by Pynk
The long-haired woman flicked on the light and stepped inside her grand office, set her oversize purse on the desk, and immediately looked through the tinted one-way glass, out among the many members who patronized her sexual mecca.
She crossed her arms and began to narrate, as the camera zeroed in on the kinky happenings.
“The first time I ever swung, it was me who got turned out, not my Creole boyfriend, as we’d originally planned. See, I always have preferred that a man express details of his mental fantasy out loud just before he ejaculates while saying my name, as opposed to closing his eyes and secretly fucking someone else while his dick is beating up my pussy. Most people do it, you know—fantasize about someone else. They do whatever it takes mentally to get them off physically. It was like that when my boyfriend, who lived around the corner when I was in high school, said her name when we were fucking . . . the name of his best friend’s mother. I’d seen him flash a lingering look at her one day when she drove by in her Volvo and he waved like he was trying to hail a cab.
“The next time he and I had sex, he brought up her name again, saying he wanted her to suck his dick. And the time after that, he asked if I’d like to eat her pussy. The next night, as young as we were, we were down the street at this sex house we’d heard about called the Castle, watching people walk in who thought like we did. Who were open-minded like we were. Who were swingers like we were. It was a safe place to be. It was a family of people who lived out their fantasies without judgment.
“Here’s what happened.” The scene flashed back to 1995. “It was thirteen years ago. I was very nervous, but instead of having a woman for him to fuck first, I got my ass fucked doggy style by a very hung stranger in front of a crowd of naked people for about a half hour. We were on the middle of a pool table and he just took me right there. Viagra hadn’t quite made its premiere yet but if it had, I would have bet money that he’d overdosed on it because he worked me like a stallion. And little did we know that our neighborhood friend’s mother was there . . . watching us. Right when I was done getting drilled to kingdom-cum, she took my boyfriend by the hand and took me by the eyes. I followed them into a private room. And the rest, as they say, is swinger history. Here, allow me to show you . . .”
The crowd was all ears and all eyes as the next scene reenacted an up-close and personal flashback of that swinger-virginity-busting threesome.
Milan and Lavender held hands.
She looked extraproud of her show.
He looked extraproud of her.
He brought his mouth close to her ear. Her scent was her trademark tea rose. He squeezed her hand tightly. “Congratulations, baby. You did it.”
She looked ahead at the show and her dimple flashed. She glanced down after feeling Lavender fidget with her finger. She looked closer and saw a pear-shaped, four-carat, brilliant lavender diamond on the ring finger of her left hand. She held her breath and readjusted her vision just in case her eyes were playing nasty tricks on her. She extended her shaky hand, exhaled, and turned her body toward Lavender. This time it was she who squeezed his hand tightly.
He said with a playful smile, “And by the way. I’m not hooking up a damn thing. I want papers on you.”
She sounded little girlish. “Thank you, Lavender. It’s beautiful.” Her eyes fought back the tears and she struggled to speak low. “Thank you for, well, thank you for loving the ‘Jezebel’ in me.” She put her hand on his back and traced his spine with her fingertips. “And thank you for wanting to be my man only. I love you,” she said as she wiped her soggy eyes with her index finger.
“And I love you back.” Lavender kissed her on the cheek. They sat shoulder to shoulder and resumed watching the erotic episode with the rest of the crowd.
In an instant, the glaring sound of a high-pitched alarm sounded as everyone’s sights darted away from the screen and up at the ceiling, and then in a panic, people looked toward each other and all around, covering their ears.
Lavender grabbed his two-way. “What the hell is that?”
The bouncer replied, talking fast, “It’s the upstairs hallway access door. Someone’s opened it.” The deafening sound suddenly stopped just as the lights were turned back up.
Crackkkkkk! The blasting resonance of glass breaking ripped through the club. Milan’s body flinched and Lavender jumped to his feet, realizing he wasn’t wearing his holster. Voices shrieked and people began to yell at the top of their lungs as another intense sound belted. Crashhhhhh! Milan looked up at the second floor near her office and saw that the one-way glass that overlooked the club was broken into a million pieces. Milan sprang to her feet and pointed upward, just as Lavender looked up in the same direction.
There stood Ramada, with a Louisville Slugger baseball bat in her hand, swinging at anything and everything around her, including banging up Milan’s computer, her desk, and anything else she could reach.
Ramada’s loud voice was filled with the same rage that took over her angry face as she turned around. Her livid eyes we fixated on Milan. “Fucking bitch. I told your ass you’d never raise my fucking son. Over there playing house like I fucking died. Bitch, bring your ass up here now.” She then gave Lavender a spiteful glare. “And if anyone else comes up here, I will burn this motha- fucka down. I’m telling you now.” She dropped the bat and held up a glass bottle of clear liquid. She also held up a 22-caliber pistol. “Or do you prefer that I just start shooting people one by one? Get your ass up here now, bitch. I said nowwwwww!” She shouted so loud her head shook and face turned red.
Lavender’s radio went off and he heard the bouncer say, “We’ve got the police on the way.”
“Well fuckin hurry. She has a gun.”
“Got it.”
“And find out how the hell she got in.”
Milan looked over and caught a quick glimpse of Ramada’s female friend, who had just returned to stand among the crowd. She again gave Milan a daring look.
“I’m waiting,” Ramada roared viciously.
Lavender spoke toward Milan while keeping his eyes on Ramada. “You’re not going up there.”
Milan’s eyes were now back on Ramada, too. “Yes, I am.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I’m going. She’s not gonna start shooting people. No way.” Milan took a slow step.
So did Lavender. “I’m right behind you.”
Ramada yelled at the very top of her lungs. “Back the fuck away from her.” She pointed to Milan. “I will count to ten and I want you halfway up those stairs before I get to five.” She held the pistol up high and shouted. “Try me. One. Two.”
Milan began to make her way through the stunned crowd. All eyes were on her. Mouths were gaped open. Milan turned back and saw her sister being comforted by Kellen. Tears streamed down Tamiko’s face. She had one hand over her mouth and the other hand over her heart. Milan fought to focus and immediately ran to the stairway in her evening gown, pulling up the beaded fabric along the way.
Looking at Brian, Lavender spoke into his radio in a low tone but stood still. “Brian, get in position to take this bitch down.”
“I’m there.”
Ramada continued to count. “Three.”
Milan kicked off her high heels and took two stairs at once.
Ramada screeched, “I will kill every fuckin body in here. You get your ass up here and talk to me.” There was a depth to her voluminous tone that was absolute no nonsense.
“I’m coming,” Milan shouted, striding until she reached her office door and quickly approached Ramada. “Here I am.” She held up both hands in surrender.
“Milan.” Tamiko could be heard crying her sister’s name from downstairs. “No. Oh my God.”
Milan took a deep breath and exhaled a long breath. Her chest housed her thumping heart. Her hands shook. Her nerves were a wreck.
Ramada, wearing flats, tight jeans, and a black, wrinkled peasant top that barely contained her heavy, free-hanging boobs, looked Milan up a
nd down with a turned-up nose. Steady words spewed with dark malice. “Skinny-ass bitch. You took my baby and now I’m gonna take yours.”
“Ramada, don’t do this. Please.”
“Oh, so now you wanna beg me to not do something, huh? I’ve never seen that look in your eyes before, Milan. Where’d that look of wanting come from? Where’d that shit-talking face go that you always wore before?”
“This is not gonna help anything.”
“It’ll help if it teaches your ass a lesson. You need to believe people when they tell you something. And how dumb were you to think I couldn’t get your sorry-ass home number? All I had to do was tell my son to call me from your nasty-ass house. I know he was back there. Now, why the hell are you playing mother to my son?”
“I’m not. Ever since you went out of town he’s been with Lavender and with Great Mama. Sometimes I just happen to be there, that’s all.” Milan’s left hand shook more intensely.
Ramada kept her eyes on Milan’s ring finger. Her jaw got tighter. She spoke through clenched teeth. Her hair was messy and wild. “Oh, that’s all, huh? So you don’t tuck him into bed after he takes a shower, or drive him places, or nurse him when he’s sick, or make his little lunch for school? See, you’re trying to give me that innocent-act shit. You know you’ve been happy ever since I ran off to Vegas. You know you hoped I found a new man and never came back. Well, guess what? That man was an asshole, too. So, I’m back.”
“I knew you’d be back. Taj is your son.”
“Bitch, please. Don’t act like you know me. What the fuck do you know about me really? And what do you know about what children mean to a mother? Where’s your slanted-eyed mother?”
While Ramada was talking, she began pouring the liquid from the bottle onto the carpet and furniture, taking careful steps while making sure her back was to the wall. She stayed away from the broken mirror. The office reeked of acetone.
“My mother is dead. But she was a good mother. She loved my sister and me. And I know how much you love your son.”
Ramada stepped up toward Milan. “Do you? Then why the hell did you do all that homework shit and cooking for his ass? You had your plans set to be his mother from the first time you met him.”
Milan shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Oh yes you did. Look at you, all dressed up and on top of the world. See, I knew tonight would be the perfect night to fuck with something that means a lot to you. This big premiere at your club, your so-called baby, was the perfect time. Thought you were on top of the world, didn’t you?”
“I’m sure that killing people just to get back at me won’t be worth the price you’ll pay in the end.” Milan looked at the silver gun. “If you want to see Taj again, please put that bottle down, and that gun down, and let’s just make this all go away. Please.”
Ramada gave a spiteful look. “You sure are pleading like the weak ho you are. It’s too late for this shit to just fucking go away. I’m already accused of abandoning my son, so now your no-good man is trying to take him from me for good anyway. So as it stands now, I really don’t have much to lose.”
“You still have your freedom.”
“Losing my freedom knowing I fucked with your shit will feel a whole lot better. I vowed I would never have another woman trying to parent my son while she lives the very life with my child’s father that I can’t live. When I was Taj’s very age, I was left by my sorry-ass mother. My father married some damn piece of shit woman whose teenaged son fucked me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I need to be with my son. Not you.”
Lavender’s deep voice vibrated in the room. “Ramada, put that down.” He stood at the door, and then walked in careful strides with his hands in the air. He stepped up beside Milan. The permeating vapor of the liquid was even stronger.
Ramada cut him with her eyes and shook her head, raising the gun his way. “No, you step the fuck off.” She looked at Milan with hate and extended what was left in the bottle. “Or better yet, how about if I pour this nail polish remover on top of your little bitch-ass woman here. Burn all that long, pretty hair I bet you pull on when you’re fucking her flat ass from the back.” Her demonic eyes shifted to Lavender. “Would you like that, my dear baby daddy?”
He replied with intense frustration, “Ramada?” He ended the slow roll of her name with a tinge of pity and frustration, and a long question mark.
Her words were fast and furious. “Fuck you. I see that little ring on this freak’s narrow-ass finger. Did you think you could just run off with this whore and live life like it’s some happily ever after shit?”
Milan looked back and forth between the two of them and then into the steel barrel of the gun. Her face owned a frightened frown and her eyes were glassy.
“Don’t do this.” Lavender slightly lowered his hands and took a step.
Ramada screamed, “Back off DeMarcus,” and abruptly turned the bottle toward Milan and began to shake all of its contents onto her face.
Milan turned her head and automatically squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. She gasped and held her breath.
Lavender leaped toward Ramada’s hand just as her finger squeezed the trigger of the pistol. A vibrant red, butane flame ignited and extended from the gun’s tip directly toward Milan. The immediate journey of what was a torch lighter could be heard as a quick, swooshlike wind.
Milan screamed with a sharp, plaintive wail.
Lavender, with unbridled fury coating his face, reached for Ramada’s slender throat with his irate, powerful weapon of a hand and punched her dead in her jaw with his right fist.
She dropped the bottle and slammed against the floor upon her back with a thud. The glass broke into pieces beside her. She collapsed and was still.
Lavender hurriedly turned around as Milan fell to her knees, shielding her face and head. He raced to lay her on her back, covering the flames with his entire body.
The loud, trampling shuffle of hurried footsteps that belonged to Jarod, Brian, and a slew of policemen sounded outside of the door as they had their guns drawn in the hallway toward the door. “Is everybody okay?” was the question as the stench of something burning pervaded where the threesome resided. The answer to the question was no.
EPILOGUE
Saturday, November 8, 2008
9:03 a.m.
Great Mama and Taj had been awake since eight. Turkey bacon and hash browns with onions took over the air, along with a trace of freshly brewed vanilla bean coffee. The happy sound of Taj’s laughter could be heard down the hall.
Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open just as Taj’s voice became full. “Dad. Wake up. It’s morning.” Taj plopped down on the black leather settee. He was hyper.
Lavender’s eyes jetted open. The sun battled with his craving for the pillow as he turned to face his energetic son. “Good morning, Taj. Just a couple more hours, okay?” His voice was lazy.
Great Mama stepped into the room wearing a white housecoat and fluffy slippers. Her gray hair was in a short ponytail. “Taj. Come on now. Didn’t I tell you about that?” She tightened the polyester belt around her thick waist.
Groggy and exhausted, Milan sat up after gradually opening her eyes. “Good morning.”
Great Mama kept her sights on Taj but spoke to Milan. “Good morning, sweetheart. Sorry about that.”
Milan yawned and then said, “No, it’s fine. I’m getting up anyway.”
Lavender pulled the covers over his head. “For what?”
Great Mama grinned at her grandson.
“Dad. Come on.” Taj’s tone was insistent.
Lavender spoke from under the covers with a tone of loving firmness. “Just a little longer.”
“I wanna play Madden. Please.” Taj’s face wore a boyish pout, as if he knew it would soften his dad’s resistance.
Milan brought the tan Frette cotton sheet to her chin. “How about if I play Madden with you?”
Taj asked, looking shocked while pointing at Milan, “You
know how to play?”
“I can try.”
He said, “Okay. Let’s go.” His energy remained on high.
“You’re a brave one,” Great Mama said to Milan as Taj stood. She took his hand and looked at Milan. “Brave in many ways.”
Milan smiled. Her nose, right cheek, and top lip barely told on her trauma. Her scars were minimal, considering the second-degree thermal burns to her face only three months earlier.
Taj broke free from his great-grandmother’s hand and stepped to Milan’s side of the bed. “Come on. I’m ready. Plus we saved you some breakfast.” He touched her arm.
Milan gave him a warm smile and he leaned in to hug her, resting his frame along her side.
Their embrace was strong.
“Hey, be careful. Not so rough, Taj. Don’t lean on her leg. You know she was still having pain from the skin they grafted.” Great Mama tapped Taj on his back. “Besides, let them get up when they’re ready. They got in late. You know that.”
Taj backed away from hugging Milan but his eyes stayed fixed on her. He asked, “What does grafted mean?”
Milan explained while lightly touching his cheek. “It means they borrowed a little bit of skin from my leg to use on my face.”
“Skin from your leg? Where’d they put it?” he asked, coming in close to inspect her.
“Boy, come on now. Leave them be.” Great Mama tugged at him and closed the door after she and Taj walked out.
Lavender said, “Get some more sleep, baby.” He pulled the covers to his chest and turned onto his back.
“I’m okay.”
He looked over at her. “Are you sure?”