The Game Never Ends

by Zaire Crown

  What Shaun and many previous lovers couldn’t accept was that, while Tuesday sometimes used women for recreation, she could never be a full-on lesbian. She was too attracted to masculinity. With women Tuesday typically took the more dominant role but at heart was a submissive. She loved rough sex and was most turned on when being manhandled and controlled in the way that only a thuggish nigga could.

  So when Marcus flipped her onto her stomach and pushed into her from behind, she was already cumming again. He had her face down on her knees, tugging at a fistful of new weave. He pounded her from the back and groaned, “Damn bitch, ’dis ass so fat!” and the sound of it slapping against his pelvis echoed throughout the room.

  Forty-five minutes and two positions later, Tuesday was on top again, riding him reverse cowgirl. Marcus had rolled a blunt from their personal stash of premium kush. They passed it back and forth while Tuesday put on a show, tossing her hair, licking her fingers. She knew her husband was enjoying the view of his bad bitch dancing on his dick in slow motion. Tuesday was so hot and wet that Marcus joked that she had a Jacuzzi in her pussy.

  She was in a trance with her eyes closed and about to bust again when Marcus suddenly stopped mid-stroke. She knew her man well enough to know he didn’t cum. “Bae, what’s wrong?”

  “You ain’t gone believe this shit,” he whispered low through a mouthful of smoke. “Guess who standing over there lookin’ me right in my muthafuckin’ face?”

  Tuesday glanced across their spacious bedroom and in the gloom could see Tanisha’s tiny silhouette. Their two-year-old daughter stood just inside the half-opened door silently watching them.

  “You forgot to lock it,” hissed Tuesday. She snatched the sheet to cover herself. “Shit! How long she been there?”

  “I don’t know, but just be cool. We ain’t gotta make this weird for her. She too young to know what she seeing anyway. If we don’t act like we doin’ nothing wrong then it’ll be straight.”

  He called to her: “Hey, Nisha. What’cho doin’ outta bed?”

  Tanisha started to whine the way kids do when they think they’re in trouble.

  Marcus put out the blunt and tried to fan away the smoke. “It’s okay Ni Ni, I’m not mad at you. Come here. Come to Da-Da.”

  Tanisha shuffled over to their bed wearing Wonder Woman pajamas and holding the stuffed toy bunny that was her constant companion. Tuesday slid off of Marcus when he picked up his daughter and kissed her forehead.

  “What’s the matter wit’ my baby? Mommy woke you up makin’ all that noise?” Tuesday kicked him under the sheets.

  When Tanisha said she wanted water, Tuesday gave her a few swallows from a glass on the nightstand. Then she climbed in bed between them and made herself comfortable. Tuesday and Marcus just smirked at each other because they knew that sex was a wrap. They were back in Mommy and Daddy mode.

  Tuesday had named Tanisha after her best friend who had been a casualty of the war she fought in Detroit.

  She teased her. “Nisha look like she still sleepy.”

  The little girl shook her head for an emphatic “no” even as she let out a long yawn.

  A few minutes later, Tanisha was resting her head on her father’s chest with a thumb in her mouth. Tuesday was playing with the ends of her daughter’s braided hair.

  “I already ended that situation tonight.” Tuesday saw no reason to keep lying to him when he obviously knew the truth. “I shouldn’t have let it get outta hand like that.”

  He asked, “Was she starting to catch feelings?”

  It took a few seconds before she confessed, “We both were.”

  Marcus gave her a kiss for support. It was his way of saying he appreciated the honesty and she would not be judged. Tuesday loved this about her man. If Tanisha wasn’t there, that would’ve earned him some more head.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you shut it down?”

  She looked into his eyes. “She wanted the one thing from me that I wasn’t willing to give.”

  The conversation Shaun pressed Tuesday to have with Marcus was not in regards to Tuesday leaving him. It was about Shaun joining in. She had proposed a polyamorous relationship where the three of them all lived together as one big happy family.

  Tuesday pretended to think about it, but knew that was never going to happen. She understood how difficult it must have been for Shaun to see Tuesday pull off in her new Benz and head off to her big mansion while being left to struggle in the hood. Tuesday liked spending time with Shaun but wasn’t looking to save a bitch. She damn sure wasn’t looking to share her family or her man.

  Marcus laughed. “I’m just trippin’ cause yo’ boy couldn’t get invited to the party one time.”

  Tuesday was serious. “I don’t mind bringin’ bitches home who come to play. But that bitch wanted to stay.”

  Chapter Six

  Early the next morning Tuesday was back at work simply because she couldn’t skip a second day. The headquarters for Abel Incorporated sat in downtown Los Angeles, occupying a gleaming glass high-rise that resembled a twisted piece of art-deco sculpture. For fourteen years, Abel had grown exponentially until it had become a Fortune 500 company employing over twenty-seven hundred with assets approaching six billion dollars.

  While Brandon lauded their record earnings, Marcus was most proud of its outreach within the urban community. Abel donated heavily each year to numerous causes that provided entrepreneurial opportunities or scholarships for minorities nationwide. Marcus was very passionate about them giving back. Many times Tuesday had heard him lecture on how it was their civic responsibility as a black-owned company. Her husband and stepfather disagreed on exactly how much responsibility.

  While she knew Marcus’s intentions were sincere, Tuesday secretly felt that his generosity was motivated by guilt. For years he had flooded those very same communities with drugs, contributing to the crime, poverty and overall destruction.

  This was his way of paying restitution. Years back, she peeped the biblical connection between a man who had done so much evil under the name Caine trying to do good using the name Abel.

  Tuesday always tried to downplay her sexy at work. She wore a navy-blue custom Dior pant-suit that didn’t draw too much attention to her curves. She complemented the look with a white blouse and heels appropriate for the office. Insecurity still made her feel like all the white faces stared at her.

  The CEO’s office was on the seventieth floor. It was a massive space with plush carpeting and ultra-modern decor. The walls consisted of wooden tiles in a layered herringbone pattern, except for the rear, which was a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Its sliding door led to a narrow balcony, but the potential seven-hundred-foot drop made Tuesday enjoy her scenic view of the Pacific coast from behind the tempered glass.

  Tuesday was relieved when her secretary told her she had a light agenda with no tedious meetings; however, that quickly changed when she found a mountain of paperwork waiting on the desk. Brandon’s office had delivered thirty different reports from twelve departments that needed to be read and signed by the day’s end.

  When she first took her new identity as Tabitha Green, Marcus had given her a driver’s license, birth certificate, social security card, medical records, along with detailed work and credit histories. Later he added a Master’s in Business Administration once he decided to make her CEO. The forged degree from Wharton hung on the wall.

  Tuesday had never stepped on a college campus and feared those working under her could sense it.

  In their presence she knew to tone down the slang, to speak proper English. She knew so many others within the company were more qualified. The woman she sent on Starbucks runs actually had more education than she.

  All these concerns were voiced to Marcus from the start, but as usual, he had convinced her she could handle it by running some smooth shit on her. He explained that a conductor doesn’t know how to play every instrument in his orchestra. It’s only his job to delegate, t
o make sure the wind, string, and percussion sections played together in harmony. Like a conductor, it would be her job to oversee the whole.

  At the time, that analogy made sense to Tuesday but she soon found a huge flaw in it. They didn’t hand a baton to any random bitch off the street who walked into Carnegie Hall.

  Over the past fifteen years, rappers and every nigga on the street had screamed “I’m a Boss!” until the word had lost all credibility. Even Tuesday was guilty of this, because back when she was hitting licks, she had the nerve to call herself Boss Lady, as if owning a rundown strip club earned her the right. Being at Abel made her realize that she had no idea of what it meant to be a real boss. Thousands of people were depending on her for their livelihood. Any poor decision on her part could sink the company, costing them their homes, cars, and savings.

  Hours later, Tuesday was developing a migraine and was only halfway through the second report. Some division was asking her to allocate nine million dollars for some type of fuel research for their international cargo freighters. At least that’s what she got from it because the language barely made sense to her.

  At lunch time, Tuesday exploded out of her office, eager to get away from the reading. Her tired eyes were starting to string the words together in an endless run-on sentence of nonsense. She needed a sandwich, a 5-Hour Energy, and a little cardio to recharge. After a cold cut combo from Subway, Tuesday was down in the company gym wearing yoga pants and a sports bra, working on an elliptical.

  Tuesday had hardly built up a light sweat when she looked over to see Shaun walk in. Shaun was dressed in yellow Spandex and selected a machine only several away from hers. They always tried to keep things low-key at work but Tuesday didn’t know how Shaun would respond after their blow-up last night.

  First the mixed-breed beauty did some stretching that advertised her flexibility to every straight male in the gym. Then she took a swallow of Gatorade, pulled out her iPod, and stuffed her ears with music. She started going hard on a stair-climber as if oblivious to all the eyes and erections pointed in her direction.

  While Shaun didn’t even acknowledge Tuesday, she received the message.

  Tuesday wasn’t surprised that a young bitch like Shaun was playing games but wondered what else she had up. She didn’t know if Shaun would keep things cool or was still planning to put their relationship on blast.

  To Tuesday, the most important thing was that Marcus already knew, but still, she didn’t want a scandal that would embarrass the family. For the rest of the workday Shaun’s threat hovered like a storm cloud.

  Chapter Seven

  Marcus and Tuesday didn’t go out often, especially with her husband playing hermit lately. However, Tuesday talked him into a late dinner at his favorite restaurant. They left a sitter at the house with Tanisha and Danielle, who was still giving Tuesday the cold shoulder.

  It was ten thirty when they arrived at Dominic’s on Wilshire Blvd. It was a family-owned restaurant that had been serving Los Angelinos the finest Italian cuisine for close to sixty years. Marcus had been a regular and then converted Tuesday when he introduced her to their veal scaloppini.

  Even without a reservation, she and Marcus insisted on a table that gave them a view of the entrance without putting them too close to the bathroom.

  Sometime after their order was taken, Tuesday presented him with a box containing a new Parmigiani watch from Cellini Jewelers. When he asked why, Tuesday simply said because she wanted to. They met over the table for a kiss.

  Of course, the dinner and gift was just Tuesday trying to cushion the blow. She wanted to resign as CEO. She spent the whole afternoon looking for the best way to tell him.

  After the lunch break she spent another hour poring over the reports before she finally gave up. The decision had been made right then. For the rest of the workday she just trolled social media and played games on her phone.

  She needed to explain to Marcus that he might have changed her name but couldn’t change what she was. Tuesday Knight was not Tabitha King. Tuesday Knight was a hood bitch, not cut out for this corporate shit. She was not some lazy bitch who wasn’t down to pull her own weight, but she couldn’t handle running his company. She just wanted a cute little clothing boutique where girls larger than a size four could come get fly for a fair price.

  Because of how they met, Tuesday always felt like she had to prove herself. She came into his life only looking to seduce and rob Sebastian Caine before she fell in love with Marcus King. Guilt over that kept her never wanting to disappoint her man. This made it hard for her to tell him how she felt at times.

  She figured the conversation could wait until after they had eaten. Marcus might be less combative with a stomach full of pasta and wine.

  While he inspected his new gift, Tuesday looked around the restaurant to notice something odd. Nobody was eating. The place was three-quarters filled with diners, most of whom had arrived before Tuesday and Marcus, but no one had been served. Most of the other patrons were couples, a few were in groups of three or four, but nobody had any food in front of them. Diners were laughing, talking, or in hushed conversation, all over spotless white linen tablecloths that held no Italian cuisine.

  Dominic’s had a long-standing reputation for fine food as well as excellent service. Two waiters were coming back and forth from the kitchen, but Tuesday didn’t see either carrying plates. It also dawned on her that twenty minutes had passed since their order was taken and their table had not even received bread.

  What seemed merely strange slowly started to appear ominous. Nobody was complaining or demanding an explanation. The fact that everyone was chatting and laughing as if totally oblivious made her suspicious.

  Tuesday’s pulse quickened. Something felt wrong. It became hard for her to breathe. Her anxiety started to build the same way it used to just before she had a panic attack.

  But that was impossible because she was over her OCD. She hadn’t suffered an attack in almost three years. Tuesday tried to calm herself with deep breaths and rationalize away her fears.

  It wasn’t like she actually saw anything to trigger her anxiety. In the past, her obsessive compulsive disorder manifested as a need for neatness and order that was mostly restricted to her condo. The rooms had to be spotless and sometimes she would remake her bed six or seven times before it was just right. At her worst it never reared its ugly head in public. Plus there was nothing messy or unsanitary about Dominic’s. The dining area was immaculate. The oddity was that they refused to serve food.

  Tuesday fought to get control of her breathing. The oxygen helped to beat back the rising tide of panic cresting within. She maintained her cool because she didn’t want to bug out over something that might be as simple as a slow night for the kitchen staff. She chalked up the phantom fear to just nervousness over speaking to Marcus about the job.

  He was still consumed with his new watch, turning his wrist this way and that way when she grabbed his attention. “Bae, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that ain’t nobody got served yet? Come to think of it, I don’t even smell no food cookin’.”

  Marcus slowly surveyed the restaurant using his peripheral vision then flagged down one of the waiters.

  “Hey, is it gonna be much longer? We’ve been waiting a while for appetizers.”

  The young Latino server was humble and apologetic. He confessed there was some problem in the kitchen causing the delay but promised it was being resolved. To make up for the inconvenience, he announced to the room that everyone’s dinner would be free and this earned applause from all the other diners.

  This explanation put Tuesday at ease. She felt silly for letting herself get so paranoid. It may have been a residual effect from all her years in the stick-up game.

  As the waiter left, Marcus slowly scanned the restaurant again. He threw his head back for a laugh before he leaned in for another kiss.

  Marcus was still wearing a broad smile but his voice was deadly serious when he whispered: �
�We gotta get the fuck up outta here right now.”

  Chapter Eight

  We gotta get the fuck up outta here right now.

  Tuesday knew Marcus had a sense of humor but nothing in his eyes hinted that he might be joking. Instead of giving some type of explanation, he just mouthed the words: “Get ready.”

  He was still smiling when he called the friendly waiter back over. “I have a question about the costoletta di vitello.”

  Before the server could respond, Marcus stood and leveled a. 45 at the side of his head. The blast sent blood and brain matter exploding from his skull.

  Marcus then turned and starting shooting in the direction of the second waiter at the rear of the dining area, who had already pulled his own pistol. There was no chance to return fire. He dove headlong into an empty booth as the .45 punched holes through the cushion right over his head.

  When he told Tuesday to “get ready,” she wasn’t expecting this but didn’t hesitate to react. She was already on her feet with the Heckler freed from her Hermes clutch.

  Marcus guided her towards the front door. He kept an eye and his pistol turned to the kitchen as if waiting for someone else to come out the rear.

  Then he suddenly stopped and Tuesday didn’t know why until she saw the valet. The same dude who had parked their Rolls Royce had crept up on them and had an AR-15 aimed at Marcus’s head.

  “Please sir. I need you and your wife to drop the guns.” He was just as cordial as when he had taken the keys to the Wraith.

  Marcus let the .45 slip from his fingers and Tuesday followed by throwing down the Heckler. The second waiter Marcus shot at promptly came to collect both weapons.

  They marched the couple back to their table and made them sit.

  Tuesday was fucked up. She looked around the restaurant wondering why all the customers were just sitting there calmly. It started to make sense when many of them began to pull out assault rifles that were concealed under the white linen tablecloths. They sprang to their feet, barking orders to the rest of the diners. They forced them all to the floor and made them place their hands behind their heads.