5. The Ex Factor: He Calls, She Cums (pun intended)

I don’t think I even realized how unhappy I was in my relationship with BD, until the day I got a glimpse of what had once been.

Enter the ex-factor.

Digital and I had been off and on for years. It began in college. We’d lived together for a semester or so. Didn’t really work out. He’d be up at the crack of dawn before I awoke for class, to head into the studio. And hours after I’d retired for the night, he’d creep into bed beside me. It was like he lived in that studio. He’d bought it with money collected from private investors. I admired his hustle. His work ethic was awing and absolutely sexy. But he didn’t have any time for me, so I had to be out.

Several years later, not much had changed. He lived in the same city as BD, but neither one of us ever saw him. He was always jetting off somewhere. (By this time, mind you, he’d locked onto his first artist with some real potential and was working really hard to promote his talent. Skipping a head a bit, the young R&B star he managed has done quite well for the both of them, since then. His sophomore album debuted at No. 2 on Billboard in ‘07). But we’re not there yet.

We’d go months without seeing each other and other times we’d be on the phone every night. It was one of those relationships. Constantly evolving but ever present. Beneath it all, we were great friends. We loved each other and would always be part of each other’s lives. (Yes, always, but that’s jumping ahead, too. I haven’t yet become pregnant by his best friend).

So at this time, I hadn’t heard from Digital in weeks. And I was kinda hoping not to for a while. The lack of contact helped to suppress the guilt I was feeling about half shacking up with his boy.
Anyway, this particular day, he called me at work. Don’t have caller ID on the office phone so I was surprised to hear his voice. Pleasantly surprised.

“Yo what’s up? What you doin tonite? You should meet me in the city and grab something to eat,” he said. “I’m catchin a flight to Atlanta tomorrow and I’ll be gone for a while.”

I wanted to see him. I agreed. After work, I left a message for BD letting him know I was having dinner with a friend so he should fend for himself. I took the train to the major label BD’s artist was signed to and met him in the lobby. He looked good. We hugged and immediately clicked all over again. It was always like this though, like no time had passed. So easy to slide back into.

It was a little late, so we went back to his place and ordered in. His apartment was on the 23^rd floor of a plush doorman building, overlooking the water. The view was spectacular. I’m not a material girl, but the contrast between where I was standing and where I’d be going “home” too? Classic irony.

I sat and ate while he moved around the apartment briskly, feeding a forkful here and there between folding clothes in his suitcase, texting on his Blackberry and finalizing plans on his phone.

This was the double edged sword that had proved to be the end of us, that never-ending grind.

When he finally zipped his Louis Vuitton suitcase and joined me on the sofa, we talked for hours. We refilled our wine glasses and talked some more. Time seemed to fly. I don’t think I realized how late it was until I yawned widely and Digital caught the same bug.

I’d kind of been dreading this moment -- I loved being with Digital -- but it was time.

“It’s getting late,” I said, bending and reaching for my heels lying on the carpet. “I should go.”

Almost immediately, “No, don’t go. It’s too late for you to take the train tonight. If I knew you weren’t going to stay the night I would have told you to go home a long time ago,” Digital said.

“It’s okay, Digital. I take the train everyday,” I said. And besides, I was only going two stops over to BD’s place. I’d be “home” in 12 minutes.

“It’s gonna take you an hour to get home, at least,” he insisted. I wouldn’t even take the train way out there at this time of night.”

We went back and forth and I went hard for the cause. I mean, I had to get back. BD and I weren’t expressly committed, per se, but the spending the night elsewhere line, that’s certainly one we hadn’t yet crossed.

Until tonight.

I ducked into the bathroom to make the fateful call. I had to tell him something.

“Hello,” I said hesitantly when he picked up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” BD asked, hearing the trepidation in my voice. “When are you coming home?”

“I’m with Digital. We had dinner. I’m staying here tonight,” I said. I wanted to explain, to tell him that Digital was adamant about me not taking the train this late at night, alone. Especially since I live way out … How he’d said even he as a man wouldn’t feel comfortable taking the train at this hour. How nothing was gonna happen and I wouldn’t do anything to make our situation any more messy …

Huddled in the bathroom, enunciating through a whisper, I couldn’t get any of that out. And I’d said plenty, anyway.

BD was quiet.

“I’ll come get you. I’m on my way …”

“No,” I interrupted. He’ll wanna walk me to the train. What if he sees you? What if he insists on riding all the way back to my house? No. I’ll just stay here.”

More quiet.

“Okay.” BD finally said in a sad little voice of defeat. “Be safe.”

I walked back out into the living room. Digital had already gotten down to his boxers and wife beater. (Love that). He threw me a T shirt and commanded, “take your clothes off.” With a wide smile. (Love that, too). But I kept a straight face. This could absolutely not happen.

“Melyssa why are you trippin? I’ll stay on my side of the bed if you want,” He smirked. “Promise.”

“Okay. So will I,” I said flatly. “I’m serious, Digital.”

We must’ve made liars of ourselves three or four times before sunrise.

-- Melyssa Ganache

Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on InBetweenDissapointments tomorrow as Melyssa’s double dealing blows up in her face.
Also, check out more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache.
*All names have been changed