by Deja King
I sat back and put my finger to my mouth and glanced up as though contemplating her question. “Yeah, basically,” I said. I turned back around in my seat, waiting to hear a response from the two haters, but they sat there mum for the rest of the game. I figured my comment must have shut them up.
After the game, I went in the back to wait for Ian. It was the first time I saw how women throw themselves at athletes. They were like vultures! There were grown-ass women standing out in the area where fans and kids were waiting to get autographs. These women had their best clothes on, their hair and makeup was done to perfection, and they wore long fur coats as they waited for the players, hoping they would catch their attention. I don’t condone Kobe Bryant for cheating on his wife, but I can definitely understand how it happened. It must be difficult for a guy to pass on some pussy when it is just thrown in his face every day. It made me wonder why Ian wanted me. I wasn’t all glamorous and dolled up like these women. But it didn’t matter, because he had chosen me. I had something pink and innocent about me; whatever it was, he was with me, not with one of the girls standing on the sideline with their Sunday best on trying to throw him their number. I was relieved when we finally left the building because I was sickened by all the fake glamour surrounding me. It was enough to make me choke.
“Did you enjoy the game?” Ian asked, like a kid wanting approval.
“I enjoyed watching you.”
“Perfect answer.”
“It’s the truth,” I said, giving Ian a peck on the cheek. He made me feel like a young girl experiencing puppy love for the first time.
On our way home we picked up something to eat and took it back to his house. We went downstairs and sat on his tan sectional to chill out. We were drinking, and he was smoking weed. At that time I had a little alcohol problem—I was a drunk. I never knew when enough was enough. I was a drunk, and Ian was a pothead and a drunk too. Now a drunk and a pothead don’t mesh at all. TJ was there, and we were all bugging out and laughing. Ian mentioned that I had moved to New York to pursue an acting career. But I was still surprised when out the blue he said, “Tyler, baby, stand up there and sing a song for me.”
“Baby, you so silly,” I said, playfully slapping my hand on his shoulder.
“I ain’t silly; I’m dead-ass serious,” Ian babbled, sounding like a drunken sailor.
“Baby, I’m not really a singer, and I definitely don’t feel like performing right now,” I said, laughing slightly. I told Ian no for a few reasons: one, I was drunk; two, I was in no mood to put on a show; and three, let’s just say that sometimes I can be shy.
“You better get up there and perform.” Ian was shoving me off the couch. He put me on the spot, but I still thought he was playing until, to my horror, he began a huge argument.
With a drunken slur he yammered, “You better get up there and do something, or you gonna make me smack that ass up.” I was on the edge of the couch glaring at him. Ian went on to preach about how his cousin was some big-time music guy, and if you’re not able to perform at the drop of a dime, you can’t be an entertainer.
My eyes were glassy, and Ian’s were bloodshot. His body seemed to be pulsating as he began ridiculing me, putting me down, yelling at me. All over my refusal to sing. Suddenly Ian lifted me up and threw me against the wall.
“Ouch,” I screamed, as my back hit the wall. “Why the fuck did you just do that, dumb shit? Because what, you’re bigger and stronger than me, and I’m in your house?” Ian had the audacity to throw me around like he was on the court passing the ball— all over a stupid song!
I weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds wet, and Ian was robust, so it seemed as though I was literally flying when he threw me. I could hear my back crack when I hit the wall. I was now popping shit, especially because of my drunken state; I was furious!
“You should have done what the fuck I asked you to, instead of making some simple-ass shit all complicated,” Ian hissed.
“You know what? I’m so out of here. I’m not about to deal with you and this bullshit. I don’t give a damn how many endorsement deals you have—you’re fucking crazy!” Ian’s eyes seemed cold and distant as he stared me down like I was the disturbed one. I ran upstairs and started packing so I could get the hell out of there. It was one o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t care. After getting my belongings together, I went back downstairs and told Ian I was ready to go.
“I ain’t taking you nowhere. You sound stupid right now,” he scolded.
“I want to leave now. I’d rather sleep in the airport than stay in the same house as you. Now let’s go!”
Ian reluctantly drove me to the airport. “You a dumb-ass chick leaving my house in the middle of the night. Where the fuck is you going? You going to sit in the damn airport by yourself?”
“Exactly. That’s a lot more appealing than being anywhere near a cocky sonofabitch like you.”
“Yeah, we’ll see if you still feel that way when you start freezing in that cold-ass airport.”
By this time Ian had totally fucked up my high, and I was considering clawing his eyes out before I got out of the car. He continued to call me names, and I tossed names right back. When he pulled up to the airport terminal, I jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and didn’t look back. I went inside to find out the earliest flight back to NYC. The next flight wasn’t until 6:30 a.m. and it was now maybe 2:30 a.m. I found myself a comfortable chair and called Ella.
“Hello,” she answered in a groggy voice.
“Ella, I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but I needed someone to talk to.”
“Aren’t you out of town? Why are you calling me?” she asked, irritated.
“Ella, please just listen to me for a minute,” I said, pleading.
She took a deep breath, and I heard her situating herself in what I assumed was her bed. “Go ahead; I’m up.”
“Well, Ian and I got in this huge argument, and he sorta hit me.”
“Someone doesn’t sorta hit you, Tyler; either they hit you or they don’t.”
“If throwing you across the room fits in the category of hitting, then that’s what he did.”
“He threw you across the room?” she said, sounding shocked.
“Where are you now? At the police department filing criminal charges?” she said in an annoying, here-we-go-again tone.
“No, I’m at the airport.”
“This time of night? Well, at least you left.”
“I did, but I’m not sure I made the right decision. Maybe he didn’t mean it.”
“Maybe he didn’t mean it?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Tyler, when are you going to learn? Didn’t you figure out from your relationship with Trey that once the abuse starts it never stops unless the man can admit he has a problem and gets some serious help? I’m glad you left, and you need to stay as far away from Ian Addison as possible. I’m serious, Tyler.”
“You’re right, Ella. Having Ian out of my life is the best thing for me.” I hung up the phone, closed my eyes, and instantly fell into a deep sleep. An hour later, I felt a hand shaking me awake. I opened my eyes to find Ian standing in front of me.
“Tyler, baby, I’m so sorry. I was so fucked up and acted like a real ass. Will you please forgive me?” Of course, my initial reaction was to think, This is so romantic. Instantly I forgot about the brutality that had brought me to the airport in the first place. I kept saying to myself, He came back for me, he missed me, and so he must care. But I wasn’t quite sure if that was the truth or if I was once again clinging to a relationship that had bad news written all over it.
“Of course I forgive you; I should’ve just sung a damn song,” I said, a slight smile on my face. When Ian held out his hand I grabbed it lovingly, and he picked up my suitcase with the other hand as we walked back to his car.
That night we made passionate love, and our kisses were so intense. As I straddled Ian, he kissed my neck and brushed his hands across my breasts before putting my nipples
in his moist mouth. I couldn’t feel him deep enough inside of me. My finger-nails pressed deep into his warm back, and we both moaned with desire. As we gazed into each other’s eyes, for the first time Ian said, “I love you, Tyler. Would you please have my baby?”
“Yes. I would love to have your baby, Ian,” I moaned.
(Now, when a guy tells you he loves you and wants to have babies with you, it means that he likes to have sex with you for free! All the same I thought, Wow, he loves me. He didn’t have to come back for me. He could’ve sent me packing back to New York City and never spoken to me again. Ian Addison was a superstar athlete. He had the choice of any woman he wanted, but he came back for me.)
The next day Ian cooked me a big breakfast, and took me on one of those shopping sprees Chrissie dreamed about. We talked, laughed, and got to know each other better. I loved how sexy Ian looked when I asked him a question: right before he responded he would lick his lips and smile. I was becoming more smitten with him every day. When we got back home, I dashed upstairs and rumbled through my bags so I could admire all the new outfits and shoes Ian bought me. For the first time in so long I felt like a princess again. Maybe I had finally found my Prince Charming in Ian.
The following day I was back on the plane to New York. When Ian kissed me good-bye, I longed for the day I would be with him again, and he reassured me it would be soon. “I’ll be in New York in a couple of weeks, so be a good girl until I come. Call me when you get home.” Ian gave me a loving kiss before we parted.
While waiting for takeoff, I admitted to myself that I was more than smitten with Ian, I had fallen in love. No, I hadn’t forgotten that he threw me against a wall, but at the same time I had been through a lot worse. Plus I was blaming his behavior on the weed. Never mind that he was high a lot. I’d never dated a professional athlete, and he was exposing me to a whole other life, and I relished in it.
Once I got back to New York, reality set in. It was time to hit the books. I wasn’t bored, but although I was going to school I was definitely not into it. Some of the classes were fun, but the other subjects could never hold my attention. I was going to a few auditions, but nothing was panning out. I would get extra work here and there, but I had to sit around sets for hours and hours just to earn enough money to buy something to eat. It couldn’t pay my bills!
I found auditions exhausting because I needed money and I wasn’t making any, New York is expensive and something had to give. Although Ian had plenty of paper, it was much too soon to ask for a handout. I didn’t want to come off as some hard-up gold digger, even though he’d told me if I needed anything to just ask. I figured if the relationship continued on the path we were on, soon he’d start handing over whatever money I needed.
I was meeting Chrissie at the restaurant Cafeteria for lunch, and we were seeing each other for the first time since I got back from my visit with Ian. Chrissie was exuding her normal Sex and the City getup, mixing shorts with a bustier and her standard four-inch heels. Besides Carrie Bradshaw, Chrissie was the only person I knew of who could get away with wearing such eyebrow-raising outfits and actually look good doing it. We sat down at a corner table, sipping our usual glass of wine, and Chrissie dove right in with the questions.
“So how was your visit with Ian?”
“Let’s just say I’m totally crazy about him. We did have a minor altercation at first, but we managed to work things out.”
“What type of altercation?” I gave Chrissie the play-by-play while she sat with her mouth wide open.
“Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe that! What an egomaniac. All his money has made him a pompous ass. Josh would never behave like that.” Josh, Chrissie’s broke boyfriend, always had his hand out, begging her for a dollar.
“Don’t get me wrong; Ian’s behavior was irrational, but he’s still a great catch. At the end of the day you can fall in love with a rich man just as easy as a poor man, because underneath both men are still the same. They are going to want to control your life and tell you what to do. Men are dominating by nature, so why be bothered with some broke-ass man running around trying to drive you crazy, when you can have a rich one who can at least give you a better life?”
“Tyler, you’re so jaded. Josh doesn’t try to control me.”
“Yeah, because you do whatever he wants you to do. Just wait until the word ‘no’ comes out of your mouth, and then you’ll see just how compliant Josh really is.”
Chrissie, like so many other women, had this game all confused. In her limited mind an unambitious wuss like Josh was somehow a better man than Ian because he never asked for anything but money and time. Most women are so desperate for companionship that they will give their last dollar and the time they need to put toward themselves to a man whose only interest is how he can benefit from them. I refused to let that be my existence. I understood that my relationship with Ian wasn’t exactly normal, but it seemed a lot more fulfilling than Chrissie’s. Ian had his flaws and was far from perfect, but since my arrival to the big city, he was the closest form of perfection for me.
Holding On to My Secret Fantasies
A lie is so much easier to believe than the truth. Someone can tell you they want you to be honest, but then everyone hates honesty. It’s highly overrated. You want that person to stop before they say something you may regret hearing—and before you accuse them of deliberately misleading you. All my life I created a fantasy because I didn’t want to face reality. But sometimes reality slaps you in the face, and you can no longer run from the inevitable.
I kept eyeing my watch as the hairstylist at the Dominican spot blew my hair straight. Two weeks had seemed to fly by, and in a couple of hours Ian would be picking me up at my apartment. We were going to some party, and I had no idea what to wear. Ian hadn’t given me any details; he’d just told me to look sexy. I was debating whether to wear my red Narciso Rodriguez dress or my silk animal-print Jenny Packham. Both were extremely seductive, and Ian would like either one since he had picked them both out.
When I got home, I heard my phone ringing from the hallway, but I managed to answer it right before the answering machine picked up.
“Hello,” I said, out of breath.
“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve left you three messages.”
“I went to get my hair done. Why didn’t you call me on my cell?”
“Because you don’t ever answer that shit. You should’ve called and told me where you were. I don’t have time to try and track you down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be,” Ian said. Then he instantly jumped to another subject. “So what are you wearing tonight?”
Ian was becoming a tyrant. We would speak every day, and he would want a detailed report of my activities. If he called at a certain time and I wasn’t home, he would scold me like I was a five-year-old. When Ian’s behavior became unbearable, I sometimes wondered if my mother’s views were rubbing off on me. I did love Ian, but would I be putting up with his intolerable attitude if he wasn’t rich and famous? Or would I gladly show him the front door? I had to believe that it was love, because I hated the fact that Mother stayed with Daddy because she wanted a certain lifestyle.
“Either the red Narciso Rodriguez or the silk animal print.”
“No, wear that nude-color Gucci dress. I love the way it hugs your ass.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
“Hurry up, because I’ll be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty.” I heard the phone go dead before my thought was completed. With no time to waste, I did a quick fresh-me-up, applied my makeup the exact way Ian liked, put on my shoes, grabbed my purse, and zoomed downstairs. His limo was downstairs, right on time. The driver opened the door for me, and Ian, who was on his cell phone, did not seem to notice as I got inside. I reached over to give him a kiss, and he put his hand up, gesturing me to wait. When Ian finally finished his conversation, I was anxious for him to acknowledge me.
�
�Come sit over here.” Ian patted the spot right next to him. “You look so fucking sexy! I’m ready to do you right here in this limo, but I want you to stay looking perfect; maybe we’ll make love on our way back to the hotel.”
“I forgot to bring my overnight bag.”
“Don’t worry about it; you can pick some things up from the store in the morning. I have a surprise for you.”
My eyes brightened. “Really? What is it?” Ian handed me a Jacob the Jeweler box with the most beautiful diamond necklace I had ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off the sparkler.
“This is for me?” I said, full of shock.
“No doubt. Turn around. I want you to wear this tonight with your dress. Now you look perfect,” Ian said as he examined me from head to toe. We pulled up to a penthouse on Madison Avenue, and there were limos lined up down the block.
“Whose party is this, Ian?”
“My cousin’s; he’s celebrating his birthday.” My mind was spinning, wondering who the hell his cousin was. When we entered the town house, the layout was magnificent.
“This is your cousin’s place?” I was in awe because it was breathtaking.
“Yeah, he’s doing big things. Come with me; I want to introduce you to him.” I followed Ian up some wraparound stairs that led to a huge open space where about fifty people were lounging on big, cream-colored plush couches. Everyone from Russell Simmons, Mary J. Blige, and Martha Stewart was socializing and taking glasses of champagne from the waiters sauntering around the room.
Ian finally came to a cloud of people and stepped through, and I heard him saying, “What’s up, cuz? Happy birthday.” There were a couple of models blocking my view so I still couldn’t see Ian’s cousin. People began dispersing as Ian pulled me in and the guests realized the superstar basketball player and the guest of honor wanted a private moment. As my view cleared and I glimpsed up before completely focusing, I heard Ian say, “Man, this is my girlfriend, Tyler. And Tyler, this is my cousin, T-Roc.”