Eye for an Eye

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  I ignored her and kept walking with Ryan Scott in my sights.

  13

  Ryan Scott.

  Brother-in-law to Shante.

  He was perusing a selection of Liz Claiborne dress slacks. He was going back and forth between beige and black, trying to decide which went better with a sepia-colored button-down shirt he was holding.

  We were at Nordstrom. His favorite store. He liked to go there at least twice a week. I stood with a bag in my hand, pretending to browse through dress shirts, and watched him. He was about six-five with a gymnast’s build. Broad shoulders, full biceps filling out the sleeves of a black T-shirt he had on. His forearms were thick; so were his wrists. His back was wide and trailed down to a thin waistline. He had the perfect V shape up top. His bottom wasn’t too bad either, covered by a pair of khaki shorts that stopped just below his knees. He had nice calves. Not thin, but not overly thick, either. They were naturally well defined. He’d never had to deal with anyone accusing him of having chicken legs.

  I watched the back of his well-proportioned bald head go from side to side. He was having a hard time with his decision. Style was obviously very important to him.

  I’d been watching him for two weeks, utilizing all of the information Shante had given me. Her info had been thorough and incredibly accurate. She knew a lot about him. Almost too much. Honestly, had I not seen the look of disgust in her eyes, I would have surmised that her sister had been right to not believe her.

  But I did see the look.

  For the two weeks I’d studied him, I’d gotten to know his pattern very well. Shante had called him a creature of habit, and she’d been right. Gym in the morning, then work until lunchtime. Lunch hours were spent with coworkers, usually female. Mondays and Wednesdays he went to the mall around seven P.M. Tuesdays and Thursdays he worked late. On those nights, the same tall, blond female always left the office twenty minutes before he did, applying lipstick, her hair disheveled. On Fridays he did happy hour, and wouldn’t come home until three in the A.M.

  He reminded me of Marlene’s ex-husband, Steve. He was bleeding Marlene dry of her strength and dignity before I set him up. Now Marlene was the one bleeding him dry with child support payments. I was bleeding him dry too, in $50,000 monthly installments. Payments to keep my mouth shut. Stay-out-of-jail money for fucking with the wrong bitch.

  Ryan was a lot like Steve. Another pretty boy who thought his dick was golden. The Steves and Ryans of the world were predictable and very easy.

  Shante had to go away for a month. When she came back she was going to take her sister out. It was supposed to be an attempt to smooth things over. Dinner and a movie to apologize. She wanted the moment filmed on that night. She was going to call me two days prior to ensure that everything would happen as planned.

  I’d spent two weeks watching, studying, learning.

  Now it was time to go to work.

  I approached him. Stood off to his left shoulder. Said, “You’re making the decision too hard.”

  Ryan turned and looked at me with a set of deep-set, intense brown eyes. They were mysterious. Seemed as though something dark were lurking behind them. He stared at me momentarily before his line of sight dipped down and came back up. I had on a plum-colored sleeveless blouse that hugged my torso like a frightened child, a black mini-skirt that stopped an inch above my knees, no stockings, and black, open-toed sandals with a two-inch heel.

  The corner of his mouth rose slightly as he said, “Excuse me?”

  I pointed to the brown pair of slacks. “Those are the ones you should buy.”

  He looked down to the beige pair and held them up a bit. “These? And why is that?”

  “They go better with the shirt and that color isn’t as secretive as black is.”

  “Secretive?”

  “Black is a concealing color. It’s what overweight people wear to make themselves look thin. It’s what people wear when they want to conceal flaws. You’re obviously not overweight, nor do you have anything that needs to be . . . concealed.”

  I let my line of sight trail shamelessly down to his crotch.

  Ryan narrowed his eyes a bit and flexed his square jaw line.

  So easy, I thought.

  I added, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” he asked with a cocky grin.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know you. I have no reason to lie.”

  He stared at me with his intense eyes and then nodded and put down the black pair of slacks. He extended his hand. “I’m Ryan.”

  I took his hand. “Lisette.”

  He repeated my name. “Now you know me, Lisette,” he said, his I’m-the-man grin widening.

  “I guess I do.”

  “Does this mean you’ll lie to me now?”

  “I don’t lie, Ryan,” I said very honestly.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Lying is for people who have something to hide. I don’t believe in hiding anything.” Again I dropped my line of vision to his crotch. I could practically see his dick jumping.

  So, so easy.

  “So . . . Lisette, just how long were you watching me struggle?”

  “Long enough to know that you needed my help, Ryan.”

  “Sure you aren’t stalking me?”

  I laughed. Not at his comment, which is what he assumed, but instead I laughed at him. He was truly full of himself. If I didn’t have to wait until Shante got home, I could have had the job completed before the night was through.

  But I had to wait.

  I said, “I saw you and I approached you. I don’t stalk.”

  Ryan cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow. “You’re direct. I like that.”

  “I don’t like beating around the bush. And I don’t have time for people who do.”

  “We have a lot in common then.”

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me. Then looked me up and down.

  Once again, I thought about how easy this was.

  He said, “I’m married.”

  I said, “I see the ring. And I never asked.”

  “I just wanted to put that out there.”

  “I don’t know your wife, nor do I want to.”

  Ryan nodded. “And you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Is there a husband or boyfriend in your life?”

  “I don’t do marriage or boyfriends,” I said. “I like to come and go as I please.”

  Had the words come out for him to see, the word come would have been spelled “C-U-M.” I’d said it that sexually.

  Ryan flared his nostrils. He said, “So, Lisette, do you plan on helping out any other men who may be struggling, or would you like to grab a bite to eat?”

  “Isn’t your wife expecting you home?”

  “I thought my wife didn’t matter to you.”

  “She doesn’t,” I said. “I just don’t do drama.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no drama to worry about.”

  I licked my lips. Gave him a seductive smile.

  He stuck his chest out a bit. Flexed his arms.

  His ego was out of control.

  Just like Steve.

  Just like all of the men.

  “So . . . dinner?”

  I licked my lips again and then shook my head. “Not tonight. I have some things to take care of.”

  Ryan clenched his jaw and tried to keep his expression indifferent. He failed, but even if he had been able to, his body language would have given him away. He wasn’t used to being turned down.

  The tone of his voice edgier, he said, “What about tomorrow night?”

  “Possibly.”

  “How about I call you in the afternoon to see if that possibly has changed into a yes.”

  “I don’t give my number out.”

  “Well then here . . .” He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. From his wallet he pulled out a business card and offered it to me. “You call me tomorrow.”


  “Are you sure you want to give that to me? I could be psycho, Ryan. I could start calling you at odd hours of the night. Your wife might not like that.”

  Ryan flashed his arrogant smile. “I’m not worried,” he said. “Just make sure you call me tomorrow.”

  “And if my possibly has changed to a no . . . do you still want me to call?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t look like a man who gets turned down too often.”

  “It happens to the best of us.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I will tell you this . . . If that possibly turns into a yes, I promise you a night you will remember for a long time.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to beat around the bush.”

  I took the card, slipped it into my purse and said, “If I call, my number will come up as unavailable.”

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “My phone doesn’t accept calls from numbers that are blocked. You’re going to have to unblock your number when you call.”

  I looked at him as he waited for me to answer.

  He gave me an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, but I’ve had a bad experience before. You know how the saying goes: fool me once . . .”

  I nodded and thought about Kyra. Thought about how I’d been burned. I said, “Unfortunately for you, I never unblock my number.”

  “Not even this one time?”

  My turn to shrug. “Fool me once . . .”

  He smiled. It was macho and sexy. He held up his hand. “Sure you don’t want to give me a chance? I give my scout’s honor you have nothing to worry about.”

  I looked at him as he waited for me to answer. I thought about it for a fleeting moment. I did have his number. I could call his wife and wreak havoc. But I had a little over a week to get him where I wanted him. And I didn’t give in to anyone.

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  He frowned. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

  “Fool me once . . .” I said again.

  He sighed as his shoulders sagged. “I felt a connection. Would hate to lose it.”

  I narrowed my eyes a bit.

  He sighed again. “Another time, another place maybe?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a small world.” He held up the beige pair of slacks. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  “Anytime.”

  He gave a smile filled with sex. “I’d welcome that.”

  I turned around and walked away, leaving him hanging without a response. His eyes were on my ass. I could feel it.

  He wouldn’t care about a blocked number the next time.

  14

  “I have a new client for you. Have you finished with your other job?”

  Aida Restrepo closed the door behind her. She’d just finished giving Edie Blackstone a video confirming Edie’s suspicions that her husband, William, was unfaithful.

  The video was shot in a hotel room, and unbeknownst to William, it showed him with two females, whose faces were concealed by masks, in a room ablaze with candlelight, engaged in an intense ménage à trois.

  Edie cried, gagged, cursed William, blamed herself, blamed God, cursed William and cried some more as she watched the entire sexual episode. Aida watched the tape intently too. Edie didn’t know it, but she was one of the females. The other had been a prostitute she’d met at the bar in the hotel lounge. She’d paid her one-thousand dollars for her time.

  William was in the entertainment industry and traveled often to Atlanta for business. Edie could never prove anything, but she was certain that he was mixing pleasure with his business. She ignored the uneasy feeling in her gut for a year and a half until she couldn’t ignore it any further. That was when she contacted Marlene, whose information she’d gotten from a friend. After giving Marlene all of the information she needed, and paying half of the $30,000 required, Edie prayed that by some miracle the money she’d spent would produce zero results. Of course, that hadn’t been the case.

  Setting William up had been easy. Aida, who’d flown to Atlanta and booked a hotel room in the same Marriott William was staying in, approached him by the bar on a Friday night. On Saturday he’d taken her shopping and spent over $600 on her–money that he would say he spent for business. During the shopping excursion, Aida explained how she and her “girlfriend” had always wanted to have a threesome. William expressed that he too had wanted to live out that fantasy. That night, the threesome was on. Aida and her “friend” wore the masks. William brought the condoms. On Sunday, Aida flew home. Monday she collected the other half of the payment and left Edie Blackstone alone, wishing she’d never placed the call to Marlene.

  Sometimes the truth was just too bitter a pill to swallow.

  Aida walked down the Blackstones’ winding driveway to her bone-white Mercedes-Benz. “Just did,” she said into her phone.

  Marlene said, “Good. I got a call from another unhappy wife.”

  “Do happy wives exist?”

  “Believe it or not, they are out there.”

  Aida raised her thin eyebrows. That she didn’t believe. “So what’s the deal with this one?”

  “Husband is a womanizer.”

  “Of course. So what’s she looking for?”

  “She wants to walk in on you with him willing to engage in the act.”

  “Willing?”

  “She doesn’t want to see him doing anything. She just wants to see that he would.”

  Aida frowned.

  Having sex wasn’t a necessity for getting the job done, but it was something she enjoyed to do. She may not have been a full-fledged one, but she definitely considered herself to be part nymphomaniac. Had been since her first sexual experience at sixteen. Willing meant no sex. It was a downer.

  She said, “OK.”

  “I’ve checked out the client and she’s legitimate. Housewife, married for four years. Certain he’s been unfaithful for three of them.”

  “And she hasn’t left him because . . . ?”

  “Because he brings in the money. Plus, she loves him. She just wants to catch him in the act. She’s hoping she could use this to her advantage to convince him to seek out counseling instead of her looking for a divorce.”

  “Idiot,” Aida said, shaking her head.

  “I set up a meeting with her for Thursday at three o’clock at her home. Her name is Vivian Steele.”

  “OK.”

  Aida opened the door to her Mercedes. It had been a present to herself. She’d bought it after the second husband she’d trapped.

  Money and power.

  Perks of a lifestyle introduced to her by a woman she looked up to.

  Lisette.

  The only person to ever truly “get” her.

  She had a mother, but she felt more of a kinship with Lisette, who she’d only known for six months. She and her birth mother were just never close. She understood that a man and woman each had a role in the home, but she’d always hated that her mother acquiesced to her father’s every need. Yes, he brought the money into the household as a construction worker for the city, but that didn’t give him the OK to be verbally and, at times, physically abusive. Aida and her older sister grew up watching her mother take her father’s shit, and because of that, Aida grew up being very distant from her. She wasn’t close to her sister, either, because her sister had followed in her mother’s footsteps with her own husband.

  Lisette didn’t take shit from anyone, and that was something Aida had great respect for.

  She’d been at the 40/40 club enjoying herself when she met her. She’d been alone, not because she had to be or because she didn’t have friends to hang out with. She just wanted to be. Her friends never got that about her. They never understood her need to be alone. Her need to not compromise–something they all felt had to happen in life.

&nbs
p; The only person who had, had been Lisette, who within a matter of a few minutes broke Aida down. No one–not even her own mother or sister–had ever done that. No one knew her. She’d been called selfish and narcissistic, but only Lisette had known that had never been the case. Lisette broke her down, left her alone for an hour, and then came back and presented her with an enticing opportunity.

  If you want to make money ... call me.

  She’d left her phone number, along with a promise of truly being in control and then walked away again. Aida called her the next day, and the rest is history.

  Money.

  Power.

  Sex.

  Lisette taught her what power was–something Aida thought she’d known all about–and then showed her how to use that power to make money. The sex was just an added bonus.

  Aida got into the car and started the engine. She listened to the Mercedes hum quietly. Her mother and sister thought she made money from modeling. It was an occupation Lisette had instructed her to have to help explain where her income was coming from.

  If they only knew.

  She said, “Just e-mail me the info.”

  Marlene said, “It’s already in your inbox.”

  “OK.”

  Aida ended the call, hit play on her CD player, put the car in drive, and pulled off slowly.

  In her rearview mirror she watched Edie Blackstone’s home fade away. William was in for one hell of a surprise when he got home.

  Aida laughed.

  She was so born for this.

  15

  It was coming together.

  Slowly but surely, that bitch is going to get what is coming to her. She is going to pay for the pain she’s caused me. I hate her so damned much. She took away my happiness. The only true happiness I’ve ever really known. I press on my left eyeball. I feel a slight relief from the dull migraine causing me pain behind it. But it’s only slight. I know the pain won’t go away completely until she’s gone.

  Bitch.

  I’ve searched for balance and joy for so fucking long. Since my teenage years. Years filled with frustration, confusion, denial. I hated those fucking years. I spent so much goddamned time pretending to be something and someone I wasn’t.