This Can't be Life (24 page)

“Okay.” I hung up the phone, started my ignition, and pulled off, thinkin’ about how he always punked me. When Tyron says jump, you don’t ask how high. You just do it and hope that it’s good enough or what he wanted. He is such a powerful man that everyone follows his every instruction to a tee, and now I’ve become one of those people at his beck and call.

Our trip to
Paris
was like a dream. He treated me so well. Anything I asked for was done before the words fully escaped my mouth. While he was workin’ durin’ the day, I’d be out shoppin’ or relaxin’ at one of the cafés, having a cappuccino and readin’ a book, dodging cigarette smoke — those French smoke like damned choo-choo trains. Every morning, there was money at my bedside, being that I was never allowed to sleep in the bed with him all night. He worried that a maid would walk in unannounced and see us lying in bed together. I didn’t mind goin’ back to my room, even though I would have loved to wake up in his arms. We were only in
Paris
for one week. I had to fly in by myself and get my ticket and hotel room on my credit card, because he said that he couldn’t do anything that would cause suspicion. He reserved my room under my name so that I could be adjoined to his. Of course, he gave me the money for all of this to be done. He was just overly cautious all the time.

We ended up bein’ on the same flight home but, of course, we were not seated together. Though we were both sittin’ separately in first class, no one would have ever known that we’d ever laid eyes on each other before. I was surprised that he hadn’t chartered a plane like he had when he flew in. It was very odd after a week together in the most romantic city, doin’ the most romantic things, to be sittin’ within talkin’ distance and pretendin’ that we didn’t know each other. This, once again, made me wonder what the hell I was doin’ with this man. He did not look at me once inside the airport, on the airplane, or when we landed. When we got off the plane, nothin'. It was as if he didn’t know me from Tom. But I knew this was part of dealing with a man who was buried so deep down in the closet and that was as powerful as he was. I could either take it or leave it, and I wasn’t ready to leave it. Hell, I was just gettin’ started. Shit, before we left for
Paris
he gave me the $10,000 cash. I deposited $5,000 and put the other $5,000 in my home safe to be deposited in a couple of weeks. I wasn’t stupid. I knew about the Patriot Act, and I wasn’t goin’ to be the fool walkin’ in the bank and depositin’ all that cash, only for them to report me to the damned government. The followin’ day, he gave me $5,000 in cash for the round trip flight and another five grand for the hotel room, plus, at least a grand on my bedside table every mornin’ for five nights! He had given me close to $25,000 since I met him. At this rate, I knew I was about to be paid dealin’ with Tyron. Plus, I hadn’t spent much of what he had given me other than to pay for the flight and the hotel room. I had a hefty savings of my own and a big checking account balance. I opened an Ing Direct savings account online where I could get a higher interest rate and slowly put everything that he gave me into that account. After all was said and done, I knew it was goin to add up to a pretty number. I already loved goin’ online to look at the account, admirin’ all that free money.

I weaved in and out of traffic, heading for
Pacific Coast Highway
. I turned up my stereo and dropped my top when I stopped at the light, singing along with Jaheim. My favorite record was
Put That Woman First
and I was butcherin’ it up completely.

If it came in the sack no stems no seeds in the bag then

I could remember

And if it wasn’t for the Sunday All Star weekend game then

I could remember

But silly me, silly me, baby, tell me how could I ever forget to be your love

Never realize that you need love, too

Spend my life makin’ up to you

Oh, oh, ohhhh, girl, I forgot to be your lover

 Damn, I love this song! I sang louder, trying to outdo Jaheim’s silky, Teddy Pendergrass sounding voice. I finally pulled into the driveway of the make believe video set and rang the buzzer. I saw Tyron’s red Ferrari, his black Mercedes Benz S600 sedan, and his charcoal grey AMG G55 Benz wagon, all the current year, parked in front, so I figured he would be here.

“Come in. The front door is open,” Tyron said, through the intercom. The gates started to open and I pulled in and parked behind the G5. I hopped out the car, feelin’ excited to see him, even though it hadn’t even been 24 hours since we hopped off the plane at
7:00
this mornin’. I walked into the house and heard Frankie Beverly and Maze coming out the speakers in the ceilin’. I walked toward the bedroom and started to bob my head and sing along with the lyrics of
Before I Let Go
. I thought back to the Budweiser Super Fests that I used to go to every summer. Frankie Beverly and Maze always stole the show.

I stood in the doorway and watched as Tyron sat on the edge of the bed with the phone to his ear. He was beratin’ someone for bein’ incompetent and not doin his job like he was supposed to.

“I can’t do everything! If that’s the case, why in the fuck am I paying you a high six mothafuckin figures a year, plus? You went to school for the job you doin’ now and you can’t even get that shit right! I suggest you ask them mothafuckas up at Yale for some of your money back because you can’t seem to do the simplest tasks that are required of you. You said you needed a secretary. I increased your budget for that. Then, you needed an assistant. I made that happen. What the fuck else do you want from me? To hold your fuckin’ hand? This is a multi-million dollar company that I’m running, and I need people on my side that can help me do this shit. Not people that I need to baby-sit. I can’t do this shit once a week. From now on, you don’t report directly to me. Starting today, you report to Mike Jones and he’ll report to me. I can’t keep tellin’ yo ass that you should know your job and be able to do that shit right. Instead, you call me once a week asking me how you should do something. You should have learned how to be a self-starter in undergrad, my nigga. This is real life, and in real life, when you can’t handle the shit you’re supposed to handle, mothafuckas get demoted just like you just did. Report to Mike, man, because I don’t need this extra stress.” He hung up the phone, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door like he didn’t even see me standin’ there.

I walked to the kitchen and poured him a glass of water. If he drank alcohol, I would have poured him a shot of somethin’ strong, but since Tyron is a completely sober guy, water would have to do. I was feelin’ kind of salty toward whomever that was that fucked up my man’s mood. I walked back into the room and found him standin’ in front of the French doors, lookin’ out toward the ocean in deep thought. I walked up behind him and rubbed his back with my right hand still holdin’ the glass of water in my left.

“You all right? I brought you a glass of water. All that talkin’ you were doin’, I’m sure you could use it.” I handed him the glass and he finished it all in one sip.

“Mothafuckas get on my nerves. This shit never fucking ends.” He handed the empty glass back to me without as much as a thank you. I took the glass back into the kitchen and when I came back, he was sitting on the bed. I wasn’t exactly sure of what I should do or what he wanted me to do. I was still learnin’ how to deal with him and his mood swings that shifted him into a completely different person when people were around or when business called. I took his place in front of the French doors and stood there, watchin’ the waves crash onto the shore.

He walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. We stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. It felt good having this man who stood at least six inches over me, holding me like he was. Nothin’ needed to be said. We just listened to Frankie Beverly sing about happy feelings. The sun started to set as we stood there, quietly watchin’ it disappear into the horizon. Tyron began kissin’ the back of my neck gently, sendin’ chills down my spine. He pulled my hair out of its bun and ran his fingers through my thick curls. With his left arm wrapped snuggly around my upper body, he kept me in his embrace. I started to turn around to face him, but he told me no.

“Stay just how you are,” he whispered huskily. He moved from behind me and I could tell that he went into the bathroom. He then returned and, through the reflection in the glass panes of the French door I was standin’ in front of, I could see him lightin’ the candles that were placed around his room. Then the lights went off.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. Shortly after, Luther Vandross began spewin’ from the speakers,
Since I Lost My Baby
. I smelled the sweet, warm scent comin’ from the candles as he came back to me and shifted me around to face him. Lookin around I noticed the flames castin’ shadows against the white walls. The flickerin’ of the flames made the room seem surreal as he began to kiss me passionately as if we weren’t together less than 24 hours ago. I returned his kisses with as much if not more intensity than his and embraced him wholeheartedly, feelin’ like if I were to let go, I’d lose him. He pulled away from me and looked into my eyes. I held my breath until our lips reconnected. I felt as if I was gettin’ my air supply from him, and if he were to stop kissin’ me for too long, I’d suffocate from lack of oxygen. I felt like cryin’. I was fallin’ in love with this man and I knew it was somethin’ I shouldn’t be allowin’ myself to do. But I was fallin’ and fallin’ too fast to brace myself for the landin’. I didn’t know if I was goin’ to land on my ass or land on my feet, but I knew that landin’ was inevitable because no human could fly, and right then, I felt like I had wings.

Part Two

Simone

It had been four months since my life was turned upside down, but it felt like it was just yesterday. I’d been seeing Dr. Marge once a week and feeling a lot better about myself. But the most magnificent thing was that the nightmares have stopped! As far as I was concerned, life was good. I received the insurance settlement from the salon about a week before, but I hadn’t yet figured out what I wanted to do with it, if anything. I kept it locked in my home office safe and hadn’t had the urge to go and deposit it until today.

I pulled up to Bank of America and parked right in front of the bank. I hopped out of my car and pulled up my
Hudson
jeans that were starting to fall off. I had lost a couple of pounds over the last few months, not eating and laying around the house. I planned on gaining that weight back as soon as possible. I wasn’t about to forfeit all of my clothes. I walked into the bank and went straight to a new accounts rep and informed her that I wanted to open a six-month Certificate of Deposit Account. I sat down and handed her my ID and my other account information as well as the insurance check for over a half million dollars. When I first saw the check, I just looked at all the damned zeros myself. I was amazed, but certainly, she must be used to seeing checks and accounts with balances this large if not larger, I thought.

She looked down at the check, then up at me…then down at the check and up at me again. Then she started to punch some numbers into the computer. I watched her fingers and noticed that it was my personal checking account number that she was entering. I knew when my account finally pulled up on the screen because her eyes widened when she saw that my savings and checking accounts also held very high balances. What she didn’t know was that I worked hard for my money for years and deserved every damned cent. Yeah, I received perks here and there, but nothing came easy to me. Men only seemed to give when you didn’t need, but when you need it, it’s hard as hell to get a damned nickel out of a man. So all of my perks were nice gestures, but never a save the day kind of thing.

“Is there a problem?” I asked the older woman as I crossed my right leg over my left.

“Um, no, there isn’t. I just have to get an approval for a check of this amount,” she replied nervously. What seemed to be perturbing her was that I was a young black woman with more money than she’d probably ever seen run through her own account. She was flustered, even trembling slightly. She probably thought she was about to get rewarded for uncovering a big check counterfeiting fraud. Yeah, that would be the day.