What's His Is Mine (5 page)

“To her boyfriend who plays for the Nets, right?”

“Yup.”

“That's nice. Well, I called to see what you been up to and maybe go out one night.”

“Girl, just come up here. I'm going to this industry party on Wednesday. I kinda deal with this promoter, so of course all the bottles will be on him.” She laughed.

“Damn, I think I have to work.”

“You working?” she asked, as if it was a crime to be a woman and have a job.

“Yeah. I have a baby now. I have to work.”

“Wow. What happened with your daughter's father?” she asked like she felt sorry for me.

“Long story. We're not together, but he plays his part. I get a check every two weeks.”

“Well, that's all that matters. So I'll see you Wednesday. Call me before you come up.”

F
or the next few days I thought about whether or not I should go to the party with Angelique. It wasn't really a hard decision. I had been working around the clock like a slave and I deserved a damn break. A night out and a chance to have fun and meet my someone special who was rich was overdue.

I called out from work so I could go out with Angelique. I lied to my mom again so she would watch Asia. I told her I was doing a double. I planned on not working a double, but drinking a few doubles. It was a little lie, but it was justified. I wore a black, deep V-neck dress that dipped low in the front and back. My shoes were six-inch stilettos, and they hurt like hell, but made my calves look like they were extra toned. I couldn't wait to get to the club.

Traffic was heavy in the Lincoln Tunnel, but I still made it to NYC in just under two hours. Angelique's building was a nice high-rise equipped with a doorman. She buzzed me up and I took the elevator up to the twenty-second floor. I knocked on her door and I heard her say the door was open. I walked inside her spacious apartment. It was furnished with a white suede love seat and sofa. She had white and black artwork on the walls and a chrome bar set and matching dining room set and end tables. Angelique instructed me to come on back to her bedroom. She was doing her makeup and her two friends were sitting on the bed. She stopped doing her makeup and gave me a fast hug and said, “What's up, girl?” She still looked the same. Angelique was model pretty and tall. Her skin was flawless brown. Her hair was in loose curls, but she had it all pushed to one side. Angelique's royal blue bandage dress and six-inch blue and black heels just looked like money. I came in and had a seat on her bed. She introduced me to her friends Shavone and Nytika. Nytika looked like a doll. She had golden brown skin, pear green eyes, and dark long hair down to her chest, with a part in the center. Not only was she beautiful, she had the nerve to have a perfect S shape, too. She was wearing a black dress that had slits on the side and left nothing to the imagination. Her other friend Shavone wore a jet black Cleopatra weave that made her light skin look a little pale, and her face was big like a pie. Her body was nice, but she wasn't that cute and was wearing way too much makeup. But her emerald-colored dress and red-bottom shoes were nice. Both of their bodies were almost perfect. I just needed to drop thirty pounds so I could be back at my fighting weight.

“So, what's been up?” Angelique asked.

“Nothing, I'm just happy to be out of Philly.”

“Yeah, girl, I'm glad you came up. Tonight is going to be so much fun. You know how I do. Girl, you should have been with us this summer. We nicknamed it the million dollar summer. All we did was hang with millionaires,” Angelique bragged as she added more blush to her cheeks.

“Really,” I said jealously.

“Yes, they all had money,” Shavone said as she slapped hands with Angelique.

“It was fun, but I'm trying to get married. Get one of these dudes to lock it down for the long haul. That's next. It's all good being the girlfriend having nice seats at the game, but I'm trying to lock it in. I need some paper work.” I agreed that was the perfect phrase: lock it in.

“You right, Angelique; lock it in and get paper work,” I said.

 

 

We took a taxi from Angelique's building to the club. As always, when we arrived at the club there was no waiting in line. Angelique's friend pulled us in through the side door and straight back to the VIP section. The party was crowded and the music was really loud. Angelique's friend pushed through the crowd and took us to a table with a reserved sign. Immediately he had a bartender bring us over two bottles of Ace of Spades and a bottle of Cîroc. Angelique introduced everyone to her friend. His name was Mario and he wasn't that cute, but just from the clear diamonds in his watch and ears, I could tell he had a lot of money.

We were there for less than five minutes before people were already looking like “who are they?” because of the extra special treatment we were receiving. So Angelique had to be extra, and opened the champagne and began pouring, letting it spill and bubble over each glass a little. She handed us all a glass and with one sip I felt like my old self. I was back, and anything was possible. I was in a club in the middle of New York City and in every direction I was getting winks and smiles from countless rich men. I turned to my left—million-dollar-contract football players. I turned to my right—actors, rappers, and some more athletes. Angelique knew where to go. It was like I couldn't stop smiling, because I knew all it would take is one dude. Just one to come over to me and make me his and I would have VIP status for life.

I took a look around the club for a come-up. A cute guy at the table across from us caught my attention. He looked familiar, real familiar. I wasn't sure who he was so I tapped Angelique. “Who is that guy?” I asked, looking at him, still smiling and keeping my eyeball tennis match going with the cute stranger.

“Who, him?” Angelique asked, turning her nose up and looking in the cute guy's direction. “Girl, don't talk to him. His ass is broke. He used to have money, but now he is just living off memories.”

“Really,” I said and immediately sucked my teeth and turned in another direction.

“Yeah. Focus your attention over here, boo,” she said as she tilted my head ninety degrees in the other direction. “You see that group over there? That's the starting line-up of the Pacers. They played the Knicks tonight and look, Shavone's funny-looking ass is already over there.” I didn't want to say anything.

“What's up with her, anyway?” I asked.

“I ask myself what people see in her, but she gets money and has plenty of connects.”

“I can't see it,” I said as I downed the rest of my drink and swayed to the blasting music just as Angelique suggested that we leave VIP and walk around the party.

As soon as we were leaving our table, someone grabbed my arm and said, “What's up, Adrienne?” I knew that voice, but I had to look up to see who it was. And I couldn't believe it was this guy I used to deal with named Mark Owen. He played for the Cleveland Cavaliers, and I hadn't seen him in over two years. I was with him—well, chasing him hard—before I met DeCarious. He was supposed to be my baby daddy. He wasn't ever a looker, but his charisma and personality and money made up for it.

“Mark? What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.

“You know I be in New York all the time. Where you been at? You must have got married on me?” he said as he hugged me.

“Not yet. I had a baby, though.”

“Yeah, you got a baby by who?” he asked, scrunching his face up.

“You don't know him,” I lied.

“Damn, that's supposed to be my baby.” He laughed, but I was seriously thinking the same thing. I wanted to have his baby so bad, but his sperm would not cooperate.

“What about you? You get married yet?” I asked.

“Hell no. Who you here with?” he asked, changing the subject. He looked around and grabbed my hand. I pointed to Angelique. She looked over, saw I was going to be a while, and told me she'd be back. Mark ordered a round of Patrón and began dancing with me. We caught up briefly, but I had to leave him to catch up with Angelique and them. I gave him my number and told him to call me later and began to walk away.

“Where you going?” he asked.

“To find my friends.”

“No, stay with me a little longer,” he said, biting his lip and pulling me in to dance with him some more. I looked around and didn't see Angelique anywhere, so I agreed and danced off a dozen more songs and took more shots with him.

By the end of the night Mark demanded that I leave with him. All I could say was okay, because my panties were already about to explode after all the dirty winding we were doing. Plus, I remembered how spectacular his dick was and he always took out a couple stacks at a time. I texted Angelique that I was good and I would pick my car up from her place in the morning.

 

 

Mark was staying at the Soho Grand hotel. We were both out of it, but all over each other. I couldn't wait to get him inside of me and he didn't waste any time undressing. My dress came off as soon as the door shut. Damn, it was the only thing I could think of as his pants hit the floor. His man was thick, juicy, and long like I remembered. I got on my knees and treated him like he was royalty. I began to taste and savor every inch of his dick. He loudly moaned and exhaled as I consumed him. He then stood up and bent me over the dresser, spreading my legs apart, and penetrated my body. Our bodies came together hard, like a fist hitting a palm, making a loud tapping noise. He had my breasts bouncing and my ass clapping together every time he pounded my insides. He demanded for me to take every inch. I kept pulling back, unable to accept all of him.

If I didn't know better, I would think he was on Viagra or something, because no matter what I did he would not release. We were both sweaty and panting and I gave it to him until I almost passed out. When we were finally done, he slapped my ass and said, “Damn, I missed your ass, Philly.” He then picked up the room service menu and turned on the television. I went into the bathroom and took a shower. By the time I came out of the shower wearing the hotel's white robe, the food was there. He ordered us jumbo cocktail shrimps, fries, and cheeseburgers. The food was perfect to calm my drunken, unsteady stomach.

 

 

I had the best night. Mark was a babe. After one night with him, I remembered why I used to be so into him. But it was daylight and it was time for me to leave. I was trying to gather my things and he was no help. I kept trying to wake him to ask if he had seen my phone. He threw his phone at me so I could use it. I dialed my number and “Good Pussy Groupie” appeared on the screen and my phone began ringing. I was in shock that Mark had my name listed as a groupie on his phone.
Wow, that was crazy. That's all he thought of me. Damn
, I thought as I looked over at him. He wasn't shit. But I should have known that by now. I let him play me again.

Not only did I fuck him all night and not get anything out of it, I had a history with him and he thought I was just a groupie. I didn't ask to stay with him, he was the one who had handcuffed me all night. Whatever. I found my phone underneath the bed. I put my clothes on and walked out of the suite without saying good-bye, after erasing my number out of his phone. Fuck Mark Owen again. I got his groupie.

S
ometimes, if I didn't have anything better to do, I would entertain Gavin's conversation. Gavin should be happy, because he is very handsome and has a great career. But something was missing with him. There are more than enough women to go around here, but he still doesn't have one. I think he turns even the most desperate women off with his negative persona. His whole life is humdrum and he just complains and gossips more than the average woman. I guess that's the journalist in him. In this phone conversation, he was trying to explain to me why he didn't like taking his dates out to dinner. It was funny to get him riled up and hear him complain.

“So why didn't you want to take her out to dinner, Gavin?” I asked as I flicked through the channels on my television.

“Because I don't feel like driving to a restaurant, paying for parking, and then waiting for a table. I don't feel like going through all that. I work all week, restaurants are overcrowded and overpriced, and I don't feel like waiting in long lines just to eat. I eat out so much I don't want to go out to another stupid restaurant, get fat, and be unhealthy. Can I get a nice home-cooked meal, how my grandma used to cook?”

He just kept going on. I was pushing the mute button and laughing at him. I laughed and said, “Ladies want to go out on dates when they first start dating you, Gavin.”

“But don't women know there are things we can do other than eat and go to a restaurant and spend money? Let's do something different. Let's go rock climbing. Let's go to the gym and work out. Eating is not telling me anything about you.”

“I don't know what to tell you, Gavin. You are not going to ever meet a woman who doesn't want to be wined and dined.”

“There's some out there. When are you and I going out again?”

“I don't know,” I said as my phone beeped in my ear. I took the phone away from my ear and I looked down at the screen. It was Toni. Gavin was still rambling on. I interrupted him and said, “That's my sister. I will call you back.” I clicked over to answer Toni's call.

“Hey, sistah.”

“Don't sistah me. What were you doing?” Toni asked.

“Talking on the phone. You just saved me from another dead-end conversation with Gavin.”

“Gavin—oh, that reporter guy. You should date him.”

“No, I shouldn't,” I snapped.

“I'm telling you, date the one who likes you more. It beats a blank. So I see you are not doing anything—get dressed so you can go out with me. I'll be at your house in ten minutes.” I told her okay, but as soon as I hung up I closed my eyes. About fifteen minutes later she was at my door. I let her in and sat back on the sofa and yawned.

“How did you fall asleep that fast?”

“I'm tired. It's called working hard,” I said. She sat across from me wearing this cantaloupe-colored ruffled silk shirt, dark jeans, and black heels. Her honey blond hair was short in the back and flicked up in the front. Her gold hoop earrings completed the look. She looked like a fresh-faced teen instead of a thirty-one-year-old stepmother.

“You look cute,” I said as I sat up.

“I know. That's why I need to go out,” she said, striking a pose.

“Where is Dave—you know, that man you are married to?”

“Who?” She laughed.

“Your husband?”

“In the house where he should be. He begged me to stay in and wanted to watch a movie. I said nope, I have plans. He had fun for all these years—now it is my turn.”

“But he is trying.”

“Whatever, I don't care. He wants to be the best husband now that he has no money. I think not. No, keep going out and doing whatever you want. Forget about Dave. I need for you to get dressed and go out with me,” she said as she pulled the covers off of me.

“I really can't, Toni.”

“Let me ask you a question. Are you getting hyphenated this year, or what?”

“What?”

“You know, your Cherise Long-hyphen-Smith or Cherise Long-hyphen-Thompson.”

“Toni, you are crazy. I need my hyphen, but you have yours and you don't want to go home to the man who gave it to you. Okay, makes sense. I'm going to sit right here and get my rest,” I said, pulling the covers back over me.

“ ‘I'm going to sit right here and get my rest.' You sound like an old lady,” she said, mimicking me. “What you need is a life.”

“I need a career more than I need a life. I have to get up early. I have a big meeting. Then I have to work the rest of the day. I do not want ugly eyes. The last thing I need are viewers writing in, saying I need more rest and ‘buy her some eye cream.' ”

“So I have to go out alone,” she said as she stood up and headed for the door.

“Yes, ma'am. Maybe next time. Have fun, but not too much fun.”

“I'm not listening. Good night—have fun at work.”

 

 

I always got to work at least a half hour ahead of schedule. I walked into the busy newsroom. Something was always going on. Lights, cameras, and lots of live action. I loved it. I fed off of the news. When I was younger, I didn't even know what a newswoman's proper title was, but I knew I wanted to be one. I looked it up one day and learned the correct name was anchorwoman. I remember thinking,
What a dumb name.
I thought anchors had something to do with boats and sailing. I didn't like the name, but I decided at about eight I wanted to be one on television. Every time I would watch the news, there was this pretty woman on television named Lisa Thompson. She was just so smart and pretty, and I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to tell the news, talk to the people, and get to the bottom of the story. She represented everything that I wanted to be: beautiful, intelligent, successful—and she was brown like me. I knew if she could be on television, so could I.

I sat at my desk in my cubicle and checked my e-mails. I had to prepare for the morning meeting. In the meeting we usually discussed what stories we're going to cover and be assigned to. If it was a slow news day, you were supposed to be enterprising and come up with new story ideas. Because I was new to the city, I didn't have any strong ideas. Just as I logged off my computer, my news director, Thomas Oliver, came over to my desk and said, “I need to speak with you in my office.”

“Yes,” I said. He asked me to please close the door. As soon as I went to close the door the sports director, Paul DeSantis, entered with a cup of coffee and had a seat. I was seated and waited for them to tell me what was going on.

“We like the job you are doing. You have showed a lot of growth in the short amount of time you have been here.”
Okay, I'm doing a great job, so what's going on?
I thought.

“As you know, we had to let Phillip Goodwin go because of that whole underage sex scandal investigation. Anyway—well, we wanted to speak with you about bringing some femininity to our sports team in the interim.”

“But I've never covered sports before,” I said, puzzled.

“We know, but you're pretty and have an infectious smile and people will like you, whether you know sports or not. And we can guide you. You will pick it up easily, and your photographer, Gary, can assist you with anything else you may not know.”

Paul butted in and said, “And the other stations that have women on their sports team—their numbers are through the roof. So what do you say?” Thomas looked over at me, waiting for my response. I knew I didn't really have a choice in the matter. They were asking me to help them out for a little while.

“And my salary?” I asked.

“For right now, it will stay the same. However, as soon as we can get a strong replacement in, you will be first in line for the news desk. Michelle Hartley, who does weekend anchor, is taking maternity leave in the spring and you'll have her position.”

I knew I had to say yes. If I did them this favor, I would definitely get rewarded and be on the fast track to becoming an anchor.

 

 

I walked into the conference room for the meeting and all eyes were on me. Richard Hall was an old, Uncle Tom, still-in-the-streets reporter. He wasn't that fond of me, he never had anything pleasant to say, and always grimaced at me. But it is not surprising. Tammy Chan on weather, Bruce Nichols, and Audrey Brooks were the night correspondents. I was still the “new reporter” and I was still encountering a little hate, and now, with this promotion, I didn't know what people would think. In this industry, everyone is out for themselves. Your job can be in jeopardy as soon as a prettier, wittier girl or guy comes to town. I knew I had to work hard to get what I wanted. I tried not to be jealous of anyone and didn't expect for anyone to hand me anything.

Paul started the meeting. “Good morning. By now you have all heard that Phillip Goodwin is no longer with the Action 7 team. We have decided to temporarily replace him with Cherise Long while we look for his replacement. This will take effect immediately.”

I looked around the room. No one really had anything to say about his announcement. There were a few short claps and then the meeting returned to normal.

When the meeting was over, I got one snide remark from Richard Hall. “Four months on the job and a promotion already. Congrats. It must be nice.”

I started to respond, but I didn't. He was just mad that he had been working at the station for five years and had never been promoted.