Buddy still had no idea that Silk didn’t know the first thing about cooking. He was oblivious to the fact that she couldn’t even boil an egg. Silk led him to believe that taking care of his three children kept her hands full, and that there was no time for cooking and cleaning. Eager to lighten the load of his beautiful, new wife, Buddy didn’t mind paying for a little extra help.
But Mrs. Sudler had become a problem. One look at Silk’s new Cadillac and she decided that fifteen dollars a week wasn’t enough.
“I’ve been thinking,” Mrs. Sudler said, shifting her eyes downward. “For all I do around here, I deserve twenty dollars a week.”
Enraged, Silk saw red. “Oh, really? Well, I don’t think so. Fifteen dollars a week adds up. A lot of women in this community would love to earn the sixty bucks a month that I’ve been paying you. And they probably could whip up much better meals than the tasteless food you throw together,” Silk said with a sneer.
Mrs. Sudler was taken aback. “You never complained about my cooking before.”
“Didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it’s high time that I expressed my true sentiments. And if you don’t like it, you can lump it,” Silk said sassily, with a hand on her hip.
Mrs. Sudler began backpedaling. “Well, I suppose I could add more flavor.” She chuckled embarrassedly. “I tend to forget that you’re from Louisiana and most likely prefer to eat very spicy food.”
Silk’s mouth curled with distaste. “The amount of spice ain’t got nothing to do with it. What I prefer is that you take your ungrateful, raggedy ass out of my house and don’t try to come crawling back.”
Mrs. Sudler huffed up in indignation. “Now, Silk, there’s no cause for name-calling. Why can’t we discuss this money matter like civilized people?”
Silk reached into her bosom and pulled out her knife. She held it up to the corner of Mrs. Sudler’s mouth. “You’ve been smiling in my face with that fake grin ever since the day we met. Don’t tempt me into giving you a permanent big smile,” Silk threatened, drawing a few droplets of blood with the blade of the knife.
“You’re crazy!” Mrs. Sudler broke away and raced to the front door, knocking into furniture along the way.
Silk doubled over in laughter. “You better take your ass out of here!” When the door slammed, Silk cackled again, this time, slapping her hand on the kitchen counter. After her laughter subsided, she began banging on the Formica countertop in fury. The nerve of that trifling hussy to come to my home demanding more money. If I was in Louisiana, I would have cut the bitch without hesitation. Sheriff Thompson never gave a shit about what coloreds did to each other. But here in Chester, they got constables and magistrates and all sorts of lawmakers ready to punish Negroes for harming one another. Angry that she had to restrain herself from doing bodily harm to Mrs. Sudler, Silk kicked a kitchen chair, toppling it over.
Alerted by the commotion, the children scrambled down the stairs. Silk stalked over to the bottom of the staircase. With her arms folded, she glared at the children, stopping them in their tracks.
“What happened, M’dear?” Myron inquired. Behind him, Bruce and Dallas gawked at Silk with wide, curious eyes.
“None of your beeswax. Now, take your nosey asses back upstairs before I cut some switches and light fire to your scrawny hind parts and ashy legs.”
With that threat, the children practically knocked each other over, racing up the stairs.
“Get back here, Dallas!” Silk shouted.
Dallas halted. “Yes, M’dear?” she said fearfully.
“Oooh, Dallas is gonna get it,” Bruce and Myron taunted in whispery voices.
“You two knuckle-headed boys better get up those steps. Hurry up before I beat y’all asses until they’re black and blue!” Softening her expression, she beckoned Dallas. “I want you to come down here with me, sweetiekins.” With a gentle smile, Silk reached for Dallas’ hand, and then led her to the living room.
“Do you want me to give you some thrills, M’dear?”
“Shh. The walls have ears, and you know better than to talk about our secret.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to give you some thrills?” Dallas repeated, this time in a whisper.
“What do you think?” Silk’s tone was sarcastic. Hastily, she ushered Dallas toward the sofa. She hitched up her dress, and then exhaled in exasperation. “That doggone Mrs. Sudler is a pain in the butt. She done got on my last nerve, but thank goodness I have such a sweet little girl to calm me down.”
Dallas looked up at Silk, her eyes sparkling with innocence and the eager desire to calm down her edgy stepmother.
Needing help around the house, Silk put out feelers. She received word that Carrie Pettiford who sold dinners every Saturday and the first Wednesday of every month was available to cook for the Dixon family. Carrie couldn’t do any housework due to her allergies and heart condition, but she assured Silk that she’d bring her teenage daughter, Sharita, along to handle the cleaning chores.
Silk was none too pleased when she was introduced to Sharita. With her knock-knees, her wide, boxy-shape, and an unsightly cleft lip, the girl wasn’t easy on the eyes. Furthermore, she was somewhat simple-minded. Unable to keep up with her classmates, Sharita had repeated grades so many times, she was now sixteen years old and only in the eighth grade, which made her a target for ridicule. But despite her flaws, Sharita could scrub and clean like nobody’s business. She kept the Dixon household as neat as a pin and sparkling from top to bottom.
Silk noticed that Myron and Bruce enjoyed giving Sharita orders, and they teased her mercilessly. Silk didn’t bother to intervene. Figuring that Sharita needed to learn how to stick up for herself, she allowed the boys to have fun at the cleaning girl’s expense.
Whenever Carrie left for the day after finishing up her cooking duties, the boys considered Sharita fair game for taunts and mockery.
Gathered around the kitchen table, Myron, Bruce, and Dallas ate dessert while Silk had her face buried in the daily newspaper, reading the comics. From the corner of her eye, Silk saw Bruce sneakily hold up his water pistol and take a shot at Sharita as she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Silk couldn’t help cracking a smile at the boy’s devilishness.
“Cut it out,” Sharita mumbled without turning around.
“Do it again,” Silk whispered, encouraging Bruce with a wicked grin on her face. Bruce’s eyes glinted with mischievousness. With Silk’s permission, he aimed the water pistol at Sharita.
Sharita was wearing Bermuda shorts and Bruce squirted each of her thick legs, prompting her into an awkward dance that brought out titters of laughter from Silk and the boys.
Pitying Sharita, Dallas kept her eyes lowered and concentrated on eating her Jell-O pudding and fruit cocktail.
“Shoot Sharita in her big ol’, wide behind,” Silk suggested maliciously.
“I don’t have enough water.” Bruce pressed the trigger, proving to Silk that he could only generate drips and dribbles of water.
“Well, go on over to the sink and fill it up.”
Bruce got up from the table. At the sink, he rudely pushed in front of Sharita.
“Ow!” Sharita exclaimed when Bruce stepped on her Keds while in the process of maneuvering the water spigot toward his toy. “Excuse you,” Sharita said indignantly.
“Sharita, watch your mouth. I don’t want you speaking to the children using that tone of voice. I won’t stand for it,” Silk admonished.
“Bruce stepped on my foot, and he’s trying to get water so he can keep squirting me with his water gun, Miss Silk,” Sharita complained.
“He’s only having fun, Sharita. A little bit of water can’t hurt you. Stop being such a big baby. And remember, no one likes a tattletale.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sharita mumbled and continued scrubbing pots and pans with her lips poked out in displeasure. Every so often, she’d flinch when a shot of water hit her on the neck or the arm.
Not wanting to be left out of the
fun, Myron asked, “M’dear, can I be excused from the table to go get my water pistol? I wanna shoot Sharita, too.”
“Go ahead and get it, but fill it up with water from the bathroom sink. I can’t allow you boys to keep getting water from the kitchen spigot and interrupting Sharita while she’s trying to get through her chores.”
After getting water from the upstairs bathroom, Myron returned to the kitchen with mischief gleaming in his eyes.
Silk pointed to Sharita’s broad backside and whispered, “Shoot her where I told you to.”
Side-by-side, the boys stood a few feet behind Sharita. They aimed and fired until their guns were empty and the back of Sharita’s Bermuda shorts were drenched.
“Looks like she peed on herself,” Myron remarked derisively.
“She probably needs to wear a diaper and rubber pants, doesn’t she, M’dear?” Bruce exclaimed, cutting an eye at Silk.
“A normal-size diaper wouldn’t fit Sharita’s big ol’ butt. We’d have to find her some jumbo diapers,” Silk said, giving Bruce a wink as she affectionately rustled his hair. She’d stopped forcing Bruce to wear diapers a long time ago, but she could tell that he was eager to inflict upon Sharita the same embarrassing and cruel punishment that he’d endured.
“I ain’t pee myself, and I don’t need to wear diapers,” Sharita said in protest.
“You probably pee the bed every night,” Myron added spitefully.
“Now, now, boys. That’s enough. Stop teasing Sharita. She can’t help it if she’s a big-behind oaf.”
The boys broke into giggles at Silk’s scornful words. Meanwhile, Dallas cast a sympathetic glance in Sharita’s direction.
Realizing that she’d finally found a way to bond with her stepsons, Silk gazed at Bruce and Myron with fondness.
Her eyes cloudy with tears, Sharita approached the table and began clearing away the dessert dishes.
“Come on, kids. Let’s go out on the back porch and catch a breeze while Sharita finishes cleaning the kitchen.”
As they exited the kitchen, Dallas reached for Silk’s hand, and her two brothers who normally tried to stay as far away from Silk as possible, were jockeying for position, each trying to grab a hold of their young and playful stepmother’s free hand.
Sitting on the glider next to Silk, Dallas played paddle ball. Hitting the wooden paddle with the rubber ball that was attached by an elastic string, Dallas counted aloud each time she successfully struck the ball.
“Be quiet,” Silk hissed and yanked the toy from Dallas’ hand. “I can’t think straight with you hitting on that thing right next to my ear. Go play with it down in the yard.”
Out of pure orneriness, Silk tossed the paddle ball out into the yard.
“Are you mad at me, M’dear?” Dallas asked with her bottom lip trembling. She wasn’t accustomed to being on Silk’s bad side.
“Damn right, I’m mad at you. The next time I sic your brothers on Sharita, you better not act like little Goody Miss Two Shoes. I expect you to join in on the fun.”
“Okay,” Dallas reluctantly agreed, her face contorted by a frown.
CHAPTER 32
Buddy worked six days a week and put in long hours of overtime to keep his family comfortable, and on Saturday night and most of the day on Sunday, he expected to be rewarded for his generosity. Buddy wasn’t nearly as good a lover as Tate was, but he sure had stamina. Too much stamina for Silk’s taste. As he pounded into her body for the fourth time Saturday night, she squeezed her eyes shut, pretending that Tate was on top of her. But her little game of pretense wasn’t working. Tate had finesse and was a gentle lover. He used the soft touch of his hands and the honeyed sweetness of his kiss to get her riled up and in the mood.
Silk supposed that putting up with Buddy’s brutishness in bed was the price she had to pay for her shiny Cadillac, her fashionable wardrobe, and the comforts of her lovely home. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could suffer through Buddy’s bad love-making when she yearned to be lying in bed next to Tate.
But Tate was a mystery. He had sets of keys to six or seven different places, yet none was his home. He claimed to have a bachelor pad in Philadelphia but hardly ever went there due to the amount of business he had to conduct in Chester. Silk suspected there was more to Tate’s story, but she kept her suspicions to herself. Over time she’d come to learn that Tate had a quick temper, and common sense told her it was unwise to nag him with her doubts.
Somewhere along the line she’d slipped up and fallen in love with Tate. Unfortunately, being a married woman with responsibilities, she couldn’t keep tabs on her lover man the way she wanted to.
Though her mind was a million miles away, Silk’s arms were secured around Buddy’s waist as he grunted and powerfully thrust into her. “Your dick is so good,” she said mechanically as she wondered what Tate was up to tonight.
“You like the way I’m giving it to you?”
“You know I do. I can’t get enough of you, Daddy.”
Buddy groaned with pleasure. He loved it when Silk called him, Daddy.
Pleased with herself, Silk smiled and then returned to her thoughts. Is Tate secretly married? He had better not be shacking up with some floozy. Being a fast-living, numbers runner, Tate had plenty of women in his life, but the idea that there might be a special one—a woman who had papers on him or even a special place in his heart—caused Silk’s blood to boil. Tate had her nose wide open, and she was liable to claw a bitch’s eyes out and slash both sides of her face if she ever caught Tate messing around behind her back.
Remembering that Buddy was on top of her, ramming his dick in and out of her, Silk half-heartedly participated in the fuck-session by crying out, “Give it to me, Daddy!”
“Ahh! Oh, shit! Oooo.” Buddy gasped, dropping yet another deposit inside her body. “Whew! You really whipped it on me!” Winded, he collapsed on his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Don’t tell me you’re plum-tuckered out, already?” Silk teased, while secretly hoping her words were true. She couldn’t take another round of Buddy lying on top of her, sweating profusely and pumping away.
“No, I’m trying to catch my breath, and then I’m gonna put some more good loving on you.”
Silk ran her hand across his damp forehead. “I want you to rest up. You’ve been working so hard on your job, it’s not fair for you to have to come home and put in more work.”
“I gotta make sure my pretty wife is happy. Besides, this ain’t work; this is pleasure.” Buddy smiled at Silk and ran his fingers through her hair. “Despite all the sorrow I’ve been through in the past few months, one look in your eyes lets me know that I should count my blessings. I love you, Mrs. Dixon, and I’m well aware that I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“Aw, I love you, too, Buddy. Now, listen,” she said sternly. “I want you to lie back and relax. It’s my turn to make you feel good.” Silk slithered over to Buddy, licking her lips, and letting him know what she had in store for him.
Preparing for the unbearably delicious pleasure he was about to receive, Buddy grimaced and grit his teeth as Silk buried her face in his groin, peppering his flaccid flesh with soft kisses that would bring his dick back to life. She licked the head, causing Buddy to gyrate and whine, and when she pulled his dick inside her warm mouth, in a matter of seconds, it began to swell up and inflate like a balloon.
Silk detested having to suck Buddy’s poontang-flavored dick, but if she expected him to sleep through the night, then she had no choice but to try her best to put him in a coma by giving him the best blowjob she’d ever given.
She whipped it on her husband. Sucked the cum out of him and had him curling his toes up and calling on the Lord. Afterward, she lay cuddled next to him, stroking the hair on his chest until he began to snore like a bear. On cue, Silk slipped out of the bedroom and hurried to the bathroom down the hall, where she took a quick whore’s bath.
Back in the bedroom, she kept an eye on Bu
ddy as she tiptoed around, getting dressed in the dark. Getting fucked badly by her husband caused her to hunger for Tate’s wonderfully rhythmic dick strokes. Silk fled down the flight of stairs. Tate was no doubt having drinks and handling his business at the Flower Hill, and she had to get to her man before the place closed up for the night.
“Damn!” she spat when she realized Buddy’s car was blocking her Caddy in the driveway. Oh, well, she’d have to hoof-it on down to the bar. The Flower Hill was only a hop, skip, and a jump away, but walking on a gravelly road in high-heels required her to put on a hell of a balancing act. Love sure makes me do foolish things!
Her eyes lit up and her heart fluttered in excitement when she spotted Tate’s car. With a wobbly walk, she did her best to hurry across the parking lot that was uneven and dented with potholes.
She’d never been inside the Flower Hill on a Saturday night. With Buddy working only a single shift on Saturdays, she wasn’t able to get out of the house on Saturday evenings. Silk was delightfully surprised at how crowded the place was. It was packed to the rafters. Colored folks were wall-to-wall, standing around drinking while shooting the breeze, whooping and hollering, and having a good ol’ time.
She recognized some folks, but most she didn’t. She anxiously scanned the crowd but didn’t see Tate’s handsome face anywhere.
Wally wasn’t working, and she didn’t recognize the guy working behind the bar. As she made her approach, she heard low whistles and a male voice murmur, “Who’s that fox?”
Another man responded, “I don’t know who she is, but she looks good enough to eat. Yessiree, I could sop her up with a biscuit.” The remark was followed by a chorus of laughter.
Hearing men express appreciation for her good looks wasn’t anything new to Silk, and their admiration had little meaning since the praise wasn’t coming from Tate’s mouth.
Giving her male admirers an eyeful, Silk put an extra wiggle in her walk as she sashayed up to the bar. “Scotch and soda,” she said to the bartender.
The bartender gave her a long look. “You’ve never been in here before, have you?”
The Secrets of Silk Page 19