Red Light Special (4 page)

YOU HAVE MANAGED…

The amber sun turned crimson as it set over the Sag Harbor estate. From what Collyn could see, the party was going to go off perfectly, from the illuminated orange paper lanterns to the tropical fish swimming in the pond to the blossoming trees swaying in the warm breeze. Directly on the shore were rows of round tables covered with white linen cloths and complemented by gold chairs. There were white-gloved butlers everywhere serving Alaskan snow crab, Maine lobster, freshly rolled sushi, filet mignon, wine, and chilled Moët. White balloons and firecrackers flew through the air, while waterfalls flowed directly into the three in ground pools.

Collyn and her top girls arrived in a line of red Phantoms, and immediately all eyes were on them, which was no surprise because every actor, performer, and politician who was there knew that Collyn had the baddest chicks in the business: all brick houses, striking, voluptuous, in an array of beautiful blackness, from lusciously sweet vanilla to deep sensual chocolate.

Each stepped out of her respective Rolls and onto the thick red carpet, which was outlined by lit bamboo torches. The raging orange and blue flames created a mysterious hue that glistened off the women’s statuesque bodies. Collyn’s women wore only shimmering body oil and six-inch Jimmy Choos. Collyn was the exception—she wore a strapless, fitted cream silk dress that clung to her body like papier-mâché.

Collyn looked over her girls as French horns sounded and exotic male escorts took them by the arm and led them to their assigned venues for the night.

Once all the girls had dispersed Collyn strolled the grounds. Though she never participated in any of the sex, it was her job to ensure that everyone here had their fantasies fulfilled. And nothing was off-limits. By the time the guests left here all of their fantasies would be reality.

Each enclosed white tent had been assigned a different theme: girl on girl, swinging, voyeurism, threesomes, foursomes, and anything else one could imagine.

“Champagne?” the butler asked her, as she exited the S&M tent.

“Thank you.” She lifted a glass of Moët from the gold tray.

“Collyn.”

She turned around and noticed one of her regular and politically affiliated clients calling her name.

“Peterson, hello.” They kissed each other on each cheek.

“How’ve you been?” he pointed to Bless, who was standing next to him. “Are you familiar with Blessing Shields?”

She nodded her head, “Pleasure.”

He smiled, looking her over, “I’m sure.”

Immediately Collyn’s clit jumped. “So how have things been, Peterson?” Collyn said as she tapped the ball of her stiletto, hoping that no one could feel the force of her involuntary pussy pumps. She was half heartedly listening to Peterson as her eyes drifted toward staring at Bless. Never had she seen a man so beautiful: the butterfly muscles that protruded from his collarbones and ran into his defined arms were like exquisite works of African art.

He wore a tight wife-beater that complimented his washboard abs and large pecs. His beige linen pants hung off his waist, hinting at the defined ass within—one that she could imagine grabbing while they made love.

Collyn traced the rim of the glass with the tip of her index finger as she wondered how salty his skin would taste.

Damn,
Collyn thought,
this shit is crazy. I know better than this.
“Well, Peterson, Blessing. It’s been very nice chatting with you, but if you’ll excuse me.” She turned around, “And Peterson,” she threw over her shoulder, “I just spotted your favorite girl, going into your favorite fetish tent.”

“Excuse me, Bless.” Peterson said as Collyn made her way back around the grounds. She was pissed that whatever attraction she had for Bless, she couldn’t seem to shake. Yeah she loved men and treasured dick, but no matter how rich he appeared to be, he was a trick, and the number one rule that her mother raised her with was tricks were off-limits.

Making her way through the half-naked crowd, Collyn sat down at the makeshift bar under the tent where there was live dance hall music. Although this was a high-class orgy, with people having their fetishes fulfilled all around them, the crowd in here was clothed. This was the one place the guests could go if they were taking an intermission from fucking and wanted to get their swerve on.

“You drinkin’ or thinkin’?” the bartender asked her.

She smiled, “Both.”

“Well,” he said, “I can listen to one and go get the other.”

“Well, thank you.” Collyn laughed. “But I’ll just have another glass of Moët.” She slid back on the stool and enjoyed the music.

The music reminded her of Kingston, Jamaica, her mother’s hometown. She closed her eyes and envisioned herself walking through the Caribbean sand. As she heard the bartender pouring her drink, “Thinking about me?” poured over her shoulder. She knew it was Bless.

“Not quite,” she snapped.

“You’re too pretty to lie.”

Collyn laughed. She hated that he was so persistent, because it made it that much harder to resist him.

“So, do I get this dance?” he asked.

“I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“Ai’ight, then place me on the side of pleasure.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the only one here who’s not for sale.”

“Give it to me for free.”

Collyn crossed her legs, her erotic pearl pounding like a drumbeat. “And suppose I have a man?”

He spun her around toward him. “Fuck your man.”

Dead silence. There was nothing much to say after that. At least nothing Collyn could think of right away. She looked in his face and could see he was undressing every part of her body
…again.

To him she was stunning, and every luscious curve of her exceeded perfection. Bless could only imagine that holding her in his arms would be the epitome of giving him something he could feel. Unable to resist, he slid his index finger down her full cleavage.

“Didn’t I tell you about touching me?” Collyn warned.

“You want me to stop?”

After a moment of dead silence Collyn said, “Look, there’s a lot of pussy out there and you paid a lot of money to have it here, so why don’t you go and enjoy?”

“Do you really want me to go out there and fuck one of them?” He gazed into her eyes and stroked her cheek.

Although Collyn found herself envisioning Bless’s smooth lips wrapping around her thick nipples, she didn’t respond to his question. There was no way he realized what he was asking her to compromise. Acting on his gesture and giving into the electricity of his warm touch heated her body with would’ve gone against every principle she ran her business with. But perhaps this wasn’t about business.

Collyn grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor. Though she had on four-inch stilettos, he was still significantly taller than her.

Lady Saw’s “Chat to Mi Back” was playing and the dance floor was packed.

The tent was air-conditioned, yet the beat of the music and the dance movements made the cool air nonexistent. Collyn placed her arms around Bless’s neck and he rested his hands on her waist.

“You like to run, huh?” he asked her.

“What are you talking about?” Her dance moves proved that she was every bit West Indian as her hips whined with ease.

“You feeling the hell outta me and you runnin’ like crazy.”

She didn’t respond. Instead she turned around and whined onto his shaft. His hard dick was a perfect fit down the middle of her slit. As her hands practically touched the ground Bless couldn’t help but feel her luscious behind, and that’s when he discovered she didn’t have any panties on. He placed his hands beneath her dress and his middle finger slipped through her wetness. “Shit,” he said as his finger became slick.

Collyn stood up straight, turned around, sucked the candy off his fingertip, and resumed dancing. “I will let you know when it’s time to put your fingers there,” she said seductively.

“I wanna put more than my finger there.” Bless pulled her to him and her hips moved as if they were remote controlled by his large hands, which glided up and down the sides of her thighs. He buried his nose in the side of her neck, lightly kissing her collarbones, sucking her chin, moving on to her lips. Surprisingly, she didn’t stop him. Nor did she want to stop him, the magnetism of his touch seduced her into letting him finish.

As the music continued to play, Collyn found herself exhaling as Bless’s tongue traveled deeply into her mouth. Never had she been kissed like this. A kiss like this is what caused the fear of falling in love to either subside or come alive. Bless backed Collyn into a secluded corner of the tent and pulled her dress up. “Stop,” she said, while continuing to kiss him. “I’m not doing this.” She broke their lip-lock, her stiff nipples pressed against his chest.

“Ai’ight.” He forced himself to stop, his hard dick ready to bust. He took a few moments to calm down before he said anything. “So when I’ma see you again?”

“I think it’s best”—she straightened her dress—“if we don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She paused. “You’re…a client and that’s what’s best. We’ve already gone too far—”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really and—”

“Collyn—”

“—and I just think—”

“Beautiful,” he said with ease, “all that shit you sayin’, you don’t even believe it.” Bless reached in his side pocket, pulled out a Cuban cigar, lit it, and blew smoke from the side of his mouth.

“We can be friends, Bless,” she said.

“Friends?” He arched his eyebrows. “So we niggahs now?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? I was two seconds from fucking the shit outta you and you lookin’ at me and sayin’ we niggahs? That you my dude?”

“Exactly,” she said confidently. “I mean, if you can’t handle it, then that’s not my problem.”

“If you good, ma, then I’m good.”

“Ai’ight…so, straight.”

“Fa’ sho,” he said, ending the conversation, “but let me show you what I do with my boys.”

“What?”

He gave her a pound. “I’m out.” And he left her standing there.

The red numbers from the clock radio flashed 8:00
A.M
. like breaking news across the middle of the bedroom’s three floor-to-ceiling windows as Kenyatta’s heavy eyes begged him to close them. For the last month, he’d been fighting to stay awake, doing his all to keep Eve’s dead body out of his dreams. If he slept, that image caused him to wake up every morning in a cold sweat, screaming.

He looked toward Monday, who was sound asleep, then eased out of the bed, grabbed his cell phone, and headed into the bathroom, where he called Tracy. “Tracy,” he whispered, peeking back at Monday before walking over to the bathroom window and looking out at the grounds, “did you find out anything?”

“Nothing,” Tracy said.

“Fuck!” Kenyatta snapped. “I need this shit taken care of. Every day I’m paranoid as hell.”

“We should have something soon. And I’ll call you when we do.”

“Please.” Kenyatta hung up, and when he turned around Monday was standing there. He jumped and dropped his phone on the floor. “What the fuck you sneaking up on me for?”

“Sneaking up on you?” Monday said, taken aback. “You’re the one walking around here all nervous and shit.”

“I don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“I can’t tell. Kenyatta, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on with you? I promise I will understand. I will. Let’s just talk about this.”

Kenyatta stared at Monday. He thought about how he’d cheated on her a thousand times, had sideline babies, lied, borrowed the “I love you” line that he’d promised was only for her and spat it at bitches who didn’t mean shit. He knew this level of cheating had to be a disorder, perhaps something he’d been born with.

He’d always loved sex and would try mostly anything, which is why he embarked on the venture of paying for pussy, because he wanted to see if the ill na na was sweeter when it had a price than when it was free.

Kenyatta knew by the hurt lining Monday’s eyes that no matter how much of a lover, homie, and friend she wanted to be, she couldn’t handle the realness of it. “Monday, I’m not in the mood to be questioned.”

Monday sucked her teeth and stormed away.

Two hours later, after their morning showers, they were both dressed and back to their daily routine.

“What do you mean City Council vetoed my bill?” Kenyatta paced the floor and spat into the phone as Monday walked into his home office and stood in the doorway stunned. Her stomach tightened and she saw everything they’d worked for flash before her eyes. Kenyatta was on the phone, squinting his lips tight and taking steady pulls of weed while he discussed city business with his financial secretary.

“And what are you doing?” Monday plopped his leather briefcase on his desk. “Is there a secret desire to be Marion Barry?”

“Crack is whack,” he placed his hand over the receiver, “this is weed.” He took a pull and blew the smoke toward her face.

“You look ridiculous.” She peered at him, “You have to prepare for a meeting with City Council this morning and all you can think to do is get high? Am I even seeing this?” she raised her hands above her eyes like a sun visor, “Is this even for real?”

Kenyatta looked at the burning tip of weed and then stuck the opposite end back into his mouth. “Look I’m going through something right now.” He resumed his telephone conversation. “I understand what you’re saying Elijah, but I need that bill rewritten because this budget has to be passed. We told the superintendent that we would raise the budget for the existing schools and look into building new ones. This has to be passed.” He paused, took another pull, and said, “They don’t need to worry,” he blew smoke from the corner of his lips, “about the city’s budget. Look, just have the minutes from the meeting typed up and ready for me when I reach City Hall this morning.”

And as he hung up Monday said, “I just hope whatever bitch that has you losing it isn’t pregnant.” She picked up the Febreze and sprayed. “Put that away.” She fanned her hand.

“Excuse me,” the maid said as she stepped into his office. She noticed Kenyatta smoking weed and immediately stepped back out and knocked on the door frame, “May I…uhhh…come in?”

“Damn Mary.” Kenyatta said as if he’d just remembered she’d worked here. He hurriedly mashed the joint in the ashtray and sprayed Febreze all over himself and into the air. “Yeah, Mary,” he arched his back and popped a peppermint in his mouth. “Good morning. How are you?”

“Fine, sir, and yourself?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Well, Ms. Hudson James is here.”

“Let her know that I’ll be out in a moment.”

“She says she needs to see you now, sir.”

“Tell her I said—”

“Thank you, Mary,” Hudson said as she walked into his office. She stood still and sniffed. The longer side of her mid-length bob swayed as she moved her neck from side to side. The corners of her mouth curled in disgust, causing her smooth coffee-colored skin to wrinkle. She looked at Monday and then to Kenyatta.

“Know what?” she said, closing the office door. “We have more important things to deal with.” Hudson slammed down two newspapers. She pointed to one of the headlines and began to read: “‘Missing Woman Had an Affair with Mayor Kenyatta Smith.’”

Monday felt woozy, while Kenyatta blinked. “What the hell is this?” he questioned in disbelief.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” Hudson picked up the next newspaper. “The missing woman, Eve Johnson, was Senator Edward Reign’s sister-in-law. His wife is distraught and claims her sister called her daily and told her about an affair with the mayor.”

“I knew it was some bullshit,” Monday said, dazed.

Kenyatta stared off into space and then turned back to Hudson. “Release a written statement saying it isn’t true.”

“Not good enough. You need more than a written statement.”

“Who the fuck is Eve Johnson?” Monday screamed.

“It’s a long story.”

“Make it short.”

“It was nothing. The paper’s lying.” He looked her in the eyes.

Monday glanced at his twitching jaw. “You’re lying.”

“Not now, Monday.”

“Then when?”

“Hudson,” Kenyatta said, ignoring Monday, “why isn’t a written statement good enough?”

“Because, Mayor, you are dealing with a very well-respected senator who’s already not a fan of your politics. And now his wife’s favorite sister is not only missing in your city but also is reported to have raved about an affair with you. A written statement isn’t good enough; you have to hold a press conference.”

Kenyatta glared. “Hell no! We weren’t lovers.”

Monday stared Kenyatta directly in the face and hated that she knew when he was lying. She hated it because underneath all of the superficial bullshit that stopped her from letting go, she needed another reason besides a possessed penis to stay.

Hudson looked at her watch. “I’ll schedule the press conference for an hour from now. And Monday”—Hudson looked at her—“would you like me to go upstairs with you so you can change? Preferably into a gray or navy blue two-piece modest suit and pearls. We can also rehearse what you need to do and how wide you need to smile while you’re standing at his side on TV.”

“TV?” Monday was in disbelief at the thought of being one of those political wives standing by their man while he was sinking in quicksand.

“Yes, TV. It’s important that you’re there. It gives more credence to the mayor’s commitment to finding Eve.”

Coming out of disbelief and no longer speechless, Monday spat, “Do you hear what you’re asking me to do? TV? After what I just found out? Are you serious? I don’t give a fuck if they never find the bitch.” She pointed to the paper.

Hudson looked at Monday, taken aback. “Please don’t say that again. Let’s save the ‘mad black woman’ fits for after the cameras have been packed up, as going off on TV is not an option. You have to do it. Oh—and I just thought of this—while you’re on the air, I want you to make a statement to the family.”

“What?”

“Yes, tell the family that as a wife and member of this community, you are sorry for their misfortune and their time of turmoil. It would seem more sincere coming from a woman than a man. And make your voice tremble a bit, so that the viewers can sense your compassion.”

“Wonderful idea.” Monday batted her eyelashes. “And maybe I should say,” she went on, enunciating every word, “that I sincerely hope your dearly beloved, home-wrecking, two-timing ho-ass bitch of a loved one is dead when she’s found.”

Kenyatta stood stunned for a moment and his knees buckled. “Excuse us.” Kenyatta turned to Hudson.

“What?” Hudson asked. “We need to deal with this.”

“I said excuse us. As a matter of fact, I’ll meet you at City Hall.”

Grudgingly Hudson walked out the door. Once she was gone, Kenyatta turned back to Monday, who spat at him. “Were you fuckin’ that missing-ass bitch?”

Kenyatta sighed. “Monday,” he said softly, holding her hands between his, “listen, baby. I know you’re upset and hurt—”

“Oh, you know this? So tell me, were you fucking her?”

“No.”

She looked at his jaw to see if it would twitch, and when it didn’t, she asked, “Did you know her?”

Kenyatta paused. “I met her once. That’s it, but it was nothing. I don’t even remember what she looks like.”

“So the paper is just making shit up. Out of all the mayors in New York state, this bitch nails Kenyatta Smith as her man.”

“Look, I know it sounds bad, which is why I’m going to do this press conference. I promise that after the conference we can talk about this as much as you want. But right now I need you at my side, for your support as well as our political image.”

“Political image? That’s what this is about?”

“Monday—”

“Fuck your political image!”

“What?” He took a step back. “We have to do this for the public.” It was evident that staying calm was trying. “Image is everything in politics, and you know it.”

“How about this? I will not be going on TV! Not Monday. Not this motherfuckin’ Monday anyway. So you, the public, and that missing bitch can kiss my extra-wide black ass.” Monday slapped herself on her left butt cheek for emphasis.

Kenyatta snatched Monday by the arm. “Understand this: you will do it.” His hot breath ran along the side of her neck. “And you will do it because you don’t have a choice. All of that singsong shit is a front you puttin’ on for your damn self. Now, I understand that you’re hurt, and like I said, we will deal with that later. But right now you will be about your business. I don’t want to hear any more complaining about what you are and are not going to do, because right now that’s not an option. Do you understand me?”

Silence.

“I said, do you understand me?”

Monday snatched her arm away. “Fuck you!”

Flashing lights from the sea of cameras danced in Monday’s eyes as she wondered what everyone present thought of her. She didn’t quite know what to make of herself as she stood side by side with Kenyatta, looking somberly at a man she so desperately wanted to spit on. She gave a half smile and nodded as one of the journalists called her name and snapped her picture when she turned around.

Kenyatta cleared his throat and the crowd of media started to quiet down. He stood behind the podium with his back straight, looking cool and confident. His round gold-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his gray double-breasted suit was pressed to perfection. He looked directly into the camera and began to speak. “I come humbly before you not only as the mayor of our great city but also as a man who is very hurt by the allegations that I was having an affair with Eve Johnson.”