Flirt (21 page)

I composed myself enough to get Randy on the line. I figured we’d need some help with getting rid of Jackie’s body. I could trust my brother above all else. When he answered his phone, I could barely get the words out without having them sound like the ravings of a madwoman. The only thing he was able to understand was that there was an emergency at my
house and I needed him to come over there. He tried to ask me what happened, but I ended the call. Gathering my courage, I slipped into the hall and tried my best not to break into a run as I left the motel.

When I got to my house, Princess was pacing in my living room, smoking a cigarette. Even over the smoke, I could smell death in the air. I didn’t have to see what was under the sheet in the middle of my living room to know it was my husband, the man whom I had promised to love and honor, but ended up betraying.

“Are you okay?” Princess rushed over and hugged me.

“Hell no,” I said, trembling. “We’re murderers, Princess,
murderers
.”

Princess held my face in her hands and kissed me. “No we’re not, Gina, we’re free. Now come help me wrap this body up so we can get him out of here.”

Princess and I wrapped Jackie from his neck to his feet in an old carpet that I had in the attic, but he was too tall for his head to fit. Princess wanted to cut it off, but I wouldn’t let her. We had already done enough. Instead, we wrapped it in a plastic bag and tied a pillow case over that. I was just cutting the string that we’d tied around the carpet when my front door flew open. My brother, Randy, stood in the doorway with a pistol in his hand.

“Gina, are you okay?” he asked, seeing me standing in the middle of the living room looking a hot mess. “When you called, I thought Jackie was kicking your ass again.”

“Jackie won’t be kicking anybody else’s ass.” Princess nodded to the parcel lying on the floor.

Randy’s jaw dropped. “Tell me that isn’t Jackie? Gina.” He turned watery eyes to me. “Please tell me that y’all didn’t kill Jackie.”

“Randy, let me explain,” I pleaded.

“Explain what, how you let this dumb bitch gas you up to go to prison?” Randy snapped. “Stupid, just fucking stupid.”

“Well, I didn’t see nobody else rushing to Gina’s rescue.” Princess glared at Randy. The tension in the air was so thick that I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Randy paced the floor. “This is fucked up, real fucked up. I can’t believe y’all killed him.” His voice was trembling.

“
We
didn’t do shit,
I
killed Jackie,” Princess confessed. She sat on the couch and lit another cigarette. “You can call it what you want, Randy, but it was the only way Gina could’ve ever gotten away from Jackie. Look, I know y’all are scared, but it’s gonna be okay. All we have to do is—” Before Princess could finish her sentence, her head exploded. I was so shocked that all I could do was stare at my brother as he placed the gun on the coffee table and knelt over Jackie’s body.

“No, no, no,” Randy sobbed, cradling Jackie’s body. “You couldn’t just leave him, could you? No, you had to kill him!”

“But Randy, I thought you of all people would’ve been happy that I was rid of Jackie.”

Randy turned his red eyes toward me. “I wanted him out of your life, not dead, Gina!”

“But I don’t understand.”

“He was my lover,” Randy spat, shocking me even further. “For the last three years, Jackie and I were having an affair.”

“But Jackie hated you because you were gay.”

“He didn’t hate me because I was gay, Gina. He hated me because he knew that as long as he was married to my sister, we would never be more than a late-night booty call. You killed my lover, Gina!”

I felt like all the strength had been sapped from my body as I watched my brother mourn the loss of his lover, my husband. All these years, I would’ve never expected Jackie to be in the closet, not my Jackie. As I knelt there with my brother and the bodies of my two lovers, I realized that you never really knew someone until you knew them.

ANGEL MITCHELL

For my grandmother Mellow Frankie Mitchell

T
en minutes,
Marley thought as she lay staring at the ceiling with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked over at her latest conquest, who was snoring softly, and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Come on,” she whispered.

Marley stared at the small digital clock on the nightstand until the red numbers changed and displayed three thirty. Exactly thirty minutes after the sexual liaison ended. That was the exact amount of time that she needed to recuperate and not seem as if she were rushing to leave. That was one of her “regulations.” She never stayed any longer than that, no matter what manipulative tactics her conquest tried to use on her. Marley
had other rules as well. She never kissed on the mouth before, during, or after “the act,” and she never let her date hold her afterwards. Strict rules she developed to keep her from getting caught up and to protect her heart from ever being broken again.

Lifting the covers from her body, Marley stepped out of bed and grabbed her dress from the chair. If it weren’t for the light from the street that seeped through a small opening in the curtains, Marley would surely have tripped over the mess of bodybuilding magazines, sneakers, and dirty clothes scattered around Marquez Jones’s apartment.

Moving slowly and quietly, Marley grabbed her boots and her keys and made her way to the door. She softly unlocked the dead bolt and twisted the doorknob. She smiled to herself as she slowly opened the door. She was almost home free.

If Marley made it out of the house, she would cut Marquez off completely, with no questions asked. Rule number ten: Never return his calls, texts, or e-mails, and eventually block his numbers from her phones.

Marley didn’t have to worry about Marquez showing up at her house or job, because her game was too tight for that. Rule number thirteen: Conquests were never invited to her home, and she never offered information about her job.

Marley’s rules were carved in stone, and she never strayed away from them. Falling in love and getting her heart broken was an experience Marley vowed to never endure again. She’d been through the ultimate loss of love. To Marley, love was a
far-fetched dream. Something she would never experience again. The death of DeJuan proved love
was
suicide.

“You leaving so soon?” Marquez asked with sleepiness still in his voice. He reached above Marley’s head and softly pushed the door closed.

She jumped when she realized he was standing behind her. “I remembered I have something to do this morning,” she said.

“What is so important that you have to leave so early?” Marquez asked, pulling her into his body. “I mean, we just fell asleep. Come back to bed.”

Marley pushed away from the unwanted hug and briefly admired Marquez’s naked body. Marquez was one of those men who took care of every
inch
of his body. His stomach was defined with a stunning six-pack; his back and arms showed off the rips and cuts he worked hard at the gym six days a week to define. His black hair was an endless sea of waves from front to back. The same dark hair outlined the sides of his face and ended in a small patch at the bottom of his chin. Marquez possessed smooth chocolate skin, wide dark eyes, and perfect teeth. His big feet and hands confirmed the myth. Marquez was fine. But fine didn’t faze Marley Lucas in the least. She was immune to
fine
.

“Yeah, Quez, I have to meet someone. I’m sorry,” Marley said. “I would have stayed longer, but I just thought about it.”

Marquez hesitated and then reached for the doorknob. He leaned in to kiss Marley, but she turned her cheek to him.

“Call me,” she said.

“Oh, I will.”

Marley rushed barefoot down the steps and stopped at the bottom of the staircase to slide her feet into her knee-high black boots. She leaned against the unstable railing and bent over to pull up the zipper on the sides.

“You better watch who you are bending over in front of, ma.”

Marley turned toward the direction of the sexy deep voice and pulled her dress down over her thick ass and thighs. When her eyes met the eyes of the good-looking stranger, her innate character took over.
Smile
.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said.
Run fingers through hair.
“I know this dress is a little too short, but I didn’t expect anyone to come in.”
Drop keys.

“I got ’em, ma.” The stranger bent down to pick up the keys and stared at Marley’s long tanned legs as he slowly stood.

He set the keys in Marley’s hand and smiled. “You live in this building, ma?”

“No, my girlfriend does. Not girlfriend,
like that
 . . . but you know what I mean.”
Laugh sexily. Run fingers through hair, smile. Touch him. Certified Boricua,
Marley thought as she stared at the handsome Puerto Rican gentleman in front of her. Marley eyed his huge arms, which were covered with tribal tattoo sleeves. Marley admired his light brown eyes and wavy hair while he spoke. When he smiled, his eyelids covered the corners of his eyes, which Marley found alluring. She noticed when he bent down to pick up her keys that his back was also covered with black ink. Marley loved tattooed men. Tatted with a little ink herself, Marley found the artistic form of expression addicting.
The stranger spoke with a slight accent and rolled his
r
sound often, which Marley found irresistible.

After rushed small talk with the stranger—Jay, which was short for Javier—Marley took his number and promised to give him a call. She knew that she would call at least once, but what happened after that was to be determined. Lately with Marley nothing had been certain.

Marley Lucas never had any problems turning heads. Born to a white mother who had a twisted obsession with the Jamaican-born reggae artist Bob Marley and a black father whom she’d never met, Marley had looks as exotic and unique as her name. Her long dark hair waved if she didn’t use a ceramic flat iron to straighten it daily. Her eyes, light brown and wide, sparkled whenever she smiled, and she smiled a lot. Her slender nose and high cheekbones she gained from her mother’s side of the family, but her dark skin, long legs, and shapely curves were definitely from her father’s people. Soft-spoken, with a trace of a southern accent hidden in her words, Marley was recognized by the opposite sex as far back as she could remember. It was apparent to everyone around Marley that she exuded sexuality. Men loved the shapeliness of her legs, the roundness of her ass, and the way that she swayed her hips back and forth when she walked. She mimicked the magic that she performed in the bedroom.

When Marley walked into her condo, she threw the keys into the porcelain bowl beside the door and pressed the button on
the answering machine to retrieve her messages. She placed one hand on the delete button and prepared to dismiss any voice she didn’t want to hear.

“Marley, this is—”
Delete.

“Marley, it’s—”
Delete.

“Marley, call Mom.”

“Hey beautiful . . . call me.”
Delete.

Marley threw herself onto the sofa and rested her head against the back. She thought about the voice of the last caller and sighed. She leaned forward, unzipped her boots, and slid her feet out. Marley walked barefoot toward the kitchen to start a pot of Godiva French Vanilla coffee. Glancing at her watch, she decided not to even try to go back to bed. It was time to get her day started.

After she washed Marquez’s scent off her body in a long hot shower, she poured a cup of coffee, mixed in two spoonfuls of sugar and French vanilla creamer, and headed toward her home office.

Marley stood in the doorway and sipped the soothing drink while she stared at the mess of folders on top of papers. Color swatches and fabric samples stuck out from underneath the home-decorating magazines spread chaotically across the desk. Adjusting the belt on her white terry-cloth bathrobe, she dragged her plush white slippers across the hardwood floor to the sliding glass door, which led to the patio. She opened the blinds. She stared at the beautiful sunrise with squinted eyes. Normally, she would gather her laptop, the paperwork, and color swatches and have coffee sitting on the balcony overlooking beautiful
Miami beach. She’d check her work e-mail first, then her personal mail. She would attempt to work, looking for unique colors, designs, and patterns that she could implement into her next project. Eventually Marley would get sidetracked and end up on one of the popular dating Web sites she was a member of. But today, clouds hovered above, there was an early morning breeze which blew through the palm trees, and the waves pounded against the shore as if rain was hastily approaching.

Marley held the coffee mug with both hands and stared at the ocean in silence until she lazily shuffled over to her desk. She crossed her legs when she sat down to start the computer. Marley took another sip of coffee and sighed heavily. She dreaded starting the work that was piled around her, but deadlines were quickly approaching, contracts had been signed, and advances already paid. She was legally bound to her duties. The same duties she used to complete long before the deadlines, making sure she put in that extra effort to ensure her clients were always fully satisfied. Now, she procrastinated until the very last minute; she did what was expected and nothing more. It had been almost ten years, but every moment of the day, Marley thought about DeJuan and what they shared and lost so senselessly.

The school zoning district unexpectedly changed right before the beginning of Marley’s sophomore year in high school. The change meant that everyone who attended the small Marshall Academy was now forced to attend Northeast High School.
Marley’s friends were devastated. None of them had ever ventured to that side of the city unless it was absolutely necessary, and they surely never went alone.