by Marni Mann
She pulled out a dress from her closet. It was red, the fabric bound in layers so that it almost looked striped. I knew from the material that it would fit super snug.
“Try it on. I have shoes to match. Then, I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“I can’t.”
She came over to my bed. Taking the textbook out of my arms, she peeled back the blanket to reveal my holey T-shirt and paint-stained cotton shorts. “You’re coming even if that means I have to dress you myself.”
I wasn’t sure how Wynter had persuaded me to go to the club with her, but I was here, wearing her dress and her shoes with my skin smelling like her perfume. This was the first time I had ever been to a place like this. From what I’d seen in movies, I figured we would have to wait in a long line by the front, and then I’d have to hand the bouncer my ID and get some type of marking that showed I was underage.
That didn’t happen.
Wynter and I were escorted through a back entrance and brought into an elevator that took us to the second floor. On this level, we were able to oversee everything downstairs—the dance floor, the three bars, and all the people. As I held on to the banister, checking out the moves of the go-go dancers, a waitress handed me a glass of champagne.
“Am I allowed to drink this?” I asked Wynter after the waitress left.
“Of course, silly.”
When I was sure no one was close enough to hear me, I said, “But I’m only eighteen. Couldn’t I get in trouble if I got caught?”
She touched the bottom of my glass and lifted it to my lips. “No one cares. Trust me. You’re not going to get in trouble.” She used her other hand to point to the closest table. “See that liquor there? Help yourself to any of it. There’s a bunch more tables just like that one up here. They’re full of liquor and mixers and fruit. Drink up, girl. That’s why we’re here.”
“And how much is this going to cost me?”
I had twenty-two dollars in my wallet. If I wanted shampoo and tampons next month, I’d need to make every dollar last.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s all free.”
I did a quick scan of the room. She was right; there were lots of other tables just like that one. And it didn’t look like anyone was paying for what they drank.
“Why is it all free?”
Wynter was holding on to the same railing as me, dancing like she had an audience. Her hair flowed and bounced over her shoulders. Her body moved in perfect sync with the music. “Just enjoy the ride. Don’t question it.”
This was my first time out—away from my textbooks and the terms I constantly needed to memorize, away from the stress of keeping up my grades and how I would afford toiletries.
Stop questioning all of it, I thought to myself, and just have some fun.
So, when Wynter took me over to one of the tables and poured something much stronger than champagne, I took the glass she handed to me. And, when she asked me to dance on top of a small ottoman in the center of the room where everyone was able to see us, I did.
It didn’t take long for the drinks to hit me. On an empty stomach, there wasn’t anything to absorb the liquor. I knew I had to take it slow. I’d learned that the hard way when I got so sick from funneling four beers in a row at our senior year pig roast. Still, whatever was in this glass had loosened me right up, and it made me want to dance.
I tingled. Everywhere. And I couldn’t stop smiling.
This liquor was magic.
“I have to go talk to someone really quick,” Wynter said. “Will you be okay here by yourself?”
I didn’t know how long we’d been dancing, but it had to have been a while. I was out of breath and a little sweaty. “I’ll wait for you on the couch. I need a sec to catch my breath.”
She jumped off the ottoman and helped me down. “Be right back.”
I took a seat in the corner and chewed on the ice cubes from my glass, watching every person who walked by. The room was getting busier. Waitresses were replacing empty bottles and helping people refill their glasses. Everyone seemed to know someone, including Wynter. I saw her move from guy to guy. She’d speak just a few words and then step on to someone else. Always smiling. Gliding across the floor like she was in skates and we were in the middle of a rink.
I didn’t have her charisma.
But I wanted it.
“Having a good time?” a woman asked me.
I felt the cushion next to me indent, skin briefly brushing against my arm. I knew it wasn’t Wynter. She was still on the other side of the room. When I finally turned my head, the face I met was striking. Exotic even. She had long black hair that fell way past her chest, dark eyes, and olive skin that was perfectly flawless.
“Yes,” I answered. “This place is nice.”
“I hope Wynter has been showing you a good time.”
She glanced at Wynter, who was talking to a different man than the last one I’d seen her with. The two women nodded at each other. Then, Wynter’s eyes moved to mine, and she smiled.
“How did you know I came here with Wynter?”
She pushed back a chunk of her hair, showing a diamond earring that was larger than my fingernail. “I know everything about you, Tyler.”
“Everything?” My brows rose.
There were things I didn’t want her to know. Things I’d never told anyone before. Like the way I resented my parents for only caring about my brothers, not giving a damn about me. For naming me after a boy because the last thing they’d wanted was a girl. That Tommy Markus had taken my virginity when I was fourteen, not seventeen like everyone thought. Especially that I had chosen to go to college in San Diego instead of Kansas because it was the farthest school from home that I had gotten accepted to.
“Everything I need to know,” she said.
I looked down at her hands. Her nails were long and pointy, painted black with rhinestones across the tips.
I wondered if I would ever be able to afford a manicure where someone glued rhinestones to my tips.
I doubted it.
“What I’ve learned, Tyler, is that you need my help.” She leaned in a little closer, and I got a whiff of her breath. It was like a tropical smoothie. I wanted mine to smell that delicious. “Let me help you.”
“I didn’t catch your name. I’m sorry if you said it already.” I was too busy being envious of your gorgeous long hair and your smooth skin and your gleaming white teeth.
“I never gave it to you.” Her hand lifted to my chin, and she cupped it like my grandfather used to do whenever he said good-bye to my brothers and me. “Would you like to know my name?”
I blinked several times. “Yes.”
“Let’s talk about what I can do for you first. If you’re interested in the ways I can help you, then I’ll give you my name. If you’re not”—her hand dropped from my face, and I immediately missed it—not in a sexual way, but in a motherly way—“then you’ll never see me again.”
Beard
Layla had offered to pick me up from my place and drive us to the appointment. Because I didn’t want her to know where I lived, I’d told her I’d come to her. Plus, I wanted to see her office.
I’d done my research, so I knew she operated under a company called Layla Enterprises, LLC. Her business license was registered with the state of Florida, and her commercial space was leased under her company’s name. Her business filed tax returns, received utility bills, and even had a car lease—a Mercedes S-Class, which must have been hers. She didn’t have a website, there weren’t any online articles that mentioned her company’s name, and none of the commercial sales or investments in Miami had mentioned her as the broker. I hadn’t expected them to. Not when her transactions were off the books, like mine.
Everything I’d found looked legit. So, I’d asked Layla for her address even though I already knew it and told her I’d be there at eleven.
I arrived an hour early to see if anyone came in or out of her office. If they did, I’d run their lic
ense plate and get some information on them, checking on whether they were a vendor or a client. But, unfortunately, it was real quiet at her place.
As I walked toward the front of the building, I saw the receptionist sitting at her desk. The door was locked, so I pressed the intercom button right next to it.
The receptionist looked up and said through the speaker, “Mr. Beard?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “that’s me.”
The door buzzed and unlatched, and I stepped inside. The place was just how I’d assumed it would be—small with expensive-looking furniture and art. Layla had to play the part, and she did it well.
“Mr. Beard, I’m Sabrina.”
The receptionist stood and reached forward to shake my hand. She wore a low-cut top, and the movement caused her left tit to almost pop out. Something told me it’d happened on purpose. Fuck, didn’t I like it.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
Sabrina and Layla could have been sisters. Both had pretty faces, decent-sized tits, and bodies that had just the right amount of thickness, giving me the curves I craved on a woman. But Sabrina wasn’t a lesbian. I knew that from the way she was gawking at me. There wasn’t any man-hate in those eyes. Just need. Hunger. A desire for her to come right on top of her fucking desk.
“Drop the Mr. It’s just Beard, darlin’.”
Her hand stayed in mine for much longer than it needed to.
“And I’m not thirsty…for water.”
“Are you sure? I’m positive we have something here that can quench that tongue of yours.”
“Nah, I’m—”
“Beard,” Layla said, interrupting me as she came into the room, “thanks for driving all this way.”
Her office wasn’t far from where I lived. But I wasn’t going to tell her that. That was the kind of answer she was looking for, so she could find out more information on me.
“Not a problem,” I said.
“You’ve met Sabrina?” Layla asked, leaning on Sabrina’s desk and smiling.
“I have.”
“Good. Then, come with me.”
Sabrina waved at me as I followed Layla into her office. It was the only door off the reception area, and this room was even smaller than the last one. Layla took a seat behind her desk, and I picked the chair with the most pillows.
“I see you like to surround yourself with beautiful women,” I said.
She crossed her legs, making a point to show me a peek of her thigh before pulling down her skirt. “I love pussy. So, why wouldn’t I want to be surrounded by the most beautiful cunts?”
I liked it when women weren’t afraid of that word.
“We have that in common,” I said.
She nodded toward the door. “Help yourself to that one. She isn’t off-limits.”
“That isn’t as much fun.”
“You like the challenge, Beard?”
If I didn’t know she was a lesbian, I’d think she was flirting with me. But still, I liked the verbal game we were playing. Games like this typically led to fucking. And fucking was what I ultimately wanted anyway.
“Don’t we all?” I answered. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my boot over my knee. “Layla, I’m not here for pussy. Not yours, not Sabrina’s. That’s one thing I don’t have a problem finding. What I can’t find are cash deals. So, let’s talk business.”
Her hands went on top of her desk, and she rubbed them together, as though she were massaging them. “I don’t know what you’re looking for specifically. You didn’t even drop a hint. So, for today, I made an appointment with one of my…” She paused. “Greener clients. We can start with him. If you want to invest, great. If you want to see more, you just let me know.”
“I’ll drive.”
“Before we leave, I’m going to need you to sign some paperwork.”
I’d anticipated this. Had she not produced any documents for me to sign, I would have been concerned. She had to protect her clients. I was sure the stack she set in front of me was just the start of it.
“Give me a pen,” I said.
Layla took me around the back of the two-story warehouse, and we climbed the metal stairs to the second level. There was only one staircase back here that led to one door, and she was knocking on it.
This place was less than a mile from PortMiami, one of the largest hubs for drugs, arms, and illegal immigrants. I wondered which one of those was waiting for me on the other side of this door.
The lock unlatched, and a man walked out. “Layla,” the guy said, “good to see you.”
He had dreadlocks. A beard as thick as mine. And a fucking tie-dye T-shirt.
I didn’t have to wonder. I already knew why we were here and what product he was selling.
“Yerem,” Layla said, “it’s good to see you, my friend.” They kissed each other’s cheeks. “Meet Beard.”
He nodded at me. “Beard, good to meet you, my man. Come on in and see our operation.”
We stayed on the same metal platform, but now, the door was closed behind us, and the view allowed us to see the whole interior of the warehouse. The massive space was one giant grow house. Thousands of plants had to be down there along with a heavy-duty lighting system, air ducts that twisted through the open rafters, and an irrigation system that looked more technical than a cockpit.
It was a stoner’s wet dream.
“You want a tour?” Yerem asked.
Even from up here, I could smell how rich the bud was. “Can I get a sample first?”
The hippie smiled, pulling out a joint from behind his ear. “Yeah, man.” He handed me a lighter. “Fire it up.”
I stuck the open end in my mouth and sucked hard while I lit the other side. Yerem knew how to roll a sick joint. Not too tight that I couldn’t pull any smoke through, but tight enough that it didn’t fall apart in my hand.
It only took a few hits before the tingles started. They were in my chest, flickering like the ends of a live wire. The weed in Venezuela was real good. It would give me that cloudy feeling where I could shut off everything but the screams. But this bud wasn’t like that. It was a body high, and the numbness traveled to my hands. Even my fucking toes.
“What is this shit?” I asked, watching the joint roll between my fingers, taking a good look at it.
“It’s a substrain I’ve been working on,” Yerem said. “It can help patients with Parkinson’s and MS—muscular-related diseases where they’re in pain and their bodies tremor. Whatcha think, man?”
Layla shook her head when I offered her a hit, so I took another puff before passing it to Yerem.
“Never had anything like it.” I blew out a thick cloud and coughed. “You guys just focus on medicinal here?”
“We do edibles, too. We have a whole kitchen around the side of the building where we make everything from candy to cereal.” He didn’t cough. He didn’t exhale either. He took a hit, followed by another. “It’s gonna be a while before we pass recreational use here in Florida. When we do, we’ll be ready. In the meantime, we’re focused on medicinal.”
I held on to the banister and looked down at the employees. They stood in the rows of plants—some trimming the leaves, others spraying them. I counted at least fifteen people.
“Layla,” I said, turning around to face her, “can I talk to you for a second?”
“Stay up here,” Yerem said. “When you guys are ready, I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”
I waited for him to reach the ground before I said, “This grow house is no joke.”
“No, but I believe it could be an excellent investment for you. Florida’s legislature is on the conservative side. As you know, medicinal even had a hard time getting passed. But Yerem is hopeful about the recreational side of the business, and fortunately, this place can still thrive whether it gets passed or not.”
I thought I knew the answer, but I asked anyway, “How much of this is sold outside of a dispensary?”
She moved to the raili
ng, holding it not far from where my hands gripped it. “Right now, about forty percent. That’ll change once it’s approved.”
If it got approved.
Selling it street-level was where the money was at. Once the state got involved, whenever that happened to be, there would be so much fucking red tape. So many eyes on the business.
And that meant too many eyes on me.
Eyes that could follow me to Venezuela.
“I can’t do it, Layla. Not this one.”
“Not a problem. I have lots of other options for you. I want you to see everything that’s out there before you make a decision.” The side of her hand touched mine. “But I have to ask, so I know where to lead you next, what’s the reason for your hesitation?”
“Shit’s still too new. We’d be under a microscope.” I put my lips not too far from her ear. “The only time I like to be watched is when I fuck.”
“I’m sure you put on quite the show.” Her voice softened, the professional edge gone. She went down the first step and looked over her shoulder at me. “Wait for me outside. I’m going to let Yerem know.”
I opened the door and climbed down the steps. My feet were so fucking heavy, and I could barely feel my legs. And, shit, Miami was hot. I didn’t like the heat or this much sun. Especially not the way it beat on my shaved head. There was always a strong breeze on Margarita Island. I just didn’t get to feel it as much as I wanted. Not when I spent most of my time in the basement and the rest of it in the dark.
Once I got in my car, I cranked the music and the AC. My head pushed against the cushion behind it, and I closed my eyes. My cotton mouth was out of control. I needed something cold and wet. Something that would coat my throat and soak my lips.
The passenger door opened, and Layla slid in. If she were into dick, my face would be buried between her legs, lapping the wetness before it soaked into her panties.
“I have to make a few calls, but I can probably get something else lined up today. And I’ll have a full day for us tomorrow.”
I started the car and drove west.
“My office is in the other direction.”