Ex-girl to the Next Girl (17 page)

“Your brother is out. He can come and live with you. You fucking broke-ass. Your broke-ass just called Malik and asked him to get fifty dollars to buy food. And he got the money from me. So keep talking shit, bitch. I put food in your kids' mouth.” She was silent—what else could she say? I had pulled her card. But she still wanted to talk shit.

“Shonda, don't nobody like your home-wrecking ass. He should have stayed with Kim. She is a real woman.”

“Real woman this. If you call back again, I will tell your caseworker you got an under-the-table job.”

“What?”

“You get welfare, and I'll tell your worker you working at that restaurant on the weekends.” She was speechless and hung up. His entire family could go to hell—I wanted my money.

Malik came home, still dressed from his interview, trying to yell at me. “My sister is crying—what did you say to her?”

“I didn't say anything to her, Malik. She called me a home-wrecker.”

“Please don't argue with her, because she tells my mom stuff and then it's this big thing.”

“It was your sister's fault.”

“Forget it. I got the job,” he said, taking off his dress shirt.

“Congratulations. Where at?”

“A tax place down on Market Street—I'm going to do taxes.”

“How is the pay?”

“It is pretty good. I'm going to file tax returns. I will be super busy. The owner could barely step away from his desk to interview me.” I was happy Malik had a job—okay, maybe now everything might work out. Get Omar up and out of here and I would have hit the jackpot.

“They need me ASAP. I'm going to start tomorrow.”

I wanted to ask him when was he going to get his first paycheck so he can pay me back. Instead I gave him a kiss and said, “I love you. I'm glad you have the job—I knew you would get one.”

 

 

The next day I was still heated about my money. I had called the bank to try to stop payment on the check. It was too late—it had bounced twice. I feel like in my mind I was hoping that Malik may somehow get the money back from his brother, but that didn't happen.

“Shonda, he doesn't have your money.”

“Malik, your brother is a thief and y'all sugar coat everything for him. He is no different from any other person I see at my job every day.” Omar was right there, listening to me. I didn't care because it was the truth.

“He is trying to come up off of somebody else.” Omar went downstairs and started packing. He ran downstairs after Omar's punk ass.

“Shonda, if his probation officer comes here or finds out he doesn't live here, he can get sent back.”

“I don't care,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I know—that's the problem,” he said.

“I don't care, Malik. He stole our rent money.”

“You don't have any proof.”

“I got plenty of proof—it's gone. And I have an overdrawn bank account.”

 

 

I called Tae after Malik left and explained the whole situation to her. “So that's messed up, right? I can't even leave money down in my own home.”

“Yo, that's so foul. Malik is not going to do anything about it?”

“No, he believes everything the niggah say. I cannot take this. I can't even pay my rent.”

“I can loan you the money. It is my car note money, but I can wait to pay them by the fifteenth, before it is really late.”

“Tae, oh my God—that would be so nice. I will give it back to you the minute I cash my check.”

“It's cool. It's fuck-up that you got to go through some bullshit like that.”

“I know—I'll be over as soon as I get dressed.”

“My uncle used to be like that, steal everything. He was so good he could take your money from under your mattress while you were sleeping. And the mess-up thing about it is that he wasn't even on drugs. He just liked to steal, like a klepto. He would come home with perfume tester bottles from the department stores and give them to my mom and aunt. One day he stole all these tickets for us to go to the carnival.”

“Well, Omar's stealing doesn't help me.”

I went to pick up the money from Tae and went straight to put it in my account. I then picked up Bree and stopped and got Boston Market. That was fast food, but it wasn't. I was not in the mood to cook anything. Malik could fend for himself. We came in the house, and Bree turned on the television.

“Mom, something is wrong with the cable!” she screamed. I went to check Bree's television. The cable had a dark blue screen and said,
please contact customer service
. I called the cable company. They informed me that my service had been disrupted. My rent was paid, but now the cable was off. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. There was nothing to watch on regular television, plus the stations didn't come in clear.

I
walked into the tax office. A bunch of people were sitting around, waiting to be called. There was an older woman receptionist with blotted, glued, fake eyelashes all over her eyelids. Her face was painted all different colors of the rainbow. Her cheeks were rosy red. The same color covered her lips and she used bright blue eye shadow.

“Hi, yes, I'm looking for Mr. Rollins.”

“You can take a seat,” she said as she answered the telephone. She fluttered her eyelashes nervously. “Uh, Mr. Rollins no longer works here, but this is Mr. Vaughn—he can help you.” The man she introduced me to was tall—he had to be about six-six with a brown pinstriped suit. He looked like he was going to pimp in Detroit or go give a sermon somewhere in the South. His suit was too loud for an office environment. When he looked over at me, he looked at me like he had just won the lottery.

“How you doing, miss? I'm Mr. Vaughn, and I'm going to get your taxes done,” he said with a sexual overtone as he touched my hand. I snatched my hand back. I didn't want him to do my taxes. I didn't want him to know how much I made, have my phone number or address. He looked, as my aunt would say,
slick
. He could be one of those people that steal identities. I had enough debt by myself. I didn't need anybody else to run anything up for me. I already had my return planned out—I was going to pay all my bills up for a few months. Then I could take my paycheck and try to start paying on my credit cards. Or maybe I'll do it the other way around.

“That's okay,” I said as I turned back to the receptionist, “Is there anybody else that can help me?”

“Well, there is Mr. Moore, but he is with a client right now.”

“Will I be his next client?”

“Yes.”

“I'll wait for him,” I said as I sat down and started reading a
Time
magazine. Mr. Vaughn took the next client, another woman who had two children with her. One was in a stroller, the other following behind her. He looked at her two times, rubbed his hands together, and took her into his cubicle area.

“Nadine Clark.”

I looked up from the magazine and the exact opposite of Mr. Vaughn was calling my name. He introduced himself as Mr. Moore. He was so handsome, brown, and muscular. He came up and said, “Follow me.”

I sat down and asked, “Where is Mr. Rollins? My aunt told me to use him.”

“Mr. Rollins is not here, but I will do the best I can for you, I assure you.”

“My aunt said he was good.”

“Well, he doesn't work here anymore because he was so good. So tell whoever used him to beware,” he said, looking at me while grabbing some documents.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah, he was taking deductions that he shouldn't have.” He looked over at his computer screen and asked me did I have all my paperwork. I pulled out Destiny's social security card and all my documents. He asked a few questions and then printed a few sheets for me to sign. He made me laugh a few times and kept good conversation.

“My sister's name is Nadia. I like that name. She is beautiful. I guess all women with the name beginning with N-A-D are.”

I smiled. I looked around his desk—he didn't have a wedding ring on and any pictures of children. I had to ask to see if I was right. I said something. “I know you are busy all night long?” I asked, sitting up.

“Yeah, sometimes we don't get out of here until, like, ten,” he said as he grabbed another paper off the printer for me to sign.

“Well, what does your wife say about that?” I asked.

“Wife? I'm divorced. I'm going through something now with my ex over my son.”

“Aw that's a shame,” I said.

“Yeah, it is. Here is a picture of him,” he said, taking a picture out of his desk. He was the most adorable little boy. He told me my check would be ready for pickup in a few days.

I walked out of the tax office. Mr. Moore was so attractive—I should have given him my number. I should have said something.
If he wanted to say something to me, he would have. No, but, I should go back and ask him out,
I thought. I went back in the crowded office. Mr. Moore was in his cubicle with another client. I walked past the receptionist, who didn't notice. I said very boldly, “Here is my number. Call me if you get a chance—maybe we can get together when you get off.” I felt his eyes watching my hips and butt as they swayed side to side out of the office.

My return check was for three thousand—Malik Moore called and left a message. I could come and pick it up after 3:00 P.M. on Thursday. I couldn't wait. Already in my mind I was thinking about not paying my credit cards off or bills and just going shopping. I wanted to just go on a shopping spree. I was happy I didn't run into Mr. Moore when I picked up my check, because he never called. Right now I'm getting dissed by everyone. I stared at the check. I knew I was supposed to pay bills, but I think half will go to bills and the other half needs to go to me because I deserve it. I have been having a rough time and a nice bag might help me cope. With that thought I had raced to Franklin Mills, an outlet mall and spent twenty one hundred dollars on what you ask. I don't know. I had lots of bags and a gift for everyone but I didn't buy anything that I really needed except for Prada boots and a bag on sale at Last Call at Nieman Marcus. That came to sixteen hundred. I thought if I went to an outlet mall I wouldn't spend as much money but that was a joke. I'll pay down my credit card bills next income tax. I came home and my phone was ringing.

“Hello.”

“This is Malik.”

“Hey, how you doing?”

“Good.”

“I missed you at the office today.”

“Yeah, you did?”
And you about three days late
, I wanted to say.

“So what are you doing tonight?”

“Grading papers and resting.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to meet up.”

“When?”

“In, like, an hour,” he said.

I paused.
Tell him no. Tell him no
, a voice said in the back of my mind.
He waited too many days to call you.
But the desperate woman answered for me, and said, “Okay—where do you want to meet at?”

“Let's meet at Circa Re.”

“Okay, I'll meet you in about an hour.”

When I reached the Circa Re, he was waiting by the bar. He stood up and said, “You look nice.” He grabbed my hand and guided me to the bar.

“Thanks.”

“No, really—wow,” he said.

I sat at the bar with him. His phone rang once, then it rang again. His phone kept ringing. I finally said, “Dag, who keeps calling you like that?”

“My ex. She is so crazy—you have no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why is she calling you?” I asked, nonchalant.

“Just to harass me. I do everything for my son. But enough about her—let's talk about us.”

Malik made me blush several times throughout the evening. He told me about how he already had an associate's degree in criminal justice and was going to take classes to get his bachelor's this summer. A man with a plan—that's what I'm talking about. I already was liking Malik Moore—better yet, loving him.

 

 

I have been talking to Malik regularly. He is so smart and funny. I was in the middle of class when I got a text message from him. He asked me what I was doing—I told him I was in class and to call me at lunch. At lunch I waited for Malik to call. I let the phone ring three times, then I picked up.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“I'm fine.”

“I'm glad the day is almost over.”

“Me too! What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“I wanted to see if you wanted to come to my house for dinner.”

“Oh, you going to make me dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Give me your address.”

I bought a bottle of wine, but then I decided I didn't want to drink with him. I'll just bring a pie—I don't want to send the wrong message. I'll pick one up on my way home. It is a school night. I'll eat and then leave.

Malik's house looked halfway lived-in. It was sparsely furnished. He had dinner already on a plate, waiting for me. He had a salad, garlic bread, and turkey lasagna. He was a great cook.

“You have a very nice place.”

“Thanks—I'm still getting things together. It's hard starting over.”

“I can imagine.”

“I have a lot of stuff still in storage. My ex is real crazy—she tried to burn my belongings.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she is a real mental case. We never really talked about his ex—he just said that it was a chapter in his life he'd like to close. So I left it at that. I ate a small piece of the pie for dessert.

“Thank you for dinner. Good night,” I said as I left his house. I was full, happy, and excited. Full from the meal, excited about the possibilities, and happy I had someone to take my mind off of Erick.

 

 

Me and Malik had been on three dates—technically, four. We went to the movies, dinner at his house, met at a restaurant, and now tonight at the bar. Malik was all over me with his hands and mouth. I was waiting for someone to tell us to get a room. While he was grabbing on my breast, his tongue was all the way down my throat. Nobody had to tell us—we got a room at the Hilton in New Jersey. I was ready for Malik. I had made him wait a month—that was good enough. I got his home and cell phone number—I know where he works and I know where he lives. He has a good job. A nice person—he has been spending time with me. It was time to take our relationship further. The room had a steamy, hot Jacuzzi, one large king bed, and a mini wet bar. We opened the little bottle of liquor like teenagers. He undressed me and I stood over him. He just kept playing with the cherry shape outside that sheltered my walls. I begged him to stop, but he didn't. Then he started slowly slurping while gliding his finger up and down the surface. The water splashed and my head was up against the tile, hitting it. I tried to control my balance. He was thrusting upon me. He sat me in the water and entered me. The water made my pussy feel a little dry, but the rough friction was a different kind of good sensation. I massaged his dick—it grew every time I went up and down in a cyclone twist. He was firm and stout and a decent length. I gave him my all. I wasn't supposed to, but I did. Malik begged me to stop. He couldn't take the constant clenching of my walls back and forth on him. He buckled and asked for water.

 

 

I was thinking about him every day, but I refused to call him. I like Malik, but not like that. I was debating if I even was going to call him again. Maybe I'm just using him to get over Erick. He was okay, I guess. I'm not in a rush to settle down again. Everything has to be fifty-fifty. I would like to be in a forty-sixty relationship. I want the man to love me a little bit more than I love him. I didn't have to call Malik because he called me.

 

 

“So what, you wasn't going to call me?” Malik snapped from the other end of my phone.

“Yeah, I was going to call you—I just have been busy,” I said.

“I thought something happened to you. What are you doing later?”

“I don't know. Why, what's up?” I asked.

“I want to see you right now.”

“Malik, I like you, but—”

“What, you think I'm getting too serious?” he asked.

“No, I don't think that. That's not how I feel. I really like you, Malik, but I just came out of a relationship.”

“We can take our time, but I can't lie. I am falling for you.”

“You falling for me?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Can I see you tonight?”

“Yes, I'll call you when I get off of work.”

 

 

Malik has been taking up a lot of my time. But I still miss my baby, Erick. I can't move on with Malik unless I see that I'm really over Erick. I know I still have feelings for Erick. I can say Malik has been keeping my mind off of him, but not totally. I turned on the television and watched Dr. Phil. I wished I could have a conversation with him.

 

 

I was in the classroom, going over a test review.

“Does anyone know what the age of reason or enlightenment was? Raise your hand if you know the answer.” I turned my back to write the answer on the board. When I turned back around, the desks were being pushed across the floor, making a shrieking noise as they scraped against the floor.

Natasha Byrd stood up with her hands balled up and said, “Somebody better tell her,” she shouted as she pushed Sharaya.

“Sit down, both of y'all,” I yelled. Before I knew it there was a big bang against the wall. I ran over to try to stop the two girls from fighting. Sharaya was kicking Natasha in the face, and Natasha had Sharaya by the hair and they wouldn't separate. I tried my best to tear them apart. Sharaya's grip on Natasha's hair was unyielding. The kids were cheering them on. Mrs. Dorsey and Mrs. Meyers ran in and tried to help me. I finally got Sharaya off of Natasha. Mrs. Dorsey and Mrs. Meyers tried to contain Natasha. She had a handful of Sharaya's hair in her hands and her face had scratches all over it. I was out of breath, and Natasha somehow got away from them and tried to hit Sharaya. Instead, she hit me. I literally saw stars, and then fell to the ground.

“Oooh, y'all hit Ms. Clark,” I heard the students yell. I was on the ground, holding my eye. “Call the office, call security,” Mrs. Meyers said and picked me up from the ground as I held my eye.