Patience appeared in the doorway, a vision of virginal purity. She smiled at Reed and inquired in her breathy whisper, “Master, should I crawl to you?”
Her words made his pulse race. He felt his manhood stiffen and throb and to his horror, he exploded in his pants.
He never dreamed it would happen this way, but there was something in the way she looked at him—so eager and willing to please. She offered everything he’d ever hoped for, but her gift was more than he could handle. He was just a novice, he realized now, and all this was too much, way too soon.
Embarrassed, he apologized profusely and rushed to the bathroom to clean up the mess. With a damp wash-cloth he rubbed the front of his semen-smeared boxers, and then wiped the thick gooey substance that trailed down his thigh.
Startled by two soft knocks on the bathroom door, Reed splashed water on the front of his pants. “May I assist you, Master?” Patience asked. There was pity in her tone.
Her pity angered Reed. “No!” he bellowed. “I don’t need your help.” In his mind, the accident was all her fault for talking so much shit and deliberately making him cum.
He yanked open the door and nudged her out of his way. She was lucky he didn’t break her neck or throw her down the stairs. He ran down the stairs with the fretful love slave close on his heels.
“Do you want to try it again—in a day or so, perhaps?” she inquired anxiously.
Unwilling to commit, unable to trust he could perform as a true master, Reed shook his head. “I don’t know; I’ll have to get back with you. I’ll give you a call.”
Before he left, the telephone jangled. Patience picked it up. “Speak,” she commanded. Her voice was suddenly rough and strong. “This is Mistress Veronique. State your name, slave!”
Reacting to her harsh tone, Reed stared at Patience with his mouth hanging open. Amazingly, she had transformed from a docile sex slave into a dominatrix before his very eyes.
She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Reed. Reverting back to a sugar-coated whisper, she said, “Farewell, Master; I’ll be anticipating your call.”
Then Patience removed her hand from the mouthpiece, gave Reed a faint, fleeting smile. She fluttered a farewell with her fingers and turned back around and resumed the persona of Mistress Veronique as she began barking into the phone.
Reed trudged solemnly to his car. His listless hand searched his pocket for his keys. He looked down at the dark wet circle on the front of his pants. It was a soggy reminder that he had been played.
Chapter 33
“Cecily,” Dayna called from inside the dressing room. “Can you zip me up?”
Cecily squeezed into the tiny room and tugged on the zipper. The two friends scrutinized Dayna’s image in the magnified mirror. Cecily frowned. “I don’t like the fit; it’s too big.”
Dayna pressed her lips together, attempting to suppress a big smile. “Look,” she said, reaching over her shoulder to display the tag that dangled at the back of the dress.
Cecily stepped behind Dayna, pulled out the tag, and gave it a suspicious look. “Oh, my God,” she squealed. “It’s a size twelve!”
“I know…I think I need a smaller size. I may need a ten,” Dayna said, sounding shocked. She and Cecily shared a look.
“A ten!” Cecily echoed, astonished. “You’ve slimmed down to a size ten?”
“We’ll soon find out,” Dayna replied.
Cecily dashed out of the dressing room and was back a few moments later. “This was the only size ten left on the rack,” she announced, happily waving the dress, a whimsical dusty-rose-colored sequined sheath.
Dayna pulled the dress over her head and when it fell over her hips without requiring even a light tug, she flashed Cecily a sly grin. “Zip me up,” she demanded gaily.
Cecily zipped the dressed and stood back, cradling her chin thoughtfully. “It’s perfect. And you are truly wearing that dress,” Cecily complimented her, and gave Dayna a quick hug.
Dayna spun around, gazing approvingly at herself in the mirror. “I can’t take any credit for this weight loss. I guess Reed is good for something.” She gave a wry chuckle.
“Have you talked to him?” Cecily’s expression turned serious. “Have you made a decision…you know…about the house?”
Dayna took off the dress and carefully placed it on the satiny hanger. “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been doing some thinking and this may sound strange, but I might let him have it. I don’t have the energy to fight over that house.”
“What are you saying? Reed can’t even afford to pay the mortgage.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him like I do. He’ll never allow me to live there peacefully, so I’m just going to walk away. He can have it.”
“Are you sure you want to start all over? You love your house; Reed doesn’t deserve to have it. You’ve paid the mortgage all these years and your father paid the down payment on the house.”
“Girl, you’re preaching to the choir.” Dayna shook her head and then her expression brightened. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said with a consoling pat to Cecily’s back. “Look, I spent three years in a loveless marriage and managed to maintain my sanity; I survived. My goal is to find inner peace, to be at peace with myself. Right now, I’m focused on getting out of this marriage. I want a quick and pain-free divorce. No squabbling over property. A no-fault, uncontested divorce only takes ninety days.”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. What do I know; I’ve never been married. Still, I just can’t imagine giving up everything so easily.”
“Things come and go, Cecily. Living with Reed was killing my spirit. I’m finding more joy living in my former bedroom than I ever had while living with him in that big, unhappy house,” Dayna said defensively.
“You have a point,” Cecily conceded. “And looking on the bright side, all your trouble with Reed led you straight to Ammon.”
Dayna grinned, then giggled. Cecily was relieved that the somber mood had lifted.
The two friends fell in line and then paid for their purchases. “I meant to tell you that I saw Ammon’s mural.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh, I drove to West Philly to see it a few days ago. It’s on the corner of Forty-Sixth and Haverford.”
“You’re so sneaky,” Cecily teased. “You saw the mural and didn’t say a word?”
“I got so emotional after seeing it, I needed a little time to recover.”
Cecily’s eyes shot up heavenward.
“Seriously, Cecily. The brother is really deep. I was moved to tears. His mural is the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen. He painted a portrait of the life I’ve been dreaming of…a man, a woman, and their baby.” Dayna’s voice cracked; her eyes glistened with emotion.
Cecily nodded, feeling her pain. “Kendrick constantly sings Ammon’s praises. He says he’s a genius and he’s certain that Ammon is going to take the art world by storm.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Dayna’s mind drifted off in thoughts of Reed. She hoped he would allow her to move on gracefully, peacefully.
Respecting Dayna’s mood, which seemed close to morose but was actually pensive, Cecily didn’t attempt to be chatty or funny. She simply walked in silence beside her friend. Outside in the parking lot, they gave each other air kisses, got in their cars, honked their horns, and drove their separate ways.
Several hours later as Dayna prepared for bed, her cell phone rang. Ammon’s name flashed, sending a flood of emotions through her ranging from joyful panic to fearful dread. Suppose he was calling to break their date! Since she was already perplexed by his interest in her, she wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
Bravely, she flipped open the phone and prepared herself for the blow.
“I was thinking about you,” he said. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”
The comfort of his voice was palpable; her hand pressed against her thumping heart. “Not at all; it’s nice to hear from you.” There was a
lull and, remembering that Ammon acted bashful when talking on the phone, Dayna filled the gap with light banter. “It’s getting close to your big day. Nervous?”
“Not at all. But I’m sure I’ll be nervous around you.”
Whoa! What was she supposed to say in response to that? At a loss for words, she cleared her throat.
“I get embarrassed when I think about how I talked you to death over at Kendrick’s place—at the exhibit.”
“No, you didn’t,” she assured him.
“Well, when you consider the way you jumped up all of a sudden and ran back inside…what’s a brother supposed to think?” Ammon gave a good-natured chuckle.
“No, I found you fascinating. You have to forgive me.” She paused, and then said teasingly, “I was in the presence of a talented and handsome man. I momentarily lost my head and became socially inept. Do you accept my apology?” she asked playfully. When was the last time she’d been playful with a man? She couldn’t recall; it had to have been eons ago!
She sat curled in her bed with her head propped with three fluffed pillows. Hit by a sudden realization that all was well in her world, Dayna beamed with self-satisfaction.
“I saw your mural, “Family.” There was reverence in her tone. “Ammon, I stood in front of your painting, transfixed. It took my breath away.”
“Thank you.” He did that bashful chuckle that he seemed to do when the spotlight shined on him too brightly.
“You’re so talented,” she gushed. “It’s no wonder you’re being honored by the mayor.”
“That’s enough. You should see me. I’ve got this big cheesy grin on my face; my cheeks are actually starting to hurt.”
Dayna laughed. “Okay, I’ll stop, but I want you to know…I’m really proud of you.”
“I’m not the only artist being honored, you know. Several others are receiving awards,” Ammon said, trying to temper her enthusiasm. “Do you know how many murals there are in Philadelphia?”
She didn’t.
“Twenty-four hundred. Philadelphia is called the City of Murals,” Ammon said with pride.
“Wow. Now, that’s something I can talk about in class.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Your students could learn a lot by taking the tour.”
“What tour?”
“The mural tour. You’ve seen those historic trolleys?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The Mural Arts Program provides a tour of the city’s murals and they use those old historic trolleys.”
“Interesting. I’d love to take my students, but school’s going to be closing soon for summer vacation. I won’t be able to take them on the tour until the next school year.”
“If you’d like to check it out personally, you know, to see what’s in store for your students, I’d love to take you. Would you like to go?”
Dayna didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“How about next week. How’s Wednesday around five?”
“Wednesday works fine for me.”
“I’d love to say I’ll pick you up, but I don’t think you’d enjoy riding on the back of a bike.”
“A motorcycle?” Dayna was scared to death of those things.
“No, a regular bike.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“No, that’s just me—a nonconformist, I guess you could say. Well, I’m gonna let you go. Sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight, Ammon.” Dayna smiled as she clicked off. She closed her eyes dreamily. It was hard to believe that she’d been invited on not one, but two dates with a handsome, talented, wonderful, extraordinary man.
Chapter 34
Chanelle had a taste for her favorite food—mushroom cheese steak. In her opinion, Larry’s on Fifty-Fourth Street and City Avenue had the best cheese steaks in the city. She didn’t live in the vicinity of the deli, but she hoped to sweet-talk whoever picked up the phone into making a delivery to her neighborhood.
A man with a foreign accent, Greek perhaps, told her they didn’t make deliveries anywhere. “Pick-up only,” he said. Damn; she’d have to take a cab.
In the backseat of the cab she fretted over bumping into Malik. Larry’s Deli was a favorite spot of members of the Seventy-Sixers. Knowing Malik, he had probably given up on hustlin’. Yeah, he was probably right back with his cousin—kissing up and enjoying the good life.
Chanelle jumped out of the cab and darted in the restaurant. No sign of Malik or any members of the basketball team. Good. She was out of Malik’s good graces and she supposed the team members would have felt obligated to ignore her, which would have stung. Her feelings were too close to the surface right now to endure being snubbed.
Her food, hot and steamy and packed nicely, was waiting for her at the counter. Not having to wait pleased her; however, she was slightly miffed at having to shell out twenty-five dollars for the cost of a cab ride to the restaurant and back. She definitely had to start the process of getting her driver’s license very soon.
At home, she spread out her feast, which consisted of a large mushroom cheese steak, a double order of cheese fries, a Mountain Dew soda, and a pack of Tasty Kake Krimpets. At eighteen years old with a youthful, revvedup metabolism, greasy foods had no effect on her twenty-two-inch waistline.
The food was supposed to make her happy, but it didn’t. Throughout the meal, which she merely picked at, Chanelle couldn’t shake her gloomy mood. She gave up, wrapped up the cheese steak and fries, put them in the microwave to eat later, and turned hopefully to the Krimpets. After just a single bite, she tossed the pack in the trash.
Nothing was working. Food wasn’t the remedy. She wanted Marc; she wanted to get the “smackdown.”
Brashly, she picked up the phone and called Hershey. She didn’t beat around the bush. “Hershey,” she said in a serious voice, “do you have a number for Marc Tarsia?”
Hershey snorted. “Why do you want my client’s number? You know I don’t roll like that.”
“It’s sort of an emergency. I left something important in his room.” Chanelle frowned; she should have prepared a better lie. She held her breath, waiting to see if Hershey would buy it.
“Is that so,” Hershey replied in a distrustful tone.
Chanelle really disliked Hershey sometimes. Hell, she couldn’t stand her most of the time.
“Are you gonna give me his number or not?” Chanelle asked snippily.
“Let me give you some advice. Don’t get your heart involved with a trick, because—”
“Who said my heart was involved?” Chanelle protested a bit too loudly. “I just want the number so I can—”
“I didn’t just get in this game. I’ve been around for a minute and like I told you before, you’d have to get up pretty early in the morning to chump my ass, so girl, don’t even try it. Now, I know Marc looks good, he’s loaded, and he’s slinging some good-ass dick…”
How does she know about the dick? Chanelle wondered, alarmed.
“But girl, take it from me. You don’t wanna get emotionally attached to a trick. Your role is to get their money and get them hooked on you so they’ll wanna keep on spending. You’re not supposed to start huntin’ their asses down. Dayum, girl, what’s your problem? What are you trying to do? Give away a shot of pussy for free?”
Hershey was throwing slurs right and left, but Chanelle did not feel a bit of shame because Hershey had it all wrong. Chanelle didn’t view Marc as a trick; a trick was someone disgusting like Wes.
Chanelle was mute. So Hershey continued to lay it on her thick. “I knew you were green but since you’d been strippin’ for a minute, well, I figured I didn’t have to give you any life lessons. Now, I’m gonna tell you something that might help you get your head back on straight.” She paused and Chanelle’s ears perked with interest.
“I was going to hook you up with a bachelor party Friday night. It pays a thousand dollars for the night.”
Chanelle felt instantly deflated. She thought Hershey was going to
provide some pertinent information regarding Marc.
“The party’s being hosted by one of Marc’s friends.” Hershey paused for emphasis.
Marc! With renewed interest, Chanelle murmured, “Okay…”
“The party’s being held on Marc’s boat and Marc’s the guest of honor. He’s getting married Saturday.”
Chanelle gasped.
“I take it you’re not interested in working the bachelor party?” Hershey didn’t have any of her usual sarcasm in her tone. Frankly, she sounded like she felt sorry for Chanelle. And rightly so, because Chanelle was trembling so badly, she dropped the phone and slumped into a kitchen chair.
She could hear Hershey’s concerned voice. “Are you all right?” She definitely was not all right. Dazed, she hung up the phone and began to drift aimlessly from room to room.
Chanelle suddenly reached the sad conclusion that she and Marc had shared sexual chemistry and nothing more. During her adolescence, she’d escaped the normal love affairs experienced by most girls as early as middle school. Those great love affairs that inevitably turned to heartbreak had put calluses around their hearts as protection against future heartbreak. Chanelle’s inexperience had caused her to mistake great sex for true love.
Wracking sobs hurt her chest, but the tears she cried were cleansing. She realized she’d had enough. No more tricking and no more stripping.
She wiped her eyes and vowed to get a real job, start a new life and find herself a regular man. No more dealing with men who couldn’t see past her body.
Since losing her mother, Chanelle had been utterly alone. There was nothing to tie her to Philly? Perhaps she should move somewhere far away; somewhere where she didn’t run the risk of bumping into any of her former customers from the strip clubs or the men who could certainly point a finger at her, identifying her as a whore.
That sordid secret would go with her to her grave. Yeah, she was going to get the hell out of Philly. Hopefully she’d meet someone nice—a regular working guy—get married, and start a family of her own.
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