Cornbread & Caviar

Cornbread & Caviar
ISBN 978-1-60592-183-9
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cornbread and Caviar Copyright 2010 Empress LaBlaQue Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Randi Ranes, an unwed mother who lives in the project and slings hash in a greasy spoon, has an even bigger problem than being dirt poor and having a sick child. Her mother is a drug user, and her strong addiction has indebted Randi to unsavory characters. Spider wants his money, and he's given Randi a clear ultimatum. Whose life is worth more—her mother’s or Randi's sick little boy’s? Can Randi salvage both?

Randi is under pressure and falling apart. At her wits end, she agrees to sell her body at an illegal auction. Although Randi dresses the part, she knows better. Handsome millionaire, Hilton Maxwell, heads this illegal venture. He could purchase Randi for a smidgen of her asking price, but he doesn’t dabble in street trash. Nevertheless, Randi does have a certain appeal.

If I have to wash another dish, I'm going to slit my wrist.
Serving chicken wings in Casey's Bar & Grill is hardly how I envisioned my life. My feet feel like hot cooked mush; I'm certain they're swollen. Because the restaurant is so busy, surely my kidneys will shut down from lack of usage. This hungry crowd is slightly inebriated. Because alcohol impairs their judgment, pleasing them is difficult.

Dutton is a small town; almost everyone came out to celebrate the victory of our local football team. It would be nice to attend a game once in a while, but my pride keeps me toiling away at this greasy spoon.

"Order up!" Casey yells, banging his bell impatiently. "Randi," he calls sternly. "Move your butt. Orders are backing up over here!"
Turning toward the serving window, I reply to Casey's demands as tastefully as I can. "Be right there!" On the way to the kitchen, I finish serving my customers, wipe my hands on my apron, then rake a small tip in my pocket.
Yes, my self-esteem is low, most times it's rock bottom. Other than my six-yearold son, there's nothing positive in my life. I'm twenty-five, have a GED, and make payments on an old car that is hardly reliable. I'm pretty typical of most women who live in Dutton. So, cleaning tables isn't too bad.
My Mama is a single parent. Notwithstanding her hefty drug addiction, she wants a better life for me. Though an unlikely candidate, she taught me to respect my body, and honor the Ten Commandments. Ironic, considering Mama has a tendency to lie and steal. God knows, I've done my best to clean her up and keep her out of jail. Right now, she owes Spider, her drug dealer, an outrageous amount of money. Spider is brutal and nothing to toy with. Her debt concerns me.
One night, I found Mama down on the cuts. She was lying against an old abandoned building in a fetal position. There was a gnash in her head; she had several broken ribs. Spider's boys had worked her over for stiffing him on his money. With good intentions, Mama promises every day she'll stop using drugs. As of today, that's also a lie.
Once, Mama had gorgeous raven tresses. Now her hair is dry, sparse, and stubby. Before her addiction, Mama's caramel skin was touchable, soft and dewy. Now, it's taken on the appearance of tanned leather. Luckily, I inherited her shapely figure as well as her big brown eyes. After years of abuse, Mama's body is frail, her eyes, sunken, dim and sallow.
To add insult to injury, Mama's skin is littered with scars from stab wounds. Because she'll steal salt from cornbread, no one trusts her; they'd defend themselves against her petty thievery.
During my teens, Mama was a good woman. She sacrificed many things to care for me. How can I give up, when I love her so much? If I didn't try to save her, who would?
Interrupting my thoughts, an aggravated voice breaks through the insanity of the noisy crowd.
"Can we get some napkins over here, please?"
"Right away, sir." Rushing past the register, I check out an elderly couple who is waiting patiently. Their change rolls nosily through the carrier. "Thank you, and come back to see us."
Before Mama's drug addiction, she was full of wisdom. She said the world is bigger than Dutton, so don't blink and keep my eyes open to opportunity. Because Mama believed it, I started to believe it too.
Briskly wiping down a table, I recalled one of Mama's little sayings. "Just because you've made soup of your life, doesn't mean you have to eat it." Funny, Mama never took her own sage advice.
Another command pierces the air. "Miss, can we get a coffee over here, please."
"I'll be right there, sir." Mama dreams that one day, I'll become something grand. "Keep your legs closed and your mind open," she'd say. I've done neither.
Although I made my mistake in high school, I was still paying a hefty price to keep my son. Unlike most of my friends, I didn't flush my mistake down the toilet. Yes, he's a bastard, but God doesn't make mistakes, people do.
"Casey," I call. "Can we hang up the closed sign now?" Somehow, I don't expect Casey to agree.
"I'm out of meat," he replies, "and the potato salad is gone. Unless we can train people to eat chairs and drink dishwater, we'd better close."
That's all I want to know.

I say goodnight to everyone and proceed to my car. Once I open the door, I toss my apron and purse inside. Utter exhaustion makes me reflect over my life. How did I get into such a mess? I work too hard for my money. In my heart, I know I'm supposed to own a boutique filled with fabulous clothes. When I pull out of the parking lot, I realize that dating Boogie Washington
was
my first mistake.

A gorgeous smile and a smooth car is all he needed to get my attention. Like most hot-tail girls, I wanted a ride. All the girls at school were talking about this fine guy, but they never bothered to mention that Boogie sold drugs and had a severe drug addiction.

Boogie had been asking about me at school, or so I was told. He had already graduated, and that little attention went straight to my stupid head. All he did was buy me a stinking cake, and that cake cost me my virginity. I wasn't ashamed to be a virgin, quite the opposite, I was very proud.

Girls at school made fun of virgins. However, I never considered being a virgin a bad thing. Oh well, misery loves company. That woman who lived in Royal Oaks Apartments, the one I call Mama, trusted me, and I had no intentions of breaking that trust.

Honor student, debate team, drama club, all my interests went out the window when Boogie came cruising down my street. He was wearing dark shades, smooth as silk, and driving the baddest car in Dutton.

When his car was right beside me, he rolled down his window and started a conversation. "Angels don't walk, they ride."
My books almost fell from my arms when I realized the handsome guy was actually talking to me. "I don't live far," I said, trying my best to ignore him.
"Say, Randi, why you walkin' your fine self up this street, when you could be riding in style?"
Shrugging, I admitted, "It's a pretty day, not too hot."
Boogie pulled down his shades. "Why don't you just git in, and I'll make your trip home worthwhile."
I paused for a second, not because I had to think about his invitation, but simply for emphasis. "I don't think so, Boogie. Aren't you talking to Natasha now?"
"Natasha." He scowled. "I broke up with that trick when I saw how delicious you are."
Everyone knew Natasha was a fool when it came to her men. My arms tightened around my books, making a deep indention in my arm. She had to be hiding somewhere, and then the joke would be on me. "It's hard to believe you and Natasha aren't talking anymore. And, even if it's true, I'm sure my being delicious had nothing to do with your dumping Natasha."
His car cruised past a mailbox, but basically matched my stride. Boogie watched the road, but periodically glanced at me. "Baby girl, baby girl! Do you have a mirror at home? Obviously, you haven't looked at yourself lately. Baby-baby, big brown eyes, high cheek bones—your lips are kinda small, but they're just right for me. And I loves me some caramel skin. Umph, umph, umph!"
Boogie was dishing out the compliments like scoops of ice cream. Finally, he coaxed me into letting him take me home. That pattern continued for several days. What made me think he was honest? He had lots of raunchy friends and he drank a lot. Sincerely, I can say I never saw him do drugs.
Because Mama started dabbling in the streets, she knew Boogie's reputation and warned me good about bad boys. What I didn't know is grown-ups talk about us too.
At school, Natasha was giving me the evil eye about seeing her man, but she never approached me. The next month, I was turning eighteen, and Boogie had planned a nice surprise for my birthday. Duke was Boogie's hip uncle. He had an old shack down by the lake, and being cool with his nephew, he let us borrow it for some Q.T.
It never dawned on me that Boogie hardly kissed me in public, and he never held my hand. Pride swelled in my dumb chest because I felt he respected me as a good girl, which is scarcely the case.
We sat on a rickety, soiled old sofa, and true to his word, Boogie brought a small birthday cake, drinks, balloons, and ice cream, just for me. He fed me cake, using his fingers, and I relished every moment. A warning went off in my head when I noticed that every time my punch got low, Boogie would fill it back up. Reaching for the full cup, I remarked, "Wasn't my cup almost empty?"
Boogie grinned devilishly. "I didn't want the birthday girl to get thirsty."
An alarm should have gone off in my head, but it was too late; Boogie had been pouring vodka in my cup. Now my guard was completely down. "The room is sorta spinning, isn't it? And, it's warm in here."
"Baby, you're the one who's hot. Why don't you scoot on over here and bring those lips with you?"
Boogie made the suggestion; I did as I was told. Although my speech was beginning to slur, I trusted him. "I can't believe you want to kiss me, Boogie. You've only given me a peck on the cheek since we've been dating."
Boogie gave me a quick smooch. "That's because you drive me crazy, and I didn't want to get carried away."
Even though I was feeling weird, I still wanted to kiss Boogie; the mood was right, and the music was mellow. After scooting beside him, I placed my hand on his lap and looked into his hooded brown eyes. "I've wondered what your lips taste like."
Boogie placed his cup on the coffee table and caressed me in his arms. "Come on girl, it's a special day."
Knowing there was no love between us, I couldn't understand why his kisses stirred me to the core. Within seconds, I felt blood rushing toward my center. Arching my back, I then begged him, "Hold me closer, Boogie."
At this point, I was sure Mama didn't know
what
she was talking about. Boogie's hand felt natural on my body and I wanted more. He slipped off my top and bra; my tender breasts bounced forward to greet him.
Boogie had experience; he was well known as a nasty boy. Or rather, he had an appetite for the heart of the female anatomy. I couldn't get pregnant if I let him indulge a little, right?
After all, he was twenty-three, qualified, and hard as a brick. My curiosity got the best of me; I stroked his ego in more ways than one.
As if I had complete control of his body, he moaned seductively each time I slid my hand over the bulge in his pants, and I loved it. How could I wield such power over someone so beautiful?
He closed his eyes, sat back, and enjoyed my innocent prodding. To be quite honest, I was enjoying it myself. When I removed his mast from hiding, I marveled that it was thick, caramel colored and much like the pictures I saw in books. However, there was no way I was going to give up my virginity to this man.
Then it happened. "Girl, you'd better stop or else you gonna make junior throw up."
That sounded funny, but it was true. He was on the edge of spilling his fill. "Of course, I'll stop. I'm sorry. I guess we went too far."
"Yeah." Boogie nodded, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I heard you're still a virgin."
"Yeah," I whispered, with a giggle. "And proud of it."
Boogie leaned forward and picked up his drink. "You know, if you have sex with a condom you'll still be a virgin."
"What?" I asked, reaching for my cup.
"Well, 'cause technically you're still untouched."
I took a sip and frowned at the bitterness. "That doesn't sound right."
Boogie shrugged with palms up. "Trust me. Would I lie to you?" He closed in on my space.
Placing my hand against his chest, I leaned back defensively.
"I promise you'll still be a virgin if I cover junior up."
I was rather bothered, but deadly curious. "Okay." Then I warned, "You promise, you'll put a cap on junior."
After standing up, Boogie pulled up his sagging jeans. "Scouts honor. Give me a minute."
Boogie disappeared into the bathroom, then minutes later he reappeared. Taking me by the hand, he led me to Duke's bedroom.
When he placed me on the bed, he said, "Now relax and enjoy." He tossed me a reassuring smile. "It's all good," he said, kissing my lips.
I did as instructed, closed my eyes, relaxed, and then gave my virginity to Boogie Washington. The entire experience was not what I dreamed it would be. There were no fireworks, no shooting stars, and no explosions.
A numbing pain erupted between my legs, while my breath caught in my throat. I closed my eyes to feel the magic, but there was none.
Boogie finished his business with a loud, shuddering noise. Then he stood up, revealing a ruptured condom. Only the rubber band was visible around his diminishing shaft.
Boogie grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess it broke."
When I realized what happened, I lay quietly, blinking, unable to grasp the reality of my actions. Then, like a slap to my forehead, it dawned on me that I could be pregnant. My entire body became hot with rage. Urgently rising from the bed, I then tore my face into a frightful scowl. "Damn you, Boogie!" With open palms, I gave him a strong shove. He staggered backward and smirked.
After, tightening my fist, I then struck the bed repeatedly. Screaming through my teeth I shouted, "How-could-that-happen, Boogie?"
Things Mama told me rushed through my mind, causing me to expel weird shrieking noises. "You knew that thing was old, didn't you, Boogie?"
A leer was plastered on Boogie's face. He pulled up his jeans and drew his lips tightly. "Just to be honest, baby, I don't even like condoms. But, I knew you wuz clean."
"Clean!" I yelled. "But, I could get pregnant, you idiot!" Tears dripped from my lower lashes, my mind frayed in turmoil.
"And so," —he shrugged, noisily zipping his pants—"flush it. Everybody else does."
Whimpering softly, I stumbled about gathering my things. Mama would be sorely disappointed in me. Beyond a doubt, I knew I was pregnant.
Sitting proudly on the kitchen table at home was my college application. College was going to change things for me and hopefully get me out of Dutton. At that point, my worry was whether I should tell Mama right away, or tell her later. "Well, happy freaking birthday," I cried, violently dashing my drink against Duke's wall.
When Boogie finally got what he wanted, he reported this newsflash back to the whore who hired him, Natasha. Like the dog that he is, he admitted he punched holes in his raincoat, then his drug-infested sperm swam right through.
The laugh was on me; it was all a funky set-up. Natasha's revenge was mission accomplished. Although Natasha's family was wealthy, she was jealous of my outstanding academic record, and she loathed my squeaky-clean character.