There were still times when he’d talk about Madison, but I’d learned how to shorten his words by changing the subject. I’d designed a spiritual, peaceful place he woke up to each morning. I’d brought the aroma of seawater to his daily bath by using soothing scented crystals that soften the water when they dissolved.
Madison’s clothes hung in his closet. Her toiletries were on the vanity. Her fragrance was in the mattress when I changed his linen so I sprayed it with Febreze.
Sitting beside Chicago, my happiness faded. I imagined Madison laying on the beach in the sexiest two-piece swimsuit, with a pair of designer sunglasses covering her eyes. Her nails and lips would be painted to perfection; and no matter how hard the wind blew, she’d never have a hair out of place. How did she keep it all together?
“What’s wrong?” Chicago asked.
Why did she creep into my mind all the damn time? I had to have this man, not his brother. I was glad Madison had screwed up. If she hadn’t, Chicago would’ve taken her to Bora Bora and there’d be no chance for me to go.
Chaz could afford to take me there. The bungalows over the ocean’s blue waters was a place I deserved to vacation but Chaz wasn’t romantic. Money hadn’t given him the same loving compassion as Chicago.
“Nothing,” I lied, forcing the smile I had moments ago.
I picked up the empty popcorn bowl, took it to the kitchen, and rinsed the dirty dishes. Then I placed everything in the dishwasher. Men loved women who cleaned up after them. I bet Madison had never washed his dishes.
“Baby, you need anything?”
Whenever I asked Chicago that question, I prayed that in his heart one day, the answer would be “Yes, I need you, babe.”
“I’m good,” he said. “You can sleep at Chaz’s tonight. I’m healthy enough to be alone. If I need anything, I’ll call you guys. You’re only a few doors away.”
One night could turn into two, three, maybe a week. Eventually he wouldn’t need me here at all. If Chicago and I broke our bond, I couldn’t explain to my man why I’d prefer to sleep in his brother’s guest room. Going to Chaz would make me feel as though I was cheating on Chicago. I had to stay where my heart was.
I knew Chaz had a set of keys to his brother’s place, and he could walk in on us at any time. I didn’t care about that. I had to make sure my keys to Chicago’s condo remained in my possession.
“Okay, baby, I’ll be right back,” I told Chicago. “I’ve got to return this call to Raynell and take care of a few things.”
My daughter wasn’t the person I had to call. It was Raynard. Chicago didn’t deserve to hear me talk about another man. Madison had taught me that men, in some ways, were insecure like women. Men didn’t like a man’s name coming from his woman’s mouth, then resonating in his mind.
“Loretta, please stop calling me that,” Chicago said. “It feels too intimate hearing you call me ‘baby.’ Chaz wouldn’t like it either. But you don’t have to leave to call your daughter. If you need privacy, go in your bedroom.”
What difference did it make what I called him? Who did he think helped him to walk normal again on his own? Not his wife. Not his mother. Sure, Helen came by to visit us a few times a week, but she didn’t make any attempts to cook or help wipe Chicago’s ass when his leg was hurting so bad he could barely move. I wouldn’t label Helen as a prima donna, but there were clearly things she was not going to do.
Giving Chicago a half smile, I said, “I have to run a few errands. I’ll bring you something back for dinner.” Then I left.
I stepped into the hallway. Maybe I was trying too hard. I’d honor his request, praying he’d eventually call me “baby.”
Waiting for the valet at Chicago’s condominium to get my car, I called Raynard.
“It’s about time,” he answered. “You done kissing Chicago’s ass? You think his brother is going to marry you because you’re playing nurse? You need to come and get your daughter. We—I mean, she misses you.”
There was no need to be arguing with him. “I’m headed to the Galleria. I have to pick up a few things. Can you meet me at Bar 12 by 51Fifteen in two hours?”
“What? You’re his personal assistant too? You’ve got to do his shopping? I’m buying for Raynell while you’re spending money on another man.”
His assumption was just that. “Two hours exactly, Raynard,” I said, then hung up.
My cell immediately rang again. I answered, “What, Raynard?”
“It’s not Raynard, bitch. It’s his wife. You need to come pick up your whining-ass kid. I’m tired of taking care of her. I’m not her mother. You are.”
Oh, she doesn’t have a problem with Raynard taking care of her kid, but she has a problem with him taking care of mine. What if something happened to me and they had to rear my daughter. I knew that would never be the case, unless I died, but it wasn’t going to kill Gloria and Raynard to keep Raynell a little longer.
“Give me my phone, Gloria!” Raynard shouted.
“Hell no! That bitch needs to come now! I ain’t no damn nanny.”
School was over. I wondered where Raynell was. Listening closely, I didn’t hear her or Raynard Jr. in the background. The argument transitioned between Gloria and Raynard. I hung up again. If I got another call from his number, I was not answering.
Parking in the garage at the Galleria mall, I made my way to Nordstrom’s and shopped for men’s exotic underwear for Chicago. Wasn’t as though I was directly spending my money. He’d compensated me generously with a hundred grand for taking a temporary leave of absence from my job to care for him. My supervisor was the biggest Houston’s football fan. She liked Chicago and told me, “Take as much time as you need. Your job is secure.”
I was sure she didn’t mean take forever, but if Chicago asked me to marry him, I could quit. If Chicago didn’t need me any longer, I’d have to go back before I was ready.
The reason I had to get Chicago new underwear was I was throwing away the old pairs. I didn’t want him wearing the ones Madison had bought or any pair he’d worn for her, which was probably all of them. In my position Madison would do the same.
Saks men’s department on the top floor was my last stop. I had everything gift wrapped and placed in a big tote bag so Raynard couldn’t see what I’d bought.
I ordered a glass of Deep Sea Chardonnay; then I texted Chicago: Would you like the bacon, egg, and cheeseburger from Bar 12?
If Raynard wasn’t here in twenty minutes, then I’d order to go so I could get back home to Chicago.
He responded: That sounds great! Have the bun wrapped separately so it doesn’t get soggy.
In my mind I added “baby” to the end of his text.
“What’s up, Loretta?” Raynard said, approaching the bar.
Happy to see he hadn’t brought our daughter, I scooted to the right side of my bar seat as he pulled out a stool and sat to my left.
“Look,” he said, staring at me with narrowed eyes, “I don’t want to go through with this custody battle, but you need to be realistic.”
“What would you like to drink, sir?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
Hadn’t heard him say that in years. Before Raynell was born, I used to love this man more than I loved myself. Now he was sitting one foot in front of me and I prayed neither his leg nor hand touched mine.
If we didn’t have a baby together . . . I wished I were pregnant with Chicago’s baby. I laughed to myself. Now that would be an immaculate conception. I’d seen Chicago naked, sexed him in my dreams until I came, but I’d never felt him deep inside me. Not yet. But if Chicago gave me that opportunity, I was opening wide, taking him all in, and praying to have his child.
“Raynard, stop acting like you want custody. Admit it. Gloria is making you drop the case.”
“What difference does that make? Bottom line—you need to come get her. When Gloria ain’t happy, nobody is happy, and that includes Raynell. She cries for you all t
he time.”
“You’re her daddy. I know you’re not telling me you can’t stand up to your wife to protect your child. Oh, that’s right. How could I forget? You’re the same man who still hasn’t given me closure on our relationship. Maybe if I was a bitch like your precious Gloria, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Raynard scanned the bar. “Loretta, please. Keep your voice down. Why you running around caring for a man who has a wife, when you supposedly got a man? Things were perfect before you got involved with this dude. Now you’re putting dick before your daughter?”
I almost choked on my wine. “My daughter? Mine? That’s just it. Maybe you need to keep her for a year and see how it feels to have to plan your life around your kid. Excuse me, waitress.”
“Yes.”
I ordered Chicago’s burger and said, “I’ll also have the ceviche to go.”
“Like that, Loretta? You cutting me short?”
“This ain’t about you! You’ve had a long enough break playing part-time daddy every other weekend, don’t you think? I’ll let you know when I’m ready to get Raynell. She’s six and you have her seventy-eight days a year. Three hundred sixty-five days minus your time, and I have her how long? You do the math. And if Gloria does anything to hurt, as you said, my daughter, I will come to your house,” I whispered in his ear, “and pistol beat her butt first, then yours.”
Raynard drank most of his wine, paid for his drink, and then said, “You have to get a gun first.”
I tipped my glass toward his ass as I watched him leave.
CHAPTER 13
Johnny
“You’d better not have my house online as a vacation rental.... ” Blah, blah. What was Madison going to do if I did? Tell her mommy?
Knowing my daughter, she wasn’t sitting in her car outside her home waiting for me to show up.
“I told you to be quiet when I answer my phone. Playtime is over, honey cakes. I’ve got to go check on my sweetheart’s house.” I had to make sure Madison hadn’t had her locks replaced.
If she had, that would be a violation of my agreement with my frat brother. Madison could lose her home and I’d still have to pay him back. I promised to leave everything “as is” until I repaid him in full. Right now, I owed more than I owned, and I had no idea how I was going to settle my loans without getting into deeper debt. Utilizing Chicago’s resources was my best recourse, and my daughter was my biggest obstacle.
I’d admit that sex influenced bad decisions. I should’ve left hours ago when Madison discovered she couldn’t get into her home. I was still at the office, lounging in what used to be hers. Now it was mine again. Should’ve never given it up completely. I’d left the furniture and paintings she had and added an executive leather sofa-sleeper for my sexcapades.
Monica, the receptionist whom Madison had hired, was sent home early. Whenever I had my personal assistant come by, there was no need to have two women on payroll, when only one was putting out.
“Aw, come on, Johnny. Her house isn’t a trailer. It’s not going anywhere. Let me suck your dick one more time,” the pretty young thang said, moaning and begging at the same time. She got on her knees, then looked up at me with those beautiful brown eyes.
For the love of money, fame, or material things, all a man had to do to keep a mistress happy was give her what she desired. If a woman said, “All I want is you,” she was a liar. That was why I made sure my PAs didn’t expect me to leave my wife. We had a business arrangement with a signed nondisclosure clause that if she breached our confidentiality agreement—which included telling her friends or my wife—I had the right to sue her. Her salary, her gifts, I wouldn’t hesitate to take all that I’d given her back, plus whatever else she owned.
Johnny might be old, but I ain’t slow.
The naivety of a twenty-two-year-old who hadn’t gone to college or been outside of Texas was beneficial in some ways. To them, $20,000 a year was a lot. I’d spent more than that on vacation. What I loved about my tender was there were no wrinkles on her face or between her legs. No gray pubic hairs. Her breasts didn’t require help from a bra to stand out. The youthfulness of a woman made old men like me feel rich beyond money. I guess mature women didn’t need that kind of comfort from a younger man.
Rosalee hadn’t completely given up on pleasuring me, but I could see she was content with having very little sex. I was not. Should’ve made her sign a contract before we got married, promising to give it to me whenever I asked. She didn’t care to do it more than twice a month. How does a woman go from every day, to a few days a week, to once a week, then to twice a month? Soon I won’t be having sex with my wife at all. She was too old to blame it on menopause and I too frisky to be faithful.
I wanted to slow screw until the day I died. Having a heart attack while ejaculating inside a young vagina, with a stiff one, wasn’t a bad way to go. Embarrassing maybe. Divorcing my wife was never happening. I didn’t want to croak from a broken heart or leave the person who had been by my side when I didn’t have a dime. Retiring from fucking wasn’t happening either.
Leaning back on the sofa spreading my thighs, I watched my PA wrap her thick, lovely lips around my dick. “Damn.” What man wouldn’t want this? “Lick it for me.” Keep this up and I’ma have to pull out this bed.
Her pretty smooth tongue extended. Opening wide, she pressed the tip against my balls; then she slowly wiggled up my hard shaft. She went back to my nuts, licking her way to the top this time. Plunging downward, her mouth twisted side to side. Then she moved up and down, massaging me with the insides of her jaws.
“Go a little slower, but not too slow.” Even if I never came, the sensation was so incredibly amazing. It felt orgasmic.
Her head bobbed, knocking her throat against the top of my dick while her lips landed next to my balls. Every businessman should have a personal assistant and her only job should be to pleasure him. American entrepreneurs could learn a thing or two from men in other countries and how women service them during meetings. Blowjobs. Hand jobs. Those guys received pleasure while talking business.
Pulling out, I said, “Save some for tomorrow. Go get me a hot towel.” The private restroom was adjoined to my office.
She stood, then wiped her mouth. Jiggling her breasts before buttoning her blouse, she said, “Okay. But when I get back, I want to know why you sold your daughter’s house.”
That’s what I get for talking freely in the presence of this girl. I waited for her to return, and then I explained. “I didn’t sell her house. I used it as collateral for a business loan. I temporarily had to give up possession, but no one is living in my daughter’s house. Once the loan is repaid, she’ll get it back. It’s leveraging.”
Gently cleansing me off, she said, “Well, when I did a title loan against my car, I got to keep my car. Since you’re giving free rides, if you want to leverage Madison’s Ferrari, I’ll gladly enjoy that.”
Nothing in life was free. People who expected handouts without earning theirs should play the lottery. I was already paying this girl for sex. I wasn’t going to waste time getting her to understand the value of bargaining, especially when she had nothing left to barter. Every woman had a pussy, and most foolishly gave it away for free.
The movement of the towel felt good. Having her hands on my manhood made my erection overshadow what was coming out of her mouth. If I didn’t have to leave, I’d stick my dick between her lips just to shut her up. The Cialis was kicking back in. Kissing the head, she dried me off.
Pulling away, I squeezed my shaft to make it contract. “The problem is, you can’t afford the insurance, let alone the cost of a luxury automobile, my dear. If you could, you wouldn’t be my personal assistant,” I said, buckling my pants. “Stay out of grown folks’ business.”
Women with money didn’t compromise themselves for a few dollars. That was why I made sure Madison had the best of everything growing up. Money attracted money. Wealthy, beautiful women attracted rich men—
the kind of men who would put a ring on her finger. This young girl would have to suck a lot more dicks before she realized no man would walk down the aisle with an underachieving girl who would suck a dick for a dollar.
“I’m smarter than you think.”
I didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. Her being smarter than I believed she was didn’t take much. Most women thought they were more intelligent than men. Some were. But not this one.
“And I’m more successful than you’ll ever be. Be quiet, get dressed, and let yourself out. In that order.”
After my PA left, I sat thinking how I could get a sweet six figures for Madison’s car. Pounding my fist on the desk, I said, “If she would’ve left the damn country like I’d told her to . . .”
Women.
If not for me, Madison wouldn’t have that mansion. I bought her that convertible Spider. I couldn’t afford to let my business fail. My daughter was indebted to me. Pawning her property wasn’t going to generate enough income to solve our financial problems but it did provide temporary relief. Her husband was my only viable option.
If Chicago didn’t die, I might have to find a way to kill him.
CHAPTER 14
Madison
The valet attendant where Roosevelt lived approached my car. I handed him the keys, entered the building, and bypassed the concierge counter. My timing was impeccable. The huge frosted double doors, which provided authorized access only, parted as someone exited.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Tyler,” the doorman said, following me to the elevators. “You need to come back and wait until I phone Mr. DuBois.”
“What you need to do is show respect. And get it right. I’m Mrs. DuBois. Not Ms. or Mrs. Tyler,” I said, flashing my wedding ring. “I have a legal right to be here, and if you,” I said, pointing at him as I entered the elevator, “value your job, I suggest you get back to work and add my name to the list of owners.”
How I missed being the boss at the office. In time I’d return and take over. I didn’t get to where I was by asking for permission or letting men dictate to me. As I exited the elevator, my finger traveled toward the door and stopped fractions of an inch from the buzzer. I hadn’t come this far to give advance notice.
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