Politics. Escorts. Blackmail. (16 page)

Upon Kemba skeeting his last forbidden drop onto the shower floor, his phone rang. He listened to it and focused on his breathing, telling himself it could wait. It rang again. He continued to shower and shook his head over what madness had just occurred, and then his phone rang again.

He stepped out, snatched a towel, and darted to the bedroom to grab his cell from the nightstand. “Hello.”

“Kemba Price?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ty Ellis with TMZ. We’d like to talk to you about an unnamed source who has informed us that you are an escort who has been servicing Senator Ellington’s wife. Would you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

His ears, head, and heart jumped, and he looked down at his phone as another call came in. The caller ID displayed a number he didn’t recognize.

Who the hell is that? Aw damn!

Monday—February 6, 2012

M
ost of the lights in the hotel room were off. The lamps on each side of the bed were set to the most dim level. And Pretty in Pink, aka Mr. 31, didn’t have his bag of tricks with him. He had his thick little wife instead. It was a threesome, with each one playing by the rules that applied only for this particular afternoon. Part of the new rule was that today, Pretty in Pink would go only by his real name, Tyler Copeland.

“So you’re my husband’s mistress, huh?” Tyler’s wife asked.

Money, who was going by the name Queens, asked, “Did he say that?”

Tyler admitted, aiming his blue eyes at Money, “Queens, I told her everything.” Unbeknownst to his wife, he’d already hipped Money to the deal. That his wife heard him on the phone booking an appointment. That she started digging into their finances and found thousands of dollars in even amounts debited from an account in his name only. But she wasn’t able to access the payees, only the amounts and dates. She assumed there was a very expensive third party in their marriage. He came clean after arguing with her for two days. But one thing he didn’t do was tell her about his other side. She did find a dildo under the sink of his separate bathroom years ago, but he claimed he bought it to use on her. Which he never did. She’d let it go. But this one, she just couldn’t drop. This one she said she had to see for herself.

Today he’d asked Money to make it average, like everyday, normal sex. And she agreed.

Money asked Tyler’s wife, “So, you just want to watch, huh?”

“I do.” She seemed semisure.

“You sure you don’t want to play?”

“I’m sure. He told me what he’s been doing. I told him I want to see. If he’s been living like this, seeing you, then I need to know it all. Just act like I’m not even here.”

It was a different situation compared to their usual. There would be no submissive. No slave sex. No female domination. No bondage. There would only be vanilla sex with a man she’d known for a couple of years who’d never even penetrated her. But she’d need to play the role of the escort hired to sleep with the husband who just wanted some pussy on the side. No kink. Just good old-fashioned sex.

Tyler, wearing Jockey men’s underwear, was barely hard when he stepped to the bed from where his wife sat on the guest chair. She was wearing the same outfit she arrived in. It was a blue-green wrap dress and heels, no stockings. She was in her mid-fifties, blonde, and pale. She had a bob cut, much like Katie Couric. She was conservative looking, wealthy looking, and almost square looking. Her face said she was a newbie, but she had her dress hiked up to her hips already, the finger of her dainty right hand rubbing her hairy vulva. Her slightly chubby legs were wide apart, cooperating by making room for voyeuristic playtime.

Tyler climbed on the bed with Money, holding a Magnum condom package in his hand, which he definitely didn’t need. He was average, at best. It was like he didn’t know what size to buy at the store. Money had always gotten them. But his wife made him get his own before they came to the hotel.

He lay next to Money, who crawled on top of him, and it was lights, camera, action. She began rubbing his forehead with her hand, massaging his hairline, and placing her hand along his flabby pectorals, coming to the level of his chest to kiss his nipples, tracing the roundness of his areola with her stiff tongue. She looked over at his wife, who was completely silent. Money wanted to see if she was buying it. She looked intrigued.

Money took a bottle of eucalyptus oil from the side table and rubbed it over Tyler’s chest and even his beer-belly stomach. She moved on down to his thighs and then scooted herself to his calves, massaging his shins and ankles. She turned to aim her ass at his face, and again looked at his wife. Money shook her ass cheeks and rubbed on the front of his legs from his knees to his upper thighs.

Tyler showed little response.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” Money asked him, making sure he remembered he was supposed to act like he liked it.

“Oh yeah, Queens. Ummm, that feels nice.”

Money raised an eyebrow at his fakeness.

His wife was none the wiser. Her eyes had grown sexy with curiosity. She now had her finger inside.

“That looks good,” Money told her.

She said nothing, she just continued to explore her pussy with her finger.

Money turned around and lay on her back along the width of the bed so the Mrs. could see them better. Tyler climbed on top of her, and Money brought her legs all the way back, exposing her pussy. It was wide open, and her wetness glistened. He removed his underwear. His penis was nowhere near as hard as it had been before. She pulled her legs all the way back, touching her knees to her ears, and said to Tyler’s wife, “Bet you can’t fit your whole hand in there.”

She said, “No thank you. I’ll let my husband have you to himself.”

Money explained, “No, I meant you put your whole hand inside of
your
pussy.”

His wife looked down at her vagina and right away, inserted two fingers, then three, then four. She adjusted her knuckles and turned her hand to make room, but she seemed to have reached her maximum.

Tyler said, “Good girl,” and Money saw his dick jump to another level of hard.

Money said to him, “Now why don’t you stick your dick all the way inside of me? Your pretty wife can fist herself while we fuck.”

Tyler placed the condom on himself, got in position to give Money what she’d never had from him, then pressed his hips against her body. The two of them moaned at the same time.

When they looked over at the wife, her entire fist was impaled into her vagina. Her eyes were still sexy, her hand was devoured, and she started a soft, erotic groan that escaped from her throat while she licked her lips and scooted toward her hand as if excited to get it in further. All they could see was her wrist hanging from her pussy.

Tyler kept watching her and fucking Money and grinding himself deeper as his wife freaked herself.

Money kept an eye on them both, and her thoughts shifted to how this woman had no idea her husband, who was so in control and responsible for so much, was really such a sissy in his head, who had such a need to be the opposite of what he was, who was so conflicted in his manhood that he wore makeup and high heels and liked to get fucked with dildos.

Tyler pressed deeper and gave off a high-pitched grunt, kind of girlish, like he always did. And Money realized he had actually come. His wife kept her fist inside and rubbed her breast with her other hand. Tyler pulled out of Money and went over to his wife, taking her hand out of her wet pussy and sucking her fingers, licking all of her juices off of her palm and knuckles, before taking her entire hand into his mouth until it disappeared.

She gave off a giggle—“Look at you”—as if the sight did nothing to turn her on. She said to Money, “He always gives off that girlie groan when he’s having an orgasm.” She sounded so straight-laced, the complete opposite of her husband, who seemed to be enjoying her fist in his mouth. The Mrs. closed her legs and giggled again, tapping him on his shoulder. “Tyler, stop that.”

Money lowered her legs and gave the wife a smile. “You’re very sexy.”

“Thank you.” She blushed but wouldn’t give Money eye contact.

Tyler stopped and looked toward Money, apparently realizing he’d gone just about as far as his wife could handle. He turned to get dressed.

When Money saw his now flaccid penis, she gasped. The condom was gone.

She quickly reached inside of herself and dug deep, bringing her legs back again, and she pulled it out. The way-too-large condom had slipped off, and it had Tyler Copeland’s sperm dripping from it. “Oh, no,” Money yelled.

His wife had begun putting on her clothes, but she froze when she saw the condom. “What?”

Money dropped it onto the sheets and jumped up, hurrying into the bathroom and slamming the door. She sat on the toilet to force out whatever was there.

She heard Tyler’s wife ask him, “Has that ever happened before?”

Tyler gave off a panicked “No.” Money could tell he was standing before the door. He asked, “You’re on the pill, right, Queens?”

She said loudly, “I have a uterine device,” wishing they would just leave.

The sound of her cell went off, and then it went off again. Money let it ring and ring and then heard Mrs. Copeland say, “Bye. It was nice meeting you.”

Money said nothing.

The door closed.

When she came back out, her mind was filled with the fact that the condom had slipped off.

She picked up her cell and saw that she had a message. She pressed 1 for the voice mail and heard, “Ms. Watts. This is Detective Raymond Thompson. I need you to give me a call, please. We have some questions we’d like to ask you regarding a case that just opened up here. I’m with the New York Police Department, 67th Precinct.” He left his number.

She stood frozen in a daze. “Shit.”

Kemba’s text came in next.
Call me.

“Shit. Fuck.”

The next morning, Money Watts sat in the police station in front of Detective Thompson. It was just the two of them in a small, barren room. And he did indeed have questions.

Her reply to what he’d said so far was, “Solicitation of sex and pimping? You are kidding me.”

“Your employee is Kemba Price, right?”

“Yes.”

He was older, with built-in frown lines. “He has a girlfriend named Beryl Thomas. Turns out they broke up. We’ve been given the name of a woman who Mr. Price was allegedly seeing on the side.”

“Okay. What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s not so much about the fact that he was supposedly cheating, but the reason we want to talk to you is because of
who
he was cheating with. We need to know if this person hired him for sex.”

“I know nothing about that. If that happened, that’s his business.”

“Kemba Price is your employee, correct?”

She looked impatient. “I already said yes. He’s an independent contractor.”

“And you run an escort service, right?”

“Yes.”

“Named Lip Service?” He wrote down notes when she spoke.

“Yes.”

“Did any of your business dealings fall into the category of your clients paying your employees for sex?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He asked, “You do know that’s illegal, right?”

“Escorting is not. If anyone was involved in sexual acts it was against my knowledge.”

“Very good. Interestingly enough, the woman involved who is said to have paid Mr. Price for sex is Ms. Beryl Thomas’s estranged sister, Ursula Ellington. And as you know, Ursula Ellington’s husband, Darrell Ellington, is running for president.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“And?” She played it off.

“Well, you tell me.”

“First of all, she’s not one of my clients. And second of all, as per my Fifth Amendment rights, I have nothing else to say without having my lawyer present.”

“You think you need one?” He looked like he knew more than he would say.

She told him like she was schooling him, “You didn’t read me my rights, which means you might be able to use anything we discuss or act upon any knowledge gained, but you still wouldn’t be able to use it in court. You don’t want that, do you?”

He answered her question with a question. “Do you think there’d be a need to go to court?”

“I reserve the right to halt further interrogation, and you must exercise that explicitly. Do not ask me any more questions without my lawyer present.”

“Fine.”

“Now, am I free to go home?”

“Ms. Watts, we will continue to gather evidence. But you are not under arrest. I never said you were. You are free to leave. Therefore, the Miranda warning you refer to does not apply. Simply coming into the station for the purpose of answering questions is not an indication of custody and not entitled to Miranda warnings. We’re not interrogating you. Did it feel that way? If it did, I apologize.”

Money stood. “Good-bye, Detective Thompson.”

“Good-bye, Ms. Watts. You smell good, by the way.”

She walked out like he hadn’t said a thing.

Damn,
she thought, as she adjusted her purse strap along her shoulder. Why had she grabbed that bottle of fruity-smelling Gucci Guilty perfume instead of her usual, clean- and innocent-smelling Classic?
Kemba’s sloppy ass is mine.

Tuesday—February 7, 2012

V
irgil and his mother, Ursula, had talked for only a few minutes about a phone call she received, when Darrell rushed into their Scarsdale home with fifth-gear energy, slamming the door and entering the open-floor plan of the wide living room and dining room combination. He hurried over to the mahogany dining room table where his wife sat upon a black formal chair, sipping tea. Virgil was sitting on the living room sofa, pretending to be focusing on his laptop. They both looked up at Darrell, who aimed his quick words at his wife.

“The
New York Daily News
called my campaign manager. I’ve been getting call after call on my cell phone. And you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, Darrell, I do. They’ve been calling the house, too.”

Virgil sat back, keeping an ear on the conversation.

His stepfather pointed directly at his wife. “And?”

She admitted, “It’s a mess. All of the media is going crazy.”

“Then why is it that I got a call from everybody but you? You couldn’t have possibly been that messy, Ursula.”

Virgil was in total disbelief. He sat back and wondered how his stepfather had the nerve to react, since he himself had been sleeping with escorts for years. Yet there he was, throwing a guilt-ridden ball of blame at Virgil’s mother, when he had no right to cast the first stone.

Ursula said with passion, “Let me tell you what happened. They’ve got it wrong.”

“How wrong could it be that you’ve been seeing a male escort?”

She said, “I have not been seeing him. Well, not seeing him like that. I know how this sounds, Darrell. I know how important your campaign is. I would just ask you to keep an open mind.”

He said to his stepson without even looking back at him. “Virgil, how about you leave us alone to speak privately?”

Virgil kept pretending to be working, but still replied, “I will if my mother asks me to.”

Darrell said angrily, “I’m no longer asking you. I’m telling you.”

Ursula said, without looking at anyone but her husband, “He can stay. It’s going to all come out anyway.”

This time Darrell’s and Virgil’s eyes met, and then both of them moved their eyes to Ursula. Her face was laced with regret. “I met this man in the lobby of the Marriott downtown. I was there with Nona, preparing for that Paine Webber speech. The guy and I talked. And we exchanged numbers. He’s a personal trainer. It’s not what you think. I had no idea he was an escort. He never told me that.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Just as Darrell was about to jump in, she opened her eyes and spoke as if she was only telling what she was willing to admit, “I only saw him that one time. He called me. I called him back, and, well…turns out…”

“Say it. He’s Beryl’s damn boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“And you slept with a man you met in a hotel lobby just like that, knowing our life is an open book? And to top it off, it’s your sister’s man?”

“I didn’t sleep with him. And I didn’t even know Beryl was still in New York. I haven’t talked to her in years. I called him back after he called me, and she answered and recognized my voice. I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“Oh, you couldn’t believe it? What I can’t believe is that you even had the nerve to exchange numbers with this guy. Personal trainer? You know how things are right now. We’re so damn under the microscope. We’re being watched. You don’t exchange numbers like that. You needed a random personal trainer that bad? I’m the one in disbelief. Not you. Me.” He pointed to himself.

Virgil fought back his words. He’d put down his laptop and got up and was now standing close to them. He was on edge.

Darrell asked, leaning his head closer to his wife, “What else happened?”

She said, “That’s it.”

“That’s it? That’s it! Like that’s all there is, and now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can go ahead and finish this campaign. Finish our lives now? Well I don’t believe you didn’t fuck this guy. This will not go away, Ursula.”

She explained, “I’m telling you, I did not.”

He snarled his reply.“Well your own sister is saying he admitted to it.”

“It’s not true. I’m telling you this has been blown out of proportion. Beryl called the media, and they’re running with it. She wanted it that way so she would hurt him and me.”

“Well, it sure as hell worked.”

“Darrell, I’m guilty of taking the time to talk to him, and call him back. I’m guilty of giving him my number. That’s all that happened. And I know what this means.”

“First of all, your sister has an escort, or—let’s use the right words—a male prostitute, for a man. And you just so happened to meet him in a hotel lobby and the two of you started calling each other. Well, I guess you repeated the same thing you did to her years ago, huh? Brazen again?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Is there any proof that you slept with him?”

“No. Because I didn’t.”

“Don’t let this get worse. Get it out now, I mean it. My campaign has been at its height and now it’s in trouble and I’ve gotta try to clean up this mess and answer some questions right away. Now’s not the time for any more bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Nothing happened.”

He stared her down and Virgil stared him down. Darrell said, “I want to talk to Nona. I don’t want you calling her before I do. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Is that clear!” he asked again, louder.

Virgil jumped in. “Hold up. She said yes. Now back off. That’s enough.”

Darrell turned toward him, towering over Virgil by at least four inches. “Listen here. You don’t tell me what to do in my own house, and how to talk to my wife. You hear me?”

Virgil stood firm. “You’re talking to
my
mother, in
her
house.”

“Your mother has fucked things up. This isn’t the typical political story of the male politician who cheats on his wife. This is the politician’s wife who cheated on her husband. And thanks to her, this is a first.”

“She said she didn’t sleep with him.”

“I don’t believe her.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I just don’t fucking believe her.”

Virgil told him, “Well, this could be worse. It could be the male politician fucking escorts for years, cheating on his wife. It really could be. Ya know?”

Darrell didn’t move. “Yeah. But it’s not.”

“Yeah. It could be.” Virgil gave him a look as if he could tell it all if he really wanted to.

Darrell split his hateful, narcissistic stares between the two of them. “I’m going into my office. I’m not accepting calls. I’m not taking meetings. I’m not gonna play house like everything is fine. If I discover that you lied, Ursula, we’re through. I’m not the type to stay. I’m telling you that right now.”

She still explained. “I’m telling you, my sister is still mad for what happened years ago and she’s making more out of this than there is. She’s making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“And if it wasn’t for the molehill, there’d be no mountain to make. You need to take 100 percent responsibility for this. And when I address the media about this, you’ll be the one standing right beside me disputing these accounts like your marriage depended on it. Because it does.”

Virgil asked him, giving a daring glare, “You’d actually leave my mother for that? For exchanging numbers with a personal trainer?”

Darrell didn’t answer.

He stormed off, looking certain that the bottoming out of his career awaited him.

Ursula’s mouth was open, as if she still had something to say.

Virgil took the few steps to her and put his hand on her back as she sat, “I’m sorry.”

Her voice shook. “I messed up, son. I plain old messed up.”

“You’re human.” Virgil fought with telling his mother that his stepfather was the one who should be in the hot seat. Telling her things a whole lot hotter than what he was berating her for.

She hugged her son around his waist. She began bawling, crying so hard her body shook.

Virgil knelt down and hugged her. “It’s gonna be okay, Mom. No matter what happens for now, it’s gonna end up okay.”

He said what he needed to say, but in his heart he knew the truth of it all would be their downfall. With the cat out of the bag, he wondered if he could continue to keep Darrell Ellington’s indiscretions from the world and from his mom. But if there was still a window of opportunity for the White House, even with the news about his mother, then he would keep it to himself for now.