Black Lotus 2

by K'wan

  Shortly after her savior had smuggled her into America, he found himself in a bit of legal trouble. As he hadn’t yet had a chance to put the girl’s affairs in order, Kahllah found herself a ward of the state for a time and was placed in a group home while everything was sorted out. The home was unisex, with the boys on the top two floors and the girls on the bottom. Piling in as many children as they could, no matter how awkward the situation, was just one more way for the city to cut costs. There were quite a few kids carrying on sexual relationships. Most were doing so willingly, but some were not. Kahllah opted for neither.

  It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried her. Kahllah had always been a pretty girl. At a young age she showed early signs of womanhood. The mistake people had always made with her was thinking that, because she was pretty, she couldn’t fight. They were very wrong. Her harsh upbringing had yielded natural survival instincts. When they came at her singularly, she fought them off with her fists. When they came in groups, she showed her skills with a knife. She didn’t always win the confrontations, but she never stopped fighting.

  Kahllah passed the book vendors on 125th Street and peeked to see what new titles had come out. She didn’t really read urban novels, but a book called Street Dreams had caught her attention awhile back, opening her up to the whole movement. She didn’t read them as faithfully as Audrey did, but when an urban novel caught her attention, she’d support the author.

  After purchasing a book, Kahllah continued toward Lenox Avenue. When she rounded the corner, a group of white kids came pouring out of the train station. They were all dressed in hip-hop gear and swearing loudly. She was sure she even heard one of them say nigga. Kahllah hated hearing people of color use the word, but it especially irritated her when someone of noncolor tossed it around. A part of her wanted to stop the young white boy and educate him, but that would likely lead to him saying something slick, which would result in her kicking his ass and ruining her outfit. As tempting as it was, she let the remark slide and continued on her way.

  Kahllah sauntered down Lenox, taking in the sights. A few years prior, Harlem had been a mess of dope fiends and dilapidated buildings. The dope fiends were still there, but many of the buildings weren’t. Those husks of the past were now replaced by high-rise apartments filled with tenants who looked nothing like the natives, and renovated brownstones selling for three times what they’d cost ten years ago. Harlem was definitely changing.

  The walk to 116th Street didn’t take her long at all, and she had barely broken a sweat. Audrey probably would’ve complained about her aches and pains the whole way there, but never Kahllah. Her savior had raised her to believe that her body was sacred, something to treat like a temple. She ran five miles per day, watched what she ate, and worked out like a boxer training for a prizefight. She was the picture of perfect physical health, but her mental health was a different story.

  There was a decent-sized crowd when she arrived at Amy Ruth’s. It was one of the few spots left in Harlem that still served actual soul food and not free-range chicken with collard greens out of a can. She was almost immediately greeted by an overly chipper hostess with a bad haircut and too many teeth in her mouth.

  “Hi, just to let you know, it’ll be about a twenty-minute wait,” the hostess said.

  “I’m actually meeting someone.” Kahllah began scanning the restaurant for Audrey. She wasn’t hard to spot—she was sitting at a table near the rear, waving her arms like she was on fire.

  As she made her way to Audrey, Kahllah happened to catch sight of a familiar face seated off to her right. He was wearing a pale-green suit, at least one size too big, and a pair of scuffed brown shoes. The outfit was a far cry from the tailored silks and Italian leathers that had once been his garments of choice. His full head of perfect black hair had begun to go gray and was thinning on top. Kahllah may not have recognized him had it not been for the scar along his jaw; it had required surgery after she broke it.

  Several years earlier, Sullivan “Sully” Roth had been a prominent director-producer. His name had been attached to several critically acclaimed films, including one that was making a clean sweep of all the major film festivals. Sully was well on his way to becoming the darling of Hollywood, but his shining star had been dimmed when a dark secret was revealed.

  As a great filmmaker, there had been no shortage of young wannabe starlets looking to hitch their wagons to his brand. Landing a role in a Sully Roth production could be career changing for someone trying to get discovered. In his last film he had made a superstar out of a young woman who had been a cashier the year before. Struggling actresses were willing to do whatever it took to get in, until they discovered exactly how high the price of admission was. They found themselves victims of Sully’s sexual fetishes. Most were too embarrassed by what they’d been forced to do to come forward, and the few who did were dismissed as opportunists. This was the case with a young Latina actress named Elaine Rodriguez.

  According to what Elaine had told the police, she was invited to Sully’s office under the pretense of auditioning for an upcoming film, only to be pressured into performing sexual acts for the role. When she refused, Sully got rough, and she barely escaped without being raped. Of course, Sully used his influence to spin the story: he painted a picture of her as just another fame-hungry groupie trying to sleep her way to the top, and the people ate it up. Why wouldn’t they? He was a rich and powerful filmmaker, while she was a poor Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx. Elaine had all but given up on receiving any kind of justice, until her story reached the Black Lotus.

  Kahllah was sympathetic to the girl, so she decided to bring an end to Sully and his preying. Her initial thoughts were to kill him, but then she had a better idea. She called in some favors and managed to land a meeting with Sully, to which she arrived wearing a recording device. She told him she was an aspiring actress looking for her big break. Sully took one look at her with that long black hair and exotic features and was on her like a dog on a bone. Over drinks, he promised to make her a star while trying to get into her pants. The man touched and pawed her like an octopus; she fought the urge to vomit as his hands explored her. When she felt she had enough dirt on him, she tried to leave, faking intoxication, but Sully didn’t take rejection well. Getting rough, he tried to force himself on her. This is when she broke his jaw and escaped. She could’ve very easily killed him, but death would’ve been too swift and too merciful for such a worm. She had something else in mind.

  Kahllah had taken the dirt to a friend she had at the newspaper. By the next morning the recording had been leaked and Sully found himself fodder for the headlines. Other women started coming forward with their own tales of what they had suffered at the hands of the producer, and it created a shit storm of bad press. The same Hollywood power players who had once backed him now refused to touch him. As quickly as Sully’s star had risen, it fell even faster. He spent a year in prison. The last anyone heard, he was making B-rate porno films out of a basement in Queens. He was ruined, and had Kahllah to thank for it.

  Pulling her mind from the past, she focused on the present, her lunch date with Audrey. Audrey was a light-skinned woman of average height, with a round face and full lips. Today she was sporting her hair in large, blond goddess braids. She was thick, but wore her weight confidently.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Audrey greeted her. She was looking past Kahllah at the man in the pale-green suit.

  “Yes, Sully Roth.”

  “Man, I’d heard his life had taken a turn for the worse, but I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. He looks terrible!” Audrey remembered him being handsome, always well dressed. The pile of loose clothes and stress sitting at the table was neither. “I guess it’s to be expected, considering you flushed his entire career down the toilet and got him thrown in prison.”

  Audrey had meant it as a joke, but Kahllah didn’t laugh. She took no joy in the misfortune of others, even if they deserved the fate that had befallen them.
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  “So, did you order yet?” Kahllah changed the subject.

  “No, I was waiting for you and catching up on current events. Have you seen this?” Audrey slid her iPad across the table.

  It was a piece that had been published a few hours ago on the Daily News website. The remains of four people were discovered in a van that had been torched. Two of them had been identified as Ellie Lorton-Smith and her husband, Michael. They had just gotten married at St. Anthony’s a few days prior, and had gone missing while on their way to the airport to leave for their honeymoon. Kahllah recalled seeing Ellie’s uncle, Manhattan Borough President Chancellor King, on the news pleading for the safe return of his niece and her husband. But the relation between the city official and the corpses wasn’t what troubled Kahllah. It was the picture of the van, which had been burned to a crisp, save for a few patches of metal. She stared at what was left of the cargo doors and saw what looked like claw marks.

  “Wow,” Kahllah muttered.

  “Somebody killed Chancellor King’s niece and her husband, and all you can think to say is wow? Do you know what kind of shit is about to hit the fan?”

  Indeed, Kahllah did. Audrey was likely speaking about the backlash that would come from murdering the relative of a city official, but Kahllah knew the face Chancellor King wore when the cameras weren’t rolling. There would be hell to pay in the streets, she was sure.

  “This is the kind of newsworthy stuff we need to be covering,” Audrey said. “Do you think you can reach out to some of your contacts and see if we can get an interview or at least a quote from someone in King’s inner circle?”

  “I doubt it,” Kahllah lied. “Anyhow, I’m surprised you beat me here, considering you’re generally late to everything.”

  “I was already in the area visiting a friend.” Audrey smiled devilishly.

  “You nasty little whore,” Kahllah joked. “Whose man are you sleeping with now?”

  “Me?”

  “Come on, heifer. Spill it.”

  Before Audrey could respond, the waitress came over. She was a nice-looking girl, not gorgeous but cute. Her face was smallish like a pug, but her smile wide and inviting. Kahllah took her measure. It was just something she did out of habit, sizing up strangers for strengths and weaknesses. The waitress must’ve mistaken Kahllah’s analysis for flirtation, because her smile grew even wider.

  Kahllah picked up on this and shut her down: “We’re ready to order now.”

  The waitress’s smile faded and it was back to the business of service. Kahllah ordered the liver and onions, while Audrey had the barbecue chicken platter. They both requested iced tea, Kahllah wanting hers unsweetened.

  When the waitress left, Kahllah went back to her pressing. “So?”

  “Okay, I met this guy—”

  “What else is new?”

  “Do you wanna hear the story or not?”

  “Sorry.”

  Audrey rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, I got invited to the soft opening of this place called Voodoo. Remember I tried to get you to go with me, but you flaked?”

  “Yes, I remember.” The name might’ve been new, but the venue wasn’t. The place had once been called Purge. Back then it was a rest haven for thugs and miscreants. Kahllah had visited once while working her other “job.” Not long after, the club shut down. Rumor had it that a dead body had been discovered in a utility closet.

  “I was on the fence about going, because I didn’t want to fly solo, but I decided what the hell? So I get cute and roll up only to find the place super dead. There was nothing but old heads wearing cheap cologne telling stories about all the money they used to have.”

  “Sounds like your type of place,” Kahllah teased.

  “At least I have a type!” Audrey shot back. “After around an hour fighting off perverts, I’m about ready to get out of there when the bartender places a bottle of champagne in front of me. I’m looking at the man all kinds of crazy, because I know I didn’t order it and damn well couldn’t afford to pay for it. I’m ready to send it back until the bartender points out the dude who sent it over. Honey, this man was fine with a capital F! He was tall, dark, and dripping in designer, just my type. He gave me this smoky look then licked his lips like LL Cool J. I damn near creamed my panties.” Audrey fanned herself. “His name is Ben. We spent the whole night drinking and talking, and the next thing I knew I was at his crib climbing the walls. God blessed that man below the waist! By the time he dropped me off at my apartment the next morning, I could barely walk. I think he might be the one, girl.”

  Again, Kahllah wanted to say. She loved Audrey, but the girl was a bit on the loose side and a hopeless romantic. She was one of those people who went looking for love instead of letting it find her. Any man who showed her some attention could possibly be the one. If Kahllah had a dollar for every time she helped mend Audrey’s broken heart, she’d be one of the richest women in the world. “Sounds interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Audrey frowned. “I just told you I could’ve possibly met my soul mate, and that’s all you can say?”

  “Audrey.” Kahllah leaned on her elbows. “You’re my girl, and you know I love you, but you’re a horrible judge of character.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Let’s see. There was Marcus. He was the be-all and end-all, let you tell it. That was all well and good, but you had to share him with his wife and other mistress. Then there was Lance. He was cool too, except he kept stealing from you to support his undercover coke habit. Then there was Bill. Bill was the best of the lot, because you felt you had a spiritual connection to him. Unfortunately, so did his gay lover. Is it just me, or is there a pattern here?”

  When Kahllah saw Audrey dip her head in shame, she realized she may have gone too far. Kahllah could sometimes be so emotionally detached that it made her insensitive to the feelings of others. It wasn’t intentional; this was born from years of mental conditioning. Emotions were for the weak and the weak were unfit.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No, you’re right. I need to guard my heart a little closer,” Audrey said. “I know you didn’t say it to hurt me. You’re just trying to look out.”

  Kahllah tried to lighten the mood: “So, other than make your panties wet, what does this Ben character do?”

  “Ben has a very diverse portfolio.” Audrey sounded proud. “He primarily plays the real estate game, flipping and investing. He owns a bunch of properties around the city. He even has a stake in Voodoo.”

  “Is that right?” Kahllah knew where the conversation was headed; she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Audrey had a bad habit of mixing her sex life with business.

  “You know, everybody is trying to get the exclusive on Ben and his partner, with how fast they’re coming up and all. But I got Ben to agree to give it to Real Talk. How would you feel about us covering the opening of Voodoo tonight?”

  And there it was. The thread that bound Audrey’s loins to their company. “I thought they had their grand opening. Isn’t that where you met Ben?”

  Audrey shook her head. “That was a soft opening. I’m talking about their coming-out party.” Seeing the hesitation on her friend’s face, Audrey pressed on. “K, Voodoo’s grand opening and the men behind it have been the talk of the city for weeks. Ben says there’ll be some real high-profile people there, and we’ll even get to sit down with the owner, a dude they call Magic.”

  “The name alone tells me everything I need to know about him.” She’d heard the name before but wasn’t sure where. What she did know was that nicknames usually spoke volumes about their holders. This Magic was probably full of tricks.

  “You of all people should know that you can’t judge a book by its cover. It’ll be a great networking event, and we could probably make some important connections. It’ll be good for the magazine.”

  This had more to do with Audrey trying to get under Ben than it did with the magazine, but poi
nting this out would likely lead to an argument, and Kahllah wasn’t in the mood. Instead she tried to exit through the back door. “I don’t know, this is really short notice. I’d have to find something to wear . . . get my hair done.”

  “Girl, please! You got that good shit. All you gotta do is throw some water and gel in it and you’re good to go.”

  “Very funny. And besides, you know how I feel about crowds. It’s likely to trigger my anxiety. You’ve become a pretty damn good journalist over the last few years. Why can’t you just cover the event yourself?”

  “I could, but I’d make more of an impression if I walked in with you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you’re eye candy!” Audrey responded. “Those exotic features, that beautiful hair . . . even if no one knew who we were, they’d want to know after getting a look at you.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re trying to pimp me for your own personal gains?”

  “We got the personal out of the way the night I went home with Ben. This is all business, baby. Instead of pimping, see it as marketing.” Audrey winked. “We both know that half the guys there will probably be sexist assholes, but they’ll also be attached to major brands. Brands that we can tap into and expand our reach.”

  “Still sounds like flesh peddling to me.”

  “That’s because your thinking is so damn dated. Loosen up, have a good time once in a while. Who knows, you might even find a Ben of your own. God knows you need one. You haven’t been out on a date since Wolf!”

  “That wasn’t a date. I was conducting a follow-up interview for the story we ran on him about those two cases he worked.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.” Audrey gave her a playful smile. “I’m still baffled about how the story started with you trying to prove he was a dirty cop and ended with you painting the portrait of an unsung hero. That Wolf must’ve left quite the impression on you.”