Smoke and Mirrors (32 page)

“What we do is illegal.” She cleared her throat, gearing up to pose her concerns. “You know that if I take this to a judge or magistrate, it won’t hold up in a court of law and most probably, we’d both be arrested on the spot.” Still, she narrowed her gaze on the papers in her hand, and began the process of reading his well-drafted paperwork.

“That’s true, but there is street law, as you are well aware of, Paris. Most people already know we’re together by now, a couple.” He sat back in his seat, lit a cigarette, and exhaled the smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Some people are acting like the shit is funny, others are saying they can dig it. Either way, this is
our
life,
our
choice, and we can do
whatever
the fuck we want. But if one of us burns the other, well, we know we have people that wouldn’t take too kindly to that. As soon as word would get out that I fucked you over in a business deal, I’d have to leave town. I don’t run the national circuit like some other pimps. I move around Cali, and that’s it. I have a good thing going here, don’t want to ruin it.

“I’ve been here my entire adult life. I set up shop here and because I’m good at what I do, I’ve only been caught and arrested twice, and one time didn’t really have shit to do with me, nor was it prostitution related. I got into a fight at a bar years ago helping to defend someone, the police were called. Anyway, I pay my fucking taxes. On paper, it looks like I’m into real estate. My girls look as if they’re only living there, and they pay rent by doing direct deposits into my account, along with their security deposit. Everything appears on the up and up. I’ve had the police bust into my home after some jealous ass simp dropped a dime, and they couldn’t find shit because people are always watching my back. If I have only five minutes to hide my shit,”—he leaned back and held up five fingers—“that is plenty. By the time those bastards reach me with a warrant, I have secured my shit, and nothing looks out of place.

“You have a similar set up. You’re respected. People get paid to drop dimes, and they get paid to keep us aware. They know if they tell us some information, we will line their palm. If I fuck you over, baby, there isn’t anybody that is gonna let me just ride out.” He laughed lightly. “Noooo, because you’ll put a bounty on my head and whenever money is offered, well, as you know, people will do any damn thing you ask. I have too much to risk to pull some shit on you, and you have too much to risk to pull some shit on me. This contact is binding. In a nutshell, it states that we split everything fifty-fifty. We will open up three private, international bank accounts, and have the money wired once every month to each one, divided by thirds. That keeps the paper trail small and looks less suspicious.

“To make you feel even
more
secure, the money will stay in
your
house, in a special safe until it is deposited on the scheduled days. I will have the combination, but it will be on
your
private property. I’m not tryna play you, baby.” He offered a crooked grin. “I’m just trying to make our money work harder for us, so we can slow down a bit… I want to spend more time with you, Pussycat. But we both work all the time.”

She turned another page and kept reading. “True. I
have
been upset about the lack of time we get to spend together as of late.” She kept her head down as she spoke, reading…reading…reading…

“Yes, and this will help with that. If we can secure more funds, we can relax on the hours a bit, make more time for one another. Don’t work harder, work
smarter
, and this is the golden key to buying us a bit of freedom. Baby, you have
no
idea how much I want to spend more time with you…go on vacation, relax.”

She could feel his gaze on her, but refused to look, lest her pussy become a soppy, soaked mess. The idea of relaxing on some island with him, sipping frosty margaritas and then making love on white sand sent her imagination into overdrive.

“If I had the time, and I had it my way, I’d have your ass in my bed
all
day, every damn day…wearing you the fuck out. So, do me a favor and consider this…’cause I miss you, baby. I miss
us
…”

She turned another page, and then another, until she got to the last where she’d sign her name. Taking a deep breath, she reached for his heavy, silver ink pen and jotted her name across the dotted line. She dated the damn thing and handed it back to him.

“Okay, let’s do this…”

*

“Mmmmm,” she groaned,
her thighs caressing his hips as he peppered the side of her neck with urgent kisses. “You sure know how to wake a girl up.” She grinned from ear to ear as she stretched beneath him.

He gave a guttural moan, tasting her sweetness in his mouth long after he’d savored the flavor. “Eat that pussy first thing in the morning. It’s the breakfast of champions.” He laughed lightly as he pressed his lips lightly to hers. Suddenly his cell phone rang. “Shit, what time is it?” He yawned and rolled off of her to peer with one eye at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her. He sat up a bit, thrusting the sheets off his body, and ran his hand through his choppy, disheveled hair before gripping his phone. And then, he just stared at it. He slammed it back down on the nightstand, turned on his side and brought the sheets up to his waist, feeling a slight draft.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He felt the warmth of the woman’s tiny hand on his thigh. He hated the emotions that warred inside him, so much he felt an inner urge to run from her touch. He blinked several times, then focused on a pocket of wrinkles in the cream sheets as he drew his knees up.

“Nothing…”

“Smoke.” She said his name with an attitude, letting him know she knew he was lying, closing her off, withdrawing from her.

Just leave me alone, Paris…let’s not ruin the mood…

But she persisted.

“What is it? Who was it that just called? Felicia?”

“No…” He suddenly sat up and pressed his back against the headrest. “It was
her
…my mother.”

Out the corner of his eye, he caught her drop her head. The bed dipped a bit as she moved so tenderly rest her head on his shoulder, while he stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.

“You know what, Paris?”

“What, baby?” She said the two words so sweetly, full of calm to offset the storm raging inside him.

“I have a love-hate relationship with that woman. On one hand, she took care of me, worked herself to the bone to make sure I didn’t starve. On the other, her issues became mine. I know for a fact she didn’t think I remembered the molestation. It happened when I was very young, about four or five times at least, and stopped when I was about six…but what’s so strange,” he said, squinting, “is that it’s like I blocked it out, Paris. I
really
didn’t even recall her doing that shit until I got out to California. It happened like some strange dream.” Throwing up his hands, he let them fall back on the bed. “It all came back to me, all those memories, once I got away from her. It explained so fucking much. When I brought it up to her during our last conversation not long ago, she blatantly denied it…wanted to talk to me about God, about me being a pimp was just like the most awful thing in the world and how I was a terrible person just like my old man after the shit she did to me.”

“Well, Smoke, that’s what most abusers do. They try to deflect, or tell you that you imagined it.”

“She now has found religion!” He laughed in anger, feeling the desire suddenly to punch a hole in the damn wall. “Isn’t that fucking ironic?” He shot her a glance, when she folded her hands across his shoulder. Her flesh contrasted with his own, and the sight melted his heart for a moment, made him forget what was going on inside of his troubled head and heart. “Now she wants to talk about being saved. Do you know the last voicemail she left me, after I told her about what she’d done, was a bunch of Bible scriptures about children obeying their parents?!”

Paris grimaced and averted eye contact with him. He knew she was trying to watch what she said, not to inflame him any further, but he was certain, her thoughts were running around wild, just like his own.

“Those same hands she holds her Bible with are the same hands that masturbated her own damn son!” His voice trembled with pain, and he couldn’t reel it in. He was coming undone; the glue that held him together for so many years had browned and was no longer effective. He looked around the place, suddenly aware again of his surroundings. The feminine touches, the scent of Paris’ perfume, the taste of her essence on his lips. It all mingled together, creating something strange, tainting the here and now… He surmised he’d been doing this dastardly shit for years…blending it all together, creating a monster within himself as he fed his warped past with an equally warped future. There was no room for Mama
and
Paris, too. And he’d make certain of it.

Snatching his phone off the dresser, he scrolled to his contacts list. He selected her new number she’d been calling from and hit, ‘blocked.’ Then, he set his phone back down, ever so tenderly. Paris said not one word; instead, she wrapped her long golden leg around his, forcing the sheets to sway. Trundles of hot air rolled from his flared nostrils as he dove within himself. After an eternity, he turned back to her, traced her collarbone with his eyes, then her subtle, perfect lips. She looked so fucking beautiful in the morning…

No makeup, hair a bit of a mess, and simply perfect. He rolled onto her, prompting a slight sigh as he knocked her from her position against his body. Reaching between them, he unceremoniously gripped his cock and charged inside of her, causing her to scream out as he pushed himself to the brink within her.

“Uhhhhh….” He squeezed his eyes shut, embracing the moment, wanting not just to fuck, but to make love once again, claim what was rightfully his… and he truly did love this woman. He loved her so much, he’d told her the unthinkable—let her in on his horrid secrets.

“Uhhhh!” He thrust harder, pressing her down with his body as she ran her fingers ruggedly through his hair, taking his deep strokes like a virtuoso. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out as they stared into each other’s eyes. He was going to fuck the pain away…he was going to bury it, one dick stroke at a time. He didn’t want the shit anymore, and in some way, the woman gave him permission to submerge it within her, to stick it way inside, so he could forget it and move on, once and for all. She was his mirror, but this time, she promised to not reflect this horrible bullshit back on him; she’d simply turn black like the infinite universe, allowing him to escape his own reflection, his own fears, his own sorrow. Her soul whispered to him,
‘I’ll keep your secrets, baby. I’ll take your pain. I’ll make it all go away…you can trust me…’

And he did. He trusted Paris more than anyone in that whole, wide world.

“Uhhhhh! Uhhhhh!” He gripped her shoulders, forcing her into his plunges. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth even wider as he took her, pushing hard and steady.

“Shit!” she whimpered as she held tight to his form, definitely feeling his intensity as he covered dirt over the tomb, packing it down, making sure it couldn’t resurrect.

“Mmmmmm!” He exploded within her, still not ceasing, not daring to stop as he harshly propelled back and forth inside of her, his strokes now slippery with his own cum. Their groins met over and over as he slammed into her. He felt good all over as he lay above her, settling just so, his hips still clenching and his muscles involuntarily locking and releasing while his climax subsided. Resting his head against her flawless breasts, he looked off into the distance as his fingertips caressed her smooth, caramel shoulder. He wished he could stay that way forever, to
never
have to feel an ounce of pain again. For in that interval, he was fine. For that space in time she’d given him, he was truly okay, and for that, he would be forever grateful to her…

*

Felicia pulled her
hair back in a tight ponytail and turned back towards her empty bedroom. She sighed as she took a good hard look at her neatly stacked, cardboard boxes all packed up and tagged with hand-written stickers. Today was moving day, and she’d had some hard times saying goodbye to her sister-wives. But she simply couldn’t stand it anymore. She tried to stay, but Smoke left her no choice. He had no interest in her any longer, and after she’d threatened to leave previously and it backfired, it seemed there was constant tension between them. She knew he’d cut her a pass by letting her stay, and if she’d been
any
other woman, he would have forced her to leave, no questions asked. He didn’t put up with that sort of insubordination, but staying there was worse than any punishment he could have rendered. She could see the change towards her in his damn eyes; they’d turned dark and cold, and remained so, since that very day.