Dirty Little Secrets (17 page)

“I agree. With Ian being such a tyrant, that’s a huge step for him. Plus I know how much you love him,” Chrissie said.

“Yeah, I do love him. What can I say? Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m still hoping that Ian can get control of his temper
and we can be happy together. He’s coming to New York sometime this week for a couple of days. We’re going to try to work
things out.”

“Great, but Tyler, don’t let him pressure you into conforming to his barbaric ways.”

“Okaaaaay,” I gestured. Chrissie was right: I had to remain strong because Ian could be so persuasive.

But my outlook on our relationship was different now. No longer was I on cloud nine and caught up in the excitement of being
with a star athlete. I was maturing and trying to grow up. Even though the ad campaign was courtesy of T-Roc, making my own
money was liberating and a natural high. I wasn’t getting that same high attending basketball games, eating at fancy restaurants,
or shopping. At the end of the day, how many designer bags did I really need? It was becoming a bit repetitive. Plus Ian wasn’t
the brightest crayon in the box, and I was craving intellect. I felt inadequate with Ian because my opinions didn’t matter.
I was there strictly to please him when he beckoned. We were no longer connecting. When he met me, I had really just got off
the bus. Initially, being exposed to the excitement of the NBA was thrilling. Bragging to my friends that I was dating Ian
Addison, superstar point guard for the Detroit Pistons, or seeing him on a commercial and know that I was in his bed the night
before would pump my adrenaline. I felt privileged to get on a plane and malinger in a big old mansion, lounging around being
glamorous. But, that wasn’t my plane, it wasn’t my pool, and that damn sure wasn’t my mansion. I was a visitor!

“Tyler, I’m ready to go. This sun is burning me like a piece of toast.”

“That’s cool because my head is killing me.” Chrissie and I were gathering our shoes and zipping up our cutoff jean shorts
when I heard the chiming of my cell. When I finally located the miniature phone, I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello.”

“Tyler?”

“Yes, this is she.”

¹³⁶
Joy King

“Hi, it’s Sasha.”

“Hi, Sasha, how are you?” I was surprised to hear her voice.

“Wonderful, your pictures came out fabulous. I can’t wait for you to see the final product. But that wasn’t what I was calling
about. I’m having a small get-together tonight at my penthouse in the Trump Tower and would love for you to come.”

“Party at your penthouse in the Trump Tower,” I repeated out loud. Chrissie nodded her head yes again and again.

“Sure, I would love to come. Is it okay to bring my friend Chrissie?”

“Of course. I’ll see you around nine.” Sasha gave me her apartment number and hung up the phone.

“This is so cool. I’ve never been in the Trump Tower before, no less a penthouse. Your life is so cool, Tyler. Thanks for
bringing me along.”

“Chrissie, if it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t even be going.” I had a feeling T-Roc would be there, and I wasn’t up
to seeing him. T-Roc gave me a powerless sense of being that scared me.

I didn’t know what to wear. It was burning up outside, so I wanted something sexy but not too revealing. My lime-green satin
halter dress by Miguelina would be perfect. I sleeked my hair back in a bun and wore the strappy Emilio Pucci heels Ian purchased
for me a couple of weeks earlier. Not to keep Chrissie waiting, I gave myself the once-over and I was the vision of summer
perfection.

“Chrissie, why didn’t you come upstairs instead of waiting outside?”

“Because I needed to smoke and I know how much you hate the smell of cigarettes.”

Dirty Little Secrets
137

“Oh, yeah, you did the right thing.” Chrissie knew I was damn near allergic to the cancer sticks.

“Oh, my gosh, Tyler, you are unbelievable in that dress. You bitch,” Chrissie said, teasing.

“Look at you, Chrissie! You’re putting Carrie Bradshaw to shame in that skin-tight powder-blue one-piece short suit.” Chrissie
loved to wear microminis and microshorts to show off her toned curvy legs. Besides her bottled-blond perfect ringlets, her
legs were her next best asset.

For Chrissie, entering Sasha’s penthouse in the Trump Tower was like hitting the lottery. I hadn’t seen her this excited since
she got the deal of a lifetime on a vintage Chanel dress. When Sasha said a small get-together, I figured ten to fifteen people,
maybe twenty at the most. But there were about forty people scattered around, and I assumed there were at least ten more lurking
around the corner somewhere. Sasha immediately strolled over, giving kisses on both cheeks and a counterfeit hug.

“Tyler, I’m so glad you could make it, and this must be your friend.” She approached Chrissie with the same fake kisses and
hugs.

“Come have some champagne, and relax. We also have excellent blow and ecstasy available if you like.”

“Champagne would be great.” Chrissie and I followed Sasha over to a couch in the corner, where the waiter brought us a bottle
of Cristal.

“Cheers, ladies,” Sasha chirped before going off to mingle with her other guests.

“Her penthouse is amazing,” Chrissie said, gazing around. Sasha’s place was no doubt beautiful, but it didn’t come close to
touching T-Roc’s grand town house. I scanned the room, but I didn’t see him. I was actually disappointed. After thirty minutes
of having three glasses of champagne and dissecting every person at the party with Chrissie, I was having a great time.

“Here comes Sasha again,” Chrissie complained.

“Tyler, I have a proof of your ad shots in my bedroom. You should go up and see them, and tell me what you think.”

“That’s okay; I can wait,” I said, not feeling all that comfortable about going in Sasha’s bedroom.

“No, you have to. I really want to get your opinion.”

“Well, if it’s that important to you, I’ll go. Chrissie, come with me.” As Chrissie was standing up to follow me, Sasha grabbed
her hand.

“Actually there’s this actor that wants to meet her.”

“Really?” Chrissie said with eyes beaming.

“Yes, he’s extremely cute too,” Sasha added.

“You two go ahead. I’ll go look at the pictures and let you know what I think.” Sasha gave me directions to her bedroom, and
once again I put Sasha’s behavior on odd. Her aura rubbed me the wrong way. When I finally made it upstairs to her bedroom,
the door was slightly ajar, a dim light was on, and the sounds of Lenny Kravitz were playing. I peeked around the door and
gawked at the spectacle I faced. After a full sixty seconds of digesting the scene, I stood in the hallway against the wall
to catch my breath. There was no way I saw what I just thought I saw. I closed my eyes, reopened them, and scrutinized the
spectacle one more time. The picture didn’t change; it was still the same. Brianna and Sierra, the stepsisters from the ad
campaign, were having a ménage à trois with my Prince Charming, Ian. Brianna was giving hima professional and fingering Sierra
at the same time. My, what skills she had. Ian was sucking on Sierra’s breasts, and then he flipped her and started fucking
her doggy
style, while Sierra munched on Brianna’s bush. It was all so sick and disgusting.

I wanted to scream, break shit, and fuck all three of them up, but my mouth wouldn’t open. My body was numb and my heart was
frozen. What was it with men and ménages anyway? One piece of pussy wasn’t enough? They had to indulge in two? Ian hadn’t
even called to tell me he was in town. Instead he rushed over to Sasha’s for some fucking and sucking. I closed the door without
interrupting the private party. I drifted downstairs, knowing the tears were coming and wanting to leave this place now. I
searched the room for Chrissie, and to my disillusionment she was at the table snorting coke with some soap opera actor. It
was time for me to go, and when I turned to leave there was T-Roc.

“Tyler, are you okay? You seem distraught.”

“I’m fine. Now please excuse me,” I said, walking away.

“Tyler, wait,” he said, grabbing my arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me. It’s obvious something is terribly wrong. I want
to help you.”

T-Roc seemed so concerned, and honestly I wanted someone to confide in and hopefully numb the pain, if only momentarily. “No,
I’m not okay. I feel terrible.” I put my head down, not wanting T-Roc to see the tears in my eyes. He gently lifted my chin
and gazed in my eyes, full of concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Can we leave here, please?”

“Sure, where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here.” There was complete silence until we got inside his Bentley, which was waiting outside.

“Tyler, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go back to your place? I’m not ready to go home.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Positive.”

That night T-Roc and I made love as if it were our last night on earth. My emotions were disseminated all over the place,
which caused me to grasp on to him for dear life. Making love to T-Roc overshadowed the pain Ian had caused me. With every
stroke, T-Roc entered my body and Ian left my mind. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Ian’s once warm and secure embrace
was now replaced by his cousin’s.

“Rise and shine, pretty girl. I know you must be starved.” T-Roc had breakfast for me with fresh flowers on a tray.

“Is it some sort of family trait, cooking breakfast for your women friends?”

“Only the special ones.” T-Roc smiled. T-Roc was an excellent cook, and I devoured the French toast and home fries and downed
it with a Bellini.

“That was delicious!”

“I see! You didn’t even come up for air. So are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“What’s there to tell?”

“Why you were so upset at Sasha’s party.”

“I wasn’t upset; I was just ready to go.” In the middle of answering T-Roc’s question, my cell phone started ringing. It was
Ian. I tossed the phone down, not wanting to see his name or hear his voice.

“That’s my cousin calling. You’re not going to answer?”

“For what? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“Talk to me, Tyler,” T-Roc demanded as he sat at the edge of the bed looking at me. Observing him in his white terry-cloth
robe, I saw he was sincere, and that prompted me to open up to him.

“At Sasha’s party I walked in on Ian having a ménage à trois with these two model chicks.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler.”

“Why are you sorry? Ian wasn’t using your dick to fuck those two bitches. Call me naive, but I never thought Ian would cheat
on me. I thought he was different from my father.” The words seemed to just slip from my mouth.

“Your father?” T-Roc asked, clearly surprised by my admission.

“Yes. My father cheated on my mother, but she continued to stay with him because of his money. She claimed she loved him,
but how can you love someone and stay with them when you know they’re seeing someone else? Now I’m confusing myself, because
in the same breath I’m the first to say that all men have secrets. That belief also came from watching my father’s behavior
when I was growing up. He seemed so perfect on the outside, but soon it became clear that he was just like every other man.
I guess I was making myself believe Ian was unlike my father. But I was wrong.” Words were coming out of my mouth faster than
I could get ahold of my thoughts. Once again I found myself comparing my relationship with Ian with that of my parents. Was
I the product of a dysfunctional home?

“I’m sorry, because I know how devastated you must be.”

“I’m over the devastated part. Now I’m just empty. Can you hold me? I just want to feel loved.” I fell back asleep in T-Roc’s
arms, wishing I could erase the revolting images of Ian. He completely ruined my fantasy, and I didn’t know if I could ever
recapture it. As T-Roc held me closely, I thought maybe all hope wasn’t lost.

When you have a secret, you know it will more than likely come to light. You may cover it with layers of disguises, but eventually
any secret worth keeping will be exposed. All you can try to do is prepare for the ramifications once it’s unburied.

Dealing with Ian’s betrayal was a lot harder to swallow than I thought it would be. I was spending a lot of time with T-Roc,
but it still wasn’t enough to suppress the pain. While I was sleeping beside T-Roc one night, I woke up crying because I missed
Ian so much. “Tyler, what’s wrong?” T-Roc asked.

“I’m okay; I just had a nightmare.” I didn’t want T-Roc to know I was yearning for his cousin.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I said, wanting it to be true, but not sure if it would be. T-Roc got out of bed and went to the bathroom.
He
came back a minute later with a bottle in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

“Here, Tyler, take one of these.” I looked at the small pill in his hand.

“What is this for?”

“It’ll relax you and erase any pain that you’re feeling.”

“It’s not harmful, is it?” I asked, needing some reassurance.

“I would never give you something that was harmful. I use them myself when I need to unwind. Just take it. I promise you’ll
be happy you did.” I put the pill in my mouth and washed it down. Within a few minutes I became light-headed, and a warm sensation
ran through my body. T-Roc was right: that pill was exactly what I needed.

“Tyler, what would you like to order?”

“Nothing; I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a glass of chardonnay.” “Baby, you need to eat something,” T-Roc stated in his “I’m
your daddy, so listen to me” way.

“Fine, I’ll have a salad. Is that good enough?”

“I see you’re in one of your moods. Take this. It always makes you feel better.” T-Roc handed me one of the tiny white pills
I had been taking for a couple of weeks. I called them dolls, like in Jacqueline Susann’s
Valley of the Dolls.
I didn’t know what was in them or even the name, but they always relaxed me and kept my mind free of bullshit, which meant
not thinking about Ian. I hadn’t spoken to him since the peep show, and he still didn’t know why I wouldn’t accept his calls
or see him. I went home only once, to get some of my belongings, and I had been staying with T-Roc ever since. I almost broke
down a couple of times
and called Ian, but then I would take a doll with a glass of champagne and forget all about him. Sometimes I felt addicted,
but hey, it was just dolls. It wasn’t like it was coke or something. But I was a tad curious.