Close Quarters: A Novel (Zane Presents)

by Ray, Shamara

  “No. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gerry likes to have two creative minds working on the larger projects. He says it yields a more abundant harvest. When he told me I would be working with you, I knew he had picked the right man for the job.”

  I smirked. “I couldn’t agree with you more. We are about to shake up the videogame advertising market.”

  I signaled the waiter over to the table and ordered a bottle of champagne. We perused the menu while waiting. The waiter returned with a bottle of Perrier-Jouët. He filled our champagne flutes and left us to decide on our meals.

  “A toast is in order.” Kai lifted her flute and waited for me to say something.

  I raised my glass to her and smiled. “Let the games begin.”

  • • •

  We both had the broiled lobster for dinner. Kai was eating crème brulee with fresh raspberries for dessert. I was drinking a beer. We abandoned our work discussion and talked about whether the Yankees would make the World Series this year. Kai’s father was a season-ticket holder and she invited me to a game the next week. I couldn’t say no—the seats were behind home plate.

  Kai dipped her spoon in her dessert and brought it to her mouth. She licked the spoon while she eyed me. The way she flicked the tip of her tongue in the creamy custard . . . I poured the remaining champagne in her glass and handed it to her. She finished it off with one tip of the glass.

  She leaned forward, lips close to my ear. I looked down and caught a glimpse of cleavage straining against her lace bra.

  Kai’s lips brushed my earlobe as she whispered, “Would you like to continue this conversation at my place?”

  No need to ask me twice. I paid the bill and then escorted Kai outside. She linked her arm through mine as we walked to the corner to catch a cab. I had barely closed the door when Kai grabbed the back of my head and pulled me to her. Our lips collided. The smell of champagne, perfume and cologne filled the space between us.

  “Kai . . . ” I pulled away from her, grabbing ahold of her shoulders to keep her at bay. “The driver needs your address.”

  She turned her head and saw the cab driver peering through the divider. His voyeuristic grin made Kai straighten up and back away from me. “West Seventy-Second Street. Take Columbus Avenue.”

  The driver nodded and then turned around to do his job. I stared at Kai to let her know what I had in mind for the evening. She licked her lips. Great, we were on the same page. We rode in silence. I didn’t know what Kai was thinking, but I was wondering if the two condoms in my wallet would be enough. I could tell she was a freak. I figured her to be a two-rounder. The first round hot and wild, the second, a bit more subdued but a lot more kinky.

  The cab pulled in front of Kai’s apartment complex. I handed the driver the fare plus a ten-dollar tip. It was the first time I was glad a city cabdriver drove like a speeding lunatic. Kai grabbed my hand, luring me inside her building. The doorman put down his newspaper as we entered the lobby and greeted Kai by her first name. We blazed past him and boarded the elevator. It stopped on the fifth floor and what appeared to be six and a half feet of linebacker stepped on. Kai moved closer to me to make room for Big Boy. Call it male ego, but I placed my arm around Kai’s waist. She didn’t disappoint. Kai melted into me, resting her head on my shoulder. Big Boy pressed the button for his floor and then glowered at us like we were the offensive line and he was anticipating our rush. I rubbed my hand down Kai’s back and rested it on her ass.

  The doors opened on the eighth floor. I gave dude a smug nod and led Kai off the elevator. I turned back in time to catch Big Boy winking at her as the doors closed. I started back toward the elevator, but Kai yanked my arm and steered me down the hall to her apartment.

  She unlocked the door and I followed her inside. I waited in the foyer while she hung up her jacket. She took me by the hand and walked into the living room. The only light in the room came through the open blinds. Kai kicked off her heels and began to unbutton her shirt. I loosened my tie. She posed before me, shirt open, breasts on display. I tugged on her shirt, drawing her closer to me. Kai yanked off my tie, jerked my jacket down my arms, and almost popped a couple of buttons opening my shirt. I spun her around, unzipped her skirt, and let it drop to the carpet. She bent over in front of me in silky panties with garters and stockings. I gripped her hips and rubbed against her. She bumped her ass into my hardness. Then she turned around, faced me and reached for my belt. My pants joined her skirt on the floor. Kai pushed me back on the sofa and straddled me. She had a condom in hand and was ripping open the packet. I should have cared where it was stashed and how she retrieved it so quickly, but I didn’t. I took it from her and rolled it on my partner waving through the opening of my boxers. Kai moved her panties to the side and slid down on my dick. I shoved deep inside of her. She clutched the back of the sofa while she bounced up and down, poppin’ it while she was droppin’ it. I palmed her ass, guiding her, controlling the tempo.

  Kai met each stroke with a force of her own. She threw her head back, digging fingernails into my shoulders, panting louder with each thrust. I knew she was about to come. I grabbed her hips and moved her body back and forth, muscles in my arms flexing. I felt her wetness saturate the front of my boxers. I gave her more of what she wanted, provided her with what she had been seeking since stepping into my office that morning. I pumped until she couldn’t stand anymore and then I let go. Kai slumped forward. Our sweat-soaked shirts clung to our backs. I lifted Kai off of me. She climbed from my lap and reclined next to me on the sofa.

  “Like I said earlier,” Kai stated breathlessly, “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MELINA

  Giselle prescribed a plan of action for how I should handle Ellis. Just like a doctor—always seeking to cure a problem. We walked down 137th Street in Harlem to Charlee’s brownstone for brunch. Striver’s Row was always beautiful in the fall. Tree-lined streets, with golden leaves dancing in the breeze, provided the perfect backdrop for memorable moments.

  Giselle Kensington and Charlee Garrett were my two best friends. My anchors. I went to college in search of sisterhood and found it in them. I had friends in high school, the kind that would smile in your face and stab you in the back before you had the chance to completely turn around. The same girls that I’d invite to my house to hang would talk about me like a dog. I heard it all. I thought I was cute because I had long hair. It wasn’t my real hair; I was wearing a weave. I was stuck-up. I used brown eyeliner to put fake freckles across my nose. My freckles were ugly. I was a boyfriend stealer. I couldn’t keep a boyfriend. There was no end to the torment I experienced at the hand of the green-eyed monster.

  I went away to Cornell University, jaded and leery of friendship between women. I downplayed my looks. Never wore my hair down. No makeup. Sweats and sneakers all the time. Then I met Giselle and Charlee—when a sista had no sisters—they had embraced me. We lived in the same dorm and met during our first dorm meeting. Charlee was in the back, making wisecracks about the resident advisor. Giselle and I were sitting next to her, providing the laugh track. After the meeting ended, we sat in the lounge and talked for hours. Charlee was from Harlem, an uptown girl. Giselle resided in an exclusive section of Connecticut. I was from the suburbs of Maryland. We couldn’t have been more different, but we formed the perfect triad. A tight clique. We ate together, studied together and partied together. For the first time, I had drama-free friendship. With them, I was comfortable enough to be myself, and after months of prodding, I shed the sweats, let my hair down and rediscovered makeup. They met the old Melina and welcomed her with open arms.

  • • •

  Giselle and I traipsed up the stairs to Charlee’s apartment. Music thudded behind the door. Giselle went to knock for the third time when the door finally flew open. Charlee greeted us with Biggie lyrics and mimosas.

  “Were y’a
ll out there a long time?” Charlee asked, bouncing to “One More Chance.”

  “Long enough to hear you try to spit the first verse,” I said, laughing.

  Giselle glided into the living room in her camel-colored leather pants, matching boots and a cream pashmina shawl. Her curly hair was blown straight and styled in a long bob, one side tucked behind her ear. “As long as you’re around, Christopher Wallace’s legacy will always be alive.”

  Charlee started dancing in front of Giselle, smiling so hard her one dimple was showing. “Girl, you are so uptight . . .Christopher Wallace . . . Hurry up and drink that mimosa because I plan to keep your glass filled. I’m gonna have you calling him Biggie by the end of the day.”

  I joined in on the teasing. “Charlee, I think Dr. Kensington is stuck in work mode.”

  “Don’t worry . . . ” Charlee raised her glass. “These will loosen her right up.”

  “Let’s not forget, I’m the one that showed you two how to party back in the day,” Giselle said, setting her drink on the coffee table.

  “But we’re going to remind you how it’s done,” Charlee answered.

  “Fine. Remind me with some current music. Put on some Drake or Beyonce or something,” Giselle fired back.

  Charlee told us to come in the kitchen, so she could finish preparing brunch. Once a month we had brunch together, rotating between houses. Giselle and I sat on the stools at the island. Charlee shredded cheese for the quiche she was making.

  Giselle dipped her hand in the bowl and snatched a pinch of cheese. Charlee playfully swatted her away.

  “How’s Ellis doing?” Charlee asked.

  Giselle spoke up before I had the chance to. “He could be better. I was just telling Melina that she needs to take a break from that relationship.”

  Charlee stopped shredding. “How come the only one in this room with no man is always giving advice?”

  I chuckled. “You know she has a sugar daddy tucked away somewhere. Probably someone old and rich. Giselle does her dirt on the down low.”

  “That’s because a lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “Well, you might not have been tellin’ back in the day, but the Ques and Kappas sure were,” Charlee said.

  “Now you know that’s a damn lie. I was a virgin in college.”

  Charlee and I both looked at her and then burst out laughing.

  “I was . . . ” Giselle slapped the counter with her hand. “For the majority of freshman year.”

  “You certainly made up for it over the next three,” I said.

  “And all through medical school,” Charlee added.

  Giselle had to laugh. She could not deny that she had a past full of promiscuity. Her first time had been with a senior on the football team. He turned her out—showed her things she never knew were possible to do to the human body. He graduated and left her in pursuit of a partner that could match his sexual prowess. According to Giselle, no one ever came close. “I do believe the question posed was about Ellis, not me,” Giselle said.

  “True.” I recanted to Charlee what I had already told Giselle on our way to brunch. “I spent the entire week at his house and barely saw him.”

  Charlee pulled dishes from the cabinet. “The man is running a multi-billion-dollar company. Cut him some slack.”

  “Since when are you so understanding?” I asked.

  “I can relate to the pressures of work interfering with your personal life. I meet so many men that are impressed that I’m the head of my own entertainment management and consulting business. I manage some of the hottest music acts in the industry, but as soon as they discover firsthand that I travel nonstop and I’m not home every day to tend to their needs, they have a problem with what I do for a living.”

  Charlee was a little spitfire. She had known that she wanted to work in the music industry since she was a teen. She started out on the street team at Jive Records in high school, handing out flyers for upcoming albums and artist appearances. In college, she interned at various record labels doing grunt work but making contacts along the way. She graduated from college and took a job as an assistant to a product manager, moved up to junior product manager, got promoted to product manager and then head of the urban music department. It was common knowledge amongst her peers not to be fooled by her petite stature and dimpled smile. Though many meeting her for the first time were deceived—misled by her jeans and T-shirts, cropped haircut and colorful vocabulary—behind those eyes, lurked a shrewd businesswoman that was all about deal making or, if necessary, career breaking. A few years ago, she left the label and formed her own company.

  I sighed. “I know, I know. That’s why I don’t complain to Ellis about his work. I knew what I was getting myself into when we started dating. It’s just that . . .I mean . . .there are other things.”

  Charlee stopped sautéing the home fries in the pan and regarded me with wide eyes. “Things like what?”

  I looked from her to Giselle. “The other day, Malik said—”

  “Malik?” Giselle frowned. “Anything Malik had to say should be taken with a grain of salt.”

  “He didn’t say anything that I wasn’t already thinking. I’m not sure anymore if I belong with someone like Ellis. His mother hates me. And we . . .we . . . ”

  Charlee sucked her teeth. “Spit it out already.”

  “We lack passion in our relationship.”

  “Is that all?” Charlee resumed cooking the potatoes.

  Giselle interjected. “I can see how that may develop into a problem.”

  Charlee turned, waving her spatula at us. “I don’t. First of all, his mother is a rich bitch with a chip on her shoulder. She probably doesn’t think Melina is good enough for her precious son and that’s all the more reason for Melina to stay with him. Secondly, if Melina isn’t getting passion in her relationship, she can find it somewhere else. There are plenty of men out there that can rock her world.”

  “Charlee, please. Why is that always your answer to every problem . . .find another man? What she needs to do is find a way to spice things up with the man she has.”

  My head volleyed back and forth between them. There are times when it’s best to deal with your own problems—this was one of them. “Ladies, let’s not ruin our brunch with discussions of men. We can talk about this later, after we’ve eaten.”

  I set the table while Charlee arranged the food on serving platters. We took our seats at the table, joined hands and Giselle blessed the food. Quiche, bacon, sausage, home fries, sliced tomatoes and toast.

  Charlee told us about the antics of her newest client while we ate. I always liked to hear what quandaries the celebrities were getting themselves into. She knew we wouldn’t divulge the information she was feeding us, but every time before she told a story, she started with the same clause: “I’m telling you this in the strictest of confidence; you cannot tell a soul.” Today’s tale was centered around a gay rapper and his transsexual lover. I was firing question after question off, trying to ascertain how Charlee knew what she said she knew.

  Giselle wasn’t paying us any mind. “Can you pass me some more bacon?” I handed her the platter. “Any home fries left?”

  Charlee passed her the bowl of potatoes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat this much. When’s the last time you had a meal?”

  “It does seem like you’ve put on a few pounds, but you wear it well,” I said.

  Giselle was five-foot-nine and slender, but had the prerequisite junk in the trunk.

  Giselle absentmindedly moved food around her plate. “I missed dinner last night. My hours at the hospital are so frantic, I rarely eat a good meal. Besides, you know I love it when you cook.”

  Giselle piled more food on her plate. I thought there was no way she’d finish it all. I was wrong. She ate that and then some. Charlee and I didn’t have room for cheesecake and coffee, but Giselle was on her second slice.

  I helped Charlee clean the kitchen while Giselle lingered over her d
essert. Our Connecticut Queen wasn’t big on domestic duties. Giselle grew up with maids and nannies; housework wasn’t her forte. The only girl out of four children, she enjoyed a privileged life. Her grandfather made his fortune in the publishing industry and her father inherited the business and all of his money. Giselle and her brother, Xavier, were the only two that had respectable careers. Xavier was a lawyer. The other two were living off of their trust funds. Giselle owned a home in Greenwich and a condo in Manhattan. We had spent many weekends in the infamous “Gold Coast,” basking in Giselle’s world. I’d since grown used to it, but when I went to her parents’ home for the first time while we were in college, I was astounded. The acres of land, the stables, the pond, the servants . . .the mansion. I was blown away. Giselle’s house paled in comparison to the home she grew up in, but it was extravagant in its own right. Five bedrooms, four baths, a formal dining room and many other amenities I was missing in my two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. I never knew black people lived such lavish lifestyles until I met Giselle, then I met Ellis. His estate surpassed anything I had ever set foot upon. Ellis’s home had a ballroom, theater, full service spa, tennis and basketball courts, two pools and a game room.

  We moved our little soiree to the living room. Charlee refreshed my mimosa. Giselle declined. Her glass was still full from the first round.

  “All right, you’ve stalled long enough.” Charlee planted herself on the sofa arm, bare feet resting on the cushion. “What are you gonna do about Ellis?”

  “I didn’t know I needed to do anything.”

  “You come over here whining about not having passion.”

  “I don’t recall whining. Giselle, was I whining?”

  “I’m staying out of this.”

  “Charlee, I love Ellis. Sometimes, I just wish things were a little different between us; that’s all. I’m aware that no relationship is perfect, but I’d say our relationship is damn near perfect.”

  Charlee raised her eyebrows. “Now that’s the best backpedaling I’ve ever heard.”