by Lena Scott
“Don’t know what the hell you are talking about, mister, but look here, what happened back there with me and Omar was a mistake. I hope you got your money back. I’m sure you did, or you wouldn’t know I was here. I’m sure he told you I probably ran home.” Tanqueray pointed the newly acquired shoe toward the rubble down the street.
“Your home?” he asked.
“Yeah, well, nobody was home.” Tanqueray thought sadly about the house. “Anway, Omar tricked you, because I’m not a hooker, mister,” Tanqueray said, pleading to be understood. “I’m just me . . . Tanquerary . . . girl outta luck.”
The man smiled broadly. “Come,” he said with an outstretched hand. “Get in, Ms. Tanqueray,” he offered warmly.
“Where you gonna take me?”
“Wherever you wanna go. I was drawn to this street for comfort, and if you don’t have anyone waiting, I’d like to find that comfort in time spent with you.”
Glancing out the corner of her eye, she noticed brother-man moving in on her. “Can you step off me?”
“Cecil, please . . .” the white man said. “You’re intimidating her.”
“Yeah, Cee’s, you all up on me.” She was talking smart now, fronting.
He scowled and headed back to the car.
Tanqueray followed. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?
While riding in the limo, she thought, A limo? Me? She smiled widely as she watched the familiar parts of the city come into view. She could get used to this, but still, it wasn’t gonna come free, and she just wasn’t sure she was up to paying the price. She’d even lied about where the driver was to drop her off. She knew her girl Kashawna would be home.
Since shacking up with her boyfriend and moving to his place, Kashawna had become a serious homebody, cooking and shit. Made Tanqueray kinda nauseous, but whatever . . .
As they approached Kashawna and her man’s apartment building, she told Cecil, “You can drop me here.”
“I thought you stayed in the P,” he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Just happy to still have his job, his voice was nice and friendly now.
“What choo know about the P?” she said, catching his eye.
Cecil was cool. He was just doing his job. At least the Negro had gotten out of the hood. Sure, he was nothing more than a glorified delivery man, picking up and delivering dark meat to his boss, who apparently had a fetish for black women by the way he was staring at her and smiling. Kinda freaky, but still, it wasn’t the worst thing brotherman could be doing for a living.
“I’m staying at a friend’s place. I didn’t know my mama’s house was, um, in that condition. I need a minute,” she said, avoiding mention of her sisters. No sense in putting all her business out there.
“I understand,” Mr. Sinclair said softly.
The driver pulled over.
“Well, it’s been real,” Tanqueray began before reaching for the door.
Mr. Sinclair reached over and touched her hand softly. “Please, Ms. Tanqueray . . .” He paused, as if tasting the name.
Tanqueray smiled again.
“Let me put you up in a hotel for the night. You can think on soft sheets and feather pillows. You can bathe in scented bubbles and do the things you beautiful women like to do.” Shyly, he looked at her from the top of his eyes, but with a little naughty boy in him.
Tanqueray looked again at the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Would brotherman just let her walk into something dangerous? She glanced at Mr. Sinclair. Could this sweet-looking man be dangerous?
“Please,” Mr. Sinclair begged.
Tanqueray sat back in the seat. “I’m not a prostitute.”
Sinclair
It had been days since the house went up, and Sinclair wanted nothing more than to avoid that end of the street. But working for Finest made that impossible. He’d been coming by every day and taking her back to Malcolm’s mama’s house, so she could dub the bootleg movies for him. His mama had no idea of the illegal activities going on right under her roof.
Copying the movies was fun and cool, and she had a feeling she was going to make a grip of money. They worked while Malcolm’s mother was at work. Sinclair didn’t even want to trip with her again, and she could tell Malcolm didn’t either. It had been more than embarrassing, his mother thinking that they were getting it on in the bathroom like that. Besides, Malcolm wasn’t moving her.
She was feeling Finest, for real. Maybe it was the danger, but there was something about him that just set her on fire. Of course he’d not given her the time of day, and that stank, but she was going to figure out how to change all that.
“I’ma use the money I make to fix my mama’s house,” she told Malcolm, who sat on the bed while she burned the copies on his computer. “So where is Finest?” She tried to sound casual, not even looking in his direction. “I thought he was just going out for a minute.”
“Why you wanna know?” Malcolm, looking at his nails, sucked his teeth.
She glanced at him and smiled. She couldn’t help it. Just the thought of Finest did that to her.
“He don’t want choo,” Malcolm said then, sounding snippy and unusually cold.
“Why you say that? I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was just asking. He’s way older than me.”
“Well, he don’t want choo, so quit asking.”
Just then the door to the bedroom opened, and Finest walked in. He immediately noticed the distance between Sinclair at the computer and Malcolm. He grinned. “Okay.” He moved up behind Sinclair and gently massaged her shoulders.
His strong hands felt so good, Sinclair almost jumped out of the seat.
“How you doing, babe?” he asked, talking close to her ear.
She cocked her head slightly to the side, hoping to feel his full lips on her neck. “I’m doing just great. This is so fun.”
“Well, glad you think that, because I’ma be promotin’ you soon here to movie-filmer.”
“That’s what I do,” Malcolm said. “I film the movies! What the fuck is going on? Why y’all punking me out like that?”
“Boy, I’m not punkin’ your ass. I’m promotin’ you too. You ’bout to ride wit’ me.”
At that announcement, Sinclair thought Malcolm would soil himself, the way his eyes darted and widened with excitement. “Really, wow! What’s . . . what?”
“So-an’-so, with his faded ass, as you know ended up in the hospital. He pro’ly ain’t even gone make it, with his sorry ass.”
Finest was cold and direct, but he seemed tired tonight, and wasn’t as cool and smooth as he usually was.
Sinclair was a little taken aback. “What else did the doctor say?” she asked, her naivety and concern coming through loud and clear.
“Who knows or cares? Dig?” Finest turned his attention back to Malcolm, who was standing now, ready to take on his new duties.
Finest reached under his heavy jersey to present Malcolm with a gun, to which Malcolm all but gasped in excitement. Sinclair did too. She hadn’t seen one close up like this before. She knew Deb had one. So far as she knew, either the cops had it now, or it was buried under the heap that sat untouched at the end of the block. Her mind ran over that heap briefly but quickly came back to the now.
“Now don’t shoot yo’ dumb-ass self,” Finest said, rubbing on Sinclair’s shoulders, giving her long tresses a playful tug. “Dumb ass.”
“I got choo dumb.” Malcolm pointed the gun at Finest, who immediately bitch-slapped him, sending the gun flying and hitting the closet door loudly.
Sinclair covered her mouth to keep in the gasp.
“You bet not be wrestlin’ up in there!” Malcolm’s mother called.
Sinclair could tell Malcolm wasn’t aware she was home. Quickly he picked up the gun and shoved it under his mattress. He was angry but hid it well. Sinclair could tell he was tossed with emotions. He wanted to fight Finest, but more so, wanted to keep that gun. Sinclair could tell.
“No, Mama. I dropped
some stuff,” he lied, cutting Finest a look that could kill.
“Don’t ever pull no gun on me again, even an empty one, muthafuck,” Finest said in a low voice. He looked down at his expensive watch and then pulled Sinclair up to her feet. “Let’s go, baby. I need to get you home before yo’ big sister pitches another fit.”
The day before, Unique had just plain ol’ gone off. She was talking to Sinclair about Curtis, of course. Finest had showed up and was honking the horn.
Sinclair looked down onto the street. Her heart was racing. She had to go. Cutting Unique short, she said, “Curtis is a punk. He ain’t no good. You need to get him up from around your kids.”
“Who you think you’re talking to?” Unique replied.
Finest honked the horn again.
“You. I gotta go.” Sinclair tore out of the apartment, not realizing Unique was on her tail. All the way down in that elevator, Unique went on and on about some nonsense about fitting in, and acceptance, and being just as good as she and Tanqueray.
Yeah, yeah, Sinclair thought.
When they reached Finest’s vehicle, Unique said, “And who is this nigga here?” she snapped, her hand on her hip.
“Excuse me?” Finest said, showing her no respect.
“Don’t talk to me that way. I oughta call the cops on you. You ain’t nothin’ but a lowlife.”
“Oh my God! Unique, stop it! You gonna make me lose my job.” Sinclair ran around and got in the passenger seat.
“Job? What kinda job this nigga got for you?” She glared at Finest. “You trying her out . . . you a pimp. You got my sister doing things for you!”
Finest rolled up the window.
“Let’s go,” Sinclair told him. “She’s trippin’.”
“Unique ain’t my mama.”
“Yeah, I know, but she does have the key to the do’.” Finest chuckled.
Sinclair laughed louder than intended before noticing Malcolm grimacing.
The ride home with Finest was comfortable. He was planning to drop her off a little ways from the door. Unique had already stated her opinions about him, and so there was no need to start all that drama by having him pulling up out front. Unique always felt she knew everything about the type of men who would do this or that. Funny, she didn’t seem to know how to identify any good ones for herself.
Curtis hadn’t been around since that afternoon when he had that confrontation with Marquis. Sinclair wasn’t impressed by that . . . grown-ass man being run off by a child. But who was she to comment on that, since, tonight, Finest seemed to be running scared of Unique by dropping her off in secret? Maybe he just had a lot on his mind.
Just then, Finest reached over and squeezed her thigh, sending sharp jets up into the pit of her stomach. He didn’t look at her but ground his teeth in deep thought, turning corners as he headed to Unique’s place.
Slowly she pulled his hand into hers and intertwined their fingers.
He looked at her and smiled. “What choo know about this, little girl?” he asked playfully, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her fingers.
“I know . . . I know I like you.”
“You shouldn’t tell a grown man shit like that, unless you know what time it is. And to be truthful, I don’t think you do.”
“I do,” she lied.
Finest chuckled. “No, you don’t.” He slid his fingers from hers as he turned the corner that ended their ride, and pulled over to the curb.
She climbed out but stood with the door open, looking at him. He glanced at his watch and smiled. Her heart was about to explode. She liked Finest and wanted him to like her. She wanted him to be the one. He was so rugged. She’d done nothing but dream about his fine ass, dreams that had her waking up hot, wet, sticky, and stank. Oh yeah, she knew what time it was. It was time to take kitty for a walk.
On impulse she jumped back in the SUV and kissed him, allowing his tongue to investigate her willing innocence, allowing him to run his hand down the front of her thin top and squeeze and twist on the hardening nipple that jumped up under her bra.
Pulling back from him, she could have sworn his eyes were still closed. Just the thought that her kiss may have made him feel good was enough.
Finest glanced at his watch again. “Look, baby, it’s Friday night, and I got places to be. I’ll see you here tomorrow. I’m not coming up to the door again, so you be here at ten sharp, okay.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, playfully saluting him.
Finest chuckled.
Sinclair, as if true love was really in the air, hummed her favorite Anita Baker song all the way to Unique’s place.
Tanqueray
The driver dropped Tanqueray at an apartment complex around the corner from Unique’s place. She wasn’t ready to let either of them know where to find her again.
Mr. Sinclair was a nice old dude, and she’d had a wonderful time. He’d gotten them a suite in the Hyatt downtown San Francisco, fed her well, and talked his heart out. She didn’t have to stroke his ego or touch his balls, and his jokes were truly funny.
He’d had the dress “martinized” at the hotel cleaners, but still it didn’t look all that great. He wanted to take her shopping, but she didn’t want to be indebted. They’d spent the day together lounging around and talking at the hotel. He was a very interesting man, and never once did he touch her or ask her to do anything weird. Well, he did watch her take her bath and seemed to enjoy that very much. But so did she, so what the hell.
She slept like a log in the big bed alone, while he slept in the other room of that huge suite. It was all kinda weird, actually. He’d even given her a couple of hundred bucks for her time, which was good, considering Omar wasn’t gonna give her a dime of what was in that envelope. She was tempted to ask Mr. Sinclair how much it was, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back there anyway.
Stepping from the limo, she hurried inside the apartment building, catching the door as a woman was leaving. She had no idea who lived in this building, she just wanted to make sure the limo was out of sight before she started for her sister’s place. Good time or not, she’d made up her mind that she really didn’t want to see Mr. Sinclair again but decided to hold on to his card, in case she’d changed her mind, which she was fairly sure she wouldn’t.
Tanqueray stepped from the building, still wearing those painful heels, and made her way to Unique’s place, which wasn’t far away. Just then, she noticed a huge SUV coming her way. It seemed to be slowing up, so she attempted to quicken her pace in the painful shoes.
From the driver’s window, she heard a familiar voice say, “Sweet as suga.”
“Finest?” She stepped off the curb and headed toward the SUV. His smile warmed her heart. Maybe it was the night spent with that nice old man who’d demanded nothing from her that made her excited to see Finest, someone she’d given herself to willingly. Who could know? She climbed into the SUV with him and kissed him.
“Where you on your way to? A party?”
“Nowhere.”
Finest looked her over. She was clearly dressed for a party. “You out slumming or—”
Tanqueray knew this boy wouldn’t know a ruined original if he saw one. “No, I was just getting home,” she lied. “I don’t live where you came on Tuesday. That’s where my friend Shantel stays.”
“Ah, so you live in that building?” he said, looking over at the building she had just come out of.
“Yeah. I was just getting home. I party hard, you know. I was thinking I’d grab some waffles at the Waffle House instead of turning in.” She chuckled, hoping he hadn’t seen her step out before realizing it was her.
“I see. Well, um, how about we party a little bit? You got any more of that blow?”
“No, but I know where to get some.”
“Tell you what . . . let me go make a quick run, and I’ll be right back to pick you up. What’s your number?” he said, pulling out a pen.
Tanqueray had left her cell phone at Omar’
s, but with the money Mr. Sinclair had given her, she was planning on picking up another one tomorrow. She gave him her number. Why not? Maybe Omar would answer it and get a surprise that she landed on her feet—with another man. She still wanted to believe that she meant more than a piece of meat to him.
“But, look here. I change my mind on the waffles. Take me to my girl’s house and then come get me from there.”
“Whatever,” he said, agreeing quickly.
When she got to her high school friend Kashawna’s place, she hopped out and went inside the building. She knew Kashawna was probably still at work in Cupertino, and the commute was murder this time of day. But that was fine too. She’d just wait outside for Finest to return. She’d give him an hour.
Moving outside the building Tanqueray thought about her mother’s house. What the hell happened? She’d blocked it all out of her mind while with Mr. Sinclair, not wanting to talk to him about it. He was a stranger, after all. But now, with this time on her hands, it all came back to her. Drive-by? What kind of drive-by takes out an entire house like that? And why was that house a target? What had Debonair done? She needed to get to Unique’s place to see what was what.
The hour was up, and as she stood to leave, Finest came barreling around the corner, as if sensing her impatience.
“Wow! Boy, you are, like, reading my mind,” she said, chuckling at his good timing again.
“Why you still in that dress?”
She grinned. The truth would be stranger than any lie she could tell. “My friend wasn’t home.”
“Ohhh, baby, you sat out there waiting for me. Aww, that’s really sweet.”
“Yeah, I got cho sweet. Now let’s get go get crunk.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling you on that,” he said, sliding his hand up her leg.
She knew what he had on his mind, and was torn on what she wanted more, the blow, the dick, or to get to Unique’s and talk about something horrible. It was a toss-up for sure.