Smoke and Mirrors (40 page)

“The plane is coming!”

“…And so am I!” With a groan, he lunged hard, sticking, forcing her to scream so loud, his ears rang.

“Ahhhhhh! Smoke!” She gripped his neck and looked into his eyes as if she were going to pass out, feeling his maximum impact.

Vaaarooooom!

The airplane soared over casting a huge shadow above them, as he gave one final thrust.

“Uhhhhh! Shiiiit!” He rocked his cock inside of her, expelling his quenched desires. “Uhhh!….Ahhh, Oh God, Pussycat….shit….” As they gentled and came down the high together, he laughed because he was happy. Feeling her forehead against his heaving chest was his idea of heaven.

“…That was great,” she sighed. “Up! Up! And aaawwwaaaaaay!” she belted, and they both laughed this time.

“You are so fucking silly tonight…Come ’ere.” He reached over and grabbed her to drop a kiss on her cheek. After a few moments, they put their clothes back on in their cramped quarters, and he soon found himself turned into a pillow. Paris fell fast asleep, her head on his chest. She looked so amazingly peaceful. He contemplated how he was going to get the car started and drive them back to his place without rousing her. The dark sky grew darker as the sounds of the airplanes landing became the musical soundtrack he so needed. He gently stroked the sleeping beauty’s shoulder with his fingertips, and peered up at the sky once more.

Making love under soaring and landing airplanes… with a woman that I love. Life can’t get much better than this. This right here is the stuff dreams are made of…

*

“Wait a minute,
baby, I have a call coming in.” Smoke placed Paris on hold as he cruised Mulholland Drive. He’d taken a look at some new property, and had promptly called his old friend, Carl, who lived in the area.

“Carl! Baby!” He laughed raucously. “How are you doin’, young stud?”

“Just dandy, Brent,” the man stated sarcastically. “I got your voicemail, yes, let’s talk about this.”

He could hear the money green in the man’s tone; this could be a lucrative venture.

“Hold on a second. My girlfriend is on the other line.”

“Ahhhh, the one you told me about? Paris? I can’t believe you’ve settled down! Mr. Playboy! The high school stud!”

“Awwww man, whatever.” Smoke laughed as he paused and broke for a red light. “Hold on.”

“A, Brent, let me call you right back! My lawyer is on the other end now.”

“Sure man, no problem.” He disconnected and returned to Paris. “Hey, sexy…”

“Hey right back.”

Her sultry voice made his cock stand at attention. He couldn’t help but run his hand over his shaft, stroke it, pet it, wish she were near.

“Who was that, sweetie?”

“That was my friend Carl, sorry about that. I saw a house I am interested in over here, and I know he has some connections.”

“Carl? I don’t think you ever mentioned him before. Where do you know him from?”

“Oh, we go way back! From high school.”

“That’s great. I’d like to meet him sometime.”

“Why? So you can get some teenage dirt on me?” he teased.

“Pretty much!” She cackled. “Hey Smoke, a client is coming in baby, gotta go!”

“Okay Pussycat, call me later, okay?”

“I will, sweetie.” And she disconnected the call…

As he continued to maneuver over to the Apple store to pick up a new hard drive, he replayed Paris’ question in his mind…

‘Where do you know him from?’

In reality, he didn’t know Carl only from high school, but the man had been his first taste of what ‘normal’ was supposed to look like, feel like, and be like. For the first time in his life, Smoke experienced the green-eyed monster, jealousy, via Carl. He
longed
for what Carl had by his own birthright, wanted to hold the shit near. Carl spent most of their years envying Smoke, never realizing that it was Smoke who actually coveted his status…

He drifted into a daydream, remembering the pivotal moment when he’d lusted for another man’s life, but knew deep within, he would never have it…

“I only work on Saturdays at the pizza place now. How is that enough money?” Brent complained as he got his math and science textbooks out of his locker. He was speaking to his friend, a guy named Carl who reminded him of a young Jerry Seinfeld. He even sounded a bit like the comedian, too.

“You’ve got to go to this party, man! Look, just ask your dad for some cash, everyone knows Big Brent has it!” He winked, as if it were a novel idea. “He doesn’t seem to be struggling, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No. I’d prefer not to.” He threw a few ink pens into the front pocket of his backpack, hauled it over his shoulder and started walking up the hall to leave. Class was finally over for the weekend. He’d received his grades back, and got all A’s in everything except Art. In Art he got a C. It would just have to do. He hated that teacher anyway. It was the only class in which, no matter how hard he tried, the teacher would not budge, give an inch. He understood he was not exactly artistically inclined, but his effort should have surely warranted more notice. After seeing the C on his report card, he contemplated drawing a picture of his cock and hairy balls and turning it in, but he bet raggedy old Ms. Hath would’ve liked that.

“Well, you need to find a damn way. Everybody who is anybody will be there, Brent! But you gotta bring some good alcohol, or there isn’t any point in coming.”

He marinated on the notion, figuring that the booze was the admittance charge. Just then, a group of girls walked past, a few of them eye catching. One waved and offered a wide smile, showing a mouthful of expensive periodontal work.

“Hiiiii Brent!” She batted her lashes, causing the other girls around her to giggle and playfully push one another. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. “I know you’re going to be at Kurt’s party tonight, right?” the ringleader asked, her light brown eyes reminding him of dripping honey.

“I’ll try,” he said coolly and turned away.

Carl paused, seemingly dumbfounded by the entire scene. The girl nodded and kept moving.

“I want to know how a country ass like you from No-Where-Ville, Ohio is getting all these women?!” He chuckled, while the girls continued to look over their shoulders back at them, batting their eyelashes flirtatiously. “You’ve got to tell me your secret.”

Brent shrugged. “I don’t know. They just like me, I guess.”

“Mr. Modesty, where art thou?!” Carl teased.

The duo walked down the steps of the building, the front area of the school that teemed with students talking and carrying on.

“I’m serious, not trying to be conceited or anything. It’s been going on my entire life.”

“Tell me something, Brent.”

“Yeah…” he said nonchalantly as he pulled his Honda car keys out of his pocket.

“How many girls have you slept with?”

Brent unlocked the car, paused and shrugged. “I don’t know.” He yawned. “Like, twenty-six, maybe twenty-eight, something like that.”

…And that was the truth.

Some were from his father’s fleet, on loan for his pleasure. Some were girls he simply ran into while out and about. Something inside of him, something buried like the foulest of nemeses, had been awakened. He became a beast, but he fought himself every day. He struggled with wanting to be just like his father, and hating the fact that his mother, in fits of occasional rage, would tell him he already was. He had self esteem now though—surely that was a viable trade off? He possessed newfound courage, expounding upon his God given, natural appeal. It wasn’t his fault women took to him, sometimes in places he least expected. One sexual conquest even came from his job at the deli before he quit to go somewhere with better pay and conducive hours for his school schedule. On their fifteen-minute lunch break, they snuck into the bathroom and he fucked the daylights out of her on the damn sink, almost breaking it from the wall.

It became so much a part of his lifestyle; he didn’t pay it special attention any longer. He was more interested in the business side of it, than the sex itself. The sex was fine, and if he said so himself, he was getting better and better, but he couldn’t get his dad to open up, give him the 411 on how it all worked. He figured over time he could break him down. Besides, he had no intentions of driving that Honda for the rest of his life and making pizzas all damn day, either. He was grateful, but these were only stepping-stones.

No, he longed for more…

But where could he find the inspiration? Feelings of inadequacy still haunted him from time to sneaky time. It all began a long ass time ago, an emotion that felt ancient like the dinosaurs that roamed the Earth, yet it remained so overpowering, as if it had just happened a minute or two ago. One morning Dad had been in his life, and then he was gone, left him all alone with that woman… That was the story of his life, until he finally got to California.

What did I do?

Mama has been lying, playing me. I don’t even know who she is anymore…

What did I do?

Yes…what did he do?

“Mama took money for me. She was paid off… She never really wanted me, either. She wanted my father…”

What did I do?

“…I hate myself.”

He sank his teeth into his lip, tasting the saltiness of his thin flesh wrapped around a small bundle of nerves.

“Over twenty?!” Carl, the Seinfeld doppelganger brought him out of his thoughts with the sudden outburst. He looked at him dumbfounded, in utter disbelief. “You’ve fucked over twenty girls, Brent?!”

“Yeah…so what? It’s no biggie. Get in.”

Today, he was taking his friend home. It was Friday night, and his peers were gearing up to go to one of the biggest parties of the year. Some rich guy who’d also taken a liking to him had invited him earlier in the week and told him to bring Carl, and anyone else he wanted, along. It appeared to Brent that due to his natural magnetism, some guys hated him while others wanted him around, as if he were some good luck charm.

“Hey, why don’t you play basketball?” Carl asked, looking at him curiously as if he just noticed he was tall. “You’re like a damn tree.”

“Because I don’t like it. It’s not my thing.”

“If I had your height, I’d play basketball so I could get the girls.” Carl stood 5’7 and would undoubtedly stay that height. He wasn’t a bad looking fella; matter of fact, he was rather handsome and he was also charming, gregarious and had his own unique vibe. Brent liked Carl quite a bit, and would even consider him, at that point in time, his best friend. The guy appeared comfortable in his own skin. Carl’s only issue was, he didn’t know how to get the pretty girls to like him, so he made it clear from time to time that he wanted to rub elbows with him, find out his secrets.

“All the chicks like basketball players, man. The football players, too! Not that you need help or anything. Obviously you’re fine in that department!” The boy guffawed and threw up his hands.

“Hmmm, I guess I don’t really care about getting girls.”

Carl was quiet for a long while. “Uh, how could you not care?” he finally asked, as if Brent had uttered a definite ‘no-no.’

Brent shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just not something I think about all the time. They’re just girls. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say! You’re getting laid every other day!”

Brent grinned; he couldn’t quite argue with that.

“You know, a long time ago when you and I were assigned to that Math team together, I didn’t think we’d click, but you’re cool, especially for being from Ohio. You seem particularly old for your age, wise… like what my Bubbe would call an old soul.”

Brent’s face cracked in a crooked grin. “Is that so?” He turned the corner.

“Yeah, and I like how you stayed late to finish the assignments when others were slacking off, and we met up at study hall. I knew then that you weren’t only popular, but gave a shit about your grades. I can’t stand some of these slackers! I want to get into an Ivy League school!” the guy said seriously. “You’re a good student. You could be a
great
student if you stopped daydreaming so much in class. What the fuck are you sitting there thinking about?!”

Brent burst out laughing. “Man, I’m just thinking is all. I like to just sit and think about stuff, plot and plan. It’s important. Trust me, my daydreaming habit has actually improved. It used to be ten times worse. Anyway, what type of alcohol do these people like?” He shot Carl a glance. “I don’t really drink much, so I have no fucking clue what someone would want to have.”

“Well, it depends on your budget. I’ve got thirty dollars in my pocket right this instant, but I look my age.” He gave him a ‘Grouch Marx’ eyebrow shrug, causing him to laugh a bit. “You, on the other hand, my friend, could pass for twenty-one.” He handed Brent the money.