Sex, Secrets and South Beach (25 page)

"That's a good way to look at it, Dez.
You were blessed to have them. But I know you can't help but think
about all the things you didn't have. Mothers are important to
daughters. They teach them how to be women," Sparks
reasoned.

"Yeah, but it's a good
thing I learned from her how
not
to be instead of how to be."

"So things didn't go so well when she
came back?" Sparks asked.

"Nah. When Mami came back, she had a
job and a fiance named Ernesto. Ernesto wasn't shit. He just
mooched off of her. He didn't work, at least not a real job, he
drank like a fish, he was fat and sloppy and disgusting. I don't
know what she saw in him. At least I didn't for a while, but when
you grow up in New York, you learn fast. It didn't take me too
long–maybe I was like eleven–to figure out that my mother was on
that shit. She was sniffing coke, and guess who was giving it to
her? Ernesto. He was a do-boy for his brother Lou, who was running
things uptown, so he always had a stash available."

"Dominican Lou?"

"Yeah, you know about him?" Dez
asked.

"Uh, yeah, I heard of him," Sparks
stammered. Dominican Lou had been one of the most feared drug lords
uptown during the late eighties and early nineties. Everyone had
heard of him.

"Well, indirectly, he's the source of
my problems."

"I guess so," Sparks said, but he
didn't necessarily agree with her logic.

"I know that no one
made
her sniff coke,"
Dez replied, nearly reading his mind. "And if Ernesto and Lou
weren't slanging, she'd have gotten it from somewhere else. But
still. He's got some kind of accountability," Dez stated,
vexed.

"She was just all the way out there.
It got to the point where he could control her with that shit,
heart, body, and mind. He treated her like shit. He was always
telling her she wasn't shit, and occasionally, he'd kick her ass.
She just took it. She never complained, she never stood up for
herself. It was like she liked it."

"Your mom probably didn't like it.
Some women just aren't strong enough to leave. I'm not taking her
side or anything. Don't get me wrong. But to understand your life,
you've gotta understand all the sides. You feel me?" Sparks looked
at her with compassion.

"I understand what you're saying. But
how could she choose him over me?"

"It wasn't her. It was the
coke."

"How could she choose coke over me?
Didn't she realize what she was doing? Didn't she care?"

"I'm sure she did. Anyone would be a
fool not to care about you." Sparks looked at her with soft eyes.
An awkward silence.

"Anyway, Ernesto eventually started in
on me. I was like eight or nine when he started talking to me
crazy. He used to call me the abortion that got away, and say shit
like I should have been in a rubber or swallowed or in a tissue
instead of born. He constantly told me I wasn't shit, that I wasn't
gonna be shit. Then when I was eleven, I started to develop. I
still looked like a little girl, but I was starting to get breasts,
and my ass started plumping up, and that's when Ernesto started
touching me. To make a long story short, my mother ended up in
jail, and I ended up in foster care."

"Damn." Sparks shook his head in
disbelief. "Your stepfather molested you?"

"Yeah," Desiree sniffed.

"That's not your fault, you know."
Sparks wished silently that he could find the asshole and show him
what real abuse was.

"Yeah, but my mother blamed
me."

"But you know she wasn't right. It
wasn't your fault. He was the grown up. He was supposed to know
better!" Sparks yelled, trying to convince her.

"I guess you're right," Dez
admitted.

"Damn straight I'm right." Sparks
began to calm down a little. "But what happened to your
stepfather?"

Dez hesitated. "I can trust you,
right?" she asked, her hazel eyes filled with worry.

"Of course," Sparks reassured
her.

"I killed him. One night shit got
really ugly. He raped me and damn near killed me. Somehow I managed
to kill him instead. It was self-defense. I just wanted him to
stop." Dez poured herself a shot of cognac and gulped it down
quickly. She grimaced at the aftertaste.

"Serves the bastard right!
He's in hell now where he belongs," Sparks said, but he knew his
words would never soothe the wounded little girl still inside of
Dez. Simultaneously, he also was impressed by the fact that she was
no doubt a rider, a survivor. She was fine enough and smart enough
to be wifey material,
and
she definitely had thug appeal. Despite her
troubled past, Sparks saw Dez as the perfect woman.

"Come here." Sparks reached out for
Dez. Meekly, she scooted her chair toward him. Too ashamed to face
him, she stared at her feet. Sparks placed his arm around her
shoulder, and Dez allowed herself to surrender. She buried her face
in the crook of his arm. Sparks cradled her and let her sob softly
while he stroked her hair. Dez looked up at him, her face swollen
and puffy.

"Do you think less of me now?" she
asked him.

"No, not at all. I think more of you
now," Sparks told her, kissing her on the forehead. Dez looked up
at Sparks and wiped her tear-streaked face.

"I guess I look pretty terrible." She
laughed halfheartedly.

"Nah. You're beautiful, Dez," he told
her. In that moment Sparks knew he'd crossed the line. He couldn't
hold back what he was feeling any longer. "Dez, you're one of the
most beautiful women in the world. That's why I chose you for the
video."

"You?" Dez was surprised.

"Yeah. I made the casting decision. Me
and B used to see you in the videos, and we'd always talk about how
fine you were and how we were gonna get you in one of our videos.
We even used to joke about which one of us would get with
you."

Dez's face dropped at that revelation.
"So what, you all just assumed I'd naturally get with one of you?
Y'all thought I was a typical video ho, huh?" she asked him with
attitude.

"No. That's not what I meant. I meant
that we both saw something special in you. The difference is I'm
willing to accept you the way that you are. Dez, I'm willing to
love you the way that you are." Sparks stared into her eyes. "Is
Bentley?"

Dez was astounded.

"Bentley doesn't appreciate you. He's
not really down for you, Dez." Sparks held Dez slightly away from
himself, bent down, and kissed her.

Dez broke their embrace. "Y'all are
brothers!" she protested.

"I love you, Dez. Let me love you.
Forget about what everyone will think or say. Me and B will always
be brothers. Our being together can't change that. Let me give you
everything that you deserve, everything you ever dreamed of. Let me
love you, baby," he murmured softly as he kissed her gently. Dez
felt herself becoming light-headed. Sparks was so fine and
powerful. It was he, not Bentley, who had made her dreams come
true. She owed him whatever he wanted; he was making her a
star.

Besides, he had a point. Bentley
didn't appreciate her. He'd talked such a good game, and at the
first sign of trouble he had bounced. Sparks saw her talent, and
now he knew about her history and still wanted her. When would she
have an opportunity like this again, to know that someone knew her,
her issues, and yet still wanted to love her? More than the fame
and the glory, Dez realized that more than anything, what she
wanted was to be loved.

Dez found herself surrendering to his
embrace and the urgency of his tongue when he slipped it into her
mouth. Her clothing along with Sparks's quickly ended up in a heap
on the floor of the studio. Sparks interrupted their passion as he
cued a track on the mixing board. Then he carefully lifted her up
and carried her into the sound booth. A sensual melody filled the
room commingled with the sighs and moans of making love.

"I love you, Dez!" Sparks shouted as
he climaxed deep within her.

"Ooh, I love you too, Bentley." She
sighed and shivered with pleasure. Immediately, she felt like an
asshole and burst into tears. "I am so sorry. I don't know what to
say," she said as she felt him shrivel like a prune.

"There's nothing to say except I guess
it's true when they say you can't help who you fall in love with."
Sparks looked crestfallen as he began to put on his
clothes.

Tears fell down Dez's face. How could
she be so stupid? She was rebounding from Bentley, and Sparks was
family. Now she had gone and fucked up the only relationship in her
life that she could count on. And she'd told him her deepest,
darkest secret.

"Baby girl, don't cry," Sparks cooed.
"It was wrong of me to come at you like this when you were
vulnerable. I feel more fucked-up than you do. Sex isn't what you
need, Dez. It's love. And I love you. So I'm willing to let this go
however you want it to go. We can pretend it didn't happen, or we
can try to move on from this and maybe try and build something
real. Don't try to decide now and don't feel bad, baby. Let's just
get some sleep and start again fresh tomorrow."

Sparks's words didn't make Dez feel
any better. She felt dirty. No matter what she revealed to a man,
no matter how honest or how phony she was, they were all after only
one thing. She thought that things would change once she made some
money, but her money problems had been long gone and still men only
seemed to want to use her. She had a little power now. She had,
after all, been able to use what she'd had–good looks, a few
dollars, and a whole lot of dreams–to get what she wanted: a record
deal. Yet she wanted more.

Dez finally understood what Ginger had
been trying to tell her a couple of years ago. It wasn't enough to
be able to walk into a store and have the ability to buy whatever
her heart desired. It wasn't enough to be able to incite the
desires of men and motivate them to provide for her. It even wasn't
enough to have fans eagerly awaiting her words. Dez wanted to be
able to walk the streets with her head held high, despite any
scandal or controversy and without the aid of a publicist or media
trainer. She yearned to have people look up to her, not because she
was a star, but because they believed that she was smart and could
be a catalyst for positive change. She wanted to be able to look in
the mirror and not feel dirty or tainted or inferior simply because
her circumstances growing up had been less than ideal. She wanted
to feel clean. Dez wanted respect.

T
he next day and for weeks afterward,
Sparks and Dez went about their business status quo. It was
if their tryst had never taken place. There were no awkward
silences, no tension between them. Dez was glad because she
couldn't bear to lose her new "big brother" and didn't want her
career to be a casualty of the war on her emotions. Besides,
working on the album and promoting the single had them too busy to
let the incident stand in the way of business.

Still, Dez couldn't deny that she had
feelings for Sparks, because he was everything that Bentley was and
then some. Yet her feelings for Bentley were just as strong as when
they'd first met. How was this possible? Dez began to wonder if she
had the capacity to be faithful. She'd had every intention of being
true to Bentley, but she couldn't get past the hurdle of revealing
herself to him. The fact that she had entrusted the story of her
past to Sparks had to mean something, didn't it? Maybe it was just
that she'd had the opportunity to get to know Sparks a little
before revealing her story to him.

Whatever it was, Dez hoped that her
feelings of being torn would subside quickly. Her stomach seemed
like it was constantly in a knot, and her appetite was
unpredictable; at times she could eat a horse, at others she could
barely finish a salad. And she was drinking and smoking weed way
too much. Sparks chalked it up to being a part of the "creative
process," but Dez was always afraid that she was genetically
predisposed to addictive behavior, and found herself fearing the
worst: that she'd turn out just like her mother. But her fear
wasn't bad enough to make her stop, and that scared her even more.
Her personal life was out of control.

Her career was a dream. The sales of
the single were excellent; it debuted at number 1, and after a mere
week on the charts, it was certified platinum. The controversy
surrounding Dez's history with Dan, and Ysenia's big mouth, had
only served to fuel the demand for the product, just as Sparks had
predicted. Fortunately, an injunction had been filed barring any
further sales of the Sinful Strippers tape. It was snatched from
the shelves immediately, and Sparks had a team of cybersurfing
interns alerting lawyers to file suits against the myriad Web sites
claiming to have the tape available for download. Sparks warned her
that they wouldn't be able to catch everyone–people who already
owned the tape, for example, would probably pass it around–but with
felony charges of child pornography associated with owning the
tape, those numbers would remain small.

What irritated Dez the
most were the people who seemed to crawl out the woodwork who
claimed to have known her or been her friend. If they had been such
good friends, why hadn't they helped her? She hadn't even met most
of the people who surfaced! As far as she was concerned, aside from
Sparks, she'd only ever had one true friend, and that was Ginger.
Sometimes Dez half expected Ginger to pop up on television and
share their story, but in the nearly three months since she'd
gotten her deal she hadn't. Dez knew that Ginger had no way of
knowing where she was living; she hadn't spoken to her since before
she moved out of Dan's place. But Ginger was resourceful if
anything, so she could find Dez if she wanted to.
Maybe she doesn't want to find me,
Dez often thought to herself.
Maybe she's ashamed of me. Or maybe I just need to call her.
Her number is probably still the same.

The weeks turned into
months, and the holidays
came and went.
Dez thought she would die. Every time she turned on the television
or the radio, there was talk about family and togetherness, but she
felt so alone. Bentley stopped by on Christmas briefly, but ignored
her as usual. And for the first time in years, Dez stayed in on New
Year's Eve. She and Sparks drank a magnum of Cristal to themselves
and ended up making love in front of the fireplace. Dez knew that
it was wrong, that she and Sparks could never be more than friends,
and that her actions were selfish. But she couldn't stand the
feeling of not having anyone at the holidays. And deep down inside
she believed that Sparks knew the truth but that he didn't want to
feel alone any more than she did. Then the Super Bowl rolled
around. Dez thought about how the Super Bowl just three years
before had been the beginning of her life as a hotgirl. She missed
Ginger.

Desiree should have been on top of the
world. Her career was greater than she ever imagined; she and
Bentley were slated to perform at the NBA All-Star Game in
Philadelphia. For once, she'd be in the presence of the NBA's most
talented athletes, and she would be on their level. They wouldn't
be able to look at her as just some stripper. They'd have to give
her respect. The only butt-shaking she would be doing this All-Star
Weekend would be during her performance at half-time.

She figured that since she and Bentley
would have to work together, she'd have a way to get close to him
again. Maybe she would be able to resolve what was left of their
issues and mend their shattered relationship. No such luck. Bentley
ignored her the whole time they prepared for the performance. There
were to be all kinds of special effects and pyrotechnics, and Dez
was excited yet nervous. She'd never performed in front of more
people than could fit inside of a strip club or on a video set. Now
there were going to be tens of thousands of people in attendance
and millions watching on television.

The entire Titanium
Records crew–artists, dancers, and staff–arrived in Philadelphia by
private jet. Dez for once had no fear of flying. There was
everything she could possibly need to soothe her nerves aboard the
aircraft. She indulged in the Remy Martin Louis XIII, potent
marijuana, and a full-body Swedish massage during the one-hour
flight. By the time they checked into the Sheraton Society Hill
hotel, Dez was amped and ready for action.
Fuck Bentley,
she thought.
I'll show his ass!

There was so much business to be taken
care of that Dez thought she'd never get to enjoy Philly's
nightlife. Sparks kept her roster full with promotional
appearances. There were meet-and-greets, autograph signings, and a
photo shoot scheduled with none other than Dewante Reid, a favorite
to win the MVP Award.

Dez nearly choked when
Sparks told her that she'd be shooting a suggestive layout for
the
Source
with
Dewante. The shoot would consist of Dez in Dewante's jersey and a
shirtless Dewante. There would also be an interview where Dez would
ask the questions and he would answer, and then they would switch
places.

"Houston, we have a problem," Dez
hissed at Sparks through clenched teeth when they arrived at the
gymnasium where the shoot would be staged.

"What?" Sparks asked. "Everything is
going great!"

"No, it isn't. Why didn't you tell me
that this shoot was with Dewante?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I know
how the ladies love Dewante."

"Not all of us," Dez replied
curtly.

Sparks arched an eyebrow. "You know
him?"

"Intimately," Dez revealed.

"Well, get over it. This is business,"
Sparks barked, not even attempting to mask his jealousy.

Dez ignored Sparks's attitude and got
to the point. "What if he brings up our past? It was a real freaky
scene." Dez was concerned only about her image, not about Sparks
and his bruised ego.

"Yeah, well, I've come to expect that
from you, Dez," he spat.

"Fuck you, Sparks! You and your
brother are two of a kind. I'll handle this shit my way!" Dez
turned on her heels and stormed off.

"Well, well, well, Desire.
So we meet again."
Dewante grinned that
megawatt smile.

"The name is Dez. And I don't recall
having ever met you." Dez extended her hand and shook
Dewante's.

"How soon we forget. I've met you and
a young lady named Ginger before. Remember her?" Dewante
smirked.

Dez smirked back. "Actually, now that
you mention it, I do. I lived with her briefly, when I was
sixteen." If Dewante wanted to play hardball, she was
down.

"Sixteen?" Dewante looked
confused.

"Yeah, see, I'm only eighteen," Dez
explained.

"That's bullshit. I thought that all
the mess with Dirty Dan was just media hype. You know, stir up a
little controversy, sell a few more albums."

"Oh, no hype. So if you want to pay
like Dirty Dan had to pay, be my guest. Bring up the fact that
we've known each other in the biblical sense. I'll be forced to
mention our little tryst in vivid detail. Child pornography is one
thing, but statutory rape is another."

"Ain't nobody gonna trip off that. You
were the fast-tailed ho in the Rolexxx," Dewante countered. "I'm a
star. You think people are gonna care about me doing it with a
lying, teenage groupie?"

"Still like it up the ass,
Dewante? Because maybe your fans and wife would love to hear all
about
that
from
this lying, teenage groupie. As a matter of fact, let me call
Ginger, she's in town," Dez lied. "I could have her come to the
shoot and tell the
Source
her side of the story." Dez smiled triumphantly
as she threatened him. Running into Dewante made her feel a lot
better than she thought it would. Who had the power now?

"We cool, Dez. Let's just handle this
business because I’m a very busy man." Dewante walked away in a
hurry.

"Sure. No problem," Dez called after
him, barely able to control her laughter.

Dewante was a perfect
gentleman for the
remainder of the shoot,
and although he was an asshole, Dez had to admit to herself that
Dewante was fine and the resulting photos were bound to be the
sickness. She'd gain an even bigger fan base, and she got to give
Dewante a taste of his own medicine, so all in all it was a good
experience.

The All-Star Game, however, was not.
Bentley flirted with every groupie that looked his way, and he put
it on extra when Dez was looking, which was most of the time. She
was not lacking from male attention; every baller in the league
tried to holler. But Dez wasn't interested. By the time they
performed, Dez was ready to kill Bentley. Right before they took
the stage he kissed a girl, an ugly one at that, dead in the mouth,
and right in Dez's face. She pretended to be unfazed, but the pain
cut through her like a knife.