This Can't be Life (18 page)

“Couldn’t you just hire someone, like an assistant, to do those things for you and buy a place in a buildin’ with concierge service? They have a lot of those out there in
New York
.” I stated. That seemed very logical to me.

“Yeah, I finally found someone that I can deal with, so now I have an assistant. So, what’s up with you?” Tyron asked, descendin’ into a lawn chair.

“What do you mean ‘what’s up with me?’” I asked, like a dumb ass. Awkwardly, I stood next to his lawn chair, takin’ in the beautiful view of
Malibu
beach that posed as the backdrop to his infinity pool. As I stood there, I realized how stiff I was. Never in my life had I not known what to do when a man was blatantly comin’ on to me.

“You know what the fuck I mean,” he laughed loudly. He then grabbed his dick and rearranged it so that I would be able to see the girth of his semi-erect penis fully. My mouth was waterin’ and my dick was throbbin’ but I wasn’t goin’ out like that.

“Well, if that’s what you talkin’ about, then ain’t shit up. You think I’m gon’ just walk up in here and fuck you when I came here to work? I’m not a fuckin’ prostitute, so don’t treat me like that. If there ain’t no fuckin’ video shoot, then I’ll see my way out.” I was livid. As much as I wanted to grab his dick and put it in my mouth, there was no way that shit was about to go down. I started headin’ for the patio door, hopin’ to find my way back to the front of his big ass house, when I heard Tyron trailin’ closely behind me.

“Wait up. I’m sorry. I apologize. Just wait a minute. Damn, man, let me give you something,” he said, soundin’ exasperated.

“You can give me whatever you need to give me at the front door,” I replied, speedin’ up my pace.

“All right, just don’t leave. I’ll be right there.” I kept forgin’ ahead as I no longer heard his footsteps behind me.

When I finally made it to the front of the house where my kit still sat, I swooped it up with my right hand in one single motion and reached for the door with the other. I was so out of this bitch.

“Hold up. Let me give you this,” Tyron said, handin’ me an envelope. I sat my bag down, looked inside the white business-sized envelope, and was surprised to see a thick stack of $100 bills.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“That’s what you were supposed to get paid for the video. I didn’t want to lie to you. I just wanted a chance to hook up with you. As you know, I’m a powerful man with a lot of people depending on me. So, I have to do my shit on the low. I can’t just holla at you in public. I have a girl that’s a major figure and doing major shit, and I got a multi-million dollar company. I just like to have fun and I’d make it worth your while if you would make yourself available to me. I’ll set you fucking up. You won’t have to lift a fucking finger or touch another head in your life if you was on my team.”

When I didn’t answer, he said, “just think about that. I put my contact info in that envelope. It’s a private line, so feel free to call it at any time.” I couldn’t believe my ears. This shit was not happenin’. I told him that I’d give it some thought, knowin’ damned well that I was goin’ to be in his arms by sun down.

Simone

I was a nervous wreck on my way to meet with the psychiatrist. Thankfully, as a favor to Mommy Miles’ friend, she was nice enough to fit me into her schedule at the last minute. My problems had me feeling like I was on the verge of a nervous break down and, possibly, suicide. Going to see a shrink was definitely my last resort, but I knew there was no way that I would be able to make it through the rest of my life if I wasn’t mentally stable.

I had the damned dream again last night, and it had me thinking suicidal thoughts when I awoke. The dreams were escalating and becoming more and more palpable with each nightmare. Last night, I felt him penetrating her, moving in and out of her. It was like I was her. It hurt so bad that it woke me out of my sleep at 1:00 in the morning. It was so sick that I had to run to the bathroom and vomit. I sat on the bathroom floor and sobbed until I couldn’t cry anymore. When I was finally able to pull myself off of the floor, I immediately went to my wine pantry and opened a bottle of Merlot. I took a swig straight out of the bottle and headed toward my balcony. I stepped one bare foot after another onto the cold slate flooring of my terrace and went straight to the edge.

I pictured myself flying through the sky until I plummeted 15 floors to my death. I wanted to end all this pain that wouldn’t allow me to live a normal life. One day I was happy and the next, I had to drag myself out of bed to start my day. I was sick and tired of the ups and downs and being an emotional wreck. I sat down in one of the four patio chairs at the round glass table and finished off the whole bottle of wine. I cried streams of tears that didn’t seem to release any of the pain that I was feeling. I felt so alone and completely helpless. I was a danger to myself and no one was around to help me.

Deon never called me back after his game like he said he would, and that just confirmed it. Men hardly ever keep their word. I stayed up the whole night thinking about everything that has gone wrong in my life and as soon as the clock struck 9:00, I called Doctor Harrison’s office and asked if she could see me immediately.

“Doctor Harrison will see you now.” The pleasant receptionist smiled, bringing me back to the present. I was so nervous that I was fidgeting, which is something that I haven’t noticed myself doing in a long while. I walked into the office and was greeted by a very warm, middle-aged woman with short salt and pepper hair and a warm smile.

“Hello, Simone. I’m Doctor Marge. Is it okay with you if I refer to you by your first name?” she asked, smiling with her hand extended.

“Yes, that’s fine with me,” I answered, shaking her hand.

“Good. I’d like for our meetings to be more personalized. Have a seat, dear. You can either sit up in the chair here,” she said, pointing to a hunter green leather recliner, “or you can lie down on the sofa, if you like.” She motioned toward a chenille, peanut butter hued sofa that was calling my name. I chose the sofa. I went over, plopped myself into it’s feathery cushions, and rested my head back. After gathering her recorder and note pad, she took a seat in the green leather chair that I had previously declined. As she jotted down several notes, I looked around the room. I noticed the nice pictures of who I assumed to be family members on her oak desk. There were numerous plaques hanging on the walls. The view of Hollywood and Universal Studios was calming. I felt myself relaxing.

“I’m going to record all of our conversations for my records only,” she began, “and I’ll be taking notes that will also be for my records. These are the tools that I use to help you. Our sessions don’t end when you leave. I still go over my notes and prepare for the next time we meet. We can begin when you’re ready.” I nodded my head to let her know that I was ready to begin.

“Okay, I’d like to start with what makes you feel that you need to come and see me.” I began by telling her about the dreams that have been haunting me. I explained how they were becoming increasingly vivid with each occurrence.

“When did these dreams start?” she asked in a soothing voice.

“Over a year ago. In the beginning, I would have one every few months, and as the months passed, I would have them more often. Now, I have them almost every night!”

“What exactly do you see in these dreams?”

“Well, I can’t see the little girl’s face, but I see the man clearly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. This morning, I felt him entering her and it really hurt. It seems so real.” I tilted my head back to prevent tears from pouring out of my eyes. “I just want to know why this is happening to me.” I knew I sounded like a wounded little girl and that was just how I felt. I was afraid to lift my head, fearing my tears would start flowing uncontrollably as they did all morning.

“Tell me about your childhood, Simone,” Doctor Marge said, jotting down a couple of notes on her pad. I gave her the rundown on my crazy ass mother, my father’s death, being left home alone 90 percent of the time, then spending most of my time with the Miles family. I told her how I felt abandoned and unloved by my mother and how my parent’s family never came around.

“How is your relationship with your mom now?”

“I can’t stand the sight of her. So, you can imagine how I feel being in the same room with her. I think I hate her.” I ran down the story of my accident when she came to the hospital and did a bad job of acting like she cared.

“Was that the last time you’ve spoken to her?”

“Yeah. She didn’t even call to see if I made it home from the hospital or to see how I was feeling. She left a message yesterday telling me that she expects me to be at our annual family reunion this Saturday, but I’m not going. She always has to control every situation.” I felt myself getting angry.

“Before the accident, when was the last time that you’d spoke with your mother?”

“I don’t know. We hardly ever talk. I think I can go a lifetime without ever
hearing her voice or seeing her face again. I mean, what kind of mother would act like she does with her only daughter, let alone her only child? How could she be so cold toward me? How could she not love me? What did I ever do to her to deserve this?” I gave in and let the tears flow from my eyes like a white water river. I felt my chest lighten up slightly as I grabbed a tissue out of a box that was sitting on the glass table to my left.

I couldn’t believe that I was expressing things that I had never shared with another living soul, let alone spoken aloud. I never even allowed myself to think these thoughts. I always felt there was no room for self-pity. I guessed it was always in the back of my mind and in my heart and that I needed to let go of it. It felt good to let those words flow off of my tongue. I cried and cried so much that month, but not until that day, did I feel the release of some of the heaviness that I had carried for far too long.

At the end of my session with Doctor Marge, I walked out of that office building with eyes that were redder than when I came. She suggested that I see my family and try to rebuild my relationship with my mother and my maternal side. “Take it step by step,” she said, “with the first step being your attendance at the family reunion.” There was hope for me and I knew it. I just had to hang on and ride out the storm that I knew was still brewing.

Talise

“I can’t believe that you’re actually going to this family reunion, Simone. I’m really proud of you, sis.” I reached over from directly behind the driver side seat and patted my girl on the shoulder to encourage her. She was definitely doing the right thing, but I could tell that she was nervous.

“Don’t worry, Monie. We got ya back. It’s gonna be cool. We can go up in here, eat up they food,
ack
like we bein’ sociable, and bounce like a mafuckin’ check bein’ returned unpaid,” Stacey joked, making us laugh.

“I’m cool, you guys. I’m really not nervous.” She tried to assure us. “You both know I couldn’t care less about what these people think about me. They’ve never done anything for me, so they can’t make or break me. I’m just showing up here to try and keep the peace and move forward in my life. I’m tired of so much drama between my mother and me. Maybe if the family sees what a good job I’ve done taking care of myself and notice how successful I’ve become, maybe she can begin to act like she’s proud of me and proud to have me as her daughter. But I know that’s wishful thinking,” Simone finished, with a sigh.

“Stay positive. Stay positive,” Stacey added, as he rubbed a hand across Simone’s silky, straight, jet-black hair.

“Okay, people, this is it,” Simone said, feigning enthusiasm as we stepped out of the car and onto the walkway that lead to the front entrance of Santa Monica’s prestigious Jonathan Club. Stacey held the door open for the both of us and, as soon as we walked in, we were greeted by Marie, Simone’s mom.