“Don’t revise our history. She had a three-level-deep orgasm and begged for me to do it to her again.”
Christiana asked, “Three-level orgasm? Mierda. What is that?”
“When a woman has an orgasm inside an orgasm inside an orgasm. I took her three levels deep. Made her feel so good it scared her to tears. Penny lay on the floor, crying, like she’d had an out-of-body experience.”
“Orgasm inside orgasm inside orgasm.” Christiana laughed harder. “You are so very funny, Brick.”
Penny grumbled, “Nobody begged.”
I mocked her, “Ay ay ay.”
Penny combed her hair. “Every woman has at least one ‘wish I didn’t’ affair. He’s mine. Twice.”
Christiana asked, “Did you not come like that? Was there a three-level orgasm?”
Before Penny could answer, sirens blared a block back. Lights from squad cars lit up the night. I pulled over to the right, kept my hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, implemented the Negro survival training passed down from generation to generation. They hadn’t taught a black man how to make the LAPD treat him like a blond white woman from 90210, and since my skin looked very 90220, this was the best I could do.
After they passed and I started driving again, Christiana exhaled. “So, Brick, Penny mentioned that your girlfriend left you not long ago?”
Penny laughed. “She used him to have a place to live rent-free, and as soon as he wised up and brought up money matters, she dumped him for someone with a better hoopty and a bigger paycheck.”
That offended me, touched an open wound, but I manned up and grinned through the pain.
Christiana went on. “What went wrong with your girlfriend, Brick?”
Mocha Latte snapped, “I wish all of you would shut the fuck up. Who gives a shit?”
Penny and Christiana looked at that slice of chocolate like she was possessed by the devil.
* * *
—
I PULLED DEEP into the run-down, L-shaped parking lot of Roscoe’s on Pico.
As we crossed the lot, a good-looking woman appeared from the entrance of the eatery, laughing. I recognized her and frowned. She was tall like the Nilotic peoples, indigenous to the Nile Valley. A brown-skinned woman caught up with her. I recognized her too. She kissed the darker woman on the lips; then she took the darker woman’s hand.
The Nilotic woman was dressed in a glamorous suit in the hue of oranges and reds, her hair touching the middle of her back, in one braid. The tall brown woman with her rocked an oversize Afro so large it made her look like a moving tree. She wore a hot yellow dress, tight over her breasts, her hips, her ass, and sweet Madden boots. Her name was Coretta. I had bought her those boots. That tight dress too. Maybe her underwear as well. The brown-skinned woman saw me and stopped laughing. The Nilotic woman followed suit. Smiles became frowns.
Coretta was my ex.
We made eye contact, and I couldn’t help but make a face like I had an intense anal fissure and a cluster of hemorrhoids the size of a grapefruit. She did too. I regained my composure first. We walked by each other without a word, like we never meant anything to each other, like we’d never known each other in the biblical sense, like strangers.
Tried not to, but I looked back and my heart turned to stone.
Coretta eased into her woman’s Maserati. The glamorous Nilotic woman kissed my brown-skinned ex, did that to show possession, and drove away. A bitch who broke hearts and took no names now had a bitch of her own. If I had noticed that Maserati when I came into the lot, I would have kept going, or I might’ve hit the accelerator and rammed that car, but she had parked deep in the back corner of the backward-upside-down-L-shaped lot, hidden between two Range Rovers. My world had stopped moving and now I had stopped walking.
The pace of asses stopped too, looked back at me to see a man disturbed.
Christiana asked, “What is wrong, Brick? That look on your face; did you see a ghost?”
Penny said, “The bad attitude in the yellow dress was his ex. The one who dumped him.”
“Brick, that was the girl you were in love with?”
Penny went on, “The jet-black girl with her licked the clit and turned her out.”
“Turned her out? What does that mean?”
“His hard dick wasn’t as strong as a woman’s soft tongue.”
Seething, I said, “Shut up, Penny.”
I hoped the pace of asses would move on, but Christiana took a breath, gave me a kind smile, and regarded me as if she were beholding my soul, her face filled with empathy and understanding. “We’re complicated creatures. All of us are. Yet we are simple, almost predictable, at the same time. Our needs are not always the same as those of our lovers. That is the part of dealing with each other, with other humans, that we must understand. Many of us need different things, but we all need something specific, and that can change year to year, or moment to moment. Some will take what they need from you, ruin your heart, then go. Do not be offended when someone does not live up to your needs or your expectations. It is part of living, part of life.”
Penny and Mocha Latte considered her, shifted like those words had touched their souls too.
Christiana took a deep breath. “I’ve been through every kind of heartache and misery imaginable. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed and endured. I am just like Penny. Just like Mocha Latte. And, Brick, I am just like you.”
Those sincere words jarred Penny, woke up some pain she felt within.
The mini-sermon had the same impact on Mocha Latte. Buried feelings had been called to the surface for the girls. Couldn’t be laughed or joked away. Then Penny marched on toward the diner, Mocha Latte barely keeping up with her. I stared toward the spot where Coretta had been.
CHAPTER 3
BRICK
WITH A TENDER smile and an expression of pure concern, Christiana stayed behind with me.
I needed a minute to get the intrusion of cockroaches out of my brain and the feeling of flaming grapefruits in my ass to fade away.
She waited a few more seconds before she asked, “You’re okay?”
Another five seconds passed before I responded, “I’m okay.”
“I saw your heart. It was on your sleeve.”
“You saw dandruff on my sleeve. Nothing Head and Shoulders can’t wash away.”
“I saw her heart too. Both of you were so startled. When was the last time you saw her?”
I felt uneasy but answered, “Six months ago, more or less.”
“She held that woman’s hand, but the way she looked at you, love and jealousy remain. Seeing you did something to her. I saw that in her eyes and body language. She saw you and no longer wanted to hold the woman’s hand she was with, but that woman held her hand tighter. In fear. I know in my heart that she had love for you in hers.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
She asked, “What does she do? Is she a model?”
“Dresses like one, but she’s a speech pathologist.”
“She is attractive, and I can tell you are kind. What happened?”
“Philosophies collided. Reality and fantasy had a big disagreement.”
“What does that mean?”
The question made me uneasy. Made me feel like Christiana was studying me, accumulating information that somehow could be used later. Or maybe that was just one question too many. Maybe she was just profound and the kind of talks she wanted to have required self-reflection, honesty, and emotional labor.
I said, “There was a song that went, ‘Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’.’ Man sang it long before I was born. It feels like a woman’s anthem. Women tell men, ‘You gotta have somethin’ if you want to be with me,’ but she didn’t want me to know how much she made, how much she had saved, yet she wanted a wedding ring?”
I caught my
self before my issues dragged me away like a team of wild horses.
Christiana asked, “So, you were almost married, Brick?”
“We were in the preplanning stages. We looked at rings but were never engaged.”
She asked, “What kind of girlfriend was she?”
“Now that I can see clearly? A user.”
“Then be glad you are free. It is hard to let beautiful things go, but at times we must.”
I asked, “So what do I do?”
“You go on. You live with sleepless nights until one night you surprise yourself and sleep soundly. You allow the recovery process to happen. You may feel like you are the only one awake at night, like you are the only one in the world feeling what you feel, but you are not alone. There are more than many.”
We took slow steps toward Roscoe’s. A couple of bros were out front passing out pro–African American literature. The militants noticed Christiana and had to hold their family jewels to keep their balance.
Roscoe’s was crowded. Lots of chatter, but not every table was taken. I passed by the cashier, near where they had President Obama’s picture on the wall, servers whizzing by carrying plates filled with chicken, waffles, red beans and rice, grits, mac and cheese, and collard greens. After we were seated and had ordered, Penny and Mocha Latte went to the ladies’ room together. Christiana sat next to me.
“Brick, you’re only a chauffeur and not in the other special parts of the business?”
“What special parts?”
“There are amazing women, rich women who just don’t have time to date, or don’t feel like doing the work, but want to find a good-looking, fit lover they can spend quality time with. I have made contacts along the way.”
“So, you have a client list that consists of male miscreants and wayward women.”
“LA is the perfect place for this profession. Women come to LA on business, are here for only a night, maybe only for an afternoon, and love to have the boyfriend experience. They are women of power and means.”
She pulled out her phone, showed me pictures of women. Schoolteachers. Housewives. Politicians.
Christiana said, “A restless woman is a very unfaithful woman. So is an unhappy woman.”
“I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t restless or unhappy.”
“And I’ve never met a man who was so happy he wasn’t restless.”
I noticed a pack of guys, rappers, stop Penny and Mocha Latte on their way back from the bathroom, trying to holla. One was halfway famous, and all the way interested. The rest were that joker’s henchmen. Probably on his payroll, being paid in leftover tennis shoes plus all the chicken and waffles they could eat. Penny and Mocha Latte put on smiles and sat down with the rapper and his crew. I could hear erections growing as they exhaled.
I asked Christiana, “How was it the first time? Who was your first customer?”
“He was a minister. He was fifty years old, very kind. I cried after.”
“A real minister?”
“It was in a church, saw Jesus looking down on me as he did things to me.”
“In a church?”
“I was foolish to have gone into that church by myself. I needed money and took risks. I am more careful now. I prefer that Mocha Latte and I work together. That way, we can watch out for each other.”
I nodded. “If you need a driver, I can work for you, same rate as I charge Penny.”
“There are people who will buy a parking space for a million dollars or pay two hundred thousand for a bottle of champagne. They will pay seven thousand for a night. I need to find those clients, and I could earn five hundred thousand in one year.”
“That’s about seventy-two nights.”
“I’m worth it.”
“I would love to take a selfie with a seven-grand-a-night pussy.”
“I would love to feel an orgasm inside of an orgasm inside of an orgasm.”
“And I would love to see a unicorn.”
“I am a very smart woman, but I am also very self-aware, and I know that before time runs out, or there is an accident or illness, this fleeting beauty is to be used to my advantage. I have been through seven kinds of hell. I deserve heaven. I deserve to be rich in adventure, health, and knowledge. I deserve love and family. I dream big and I work hard. I remain humble, and I try to help other people become successful.”
I told her, “You’re gorgeous. I’m sure a rich man would wife you in a heartbeat.”
“If I don’t have my own money, I’ll just be a whore wearing a diamond.”
The conversation ended when Mocha Latte and Penny came back. The rappers looked at me, sizing me up. Saw that I wasn’t a joke. They broke first, giving me a head nod. I did the same. Respect.
The food came. We ate, people watched, and talked about nothing memorable.
Christiana finished her meal, sipped tea, and asked Penny, “You work often?”
“Not often. I’m in college so everything is scheduled around classes and studying.”
Christiana asked, “What is not often for you?”
“Once a month. Maybe twice. But my money is funny now, so I’ll have to work more.”
“If it is okay to ask and not be offensive, how did you start doing this, Penny?”
Christiana had a way about her, a disarming tone. Penny was usually closed off, but she opened up. She told Christiana that she had fallen in love, moved in with the man of her dreams, before she found out about his other girlfriend. Dude ran up her charge cards, wrecked her car, then walked away and left her fifteen grand in the hole. Money was needed to survive. Not long after, she ended up doing quickies for quick bucks.
Penny said, “The first time I did it, rent was due and I hadn’t eaten for three days. Thought, do that a few minutes, eat like a queen, get my Whole Foods on, and not have to worry about that for the rest of the month. Once wasn’t so bad. Done in twenty minutes. Nobody knew. So, I put an ad online at Ebony Escorts. Still needed money, you know? A Jewish girl at USC did the same, turned me on to other parts of the business, showed me other websites, showed me where to go after the fast cash. Smart girl. Cunning. She’s going to be an attorney. Will probably end up on the Supreme Court. Anyway, I was only going to do it a couple more times, and that was, by my estimation, at least four months ago.”
Christiana nodded as she listened. “You haven’t done this that long.”
“Yeah. Four months. Closer to three. Did it five times, five dates. Still not comfortable with it, but not as uncomfortable.”
“You looked very nervous when you came into the house tonight.”
“I was. This scares me. Was shaky until I met you and Mocha Latte. Then I felt safer.”
“What’s your goal?”
“Pay my debts and stack enough chips to get through six months of living; then I’m done.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll do this?”
Penny’s phone rang. She looked at the number, made a face, answered. “What took you so long to call me? Uh-huh. Bro, you don’t sit on my number for a year, then call me and talk about taking me out in the next hour. Six months is a year. Keep it real. Yeah, I know I sound different than I did six months ago. Lot has changed in my life. Not your business. You see the time? Don’t call at this hour trying to disguise a booty call as a dinner invitation. I don’t do booty calls for cheesecake. If you can’t call ahead of time and invite me to church, or Bible study, then just lose this number. I’m blocking you on social too. God bless you and, boy, bye.”
Mocha Latte chuckled, gave Penny a smooth high five.
As they talked and finished their meals, Christiana and I got in line to pay.
I asked, “What is it like?”
“What is what like, Brick?”
“To go to a room and not know who’s waiting to . . . to make love to you?”<
br />
“There is no love waiting. Only a stranger who desires to be intimate with another stranger. Someone who wants to control you or needs you to control them.”
“How does it feel knowing you’re going to have sex with someone you’ve never met?”
“Imagine, you open a door, see a smiling woman, and know that in a matter of minutes she will invite you to touch her, to please her, that she will invite you inside her body in some way. A woman you just met.”
“You’re good at making what you do sound very erotic, intriguing, and profitable.”
“We are psychiatrists that raise orgasms to soothe the souls of prevaricators and the restless.”
“Now you’re in the medical field.”
“We are therapists too. Orgasms are healing. Cure illnesses. They take away pain. Calm your mind and body. Orgasms get rid of tension. You and Penny did that for each other two times. That was kind.”
“Won’t be a third act of benevolence; no caravan of orgasms. Not with Penny.”
“Just be sure that you are as sure as she is sure. Even if the woman is not yours, once you have been intimate, with that connection, some will become jealous of certain things.”
“We’re friends.”
“Friends who have been lovers will never truly be friends again.”
The rest of the pace of asses joined us as we left.
I said, “Where next? Comedy Club in Long Beach? My brother is on tonight.”
Penny said, “I don’t want to see André’s little comedy act again.”
Christiana said, “Dancing. I want to go dancing.”
Penny began to move. “I know where to go. Inglewood. My spot in Inglewood.”
CHAPTER 4
DWAYNE
THE LOBBY OF the comedy club was café style. Checkerboard floors, wooden ceiling fans, pictures of every comedian from Charlie Chaplin to Richard Pryor covering the walls. There was access to the bar and itty-bitty kitchen, so I got a whiff of everything from Bacardi to Budweiser, from refried beans to greasy burgers.
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