Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

  Misty stood fuming for a few seconds before stomping away.

  Sailor had some explaining to do.

  All total, Misty had counted four buff men, and she was willing to bet that there were other hotties roaming about.

  What the hell was going on in Uncle Marshall’s house? How had that flaming fag attracted all those young, hot men? Maybe it would make a little more sense if Uncle Marshall was living in a Playboy-type mansion like the real Hef. But ol’ boy wasn’t stacking like that. His crib looked alright from the outside—it was spacious and everything—but it wasn’t a damn mansion.

  Every man she glimpsed was unusually good looking. All of them had spectacular bodies. If she had those hunks working for her, her pockets would be fat.

  Driving fast, she could hardly think straight. Her thoughts shifted from steamy group sex to stacking money. She imagined lining up those rippling studs and giving each one a test run.

  If the man passed inspection, she’d send him out to her high-priority clients, charging them triple their usual fee. Those hot boys were worth a damn fortune.

  What the hell were they doing wasting their time hanging with freaky Uncle Marshall?

  Sailor had better come correct and start talking. Misty wanted to know how a haggard homosexual had the wherewithal to accessorize his home with hunky, male eye candy.

  She burst inside her apartment and slammed the door hard.

  On the floor doing crunches, Sailor stopped mid-crunch and stared at Misty in confusion.

  Her hot gaze pierced his questioning eyes.

  He wiped away perspiration with the towel that lay beside him. “Who pissed you off?” There was nervousness in his voice.

  “You’ll never guess.”

  He held out his hands. “I give up,” he said with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the tension in the room.

  “Uncle Marshall. I paid him a visit…trying to get your things. He refused. He’s not a very nice man.”

  “He’s okay. He’s a stickler for rules and keeping the guys disciplined.”

  “About the guys…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wanna explain? First of all, you never mentioned that Uncle Marshall was a flaming fag. Second, you didn’t tell me that the dude’s crib is the hangout for hot boys. What’s going on over there?”

  “I never questioned Uncle Marshall about his sexuality. It’s not my business. To me, he’s only a friend. I don’t know whether he’s gay or not.”

  “Stop playing dumb, Sailor. You know that mufucka’s flaming.”

  Sailor dropped his head. “I really don’t know,” he insisted.

  “Yeah, aiight. So why were you and all those other hot-to-death boys hanging around that old, mothballs-in-his-clothes-wearing pervert?”

  Sailor frowned at Misty’s derisive description of Uncle Marshall. “Uncle Marshall’s not a pervert. He helps young men get into the modeling field.”

  “That’s a bunch of crap.”

  “Seriously, Uncle Marshall was a former male model here in the States, but mainly in Europe.”

  “Uh-huh,” Misty said doubtfully. She held up her hand. “Okay, fuck all that. Where did that ol’ head find all those good-looking men with fabulous bodies?”

  “Most of them are from Caring Cottage.”

  “You’re kidding me? Do you mean to tell me that all I have to do is hang out at that homeless shelter and I can grip me up a gang of fine-ass dick slingers?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well, spit it out. How could you keep that kind of information from me? You’ve been watching me busting my ass, tryna make major moves with only two damn dick slingers. Why ain’t you open your mouth and say something?”

  “What was I supposed to say?”

  “You should have pointed me in the direction of Uncle Marshall’s house. My operation could use a few more good men. That faggot done scooped up every pretty nigga that has ever stepped foot in Philly.”

  “None of us guys understood how to get our bodies in condition until we moved into Uncle Marshall’s place. He’s like a mentor to young men. All he asks is that you make yourself look your very best.”

  “Oh, really now. What kind of commitment?”

  “A commitment to train our bodies to exhaustion…to fuel it with only healthy food and to shun a mediocre existence as if it were a disease…to strive for a life of excellence.”

  As Misty absorbed Sailor’s explanation, it was clear that he’d been brainwashed by that lustful queen. Sailor sounded like he was reciting a mission statement or a pledge of allegiance or some shit. Sprouting off words that were put in his head by that freak.

  She looked at Sailor with a narrowed eye. “Your body’s tight. Where did you fall short?”

  “Uh…I didn’t fall short. I followed all the rules.”

  “If you followed all the rules, how did you wind owing that creep six hundred dollars?”

  “That’s the figure he came up with. I probably owe him much more than that.”

  Aggravated by what sounded like sheer stupidity, Misty grimaced as she spat, “How do you figure that? And why are you defending that sleaze-bag thief?”

  “Uncle Marshall’s not a thief. I can’t say anything bad about him. He helped me out when I didn’t have a friend in the world.”

  “So what happened to the friendship? Why’d he put you out on your ass?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m all ears,” she said, taking a seat. Impatient fingers combed through her hair while she waited for Sailor to pour his heart out. She was willing to endure listening to Sailor’s boring story, hoping to glean some information that would put her on the right track to scooping up all the hard-bodied men inside Uncle Marshall’s house.

  It was an exciting thought. Uncle Marshall had enough in-house manpower to give Misty’s business a big boost.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sailor told Misty that he’d ended up in Philly while working for a traveling sales crew. Trying to raise money for college, he’d left home to work for a company that had advertised in his local newspaper. Within hours of being hired, he was on the road, told that he could make a fortune if he joined the traveling sales team that was staffed with teens and young adults who peddled cleaning products outside of malls, on busy thoroughfares, and some even went door-to-door…desperate to earn their commission.

  Knocking on doors in the ’hood made Sailor an easy target. Robbed of his inventory and money, the company fired him, leaving him stranded in Philadelphia.

  “Boy, it’s obvious that you don’t know anything about the ’hood.”

  “Yeah, having a gun pointed at me was the scariest situation in my entire life.”

  “You’re lucky you came out of that situation with your life,” Misty told him, shaking her head at his naiveté. “I know some niggas that woulda pumped some slugs in your dome and left your brains splattered on the sidewalk just for the hell of it.”

  Sailor shuddered at the visual. “With no money and no place to go, I was lucky to get into the Caring Cottage. They offered housing and job-search training.”

  “So what happened with that?”

  “Uh…I met Uncle Marshall. One day while I was shooting hoops in the park, he approached me. He gave me his card. Told me that he was in the fashion industry and that with my face and physique, I could earn a million a year. He said he could get me in, but I needed to work on my upper body and abs.”

  “That ol’ buzzard got game. He be hanging out in the park leering at young niggas.”

  “He’s a pretty sincere guy. He searches in the park because that’s where he can find raw talent.”

  “I bet.” She rolled her eyes. “Is the park near that shelter?”

  “Yeah, the park is a couple blocks away. A lot of the guys from Caring Cottage hang out in the park during free time.” Her mind started putting together a plan to sell a dream to some of those youth at the Caring Cottage. At least the dream she was selling had som
e validity.

  “Uncle Marshall’s a crafty ol’ queen. Queenie got good game…telling desperate youth that he can give them modeling careers.”

  “He’s not lying,” Sailor defended. “He showed me pictures of him in magazines—”

  “Get outta here…ain’t nobody hiring that old fool to model anywhere.”

  “Uh-huh. He has tons of magazines with him on the cover—”

  “Oh yeah? What magazine? Geriatric Times?” Misty scoffed.

  “No, pictures of him were inside the pages of Ebony and Jet. And Essence. Lots of others. He had cover shots on a few foreign magazines. He was an international model. A long time ago. He had a very lucrative modeling career and he said he’s still well-connected.”

  “So he says. I bet those magazines he posed for are older than dirt.”

  Sailor chuckled. “Yeah, they were pretty old. But he’s working behind the scenes now.”

  Sailor was so gullible, it was a disgraceful shame.

  “Uncle Marshall has photography skills as well. He did many photo shoots with guys he believed had bodies that were camera-ready.”

  Misty raised a brow. “Did he get anyone a modeling job?”

  “No. Not yet. None of the guys are ready. Every one is still training…strengthening their bodies. Some have advanced to working on their portfolios.”

  “Did you start working on your portfolio?” Misty’s mind was racing, thinking that any photos the pervert had taken of Sailor would be a good temporary marketing tool for her business. Once she had her money right, she’d spice things up and shoot racy pictures that would be downloaded to her site. It won’t be long now!

  Sailor blushed. “Me? No. I was the newest guy in the house.”

  “You look camera-ready to me.” Misty imagined taking a picture of Sailor while he jacked off in the shower. Steamy!

  “My time would have come. I would have gotten a photo session.” He lowered his head. “But Uncle Marshall asked me to leave.”

  “Hmm. What kind of beef did you have with ol’ Queenie? Why’d he kick you out?”

  “It was a sort of punishment. Uncle Marshall wanted me to experience the stresses of the outside world, hoping I would see how easy I had it at his place.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You told me all that. Now tell me exactly what you did to get Queenie’s feathers ruffled.”

  Unable to meet Misty’s eye, Sailor looked away.

  “What happened?”

  “One day when Uncle Marshall was checking to see if I was camera-ready—”

  “What did that involve?”

  “Well…he’d look me over. Nude. And sort of…you know…do a muscle check.”

  “A muscle check?”

  “Feeling my muscles, testing the bulk.”

  “He was getting cheap thrills, huh?”

  “It creeped me out at first, but I got used to it. And it was for my benefit that my muscle toning was right.”

  Misty wore a sneaky grin. “Did he feel up your love muscle?” Her eyes zoomed in on his crotch.

  “No!”

  “Well, what the fuck happened? Stop beating around the bush.”

  “After a muscle check, he asked me for a friendship kiss.”

  “Fucking pervert. What’s a damn friendship kiss?”

  “A kiss on the lips. But no tongue.”

  Smiling knowingly, Misty shook her head. “Did you go for it?”

  “No, I recoiled. His feelings were hurt. Then he got angry.”

  “I bet Uncle Freaky threw a hissy fit. That lil’ kiss would have led to him wanting to slobber on your dick.”

  “I don’t think so. He just wanted a kiss. Despite all the boys he has in his house, I think he’s lonely.”

  “Greedy is more like it. That ol’ pervert has been doing a lot more than friendship kissing up in that dip. Good thing I got my hands on you before Uncle Freaky turned you out.”

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do?”

  “Trying! You’re already turned out. But at least I pay you. What did he do except feel you up and fill your head with pipe dreams?”

  “I don’t want to do this work forever, Misty. I still plan on going to college.”

  “I know. But in the meantime…while you’re stacking your college fund, I need you to put me on with those other dudes inside Uncle Freaky’s house.”

  “I don’t think you can do it. They enjoy all the perks that Uncle Marshall provides.”

  “Such as?”

  “Free food. Everyone has a laptop. Only two to a bedroom. At the Caring Cottage, there were six of us sharing a dorm.”

  “But he’s not giving those guys financial independence. That’s where I come in the picture. Now give me the scoop. How many dudes live in that crib? What are their names? When do they go shoot hoops?”

  “Never. Not anymore. Uncle Marshall doesn’t like the guys associating with thugs or any girls who could use a fake pregnancy to ruin our careers. He doesn’t want to risk the chance of any trifling behavior rubbing off on his boys.” Sailor smiled embarrassedly. “He refers to all of us guys as his boys.”

  “Mmm-hmm. I see.” Uncle Freaky has control issues.

  “He’s looking out for everyone’s well-being.”

  “He brainwashed you, Sailor. He was using all of you…keeping all that male eye candy for his damn self. If he could really get you some work, he’d be earning money off of at least one of the guys. Now tell me how I can get those houseboys. I can do more for them than Uncle Freaky can. That bullshit he’s talking ain’t nothing but a pipe dream.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Turned out Uncle Marshall had a vice: the daily lottery. According to Sailor, Uncle Marshall selected two of his houseguests to go play his lottery numbers. Sailor said the two guys would show up at Best Check Cashing at approximately four-fifteen.

  There was no available parking near the check-cashing place, and Misty had parked a block away. Refusing to stand around in the sun waiting, Misty cooled off inside a cheap shoe store, while Sailor was keeping watch outside on busy Chelten Avenue.

  Sailor popped inside the shoe store. “Lennox and Izell are coming down the street!”

  Misty yanked off the sandal she was trying on. Tossing it inside the box, she jumped up and pushed her feet back into her Coach sneakers.

  “Do you want the sandals you tried on?” the sales girl asked.

  “I don’t wear cheap shit,” Misty snarled as she ran out of the shoe store.

  Outside, Sailor pointed out two hunks who were heading in their direction. Misty recognized one of them; the dark chocolate brother that she’d seen him through the window doing pushups. The other one was a lighter shade of brown with short, russet-colored locs. Both men were hot to death, showing off their triceps with sleeveless shirts.

  Misty’s twitching coochie was frothing at the mouth and going into convulsions.

  “Sailor! Whassup, dude?” the dark chocolate hottie said as they approached.

  “We been worried about you, man,” the other hunk added, brows furrowed.

  “I’m doing alright.” Grinning, Sailor was obviously glad to see his old housemates.

  Misty elbowed Sailor. “Introduce us.”

  “Oh, yeah. I want you guys to meet Misty. I’m staying at her place.” Pointing at his two friends, Sailor turned to Misty and said, “That’s Izell and Lennox.”

  “Hi,” Lennox said.

  Remembering how he looked shirtless, Misty had her eyes glued to Izell’s broad shirt.

  “’Sup, Misty?” Izell said, darting an eye at Sailor that suggested approval of Sailor’s taste in women.

  Misty was feeling Izell. She could tell that he had a little bit of thug in him. Envisioning all the money she could make off of the brawny pair, Misty graced them with a beautiful smile. “I’m good.”

  “Good seeing you, Sailor,” Izell said. “Glad you aiight.”

  “Yeah, we have to do the lottery thing and then get back for our evening trainin
g,” Lennox added.

  “Are you going to give up on modeling, man?” Lennox inquired.

  Sailor nodded. “I’m not cut out for that. I’m working hard, trying to get my money together so I can get in school in the fall.”

  “Where are you working?” There was pity in Lennox’s eyes, like he expected to hear that he was cleaning toilets in a public restroom.

  “He works for me,” Misty cut in. “Easy work with good pay.”

  “Good for you, Sailor. Glad to hear it. We have to play Uncle Marshall’s numbers. Take care of yourself, man,” Lennox said, unwilling to take the bait.

  Sailor’s friends are as corny as he is. Nothing ’hood about either of them.

  “Aren’t you two curious? Wouldn’t you like to get paid some serious dough?” It was difficult for Misty to maintain her smile. With two potential meal tickets trying to slip out of her grip, she was beyond irritated.

  “Not interested. We’re in training, getting ready—”

  “To make it big in the fashion industry,” Misty interrupted.

  “That’s right,” Lennox said. “A couple more shoots and my portfolio will be ready.”

  Sailor slapped Lennox’s hand. “That’s great. Congrats, man.”

  They were there to pull Lennox and Izell, so why was Sailor slapping his hand? She glowered at Sailor.

  There was a smug look on her face as she asked, “So how are you getting money in the meantime?”

  “Our needs are met,” Izell piped in.

  Damn! Uncle Freaky must be giving up a lot more than some friendly kisses to have these dudes hanging around his homo ass for free.

  “Wouldn’t you like to do better than having your needs met?” She unsnapped her clutch bag, revealing a pile of one hundred dollar bills. It was money she’d acquired from Troy’s and Sailor’s sex labor. “I can make sure you keep cash in your pocket while you’re waiting for your next close-up.”

  Instead of breaking his neck to play Uncle Freaky’s number, Izell lingered. Apparently, the sight of Misty’s thick stack had Izell’s wheels spinning. “What’s the job and how much does it pay?”