This Can't be Life (26 page)

Have you forgotten me? Do you think that you can just move on and not think about the plans that I have for you and I? Do you think this is over? No, I’m just starting. I know your every move. I bet your new boyfriend doesn’t, or should I even call him your boyfriend? Hmmmmm, maybe closet buddy is the better word for that confused SON OF A BITCH. Just remember, Stacey. I’m always near and always one step ahead.

P.S. I left a surprise for you in your trunk.

Forever… ME!

I dropped the paper into the sink, grabbed my keys off of the counter, and tip toed back into my garage like a punk bitch. My heart was beatin’ fast and my palms were sweaty and clammy. I pushed the unlock button on my alarm ring, automatically openin’ the trunk and I looked to see what was inside. It was a FedEx box similar to the one that was sent before. I opened it slowly and cautiously, not knowin’ if the sick mother fucka had planted a bomb in my trunk or some booby trap type of contraption shit. I peeked inside and immediately sprinted to my bedroom faster than Usain Bolt coulda. I ran into the closet, lookin for the box that had been sent by that perv, and it wasn’t there. That same big, black dildo, that same KY Jelly, that same note and that same damned FedEx box was in my fuckin’ trunk. That meant that mother fucka has been up in my house! I slid down the wall of my closet and began shakin’ my head back and forth in disbelief. I didn’t know what to do. It was apparent that this man had been followin’ me and had somehow gotten inside of my home…where I rest my head! He knew where Tyron lived. Lord only knows how the psycho fucker got inside the gates, but he did. That sick son of a bitch was spookin’ me the hell out and takin’ this shit a little too far.

I weakly pulled myself up from the closet floor and walked to my bed. I grabbed my cordless phone off of its charger base on the nightstand, dialed information, and asked the operator for the number to my local police station. As the animated voice repeated the precinct number, it dawned on me that there was no way that I could go to the police. I hung up the phone and started pacin’. I already knew how that would turn out. They’ll ask too many questions and I can’t let anyone know about my relationship with Tyron. That could ruin everything for me. Yeah, the police would be too risky and I can’t risk Tyron cuttin’ me off.

I crossed my fingers and toes and hoped that demented fucker found someone else’s life to play with and left mine the hell alone.

Deon

The feeling I have when I get back to LA from Atlanta will never change. It has never felt like home. It takes me a good week or two to adjust to being back here. There are always disadvantages when one thing in your life is perfect. Playing ball for the best team in the league is great, but to me, LA isn’t. The weather is nice the majority of the time, but that’s about it. A lot of the women are fake and only want one thing—
your money
— and the guys just want to hang around you because they want to experience whatever bit of your lifestyle that they can.

I finished doing my daily 500 crunches in my in-home gym and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade, draining half of it with two gulps. With nothing on my schedule, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought about going by Simone’s salon to see what it was looking like. I’ve left four messages on the salon voicemail but haven’t heard a word from her. I can’t say I blame her, though. I should’ve just been straight up with her and given her a chance to defend herself.

I hopped in my truck after showering and throwing on some sweats and a tee, and headed east on Wilshire. I was ready to find a way to get in touch with Simone. I turned off the radio and drove in silence, trying to figure out what I would do if they weren’t rebuilding. Not like I really knew what I would do if they were. It wasn’t like she was going to be there, hammering and drilling with a tool belt around her waist. I changed my mind and made a quick left on La Cienega, deciding to run inside Macy’s Men to see if I could find a shirt or something to wear tonight. I was hosting a Playstation fundraising party premiering “Ballin’ Live 3,” the new game for PS2 that featured me, at Boulevard3 tonight. I was feeling kind of anxious these last couple of days, wondering how the game would turn out. We all put a lot of work into making that game hot. Wearing those damned full body suits for hours on end, running back and forth on that court, performing my best moves wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be the first time I was asked to participate. At least this time, I knew what was up and came prepared to be stuck for a while in that tight ass suit with all the cords and shit hanging out from everywhere.

I pulled into the underground parking garage at the Beverly Center and veered right into valet parking. I hopped out, took my valet ticket, and walked quickly to the entrance of Macy’s. Once inside, I looked around for a while and saw nothing that I liked, which I figured would happen. But it was a good way to pass some time. When my cell phone vibrated in my pocket, I fished through the bills and the coins and finally pulled it out. Blocked number. Figures. I answered any way.

“Hello?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t regret answering the call.

“Hey, D, it’s Nichelle, what are you doing?”

“What’s up Chell? Where you calling from? You lucky you caught me. You know I don’t answer blocked numbers,” I replied, relieved that it was just her.

“Sorry. Calling from the private line in my office. About to bounce. Where are you?” she asked, sounding like something was on her mind.

“At the
Beverly
Center
, leaving wack ass Macy’s. I’ll probably grab some take-out from PF Changs. What’s the matter?”

“Always some drama over here. Need to fire this damned paralegal who doesn’t really do shit but sit on his ass. I’m stressed. Need a drink. Wanna eat there? I can be there in 10,” she asked, speaking a mile a minute like she always does.

“Yeah, that’s cool. I’ll be there. Don’t have me in there forever looking like a fool, Chell. You know how slow you are. Where’s Tyson?” I asked.

“Play date. Gotta pick him up at
7:00
. I’m walking to the car right now, see?” she said, jingling her keys in my ear.

“Cool, in a minute then. Want me to order?”

“Not unless you can’t wait. You know how quick they are. The food will be cold by the time I get there.”

“Okay, I’ll wait then. Hurry up,” I said playfully.

“Bye, hon.” She hung up and I made my way to the nearest exit.

Some people may not think it’s possible to have a strictly platonic relationship with a woman, but Nichelle was one of my best friends. I met her two years before in the building that I live in, or should I say I met Tyson. One morning, I was walking out of the elevator, heading toward the lobby, when a cute little boy ran smack dab into me. We stumbled and I dropped, and then stepped on, my sunglasses trying to prevent us both from falling. Right behind him was his mom, apologizing and chastising him for not watching where he was going.

I immediately took to the little boy with the basketball in his hands. His mother kept apologizing and offered to replace the glasses, which I wouldn’t accept. Tyson tried to throw me a fake move and shake me — a seven year old with handles! We played around for a couple of minutes before his mom pulled him away, apologizing again, saying she had to get him to school by 8:30. We exchanged names and went our separate ways. With broken sunglasses in my pocket, I felt better than I had when I walked out of my house. Something about the little man with no worries cheered me up. Kids have always had that affect on me; their innocence is so refreshing.

Around 5:00 in the evening, there was a knock on my door. I occupied half of the top floor and anyone who didn’t live in the building wouldn’t have had access past the 25th floor, let alone the 29th. So, I knew it had to be someone from inside of the building. When I opened the door, they were standing there smiling, mother and son, holding a box of cupcakes from Sprinkles and an envelope.

“Sorry about this morning. Sorry I broke your glasses. I brought you cupcakes out of my allowance and…can I have your autograph?” Tyson asked quickly and got thumped in the back of the head by his mother.

“Little boy. I told you not to ask him that. What else are you supposed to say?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, here’s a check for what we think the glasses cost.” He bounced the ball on the hardwood floors in the hallway and started smacking on the gum in his mouth.

“Um…thanks. But I don’t need to replace those glasses. They were free. Don’t worry about it, but I will take those cupcakes,” I smiled, licking my lips.

“Okay, well, sorry again. We’re a couple of floors down in 2520 in case you change your mind about us replacing your glasses,” she smiled. I could tell she was being sincere.

“But what about my ball, Mommy, I
really need
his autograph,” Tyson said, as Nichelle was pulling him away from my door.

“I’ll sign it. Let me grab a marker.”

“I have one right here,” Tyson said, pulling a thick Sharpie out of the pocket of his little cargo pants. His mother stood there with her right hand on her hip, shaking her head back and forth.

“I promise I told him not to bother you with this at your home.”

“It’s no big deal to do this once. I know you wont bring your little homies over to knock down my door every day now, will you, lil’ man?” I asked, laughing. I bent down on one knee with the ball in my right hand and the Sharpie in my left.

“Trust me. That will never go down,” Nichelle laughed.

“You like video games lil’ man?”

“Yeah, I love video games! I just got the new Nintendo Wii and I have X Box 360. Don’t have that many games, though, because I’ve been kinda bad. So I gave up my games instead of my basketball as punishment,” he said, looking up at Nichelle, trying to get some sympathy.

“I bet next time you’ll listen, huh?” Nichelle stated lightly.

“Yup, sure will. Then we can go back to the store and get the games you took back that I never got to open,” he said with an edge.

“That’s why they got taken. You better watch your tone. Thanks, I’m sorry. What’s your name again?” she asked, looking embarrassed.

“Deon, Mommy. Duhhhhhh!” Tyson answered, twisting the ball on his little index finger, trying to dry the ink.

“Nichelle and Tyson, right?” I asked, even though I knew it was correct.

“You can call me Chell and we call him Ty. Thanks for signing the ball.”

“No prob at all. Hey, lil’ man, want to play some video games if it’s all right with your mom?” I asked. Both of us looked like two kids staring at Nichelle, waiting for an answer.

“I guess that would be fine. I need to start dinner anyway. I’ll be back to get him at around 6:00. Is that cool?” she asked.

“Yup, that’s cool with me. Cool with you, Ty?”

“Yessssss! Thanks, Mom! I’ll be home soon, ’kay?” he said in an excited voice, walking past me into the foyer of my home.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll leave the door unlocked in case you want to come by and check on him. You can just walk in,” I told her to ease her mind in case she was feeling uneasy about me being alone with her son.

“No, it’s okay. My son told me who you are. You have too much to lose and I feel your energy. I know you’re not a perv,” she laughed, walking away.

From that day forward, Ty and I were inseparable. She would bring him to my games and he would come over if she needed to run out to the store. She was real cool to me, like the big sister I never had. And Ty was like the nephew I never had. They became like family. When Ty went to basketball camp for a month during the summer, Nichelle and I kept each other company. Me being the loner I am and Nichelle being the homebody she is, our relationship worked out perfectly. She was like one of the boys. She had gone through a very bad divorce. Her husband was a crazy ass Nigerian by way of England whom she had been hiding from for over four years. She was scared of what he would do to her and Ty if he found them.