This Can't be Life (4 page)

Day by day, our relationship went from bad to worse. It finally came to an end after Byron returned home from being on the road for over a week and I made the mistake of not being there. Talise and I were out shopping and my cell phone battery was dead. As soon as I walked in the door, Byron beat me like I had stolen something from him. He stomped me like I was a man on the street. He wouldn’t even take me to the hospital after he’d finished with the grueling ass whooping. That night, I stayed awake and watched him as he slept so peacefully, like he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he hadn’t just beaten me like Mista beat Celie in The Color Purple. If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I would have killed him in his sleep.

The next day, he threatened to kill me if I wasn’t home
when he returned from his game in
Oakland
but, as soon as he left, I called Talise to come and get me. By the time she arrived, my wrist was swollen to about twice its normal size. I could barely move, let alone drive. Otherwise, I would’ve driven myself as far away from there as possible as soon as he closed his eyes the night before. When Talise saw how I looked, she became so enraged that she began tearing his house up and breaking all of his shit. I would’ve helped her if I could have but, instead, I pointed out things to break that she had overlooked.

When I finally made it to the hospital, I was admitted with three broken ribs and a hairline fracture to my wrist from trying to ward off the kicks from his Timberland boots. Talise was pissed off at me because I didn’t want to file a police report, but when her parents, Mommy and Daddy Miles, came down, I had no choice. I knew they were right, but I didn’t want to see him in jail or lose his career. I just wanted him to get help. He was only repeating the cycle. His mom used to get beat downs, too, and his parents are still together.

After I moved all my things out of his house, I transferred to the
Paul
Mitchell
School
in
Costa Mesa
and moved back to LA. Byron’s lawyers offered me a high six-figure settlement to drop the charges against him, and I accepted under the condition that he got extensive counseling, including anger management. Everyone seemed happy about that, especially the district attorney, who seemed to be one of Byron’s biggest fans. Since then, our paths haven’t crossed once. I went on with my life and got my cosmetology license, never forgetting what happened and never looking back.

Deon

I deliberately took my time dressing so that when Simone arrived at my house, I wouldn’t be ready and she’d have to park and come up. My best friend, Nichelle, and her son, Tyson, who live a few floors down from me, were over and I wanted them to meet. Nichelle is a corporate trial attorney and can read a person like she’s known them their entire life. I knew that she would have an opinion about Simone whether good or bad. Nichelle can be intimidating when you first meet her, so I wanted to see if Simone could hold her own.

At the sound of the doorbell, I heard Tyson running to the door with Nichelle only a few steps behind. I was sitting on the sofa putting on my shoes when she walked into the foyer.

“Hi, I’m Nichelle Carter and this is my son, Tyson,” she said, in a businesslike manner, extending her hand to Simone.

“Hi, Simone Johnson,” holding eye contact with Nichelle, she shook her hand. She then bent down to Tyson and smiled as she took his small hand in hers.

“Hey, Tyson, how are you?” she asked, with a sparkle in her eyes.

“I’m fine, thanks. You’re pretty,” he said, not letting her hand go.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. How old are you?”

“I’m seven. I play basketball like Deon. Will you come to one of my games? I’m better than all the boys on my team.”

“Oh, is that right?” Simone laughed. “Yes, I’ll come to one of your games if it’s all right with your mother,” she said, standing up with Tyson’s hand still in hers. It didn’t look like he had plans on letting it go. Nichelle stood there with a smirk on her face, trying not to laugh at her son.

“I’m sure Simone is a busy woman, Ty. Your games are in the middle of the day. I’m sure she works. So, what do you do Simone?” Nichelle asked a bit sternly, with her head tilted to the side. She was looking Simone up and down like she was trying to figure her out.

“I run my own business,” Simone stared right back at her.

“Oh, that’s nice, hon. What kind of business?”

“I’m in the service industry…Deon, are you ready?”

“The service industry? What does that mean?” Nichelle wasn’t going to let up.

“It means I service clients. What do
you
do?” They were staring each other down. I could see that she wasn’t about to let Nichelle punk her.

“What college did you go to?” Nichelle asked, deliberately not answering her question.

“What is this, a cross examination?” She looked over at me then back at Nichelle.

“I went to USC and then to the
Paul
Mitchell
School
. I have my own salon on
Melrose
called Sanctuary. I was born and raised right here in
California
. I don’t have any kids. I own the loft that I live in. I have a fat savings account. I don’t want anything from Deon but his friendship, and maybe not even that, but we’ll see where this takes us. Anything else you want to know, Nichelle?” She never once raised her voice or broke eye contact with her. I sat there with my eyes bugging out of my head, surprised at her straight-up reply.

“Well, hell, that’s what I’m talking about! I need my hair done STAT! You got a business card, girl? I’ve been looking for someone to do my hair. The place I go to now is just ghetto. I don’t have time to be sitting up in there all damned day!” Nichelle was excited and smiling for the first time.

“Yeah, I have a card. We’ll hook you up. And I just might fit you into my schedule since you’re a friend of Deon’s.”

“Tyson, let go of her hand, little boy, so she can give me her card!” Nichelle said, making us all laugh. I walked over, picked up Tyson, and swung him around.

“Simone is mine. Don’t be trying to steal my friend, Tyson.”

“I don’t know, Deon, if I had to choose between the two of you, I might have to go with Tyson. I think he’s a safer bet. Here’s my card, Nichelle. Call us and my receptionist will schedule an appointment for you.”

“Thanks, hon. I’ll definitely be calling. I like her, Deon. Come on, Ty, let’s get going. Nice meeting you, Simone,” Nichelle said, never the one for beating around the bush, as she took Tyson’s hand and headed out of the door.

“What was that about?” Simone asked, as soon as the door closed behind Nichelle and Tyson.

“What was what about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to me.

 “Yeah, right! You tried to get your friend to intimidate me! If you had questions, you could have just asked me yourself.” She smiled, pushing me off her.

“Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was putting on my shoes.” I laughed as we headed out the door. I was satisfied with the way she handled herself with Nichelle. Not too many women would have the guts to stand up to her the way Simone did, so she passed the test with flying colors.

When we got to Gillian’s on
Rodeo Drive
, I had a feeling Simone was expecting me to fund her shopping spree. She immediately began trying on clothes that had to have been prearranged and awaiting her arrival. One pair of pants in that damned store cost over a grand. I almost choked on the gum I was chewing when I got a glance at the price tag. I didn’t see much special about them until Simone put them on. They had to be specially made for her.

I had decided that I would buy what she wanted and never speak to her again. I’m done with women who think that I should automatically buy them something just because I make millions. Shit, I want my great grandkids’ grandkids to be able to spend the millions I worked hard for and sacrificed my privacy for. I’ll never go out like that! Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stingy man, I just don’t like to be used. I’m not a trick, so if I sense that a woman is hungry from the beginning, I won’t deal with her.

Simone was different, though. When I first approached her, I could tell she wasn’t impressed. She turned me down politely and kept it moving without a backward glance. She wasn’t fazed. Although some girls try to act like they don’t notice me, I can tell that they do. They either shake their asses a little harder when they’re dancing near me or they deliberately stand around where I’m at, trying to be the chosen one. You can tell when you have someone’s attention, and I didn’t have Simone’s. I would stare at her and she wouldn’t even glance my way. And you know damned well you can feel when somebody is staring at you. I would burn a hole in the side of her damned face from staring at her so long and she would never even look my way. I guess she just wasn’t interested, or she was playing one hell of a game.

When Simone finished shopping, we walked to the register where I was preparing to lose at least a few grand. The price would have been worth it to see what type of woman I was dealing with. But, to my surprise, Simone pulled out an American Express platinum card and handed it to the sales clerk. I was definitely surprised and held even more respect for her after I saw that she wasn’t expecting me to come out of my pocket.

“You two seem like good friends,” I said, with a lot of sarcasm, after leaving the store. We were walking down
Rodeo Drive
toward her car.

“She’s only nice to me because I help keep her store open,” she laughed, sounding very indifferent about the whole situation. I knew what she had just spent and was impressed that she was able to drop money like that and carry a platinum American Express card whose balance had to be paid in full at the end of every month. I knew that her business must be very successful, allowing her to shop on Rodeo and drive a Benz exactly like mine, and my shit was nowhere near inexpensive. Simone definitely had my attention.

 “So, what’s next?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked, looking at her watch.

“Yeah, I could eat, but if you have to be somewhere else, I understand.” I didn’t want to keep her if she didn’t want to be kept.

“No, I’m sorry. I have a client at
4:30
. It’s only
1:30
. I have time. How about the Cheesecake Factory? It’s right around the corner and we can walk.”

I glanced at her as we walked down the street and couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. From the first time I saw her, I knew I had to have her. Her smile was warm and friendly, revealing teeth that were white and perfectly straight. Her lips where full and plump, and the dimple on her right cheek did something to me inside that I can’t begin to explain. There was something pulling me toward her that I just couldn’t figure out. All I could do was follow my gut, go with the flow, and hope for the best.

 “Hello, earth to Deon?” Simone said, jolting me out of my daydream.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I laughed. “Cheesecake Factory is cool,” I said, still admiring her.

We dropped her bags at her car, popped a few more quarters in the meter, and started to walk toward the restaurant. She took my hand and moved in closer. It felt like she belonged there. It felt better than right.

Simone stood at least five feet nine inches tall with long, chocolate legs that looked to be blemish free. Amazingly, I didn’t notice any on her body either as I took my time exploring it last night.

She was so pretty that people would stop what they were doing and just watch her. Even women took a second glance as we walked by. The sundress she wore came about an inch above her knee, had thin spaghetti straps, and was some shade of yellow that looked great against her skin. Her cashmere cardigan was draped over her shoulders in the same color as the tan high-heeled sandals she wore that showed off her pretty, French manicured toes.