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  “Thank you,” I say with hesitance as she continues to study me as she slowly walks along the large circular desk. I guess it is a compliment.

  She truly is a striking woman with cat-like features and a very regal bearing, but the way she is watching me makes me feel like a field rat stalked by a hawk. Is the great Mrs. Ingram gay or just crazy as hell? Suddenly she smiles and I wish like hell that she would leave because I feel uncomfortable. What the hell?

  “I once had that same desire to be more. Bigger. Better. Sexier. Richer. Prettier. Classier.”

  I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. I say nothing because the words, “Bitch, please” are ready to drip from my glossy lips.

  She continues to circle the desk until I have to swivel in my chair to keep my eyes on her. “Of course, you have no way of knowing that I met my Gregory when I worked as a clerk in this small little shithole of a law office when he first started practicing.”

  Even in my hardcore gold digging days I never slept with a man over fifty. Please. Her Gregory is the safest man in the place. “Mrs. Ingram, I can ensure you that I am not here for anything but work.”

  She takes her time sliding on her fur and leather gloves. “Listen dear, you could sit under Gregory’s desk all day and suck his dick until his balls are flat and dry and he would never leave me for you. That is not my point at all.”

  My eyes widen because who knew a lady like Mrs. Ingram would use such language with such ease. Plus the image she put in my head made me a little ill. Eew.

  “What exactly is your point, Mrs. Ingram?”

  “I can smell the stench of the ghetto on you almost as much as I can see the desperation that makes you pretend otherwise . . . just like me thirty years ago.”

  Her words make me feel angry . . . and exposed.

  “You just need a little guidance and I’m in the mood for a pet project.”

  A pet project?

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Ingram?”

  She leans forward and taps my brow with a perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t frown dear, it brings on wrinkles early,” she advised with a haughty tone.

  I am a grown-ass woman. I have taken care of myself since I was eighteen years old and aged out of the foster care system. So why did I immediately follow her direction and quickly remove my frown?

  “I’ve just added your name to the list of invitees to a charity gala my husband and I are having at the Waldorf-Astoria’s Grand Ballroom next Friday. It’s black tie of course. Don’t worry about the thousand-dollar ticket price.” She tucked her silk clutch under her arm. “I’m sure a girl like you has something appropriate to wear or knows how to get your clever little hands on something.”

  She turned and walked towards the elevator as if she is on a high fashion runway.

  I jump to my feet. “How do you know I even want to go?” I ask, with a boldness I do not regret.

  The door to the private elevator glides open and she steps on and then turns dramatically in the center. “Please. You’d gnaw off your right arm to be there. Toodles.”

  The door glides close and shuts her off from my view.

  I want to be that bitch and she knows it.

  Chapter Six

  Alizé

  “How wrong would I be to fuck my therapist?”

  That thought makes my face shape into an odd expression. Okay, so now I know this dick sabbatical is running me straight crazy. Fuck Dr. Locke’s fifty-something-year-old ass? That was Moët’s M.O., not mine.

  Not that he’s not nice looking . . . for his age. Tall, broad shoulders, bald head, and silver goatee. Glasses that sat on . . . strong cheekbones above a nice, kissable mouth—

  I shake my head to clear it of the image of me licking Dr. Locke’s lips as I ride him. I need some dick. Point blank.

  Maybe it’s time to call it quits on the celibacy and call my exsideline ho Tyrone. Now he had a dick out of this world.

  “Monica?”

  I shift my eyes up from Dr. Locke’s crotch to his face. “Yes.”

  He crosses his legs where he sits across from me in a leather club chair. He looks at me long and hard behind his slightly tinted glasses. He jotted something down onto the notepad he held. “What are you thinking?”

  “That celibacy sucks,” I answer without a bit of hesitation. After months of bi-weekly sessions, I don’t have time for bullshitting.

  He nods his head as he continues scribbling my business. “Was it seeing Cameron recently that brought you to that conclusion?” he asks in that calm almost monotone voice.

  “I want more from Cameron than sex . . . but the more I see him around the office the more I want to tear his clothes off and . . . well, you know.”

  Dr. Locke looks up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Yes, I think I have the idea.”

  I just shrug as I look around at his Maplewood offices. Everything about him from his voice to the décor of this place to his loafers is so . . . ordinary. “Does anything excite you, Dr. Locke?” I ask.

  He gives me another long look before he turns the page in his notepad. I grimace to think that I have so many issues—after months of therapy—that one damn page ain’t enough.

  “We can talk about me or delve into yet another broken relationship you’re facing.”

  I frown and my brows furrow together as I nod. “It’s weird to think about facing Rah in court today. It will be the first time I’ve seen him since . . . since that night.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Angry. Anxious. Furious. Vengeful. Pissed the fuck off.”

  “Your language, Monica,” he reminds me gently.

  I check the eye roll I’m about to give his ass. “Sorry. Pissed off.”

  “And?”

  I lock my eyes with his. “Who says there is an ‘and,’ Dr. Locke?” “And?” he asked again as if he didn’t hear me the first time.

  “Afraid. Okay. I feel afraid at the thought of seeing him again,” I admit softly as I look down at my hands as I wring them together. I fight the urge to rub the long scar on my thigh. “But I can’t wait until this is all over because there is no way he can get away with what he did to me.”

  “So you want him to pay?”

  I jerk my head up to pierce him with my eyes. “Damn right I want him to pay,” I answer in a cold voice. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No, it shows that you’re human.”

  I blink away tears that fill my eyes. “And does it show that I’m human because I want a bat and five minutes alone with that motherfuck—”

  That makes him scribble away like crazy.

  I never got to see Rah. When I got to court the prosecutor tells me that Rah accepted a plea bargain. Two years for aggravated assault. What the fuck? No trial. Weak ass sentence. Just a bunch of bullshit. I had to fight not to laugh in the prosecutor’s face when he gave me the line about this ultimately being a victory. It wasn’t his leg that was snapped in two like a dried chicken bone. Two lousy years while I will never be able to dance the way I used to.

  Trying to literally shake it off, I left the courthouse and walked out into the winter winds that are cold and making my cheeks feel like I was pimp-slapped. I dig my hands down deeper into the pockets of my Ralph Lauren wool coat as I make my way down the steps.

  “Alizé.”

  I turn to find Dom walking down the steps behind me. I see the hesitation in her face. She doesn’t know how to take me. That’s a good thing. This bitch used to be my friend and instead of having my back she stuck a knife in it. It still hurt. My dumb ass thought none of us would ever do anything to hurt each other. Friendship is important to me, but at some point you have to kick a bad friend to the curb just like you would a bad boyfriend.

  She reaches in her Gucci tote for a soft pack of cigarettes. I recognize the bag from when Dom bought it two years ago. Obviously getting off the pole is messing with her money because the Dom standing before me ain’t the hood fabulous bitch sh
e used to be. I never did understand her six-figure wardrobe with a fifty-dollar-a-month rent in the projects.

  “I was here to testify against Rah,” she says, looking everywhere but at me.

  I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know if I will ever have anything to say to her.

  At my silence, Dom finally locks her eyes with mine and I’m surprised to see she’s angry. And that pisses me off. Suddenly I gots plenty to say.

  “You know, the more you care about somebody the more power you give them to hurt you. I never let my guard down with any dudes ’cause I didn’t want to be hurt. But with my friends? I take that shit serious. You, Mo, and Cristal were more than sisters to me.” That door inside of me with Dom’s name all over it flew wide open as I step nose to nose to her. “How could you fuck Rah? How the hell you gone fuck my man and then dime me out like a no-good snitch bitch?”

  See all my education and Cristal-type talking goes out the window. When I’m mad it’s straight hood all the time, every time.

  Dom turns her head to release a stream of smoke.

  I walk away from her but only get a few steps before I turn back and walk right back into her face. “It ain’t about him. Matter of fact . . . fuck him. This about me and you. I wouldn’t ever sleep with none of your men and you know it.”

  “And you know I was hittin’ that dope hard then and I was hurt about Lex dying in the car crash,” Dom says, locking her eyes with mine.

  “So why hurt me? I been a good friend to you, Dom?” People passing by are watching us but I don’t care.

  Dom looks away again. “I was jealous of you,” she admits softly before taking a long drag on her cigarette.

  Her words shock me. Dom was my friend before she became my enemy. I know this hardcore bitch, so I understand how difficult it had to be for her to admit that to me. Dom always kept it raw, hard, and almost careless. That shit she just dropped is B-I-G. “Jealous? Of me?”

  She roughly tosses her cigarette to the ground before she crushes it under the pointed tip of her snakeskin boots. “I was,” she stresses.

  “Why?” I ask in confusion.

  Dom laughs a little. “Why the fuck you think?” she snaps.

  It’s my turn to look away. Of all my friends Dom’s life is the most opposite of mine but she always had me thinking she was happy as hell in her life.

  Yeah to the mother who was more weed buddy than anything.

  Hallelujah to the cheap rent and living in the projects.

  Thank you Jesus for creating weed to be smoked forever and always.

  Walk it out about stripping for a living.

  Who give a fuck about being a single mother with a missing babydaddy.

  “Listen. Can we not dig too deep into this shit,” Dom snaps, obviously uncomfortable. “I fucked up and I’m sorry. This ain’t easy for me, Ze.”

  “Walking in on you fucking Rah in the same bed where I fucked him wasn’t easy for me either,” I threw back at her.

  “Damn, no she didn’t,” a woman said as she passed us by.

  We both ignored her.

  “We been friends a long time, Alizé.”

  “Damn right. Way too long for you to do what you did to me.” I release a long, heavy breath and count to a hundred, remembering Dr. Locke’s bullshit tactic. “I can’t trust you as a friend, Dom. I could never be cool with you the way we used to be.”

  “That’s fine.” Dom reaches in her bag for her shades and slips them on even though the sun is hardly shining that bright.

  She didn’t put them on quick enough for me to miss the tears in her eyes. Dom crying? Huh?

  I think about her hooked on drugs and almost dying from an overdose.

  I think of the pain she felt when Lex died.

  I think of the shit she went through with Diane as her mother and only a bad memory as her father.

  I shouldn’t feel sorry for this bitch . . . but I do.

  She helped catch Rah after he went on the run for assaulting me.

  She came here to testify and help put him away.

  She is standing here before me admitting something that I know is hard for her.

  “Listen, I don’t know. I won’t say that I’ll call you or nothing like that. But maybe the four of us can go out to eat or something. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  Dom nods as she lights another cigarette.

  “Since there’s no trial I have to go to my internship.” I pull the collar of my wool coat up around my ears. “Bye, Dom.”

  I turn and walk away before she can hug me or something. I wasn’t ready for that. One step at a time.

  Chapter Seven

  Moët

  Sunday services at The Holiness Church of Christ are the highlight of my week. The church is small with barely a hundred members, but the spirit in the church is strong. The choir always sings with much praise and Reverend Hampton always delivers the word to teach and inspire. I look forward to going to church. I have a good time. It’s in this church that I finally felt like the Lord forgave me for all my sins. Trust me when I say that is truly a miracle.

  And it is here that I met Deacon Taquan Sanders. Now I truly thank God for that.

  As Reverend Hampton preaches on the virtues of truth and integrity, I nuzzle my face into the sweet crook of Tiffany’s neck as I gently rub circles into her back to belch her. I look over towards the small pew where the deacons sit to find Taquan smiling over at me. My heart nearly bursts in my chest as I smile back.

  Dating Taquan feels like that first sweet love that I missed while in high school. It was hard to focus on boys my age when Reverend DeMark was delivering the kind of sexual pleasure teenage boys knew nothing about yet. The man was a scoundrel, a devil, a predator who picked girls just a few years from him being a pedophile, a freak against God and I hated him . . . but I can’t deny that he taught me some things that make me hell in the bedroom. Things a sixteen-year-old had no business learning right there in The Greater Temple of Jesus Christ’s church offices . . . and pews . . . and pulpit.

  Things that I would love to do to Taquan.

  As Tiffany finally lets out a belch, I kiss her cheek and gently settle her down into her carrier sitting beside me on the pew. I know I should be focused on the sermon but lately my mind is fixated on other things . . . like Taquan’s thing.

  Of the two relationships that I’ve had in my twenty-something years both progressed to sex very quickly. The Reverend and I only shared freak sessions in the church. Bones took me out but soon sex was our focus. It’s different dating someone who ends the night with a kiss.

  I had a man and I wasn’t getting any more than Alizé’s celibate behind.

  I glance over at Taquan again. He is nodding his head and looking up at Reverend Hampton in pure devotion. I can put that same look on his face while I ride that dick . . . if he would finally move off of first base and bring it on home. All through the rest of church I try not to envision me stripping down to nothing and walking over there to climb right onto his lap. I know it’s nothing but the devil putting these thoughts in my head but Lord I’m ready to see what else Taquan has to offer with his romantic, sweet, gentlemanly self.

  “Hey you.”

  I look up in surprise to find Taquan leaning down to lift Tiffany out of her carrier. All around me people are mingling or leaving the church. “Church is over?” I ask in surprise.

  He laughs and flashes me straight even white teeth. “Sure is,” he says as he gently sways back and forth to rock Tiffany.

  I would know that if I wasn’t daydreaming about Taquan and me getting it on in the baptism pool behind the pulpit. Lord, help me.

  “You ready to go?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I rise to pull on my coat before I grab my purse, baby bag, and the carrier.

  We walk out the church together, speaking to the people we pass on the way. “I know we were going to Mrs. Jay’s for dinner but I actually have a surprise,” I tell him as he bends to settle Tiffany in he
r car seat in the backseat of his black Range Rover. As he did every Sunday, Taquan had driven all the way out to Livingston to pick Tiffany and me up for church.

  “Really?”

  He stands and turns around to look down at me. We are just inches apart. He is looking good and smelling good. And being close to him has me feeling good.

  With everything I’ve been through with men, my mind was not on finding a man, but Taquan was truly special and for the first time I saw a man I was attracted to and I made the first move. No preacher lurking after virgin teenagers. No hook-ups from my girls. Just a woman letting a man know she is interested. To my pleasure, he felt the same way.

  Now it’s time to take this to the next level and if that meant making another power move than so be it. “Actually, my friends are all out for the day so I made dinner for us back at the apartment.”

  Taquan slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he tilted his head a little to look down at me. “So you cooked for me?” he asks in that deep voice.

  “Scared?” I ask, amazed that I even know how to flirt.

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  He holds the passenger door open and I lightly touch his chest as I climb in. Taquan owns his own Subway franchise. His parents both died in a car crash and his uncle wisely advised him to use the insurance money to make more money. That was three years ago and now at just twenty-five he is planning to open another restaurant in Orange. Even once he found himself able to move, he still lived in the modest home in Newark where he was raised.

  Of course, Cristal loves him to pieces. Alizé thinks it’s weird we hadn’t had sex yet. Dom thinks he’s boring. But this new me, the one who stands up for herself, knows that all that matters is what I think.

  As we ride to Livingston he reaches over and holds my hand.

  “So Dom and Alizé have made up?” he asks as he steers with one hand.

  “Kinda sorta.” He is so easy to talk to so I have filled him in on my friends and all of our drama and right now the idea of Dom and Alizé even agreeing to be in the same room is a big deal.