Chapter Four
Diamond
The buzzing sound disrupted my slumber. Turning on my side, I grabbed the iPhone and answered, “Hello.”
“Happy b-day, sis,” Dexter, my older brother, yelled into the speaker.
“Thanks, bro.” I turned the volume on my phone down to drown out the noise in his background. It sounded as if he was at a party.
“Girl, it’s early. I know you ain’t asleep.”
“Yeah, I was. I had a long day,” I yawned.
“Doing what? Shopping and spending money?” He laughed.
“No, nigga. I was working,” I snapped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know conning men out of their money was such a strenuous occupation,” he retorted.
“The fuck you mean?” I cut into him for trying to ho me.
“Look, I didn’t call to start no shit. I was only calling to wish you a happy birthday.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Be safe out there,” I said before ending the call and dropping the phone. Although I wanted to be pissed off with my brother, how could I? He was right. Not long ago, conning men and running scams was my full-time job, and I was good at what I did. You can think what you want, but a bitch had to eat. This poor girl from the projects managed to hustle her way up to penthouses and Porsche cars.
You see, after administering all the game I could on the male residents of St. Louis, I packed my shit and headed to Hollywood. I knew the money was in Tinseltown, and I was bound to eventually snag an actor or a Beverly Hills surgeon. I landed a job at an exclusive exotic dance club in Melrose and immersed myself in the “in” crowd. Before long, I was going on dates with musicians, producers, and the like. It felt good to be arm candy until I realized it was time to secure a future. I no longer wanted to be a fling, weekend thing, or a jump off. It was time to become a wife. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any prospects until a chance encounter with my new boo, Kensington Tucker, who was the starting shooting guard for the Los Angeles Lakers.
The night we met in Los Angeles at a twenty-four-hour diner on La Cienega Boulevard was purely coincidental. I’d gone there to pick up a steak and lobster meal after leaving the strip club, and he was dining with an entourage. The place was packed. Therefore, I had to stand in line for nearly thirty minutes waiting for a table before I was finally granted access into the diner. Upon entering, I spotted the famous NBA star at the table shooting the breeze with his squad. He was larger than life and finer than I recalled him being on television.
Without a word, I made my way past his table, then sat down in my booth. From my position, I could hear all the chatter among him and his friends. His smile was captivating and his laugh adorable. I remembered seeing an interview with him during playoffs. He seemed to be very humble and kind. You didn’t find that these days with professional athletes. Because of that, someway, somehow, I had to make my mark on Ken. Regrettably, from my position, I could also see several obstacles in my way. They were called groupie bitches. Several of them surrounded the table of men, practically falling over themselves to get an autograph or a picture. Some of them were cuter than me and slimmer than my size eight. Nonetheless, I one-upped the competition by calling Ken’s waitress.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not the waitress for this section. She’s on her way though,” she had said.
“I would like to pay his bill.” I had pointed to the tableful of food and beverages.
“There are twelve people on his tab. Are you sure?” She had frowned. “His bill is almost one thousand dollars.”
“I got it.” Without worry, I’d reached inside my Birkin bag, then placed ten big-face Franklins in her hand.
“I’ll let them know.” Bewildered by my actions, she’d stepped away. As I placed my order with my own waitress, I watched as Ken’s waitress delivered the news. Every man at the table strained their eyes to see who had just dropped a grand on their meal. When Ken’s eyes met mine, I’d simply nodded. I realized my move was bold, but it paid off.
Within minutes, Ken had made it his business to introduce himself to me. The two of us chilled for over an hour. By the end of the night, Ken walked away with admiration and appreciation for an independent woman such as myself, and I walked away with his digits. We chatted every day thereafter, and within three months, he asked me to be his girl. That was six months ago. Since then, I’d been trying to stay on the straight and narrow. I had it good with Ken, and I planned to rock with him until the wheels fell off.
“Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday, dear Diamond, soon-to-be Mrs. Tucker
Happy birthday to you”
Speaking of Ken, he barged into the bedroom, singing and wearing nothing except an apron, a pair of Jordans, boxers, and a chef’s hat. He was carrying something covered by a bronze lid on a tray with fancy silverware, a linen napkin, and a small vase with a red rose.
“Aww, snap! Don’t tell me you been down there cooking for a sista?” I sat up in the twelve-foot circular custom bed and hit the light on the nightstand.
“I’ll do anything for my baby, especially on her birthday.” Ken displayed the contagious smile that made me fall for him all over again.
“Thank you, baby, but what is it?” I looked over at the tray cautiously. I had never known Ken to cook anything, so I was a little scared.
“Girl, this here is the joint.” He lifted the lid, and steam hit me in the face. When the smoke cleared, I was in awe of the culinary masterpiece before me.
“Baby, you did not bake this chicken, candy these yams, or cook this macaroni.” I shook my head.
“I did too, and I got the dishes downstairs to prove it.” Ken sat his lanky six-foot-seven frame down on the bed beside me. “I had to call in the big guns to pull this off.”
“You called your mother?” I replied, already knowing who the big gun was.
“Yeah, I Skyped her, and she talked me through the whole thing,” Ken admitted. “She said she has to meet the woman who has me in the kitchen because she must be special.”
“Is that right?” I grabbed the gold fork and dug into my food.
“I told her we’ll set up something soon with the whole family.”
“You must be feeling your girl if you’re trying to take me home.” I smiled at my man. Although he was 26 and covered in tattoos with tons of facial hair, Ken possessed a baby face and boyish good looks.
“Hell yeah, I’m feeling you. If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.” With a chuckle, Ken stood from the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to clean up the kitchen.”
“Let the maid do it, bae,” I whined. He was only in town for a few more days until he returned to Denver for training camp. Consequently, I wanted to spend every minute with him.
“She doesn’t come back until tomorrow. Besides, your nigga is a neat freak.” Ken was right. In his condo, everything had a place. His walk-in closet was organized to a T. All of his clothes were categorized with areas for sportswear, casual wear, and special events. All 400 pairs of his shoes were in plastic containers with a picture on the front so he would know what was in each box without removing the lid. Even his jewelry section looked like the display counter at Diamonds International.
“On my way downstairs, I’ll run you a bath,” Ken called out before entering the bathroom in the guest suite that I slept in.
“Will you come back up and join me?” I asked seductively.
“You know I can’t, Diamond.” Ken was super religious with regard to abstaining from sex before marriage. He told me he believed his faithfulness to God’s Word was what allowed him to be blessed in his NBA career. The brother was super successful and hella paid, so I couldn’t argue with his theory. It was, however, hard to play my position. I’m not going to lie. A bitch had needs. Many nights, I contemplated stepping out. Then again, I knew I couldn’t afford to lose Ken on account of some random dick, so I played it cool. Furthermore, I had a feeling my ring was coming real soon. Until then, I would continue playing the “good girl” Ken thought I was.