This Can't be Life (28 page)

“Whaaaat?” I whispered to myself, reaching for the device and scrolling to my unread messages.
Damn, Stacey is going to live a long time. I was just thinking about him,
I thought, as I replied to his message, asking him what he was going to do today. I was hoping he’d come and rescue me from my boredom. “Call me,” I typed, not feeling like going back and forth e-mailing. My cell rang immediately.

“Why didn’t you call me at the house, loser?” I asked.

“Wrong person, ma. This Banks. What up?” I had to catch my breath.

“Hey, what’s up? Sorry about that.”

“Who did you think it was?” he asked in his deep voice.

“Why? You’re very nosy,” I replied, laughing.

“Naw, I was just wondering who the loser was,” he laughed, making fun of my proper diction.

“Whatever. What’s going on?” I asked, with a big smile on my face. I couldn’t remove it if I tried.

“Just got back. ‘Bout to come get you. You dressed?” he asked pointedly.

“What if I have plans?” I asked.

“Then say you got plans and quit playing games. I’m about to come get you. Now get dressed or do what you have to do to be ready. I’ll send my driver for you in about an hour, a’ight?” He was used to getting his way. I could already tell.

“Damn, all right then. I’ll be ready by
11:00
. Where are we going?”

“Why you ask so many questions? I see I’m not the only one nosy,” he said, sounding aggravated.

“Damn,
Carlton
, I just want to know what I should put on. Goodness, why do you sound so mean?” I asked annoyed.

“Just get dressed, Simone. If we go somewhere and you need to change, you can get something while we’re out, a’ight? And I may sound mean, but I’m anything but. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Yeah, you will. Text me your address so I can send it to my driver.”

“Okay, I will. Bye.”

“A’ight. One,” was his East Coast parting. I sat my phone on the nightstand, jumped out of my bed, and started doing my rendition of the river dance.
Damn, what am I going to put on?
I thought to myself when the ring of my home phone temporarily brought me out of my euphoria. This time I looked at my caller ID. No more surprises.

“Took your ass long enough to call me back,” I joked with Stacey. I was happy to hear his voice. I hadn’t talked to him in more than three days.

“You know how that damned Sidekick freezes. Hell, it takes an hour for the message to go through anyway, and once it does, the damned thing freezes!” he replied frustrated.

“Well, hell, jump into this decade any time now, Stace. What are you a teenager? No one uses Sidekicks any more. Shit, I got rid of mine back in ‘99,” I exaggerated. “I’m going to buy you a Blackberry. Goodness!” I laughed as I picked up my Blackberry off of my nightstand and sent
Carlton
a text with my home address.

“I already got an iPhone coming. Tyron is sendin’ me one and I don’t have to pay the monthly. Thanks anyway, sweetie,” he said in a singsong voice.

“Well, I guess,” I stated, laughing.

“Miss you. What chu doin’ today?”

“Miss you, too. ‘Bout to go hang out with my new crush. You all right? Tyron still in NY, huh?” I could always tell when Tyron wasn’t in town. Stacey always sounded down when he was gone.

“Yup, been three weeks and I’m about to lose my damned mind. I talk to him several times a day, but that just isn’t enough. If only he’d let me come visit him, I’d be all right,” he sighed.

“You need to leave his ass alone, Stace. You deserve more than that. He is in the fucking closet and he is the type that will stay his ass right there in that huge walk-in for the rest of his life,” I repeated for the hundredth time since he started seeing Tyron.

“It’s far too late for that. I’m in it, girl, all the way. Sometimes, I wish that I wouldn’t have fucked with him because I’m either feelin’ great or feelin’ hurt behind him. But the good outweighs the bad substantially, though.”

“Yeah, it does now, but what about years down the line? You deserve to have someone that you can love openly, Stace. Not this bullshit that he’s bringing. I’m not going to say anything else about it, though. I love you and I just want you to be happy.” I felt my eyes watering and cursed the tear that spilled onto my cheek. What my friends didn’t understand was that when they hurt, I hurt. That’s why I’m always so skeptical about these men they date; I’m tired of being hurt through them. They’re the only brother and sister I have.

“I’m all right. I promise. Who’s your new crush? Still haven’t talked to Deon?” He asked, with a little more pep in his voice.

“Fuck Deon! I don’t ever want to see his damned face,” I said irritated.

“Whatever, Simone. Play that shit with someone who doesn’t know how you really feel. You should call him back. He left you a zillion messages on the salon voicemail so he must have something to say. But, I digress. Who you going out with then?” Stacey laughed off my annoyance.

“C. Banks’ driver is on the way to pick me up,” I answered, holding my breath for his response.

“C. Banks, who? C. Banks, the rapper?” He asked, sounding like he had a nasty taste in his mouth.

“None other. Met him a few days ago outside Bank of America. Isn’t that a trip? What am I going to put on?” I said, more so to myself than to Stacey.

“Girl, you gonna get enough of messin’ with them thugs. Put on some jeans and a tee shirt. Don’t get dressed up for that fool. He gon’ think you try’na impress him. Dress down, girl. Trust me. And don’t give him shit!”

“Boy, you know me better than that. I don’t give out ass.”

“Shit, you did with Deon.”

“Nooo, for real, Stace?” I asked facetiously. “I know what I did with Deon and I did that because I wanted to! I hadn’t had sex in months and I was fucking horny! Don’t throw that shit up in my face. That’s messed up!”

“Damn, relax! Feelin’ guilty? We all know you needed to knock those cobwebs off your coochie! Don’t get all sensitive and shit. Sounds like your ass need some more dick!” Stacey said, laughing at my expense.

“Whatever!” I laughed. “I need to shower and get dressed. I’ll text you from the car and make sure your shit ain’t frozen, Stace. I might need you.”

“Okay, I will. Have fun, be safe, and don’t do anything remotely close to what I’d do. That man is fine as hell. Hey, ain’t he on Tyron’s label?” Stacey asked as an afterthought.

“You know what? If I’m not mistaken, I think that is their label. What a coincidence.”

“I know, right. Don’t mention Tyron.”

“You sound real crazy right now. Bye, Stacey,” I replied, slightly pissed off that he felt the need to tell me some stupid shit like that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. It was stupid. Have fun for me, Monie. I love you,” he replied, trying to restore the peace.

“Love you, too. And I hope to have enough fun for you, Talise, and me. Talk to you later, pumpkin,” I laughed, feeling the love.

“Later, Pookie Wookie,” we laughed and hung up.

After showering, I stood inside of my closet wondering what tag I should pop. I really needed to get a life before all my savings went on clothes and shoes. I walked to my window and looked out. It was a pretty clear day out, the sun was shining, and the sky was a pretty blue. I found myself standing again in my closet, having way too much to choose from.

“Okay, fuck it,” I whispered to myself, grabbing my off-white Stella McCartney skinny jeans off the hanger and sliding them over my hips. I ran with Stacey’s idea of a tee shirt, but decided instead to go with a red, shear, ribbed wife beater from Ron Herman and put a cami of the same color underneath. I accessorized with a silver, four strand, colorful, beaded necklace, and matching bracelet. I pulled out my black patent leather, signature red-soled Christian Louboutin open toe pumps and slid them on my feet. I went to my jewelry box on my dresser and decided on diamond studs and a diamond encrusted thumb ring.

Looking in my dresser mirror, I brushed my hands through my hair and shook it out, deciding to just let it be. The curls from the day before were still visible and hung loosely around my face. I never wore too much make-up so, in the bathroom, I brushed a little blush over my cheekbones, applied mascara, and spread some Candy Cane Juicy Tube over my full lips.

When my cell phone rang, I knew that it was the driver letting me know that he was downstairs. The timing was perfect. I walked into my hall closet where I kept my jackets and shelved sweaters that couldn’t be hung, and grabbed a black cashmere, long sleeved sweater to throw over my shoulders in case it got chilly. I removed all the contents from the handbag I had been carrying and dropped them into a black Chloe Satchel that I had yet to break in. I put my bankcard and driver’s license in a black snakeskin snap wallet and headed out the door.

The drive wasn’t very long, but I was disappointed that
Carlton
wasn’t in the back of the Mercedes S550 that he had sent for me. Instead, a stately white man with brunette hair greeted me with a warm smile, addressing me as Miss Johnson. After less than 30 minutes, we arrived at the top of
Brentwood
. We pulled up to a large, white iron gate that opened immediately upon our approach, revealing a beautiful estate with luxury cars sprawled out in front of the entrance.

I walked in and stood in the middle of the foyer, staring at a large palm tree that was at least 20 feet high. I looked up and noticed that the ceiling was glass and at least 25 feet high.

“What’s up,
Simone Johnson
?” C. Banks asked playfully as he came down the stairs.

“What’s up with you,
C. Banks
?” I retorted, laughing. He walked up to me and gave me a long firm hug, making my body tingle all over.

“You smell good. What chu wearing?” he asked.

“Thanks. It’s perfume.” I replied, smiling.

“Noooo, really?” he asked sarcastically.

“I’m not telling you what I’m wearing so you can buy if for the next chick.”

“You got a real smart mouth, little girl,” he grabbed my hand and led me down a hall into the kitchen and family room.

“That’s because I am smart,” I laughed. I knew I was going to have fun with him. I haven’t felt this excited in a long time.

“You look pretty. Got dressed for me?” he asked as we sat down at the breakfast nook that overlooked the infinity pool in his backyard.

“I sure did. You like?” I asked, openly flirting.

“Yup. That cashmere is hot,” he stated, brushing his hand against my sweater.

“You down to go out tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m down. I need to go home and change, though.”

“No, you don’t. You look hot to death. It’s a casual spot anyway. Everybody’ll be chillin’. You couldn’t look any better. Got on your Christian Louboutin, huh?” he asked, surprising the hell out of me.

“How do you know?” I asked alarmed. Only gay men knew shoes like that. Hell, Stacey taught me well.

“My wife wears them. She just bought those shoes you wearin’ in that white shiny shit,” he stated nonchalantly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. Did you say your wife?” Maybe I had heard him wrong.

“Yeah, I’m married. She was with me when you wouldn’t have second glanced me. I was broke as shit and she loved me. She deserves to be my wife, but who knows what the future holds?” I was blown far, far away. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know whether to leave or just stand there looking stupid like I was doing at that moment.