Pretty Girls in the Vip (9781617730283) (11 page)

I
'm twenty-one, and if I decide to go back to school later, I can. I'll always have a home to go to if I ever need to come back to Philly. My sister can have her space and work things out with Mikey if she wants to, and I'm going to live my life and put Zakiya first. I still love Jabril and I know that he loves me. This is what I kept telling myself about my decision to give in to Jabril. I needed a logical reason to leave my life, my job, and my family. If that wasn't good enough, then it was that I didn't want to be without Jabril anymore.

 

Life is so surreal: One week I was home in Philly and the next week I'm rooting Bril on at a home Oklahoma Thunder game. OKC was crushing the Mavericks by fifteen and the arena was filled to capacity with everyone screaming, “Thunder up!” This team had come a long way from the one I watched two seasons ago. Jabril kept bringing the ball to the net and scoring. He had ten points and four assists.

At the end of the game, we were up by twenty and won. I was so excited for him and couldn't wait to congratulate him on his win. I waited for Jabril outside the locker room. There were some other wives, girlfriends, reporters, and lucky fans scattered about. I stood patiently; I didn't mingle with anyone, even though people spoke to me and were being polite.

All the women I had met before seemed fake and phony. I always felt like their eyes were scanning and checking for the label on my shoes and my bag. This time I told myself I would make an effort to look a certain way because I was representing Jabril.

As I waited, a petite woman with tanned brown skin and flowing, naturally long, thick brown and blondish hair and eyebrows approached me.

“So, who are you waiting for?” she asked, staring me directly in my eyes. Damn, the first game and it was starting already. Either she was someone who knew Jabril or wanted to get to know him. I knew I might encounter situations like this, but not so soon. I put on a mean face and answered her question.

“I'm waiting for my boyfriend. Why do you want to know?” I asked angrily.

Another woman approached, toting a big round stomach on a miniature frame and spoke with an accent that didn't sound southern or Midwestern, but was unique. “Who is your boyfriend?”

I wasn't sure what these ladies thought they were going to do to me, but I prepped myself for a full confrontation. Without pausing, I told them I was there for Jabril.

“Jabril, right. What's your name?” the brown-haired woman asked.

“My name is Zakiya. Why exactly do you want to know?”

“Zakiya,” they both squealed in unison, startling everyone around us. Then the one with the long brown hair gave me a hug and the other big-bellied woman joined in. I was so confused and didn't know who the women were that were engaging me in an uncomfortable group hug. I pulled back, and the woman with the brown hair started speaking again.

“Oh my God, Zakiya, Jabril has told us everything about you. I feel like I already know you. He asked us how he could get you back, and now you are here. It worked,” she said to the petite woman with the stomach. “Sorry if we are frightening you. We are friends of Jabril. I'm Nichelle and this is Christie. I'm married to Lloyd DeBurrows—the guard, number five—and her boyfriend is Omar Mathis—number seventeen, the forward.”

“Oh yes, he did mention you. Okay, you did scare me. I was wondering what was going on,” I said, relieved. I wasn't really prepared for drama.

“Wow, you are so cute. I can see why he was so desperate to get you back.” The big-bellied lady named Christie said.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Well, it was great to finally meet you.”

I saw Jabril coming down the corridor. He was dressed in a navy blazer and dress pants. He gave me a hug and pecked me a couple of times on the cheek. He wrapped his long arm around my shoulders.

“Good game, number forty-one. I saw you showing off.”

“I had someone to show off for.” Jabril kissed my cheek again, then placed his duffel bag on his right arm, took my hand, and led us to his truck in the parking lot of the arena.

 

Coming out of the garage parking lot, a young boy and his father spotted Jabril in the SUV's passenger seat. Jabril rolled down the window, and the man said, “Excuse me, Mr. Smith, can my son have your autograph?” Jabril signed the jersey. Then the man said, “How about a picture? It would mean so much.” He then turned to me and asked if I could take a picture of his son, Jabril, and him. Jabril got out of the car and I placed the car in P
ARK. I
snapped a couple of pictures of the father and son and they both thanked Jabril.

“Doesn't that make you feel special?” I asked as we made our way out of the underground parking lot.

“It does. That's why I always stop and talk. When I was young, this basketball camp in Camden took us to a Sixers game. And when it was over, we got to meet the team. When I saw Iverson up close and in person, it was the best feeling in the world. He shook my hand, and I literally didn't wash it for a week. I was talking to my uncle about that. I want to find a way to give back to kids and start a group like the one I was a part of. I want kids to see they can make it like I did, no matter what.”

“So, you want to start a foundation or organization or something? I can help you run it.”

“Yeah, a foundation. I want one here and one back home. I'm going to ask other guys that have them what exactly you have to do.”

“That would be really good, Jabril. Which way do you want me to go? You know these roads out here still confuse me,” I asked, turning in to the busy traffic.

“Make a right. Are you hungry? Because I wanted to meet up with my man Lloyd and his wife, Nichelle.”

“That's fine. I think I just met her. She came over to me, asking all these questions and hugging me, saying she was so happy I was back.”

“She did? Nichelle's cool. Remember I said I was asking them what did they think I should do to get you back? You know how ladies are . . . so every time they seen me, they would ask me about my progress with you. And I would say not yet, but now I can say it worked.”

“Really? You have me? How about I have you?”

“You do have me. You have always had me,” he said as he lovingly stroked my face. “Nah, Kiya on the real. You don't know how happy I am to have you here.”

“Well, I'm happy to be back.”

 

We met Lloyd and Nichelle DeBurrows at the Skky Bar, which was a restaurant and nightclub. They were already seated at a booth in the corner. They stood up to greet us. Lloyd was a little taller than Jabril and very handsome. His wife, Nichelle, matched his good looks, and together they were a beautiful couple. They were in their early thirties, but both could pass for younger. He had dark walnut-brown skin with closely shaved black hair.

We ordered a round of drinks. While Jabril and Lloyd discussed their win and next game, Nichelle leaned over to me and said, “Sorry if me and Christie scared you earlier. It's just that we were like, is that Zakiya? Jabril has been showing us pictures and telling all of us about you for forever. He was obsessed.”

I laughed. “It's okay. I was just confused. Like, who the heck are these ladies and what do they want with me?”

“These two are so tight now, like big brother, little brother. So, where are you from? I'm from Vegas.”

“Philly.”

“That's right. The East Coast. I have some friends in New Jersey. So, how do you like it out here so far?”

“It is okay. I'm getting back used to it. It is very quiet and a lot slower than what I am used to.”

“I know no one here is really trying to be Okie. This city is boring as hell, but I say I'd rather be here with him than at home alone. Lloyd has been in the league eight years, and this is our fifth city. Every February, it's crazy when trade deadlines come up. I'm like, God, where are we going now, but he signed for two years with the Thunder so we are good for now.”

“Wow, that's a lot of moving.”

“It is, but you learn to just handle it. We have our house here and another in North Carolina that I barely get to see.”

“Well, I guess that's a good problem to have.”

“Yeah, you are right. I never thought about it like that.”

“I like your hair, the colors are really pretty,” I said, admiring her toasted brown and blond locks.

“Thanks. I do hair and makeup. I'm also a stylist. I can hook you up with some highlights. Take my number, call me, and we can hang out. I know everyone here. I try to make this place fun. Do you drive?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Oh, then, we are going to best friends. I really don't like driving on the highway, and I've been dying to get to Dallas.”

“What's in Dallas?”

“Good shopping. I love the Galleria mall.” There was something about Nichelle I liked. She seemed really sweet. She was beautiful but friendly, and those two characteristics don't usually come together.

W
hen Ian and I returned from L.A., we went right into business mode. He began finding investors for his film and launching a donation website. I started to look for clubs in Miami. I hit up several upscale locations like J-Bar and Kelly Beach Club. I arrived early, when they were setting up, and instead of partying I studied and asked questions. I took their drink menus and stuffed them in my bag. I talked to everyone. I spoke with the hostesses, bouncers, bottle girls, and even the patrons. I asked them what they liked and what they didn't like. I even asked them what they would do differently if they owned a club.

Everyone gave honest answers, and I noticed that the men I spoke to thought it was sweet that I wanted to open a little club. They didn't view me as competition or a real threat, so they gave me all types of information. One of the club owners even gave me copies of his business plan and the numbers to some of the vendors he used.

 

I knew opening a club would work and no one was going to stop me. I just needed the perfect place. I wanted something in South Beach, but then I had an epiphany—it came to me when I called and got quotes on renting a building. I couldn't afford a club in Miami. The rent was twenty thousand dollars a month. That just didn't seem realistic. What if I had a bad month? They wanted six months up front and a deposit. Even if I charged thirty dollars a night and was open Wednesday through Saturday with bottle service it would be difficult to accomplish. I knew I had to rethink my plan.

 

My thoughts were interrupted by a call from Cherise. I frowned at the phone. I didn't like her, and I'm positive I wouldn't be interested in anything she had to say, but I answered anyway.

“Hello.”

“Adrienne, this is Cherise. I'm calling to talk to you about Malaysia.”

“Hey, Cherise, listen, we don't have anything to discuss. Have your fiancée call me. I don't talk to third parties. Bye.”

“But . . . I . . .”

“Whatever it is, Cherise, I don't care.” She was so prim and proper, and she didn't know how to handle my hood side. But I really couldn't talk to her. I had to figure out how I was going to get my club open.

J
abril was back on the road for three games, and it was just me and his mom in the house. This was the part I didn't get. Jabril wanted me here, but he was barely here himself. I missed him a lot and wondered what he was doing when he was away. This time around I promised myself I would stay off the Internet and gossip websites. They were all full of lies and never made me feel good reading them. And I knew Jabril was a different guy now. Not only did he tell me, but he showed me by spoiling me with gift after gift.

That was the only good thing about him going away, he always came home with earrings, bracelets, and bags for me. I now had a collection of Chanel, Celine, and Louis Vuitton bags.

He has been so loving and caring, always calling and texting me throughout the day no matter where he is. Then I also like that he is hanging out with a veteran player like Lloyd. Lloyd is a good family man at home and a model player on the court. Nichelle's husband was just an all-around good guy. Jabril is learning a lot from being with him and is doing great, with the exception of his little weed habit. I don't know where he picked that one up from, but I wish he would put it back down. He smokes everywhere, all around the house, like a pothead. His eyes are always red, and the other night he fell asleep smoking a blunt. That could have caused a fire that killed us all. My solution to that is to keep hiding his weed from him until he quits.

 

Claudette seemed to be very happy I was home with her and had been attempting to fill my days with activities for her and me. Claudette needed a boyfriend or a hobby. She is almost forty, and it seems like her life is more consumed now with Jabril and what he is doing than ever before.

“I want you to take a ride with me, Zakiya,” Claudette called out to me.

“Where to?”

“To this place with this really good chicken.”

“Claudette, I'm not pregnant anymore, so we can't go out to eat all the time like we used to.”

“It doesn't matter. You won't gain any weight anyway. Look how skinny you are still. Come on and take the ride with me. Eichen has the best fried chicken anywhere. There isn't anything else to do here but eat like you're pregnant.”

“No, I'll pass.”

“Well, speaking of babies, when do you think you and Jabril will be giving me a grandchild?”

“Are you serious, Claudette? Are you really ready to be a grandmom?”

“Not really, but I know it is no time like the present, and I'll be a Glam mom. What I do know is Jabril lost you and his firstborn. He was pretty messed up about that. And now that you two are working it out, it is only right if you give him the child that he lost, too.”

“I'll keep that in mind, Claudette.”

“Please do. I'll see you later. I'll bring you some food back so you can get some weight on you to carry my grandbaby.”

Claudette left out and paid very little mind to our conversation. If she wants Jabril to have a baby, she can have one for him. Before I came back here, I made sure I was on birth control. There will be no babies anytime soon.

With the house to myself, I was going to clean up some and relax. They have a housekeeper who comes a few times a week, but Jabril doesn't allow her in his room. He says she moves things and he can't find his stuff. He'll probably be mad at me, because I've been organizing and sorting his stuff. He had so many jeans and shirts and sneakers that he doesn't even wear. I was thinking about giving a lot of his things to a shelter or something.

During the cleaning, I called Lisa, Miles, and Kyle. Afterward I returned Nichelle's call because she'd been calling me.

“Hey, Zakiya, I was waiting for you to call me. I wanted to see if you wanted to go to lunch with me and Christie, Omar's girlfriend. You know, the one that was with me at the game.”

“Jabril's mom is going to kill me. She asked me to go out with her, but I said no.”

“Come on, we want to get to know you more. I can come and pick you up, or you can come and get me, and then we'll drive over to her house because she is over in Edmond. It is like ten minutes away.”

“Okay, I'll come get you. What is your address?”

 

The DeBurrowses' compound was huge, with a round, asphalt driveway with trees in the center. There were three cars parked in the garage. Nichelle met me at the large mahogany double doors. She was still getting dressed and told me to come in. We walked up her staircase. I admired the large, sparkling chandelier that set in the hallway that led to a kitchen and dining room area. Down the long hall, she stepped inside of her bedroom, and we entered her closet, which looked like a small boutique.

“This closet is huge. Wow,” I said, looking around.

“Thanks, but this house is a rental. Our real house in Charlotte is way bigger.” I admired all of her clothes, belts, and shoes neatly displayed.

“You can borrow something if you like. I'll take you shopping and pick out some things for you. I told you I'm a stylist and I do makeovers. You are going to need my services sooner than later. My salon is in the basement.”

“What's wrong with what I have on? I thought I did a good job dressing myself.” I laughed even though she was politely insulting me.

“You did, I suppose. You just look a little plain. You need some pop. Don't worry, we'll go shopping.”

 

We drove to Christie and Omar's grand-looking house. It set alone in a fairly new development. As we approached the door, I smelled a strong, disgusting animal scent.

Nichelle knocked on the door and said, “I'm warning you now, her house is always a mess. But don't worry, we won't be here long.”

I said okay, wondering how bad of a mess this beautiful house could be, but once Christie invited us in, I saw instantly what Nichelle meant. Christie was tiny, cute, and pregnant, and her house was a beautiful mess. The entire downstairs was painted a light yellow with white trim, and all the windows were open big and bright, letting in the natural sunlight. The window fixtures and furniture weren't modern but elegant, but none of that mattered because the entire house was in need of a deep cleaning.

How could a mansion be so filthy? There were piles of clothes on the floor, like someone was sorting clothes and was about to wash them but then decided they weren't going to. It smelled like a few dogs inhabited the premises. I saw miscellaneous dishes on the dining room table. There were visible stains on the wall and on the tables. In the dining room, there was a picture half of the size of a wall of her and her man, Omar. He had a nappy bush and looked more like a person who asked for change on the street than a multimillionaire basketball player. He looked like all he did was get high. His tattoos were bright and colorful, like Jabril's, but many more and larger. She greeted us, then removed boxes from the chairs of her dining room table and told us we could have a seat.

“Does it smell?” she asked and sniffed, then grabbed a bottle of air freshener. “Omar keeps those dogs caged up downstairs, and all they do is poop. I refuse to go out and walk them, they might bite me.”

“Girl, how are you living with animals you can't even maintain?”

“I don't know, I guess the same way I'm dealing with his kids. Nichelle, I meant to call you back to tell you I can't go. I'm babysitting. His kids are here.” As if on cue, three children ran down the steps, screaming and hollering: two identical-looking boys about seven and one little baby girl who looked to be around three.

“How did his kids get here?”

“His baby mother left them on the steps. I don't know what she was thinking. She came over last night, rang the bell, pulled off yelling for him to spend some time with your kids. She didn't know he wasn't here. I go to the front door, and they are standing there with their bags.”

“What! Oh my God. She is crazy,” Nichelle said.

“Right, because doesn't she know when you give up the kids, you lose the child support check? She gets twelve thousand a month.”

“That's a shame. What kind of woman leaves her children on the steps?” I added, shaking my head.

“The kind that wants a babysitter. But you know, Omar is just like, whatever. She is making him appreciate me even more.” She grabbed a small shoe box off the crammed table and said, “Oh, look what Omar brought the baby. Mommy and baby are both going to be rocking Dior. My daughter is coming out with a mean shoe game.”

“You are so tacky. They are cute, but not because they are Dior,” Nichelle said, glancing at the shoes.

“How many months are you?” I asked, admiring her stomach.

“Six months.”

“I knew you were getting big,” Nichelle said. “That stomach just appeared out of nowhere.”

“I know. Omar was just talking about that. He was like, one day you tell me you missed your period. Then the next day your stomach is poking out.”

“I know you are so excited.” I smiled, still focusing on her belly.

“We are,” Christie said. She looked over at me and placed my hand on her firm stomach. “Go ahead, you can touch it.” Her round stomach was so perfect and cute. It was the first time I was ever interested in a pregnancy.

“Wow, you are so big. I carried big like that, too.”

“You have a baby?”

“No. We had one. Me and Jabril lost a baby. It wasn't full term.”

“I'm sorry. Jabril told us that. I forgot.” She approached me and rubbed my back.

Just like Nichelle told me, I needed a makeover. She changed the subject and put Christie on the spot for her lack of cleaning. She was very direct, but cute and funny so Christie couldn't be offended. “So, Christie girl, what's up with this house? Are you going to allow the dirt to take over? You really need to clean.”

“What I need is his kids not to come here and for his family to stop calling me, asking me to Western Union them money every day. Then maybe I could sit and think about cleaning up.”

“Why don't you just call an agency to come?”

“You right. That's what I'll do.”

“Yes, they will come and clean this dirty place up, or run from the challenge.” Nichelle laughed and I tried not to. “When Omar gets home off the road, this place should be spotless. A man doesn't want to come home to a dirty house, Christie.”

“You're right. I have to get everything ready for the baby anyway. You know, I'm breast-feeding my baby. I'm not running all around. A mother is supposed to be in the house with their child. Omar already said he is going to be a hands-on father. I'm happy about that, because I don't want to be the chick that has to be following my man all around the country.” Christie sneered.

“Yeah, I don't want that, either. That's why I'm glad my man invites me to meet him on the road. A bunch of babies would stop all that. You don't have to be that chick, but you keep up on what he is doing,” Nichelle shot back.

“No, Nichelle, I was just saying we have to be smart when it comes to these men. If we don't do our job, there are groupies ready to do it for us. And they won't complain about doing a bunch of whore activities.”

“Whore activities! You are so funny, Christie,” Nichelle repeated, and I laughed, taking in all the information she was giving.

“No, I'm serious. Even with this baby in my stomach, I'm still dropping it every time he asks in a new, exciting way. I never say no. You better get you a pole and get to bouncing.” Christie began bouncing her hips and butt at us inappropriately.

“You are not lying. Remember we were all out in New York and that random chick was all over Lloyd after he said, ‘I'm sorry, I'm not interested,' and pointed to his ring? She still came back all persistent with her little New York voice saying, ‘You ain't never have it like this in your life.' I had to stand up and say, ‘Hey, hello, um, I'm his wife; he's married, and I'm sure he has.' Then she said, ‘Oh, my bad.'”

“Like I don't know what would make someone want to be with someone's husband or boyfriend. I would feel so bad,” I said, joining in the conversation.

“These groupies don't have a conscience. You have to watch them, especially with your man, Zakiya. Jabril is handsome, young, and still fresh meat, and they are going to be all over him,” Christie added.

“I know, the last time we were together these girls I didn't even know were calling me ugly and talking about me on the blogs.”

“You're beautiful. Do not waste your time reading any of those sites. I can't read them. If I did, I would go crazy. Once I saw this blog, where they were discussing how long Lloyd and I have been together. They even had pictures from my wedding. It was insane. The entire time I'm reading the site, I was thinking,
Who has enough time to sit around and come up with this stuff?
Get a life,” Nichelle said.