Ex-girl To The Next Girl

by Daaimah S. Poole

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

In Daaimah S. Poole's sizzling new novel, three sistahs and three bruthahs are playin'a game of love where the only rule is anything goes . . . Ever since Shonda stole Malik from his fiancée--at the altar, no less--she's believed that marrying him would be her ticket to happiness. But when it finally happens, Shonda is in for a rude awakening. . . Meanwhile, Malik's ex-fiancée, Kim, has had a year to get over the nightmare that was supposed to be her wedding day. She manages to pull it together despite the news that Malik actually married the bitch who spoiled her nuptials. Just as she opens up to the idea of a new love, Kim meets a new man. . .who happens to be white. Is he the one she's been looking for? After two years with her boyfriend Rodney, twenty-five-year-old Nadine Clark wants to see what else is out there. But Nadine soon discovers being single isn't what she'd imagined. Dejected, Nadine takes up with Malik, a man she believes is free. But when his wife, Shonda, confronts Nadine, everything hits the fan. . .and it isn't long before everyone involved comes face-to-face with the crazy consequences of getting what they wished for. . .

Release date: May 30, 2014

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 308

Sample

I have been with my man for about a year and some change. He was seeing someone when I first met him. Actually, he was living with her and engaged, with a baby on the way. But I deaded all of that. I had to; I fell in love with him. Malik was going to be mine, one way or another. He was so damn sexy, polished, built, and a delicious shade of brown. We met at my old job at a law firm. He still works there as a paralegal. I was a temporary receptionist. I got fired for punching a bitch in the face who was minding my business. Not like that. But I had to handle my business. Malik still works there as a paralegal.

We snuck around for a few months, going to hotels, having lunch together, and taking days off from work. But then we broke up. He started feeling bad about leaving her while she was pregnant, and temporarily got back with her and proposed to her. I thought I could live without him, but I realized I couldn’t. Then I heard that he was about to get married. So, I marched right up into his wedding to his son’s mom and was, like, “Hold up one motherfucking moment.” That’s not what I said, exactly, but to make a long story short, I said, “Malik, you don’t love her; you love me.” And it didn’t take a lot of convincing, ’cause instead of staying there and marrying her, he left the church. He fell in love with me and I fell for him, hard.

After I left the church, I went to the gas station and Malik’s baby mom sister attacked me with her bridesmaid dress on. She snuck me. It was cool, though. I guess she was mad. But that didn’t make Malik come back to the wedding. He was at my house that next morning, saying, “Baby, you stopped me from making the worst mistake of my life.” And if he would have married Kim, I still wouldn’t have left him alone. I probably would have settled for being his mistress. He wasn’t really trying to marry her, anyway.

It’s been all good ever since. We moved in together a few months after his wedding. Now we have a house that we are renting in Wynnfield. My daughter has her own room, then we have our bedroom, and my back bedroom is the junk room. We keep boxes that I haven’t unpacked and the ironing board in there. I’m thinking about making that a gym or office for Malik. I don’t know. I have a little Chrysler Cirrus and we are doing okay. Malik already has an Associate’s degree and is going back to school to get his Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice. Then after that he is going to law school. I’m going to be married to a lawyer. Imagine that! One day I might even go back to school. I need a career change. I like my job as a car salesperson, but it is so hard, working on commission. If I don’t sell a car, I don’t get paid. It is as simple as that. They have this thing called “the draw” that means you get paid six hundred every two weeks, when you don’t sell a car. Then when you sell a car, they take their six hundred dollars back; it is just like borrowing money.

I was at the dealership. I spend more time here than I do at home, I thought. My luck has not been that good lately with selling cars, but things should begin to pick up very soon. People are getting their 1040s in the mail, and soon they will have income tax return checks. People are just now recovering from Christmas. Trying to sell a car in the winter is like selling vinegar juice to a thirsty person on a hot summer day—very hard. Malik been holding down the bills, then my daughter’s father take care of her. I don’t have to buy her anything, and I still get money every week from my child-support check. So I’m cool, I just have to make enough money to get my hair done, shop, and put gas in my car.

It was so slow I looked out into the crowded parking lot. There were about a hundred cars that were just sitting there ready to be driven home. There was big print chalk writing that read No Money Down on some of them, and the others had balloons and fiesta-colored adornments flickering in the wind. Nobody had pulled in the lot the entire hour I sat at the window. I was next up. We took turns and rotated on customers on slow days. But nobody was coming through those doors. So I went to my cubicle and called back old leads. Leads were people who were supposed to buy a car, but something happened with their credit, they didn’t have down payment money, or a cosigner. Basically, deals that fell through. I managed to schedule one appointment. The woman would be in on Friday. I went back to the big window, watching closely to see if anybody entered the parking lot. The first car that rode up was going to the parts department. The second car was coming straight towards me. I put on my navy wool coat and met the man at the door. An older Hispanic man red from the cold walked up to me. His brown hair covered half of his bald head. He smiled at me.

“Hi, I’m Shonda. What car did you want to see?” I asked as I reached for his hand. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a printout off the Internet of a car website. He handed me the paper. I looked down at it and said, “So you are interested in a Focus.”

“Yes, I want the same one with all those options. Same color, price, and all.”

“Okay, let me see if we have any in stock.” I went to look in our computer system. I told the man to have a seat but instead he followed me. Then he said, “You seem nice, so let me tell you. Shonda, I don’t want to play any games. Tell your boss that I’ve walked out of three other dealerships. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I’ll walk out of here, too.”

“Okay,” I said as I continued to type in his selection, knowing this man was going to be a pain in my ass. He explained he wanted a four-cylinder car to get him back and forth to work. He was putting too many miles on his SUV.

I took him out to the lot and found the car he wanted. He said that he didn’t want to even look inside the car or test-drive it. He wanted for me to just write the deal up. I began writing the deal, asking him necessary questions like his name, social security number, and employer. I already knew he was definitely going to buy the car. I was happy I had a deal, but I wasn’t going to make any money on it because he wanted the car for five hundred dollars over invoice. We made fifteen percent on new cars. That meant I was going to make seventy-five dollars.

I finished writing the deal up and took all the paperwork to my manager, Joe. He was a drunk. I think he put liquor in his coffee. He looked over at the customer through the bottom of his thick glasses. He then yelled at me, “Did you give him this number?”

“No.”

“Where did he get it from?” he asked.

“He’s been to a few other dealerships. He told me to tell you don’t play any games. Give him the car for this price or he is walking.”

“Did you take him on a test-drive?” he asked, looking down at me.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t want to test-drive,” I said, exhausted.

“Give me a minute,” he said as he sipped his dark, alcohol-tainted coffee. I went back and had a seat. Joe pulled his pants up that were falling off his butt. Then he walked over to us and said, “Señor estoy contento que usted aquí deberá negociar con nosotros hoy.”

“Como no Espanola,” the man said.

“Okay, brother,” Joe said as he patted his back. “Let’s sit down.” I looked over at Joe clown-ass. I hoped he hadn’t lost the deal for me. Trying to speak Spanish and assuming that a Hispanic person should know Spanish.

“We would like to make a deal with you today, but if we sell this car at this price, we wouldn’t be making any money,” Joe said as he wrote a slightly higher number on the sales sheet.

“Have a good evening,” the man said. He got up and added, “I told her to tell you I wasn’t playing. I want that car under these conditions or no deal.”

“Hold up one minute—let’s see what we can do,” Joe said as he walked back to his desk, pressed some numbers in his calculator and said, “Okay, okay, Mister—you are a good negotiator. What the hell, Robinson, write the deal.” He couldn’t let him leave; we needed the deal. We were short eleven cars for the month.

I wrote up all the paperwork and took them to Lester, the lead salesperson they promoted to finance even though he didn’t have that much experience. Lester pulled me to the side and said, “We are not making any money on this car. We got to sell him on a warranty so we can make some money on the back end.” I hated selling warranties to people. People that buy warranties financed five hundred dollars for five years and nothing that you needed was covered like the transmission or engine. I sold him the car, that was my job. Selling warranties, that was his job. I walked back out to the showroom, aggravated.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked Mr. Rivera.

“Sure.”

I grabbed the coffee, stirrers, a pack of the pink one, a blue one, and one sugar. He could decide for himself which one he wanted.

“Oh, Mr. Rivera, I just wanted to tell you that you should get a warranty on the car. It would only increase your payment by eight dollars a month, but you would be covered for everything.”

“Well, the car is practically new, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, I shouldn’t have any problems. Right?” he said, looking at me suspiciously.

“No.”

“Well, why would I need a warranty?” he asked.

“It’s just good to have. You know, peace of mind,” I said, thinking on my feet.

“I meant to ask you, Shonda. Did this car have one owner?”

“Yeah, just one owner,” I lied. His eyebrow raised and he said, “Any problems?”

“No problems. I can do a CarFax for you.”

“You sure? I don’t want to have to replace the transmission or anything.”

“No, not at all. It had one previous owner.” I neglected to tell him the previous owner was a rental car agency and that the car had been run up and down the highway by different drivers for two years. I turned my head and saw Lester coming toward me. I was saved as he introduced himself to Mr. Rivera and they walked into Lester’s office.

He bought the car and I was done for today and off to pick up my daughter, Brianna, from her father’s house. I pulled up and tooted my horn.

“Brian, I’m outside,”

“Bree will be out.” Bree came running to the car with her pink Bratz doll book bag. I gave her a quick hug and we were on our way home.

“Mom, guess what?” Bree announced.

“What?”

“Daddy said we are going on vacation,” she shouted excitedly.

“Really, where are y’all going?” I asked.

“Daddy said me, him, and Andrea are going to Disney World.”

Is that right? I thought. I don’t know why, but I got instantly jealous. He was not taking my child to Disney World. Especially not with his wife. I was going to take her. She needs her first Disney World trip to be with her mother. I already started pricing it. Me and Malik were going to take his son and her. He wanted to take Kim’s other son, Kevin, too, but she said no. If she didn’t, I would have said no. I didn’t want that little boy to go, anyway. It is one thing being nice and loving Malik’s son, but I’m not playing stepmommy to a little boy that ain’t even Malik’s. But that was another story. I had to deal with Brian. I dialed his phone.

“Brian, um, when y’all supposed to be going to Disney World?” I asked.

“I bought tickets and we are going over Brianna’s spring break,” he said.

“Well, let me tell you something. You did not ask me. So Brianna can’t go.”

“What do you mean, she can’t go? She is my daughter—I bought the tickets.”

“Like I said, she can’t go because you didn’t ask me. And I want her first Disney World experience to be with me.”

“Shonda, you are ridiculous!”

“Whatever, get a refund.” I hung up on him. Me and Brian have been broken up for over two years, and I still hate him. Brian thinks he is doing so much better than me, but he ain’t, and his wife is ugly. Big, tall, yellow bitch. She looks like Big Bird. I can’t wait for Malik to propose to me. Then we are going to get a big town house with a driveway. The only reason I let Brianna go over as much as she does is because I be needing a break and be working. I rather her be with her dad than with a babysitter. Otherwise, he would not have my child so much.

I walked into my house and it was a mess. Brianna’s Barbie dolls were scattered around the room. I had started decorating the living room, but haven’t had the time or money to finish. I walked into the kitchen. I had a sunflower scheme going on. On the stove there was smelly broccoli in a pot that I had cooked three days ago. I rinsed it out, poured bleach into it, and washed it. The smell still lingered a little.

It is hard trying to clean, cook, and work. I took a look in our freezer: there was steak, a whole chicken, and frozen hot dogs. I continued to stare like something else was going to appear. It was too late to thaw out a steak, and I didn’t want a hot dog. I took one more glimpse in the freezer, then I decided I wasn’t cooking anything. I cleaned the kitchen and then snatched the Tri-Town delivery menu off of the refrigerator. I worked all day, too. But I was the one who had to find the energy to cook for everybody. Not tonight, I thought. I was going to order me chicken fingers and Malik a cheese steak. I picked up the phone and Brianna was on there, talking. I listened for a moment to see what she was talking about. Her and her friend were talking about what they were going to wear to school the next day. I had to cut their convo short.

“Who you talking to?” I asked.

“My friend Leah.”

“Tell Leah good-bye and come here.”

Brianna told her friend she’d see her at school. She ran down the steps and shouted from the living room, “Yes, Mom?”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Where are you ordering from?”

“Tri-Town.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she said as she looked over the menu.

“Brianna, hurry up and decide—I’m placing my order now,” I said as I dialed the number.

“I’ll take a salad.”

“A salad? I’m not paying seven dollars for a salad.”

“Me and Andrea always order salad.”

“Bree, you can get some fingers or a burger. Or you can go and fix yourself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.”

“I’ll fix a sandwich,” she said with an attitude.

“After that, get your homework done.” She was only ten, but getting so grown. People were starting to tell me that I needed to sit her down. I found a note she wrote to some boy, talking about meeting her after school under the steps. She said it wasn’t hers, it was her friend Erica’s. So I told her she couldn’t be friends with her anymore.

Malik came in the door around nine. “Hey, baby,” he said. My baby made me proud to say I was his woman. He looked so handsome in his white shirt, navy blue tie, and navy slacks.

“Hey,” I said as he came and kissed me softly on the lips.

“Where is Bree?”

“She is in the room asleep.”

“What you cooked?” he asked as he looked around the kitchen for a sign of food.

“I didn’t cook anything, baby. Me and Bree got in here so late.” I could tell he was a little disappointed. “I ordered you a steak, though,” I said, trying to make up for not cooking.

“A greasy cheese steak and soggy French fries with ketchup in the microwave. Damn, Shonda, cook for your man once in a while,” he said as he looked in the microwave. “Why can’t I come home to a decent meal?” he said playfully, but I knew he was serious.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I was tired. I promise, tomorrow I will cook for you.” I said as I got close to him and put my arms around his waist and kissed him.

“It’s okay. Baby, I know you’re tired, but you got to feed your man. Look at me, I’m getting skinny,” he said as he took a step back from me and raised his shirt to reveal his flat stomach.

“I think you look fine, baby.”

“You about to get in the tub?”

“Yeah, I want to relax a bit,” I told him.

“I’m going to eat. Then I’ll be up there to get in with you.”

Malik met me upstairs and we turned the lights out and I lit a candle. The water was hot and the bubbles were high and feathery. We sat in each other’s arms. It was so relaxing, ending the day with my man. I took the wash cloth and wrung it out over his back, letting the warm water trickle down his spine.

“Thank you, baby, that feels so good,” he said as he sighed. I then began to massage his temples and reached for the Suave apple shampoo and lathered it in.

“When we get our new house, we have to have a Jacuzzi in our bedroom,” I said. Malik agreed, and then said, “Let’s get out of here.” After thirty minutes of soaking, we stood up and let the water out. I took a towel out of the closet and dried Malik off. He came behind me and held me. I went and lay under my warm rose comforter. Malik followed me. My baby positioned me down on the bed and we got in our favorite arrangement: the sixty-nine. I was on the top, he was on the bottom. I put his massive dick in my mouth and tried to take every inch as far as I could. He opened the lips of my inside and twisted his tongue back and forth. Malik was ready to make his way into me, but I wanted him to finish stroking my breasts and to suck on me harder. I loved his touch. He could make me come just from slobbing my breasts. He then entered me. I felt all of him in my stomach. I kept squirming so that I could be able to take it.

“Baby you got some good—” I couldn’t get my last thought out.

“I love you, girl—Don’t you ever leave me,” he screamed out and came as his juices trickled down his leg and we both closed our eyes and fell asleep.

The sound of the grumbling, noisy trash truck awoke me. I hastily jumped out of my bed and looked out the window to see the truck a few doors away from my house. I slid on my slippers and robe and went down the steps. I opened my back door and ran down the steps and grabbed the trash cans. The cold January weather greeted me at the door. I hated the winter. It was always too cold. I looked over at the trash spilling out the trash can. I momentarily thought about letting the trash stay in the yard one more week. Instead, I grabbed the can and pulled it into the house. Just as I opened the front door, I saw the trash truck passing my house. I pulled the can down the steps as fast as I could. The trash man saw me coming and stopped the truck. The sanitation worker had on a blue jumpsuit and layers of clothes with orange gloves.

“Any more, pretty lady?” he asked as I dragged the can toward him.

“Yes, just one,” I said as he took the can from me.

I raced back through the house to get the other trash can. I grabbed the last can and dragged it through the house. Out of breath, I handed him the can.

After the man dumped the cans, I pulled all the empty cans back through the house and then to the backyard. I washed my hands in the sink and grabbed a paper towel and dried my hands. I then put water in my World’s Best Mom mug, put it into the microwave and pressed one minute, fifteen seconds. I grabbed a tea bag out of the cabinet and the Equal. I don’t want to go to work. I want to go back to bed, I thought as I reached for lemon juice. It was behind the multiple rows of salad dressing. I needed to go food shopping. There was a container of orange juice, bread, and a jar of applesauce, and not much else. I checked the date on the eggs; they were expired, so I threw them out.

I sat down at the table and sipped my tea. I looked over at the time on the microwave. It was 6:30. I had exactly one hour to get out of the house if I wanted to make it to work on time. Last night I knew if I didn’t pull the kids’ clothes out, I was going to be late, but knowing that didn’t make me prepare for the next day. Some days I couldn’t make myself care, even though I would like to. I needed to start getting my clothes out the night before and make the boys wash up. Actually, I should have taken their clothes out and ironed for the week. If I had done that, I would have been ahead of the game. It was 6:45, and I was still just sitting, sipping my tea. No motivation, no reason to move forward or faster. It was times like this when I felt so alone. When I was all alone, it dawned on me that there was only me. I was by myself. If I didn’t wake the kids, feed them, and dress them, then it wouldn’t happen. Nobody else would pay the mortgage. Nobody would take the trash out, take them to the barber, or make dinner. It was me, only me. Kimberly Vanessa Brown: the middle child, the shy one, the girl who was . . .