It had Tylowe cumming hard, watching the roommate slide her fingers inside her pussy and taking her other finger to rub her clit while panting, groaning, and body stirring.
A few times the roommate had sat on the headboard above Erika and Tylowe, so he could lick her pussy at the same time he was grinding away in Erika’s thick bush from behind. He would pull his dick out just as he was cumming and shoot his thick creamy load on Erika’s ass, and the roommate would cum and squirt simultaneously.
Tylowe had humped Erika’s ass often because of the freaky options. He remembered those, as well as a few other athletic sexual conquests back in the day. He reflected on those moments and felt a thickness stirring in his pants. He needed a drink.
He ordered Erika a drink as she took a seat next to him. She spotted his wedding band.
“Married, huh? It’s been a long time for you. The woman—I think her name was Sharon? I remember you were engaged when you wrote me a letter telling me I couldn’t visit you in Seattle anymore.” Erika laughed. “I always wondered was that a form letter that you sent out and you just changed the name of the recipient. Wow, when I think of it, that was maybe twenty-five years ago. You two have kids?”
Tylowe was wowed how people with no reason to retain certain information often would, even if it was old news.
People would catalog info such as a name or an event, and then recall it when a chance came around.
He looked at her ring finger; she wasn’t wearing one. “Ah, she—Sharon and I didn’t get married. It’s one of those long, strange stories. You remember a dude—Elliot—that I hung out with?”
“Yes, I do remember him, a real piece of work he was. I remember the guys you hung out with. Ayman, the basketball player—anyone who’s in sports knows him, after he won a national title. I remember Sterlin, and his girlfriend, the soon-to-be superstar singer who was screwing everybody, and he was pussy-whipped behind her ass. Oh, then there’s Psalms. So fine, and so dangerous-looking that both men and woman would stay out of his way. And oh yes, Elliot. He was always trying to get me to give him some even though he knew you and I were doing the do. I heard he’s in prison. I remember your friends well.”
“Nice play-by-play. And yes, Elliot was, and is, trouble. He came between me and my dream girl back then, and things went south.” Tylowe didn’t think of that past often, but it still stung at times and his voice showed it. He was almost mumbling.
“But, you do have another dream girl now?” Erika pursed her lip just a bit with a little gleam sparkling in her eyes.
“I have a wife. I did have a daughter by Sharon. My daughter is a grown woman now. My wife has a daughter I raised as my own, so that makes two kids.”
“And this wife is your dream girl?” Erika’s smile was dangerous to a man’s eye. Tylowe looked away in the direction of the mirror behind the liquor shelves.
“Erika, it’s been a long time. What’s going on in your life, and what’s going on that I would run in to you? ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’ ”
“Casablanca! Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. I have not forgotten when we dated, we watched late-night TV together after we were too damn sore to move after making love most of the night.”
It was not Tylowe’s intent to remind her of what were tender moments to her. She loved viewing old black-and-white movies with him after they’d had sex and made each other sore from the physicality.
“Erika, we didn’t date or make love. We fucked!’
“Well, I guess you can put it that way.” She laughed and put her hand gently on his forearm, and he turned to face the club action to help remove her hand.
“So, Erika, tell me what’s going on in your life?”
“Well, I’m retired from the police department here in Vegas, and currently I’m a security analyst for Homeland Security. I’m divorced and have been for almost ten years. Tell every woman you know they should never marry a cop. I married one and know so painfully well. He was an ass who would put his pecker in a rattlesnake hole if he thought it might feel good. He was getting and taking pussy from almost every woman he pulled over. If not, he was screwing every woman who came to Vegas wanting to make it big here and soon found themselves lost and turned out.”
Tylowe moved his tongue around his mouth wishing to be some- place else. He didn’t want to hear a man or woman who was hurting or bitter about old affairs. He did not want to hear a woman scorned.
He had no interest in Erika, other than memories of freaky times. If he’d had some interest in her before, she’d turned him off with her verbal blast of his friends and recounting her ex-husband, for sure.
The one thing Tylowe understood about his present situation with Meeah was she couldn’t be the total blame, and he was sure his wife thought the same of him.
“You know what I have found, Erika? Two people can both have high-ass shit piles of drama, but even if one’s pile is smaller, any amount of shit is a contributing factor to the flushing down of a relationship.”
Tylowe knew if he didn’t cut her off quickly, she would soon be telling him how she did everything for her man, as in she cooked, cleaned, and gave him crazy sex whenever he wanted. The famous line was soon to come: “He wanted for nothing.” He knew that the next man in Erika’s life—and maybe there was one now—would be paying for the sins of another man.
“Tylowe, good men like you are too few and far between. Not like my ex. I did everything for him, took care of the house, and fucked him in every way he wanted and whenever. I was a good woman.”
Tylowe gave her an “I’m sorry to hear that” smile. He did understand that she might have been a great woman. But years later, people have to move on, or continue to live hurting themselves and others.
“Erika, I’m sorry to hear the outcome of your marriage. But hey, how did you happen to come in here tonight? Is this the place to be?”
“You’re meeting Jon Jon and Rufus, from back in the day, right? I talk to Jon Jon’s wife often. She caught him playing around as you know you guys do, so he pays dearly to go anywhere. She doesn’t let him go to the backyard if he doesn’t ask or have a chaperone. So, anyway, she said that he was meeting a Tylowe here.
“ ‘Tylowe?’ I said. I could not pass up an opportunity to see my old beau. And here you are. I hope that don’t trip you out. I’ll move on out when your boys come, and let you guys have some male bonding time.”
“Cool, it’s good to see you, but I need to go outside and make a call to the wife. She is my dream girl, and I want to check in with her.”
“Oh, if she got you locked up, she must be a dream come true.”
“We make the best of what comes our way in life. Hey, Erika, it’s nice to see you after all these years. You’re still looking good. A retired cop, and now working for Homeland Security. That lets me know you are an achiever.
“Seeing old friends is a reminder of our yesteryears. Today, yesterday, and tomorrow come with questions that can only be answered when we pass in the night or when the sun comes up. We all have questions of when, where, and who. Sometimes even history cannot answer questions. There are factors, issues, and events that will always remain unknown. Time erodes some history, and we may never have a chance to cross paths before our time has come and gone, but here we are. It’s been nice, and I know I don’t have to assume about whatever happens.”
“Well, Tylowe, that is something I also remember about you: you and your poetic mind. You were always stimulating with insightful stuff.”
“We find along the way that when faced with our history, it can make our lives complete, or make us keep on keeping on.”
Erika smiled, realizing she may have pushed Tylowe’s button with her tirade about her ex-husband. Maybe it was speaking of Jon Jon’s personal business or her generic and stereotypical opinion of him. Maybe Tylowe had just had his fill. Maybe she didn’t realize anything specific.
“Tylowe, it has been really nic
e seeing you. You do Facebook? Hit me up.”
“My dealership has a Facebook page, All World Motorcycle. Look us up.” Tylowe stood up, too, as she did. He gave her a long hug, as he knew she wanted one. As he passed by her, she brushed her finger over the curve of his ass. He ignored her and kept walking.
“Tylowe, Tylowe . . .wait.” Exasperation permeated Erika’s voice.
She hustled up behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned and faced her, knowing he had heard her calling out to him, but thought he could keep his back turned. His facial expression couldn’t hide his displeasure.
“Tylowe, I know this may sound a bit too forward, but if I don’t put it out there, I’ll regret it. I have a beautiful home in the hills with a private outdoor hot tub. I can cook you anything you want. No strings attached. Tylowe, you can fly in and out of here all you want, and we have some good ol’-fashioned, nasty-ass sex the way we used to. I’m clean, and I can save all this just for you.” Erika ran her hands down from her breasts on down to her hips, and slapped her ass lightly. “If you can get here and take care of this like maybe once a month…this can be all yours.”
Tylowe smiled, enjoying Erika’s comedy show. For many men this was the dream hook-up. Maybe, if he were single, he might entertain the proposition presented to him. Tylowe smiled even wider knowing it would never be with her, not after all she had said. Nobody needs a hook-up booty call filled with drama. Tylowe looked at her with his smile disappearing. No man needs some pussy from a woman who thinks she is so good, it will make up for the drama that comes along with it. I’m sure no woman wants that from a man swinging his dick as a badge, using that as the reason she’ll put up with his ignorant shit, either.
“Erika, I’m flattered and insulted all in one. Look . . .I have a huge, moral condom over my mind and heart. Although I’m far from perfect, my mind does toe the line and remember the good times, but—nah, I can’t go there with you. Have a nice life, and I mean that in the best way possible.”
Tylowe turned and walked away. This time no finger brush against his ass, and he heard no call of his name, and no tap on the shoulder.
• • •
Outside in the parking lot, Tylowe could see the corner where Tupac Shakur was shot in 1996. Life goes on if people choose for it to move forward. Tylowe thought on that while looking at the corner. Tupac had been shot dead, and life still didn’t stop.
A sprawling gas station had been built, and the bright lights of hotels, cars, and traffic lights blinked and flashed like heartbeats and life flashing before your eyes. The type of guns that killed a young poet had killed thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of young men and women since then, and life had kept on moving.
Tylowe went back to an earlier thought he’d had before leaving his hotel. What if I get hurt, or even die? The trauma Meeah and my daughters would experience…Life for them would change forever in ways . . .
He pulled his phone out and scrolled to his wife’s number; her face appeared on the screen, and he looked at her for a while before he pushed the “call” button. It went to voicemail, so he left a message. “Hey, baby, I wanted to say goodnight, sleep tight. I’m looking forward to seeing you in a day or two, and we’ll talk until there are no more heartbeats to sustain us.”
Tylowe turned his phone to vibrate after he left his message for Meeah. He stood in the night Vegas air. He looked to the corner where Tupac once lived and died, and thought of the choices in women he could have made. He moved away from the traffic noise and turned his Android phone’s voice recorder on:
I read you, and you make me aware like no other
I see others, and they turn my head, but
I feel you, and don’t even have to open my eyes to know where you are
In my crawlspace you keep the nightmares away
My care taker of dreams
You’re always that dream
I feel your squeeze
Don’t ever let go
You’re always that kiss
Don’t stop kissing me in to the high I live
You’re my hip-bone connection
A love maker supreme
Your breast to my tongue
I am well nourished
You’re in my sleep
Always my peace
I awake: you put me on a platform
I’m your pride
You show it beyond words
I beam because of your wanting my success
Your embrace, says it all.
Tylowe had just turned the recorder off and put his phone in his pocket when he heard, “Hey, Tylowe, what’s going on, man? Sorry we’re a bit late.”
Rufus, his old college buddy, walked up and bear-hugged Tylowe. Then Jon Jon grabbed Tylowe as if he were going to wrestle him down to the ground.
“Yeah, man, sorry, man, we’re late. My wife is a bit of a pain in the ass, over some mess from years ago. Hey, we’re here now. Let’s go have some beers and talk about old times. Oh, by the way, did that crazy-ass Erika Corwin try to corner you like a wild animal, and eat your leg off? For some reason, she goes through men like a slot machine eats money at the airport.”
“Fellows, it’s about the choices we make in life. Going to have that beer would be a great choice right now. It’s great to see you guys.”
Later on, while Jon Jon went to the men’s room, Rufus revealed Jon Jon’s one-night stand with Erika years ago, and he had brought home the crabs. He’d never told his wife whom he had slept with, so she didn’t trust who he’s out with. Erika Corwin had acted like a best friend to Jon Jon’s wife before, and still did, long after she had stabbed her in the back.
Tylowe smiled in Jon Jon’s direction when they made eye contact, thinking, The choices we make can change our life forever; I made a good choice tonight.
CHAPTER 16
In the Kitchen
His eyes couldn’t focus on the clock’s red LCD numbers. Sunlight, too much air-conditioning, and a full bladder tortured him.
A knock on the door disturbed Tylowe even more. To open the door or to pee first was not the choice his mind wanted to handle right out of his sleep.
“Hold on; I’ll be there in a moment.” Tylowe sat up, stood, and made his way to the bathroom. After he finished, he exited the bathroom with a hot towel on his face and sat on his bed, next to Suzie Q.
He didn’t even think to ask how she’d gotten in. Between Psalms and Suzie, he knew not to waste his breath asking how this or how that.
In a major change from her eccentric outfit from yesterday, Suzie Q wore tan painter pants and a coat. She looked like the maintenance man with a carpenter’s belt attached.
“Let’s get going, mate.”
“Q, it is five a.m.—what the hell?”
“We must eat, go over details, and make the drive.”
“Q, I know your ass was out all night. Now you come dancing your ass in here like you on go-go juice.”
“Strong coffee, mate. You were in by twelve-thirty, so you should be ready to go. Come on, mate: hit the shower and let’s make a move.”
“How do you know what time I came in? Never mind. Give me a half-hour; I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
When Tylowe walked out of the shower, he was dabbing his face with a towel. He saw protection, a gun on the bed. He felt his lungs expand, but his heart slowed instead of raced.
After breakfast at a buffet, Tylowe and Suzie Q both wondered how king crab and shrimp sold cheaper at a Las Vegas buffet than they could buy by the pound in Seattle, the capital of fresh seafood.
Instead of the classic Jag, Suzie Q’s valet drove up from the parking garage with an Infiniti JX. The SUV seated seven, and the windows were fully blacked out. The license plates—federal-issued plates courtesy of the former Secretary of State. The plan was if they found the kids, they would drive back to Seattle: an eighteen-hour drive, covering 1,166 miles.
The location of the kids, hopefully, was in West Las Vegas. The historic neighborhood
where black people once lived is where they were headed. It was the only place blacks could live during segregation, when they cleaned rooms, cooked in the kitchens, and dumped the ashtrays.
Suzie Q spoke to the GPS, and the screen displayed where they were and where they were going, northwest of the “Spaghetti Bowl” interchange of I-15 and U.S. 95, the Westside.
Tylowe had read up on the neighborhood, and found the area had its own version of the Las Vegas Strip, called the Black Strip. It was the home of the Moulin Rouge Casino and Hotel, the first integrated hotel casino in Las Vegas. Now the area had fallen into disrepair and turned into a deserted, ghost town ghetto.
They drove past the ruins of Moulin Rouge. Tylowe pictured Dorothy Dandridge and her perfect beauty stepping out of a pink Cadillac and walking under the marquee with her name above. Dorothy Dandridge was his great-aunt whom he had never met. Tylowe imagined Harry Belafonte walking alongside the black starlet—the same starlet who couldn’t stay in most hotels along the main strip. He remembered reading that a hotel had drained their swimming pool after the negro Dorothy had swum in their pool.
They found the address they had for the sister of former President Jean-Pierre Frêche of Martinique. They drove past the house. Although it was newer than most of the other houses, it was not out of place. Some yards had sparse grass, and others had well-kept rock gardens. Dogs on chains acted as doorbells. Cars with chrome wheels the size of marching drums sat parked on dirt driveways with the doors two feet off the ground, or higher.
Suzie Q and Tylowe both knew where guns were in the homes of hoods, but that none should be aimed at them. Bad boys and girls would flush or run with any drugs they might have, rather than want to shoot it out with a black-on-black SUV with tinted windows and federal government license plates. If one of those vehicles was around, many more couldn’t be far away—that would be the train of thought running through this neighborhood. Twice they drove around the block, coming back through a different way twenty minutes later. They wanted to make it look as if they were leaving from wherever they might have been in the neighborhood. No way to know if danger was near. The purpose for being there was to save kids who might be in danger.
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