Captain Save a Hoe

by iiKane

  “I will not play your game,” she replied, turning to walk away.

  Skye laughed.

  “Why, because you don’t know? Run along, little girl.”

  Skye’s laughter crawled up Niia’s spine like a swarm of fire ants, sparking the fight that even the most timid survivors possess. She spun back around and replied, “Rainbows.”

  The laughter ceased, Skye’s eyes narrowed.

  “Favorite time of day?”

  “Golden.”

  “If he were an instrument,”

  “Saxophone,” Niia replied before she finished.

  Skye flexed her jaw muscle, vexed that Niia returned every serve.

  “Favorite song?”

  “Then…or now,” Niia replied with the slightest of smirks, but it might as well have been the loudness of a last laugh.

  As Skye took a menacing step toward her, Niia stepped back, almost recoiled. Now it was Skye’s turn to chuckle.

  “You’ve been preparing that step all your life, huh? I’m surprised every man in here didn’t fly to your rescue.”

  “If you had lived my life, you would have too,” Niia replied, without regret. “Your weakness is your strength.”

  “Then that would make your strength your weakness. No?”

  The two women eyed each other down, immovable and irresistibly.

  “Cut! I loved it. I loved it!” Spike exclaimed as he stepped back onto the set. “The energy, the imagery… Skye, I loved the Dorothy thing. Go with that. But this time, can we maybe use the script? Same energy though, loved the energy.”

  Neither woman heard a word that he said; they were too busy finishing their conversation with their eyes. Last look being spoken, they both walked off.

  “Skye? Niia? Where are you going? Hey!” Spike questioned then threw his head back like Charlie Brown. “We’re supposed to be making a movie, people.”

  Georgie stood off camera, watching the whole thing. When Skye left the set, she walked straight for him, looking seemingly right at him. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking through him. And when she passed, walked through him like the ghost of Christmas to come, leaving nothing but attitude and the smell of Chanel in her wake.

  Georgie went right to her trailer. When he arrived, she had already taken off her wig and was putting on a pair of large golden hoop earrings that complemented her minimalist aesthetic. He slammed the door.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked, as if picking up where they left off.

  “Nothing. Believe me, I’ve got all I need,” she retorted, neck swiveling.

  “Is that right?”

  “Damn right,” she spat back, chin aloft.

  He laughed at her false bravado, stepping toward her.

  “Fuck you laughing at? And his dick bigger!”

  He snatched her into his arms, hard.

  “But is it better?” he quipped, with a knowing smirk, one that she wanted to slap off of his face.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  He kissed her gently.

  “You lyin’ to me.”

  She pushed away.

  “Much better.”

  He ran his tongue over the ticklish crest of her upper lip. Skye gripped the ribs of his shirt into little wrinkled silk balls. He sucked her bottom lip and her upper lip trembled with jealousy.

  “Does he kiss you like this?”

  “All,” eyes fluttering, “all the time.”

  He ran his tongue along her neck to her collar bone.

  “Here?”

  “Huh?”

  He bit her neck, right on her hot spot.

  “Sssss!”

  “Say it!”

  “No, no, he don’t, he don’t,” she blurted out, wrapping her legs around his back, like only Skye could.

  He took her straight to the floor, pulling off her robe, as she snatched away his pants.

  “What you want me to say, baby? That her lips ain’t as soft as yours?” he huffed, kissing her with the urgency of a madman. “That her sweat ain’t as sweet as yours?” He licked behind her ear for a drop. “Her nipples don’t taste like yours?” He bit and sucked her hard nipples, making her arch into him.

  “Yessssss,” she hissed, sensually.

  She was so wet, he slid inside of her effortlessly. Her pussy gripped him like a glove.

  “You want me to say her pussy ain’t as good? That she can’t take all this, fuck this dick, cream this dick?” he growled in her ear, pounding her like a jackhammer on high.

  “Georgie, stop talking please!” she begged, because the sound of his voice was driving her crazy.

  He was in pushup position, her legs cocked back, his arms like two pillars on either side of her head, her nails digging into his wrists like she was trying to slit them. The air was heavy with raw, urgent sexuality, pure lust. Coated contempt that was hard and fast.

  “Aaarrgggghh!” she growled like a lioness as his thrusts ripped a powerful orgasm right out of her.

  He hadn’t cum but he stopped, kissed her trembling eyelids, nose and lips, the whispered, “But if I did I’d be lyin’…slut.”

  Control of her body was just beginning to return, as he got up, pulled up his pants and headed for the door. Tears ran backward to the floor and her cream drenched her thighs.

  “I hate you,” she sobbed. “I hate you! I hate youuuu!”

  When he got to their apartment, Niia was sitting in their picture window, clad only in his Eagles jersey, her knee drawn to her chest watching the rainfall. On the stereo a melody played in French, but the voice felt familiar to Georgie.

  “You were with her, weren’t you?” she asked, looking at her own reflection in the window.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He went and sat beside her, straightening her legs and putting them on his lap.

  “Who is that? She sounds familiar,” he asked.

  “Sade. She has albums in French, too.”

  “I never knew that. Why you never played it before?’

  “Saving it for a rainy day,” she said, mustering a smile.

  He began to massage her feet. She watched him for a comfortable moment then asked, “Georgie…why did you marry me?”

  He shrugged, stopped massaging her feet and looked at her.

  “Why did you marry me?”

  She lowered her eyes, eluding his gaze. He slipped her chin back up and stared into her eyes.

  “Don’t do that. Listen…do I make you happy?”

  Her smile lit up her face.

  “Like a little girl on Christmas day.”

  He smiled.

  “Then that’s all that matters. People get together under false pretenses every day. They meet, lie, fuck, lie some more then one day, one week, one lifetime later, wake up like, what the fuck am I doin’ here?!” he chuckled, but her expression soured.

  “Like an imposter,” she confirmed, pulling her legs off his lap.

  He pulled them back.

  “Ma, you’re not an imposter. Don’t listen to that bullshit. What makes Skye who she is, is she’s so fuckin’ cold blooded,” he explained, the admiration evident in his voice, “but you just gotta know how to handle her. She get cold, you get colder, and if that don’t work, then slap the shit out of her,” he joked.

  “I’m not that kind of person, Giorgio.”

  “Niia, sometimes you have to be that kind of person,” he stressed. “Ma, your heart is so pure, the world doesn’t deserve you, but understand that pure beauty like yours… invites abuse.”

  Her face took on a horrified expression, as if he had slapped her.

  “Are you saying I deserved to be beaten?!”

  She jumped up to run off and Georgie jumped up to stop her.

  “No Niia, fuck no! I’d throw myself out the window if I even thought that. But listen,” he stressed, putting his hands together as if he were praying. “Listen…it’s like a rose. A rose is beautiful, it’s delicate, it’s vulnerable. And that’s why God gave it thorns. Never lose y
our thorns, because if you do, the world will eat you alive.

  “I’m not Skye, Giorgio,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not talking about Skye, Niia! I’m talking about you!”

  “Yes you are. You want me to be tough and mean like her! What next? You want me to cut off all my hair, too?!”

  She started to storm away, but Georgie jumped in front of her and pulled her into his embrace.

  “Shhh, shhhhh…we’re not going to do this. Not over that, okay? Let’s dance, hmm? You want to dance with me, sweetness?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I don’t want to call you Giorgio anymore. It’s not your name. I want to call you Georgie…like everybody else.”

  He knew what that everybody else consisted of, but he joked it off.

  “Ma, you can call me anything you want, just don’t call a cab and lock the door!”

  She giggled into his neck.

  “Never.”

  “Okay, I don’t know this French shit, so I’ma sing my song…if this world were mine, I would place at your feet, all that I own, you’ve been so good to me,” he sang, slightly off key.

  She leaned back in his embrace to look at him.

  “Would you really, Georgie? Would you really give me anything?” Niia asked.

  Give a woman everything, but never anything. Georgie knew the rule, but Niia looked so sweet, so innocent, so very vulnerable, like a rose without thorns, so he broke it.

  “Anything! Name it.”

  “Your heart.”

  He smiled, caressed her cheek, then replied, “I love you, baby, but—” As they kissed – they both knew what his words really meant.

  In retrospect, it’s inevitable.

  One of the things you just knew would happen. Like seeing a fragile glass vase in a room and a precocious, sticky-handed toddler motoring toward it, or a drunk teenage boy staggering to the car in an ice storm with a “Bridge Is Out” sign a mile up the road.

  It was bound to happen.

  It began with the hair cut.

  “I want you to cut my hair, Georgie,” Niia told him, sitting in the stylist chair in their apartment.

  Bad Habits had just wrapped and she had a reading for a new film. Hollywood was just beginning to fall in love with her.

  “Ma, stop playing. I’d rather cut my wrist than cut your hair.” Georgie shot back, brushing her long, silky mane.

  “I’m serious,” she pouted, like a spoiled little girl.

  “Niia,” he said, looking at her in the mirror. “What are you talking about? Your hair is beautiful. I can maybe pin it up, sweep it, leave bangs to frame your face…” he mused, playing with the look.

  She snatched the scissors off the counter.

  “I’ll do it myself,” she huffed.

  “Noooo!” Georgie bellowed, breaking down as if she were scratching her nails across a chalkboard. “Okay, okay, I’ll…cut it; just put the scissors down.”

  She slowly put them down, as if still not convinced to release the hostages.

  With much trepidation, he cut it. He gave her a Halle Berry in Boomerang look that fit her slightly oval face like a glove. She loved it, he loved her, so it worked out fine.

  Then, it was her appetite.

  Not for food, for Georgie. Niia had always been sensual, but its expression was more like the shy boldness of a virgin on her wedding night. She became amorous and adventurous, with the aggression of a vixen. It was like she was trying to drain him. If he wasn’t at least limping, he wasn’t leaving. All she had to do was whisper French in his ear and half of him would turn to putty, the other half would turn to steel. He needed her to slow down, so he brought her a chocolate Ferrari with a unique vanity plate.

  “Georgie, why does it read all M’s?” she asked.

  “That ain’t m’s, it reads mmmmmm, because I know that’s how the car feel with all that ass in it,” he cracked, slapping it just to see it giggle. “God-damn,” he exclaimed, like it hurt.

  And then came the kiss.

  It happened like any other kiss shared between lovers, sandwiched between snuggles and laughter. But what made it different was the fact that Georgie had just Scarfaced a line of cocaine, as thick as a caterpillar from the surface of his mirrored tray. When he sat back, Niia, who was straddling him, giggled.

  “You look like a pool shark.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your nose,” she replied, and before he had wiped it off, she had kissed it away.

  It was a spontaneous act, but not one that she hadn’t already been contemplating. She had been attracted to the twinkle of the little flakes since she had first laid eyes on them. It reminded her of the way the sun reflected off snow, the stuff you threw playfully and little kids made angels in. It was white, the color of purity, the color of heaven complemented with the shine and wink of a girl’s best friend.

  How could she not at least taste it?

  She kissed it, and without hesitation, it kissed her back, numbing her lip and the tip of her tongue like a cool sensation.

  “It’s tingly,” she giggled.

  Georgie wiped at his nose.

  “What, I had it on my nose?”

  “It’s…” Niia began, trying to find a word for the sensation. She smacked her tongue, but tasted only numbness. “What does God feel like?”

  They looked at one another, and in that one glance had a whole conversation.

  I want to. Do you want me to? Because I will if you hold my hand.

  Why not? I’m your man, I can protect you from anything. This shit can’t touch me. How can it touch you?

  She picked up the mirrored tray and the short metal straw. She leaned over the pile and saw the reflection of her eyes in the tray. They held the cat-eyed expression of curiosity.

  She inhaled like she was taking a breath of fresh air.

  “Baby steps,” Georgie cautioned.

  But she had already fallen down the rabbit hole, and it felt like…

  Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin

  Into the futurrrrrree

  Her senses exploded and it felt like she could hear the very pulse of the universe, but it was only her own heartbeat in her ears. She sniffed again, this time face first like Georgie did all the time.

  “Now you’ve got it on your nose,” he chuckled, using his thumb to rub it away.

  He might as well have touched her clit. Her whole body sang out like ooooooohhhhhhh! Goosebumps overtook her flesh, her nipples hardened and throbbed, her pussy salivated and blood shot through her veins like lava over ice, chilling her until her teeth chattered.

  Ge – Ge – Georgie, don’t…move,” she hissed, cumming just from the feeling of sitting on his dick as she straddled him.

  When he sucked her nipples, she thought that she would explode.

  “Georgie, fffffuck me,” she trembled.

  Coke went flying one way and their bodies went rolling another way. Niia got on her knees and elbows, spreading so wide Georgie could see the pink of her creamy center.

  “My pussssssy is on fire!” she growled.

  He plowed into her with one powerful thrust after another, penetrating her over and over again.

  “Deeper Georgie, oooooohh deeper!” Niia squealed.

  Every forward stroke put out the fire and every back stroke re-ignited it, making her beg for more, teetering on the edge of insanity. She wanted him so deep—impossibly deep—like the feeling she might get if he just crawled up inside of her and jumped up and down. Georgie leaned back, making the curve of his dick hit the sensitivity in her spine that spread the sensation throughout her whole body.

  “Ohhh Georgie, I feel you all over!” she moaned.

  “Cum!” he demanded, his voice deep and commanding, like a shaman priest, his dick beating out the rhythm of a voodoo spell, calling for the spirit. “Cum.”

  It started in her fingertips, in her ear lobes, the tip of her nose and her throat, building speed as it raced
lower, rumbling like a runaway train, along the contours of her curves until it took the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat. She froze, mid scream, and released the spirit all over Georgie’s dick, her thighs, his thighs as well as the silk sheets bunched beneath them. Her body, still frozen, thrust in mid-air before it fell like a filet to the bed, boneless and jellied.

  “Don’t touch me,” she whispered over and over.

  It was love at first sight.

  Into the futurrrrrre.…

  “Georgie. Are you listening to me? Are you high on something? This is very serious,” his lawyer Abe stressed to him.

  “Yeah, I’m listening, I’m lookin’ right at you,” Georgie replied.

  But it didn’t look like he was looking at Abe, it looked like he was looking right through him. He and Niia sat there glass-eyed, like a black Raggedy Ann and Andy: numb, totally blitzed.

  They hadn’t slept in almost three days. They had flown from L.A. to Chicago to do a layout for Savoy magazine, then on to New York. Since Niia’s career was about to really blast off, they needed to hire a full-fledged team instead of operating with the skeleton crew that Georgie had inherited from Alphonse. While in New York, he got a page from Skye, reminding him of the IRS.

  “I’m not gonna forget,” he assured her.

  “I don’t know, seems like it’s real easy for you,” Skye deadpanned, then disconnected before he could reply.

  He went straight to see Abe.

  “Why did you wait so long,” Abe exclaimed.

  “I got caught up in managing Niia; I’m managing Skye, plus I’m doing hair everywhere, but trying to open a string of salons. I mean shit,” Georgie explained.

  “Georgie, the IRS doesn’t care if you had open heart surgery on your ass. Their attitude is, fuck you, pay me!”

  “So that’s why I’m here.”

  Abe shook his head and sighed hard.

  “Georgie, this isn’t candy money we’re talkin’ here. You mean to tell me you’re running through millions and haven’t paid any taxes?”

  Defensive and irritated—especially since Abe was blowing his high—he squirmed in his seat and replied, “I don’t know Abe, I thought they took it out already.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The IRS, the government; I mean damn, if I knew, what the hell would I need you for?”