Captain Save a Hoe

by iiKane

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because you already have, like a planet-sized ego…” Georgie laughed. “But…I wrote it the first night we met.”

  “Forreal?” he asked, amused.

  He sat down on the bench with her and she draped her legs over his and faced him, nodding.

  “Because I knew the minute I laid eyes on you, you were gonna get on my damn nerves,” Skye stressed through clenched teeth.

  Georgie laughed.

  “Please. You wouldn’t even let me kiss your hand.”

  “I couldn’t,” she replied, eyes bulging, “because I knew if I let you put those pretty ass lips on me anywhere…” she cooed, rubbing her thumb over his lips, “Umph! I would’ve wanted them everywhere.”

  He smiled knowingly then licked his lips to tease.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like where?”

  She looked him in the eyes, then pulled the Eagles jersey up over her head and tossed it aside. Her beautiful, bronze body was always breathtaking to him.

  “Guess,” she smirked.

  He ran his fingers along her collarbone, to the swell of her breast and to her nipple. Then he picked up her hand and quickly kissed it. Skye sucked her teeth.

  “Cold.”

  He leaned in and gently kissed and sucked her bottom lip.

  “Cool,” she conceded.

  He laid her back on the piano bench, hovering over her. He kissed her neck then gently blew his breath over her nipples. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “That’s cheating.”

  “How about…here?” he questioned, kissing her belly so softly, it quivered.

  “Warm,” she replied, the quiver rising to her throat.

  He ran his tongue in her belly button, then to her pelvis.

  “Hmmmm. Hot,” she purred.

  He kissed, licked then sucked the inside of her thigh.

  “Burning up,” she groaned, spreading her legs and cocking one foot on the piano, hitting the keys.

  “Here?”

  “Fire,” she gasped and arched her back, as Georgie sucked her clit into his mouth.

  Skye gripped Georgie by the hair and began grinding his face, and he feasted on her pussy like a bowl of passion fruit. Her leg spasmed, making her heel hit the keys again and again, giving her ecstasy percussion and sounding like the laughter of voyeuristic fairies in the last key of the first octave.

  Georgie slid two fingers in her pussy as he tongue-kissed her clit. Her pussy was so wet that the sound of the smacking suction of his fingers darting in and out filled the room.

  “Oh fuck Georgie, I’m…” she squealed, then arched almost double, covering his nose, lips and chin with creamy goodness.

  Skye pushed him back on the floor then got down and straddled him, her wet pussy soaking his jeans.

  “I love you,” she breathed.

  “Still think this is going to end badly?” he asked, grinning.

  “No,” she pecked his lips. “Now, I think it’s not gonna end.”

  Skye’s album release was like wild horses stampeding up the charts, making it a platinum seller within the first 48 hours. No one expected for the album to do so well, so quickly.

  “It’s like hitting the lottery!” Skye gushed to Billboard in an interview.

  Just as Georgie predicted, she got more coverage for turning down Rolling Stone and turning up the heat on every other pop star on the charts – and for a few years after that, Rolling Stone wouldn’t offer her another cover.

  But she wasn’t the only rising star. Every female—and some particularly flavored men—wanted the Giorgio look. Georgie’s skills were in high demand. Actresses, entertainers, and wives of such all wanted Giorgio to play in their hair…among other places.

  Their lives changed overnight. Skye—and by extension Georgie—couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed, so she hired a team of bodyguards, including Boomer, who instantly remembered Georgie.

  “Georgie, you a cool muhfucka. I’m glad I ain’t have to beat yo’ ass that night!” Boomer guffawed humorously, slapping Georgie on the back with a hand that felt more like a bear paw.

  “Yeah, me too,” Georgie replied, knowing he definitely wasn’t a punk, but goddamn.

  Georgie bought his mother a house in Cherry Hill, New Jersey near Philly, while he and Skye moved into a sky rise apartment so high that Georgie kept blurting out parts of the Jefferson’s theme song as they toured it with the real estate agent.

  “Beans don’t burn on the grill!” he sang, in a playfully strained voice.

  Skye bent double laughing. The real estate agent didn’t know what the hell was so funny.

  The toys got bigger, the diamonds got clearer, their clothes straight Milan and their cocaine straight Peruvian. They were so high—literally and figuratively—that the altitude gave Georgie nose bleeds.

  “Oh fuck! Fuck yo, call the hospital!” Georgie exclaimed in a panic. His yellow silk shirt was now bright red from all the blood.

  They were in a studio in Atlanta, doing a remix for her second single, with an up-and-coming producer named Darmaine Suplee. Skye had just gone into the sound booth, while Georgie sat with Darmaine and the engineer. He had sniffed so much coke his whole face was numb. At first, he didn’t even know he was bleeding. He was looking at Skye, when he saw her expression turn from a smile into pure horror. She snatched off the headphones and ran out of the sound room. Georgie didn’t know what happened. Neither did Darmaine, until he turned around and saw blood gushing out of Georgie’s nose.

  “Ay yo man, you bleedin’!” Darmaine exclaimed, jumping out of his seat.

  Georgie looked down at his shirt and it was soaked with blood. He didn’t even know where it was coming from until Skye came busting into the room.

  “Oh my God baby, your nose!” she yelled.

  Georgie jumped up and looked at his reflection in one of the platinum records on the wall. His nose looked like a faucet that someone had left on full blast.

  That’s when he said, “Oh fuck! Fuck yo, call the hospital!”

  “Baby, baby calm down,” Skye urged, turning to the engineer. “Get some ice!”

  “Calm down?! I’m fuckin’ bleedin’ to death!” Georgie bassed.

  “You’re not going to bleed to death, baby. It’s the coke, that’s all, okay?”

  The engineer rushed back with a champagne bucket of ice. He quickly took off his black t-shirt and handed it to Skye. She dumped the ice into the shirt.

  “Georgie, I need you to lie down, okay? Just lie down on the floor,” she instructed him.

  The calmness in her demeanor helped Georgie to trust her judgment. He got down on the plush studio carpet. Skye laid down beside him, applying the makeshift compress to his nose.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  “That’s because you’re talking. Breathe out your mouth.”

  He did. His heart was beating hard, heavy and rapidly. Skye felt it pounding against her, so she began to sing in his ear. A few minutes later, his heart slowed down to normal and his nose stopped bleeding. Her voice in his ear was so soothing that he was almost asleep when Skye said, “Baby? You okay? It’s stopped bleeding.”

  “Huh? Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” Georgie replied, as they both got up.

  Skye turned to Darmaine.

  “Can we lay the vocals tomorrow?”

  Darmaine looked at his Movado.

  “Yeah, no problem. It is kinda late. Seven good?”

  “Seven it is,” Skye confirmed.

  She and George walked out into the lounge area where Boomer was waiting for them. As soon as Boomer saw all the blood, he said, “Yo! I know you ain’t let that lil’ nigga beat yo’ ass like that!”

  Georgie laughed.

  “Boom, shut the hell up. It was a coke bleed.”

  “Oh, I was ‘bout to clown yo’ ass forreal!”

  When they got in the limo, Skye turned to Georgie.

  “Baby, I think we should slow dow
n on the coke.”

  “Naw Ma, I’m good. I’m good. Besides, slowin’ down is too much like stopping, and if we stop, we won’t have nothin’ to do tomorrow,” he winked, his grin saying ‘wait for it.’

  Skye let it go because deep down she didn’t want to stop either. She looked out the window at the passing scenes.

  “I like Atlanta. It’s slower but it’s cool. Maybe we should have a little spot down here.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause this spot gettin’ to be like a Black Mecca.” Georgie remarked.

  “What do you think of Darmaine’s sound? He definitely has a good ear. He played me some stuff from his new groups and…” she stopped talking when she sensed that Georgie wasn’t listening, and looked at him, “Georgie?”

  But Georgie had slipped into his own world. As they passed through Peachtree Street, he spotted a bevy of prostitutes walking the track. He felt an irresistible urge to go back, just to see if…

  “Huh? I heard you Ma, hold up,” he replied, lowering the partition between them and the driver and Boomer. “Ay yo, go back. Turn around and go back to those prostitutes.

  “Prostitutes?” Boomer echoed.

  “Just go back,” Georgie retorted, raising the petition back into place.

  Skye looked at him.

  “Georgie…what are you doing?”

  “I just need to handle something real fast,” he answered, vaguely.

  The driver did as he was told. They pulled up to the prostitutes. They began to swarm, trying to see inside.

  “Looking for me, baby?”

  “This is what you need, honey.”

  They called out and Georgie stepped out. Even bloody, he was still fine.

  “Umph! Baby, I don’t know what you into, but let me get into it with you!”

  One blond-wigged chocolate stallion flirted.

  Georgie scanned the faces, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  “Honey, you lookin’ for somebody in particular?” a red bone with micro braids and a micro dress asked.

  “Naw,” Georgie replied, digging into his pockets, “just coming through to show love.”

  He began to hand out hundreds, fifties and twenties, until he had no more to hand out.

  “Christmas is early!” one cackled.

  Georgie stepped back into the limo and closed the door. The limo pulled off. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Georgie just looked out the window and Skye looked at him.

  She had watched the whole thing. At first, she was completely baffled. But then her heart told her, pay attention. She did, and she understood. She just didn’t know what she was understanding.

  “Georgie, what was all that about.

  “Payin’ my tithes,” he replied, still looking out the window.

  “Paying your tithes?”

  He looked at her.

  “Prostitutes are the most honest people in the world, while all the rest of us pretend we’re not doing the same thing,” he explained, then turned back to the window.

  She couldn’t argue with his reasoning.

  Two days later, Titanium Records had a listening party for their new artist, Shoni. The place glistened wall to wall with the luminous shine of celebrity. Everywhere Georgie looked he saw faces he knew and faces he wanted to know. He was dressed to the nines, clean and working the room like a politician. His agenda was simple: Skye’s career, his career and new pussy—always in that order. He exchanged hugs and handshakes, humor and hallelujahs, as he bounced from group to group, networking like AT&T.

  Skye kept one eye on conversation, the other on Georgie. She watched him being playful and making Shoni giggle, hugging up with stars for the pop-pop-pop of the paparazzi, and dance body to body with celebrity ladies while their dates watched on. But her blood pressure whistled like a tea kettle steaming when he picked up lil’ Jazz.

  As soon as Georgie saw lil’ Jazz alone, he went straight over to her. He had been trying to get at her all night, but each time they spotted one another, one of them was preoccupied. She would wink her eye but keep walking. So when he finally had her to himself, he didn’t hesitate to bop over and pick her up off her feet.

  “Boy!” she gasped, taken totally by surprise. “Put me down!”

  Georgie chuckled and put her down, replying, “I just wanted to see if you were ‘Jazzy as a rock’” he joked, referring to her album title.

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You got some shit with you, Giorgio,” lil’ Jazz said, with that aggressive flirt that Brooklyn girls do so well.

  Georgie smiled easy.

  “Okay, you know me and I know you, but what I want to know is, who does your hair?”

  “You like it?”

  “Noooo,” he stressed. “Whoever it is needs to be shot without a cigarette! Baby, you too beautiful to let just anybody up in it,” he remarked, innuendo abounding. Georgie then played with one of her curls.

  “So you could do better?” she smirked.

  He looked her up and down, slowly as if he was pouring brown liquor.

  “What? Your hair?”

  They both laughed.

  Skye walked up.

  “Georgie, I have someone you need to meet.

  “Okay, but meet lil’ Jazz. Jazzy, this is—”

  “Yeah, I see her. You coming or what?” Skye replied, dismissively.

  Georgie could tell Skye was hot, so he let it go.

  “Ma, I’ma holla at you a little later,” Georgie managed to get out before Skye drug him off.

  When they had made distance, he chuckled and remarked, “Don’t you think that was a little rude?”

  She turned to him with fire in her eyes, but with the calm of David Banner, and replied, “Would you like to see rude?”

  No.

  They took the last few strides in silence and Skye steered them over to a well-dressed Black man in Armani blue, holding a drink. Skye shed her fury, sparking the man with her smile.

  “Here he is Stan; this is my manager, Giorgio. Baby, this is Stan Manuel,” she introduced. “He’s a movie producer,” she added, barely able to contain her excitement.

  The two men shook hands.

  “Stan Manuel. I guess I should call you ‘Stan the Man,’ huh?” Georgie joked.

  “Why not? Everybody else does,” Stan chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Giorgio. I’ve heard all about you.”

  “Call me Georgie, unless you want a perm.”

  Stan laughed heartily and ran his hand over his receding hairline.

  “No, all my fried and died has been laid to the side. I was just telling Skye about our newest project. Have you heard of an author named Rashad Clemens?”

  Georgie shook his head.

  “Nah, I’m not a real big reader.”

  “Well, he has a book called ‘Bad Habits,’ and it’s beautiful. It’s about a girl growing up in Philly—”

  “Oh word? I’m from Philly,” Georgie cut in.

  “Good omen, good omen. Yeah well, I just optioned it for a film. We’re working on the script as we speak. Like I said, I was telling Skye this would be a wonderful vehicle to launch her acting career,” Stan explained.

  “Acting,” Georgie echoed, looking at Skye. Her excitement was clear in her face. “Tell me more. Is it straight to DVD or what?”

  Stan smiled.

  “No. We’re hoping to get a studio budget green lit. A little background…I’m pretty well versed in the movie biz. I had a hand in bringing Coming To L.A. and many other classic films to the screen.”

  Georgie nodded, impressed.

  “Okay, so where do we go from here?”

  “Lunch,” Stan chuckled, handing Georgie his card. “In L.A., say Tuesday?”

  “No problem. We’ll be there.”

  They shook hands with parting pleasantries, then Stan walked off. Georgie turned to Skye.

  “So what do you think?”

  “I read ‘Bad Habits.’ I think it’ll make a great movie,” she replied.

&nbs
p; He pinched her cheek and winked.

  “You already my bad habit. Come on, let’s dance.

  “Georgie, these shoes are killing me. I’m ready to go.”

  “G‘head, baby. I’ma stay and work the room a little more. The guy from L’Oreal is here, and I want to talk about getting you an endorsement,” Georgie explained.

  “Mm-hmmm,” she replied, skeptically.

  Georgie wrapped her in his embrace and kissed her neck.

  “Come on Ma, don’t be like that. I love you.”

  “Whateva, Georgie.”

  She watched Georgie wade back into the sea of people, like a kid splashing around in the neighborhood pool. As she left, she saw who Georgie was breast stroking toward.

  “Yeah, Skye.”

  “I beeped you ten minutes ago. Why are you just calling me back,” she huffed.

  Georgie sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “Skye, it’s four o’clock in the morning.’”

  “And you damn sure wasn’t asleep! Where are you, Georgie?!”

  Her voice was so loud, the female rapper naked beside Georgie had to stifle a giggle. Georgie gave her a cold look and her smile flatlined.

  “Ma, calm down, okay? I’ll be there in the morning.’”

  “On Valentine’s Day Georgie, really?! You had to fuck her on Valentine’s Day?!” Skye barked, voice trembling with a combination of anger and pain.

  Georgie had totally forgotten what day it was. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Ma, Valentine’s Day is just a day. You my valentine year ‘round,” he tried to charm, but even he knew that it was lame.

  “Georgie, you are so full of shit, I’m surprised your fuckin’ head doesn’t explode!” she spasmed, then slammed the phone down.

  Georgie hung the phone up with a sigh.

  “Sound like somebody is in trouble,” the rapper quipped.

  Georgie pulled her flat by the ankles and spread her sticky legs.

  “Shut up and let me suck the big toe and play with the middle,” he said, then punctured her with a grunt.

  Four hours later, Georgie and the female rapper were on the elevator.

  “You better call me when you get back to New York,” she said, her raspy voice aggressively flirty.

  “Come on yo, you already know.”

  The elevator door swished open on the lobby.