Lust

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  But I had to let him have his respect. I’d figure out another way.

  He said, “Yeah, I’m no charity case. No need for that. I’m stackin’ like never before.” He stood and began to move back and forth behind the chair he’d been sitting in. “I’ve been rolling in it for a minute now. You know how it was for me before I went in; I was able to set some of that aside, the government didn’t get it all.” His words flowed like a river. “So you ain’t got to worry about me.” He shook his head the entire time he talked and walked.

  I wasn’t going to call him a liar, so I just sat back and let him rant about all the things I was sure he didn’t have.

  When he’d tired himself out and sat down, I said, “I’m glad to hear that. ’Cause if you’re good, then I am, too. Just know—”

  He held up his hand and I didn’t continue. “So, bruh, what we gonna do now? Wanna go out? They still got some good strip clubs up here?”

  I kept my eyes right on him, not even blinking when I said, “No strip clubs for me. I was thinking about heading out to the Congressional Country Club. Hit a few balls.”

  At first he frowned.

  I clarified. “Golf balls. I was gonna head out to the driving range.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

  I stood behind my desk. “As serious as Donald Trump’s hair stylist.”

  He laughed. “Bruh, I may have been locked up for a while, but I know that cat ain’t serious.”

  “He is; I’ve met him. So get up, let’s go.”

  He slapped his hands on his legs, shrugged, then said, “All right . . .” He gave me a look from the corner of his eye. “You sure you don’t wanna go out and meet some females?”

  I didn’t even let a moment go by. “No need for me to do that, son. I got the one I want.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, you do.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “That’s what I’m looking for. A female exactly like the one you got.”

  Now that made me smile. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout. That’s what I want for you. The right female can settle you down, help you get in the right place.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. That’s why I want one like the one you got. I want her to be so much like Tiff, that maybe we won’t even be able to tell them apart.”

  He laughed and I frowned. I had told him about her name.

  “Yeah, Tiffanie is the truth,” he said.

  I took a breath and calmed myself down. That Tiff he’d just spoken was just a slip. Truly, I needed to stop taking myself down this lane where I constantly doubted Trey.

  “Well then, good thing we’re heading out to Bethesda, ’cause you ain’t gonna find one like the one I got at no strip club.”

  He laughed. “What you got against strippers? I remember the days when you put out so many dollar bills, by yourself you paid some of those girls’ college tuition.”

  “Yeah well, those days are gone,” I said walking toward the door.

  He paused as he passed my desk, glancing down at Tiffanie’s picture once again. “Yeah, bruh, I guess those days are gone.”

  He walked past me out the door, leaving me wondering for the millionth time, why he kept peeping my girl’s picture.

  14

  Tiffanie

  I was so ready to be Mrs. Damon King.

  But I wasn’t going to be Mrs. King until tomorrow. Tonight, I had to settle for just being Damon’s princess.

  That’s how I felt as the valet opened the door to Damon’s Bentley and then my man came around to take my arm.

  Damon told the valet, “Take her bag and that garment bag up to the bridal suite.”

  The man nodded and took the fifty-dollar bill from Damon’s hand, and then my man and I stepped together into what was known as the Crown Jewel of Pennsylvania Avenue.

  Inside the Willard Hotel, I felt like I was entering a castle, with the lobby that exuded elegance from every inch of the massive space. From the marble floors, twenty-foot columns, and tropical plants—this hotel made the same grand statement it had been making since the mid-1800s.

  This was where my man had decided that we would celebrate our union. From the friends and family gathering tonight to the reception tomorrow, this was also where I was going to spend my last night as a single woman.

  My head was high as Damon and I walked past the other ­patrons, who’d paid hundreds, even thousands, for these five-star hotel rooms. While I always felt a little stiff and a bit too formal whenever I was in a place like this, Damon was the ­opposite—always relaxed as if he were at home, which he was, since he did so much business here.

  As we took the elevator to the second floor, where our dinner was being held in one of the private rooms, I wanted to close my eyes, pinch myself, do something, anything, to make sure that this life, my life was real. And then I wanted to do something, anything to make sure that it would always be this way.

  I had to take another deep breath when we stepped off the elevator and into the space that was ours. The grandeur of the hotel had followed us up from the lobby and into this taupe- and bronze-colored room. The ten tables, which sat ten people each, circled the perimeter and were swathed with taupe and bronze satin cloths that matched the draping on every wall. Inhaling, I took in the wonderful fragrance of the fresh-cut lilac tulips and pink roses that I’d ordered, my only contribution to this night.

  The room was already filled with most of our guests and as we stepped over the threshold, our friends and family applauded.

  The first to catch my eye were my grandparents—standing in front, beaming as if they were proud of my accomplishment. I hadn’t done anything—except chosen a good man. But that had to be huge for them—I was the success they could tout that allowed them to forget the failure.

  “Baby girl, you look beautiful.” The voice of my grandfather, the Reverend CJ Jackson, boomed through the room, even though I’m sure to him, he spoke barely louder than a whisper. But that’s what happens when you’re almost six foot five, almost three hundred pounds, and sure ’nuff one of the most renowned reverends in DC. He had to lean down a ways to kiss my cheek.

  “You do, too,” I said. Then I laughed. “I mean, not beautiful, but you look so handsome, Granddaddy.”

  That was the truth. My grandparents often dressed up for events they had to attend, mostly religious affairs, but tonight they’d taken dressing to a level where few of their friends would recognize them.

  My grandmother wore a rose-colored, tea-length silk dress that didn’t look like it had come off any rack. My grandfather, who had to shop at those Big Men stores, was in a suit that for sure had been tailored. Knowing Damon, it had been designed by one of his people. My grandparents looked hooked up and happy.

  At least they’d looked happy when I’d first walked in, but now there were tears in my grandmother’s eyes. And when she reached for me, her tears flowed.

  “Gram.” I hugged her, pulling her into my chest. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is just a prelude,” my grandfather answered for his wife as she sniffed over and over. “Trust me, she’ll be crying all weekend.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” I told my grandmother as I wiped her tears with my thumbs.

  But that was the end of my private time with the people who were the king and queen of my life. Damon and I were surrounded by our friends in a rush that swept us in different directions.

  “Girl, you look so beautiful,” Sonia said.

  I grinned. We had picked out this lilac, raw-silk two-piece together. The outfit looked like a regular, tailored suit—until I turned around and the bare back made my girlfriends moan with envy.

  “Oh yeah,” said Dana, one of our classmates from Howard. “That suit is first-class fly!” She snapped her fingers with each word she spoke.

  On the other side of the room, I heard Damon
receiving the same accolades about how good he looked. But he got extra commentary about this being his last night of freedom.

  I rolled my eyes. Whatever! His boys knew that Damon had won the prize!

  Within minutes, our party was poppin’. This was supposed to be just a dinner, a small gathering to do an unconventional rehearsal and then to thank our family and friends for their current and future prayers.

  “This is the reception before the reception,” Damon had told me as he’d planned this event. I had wanted to help, but he told me to focus on the wedding ’cause these kinds of parties were what he did best. So I’d let him handle it, and handle it he did.

  The waitstaff was plentiful though discreet and the men maneuvered through the maze of our guests, balancing crystal flutes on sterling silver platters filled with nonalcoholic champagne—a bow to my grandfather. Behind them were the women, offering an abundance of imported caviar and lime-crusted scallops and jumbo shrimp wrapped in barbecued bacon.

  In the corner, a harpist sat on a golden stool and filled the air with music that sounded like melodies from heaven. We chatted, we laughed, we joked, we reminisced. Good times passed, and it wasn’t until we prepared to take our seats for dinner that I noticed that Trey wasn’t there.

  He wasn’t there.

  And it took all this time for me to notice.

  How great was that?

  I’d kept to my plan, not seeing Trey at all. I’d be lying if I said that because he was out of my sight, everything else was easy. It had been a battle to keep thoughts of him out of my head and longing feelings from between my legs. But I’d fought one heck of a good fight by keeping my focus on Damon. All that attention on him and all my texts to him had my man ready for our wedding night.

  Even I was anticipating the consummation of our marriage. Looking back, Trey walking into my life had been good; it made me change it up and make it spicy-hot for Damon. It had been thrilling to have my man moaning and groaning without him laying a single finger on me.

  Maybe one day I would thank Trey, but right now, my prayer was that since he hadn’t yet arrived, maybe he’d stay away. Maybe God had done something to make him change his mind about standing up for Damon. Maybe Trey was already at the airport waiting on the next thing smokin’ back to Atlanta.

  As Damon held out my chair for me at the head table, I prayed that all of my maybes would become actuallys. Then, right as I scooted my chair under the table, I looked up.

  And there was Trey.

  Standing at the door with the bright light from the hall shining on him like a spotlight.

  Every bit of the calm I’d felt since the last time I saw Trey fled. My breathing almost stopped, and without even thinking about it, I grabbed Damon’s hand.

  “You all right, bae?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I gasped. “I just wanted to . . . needed to hold you.”

  He grinned. “After all you’ve been doing to me this week, I’m telling you, tomorrow night”—he lowered his voice some more and brought his lips right to my ear—“you’ll be able to hold me all day and all night.” He moaned and for a moment, my thoughts were only on him.

  Then Trey’s voice came between us.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said, leaning a little too close to me.

  Damon scooted his chair back. “No prob. How’s Ms. Irene?” he asked as he stood.

  “She’s good. You know, once I saw her yesterday, I had to go back today.”

  I looked up at Trey. “Is your grandmother all right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s just been years since we spent any time together and I’m trying to make up for that.” He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks for asking, Tiffanie.”

  I wondered if anyone else felt that sudden surge of electricity that charged through the room. I pressed my lips and my legs together, nodded, and turned my attention back to the table, grateful for the salad that had been placed in front of me. Now I had something to do with the energy that rolled like waves through me.

  Thank God Damon sat on one side and my grandfather was on the other. Between the two men who gave me life, their presence would keep my eyes and mind away from the man who had no business in my life at all.

  Through the three-course dinner of chilled lobster salad, then filet mignon and stir-fried spinach, and a seven-layer double-­chocolate cake for dessert, I was able to chat and pretend that Trey Taylor wasn’t there.

  I gushed at every word that Damon said. I laughed at every joke my grandfather told. But it was all an act because with every gush and every chuckle, I was more aware of Trey than I was of Damon or my grandfather. I was aware of every breath that man took, even though he was on the other side of Damon.

  It seemed that these days away from him had done me no good. With his absence, I’d grown more sensitive to him. He was too far away for me to hear his words, but when I cocked my head a certain way, I could see his lips as he talked. His lips that made me moan.

  Then I watched his hands. He spoke with grand gestures, flamboyant, almost, but still masculine. Definitely masculine. I wondered, for what had to be the millionth time, what he could do with those fingers.

  I was so focused on Trey that I didn’t even notice Damon stand up. It wasn’t until he tapped his glass with his fork that I broke my Trey-trance.

  When the room quieted, Damon spoke. “First, I’d like to thank you for coming to celebrate our final night as an engaged couple.” He paused and looked down at me. “I just want to make sure that everyone in this room knows how much I love this woman.”

  Ooohs and ahhhs took the space of the silence and I smiled up at Damon. “Before we really get this party started, we’ve got to get a little bit of business out of the way.”

  He went on to explain why we weren’t having the traditional rehearsal and dinner, since we were all grown folks who’d attended plenty of weddings.

  “So, since we’re just having my best man”—he turned to Trey and patted his shoulder—“and Tiffanie’s best girl”—he paused and raised his glass to Sonia—“we didn’t need to waste a couple of hours practicing when we could be partying!”

  Laughter and cheers came from everyone.

  “I know everybody will be able to handle their business tomorrow night,” Damon said. “So now I can get to what I really want to say.” He paused, and when he looked down at me, all joking was gone. “Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life, and no one in this room knows how much I cannot wait to make this woman my wife.”

  “Dang, you’re a poet,” one of Damon’s boys yelled out.

  Another shouted, “Nah, he’s a rapper.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Seriously, though,” Damon continued, “anyone who’s here who’s known me for more than ten years knows that this is not a place where I’d ever expected to be. I didn’t live that Huxtable life; heck, Florida and James and ’em lived better than me.”

  There were lots of chuckles in the room.

  “I had no examples of how good life could be, but then I walked into Howard University . . .”

  “There he go,” someone shouted, “rhyming again.”

  I was grateful for the laughter because it gave me a moment to blink back my tears.

  He lowered his eyes to mine once again. “I’m not complaining about my past, God blessed me in lots of ways, but this blessing He’s given me in you, Tiffanie, is the ultimate. If He stopped right now, it would be enough.”

  “Dang, dawg!”

  More laughter.

  Damon cleared his throat and looked up as if he’d forgotten that we weren’t alone. He took my hand, helped me to stand, and with his glass raised again in the air, said, “To the woman that I will love forever.”

  Cheers filled the room and we kissed, just a peck on the lips, then we all took sips of the sparkli
ng cider. When Damon placed his glass down, so did I.

  “And now, I’d like to do something that isn’t usually done at rehearsal dinners or rehearsal parties, or whatever you want to call this; what I want to do right now is dance with this woman for the last time as my fiancée, because the next time I hold her in my arms, she’ll be my wife.”

  The aaahhhs filled the room and the tears came back to my eyes. If this was how it was tonight, would I make it through everything tomorrow? Everyone clapped as Damon led me to the middle of the room. I hadn’t even noticed that the harpist had been replaced by a young man whom I recognized as one of Damon’s employees. Jay Johnson was Damon’s best DJ and he was going to be working our wedding tomorrow during the times when the live band took breaks.

  We were the center of all attention when I heard the first three chords of Luther Vandross’s “Here and Now.” All I could do was melt into Damon’s arms and let him hold me as we swayed together.

  “I promise to love faithfully,” he sang into my ear.

  I closed my eyes and just listened to my man sing to me. Inside his arms, the world faded to the wonderful color of serenity.

  I knew every word, every stanza of the song, so when it was close to being over, I wanted to shout for the DJ to let it replay the way I did whenever it came on one of my playlists.

  As if he knew that he needed to wake me up from this dream, my Prince Charming kissed my forehead, then my eyelids, my nose, and finally, his lips made their way to mine.

  With the last note, our guests clapped and I reluctantly backed away.

  He held my hand as he spoke again to everyone, “Okay, now. We got this room for a couple more hours. But before we get this party really started, I’d like the maid of honor and my best man to join me and Tiffanie.”

  My heart started pounding right then and I did everything that I could to keep my eyes away from Trey’s. When Sonia and Trey stood in the center of the floor with us, Damon said, “All right—one more dance, for tradition’s sake—and then, everyone else can join in.”