Dirty Little Secrets (16 page)

In a soft, lost tone I said, “Yes.”

Ian leaned back and put his head down as though I had ruined his day. For the rest of the car ride and even when we shopped
in Jeffrey, he didn’t say two words to me. The silence was driving me nuts, and I’d become so desperate for his approval that
I blurted out, “I’ll never disappoint you again. Whatever you want, that’s what I’ll do.”

“You promise,” Ian commanded.

“I promise.” With my pledge of assurance Ian tongued me down with a wet kiss and led my head to his hardness. I pleasured
him for the duration of our ride, believing that I had earned his love again.

The next morning Ian left, and I missed him immediately. Luckily school was almost over and I could spend the summer with
him. Until then, studying was my number one priority. While listening to my answering-machine messages, I was surprised to
hear my agent saying there was an emergency and please call him back. We hadn’t spoken since I went through my rapper phase,
and I was curious about the urgency. I replayed the message one more time before dialing his number. “Hi, Chris; it’s me,
Tyler.”

“Tyler, Tyler, Tyler, sweetie, I’ve been trying to track you down.” Chris’s usual grumpy voice was upbeat and friendly.

“Yeah, I got your message. What’s so urgent?” I asked with suspicion in my voice.

“I got a call today from a guy who’s the VP of the new female clothing line, Be Me. Some photographer hired to shoot the ad
campaign saw you on that video you did for LaFamilia Records and thought you’d be perfect. He presented the idea to the owner,
and she loved it.”

“So are you saying I got an ad campaign for a clothing line?” I didn’t believe it was true.

“Exactly. The shoot starts first thing tomorrow morning. The ad will consist of you and two other women, but you’ll be the
lead. Isn’t this fantastic? I’m negotiating for top dollar.”

“But, Chris, I’m no model. I’m an actress.”

“Actress, smactress. Who gives a fuck? It’s money. They want you. They’re paying you, so let’s do it. I’ll call you in an
hour with the details. Congratulations, Tyler.” I had to put this whole situation on odd, or maybe I was just lucky. But then
I always thought luck was for people who served the devil and that blessings came from God. So was this a blessing?

Early in the morning a car service was waiting to take me to a studio in SoHo. When I arrived the atmosphere was chaotic,
and Marvin Gaye’s greatest hits were blaring from the speakers. There were a couple of other models—the two Chris spoke of—
some executive types, and Sasha McIntire, the owner of Be Me clothes. She was some ex-supermodel-turned-designer. She had
had great success with a lingerie line and was now branching off into women’s clothing, shoes, and accessories. Sasha pranced
toward me as though on the catwalk. “Hi, you must be Tyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in a fake Hollywood tone.
The epitome of overindulgence at its finest, she had enough bling to put Fred Leighton out of business.

“Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity to be included in your ad campaign.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re gorgeous, and that body of yours will look perfect in my designs.”

“Thanks.”

“Follow me over here so I can choose your first outfit for the shoot.” Sasha picked out some tiny pale-pink satin shorts—
which no one but Chrissie would have the balls to wear in public—with a matching white and pale-pink tube top. Thank goodness
I had nothing for breakfast, because a dry piece of toast would have added ten pounds in this getup. While I was pulling my
outfit, Sasha formally introduced me to Brianna and Sierra. Brianna was a tall Brazilian-looking chick, and Sierra was a mix
of Asian and black. Both women were tall and gorgeous, and I still wondered how I fit in this mix.

During the shoot, the photographer placed me in the center and put the other girls behind me, like Kelly and Michelle in Destiny’s
Child. I felt like I was Beyoncé and they were the step-sisters. During a break, Sierra and I were in the middle of idle chatter
when I noticed Sasha and Brianna kissing in the corner.

“Isn’t Sasha engaged to some big-time movie honcho?” Sierra was now viewing the spectacle that warranted my comment.

“Oh, she’s bisexual, but so is her fiancé. They’re swingers, so they’ll have the perfect marriage.” Sierra responded like
this was normal, acceptable behavior.

“Oh, okay, whatever works for them.”

We worked from 8:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. until the last picture snapped and it was a wrap. It was hard, but it was the easiest
work I’d ever done for the amount of money they were paying me. Plus the exposure would be priceless. Maybe Sasha’s husband
would see the pictures and think I was perfect for a role. I put my street clothes back on, said good-bye to Brianna and Sierra
and the rest of the crew, and darted downstairs. That whole scene wasn’t for
me. They had basically turned the studio into a club. Everyone was drinking champagne and snorting coke. I had no problem
with the bubbly, but I stopped short of fucking with the white girl. I exited the building feeling a warm spring breeze, and
a silver Bentley Azure was parked in the spot I assumed the Town Car would be in. The driver stepped out and opened the back
door, and there was T-Roc. “Tyler, get in the car.” I scanned the area seeing where I could run for cover, but the street
was isolated and deserted. With hesitation I got in the car, and the door slammed behind me.

“How was your shoot today?” T-Roc asked.

“Who told you about that?”

“You’re not that naive, are you, Tyler?”

“Ian?” I asked, looking puzzled. Last night I called Ian excited about the gig; of course he didn’t share in my enthusiasm,
but why would he tell T-Roc? But how else would he know? The answer dawned on me when T-Roc said, “I wanted to give you something
that would make you happy.”

“No, you want me to owe you.”

“I already have that. This was just a gift to you.”

“How in the hell did you maneuver that? Did you beg Sasha for a favor?”

“I don’t beg for anything. I’m a silent partner. I own fifty percent of the company. But you’re a beautiful girl, Tyler, and
once I showed Sasha your picture, she had no problem hiring you for the job. See, it’s all about who you know.”

“Why? Why did you do this?” I was confused by T-Roc’s actions. I looked at him inquisitively, searching for the answers.

“Because I can, and I want you. The best way to win a woman over is to give her what she wants the most. You want to be a
star, and I can make that happen for you.”

“T-Roc, I’m in love with Ian, your cousin,” I said sarcastically, because he seemed to have forgotten.

T-Roc chuckled slightly. “Tyler, you’re not in love with anyone, and I doubt you ever have been. But what I can give you is
a whole lot better than love anyway, and it will last.”

“Forget it; I don’t want any part of it.”

“Have it your way,” T-Roc said nonchalantly.

“I guess that means you’re scrapping me from the Be Me ads.”

“Tyler, like I said before, you’re perfect for that ad. I only gave you an opportunity that most people never get because
they don’t have the necessary relationships. But you do; we’re family. Well, here we are.” I peered out the window, and we
were in front of my apartment building. I had moved since first meeting Jason and I wondered how T-Roc had my new address;
but then again T-Roc probably knew everything.

“Thanks for the ride and the modeling job,” I said, feeling a twinge of gratitude. T-Roc just nodded his head not speaking
a word. That night before I went to bed I spoke to Ian for about an hour, but T-Roc was the one on my mind. His actions were
confusing to me, and I couldn’t seem to figure him out. He honestly couldn’t believe I would leave Ian and run into his arms
because he got me a modeling job? It was so obvious his motives were insincere. Still, what he did worked because he was the
one I fell asleep thinking about.

After my final exams, I took a break to spend some time with Ian. His dream house was completed, and he was living in a fabulous
mansion on acres of land with its very own lake. His home was truly spectacular, and Ian knew it. He especially loved the
custom-made Steinway grand piano that stood in front of his living-room window, which had a view of the lake. He said playing
soothed his mind. Unfortunately it didn’t soothe him enough, and the visit turned out to be another volatile encounter.

Ian was pissed that I’d gotten the modeling job and still wanted to pursue a career in the entertainment industry. On several
occasions we discussed me transferring to a college in the Detroit area so we could be together year-round. But I had bigger
ambitions than being some basketball player’s girlfriend or wife. Having a successful career would give me the sense of purpose
and direction I longed for. Being with Ian was a one-sided relationship that was becoming increasingly annoying.

One evening we had dinner with one of Ian’s teammates and his girlfriend at the Whitney. In the middle of relishing my chocolate-glazed
bombe, the conversation turned bothersome. Ian boasted, “No matter how bad a man fucks up, the woman is suppose to stand by
his side and hold her position. The man is the leader. The sooner women understand that, the more content they’ll be.”

“You sound like a complete male chauvinist,” I said.

“Get over yourself, Tyler. You know who controls this relationship.” Ian gave his rookie teammate a pound. The wet-behind-the-ear
rookie obviously idolized Ian and would agree with anything he said. I stared at the rookie’s girlfriend to get a read on
what she thought, but the sexy Spanish girl sat there with a blank expression.

“So my opinion doesn’t matter?”

“Basically.” Ian laughed, still showing off in front of his rookie flunky. Was this my life, trailing behind an arrogant,
over-paid, egotistical maniac?

After dinner we said our good-byes to the empty couple and headed to the car. Once inside, Ian exploded. “Don’t you ever question
what I say in front of nobody!”

“Ian, you were being a complete asshole in there.”

“You better watch your mouth, or you’ll be footin’ it back home.”

“How can you talk to me like that, like I’m nothing?”

“Don’t get all sentimental with me; you know what time it is. Everything you got on I paid for. That rock on your finger,
I just bought that. The new apartment you’re living in, I pay the rent. You were a struggling student when I met you; now
you don’t want for nothing. So if that means you better keep your mouth shut when I say something you don’t like, then that’s
what you do.”

“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.