Show and Tell by Niobia Bryant

beautiful, and philanthropic. The socializing is great but a sister like me is also networking. Carolyn says the best way to become rich and famous is to hang around the rich and famous.
    In fact these past couple of months I have been to more soirees than the entire year I was with Sahad. Benefits, charity events, and store openings. It was the perfect start to a summer in New York. Some of New York’s high profile celebrities and socialites knew me by name because of my association with Carolyn and because of my prior relationship with Mr. New York himself Sahad Linx. I have even received a few mentions in the gossip rags, who knew being Sahad’s ex had benefits.
    I take a sip of my champagne as I stand in a circle made up of Carolyn, the Reynolds (Star and Al), and Kimora Lee Simmons, looking just as fine as I want to be in a strapless gray sequin dress by Diane Von Furstenburg with Giuseppe on the heels (like Ms. Mary of course). I am so loving my life right now.
    My cell phone rings inside my clutch. The sounds of Kanye West’s newest song drifts up. Carolyn raises a disapproving eye and I make a mental note not to forget to put it on vibrate again. At the sight of Mohammed’s number my stomach nearly drops to the floor.
    â€œExcuse me ladies, I will be right back,” I whisper to them before drifting off to the guest bathroom in the gold trimmed hall.
    As soon as I close and lock the door behind me, I pull out my BlackBerry. I have five voice mail messages. I sit my purse on the marble counter and take a deep sip of my champagne before I check them.
    â€œThis is Cristal the fabulous one enjoying an uberfabulous life. If you’re calling you’re not with me living it up too. Aw. Too bad. Too sad.”
    Beep.
    â€œDanielle, you forgot we supposed to go to the reggae concert? Why you not answering your phone?”
    Beep .
    â€œDanielle, what going on with you girl?” Mohammed asks with his accent even heavier in anger. “You no wanna be with me no more? ’Cause that’s what gone happen.” Click.
    Beep.
    â€œCristal, girl you are missing it. Dom just pimp slapped some damn girl for spilling liquor on her dress. Möet is in the middle of them trying to break it up. Girl, call me. Call me!”
    Beep.
    â€œCristal. Bitch, how ’bout Ze’s mama here with Rockman trickin’ ass. Humph. Ze ’bout to flip in this bitch. Oooh, Ze, your mama know how to supersoak that ho better than your fuckin’ ass.”
    Beep.
    The line just hangs up during the last message. I know it was Mohammed and even as I stand in the midst of the world I longed to be a part of, I miss him. I wish that he could stand beside me and enjoy this world just like I do. But I know he wants no part of it. He is a simple man who just wants to work hard and be a good man. He could care less about wealth and fame.
    Lose Mohammed? I cannot do that.
    Lose the new spot I am claiming in a world I felt I belonged in? I did not want to do that.
    For the last two months I have used every lie imaginable to get away. The girls and Mohammed would not understand. They would think I am back on the prowl for a wealthy husband and I am not. Several men—several wealthy men—-several wealthy celebrity men mind you—have stepped to me and I have nothing but Mohammed on mind. Me, the ultimate gold-digger, is quite happy with my handyman with the little house in Newark. I am not here on the prowl. There is no other man for me but Mohammed—this I know for sure.
    I look down at my silver BlackBerry and my thumb is right over the speed dial button. I cannot call him. Not right now. I have to make my apologies in person. As much as I would love to hear his sexy Jamaican tongue wrap around my name, I push my BlackBerry back into my purse.
    I turn to check my flawless makeup in the mirror. Everything about me being here seems right. A piece of me is still that little orphan girl nobody wants