Secret Society by Miasha Page B

vitamins for my hair, nails, and skin. After about a year, I was a totally different person. I had gone through a lot, but I was definitely happier as a woman. I didn’t have to worry about being teased and looked at funny for being gay, like I had witnessed other gay men go through. I could walk around with a man and kiss him right in public without stares and hateful comments. That was probably the best advantage of dressing up.
    I decided to call O after spending the whole day looking at old pictures, watching Lifetime movies, and crying. I finally got bored with myself. I wanted to get out of the house.
    “Hey, O, it’s me. Hit me back, I’m tryna see you,” I said after the tone.
    I waited for like an hour for O to call me back, and when he didn’t I realized that I was due for a new dude. Anytime I didn’t have a plan B, something was wrong. I got in the shower, threw on a royal blue and white J’adore sleeveless T, some Miss Sixty low riders, some royal blue stilettos, and a short royal blue leather jacket with cropped sleeves to my elbows. I grabbed my Dior clear-lens glasses and my blue Dior signature bag, and left.
    It was a cool April night but nice. It was close to eleven o’clock. I went to Chrome nightclub on Delaware Avenue. It was somewhat packed. I peered through the crowd to see if I recognized anyone to socialize with. When I didn’t, I walked over to the bar and sat down.
    “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
    She was a tall white girl with long black hair that flowed straight down her back. She was very thin too. She looked like she could be a model.
    “An electric lemonade.”
    Sitting there in Chrome alone made me miss Tina so much. I was used to her being right there by my side on nights like that.
    “Damn, shorty, what’s ya name?” a short, stocky guy asked.
    “Naomi,” I lied, which meant I wasn’t interested.
    “You fine as shit, what you drinkin’?”
    The bartender placed my drink in front of me. I paid her and picked it up.
    “This,” I told the guy as I extended the drink toward him.
    “Well, I got ya next one, baby,” he said.
    “That won’t be necessary,” another voice said.
    “Oh, that’s you, cousin?” the short, stocky guy asked. “My bad,” he continued as he looked me over one last time and then walked away.
    “Thank you,” I said to the voice I had not matched with a face yet.
    “No problem,” the voice responded. “I knew he wasn’t your type.”
    I finally turned around and asked, “What’s my type?”
    And damn it if my type wasn’t staring me right in the face. He was light brown like honey with slanted light brown eyes and a head full of sandy brown curly hair. He looked good as shit. He had a gorgeous smile that revealed two tiny dimples and some beautiful teeth. I just wanted to jump on his lap and start tonguing him down. But I kept my cool, though.
    “You look like you’re into a good-looking guy who likes to have fun and spend money,” he said, flashing that killer smile.
    “Bingo,” I said softly, unable to take my eyes off of him.
    He smirked and introduced himself. “I’m Darrell.”
    “Celess,” I replied.
    “Dance with me,” he commanded.
    And I did—all night, song after song. I thought I had fallen in love.
    It had been three weeks since I’d been talking to my newfound friend Darrell and it had been at least that long since I’d heard from O. I called him almost every day and left messages on his phones. I wanted to make sure he was still paying my car note after the stunt Tariq pulled with my mortgage. He hadn’t returned any of my calls. He hadn’t even bothered to call me and check on me. I was heated.
    “O, listen, if you got another girl or something just let me know. It’s cool, you do your thing, I’ll do mine. Just let me know what you’re going to do about my car, that’s all. You can fuck all the bitches you want. You can disappear for a month all you want. Just call me about my car,