Madam, May I

by Niobia Bryant

Loren was as tall and handsome as ever, of course. And her reaction to him had not lessened. She blinked and took a breath at a heated memory, but also accepted the ache in her soul from missing his wisdom, fun nature, and hopeful attitude. He was the impetus for her change.

  “Oh, wow, you love him,” Melissa stressed. “It’s all over your face.”

  Desdemona nodded, not willing to deny it.

  “Poor Trevor,” she added.

  Desdemona cut her eyes at her. “Right,” she agreed begrudgingly as she leaned forward to take the live feed off pause. The screen went black for a moment and reappeared with Loren already gone.

  “Does he love you, too?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve wondered that myself sometimes, but it’s all good,” she said, rising to collect their glasses and carry them into the kitchen to place in the sink.

  Desdemona ran her stiletto fingernails through her curls.

  “You good?” Melissa called from the living room.

  When will the love fade? There was no future for them, and her brain was ready to move on. It was her heart that held on to him.

  Desdemona moved back into the living area. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Melissa rose, smoothing her hands over the crisp and stylish red blouse and slacks she wore. “I’m headed to work,” she said, walking to the front door in her matching patent leather heels. “What am I going to do when you’re on super-vacation?”

  “I don’t leave for weeks,” she reminded her, coming over to the foyer as well.

  “Too soon,” Melissa quipped.

  “Eh. A little.”

  She held up both hands. “Off to work to stare at my assistant’s butt and pretend not to do so,” she said before taking a bow and leaving.

  Desdemona closed the door and leaned back against it. Today was the first day of the rest of her life. She was done. Mademoiselle was preparing to take her final bow, and the thought of that made her smile.

  No fear. No doubts. Just a sweet relief and joy for moving on.

  When she gave herself time to live Monday through Thursday, she began to enjoy life more. She partied a little. Traveled. Enjoyed hanging with Melissa and dating Trevor. Took up hobbies. Enjoyed not being tied to that business phone. And the more she reclaimed of her life, the more she wanted. A door inside her had been opened, and she decided once and for all to blow it off for good.

  There had been some pushback from her regulars, but the more they refused to let her be, the more she realized that she had created these foolish expectations they had of her. She had set the boundaries far too late. She stayed in the game far too long.

  Desdemona wasn’t letting the balls drop, but she couldn’t wait to safely and carefully set them aside.

  “It’s time,” she said, moving to the living space and cleaning up from the breakfast of fresh fruit and pastries she had ordered for them to enjoy as they watched the convocation. “Going out on top and in my own way.”

  She had passed her GED and was looking forward to applying to college next year—once she decided on a major and took an extended vacation to see the world. Africa. Italy. Paris.

  First things first.

  Desdemona retrieved her business phone and sat on the sofa with her feet tucked beneath her. She dialed Number One and clicked her nails against each other as she awaited an answer.

  “Whaddup, Mademoiselle?”

  “Nothing much. Congrats on the win last night,” she said. “I’m sure you and the team will get the championship this year, so congrats on that in advance.”

  “You sound like we won’t speak again before that.”

  Her eyes went to the windows. “We won’t,” she said. He fell silent.

  “You there?” she asked.

  “I’m off the list,” he said, his deep voice incredulous.

  “No, no, no, no,” Desdemona said. “I am. I’m done. I’m out.”

  “Wow,” he said, his surprise obvious. “You good?”

  “I am fucking great,” she said. “Just going out on top. That’s all. I’ve been at this for more than half of my life. Time to try on a new coat. You know?”

  “You about to shake the game up,” he said. “Is this on lock or spread the word?”

  “I’m calling the entire list today, so I’m sure shit is about to get mad hectic,” she said. “I’m calling you first, though.”

  “You know what, Angel?” he asked, reverting to her old alias. “I’m happy for you. I’m not judging, but you’re a dope girl and still young as hell, and you deserve more than lining up pussy for us knuckleheads and keeping all our secrets.”

  “Thanks for that, and please know those secrets will remain locked away, and you can let everyone know that I will not sell my list,” she assured him, rising up enough to untuck her feet from beneath her.

  “Damn. No more Mademoiselle.”

  “That hoe dies today,” she said, chuckling. “Angel, too.”

  “And the phone?”

  “Clean and burn,” she said. “Cover me like I have covered you all these years.”

  “Got it. Clean and burn.”

  They fell silent.

  “I hear someone coming,” Number One said. “I gotta go, but I feel like I don’t wanna let you go yet.”

  “I will take that as a compliment, Champ. Goodbye,” Desdemona said before ending the call.

  One by one she made her calls. The morning shifted easily to late afternoon by the time she was done. Celebrities. Athletes. Politicians. Heirs and heiresses. Even royalty. Most took the news with the same nonchalance as learning orange juice instead of apple juice was being served for breakfast. Some tried to buy her back in. A few were angry. Many wished her well. Over the years they had cultivated an odd but necessary relationship with trust at its very core.

  She grabbed her keys and slid on her dark, round-framed shades, leaving her apartment behind. During her drive to Riverdale, she put Cardi B’s “Best Life” on repeat and danced in her seat as she drove, feeling light-hearted and happy. “I made a couple M’s with my best friends, turned all my L’s into lessons,” she sang along to the chorus, lightly pounding her fist against the steering wheel.

  When she finally parked in front of the sprawling home, she was happy to see Denzin’s motorcycle parked by his side entrance. She couldn’t deny the apprehension she felt. “Now or never, Desi,” she said before climbing from the car with her keys in hand.

  She paused and took in the warm weather and sun shining.

  “Whaddup, boss?”

  Desdemona turned her head to find Denzin standing in the now open doorway in just a towel. “Just the man I wanted to see,” she said, walking toward him.

  Denzin stepped back, pulling the door open wider before she entered and strolled into the foyer.

  The scent of his soap, deodorant, or cologne was nice. It reminded her of Loren.

  “I have some good and bad news,” she said, turning to face him as he closed the door and crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest.

  “Okay,” Denzin said, eyeing her in open interest.

  “Good news. I am closing down the business,” she said, reaching to clasp his arm. “Bad news. The month-to-month lease is up in five months, but I would like to give thirty days’ notice and clear out of here.”

  Denzin nodded in understanding. “Two questions,” he began, holding up two fingers. “One. Does that mean my regulars are up for grabs? Two. If I no longer work for you can I now beg you for some pussy?”

  He dropped his towel and stood there naked before her with pride in his eyes.

  “I wish you and your dick happy fucking with any and all of your regulars,” she said, dropping her eyes to his impressive inches. “I’ve seen your penis far too much to be impressed anymore. Plus, I’ve seen bigger. Hell, I’ve had bigger.”

  With a grunt she pushed aside an image of Loren in the shower surrounded by steam with his erection hanging from his body like a third leg.

 
; “Well, damn, boss,” he said, sounding offended as he bent to pick up his towel and wrap it back around his waist.

  “How long have we worked together, Denzin?” she asked as she walked over to the elevator.

  “Four or five years,” he said.

  “You don’t seem surprised I’m leaving it all behind,” she said as they stepped onto the lift and closed the metal gate.

  “I’ve seen it coming. You’ve changed, and I could tell especially the last few weeks with asking me to step in and then you shut it down to just weekends,” Denzin said. “I didn’t know it was coming this quick, but I knew it was coming. Oh, a brother definitely started making alternative plans so I’m good, boss.”

  “Like?” she asked as the elevator slid to a stop on the top level.

  Denzin opened the gate and stepped off to hold it for her. “Buying a house for sure,” he said as they walked down the short hall to her office. “Living rent-free for four or five years has its advantages. So, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, unlocking the door and walking inside.

  The sun beaming through the window was welcoming, and she walked over to stand in its warmth.

  “I have to do something with all this furniture in the house,” she said. “Do you want it?”

  He frowned. “Honestly?” he asked.

  “Always,” she encouraged.

  “I’ll pass. I have seen way too many things go down on all of this furniture. Don’t forget I was present and working for the big orgy of 2015,” he said with a shake of his head. “No offense.”

  “None taken. Why do you think I don’t want any of it.”

  “Have it cleaned and donate it all to Goodwill and let someone without the history of the furniture enjoy it.”

  “Right,” she said.

  They shared a laugh.

  “I’m thinking of starting a catering business,” Denzin added.

  “You can cook?” She balked in disbelief as she kicked off the wedged heels she wore with a short-sleeved jean mini dress that showed off her solid, well-shaped legs.

  “I graduated from Le Cordon Bleu in Atlanta,” he said. “See? Not friends.”

  “Le Cordon Bleu? Atlanta? Oh, my God, Denzin, who are you?” she asked, laughing as she scratched her scalp.

  He chuckled as well. “I’ll tell you what. Our last night with the house I will make you a huge meal—my treat—and we will say goodbye to each other with good food and good wine.”

  “Awww,” Desdemona said, walking over to the desk. “I would hug you, but I know you will get hard.”

  “Would I,” he agreed.

  They shared a look that was part sadness and part happiness—like the last day of school.

  Denzin closed the distance between them. “I’ll be good,” he said, pulling her close for a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I always wanted to know your story. What led to you being the—in my estimation—the top madam of the east coast and beyond. I never asked.”

  “No need to now. It’s all in the past,” she said, finally feeling like it was getting smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror.

  “I’m gonna miss you,” Denzin said, sounding sincere.

  “Same,” she agreed. “Same.”

  They continued to hug until Desdemona felt the weight of his erection press against her leg. “Denzin,” she said sharply, stepping back and breaking the embrace.

  He held up his hands. “That motherfucker got a mind of his own,” he said, before turning to leave with one final look back over his shoulder.

  “Security alert. Front gate.”

  The security alarm system.

  “I’m taking my television,” Desdemona said, opening the top desk drawer to remove the remote to turn it on.

  She eyed Franco entering the visitor code of the security gate to open it before he drove forward in his black Honda Accord. When she first took Franco on as a courtesan he had a beautiful vintage Benz that he eventually sold to put the money toward his gender reassignment surgery.

  In continuing with her preparations to close up shop, Desdemona had called some of her courtesans the night before to inform them, but there were some she wanted to talk to face to face. Like Franco. She had every intention of him leaving the Riverdale mansion with the remaining balance he needed to have his surgery.

  Desdemona wanted to bless so that she could be blessed, including offering Patrice partnership in the online dress boutique as she took it completely legitimate and allowed her showroom manager to take on even more responsibility.

  Everything just felt right, and with every ball she had been juggling properly set aside, the weight of her world was lessening on her shoulders.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, back in her apartment, which was freshly cleaned by housekeeping, with the windows open and letting in the summer afternoon breeze, Desdemona poured herself a full glass of wine before sitting cross-legged on the floor before the fireplace. The entire apartment was chilly even with the windows ajar. She had turned up the air-conditioning to counter lighting her fireplace in May.

  She looked up at her parents’ faces in the portrait and raised her glass in a toast to them. She loved them. They made her. They also imprinted on her life in ways she was sure they would regret, but her love far outweighed any regrets or judgment she had. Adulthood had taught her that life was all about doing the best you can with what you have and, unfortunately, she didn’t know their backstory or what events imprinted their lives and affected the decisions they made as adults. That left her open to forgiveness and understanding.

  Who am I to judge?

  Taking a sip of the wine before she set the glass on the raised hearth of the fireplace, Desdemona picked up the first journal on the stack. She rubbed the cover and opened the pages to touch her words. Her feelings. Her experiences. Journaling had made her feel closer to her mother and the memories she had of her writing away in her own little book.

  There were no logs from the days she was homeless and then under Majig’s rule, but she found comfort in journaling again when she began her reign as a madam. The one from the years after her father’s death remained in her safe, but within the pages of this stack were veiled references to some of her consorts over the last seventeen years. It was time to be free of the burden of keeping those secrets.

  And so as she listened to Chopin and sipped her wine she tore the pages from the journals to toss into the fire, claiming her freedom once and for all.

  * * *

  Knock-knock-knock.

  Desdemona’s nerves were shot until the moment the door opened and Loren was standing before her. Fine as ever. Sans glasses. Hair wild. Smelling delicious. Dressed in nothing but basketball shorts. “Hello, Dr. Palmer,” she said, giving him a smile.

  He took a step back at the sight of her as his face became incredulous. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She looked past him into his studio apartment. “Are you alone?” she asked, before shifting her eyes up to his.

  “What are you doing here?” Loren repeated.

  Desdemona licked her lips and slid her hands inside the pockets of the T-shirt dress she wore with heels. “We never said goodbye the right way,” she said, soft and hesitant.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say goodbye, you did, Alisha.”

  Desdemona.

  “Right,” she agreed.

  A door opened and closed on the floor above him, echoing down the stairwell. Next, there were footsteps. They fell silent as a heavyset dude with dreads came down the stairs and passed them with a head nod to Lo as he continued down the last flight of stairs and out the door.

  “I watched your graduation’s—sorry, your doctorate convocation’s—live stream today. Congratulations, Lo,” she said, reaching over to lightly touch her fingertips to his chest.

  It was bare, and the goose bumps she gave him were visible.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he covered his fac
e with his hands. “Yo, you killing me,” he said, his voice strained.

  She held up her hands. “It’s okay. I’ll go,” she said, turning from him to walk down the tiled hall.

  “How did your GED test go?”

  Desdemona stopped. “I passed,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.

  Their eyes locked.

  She felt warm from his very look and heady from being in his presence again. I love him so much.

  Loren leaned against the doorway with his hand over his mouth as he studied her. He shook his head and laughed a little. “Just when I’m starting to get my shit together. Here you are.”

  Desdemona turned and leaned against the railing of the landing. “Here I am,” she admitted, her voice just a tad more than a whisper.

  “For?” he asked.

  “I needed to say goodbye to you better than I did, Lo,” she admitted. “You meant way more to me than what I showed you that day, and you didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he agreed, looking down at his bare feet and then over at her again.

  Their eyes locked again.

  “Do I get a chance to redo it?” she asked, giving him a beguiling smile.

  His eyes dipped down to her thick thighs exposed by the short hem of her T-shirt dress. “Is it still goodbye?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, it is, Lo,” she admitted.

  His eyes never left hers as he extended his arm to open the door wider in invitation.

  Desdemona pushed off the railing and walked over to him, slowly letting her hand trail across his rigid abdomen as she passed him to enter the apartment.

  He closed the door and reached to pull her body back against his with one strong arm.

  “Yes,” she sighed, turning in his embrace to entwine her fingers in his hair as she kissed him with a slowness as he eased his hands down her back and buttocks to raise the hem of the dress.

  She gently sucked the tip of his tongue as he cupped her buttocks in the black lace thong she wore. She moaned and crushed her body against his until her soft breasts were flattened against the soft hairs of his chest. “Lo,” she sighed into his open mouth in between kisses. “Oh, Lo.”

  He bent his legs and wrapped an arm around her waist to lift her body up against his with a strength that made her weak. He reached his sofa and turned to sit down with her straddling his lap. His hands cupped her buttocks before gripping her flimsy lace thong into his fist and tearing it away from her.