by Peter Mack
Maybe she wasn't the one to marry. Maybe he was not the type to get married at all. He considered his motivation for getting married on the way to the after-hours lounge to meet Misty. She said that the man Candi used to date would probably show up and she'd point him out.
Maybe he wanted to get married because mom really liked Coretta and would love nothing more than to see her youngest child settle down with a good woman. Maybe it was because Coretta represented the last virgin in Los Angeles.
And he could be sure that she was pure. Maybe it was because she came from a good family with money. Maybe it was because he caught the Holy Ghost while attending church with her and perhaps this was God's way of saying that she was the one for him; who could go against that?
The large white building gleamed under the moonlight as Stone made the quick left on Centinela just north of Slauson. The dead-end street glittered with the jewelry dangling from eager necks and chrome of parked cars. Slow moving men and women, most hard faced, others smiling, moved towards the dimly lit entrance near the middle of the two-story white-watched warehouse.
In none of these reasons for marrying Coretta was love. This occurred to him as he found a parking spot that could give him an easy exit. The only other building on this short street was a hospital administration office. Most parked in the lot of the rear of this quiet structure.
"Wassup Stone! What brings you out this way?" asked the burly man at the door, his bald head gleaming under the dim lightbulb. He waved Stone to the front of the line.
"What it do, Bruce? See you still in command." Stone was aware of the curious stares directed in his direction. No doubt questioning why he got special privileges. He always knew from experience that these same eyes had traveled with him from the time he exited the big bodied BMW squatted on 24” Davin rims.
"Yeah, you know the business. Go on in. It's some fine girls in there," Bruce said with a wink before turning back to the line of eager visitors. His face turned blank once again as he waved a pair of sharply dressed men forward.
Stone entered a bright foyer. Before him was a small room where a man wearing a tight black suit that identified him as security.
"Step this way young blood," said the buff man just inside the door.
"You law enforcement?" he asked once Stone stepped into the room. Along the walls were lockers, some with yellow tags hanging from the locks. A long table stood in the center of the room.
"Naw, Bru," Stone replied, causing the tight-shirted man to look more closely. His eyes dropped to the diamond encrusted pendant peeking between the opening of his black leather jacket. The words "Live Rich Die Ready" were raised in blue diamonds around the rose-gold star and crescent.
"You Bru affiliated?" the man asked, a new respect in his voice.
"Maybe," Stone replied evasively, causing a wry grin on the security man's chiseled face.
"Right. I hear you," he said, nodding with some private communication.
"You strapped?" he wanted to know.
"Yep."
The man nodded again, deciding that he would let Stone keep his gun.
"Go on in. Have a good time."
"Right on," Stone said, laying his fist out for dap.
That's good business, Stone thought to himself as he exited the small security room and climbed the short stairway into the main room.
The privileges of being BRU affiliated was showing itself in the most unexpected places. He stepped into a large space dominated by a pool table. Hustlers lounged around this attraction, paired off in twos or threes discussing women, business, murder or a combination of the three.
Stone remembered now how Coretta chastised him for being a loner. She would show concern for his safety when he went out alone at night. Being alone never bothered Stone. He'd put enough dicks in the dirt to know that it's better to do dirt solo. Fear was not part of his bone structure.
Scantily clad women spilled from a far doorway, making their way to a dimly lit bar along the far left wall. Here, the women met up with sophisticated gentlemen who received them in tailored suits and gold trimmed smiles. The faint music of Plies seeped from the doorway, following these sexy women from a place of mystery.
Stone stepped through the cigar smoke filled billiard room into another, larger room that was lined with chairs, where men received lap dances from the near-naked women.
In the center of the room a small circle of men gathered. They held flashlights high in the air. Stone stepped to the edge of this congregation and peered over one man's shoulder. On the floor was a woman masturbating with both hands, one in her pussy while the other finger in her ass. She was encouraged with dropped one-dollar bills and calls of "deeper" and "more"; she obliged with a strained face and tension filled gyrations.
It was hard to see how the men who murdered Candi would be found here. There was another floor upstairs and what looked to be a basement. Stone stood at a narrow stairway that led both ways; up and down.
Below, a light shone unto a bald man standing watch over what Stone felt was not worth seeing; maybe a dominatrix whipping a rope bound man.
Upstairs, a red velvet door was the backdrop for a slim man in a black security suit. He looked bored. Stone wondered if he was late. Everyone seemed to have found the place they wanted to be in this building. There wasn't much traffic on this stairwell.
Behind him, just outside the stairwell landing, was a chair against the wall that held the weight of two people; they gasped and whispered encouragement for money and sex to each other.
"Hi, sweetie. Need some company?" a seductive voice asked.
A pale white woman sidled up next to him on this small landing. She smelled like fresh lilacs. Stone reasoned that she must have just gotten here because she lacked the sheen on her that the other women had from working the room.
Her blonde hair hung in two twisted braids, tied at the end (over her large breasts) with red polka dot ribbons. Her buxom frame was caped with a sheer red négligée. No panties. No bra.
"Naw. I'm cool," he responded. "What's down there?" he asked with a nudge of his chin.
"Oh," she swooned, batting her large silver eyes. "There is a ring down there. The loser gets whammed," she said, making a motion of one fist slamming into her open palm.
"What?"
She smiled wickedly, her teeth white and straight. "Two men fight. The loser gets whammed," she said, making her eyes widen in an effort to get him to comprehend.
“Women like to watch. Maybe that's not for you. How about upstairs?" she suggested.
"What's up there?"
She cocked her head to him, smiling as if to a child. "You've never been here, have you?"
"Nope"
"Well, upstairs might be more your flavor. There's several rooms for fetishes. Would you like me to escort you?" Her invitation lacked any sexual innuendo.
"That's cool," he replied, allowing her to link her arm through his.
She smiled to him when she brushed against the holstered gun under his leather coat.
Stone liked the feel of her. She had an innocence about her that he liked. As they climbed the stairs the door opened, spilling red light onto the stairway. A couple emerged arm in arm, laughing together.
"My name is Sasha," she said beside him, looking to him in the dim red light.
"Stone Sweetwater," he replied, stealing a look at her and discovering she was more beautiful than he'd originally estimated. He wanted to know more about her for some reason. They stepped to the side of the stairway to allow the couple to pass, pressing into each other intimately.
This was going to be a challenge, Stone thought to himself as he and Sasha exchanged an intimate look when the couple passed. She smiled to him as he led the way up the stairs. The security man held the door for them.
"You have a beautiful name,” Sasha said as the door was closed behind them. Before them were beaded archways, both leading to narrow passageways deep into the bowels of fetish-ville.
"Which wa
y is safe?" he asked, looking to Sasha. She lifted a long manicured finger to the passageway at their right."
"Let's try this way first. We’ll loop around and end up back here… If we don't detour," she added with a sly grin and wink.
"Yeah, right," he responded, hoping he didn't see Misty in one of these fetish rooms.
They entered the dim hallway. Further down were other couples who stopped to watch a show behind a glass window. The first window Stone and Sasha stepped to showed a woman squatting over a man's face. He lapped at her pussy while she shoved a dildo into his ass.
"Maybe too much for you," Sasha suggested when Stone showed his displeasure. "If that grosses you out then you better not go downstairs," she added.
"Is Sasha your real name?" he asked as they approached another window.
"Is Sweetwater yours?" she asked.
Before them through a window, a fat man in diapers sat on a small stool. He gulped at the stream of milk squirting from the large breasts of a naked woman. Stone laughed.
"Glad to see you laugh. Most people find this repulsive," Sasha said.
As they walked further on Stone assured her that his name was real. Between the glass windows were small doors. Stone wondered if this was what she meant by a detour.
"My real name is Sarah Rubin. I just moved here from Ohio," she said as they came before another window.
Here, a white man with a long dick slammed into a shapely black woman's pussy. Her body shivered as he held her waist, pounding from the back, while she leaned over a chair.
Stone watched with interest. He'd never been a fan of porn and often heard of how white men took advantage of black women in the industry. The white man's eyes were closed tightly as he pounded away. The woman was looking at Stone, smiling gleefully.
"How long have you been here?" he asked, stepping away from the window. He felt himself begin to stir in his jeans.
"About six months. I dance at The Strip on LaBrea."
Stone was silent, wondering what the next window would show.
"And what about you? What do you do during the day?" Sasha asked.
They were alone in the hallway. There were other couples who were viewing with them, but had slipped through the small doorways to participate in the fetishes. It was Stone who noticed that they were by themselves.
"Where did the other people go?" he wanted to know, looking back down the dimly lit hall.
Sasha smiled mysteriously up at him. Stone liked her generous smile with fleshy lips. She nodded towards the small door between the windows.
"So those people were actually out here?"
"Yep. They switch up. Mostly it's the men who slip through. The women go to get them back when they are done."
"Oh," Stone said, finding this experience like walking through a rose garden. He nearly felt as if he were on a date. "I don't do much all day."
"You do a lot of something with that diamond necklace and the gun," she stated.
Stone looked to her so he could see what was in her eyes. She smiled innocently up at him. He imagined that she would be some kind of trophy wife.
"What do you do when you're not dancing?" he asked.
"I'm a sophomore at USC." There was some measure of mischievous pride in her voice.
"Seriously?"
She nodded and suddenly he saw a woman he'd suspected all along. They'd come to the end of the hallway and were about to make the turn down the other when he saw someone very familiar, but couldn't quite place the face. He knew that he'd never seen her undressed in this way.
Chapter Seven
Serena would not let Stone hand her off to Lillian for the drive to school. She'd pleaded with him in her brand new voice of confidence. Stone could not resist the young charm of a growing girl. He really didn't feel like getting up. He cried out to Serena from under the covers to let Lillian take her this morning.
When Serena wanted to know why he was so tired he could not tell her that he was out really late watching sex shows. He could not say it was because a beautiful white woman seduced him with an evening of conversation. He could not say that it began at a place where naked women strolled about and ended at a beachfront mansion in Malibu.
So, he'd gotten up, all the while reminiscing on his night with Sasha, or Sarah, as he came to call her by the end of the evening. She was no longer Sasha after she covered her body and transformed herself into a pristine woman of virtuous appeal.
Maybe it was the way she held firm in the face of meeting Heather and Ebony; or it could have been the way the two women reacted to her; whatever the case, Stone felt some kind of way about her by the time they’d made their circuit around the sex show behind glass. Her being naked beneath the sheer négligée took nothing away from her poise. She was not cheapened by her appearance.
Stone listened to Serena serenade him with a new song she'd written, allowing her the space in his brain to seek confirmation of her singing talents. Stone's genuine smile was for both his young charge's innocent enthusiasm and the evening he'd spent with Sasha.
It was her idea to leave the after-hours lounge. She quickly assured Stone that she did not mean anything sexual.
Stone agreed to leave with Sasha. He didn't find Misty and doubted that he would. He was quite intrigued with finding Ebony and Heather together. They made an interesting combination. Both seemed to be aspiring to something else while reaching to the bottom to get there. It just didn't seem possible to get diamonds from copper.
It should have been no surprise to Stone that Sasha was the daughter of wealthy parents who owned an oceanfront mansion in Malibu. He’d asked her straight up if bringing strange men home was something she did regularly. She answered that he wasn't strange at all.
Stone thought about that even now as he stretched and yawned under the warmth of the high bed. He'd come back home and climbed back into bed. Not even Lillian's playful charms could interrupt his sleep. He heard her soft whispers meant to disturb him, turning her sweet voice into a lullaby.
She’d finally given up, pulling on his ears before chastising him for staying out so late. He'd fallen into a much-needed deep sleep despite the morning sun steadily rising over his body.
You're not strange at all, he remembered Sasha saying as he checked the time on his blue faced diamond bezel Rolex. Noon. That's good business, he mumbled as he stood to relieve himself.
It was easy to call her Sasha even after knowing that her real name wass Sarah Rubin. Sasha seemed to cover all of who she was without taking or adding anything artificial. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue as they conversed under the moonlight, her glass fronted residence behind them further up the sand shore.
She never did make it clear why she felt he was not so strange to her, but what she did make clear was that there was something special about him that would be revealed shortly. This had grown his curiosity.
He loved her laughter. She'd thrown her head back, her milky neck shining under the moon, when he questioned her conspiracy.
You're in good hands, she'd responded. And he believed her. She wasn't so strange to him either. There was something very familiar about her in the way she gravitated to him.
The twinkle in her silver eyes hinted at some common bond between them. She seemed to know his aspirations and his motivation. In her, after a night of conversation, Stone got a feel for her boss confidence and some affiliation that secured and nurtured her in the world.
Yeah. Seeing her again would be nice. The intimacy was not sexual. She was more like a kindred spirit. When he’d asked her why she was at the after-hours lounge, she'd responded that it was some sort of education for her. There was nothing she did not want to experience in life. And if not for that experience she would have never met him, she said. Now, there was no reason to return.
Stone had to admit that Sasha, at times, spoke in riddles. Like the time when she said, when the ocean nearly washed up on their bare feet, how cool would it be to wash away the people who were not co
nnected.
“Connected to what?” he asked.
Her reply was to brush against his shoulder with her head and wistfully sigh. It would be so nice if everyone was alike, she'd whisper, looking to the bright moon high in the night sky.
Stone didn't realize how hungry he was until he descended the stairs and was met by the smell of frying salmon croquettes. He'd slipped on a pair of Sean John jeans and Gucci tennis shoes. His BRU Capo boxers show over the rim of his jeans.
Mabel looked around with a smile. "Good morning baby," she called, watching him as he approached. "You must have needed rest, hunh? You got in real late last night."
"Yeah, ma. Where’s Lillian?" he wanted to know, lifting his iPhone from the deep well of his pant pocket while sliding onto the counter chair.
"She had an emergency at work. One of the girls didn't show up to open. She ran out of here before she could even finish our morning Bible study. How your dreams baby?" she wanted to know, glad he’d not complained about his nightmares as of late. They always involved storms and near drowning.
"Maybe I got too much on my mind to have dreams," he replied, his eyes on the mid-day news playing on the small television. It was situated beneath the cabinet at the corner of the kitchen sink counter.
The dust colored man with nappy gray patches of hair at his temples detailed a bank robbery gone awry in Culver City. As the bandits attempted their getaway their car wouldn’t start. The police arrested the bank robbers without incident.
Mabel placed a plate of fried salmon croquettes, rice and broccoli before him. She turned towards the refrigerator. "What kind of juice, baby?"
"Grapefruit," he answered while scrolling through a text message from Keasha. She asked if he'd seen the news. Please call her right away.
Just as he was about to dial her number, Mabel pouring juice into a glass before him, a familiar photo flashed at the top right corner of the small television screen. He looked closer, his face growing cold.