Ex-girl to the Next Girl (9 page)

A
riel called me early Saturday morning—I was just getting myself together.

“Hello.”

“You haven't heard, have you?” Ariel whispered.

“No, heard what?” I asked.

“I heard my mom on the phone this morning and she said that Toya is four months' pregnant.”

“Toya is pregnant again?”

“Yup, and nobody is supposed to know. My mom said that was on her because she was not helping her anymore and she was on her own.” I couldn't believe I was getting the scoop from a twelve-year-old.

“Ariel, you sure?” I asked

“Pos-si-tive,” she sounded out.

“I'm going to call her and see if she tells me. I will call you back.” I disconnected the call. I couldn't believe it.
That is crazy! She was just shaking it with me at the reggae club.
I knew her stomach was pudgy. I wondered whose baby it was, Tony or Nate? I called Toya casually and said, “What's going on, cousin? What's good?”

Toya paused for a moment, sucked her teeth, and she said, “You fake and corny. I know my mom already told you. Yeah, I'm pregnant.”

“So who is the father?” I laughed.

“Well, Tony want it to be his. But I know this time it is Nate's. So I'm going to stop seeing Tony for good and just marry Nate, because I'm twenty-four and this has been going on for too long.”

“How sure are you?”

“Look, I'm sure,” she said defensively.

“I don't have to take you on
Maury
to get a DNA test, do I?”

“No, I know who my baby father is. It's Nate.”

“So Toya, why it take you this long to leave Tony alone?” I asked.

“I don't know. I liked them both. They both are good for something.”

“Poor Tony. That Jamaican man is going to whoop you ass. I feel so sorry for him,” I said.

“I don't know why. That's on them if he allowed himself to be treated bad.”

“Toya, you just as bad as a man. I'll talk to you later. I have work to do.”

 

 

It was time for my grades to be turned in. As usual, I had procrastinated until the day before report cards needed to be turned in. I was sweating and using my calculator to average out my grades. I had about a quarter of my grades done, but I couldn't be completely finished because the music teacher hadn't sent hers down.

“Did you meet the new teacher yet?” Mrs. Meyers asked as she walked in my classroom unannounced.

“No, I haven't. I have been really busy, trying to get these grades together,” I said as I looked down at the numerous papers scattered around my desk.

Mrs. Meyers still rambled on. “She has the students under control and in check. I don't know where Mr. Mitchell found her, but he needs three more like her.”

“Is that right? I have to meet her,” I said.

“And she is so pretty and really nice.” Sometimes Mrs. Meyers went on and on. Like if you asked her about her day. A simple question like
How's it going?
could send her into a fifteen-minute rant about her arthritis and the misbehaved student in her class. I wasn't for it today.

“Okay, Mrs. Meyers, I have to get back to my report cards. I'll see her.”

“Okay, see you. You want me to bring you up some lunch?”

“No, I have a yogurt and Diet Coke.”

“You sure? They're having open-faced turkey sandwiches.”

“I'm okay—really,” I said as I forced a smile. This time she got the hint and left.

 

 

I had five more report cards to complete and after that I would be done. I swore I would never wait until the last minute to do report cards again. I was dismissing my students. The yard was loud. School buses were revving. Students walking with their friends. Parents searching for their children. “Bye, Ms. Clark,” I heard ten times or more.

“Bye, see you tomorrow,” I said countless times. Then I heard my name being screamed. I turned around and saw Mrs. Meyers.

“Ms. Clark, Ms. Clark, I want you to meet Mrs. Dorsey.”

One way or the other, Mrs. Meyers was determined to have me meet this new teacher. She took my hand and pulled me over to the new teacher. She tapped the woman on her shoulder. She had maroon neatly locked dreads that were tossed around her shoulder.
Very pretty
, I thought.

She turned around and I couldn't believe it was her. I hated her. She reminded me of my past—the life I left behind.

“Nadine—hey girl, how are you?” she asked while attempting to hug me.

“Hey,” I said, shocked and unable to move.

“I walked past your classroom the other day. I started to say hi, but you were teaching.”

“Oh, so you saw me the other day?” I wanted to spit on her right then and there. She knew who I was and never said anything. Mrs. Dorsey was Brandy Henry in high school—the best friend of the bitch who ruined my senior year. She wasn't the ringleader, but a conspirator just the same. Right then and there, the hate I had for her seven years ago reappeared. I smiled, told her welcome, and walked to my car as fast as I could. I got in my car and pulled off. I hated that Brandy Henry knew what I was doing with my life now. I felt like she would go and file a report to all the girls that used to sit at the lunchroom table with her. The call would go something like,
Hey y'all, Nadine work at Johnson Master School and she's not married yet with no kids.
She would giggle. They all would laugh and talk about me for an hour.

 

 

Mrs. Meyers entered my class. “Can I see your stapler? Mine is broke.”

“Sure,” I said, reaching in my drawer.

“It's almost time to pick the students up from prep.”

“Yes, I know,” I said. Mrs. Meyers was reaching, making dumb conversation. I wondered what she wanted.

“So, Ms. Clark, what's going on with you and Mrs. Dorsey?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, why did you run off like that after I introduced you?”

“You didn't introduce us—we already knew each other from high school. It is a long story, and I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Okay—if you need something, let me know.”

“I will.” She left the room and I had a moment to think about why I didn't like Mrs. Dorsey, aka Brandy Henry. I didn't like her because her and her friends had the entire senior class not speaking to me for a year. It was so stupid over a bunch of he said, she said. They told the entire senior class not to talk to me, and everybody listened. Brandy Henry's best friend Tyesha didn't like me for no reason. I went my entire senior year without a friend. I skipped the prom and senior trip, and from that point on I haven't had any girlfriends.

“H
ello.”

“Yes, may I speak to Kimberly Brown?”

“This is she.”

“Yes, this is Darius Miller.”

“Yes, this is Kim,” I said as it registered to me who I was speaking with. I pulled to the side of the road. Kevin asked why were we stopping. I looked at him, and whispered to him to sit down. Kayden was asleep. I got out of the car. Cars were whizzing past. Before I got a chance to speak, he said, “Look, sorry if I caught you at a bad time. My father said you called me.” I gathered the strength. I was trying to find the perfect combination of words to say.

“Yes, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Well, Kim, let me first say I am flattered that you contacted me after all this time, but I'm a man of God now and I'm happily married with three wonderful daughters. So thanks for contacting me, but whatever it is, I'm not interested.” I felt a pulse of jealousy come over me. Then I was a little upset that he actually thought I tracked him down to date him or something. I wanted to go off on him and tell him how he ruined my life. How I had to take care of Kevin myself because he raped me and forced his self on me. So without even thinking, I belted out, “Remember that night in Johnson Hall in my room?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said, confused.

“Well, you have a son—he is seven and his name is Kevin,” I said while looking at Kevin in the car.

“What?”

“Yes, so I wanted to contact you to give you an opportunity to meet him and build a relationship. I know I never called you before—I just felt like it was the right time.”

“I'm speechless. I had no idea,” he said.

“I already contacted a few paternity agencies. I'll pay for the test, but I'm sure he is yours. I was a virgin that night you took my virginity.”

“Took your virginity.”

“Yes—remember, you were drinking gin and juice. You bent me over a chair and told me if I told anyone, no one would believe me.”

“No, I don't remember any of that. Um—I'm sorry. Can I call you back. I have to discuss everything with my wife, but I will right now and I'll give you a call back. I'll take a paternity test—I'm sorry I didn't know. What city are you in?”

“Philadelphia.”

“I promise I'll give you a call.” I thought
whatever,
but I said okay. I got back in the car. Kevin was oblivious to my whole conversation. He was getting to the age when I knew he was going to start asking questions. Right now, I think he thinks Malik is his dad and he is just a child of divorce.

 

 

Part of the recovering process was getting out. I needed to get a break. I wasn't trying to leave my kids with everybody, but I did want to do the grown-up thing. Karen and Kianna were taking me out for drinks and dinner. They said they didn't want me to be upset. I didn't know why they think I would be upset until I looked at the calendar. My one-year anniversary. I would have been married to Malik for one year. I wasn't upset. We met at my mom's house—she was taking Kevin and Kayden to the arcade. It was raining hard outside. I almost decided not to go, but I knew if I didn't, my sisters would think something was wrong with me.

 

 

We came in the restaurant Glam and had a seat at an upper booth. I took my wet jacket off and placed it on the back of my chair. I sat my umbrella on the chair beside me.

“Y'all know we supposed to get a major storm this weekend,” Karen said. The waitress came over—she had lips that looked as if they had been surgically enhanced. She used a plum liner and bright peach lipstick.

“Ladies, are y'all ready to order?”

“I'll take an order of buffalo wings as an appetizer and a piña colada.” Karen looked down at the menu and said she needed a few more minutes, then just decided on a Bahama Mama and mozzarella sticks. Kianna ordered poppers and had a Kahlua and cream.

“This is nice—we rarely ever just all go out. We need to do this more often,” Kianna said while looking over the menu.

“So, how is the industry life going?” Karen asked Kianna playfully. We laughed at Kianna because she thought she was the next best thing.

“It's great—I have been in three videos and I'm taping another one next week.”

“You got to show us a copy,” I said.

She paused and said, “I will. They don't give us copies of the video. They hardly pay us right. I heard they used to pay girls that were in videos, like, six thousand, ten thousand a video. Now we get like a thousand a day.”

“Well, that's still good for one day's worth of work,” Karen said.

“I guess.”

“You guess? I don't make a thousand a week,” Karen said.

“I really want my acting to work out. I mean, it really can. All you have to do is be at the right place at the right time. I was at this party the other night. And I'm standing right next to all these celebrities. I saw Jamie Foxx and Beyoncé and Jay-Z. It was like I was a star, just like them. Everybody was asking for my card, and the women that weren't intimidated by me were real nice.”

“
Intimidated
—that's a big word,” Karen said as she looked over at me. We laughed.

“Why you think people are intimidated by you?”

“Well, one, because I look good, and I would try to speak and they would look at me like, who are you? Or they would try to pull their man in closer toward them. Like I wanted them.” My sister was a riot.

“How about they might have thought you were a stranger?” Karen told her.

“That's true,” she said while thinking about it.

“I forgot to ask you about your new man.”

“Yeah, I have been dealing with him, but I don't know how long it is going to last.”

“Why you say that?” Karen asked.

“Because he always wants to have his kids around, and I don't have time for kids on a daily basis.” The waitress came with our drinks, placing napkins in front of us. “How's everything?” she asked.

“We're fine,” I said as I took a sip of my piña colada.

“Kianna, don't you think that's good he wants to spend time with his children?” I asked.

“Not at my expense. I think I want a guy with no kids,” Kianna said.

“Good luck finding one,” Karen said in her usual negative tone.

“You call the house to check on Mommy?” I asked.

“No, Mommy can hold her own. She raised us. You better enjoy this time away from the boys,” Karen said.

 

 

A group of young white guys across from us were making a lot of noise—they were laughing and singing and just being silly. One was turning red and falling out. His blond, short hair was disheveled.

“Excuse me, do y'all know the girl singing that song from
American Idol
?” He started humming and trying to sing the song.

“It's ‘Breakaway' by Kelly Clarkson. I actually like her. I just bought her CD,” I said.

“Who?” Kianna said.

“The girl from
American Idol
—the one with the dark hair.”

“Oh yeah, I like her, too!”

“Thank you—I want to buy him that CD. He is about to get married and he needs to break away.”

“Aw, don't say that,” Karen chimed in.

He invited his self over to our table. He started shaking his head and said, “I'm Rick.” He tried to shake Kianna's hand—she popped gum in his face.

Karen reached in her pocketbook, and I said, “Hello.”

“His fiancée is a witch—she takes all his money and is always shopping. It's my brother—I should look out for him, right? I don't want him to marry her.”

 

 

One of the calmer guys, he was tall with brown curly hair and rich, dark, brown eyes, walked over to the table, trying to convince his friend to come back to their table. “This guy is out of control. His brother is getting married to his high-school sweetheart, and he is upset. Don't mind him.”

“I'm cool, man. I'm cool, ladies, right? I'm not bothering y'all, am I? Can I sit down with y'all?”

“We don't care,” Kianna said, answering for everybody while applying lip gloss to her already-shiny lips. The calm guy went back over to his table. Our wings, mozzarella sticks, and poppers came. The waitress gave us small plates and wipes for our hands.

“These buffalo wings are spicy,” Karen said, always complaining. We ate and got back into our conversation about Kianna and the world of trying to break into the industry, as she put it.

“Are you a model or dancer?” Rick asked.

“I'm a model and aspiring actress,” Kianna said.

“Oh, so you know a bunch of rappers?” Rick asked Kianna.

“Yeah, I do,” she said, as if what she did required expertise.

“Why?”

“Because all this time, I have been trying to figure out what ‘crunk' means,” Rick asked. We all gave him the look, like, he couldn't be serious. Karen, she was not amused. It was like he was waiting to run into a black person to ask them that. Kianna tried to explain, but then got frustrated.

“So is it music or, like, a way of life, because I think I'm crunk sometime, like, I get fired up,” he said as his words slurred and he took another swig of his Samuel Adams beer.

“Okay, that's enough,” his friend—the tall, tanned one—came over and said. “Say bye-bye.”

“He is okay,” Kianna said. She was actually amused by him.

“Okay, then I'm going to have to sit here, too, to keep him out of trouble.”

“So what were you talking about, music and television?” he asked.

“I'm surprised he is not trying to do a
Seinfeld
impersonation—that's his favorite show.”

“I love
Seinfeld
. I didn't get it until it went in syndication,” I said. We all started comparing episodes.

“You know what other show I like?
Everybody Loves Raymond
.”

“I can't get into that one. I watch old episodes of
Martin.”

“Yeah, I do, too, on TV One. What's your name?” he asked.

“Kim.”

“I'm Andrew. Are you married, Kim?”

“No.”

“Divorced,” I lied. I didn't know him and he didn't need to know all my business. I looked at Kianna and Karen to see their expressions. They weren't paying any attention to me—they were still laughing at the drunk guy, Rick.

“Do you have any children?”

“Two,” I said as I finished off my piña colada.

“How old? he asked.

“Eight and one.”

“I'm sorry if I'm asking too many questions.”

“No, it's okay,” I said.

“I have a daughter—she is five. My Cianni—she is my little princess,” he said as he pulled out his brown leather wallet. He showed me a picture of a beautiful little black girl smiling extra-hard with a tooth missing in the front. I guess he wanted to let me know that he knew black. Karen excused herself and went to the restroom.

“Oh, she is so beautiful,” I said.

“Let me see,” Kianna said as he reached for his wallet. “Oh, she is cute,” she said as she examined the picture.

“Thank you. She looks like her mother, my ex-wife.”

“So your ex-wife is black?” Kianna asked.

“Yes, they live in North Carolina,” he said as he put his wallet back in his back pocket.

“Why y'all break up?” she asked intrusively.

“It is a long story,” he said. Karen came back from the bathroom and asked us were we ready to go. I said yes—we all looked at the bill.

We said our good-byes, wished the guy good luck with his nuptials, said it was nice talking to him, and left the restaurant. On the way back to the car it started raining a light mist. I realized I didn't have my umbrella. I went back to Glam and got it. Kianna and Karen continued to walk back to the car. I saw the white guy, Andrew, with it in his hand.

“I tried to catch you to tell you you left this.”

“Thank you,” I said as I turned to walk out of the restaurant.

“You think I might be able to talk to you again?” he asked.

“That might be possible,” I said.

He handed me his card. I wrote my cell phone number down for him on an extra card.

 

 

I opened the umbrella and jogged to the car. They were already waiting. “What took you so long?” Karen said as she pulled the car off before my foot was all the way in the door.

“That guy Andrew asked me for my number.”

“He was cute. If I was into white guys, I would have talked to him,” Kianna said.

“Yeah, I turned him down, though,” I lied.