“Yeah, I’m here. Let me handle this real quick and I’ma call you back. Okay, doll, smooches.” She blew a kiss into the phone before ending the call.
“Hello,” Milania spoke energetically as she sat down and took off her Versace shades.
“Hi,” Dylan responded, unable to take her eyes off Milania’s zebra print Lauren Merkin clutch.
“Luv the shoes,” Milania pointed down at Dylan’s feet.
“Thanks,” Dylan replied, caught off guard by her kindness.
Maybe this bitch ain’t the tin man after all. Maybe she does have a heart.
“Yeah, I have some just like it except mine are designer and not the knock-off version, of course.”
I wonder if I would go to jail for stabbing a ho,
Dylan pondered.
“So how are you?” Milania said to Dylan while waving to someone she knew across the room.
“Good, you?” Dylan responded dryly.
“I’m wonderful, planning for the wedding. You know how that is . . . oops, sorry, you don’t. But look, enough about me. First off, thank you for coming.”
“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for like half an hour.”
“Really?” Milania said sarcastically.
“Yes, really,” Dylan snapped back. “And what’s up with the photogs?”
“Please, believe the paparazzi is the least of your worries, but that’s neither here nor there.” Milania placed her elbows onto the table and clasped her hands together. “I invited you here because I wanted to make something perfectly clear so that you and I are on the same page. I don’t like you, I will
never
like you, nor do I want to get to like you. As a matter of fact, I can’t stand the sight of your face.”
“Excuse me?”
Dylan glared at her with venom in her eyes as the paparazzi took pictures of them through the window.
“Oh, honey, you’re excused, but let me explain something to you. This is you,” Milania placed her left hand down low.
“And this is me,” she raised her right hand high. “Whateva you and Angel had going on is over. He’s with me now and nothin’ about that is gonna change unless I want it to, so you,” she pointed her index finger at Dylan, “and that baby of yours, need to kick rocks wit’ open toed shoes on. And I know that you think your li’l cutesy girl antics are gonna bring him back, but they’re not. Sweetie, you’re a joke to us. We sit up and laugh at you. But see, I actually have a heart. ’Cause I honestly feel sorry for you. Sometimes I say to myself, Lord, please help that poorly, cheaply dressed woman.”
For a second, Dylan sat there thinking,
Is this really happening?
Because no way did Milania invite her to lunch to cuss her out.
This chick must have a death wish, or better yet, is plain crazy,
Dylan thought. But once she realized that what she was experiencing was real and not a bad dream, Dylan instantaneously kicked into cuss-a-bitch-out mode.
“Look, bitch,” Dylan placed her shoulders back. “I don’t give a fuck about you likin’ me. ’Cause frankly, I don’t like you either. As a matter of fact, who are you?”
“I’m a Victoria Secret model, thank you very much,” Milania retorted, squinting her eyes.
“Bitch, you in the catalog on page 97 of the clearance section modeling a mock turtleneck. Don’t nobody know you,” Dylan frowned.
“It don’t matter if nobody knows me. They will once I’m Angel’s wife. And at the end of the day when it’s all said and done, you’re the one pregnant lookin’ stupid wit’ no man, no nothin’.”
“Don’t you know I eat bitches like you for breakfast?” Dylan leaned forward and glared in Milania’s eyes. “And if you really think for one second that Angel is gonna marry you, then you’re dumber than you look. You’re nothin’ but a rebound, and once Angel realizes what a gold-digging skank you are, he’s gonna drop yo’ ass like Buck got dropped from G-Unit. Now get the fuck outta my face, prostitution whore. Spandex hurts my eyes.”
“Are you done?” Milania replied sarcastically to try to make Dylan believe that her words didn’t sting.
“I was done the moment you walked yo’ stank ass up in here.”
“Check, please.” Milania signaled the waiter, grabbing her clutch. “Consider this a favor. Lunch is on me,” she dropped a stack of money on the table. “Now, stay the fuck away from Angel,” she shot over her shoulder, walking toward the door.
“Have you figured out what you’d like, ma’am?” The waiter asked with his notepad out.
“Tell me, do you all have public humiliation on the menu?” Dylan asked in a daze.
“Yes, honey, I had it for an appetizer.”
“Feels like I’m broken and you’re not here to fix me up.”
K. Michelle “Fallin’”
5
Milania sat with the window slightly cracked, puffing on an L as the car took leave from the restaurant. DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win” bumped loudly from the speakers. To most, the catfight she initiated with Dylan would’ve been a dumb move, but every move Milania made was calculated and never out of character. The dispute wouldn’t push her and Angel apart, but bring them closer together. Milania was willing to bet money on it. And, yeah, Angel would suffer from her devilish ways, but everything Milania did was for his own good.
With Dylan out of the way, he’d be more focused on their impending nuptials, therefore, helping elevate her status and career, which was blowing up by the day. Milania had offers coming in from everywhere. She’d been the cover girl for
Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmopolitan
, and
Complex
magazine. She’d even become Marc Jacobs’s new muse.
Nearing the hotel, Milania put out her blunt, dowsed herself in perfume, and popped a piece of Spearmint gum. Angel hated smokers. As Tony helped her carry her shopping bags up to the suite, Milania prepared herself for the performance of her life. With her room key out, she placed it in the door and thought about the one thing in life that would make her actually cry, which was being poor.
By the time the door was open and her right foot had crossed the threshold, a stream of tears graced her lovely face. To Milania’s surprise, she found Angel standing in the middle of the living area talking on his cell phone with an angry expression on his face.
Damn, that bitch didn’t waste no time, did she?
Milania thought. But when Angel turned and noticed the tears sliding from her eyes, any worries that Dylan had got to tell her version of the story first was put to rest when Angel said, “Ay, let me call you back. My girl just walked in upset. What’s with the tears?” he asked, ending his call.
“I tried so hard to get along with her, but she was just so nasty.” Milania rushed into his arms, sobbing.
“What happened?” Angel held her close.
“I told her that at first I had difficulty dealing with the fact that you and her were having a baby, but that now I was on board and wanted to be a part of the experience any way I could. I even went so far as to go to City Sprouts and buy the baby some things,” she pointed toward the door at the bags.
“But she wasn’t having it. She called me a prostitution whore and said that she didn’t like me, that I was a rebound, and that you weren’t really going to marry me.”
“Word?” Angel asked furiously.
“Yes,” Milania wailed.
“Hold up,” Angel released her from his hold and dialed Dylan’s number.
She answered on the first ring.
“I was just about to call you,” she said taking off her black peacoat.
“Yo’, when you met up wit’ Milania, did you call her a prostitution whore?”
“I sure as hell did.”
“I thought the whole point of y’all gettin’ together was so y’all could try to get along?”
“Umm, it was, but—”
“But nothin’,” Angel shouted, furious. “That shit wasn’t necessary.”
“Hold up,” Dylan’s upper lip curled. “Who in the hell do you think you’re talkin’ to? She’s the one that came to lunch wit’ an ole aggressive-ass attitude, actin’ all high saddity like I owed her something!” she yelled into the phone, snapping her neck.
“Yo’, you can go head wit’ all that neck poppin’ and lip smackin’ you doing,” Angel barked, knowing her all too well. “All I was tryin’ to do is get both of you on the same page for the sake of this baby, but you can’t even be adult enough to do that.”
“You know what? I ain’t got time for this BS,” Dylan scoffed. “You gon’ sit up here and chastise me like I’m a fuckin’ child over a bitch you’ve known five seconds! She’s the one who came at me crazy, and you damn right I called her a prostitution whore, a skank, and a bitch too! Fuck her and fuck you! Now get the fuck off my line!” she snapped, mashing the end button on her cell phone.
“Stupid bitch make me sick. I wish I wasn’t pregnant so I wouldn’t have to deal wit’ her ass or him.” Dylan shook her head trying her best not to cry but a bucketful of tears had already begun to spill down her cheeks.
Seeing her in tears, Fuck’em Gurl ran over to Dylan and stood on her hind legs so she would pick her up, but Dylan wasn’t in the mood, so she ignored her.
“I can’t believe that he would even have the audacity to believe her word over mine. I just wish this shit would be over already,” she sniffed, wiping her nose. “I can’t take this shit anymore.” She held her head back and cried.
Everything seemed to be falling down around her at once. Her business was failing miserably, therefore affecting her livelihood. Disconnect notices swarmed her mailbox daily. Hell, Dylan didn’t even have health insurance. Every time she visited the doctor, she paid out of pocket, and she’d be damned if she’d ask Angel for a dime with the way he was acting.
And sure, Tee-Tee or Billie would gladly give her a loan, but Dylan couldn’t bear looking like a failure to them once again. That, coupled along with how she would provide for a child she wasn’t even sure she wanted and a baby father who she loved more than life itself who was acting like a goddamn fool was too much to handle.
If Dylan could, she would gladly fall asleep and never wake up again. But just when death became the best solution to her problems, a sharp pain raced throughout her lower stomach. Writhing in pain, Dylan slowly made her way over to the bed to call 911. It felt like she was having the worst menstrual cramp anyone could experience in life, and with each second that passed the feeling got worse.
Oh God, please help me,
Dylan said, doubled over in agony as she felt a warm sensation slide down her leg. She couldn’t handle the realization that she might lose the baby. Yes, for months she’d secretly loathed the baby, but now she felt nothing but worry and regret.
An hour later, Dylan lay nervously in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm and a heart monitor on her belly awaiting the emergency room doctor’s return. A million and one thoughts ran through her mind, like, what if the baby had died or if it were still alive, would it have brain damage or Down syndrome. Deciding the best thing to do was take matters into her own hands, Dylan did the one thing she hardly ever did: pray.
Hey, God,
she closed her eyes and pressed her palms together.
How are you? I pray that all is well ’cause it’s surely not with me. Look, Big Guy, I know that I don’t talk to you that much, but please, I’m askin’ you, please don’t let me lose my baby. And I know that you’re probably rollin’ your eyes at me right now and sayin’ to the überfabulous Lena Horne, this chile better make up her mind ’cause an hour ago she said that she didn’t want it. But God, I do. I really, really do. I want my baby more than I want a pair of Giuseppe shoes. This baby is all I have, and I promise I’m gonna do right by it. Just please, please, don’t take my baby. I love you more than I love Prada, amen.
Opening her eyes, Dylan inhaled deeply and hoped that God would answer her prayers when the door opened. She hoped it was Billie and Tee-Tee. She’d called them right after dialing 911. Instead, she found the doctor.
“Hey, Doc, got any good news?” she asked on pins and needles.
“Well, Dylan,” Dr. Crane looked over his chart. “Your cervix is closed, and I don’t see any evidence of a rupture or miscarriage.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” Dylan gave a great sigh of relief. “So what was that warm liquid that came out of me?”
“Just a little pee,” Dr. Crane said with a laugh.
“Oh,” she placed her hand on her chest, appalled.
“But I’d like to do an ultrasound just to make sure.” He gave her a warm smile.
“Cool . . . but you might wanna know before you go down under that I haven’t had a proper bikini wax in months, so it might be like
Thrilla in Manila
down there.”
“Okay,” Dr. Crane laughed, leaving the room.
“Dylan!” Billie rushed past him frantic with Tee-Tee two steps behind her.
“Hey,” she smiled.
“Are you okay?” Billie gave her a big bear hug.
“Yeah, the doctor just told me that I was fine.”
“Good. Girl, you had me worried sick.” Billie playfully hit her on the arm.
“Me too,” Tee-Tee popped his lips. “’Cause I was about to be mad as hell if I was gon’ have to take back all that stuff I done bought for that baby.”
“Tee-Tee, what in the hell have you bought my baby?” Dylan asked, intrigued.
“None of yo’ damn business. You’ll find out when we have the shower.”
“Billie, did you call Angel like I asked you?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah,” Billie answered. “He’s on the way.”
Although Dylan was upset with him, she knew that he deserved to know what was going on with the baby.
“So tell me, girl, what the hell happened when you met wit’ Milania today.” Tee-Tee sat at the end of the bed.
“Ooh, yeah, I wanna know too.” Billie took a seat in a chair.
“I swear to God, y’all, the only thing I hate more than drugstore makeup is that bitch,” Dylan said with a sudden fierceness.
“What happened?” Billie asked, dying to know.
“That heffa is playin’ Angel for a fool. She never wanted us to get along. Her mission was to get me alone so she could tell my ass the fuck off.”
“What she say?” Tee-Tee drew his head back ready to cut a bitch.
“First of all, I think the bitch told the paparazzi where we were meeting,” Dylan pointed out.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, so you know every gossip rag in America is going to know that I’m pregnant now.”
“That’s a mess, but tell us what she said,” Tee-Tee insisted.
“She told me she ain’t like me and some shit about her being up here,” she raised her left hand up high. “And me being down here,” she placed her right down low.
“Oh no, she didn’t,” Billie gasped.
“Oh yes, she did. She said that she and Angel sit up and laugh at me and that they feel sorry for me and that Angel is hers and that nothin’ about that is gonna change unless she wants it to.”
“Get the . . .” Tee-Tee inhaled deep. “Outta here.”
“Yes, ma’am, that bitch was out for blood.”
“Wow, I knew there was something about her that I couldn’t vibe wit’,” Billie confessed.
“I’m tellin’ y’all, I can’t stand her. It’s like I’m Jennifer Aniston, and she’s Angelina Jolie. And I so wanna be Angelina Jolie,” Dylan whined.
“Oooh, friend.” Tee-Tee rubbed her thigh.
“Do you know that that trick called me . . . oh my God, this is so hurtful.” Dylan fanned her eyes so she wouldn’t cry. “A poorly dressed woman.”
“Oh, hellllllll, no! I’ma kick her ass,” he fumed.
“Bitch had the nerve to sit up there and talk about me while her neck lookin’ like Kimora Lee Simmons and shit.” Dylan fumed with anger.
“What her neck look like?” Billie egged her on, laughing.
“Like a pack of pork sausages,” Dylan replied.
“Yo’ ass is silly!” Tee-Tee laughed too.
“So what my brother have to say when you told him?” Billie quizzed.
“Oh, baby, I didn’t even get a chance to tell him anything because as soon as I got home he was on my phone tellin’ me off too,” Dylan’s nostrils flared.
“You’re joking, right?” Billie said in disbelief.
“No, that heffa went home and lied on me, and your brother, for whatever reason, ate that shit up. I didn’t even get a chance to explain myself. I was so pissed off that I went off on him, then hung up. Right after that, that’s when my stomach started to hurt,” Dylan said visibly upset.
“I’ma tear his ass a new one as soon as he step foot in here,” Billie assured her.
“Don’t say nothin’ to him, Billie. It’s not even worth it.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“When I see him, I’ma say somethin’ to him too,” Tee-Tee crossed his legs. “To me, he’s the reason why you’re in here in the first place. Angel should’ve known better than to call you wit’ that mess.”
“You’re right,” Dylan nodded. “But I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It could’ve been a number of things that made me go in the hospital.”
“I still blame him. But on a brighter note, I got good news, y’all. The home study process of the adoption is over!”
“Good. So everything is straight?” Billie made sure before she got her hopes up.
“Yes, and the adoption agency has found us a baby already!” Tee-Tee raised his hands in the air and waved them around.
“You’re kidding me?” Dylan beamed.
“No, the girl is seven months pregnant, and she’s having a girl,” he cheered.
“Oooooh, Tee-Tee congratulations!” Billie hugged him.
“Thank you. We are sooo excited.” Tee-Tee grinned from ear to ear.