Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  Yet, they had a despicable magic about them.

  “Paris, these damn Alpha pimps out here on the street could convince a nun that she’d fucked before in a past life, so she may as well continue and next time, get paid for it!”

  Paris burst out laughing; it was funny but oh, so true. Tasha knew her way around the back alleys, the posh hotels and the government offices, stowed away like a mistress between meetings. She’d done and seen too much to not be hip to the game, and though she’d never vocalize it, Paris had to admit that due to this, and Tasha’s personality in general, she had a special fondness for Tasha that surpassed her relationships with her other ladies. And she was dead on about the Alpha Pimps, too. They were the worst, but the best, all at the same time.

  An Alpha pimp would give a whore a percentage of the cut, but would often find excuses due to her ‘bad’ or ‘poor’ behavior to take it out of her next payment so that the bitch ended up having little of nothing left. Such a man would be so damn convincing, Hollywood moviemakers should have been beating his goddamn door down. But of course, it was easy to fool others when one has already fooled themselves…

  When Paris came on the scene, her competitors soon realized she was there to say. They’d tried her, and she prevailed. Initially, she saw herself as a godsend to her stable. Some sort of savior, she’d even gotten a big head over it, walking about as if she shat out golden nuggets. But as time went on, she realized she was only a step or two above the pimps putting their hos on the track for they still lived in degradation. They still wrestled with emotional issues. She remained a prisoner of her own hidden emotions. No one could be all right after selling their pussy, their body, but it was all many of them had in order to survive.

  “You saved me; you saved Marie, too;” Tasha praised, but little did the woman know, it didn’t make her feel good, boost her ego, make her head swell.

  The words hit her in a new way, made her feel ashamed. In her mind, so many years ago, her philosophy was simple: Someone has got to do it, may as well be me…

  But those thoughts were now on the chopping block, an axe swinging above them, bludgeoning her internal rhetoric. Something had to change, but she didn’t know how. She was feeling different, a new sense of self emerged inside her, but it proved a hard, internal battle, and she feared she was losing before the race had even begun. She’d been out of the job market for so long, and her girls had nowhere to go should she up and leave.

  But she was getting so very weary…

  All of the calls about rouge Johns, attempted robberies, abuses… All of the girls who’d left and got strung out after she’d gotten them clean in a rehab… All of her issues with the police, despite the fact that many of them were some of her girls’ regulars. It was becoming way too much. She kept wrestling with herself, trying to understand why she couldn’t leave this lifestyle alone! The thoughts called to her, owned her hair lock, fishnet stock-ings and gun barrel. Her concerns were her prison, were her pimp. She felt at peace and at war in this environment, but how long could she keep up the battle?

  “Well, didn’t mean to talk your ear off.” Tasha laughed. “Just wanted to give you an update and ask you to bring me some chicken tacos when you return!”

  Paris burst out laughing.

  “No wonder you were being so nice on the phone!” she teased. “Now the truth has come out. You wanted something!”

  Tasha burst out laughing, “True, but I meant every word of it. Love you and see you when you get back.” And then, she disconnected the call.

  Just that moment, the door opened, and Marie playfully hopped inside before Art had a chance to do the honors. She held two shiny salmon and beige colored bags, chock full of lacy, pink and black fancy panties and other assorted items, and showed them off, proud of her purchases.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Paris threw on a sweet smile, forcing herself to once again swallow her pain from her recent stroll down memory lane.

  “Yes, I did. Thank you!” the twenty-five year old squealed.

  They pulled away from the curb and headed to a taco joint to pick up a bite of lunch for themselves as well as her favorite girl, Tasha. Once there, she only ordered an iced tea and a small salad, for she had a date tonight, and he’d promised her a good time…

  *

  Chapter Seven

  ANGELINA OSTERIA ON Beverly Boulevard proved to be the perfect setting for Smoke’s date with Paris. He knew he’d made a good choice when he noted the Italian style awning above Paris’ double front doors. When he arrived at her house, he was duly impressed. The place showcased a massive, well-manicured, lush kelly green lawn, as well as modern, light gray architecture with vast windows, sometimes taking up an entire wall. He could see straight through the damn place. A mausoleum, in which not a thing stood out of place. She enjoyed minimalism and earth tones, and high beam lights that gave a soft glow to each and every nook and cranny. What impressed him most was that her home was pushed far away from the street and other homes, as if the sky and trees decided to keep it all to themselves. He could see why—it was a real gem.

  He got out of his car, gave himself the once over in his Porsche window reflection, and walked up the door, feeling confident and free. He tried to swallow the proud smirk on his face as he adjusted his shimmering silver cufflink while walking up her cobblestone entranceway, but he simply couldn’t. Soon after he rang the doorbell, she opened pretty fast, her luscious curves in a tight, black dress that kissed her flesh like a second skin. She’d paired it with black and gold stilettos that strapped up her ankle and ended with a delicate little bow off to the side.

  Shiiiiit!

  She’d left her hair down, brushing against her shoulders and mid-back like a black silky towel. He longed to touch it. She greeted him with a glimmer in her eye, her purse in hand.

  “You look really nice, Paris.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  He wrapped his arm around hers and walked her to his car. She waited there as he opened the passenger side door of his vehicle and he took the liberty to enjoy the way her leg looked so elongated and her calf curved as she got settled in. The drive over to the family-run, Italian restaurant was quiet, only a few words here and there, but once they arrived at the quaint location, she opened right up for him. He hoped her legs would do the same later that evening…

  “So, Paris, tell me about this name of yours… What is your real name?” He slowly cracked his menu and perused the choices in the small, packed place.

  Tearing her gaze from her menu, she threw him a guarded look. Even for a question such as that, seemingly innocent, she weighed her answer carefully. She remained quiet for a few moments, then much to his surprise, she acted as if she hadn’t heard the question at all, as if he’d simply stated he’d spotted a gum wrapper on the floor. Dismissing him in such a haughty way, she glanced back down at her menu, perusing her choices for an entree.

  “This veal dish sounds good…” she stated, her nose buried in the thing. “It’s a veal stuffed tortellini.”

  I have some veal I’d like to stuff in your tortellini…

  He grinned at her as he ran away with his nasty thoughts like a burglar in an armed robbery…

  “So, you’re just gonna ignore a motherfucker, huh?” He slumped back in his seat and threw his hands up, a huge smile on his face. Damn, he liked her…

  “You haven’t earned the right to know yet.” She winked at him and pursed her lips, acting coy and cute.

  He rolled his eyes and grinned, then looked back down at the menu for a spell.

  “Who is watching your girls while you are on this date with me?” she questioned, still nose deep in her meal choices.

  “I have a long time trusted friend, his name is Frank. Good guy, bodyguard…anyway, he watches the door all the time, and another guy, Reggie, fills in for me on the rare occasion when I’m sick, or need to be at two places at once. Plus, Felicia is there.”

  Paris nodded in understanding. />
  Soon, the waitress came up and took their order.

  “Let the lady order first.” He winked and motioned at her with a flourish.

  Paris smiled once again. Elegant, poised—a class act. She carried herself as if she’d never opened her legs for cash in her entire life. You’d think she was some aristocrat, someone noble from a royal country dripping in diamonds and gold. Hell, maybe she was, but just didn’t know it.

  “I’d like to have the veal tortellini, please, and uh, Smoke, do you like wine?” she asked, raising a perfectly arched brow.

  “Yes…”

  “Red or white?”

  “…Both.”

  “I’d also like a bottle of your Argento Malbec,” she added.

  “Certainly. And you, sir?”

  “I’d like to get the Lasagne Verdi and a side salad, your house salad is fine.”

  “Wonderful. I will be back with bread and glasses of water.” He grabbed their menus, turned away and headed to another table in the crowded place.

  Smoke turned his attention back to Paris and stared into her eyes. He could not get over how damn pretty she was, how sweetly seductive her perfume smelled, how her easygoing smile made him feel like a kid in her presence. Her body was perfect, her voice, especially when she was angry, a bit amusing, and she walked like a runway model. Dare he say it—he could feel a nice vibe with this woman for she consumed his damn thoughts night and day to the point of outright distraction. He’d never bought a woman a rose since Cheryl. He’d never wined and dined a woman, either. He brimmed full of lust for her, bursting at the damn seams, but it was so much more than that.

  She was from his world, a patch in his quilt, and she in his. He could see in her face that she was a bit tense at various intervals. The woman’s nerves did somersaults. He found it endearing, especially due to the fact that she undoubtedly believed she hid it well. He smiled inwardly, happy that he made a woman swoon for him a bit, and not due to his occupation.

  “So.” He clasped his hands together on the table and leaned a little forward. “What made you decide to take me up on my offer?” He lifted his chin higher, ensuring he watched for body language, heard what she said, and saw in her expression what she refused to utter.

  “Well.” She closed the wine menu that the waiter had accidentally left and placed it back down on the table. “I figured you may be good for a free meal,” she teased, causing him to turn away and laugh lightly.

  Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his, and by her expression, that gesture surprised the hell out of her. He put slight pressure in his touch, then circled his thumb up and down her knuckles, warming them under his digit.

  “Paris, look. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight and not have any worries. I’m not up to anything.” He felt this was the right time to say it, to feed her inhibitions a snack or two so that she may enjoy the moment.

  “Famous last words,” she joked, hitching them on a rolling of her vibrant eyes.

  “I know it’s hard for you to trust me, to trust men in general.”

  She appeared to be interested in what he had to say as she sat a bit straighter, and looked at him head on.

  “Just like I know women, you know men. We haven’t known each other long, but our phone conversations and recent interactions, though at times brief, have given me quite a bit of pleasure and understanding of you.” He paused, trying to read her, and narrowed his eyes on the feast before him, only this one required a tongue, not a spoon. “I really want you, Paris.”

  “What makes you want me?” An ever so slight smile followed her question.

  “Well, a lot. I like how you carry yourself, the way you express yourself. I like that you’re intelligent and self-made. Almost not needing to be said, but for the sake of all bases being covered, I like how you look…from your smooth, light brown skin, to your dark, sultry eyes. Your body is amazing. The thing that strikes me the most, however, is your resilience. I can spot my own kind. We’ve been through some shit, had some things happen in life that caused us to jump headfirst into survival mode. It was either that, or death. I like that you’re strong, Paris, but sweet at the same time.”

  “I’m not sweet.” She grimaced.

  He had an issue with why she said it with such disdain, as if he’d called her a bad name.

  “Yes you are, but only with the right person…”

  They sat in a short moment of silence.

  “So, you think you’re the right person?” Slipping her hand away from his, she dug in her purse and removed her cellphone, rudely going through her text messages as he slumped back in his seat, watching her.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and sucked his teeth. “Thanks, man.” A waiter came to their table and delivered a fresh loaf of bread, two glasses of water, and the bottle of wine. He poured their glasses, shared a few friendly words, then disappeared. Paris leaned over and delicately plucked her glass from the table, swirled the wine around just so, then took a dainty sip.

  “You were saying…” She brought him back in the moment.

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Paris. It’s too soon to know that. What I do know is that I have a yearning for you that I haven’t had for anyone else in a long ass time.”

  “So you yearn for me?” Brow curved in a quizzical gesture, she took another sip, leaving a dark red imprint around the rim of her glass.

  “Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?” He found himself becoming slightly annoyed with her.

  He’d been working on her for far too long, he’d earned the right to be there with her, sharing dinner and so much more.

  What the fuck is she doing?!

  He was tired of being toyed with and teased. Either get with this or get left. He would not be made a fool of. Her resistance had initially seemed intriguing, at times humorous with a touch of cuteness. Now, it simply grated his nerves.

  She shrugged and shook her head; her lips twisted as she snootily placed her glass back down. “It’s not that’s hard to believe, the thought of it, that is but the source is what I question.”

  “I’m tired of this shit. You either want to fuck with me, or you don’t.”

  I’m not playing around with you, Paris. If you keep on, I am done with you…and I mean that shit.

  He didn’t miss the way she glowered and then, dipped her brows.

  “Don’t look surprised!” he said angrily. “I’m not one of these silly ass tricks you are used to talking to, sizing up. I’m not sittin’ here to rent any fucking pussy. I’m sitting here because I want to own the pussy.”

  “Ohhh!” She laughed mirthlessly. “Now the truth comes out! So this is about you trying to turn me out. You are a piece of—”

  “Shit, yes, a piece of shit.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, prepared to go in. “Now that we’ve got that out the way, Paris, you’ve completely misunderstood what I was saying because you are totally on the defensive. In all of my history on this damn planet, I’ve never met a woman like you before, and now, I’m regretting that I have. I’ve only begged for pussy from one woman, in my entire life,”—he placed his finger in the air—“and that was my high school sweetheart. Besides her, I didn’t have to and I never did it again and I sure as fuck never will.”

  “You’re charming…” She rolled her eyes and smirked.

  “Yeah, contrary to you sitting there on your high horse, apparently I am. Women have found me to be amiable since I was a kid. I have been in love once. One time, Paris… You aren’t the only one that has been damaged and had a hard ass time in life. You can get that chip off your shoulder, pull that Drivin’ Ms. Daisy persona out of your tight little ass, and get wit’ some real pimping!” He popped his collar, sick of this shit. Smoke was sitting there now, in the motherfucking flesh. Brent had been dismissed, taken several damn seats… She opened her mouth to respond but he immediately spoke over her.

  “Listen to me, and keep your mouth closed for a second! When I said own the pussy, I’m talk
ing about a commitment! I’m sitting here like a goddamn square in some fancy ass restaurant with a woman, chatting with you, trying to get to know you, buying you shit! This isn’t some damn joke! I’ve sat here trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. You agreed to go out with me, so I made the dumb ass assumption that you had an open mind, wanted to get to know me even better, put the late night phone calls to rest. All I’m getting is attitude. Here I am, taking a chance, a risk, because I dig you. I know how and why you became this way. You’re hardcore on the outside, but soft as a stick of butter in your heart. I can see what you are, even when you are blind to the fact.”

  The woman looked completely mortified as he read her like the DON’T WALK sign.

  “If I wanted to turn you out, damn it, I would have fuckin’ said so. Better yet…done it!” He snapped his fingers. “And what pisses you off the most is that you know deep down, that may have been possible!” He looked her up and down as his lip curved upward in a fiendish grin.

  “Totally delusional. You really have some ego on you,” she said smoothly as her beautiful eyes hooded.

  “I have to. If you don’t think you’re the shit, people won’t treat you right out here.”

  “Hmmm, and you’ve convinced many…There was a rumor that you had a doctor in your family at one time. Is that true?”

  He was mystified and turned on by her cool demeanor under pressure. The angrier he got, the less she reacted. He hated that his dick got hard at her mere indifference.

  “Pussycat, let’s put it this way. Since I got into my groove, I haven’t gotten next to one woman who I couldn’t turn the fuck out. I’ve had two damn lawyers in my stable, because they made more money with me than dealing with judges and meetings all damn day. So to answer your question, yes, and that doctor stayed with me for quite some time. Back to you and me though.” He folded his hands in his lap.

  Oh no, he wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. It became more than apparent to him what Paris was trying to do. Divert.