by Vera Roberts
“Sounds good.” We walk to the elevator and make our way down to the awaiting Rolls Royce. “And then what?”
“Oh by the way you look tonight, I’m definitely keeping you up.” He casually smiles at me. “I’m curious to see how quickly it’ll take you take that dress off.”
Honestly, I’m curious about that myself.
~~~~~
Tonight’s gala is held at Union Station in downtown L.A. The fundraisers rented out two rooms for the extravaganza and spared no expense. It’s not a catered sit down meal this time as there are several food trucks lined up outside to cater to us. There are plenty of bars so no one is waiting for a long time to get a drink. There are just as many chauffeurs, rideshares, and cabs waiting outside.
As we walked the red carpet and posed for the obligatory photos, Ian never left my side. If he didn’t hold my hand, his arm was wrapped around my waist. It was a different feeling from previous gala events. He would hold me just out of gentlemanly duties.
This time, however, he held me so no one else could get too close to me. He staking his claim, declaring everyone we were together, and almost dared anyone to step up to him and say something. It was romantic and arousing.
“So, how are you feeling?” He asked through gritted teeth.
I place a wide smile across my lips and pose for another picture. We’ve both become experts at this speaking-through-gritted-teeth smiles. “Better. It was a bit nerve wrecking earlier but everything fell into place.”
“What made you nervous?” He asks.
I wonder if this is really an appropriate time to tell him I found out the truth about his fortune. I wonder if it’ll spoil the evening or it won’t be anything at all. “I had a talk with Adrienne about the Ferguson dynasty,” I cautiously begin, “I didn’t know you were so rich.”
Ian casually shrugs like it’s no a big deal. I guess when you have so much money, it truly doesn’t concern you like it would the other 99 percent of the world. “I don’t like to talk about it. People hear the Ferguson name and they automatically think of some crazy conspiracy. No one likes to talk about our charitable donations or how I spent last summer at an orphanage making sure all of the children received the proper medical care.” It’s clear Ian’s annoyed but he remains calm, cool, and collected. “But the world, as a whole, doesn’t care about that. They want to know about my fancy cars, my expensive suits, and what celebrity I’m being photographed with. So I give them that.”
“But you could change the tone if you wanted?” I politely suggest. “Unless you want people to stay out of your busi…” I didn’t finish the sentence because I already knew the answer. I turn to him and he greets me back with a brilliant smile.
“And now you know how the game is played,” he winks.
A valuable lesson, indeed. When people follow the wealthy, they don’t want to know what charity they’re giving their money to. They want to know how they’re maintaining their expensive lifestyle.
Well, I’ll be damned.
“So, it doesn’t bother you that I know this?” I ask him.
“Domi, whatever it is you want to know about me, just ask, and I’ll be happy to tell you. I don’t plan on keeping secrets from you now or anytime.” He says as we walk inside. “You might find, however, the deeper you dig, the more boring our family history is. We don’t have a lot of skeletons in our closets.”
“So no secret society where you kill people and put people under a spell?” I ask.
“The haters are corny with that Illuminati mess,” he slowly blinks at me.
I don’t know if I’m more shocked by Ian’s denial or the fact he knew the lyrics to “Formation.” I wonder if he knows the real meaning of “carrying hot sauce in my bag swag?” Something tells me he would think it’s the literal meaning and is probably wondering why Beyoncé is carrying a bottle of Crystal in her Gucci. “Is that why everyone targets the family?” I ask as a waiter stops by with two glasses of champagne. Ian picks up both and hands one over to me. “Because people assume you’re some crime family?”
“People are going to assume whatever it is they want. If they can figure out a way to humiliate our family, they will try and some have been quite determined to do so.” Ian makes eye contact with two couples and looks less than enthused he has to mingle with them, “particularly those two.”
The two couples approach us. Both couples are older, one being in their late fifties early sixties, while the other is probably closer to seventies. One couple – I coined them The Plastics because the wife’s face was so pulled back, I could see her thoughts.
The other couple – I coined them Slave Drivers because they just looked like the type that had nothing but brown people washing their clothes, cooking their meals, and taking care of their children as they spoke about the good ol’ days and how they wished things would return back to “the way they were.”
This is going to be a fun night.
Five
“Ferguson,” The Plastics male booms as he approaches us. I look over to Ian and his blue eyes harden. He tightly grips my hand and I already know this isn’t a pleasant exchange between two people who don’t like each other.
There is some serious hatred going on.
Ian quickly smiles and releases my hand to shake Mr. Plastic’s hand. “Todd Christensen. Pleasure to see you and Diana.”
“Likewise,” Todd grins. He has dark brown hair that’s so shiny, I could probably see my reflection in it. He’s rather tall and has muscular build. He’s an attractive man, but there’s something rather off about him I can’t place.
Todd Plastic turns to me and smiles. His smile is friendly but his eyes aren’t. I felt him undressing me long before he approached us. “And who’s this lovely lady?”
“This is my girlfriend, Dominique.” Ian replies. I notice the emphasis he puts on girlfriend and I don’t bother to question. There’s a weird vibe present that only arrived with the couples.
“Pleasure to meet you, Dominique.” Todd smiles. “This is my wife, Diana.”
Diana reminds me of a cat. Not Grumpy cat, not even Garfield. Her face is so pulled back, she reminds me of Nala from Lion King. I mean her face looks like a rough patch of life. Hakuna Matata, bitch. “Pleasure to meet you, both.” I reply.
“Ferguson,” The Slave Driver male shoves his hand out to Ian, who shakes it out of respect for elders and nothing else. The older male is rather round and seems there’s nothing but white about him – white hair, white eyebrows, and white skin so pale you would think he’s a figment of your imagination and not a living, breathing human being. He reminds me of the type of dude that would keep asking when are the coal jobs going to come back.
He also comes with matching wife. Accessories included. “Glad to see you were able to make it tonight. I was wondering if anyone from the family was going to be here.”
“Gerald and our father are supervising an event at the Gallery.” Ian explains, though I get the feeling he didn’t have to. “Dwight and Kathy Yates, this is my girlfriend, Dominique.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Dominqua.” Kathy unashamedly butchers my name and I just blink in awe. She’s an older woman who also channeling her inner rollie-pollie just like her husband. I can tell she’s never changed anything about her appearance – the lipstick, the hair style, or even the attitude since she’s been married.
She reminds me of one of those women who was probably a stone-cold fox when they were younger but once they got the man, they said, ‘fuck it. I got his ass so why do I care?’ and it all went to shit. I mean her face is pure struggle and she’s serving me all types of crypt keeper realness.
Of course, she wouldn’t know that and I’m not about to tell her. “Pleasure to meet you, Kathy.”
“So Dominique,” Hakuna Matata begins, “what is it that you do?”
“I teach dance class or I should say I’m about to.” I explain. “I hope to open my studio soon.”
“Dance, really?” Rollie P
ollie questions. “What dance? Hip-hop?”
Thank you for stereotyping all black women, Margaret Sanger. “Pole dancing.” I begin. “It’s a good exercise and just as effective as yoga.”
“That sounds like so much fun!” Hakuna smiles. Wow. She can actually smile through all that Botox. Amazing. “I would love to go! When are your classes?”
“I haven’t set up a schedule yet but I hope to have one soon. I’ll let you know for sure.”
“Yes, please keep me posted! I’ll tell all of my girlfriends to come!” Her smile widens and I’m nearly blinded by how white her teeth are. She’s the perfect example of just because you spend money on yourself, there’s no guarantee you’ll look good.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I smile at the women. I turn to Ian but his eyes never leave Todd’s. There’s a history between them and I wonder what it is. “I guess we should be heading to our seats now.”
“I’ll see you later,” Todd sticks out his hand and Ian shakes it. I start to shake his hand and he surprises me by planting a kiss on it. It’s not a small peck. His lips are on my hand a bit longer than they should be.
He looks back up at me and smiles. “Pleasure to meet you, Dominique.” He walks away with his wife and the other couple in tow.
I turn to Ian, who’s eyes hadn’t change their hardened stance. He’s calm but I can tell he’s feeling everything but. “Who are they?” I cautiously ask.
“Just one sec,” he says before he takes out his iPhone and dials. “I just ran into the Yates and Christensens here. They were asking about you. I told them you were busy but I think they already knew that. No, they said nothing else other than they inquired about Domi’s new studio. I’ll let you know. Bye.” Ian walks up to a bar and orders a drink. He slowly nurses it though I think he would rather just pound it down and be done with it.
I didn’t know if Ian wanted me to shut up and stay out of it but the way he was acting didn’t indicate he wanted to be silent about this. I lead him to a private corner outside so we can get to the bottom of it. “What is going on?”
Ian takes a sip of his whiskey sour and stares up at the stars. “Dwight Yates is one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the world. You simply cannot get any better than him.”
“Okay,” I shrug, “and Todd?”
“Todd is a trust-fund baby who simply got lucky off Daddy’s money. He may know a thing or two about business but he definitely knows several ways on how to run something into the ground.” Ian begins. “Yet, people think he’s some trustworthy executive. He wouldn’t know his left hand from his asshole. Diana is wife number three.”
“Okay,” I still don’t understand the connection between the two men and how that impacts Ian’s family.
Ian turns to me and sighs. “Todd’s son killed my mother. Dwight defended him in court. Their money is the only reason why he got six years. He had prior DUI arrests but they found a sympathetic judge.”
“Oh my God,” my stomach clenches in pain and I hold my boyfriend. He wraps his arm around me. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“It is what it is.” Ian lets go of me and turns to me. “I don’t care if Diana and her friends come to your classes, but you will not interact with Todd whatsoever.”
“Yeah, sure thing.” I softly reply. It was the first time Ian has spoken of the person who killed his mother in two years and I wonder where he is since I see his parents. “What about the guy who murdered your mother? What about him?”
“You don’t have to worry about him at all,” Ian replies. His tone is serious without a hint of remorse, if he had any. “He’s the very least of your concerns.”
The way Ian said it was unnerving. It’s almost as if he knows exactly what happened to the guy. I have a feeling the Fergusons played a role and thus the reason why the Montagues and Capulets are fighting.
I just hope I’m not collateral damage.
~~~~~
The benefit went off without a hitch. Lots of liquor flowed and everyone had a great time. The gala was benefitting disabled children and their families to help with medical costs and long-term care. It was amazing to see so many people pretend to care about those who are less fortunate because honestly, no one really cares, they just wanted to be seen.
Whatever negative feelings Ian had towards Todd and Dwight were pushed away or completely evaporated when the evening officially began. He chatted with many, introduced me to quite a few, and we danced to a few songs. He even humored my junk food taste by indulging in some overpriced but totally yummy ice cream.
Now that we were alone in the back of a Rolls Royce and I feel the angry energy he’d successfully pushed down, come up to the forefront. Ian’s a quiet angry and the feelings are brooding deep inside. He stares out the window with his chin resting on a thumb, while the other four fingers clasp his mouth as if he’s holding back what he really wants to say.
I want to ask him if he’s feeling better but I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, especially after everything I learned earlier. Instead, I reach over and grab his hand. That emits a soft grin from him and he grabs it back.
“Angel…” He says it so softly, it’s barely a whisper.
Again, I don’t dare to say anything. I don’t think there’s anything I could say. What does one say to learning such horrible news? What does one say when a pivotal question hasn’t been answered? It’s best that I remain silent.
The driver drops us off at home and we walk to the penthouse. We enter the lobby and head straight to the elevator. Again, just silence between us.
I feel powerless. I want to help Ian but what can I do? The situation doesn’t really concern me in any way and it’s best I don’t become involved. Still, I hate to see him in pain. I wish I could take the anger, the agony, and the frustration Ian and his family had felt for the past 17 years of his life. I can’t and it kills me.
When we arrive home, we remove our shoes and go our separate ways. Ian heads straight to the bar and I go upstairs to the second floor. Ian converted one of the rooms upstairs to a mini-dance studio for me to practice and suddenly I need to. I’m not able to sleep and my nerves are on edge. I need to release all of this tension inside of me.
I turn on the stereo and Kings of Leon’s “Closer” blares at me. I’m lost into the haunting guitar strings, the slow and steady pounding of the drum, and the raw emotion from the lead singer.
I walk around the pole, slowly dragging my feet and swaying my body. My eyes are wide open as I look at my reflection. I’m still in my short cocktail dress and heels. I don’t care about my appearance now. I just want to feel the rhythm.
I slowly climb on the pole and twirl around it once before I slide back down. My body has a mind of its own now as I feel the chords, the percussion, and strings. I climb the pole once again, reaching the top and spread my legs apart. I twist my body around the pole like a slithering snake until I reach the hardwood floor.
I look up and lock eyes with Ian.
I freeze for a split second as we read each other. He’s holding tumbler full of brown liquid. He’s still fully dressed but gone was the quiet anger from before. Instead, his lips have a smirk to them. His eyes sparkle like if he’s happy to see me.
He doesn’t say a word; he just sits down at the sofa across from me. He wants to watch me. I’m the distraction he needs and I’m glad to be that for him.
I find the resolve to continue my impromptu dance and climb back onto the pole. I slowly kick my legs as if I’m riding a bicycle before I bend over and twirl around, only the strength of my thighs keeping me from falling.
I slowly slide to the bottom head first, almost reaching the floor but never touching it. I grab the pole with both hands and spread my legs apart, closing them like a fan and re-opening them. I hold one leg to my face and twirl around to face Ian, once again locking eyes with him. It’s an invitation to him to do whatever he wants to me tonight or forever, for that matter.
I ease myself down
onto the floor. It’s a bit cold yet my body quickly warms it up. Ian’s eyes are still on mine and I move my body against the floor, circling it with my body, desperate to feel his touch all over me.
Ian finishes his drink and slouches back on the sofa. He approvingly nods and is still silent. He slowly moves two fingers towards him, beckoning me to stop dancing and I’m happy to oblige.
Keeping my eyes on Ian, I crawl to him. It’s a sign of submission and respect. I’m telling him for tonight, he’s in control. My body, his command. Whatever he wants and however he wants it, I’m willing to do. It’s something we both understand and respect without saying a word.
When I reach him, I undo his dress pants and his hardened shaft jumps out at me. I slowly ease myself up and he helps me. Ian reaches up my cocktail dress and pulls down my panties and I step out of them. He hoists my dress around my waist and pulls me down on his lap.
Our lips slowly kiss each other. Deliberate. Methodical. Intense. It’s not just sex between us now and we both know it. We’re exchanging energy. I’m taking away his pain and frustration. In return, he’s giving me nothing but pleasure and love.
I’m already aroused when I ease myself down on him. I gasp at the thickness and wonder if I could really take all of him. Ian kisses my neck and caresses my back as I pulsate around him. He knows this is new for me, for us, and he’s willing to be a patient teacher.
I slowly begin to ride him, taking inch by inch. Not all of him is inside of me and I’m okay with that for now. He’s stretching me, yet filling me. My focus is on him and his needs. I want him to temporarily forget about the night and focus on us and what we’re doing.
The pressure became too great to ignore and soft moans flowed out of my mouth. Hot pinpoints of ecstasy sprung up on my body, with every nerve and cell was filled with pleasure. Ian clasped his hands on my ass and guided me. Back and forth. Up and down. He gave as I took.
I became too hungry for my orgasm and silently demanded release. I bounced on him now and he guided me once again. His lips captured mine as my body shook and my legs uncontrollably moved. He was letting me take control for once and encouraged me to do it.