Red Light Special (14 page)

As time passed Kenyatta became even more undone. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, had lost weight, and the nightmares that he prayed would go away now crept up on him in the day.

He and Monday spent most of their time communicating through silence and eye dances. Him looking at her when she didn’t know and her looking at him and trying not to show it. Sometimes they succeeded and at other times they didn’t. Monday spent most of her time around him wondering and desperately trying to remember if they’d ever really been more than this. Or if they only survived the last ten years because of their superficial dreams, which once fulfilled, limited what they really liked about each other.

“Can I ask you something, Kenyatta?” Monday said standing beside the bed, fully dressed for the day.

“Monday,” he said, obviously aggravated, while sitting on the edge of the bed with one hand on the phone and the other massaging his left temple. “I really don’t have time for the desperate housewife shit. Or any other nonsense. So please don’t ask me anything that’s gon’ make me cuss you the fuck out.”

Monday swallowed, “I wasn’t looking to get into a cussin’ match, I really wanted to have a heart-to-heart with you.” She hesitated. This was her last attempt at seeing if she were having a sentimental meltdown or preparing a matrimonial eulogy. “Lately, I’ve just been wondering if you still love me.”

“Love you?” Kenyatta jerked his neck back. “Do I look like I want to discuss that? What the fuck? Yeah um hmm…I love you, but what does that mean? Hell,”—he stood up and hunched his shoulders—“you ain’t never done shit for me—”

“Kenyatta—” she gasped.

“Kenyatta the crack of my ass, do I love you? You’re a selfish ass. I been in the goddamn paper every fuckin’ day. The political career that
I
worked hard for, that
you
been ridin’ high on, is about fuckin’ over! I’m holding onto my office by a goddamn string and you wanna discuss being in love? How you even twist yo’ ass to walk in here with some bullshit like that? Here I had to deal with this dead bitch, Eve—”

Dead?
Monday shook her head, his words burned her ears.

“And where have you been, Monday?” He got in her face. “Huh, do I love you? How about this? Do you love me? Have you treated me the way I deserve to be…?”

Monday felt pricks of spit flying from his mouth as he yelled at the top of his lungs, yet she tuned him out and thought about the last question he hurled at her. She decided that her answer was ‘no.’ She hadn’t loved him the way she should’ve, because if she did, she would’ve loved his ass from afar.

While standing here and feeling the heat from his angry words spit into her face, she realized that nothing would change if nothing changed.

But shit, she didn’t expect this son of a bitch to turn out like this. She didn’t see all of this when she first met him and his smile captivated her. Or on their first date nor the first time they held hands or made love. Who knew that what she thought was perfection would turn out to be so corrupt.

Yet, there was no way she could run again. So maybe she needed to force this shit and make it fit. And yeah she had a law degree, but no one except Kenyatta knew that she didn’t take the bar. She was too busy being his campaign manager.

“…You need to be a woman about yours,” Kenyatta continued, “and treat me the way I need to be! Do I love you? That’s a good question, Monday, considering you haven’t done a damn thing to earn it. City Council wants to have a meeting with me and they won’t tell me what the agenda is, but did you know that? Hell no! Because you’re too self-consumed. Well, you know what, Monday? Fuck the feds, fuck Eve, and fuck you!”

Kenyatta may not have had a razor but he’d sliced every part of Monday’s being.

Before Monday could attempt to say anything the phone rang. Kenyatta grabbed the cordless receiver, “Kenyatta Smith.” His mood seemed to quickly change as he gave a hardy laugh, “Hudson, you always know what to say to make me feel better.” He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. The rattling of the door as it slammed into the frame caused Monday to come out of the daze she was in.

She grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs and out the door.

A few moments later she was at Bazemore Gallery. She hated looking Taryn in the face, but it seemed today she would have to.

“Look, Monday.” Taryn twisted her lips as Monday stepped to the counter. “I do not want to battle with you.”

“I would have to give a damn for it to be a battle.” Monday said dismissively. “Now get Collyn.”

Taryn cleared her throat as a customer walked up behind Monday. Taryn buzzed Collyn, who was seeing a client in her office. After speaking with Collyn, Taryn said, “Pierre, please show Mrs. Smith to the waiting area in the back.”

Monday followed Pierre to the customer’s lounge, and a few minutes later Pierre motioned for her to come into Collyn’s office. Collyn nodded at Pierre as he closed the door behind Monday.

Monday squinted her eyes at Collyn and was surprised by how flushed she looked, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had barely any makeup on. She popped two Advils into her mouth and sipped a glass of water.

“Damn,” Monday said, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Flu, maybe. I don’t fuckin’ know.” Collyn said. “But my ass is sick as shit.”

“Maybe you should go home and lie down.”

“I have too much work to do. Anyway, wassup?”

Monday hated to say this. “I think Eve is dead.”

Collyn popped two more Advils in her mouth. “What? What did you say?”

“Listen,” Monday paced, “Kenyatta and I were arguing, and he said he had to ‘deal with that dead bitch.’”

“He had to…,” Collyn said slowly, “deal with that…dead bitch. What does that mean?” her voice drifted.

“He didn’t kill her if that’s what you’re thinking,” Monday said defensively. “He wouldn’t have done that. He’s not a murderer. But I wouldn’t put it past him to know who is.”

“What? A murderer?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think—”

“He’s not a killer.”

“You’re awfully defensive.”

“Because I know him.”

“Do you really? Maybe it was an accident.”

“No.” Monday shook her head. “He wouldn’t have done that. I think he knows the truth and he’s hiding it.”

“Why?” Collyn leaned forward on both elbows, “Why would he do that? Who would he be protecting?” Collyn slammed her fist into her desk, “I swear to God I hate the day I met that motherfucker!”

Monday flopped down in the chair and held her face in her hands.

“It’s something,” Collyn said. “I know it is.”

“But what if Eve isn’t dead?” Monday asked.

“Then she’s playing one hell of a fuckin’ game with all of us. And if that’s the case they won’t have to look for her because I’ma kill her ass.”

“I’ll have a Heineken,” Kenyatta said to the bartender as he spotted Bless sitting at the bar, watching the game. “Blessing.” Kenyatta smiled as he shook his hand.

They were in Short Hills, New Jersey, at the exclusive Grandview Country Club, where Kenyatta was a long-time member.

During the hour-long drive from Gracie Mansion to Short Hills, Kenyatta was grateful to get out of the city and clear his mind. For the first time in his political career, he was thinking about tossing shit to the wind, saying fuck it, and giving it all up. He was growing tired of the constant attention that he used to welcome. Where he once loved the public’s spotlight and treasured everyone wanting to know him, he now felt on overload, as if he were only seconds away from a political overdose.

Now he wanted simple shit. No more of this bitch and that bitch all pulling him in a million different directions when all he wanted to give them was dick. No more emotional attachments because they’d fallen for some bullshit-ass line he’d given them. All of that was a wrap, because at the end of the day all he had was some skeeted-ass nuts, an unsolved murder, and a buncha goddamn babies.

“Mayor Smith.” Bless smiled.

“Good to see you, Bless. Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime. I just hope your game is straight.” Bless pointed out the picture window to the greens. He made a motion as if he were swinging a golf club. “’Cause I’m the man.” He popped his collar.

Kenyatta laughed. “You got on a pink-ass shirt and some khaki pants and you the man? Ai’ight.” The bartender handed him his beer.

“Oh, you tryna be funny?” Bless cocked his head.

Kenyatta laughed. “Whatever. Put all that smack in your game.”

“Let’s do this, then.”

“Let’s.”

Kenyatta finished his beer and they headed out to the greens, where the caddie walked behind them. Once they reached the first tee, Kenyatta took his position and swung his club. They watched where the ball landed. Kenyatta turned toward the caddie and said, “Give us a few minutes.”

“Wassup?” Bless said after taking his swing.

“I called you out here because this most recent contract we did will have to be the last one like that,” Kenyatta said as they walked toward the balls.

Bless looked at him, taken aback. “Why?”

“Because shit is real crazy right now. The FBI is looking at me. You read the papers, and as you can see, I’m in those motherfuckers damn near every day.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s like they can’t get enough of you. Goes with the territory, I suppose.”

“Yeah, maybe. But most of it’s stemming from some bullshit.”

“What bullshit?” Bless asked.

Kenyatta paused while he took his second swing. For a brief moment he thought about telling Bless the truth about Eve, about Monday, about everything. Hell, he needed somebody to confess to. But as quickly as the thought came, he changed his mind. “The bullshit-ass case an ex-employee has against me.”

“The one you fired?” Bless said, not looking up as he swung.

“Yeah, Charles.”

“Why’d you fire him?”

“Look, I’ll put it to you like this. He was in my business too much, and had he stayed on, there would be no kickbacks and shit. Understand?”

“Well, damn,” Bless laughed as they walked toward the hole. “I guess that niggah had to go.”

“Exactly. Which is why at least for a while the next set of contracts will have to be legitimate. I don’t want any shit.”

“I understand.”

For the next two hours they played golf, each of them declaring that he’d beaten the other. Afterward they headed back inside to the bar, where Kenyatta had one too many.

“It’s a good thing I’m not driving,” Kenyatta said, taking his third shot of Patrón to the head and chasing it with a Heineken.

“How’d you get here?”

“I have a driver waiting.”

“Oh, ai’ight. Must be nice.”

“Yeah, I guess. Before all this bullshit with Eve, I had a driver by choice. Now I need that motherfucker.”

“Eve?” Bless slowly sipped his beer. “The one in the paper?”

“Yeah…” Kenyatta’s voice trailed off.

“So what happened with that?”

“With what?”

“Eve.”

Kenyatta leaned in toward Bless on both elbows. The heavy smell of beer on his breath flooded Bless’ nose. “She was a ho.”

“A ho? The fuck-anything-movin’-type ho or a working ho?”

“A call girl. One of Collyn’s chicks. This chick used to suck dick like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, and after a few paid dates I started getting inside this chick’s head, hitting her with a buncha sweet bullshit, and the next thing I know she was fuckin’ me for free.”

“For free?”

“The fuck free.” He sipped his beer. “I swear, a sincere-sounding ‘I love you’ does wonders for a desperate broad.”

“Damn, sounds like you the man.”

“Shiiiit, please.” Kenyatta paused. Eve’s bloody face filled his mind.

“Kenyatta?” Bless called. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Ai’ight, so finish the story. What happened to her?”

Kenyatta hesitated. “Damn if I know.”

“You think she’ll ever come back?”

“Nah…I don’t think so.”

Mehki had become Monday’s reliable stress reliever. For the past three weeks she’d come again to enjoy his company, value his opinions, and the more she rekindled her friendship with him, laughed, and politicked with him, the more she realized that she was losing her desire for the public life. She wanted a change, and not one that required her to run away and become someone else. But one where she made choices for herself, and if she fucked up, she was the one affected by it, not an entire city.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop her heart from longing for Kenyatta. She felt obligated to him, as if she owed him something, and no matter how many chills shot up her spine as Mehki’s moist and long tongue stroked her clit in precise movements, she never forgot she was Kenyatta’s wife.

As they lay in a sixty-nine position Monday placed her hands on Mehki’s knees and took him into her mouth. She’d tried at least a thousand times since they’d been fucking on a regular basis to give him a sweet head job, but his dick was simply too big to all fit in her mouth. But this time as she relaxed her throat and eased him in inch by inch, she was able to deep throat all of him.

“Monday,” he licked her clit, “damn you sucking the hell outta this dick,” he lifted his hips a bit so that she would be able to maintain his shaft between her heated lips.

After a few moments of blessing each other with head jobs and they were both ready to cum, their cell phones rang simultaneously.

They ignored them as Mehki said, “Smear it on my face,” he moaned as a cell phone rang again. Mehki loved the smell of Monday’s pussy and the way her cream felt against his skin. Grinding her hips, she rubbed her liquid all over his face, his eyes, his chin, his lips. Then she turned around and proceeded to kiss every sweet and sticky inch of him.

Afterward she opened her legs wide, and his body became one with hers. Monday gasped. Once again his size caught her off guard. He twirled her nipples. “If you keep riding my dick like this, in a minute you gon’ be divorced.”

“Hell, sometimes life needs change.”

“Don’t play with me.”

“Who said that I was?” She took both her legs, wrapped them around his neck, and bounced on his dick, her ass caressing his entire shaft.

Her phone was ringing again. As soon as hers stopped, his started, almost as if they were in a competition.

Monday stopped midstroke. “Maybe we oughta get that.”

“Fuck that.” Mehki rolled her over so that he now lay on top. He took her legs and threw them on the side of his shoulder, then took his dick and came all over her ass. Mehki collapsed onto Monday’s chest and rolled to the side of her. Monday stroked his cheek and said, “Why do I always have to be in the wet spot?”

Mehki chuckled. But before he could say anything, first one and then the other phone started ringing again. “Seriously,” Monday said, “we need to get those.” She reached for her purse while Mehki got out of bed and walked over to his dresser. As they each flipped their phones open and said hello concurrently, they hushed each other because they’d said hello too loudly.

“This is what the fuck I’m talking about.” Kenyatta complained. “Where are you?” Monday’s eyes scanned the room as she gathered the sheet over her breasts. She looked at Mehki’s bare back and swinging dick as he walked across the room, holding the cell phone to his ear, and she said, “I’m where I wanna be.”

“Monday, I promise you if you don’t tell me where you are, whenever I see you it’s gon’ be a misunderstanding.”

Tuning Kenyatta out, Monday listened to what Mehki was saying: “I need to get there now?” He tilted his head and looked at her apologetically. “I need to get there right now? All right, I’ll be there.”

Tuning back into her conversation, Monday said to Kenyatta, “Look, I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Why, ’cause you with some niggah right now? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that your ass been acting real foul.”

“Look, Kenyatta, I do not have time. What do you want?”

“I need you to get your ass over here and act like the mayor’s wife. Some shit just went down and I need you right now.”

As Monday hung up Mehki looked her way. “I take it that was your husband.”

“Damn, I do have one of those,” Monday said sarcastically. “Glad you reminded me.”

Mehki laughed. “That was Hudson. It looks like it’s gray suit and pearls time again.”

Monday’s heart sank into her chest. She’d almost forgotten about that. “What the hell is going on?”

Mehki studied Monday’s face before he spoke. “Eve Johnson’s diary was found, and it implicated Kenyatta…as her lover.”

“That was found a minute ago.”

“I know, but apparently there were some pictures found too.”

“Of them?”

“Yes.”

“Together?”

“Yes, and apparently it’s all over the media—reporters are calling City Hall, the mansion, and so on. It looks like we need to go to the mansion and see how this needs to be handled.”

“Damn!” Monday exploded. “I’m sick of that shit! He’s never been fuckin’ faithful, and every time I turn around it’s always some shit with this bitch! This same fuckin’ bitch! I wish she would just fuckin’ die! I’m sick of his cheating ass.”

Mehki looked at Monday, taken aback. “So, you gon’ kill the messenger?”

“No. But you don’t know how it feels to have to go on TV in front of the world and be the dumbest ride-or-die bitch they’ve ever seen. Know what?” Monday pulled her knees to her chest. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Mehki walked over to Monday, “You’re welcome to stay here because I would love to come home to you in my bed. But you know I have to go. So make yourself at home. I’ll be back in an hour, two hours tops, and we can chill.” He grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

Monday could hear the water beating against the tile in the shower as her back rested against the cool wall. She picked up the television remote. The midday news was of course talking about Kenyatta and the latest in the Eve Johnson scandal.

They showed pictures of Eve as well as previous press conferences and written statements where Kenyatta had said different things about the same situation.

Tears leaked from Monday’s eyes. She no longer heard the commentator’s voice; she could only see the pictures of herself, standing next to Kenyatta as he lied. She was tired of going back and forth, but he was still her husband.

Monday rose from the bed and grabbed her clothing. She opened the bathroom door, and Mehki was standing there, completely dressed in a gray suit. “You changed your mind?”

She pressed her lips against his and whispered, “I am the mayor’s wife.”