This Can't be Life (17 page)

“Why are you guys doing this?” I asked, crying. I surprised myself with this sudden burst of emotion. I wasn’t expecting to see him. I figured I’d come here, talk to Mommy Miles and, I guess, block out the fact that they were really considering getting a divorce. This was bothering me more than I realized.

“Honey, it will be okay. It’s going to be okay,” he repeated soothingly, over and over in my ear. Daddy Miles held me and rubbed my back and shhh’d in my ear until I finally got myself under control. He took hold of both of my arms right above my elbows and gently pushed me away from him so that he could look me directly in the eyes.

“Now, baby, I’m still going to be here for you and Talise. Just because your mom and I aren’t going to be in the same house does not mean that I’m not going to be available to you girls at all times. That’s not going to change. You girls are my heart and you’re all I have left. I need you two.” He tried his hardest to prevent the tears that were forming in his eyes from falling, but fall they did. To see him hurting like this broke my heart.

“I know, Daddy Miles. Where are you staying?” I asked, as an afterthought.

“With Uncle Rick. Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine. Make sure you call me later, sweetie.” Daddy Miles got in the car and backed out of the driveway. I stood there and watched him drive all the way down the street and turn the corner.

“Simone, come in the house, honey,” I heard Mommy Miles say from the front door. I don’t know how long I was actually standing there looking down the street, but it must’ve been long enough if she felt she needed to tell me to come inside.

“So, this is for real, huh?” I asked as I embraced her in the doorway.

“Yes, baby. As real as it gets. Go wipe your face while I make us some Chai tea.”

After leaving Mommy Miles’ house, I decided to go by the salon and do some paperwork before I hooked up with Deon for dinner. My heart was still heavy, but it was definitely lighter than it was when I first got there. I finally told someone about my recurring nightmare and it felt really good to have talked about it. Luckily, Mommy Miles had a good friend who saw a psychiatrist, so she called and got the number to a Doctor Margaret Harrison whose office was on
Lankershim Blvd
in
North Hollywood
. Before I left, she made me promise that I would call first thing tomorrow.

As I was searching through my handbag for the key to the salon, someone walked up behind me and called my name. It sounded like Al, so I turned around smiling, into the face of the scariest looking man I’d ever seen. He towered over my five foot nine frame by at least eight inches. His charcoal colored skin made the whites of his evil eyes—that were now yellow—glow. He sent the worse sensation through my body. The man hadn’t said more than my name; it was all in his eyes and I was afraid to look away. My intuition told me that this man would not hesitate to hurt me, and that feeling had me so terrified that I had to concentrate to keep my legs steady. After a good 10 seconds of staring at this stranger, I finally found my voice.

“Yeah? Who are you?” I tried to sound as brave as I could.

“Dats non ya bizness. Ya jest need ta tell mi ‘bout Al, where he went an' where da money is,” he replied in a deep, raspy Jamaican accent. I was completely baffled. Why would he think I knew where Al was? More importantly, how in the hell did this man know my name and who I was? Any other time, I would have asked these questions with much attitude, but I knew that this man could break my neck with one of his hands. He was standing so close, that I instinctively backed up. I wanted to turn and run, but for every step that I took backward, he took one forward.

“I don’t know where Al is. I haven’t seen him in a while.” I prayed that he believed me.

“Well, ya betta make sure ya find out where him is. Him owe a lot a men and him jes up an’ disapeer. Ya da only person him lef’ ‘ere. Jes you. So, ya affiliate wit’ him. Ya ‘eader find him or ya come up wit’ two ‘undred tousand fa him or it won’t be iny wher neir as pritti as ya are.” He turned around and slowly and confidently strutted down the street as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

After watching him walk down the street and turn the corner, I just wanted to get as far away from the salon as I could. I was too scared to go into the empty building alone because that man had me shook.  I ran to my car and zoomed to Talise’s place, hoping she would be there. I didn’t think to call her.
Hell
, I didn’t think at all. If I had taken the time to compose myself, I would have remembered that she was out on yet another date with the
good doctor
when I really needed her. I called Stacey and got no answer and then tried Deon and got his voicemail on the second ring. With a shaky voice, I left him a message.

“Hey, it’s Simone. I’m really freaked out right now. Can you call me as soon as you get this message? I was hoping I could come and meet up with you because some weird stuff just happened and I don’t want to be alone. Um…okay, call me.”  I clicked off the phone and looked around as I sat parked in front of Talise’s building. I knew that the game Deon was playing in had to be over by now and expected him to call me back at any moment. I hadn’t felt this vulnerable and scared in a very long time and didn’t want to be by myself.

I sat in front of Talise’s building and watched the sunset and the sky get dark. I’d been in my car for almost an hour, contemplating my next move. I didn’t know if I should go home or go back out to Mommy Miles’ house, but I knew I had to do something. I tried Stacey again and, thankfully, he answered and said that he would be home in less than ten minutes. By the time I got to his house, he had pizza and a bottle of Syrah awaiting my arrival. I told him about what happened and it eased my mind a bit to be able to get it off of my chest.

As the evening grew later and later, I still hadn’t heard from Deon. I didn’t know what to think. By
10:00
that night, Stacey urged me to call him once more just in case something came up. His phone went straight to voicemail. Reluctantly I left another message.

“Hey, it’s Simone again. What happened to you tonight? I hope you’re okay.” I hung up the phone with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew something wasn’t right.

Stacey

I pulled up to the gate of the sprawling estate in
Malibu
that Tomi Jordan’s people summoned me to. She was the latest R&B singin’ sensation and her records had been at the top of the Billboard charts for over two years now. I pressed the little black button on the intercom to announce my arrival and waited for an answer. I don’t usually work on Mondays unless someone was willin’ to majorly come out the pocket. So, here I am, about to make a week’s pay in a few hours. How could I turn that down? I heard a woman’s accented voice ask my name and once I was verified, I watched the gates slowly open.

I drove in, circled the driveway, and parked behind a midnight blue Maybach. I grabbed my carry case out of the back seat of my car and walked to the front door. I pressed the buzzer, wonderin’ why in the hell I had to once again ring the doorbell when they knew damned well that I was here. Bourgeois ass motha fuckas! I was already startin’ to feel an attitude coming on when the door opened and, to my everlastin’ surprise, there stood Tyron Marks. In a pair of swim trunks and some rubber Nike slide-ins, he looked scrumptious.

I couldn’t speak. For the first time, in a very long time, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I had to gain my composure because it wasn’t lookin’ like he was goin’ to help me out at all. Tyron just stood there lookin’ at me. The smirk on his face made it obvious that he was enjoyin’ my discomfort.

“Um, hi. I’m Stacey, the hair stylist. Um…I’m here to do Tomi’s hair.” Stacey the hair stylist? Stacey the hair stylist! I can’t believe I said that shit. I felt so lame standin’ there, soundin’ so unsure of myself, like some little ass boy standin’ in front of his first crush.

“What’s up, Stace? I know who you are. Come in. I’m Tyron Marks.” He took one step to the left, openin’ the door slightly to let me squeeze in between him and the door panelin’. He was so close that I could smell the scent of his Jean Paul Gaultier cologne emanatin’ off his body. I knew the fragrance instantly. I felt woozy, faint, and baffled all at the same time as I slid past him into the house. I just wanted to do this girl’s hair and get the hell out of there. I assumed this was his house and wondered where Tomi
Jordan
was, but the longer I stood there, the clearer my mind became. This was supposed to be a video shoot, yet I didn’t see any crewmembers, trailers, or anything out in the front. Shit, I didn’t see anyone at all and it was hella quiet in here. Everything was startin’ to register, although slower than usual due to the Tyron factor.

“So, where should I set up? Is there a trailer or somethin’ for me or will I have a room?” I wanted to get down to business because he knew, as well as I did, that there was no video bein’ shot here.

“Relax. What’s the big rush? They runnin’ late, so just chill. You can put your stuff down. You want something to drink?”

“I guess. What do you have?” I asked, puttin’ my portable hair kit down beside the door. I was still apprehensive.

“What do you want? I got everything,” Tyron said, very seductively.
Are you crazy?
I wanted to yell at him!
What type of stupid ass question is that?
Shit, I wanted his ass and I’m sure he knew it. But, I was intimidated as hell. Maybe it’s because the motha fucka is a millionaire a hundred times over or because he looked like a man that you would create in your mind.

Tyron is a man’s man; very masculine, light mustache, goatee, six foot three and about 200 pounds. Six pack, perfect teeth, low Caesar hair cut with a couple of waves roaring through it. Perfectly clear, caramel colored skin — I’m talkin’ about that melted, warm kind of caramel that be spread across them apples. At this point, I was hopin’ Tomi’s ass would never get here.

“I’ll have a lemonade spritzer then,” I replied, with my hand on my hip. I knew damned well he wouldn’t have that. Shit, I can barely find one in the store.

“A’ight, I’ll be right back.” Not to my surprise, when Tyron turned around, I got a good look at his ass. It was the perfect size and shape. Not a girl ass, but just enough to grab. I waited for him to come back through the revolving door he had just entered to tell me he didn’t have what I wanted. Instead, he came out and handed me an ice-cold bottle of Ocean Spray Lemonade Spritzer. He told me that he was outside by the pool chillin’ and to follow him.

I did, down a long hallway with platinum and gold plaques of various artists on each wall. We walked through a large room that housed a
California
King sized, oak wood, sleigh bed that had a white mink comforter neatly sprawled across it. Four pillows were also in mink. Adjacent to the bed was at least a 60” Sharp, flat screen hangin’ on the wall. Other than that, the room was completely empty.

“Is this your room?” I asked, as we walked through French patio doors that lead to his backyard. I wondered where the hell the rest of his furniture was and why he took me through his bedroom to get to the backyard. I knew there had to be another way to get out here instead of through his damned room. He thought he was slick, but I was gettin’ my game tight and my mind right, slowly but surely.

“Yeah,” he answered shortly.

“Why is it so empty?”

“What else do you need other than a bed and a TV?” Without waitin’ for an answer, he continued, “I’m simple. I don’t need all that shit. Plus, I just moved here about two months ago and I’m hardly ever here.”

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“I’m from
Harlem
.”

“And you don’t have a home there?”

“I do now. I kind of got spoiled. I got used to room service and concierge doing whatever I needed, and having a change of scenery whenever I wanted. I don’t know. It was just more convenient. I get real bored with shit after a while, so I just went from hotel suite to hotel suite.”