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NYAKO MOYINOLUWA BELLACORTE – SMELLS LIKE A FISH
TWO YEARS EARLIER
ME: I’m tired of texting, emailing, and weekly phone calls. When can I see you?
JOJO: In time. Be patient, baby. It’ll all come in time.
ME: Feels like that won’t ever come. It’s been a year.
JOJO: A year spent building our bond and loving each other.
ME: I want more. I need more, JoJo. You’re sleeping on me, and I’m tired of waiting.
JOJO: Baby, I know that you are, but like I said, I’ve got some things to work through.
ME: I fly all around the world, drive expensive cars, spend millions on shopping, live a lavish lifestyle in luxurious hotels and condos, yet, I can’t have the simplest thing. A kiss. A hug. Looking into my baby’s eyes and being held by you when times are hard. I’m a woman, Jo. I have physical needs. My body has needs that cannot be satisfied with toys and my hand. When I finish using toys and my hands, I’m still hungry for more. There’s a deeper need that only a man can fix.
JOJO: Nya, baby, you know that’s a conundrum. How hard can times be with you living like that?
ME: Very hard, but you’re ignoring the point. I. Have. Physical. Needs. I want sex. My friends call me a fool. How can I be multimillionaire, yet, I crave something as simple as a hug and a kiss from my man, but I can’t get it? You’re gonna miss your opportunity for a lifetime of love with someone great, if you keep playing with me.
JOJO: And I’ve told you to quit listening to your friends. They’re just jealous, baby.
ME: Of what, Jo? A relationship I have never consummated? A boyfriend I have never seen? What are they jealous of, Jo?
ME: Jo? Jo, are you there?
Iblew out a harsh breath, and I tossed the phone onto the bed beside me. Frustrated, I dropped my head into my palms.
“Come on. It’s time.”
I peered through my fingers at my sister, Aoko, who stood with her hands on her hips. She was determined to make me see this through. I was a bundle of nerves, and I thought this was what I wanted, until this conversation.
“What if I’m not ready though?”
“You’re ready, Nya. He’s not ready, and he hasn’t been for a long time. He won’t be ready tomorrow, the next day, or the next week. Hell, for all we know, he won’t be ready next year either. How long can you allow your life to hang in the balance like this? You are a gorgeous, freaking top model with your own handbag, shoe, and cosmetics lines. I swear, I don’t even know how you got into this situation in the first place. Yet here you are, dating . . . Hell, you’re not even dating him, because you two have never gone anywhere together. You’re calling this man your boyfriend, and you have never seen him before.”
“I’ve seen him,” I argued and defensively crossed my arms over my breasts.
“Yeah, and we better pray that the pictures he’s been sending you are actually him and not some stranger. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you deserve answers, love, and happiness,” Aoko countered.
I stood as Aoko tugged my arm. “Let’s go. Tangie and I did not travel all this way for nothing. You’re going to get in this car with us and meet this man. We’re putting this shit to rest one final time. He’s starting to make me think he’s married or something.”
“Where’s Tangie?”
“Down in the car waiting for us. We were supposed to be out there ten minutes ago.”
I sighed and picked up my Hermès saddlebag, phone, and keys and followed my sister out of our penthouse suite. I staredat the screen of my phone disappointed that he had not texted back yet. I tugged my Cartier sunglasses on as we stepped onto the elevator and adjusted my hat over my ponytail.
Staring down at the screen of my phone, I stood behind my sister, who was only three inches shorter than me, but with the heels she had on today, we were the same height. I wore flats.
ME: Jo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just love you so much, and I want more. I want to be in your bed. I want you to make love to me, and I want you to stare into my eyes when you say that you love me.
JOJO: I want those same things, baby. I do. It’s not easy putting you on hold, but it’s just for a time.
ME: I just don’t want to feel so cold and impersonal talking on a phone via text most of the time. Can we at least speak more? Like maybe you could call me three times a week instead of one, and maybe we could try LiveTiming.
