Read Online Live and Learn by Niobia Bryant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Niobia Bryant
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is so crazy,” Cristal told her, before they all broke out with laughter.
9
Cristal
One Month Later
“P latinum Records.”
“What you doing?”
“I’m working, Alizé. What are you doing?” I said into the phone.
“Girl, I ran up on a good piece last night!”
“A good piece of what?”
“It damn sure wasn’t cake.”
“So Rah’s ah…skills are improving?”
“What my man got to do with it?”
“You broke up with Rah?”
“Hell no.”
I did not say another word. I was not a prude, but sleeping with two men will wear your walls out. Okay? All right.
“Listen, Cristal, Rah’s cool. The money is lovely. But if he want fidelity, he got to step up his game in the bed.”
Deciding not to school my friend on letting her hot spot out rule a cool head, I moved on. “Where are you?”
“I’m on campus. Why? What’s up?”
“Where is Mo?”
“At work at the Student Center. I think she got a class at twelve.”
“I just spoke to Dom a little while ago.”
“Dom was up before noon? Do, Dom!”
I laughed, looking around the lobby to ensure I was alone. “I woke her up to see if I could take Kimani to an indoor block party the label is having this Saturday. Since Mr. Right is nowhere in my future for me to have my own husband and child, I have to latch on to our godchild when I feel motherly.”
“What happened with Townsend?”
“We still go out, but it is not anything serious. Besides, I told you he is not a husband candidate,” I told her as I flipped through my new Essence magazine.
“Stop hunting for a husband to make you a BAP and you’ll be all right.”
There was nothing wrong with being a Black American Princess to me.
If I yearned to marry a wealthy man—prefer-ably African-American—and live the life of Riley, what was so wrong with that? Take Patricia Lawrence, now Patricia Smith, current wife of professional football star Emmitt Smith, and ex-wife of multi-millionaire actor and comedian Martin Lawrence. Not only did the woman marry well, but she married well twice .
“What did Dom say?”
I did an uncharacteristic eye roll. “You know Dom is forever searching for a babysitter.”
Alizé laughed. “Dom’s so crazy. I still can’t believe she got us thrown out of Vision’s last month.”
I frowned at the memory. “What possessed her to get up on the bar and start stripping?”
“I don’t know. She must’ve thought she was in Coyote Ugly .”
We both laughed.
The intercom buzzed from Alyssa DeSanto’s office. Alyssa was Sahad’s executive assistant—his right-hand woman. Humph, I would love to be his right hand so that I could wrap it around that ebony penis!
“Alizé, I have to go. I will call you later.”
“Make sure you call so I can tell you all about that big mule—”
I hung up the phone on her with a laugh, pushing the button on the intercom. “Yes, Alyssa?”
“Mr. Linx is expecting a delivery from Tiffany’s in about forty-five minutes. Just buzz me when it arrives and I’ll walk out to get it.”
“Not a problem.”
Sahad was currently dating Tyrea, an up-and-coming singer whose first release, Tease Me, Taste Me , was #1 on the Billboard R & B chart. I saw a picture of them in the New York Post ’s Page Six section. Tyrea was attractive in that “if you like that look” kind of way.
What if it was an engagement ring?
Oh, no-no.
That night I was at home alone, sipping on a glass of Chardonnay and looking out my bay window at the still night below. Everything was quiet. So peaceful. So unlike the rowdy streets where I grew up.
And I was glad for that.
I was mugged twice at gunpoint when I was sixteen and living on Sixteenth Avenue by Westside Park. Hell, I am lucky to be alive.
Do not get me wrong, I was not as ashamed of growing up in Newark as everyone thought. I just decided to move on from the liquor stores on every corner and the thugs hanging out in front of the bodegas. The noise. The littered streets. The
9
Cristal
One Month Later
“P latinum Records.”
“What you doing?”
“I’m working, Alizé. What are you doing?” I said into the phone.
“Girl, I ran up on a good piece last night!”
“A good piece of what?”
“It damn sure wasn’t cake.”
“So Rah’s ah…skills are improving?”
“What my man got to do with it?”
“You broke up with Rah?”
“Hell no.”
I did not say another word. I was not a prude, but sleeping with two men will wear your walls out. Okay? All right.
“Listen, Cristal, Rah’s cool. The money is lovely. But if he want fidelity, he got to step up his game in the bed.”
Deciding not to school my friend on letting her hot spot out rule a cool head, I moved on. “Where are you?”
“I’m on campus. Why? What’s up?”
“Where is Mo?”
“At work at the Student Center. I think she got a class at twelve.”
“I just spoke to Dom a little while ago.”
“Dom was up before noon? Do, Dom!”
I laughed, looking around the lobby to ensure I was alone. “I woke her up to see if I could take Kimani to an indoor block party the label is having this Saturday. Since Mr. Right is nowhere in my future for me to have my own husband and child, I have to latch on to our godchild when I feel motherly.”
“What happened with Townsend?”
“We still go out, but it is not anything serious. Besides, I told you he is not a husband candidate,” I told her as I flipped through my new Essence magazine.
“Stop hunting for a husband to make you a BAP and you’ll be all right.”
There was nothing wrong with being a Black American Princess to me.
If I yearned to marry a wealthy man—prefer-ably African-American—and live the life of Riley, what was so wrong with that? Take Patricia Lawrence, now Patricia Smith, current wife of professional football star Emmitt Smith, and ex-wife of multi-millionaire actor and comedian Martin Lawrence. Not only did the woman marry well, but she married well twice .
“What did Dom say?”
I did an uncharacteristic eye roll. “You know Dom is forever searching for a babysitter.”
Alizé laughed. “Dom’s so crazy. I still can’t believe she got us thrown out of Vision’s last month.”
I frowned at the memory. “What possessed her to get up on the bar and start stripping?”
“I don’t know. She must’ve thought she was in Coyote Ugly .”
We both laughed.
The intercom buzzed from Alyssa DeSanto’s office. Alyssa was Sahad’s executive assistant—his right-hand woman. Humph, I would love to be his right hand so that I could wrap it around that ebony penis!
“Alizé, I have to go. I will call you later.”
“Make sure you call so I can tell you all about that big mule—”
I hung up the phone on her with a laugh, pushing the button on the intercom. “Yes, Alyssa?”
“Mr. Linx is expecting a delivery from Tiffany’s in about forty-five minutes. Just buzz me when it arrives and I’ll walk out to get it.”
“Not a problem.”
Sahad was currently dating Tyrea, an up-and-coming singer whose first release, Tease Me, Taste Me , was #1 on the Billboard R & B chart. I saw a picture of them in the New York Post ’s Page Six section. Tyrea was attractive in that “if you like that look” kind of way.
What if it was an engagement ring?
Oh, no-no.
That night I was at home alone, sipping on a glass of Chardonnay and looking out my bay window at the still night below. Everything was quiet. So peaceful. So unlike the rowdy streets where I grew up.
And I was glad for that.
I was mugged twice at gunpoint when I was sixteen and living on Sixteenth Avenue by Westside Park. Hell, I am lucky to be alive.
Do not get me wrong, I was not as ashamed of growing up in Newark as everyone thought. I just decided to move on from the liquor stores on every corner and the thugs hanging out in front of the bodegas. The noise. The littered streets. The
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