by PN Books
“I didn't run to him.” She threw her hands up, it seemed pointless. Orra didn't want to hear her explanation.
“Well, you seemed quite charmer.” Smith paced back and forth, throwing his looks that didn't reflect one bit of the plan that he claimed to have hatched. “So what did he say to you?” Suddenly, Mimi realized what this was.
“You're jealous of your partner!” How could Orra be jealous of anyone?
“I am not, that's ridiculous.” The expression on his face confirmed that it was true no matter what he said.
“Is it?” she asked, her hands on her hips. Mimi had to know the truth, he owed her at least that. “Why did you guys trap me into coming to this home? When were you going to tell me about this?” She really was a stranger and they regretted how easy they had made it for her.
“We can talk about this like adults.” Orra said.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment, Mimi wasn't sure if he were sad or about to scream at her and her stomach churned in anticipation of either. “I should have known,” was all he said, shaking his head. “I never should have brought you here.” His eyes were cold when he looked at her and it was impossible to interpret what he meant.
“What do you mean? You never should have brought me because I would find out the truth?” How could she ever have wasted one moment of guilt about her own profession, they were liars?
“No, I just should have known that something like this would happen, you're new to this, you have no idea.” He walked toward her, his hands out. “This wasn't how I imagined this plan ending at all.”
When he reached her, his hands felt as cold as his eyes were and Mimi shivered when he touched her. “Please, Orra, tell me the truth.”
“The truth is that Smith had no business talking to you about that.” His fingers were like a vice around her arms.
“I don’t think I can do this.
Orra seemed to freeze in place and Mimi felt as though her heart was breaking in her chest.
“I'm going to leave,” she spoke quietly, each word distinct, and her mouth was a straight line, her eyes seemed to look through them.
For some reason that she could never explain, Mimi never cried and as she grabbed the few belongings that she had in the apartment, she longed for home. Not her apartment, not this place, but her parent's home. How long had it been since she had even spoken to her mother? Perhaps it was the last place, maybe the only place, where she had really felt love.
“You don’t have to leave, I will tell you everything.” Smith said.
She stopped on her tracks. She had to know why she was lured to this big home. She stared at Smith and waited for an answer.
“We would like you to have our baby. We are sorry for disclosing it now.”
“What.” She asked.
“We were looking for a surrogate mother and we thought you would be the best candidate…you will also present yourself as Orra’s wife in front of his parents.” Smith said. Orra was silent as he watched. She paced up and down while she thought of what to say.
“You telling me that now?” she finally said.
“Would you have accepted if we told you that?” Orra said.
“What am I getting from all this?” she asked.
“Anything you want, just name it. We will give you the payment for the first assignment and anything else you want.”
“I will draft her contract for you to sign, I don’t trust you anymore.”
“We will do anything.”
“That means I will stay here for as long as I want.” She touched her belly. They all smiled. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Smith stared at Orra. Finally, what they wanted finally came true.
“We are a couple now.” Orra said as he went to his study.
****
Mimi paced up and down in her room, she was used to being a thief but not a surrogate mother. This was new to her. She looked at the phone as she picked it up from its cradle. She dialed her friend’s number.
“Hi,” she said in an excited tone.
Her friend sensed the urgency in her tone. “You sound excited.”
“I found a new job, finally I’m going to retire.” She tapped her fingers on the table beside her bed.
“What is this new job. I hope it’s legal.”
“I am going to be a surrogate mother. I met some nice people and I’ve decided to help them get a baby.” She didn’t want to go into details about the couple.
“I hope you won’t forget about us.”
“I won’t.”
****
Orra dialed his father’s number. He was excited about the news. He waited patiently for him to pick up.
“Hi dad.” He said, his voice full of excitement.
“Hi…..you sound excited.” His father responded.
He paced up and down trying to figure out how to relay the news to him. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He finally said.
“You know you can deal with the investors alone. You have always handled the company well.”
“It’s not about the company. I want you and grandma to meet my fiancé.” His father went silent for a while, he could hear his father breathe on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine, I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandfather. This is the best news you have given me in a long time. Your mother will be happy to hear this,” he could hear his father sob at the other end of the line.
“We will come next week to meet the family.”
“You don’t have to mention it, come anytime you want. I really don’t know what to say.” He muttered.
“Have a lovely day and tell mammier the good news.”
“Ok, son.” He was happy to know that it will finally be over. The thought of being a father made him happy. He felt Smith tap him on his shoulder.
“Everything will be fine.” He assured Orra.
“I want this to be over. I can’t concentrate with the pressure.”
“Mimi is all in, so just pull your act together and act like a fiancé in front of them.” He had faked having girlfriends while growing up and this was going to be easy.
THE END
The Wealth Touchdown
Chapter 1
5 o'clock! Time to go home. Janelle felt the rush of energy surge through her body at the end of her long day of shuffling, stacking, and filing papers and reports. Every five minutes for the last few hours she'd turned to stare at the clock. It seemed like it wasn't moving, like time was standing still. But now, thankfully, it was over. On most days she probably would've just taken the train home. Plopped down on her couch, and watched TV, a glass of wine in one hand, her iPad laying next to her on the couch as she scrolled through twitter and Facebook and other popular sites: Bossip, Ebony, Madamenoire, and caught up on the day's gossip.
Janelle hurried out into the busy Brooklyn Street. There was such an exciting energy in the neighborhood. She was just barely able to afford to live there. She knew that if she didn't get a raise soon, she would probably have to move. No, she would definitely have to move. There was no question about that.
Her phone rang. Another jolt of excitement surged through her body. It had to be her friend Monet. They were supposed to meet for sushi at six.
But when she looked at the name and number on the screen she frowned and stared at it, confused. The call was coming from Oklahoma. She'd never received a call from there before. She had a bad feeling about who it could be. Despite her intuition, despite feeling that it wouldn’t be smart to pick it up, to let it go straight to voicemail, she picked up the phone.
"Hello," Janelle said, her voice quivering, as she struggled to get out the words.
"Am I speaking to Janelle Watkins?" the woman on the other end of the line said.
Janelle swallowed hard. She probably should've hung up. But for some reason, she couldn't.
"Hello, are you still there?"
Janelle swallowed hard. "Yes," she said. "That's
my name."
Chapter 2
For the next several minutes, the friendly voice on the other end of the line, which belonged to a Sallie Mae representative, relayed the bad news to Janelle.
The student loan extension that she'd applied for three months ago, the one that she'd been desperately waiting for, had been denied. As of next week, she would have to start paying back $450 each month on the loans. There was no more time to waste, no more excuses, delaying, buying time. She'd bought all the time that she could afford.
When the call finally ended, Janelle felt as if she were in a trance. She knew that it was her fault, that she really had no one else to blame. She should have taken care of this situation long ago, figured out a plan of action, instead of pretending like it was just going to go away, pretending like each time a deadline approached she'd be able to find an extension, some way to wriggle out of it.
Welcome to adulthood, she told herself, smiling bitterly. She could always go back to Chicago and stay with her grandparents.
Yeah, right. There was no way that she would do that. She would make it on her own. She'd figure something out. She logged into her online banking app. She held her breath as she typed in her username and password. She shivered as she thought of the meaning of her password. Even though it would be a hassle to do so, she would have to change that.
The sound of her phone beeping snapped her back to the present. It was Monet
"Where u at girl?" She texted. "Hurry up.”
Janelle smiled, excited to meet her friend. She definitely needed something to lift her spirits.
Chapter 3
When she walked into the Chinese restaurant, she was surprised not to see the usual gaggle of hipsters, skinny scraggly white boys with beards and their equally skinny, scraggly looking girlfriends. All of them with trust funds, bonds, and annuities, pretending as if they were suffering, starving artists. She'd quickly grown sick of that.
She'd grown up around plenty of white folks. But they were the grittier, cruder, less educated sort. They were also the kind that could be much more in-your-face with their racism. She preferred it like that, actually, as opposed to this covert, surreptitious kind of double talking racism of the liberals.
She saw several tables filled with young, up-and-coming African-Americans. She could easily imagine that they were entrepreneurs, builders, the engines of change for the entire community, the millennials who were going to begin empowering the community through entrepreneurship. It always disappointed Janelle how few African-American businesses there were. She would shake her head every time she heard a politician talk about bringing jobs to the community. They had yet to deliver on the promise. And they never would. Yet the black leaders would smile and start skinning and grinning before the cameras, their cut of the money bulging in their pockets. Bundles of hundreds. And there they go like thieves in the night.
"Hi," Monet said opening her arms wide.
Monet was a 5 foot 4 firecracker with eyes that always seem to be plotting something and a mouth that she never liked closing.
"I was afraid that you might not come," Monet said.
Janelle closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she squeezed Monet even tighter.
"I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I could definitely use some good food and drinks."
They ordered sushi and sake. There was a lot oflaughing and giggling. Commiserating with each other's pain.
"I haven't been laid in so long," Monet said. "I mean like a really good pounding. It's been so long."
Janelle felt her face flushing red. She didn't consider herself a prude. But plenty of the men she dated and the women that she'd been friends with for long periods of time would have vigorously disagreed.
"I'm afraid to ask how long it’s been," Janelle said, leaning her head back, taking a sip of sake, keeping her eyes fixed on Monet.
"Almost a month," she said with a sour expression on her face. "A month. And I live in Brooklyn! I'm surrounded by eligible men. Black men. Men who are actually doing things with their lives. Businessmen, entrepreneurs, doctors, lawyers. Even some ballers. I don't even want to ask how long it's been since you got laid," Monet said, taking a sip of her drink her and staring at Janelle out of the corner of her eye. "You must be ready to go into a convent."
Janelle crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. She didn't like being questioned and interrogated. She especially didn't enjoy being ridiculed.
"It's called celibacy," she said. "I think it's helping me get in touch with myself."
"If you want to get in touch with yourself then buy a dildo or vibrator," Monet said with plenty of snark.
Monet wasn't one for the bullshit. She could see through Janelle's lies and excuses, her attempts to cover up her prudishness. She could tell that it was really all fear, the fear of rejection, fear of not measuring up, fear of being hurt, fear of being left, fear of being cheated on. Fear. That's all it was.
"You're never gonna start really living," Monet said, "Unless you're willing to go beyond your comfort zone. Take chances. Risks."
Janelle didn't want to hear it. She was beginning to regret having come here in the first place. Maybe the best thing to do would be to go home and start figuring out how she was going to pay back the $58,000 she owed in student loans. Then, of course, there was the rent and healthcare and car insurance. Just thinking about it made her head hurt and her heart thump in her chest.
This would've been a great night to just sit on the couch, with a glass of white wine, listening to Mary J Blige. But instead, she’d chosen to come out and spend time with her best friend. And now she was being ridiculed for her lack of success with men.
Monet took a sip from her drink and leaned back in the chair. Janelle could tell that something wicked was passing through her mind.
"What is it?" Janelle said. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"I'm thinking about how you should come to a game with me some time. My press pass will get us into the locker rooms," she said raising her eyelids in a very suggestive way.
"You know I don't like football," Janelle said. "Why would I want to be around a bunch of sweaty, nasty man?"
But she wasn't quite so sure how much the idea turned her off. Even as she said that her mind drifted off, wandered into in a locker room full of big, sweaty, muscular men. They were stripping off their pads, taking everything off, wrapping towels around their waists and heading to the shower. All of those men, hard bodied, most likely well-hung, showering, wiping their muscles clean in the water, dripping down their backs, down their hard stomachs, rolling over their abs.
She could the feel the pleasure spreading throughout her body. She uncrossed her legs, then across them again and ever so surreptitiously slipped a hand in between them. Her fingers grazed her clit, which was most likely swollen.
"Well, you can think about it," Monet said. "It's an open invitation. Okay?"
Janelle shook her head, annoyed and flustered, trying to pretend as if she wasn't all hot and bothered by the images that she saw flashing in her mind. The erotic images had set off several sexual, erotic synapses in her brain. She was incredibly turned on. There was a question about that.
"No, I think it will be a cold day in hell before I go to a football game."
"Whatever, girl," Monet said. She seemed to realize that there was no point pushing things any further. Janelle was stubborn. Damn stubborn. And when she dug in on a point, the more you try to push her away from it, the more she dug in.
"So you really can't find any men?" Monet asked. "In church, the library, the park. Nowhere?"
Janelle couldn't even be upset anymore. She let her arms drop from across her chest and completely opened up her body, smiling, closing her eyes, looking up to the heavens. What else could she do?
"Ballers? Are you still running after them?" Janelle asked. "Even after what happened with that dude in Atlanta. The rapper and ‘producer’," Janelle finished, making air quotes.
"He
y," Monet said with mock seriousness. "We promised that we were never going to talk about that."
"We did?" Janelle said. "I don't remember that."
"Well, I'm reminding you right now."
The women stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then they both burst out laughing.
"What are you looking at?" Monet asked.
Janelle wasn't sure what Monet was talking about. Or maybe she was. Her eyes, momentarily, while they were sharing a laugh had drifted towards the bar. There was a tall, really tall 6 foot 5, broad-shouldered man with honey brown skin. He was built like a hunk. Most importantly, he didn't appear to be with anyone.
"That guy over there," Monet said. "I think we found a guy that you might actually like.
Janelle batted her eyelashes. She didn't know what to say. She felt deeply embarrassed.
"Hold up," Monet said, a devilish grin on her face. "I'll be right back."
Janelle reached out for her best friend's arm, but all she grabbed was air. She watched helplessly as Monet walked to the bar, each step bringing her closer to the fine man who'd caught her eye. All she could do was stare, transfixed, full of apprehension. But she was also full of desire and sexual hunger.
Chapter 4
She didn't know how it happened. The next several minutes seemed like a complete blur. Or maybe it seemed as if time was standing still and there was nothing but her and the gorgeous man in front of her, a beautiful specimen of a man. He towered over her. She felt so small, so petite, and so feminine. Few men could men make her feel like that. It was something that she treasured. It reminded of the way that her uncle Johnny, her mother's brother, used to make her feel.
She always felt so safe and protected around him. That's why it had been so difficult for her to deal with the news that he had suffered a stroke. These days she did everything she could to help him, which included taking him to his physical therapy once a week.
"My name's Thomas," the man said, extending his large, powerful hand. "Not like Clarence Thomas. Don't worry."