Authors: Niobia Bryant

Show and Tell (4 page)

BOOK: Show and Tell

9.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

Chapter Five

Cristal

B
eing stylish in forty-degree weather is not easy but I would not be me if I did not try. Last winter it was nothing for me to pull on a sharp eight-hundred-dollar Bergdorf Goodman overcoat to make a statement until I could enter the building, remove my coat, and reveal whatever fabulous ensemble I had on beneath it. The girls and I have been obsessed with clothes and fashion since high school. Of course with a little extra change it is easier to pull something together but I am making what I got work for what I want. I had to learn that taking my car note money to buy three-hundred-dollar shoes and thousand-dollar pants was just plain crazy. So I am looking as fine as I please in a fitted turtleneck jersey dress from H&M. Luxe for less. My new motto . . . well I
am
trying.

So after a few months of living the life as the future wife of a Black mini-mogul am I back on the grind. Not that going back to work is that big a hassle for me. I have always worked. I guess I learned something from nothing leads to nothing.

Bzzz.

I close the
Vogue
I am pretending not to read as I reach out to press a button on the intercom. “Yes, Mr. Ingram,” I say in my most professional voice, not wanting all these intelligent lawyers to think that this ghetto girl from Newark with more work experience than education could not fit in. My life in the hood side of Newark is very different from this state-of-the-art chrome building in downtown Newark.

“My wife is on her way up. Please make sure she comes directly into my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The
Mrs. Gregory Ingram. Hmmm. Interesting. This would be my first time meeting the socialite. Her name, charity work, and social events are well known. She made being the wife of a wealthy man an art form.

The Ingrams lived in New York but Mr. Ingram and his partners recently moved the firm to Newark. The rent is cheaper and this part of Newark might be twenty minutes away from the hood where I grew up but it is miles away in terms of everything else. These suits could walk out of the door of their elegant office and hop onto the train right next door at Penn Station to be back in New York in ten minutes flat and never once have to blink or catch sight of that
other
side of Newark.

I whipped out my compact and made sure my makeup and straight Rihanna-inspired bob is still intact. Of course everything is in place and I am looking just as fine as I want to be. There are not too many women that I like to impress, but Carolyn Ingram is definitely one of them.

I am slipping my compact back down into last year's Birkin when the private elevator opens. Mrs. Ingram walks in and there is no doubt that she knows she is the shit. I recognize her from the same society and gossip pages I long to be in. My skillful eyes take her all in. From the Fendi shades to the tip of her stacked Gucci shoes. Her dark and flawless mocha skin is obviously the handiwork of good genes and an even better esthetician or surgeon. My eyes widen a little at the diamond solitaire on her finger. It is big enough to choke a horse and make my clit swell with renewed life.

I rise to my feet and extend my hand. “Hello, Mrs. Ingram. You are looking lovely, of course. Let me escort you right back to Mr. Ingram's office.”

She removes her shades and the other diamond on her hand makes me literally squint. Gray eyes that have to be contacts glide down to my hand and then up to my face as she clearly assesses me. I cannot help but wonder if I pass her test as I notch my chin a little higher and give her the same assessing stare without being flat-out rude.

Suddenly she smiles and her Lumineers are almost as brilliant as her jewelry. She finally accepts my hand limply. “And you are?” she asks with a polite but distant smile.

I move from behind the waist high steel receptionist desk. “I am Danielle Johnson,” I respond as I lead her back through the door leading to the executive offices of the partners.

“Aren't you a pretty little thing?” she says from behind me.

I make a face that thankfully she cannot see. “Thank you.” I hope she does not think I want her husband. If I did slip any of the partners a little bit, it would not be Mr. Ingram's dusty old ass. I shiver at the thought of his silvery balls. Please.

With a polite knock on the mahogany door, I open it and wave Mrs. Ingram in. She passes me on a cloud of classic Fendi perfume. I give her one last smile before closing the door and gladly gliding back to my desk.

I hope her little chit-chat with her husband does not include my ass getting booted out of here because she is scared of joining the ex-wives club. She may think my fine Lisa-Raye-looking ass is giving Mr. Ingram's limp dick a hand- or mouth-job. Her husband or anyone else's is the last thing on my mind. I have Mohammed and not even Sahad crawling back to me on his hands and knees with a key to his dynasty will make me leave him. Outside of my friends, I have never known what it is to be loved until Mohammed came into my life.

I never thought my ass would be a wimpy, love me, I need you kind of chick. More like what can you do for me and how quickly. Not that I did not deserve the finer things. Mohammed just could not afford it. But what he lacks in cash flow he makes up for in dick throw. Okay? Alright.

“You remind me of myself.”

Immediately slipping my mask of professionalism in place, I swivel in my chair to find Mrs. Ingram standing at the reception desk looking down at meâliterally and figuratively.

“Thank you,” I say with hesitance as she continues to study me as she slowly walks along the large circular desk. I guess it is a compliment.

She truly is a striking woman with cat-like features and a very regal bearing, but the way she is watching me makes me feel like a field rat stalked by a hawk. Is the great Mrs. Ingram gay or just crazy as hell? Suddenly she smiles and I wish like hell that she would leave because I feel uncomfortable. What the hell?

“I once had that same desire to be more. Bigger. Better. Sexier. Richer. Prettier. Classier.”

I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. I say nothing because the words, “Bitch, please” are ready to drip from my glossy lips.

She continues to circle the desk until I have to swivel in my chair to keep my eyes on her. “Of course, you have no way of knowing that I met my Gregory when I worked as a clerk in this small little shithole of a law office when he first started practicing.”

Even in my hardcore gold digging days I never slept with a man over fifty. Please. Her Gregory is the safest man in the place. “Mrs. Ingram, I can ensure you that I am not here for anything but work.”

She takes her time sliding on her fur and leather gloves. “Listen dear, you could sit under Gregory's desk all day and suck his dick until his balls are flat and dry and he would never leave me for you. That is not my point at all.”

My eyes widen because who knew a lady like Mrs. Ingram would use such language with such ease. Plus the image she put in my head made me a little ill. Eew.

“What exactly
is
your point, Mrs. Ingram?”

“I can smell the stench of the ghetto on you almost as much as I can see the desperation that makes you pretend otherwise . . . just like me thirty years ago.”

Her words make me feel angry . . . and exposed.

“You just need a little guidance and I'm in the mood for a pet project.”

A pet project?

“Excuse me, Mrs. Ingram?”

She leans forward and taps my brow with a perfectly manicured finger. “Don't frown dear, it brings on wrinkles early,” she advised with a haughty tone.

I am a grown-ass woman. I have taken care of myself since I was eighteen years old and aged out of the foster care system. So why did I immediately follow her direction and quickly remove my frown?

“I've just added your name to the list of invitees to a charity gala my husband and I are having at the Waldorf-Astoria's Grand Ballroom next Friday. It's black tie of course. Don't worry about the thousand-dollar ticket price.” She tucked her silk clutch under her arm. “I'm sure a girl like you has something appropriate to wear or knows how to get your clever little hands on something.”

She turned and walked towards the elevator as if she is on a high fashion runway.

I jump to my feet. “How do you know I even want to go?” I ask, with a boldness I do not regret.

The door to the private elevator glides open and she steps on and then turns dramatically in the center. “Please. You'd gnaw off your right arm to be there. Toodles.”

The door glides close and shuts her off from my view.

I want to be that bitch and she knows it.

Chapter Six

AlizÃ©

“H
ow wrong would I be to fuck my therapist?”

That thought makes my face shape into an odd expression. Okay, so now I know this dick sabbatical is running me straight crazy. Fuck Dr. Locke's fifty-something-year-old ass? That was MoÃ«t's M.O., not mine.

Not that he's not nice looking . . . for his age. Tall, broad shoulders, bald head, and silver goatee. Glasses that sat on . . . strong cheekbones above a nice, kissable mouthâ

I shake my head to clear it of the image of me licking Dr. Locke's lips as I ride him. I need some dick. Point blank.

Maybe it's time to call it quits on the celibacy and call my exsideline ho Tyrone. Now
he
had a dick out of this world.

“Monica?”

I shift my eyes up from Dr. Locke's crotch to his face. “Yes.”

He crosses his legs where he sits across from me in a leather club chair. He looks at me long and hard behind his slightly tinted glasses. He jotted something down onto the notepad he held. “What are you thinking?”

“That celibacy sucks,” I answer without a bit of hesitation. After months of bi-weekly sessions, I don't have time for bullshitting.

He nods his head as he continues scribbling my business. “Was it seeing Cameron recently that brought you to that conclusion?” he asks in that calm almost monotone voice.

“I want more from Cameron than sex . . . but the more I see him around the office the more I want to tear his clothes off and . . . well, you know.”

Dr. Locke looks up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Yes, I think I have the idea.”

I just shrug as I look around at his Maplewood offices. Everything about him from his voice to the dÃ©cor of this place to his loafers is so . . . ordinary. “Does anything excite you, Dr. Locke?” I ask.

He gives me another long look before he turns the page in his notepad. I grimace to think that I have so many issuesâafter months of therapyâthat one damn page ain't enough.

“We can talk about me or delve into yet another broken relationship you're facing.”

I frown and my brows furrow together as I nod. “It's weird to think about facing Rah in court today. It will be the first time I've seen him since . . . since that night.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Angry. Anxious. Furious. Vengeful. Pissed the fuck off.”

“Your language, Monica,” he reminds me gently.

I check the eye roll I'm about to give his ass. “Sorry. Pissed off.”

“And?”

I lock my eyes with his. “Who says there is an âand,' Dr. Locke?” “And?” he asked again as if he didn't hear me the first time.

“Afraid. Okay. I feel afraid at the thought of seeing him again,” I admit softly as I look down at my hands as I wring them together. I fight the urge to rub the long scar on my thigh. “But I can't wait until this is all over because there is no way he can get away with what he did to me.”

“So you want him to pay?”

I jerk my head up to pierce him with my eyes. “Damn right I want him to pay,” I answer in a cold voice. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No, it shows that you're human.”

I blink away tears that fill my eyes. “And does it show that I'm human because I want a bat and five minutes alone with that motherfuckâ”

That makes him scribble away like crazy.

I never got to see Rah. When I got to court the prosecutor tells me that Rah accepted a plea bargain. Two years for aggravated assault. What the fuck? No trial. Weak ass sentence. Just a bunch of bullshit. I had to fight not to laugh in the prosecutor's face when he gave me the line about this ultimately being a victory. It wasn't his leg that was snapped in two like a dried chicken bone. Two lousy years while I will never be able to dance the way I used to.

Trying to literally shake it off, I left the courthouse and walked out into the winter winds that are cold and making my cheeks feel like I was pimp-slapped. I dig my hands down deeper into the pockets of my Ralph Lauren wool coat as I make my way down the steps.

“AlizÃ©.”

I turn to find Dom walking down the steps behind me. I see the hesitation in her face. She doesn't know how to take me. That's a good thing. This bitch used to be my friend and instead of having my back she stuck a knife in it. It still hurt. My dumb ass thought none of us would ever do anything to hurt each other. Friendship is important to me, but at some point you have to kick a bad friend to the curb just like you would a bad boyfriend.

She reaches in her Gucci tote for a soft pack of cigarettes. I recognize the bag from when Dom bought it two years ago. Obviously getting off the pole is messing with her money because the Dom standing before me ain't the hood fabulous bitch she used to be. I never did understand her six-figure wardrobe with a fifty-dollar-a-month rent in the projects.

“I was here to testify against Rah,” she says, looking everywhere but at me.

I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if I will ever have anything to say
to
her.

At my silence, Dom finally locks her eyes with mine and I'm surprised to see she's angry. And that pisses me off. Suddenly I gots plenty to say.

“You know, the more you care about somebody the more power you give them to hurt you. I never let my guard down with any dudes 'cause I didn't want to be hurt. But with my friends? I take that shit serious. You, Mo, and Cristal were more than sisters to me.” That door inside of me with Dom's name all over it flew wide open as I step nose to nose to her. “How could you fuck Rah? How the hell you gone fuck my man and then dime me out like a no-good snitch bitch?”

See all my education and Cristal-type talking goes out the window. When I'm mad it's straight hood all the time, every time.

Dom turns her head to release a stream of smoke.

I walk away from her but only get a few steps before I turn back and walk right back into her face. “It ain't about him. Matter of fact . . . fuck him. This about me and you. I wouldn't ever sleep with none of your men and you know it.”

“And you know I was hittin' that dope hard then and I was hurt about Lex dying in the car crash,” Dom says, locking her eyes with mine.

“So why hurt me? I been a good friend to you, Dom?” People passing by are watching us but I don't care.

Dom looks away again. “I was jealous of you,” she admits softly before taking a long drag on her cigarette.

Her words shock me. Dom was my friend before she became my enemy. I know this hardcore bitch, so I understand how difficult it had to be for her to admit that to me. Dom
always
kept it raw, hard, and almost careless. That shit she just dropped is B-I-G. “Jealous? Of me?”

She roughly tosses her cigarette to the ground before she crushes it under the pointed tip of her snakeskin boots. “I
was
,” she stresses.

“Why?” I ask in confusion.

Dom laughs a little. “Why the fuck you think?” she snaps.

It's my turn to look away. Of all my friends Dom's life is the most opposite of mine but she always had me thinking she was happy as hell in her life.

Yeah to the mother who was more weed buddy than anything.

Hallelujah to the cheap rent and living in the projects.

Thank you Jesus for creating weed to be smoked forever and always.

Walk it out about stripping for a living.

Who give a fuck about being a single mother with a missing babydaddy.

“Listen. Can we not dig too deep into this shit,” Dom snaps, obviously uncomfortable. “I fucked up and I'm sorry. This ain't easy for me, Ze.”

“Walking in on you fucking Rah in the same bed where I fucked him wasn't easy for me either,” I threw back at her.

“Damn, no she didn't,” a woman said as she passed us by.

We both ignored her.

“Damn right. Way too long for you to do what you did to me.” I release a long, heavy breath and count to a hundred, remembering Dr. Locke's bullshit tactic. “I can't trust you as a friend, Dom. I could never be cool with you the way we used to be.”

“That's fine.” Dom reaches in her bag for her shades and slips them on even though the sun is hardly shining that bright.

She didn't put them on quick enough for me to miss the tears in her eyes. Dom crying? Huh?

I think about her hooked on drugs and almost dying from an overdose.

I think of the pain she felt when Lex died.

I think of the shit she went through with Diane as her mother and only a bad memory as her father.

I shouldn't feel sorry for this bitch . . . but I do.

She helped catch Rah after he went on the run for assaulting me.

She came here to testify and help put him away.

She is standing here before me admitting something that I
know
is hard for her.

“Listen, I don't know. I won't say that I'll call you or nothing like that. But maybe the four of us can go out to eat or something. I don't know. We'll see.”

Dom nods as she lights another cigarette.

“Since there's no trial I have to go to my internship.” I pull the collar of my wool coat up around my ears. “Bye, Dom.”

I turn and walk away before she can hug me or something. I wasn't ready for that. One step at a time.

BOOK: Show and Tell

9.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads