Dirty Little Secrets (14 page)

“Not as much as I miss you.”

“Why do you say that?” Ian asked as he cruised down the highway.

“Because if you missed me as much as I missed you, it would mean you are smitten, and I’m sure you’re not smitten.”

I smiled as I said those words, and Ian smiled back. With a look of love in his eyes he said, “I think I’m just that.”

Something about Ian was so childlike, and it only added to his charm. When we arrived at his house, I was surprised by how
modest it was. I was expecting some huge mansion on an estate. He explained that this was his temporary house while his permanent
house was being built. Of course, he had the standard flunky that all basketball players have, the guy who lives with them
and builds his whole life around kissing their asses. But TJ, Ian’s flunky, was cool. After we got settled, we went out to
dinner at an Italian restaurant, and we spent the majority of time stealing kisses and Ian playing with my hair. We were like
two love-struck teenagers.

The next evening I attended Ian’s basketball game and sat in the section where the girlfriends, wives, or whatever you want
to call them were sitting. It was cold so some of the women had on long fur coats. And they were all done up. I wore a pair
of sleek black Richard Tyler pants, a red fitted sweater, and a simple black leather jacket. I definitely wasn’t looking like
bimbo Barbie. I was more subtle and sophisticated. A Nia Long look-alike and her girlfriend were staring me up and down with
a “Die, bitch” look. I heard one of them whisper, “She’s sitting in Ian’s seats. Is she supposed to be his new girlfriend?
She looks like she belongs in the library.” They laughed loudly.

“As opposed to a brothel,” I said, turning around to get a look at both women. An older white man sitting beside them bust
out laughing, but when the women gaped at him with hate in their eyes, he quickly turned back to the game.

“You must have misunderstood us, because we weren’t talking about you.”

“Oh, then I apologize. I assumed because I don’t look like I just stepped out of a Pimp ’n Ho video that you all were making
catty remarks about my attire.”

“Excuse me, are you trying to say we look like hos?” the Nia Long look-alike snapped.

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.