Live and Learn (13 page)

“S
ay cheese!”

Bones, Sahad, Cristal, and I all smiled for the paparazzi, wanting to look our best for whichever entertainment magazine would publish the photos. And to think my parents thought I was away for a weekend orientation for graduate school. I had to come up with some lie so that I could spend some serious time with Bones, including attending the Los Angeles premiere of a hot new movie starring a lot of hip-hop entertainers.

It was so funny because Cris and I were trying hard not to act like we were star struck, but we would pinch or nudge each other when we spotted some of the biggest faces in the entertainment industry from Jay-Z and Beyonce, Trina, Mary J. and her husband Kendu, Will and Jada, and anyone else you could think of. It was the Who’s Who of Black Entertainers. We were
loving
it, especially when we were introduced to the many celebs who chatted with Sahad and Bones as we all made our way down the red carpet.

And we looked great. Cristal wore a short Roberto Cavalli spaghetti-strap print dress, and I wore the strapless satin Bella top and vintage jeans.

“Girl, look over there. It’s Usher,” I whispered to Cristal as Sahad, Bones, and the entourage spoke to a correspondent from E! Television.

Cristal coolly looked over in that direction and nodded like she belonged in the presence of the rich and super famous celebrities. “Don’t look now but Sahad’s ex, Tyrea, is over there.”

The guys moved on from Patrick and came back toward us, so I didn’t get a chance to look anyway. I smiled up at Bones, who was looking too fine in casual Sean John wear. He worked the red carpet, waving and smiling at the screaming fans and posing for pictures like the star he was meant to be.

“Having fun, shorty?” he whispered into my ear as we posed for yet another picture.

“I sure am. Are you?”

“Just part of the job, ya heard.”

As we moved forward, I heard a reporter ask the label’s publicist who I was. My stomach felt warm when I heard her say, “That’s Bones’s girlfriend, Latoya James.”

That was news to me but good news at least.

I hadn’t even given him any yet, but that would all change this weekend. In fact, it would be the first time I did the do since…since the Rev. But I refused to think of him and all of the bad memories that went with him.

As I felt Bones’s warm hand on my bare lower back urging me forward with him into the spotlight, I felt like a much younger version of Stella, ’cause I was ready to get my groove back.

“Yes, I said my prayers, Ma.”

“Thank the heavens for that. Are you sure there isn’t a phone there where I can call you?”

I rolled my eyes heavenward. My mother acted like I was twelve instead of twenty-one. That was so aggravating. “No, Ma, I’m calling you from a pay phone.”

“Reverend DeMark says—”

I faked a yawn, cutting her off. “I’m so tired, and I have to get up early. I’m going to bed.”

“Your father and I worry about you, Latoya. You’re so different lately.”

“Like he cares,” I muttered, instantly regretting speaking my thoughts aloud.

“Latoya!” she exclaimed. “What a hateful thing to say. Of course your father cares what happens to you.”

“I know, Ma.”

“Honor thy mother and thy father, Latoya.”

I knew she’d get a scripture in there somewhere. “Ma, I have to go. I’ll call you in the morning. Tell my little sisters I said good night. Okay. Bye-bye.”

And I hung up the pay phone in the lobby of the hotel in my mother’s face. A fact I would deny tomorrow.

Hours later Bones curled his naked and muscular body close against mine in the middle of the messy bed. The moon was our only source of illumination. The heat of our sex still clung to the air.

“You sleep?” he asked as he lightly kissed my shoulder with those delicious lips.

I shook my head and then remembered he couldn’t see me in the ebony darkness. “No, I’m not sleep.”

“I’m glad Cris hooked us up, baby girl,” Bones said, his words caressing the back of my neck as his hands found a comfortable spot on my hip.

“Me, too,” I whispered with a smile. I was enjoying every moment.

Bones had made love to me. That kind of slow, sensual, emotion-filled lovemaking that could really get inside a woman’s head. It wasn’t sex at all. It was nothing like the nasty moments the Rev and I shared on his desk. This was a man putting his mind and his body into making sure that I was pleased.

Every kiss on my lips and face. Each stroke inside of me. Every suckle of my breasts. The soft touch of his hands on my thighs, my butt, my clit. Sweet Jesus!

He had made the most sweet and gentle love to me like he had forever.

I knew I was in love.

I dropped the cell phone back in my purse, ignoring all the nagging-ass voice mails as my new man walked up behind me. He put his hands all over my body as we fell back on the bed together. He moved to bury his head between my open legs, his tongue Frenchin’ my clit like it was goin’ outta style. The way he was a groanin’ and moanin’, I knew Juicy had him good and fucked up.

This nigga knew he could eat that thang just right!

Sweat dripped from my body as I moved my hips up against his mouth. “Ooh, I’m comin’, baby,” I shouted as my pussy walls vibrated and I filled his mouth with my nut.

He sucked harder at my clit, and I hit a high note like an opera singer.

He rolled onto his back, and I moved to straddle his hips, slipping his dick inside me. He grabbed my titties as I rose dat ass like a pro. I looked down into his face all twisted from the feel of me.

“Who the best?” I asked him, reaching behind me to massage his balls.

“You!” he shouted.

“Better than her.”

“Hell, yeah.”

I laughed, even though my ass knew wasn’t a damn thing funny.

R
ah was getting on my nerves.

It was our anniversary. One year since we hooked up and he insisted we celebrate by having dinner at one of my favorite soul food restaurants, Neicy’s in South Orange. Just too bad the company was not as great as the surroundings.

I looked across the table at him and wished I had stayed my black ass home. To think I skipped dance class for this. His attitude had stunk since he picked me up, and things had just gotten worse as the night progressed.

The waitress brought out steaming plates of food, setting them down in front of us with a friendly smile. “Enjoy.”

My smothered pork shops, macaroni and cheese, collards, and corn bread looked and smelled good. I usually watched what I ate to keep the figure slim, but I was going to splurge with the calories because I was determined to enjoy
something
about the night.

“This shit ain’t even done!”

I looked up in surprise and a bit of shame at Rah’s loud complaint just as he roughly pushed the plate away.

Looking around I saw that every eye was on us. “Rah, just ask the waitress to take it back,” I said, leaning forward to talk in low tones to him.

“Hell with it. Let’s go somewhere else,” he said, his eyes angry and sullen—and glassy as hell—as they rested on me.

He was high. What else was new?

“Monica?”

At the exact moment that I heard that cultured and educated voice say my name, I wanted to shrink to the size of a tennis ball and roll my ass out of there. Forcing a smile and saying a quick prayer that Rah wouldn’t act any more ghetto than he already had, I turned my head and looked up at Cameron and his date standing by our table. “Hi, boss, enjoying a night out?”

“Yes, we were just about to sit. Uh, this is Serena Lemons. Serena, this is Monica Winters, a new intern at the firm.”

I held out my hand to the woman, who looked liked an ebony Barbie doll. “Nice to meet you. This is Raheem—”

“Rah,” he interrupted rudely, glaring up at Cameron like he was a pile of shit on his new butter Timbs.

Serena looked a bit uneasy before she, too, forced a Kool–Aid grin. “Nice to meet you both,” she said, her voice refined.

She crossed the
t
’s and dotted the
i
’s in her diction.

Cameron cleared his throat, placing his hand at the small of his date’s back. “We’ll leave you to your dinner. Monica, I’ll see you in the morning. Rah, nice to meet you, man.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rah mumbled, reaching for his glass of fruit punch.

They walked over to their table, and I counted to ten.

“Why were you rude to my boss?” I hissed, losing my appetite for the chops.

Rah turned and glanced at Cameron just two tables away. He turned back to me and then had the audacity to shrug.

All I could do was stare at that bastard like he was a creature from another planet.

“No…he…didn’t.”

“Yes, he most certainly did.”

Cris and I exchanged a troubled look over our table at Justin’s the next day for lunch. “I told you about those thugs, even one who has supposedly gone legit. He still lives and acts like a roughneck. I’m sure even MC Lyte has matured beyond the craze.”

“Say what you want, Cris, but there’s an aura around a thug—”

“That aura is the ghetto.”

I signaled for the waiter. “I damn sure don’t see myself with a man like Cameron.”

“Why not?” she asked, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“One word: boring.” The waiter came to a halt at my elbow. “Can we have the check please?”

Cristal reached inside her wallet, but I waved my hand. “My treat. I snuck a grand from Rah’s stash. A gift to myself.”

She shook her head at me as she slipped one of her beloved credit cards back into her wallet. “What’s wrong with an educated man, especially since you’re an educated woman?” Cris asked, looking over at me with confusion in her eyes.

“Girl, I just love me a thug.”

Cristal almost looked like she felt sorry for me.

When Cameron invited me to a business dinner he was hosting, I was very reluctant to go, but he had taken on the role of my mentor which was an important tie I didn’t want to sever, so I decided to attend. In business it was just as important who you knew as what you knew. I was going solo. Cris and Mo were both busy with their men, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I would take Rah. So it was just me, myself, and I.

All I could envision was stilted and boring conversation, elevator music, weird appetizers, and a room full of bougie people who would look down their noses at someone from the Bricks like me.

When I walked up the stairs of Cameron’s three-story brick town house in South Orange, I was surprised to find that it was in a predominantly Black neighborhood. Inside, I was immediately impressed by the warm, masculine décor and the vast amounts of African artifacts and art adorning the walls.

I particularly admired a colorful abstract in the foyer.

“Are you a fan of Romare Bearden?”

I looked over my shoulder to see Cameron leaning in the doorway of the living room with a snifter of brandy in his hand. “Whom?”

“Romare Bearden. He was a preeminent African-American artist. In fact, all of my art is by various artists of color.”

Okay, I must admit that impressed me.

He gave me a brief history of each author and painting as we strolled along the corridor and into his library. Surprisingly, I wasn’t bored by his presence. In fact, I was intrigued by the passion in his voice as he gave me an impromptu art history lesson.

I learned about more than just art, though. A lot of things about Cameron surprised me that night. Who knew that Mr. Sell-Out would live in a predominantly Black neighborhood, collect African-American artwork, and socialize with other people of all economic makeup? Hell, there was a brother there who worked for UPS!

“You look surprised, Monica?”

I took a sip of my white wine, resting the crystal goblet in the palm of my hand. “I do?”

He watched me over the rim of his snifter as he swallowed his own liquor.

“I guess I never thought of you being into Black art,” I admitted as I looked around at the artwork adorning every available space on the walls.

“Why’s that, Monica?”

I shifted my eyes from his and shrugged. “No reason.”

Cameron shook his head regretfully. “Why’s that, Monica? You think I’m an Uncle Tom, a sellout, an Oreo?”

He must have seen something in my face, or maybe he was overly defensive, but I was shocked by the restrained anger I heard in his voice. I turned my head to look up into his face. “Cameron, I—”

A muscle in his cheek tightened as he clenched his teeth. “I guess I don’t act Black enough for you, Monica. Maybe I should give back my Harvard education and settle for a GED.”

I hadn’t meant to piss him off. “No, Cameron—”

“Would I be more Black if I wore Timbs all the time, acted ghetto in a restaurant, smoked a blunt, and called you a bitch.”

“All right, Cameron, I apologize, so don’t go there.”

“Sorry I’m not serving forties and playing music that degrades women, but try to enjoy yourself anyway,” he threw over his shoulder as he turned and strode out of the room.

“Cameron—”

He paused in the door frame, turning to look at me with eyes that were filled with pity for me. “You know what, Monica? For an educated woman you have a lot to learn,” he said, before leaving the room.

Now, what the hell was that supposed to mean?