“Bleu?” Jess rushed over to her, but Bleu pushed her away. Bleu didn’t want Jess’s fake love, her pretend caring, the false concern. Bleu saw the I.D. card that hung from a lanyard around Jess’s neck. She snatched it off and bolted for the door.
“Bleu!” Jess shouted. “Security!”
Bleu didn’t even look back. She just wanted out. She needed to get to Iman … to hear it from him. She wanted him to look her in the eyes and tell her that he didn’t want her.
Bleu didn’t stop running until she was sure no one was chasing her. When she finally did, the contents of her stomach erupted. She was lovesick. Her legs were so shaky from the revelation Tan had thrown at her that she sank to the ground. Suddenly she felt weak, light-headed, and so full of angst that she wanted to give up. She planted her head in her hands as she allowed herself to have a good cry. She was tired of holding it in. For an entire week she had pretended that the knots in her stomach didn’t exist. She had tried to dull the ache building in her chest. Her heart felt too heavy to beat and it made the rise and fall of her chest feel unbearable. She just wanted to die. Surely death would be easier than living without love.
Bleu looked around in despair. She was sitting on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway, without her wallet or a cell phone. She was stuck. There was nothing around for miles except the place she had just run from. I’m not going back there, she thought. She composed herself as she stood and began to walk on the side of the winding elevated highway, hoping someone would take sympathy on her and save her from the rising Malibu temperatures. Bleu walked for an hour before a car pulled over for her. Relief flooded her until she turned to see Jess’s face through the window. Bleu blew out a breath of frustration and raked her hand through her sweaty hair.
“I’m not coming back to rehab,” she protested. “It’s not the place for me. I just need to get back to Iman. I don’t belong there! The Zen and the yoga and the talking and the … ugh! I’m over it.”
“We can’t make you stay at The Sanctuary, Bleu,” Jess said. “I’ve packed your things. They are in the trunk. Now are you going to walk to the bus stop? Or are you going to get in so that I can drop you off?”
Bleu reluctantly got inside the car.
“My name tag please,” Jess added with displeasure.
Bleu gave it to her and then sat back as they rode the rest of the way in complete silence. When they arrived, Bleu couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Jess looked at her sympathetically and said, “You’re the worst kind of addict, Bleu. You’re in denial that you even need the help. You don’t just stop smoking crack, Bleu. It’s an everyday struggle that you fight like hell to maintain for the rest of your life. You’re going to slip up because you don’t want to admit what you are. You can’t face yourself, and until you do you won’t ever recover. Good luck.”
Bleu didn’t respond. She simply grabbed her luggage and walked away. She doesn’t even know me, Bleu thought with an attitude as she went to buy her ticket. There was only one person’s approval that she needed; everyone else’s opinion held no weight with her. There was no way she was going to sit in self-imposed seclusion for six more weeks while Tan weaseled her way back into Iman’s bed.
* * *
Bleu’s cab pulled up to Iman’s house and devastation slapped her in the face when she saw Tan placing the last of her possessions out for the trash.
“It’ll be fifty-six dollars,” the cabbie said.
“Oh.” Bleu fumbled through her bag. She didn’t have any money. Iman never trusted her with large amounts of cash and she had spent the last she had on the bus ticket to get back to L.A. “I need to go inside to get your money,” she said, embarrassed. “Just give me one minute.” She looked up at the house as Tan got into her car. Bleu’s stomach turned. She hated her. Tan was exactly the type who looked like she deserved to be with Iman. She symbolized all of Bleu’s insecurities. Bleu wasn’t pretty enough, fancy enough, sharp enough, thin enough. She was nothing compared to Tan. She was childish compared to Tan. As Tan pulled out of the driveway in her Aston Martin Bleu cowered in the backseat of the cab. She waited until she was sure Tan was gone before climbing out of the cab. “I’ll be right back with your money.”
“Don’t make me call the police,” the cabbie threatened.
“I got it,” Bleu said impatiently as she slammed the door. As soon as she turned toward the house her feet felt like they were planted in the cement. She knew Iman was home because his car was parked horizontally in the driveway. She had seen with her own eyes that Tan was back but wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to ask him how he could let her set her things out for the trash. Was she trash? Was she that easily forgotten? She walked up and rang the bell, trying her hardest not to cry.
Do not let this nigga make you cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Fuck him, she thought. The tough visage was shattered the moment Iman opened the door.
* * *
He saw her hurt. Visibly. It emanated from her like a radiator spreading heat. The look in her eyes was pure grief and the fact that he had caused it filled Iman with guilt. He hadn’t expected to see her for another six weeks. He had thought he had more time to explain to her why he had to let her go. Absence had dulled the potency of his affections for her. He had underestimated how hard this moment would be. Her tears were love personified and he was wasting it. He was letting it spill down her cheeks as if it weren’t one of the hardest things in the world to find. They stood there just staring at each other. They were silent, but so much was said in their gaze. He knew her questions: Why? How could you? Now the answers didn’t seem to make sense.
“I’m sorry, ma,” he said, suddenly ashamed of himself. He reached out to touch her, but she recoiled as if he had burned her.
She backpedaled while shaking her head and he advanced on her.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, and then turned and hustled back down the driveway.
“Bleu!” he shouted. She didn’t stop until she saw the cabbie getting out of his cab.
“Where is my money?” he shouted.
Iman frowned and pulled out a knot of money, throwing it at the cabbie. Bleu reached for the door, but Iman closed it.
“Just give me a minute,” he said. He turned to the cabdriver. “She’s good, my man. Beat it.”
The cab drove away.
“How dare you!” Bleu shouted. “You sent me away so you could get back with your wife. My stuff is on the curb. You threw me away!” Bleu was hysterical. She braced her hands on her knees and cried, then stood, then bent over again in agony. She was going crazy. Iman made her crazy. He brought back the itch to smoke dope. He awakened her addiction. He’s my trigger, she thought. I have to get away from him. Bleu began to walk away.
“Bleu. Don’t make me chase you, ma.” His voice was stern, commanding, and she stopped walking instantly. She refused to face him. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed so hard that her shoulders shook.
Iman felt like shit. How could he hurt this beautiful girl? Even the melody of her cries was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. Bleu was imperfectly perfect, like a priceless piece of china that had been cracked. He had developed a great appreciation for her character. Yes, he loved his wife, but she had never quite evoked this level of affection from him. Bleu had the key. She was like a fingerprint; there was only one of her.
Iman walked over to her and scooped her up in his arms. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she hated and loved him at the same time. Iman put her in the passenger seat of his truck and fastened her seat belt. “I’ll be right back, ma. I swear to God I’m going to make this right.” She didn’t believe him. He was the world’s greatest liar, but she needed an explanation. He locked up and came back out, pulling away from the house that he now shared with his wife.
Bleu couldn’t even look at him. He didn’t know where to start with her, so they rode in silence.
“Why aren’t you in rehab?” Iman asked, genuinely conce
rned.
“I’m not going back there. I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s not there,” Bleu replied somberly as she watched the scenery pass by outside her window. He took her to his condo. Tan had already moved out of it and he was supposed to put it on the market, but he couldn’t see Bleu out on the streets.
She followed him up to the penthouse condo and when they were behind closed doors she finally faced him. Her tears were still there. They fell effortlessly.
“You’re back with Tan?” she asked the obvious.
He wanted to give her an excuse, even to tell her about the deal he had struck with Sandoza, but it didn’t matter. At the end of the day he had chosen Tan over Bleu. He had to be a man and admit it to her. “I owe it to her to give it a real try.”
“You owe it to her,” Bleu repeated in disbelief. She scoffed as she shook her head. “And what about me? What about all the times you said, ‘I love you’? What about the way you touched me? The things you promised me?” She was shouting. “A week ago I was sleeping next to you and now my clothes are in the street! Did I mean anything to you? Or was I just some stupid college girl that you took advantage of?”
“I meant it all, Bleu,” Iman replied as he wiped his hand over his goatee. He felt stress consuming his body. He wanted to keep her, but he couldn’t let Tan go. Tan was good for business and good for him in ways that Bleu couldn’t be. He didn’t have to worry about Tan. He didn’t have to watch her every move out of fear. Tan was strong, but even with all of Bleu’s flaws she was food to his soul. Her energy kept him full of happiness and that was hard for him to send out into the world for the next man to enjoy. She was his. He had claimed that pussy.
“If you meant it how can you do this? Is it the drugs? Is it because you found me in that hotel with a crack pipe in my hands?” she asked.
“That’s not it, ma,” he replied. He didn’t need to make her feel any worse than he already had. “It’s not a good time to end my marriage, Bleu. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I planned to tell you once you finished your program. I’m sorry about your things. Tan was out of line. She was supposed to put your stuff in the garage, not the trash. I’ll replace it all; you know that.”
Bleu wiped her face. This was unreal. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know you. You never loved me. This isn’t what it’s supposed to feel like,” she whispered. She headed for the door, but Iman grabbed her arm, pulling her back into him and caressing her face as he looked her dead in her eyes.
“Don’t ever let that come out your mouth again,” he said, his eyes betraying him and letting emotion cloud his vision. He sniffed it away.
“You make me feel like I’m nothing!” she shot back as she snatched away. Iman was right on her heels as she opened the door. He placed a palm on it, slamming it and then pinned her against it.
“I want to leave,” she said, resting her forehead on the door in despair. She could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned into her.
“Please stay,” he whispered.
“Stay where?!” she shouted, turning toward him and looking at him incredulously. “You gave my spot to your wife!”
“Stay here, ma. I’ll furnish it; I’ll pay all the bills. I just can’t let you walk out of my life. Not like this,” Iman said. “I can’t leave Tan, but I can’t leave you alone either, ma. I know what I’m asking is a lot, but I’m crazy about you, Bleu. I love you in ways that I have never loved anyone else. You do something to me. Stay.” Iman wasn’t a pleading man, but he was willing to sacrifice his pride if it would keep her near him.
“I don’t want to be the woman you come see after you’re done at home. I don’t want to be the one you call using hushed whispers, or the girl who gets her gifts the day after Christmas. I want to be a priority!” she cried.
“Fuck is you talking about? Day after Christmas shit,” he scoffed. “You’re not a side chick. I would never play you like that,” Iman said.
“What do you mean? You let her put my shit on the street! You have chosen to stay with your wife!” she shouted. “That’s exactly how you would play me.”
Iman was trying to hold his tongue, but he could feel Bleu slipping right through his fingers. She was going to leave him and he couldn’t blame her.
“Sandoza is letting me take over his entire empire if I stay married to Tan,” he said through gritted teeth.
Bleu exhaled. It was like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. It didn’t make his decision right, but she understood how he had come to it. Tan was good for business.
“Do you love her?” Bleu asked.
“I won’t lie to you and say no. I love her, but she’s not you,” Iman replied.
He kissed her and she did nothing. She stood stoically still, refusing to kiss him back, but he was relentless. He moved to her neck, stirring up feelings in her that she tried to fight off. She winced in resistance as he went lower, on his knees as he lifted her shirt to plant kisses on her belly. He pulled down her sweatpants and panties and she moaned. When he placed her legs on his shoulders she knew where he was headed next. He planted kisses on her southern lips and she reacted. She couldn’t help it. Her back arched and her mouth fell open as Iman pulled back her labia to uncover her pearl. He attacked it slowly, passionately, applying pressure, then taking it away, as she writhed beneath him. “Stay,” he whispered between kisses. “Say you’ll stay, ma.”
“Hm-m, I’ll stay,” she moaned as he brought her to orgasm.
She tasted so sweet on his tongue that even after she came he kept going, exciting her all over again. She fed him her honey three times before she couldn’t take any more. He released her legs and she grabbed his hand and led him to the kitchen island. He laid her down, the cold tile against her back causing her nipples to harden. He took notice. His attention to the details of her body amazed her. He took one nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other one between his fingers. She could feel his need for her. It pressed against his jeans and she ripped at his clothes, uncovering the masterpiece that was his body. Iman was a beautiful man. Bleu reached down and massaged his strength, guiding him between her thighs. She gasped when he entered her. He always fit her just right. He went to work, grinding her deep as he gripped under her behind, pulling her into him each time she tried to run away.
“I love you so much,” he groaned in her ear, but instead of the words warming her, they sent a frigid shiver down her spine. Bleu could differentiate truth from lies and nothing he told her anymore resonated genuinely with her. Not anymore. He had told a lie so damaging that it made her question everything that came out of his mouth afterward. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. No matter how good he made her feel, he had chosen someone else. He left her spent. Every part of her body was sensitive to the touch. She was naked as a newborn baby, but it wasn’t her body that she wished she could cover. It was her soul. She wished she could rewind time and erase him from her life. If she had never allowed him access to her, he would have never been able to disappoint her. Her expectation of him had exceeded the reality of him. She sat up and Iman stood between her legs as she leaned her head into his chest.
“Look at me, ma,” he said.
She did and he was disheartened by the change he saw in her eyes. “I love you,” Iman stated. She was grateful for the sound of his ringing cell phone. She didn’t know how to respond to his declarations of the heart. She hated him, but she loved him enough to want to stay here, knowing she wasn’t a priority. It didn’t make sense. She didn’t even begin to know how to explain these things to him. So as he picked his phone out of the pocket of his pants she was grateful for the interruption. He looked at the screen and then silenced it.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Bleu asked, crushed.
“You can stay here,” Iman said, ignoring her question.
“But you have to go,” Bleu finished for him. “Right?”
“I’ll be back for you. Just stay here. I’ll set you up. You can furnish it, decorate however yo
u want.”
“What about money?” Bleu asked, and he froze. He couldn’t hit her off with a pocketful of cash. It would be too hard for her. It would be temptation at its finest and Iman feared that she would fall back into the trenches of her addiction. She noticed his hesitation. “I’m not going to get high. I have to eat. I need clothes.”
He sighed, unsure of how to play this. Iman wasn’t naïve. He couldn’t trust Bleu. Just a week ago he had barely made it in time to stop her from smoking a straight shooter. He knew what would happen if he put cold, hard cash in her hand. She would try hard to stay clean, but eventually she would give in to the devil’s smoke. Iman finished dressing and then pulled an American Express card out of his wallet. “Whatever you need, just charge it on my account. I’ll call and have you added to it.”
Bleu drew her lips into a flat smile, but she took the card, knowing she would need it. “Fine,” she said.
Iman twisted the key off his ring and placed it in her palm. He balled up her fist and kissed it. “I’ll check in with you later, a’ight?”
Bleu nodded as she watched him walk out of the door. She shook her head as she realized what she had just agreed to. She had become Iman’s mistress and the sad part was that she would rather accept that than lose him altogether.
9
Noah rode through the city, his city, sitting safely behind the tint of his luxury truck as he headed to meet Messiah. He didn’t know much about him. Only that he got money on the city’s south side. The fact that Khadafi had vouched for him gave Noah reassurance, but trust was earned. It would take more than the words of a third party for Noah to feel at ease. Time and consistent loyalty would prove whether or not Khadafi was right about Messiah. Too many niggas claimed friendships too quickly nowadays. Yeah, Messiah had let his cannon bark in the club on Noah’s behalf, but Noah wasn’t naïve. Messiah would have to prove loyalty to gain Noah’s trust before knocking off his mark as well. Real men moved in silence and Noah didn’t want to be caught lacking by calling Messiah a friend too quickly. He pulled into the car wash that Messiah owned and rolled down his window. It was a known hangout spot for made men around the city. When the wife was on your neck at home, you came to the wash. When you wanted to politic with other players in the city, you came to the wash. When you wanted to find out information, you came to the wash. Even if you wanted to dabble in a new flavor of pussy, you came to the wash. It was low-key and the hangout spot when the sun was sitting pretty, burning up the sky. With the pretty girls in their tiny shorts and bikini tops it was a black man’s Hooters. All the O.G.’s in the city hung out there.
A LaLa Land Addiction Page 7
