Naughty or Nice (18 page)

He snarled and spanked me like I was a very bad girl, then yanked me back into him, hit my spot so good and I screamed until he put his hand over my mouth.

“This. How. You. Want. It. Bird?”

“Harder . . . harder . . . hard . . . harder.”

With each thrust, the world became distorted by pleasure.

My lips tightened; breathing turned hard and fast. “That's. It. Baby. Ooo. That's. It.”

He spread my cheeks and tried to crawl inside me. Insanity took over and all sorts of dirty talk came out of me, came from nowhere, sounded like some erotic whore was in the room with us. The pornographic things I moaned surprised me. I cursed over and over when I felt him growing, swelling, making sounds that told me he was thirsty for me. Like he'd never had me before. And it felt like I'd never had him before. There was no barrier between us, our first time skin to skin. I tried to look back at him, wanted to see his face when he came, see that tight-eyed expression that looked like hot wax was being dripped on his body, but he held my waist with one hand, pushed my bandana away, and pulled my hair with the other hand.

The sounds of the ocean had faded, its salty aroma replaced with the perfume of sweat and suntan lotion and sand . . . and sex. Wall to wall, the room smelled like us.

Spasms ran through me. Eyes squeezed shut. Legs trembled. He had to hold me up.

While I gripped the doorframe and came, all I could hear was skin slapping against skin.

“Harder baby . . . do me harder . . . like . . . that . . . yeah.”

I came again.

He groaned deep, was about to come, and pulled out. I turned and held his swollen penis. He seemed so powerful and so weak all at once. He closed his eyes and gave his control to me. Since high school, these hands made a few men orgasm. They all felt different, yet they all felt the same. But one thing was constant, how they always submitted to their pleasure. Seeing a man from that perspective showed me how weak they were, how supremacy belonged to women.

He squeezed my breast while I kissed him, sucked his tongue, swallowed his sounds and stroked him toward orgasm; let his pleasure spill to the floor, both of us marking our territory.

 

In the middle of the night, I left my love nest. Left Bird behind and gradually became Livvy again. Out of instinct, or maybe intentionally, I drove from crisp ocean air in Manhattan Beach to the hills of Ladera and without thought, my life on autopilot, slowed down in front of my home before I realized what I had done. Colorful lights adorned both levels of the house, the front lawn covered in faux snow and a nativity scene. I almost laughed at the fake snow scattered on the grass and palm trees. Best decorations on the block. The curtains were open. He had put up a frosted tree. The kind he hated, the kind I loved. It was beautiful.

I grinned at that winter wonderland, swallowed my emotions, bit my lips, and moved on.

 

Tommie wasn't home. Her Jeep was in the driveway, her purse in her bedroom, her heater on low, place still looking like it had been burglarized.

Her place was an oven. I turned the heater off, washed her dishes, showered again, moisturized my skin, tied my hair up
in a silk scarf, put on pajamas, grabbed covers, moved a stack of books from her sofa, and made myself comfortable. I stared at the silver key in my hand. The key Carpe had given me to our love nest. Shiny and new, like all things should be.

I stared at the key. Felt Carpe throbbing deep inside me, crumbling all the pain.

Restless, I got up, made a cup of peppermint tea, walked in circles.

I called Frankie. She'd just got in from another Internet date.

I asked, “How'd it go?”

“He stuttered.”

“Bad?”

“Took him five minutes to say my name. F-F-F-F-Frankie, you are so f-f-f-f-fine.”

“Really?”

“Spitting everywhere. I needed a damn umbrella.”

“Gross.”

“I had on a denim dress that clings to my ass, this funky necklace, locks were down, sexy chocolate strappies, and I end up with Porky Pig spitting pork juice all in my damn face.”

I said, “Some cute guys at the gym. Especially in Evelyn's and Taj's class.”

“You don't date people at your gym because that's too much like dating somebody at your job. You break up, who gets Evelyn's aerobics class? Who gets to keep Taj and Tae Bo? Who gets Pilates? Would I have to give up my 24 Hour membership and join Crunch?”

“What about at church?”

“Break up at church, then date somebody else, they think you're the church ho.”

“You are the church ho.”

She hung up on me.

I smiled and chuckled.

I was in the living room, in the dark, lounging on Tommie's beanbag, almost in fetal position, looking out the bay window. Across the street, in another bay window, I saw a couple
standing, talking, then kissing. At first I thought they were movie stars because he was as smooth as Billy Dee and she was as statuesque as Pam Grier.

Then I realized it was . . . her height . . . those braids . . . that was Tommie and her friend.

“Oh, my God.”

Their kissing, whenever it stopped, it started right back, went on forever.

My cellular phone rang, startled me away from my voyeurism. My home phone number popped up on my caller ID. I didn't answer. After that, it beeped. My husband had left a message this time. Something in me hollowed. It had to be about the results to his paternity test.

Hello, Olivia. Saw you drive by the house. I was up . . . staring out the window . . . wishing that I knew where you were . . . and just like that you drove up. Then you left.

I rubbed my eyes, smelled another man's intoxicating scent rising from my pores.

I need you in my life right now. I miss you. Miss you a lot. Hope things are okay for you. I mean, it's rough on me not talking to you. I know I fucked up. I know I did. You know you were my closest friend. And not being able to talk to you . . . Guess I took that for granted.

I licked around my mouth, tasted an invigorating flavor.

I'm trying to be strong. Trying to get through this holiday . . . It's hard, you know? Anyway, I'm not going to beg or anything like that. Just letting you know how I feel.

I was about to hang up, but he took a sharp breath, and his message continued.

One of our friends called, told me they saw you in Manhattan Beach this afternoon.

I listened to his ragged breath as he struggled with the next part of the message.

It's not until you've been betrayed that you understand the pain of betrayal.

My eyes closed.

Things are in motion. You should be getting served soon.

Numbness covered me.

If I don't talk to you . . . Merry Christmas.

Then his message ended.

For a while, I sat on the sofa, bouncing the phone against my head.

I dialed my home number.

I let it ring once, then pushed the red button and ended the call. My number showed up on the caller ID, my way of telling him
I got your message, Tony. I got your fucking message.

I went back to the bay window. It was dark across the street. Darkness was a lover's light. I held the silver key tight in my hand, got back on the couch and pulled the covers up to my nose, closed my eyes.

Three hours later, keys jingled and the front door opened. I was still awake, tossing and turning. I sat up. Tommie was stumbling home in her pajamas, housecoat, and duck slippers.

I said, “Hey.”

She yawned and closed the door. “Why didn't you get in the bed?”

“Too much shit on your bed.”

“You could've thrown it on the floor.”

“Too much shit on your floor.”

“C'mon. You'll wake up with your back out of alignment.”

“Is that a menorah in your hand?”

“A Kinara. For Kwanzaa.”

“Oh. Where are you coming from?”

“I know you don't want to start a question party.”

I followed her to her bedroom. The temperature had dropped and the room was cold. She moved everything from the bed and we got under the blankets and comforter. Her warmth made it easier for me to get closer to sleeping. I became a child snuggling up to her mother.

I found sleep, but Tony's voice was there waiting for me, that last message playing over and over. Somewhere in the darkness, a baby wouldn't stop howling.

I jerked awake. The neighbor's dogs were barking at the moon.

Like we did when we were kids, I whispered, “Tommie?”

“Huh?”

“You using condoms?”

“We don't go there. Just kiss and cuddle.”

“I'm going to leave some condoms in your nightstand.”

“Why do you have condoms?”

I yawned. “G'night.”

“Whatever you're doing—”

“—is none of your business.”

She kicked me. “Don't think I won't put you out.”

I started to drift, my mind bobbing and weaving, dodging all bad dreams.

“Livvy?”

I jerked awake. “Huh?”

“Help me take my braids down.”

“Now?”

“Today.”

“That'll take all day.”

“Help me clean up too.”

“You're pushing it.”

I looked in my hand, made sure the silver key was still there, that that part of my life wasn't a dream, then closed my hand tight, gripped it like I was a slave holding onto freedom.

 

By the middle of the morning, rain was coming down hard. Roads were slick and winds were high. Every freeway and most of the surface streets were backed up. By then Frankie was over and we were taking down Tommie's braids.

Tommie asked Frankie, “When you want me to wash and tighten your locks?”

“Tomorrow or the next day.”

She asked, “When you want me to hook you up, Livvy?”

“Mmmmm. Whenever.”

Tommie's hair was the thickest of the lot. Frankie was on her right side and I was on her left, all of us talking and watching DVDs. Tommie had a bootleg copy of
The Matrix: Revolutions
. After our lunch break, we popped in
The Preacher's Wife
.

By late evening, the storm over Old Ladera was a steady drizzle. Tommie cooked dinner and Frankie ran and got a bottle of wine from the trunk of her car. We turned on the television, ate dinner, and saw that rain was still coming down hard from Oxnard to the mountains.

Frankie sipped her wine, pulled her sweatpants up above her calves, then retied her black bandana. She said, “Snowing big time at Big Bear. Anybody feeling spontaneous?”

Tommie frowned. “Awww, y'all know I'm working.”

I told them, “Hush. I can't hear the news.”

Frankie sipped her wine. “Livvy, if we bounce out of here by five in the morning, we can be there by eight, ski half a day, then be back home before traffic gets too crazy.”

I didn't want to go skiing. I wanted to slip away and become Bird again.

I shook my head. “None of my ski pants fit anymore.”

Tommie said, “Your feet didn't blow up like your ass, so get your skis and rent a bib.”

“Tommie.” I pretended I had a phone in my hand and slammed it down. “Click.”

She pretended she had a phone in her hand and clicked me too.

 

I told my sisters that I was going to the store, but went back to Manhattan Beach. Lied to them so they wouldn't question my missing hours. Wanted to sit in that empty space, feel that energy, maybe make a list of things to buy to make it more comfortable, maybe pick up an inflatable bed from Costco, towels, things like that.

I opened the door, turned on the light and thought . . . I don't know what I thought.

There was a refrigerator. Mangoes. Kiwis. A five-foot palm
tree and a small fountain. Eight colorful throw pillows. A pastel radio/CD player. Sarah Vaughan and Norah Jones CDs.

And there was an armless chair. Beautiful, made of cherry wood, with red padding.

I would've thought I was in the wrong place, but there were two presents in the middle of the bed.
FOR MY BIRD
,
OPEN BEFORE XMAS IF YOU WISH
,
THERE WILL BE MORE
was written on a card in blue ink. I hadn't seen it two days ago, but there was a bed built into the wall. A bed that closed up like a closet. Full-size. New pillows, a pillow-top mattress and sheets with an enormous thread count were waiting to be soiled with sin.

There was no phone, so there wouldn't be any calls, no getting online. No television. Simple dishes and silverware. Lots of tea candles and an oil burner. Erotic books. An arrangement of exotic flowers from Accent on Design in Westwood.