. Listened.

  Guy chatter was in the background. One boasted, “Boy, you my nig’. You got that pussy on pause.” Another chimed in, “And he ’bout to snatch that purse.” The first one followed with, “Man, you got that ho on a fashion stroll. Straight beast mode, bruh. Let me hold a c.”

  Black laughed. “This dick is an animal, man. Can’t none of my bitches tame me. Here you go, bruh. That’s a fuckin’ loan, nigga.”

  Did he just hand his boy a hundred dollars? I haven’t got that much outta Black in four years for Tyson. I ended the call. Read a text from my girlfriend, The kids are good. How’s it going? I’ma need help with my car note when you get back.

  I just gave you three hundred to make a payment, I texted back.

  That was month before last payment. I’m still six hundred behind.

  Remy was the only person I trusted with my babies other than my sisters and my mom. Alexis gifted me her Porsche. I could pay it forward. I typed, How much to pay it off?

  She sent an emoji with a teardrop.

  Done with makeup, the stylist spritzed my hair.

  “Wardrobe, Sandara!” the coordinator announced.

  $7,321.16, Remy texted.

  Was that all? I thought. Months ago that would’ve been a lot of money. It still was. Pre-modeling, three kids and no child support coming in taught me financial responsibility. I had too much pride to ask my family to support my mistakes. Tyrell, Ty, and Tyson were blessings. Getting pregnant for Black and the other two deadbeats was my downfall.

  A call came in. I hit end. He dialed again. I answered, “Not now, Black.”

  “I got these papers and this dick waitin’ for yo’ ass when you get back,” he said all loud, then hung up on me.

  Sitting my cell and Bluetooth on a table, the assistants lowered my garment over my head. I stepped into my shoes. Tears welled, clinging to my bottom lids.

  “You’d better not mess up my work,” the artist said. Dashing off, she returned with a tissue. “Honey, I don’t know what you’re cryin’ for,” she said in her Jamaican accent. “You’ve got the pick of the litter of men. Every man wants to date and marry a model. Give it some time. You’ll see.”

  “But he’s taking me to court for child support.”

  Gently placing the tissue at the base of my lash, she said, “Don’t you dare give him one thin dime. You got them children. You got them bills. You got the money and you keep all of it. Now get out on that runway and strut your butt off, Mz. Sandara.”

  If I had my dad in my life, I imagined he would’ve cautioned me not to have children before graduating from Baylor. Thanks to my mother I had an all-expenses paid chance to earn my degree. A real father would have a sit-down with all my children’s sperm donors. Tell them to do right by their kids. But how could my mystery dad make demands when he hadn’t done right by me?

  Holding my head high, I was in an all-white halter gown with a plunging neckline, and a split from my waist to the floor. Stomp. Twitch left. Stomp. Twitch right. I marched to the edge of the runway, did a three-sixty turn on six-inch heels, brief eye contact with the most handsome man I noticed seated in row one. His shadow beard, thick brows, and juicy lips made me wonder if he was a model too.

  One-eighty, one-eighty, eye contact with him again, one-eighty, then I strutted off stage for a fast wardrobe change. Back on the runway, I avoided locking eyes with him.

  What guy would want a twenty-five-year-old with three children?

  The six digits in my bank account still didn’t feel real. I always wanted to model, took a chance and went to an agency, and here I was, little Sandara Crystal, all dressed up in designer fashion.

  I knew I didn’t have my daddy but I thanked God for my mother.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mercedes

  “What do you want from me, Mercedes? Child support? Alimony? Blood? A rib?” my husband questioned.

  Draining his veins would not suffice. He was forever indebted for the pain and suffering he’d caused me. A few moments of passion did not void years of his infidelity.

  “I want my family more than anything and you know this, Benjamin. But—”

  Digressing into thought, I didn’t want to appear desperate in public. He knew I was certainly capable of ripping off his pants, covering his face with the crotch, tying the legs around his neck, and exposing him to all the people who were convinced he was the perfect husband. No matter how hard his mistress tried, she was not becoming my problem or his wife.

  Wasn’t my fault he hadn’t cum earlier before I had to meet with a client. Well. Honestly. There was no appointment. I climaxed every time he tried to but failed to penetrate my tight “good good.” Stopped counting after orgasm number nine. Had to call Dr. Stephens, let her know the procedure was working well after one treatment.

  “You got off real good but no satisfaction for me. Sucking my dick would’ve been nice.”

  I despised performing fellatio. He knew that. Tired of arguing about my not putting his dick in my mouth, I remained silent.

  I hated him right now. At the same time I loved Benjamin more than I’d admit.

  My husband stared at me without blinking. An emotionless tone penetrated my ears. “Hiring a private detective to follow me is your way of?” A chilling stare glazed with disdain lingered in my direction.

  We were never going to move forward if he kept highlighting what I’d done.

  Benjamin reverting to forming incomplete sentences when he didn’t want to concede didn’t matter. My middle name, if I had one, could be Victorious. I’d been with that man long enough to complete his thoughts.

  Making things better. Nah. Nah. Hell, nah! That investment was justifiable! I pushed my spine to the cushioned seat. Waited for his next complaint.

  Playing all the cards in my hand at once would be callous. I’d learned to do the opposite of what I’d seen my mother do. She’d lied to me—“I’m all right”—to keep from crying over breaking up with man after man. Despicable could not begin to describe her actions. The fake smiles and empty hugs for me pretending she was all right when I felt her sadness. As a little girl, her pain became my pain. I’d cry for her.

  The tip of his liquor-saturated tongue glazed his milk-chocolate-colored lips, then disappeared into his mouth. His hair, beard, and mustache were freshly trimmed to a shadow. The faded scar between his arched brows made him appear sexy yet tough.

  A woman told the host, “We’d like to sit there, please,” pointing to the empty table next to us.

  Really, bitch? Who does that?

  With the exception of another couple on the farthest side of the patio, everything else was wide open. The woman with her sat adjacent to me on the long bench. The bold one sat in the seat near my husband then softly said, “Hi,” to him.

  I knew of who she was. Wasn’t sure why she was here or if Dakota or Benjamin had written Toya a check.

  In slow motion Benjamin gave her an upward nod, closed his downward slanted eyes, then slowly opened them looking at me.

  Matching my husban
d’s nonchalant attitude, I sipped my cabernet, then said, “Keep disrespecting me if you want. Consider yourself warned. I will not allow you to blame me for your infidelity. What Dakota uncovered were facts. Funny how you communicate with me all the time but somehow you overtly omitted mentioning you had a side bitch for two years. Two whole years.”

  The stripper, double-agent spy closest to him stared at me. She knew who the hell I was. I was sure of it. I returned the favor. I wished her dark-skinned, fake-horsetail-wearing, big booty behind would open her mouth. I’d toss my wine in it, then drag her ass to the curb where she belonged. I knew where she lived and my husband had been to her house.

  “What would you like to drink?” their waiter asked them.

  My husband hunched his shoulder, nodded to his left. I didn’t give a damn what the woman sitting next to him heard. Or what game he was trying to win.

  Seductively, she responded, “I’ll have a Moscow mule and a pomegranate martini for my wife.”

  Had to give them a twice-over. Dakota hadn’t mentioned Toya had a wife. Neither of them appeared butch. Noticed that their diamond infinity bands matched. Benjamin gave me that mind-your-own-business mug-face, then looked away as he watched the cars drive by on Peachtree Street.

  He hunched the broad muscular shoulders I barely embraced anymore. Benjamin flexed his biceps until the movement beneath the pale blue shirt I’d gotten him from the Tom Ford store across the street was apparent. Casually, he unfastened the first two buttons, massaged the nape of his neck, then propped his ankle atop his opposite knee. Black Kenneth Cole shoes shined to perfection dazzled in the sunset. The next thing he did that annoyed me was scoot back. Both of the women had a clear view of the navy pants with light blue pinstripes gathering along his inner thighs showcasing his well-endowed manhood.

  Benjamin taking care of me was never optional. It was mandatory. I was nobody’s pushover. Mother had passed the gullible gene to my baby sister. Not me.

  Sandara had consummated relationships that resulted in three offspring, an equal number of trifling baby daddies trying to dig into her purse now that it was heavy, and recently there was females that wanted to fight her over worthless dicks.