“The babe or the skyline?”
I press the elevator button. “The skyline. And, hey, you know she’s marr—”
Trevor thwacks me with a backhand on my shoulder! “You really think I’d go for a married woman? Besides, I ain’t the one throwin my pussy around to be fetched.”
“Pussy and titties and tongue. Damn, the freakin woman is on heat or something.”
“Times ten, homes. Tatiana the Titty Toter. Seems we were right about lawyers being all talk and little dick.”
The elevator arrives and we ride it down.
“Deck, she was all over you! Did you see how she caressed your art? She was all over those vines, bro.” In a hilariously seductive whisper, he says, “Mr. Cocks, please, it’s Tatiana.”
“You didn’t see what she did at the end?”
“No.”
I tell him.
He’s laughing so loud when the doors open on the first floor that the prissy woman holding a briefcase outside it scowls.
We get out and I look around, feeling totally out of place in this lobby with all the folk in their suits and fur coats and fancy shoes. “Come, lemme show you something.” I’ve done a few moves at this condo block before, and I wanna show Trev the facilities.
“The way she said Cox, I thought she was damn near sucking you right then and there and I was watching it.”
“It did sound pretty slutty.”
Trev doesn’t answer, because we’ve gotten down to the fitness center area, and I’m not sure what he finds hotter—Mrs. Tatiana Watkins, or the top-of-the-line gear in her building. “Brooklyn. This ain’t Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn’s the new Black, homes. Now, check this out.” I walk him around the corner to look at the indoor pool. All he can do is stare open-eyed. “They also got a game room, children’s room, golf simulators”—Trev laughs at that one—“bike storage, on-site parking.”
Slowly, he says, “Wow.”
That was pretty much my reaction the first time I did a move for someone here a few months back (someone several decades older than Mrs. Watkins, but nearly as flirtatious.)
The second time I did a move here, I was still amazed.
“Then you got Pier Six out here—the water park, picnic tables. This is all renovated, bro. It’s a regular old Suburban Heaven right here.” We step outside and look at Brooklyn Bridge Park with its Hibachi grills and swings. Manhattan looming behind it like a forgotten daughter. “This is the new city, bro. But get this, Trev. These guys”—I point to Mizz Watkins’s Condo building behind us now—“were actually throwing in a free BMW 528I for anyone who purchased before the end of last year. I mean, can you freaking believe that?”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear to you. They’re not merely making room for the yups and kicking the rest of us out, they’re downright throwing free cars at them!”
“Deck, you are so bullshitting me.”
“Am not. Another realtor did the same shit in two thousand and nine. Only there it was an Audi, not a Beamer. They offered it to the first ten people to lay down two mil for the condo. So, get that, it’s two mil for the condo. Thirty-two Gs for the car. They actually make a profit with that shit.”
Trev whistles slowly, staring out at the skyline as if it were a lady in lingerie calling to him. “Two million, huh? Wow. Guess you’re gonna come down and live with momma and me again in East New York one of these days, after gentrification makes the rest of Brooklyn completely unaffordable.”
“Fuck that shit. Those days are over for me!” Then, also looking at the skyline, I say, “It’s like a woman taking a babydoll off, isn’t it?”
“The view? It’s like a woman with big round titties and a finger in her wet cunt taking a babydoll off, homes.” Trev looks at me. “Well, Deck, two mil’s not impossible.”
“Pft! Whatever. Maybe not for a pro ball player such as yourself. Those scouts and agents still all over you?”
“Like flies. They can go fuck ’emselves for all I care. I’m getting an education, Deck. Then I’m gonna work myself up slowly and gruelingly up the telecom corporate ladder, and maybe, one day, settle up there”—he points over at the city—“where the prices are probably gonna be more affordable than here!”
I motion to start walking to a picnic table.
“Don’t we have another two moves?” he asks.
“Sure, but I’ve never been one to miss a strip show.” We sit, eyes still glued to the glorious skyline. “I been working out how I could do it, Trev.”
“Do what?”
“Move. Into a place like this.”
“Two million? It’s a bit of a waste, don’t you think?”
“Not if you’re making ten. But I’m serious. I’m gonna do it. I’m not gonna make it on my own. But if I go national, hire up a few guys... I’ve even been thinking about a gimmick, you know. I was thinking...” I feel the smile forming. Embarrassment.
“Oh, no, this is gonna be a Declan idea, I can feel it.”
He knows me too well. “Well, imagine we promote to a niche market, you know? Like...” I point up to Mizz Watkins’s terrace.
“Like young white woman who like flirting with even younger white and black boys?”
“We’re men, Trev. Not boys. But...yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
He starts laughing slowly. It’s not even a laugh, really. It’s like a gently forming rumble of incredulity. Then he goes serious. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
I shake my head. “Think about it, bro. You call a moving company. They’re either unfriendly and the dude who shows up smokes a cigarette and doesn’t speak English. Or, they’re totally friendly, but you pay an arm and a leg. But the dude who shows up is still some loser smoking a cigarette, wearing overalls with empty beer cans in the pockets.”
“And you didn’t just charge Mizz Watkins up there the same? Three times your going rate?”
“Well, I got my boy working with me these two weeks. I ain’t gonna pay you peanuts. But that’s exactly the point, homes. You think she doesn’t know I just screwed her on the price? If she’d bargained it down, I would’ve gone down gladly. But she didn’t. And why? Because she wanted to pay for it! You see, she’s got it all. The looks. The money. A rich husband. I’ll bet you ten to one that, in a year or two, he’s screwing his way up the secretarial ladder. Or down it. You know they’re newly married? She told me when she first called me for the job.”
Trev’s eyes bulge. “And she’s already wanting someone else’s cock?”
“Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. I wouldn’t know.” Then, almost to make sure, I say, “And neither will you!” When Trev tries to thwack me again this time, I move away. “Point is, there’s obviously something missing there. Maybe the dude’s already screwing around. Maybe she married him knowing he screwed around. Maybe she married him for his money. Hell, I wouldn’t know—I never seen the dude.
“But, regardless, she likes to feel special. You know. She’s living on a timebomb. In a few years, she’s gonna start counting wrinkles. Her sex life’s gonna die down—if it ain’t dead yet. She’s gonna start wondering what she did wrong. And, just statistically speaking, women tend to be more faithful than men. So, even if her man is going around doing his and everyone else’s secretary, she probably wouldn’t do that herself. But she will grab some dude’s tatted bicep. Or graze her fingers across a sexy black man’s shoulder. Or, hell, maybe even just grab a drink with one of them and, I dunno, feel special.
“That’s how women cheat. To them, that’s like...sick as sin. I mean, sitting and chatting to ‘a virile young man’ is the equivalent of her husband sticking it to someone or having some busty redhead put her lips around his shriveled shaft.
“For a babe, it’s the make or break of her state of mind—feeling wanted and sexy. You know, some guy comes along, lifts some furniture. Flexes a little more in front of her to make her feel hot or something. Makes a little small-talk. Has a drink on a terrace. The
dude takes whatever tip she gives him—”
“And whatever side benefit!”
“Trev! Pay attention!”
“Pft!”
“Anyway, so the dude gets the tip, I get my fee. Depending on how much in demand that particular stud is, I will charge more for it. I thought: Be damned open about it, you know? Market to single women, married women. Have a website where they can select a preferred mover-dude—black, white, tall, color of eyes. Photos of muscled dudes. Heck, I even thought of having the guys go out with no shirts—”
That last point sends Trev over the edge. He’s damn near on the floor in stitches.
I’m laughing too, because it is funny. And it’s also genius. I know it is. All I need is the cash for it.
“Deck”—he fights for breath—“Deck, homes”—still laughing, eyes watering now—“Oh, my god! Deck...”
“What!?”
After a minute of catching his breath, he finally gets it out: “Deck, you’re starting a damn escort agency!”
“Asshole!”
“A website where they can pick the dude?”
“Yeah—”
He cracks up. “Homes, I’m just ragging you. It’s definitely...a niche market. And a very definite Declan-Only idea. But, I gotta hand it to ya, I can see how it could work. Hire up some good looking dudes to help all these single ladies move out. Although...” He puts a finger up, thinking. “...could we also get some babe movers? I mean, I’d love to watch some sexy chicks move my furniture!”
It’s too much. My stomach hurts from the laughter.
I feel my phone buzz. I pull it out to read the text and the laughter slowly recedes. I turn up to look at Tatiana’s terrace. She’s there, in a robe now, smoking a cigarette. “Look up.”
“Deck, I don’t think she’s the type who would just look at one of your employees. I think she’d do a whole lot more. And tip him afterwards.”
“Tip him? Or pay him for his ‘services’?”
“Probably the latter.”
“C’mon, let’s beat it.”
Walking to my truck, Trev asks, “So, what did the message say?”
I throw him my phone.
He looks at it. His eyebrows rise.
Tatiana Watkins: Let me be blunt, because hints haven’t worked: I’d fuck you and your friend’s brains out if I wasn’t married. Keep my number, because I might not be for much longer.
Then he says, “I’m writing down her number. Sorry, homes, but you’re taken.”
-3-
In the car, on the way to our next move at Park Slope:
“So, what’s the deal with Blaze?”
My mind drifts to her, to her softness. Her green eyes and how she held me after she broke under my hand. “She...uhm...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What’s there not to know?”
“Uhm, well, it’s too soon, you know.”
He whistles. “Motherfuck, bro. You ain’t foolin no one.”
I look at him while taking a turn. “Huh?”
“Don’t huh me. You’re all like uhm-er-what-huh hedging. Spit it out. What’s the deal with her?”
I scratch my head. “Like I said, uhm, it’s too soon.”
“Well, do you like her?”
“I do. She’s got...substance.”
“Substance.”
“Yeah. A lot of it.”
“Well, that sounds pretty good.”
“Is it OK with you if she hangs with us at night? I mean, I know you only come over twice a year—”
“Deck, please, that you even have to ask me that... Besides, something tells me I need to get to know this girl a little better.”
I clear my throat. “Uhm, yeah...I think you should. And she should get to know you...and Skate.”
“Man, what’s up with him, Deck? You’d think he’d have grown out of the roll and the weed by now, you know? I mean, I know we all did that shit and we all grew out of it—”
“I never did.”
“Of course you did. So you pop a few times a year, but Skate’s like high all the time, man. It’s not good. Who’s to say the dude isn’t gonna move onto Big C one of these days? I’ve seen it. Down at Penn, there’s plenty dudes who started out with a trip here, a Molly there. And they’re chasing big H these days, or snorting up snow.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah...maybe we should talk to him. Or...maybe you should talk to him. He takes you a little more seriously than he takes me.” Because you’re the least screwed up of the three of us. And you’re the only one who grew up.
“Deck, it’s about time you stop rolling for good as well.” He smacks me on the head.
“Damn it, dude, I’m driving!”
He smacks me again! “I’ll say this next corny thing because it fits: You’re also driving your life, and driving it on Molly’s gonna take you over a cliff.”
“Trev, that was fucking corny.” And fucking wise.
“Don’t BS me, homes. I know you heard it.”
He knows me too well.
-4-
“Have you thought of a name for your escort-slash-moving agency?”
“Steady Studs or Macho Movers or, even, Muscled Maneuvering.”
It takes ten minutes to get Trev out the car to start our next move. Because he can’t stop laughing.
-5-
After the move:
“So, did she mix this for you?” Trev bobs his head to the Birdy-slash-Groove House mix playing on my radio.
I nod.
“It’s so good...” He fades off, looking out the window.
“It really carries you, doesn’t it?” I say.
“Hmm?”
“The music...it really...transports you somewhere else, don’t you think?”
“Like a mofo. She has talent. She has an ear. It’s freaking amazing.”
Trev starts slapping his pants, then the dash, with drumbeats. I smack the steering wheel. He attempts some beatboxing. I do the same and that brings out more laughter from us.
“If it weren’t a world where the strongest publicist gets the deal, she’d be right up there with Tiësto and Afrojack,” he says.
“Maybe Tiësto and Afrojack have great publicists.”
“No doubt. Hey, Deck, you wanna know another reason I don’t care for the NFL?”
“Shoot.”
“I’d hate to be in the limelight like that.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No, I’m not. People eat you up up there. You’re everybody’s breakfast. They know about your ACLs and MCL injuries and Meniscus Tears and who you’re doing on the side.”
“I thought I was the one who hated that shit.”
“Yeah, well, I just never mentioned it. I mean, making several mil a year, that’d make it worth it. Or would it? The debate has always been easy with me, because I know I want my degree. So there’s never been a contest in my mind. But what if I didn’t have that? Would I turn down all that dough for fear of being torn to shreds by the media?”
“You just thought you’d mention this to me out of the blue?”
“No, dumbass. Your girlfriend—”
“She’s not technically my girlfriend.”
“Well, I’ll call her that for now. Besides, I like her. She has that, you know? That”—he moves a hand up and down—“bigger than life flare that’ll take her all the way to the top. Worst of all, she also looks like she doesn’t have the teeth necessary to fight off the vultures up there. They’ll tear her to shreds, bro.”
“Damn, Trev, talk about the cart before the horse. And talk about depressing.”
“It’s not depressing. It’s the truth. Haters gonna hate. You seen what’s being said about her online?”
“Yeah, she showed me yesterday. Reminded me of some of your bad games.”
He rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it. The only difference between the NFL and varsity, is that at least at NFL level you’re getting paid for taking the beating. At college, you’re just stand
ing in the way of the gunfire and baring your chest out—for free. Remember Ohio? When I threw less than a hundred yards?”
“‘NO MORE PERKS FOR PERKINS.’”
Trev laughs coldly, remembering the fat bold text on the CollegeDrools website (“YOUR ONE-STOP SITE FOR ALL THINGS COLLEGE”). “That was the kindest headline. I was lucky Coach let me play another game. But that’s because he’s the coach. He knows the deal. That’s like a singer’s voice trainer or whatever they have. You know, they’re technicians. They can separate the facts from the bullshit. Coach knew I was psychologically terrified for that game. My first major college game as QB. They probably ripped him to bits behind the scenes. Who knows. But coaches and the media are different things. And never mind the fans—or, what should we call them, the masses. Christ, everyone’s got an opinion these days! Let me just tell you that if I hadn’t had you and Coach kicking my ass to get back in there and fight, I woulda given up. The pressure was that bad.”
“No shit.”
“No shit. You can build all this up, you know.” He flexes his gargantuan biceps. “But, at the end of the day...it’s all up here.” He taps his temple. “So, your girl—and I’m talking first impressions here, of course—”
“Well,” I interrupt, “we did spend a lot of time at Tom’s. I think that’s a decent enough impression.”
“Maybe. But, with limited experience around her, I just think she needs teeth. And claws. And maybe a loaded gun. Don’t let nobody take advantage of her, Deck. Because the music biz is different to sports. And this music biz, House and EDM and the shit we’ve been into for so long, well, it has its share of vampires in it. Bloodsuckers.”
I don’t comment.
“Deck, chill. I don’t mean to freak you out. I just notice that, well, even though it’s been only two or three days, you’re acting a little different.”
“What are you talking about? You barely saw us together.”
“Bro, I saw you and Gina together plenty. I’m sorry to say, but she was just a lay to you—”
“Was not. I had feelings for her.”
“You had analytical feelings for her. You know: I’m the boyfriend so I should respect her. That’s not what I’m talking about. Gina had a good rack. I’m sure she was a damn good lay as well. I remember the way she dressed, and I’m sure she knew what she was doing in the bedroom. You respected her when you were with us, sure. But you also fucked her. A lot. And that’s all it was. I don’t see that attitude in you with Blaze.”
Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One) Page 15
