Material Girl (3 page)

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Authors: Keisha Ervin

BOOK: Material Girl
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Candy pretended like she didn’t see it coming, but deep down inside, she had already felt him slipping away. Plenty of nights had gone by where she left him at home alone. Time and time again, she let him down. She didn’t care that she was causing him so much misery and pain. And yes, when he left she was filled with regret, but Candy couldn’t concern herself with that.
At the ripe age of twenty-five, she found herself divorced with a five-year-old daughter who looked too much like the man who had betrayed her heart. Determined not to let her unfortunate circumstances take over her life, Candy got even. She knew that Bill loved Dylan more than life itself, so out of spite, she filed for full custody and won. Candy knew it would hurt, but she felt it prudent for him to experience a woman’s scorn.
And no, she didn’t have any job skills, but she did have a steady alimony and child support check coming in monthly. Five years and two divorces later, Candy and Dylan had moved more than twelve times.
Dylan yearned for her father. It wasn’t fair that she only got to see him twice a year, so like most little girls her age, when alone, she shut out the real world and created her own. Dylan was the only little girl she knew who laid out Barbie’s clothes for the week.
Furthermore, she didn’t want to deal with the fact that she had more uncles and step-dads than she could possibly name. Some were nice, some were funny, and some were ugly. But the one that stood out the most was the one who was a little too touchy.
His name was Chauncey. He was her mother’s boyfriend after her third divorce. One night while Dylan was asleep, he came into her room and placed his hand underneath her covers.
Dylan could feel his cold, clammy hands ease up her thigh, but pretended to be asleep, praying he would go away. Each second that went by felt like an eternity as his fingers neared closer to her panties. Before Dylan could come to grips with what was happening, Chauncey began to massage her vagina. Frightened beyond belief, Dylan opened her mouth to scream. She heard the sound of a loud thud echoing throughout the room, and someone fell to the hard wooden floor. Opening her eyes, she found her mother standing over Chauncey’s limp body with a metal shovel.
After the police were called, Candy held a shaken Dylan in her arms and promised that from then on, things would be different. But three weeks later, they were on to another city and Candy was under a new man.
For years, Dylan continued to be subjected to her mother’s lifestyle; that was, until she turned eighteen and moved in with her father permanently. Having missed his daughter terribly, Bill spoiled her rotten. The family-owned brewery was now his. Dylan didn’t have to want for a thing.
Sadly, she and her father only spent a couple of years together before he died of a heart attack. Dylan now lived off of her trust fund.
What the hell could she possibly want?
She wondered as she sat on a bar stool.
It better not be money. Hell her ass still owes me five grand from the last time we spoke.
Already aggravated, Dylan picked up the phone and dialed her mother’s number. Three rings later, her mother answered.
“Holla-holla!” Candy said instead of hello.
“Hi, Ma,” Dylan responded dryly.
“What’s going on wit’ you, chunky? I ain’t heard from you in a while.”
“That’s because you haven’t called.” Dylan’s mouth tightened at the mention of her childhood nickname.
“I ain’t forgot that I owe you that li’l money.” Candy spoke while inhaling the smoke from a cigarette.
“Last time I checked, five grand wasn’t li’l money.”
“Aw shit, girl, calm down. I’ma give you back your money, but look ... I’ma be in town, right, for a few weeks. I wanted to know if I can come stay wit’ ya.”
“What’s wrong with the Four Seasons? Normally you stay there.”
“Well, you know I’m in between gigs right now.”
Gigs meant sugar daddies.
“Huhhhhhhhhh.” Dylan sighed, running her hand down her face. “I’ve been real busy, Ma. I wasn’t planning on having any company right now.”
“Just spit out whateva you tryin’ to say, girl. Don’t beat around the muthafuckin’ bush. If it’s gon’ be a problem, then just let me know, ’cause Mama gotta make moves and fast. Huh,” she chuckled. “You ain’t gotta do me no favors. Candy gon’ be all right regardless. You already know how I get down.”
“I never said it was problem. You can come. I don’t care.”
“That’s my girl.” Candy snapped her fingers, pleased with the outcome. “Well, look, let me get a couple of my affairs together and I’ll be there, a’ight?”
“Mm-hmm,” Dylan replied with her eyes closed.
“I’ll holla.”
Dylan didn’t even waste her time saying good-bye. She simply hung up the phone and hung her head low. Candy never came into town for just a visit. There was always something more. Dylan just hoped she wasn’t in any kind of trouble, but knowing Candy she probably was; and Dylan, being the softie she was, would have to bail her out like always.
“I got a secret it’s here in my heart, and I can’t even tell my friends.”
—Kelly Price, “Secret Love”
 
Chapter 3
 
“
They told me round the hooooood, every time they see me I look good.
” Dylan sang Keri Hilson’s version of “Turn My Swag On” as she stood in front of her full-length mirror, posing from side to side. The brand new $500 dress she wore had a vintage romantic sensibility to it, but she wondered if it was too cute and not sexy enough.
As a child, Dylan had come up with a theory that if you possessed the right clothes, cars, and accessories, nothing else in life really mattered—and it didn’t. Dylan never had to worry about a thing—not her mother, not Chauncey, not her insecurities, not the loss of her father, nothing. Money made all of it go away. It was like her armor. It made her feel good about herself. Without it she felt insecure, maybe because she knew that without it she had nothing.
In high school, she was expelled for violating the school rules. Due to that, college was no longer an option. Instead of working, at the age of nineteen she traveled the world and began her short-lived career as a model. When Ford dropped her, she returned to the States. Dylan soon developed the reputation of a socialite, being identified as the leading “It Girl.”
Dylan hung out with all of the beautiful people, from Diddy to Victoria Beckham. Truth be told, she was the one who encouraged Miss Lara Croft, Tomb Raider herself to ditch the Morticia Adams look and go for a more sultry vixen approach. A certain
American Idol
runner up didn’t even know what coming out of the closet was until she told him that nobody was buying his “I love women” act. And the infamous pint-sized Brooklyn rapper, well, she was still a work in progress, but Dylan hadn’t given up on her yet.
After her failed attempt at modeling, she was bored with the Hollywood scene, so Dylan turned to acting. After two straight-to-DVD films, she was offered the opportunity to be Paris Hilton’s best friend on
The Simple Life
, but turned it down, a decision she regretted even to this day. Now, here she was, almost broke, with nothing to fall back on.
Reluctant to let her choices affect her night, she took another look at herself and examined her outfit once more. The dress she wore was soft pink, with tiered ruffles and a scoop neck. To complete the ensemble, she rocked a pair of Alexandra Neel Cleopatra fringe stiletto sandals and a clutch purse.
“Consuela!” She called out for her fifty-year-old Puerto Rican maid.
“Yeeezzzzzz.” Consuela dragged herself into the room. She and Dylan had a love/hate relationship.
“Do you like my dress?” Dylan twirled around so she could get a better view.
“Ju look like an oversized cupcake.”
“Ugh! Just get out. I don’t know why I asked you in the first place. Go clean something, why don’t you.”
“Whaaaaa’eva.” Consuela shrugged and left the room.
Tired of fretting over her outfit, Dylan took one last look at her makeup and hair and decided to go with it. She and State were going out on a date, but she had no idea where. All week she’d been trying to pry information out of him, but State wouldn’t break. The only thing he would tell her was to be fly and on time. Although a little frantic, Dylan couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for her.
For the past month, State had been surprising her with cards, flowers, and designer duds. It was nothing for him to spoil her with the finer things in life, but what Dylan cherished the most were the quiet moments they shared.
If it was up to her, they would spend every waking moment wrapped up in each other’s arms, as they did each and every night. Dylan loved that she could go to State’s place, have a glass of wine and chill. And no, she wasn’t officially his girl again, but Dylan had never felt sexier or more alive. Yet, there was still a nagging suspension that his newfound dedication to her would fade and he’d break her heart all over again.
Grabbing her purse, she walked downstairs. Dylan loved her home. She lived at the Chase Park Plaza. It was one of St. Louis’s most prestigious hotels. Her luxury private residence was an exact reflection of her personality—lively and eclectic.
The living room was gigantic. The walls were a striking shade of hot pink. One wall was decorated with three Andy Warhol portraits of Marilyn Monroe. Underneath was a built-in fireplace. On the wall beside it were two sets of French doors that led out to the patio. All of the furniture, which was a pale green, white, and brown, was modern with an art deco appeal. Dylan had two sofas across the room from each other, four love seats, and two cocktail tables.
Just as she stood in front of the mirror adjusting her cleavage, her house phone rang.
“Hola!”
Consuela answered the phone dryly. “Hold on. She’s right here fixing her boob.”
“I’m gonna kill you,” Dylan mouthed, snatching the phone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Consuela walked away, unfazed.
“Hello,” Dylan said sweetly into the phone.
“You ready?” State asked in a deep tone.
“Yeah, you here?”
“Yeah, I’m outside.”
“Dang, you couldn’t come upstairs? All I get is curbside service,” she halfway joked.
“Stop the nonsense and bring yo’ ass.”
“Here I come,” she said, pressing the end button on her phone. “Consuela, I’m gone!”
“Peace out, homey!” Consuela replied, trying to be hip.
Outside, Dylan spotted State leaning against his silver Nissan GT-R. The sound of Trey Songz’s hit song “Invented Sex” bumped softly from the speakers. A smile a mile wide instantly popped onto Dylan’s face. She couldn’t care less how much paper or how many gifts he showered her with; State could get it how he wanted.
That night, he donned a pair of brown aviator shades, a white V-neck tee, yellow-gray-and-white plaid button-up, dark denim jeans, and a pair of yellow-and-white high top Adidas. State was the truth. The closer she got to him, the more her pussy ached to be tortured and teased with kisses from his lips.
Face to face, he gently took her hand and pulled her close. State would never be able to get over just how beautiful Dylan was. The sight of her alone made his dick hard.
Dylan could feel his manhood growing against her thigh. Every fiber of her being wanted to say fuck the date, go back upstairs to her place, and explore all of the freaky thoughts in her mind.
“I missed you,” he confessed, kissing the side of her neck.
“I missed you too,” she replied, barely able to breathe. “Now, where are we going?”
“None of yo’ business, nosey ass. Now, come on. We gotta go or we gon’ be late,” he said, walking to his side of the car.
Dylan stood for a second, stunned that he wouldn’t even open her door for her. Deciding that it wasn’t even worth it to start a fight, she opened the door herself and got in. Even though she was little perturbed by his lack of chivalry, Dylan couldn’t keep her eyes off of State during the entire ride. He possessed an animal magnetism that attracted women to him—especially Dylan. The way he smiled, tasted, and even whispered into her ear turned her on. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she wouldn’t feel this way about him. She hoped not.
Minutes later, they pulled up to The Pageant Theater. Dylan looked up at the marquee and saw that Solange Knowles and Raheem Devaughn were performing.
“You ready?”
“Are you serious? I love Raheem Devaughn. His CD
The Love Experience
is my shit,” Dylan beamed.
“What, you thought I forgot? Are you surprised?”
“Hell yeah, I’m surprised.” She grinned.
He got out and once again neglected to open her door.
 
 
After grabbing drinks from the bar and finding their seats, Dylan and State sat side by side, anxious for the show to begin. Once it did, they were both on their feet, clapping and cheering. Solange, being the opening act, performed first. Dylan was pleasantly surprised by how well she did. Her ’60s era Supremes-style music was on point. But Raheem DeVaughn was who she really wanted to see. When he finally came out dressed in a bad-ass Gucci tuxedo suit and bow tie singing “Guess Who Loves You More,” Dylan lost her mind.
Raheem DeVaughn was the personification of soul music for her generation. His voice was powerful, but smooth like silk and sweet like jazz. His whole entire set was good, but when he began to sing “Mo’ Better” from his latest CD,
Love Behind the Melody,
that’s when Dylan really had a fairytale moment. She and State had been rocking, doing their thing. When the words, “You pat me on the back and rub away the pain, ’cause you’re my baby, my darling; you’re priceless” floated into the air, he took her hand gently in his and they began to dance cheek to cheek. She knew that would be a moment she would never forget.
It was as if they were in their own world and no one else existed. She was his and he was hers. He’d never played with her heart, and the abortion was just a figment of her imagination. In his arms, Dylan felt important. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but there was something about him she just wasn’t willing to let go.
Nobody understood the connection they shared. God didn’t bring him into her life for nothing.
There has to be a reason why we’re together. Maybe we are meant to be,
she pondered.
After two encore performances, the concert was over. Dylan and State walked slowly down the street, stuffing their faces with hotdogs from a corner vendor.
“This is sooooooo good,” Dylan declared, taking a huge bite.
“I told you you would like it.”
“Okay, you were right. Get over yourself.” She rolled her eyes as he wiped mustard from the corner of her mouth.
“I swear if I didn’t like you so much . . .” He wrapped his arm around her neck and kissed her cheek.
“You would do what?” she responded.
“Fuck the shit outta you.”
“Well, niggah, don’t like me then,” Dylan joked.
“Be quiet.” He chuckled.
“I really had fun tonight,” she said seriously. “You really made me happy.” She hugged his waist tight.
“I try.”
“So, what now? Is the night over?”
“Nah.” He pulled out his cell phone and checked to see who was calling. “I got another spot I wanna hit up before we go home.”
Dylan hated to be nosey, but she couldn’t help but sneak a look at his screen. The only thing she could make out was the first three letters of the name.
Who the fuck is Ash?
she thought as her stomach dropped. Dylan also wondered if State would be bold enough to answer the phone while she was right there. Thankfully for him, he didn’t. Instead of answering, he sent her call to voice mail and placed his phone back into his pocket.
“Who was that?” Dylan quizzed, hoping he wouldn’t lie.
“This chick.”
“Why you ain’t answer the phone?”
“What you mean, why I ain’t answer?” He turned up his face and looked at her like she was insane. “Why would I?”
“I’m just asking you a question, State. You don’t have to get an attitude,” she stressed as the State she knew appeared.
“Nah, but that’s stupid.” He took his arm from around her shoulder. “I’m here wit’ you. What I need to talk to somebody else for?” He looked her square in the eye and lied.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” She gave him the evil eye.
“Like, straight up, Dylan, we having a good time. Don’t start with that insecure shit. It turns me off.”
Dylan stopped and looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“And you can stop lookin’ at me like that. I’m here tryin’ to show you that I’m on some other shit this time, but you hung up on a fuckin’ phone call. I’m tellin’ you now I ain’t got time for a whole bunch of petty-ass shit. I love you.” He placed his right hand on the nape of her neck and looked her square in the eyes. “You the one I wanna be wit’, and the sooner you realize that, the better off we’ll both be.”
Dylan didn’t even respond. State had hit her with the same speech so many times it had gotten to the point where all she heard was the Charlie Brown sound:
Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa
. She wanted desperately to believe him when he said he loved her, but deep down, she knew that what they shared wasn’t love, but a relationship of convenience. She needed him to give her the illusion of being loved until he got it together and could love her for real, or until she could find someone new. Until then, Dylan settled for a bunch of words she couldn’t fully believe in for the sake of feeling wanted.
“Why you think I’m going so hard? I want you to see that I’m for real this time. Ain’t no going back.”

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