ALSO BY ERIC JEROME DICKEY
Before We Were Wicked (Ken Swift)
Harlem (eBook)
Bad Men and Wicked Women (Ken Swift)
Finding Gideon (Gideon Series)
The Blackbirds
Naughtier Than Nice
One Night
A Wanted Woman
Decadence
An Accidental Affair
Tempted by Trouble
Resurrecting Midnight (Gideon Series)
Dying for Revenge (Gideon Series)
Pleasure
Waking with Enemies (Gideon Series)
Sleeping with Strangers (Gideon Series)
Chasing Destiny
Genevieve
Drive Me Crazy
Naughty or Nice
The Other Woman
Thieves’ Paradise
Between Lovers
Liar’s Game
Cheaters
Milk in My Coffee
Friends and Lovers
Sister, Sister
ANTHOLOGIES
Voices from the Other Side: Dark Dreams II
Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing
Mothers & Sons
Got to Be Real
River Crossings: Voices of the Diaspora
Griots Beneath the Baobab: Tales from Los Angeles
Black Silk: A Collection of African American Erotica
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Copyright © 2020 by Eric Jerome Dickey
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Dickey, Eric Jerome, author.
Title: The business of lovers / Eric Jerome Dickey.
Description: New York: Dutton, 2020.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019013455| ISBN 9781524745202 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781524745226 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3554.I319 B87 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019013455
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0
For Uncle Darell and Auntie Carol
CONTENTS
Also by Eric Jerome Dickey
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: Brick
Chapter 2: Brick
Chapter 3: Brick
Chapter 4: Dwayne
Chapter 5: Dwayne
Chapter 6: Brick
Chapter 7: Brick
Chapter 8: Dwayne
Chapter 9: Brick
Chapter 10: Brick
Chapter 11: Brick
Chapter 12: Brick
Chapter 13: Dwayne
Chapter 14: Brick
Chapter 15: Dwayne
Chapter 16: Brick
Chapter 17: Brick
Chapter 18: Dwayne
Chapter 19: Brick
Chapter 20: Brick
Chapter 21: Brick
Chapter 22: Brick
Chapter 23: Brick
Chapter 24: Brick
Chapter 25: Brick
Chapter 26: Brick
Chapter 27: Brick
Chapter 28: Brick
Chapter 29: Brick
Chapter 30: Brick
Chapter 31: Brick
Chapter 32: Brick
Chapter 33: Dwayne
Chapter 34: Dwayne
Chapter 35: Dwayne
Chapter 36: Brick
Chapter 37: Brick
Chapter 38: Brick
Chapter 39: Brick
Chapter 40: Brick
Chapter 41: Brick
Chapter 42: Brick
Chapter 43: Brick
Chapter 44: Dwayne
Chapter 45: Dwayne
Chapter 46: Brick
Chapter 47: Dwayne
Chapter 48: Dwayne
Chapter 49: Brick
Chapter 50: Brick
Chapter 51: Brick
Chapter 52: Brick
Chapter 53: Brick
Chapter 54: Brick
Chapter 55: Brick
Chapter 56: Brick
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old Age a regret.
—Benjamin Disraeli
Broken crayons still color.
—Ihadcancer.com
No man’s born ready for marriage; they have to be trained.
—Joan Crawford as Harriet Craig
CHAPTER 1
BRICK
THE TIMER ON my iPhone went off.
An hour had passed, but I didn’t see Penny at the gate to the mansion. Feeling ill at ease, I called her cell. By the second ring, I’d opened the glove box to get my snub-nosed revolver. By the third ring, I was out of my car, heading down the driveway to that mansion, ready to kick down the front door, but then Penny answered. I took a breath but didn’t turn back around. There was laughter and erotic moans in the background.
I said, “Code phrase.”
“Your cockeyed momma eats Mexican food and farts the third verse of the national anthem.”
I turned around, headed back toward my car. “You wrapping up in there?”
High heels clip-clopped across either wooden or tiled floors.
She said, “One second.”
She put me on hold long enough for me to get back in my ride.
Penny returned to the line, caught her breath. “Clients want another hour.”
“Who are they?”
“Hollywood heads from a big-time casting agency getting coked up and talking about actors and shit. They know who has swallowed to get a five-and-under and who took it up the ass to get a movie deal.”
“Get paid first.”
“There are three other dates-by-the-hour here.”
“I didn’t see them come in.”
“They were here first. They’re staying too.”
We were in the prestigious Hancock Park neighborhood, a palm-tree-lined, melanin-deficient area off of Wilshire Boulevard. It was a luxurious bubble, the type of place where owners complained about immigration while a team of immigrants was cleaning their estates, babysitting, and cooking them five-course meals.
I said, “The next hour I wait will be at my overtime r
ate.”
“You know I have to pay my car note, rent, and tuition for next semester.”
“My rent ain’t free and my student loans are not going to pay themselves. Time and a half or call an Uber.”
“You’re a jerk, Brick.”
“You know what you are?”
“Fuck you.”
Penny hung up.
I put my daddy’s snub-nose back in the stash spot; then I kept my eyes out for the local George Zimmerman.
My phone buzzed. A text message came in from my ex. Feelings rose.
Hi, I have a missed video call from you. Not sure if it’s in error. Hope all is well on your end.
I checked my phone. I hadn’t accidently sent her a call. Hadn’t called her in six months.
* * *
—
FIFTY-SIX MINUTES LATER, a thick white girl jogged out of the estate, phone at her ear. She was a ginger rocking UCLA sweats, a very sexy size twelve. A Kia pulled up. She eased in and the car zoomed away.
The clock hit fifty-seven minutes and I reached for my gun, but Penny appeared near the palm-tree-framed gate, a shadow carrying a USC backpack. When I had dropped her off, she’d dressed like she was going to a dinner party at the White House. Now she rocked a gray pullover, skinny jeans, colorful socks, and Doctor Who high-tops. I assumed the elegant gear was in her backpack. I turned my timer off just as Penny paused mid-driveway. Two women caught up with her. A congregation of beauties. Minorities standing around in one of LA’s preferred zip codes turned on a white man’s bullhorn. I stepped out of the car and waved for Penny to hurry the fuck up. She headed toward the car. The other two girls sashayed right on her heels, dragging along duffel bags. One girl looked Latina and wore a UCLA sweatshirt, black jeans, and ballet flats. She had dark eyebrows; her hair was Hitchcock blond.
She grinned. “Good evening.”
Penny said, “Christiana, this is Brick.”
With a nod, Christiana evaluated me, then yielded a dazzling smile that could lure a man to Jesus or to the gallows. My suit was light gray. The Latina’s eyes told me she liked my contemporary style. I liked hers too.
Christiana laughed. “Penny, is this gorgeous man your boyfriend?”
Penny said, “We’re neighbors. I hire him as a chauffeur-bodyguard when I work.”
A girl carrying a Moschino bag came up next to her. She wore New Religion jeans, pink Uggs, and a pink Gap hoodie. She rocked Goth makeup and shades. Her hair was short and natural, dyed a dark red.
Penny said, “And this is my girl Mocha Latte.”
Her expression was terse. Something had happened in there and she wasn’t happy about it.
I didn’t see any other rides pulling up, so I asked, “What’s going on?”
Penny turned to me. “They’re rolling with us.”
“Ass, gas, or cash, and I don’t accept the first two on that list. Same for EBT.”
“Stop popping off and open the trunk so we can put our stuff in Miss Mini.”
My ride was a red-white-blue UK-branded 2005 Mini Cooper, about 138,000 miles on the odometer. Paid for since 2009. Worth about four grand. Clean as a whistle; looked new. I wasn’t a fan of UK politics, but riding around like a billboard for Brexit was less trouble than riding around in something Africa branded.
I stuffed the weighty duffel bags inside the trunk and regarded the women. They smelled freshly showered and sweet, like trouble.
Mocha Latte and Christiana took the back seat.
Mocha Latte couldn’t get relaxed, made a face like she was living in agony. Already I didn’t like her.
I asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
Penny replied, “A little proctalgia.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Every job is a pain in the ass.”
CHAPTER 2
BRICK
WESTBOUND TRAFFIC ON Wilshire was horrible, which was par for the course, day or night.
Penny said, “Hope you don’t mind my coworkers coming along.”
“Kinda late to ask since you’ve already invited the brood of chicks, don’t you think?”
“Don’t call them chicks. That’s disgusting.”
“Not tall enough to be a tower of giraffes. Pride of lions, a pace of asses, a romp of otters.”
“Don’t insult my friends.”
I asked, “How’d the band of coyotes get here from where they were before they came here?”
“Uber. And stop with the stupid grouping.”
“Convocation of eagles. Charm of finches. Leash of greyhounds.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m going back to pace of asses. I like the sexy way that sounds. Pace of asses.”
“Stop it. Last time.”
“Even when women work in pairs, it’s not wise. Bad shit happens.”
“But it’s safer. If I keep doing this, I need a work buddy. Need a partner.”
I asked Christiana, “Where do you and your friend live?”
“We were roommates in Santa Monica. Now we are homeless together.”
Penny said, “I told them they can crash at my place for a couple of days.”
Christiana said, “We lost our apartment; got evicted two days ago. Landlord didn’t like us. Asked me for my fuckin’ immigration papers, and when I didn’t show them, said he would call ICE.”
Mocha Latte’s phone rang. She answered with a frowning face but a fake-cheery voice. “Hello? Who is this? Oh, you. I remember. You liked to do that thing. Whassup? Well, yeah, it’s been a while. Thought you had forgotten about me. When do you want to meet? Let me check my schedule. I’ll have to move some things around, but I can be available for two hours. Two minimum. Pay through PayPal. PayPal. Yes. Once the payment clears, I will call. I will come to you. No, I don’t work out of my home. Hotel or your place. No, I don’t do bareback. No, you can’t pay me enough for that. I don’t care if you saw it on Brazzers. No watersports. Mild BDSM is cool. No slapping. Do what? Slavery reenactment? No, I don’t get down like that. We straight, then? How much to do what? Well, double that number and let me think about it. But no promises. Okay. Yes. Love you too. What’s your name again? Ethan Shine.”
I peeped in the rearview mirror. She hung up, frowned out the window. I knew that irritated look. That silence. Penny wore that expression the first time she did this. She hated herself for what she was doing.
As I battled traffic I asked, “Roscoe’s, T.G. Express, Tim’s Kitchen, or Pann’s?”
Penny beamed. “Roscoe’s is calling my name. I love my Obama Special.”
I asked Christiana, “How long have you been living here in California?”
“In Los Angeles, only a few months. I came from Miami.”
“You’ve done this gig the whole time?”
“Before Miami, I was an attorney. I wore business suits and heels every day.”
“An attorney? Really?”
“Yes. De veras. Once upon a time I was attorney. An attorney. Excuse my English.”
“Your English is fine.”
“I make mistakes. I forget words. That is why I say my English is horrible. I like to talk to people, so I can practice. Everyone’s English is very different. Everyone uses different words, phrases.”
Christiana laughed a little, then leaned to Mocha Latte and whispered in her ear.
Penny asked, “Okay, what was that all about?”
“I told Mocha Latte that the energy I feel tells me that you and Brick are lovers.”
Penny rolled her eyes. “There is no energy between us, other than hostility.”
“Am I wrong, or am I right?”
Penny said, “Once.”
“Once?”
“Once.”
I said, “Twice.”
“Long time ago.”
“Not that long ago. Five months ago, more or less.”
Christiana asked, “Really?”
Penny said, “I was drunk. Emotions were all over the place. Needed a fix.”
“You like him?”
Penny said, “I used him the way men use women.”
I said, “I guess I was just doing a brokenhearted neighbor a ten-minute favor.”
Penny kissed her teeth. “You couldn’t keep it hard.”
I said, “Why would I stay hard for a drunk woman blowing snot bubbles over a dude that bankrupted her and left her for some other chick that he married in Vegas a week later? You think that was a turn-on?”
“I was upset, dammit.”
“When you stopped crying I had your ass on your sofa going, ‘Ay ay ay.’ Like Shakira. ‘Ay ay ay.’”
“Dios mío.” Christiana smiled. “That’s the cute noise you make. You were moaning loudly and saying ‘ay ay ay’ a lot tonight. Especially when the fat bald man was behind you while you and Mocha Latte—”
“Shut up, Christiana,” Penny snapped. “Never talk about work in front of Brick.”
“You said that Brick was cool.”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
I said, “I was in Vegas.”
“No, you were in Barstow.”
Mocha Latte shifted again, made another pained sound.
Christiana said, “Penny, you and Brick may have been lovers twice—”
Penny cut her off. “For the last time, the only reason it happened was because I had broken up with Javon, that jerk. He spent all my money, dumped me, then married some thot the next week. Yeah, that left me fucked-up in the head. Drunk dialed Brick to talk and cry on his shoulder. I was so damn drunk. Wasted. Stressed. Depressed. Heartbroken. Lonely as hell. I trusted him not to try and sleep with me, and he violated that trust.”
“You called me over.”
“Not to smash.”
“You answered the door naked.”
“I had a towel on.”
“Then you were as naked as Erykah Badu when she was looking for a window seat.”
“I had just showered and didn’t expect you to show up so damn fast.”
“You told me to come right over.”
“The way I remember it, you pushed me back onto the sofa, gave me head like Jill Scott on the mic, and—”
The Business of Lovers Page 1