Nude Awakening II

by Victor L. Martin

  “She say when she comin’ back?”

  Jurnee shook her head. “Why don’t you call her?” she suggested, since she felt Kandi had lied to her.

  “Nah. Ain’t tryin’ to argue with her today.”

  “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “Thanks,” he said, scratching his baldhead. “Um, lemme put some clothes on and start my day.”

  “You going somewhere?”

  “Wasn’t planning to,” he answered. “Just gonna feed my dog, then make breakfast.”

  “Let me cook for you.” She stood, pleased to see his eyes moving over her body. Blushing, she smiled. “Something wrong?”

  Trevon returned her smile. “Umm, don’t get upset, but I was just thinking how—like—you um, sorta favor Jennifer Lopez. But seeing you now, you look more like Paula Abdul.”

  “I hope it’s in her sober state.” Jurnee smiled, doing all that she could to keep her eyes above his waist. Sure, she had seen him naked and sucked his dick, but it was before any feelings were noted between him and Kandi.

  Later, she stood in the kitchen frying bacon and eggs while Trevon took a shower. She bit back her words again on what she had discovered in the bathroom about the upcoming abortion. Things weren’t right. She wasn’t fooled by Kandi’s lie. Deep down she knew her friend had rushed out to visit Martellus. Anger started to consume her. Why do women dog out good men? She could see the love that Trevon held for Kandi, but behind his back he was being played. This placed Jurnee at the crossroads. Tell Trevon the truth, or stay quiet and respect the bond and friendship she had with Kandi?

  ***

  Kandi forced herself to think she was doing the right thing. Sneaking out to see Martellus had her heart twisted. He had spoken the truth earlier about the past they had together. Kandi had met Martellus Hart when she was only nineteen and dancing at the strip club up in Atlanta. Back then she wasn’t up to speed on the game that men played to get inside her. Meeting Martellus was a new adventure for Kandi. For starters, she was drawn to him by the way he carried himself in a professional manner. He was twenty years older and married, but Kandi ignored both and dived heart first into an affair that would span over the next five years.

  Kandi showed no guilt when she entered Martellus’ suite on South Beach. Looking into his brown eyes, she saw the need that drove him to unbutton her blouse.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said, brushing his lips against her ears. “Let me make love to you, Kandi. I’m at the point where I can’t share you anymore.”

  Kandi raised her hands up to his naked waist. He was warm.

  “Touch me, baby. Look at what you’re doing to me.”

  Kandi slid her hands down to grip his solid erection. With her eyes shut, she stroked him slowly. It all felt so right to her.

  “Show me how much you love me,” he said, removing the red bra she wore. “I need to feel those soft warm lips. Please, baby.”

  Kandi pushed him backward until he fell back on the bed. Going down to her knees, she moaned out his name and then slid her tongue up the underside of his swollen flesh. Unable to stop herself, she wrapped her glossy lips around his dick, bobbing up and down at a slow pace while massaginghis balls.

  ***

  “Is it good?” Jurnee asked, standing at the stove. She already knew the answer since Trevon was asking for seconds.

  “Hell yeah! How did you know I like my grits with cheese?”

  She shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  “Hey. Did LaToria tell you about the film we got on Swagga?”

  “Um, no,” she answered, filling a glass with some milk. “Only thing she said about him is that she was upset about him beating the case.”

  “Well, you won’t believe it until you see it. But our boy Swagga has some homo tendencies.”

  “Stop playing!”

  “Nah, for real. It’s the reason he went after LaToria. For some reason he thought she had the film of him with a he-she by the name of Chyna.”

  “And you got the film?”

  “Yep. It’s on my phone.”

  Jurnee looked down at her food.

  “Yeah, you might wanna eat first,” Trevon suggested.

  “Does Swagga know you got it?”

  “Nope.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “Since Christmas.”

  Jurnee reached for the pepper shaker. “What do you plan to do with it? I assume that Swagga doesn’t want it to be made public.”

  “Not sure right now. LaToria don’t think it will do any harm to him. She feels that the public’s view on being gay isn’t the same as it used to be.”

  “She has a point. Look at the gay marriage laws being passed in some states. And I myself can’t dog Swagga, because I’m bisexual myself.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t do it in secret and put others at risk. Swagga on some down low homo thug shit.”

  Jurnee shrugged. “How are things at Amatory?” she asked, moving to a new topic.

  “Good. I went to see Janelle yesterday, and I’m up for five more films. She has my next film being an interracial one with a girl by the name of—”

  “Chelsea Kelliebrew.” Jurnee jumped in.

  “You know her?”

  “Not really. But I did her interview at the office last year. And if Janelle didn’t mention it, doing an interracial film is a good move for your career.”

  “She said the same,” he replied, failing to keep his eyes off her soft line of cleavage.

  After they finished eating, they went outside by the pool. It was now ten minutes past 2 pm.

  “Have you and Kandi come up with a name for the baby?”

  “Nah.” He smiled. “She wants the gender to be a surprise.

  “What are you hoping for?” Jurnee asked, sitting on the pool chair across from Trevon.

  “A girl.” He beamed. “Look, don’t tell LaToria, but I’ma ask her to marry me after the baby is born.”

  “Seriously!” she asked, shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

  Trevon nodded. “I just wanna do right by her and do-”

  His words came to a halt when his smartphone rung. Seeing the call was coming from LaToria, he answered it. Before he spoke, he reminded himself not to trip over any small shit.

  “Hey baby, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she replied tersely.

  Silence. Trevon cleared his throat. “Um, I missed you this morning. You coulda woke me up with a goodbye hug or kiss.”

  “. . . I’m sorry, Trevon.”

  “It’s all good, baby. You know how I don’t like to wake up without you in my arms. And since that didn’t happen, I’ma put it on you when you get back—”

  “Is Jurnee still there?”

  Trevon frowned. “Yeah.”

  “I need to talk to her right quick,” she said, impatiently.

  Trevon again fought within himself not to check LaToria. Biting his words, he handed the smartphone to Jurnee. Trevon stayed close by to listen in on the one-sided conversation. It turned out to be useless. Jurnee was speechless from the words that filled her ear. This drove Trevon over the edge. He was tired of LaToria and her funny style actions. When Jurnee held the phone out, he snatched it back.

  “LaToria, what’s going on with you?” he said, raising his voice.

  “Trevon, I’m sorry,” LaToria cried.

  “Sorry about what, baby? Why are you crying? Better, why aren’t you home with me?”

  “Don’t hate me.”

  Trevon turned from Jurnee. “What is going on with you, baby? You are starting to scare me, okay. Just . . . come home and we’ll talk things out together.”

  A brief spell of silence stood. “Trevon, I’m not coming back home. What we had between us . . . is no more. I’m sorry, and I never meant to hurt—I can’t do it no more.”

  CHAPTER

  Six

  Ain’t This a Bitch?

  Where the fuck this fool at?” Swagga muttered to himself after glan
cing at his icy Rolex for the fifth time in thirty minutes. He sat up in the black leather seat inside Rick’s white BMW 760Li to scan the Fontainebleau Hotel across the busy street. Overlooking the bikini clad women filling the sidewalk, he searched for any sign of Rick. His effort was a waste.

  Becoming annoyed, he yanked the white towel off his dreads. Then he turned to look at the empty key ignition. “Fuck!” he shouted.

  At least the tinted windows were cracked, and it was needed due to the heat. Swagga ignored the beads of sweat on his forehead. He couldn’t step out of the car without taking the risk of being recognized. Sighing, he wondered what in the hell was taking Rick so long. It was only ten minutes past 2 pm, and the ever prompt Rick had arrived on time at noon. Swagga picked up the loaded 9 millimeter that Rick left behind. His sweaty hand squeezed the black polymer grip. Ten more minutes rolled by.

  “I got nineteen in the clip an’ one in the chamber. I’m bustin’ on you fool like my name is anger. Hatin’ on me. Nigga, it’s easy—” Swagga paused in his freestyle when he caught sight of the black couple exiting the hotel. Wide-eyed, he peered through the window thinking his mind was fucking with him. “Now ain’t this some real live bullshit!” Swagga shook his head at the clear view of Kandi in the arms of Martellus. “That greasy, baldheaded, snake ass muthafucka!” Swagga gripped the 9 millimeter tighter at the sight of Martellus all hugged up with Kandi. Swagga’s finger itched at the idea of dumping the clip against Martellus’ smug ass face. As for Kandi, he’d save the one in the chamber for her phat, pretty red ass. His gaze stayed on them up until the valet rolled up in a roofless glossy black Aston Martin DBS. Swagga didn’t have time to assume that Kandi was cheating on Trevon. He saw them just yesterday at his court hearing. Knowing that Trevon was being played eased a crooked grin on Swagga’s face. As for it being a fact that Kandi was dogging Trevon, Swagga had a trick to bring that to the light. When the DBS drove off, Swagga turned his attention toward the packed beach. Flat asses were the thing of the past. Real or fake, Swagga was open off a nice swollen ass. From where he sat he could see two white women sunbathing side by side on their stomachs with their pale, bare, sandy feet facing him. Both were topless, wearing a thin bikini G-string.

  “Damn, them asses phat!” he murmured, knowing his chances were high that he could fuck them both just off his fame and status. Building a taste for the white kind, he figured he could hook up with another groupie that happened to be a cheerleader for the Miami Heat.

  Turning back to the Fontainebleau, he was relieved to see Rick jogging across the street.

  “Damn, bruh! What the fuck took you so long?” Swagga asked when Rick was inside. “Hot as hell up in here!”

  “Shit like this can’t be rushed,” Rick replied, removing his Smith & Wesson .40 from his waist. “Fritz is not a man to rush.”

  “So er’thang good or what?” Swagga asked, hoping against the latter.

  “All we gotta do is go about our biz.” Rick placed the .40 inside the custom built door panel. “Let Fritz do what he do. Trust me on this.”

  Swagga waited to speak while Rick removed his backup piece from a holster strapped under his left pants leg. “What kinda heat is that?”

  Rick held the sub compact black polymer frame pistol near the steering wheel. “It’s a Sig Sauer nine with a 2.9 inch barrel.”

  “Shit small as hell,” Swagga retorted, frowning.

  Rick shrugged. “It holds six rounds, and it’s a major upgrade over the thirty-eight.” Rick nodded at the larger 9 millimeter he left with Swagga. “You done with that?”

  Swagga’s interest in guns ranked at the bottom of his list. Handing the loaded nine back to Rick eased a heavy weight off Swagga’s mind.

  “Ai’ight, where we headed?” Rick asked, pulling from the curb. “If it’s not back to the crib, I’ma need to call the whole team, and plus we need to switch—”

  “Just take me back home ‘cuz I ain’t tryin’ to go through all that shit.”

  “You heard from Kendra?”

  “Nah. And I ain’t gonna call ’er ass!”

  “You should if you want my view.”

  “Yo, I’ve been thinkin’.” Swagga was brushing Rick’s last words off. “Look, while you was up with ole boy. Three rides came by thumpin’ and none of ’em were bangin’ my shit. Them niggas Lil’ Wayne, Future, and Rick Ross are eatin’! Here I am on some bullshit when my ass need to be in the fuckin’ studio!”

  “So get on your grind. Let me handle your safety. You do you and handle it, bruh. Yeah, I don’t always agree with things you do, but I got your back and that’s on my hood.”

  Swagga slid the towel back over his head. “You ain’t seen shit yet! I know I can put this rap game on smash. Wayne nor Ross can see me word fo’ word off the dome!”

  “What up with you going in the Backroom on BET?” Rick asked, constantly checking the rearview mirror for anything suspicious.

  “Harry ‘pose to be workin’ on it,” Swagga replied, trailing his thumb along the fresh crease of his acid-washed Red Monkey jeans. “Yo, can I trust them other niggas you got working wit’ you?”

  “Relax, bruh. All of them are proven.”

  Swagga tried to relax inside the sedan while Rick took the long road home by avoiding I-95 North. They rode in obscurity inside Rick’s BMW, which was needed for today. Running the AC was also needed, even in the month of January.

  “I still need a new whip to replace the Ghost,” Swagga reminded Rick when they reached the city limits for Fort Lauderdale.

  “Yes, still got your eyes on the Panamera?” Rick asked, driving through a green light.

  “Nah. I think the Aston Martin Rapid look betta—matter of fact. Guess who I saw at the Fontainebleau?” Swagga sat up.

  “Um . . . Rihanna?”

  “Fuck no! She ain’t neva’ hit me back, but anyway I saw that nigga, Martellus. I told you about that.”

  “Word?” Rick nodded at hearing the name. Upon taking the job as Swagga’s chief bodyguard, Rick requested a list of names of people that Swagga had beef with or any type of issue. Those names were on Rick’s alert list, and none would ever be within arm’s reach of Swagga, nor would they get on RSVP to any function hosted by Swagga. Rick was aware of all beef that Swagga had, with whom and why.

  “What is he doing down here?” Rick asked.

  “Creepin’ wit’ Kandi, of all people.”

  Rick glanced at Swagga. “Your Kandi?”

  “Bitch don’t belong to me, but yeah, her. I guess she steppin’ out on Trevon.”

  “Want me to see what he’s up to?”

  Swagga cracked his knuckles. “That might be a good move. I know Martellus will do some grimy ass shit, so I ain’t puttin’ shit pass that nigga. What I wanna know is how long he been fuckin’ Kandi?”

  “I’ll look into it and make some calls.”

  “You do that,” Swagga said, narrowing his eyes and looking straight ahead. “’Cause if our boy Fritz come through. I might add Martellus to the menu too.”

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  Moving Forward

  Back down in Coconut Grove, the dead silence frightened Jurnee for Trevon’s safety. For the last ten minutes she stood anxiously at the locked bedroom door.

  “Please make a sound or something,” she begged, her eyes wet from crying. “I know you’re hurting over this mess Kandi has done, and I swear to you I didn’t know anything about this, Trevon.” She knocked. “Please open the door and talk to me, or just talk to me through the door so I’ll know you’re okay. Trevon, please . . . I’m really getting scared out here, so don’t make me look crazy by calling the police to come kick this door down!” She crossed her arms. “I won’t leave until you open this door or say something. C’mon now, Trevon. Please open the door.” Ignoring the coming pain, she banged six times on the door as hard as she could. “I’m calling the police!” she shouted with new tears welling. Just as she pulled up the 911 icon on her touch screen phone
, she heard the lock click. Jurnee froze with her heart jumping. Calming herself, she reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door, taking things in. She stepped inside the bedroom and found Trevon sitting at the foot of the bed with his head down.

  “Why do you care?” he asked, looking up at her with hurt showing on his face.

  Jurnee closed the door. “I’m sorry this has happened to—”

  “What did she say to you?”

  Jurnee closed her eyes. She couldn’t lie to him. “She told me not to try to talk her out of going back to . . . Martellus.”

  “Who the fuck is he!”

  Jurnee opened her eyes. “Kandi met him when she was dancing up in Atlanta, and they started an affair back then. And—”

  “He’s married?”

  “Was,” Jurnee answered.

  “So, she’s been fuckin’ this nigga behind my back since day one!”

  Jurnee couldn’t reply.

  “How the fuck she just up and run off!” he shouted. “Ain’t done nothing to be treated like this and yet—” He paused, turning his head away.

  “I don’t like this, Trevon. You gotta believe me, okay?” Jurnee sympathized.

  “Where are they going?” he asked, looking up.

  “I really don’t know. He has a home up in New York and one in Denver.”

  Trevon shamelessly wiped his eyes. “Oh, the nigga get money, huh?”

  She nodded. “Plenty. He owns a record label, and last year he tried to buy an NBA team.”

  “So she left me for money,” he stated, shaking his head.

  “Trust me, I’m not standing up for her, but I think it’s more than that.”

  Trevon looked around the bedroom. Signs of LaToria were everywhere. A pair of her panties were folded up a top a stack of clean clothes. On the dresser, her perfume and cosmetics reminded him of how she would apply lip gloss in the nude. “This can’t be real,” he muttered.

  “Don’t let this break you.” Jurnee moved across the room and placed a hand on his muscular shoulder.

  “Ain’t—” His words couldn’t be found to express the pain over losing LaToria.

  Jurnee sat down and waited a few seconds before she spoke. “Why was she going to have an abortion?”