Pretty Girls in the Vip (9781617730283) (3 page)

Five drinks and ten songs later, the music was too loud and the club was closing and we needed to find someone to take us to breakfast. Everyone I had met was talking about taking me home. That wasn't going to happen. I was half-drunk and my cute shoes made my feet hurt and my head was spinning slightly. I followed Courtney out of the club. If Raquel and her friends wanted to fight us, they could get us now because I was too tore up to fight back. I stumbled behind Courtney, and my feet felt like they were being pinched each time they hit the ground.

“Courtney, wait up. Why you walking so fast?”

“Because I'm trying to get to the car. Why did you let me drink so much?” she asked.

“Bitch, I didn't know I was the drink police. I had my own drinks.”

“You're not. Why you always got to get smart, Shani? Damn. I'm just saying I'm drunk as shit.”

“What's up with the dude you was talking to? Is he taking us to the Diner or what?” I asked.

“I'm about to see,” she said, drunkenly walking over to this skinny dude with a big beard to see if he was taking us to breakfast. I looked over at Courtney and just by the way her mouth was moving and how she was talking with her hands, I knew she was wasting her time. That bull wasn't doing anything, and she was doing too much. In a room full of niggas that's getting it, Courtney always ended up finding the corny dude with no dough and a long story.

Finally, she started heading back toward me.

“So, what he say?” I asked.

“Naw, he ain't doing nothing. Let's just stop at McDonald's.” We got in the car and I realized Courtney was too drunk to drive.

“Move, drunk ass. I'll drive.” She slid over and I got in on the driver's side. I took off my shoes and tossed them in the back seat. Courtney was bent over, staring out the window, like at any moment she was going bring up the lining of her stomach and all her drinks.

I looked at her from the corner of my eyes. “Drunk girl, don't spit up and I hope you have some McDonald's money, because I spent all of mine.”

“I spent all mine, too,” Courtney slurred.

“Let me check. Maybe I have a few dollars left.” I pulled over to the side of the road and dug around in my bag, but I only came up with a few dimes and pennies. I had one twenty-dollar bill left, but I had to take my daughter out with that.

“Naw, nothing. I spent my money on my dress, shoes, and our drinks,” I lied to Courtney.

“Oh well, I think my mom went shopping. We'll get something to eat in the house.”

 

We pulled up to the apartment, and we both had to clear our bladders. We raced to the door and I fumbled around to find my house keys and unlock the door, when I saw a white envelope drop to the ground. I opened the door and Courtney rushed past me and ran down the hall to the apartment. I picked up the envelope that had my Aunt Rhonda's name, my name, and Courtney's name on it. I ripped the envelope open.

I trailed behind Courtney and went into the bathroom. “Mr. Woods, the landlord, want his money,” I said, reading the letter dated for today.

“Okay, but he be tripping. It is only the seventh.”

“You know Mr. Woods always saying in that deep voice, ‘Ay, uhm, now, ladies . . . rent is due on the first,'” I said, impersonating the landlord.

“You sound just like him. Whatever, Mr. Woods,” Courtney said, rolling her eyes. “He'll get it when we get it. He need to come do some exterminating around here and maybe he'd get his money. Slumlord!” Courtney said, laughing.

“We will have to go out and make the money tomorrow.” I had a frown on my face, imagining having to go out and hustle again.

“Yeah, I guess,” Courtney said in a gloomy voice.

As soon as Courtney lifted up off the toilet and flushed, I sat down. All that liquor had me peeing for, like, forever. After I finished, I washed my hands and we walked into the kitchen to see what we could make to eat. All we had in the fridge was ketchup, eggs, spoiled lettuce, and flour. There was nothing I could make with that, so I shut the refrigerator door. We should have had some more food than that. I had given Aunt Rhonda money for the market, but she must have decided to do something else with the money, like get some beer.

 

I left Courtney in the kitchen trying to figure out what to eat. I walked down the hall to our room. I didn't even bother to take my clothes off or put sheets on my bed. I crawled into my twin bed and turned the light off. Courtney came into our room seconds later and turned the bedroom light on, started playing music, and then started talking to someone on the telephone.

“Bitch, I'm tired,” I yelled. “Stop making all that noise and turn those lights off.”

“Put the cover over your head. I'm not tired anymore.”

It was times like this I hated sharing a room with Courtney and still living with them. It was time for me to get my own place.

I
had twenty minutes before my Math 106 class began and I hadn't completed my take-home test. I was so busy with my other classes and work I forgot to do it. I don't know what I was thinking; it counted as a test grade. When I'd registered for classes this semester, I got this bright idea to take five classes to get most of my prerequisites out of the way. I'm already registered for summer courses, but if I don't step it up I'm not going to pass. Last semester I had three classes and had a 3.8 GPA. This semester I'll be lucky if I get a 2.5.

Somehow I had to get this test done. I walked over to the class to see if I could find anyone in my class who might let me copy their test. I saw a girl I recognized. She seemed like a nice person. She was wearing pink headphones on her head, black tights, and a light gray sweatshirt. I didn't want to interrupt her, but I needed to get a glimpse of her test. I tapped her shoulder, and she took off half of her headphones.

“Hey, are you in Professor Langer's class?”

“Yeah, why?” she asked.

“Oh, did you do the take-home test?”

“I did. Why?” she said, looking at me like I was bothering her.

“Oh, because I didn't get a chance to do it yet. I was just trying to see how difficult it was. I really need to pass this test or I might fail this class.”

“Well, it wasn't that hard, so good luck.” I could tell she wasn't going to help me. I wanted to kick her. I was trying to figure out a way to ask her to let me see her test. Maybe if I paid her, she might let me see it. While I was thinking about what I was going to say, I awkwardly stood in front of her. She looked up at me, took her headset completely off, and asked in an annoyed voice if there was anything else she could help me with.

“No, thanks. That's all,” I said. She wasn't being that nice, so I left it alone. I would just act like I thought the test was due next class, instead of trying to write down a bunch of incorrect answers.

 

Everyone in class was prepared. They all turned in their tests. I saw Professor Langer take a head count and look at the test papers. It was obvious the numbers didn't match. I hoped he didn't decide to start calling out names. If he did I would be in trouble.

This was not how I thought college would be. My plan for college was to go straight through with no breaks and four to five classes a semester. If I could accomplish that, I'd be an RN in two years. Nursing wasn't something I really wanted to do, but I knew it paid well and I should be able to find a job. People will always get sick and hospitals will always be hiring.

I kind of always pictured myself attending a big university, living in a small dorm on campus and going to parties. But life doesn't always happen the way we imagine it. Sometimes our lives take detours and zigzag us in a completely other direction.

Last year I lived three lifetimes. My sister attempted suicide, I moved to L.A. with my aunt, moved back to Philly once my aunt said she was moving, became a nanny, and met my ex, who just happened to be a rookie guard for the Oklahoma Thunder in the NBA. We fell in love quickly, I lost my virginity and became pregnant within months, lost my baby, had a breakdown, broke up with him, moved back home, and started my life all over again. Now, here I am at community college, hoping my professor doesn't notice that I didn't turn in my test.

Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed, I think about everything that happened to me. I ask myself, why? Why did my mom kill herself and leave me and my sister, Lisa, to raise ourselves? Why did I fall in love with my ex and get pregnant? Why did my baby boy die before I got to meet him? When I'm not wrestling with my why's, I'm overwhelmed with the what if's. What if I had stayed with Jabril in Oklahoma City? What if our son had made it? I wonder what he would have grown up to look like. If he was still alive, he would be a little over a year old. What kind of mom would I have been? Would Jabril and I still be together, or would I be a single mom? I guess I'll never know.

I was devastated after losing my son, and so was Jabril. The only person I think was happy was his uncle Wendell. I don't think he liked me from the beginning. He thought I set up his nephew and was trying to have a million-dollar baby, but that was the furthest thing from the truth. I was a virgin when I met Jabril, and I still haven't had sex since we've been apart. I'm the one who told Jabril to put on a condom, even though he said we both were safe. And I was the one who used to wake up with him having sex with me. He trapped me, and I'm still upset with him, because it is still hard for me to see a baby and not cry. Seeing a baby is a reminder to me that I couldn't do something that millions of women do every day with no problem: have a baby. Everyone around me said it wasn't my fault, but I felt like it was. I felt worthless and miserable, and I didn't want Jabril to have to suffer with me through my crying spells and episodes of guilt, so I left him. I left the Mercedes-Benz he bought me, the mansion we lived in, all the diamond jewelry, and the money. I walked away from it all.

Jabril didn't want me to leave. He called and called and begged for me to return. He wanted to pay for me to go to school and get me my own place. I told him no and that I never wanted to be with him again.

 

Every few weeks, I'll receive a text from Jabril saying he still loves me, asking me to come and visit him, and my answer is always no.

Even though I have said no to Jabril over fifty times about rekindling our relationship, he still hasn't given up. I suppose that is the competitive athlete in him. He goes after what he wants with vigor, but he still can't have me and I'll never go back.

Plus, I'm sure he's met plenty of other women by now. Let one of them be his girlfriend and put up with all of his mess, because I don't want him or his lifestyle anymore!

It is a very different life being with a basketball player. When you are an NBA player, people know your name and are screaming for you just because you play good ball on a wooden court. And when you come off the court, you have women of all ages and nationalities throwing themselves at you.

The first thing everyone would always say to me when I was with Jabril was, “You're so lucky.” I never understood that. I don't know what part about my old life was lucky. Was I lucky that Jabril was almost never home or lucky that groupies in every city wanted to sleep with him? Maybe I was lucky that every time I turned around he was on a blog and entertainment website, hugged up with different girls. Or better yet, I would find a picture of me with him and all the readers of the blogs would say how ugly I was and how I needed to be so honored that Jabril even looked at me because I was so hideous. Does any of that sound lucky to you? It doesn't to me, and that's why I'm proud of myself for being strong and leaving him and living for me.

 

When I returned home, I forgot about Jabril and that whole experience. The only thing I am focused on is my goal of graduating from college. I want to become a nurse, buy a house, and help my sister with my nephews. Miles and Kyle are twins and are eight years old and they are my everything. I want them to have the best in life. Right now they attend a charter school, but I want them to go to private school. They are getting older, and so many guys become lost to the streets right around middle school. I want better for them. My sister can't afford it on her own. So I am going to help her. Their father is around, but once she broke up with their dad, Mikey, he stopped coming around. He pays a little child support, but it doesn't really help. He was bad news anyway, and I'm glad Lisa left him.

I like my everyday anonymous living, no paparazzi flashing. I can wear whatever I want, and there is no pressure to be dressed in designer expensive clothes all the time. Yeah, my life isn't Hollywood. It is very normal, and I enjoy being home with the people who really care about me. My family, sister, nephews, and I don't need anything else.

 

I had a regular job at Pathmark market not too far from our house. I worked there before I met Jabril. It wasn't hard; it was pretty routine. Each day repeated itself.

A kid would run around the market and have a noisy tantrum, or someone would always drop juice or a carton of eggs on the floor, making a big spill. Then another customer would get in my express lane with twenty things over the express lane limit, and the lady behind her would forget, lose, or drop her money, and I would have to take all of her food off the belt and put it back in her cart.

It was routine and tiresome. I hoped I would get promoted to the customer service counter soon. I knew that department was insane, with people returning things and processing rain checks, but at least my arms wouldn't be hurting from bagging. I was going to ask my manager, Lenora, about changing my position.

 

After work I usually came home and picked up my nephews from their after-school program and started their dinner. Miles and Kyle were both my babies. I've taken care of them since they were born. “Aunt Kiya, can we go outside?” my nephew Kyle asked.

“No, you have to do your homework first.”

“I'm done,” Miles yelled moments later. I took one look at his sloppy work.

“Miles, I know this trick. You write really big to try to take up a lot of space. Write these words over again in a complete sentence.”

“No, I'm not tricking you, but I'll write it over.” He took his pencil eraser and erased his large scribbles and began rewriting his sentence. “Oh, and Aunt Kiya, tell Kyle there is such a thing as aliens. Tell him there is.” He winked at me so I would go along with his lies.

“Yeah, there is.”

“See, I told you.” Kyle looked back at me and then I shook my head no.

“Aunt Kiya, you have to go along with the story. What are you making for dinner?” Miles asked.

“I think we're going to have . . .” I paused and peered in the cabinets and then in the freezer to see what I could make. “We're having chicken and macaroni and cheese.”

“Yummy, I'm hungry. Can I get on your computer until it's time to eat, Aunt Kiya? I want to see something for the game,” Miles asked.

“No, you know I don't want anyone on my computer.”

“Is my mom coming home?” Kyle asked.

“She is working late again, but we are going to do homework, eat dinner, take your showers, and get ready for bed. Then maybe you will still be up to say good night to your mom, okay?”

My sister faithfully did overtime, she needed the money. It was always late when she made it home, and the boys would both be asleep. I couldn't let them know that, though, because then they wouldn't ever get in bed.

After homework, dinner, a little television, and showers, the boys were ready for bed. I wanted to do some of my schoolwork, but instead I caught up on my rest. I don't see how people could have a bunch of kids. I was beat from just my two nephews, and they weren't even mine. As I rested I heard a text come in. I located my phone and saw it was from Jabril.

You up?

I texted him back.

Hey, Bril, I was on my way to sleep. What's up?

He texted me in return.

I miss you, Zakiya, & I want to see you soon. I'm going to send you a ticket. When are you going to come? Why don't you ever answer your phone?

I typed in my phone.

I do answer my phone, but I be busy with my nephews and my classes. Maybe during spring break, I might be able to come see you.

He responded that he wanted to see me before that. I'm missing you. I still LOVE YOU.

I couldn't tell him I loved him, too, even though I thought I still did. I only ended our texting with a simple Good night, Jabril. I thought that was the end, but he texted back one more time. I looked at the screen to see I'm going to call you tomorrow after practice. Pick up your phone, Kiya.

 

Jabril still wanting me and telling me he loved me made me a little weak. The sad thing was that even though I'd separated myself from him, and started fresh, my heart still belonged to him. I knew it did, but our relationship would never work. So I wouldn't even entertain the idea. But then sometimes, I do wonder if I made the right decision by leaving him. I even think about going back and maybe trying to make it work, but then I remind myself how difficult it is to be me in his world.