Twisted Vows of Seduction

by N’Tyse

  “I said don’t touch my gotdamn car!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, you’re going to have to call our office in the morning and straighten this out on your own time. As far as I’m concerned, your name is on my list to repossess your vehicle, and that’s exactly what I’m here to do.”

  “I better not see one scratch on my shit!” Ménage screamed over the loud grinding noise that came from the tow truck as it raised her new black Honda Accord onto the flatbed. The fully loaded vehicle was decked out with custom chrome wheels and dark-tinted windows. It was one of the dressiest cars in the parking lot, with a license plate that read BOSS B. With her face twisted in a scowl, she yelled, “I’m calling the police. Your list is a bunch of bullshit!” She screamed loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear her.

  “Go right on ahead, ma’am. I’ll leave a card for them too.”

  Ménage grunted and turned to walk off just as Jeff was coming up from behind.

  “Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on?” Jeff asked. His eyes darted from a hysterical Ménage to the short, heavyset, and balding Hispanic man who was dressed in plain dingy clothing that had visible dirt and oil stains on both his shirt and jeans. He looked over to the tow truck. One side of it read: GARCIA’S WRECKER SERVICE.

  “I’m towing this nice young lady’s car, because she hasn’t paid her bills,” the man retorted sarcastically.

  “That’s bullshit! I pay all my damn bills and when I call the bank tomorrow to straighten this shit out, I’m going to see to it that your ass is fired!” Ménage fired back. Her silver spike hoop earrings bounced against her shoulders as she fired off.

  The man stopped what he was doing only to smile at Ménage and then went right back to work.

  “Asshole,” Ménage huffed loudly, crossing her arms.

  “Wait a minute, my man. There’s clearly some misunderstanding here, Mr.—”

  “Tony. Tony Garcia,” he said with emphasis, smiling again at Ménage who stared at him viciously.

  Ménage rolled her eyes upward, shifted her weight from one side to the other, and as she was about to let loose again, Jeff turned to her.

  “Go ahead and go back upstairs,” Jeff said in a low tone.

  “But this motherfucker doesn’t—”

  “Ménage, let me handle this.” It was only then that he noticed that Ménage’s shirt was totally see-through. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and with the parking lot being fairly lit, he could see her dark swollen nipples and their costume jewelry. He made a gesture with his eyes, but she was so riled up, he doubted she had caught it. He then stepped directly in front of her and faced Tony.

  Ménage let out an exaggerated sigh and headed back to the apartment.

  “That mamacita of yours has a potty mouth!” Tony retorted, as he continued to reel her car in.

  Jeff placed his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He had three $100 bills, a $50 bill and a few singles. He pulled out the fifty and held it out to Tony. “Please. Just give us a couple of days to resolve this. We will have it all straightened out by then. You have my word.” Jeff had been in the car and sales industry way too long to know that business could always be handled under the table.

  Tony eyed the money blowing in Jeff’s right hand. Without a second thought, he reached over, accepted it, and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “She has until Monday to handle her business. If not, I’m coming back.”

  Jeff nodded in agreement. “Understood.”

  Jeff walked off as Tony proceeded to lower Ménage’s vehicle from the flat bed. He went back upstairs and when he arrived at the top, he saw Ménage’s flamboyant gay neighbor, Mario aka Tiffany, inside of her apartment consoling her. Jeff went inside and both Ménage and Tiffany turned to him.

  “All right, Ms. Thang, I’ll give you a call tomorrow, honey,” Tiffany said, giving Ménage a hug. “And don’t lose an ounce of beauty sleep behind this. Everything’s going to work out just fine.”

  Tiffany smiled as he switched past Jeff as if he were modeling on a runway. His long black hair weave had blonde highlights and his MAC makeup was flawless, as usual. Tiffany’s lean, well-toned physique was enhanced by breast augmentation and butt implants that filled out his dark denim Baby Phat romper. He rocked a pair of toe-peeking, red-bottom heels that were so high, even Jeff was impressed. Ménage had shared with him once that Tiffany referred to himself as the Mexican Nicki Minaj. He idolized the celebrity rap star so much that his dress and style was even inspired by her. Tiffany also shared Nicki’s Zodiac sign, which happened to be Sagittarius. He had the word tattooed on the lower part of his back with an arrow that pointed downward.

  “See y’all good peeps tomorrow,” Tiffany called out before closing the door behind him to return to his apartment.

  Jeff looked at Ménage who was standing with tears filling her eyes.

  “Did he tow my car?” she asked, practically in a whisper.

  Jeff shook his head no.

  “Thank God!” she sighed in relief. “What did you say to him?”

  “I held him off until Monday.”

  “Monday,” Ménage repeated softly. She placed a hand over her forehead. Jeff could see every muscle in her face start to tense. Her pupils seemed to shrink as she dropped her gaze. Her mouth was slightly agape, yet her breathing quickened.

  “Talk to me. You didn’t make your car payment, did you?” Jeff asked her anyway, although he had already presumed that she hadn’t.

  Ménage looked around her living room and then settled her eyes back on Jeff’s. She answered him with a delayed shake of the head. She pressed her lips tightly together and her bottom lip trembled. With hooded eyes, “This is so damn embarrassing,” she said as two tears skated down her doll-like cheeks.

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “What was I going to say? That I can’t pay my car note because I’m too busy trying to keep a roof over my head.” Ménage chuckled at the absurdity of her revelation. She rolled her eyes upward, batting her extended full black lashes. She then took both of her index fingers and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I would have figured it all out,” she told him, her voice cracking along the way.

  Jeff’s face was masked with confusion. “But I don’t get it. You work and…,” he took a look around her living room, “you make damn good money from what I can see.”

  Ménage guffawed, twisted her lips and then turned them upward. “So is that what you really think?”

  “So you’re trying to tell me this is all pretend?” Jeff waited to be convinced because his wallet told a different story. By his math, she made enough money to pay all of her bills simply off what he paid her alone. The lavish upkeep of her suburban apartment also cancelled that lie. She had fifty-inch, wall-mounted flat-screens in every room, furniture that looked like it cost a pretty good penny, and her closet alone housed all of her favorite designer labels. Ménage was living good. Better than most. She had exquisite taste, and with that kind of trait, having access to money was a necessity. He would be a damn fool to believe differently.

  “Baby, shortly after I met you, I quit X-Rated,” she said, staring him in the eyes. “To be perfectly honest with you, I only have enough money in my savings account to get by for a couple more months, and after that’s gone, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I may have to move back home,” she lamented.

  Jeff’s face lifted with genuine concern. “Why’d you quit your job?”

  “I saw how uncomfortable it made you knowing that I was stripping and serving for other men besides you,” Ménage said, taking a few steps closer.

  Jeff said nothing, only relaxed his shoulders and inhaled her sweet and sultry scent.

  “Tell me it didn’t bother you,” Ménage pressed.

  “Yeah, I can admit that it messed with me a little bit for a while, but I knew that was your money gig. And I would never come between your money,” Jeff replied as he watched her blush.

  “But you told me,” she said, plac
ing her finger on his bottom lip, “out of your own mouth, that I was better than X-Rated. That I deserved more. Remember that?” Jeff watched in admiration as she pulled her eighteen-inch stream of Malaysian weave to the right side of her neck. “I know there’s something better out there for me.” She spoke with the same confidence Jeff was used to hearing from her in the bedroom. “Stripping is played and I’m getting too old for this shit.” She chuckled, looping her hands around Jeff’s neck. Even in her heels, he still towered her.

  “You call twenty-seven old? Hell, I must be ancient then.”

  “Dinosaur,” Ménage said with a loose laugh as her gaze settled on his. “Seriously though. You helped me to realize who I am and what I want out of life. When I look in the mirror now, I don’t only see Ménage. I see the real me. Ebony Larue Greer,” she said proudly, disclosing her government name to him for the first time. “I see an aspiring psychologist who wants to help people.”

  “Wow, psychologist,” Jeff repeated, in shock by her profession choice. He would have never guessed. “And what made you decide that?”

  “People like you.”

  Jeff drew his neck back. “People like me?”

  “Yeah. I like listening to people’s problems. I guess I feel like I can help them, ya know. Everyone has a story, Jeff.” She paused and measured the look in his eyes. “And everyone has a secret.” Another pause. She drew her lips to his ears and slid out her warm tongue and snaked it along his left earlobe. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  The way Ménage looked at him, the way she spoke to him, the way she touched him, gave him a rush. And her warm silky skin against his always made his dick wake up from its nap. She then placed her cotton-soft lips against his.

  “I want something new,” she said, inching out her tongue again and tracing it along his lips. Jeff watched her eyes drift as she rubbed her nose across his mustache, inhaling the traces of her candy corn. He embraced Ménage as her tongue finally entered his mouth. “I deserve to be happy too,” Ménage managed in the midst of their tongue affair. She took her left hand and slid down his zipper. She maneuvered her hand inside of the opening, suggesting that she wanted to pick up where they had left off.

  Jeff’s head fell back as she stroked his erection.

  “I want…you, Jeff,” Ménage said, before easing to her knees and taking him inside of her impatient mouth.

  Once the tip of her tongue glided over the head of his shaft, Jeff moaned with delight. She slid it along the trunk of his dick, showering it before taking it for a scuba dive back down her throat. She deep-throated him so good he came inside of her mouth in less than five minutes. He nearly lost his equilibrium. Once she was done, she opened her mouth, showed him the flavor of the day, and swallowed!

  Ménage stood and went to the bathroom to grab some towels and freshen up. Afterward, she sauntered back into the living room and handed a towel to Jeff. As he cleaned himself, he glanced over at her. She wondered what was going through his head. Wondered if there were any changes of heart.

  “How much for today?” Jeff asked.

  Ménage looked at him dumbfounded. She let his question soak in before responding. “So, you weren’t listening to anything I said a few minutes ago?”

  Jeff zipped his pants and handed Ménage the dirty towel. “Which part?”

  Ménage couldn’t believe her ears. She fixed her incredulous eyes on his and shook her head. With disappointment and hurt laced in her tone, she said, “Keep your money. I don’t need it.” With that said, she walked off, headed for the room, and left him standing until he got the picture.

  “I’ll call you,” Jeff called out, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed long-faced. Not even a minute later, she heard her front door open and close. She waited a few minutes, counting to ten before she decided to come out of hiding. She instantly spotted the money Jeff had paid her, on the coffee table. It was the fee she charged for her “special” services. She rushed over to the window that overlooked the parking lot. The spot beside her car was now empty. She turned around and walked back over to the cash. She rolled her eyes at the money, crossed her arms, and told herself that this was going to be a lot harder than she expected.

  Ménage picked up her cell phone and dialed a number. On the first ring, Tiffany answered.

  “Hey boo, did he fall for it?” Tiffany asked enthusiastically.

  “Hell no,” Ménage replied dryly.

  “Bitch, you have got to be doing something wrong! You ain’t throwing the pussy on him right or something, chile! ’Cause if that was Ms. Tiffany, baby, his ass would have been done cashed in on this cow.”

  Ménage’s silence went ignored as Tiffany went on and on about her untouchable sex game.

  “You have got to do better than that, honey! Haven’t I taught you anything?” Tiffany went all off the subject until finally coming back around to the matter at hand. “Wheww, chile! Now tell me again how much money he got from his wife’s life insurance policy.”

  “Ex…wife,” Ménage corrected Tiffany without missing a beat. “And he got one million dollars from the policy, plus the house. And all the accounts that she had in her name, Jeff was the beneficiary,” Ménage said, almost robotic. She called it off to Tiffany just as she had overheard it when Jeff repeated the info to whomever he had been discussing business with on the phone that day. She had pretended to be asleep, but was listening to every single word.

  “Damn! You hit a jackpot. You gon’ be rich, bitch!” Just as Tiffany was about to go all off the meter again, Ménage interrupted her.

  “Tiff, I’ma have to call you back, girl. And oh yeah, tell Tony I said thank you. He did great. It was just like we rehearsed.”

  “Will do, honey. He’ll be creeping back through here tonight to get some of Ms. Tiffany’s good lovin’.”

  “Well, please don’t put it on him too damn hard. And your ass better show up for work tomorrow because I’m not covering for you this time.” Tiffany was one of the top bartenders at X-Rated.

  “Bitch, since when have I ever missed a Friday? Never!” Tiffany answered in her transgressive feminine voice.

  “Ha, ha. I’m just saying. And keep the noise level down over there. I don’t wanna hear all that nasty shit. You know these walls thin as hell.”

  “Now look, I can’t promise you all that.” Tiffany laughed.

  “You a mess. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Ménage said as she walked over to the table where the three crisp $100 bills lay. She scooped them up, locked her front door, and then walked over to the mini-bar in her dining room.

  “All right. Chat with you later, babe,” Tiffany hollered back.

  Ménage disconnected the call and instead of hanging up the phone, she entered the two-digit code to block her number, and quickly dialed the number she had memorized from a couple of hours earlier when it had come through Jeff’s phone.

  “Hello?” a woman answered groggily.

  “Hi. Is Jeff in?” Ménage inquired in the sexiest phone voice she could muster.

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Are you expecting him anytime soon?”

  “No. May I ask who’s calling and what matter this is in regards to this time of the night?”

  “Is this Nadine?” Ménage asked, already knowing the woman’s name.

  “Yes. This is Nadine. Now who am I speaking with?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” Nadine asked repeatedly. “Are you there?”

  Ménage listened as frustration seemed to build in Nadine’s voice. Finally, she hung up. A sinister smile crossed her lips from the satisfaction of hearing Nadine inquire about who she was and the purpose of her call. Ménage didn’t have a personal beef with Nadine, but she did have a problem with the distraction she was becoming to her and Jeff’s relationship. And she wasn’t going to let anyone interfere with this opportunity of getting out the strip game and moving on to a real career in Hollywood.

  Ménage took the cap of
f one of the many colorful liquor bottles arranged on her bar. She rolled the money like a weed joint, then dropped each bill inside a Ciroc bottle. She was now in Boss Bitch Beast mode and her game plan was in full effect.

  3

  Jeff was yanked out of his good sleep by the deafening sound of raging smoke alarms. Something was burning. Something was on fire. At least he thought. Only dressed in his boxer shorts, he rushed to his daughter’s room in a sure panic, only to find her not there. His heart pounded through his chest and his breathing got lost in its own way as he raced through a cloud of smoke and into the smoked-out kitchen where the pungent smell was coming from. There stood Deandra, his ten-year-old daughter, standing on her stepstool in her Hello Kitty pajamas and slippers. She had on her mother’s favorite cooking apron. She was multitasking; scrambling eggs in one pan, and trying to fry bacon in another. On the counter behind her was a heap of lopsided chocolate chip buttermilk pancakes.

  Jeff exhaled in relief as he shook his head and chuckled at the Kodak moment. He wondered how in the world she managed to wake herself up so early on a school day when any other day he was her alarm clock.

  Deandra hadn’t noticed him standing behind her because it was clear that she was in her own zone. Jeff surveyed the kitchen and the huge mess that she had made. He quietly grabbed one of the towels off the countertop, walked into the hall and began fanning the smoke detector with it. A minute later, the noise stopped.

  Jeff discreetly retreated back to his room, got back in the bed, and waited for Deandra to surprise him with breakfast in bed as he suspected she would. He pulled the covers up to his stomach, positioned both hands behind his head, and lay back against the pillow. At times like this, his thoughts settled on Denise, his ex-wife. He could almost feel her spirit there in the room with him, lying next to him as if she had never left.

  Denise’s sudden death had been hard on everyone, but Jeff felt as if he had been affected by it the most. After all, Denise was the woman he had considerably made his wife and she was the mother of the child he continued to raise as his own, despite Denise’s startling deception.