Dirty Music

by Shaun Sinclair

  So, as Diamond spoke ill about Sasha all night, Flame sympathized and devised a plan to make her feel better.

  Diamond was in his zone, talking about himself. He became really incensed and tapped Flame on the arm.

  “Let me tell you a little story about why I treat these bitches how I do,” Diamond said. He took a long pull from his Kush joint and gazed out into the waters. “Bitch I loved before, when I was younger, played me for a fool. Man, I gave that bitch everything! Back when I was getting money too, so I kept her laced.” Diamond pulled deep on the weed and reminisced deeper. He seemed to find images of the memory in the fire of the blunt. “Yep, betrayed me with my right-hand man.”

  “Damn, that’s fucked up,” Flame whispered, thinking about how bad he wanted to fuck Sasha right then.

  “I suspected these muthafuckas of cheating all the time. Nigga was always in her face, cheesing and grinning and shit, then talking bad about her to me.”

  “Damn.”

  “I asked her about the nigga, and she lied. Told me, nah, the nigga ain’t never came on to her. Swore on her kids, mama grave . . . hell, she swore on everything that wasn’t nailed down. But in the end, the bitch was lying. Caught her fucking the nigga in my bed in my house.”

  “Damn, that’s fucked up!”

  “Nah.” Diamond chuckled. “What’s fucked up is what happened to them. Let’s just say they won’t be crossing anybody anymore.”

  Flame figured that he was referring to the notorious incident that made Diamond a street legend, the incident where he allegedly chopped up his woman and the guy. He never knew the guy was his friend.

  Diamond turned to Flame with fire blazing in his eyes. “My nigga, I ain’t never told this to nobody outside my circle and if I ever hear it again, I’ll know where it came from, but yo . . . when I heard that nigga scream . . .” A sinister smile spread across Diamond’s face, and he let his words linger.

  Flame quickly steered the conversation in another direction. He wanted no part of a murder confession. Nor did he want to hear about what happened to a man that did the very thing he was fantasizing about at that exact moment.

  “Yo, you ever dreamed that you would be this rich?” Flame said.

  “Fuuuuck yeah. I always knew I was going to be a money-getting nigga. I always knew I would get rich or die trying. Word.”

  For the next hour Diamond told war stories about ways he got to the bag in his youth. Flame only half listened. He was just glad that the tension was eased and Diamond was done with his come-to-Jesus moments.

  * * *

  The next morning Flame woke up alone. He searched around the 700-count Egyptian sheets for Kim, but she was nowhere to be found. He looked on the nightstand and found a note: Gone shopping.

  Flame eased out of bed and ventured upstairs to the kitchen for a bite to eat. His sweaty t-shirt clung to his back while the cool air massaged his morning erection through the thin pajamas he wore. In the kitchen he found a burnt sausage in a frying pan. He palmed it and dipped out of the kitchen.

  On his way back downstairs he saw Sasha standing alone on the railing looking far off into the water as if she was searching for her soul. After what he’d witnessed and heard the previous night, he didn’t trust himself around her. Although she was now draped in a sheer sarong and bikini top, all he saw when he looked at her were the images burned into his brain of her naked body. He didn’t want to invade her space, or tempt himself, so he pretended not to see her and kept walking.

  Fat chance.

  He wasn’t around the corner good before she called his name. “Flame, got a second?”

  Flame doubled back and stood beside her chomping on his sausage. “Where’s Diamond?” he asked.

  “They all went shopping,” she told him in her Southern twang. Damn, she was countrier than cornbread and catfish. She pointed to the empty helipad. “They took the chopper.”

  “Everybody?” Flame asked. Sasha nodded.

  Damn, it was just them.

  Flame leaned over the railing beside her and stared off into the calm waters with her, content to remain silent, but Sasha had other plans.

  “Why, Flame? Why do men fight so hard to get us, then fight to push us away?” she wondered aloud.

  Flame couldn’t fathom ever fighting or pushing her away. He told her just that.

  “That’s what they all say,” she replied and rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not all of them. Or none of them.”

  She looked at Flame thoughtfully. He looked away. She threw a few more questions his way. He either dodged them or batted them out of the park. Each time she gave him more thoughtful glances.

  For close to an hour, Sasha and Flame exchanged light and playful banter while he tried to keep his erection in check (or at least out of sight).

  When they heard the chopper approaching in the distance, they fell silent and stole glances at each other as if they both were trying to lock the memory in forever. They remained silent as if they were two criminals stealing something. In a way, they were stealing something: a moment.

  The chopper landed on the helipad, and Sasha turned to Flame. “Flame, do you think I’m sexy?”

  A lump gathered in Flame’s throat. This was Sasha Beaufont. People, Vibe, Smooth, and Maxim magazines had all voted her sexiest woman alive at some point. And no one could dispute it.

  “Come on, Sasha, you were voted sexiest in the world by everybody,” he reminded her.

  “But you’re not everybody or nobody,” she quipped, turning his words against him. “I want to know what you think.”

  Diamond, Ball, Monica, and Kim stepped from the chopper, hands filled with bags. They were headed toward them with Diamond leading the way. Flame instantly felt guilty and wondered if Diamond could intuit that he’d had mind sex with his chick for the majority of the morning. He had polished his crown jewel while he was out collecting more worthless things.

  “Flame?” Sasha persisted. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

  Diamond was getting closer.

  Flame looked at Sasha from head to toe. Did it twice, so she could see him looking. He allowed her to see his eyes rest on her pretty toes and zoom up to her thick bowed legs. He allowed her to watch his eyes sweep across her tight six-pack, up to her brown eyes, and fall to rest on her camel toe that he could see peeking from behind the sheer sarong she wore.

  Flame mumbled through clenched teeth, “Sexier than a muthafucka.”

  Sasha’s smile beamed brighter than the sun roasting France. “Thanks,” she gushed.

  Diamond reached them and hugged Sasha tightly. Flame did the same with Kim. Over Kim’s head Flame could see Sasha’s face nestled into Diamond’s massive chest. She was still smiling, looking at him with dreamy eyes.

  Flame’s erection pulsated against Kim’s thigh, and she smiled. Little did she know it had nothing to do with her. Flame was thinking about all the things he was going to do to Sasha, for he knew right then, he was, indeed, going to fuck Sasha Beaufont.

  Chapter 9

  Diamond was making it too easy for Flame.

  As luck would have it, a last-minute emergency popped up that prevented Sasha from making her flight from Atlanta to Cali with Diamond for the awards show. Being that Flame and his crew were flying private on a Gulfstream, Diamond called and asked if Sasha could tag along on his plane to Cali. He said that Flame was the only one he trusted with his bitch.

  Ohhh, the irony!

  The entire five-hour flight Sasha and Flame posted up in the back of the plane away from everyone. As the champagne flowed, their lips became looser and looser. Naturally, the conversation turned to France.

  “So did you enjoy yourself over there?” Sasha asked. “Seems like Kim was really feeling you,” she added.

  “Yeah, it was fun. Light fun,” Flame answered evasively. It was obvious she was on a fishing expedition.

  “Light fun? Come on, I barely saw you guys!”

  Flame laughed. “Nah, it wasn’t
like that.”

  “Um-mmm.” She grabbed her glass of champagne and swigged it. Then she grabbed Flame’s hand and put it in hers. She placed both of their hands on the wooden table. “So tell me, Flame, who has the better body?”

  Flame nearly choked on his drink. “What?”

  Sasha doubled down. “You heard me.”

  Flame looked away. “What are you talking ’bout?”

  Sasha grinned and cocked her head to the side. Her long brown hair fell softly across her shoulders. “Flame, don’t tell me you weren’t looking at me when you rescued me. I saw you!”

  “I mean . . . I . . . I mean . . .”

  “It’s all right, dang.” Sasha giggled innocently. “You act like it’s a crime or something. Anyway, you wanna answer the question?”

  “I would, but I can’t really say, because I haven’t really seen her naked,” Flame admitted. He hadn’t seen her naked, per se. He had fondled and fiddled all of her naked parts, but he hadn’t actually seen her naked.

  “Yeah, right?” Sasha scoffed and shook her head. “See?”

  “See what? Word, I haven’t, Sash.”

  “Well, I’m sure she would love to see you naked,” Sasha teased.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I mean . . . I . . . you know, you’re an attractive man.”

  Flame giggled and mocked her. “It’s all right, dang. You act like it’s a crime or something.”

  “Ahhh, touché.”

  They shared a laugh.

  For the remainder of the flight the conversation took the same tone: subtle flirting and backpedaling from both of them. Both showing interest, but neither of them wanting to cross that line, the Diamond line.

  When they landed at the airport a car was waiting for Sasha, and Qwess was waiting on Flame. 8-Ball took Sasha’s bag to the waiting Bentley Mulsanne while Sasha remained with Flame. It seemed as if she was reluctant to leave his side, almost as if she was claiming him as her man.

  Sasha hugged Flame and clung to him as if she didn’t want to let him go. “Thank you, Flame,” she said, sincerity pooling in her eyes. “I needed this. I really did. It’s good to know somebody still finds me fun, intelligent, and attractive.”

  Suddenly, Sasha crossed the code. She leaned over and kissed Flame right on his lips. It wasn’t a deep, sexy French number, but it wasn’t a stage kiss either. It was a statement kiss, a changing of the guard. The kiss lasted a millisecond but felt like an eternity.

  Sasha slid into her car, and Flame found all eyes on him.

  Qwess.

  Ball.

  Amin.

  Lisa.

  They all looked disgusted, shocked, or disappointed. Maybe a combination of them all.

  Flame was confused. Thoroughly confused.

  “What. The. Fuck. Was. That. About?” Qwess asked. Flame was speechless. “Yo, my nigga, are you fucking crazy?”

  Lisa piped in, stunned. “Flame, this isn’t good. You’re playing with fire.”

  “Fire we don’t fucking need,” Qwess added.

  Flame shook his head and walked away. “I don’t need any of this shit,” he mumbled.

  * * *

  It was as if the universe was conspiring with Flame and Sasha, for the arrangement of the awards show had all of them sitting together. As the top nominees, they were all seated in the front row. Between Flame and Kismet, they had garnered the majority of the nominations for the night’s top honors.

  Flame was seated beside Kismet’s manager and then Sasha was beside her. Qwess was on the other side of Flame, followed by his wife, R&B starlet-actress-model-producer-activist (and closet lesbian) Lisa Ivory. Then came Doe, the VP of Atlantic Beach Productions, and Amin. Diamond was clear on the other side of the auditorium with his crew of midnight marauders.

  The night began with a performance by some country group that was nominated for a few awards. Qwess was performing after the following group, so when the Dixie boys finished whining, he left to prepare.

  Thirty minutes later Flame was ready to go, rocking thin leather Carolina-blue pants, a matching vest that cut up around his rib cage, and Carolina-blue-and-white shell-toe Adidas. Underneath the vest he wore a wife beater with the Flaming Diamond logo emblazoned in the center.

  The announcer introduced Flame, and he took the stage spitting a medley of hits from his rap catalog. He gyrated at the crowd like a ghetto Elvis, spitting his namesake—flames. The crowd hung on to his every word, singing along to his raunchy raps with no shame. Even the thugs were chanting his lyrics and egging him on.

  Flame rapped, “All my niggaz over there . . . if you like yo’ bitches nasty say, heeellll yeah!”

  The crowd echoed, “Heeellll yeah!”

  “All my ladies in this bitch . . . say helllll yeah if you like yo’ ass licked!”

  “Hellll yeahhhhh!”

  Flame was in his element, hyping the crowd, asserting his position in the game. He was reminding everyone of who he was and why he was one of the top stars in the game. He was reminding them what a superstar looked like when he was getting busy.

  Then suddenly he thumbed his throat and the music screeched to a halt with an explosion. Flame posed in the middle of the stage, dripping sweat, staring right at the camera. Slowly, he shed his vest and bared the hologrammed shirt that sported the Flaming Diamond log. It took a second for the crowd to realize what they were looking at, but when it registered, they went berserk.

  The ladies in the house screamed, “We love you, Flame!”

  Flame soaked up the adulation. “And I love you back!” He stood in the middle of the stage eyeing the crowd. “Let me show you how much.”

  Flame gestured to the back, and Anetral sauntered from backstage in thigh-high boots, coochie-cutter shorts, and a ripped Flaming Diamond t-shirt. The music for his ballad came on, and he changed his whole style up in the blink of an eye.

  Flame dropped his voice an octave and oozed honey-coated lyrics about real love. At first, the crowd couldn’t believe it was actually him. Then they thought he was lip-synching. Flame already expected this, so he made the DJ stop the music and sang a cappella, ad libbing chastising words for the haters and encouraging words to his supporters.

  Flame was floating. He felt good. Real good. He saw white faces, black faces, brown faces, all hanging on to his every word, repeating them, reciting them as if they were a part of them . . . Hard knocks who were just echoing his nasty choruses were now crooning his melodic tunes.

  Flame ended his performance to a standing ovation and walked backstage on a natural high. He bumped right into Kismet as they were about to take the stage. Kim rushed him and wrapped him in a strong embrace.

  “Ohmygod, Flame, I’m so proud of you! You killed it!”

  The whole move took him off guard, and he was wondering if Sasha had told her about the kiss on the tarmac. He cut his eyes at Sasha, and she was looking away as if she didn’t see Kim had him yoked up. But he knew she saw the whole move.

  “Thanks, girl,” Flame said nonchalantly and lightly pushed her away. “You up now; show me something. Let me get back to my seat.”

  Flame returned to his seat and watched as Kismet took the stage with fanfare, all smoke and explosions. When the smoke cleared, all three girls posed onstage in different variations of pink leather. Sasha wore a short skirt that exposed the bottom half of her ass cheeks, while Monica wore tight pants. Kim had on shorts. The bass-heavy music dropped, and they commenced to gyrating and shaking their asses like they were in Atlanta’s strip dens.

  Then the music switched up to their ballad; the one where they sang about all the nice and freaky things they’d do to their man. That’s when shit flipped up and went into the annals of legendary performances.

  The women sauntered offstage right into the front row. Monica attacked Doe with her long legs, while Kim made a beeline for Flame, but Sasha intercepted her, forcing Kim to settle for the consolation prize: Qwess.

  Kim began winding her hips
like she was competing down in Jamaica, all the while humming the chorus’s freaky implications. Like a domino, they went down the line, whining and singing, seducing the crowd while they seduced the men. By the time Sasha began winding on Flame’s lap, it was a wrap! She placed her pretty ass in his lap like a wicked gift. Her skin was so soft Flame could feel it through his leather pants. He’d received lap dances in strip clubs less provocative, in front of fewer people. Sasha wound on him in front of the whole world while promising to cook him dinner, rub his feet, and even suck his crusty toes. The eye contact made it seem as if she was talking to him.

  Flame caught the bug. Seduced by the moment, he forgot that the world was watching. He forgot about being a professional. He even forgot about her treacherous boyfriend lurking in the shadows. Sasha was putting it down so hard, Flame jumped all the way out the window. He reached up and grabbed Sasha’s bare ass. He doubted anyone could see it but the people on either side of him. Still, he knew it, and Sasha knew it. Just as fast as his hand melted into her soft flesh, he released it.

  Embarrassed, Flame leaned back in his chair and attempted to recover. Sasha, Kim, and Monica wound in unison a little longer then returned to the stage to complete their set.

  As soon as they wandered backstage, a slim actress made it to the mic and announced the award for Best New Single.

  Flame.

  Flame froze. His dick was so hard he could pole vault with it. Surely he couldn’t get up now. Qwess patted Flame on his back and stood clapping, as did the rest of the auditorium. Flame couldn’t help himself. He loved the spotlight, and his fame was calling out to him. He said fuck it, stood and let the world see what his dad had blessed him with. As he swaggered to the stage to receive his award, his pants were tenting about mid-thigh. The actress passed him the award and shook his hand. Protocol dictated she hug him, but she saw his monster sticking out and wanted no part of it. She stood to the side awkwardly, blushing, while Flame gave his acceptance speech.