The Punany Experience (25 page)

“That’s impossible.”

H
ARTFORD HATED TO ADMIT TO HIMSELF THAT SHAWNA WAS RIGHT
about his career. The moment he laid ears on the future sound of Bandarofski Music Publishing, he knew he was a has-been producer. His smooth jazz-funk signature sound had been reduced to samples that lay the cadence for much more aggressive mechanical drum patterns, gnarly electro synthesized sound punctuated with pop culture punch lines and catchy rap hooks. The worst and best part of it: his managing director had hired ten young producers for the cost of one Hartford Crow.

There were four on duty the night he entered Band Studios with Sweet P on his arm. She wore a sheer black A-line dress with a royal blue panty thong and bikini top underneath, but the young producers barely acknowledged her.

“Hey, yawl! It’s him!” one of them said when he walked into the studio. “It’s Hartford Crow.” The boy, who could not have been more than eighteen, checked his face against the big picture on the wall of the music icon, who was shaking Jerome Bandarofski’s hand, and holding a Grammy music award. “It’s him,” he told Hartford. “I mean, it’s you!”

The other young musicians didn’t have to be told to stand; they simply did, talking over each other to introduce themselves. There was “Barry Bond, not Bonds with the s but without it, as in James.” Then there was “Ocean and Atlantis, like the lost city,” who always produced as a team. And finally, there was “Tommie with an i-e not a Y, aka Fayze,” who was the team executive and had more than twenty-five Hartford Crow samples in use after only two months.

“Mr. Crow, it’s such an honor…Mr. Crow, you’re the best,”
Sweet P teased as he walked her to the studio door after the boys had ignored her for nearly an hour. “I’d bet anyone of them would consider tapping that prostate for you, if you asked.”

She was joking, but taking potshots at him at the same time. Hartford let it slide, knowing she was just jealous, though he wasn’t sure if she had anything to be envious about.

Hartford listened intently for the next few hours to the innovative usage of his most popular and classic works. They had even made use of some obscure music he had never released, but all remained a part of the Bandarofski catalog. He walked out of the studio, not sure about how he felt, but certain he needed to find something besides music and Shawna to occupy his time.

M
ORE THAN A WEEK HAD PASSED
since he had seen any of his girls, but Hartford couldn’t stop thinking of Stormy and her wild fantasy, so instead of calling Shawna, he called Stormy to pick him up from the Oakland airport.

“I’m on my way,” Stormy said. “Southwest?”

“Yes,” Hartford said.

Stormy called Korea to let her know they would be having a guest for dinner and possibly dessert. She dressed quickly, hit the 880 Freeway, and collected the man before he had a chance to change his mind.

Hartford would not have guessed by Stormy’ free-spirited, hippie-flared style that she was living, as his grandmother would have said, “so high on the hog.” But the penthouse was undeniably phat.

“Damn,” he said. “If I was a bachelor, I wouldn’t mind this. I wouldn’t mind this at all.”

He accepted a glass of chardonnay from Stormy, who promised that the object of his ambitions would be arriving soon. In the meantime, she showed him Korea’s state-of-the-art workout facility, her garden, and stainless steel gourmet kitchen. She gave him a quick peek at the designer master bedroom they might be experimenting in later that night and then led him to the east balcony of the penthouse where they sat and talked.

As soon as Korea saw him, she wanted to fuck him. Korea did not believe in awkward moments, so when she arrived, all conversation stopped and the pair immediately got physical with a telling kiss.

Stormy was right
, Hartford thought,
Korea’s beautiful
. Hartford was digging her swagger from the moment she had said hello. She had actually looked him up and down, like he was a piece of meat.
Now that was new
, he thought, hoping he hadn’t blushed like the bitch he felt like in the moment. Except for her obvious attraction to designer clothes and footwear, Korea wasn’t anything like his wife.
She really has her shit together
, he thought.

But he couldn’t figure out what was going on with Stormy. From the moment Korea walked in the door, she was a nervous Nellie,
dropping things and stuttering. There wasn’t even a hint of the confident woman he had met in Los Angeles. It wasn’t until she started running down her dinner menu that she even started making sense.

“Stormy, what’s for dinner?”

“Uh, I um, I wasn’t sure what you had a taste for tonight, and I knew we had a guest coming…Hartford, I hope you like chicken and fish…”

“Stormy, get on with it. What did you cook? You
did
cook, right? Because if I see another take-out box…”

“Your choice,” Stormy finally said, confidently. “Smoked chicken with caramelized onions and Shiitake mushrooms or fresh Atlantic salmon cured with salt and sugar and perfumed with lemongrass. There’s some wild rice and Lyonnais potatoes with sweet cream butter and fresh Romano cheese, just like you like them, baby. Your vegetable choices are Sicilian cauliflower with capers and sage or zucchini bacon fritters with basil-mayo dipping sauce.”

The sound of it made Hartford’s mouth water. The only thing Shawna knew how to make that was anything close to gourmet was her “special vegetarian, not really beef, beef nachos.”

“Didn’t you make a salad? I told you I wanted a salad,” Korea quipped.

“Of course,” Stormy answered, unfazed by her attitude. “I made a spinach salad, made of baby spinach from my garden.”

“Oh yeah? What’s in it?” Korea asked nicely, after realizing Hartford would need to see some softness in her if he was to agree to be her bottom.

“Well, baby, the garden is doing so well. The salad is made up of sweet cherry tomatoes, English cucumbers, fire roasted red onions, and garlic. I topped it with a sliced boiled egg, pecans, and crumbled blue cheese. The dressings are homemade. There
is a warm bacon dressing and red wine vinaigrette with pomegranate.”

“That sounds mouthwatering,” Hartford said.

“Well?” Korea said to Hartford. “Are you going to wash up for dinner, or are you one of those men who doesn’t wash his hands until after he touches his food, or his dick?”

He liked her sense of humor. Though, he admitted to himself, it was hardcore coming from a woman. But if he was going to let her inside him tonight, or any other night, she would do well, he agreed with himself, to stay just like she was.

“M
Y
G
OD, WOMAN
,” H
ARTFORD SAID, RUBBING HIS BELLY
after dinner. “You are blessed.”

“Yes, baby, it’s true; you outdid yourself tonight,” Korea interjected into the line of emotional fire between them. She wondered for a second, but quickly dismissed the idea, that they had been intimate. Then turning to Hartford, she said, “I want you to be comfortable and clean tonight, so use the master guestroom to get ready. I have to work out. Stormy will come for you in a couple of hours. Is that cool?”

“Yes, that’s cool,” Hartford said.

Korea deliberately kept a straight face at all times when talking to him, just as she would have if she had been shopping for a new car. There were no discernible inflections of any kind that he could use to judge her attraction. But inside, she was a giddy kid.

Fucking, shit, hell, damn
, she said to herself as she watched his tight little ass follow Stormy down the stairs. “We’re all going to hell tonight.”

E
XCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT BOTH
K
OREA AND
H
ARTFORD
completely forgot Stormy was in the room, the fantasy played out much as she had described to Hartford when they were in Los Angeles, with Stormy on the bottom, Hartford in the middle, and Korea behind him, riding him like a prize bull. Korea gripped handfuls of his Afro-like horns, thrusting her big black dildo inside of his ass, and came more times that Stormy could count.

Stormy, who had immediately gotten into the shower when the episode was over, could hear Hartford thanking Korea through the bathroom door.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Hartford kept saying to Korea as he removed his condom and got dressed.

Korea couldn’t say a word at first. She was too cool to say what she was feeling. All she knew was that she was still coming. Her pussy had saturated the black leather harness and her pussy juice was trailing down her legs, as she walked Hartford to the door, raping his ass with her eyes. And when he turned to say goodbye, she grabbed him by his hair and shoved her tongue in his mouth. They both pulled tight against the other’s head, trying to get their tongues in deeper. He breathed heavily, as she sucked his tongue. He wanted her inside him again so badly, he was salivating. A stream of spit escaped the corner of his mouth, and Korea licked it away. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“You need to get the fuck out of here,” she said.

“Why?” he asked. “Don’t you like me?”

“I want to throw you against that wall and fuck you again. I want to fuck you right, without that little bitch in the way.”

“Just tell me when,” Hartford said, “I’m yours.”

“T
HAT WAS SOME NASTY SHIT
,” S
TORMY SAID TO HERSELF
in the bathroom mirror. “I can’t believe I orchestrated the whole thing.
The entire room smelled like ass. Correction, the room smelled like shit. I couldn’t even focus on sex. How do gay boys do it? Didn’t that motherfucker use the enema I gave him? I’m just glad it’s over. That’s one fantasy that would’ve been better left a fantasy.”

Stormy went into her room and logged into the Good Vibrations website. She surfed through the vast selection of mock cocks. “They would be in alphabetical order,” she said. “Anal. No.” She continued reading the list, “Bull’s eye Silicone, Double…Glass, G-Spot…Realistic, okay, there’s my baby.” Stormy selected an updated version of the dick Korea had stuck up Hartford’s ass. She didn’t care if they had used two rubbers, that dick was not going to touch her pussy ever again.

Before she climbed in bed, she made a little trip to Korea’s master bathroom, and dumped the old dick in the trash. The television was off. The lights were off. Korea was naked and sound asleep, actually snoring! Now there was a sound Stormy had never heard before.

In the morning, the dick had been boiled, oiled, prepped, and put right back in its silk bag. Korea was pissed off that she found it in the bathroom trashcan. But, instead of saying so right away, she said, “I don’t want a fucking omelet; I don’t even eat omelets. Make me a smoothie. Don’t use banana either.”

Stormy knew that Korea had eaten a bacon and sharp cheddar omelet a few days before. She was confused and she didn’t know what to do at all.

She filled the blender with strawberries, blueberries, a banana, half a cup of apple juice, and a couple of ice cubes, put the top on, and pushed chop, and then puree. She poured breakfast in a glass and sat at the kitchen table across from Korea. “I know you like my omelets. This isn’t about omelets. What’s up?”

“What’s up? Look at you, talking to me like I’m one of your
homies. I’m not your homie. But since you asked, I have a question for you. Who the fuck do you think you are? Why did I wake up this morning and find my dick in the motherfucking trashcan?”

Stormy opened her eyes wide. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you kidding me? That thing is contaminated.”

“Don’t you ever throw away anything of mine.”

Oh, shit
, Stormy thought.
She’s serious. O
kay, she said to herself,
let me think.
She quickly ran through her head, all that she knew pertaining to this, and came up blank, except for…“Oh, baby, no, no, I wasn’t mad about it or anything. I’m just saying, we need to get a new one. I ordered one already. It will be here tomorrow.”

Korea shook her head. “The more I school you, the dumber you seem to become. You know what your problem is? You’re spoiled; that’s what your problem is. You don’t know what to do when shit doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Uh oh
, Stormy thought.
New fantasy, anger, irrationality…it’s happening again
.

“Ouch,” Stormy said.

“Ouch? What the fuck is that?”

“Just ouch.”

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
The board is convening next week to make our final staff selections. I have to have you here.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I haven’t made up my mind.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Don’t waste your talents. I’m not just offering you a chance. You will be offering The Cutting Board a chance, too.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I have to talk it over.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Explain.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
I’m in a relationship.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
Explain.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
My partner doesn’t want me writing…She says it’s a waste of time.

T.C
ALLOWAY
:
I’m booking you a flight. Be on it.

S
TORMY’S HEART WAS BEATING SO HARD IN HER CHEST
, she thought Korea might hear it, so she stood in the doorway of her bedroom when she asked, “Korea, do you think it would be alright if I went on a kind of working vacation for a while, just for the weekend?”

“This weekend, sure.”

“Sure?” Stormy asked.

“Sure,” Korea repeated. “Do me a favor. Can you cook up a couple of meals so I can put them in the microwave?”

“Sure,” Stormy answered.
Absofuckinglutely
, she thought.

If Stormy hadn’t asked to leave town, Korea was going to find a way to send her away. Her timing could not have been more perfect.