A LaLa Land Addiction (12 page)

Naomi knew that after hearing those words she could never tell him that she didn't go through with it. He would take the words back and she had wanted to hear them from him for so long. “I love you too,” she replied as he wiped the wetness from her face. Naomi hoped and prayed that Demarcus heeded her warning and disappeared so that Noah never found out.

 

10

Bleu stood at the window to the apartment that Iman had gifted her, overlooking the entire city. L.A lit up at night. She stood there, the picture of perfection, but internally she was struggling to keep it all together. She was beautiful in her Miu Miu wrap dress. It accentuated her curves and dipped in a low-cut V in the back. She felt like money in her twelve-hundred-dollar Valentino pumps and flaunting her jumbo Chanel bag. Even the cost of the nail polish on her fingernails was more than some people's light bills. Bleu was kept. Perhaps even more now that Iman had demoted her to mistress. It had been two weeks and she hadn't seen him since he had given her the key. He had made good on his promise and allowed her to splurge, hiring a driver so that he would know her whereabouts at all times. With him unavailable to her she spent her time perusing Saks Fifth catalogs and going on shopping sprees in Beverly Hills.

She picked up her cell phone and called Iman. She had gotten used to his voice mail. It seemed that whenever she tried to reach out he buttoned her. The only time they spoke was when he contacted her. She felt worthless, and no matter how many things she purchased to make her feel better, none of it made her feel better. She was growing bored and to an addict that was a dangerous thing. Idle time made her antsy. Bleu had thought about going to cop something to smoke so many times, but she didn't want to disappoint Iman. She never knew when he would pop up on her and she desperately wanted to show him that she could be who he wanted her to be.
He doesn't need Tan,
she thought. Bleu felt like she had to one-up Tan. She was competing with a woman who had already won.
Tan is his wife. It doesn't matter how many red bottoms I buy, how many times I make him cum, or how many times he says he loves me. She will always win. As long as she has his last name and he has that ring on his finger, she will win. He will never belong to me,
she thought sadly. Her stomach churned. It had been twisted in knots since the day Iman had found her in the hotel. She just wanted to get high. She was trying to keep up this act for him, this visage of a beautiful high-class woman. No amount of expensive things could help build her self-esteem. She was trash dressed up like treasure, but still she was rotting on the inside.

“You've got me going crazy,” she whispered. Bleu was angry, but with nothing but four walls around her she had no one to lash out at. She sat down and picked up her phone, practically stabbing the phone with her stiletto nails as she sent him a text.

I swear to God if you don't call me I'm going to flip the fuck out. Where are you?

Iman glanced at his phone briefly and sighed deeply as he dismissed the message. He missed Bleu, but lately business had made it hard for him to get away. Sandoza had requested Iman's presence more frequently over the past few weeks. It was necessary for Iman's face to become familiar to Sandoza's men to make for a smooth transition once the time came. Iman knew that Bleu would be in her feelings, making assumptions about where his time was being spent. He didn't have time to cater to her every whim at the moment. It was her neediness, her lack of independence, that frustrated him. She needed him around her 24-7 and the type of lifestyle he led didn't allow for that. Her insecurities came out in immature ways and she put pressure on his back that he didn't need. Any time he was around Sandoza he needed to be on point. With her blowing up his phone all times of the night, she was a distraction. He worried about her constantly and it was exhausting. He wanted her to have something going for herself … to have her own life, separately from him. She needed something to occupy her time. School.
Shit, anything.
He would settle for a hobby. She had gotten sucked in by the luxe life and it had completely changed who she was. Gone was the independent, ambitious college girl he had fallen in love with. She was a shell of her former self. He loved her still, but her fire had been put out the day she had been introduced to crack.

“You good?” Cinco asked.

Iman nodded, refocusing his attention on the task at hand.

“I know you ain't call me all the way to Calabasas to blaze Cohibas and bullshit. What up?” Cinco asked, getting straight to the point.

“Cinco, sit your ass down and chill with your family for a little while. We hardly see you. We've been back together for two weeks and you just now making your way over here. You probably didn't even know,” Tan chastised as she came out carrying a bottle of aged whiskey. She set down the bottle and kissed Iman on the lips. “I swear you were raised by wolves.”

Cinco stuck up his middle finger at Tan's back as she headed back toward the house.

“I saw that!” she yelled without looking back.

Iman sat back observing Cinco. It was obvious why Sandoza had bypassed his only son to give Iman his seat. A mixture of immaturity, ego, and a temper made for a bad combination when running an empire.

“We've been in this for a long time. We've had a good run,” Iman said.

“Had? You talking like we done? There's a lot of money to get out here,” Cinco said.

“Absolutely,” Iman said. “It's time to take this to the next level. Sandoza and I have been speaking about what's next.…” Iman paused. He wanted to choose his words carefully. With anyone else he wouldn't have held his tongue, but he had known Cinco since they were teenagers. He knew that Cinco desperately wanted to prove himself to Sandoza. Iman didn't want Cinco to take offense that Sandoza had chosen him, but he knew it was inevitable.

“
You've
been speaking with him?” Cinco asked.

Iman nodded. “I have. He wants me to take over. Not right away but eventually. I'll need a number two, Cinco. I don't trust none of these niggas out here … not with my life,” Iman said.

Cinco leaned in and grabbed the decanter of whiskey. He poured himself a glass. “I guess you've always been the son he never had,” Cinco said with a chuckle.

“Nah. A man don't send his son to battle,” Iman said. “He don't want this life for you. Something go wrong niggas come for the head. They'll come for me, not you. You are Sandoza's only son. He can't jeopardize the legacy of his last name. If you die, his name dies with it,” Iman said. He was telling the truth from his own perspective, giving Cinco an easier version to digest. If Cinco knew the real reason Sandoza had bypassed him, Iman knew he would harbor resentment. It was fact that Iman needed Cinco. He needed a shooter. He needed someone to help run his organization. He needed a buffer between himself and the streets so that he could call the plays without getting his hands dirty. “I need you in this with me. We're familia.”

“That goes without saying,” Cinco said. “You don't even got to keep talking. I'm good with it.”

“Good,” Iman said as he indulged in his drink. “Shit ain't official. I've got to get in good with the Five Families. No introductions have been made, but I just want to put you up on game. I need you in the loop,” Iman said.

“Appreciate it, bruh,” Cinco replied.

Iman's phone went off again and this time he silenced it.

Cinco looked at him with a raised brow. “Better turn that bitch off before Tan come back out here,” Cinco said with a laugh. “You know she nuttier than a mu'fucka.”

Iman couldn't help but chuckle at that.

“That's the pretty little bitch you was fucking with? You still on that?” Cinco asked.

Iman frowned. “Watch your mouth, fam,” he said.

“Oh shit, no disrespect. I ain't know it was like that,” Cinco commented.

“You good, but it's like that,” Iman confirmed. “She's work, though. I'm back with Tan—”

“Because Sandoza said if you divorce her, you're out,” Cinco said. He knew his father too well not to know that it was a part of the deal.

“Nah, I care for your sister. She's been here since day one but my lil' mama. She's … I fuck with her, but she gets wild. She gets caught up with the drugs and shit. I got Tan over here and I'm not trying to fuck that up, but I got her in the condo in L.A. and I'm trying to keep her on ice too,” Iman said.

“I don't want them problems. That's why I don't wife no bitch.” Cinco chuckled.

“I'm about to take this trip with Tan. She planned this anniversary vacation, but it's going to keep me away for two weeks. Shit's fucking with me,” Iman said.

“I can check in on your girl for you, fam. No issues. I'll stop in every few days to make sure she straight,” Cinco offered.

Had Iman known the malicious intent in Cinco's offer he never would have divulged so much information about Bleu. He had no idea of the sadistic things going through Cinco's mind. Iman thought he was sitting among family, and perhaps he was, but family is sometimes the most likely to snake you.

Cinco would never wear his heart on his sleeve, but the news Iman delivered hadn't been received well.

This mu'fucka telling me he want to put me up on game. Like his last name is Sandoza. My own fucking father looked over me for a nigga that's fucking over his daughter. So much for family,
Cinco thought. It took everything in him to keep his cool.

“Yeah, maybe, man. I'll let you know if I need you to swing by,” Iman said, brushing off the notion. He made a mental note to see about Bleu before she grew restless and did something to jeopardize herself.

*   *   *

Bleu held her phone in her hand, gripping it tightly as she went back and forth in her mind.

Just call him,
she thought.

Her fingers dialed the numbers and she put the phone to her ear only to hang up as soon as it started ringing.
This is stupid. Just call him. Why are you tripping?
she chastised herself as she hit the number again and waited as it rang in her ear. She didn't know why she was so nervous, but butterflies filled her stomach.

“Bleu?”

Click.

She hung up as soon as she heard his voice. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh! I'm an idiot!” she shouted in embarrassment.
Five, four, three, two…,
she counted down in her head, and on cue her phone rang. She took a deep breath and answered.

“Hi, Noah,” she greeted him. “I'm sorry. I think I butt dialed you by mistake.”

“Oh yeah? Twice, huh?” he said, teasing her.

Bleu rolled her eyes. “I miss you,” she admitted. “I'm sorry about the way I treated you when you came here.”

Bleu had never been too proud to say what was on her mind when it came to Noah. He was her very best friend.

“All is forgiven, B,” Noah said.

“I'm kind of fucking up out here,” Bleu said vaguely. There was no way she would tell him about her addiction. She knew that it would taint his perception of her. If there was anyone who put her on a pedestal it was Noah, and knowing that she shared the same love for the same glass dick as Sienna would disgrace her. No memory of her would ever be the same.

“You seem different,” Noah said. “I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but you're not the same.”

Tears came to her eyes and her voice quivered as she replied, “I know.”

“How's school?” Noah asked. “I know you filling that big-ass head with hella knowledge.” He laughed and she did too.

“Nigga, I know you're not on me, though? You never outgrew that hook in the back of your shit,” she replied.

“You cold, B,” Noah said, enjoying the childish banter. This was what they did. They laughed, they clowned, they enjoyed each other without the pressure of trying to impress each other. She didn't have to be a glamour girl, have her face made or her hair done. Noah could be dead broke with no clout at all. They were bonded at the most basic level. Their love was so genuine that they only showed their true selves to each other. The rest of the world was greeted by their representatives … the masks that they put on when it was time to leave the comforts of home. Her voice grew serious as her laughter faded.

“I'm not even in school,” she admitted.

“Fuck you doing? You fucking up. You know that, right?” Noah said, dead serious. “Why do I feel like that lame-ass nigga you fucking with is the reason why you're not in school?”

Bleu shook her head. “No, it's not on him. I promise. It's me. I kind of lost my way. I'm…” She thought about just telling him. He was the one person she could trust not to judge her, but she just couldn't. “I'm just lost, Noah.”

“Come home,” he said. “Come back home and I'll make sure you're all right. I'll make everything better. Whatever it is you're not saying … I can fix it.” Noah knew that Bleu wasn't divulging everything to him. It was just a feeling he got. Her vibe was off.

“I can't,” Bleu said.

“Then you got to work on getting back to you, B. I'm not playing with you. Don't make me come all the way back to Cali to fuck you up. Go back to school. Remember who you were before you let that la-la land shit change you. You're not from there. You're not Hollywood. Don't let that fake shit throw you off, B. Look at all the shit you survived. I was there when you pulled your mom out of dope houses and when they shot up your pops in the middle of the street. I saw what you made it through. You really gon' let the silicone and socialites be the shit to stop you?”

“I'm so far behind, though. You don't know how hard it's been for me,” Bleu protested.

“Sounds like you the only one stopping you,” Noah said honestly. “Think about it. For me, a'ight?” he asked.