Bad and Bougie (Feeling Some Type of Way Book 2)

by Vera Roberts

  “How many are you expecting today?” Ian asks and I look at the list of attendees.

  “About ten for each class. I’m only going to do two today.” I decided until I can get the studio up and running and hire more instructors, I’ll only teach a few days of the week. It’ll give my body time to rest and recuperate but also, I don’t want to have a pole dancing class every day. It’ll be overkill and you need to give people some anticipation.

  “How’s the instructor search coming along?” He asks.

  “We have a list of potential instructors,” Emma checks her phone, “I’m setting up interviews with them next week and they’re going to do try-outs.” Emma went from being pseudo-manager to full-blown business manager of mine. She even gave me the family rate of thirteen percent because she’s cool like that.

  “How’s that mug line coming along?” Gerald asks.

  “It’s coming along great, babe!” Emma smiles. “How’s walking and chewing gum coming along for you?”

  Gerald shoots Emma a look, who casually shrugs. Gosh, I love them so much.

  Gerald and Ian walk inside the studio to look at the finished product. After weeks of meticulous planning, it’s finally opening day! Three poles on the main dance floor are permanent. In the backroom, is a large area for Zumba, hip-hop, and jazz classes. Upstairs, will be a yoga studio.

  Ian added a juice bar and a small boutique where customers could purchase workout clothing designed by Adrienne. There are two gender-neutral bathrooms on the top floor and two on the bottom. Hidden cameras are strategically placed everywhere, except the bathrooms.

  The instructors will have their own lounge area with lockers, while our customers have a locker area of their own. I even have my own little quaint office I’ll share with Emma.

  Parking is the only stickler but that was something we couldn’t help. With the studio being located on Melrose Avenue, it was going to be a bitch no matter how we sliced it.

  The men are inside talking business while us ladies stayed out in front. “Diana and her friends should be here today,” Emma warns me, “I didn’t think they were going to be here but I guess they had a change of heart?”

  The news is surprising to me. If my man told me another woman made a pass at him, I would be ready for a prime bitch beatdown. Oh wait. Is that why Diana is coming? Forget Brie of Tarth, I got Courtney from Inglewood. “They’re probably going to confront me. Opening day? I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh, she already boasted to many in the private circle she’s in what she’s planning on doing,” Emma confirms, “she’ll definitely be here. She needs a new article for her column.”

  “Great,” I snide. Opening day of my new studio and I have to worry about Regina George and her crew full of Taylor Swifts coming along for the humiliation. I mean, this is my prom, right? I’m practically wearing a pink dress and those bitches are bringing the pig’s blood.

  “I’ll be here all day and so will Courtney if there are any problems.” Adrienne chimes in. “They’ll talk a hard game to you but they’ll back down once they remember I still have a penis.”

  “The TV crew and camera people should be here any moment now. You want to go inside and get freshened up.” Emma suggests. “We want you to focus on your studio. We’ll deal with the Petty Bitches R Us crew once they get here.”

  “Okay,” I sigh. Emma’s right. I need to focus on making Angel a success and not worry about what the Pulled-Back Plastics think of it. “Let me go get ready.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Emma pulls me aside and makes sure the men can’t hear us, “did you decide on a ring yet?”

  “I haven’t,” I shake my head. “But if it’s any consolation, I finally chose cushion-cut as the type I like.”

  Emma smiles brightly. “Perfect!”

  ~~~~~

  This isn’t just a dance studio grand opening.

  This is the grand opening of my new life.

  Ian pulled out all of the stops for this with additional security, red carpet, and velvet rope. People stopped to take pictures, asking what was going on. Traffic on Melrose was backed up for miles. The bright flashes of numerous cameras competed with the L.A. sun. Even reality stars and D-list celebrities came by to support.

  And now it was time for my grand appearance.

  The crowd erupted in ear-shattering applause and hollers as I made my way inside the studio with Ian on my arm. I wore a white sundress with wedge heels while Ian look fantastic as ever in his classic open-collar suit. We stopped for pictures and Ian gave me a kiss on the cheek (because again, no lip kissing before society pictures).

  “I don’t know if I feel comfortable telling you to break a leg,” he whispers to me, “so have fun today. I need to go prep your celebration for tonight.”

  “Do I just go straight there?” I ask.

  “No, I have it all arranged with a surprise waiting for you at home,” he softly pats my butt and we hear whoops and hollers from the crowd, “I need to go before they think I’m the show.”

  I chuckle. “I say that’s a great idea. See you later, baby.”

  “Love you, angel.” He winks.

  “Love you more.”

  After Ian leaves, I finally address the crowd that filled up the studio. I’m sure we’re packed to capacity and the fire department is going to raise hell about it. I’ll deal with them on Monday. It’s time to show these ladies they still got it! “Are we ready to dance?” I yell.

  “Yes!” The crowd shouts in unison.

  “Let’s go, then!”

  ~~~~~

  “That was a rather entertaining day,” Adrienne lays down on the hardwood floor. “I don’t think I laughed so much in my life.”

  My body is coated with sweat and I’m taking a much-needed breather. Once the excitement of studio disappeared, it was time for business. I changed into tight yoga shorts and a tank top, but left the heels alone. I wasn’t about to be walking in six-inch heels all day.

  I did numerous instructions. I helped a soccer mom with her confidence. I showed a geriatric how she was more flexible than she thought. I taught a few teenagers how to pop it back.

  Overall, the grand opening was a success.

  Despite it all, there was no sign of Hakuna Matata, Regina George, and the Plastics as they debuted their new song to me, “Petty LaBelle.”

  But I know my day is far from over. They won’t dare go to the celebration dinner tonight and I doubt I’ll see them anytime next week. So, I will patiently wait for them to make their arrival.

  Now this will be the most entertaining part of my day.

  “So what now?” Adrienne asks. “Are you heading home?”

  “Yeah, I need to get ready for tonight’s dinner and Ian leaves tomorrow for a short while before he returns for Thanksgiving.” I add. I’m not sure what our Thanksgiving plans are this year. In the past, we’ve always celebrated with my family and put on a cordial front for Candy and Sam. Now that the cordiality has been shot to shit, I don’t know what we’re going to do.

  “Why don’t you come over to our house for Thanksgiving?” Emma suggests. “I won’t be cooking so that’ll be all you and Ian.”

  “No, that’ll be all Ian because Sister doesn’t know how to cook,” Adrienne chimes in.

  “I’ll have you know I can make the best Duncan Hines yellow cake, thank you very much!” I stick out my tongue. But Adrienne’s right; I still can’t cook worth shit. Good thing I’m with a chef.

  “You can come, too, Adrienne!” Emma adds. “Bring champagne, wine, and a dessert.”

  “I’m all over it!” Adrienne agrees. She looks up at the clock. “I do believe it’s time for us to leave and get ready. Shall we go, ladies?”

  “Let’s go!” I reply and I hear knocking on the window. I look back and to my not-surprise did my special guest stars arrive on this very special episode of True Life: You’re Jealous of My Melanin.

  Let’s see how many are here to ruin my day….one, two, three…wow, five. I
’m impressed.

  “Where’s Courtney?” I ask.

  “I’m right here, Miss Kimbrough.” She comes up from behind. “Who are they?”

  “Bitter bitches who have too much time on their hands,” Emma folds her arms, “let them in.”

  Courtney’s eyes meets mine and I give her the okay. She unlocks the door to the let the women in, who are at first intimidated by her before they proceed to move inside.

  I recognize two of them – Diana, and Michelle’s mother, Sandy. I don’t know who the other members of the Fifth Harmony are.

  “Yes, ladies?” I politely greet them, though I probably shouldn’t have. After all, they’re in my studio.

  “Yes, Genesis,” Diana walks up to me and I already know where this is heading. She knows only friends and family call me that. “I wanted to talk to you personally about something that happened between you and my husband, Todd?”

  “Nothing occurred between me and your husband,” I reply.

  “Well, that’s not what Todd tells me and my husband never lies to me.” Hakuna Matata shakes her head.

  “Girl, if I can tell you the number of men who claim they’re straight but have no qualms blowing me….” Adrienne sighs out of boredom. “Why are you ladies here?”

  “I heard you like to break up marriages,” One of the women approaches me and Courtney immediately comes to my left, followed by Emma. “You have some nerve little one.”

  The lady looks like someone I should be familiar with but I couldn’t place where I’ve seen her before. “Who are you?” I ask.

  “You shouldn’t be talking, Naomi,” Emma softly shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “where is your husband, by the way?”

  Ah, yes. Naomi Yates. The woman who hates me so much that I have no clue who the hell she is. With her platinum blonde hair, bold blue eyes, and more procedures to smooth out her face, she’ll make a freshly-paved street jealous, I was wondering when I would finally encounter her.

  “My husband has absolutely nothing to do with this!” Naomi counters. “This is about this one and why she’s accosting Todd!”

  “Bitch, please,” Emma rolls her eyes, “like Domi is going to give up a Ferguson for your sack shit of a husband.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “Say, is Tim still into BDSM? I know he loves that one bondage nightclub in New York. What was it called? Oh yes, The Sanctuary? I wonder if my friend, Nick, still teaches there.”

  “Nick?” I turn to Emma. “Nick D’Amato?”

  “That’s the one,” Emma smiles at Hakuna Matata. “Didn’t Tim get in some trouble back there a few years back? Oh yeah…he accosted Nick’s wife, well, she wasn’t his wife back then but he got a little violent with her so Nick beat his ass with a cane? Didn’t Nick also put a device on his dick that Tim had to go to the emergency room to remove it?”

  SAY WHAT??

  The information shuts up Naomi and she has nothing more to say.

  “Now ladies, if you’re going to be accusing Dominique here of wanting your men, please check your man’s history first and ask yourself, why would a young, beautiful, and talented woman, who is about be married into the one of the world’s most wealthiest families, want your pieces of shit, broke-asses, can’t keep their dicks hard longer than ten minutes husbands? And once you answer that question, then you can come back and say something. Are we done here?”

  Forget Ian. I think I want to marry Emma.

  Eighteen

  The success of the studio is monstrous.

  After several articles in L.A. Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, and a feature in Entertainment Tonight, my studio is a bonafide success.

  I hired four more instructors – three of the melanin variety and one without – and have a full schedule Monday through Friday. My days off are Fridays through Sundays. Every day is a three-day weekend for me. I love it.

  However, I’m also in the studio from the time it opens until it closes, getting up at the same time Ian does in the morning to prepare for my day. The good news about that is it gives us time to have morning nookie. Nothing like starting off your day with a dickdown.

  While all of this has been going on, I have my infamous shareholder’s performance tonight. I honestly forgot about the performance. I’ve been so wrapped up with my studio, it’s been a non-factor. I haven’t spoken to Ian about it and he hasn’t mentioned it at all.

  There’s a vibe about the performance that gives me a weird feeling. I know I’m doing this for the family but something tells me there’s more to it than that. Emma knew nothing about it at all, which was weird, since she seems to be the main communication channel.

  I wonder what’s really going on?

  Before I could entertain any more thoughts, I receive a call from our doorman. “Miss Kimbrough, Anthony Ferguson is here to see you.”

  Anthony? He doesn’t make a lot of appearances at Ian’s home. Come to think of it, I’m not sure when’s the last time Anthony was even here. “Let him up.”

  I freshen up in the bathroom and open the door for Anthony’s arrival. Dressed in a crisp blue shirt and khakis, the older Ferguson looks younger than his sixty years. With his sparkling blue eyes and charismatic charm, I can see why he still gets the panties all these years. “Anthony!” I greeted him with a hug. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, kiddo,” he steps inside our penthouse and looks around. He has an impressed look on his face, like if he’s proud by what he sees. “Ian’s always been an old soul. He likes lived-in furniture, you know? He likes going to a home and it’s somebody’s home, not an article for Architectural Digest.”

  I smile. I felt the same way when I first entered here. Now I love Ian’s style. “How can I help you today? Would you like anything to drink?”

  “Oh no, I’m fine. I won’t be long.” He sits down at the living room table and I follow suit. “I want to talk to you about tonight’s performance for the shareholders.”

  “Okay,” I nod. “It’s not a problem but I don’t understand why I have to do it.”

  Anthony sighs and briefly looks up at a corner, “Long, convoluted story. We’ll explain everything later, though. The only way we could get things settled for once and for all, is by this meeting.”

  I have a feeling there’s more to this performance than just the family entertaining some wealthy benefactors. “Okay.”

  “You’ll be performing for a group of some of the wealthiest people in the world. It’ll just be you in the room at a private gentleman’s club called the Avant-Garde. It’s not a nightclub but a high-society one where women aren’t generally allowed. You’re a special guest.”

  Now I’m really having second thoughts about this performance.

  “After your performance, let us know whatever you want and we’ll get. That means anything. Cars, clothing, buildings, real estate…whatever you want, we’ll get for you.”

  Wow. I am being pimped out. I guess Ian and I are done, after all.

  “But tonight should be the very end of it, at least that’s what we all hope.” Anthony stands up and gives me a faint smile that’s full of sadness. “I just want you to know you’re doing a huge thing for our family and you’re putting a lot on the line. When you and Ian talk later, I hope you will understand that.” Anthony gets up and I walk him to the front door. “I’ll see you later, kiddo.” He leaves.

  I close the door behind him and my heart pounds out of my chest. I can’t believe I agreed to do this! What was the point of the prenup? Is this something I need to expect all of the time from Ian? He can just rent me out to the highest bidder?

  I’m hurt, confused, stunned, and crushed. But I have to get ready for my performance in a few hours and I have no time to worry about that at all.

  I just hope my consolation prizes are worth it. Somehow, I don’t think they will be.

  Nineteen

  The air is thick and still. It smells and feels like old money. I feel like Vivian Ward, but quickly realize this isn’t Pretty Woman and I’m not Julia Roberts. No
t even remotely close.

  I briefly hear mumbling amongst the patrons and throats clearing. I’m the special guest star at an ultra-private gentleman’s club simply known as The Avant-Garde. Only the richest of the rich are members here and generally no women allowed.

  Except me. They made a special exception for me.

  My heart pounds out of my chest as I hear the music play. The song is fitting – “Scandalous” by Prince. The song solidified my relationship to Ian. It also just might be the song that finally kills what’s left of it.

  I close my eyes so I don’t see the wealthy and powerful men before me. I faintly smell their cigar smoke and my lungs feel like they’re on fire. I carefully walk to the center of the room and I feel all of their beady eyes on me.

  My audience is full of some of the world’s dangerous. Criminals. Murderers. Thieves. They don’t look like it because they all appear to be former members of the Boy Scouts of America.

  Their seersucker suits, crisp Armani ties, and expensive Brooks Brothers shoes will have you believe they’re just the nice guys next door. Except these nice guys know people that will ruin your life without having any of it traced back to them.

  And they’re paying me a substantial fee to perform for them.

  For the first time, I’m terrified. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I keep replaying in my mind how everything was so perfect to being so horrible only within a matter of months. It wasn’t even one thing but a series of very unfortunate events that I’m still not sure where in the hell we both went wrong at?

  How did I go from being an almost-fiancé to the one of the world’s most powerful and wealthiest men to twerking in front of old and creepy men as a single gal?

  I swallow my emotions and concentrate on the music. Maybe if I focus more on the music and not the seedy feel of the place, I will forget everything. I’m being paid a quite substantial fee to perform and my emotional feelings are not about to fuck up my coin.

  As Prince sings how the night was going to be someone’s fantasy, I sigh. I wonder what he’s doing. I wonder where he is. Does he even care anymore? I briefly hope that he might be somewhere lurking in the audience and at any moment he’ll appear in front of me.