Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  This was a prime example as to why he’d become so selective about the women in his circle. He went through in-depth screenings; the shit was brutal, but his formula worked. After he verified the potential whore’s legal age and name, he’d move on from there. First, if they chose him, he’d conduct an intensive interview. He wanted to know where they came from, what they were doing, and what they liked and didn’t like. He wanted them to disclose every damn thing about themselves, even the last time they took a piss. If they passed that hurdle, they’d take a psychological exam of his own rendering. It included questions about what they’d do if a john requested a certain sexual act they weren’t accustomed to. His questions always delved into home life, as well. He wanted to know about their mother, father, siblings, and possible children. He wanted to know all the gritty, nasty shit they’d done, when they lost their virginity, if they had an issue taking it in the ass, gagged during deep throating, and were opposed to an occasional spanking.

  He wanted to know if they shot up drugs with their cousins, if they made straight As or flunked out of school, and if they were ever bullied or possibly the bully themselves during their younger years. EVERYTHING mattered. If that portion of the interview went well, he’d go on and arrange for them to see a doctor. He’d drive their ass right down to the clinic, get them checked out, and see what came up on their bill of health. Sometimes, it would be the first time the woman found out she was HIV positive, or so she’d say. Other times, she might be clean as a whistle. If she had something that some shots or pills would knock out, he’d keep tabs on her. If she had an incurable STD, however, he had to let her go, simple as that. He’d wish her the best of luck, and would keep steppin’.

  If, on the other hand, everything went well, it was time to move to the next phase. He’d take her to a hotel and give her the fuck test. He conducted the shit so cerebrally and had become so accustomed to it, he no longer saw it as just a sexual encounter, but as business as usual. The fuck test would include an appetizer—the striptease. Then he’d instruct them to perform a lap dance. He made it perfectly clear that the process of seduction, the illusion that you really want and desire that bastard, was imperative to garner return clients. Afterward, he’d see how they handled their blowjob skills, or lack thereof. If they needed improvement, he’d tell them so, and explain how.

  After the blowjob test, he’d lay them down in various positions, holding, cuddling, rubbing, and showing them the damn importance of a buildup. This established two things—a bond between him and the potential whore, and the feeling of confidence that she knew what the hell she was doing. Smoke knew how to fuck well. This was a no-brainer because it proved essential to his success. Using it to his advantage, he’d have a bitch swooning, thinking he’d actually made love to her ass, versus just fucking her with precision and care. He’d never made love to any damn body, but reality was ninety-nine percent perception…

  He made it clear that some johns are nervous or older, suffering from erectile issues, and they needed a girl that would be patient with them. Smoke set himself up as a damn teacher, their surrogate professor and everything in between. After the first lesson was complete, he proceeded to the intercourse part. He demonstrated various techniques, and explained in great depth how they should respond to different personality types. If the woman already agreed that she’d provide anal services, he’d do that as well, get a feel for how she moved and handled a dick in such a fashion. He would again remind them about the importance of hygiene and condom use, and how they must be used at all times. He also prompted them that they must stay on an additional method of contraception unless their tubes were tied, and even then, he advised it, for one simply never knew. He’d already had one girl get accidentally knocked up after a condom burst, and he’d never fall into that situation again.

  Over the course of the working relationship, he’d discuss progress reports with the ladies. Sit down meetings, round table discussions, and the like. He set his shit up professionally and ran it tighter than a virgin on prom night. If someone got out of pocket, he’d nip it in the bud, rarely raising his voice. He’d simply look at the woman and tell her she only had one more chance, and he meant it…

  Women wanted to be with him because of the organized, unique and fair way with which he ran his business, but also because he wasn’t a damn simp, some pussy-whipped fool or wanna-be-ladies man. He knew how to get his point across without being a brute. He walked that tightrope like a pro, and he walked it well. He was sensitive to their needs, but not a punk. Women didn’t respect men they could walk all over, and he refused to be ‘that guy.’ He listened. He even occasionally cared, but never loved. Hos came and went. It was up to him to always be of the mindset that this life he led, the game, was a revolving door industry, and those that rolled in one way could roll out the next. He had a couple leave, believing the grass was greener on the other side, only to attempt to come back with their shame tucked between their quaking legs. He never let them return. It was policy, procedure. He’d lose street cred and it would set a bad example for the other women in his stable. For the most part, his women listened to him, and his Bottom Bitch helped keep them in check. Felicia facilitated in keeping his appointments straight; she was dedicated, but something had surely set her off as of late…

  He looked at her bouncing around on him and abruptly turned down the television, causing her to settle down, poke her lip out and brandish a look of confusion. She draped her long dark hair with auburn highlights over one creamy, smooth shoulder.

  “Felicia, I’m only going to ask you one more time. What is going on with you, huh? We’ve known each other a long time, and your behavior is erratic. What is this shit all about?” He waved his hand around, emphasizing his bewilderment.

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “No.” He cut her off at the pass. “I told you this was the last damn time.” He angrily pointed at her, waiting.

  She dropped her head, looked down in her lap like a child who’d been caught stealing. Slumping to the side, she resigned herself to finally tell the truth.

  “Smoke, I just…” Her eyes began to well up with tears. “I feel like I’m losing you. You’ve been distracted, like your head isn’t in it anymore. You’re distant. I don’t want to lose you, baby!” She shoved herself into him, sobbing on his chest. Her hair flowed against his body while she wrapped her slender arms around his neck again, this time gripping him possessively.

  “Felicia, you aren’t losing me. If I decide one day that I’ve had enough, you’ll be the first to know, alright?” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “What I need you to do though, is get back to the way that you were because this clingy, insecure shit is stressing me the hell out. You know I don’t like all that begging and moving around me, getting in the way. Just relax, okay?”

  She nodded in understanding, sadness still spread on her face.

  “Okay, perfect. Now.” He turned the television off and gave her ass a friendly spank, causing her to relax a bit and giggle. “Tell me about the other apartment building. What did you find out?”

  “Well.” Her brow shot up. “You suspected right. It’s a ho house.”

  “Damn it!” He slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair. “I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t see any of that shit when I went to look at the property before I bought it. I made sure of it. I didn’t see any women walking around until I’d signed the papers and went back over to check on construction. Who is it?”

  She smirked and covered her mouth, then looked away as if it was simply too ridiculous to say.

  “Stop playing games and tell me.” He wasn’t in the mood for this silly shit.

  “It’s a woman. Her name is Paris Raven. She is a madam.”

  He slumped in his seat and ran his hand over his forehead, feeling a great migraine coming on. He closed his eyes.

  I don’t believe this shit.

  Not only did he have competition now, but the competi
tion had a damn vagina. He couldn’t handle this the way he would a man. No, madams were the worst—a different breed! Most of them were Fem-Nazis, ruthless bitches pretending to not be in heat. Women who acted like they had king-sized dicks, and could give it as well as receive it. He hated dealing with them in any capacity. They always threw their weight around, trying pitifully to demonstrate that they could go toe to toe with a man. He’d heard of Paris Raven, but had never officially laid eyes on her. Depending on how he played it, this would either be easy as pie, or his worst nightmare come true. He kicked himself once again for making such a foolhardy mistake. Upon seeing the damn property, his dick got hard—the possibilities had seemed endless…and now, so were the potential complications. He was getting sloppy.

  “Fuck!” He tossed the remote control on the table in front of him. His immaculate home was now filled with filthy, soiled energy as his thoughts jumped about.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Had I known where you were looking to purchase, I could have told you that she’s over there, checked it out for you first. Regardless, It’ll be okay, Smoke,” Felicia said reassuringly. “She doesn’t have anything on you, baby, and besides, that bitch better mind her business.”

  “It’s not smart to have two McDonalds across the street from each other, Felicia.” He looked at her wearily, as if this shit was elementary and she simply wasn’t getting it. “It doesn’t matter if the employees mind their business or not; people will have to choose, and that will split the profits. I’ve bought the shit now…” He threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ll see what I can arrange. I’ll have to figure this shit out as soon as possible.”

  “You will, Smoke, you always do…” She flirted with him, smiling garishly as she snaked her limber fingers into his pants.

  “Mmmmmm! Yeeees, Baby! There’s that big white snake I’ve been looking for! Big ass cock! Yeeeeessssss!”

  Her touch felt like nothing. This was also becoming a growing concern. Sex with the ladies just didn’t do it for him anymore. Something wasn’t right, something was missing, and it had become a strain, a great effort, to even do what he used to enjoy first thing in the morning…a nice, hard fuck. Felicia was onto him with her suspicions, no matter how in denial he was about the situation. In the midst of this new state of mind, and a damn brothel located right across the street from the new apartment building he’d procured, he was the one about to get it good if he didn’t set a plan in motion, and fast…

  *

  PARIS RAVEN STOOD at the entranceway of One West Bank on north La Brea. Her sleeveless, lacey black blouse blew ever so slightly in the refreshing breeze. It had been so humid as of late, this slight cold front proved a breath of fresh air. She adjusted her dark sunglasses, tugged a little at the hem of her fitted black skirt and ran a hand smoothly over her straight hair, pulled taut into a high, glossy bun. After a moment squinting up at the sun, she placed the bank receipts inside her clutch as she waited for her limousine. Second after second passed, until she found herself cursing under her breath.

  “Where the hell is Art?” She crossed her ankles and leaned up against the brick wall, feeling a bit like a vagabond. Growing wearier, she attempted to step back inside the place, get in some air conditioning and shade, and ring her driver once again. When she yanked open the heavy bank door to return inside, her gaze fell on something she wasn’t the least bit prepared for. There stood a tall, handsome son of a bitch with the most unusual shade of blue eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life. Worse yet, his gaze was penetrating, as if he had X-ray vision and could see right down to her lacy pale pink and black polka dot thong. The big bastard was blocking her way, her view and her ability to speak. His aquamarine eyes shined and shimmered like freshly rolled tides from the ocean, and the smirk he sported she found unnerving and sexy all at the same damn time.

  “Excuse me,” she uttered, finally finding her vocal chords as they began to clumsily dance around one another.

  “My apologies,” he rasped.

  His. Damn. Voice.

  Deep, baritone, yet sensitive and suave all at once… His dark hair was brushed away from his face, showcasing high cheekbones and a jawline she could cut a damn diamond wide open with.

  He held the door further open for her, and she promptly entered, refusing to look back. It had been a long time since a man had made her do a double take, pause, lose her damn voice, swoon and trip over words unspoken. Besides, men were her business. She saw them every day, all day, and was rather bored with their existence in the world. Well, this man did awe her.

  So what? Life goes on.

  She made her way to a comfortable chair and had a seat before pulling her phone out of her purse to find out what hole Art had fallen into. Unfortunately, a shadow soon loomed over her, blocking her light, and making her pulse elevate ever so slightly.

  “May I help you?” she asked without looking up, toying with her phone and jonesing for a strong ass drink in the worst way…

  “I was hoping I could help you, actually.” At that, she took a gander at the fellow, slowly lifting her gaze.

  He smiled and slid big hands into his pockets. Even his teeth were fucking perfect. There was no doubt he’d had some professional work done. People simply weren’t born that way. She liked the bastard’s sincere smile, it suited him. Yet she knew his damn kind; matter of fact, it clicked at that moment who this fucker was.

  Oh shit…it’s THAT son of a bitch! It has to be!

  Though she’d never seen him in person, she’d heard enough about him. Although her libido should have dropped at the realization, it actually intensified a bit, sickening her so.

  “What do you want?” she snapped, clearing her throat in a nasty way, hoping it would disgust him to the point that he’d move on to other terrain to travel, explore and hassle.

  “I’d like to ask you out to dinner.” He clasped his hands over his crotch and rocked ever so slightly on his heels. Such an air of quiet confidence—she’d never seen a man carry himself that way and actually mean it, as if he believed his own bullshit. Oddly enough, when he ‘performed’, it didn’t come off as an act. He felt grittily authentic, but of course, he would. He’d had plenty of practice. She placed her phone on her lap and removed a skinny cigarette from its sleek, hot pink container trimmed in leopard print. She rarely smoked, but would occasionally break out one during a stressful situation…and her damn underarms began to itch as sweat collected. He made her nervous as hell, and she hated the man for it.

  What the hell does he want? Just go away, please!

  She gripped the cigarette case. Her name was etched in gold, real gold, across the shiny cover. He looked down at it and nodded.

  “So your name is Paris.”

  “What gave it away?” She casually picked her phone back up and called Art, without waiting for an answer.

  “Well, Paris is a location, but I—”

  “Art! Where the hell are you?!” she hissed between gritted teeth. “Traffic? It’s not even rush hour. You could have at least called to let me know you’d be running late. How long do you think it will be? What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I can take you home.”

  The tall tree stood there rock solid, rooted under the material of his dark charcoal suit, not flinching or phased by her behavior, tone and demeanor. She quickly looked away from him, refusing to see him as an option.

  “No. That won’t be necessary…” she dismissed. “Uh, Art, please get here as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting outside.” She disconnected the call and abruptly got to her feet, ready to make her grand exit, but she moved a tad too fast, causing her heel to turn slightly inward after taking a few awkward steps. She swayed a bit, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn, but through it all, she didn’t miss the amused expression on his angular face.

  “Watch it there…would hate for a beauty like you to fall and break her ankle.” He slicked his index finger across his chin as he stared at her shoes, seemingly admiring t
hem. “Then I’d have to pick you up and carry you out of here. But of course, that would be just fine by me.”

  She whisked past him, tired of the game. She squinted as she walked back out into the sunlight, holding her arm over her eyes as if she were a vampire thrust into an early morning death. She could feel his damn glare on her. That bastard was staring at her ass. She didn’t dare turn around to confirm; instead she inwardly prayed for Art to make like the wind and afford her an extraordinary getaway.

  “I’d like to introduce myself.” He corralled around her, standing so close, she took in his masculine scent. He extended his hand, waiting for her to shake it, but she looked away, only causing him to lightly laugh. “My name is Smoke.”

  “I know who you are.” She forced a yawn, wanting him to see just how sick and tired she was of him already, and they’d only just begun.

  “Oh, do you?” He remained calm as his thick, dark brow lifted and he slowly lowered his arm like a robot whose battery had just drained dry. “Who am I, Ms. Raven?” He smiled pleasantly, like a child in anticipation of a spoonful of honey.

  “You’re a damn pimp. Now if you don’t mind—”

  “No, actually I do mind,” he said a bit roughly, the syllables folding up at the edges, though he still appeared at ease. “You see, I’ve been coming around here, doing business, and I just bought an apartment building nearby.” He pointed up the way. “I understand that you own one not too far from mine.”

  She swallowed a lump of coal.

  How the hell does he know this and what the hell does it matter?!

  “Smoke, what do you want?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms impatiently. “Please get to it so we can get this over with.”