by Mary Monroe
“Calm down, my ass. I’ve got a job to do and I can’t do mine if you don’t do yours.” Teri paused and let out a loud breath. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t like to take out my frustrations on you. I just want to finish what I started and get the hell up out of this place.” Teri let out another loud breath, inspected her silk-wrapped nails, and glanced around the spacious office that she spent as much time in as she did her condo near Hollywood.
“That’s better,” Nicole mouthed.
Nicole Mason sat on the edge of her bed in the apartment she shared with her son. With a heavy sigh, she rose and wiggled her plump but firm ass into a pair of black lace panties. “Try the file cabinet behind my desk. The report should be in the top drawer in a green folder,” she said. The panties felt a little too tight, just like almost everything else she owned. Especially the black slip she had on now. She made a mental note to curtail her ongoing relationships with Roscoe’s House of Chicken ’n Waffles, Popeye’s, Marie Callender, and Sara Lee or else she’d have to introduce herself to Jenny Craig and Richard Simmons. “Teri, you know you are my girl, so I know you won’t take this the wrong way…”
Teri responded with an exasperated snort.
“Girlfriend, you need to get a life,” Nicole told her. “You know it and I know it. Everybody else knows it, too.”
“I have a life, thank you. I am on my grind,” Teri reported, as she continued her search. She entered Nicole’s work area, which was right outside her office. She fought her way through an assortment of large, live green plants on the floor that decorated the area like a rain forest. She found the green folder right where Nicole said it would be. With another frown, she returned to her office with the folder and leaned over her desk, glaring at the phone. She sucked in her breath so hard her chest ached, but before she could speak again Nicole’s voice cut into her muddled thoughts.
“Miss Girl, I thought we were supposed to be hanging out tonight. Come on, this is New Year’s Eve and we happen to be in one of the most exciting cities on this planet. And, in case you forgot, Lincoln freed the slaves.”
“I have a job to do, Nicole,” Teri reminded her.
“We all do. But we all have lives outside of our jobs, too,” Nicole said firmly.
“I know, I know. I just need to tweak a few more sentences on this damn report. It won’t take that long. And why are you rushing me? You are not even dressed yet.”
“How would you know that?” Nicole quipped, tugging on the waistband of her panties.
“Because I know you,” Teri remarked. Flipping through the green folder, her eyes got big and a smile formed on her lips. “I found it!” she exclaimed, clutching the missing document to her bosom as if it contained the secrets of the universe. She breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down into her chair, which was so comfortable with its soft black leather and adjustable seat that she didn’t want to move again. “Let the games begin!”
Nicole rose and stood by the side of her bed, which was just as cluttered as the rest of the bedroom. She ignored the clothing and music magazines that she had tossed to the foot of her bed. “Uh-huh. So, now you can—” She was cut off by the annoying buzz of a dial tone. “Hang up on me then, bitch.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m too scared of you.”
Don’t miss the next book in the God series…
GOD AIN’T BLIND
In stores September 2009!
CHAPTER 1
“If you don’t get yourself out of this vehicle and into that motel room and screw that man, I’ll go up in there and do it myself!”
I never expected my best friend to encourage me to have an affair. I always thought that she’d be the main person who would try and talk me out of it. Especially since she and my husband had been like brother and sister for most of their lives. But that was exactly what she was trying to do now. I knew this sister like I knew the back of my hand, so I knew she was not going to stop until I had stepped out of my panties, stretched out on my back, and opened my legs for a man who was not my husband. One of the reasons was that my girl was having an affair herself. I knew that if I got involved in one, she wouldn’t feel so guilty.
I was still strapped in by my seat belt, and I was in no hurry to unfasten it. “I don’t know if I’m ready to cheat on my husband,” I admitted. Despite the words of protest that tumbled out of my mouth and my reluctance, I was not going to reject Rhoda’s orders. I just didn’t want her to know how eager I really was to jump into bed with another man. I liked to mess with her from time to time, just enough to provoke her. It kept our crazy relationship exciting. “I really don’t know if I can do this,” I mumbled for the third time in the last two minutes. I sounded so weak and unconvincing that even I didn’t believe what I was saying. “So stop trying to rush me!” I snapped.
“Rush you? Woman, we’ve been sittin’ here for ten minutes—tick-tock, tick-tock. And you rushed me to drive your horny black ass over here.” Rhoda gave me a disgusted look before she unfastened my seat belt like I was a stubborn two-year-old.
“I know that. I just need to think,” I whimpered.
“You need to think about what?” she demanded, slapping the side of the steering wheel with the palm of her hand.
“I need to think about what I’m doing and why,” I replied, wringing my sweaty hands.
Now that the moment had arrived, I was sitting here acting like a frightened virgin, and it made no damn sense. This had been in the works for weeks. And me—with my weak self—I was just as eager to fuck the man who was awaiting my arrival in the motel room as he was to fuck me. He had made his intentions known the moment he stuck his fingers inside my panties in a restaurant booth the first time I spent time with him in public. I’d wanted to throw him down on that restaurant table and fuck his brains out then. And that was exactly what I planned to do as soon as I got up enough to nerve to take my ass into that motel room.
“Honey, I can tell you why you’re doin’ this. You need it. Your fuckin’, uh, fuck quota is bankrupt.” Rhoda laughed.
“That’s not funny, and I wish you’d stop making jokes about my personal life,” I snapped.
“I’m sorry, girlfriend,” she said, stroking my hair. “All I want is for you to be happy. I’m gettin’ sick of your long, frustrated face, and of the jealous looks I always get from you when I get mine. It’s time for you to get yours, and I am not goin’ to let up until you do. Do you hear me?”
“I sure do hear you, Miss Pimp,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Excuse me?”
“Rhoda, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were getting paid for this. And for the record, I am not jealous of you. You can get that notion out of that head of yours right now. You don’t have a damn thing I’d want.”
“Except a man who knows and wants to take care of my needs. Now you move it. Go on now.” Rhoda clapped her hands together twice like a drill sergeant, bumped her knee against mine, and motioned with her head toward the door on my side. “You go into that room so you can get laid like you’re supposed to be. Shoo!” This time she tapped the side of my leg with the toe of her black leather boot.
I still didn’t move. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing toward the motel entrance from the motel’s parking lot, where we had parked. And I couldn’t stop myself from hoping that the “good loving” that the man in the motel room had promised me was going to be worth my while. Rhoda was right. My fuck quota was bankrupt. I had not had any good loving in a while. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t had any loving period in a while now. I was so hot and horny, I was about ready to explode like a firecracker.
The Do Drop Inn was the kind of motel that people snuck in and out of, in disguise if they were smart. It was a cheap, one-story place in an industrial area off the freeway, with a sign that advertised rates by the hour, cable TV, XXX-rated movies, a heated pool, and vibrating beds.
Last month, during Memorial Day weekend, when a sister from my church was checking in to t
his notorious love nest with her white lover, her husband was checking out with his lover at the same time. All hell broke loose that night. The husband, an avowed racist, seemed more pissed off about his wife having a white lover than he was about her having an affair. Not only did the cops have to be called, but an ambulance, too. The two sisters ended up in the hospital; the husband went to jail. And the only reason that the white man escaped injury was that he had fled the scene before the husband could get his hands on him. It was the kind of scandal that the people in Richland, Ohio, sunk their teeth into. Especially when it involved somebody in the church.
As a member of the Second Baptist Church—even though I attended services only about once a month now—I knew that if I got caught entering or leaving a motel with a man other than the one I was married to, my goose would be cooked alive. My dull husband would die. Not because I’d kill him in self-defense, but because he’d be so shocked and disappointed, he’d probably drop dead. And knowing my mother, she’d probably come after me with a switch. Given all these facts, why the hell was I doing this? If I had an answer to that question, it was hiding somewhere behind my brain.
I shaded my eyes and scanned the parking lot, sliding down into the passenger seat of my girl Rhoda’s SUV each time I thought I saw somebody we knew. “Is that Claudette who owns the beauty shop coming out of the liquor store across the street?” I said, with a gasp.
“Shit! Where?” Rhoda asked, jerking her head around like a puppet. We slid down into our seats at the same time and stayed there for about a minute. Rhoda eased up first, peeping out the side of her window like a burglar. “No, that’s not her. Claudette never looked that hopeless from behind. Whoever that sister is, her ass is draggin’ on the ground like a tail.”
I exhaled and sat back up in my seat. “I just wish Louis had picked some other motel. One with a little more class and one where we didn’t have to worry about running into somebody we know,” I complained, speaking more to myself than to Rhoda.
“What’s wrong with you? This is the only one of the few motels in this hick town that employs people we don’t know. You go to the Moose Motel out on State Street, and I assure you that Sister Nettie Jones, who works her mouth more than she works that vacuum cleaner when she cleans the rooms, will blab so fast, everybody we know will know about your visit before you even check out.” Rhoda let out an exasperated breath, rubbed her nose, and shook her head. I looked away from her. “Lord knows, this is one straight-up, low-level place, though. I wouldn’t bring a dog that I didn’t like here. If Louis was a real man, he’d take you to his place.”
My breath caught in my throat as I whirled around to face Rhoda again.
She leaned to the side and gave me a puzzled look. “What’s wrong now?”
“I’d rather get a whupping than get loose in Louis’s apartment,” I declared.
“Well, other than it bein’ located in a low-rent neighborhood, two doors from the soup kitchen, what’s wrong with Louis’s apartment? Why don’t you do him there?”
“I can’t do that. I’m not the kind of woman who hangs out in a strange man’s apartment,” I answered. When I realized how ridiculous that statement was, we both laughed, but only for a few seconds. I cleared my throat and got serious. “Please don’t mention Louis’s apartment to me again after today unless you have to. I want to keep this thing casual.”
“Well! All I can say is, this man better have somethin’ good between his legs,” Rhoda retorted through clenched teeth. “If he doesn’t, I’ll help you slice it off with a dull knife and feed it to a goat I don’t like. But I still feel that he ought to be ashamed of himself for plannin’ a romantic evenin’ in a dead zone like this,” Rhoda said, looking around the area.
I didn’t like the look on her face, and she didn’t have to say what was on her mind, because I already knew. On one hand, she approved of me committing adultery, but she had a problem with me doing it with a broke-ass man like Louis Baines. But since she’d introduced me to him and did business with his struggling catering service herself, she usually didn’t harp on his financial status that much.
“You know that he is putting most of his money into his business. You are the main one who keeps talking about how you want to see a black business succeed in this town,” I said in Louis’s defense. “I don’t expect him to take me to the Hilton…yet.”
“I know, I know,” Rhoda replied gently, giving me a smile and an apologetic look. “I just wish that he could afford to take you to one of those nice hotels near the airport, like my gentleman friend does for me. Did I ever tell you about that?”
“You’ve told me everything there is to know about you and your lover, Rhoda,” I said, my eyes rolling around in my head like marbles. “Year after year after year…”
“Oh. Well, a real nice hotel makes it seem, uh, less illicit, I guess. I like to be with my sweetie in my house only when I have no choice. Believe it or not, I still have some respect for my husband. It’s the least I can do. He’s a beast, and his dick gets about as hard as a slice of raw bacon these days. But as long as he keeps his nose out of my business and hangs on to that six-figure-amount-a-year job, the only thing I’d leave him for is to go to heaven. Shit.” Rhoda sniffed loudly and tapped my shoulder. “Well, what’s it goin’ to be?” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I’ve got other things to do, you know.”
I couldn’t figure out why, but for some reason, I had to stall a little more. Even though I knew that I was going to go through with my first indiscretion since I got married ten years ago. “I have to think about this some more, Rhoda. I shouldn’t have come here yet. Maybe I should get to know Louis a little better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than I know him now. Other than the fact that he’s the best caterer I’ve ever dealt with, I really don’t know everything that I’d like to know about the man.”
“What do you think sex is for, girl? What better way is there to get to know a man? Look, you know him well enough to do business with him. He wants you. You want him. What else do you need to know? How big his dick is? How long he can keep it hard? Well, there’s only one way for you to find that out.”
Enjoy the following excerpt from Mary Monroe’s
SHE HAD IT COMING
Available now wherever books are sold!
CHAPTER 1
I saw my best friend kill her vicious stepfather on the night of our senior prom. While our classmates were dancing the night away and plotting to do everything we had been told not to do after the prom, I was helping Valerie Proctor hide a dead body in her backyard beneath a lopsided fig tree.
Ezekiel “Zeke” Proctor’s violent death had come as no surprise to me. It happened sixteen years ago but it’s still fresh in my mind, and I know it will be until the day I die, too.
Mr. Zeke had been a fairly good neighbor as far back as I could remember. When he wasn’t too drunk or in a bad mood, he would haul old people and single mothers who didn’t have transportation around in his car. He would lend money, dole it out to people who needed it, and he never asked to be repaid. He would do yard work and other maintenance favors for little or no money. And when he was in a good mood, which was rare, he would host a backyard cookout and invite everybody on our block. However, those events usually ended when he got too drunk and paranoid and decided that everybody was “out to get him.”
When that happened, barbequed ribs, links, and chicken wings ended up on the ground, or stuck to somebody’s hair where he’d thrown them. People had to hop away from the backyard to avoid stepping on glasses that he had broken on purpose. There had not been any cookouts since the time he got mad and shot off his gun in the air because he thought one of the handsome young male guests was plotting to steal his wife. In addition to those lovely social events, he’d also been the stepfather and husband from hell.
Valerie’s mother, Miss Naomi, bruised and bleeding like a stuck pig herself after the last beating that she’d survi
ved a few minutes before the killing, had also witnessed Mr. Zeke’s demise. Like a zombie, she had stood and watched her daughter commit the granddaddy of crimes. Had things turned out differently, Miss Naomi would have been the dead body on the floor that night, because this time her husband had gone too far. He had attempted to strangle her to death. She had his handprints on her neck and broken blood vessels in the whites of her eyes to prove it.
To this day I don’t like to think of what I witnessed as a murder, per se. If that wasn’t a slam dunk case of self-defense, I don’t know what was. But Valerie and her mother didn’t see things that way. They didn’t call the cops like they’d done so many times in the past. That had done no good. If anything, it had only made matters worse. Each time after the cops left, Miss Naomi got another beating. They also didn’t call the good preacher, Reverend Carter, who had told them time and time again, year after year, that “Brother Zeke can’t help hisself; he’s confused” and to be “patient and wait because things like this will work out somehow if y’all turn this over to God.” Well, they’d tried that, too, and God had not intervened.
“None of those motherfuckers helped us when we needed it, now we don’t need their help,” Valerie’s mother said, grinding her teeth as she gave her husband’s corpse one final kick in his side. She attempted to calm her nerves by drinking vodka straight out of the same bottle that he had been nursing from like a hungry baby all day.
Miss Naomi and Valerie buried Mr. Zeke’s vile body in the backyard of the house that Miss Naomi owned on Baylor Street. It was the most attractive residence on the block, not the kind of place that you would expect to host such a gruesome crime. People we all knew got killed in the crack houses in South Central and other rough parts of L.A., not in our quiet little neighborhood in houses like Miss Naomi’s. Directly across the street was the Baylor Street Mt. Zion Baptist Church, which almost everybody on the block attended at some time. Even the late Mr. Zeke….