by Meta Smith
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I look hot either way.”
Desiree rolled her eyes. She was ready to get her smoke on, fuck all the bullshit.
“Where’s the ‘dro?” she asked impatiently.
“Right here.” Leilani patted her matching white clutch purse and sat down on Desiree’s white leather sofa. “Gimme something to roll on.”
Desiree went into her bedroom, then returned with a wooden tray that was painted with the flag of the Dominican Republic. Leilani pulled a small Ziploc bag out of her purse and emptied its contents onto the tray. She took out a Backwoods cigar and used her fingernail to lift the tobacco
leaf’s edge, then unrolled the cigar. She dumped the tobacco into a paper towel and crumpled it up.
“You got scissors?” Leilani asked. Desiree went into the kitchen and returned with some scissors.
“Why you always gotta make the shit like surgery, Lani? You’re Jamaican! You supposed to roll like a pro,” she joked.
“I do roll like a pro. I just like my shit neat. Smokes better that way,” Leilani replied. “I’m not new to this; I’m true to this, youngster.” Leilani rolled the blunt and sealed it.
“Nuke this,” she told Desiree, handing her the blunt. “Seven seconds.” “What makes you think that I want to touch a blunt with your wet-
ass slob on it?” Desiree asked her, not taking the blunt.
“You gonna smoke it, ain’t you?” Leilani rolled her eyes at her. She got up, went to the kitchen, and put the blunt in the microwave herself. Seven seconds later the microwave dinged, and Leilani sparked it. They passed the blunt back and forth, allowing the effects of the herb to take over their bodies.
“Save some of that for the ride over,” Desiree told Leilani, and gathered her keys and purse.
They rode the short trip south of Desiree’s Surfside apartment to the trendy area of South Beach in Leilani’s red convertible BMW roadster. They rode with the top up as they chiefed on the remainder of the lah, vibing to the sounds of R. Kelly’s TP-2 CD. When the track “The One” came on, Desiree felt like he was singing her theme song. She peeked at her reflection in the side-view mirror and sang softly, “There can only be one me.” The herb made her feel like he’d written the song especially for her.
Once Leilani crossed Seventeenth and headed toward the strip, she switched the music to a hardcore dance-hall CD she had brought back from Jamaica on her last visit, and let the top down on the Bimmer. As they crept down the congested strip, sound system booming, Desiree and Leilani basked in all the attention that they received. They looked hot, Leilani in all white, Desiree in all black, in the red car.
They were the type of women that men thought of when they thought of Miami: exotic, sexy, ready to party.
“You ready?” Leilani asked Desiree as they pulled up to the valet stand of Babylon.
“Let’s do this,” Desiree replied, putting on a pair of rimless, smoke- colored Chloe glasses accented with Austrian crystals.
They stepped out of the whip on a mission, a modern-day, hip-hop
version of Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
CHAPTER 14
L
EILANI GAVE HER NAME AT THE DOOR, AND THEY were immediately admitted beyond the velvet ropes and into Babylon.
A door hostess gave them all-access wristbands that would allow them to go into any VIP section of the club. Leilani really had the hookup. Desiree usually only needed her looks as her VIP pass, but it was cool to watch the second-rate hotgirls covet her sparkling, silver, iridescent, plastic bracelet in addition to the ice she sported in the tennis bracelet on her other wrist. South Beach’s newest and hottest club was filled with ballers.
Babylon was overflowing with athletes, rappers, singers, and actors who had come out to celebrate Bentley receiving yet another platinum plaque. Leilani had told Desiree that many of the stars would be making cameos in Bentley’s video. Leilani said the budget was astronomical due to a lot of special effects that were going to be computer-generated and edited in. Outside of industry people, there were the wannabes: the dudes who wanted to be rappers, the guys who wanted to be producers, and the gold diggers who wanted to be chosen. Though Desiree wasn’t exactly a star, and had ambitions of being a rapper, she knew she didn’t fall into the wannabe category. Unless you counted the fact that she wanted to be
with Bentley.
Desiree squinted and scanned the crowd for a sign of Bentley. He wasn’t difficult to spot. All Desiree had to do was find the crowd with the
most action. Dressed in a crisp linen top and pants, he was popping open a magnum of champagne. He looked paid and classy, but not in a stiff kind of way. There were a ton of girls trying to get past Bentley’s bodyguards so they could spit their weak-ass game at him. Desiree figured game would recognize game. She wasn’t gonna have to say shit.
They made eye contact.
Bentley smiled at her, ignoring a groupie tugging at his arm.
She needs to prepare to step! Desiree thought.
“Let’s go over there,” Desiree told Leilani, gesturing in Bentley’s direction.
“Okay,” Leilani agreed.
Desiree licked her lips, then worked her signature pout. Desiree possessed DSLs–dick-sucking lips–and used them to her full advantage. Bentley’s eyes narrowed into slits as he checked her out. Desiree strolled slowly, confidently, and deliberately sexy in Bentley’s direction. Leilani followed behind her as they approached the already crowded VIP section. “It’s full,” a bouncer told them. Desiree gave him a look like he’d
obviously lost his mind. Didn’t he know who she was?
“Ayo!” Bentley shouted to the burly man in the black suit from across the crowd.
“He’s talking to you.” Desiree pointed in Bentley’s direction. The bouncer turned around.
“Let her in,” Bentley commanded. The bouncer unhooked the velvet rope and allowed Desiree to pass, but when Leilani went to enter, he rehooked it.
“Sorry, it’s full,” he told her.
“I’m with her,” she explained, flashing her wristband for added effect. “It’s full,” he told her again as Desiree was engulfed by the crowd
surrounding Bentley.
“Desi!” Leilani called out to her. Desiree heard her but chose to ignore
her.
“Desiree!” she called out again to Desiree’s back. “I know that bitch
hears me!” Leilani growled as she turned around and headed to the bar. She wasn’t going to beg to get in. She’d get her chance to holler at Bentley on the video set. He’d see that she wasn’t just a pretty face and would definitely give her some play.
“WASSUP?” BENTLEY REACHED THROUGH THE CROWD AND
gently but swiftly pulled Desiree’s hand, guiding her to his table. “Hey,” she said, smiling.
“You havin’ fun?” he asked her, smiling back, his deep dimples creating comma-shaped gashes in his face.
“Yeah, it’s a good way to spend my birthday,” Desiree mentioned casually.
“It’s your birthday?” Bentley said.
“It is now.” Desiree looked at his watch as if she were checking the time. What she was doing was inspecting the stones in the iced-out bezel of his watch.
“No shit. How old are you?”
“Old enough,” she answered, blinding him with a dazzling smile. Bentley swore he could smell her perfume even though the club reeked of smoke and sweat.
“Damn, girl, you look good. You smell good too. What is that?” He grinned at her, pulling her closer. He nuzzled the crook of her neck, sending a shock through her system. He was flirting shamelessly Desiree could sense the static from pissed-off females coming at her from every direction. Bentley was a big fish, and she wasn’t wasting any time reeling him in. It wasn’t her fault they couldn’t compete with her.
“It’s from Creeds. I had it custom-blended,” she told him, allowing her body to graze suggestively against his. “I like nothing but the best next to m
y skin.” She stared at him with her hypnotic hazels.
“I like the sound of that.” Bentley wrapped his arms around her curves.
Desiree wanted to tongue him down from head to toe. “Happy birthday.” He stared deeply into her amber eyes.
Neither of them could deny the heat between them. Desiree felt it in her gut. Fuck K.G., fuck all her other sponsors. She had finally caught the big one.
“LET ME GET AN APPLETON RUM AND COKE. NO, MAKE IT A
double,” Leilani told the bartender as she sulked at the bar.
Desiree had the nerve to get new on her, and she wouldn’t have gotten into the party without her. The bitch! This was exactly why she didn’t model anymore. The shit was too cutthroat, and for what? To be the background for some nigga makin’ all the money, trying to get with some celebrity who isn’t doing shit but digging out as many girls as he can before he goes back to his real woman. At least working behind the scenes,
all the real money men would take her seriously. She’d be the woman they wanted to marry, not just fuck in hotel rooms and throw a few trinkets to. Leilani saw Ysenia Cruz at the other end of the bar. She knew security was tight if Ysenia couldn’t get in VIP with Bentley. She paid for her drink and tipped the bartender. Leilani didn’t mind paying for her own drinks. At least that way she could enjoy them in peace instead of being stuck with some loser who thought she owed him her evening because he had
spent a lousy eight bucks.
Ysenia headed toward Leilani. Leilani knew that Ysenia couldn’t stand Desiree, and she wasn’t feeling too keen on her at the moment either. A bitch session brewed.
“What’s up, mama?” Ysenia greeted her with a fake smile and hug. “Hey, lady,” Leilani greeted her back, equally phony.
“Who you here with?” Ysenia asked, like she didn’t know the answer. “I was here with Desiree, but she’s up there all in Bentley’s ass,” Leilani
remarked sourly.
“Hmph. So that’s how she got the lead, huh?” Ysenia’s voice dripped with accusation.
“Nah, he didn’t have anything to do with picking the girls,” Leilani replied. She was mad, but she wasn’t about to go talking shit about Desiree with Ysenia.
“Whatever! Bentley shows up to watch her audition, then she gets the lead. You think that’s coincidence? I mean, come on! Desiree is a ho,” Ysenia said.
Leilani didn’t argue. The last thing she felt like talking about was Desiree. “You been up to VIP?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah, girl, I was up there earlier before it got so crowded. It was too hot, and there were too many groupies,” Ysenia explained.
Leilani was really pissed now. Would everyone but her get to kick it high post and sip champagne with Bentley? She frowned. “So what’s he like?” she asked, her jealousy showing.
“Kind of stuck-up. He knows he’s all that. He might be gay, though,” Ysenia said.
“Why you say that?” Leilani asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Because he didn’t even try to holler. It was like I was invisible,” was Ysenia’s cocky answer. Leilani thought to herself that Ysenia was even more vain and conceited than Desiree.
Speaking of Desiree, Leilani peeped the VIP section, curious as to what she was up to.
“Well, he’s definitely not gay,” Leilani told Ysenia, pointing toward
Desiree and Bentley hugged up and looking extra cozy.
Ysenia dropped hermartini glass, causingherbright pink cosmopolitan to splash Leilani’s white suit, as she caught Desiree and Bentley sharing what looked like a very passionate kiss.
“Son of a bitch!” Leilani shrieked. Could the evening get any worse? “Sorry” Ysenia giggled, obviously not sorry at all.
A FEW HOURS AND A FEW MAGNUMS OF CRISTAL LATER,
Bentley and Desiree snuck off for a little private time in the backseat of his trademark black Bentley Arnage. Once he’d kissed her, she knew there would be no use in playing it demure. She was going to fuck the hell out of Bentley, and she was going to put it on him so good that he’d never even think about the next bitch.
Desiree shivered as he kissed her neck and slid his hand beneath her top. She arched her back and allowed her hand to travel from his chest to his crotch to inspect the package.
Damn, he is the big one! Desiree mused.
“You want that?” He groaned seductively as she caressed his bulge. “Mmm-hmm,” Dez purred. “But I want it the right way.”
She kissed him sweetly on the lips and smiled at him. Then she slithered down his body like a snake and began to tease the tip of his penis with her warm tongue. Bentley moaned and arched his hips to meet her mouth. Desiree continued to tease him.
“I don’t want to be just another bitch to you. I wanna be that bitch.” She gave his shaft a lick and watched his dick grow even longer and harder. “Shit, as far as I’m concerned, you are that bitch,” he managed to utter
as she slowly, torturously slipped more and more of his throbbing cock between her lips.
“I wanna be the only bitch,” she whispered, her breath warm on his
dick.
“You can be that,” he told her.
She replied by engulfing his entire penis until he was deep within her throat. Her mouth felt like warm velvet caressing him. Desiree flicked the tip of his dick with her tongue.
“You could say that shit to all the females you meet. Are you gaming me? I’ll stop if you are. And I know you want this.” Desiree had him right where she wanted him. Once Desiree had a man in her mouth, he was helpless to resist her. She’d perfected her oral skills as a way to avoid sex
with men she really didn’t want to sleep with, but still get their money. “Never that, ma! Never that!” Bentley whimpered helplessly as Desiree
worked her jaws back and forth. It was only a matter of time before he was climaxing in her mouth.
“Damn, girl. You are the shit!” Bentley exclaimed after he’d regained his composure.
Desiree looked at him innocently, as if she hadn’t just given him head in the car, and swallowed. Forever the ingenue, she was artful at looking incredibly sexy yet demure at the same time.
“I hope that’s not all you got for me. I mean, I really hope you ate your Wheaties and took your vitamins, because I am not done with you yet.”
“Well, then, let’s get to the telly cuz I’m not done with you either,” he replied, and started the engine of the Arnage.
LEILANI STORMED FROM THE BATHROOM ANGRILY. NOW SHE
knew why Desiree couldn’t stand Ysenia; she was just a big hater. But at the moment, she couldn’t stand either one of them. She was seriously pissed off. Ysenia had ruined her outfit, Desiree had ruined her evening, and to top it off, she was nowhere to be found. Bentley was no longer in the VIP section, though the party in his honor was still going strong.
It wasn’t Chinese arithmetic for Leilani to put one and one together. Desiree was obviously with Bentley, God only knew where, doing God only knew what. She could have at least said good-bye or sent her a page so she wouldn’t spend her evening searching for her. Leilani felt like if you came together, you should leave together unless you specifically told your crew otherwise.
There were a lot of crazy men in Miami who would love the chance to slip a girl a Mickey and take advantage of her. Females had to stick together. This would be the last time she looked out for Desiree’s selfish ass. She knew that Desiree was a little younger than she, but immaturity was one thing and rudeness was another.
“Who knows how Desiree was raised! She doesn’t have any home training! Desiree was just hating because she was afraid that Bentley would check for me,” Leilani said aloud to no one.
But how come Desiree always came up on the ballers? Leilani knew she was pretty, and she was all-natural. To top it off, she had a promising career in film. She had beauty and brains, but unfortunately, men in Miami, at least the men with money that she met, preferred their women
on the stupid
side. She’d learned not to count on them a long time ago because she wasn’t going to dumb down for anyone. Was it too much for her to find a man who wanted the total package and not just a bimbo?
“Well, can I?” a voice boomed from beside her. It belonged to a handsome, clean-cut man.
“I’m sorry. Can you what?” Leilani asked, puzzled.
“I said you look like you could use a drink. Can I get you one?”