Jezebel

by Koko Brown

  “Move those feet! You look like you’re slogging in mud.”

  Celeste searched out the source of the crack and her gaze fell on a pot-bellied, elf of a man posted at the center ring.

  Inside the ropes two men, one colored and the other white, both brutes, circled each other. Intermittingly, a punch landed and sweat spewed in all directions, marking the canvas floor.

  Instead of being repelled, Celeste walked over. Their lightning fast fisticuffs and quick footwork dazzled her, drew her in. Their timing and rhythm reminded her of dancing. So much so, she could watch the two combatants all day.

  “You need some help?”

  Celeste looked at the ring-side elf. Draped over the ropes and chewing on an unlit cigar, he looked downright mean and contrary. If she had to choose, she would’ve steered clear of him.

  Since she’d made it this far, Celeste pasted on a full-watt smile rivaling Times Square and walked over, hand held out. The trainer eyed it for a moment, and then looked back at the ring. “Not sure if you read the sign in the lobby, but no females allowed. You can read can’t ya?”

  Although she’d been rebuffed and insulted in the span of less than a minute, Celeste maintained her smile. “I didn’t maybe it was spelled wrong,” she quipped.

  The trainer’s head snapped around. “What ya want?” he barked.

  “I was looking for Shane Brennan,” she said.

  “For what?” He eyed her up and down while moving his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. Although she had a feeling he found her wanting, Celeste held her ground. “He owe you some money?”

  “I don’t owe her anything,” one of the boxers retorted, attracting her attention. He was unstringing his boxing gloves, but keeping his gaze fixed on her. “Matter of fact, she owes me.”

  Celeste stepped closer for a better view. Shane Brennan in a pair of snug lace-up shorts and booties was worth the price of admission alone! Broad shouldered, but slim hipped, his thighs resembled twin tree trunks. What she wouldn’t give to wrap her legs around them.

  “Good timing, toots. Shane’s been wasting my time. He’s been no good all week, matter of fact. Maybe you can put some sugar in his tank.”

  “Watch your mouth, Ollie,” Shane warned, walking over to the ropes. To her he said, “We can talk out back.”

  Celeste practically gloated as she followed Shane through a large loading dock door. The fat bastard deserved a set down.

  Grateful for the fresh air, Celeste gulped in a mouthful. As she turned to him she stopped, frozen by the monstrosity parked in the far corner of the yard. Kelly green in color, the bus sported gold painted hub caps and windows embellished with shamrocks. A clothes line containing several men’s shirts and pants extended from the rear view mirror to a light post.

  “Lordwho’s hot mess is that?” Celeste chuckled. To say it was an eye sore was a compliment.

  “What did you want?” Shane snapped, recapturing her attention.

  Wet from sweat, his locks looked much darker than she remembered. Heck, none of him seemed familiar. In the light of day he seemed taller and larger, almost brutish. Still, none of the changes or the wicked tattoo of a craggy bird running the length of his biceps, took away from his handsome face or her obvious attraction to him.

  Celeste swallowed hard. He practically overwhelmed all her senses. She could barely think straight let alone put together a sentence.

  “Well”he prompted.

  “II’m a sap.”

  For the longest time he stared at her. And then, as if out of no where, he chuckled and the cutest thing happened. Two crescent moons embedded in his cheeks, giving him an almost boyish quality. How could she have missed he had dimples? Deep seated ones that would give New York Yankee’s first baseman, Lou Gehrig, a run for his money.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, chuckling.

  “Well, it’s true considering how I stood you up the other day.”

  “Oh that.” Shane crossed his beefy arms and leaned up against one of the wooden posts supporting the overhang. “Not the first and won’t be the last.”

  Relieved he wasn’t sore about her poor manners, Celeste exhaled. “Irregardless, I’m sorry.”

  “Accepted,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Lucky for you came looking for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t chase after no one who doesn’t want me. I might be a handsome cuss, but I’m no Jay Gatsby.”

  Celeste hated to admit it, but she was glad she’d stuck her neck out. The thought of never seeing this thick neck lug again spoiled her appetite.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?”

  “I had every intention of holding up my end of the deal.”

  “Really?”

  Celeste knew he was simply egging her, but she stayed on course. “Yes, but after the reading of my father’s will. I-I got a little sidetracked.”

  “And you went to celebrate,” he hedged.

  There were copious amounts of hooch imbibed, but he didn’t need to know that. “If you call being bullied by the police a hootenanny, then yes I lived it up like it was nineteen twenty-nine.”

  Shane’s expression darkened. “The police bullied you?” he asked, pushing away from the support beam. “They didn’t lay their hands on you did they?”

  “No.” Celeste smiled sheepishly, secretly liking his concern. “The detective and I just didn’t see eye to eye. He claimed my father committed suicide. I didn’t agree. He wouldn’t re-open the case, then told me to scram.”

  “Why do you want it reopened?”

  “It isn’t true.”

  Celeste waited for him to lambast her like the others had, but he kept silent.

  Naturally, a part of her wanted his opinion, but then the other half appreciated the fact that he kept it to himself. The way her father died was still an open wound, she wasn’t sure if she could handle one more person calling her a fool.

  “Why did you come here?” Shane advanced on her slowly.

  “W-what?” Celeste stuttered, completely flummoxed by the sudden change in subject. Unable to beat a fast retreat, she allowed him to box her into the side of the building. His skin glistened with sweat and a pleasant manly musk tweaked her nostrils. Suddenly needing some support, Celeste leaned against the wall.

  “To apologize,” she reminded.

  “In a city this big, you could’ve just written me off.”He crowded her some more. He was so close his body heat permeated her clothes. It was nice. Really, really nice.

  “Then what kind of person would I be?” she barely choked out. His very closeness made it difficult to breathe.

  “Then I’m just a charity case?”

  Celeste shook her head. “No, no! I-I didn’t say that.”

  Geesh! She was fumbling like a silly school girl. Irritated by her pubescent reaction to him, Celeste countered with a little more salt than was warranted. “Stop putting words in my mouth, Brennan!”

  “Can’t help it, it’s a pretty mouth.”

  Without any warning, he lifted his hand and thumbed her bottom lip. With each stroke, Celeste was reminded of their first kiss. Despite the chilly weather, she was burning up.

  “You came here for more than an apology. Admit it.”

  “I have don—”

  He kept her from lying by pressing his index finger against her lips. He seesawed it up and down as if he wanted to stick it between her lips. If he did, Celeste knew she’d suck on him until the cows came home.

  “Admit it,” He repeated, slowly lowering his head. “Or I’ll kiss it out of you.”

  The warm caress of his breath and the deep timbre of his voice made her nipples suddenly sensitive.

  “I wanted to see you again,” Celeste blurted. Considering her strong attraction to him, his lips would probably hit her like lightning. “Happy now?”

  “Pleased as punch.” He cocked his head, aligning his lips with hers. “But I think
I’ll still kiss you.”

  “Hey, Shane. Ollie was wondering if you’re done for the day.”

  Irritated by the interruption, Shane pushed away from her with a loud grunt. “I can go another round, Luis. How about you?”

  Dipped in dark chocolate, the other man was Shane’s foil. Tall, pumped with muscle and just as handsome.

  “One, two, three and then some.” The pugilist grinned at Shane, but when his gaze met hers his smile faded. Celeste mentally shrugged. She and Shane were none of his business.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Shane glanced back at Celeste. “I’m not done here.”

  Despite being summarily dismissed, the boxer didn’t leave.

  “I better go.”

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  In all honesty, she didn’t want to leave either, but his sparring partner didn’t look like he was going to afford them any more privacy.

  “I know, but I think it’s better if I do. I’ll see you around.” Instead of going back through the gym, Celeste opted for Market Street’s fresh air and its quick accessibility to Flatbush. As she took the stairs, she paused for affect, “maybe at Countess Vaughn’s.”

  “Bet on it.” He reached up and tapped his brow. “Got the date and address memorized.”

  Half way up the block, Celeste could still feel his hot gaze on her. It felt good— really good—like an afternoon bender.

  chapter eleven

  “Should I wear the green one or the lavender?”

  Celeste held up each dress for her cousin’s approval. Unfortunately, Trudy had another agenda like her newest flavor of the month, Lenny, a saxophone player recently relocated from New Orleans.

  “The green one, it shows way more cleavage,” Trudy said before leaning into her beau for a kiss. They’d been cavorting and pawing each other most of the afternoon.

  Celeste hung the green dress back in the closet.

  “Why’d you even ask my opinion?” Trudy balked.

  “And I’m taking it. “ Celeste slipped the lavender number over her head and the satin gown fell into place like a waterfall. “I’m turning over a new leaf, remember.” Cleaning up her image was one of them.

  “Less is more anyway,” Lenny vouched.

  Celeste agreed. Despite the missing waistline, the floor-length number skimmed over her slim frame and accentuated her flat stomach and ample hips. The blouson sleeves added a touch of drama and the ruched bodice called attention to her girls. Small, yet perky they were one of her best assets.

  As she took a seat at the vanity, Celeste picked up a pearl handle brush and began brushing her hair in time to the music blaring from the radio.

  “When are you two going to get ready?” she asked, eyeing the two of them in the vanity mirror.

  “Someone’s mighty eager to get to Countess Vaughn’s.”

  Lenny slid his arm around Trudy’s shoulders. “She’s not the only one. I hear the Countess really sets things out. I’m already in line for the free booze and reefer.”

  Chuckling, Trudy dropped her head in Lenny’s lap. “My cousin’s going for a more natural high. She’s sweet on a certain prize fighter. She stood him up you see and she’s hoping to run into him at tonight’s party especially since her old beau, Ralph Long, will be there as well.”

  “Plan to kill two birds with one stone?” Lenny drawled.

  “More or less.”

  Lenny chuckled as he stroked his goatee. “Wicked.”

  “We’d better get moving,” Trudy stood bringing Lenny with her. “See you downstairs, Sugar Foot.”

  She planned on being really wicked, Celeste conceded after they’d left. What better way to put your past behind you, than to meet it head on with your future?

  * * *

  Located on West 144th Street, Countess Vaughn’s four-story townhouse was one of three residences she owned in the Tri-state area. Located in the highly desirable Sugar Hill neighborhood, the home sported a slightly curved staircase that led up to double black oak doors containing lead glass etched with palm trees and flamingos.

  As they ascended the stairs, the doors swung open, blinding them with lights and blaring music. Partygoers intent on seeking their pleasures, squeezed past the front entrance, oblivious to the trio on the front stoop.

  Coughing in a gloved hand, the butler, a dark-skinned Negro of indeterminate age, gained their attention. “Who’s your sponsor?” he asked, looking down his nose at them.

  “Our sponsor?” Trudy hissed in Celeste’s ear. “That’s how they do it in high society?”

  Celeste had no idea what a sponsor was either, but she took a guess. “Beatrice Gerard invited us.”

  The butler snapped his fingers and another man appeared beside him. “Charlie here will take your coats.” The other man smiled pleasantly as he divested them of their outer attire. “The band is in the ballroom, located at the back of the house. Refreshments and spirits can be found on every floor. If you have a stronger constitution, or other vices you can find your pleasure on the third floor.”

  “Where’s the reefer?” Trudy asked loudly.

  Pulling back as if hit with a bucket of cold water, the butler temporarily lost his composure, but quick on his toes he recovered. “You’ll find the reefer upstairs.”

  “Well, that’s where I’m headed,” Trudy declared, grabbing three glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. She handed each of them a glass and kept one for herself.

  “I’m right behind you,” declared Lenny, close on Trudy’s heels. “Are you coming, Celeste?”

  “You two go on. I’m going to case the place.”

  Lenny’s lips curved into a knowing grin. “Two birds with one stone?”

  “Something like that,” Celeste said, setting the glass of champagne aside.

  Thankfully, her cousin didn’t make a big deal of her trying to remain dry. On the lam for only three days, it wouldn’t take much for her to fold. And she wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone, but she felt stronger and more confident without it.

  After parting ways, Celeste ambled through the various interconnected parlors, taking note of the opulent Louis XV furniture and matching antique gold, brocaded window treatments.

  Like Versailles, full-length glass mirrors covered walls not occupied by gold leaf wallpapering. The opulent surroundings clashed comically with the night’s refreshments—chitterlings, collard greens, sweet potato pone, and pig feet.

  Finished with searching the first floor, Celeste wandered upstairs. Met with twin hallways, she decided on following the sound of a tinkling piano.

  The first room she came to was a salon filled with various guests seated at gaming tables spread throughout the room. In the center of the room, an Asian man decked out in a tux caressed the keys of a baby grand. His song of choice, Duke Ellington’s Caravan, evoked erotic images of sweaty bodies, clandestine kisses…and Shane.

  Celeste slid her hand over the fluttering butterflies in her belly. Just thinking about him made her restless to the point of aching for him. In all honesty, she’d dressed more for him than Ralph.

  Damn she had it bad.

  “Hey baby.” Her moment of kink was shattered by the slide of a wet glass along the back of her arm. Twirling around, Celeste looked up into the face of a brown-skinned man with conked hair the shade of a brand new penny.

  “May I help you?” she asked, turning her full attitude on him.

  “You sure can, toots. Tell me how I can slip you out of that dress,” he slurred. Without any warning he wrapped his arm around her waist. The unmistakable stab of his erection jabbed her hip.

  “I’m not ready for bedtime.” Celeste purred, a fake smile curling her lips.

  “Trust me, honey, you won’t be sleeping.” He hiccupped, as he rubbed his pelvis into her.

  “Trust me, Stewart with what little you’re offering,” Celeste loved how his face tightened over her intentional misuse of his name, “you’ll have to wake me when you’re done.” Celeste turned
back around, dismissing him.

  “Are you sassing me?” Sherman grabbed her wrist and yanked her around to face him.

  Celeste pulled at her wrist. Thankfully, Sherman was so drunk his strength barely matched hers. “I don’t think my man would like that,” she said, hoping the mention of another man would get rid of him.

  Even though he didn’t relinquish his hold on her wrist, he laughed nervously and his eyes darted around the room.

  “He’s a stupid man, or he doesn’t care since he’s left you all alone.”

  “Oh, I’m not alone,” she retorted with feigned bravado. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s watching us right now he’s going to be very angry if he has to leave his hand and come over here.” Celeste lifted her brow, daring him to call her bluff.

  Sherman’s gaze darted back and forth between her and the gaming table.

  Probably weighing his options, Celeste mused. He better make up his mind, her patience was wearing thin. She might be a full head shorter than him and about seventy pounds lighter, but in his state she could wipe the floor with him.

  “Tease,” he spat, dropping her wrists. Celeste watched him stumble off. She didn’t abandon her post until he finally disappeared in one of the rooms down the hall.

  Since standing still and alone seemed to attract unwanted admirers, Celeste exited through two double doors on the opposite side of the room.

  Heavy gold brocade curtains blanketed the windows. Rococo paintings hung on the walls and white Louis XV couches were grouped around the room’s fireplace. Like the rest of the mansion, the room repeated the gold and white motif the host obviously favored. Therefore, Beatrice Gerard’s dramatic postulations in an elegant black caftan immediately drew Celeste’s attention.

  Wildly swinging her arms, the chanteuse entertained her captivated audience, while she remained unnoticed.

  Well…almost unnoticed.

  Ralph Long, looking completely dumbfounded, sat no more than fifteen feet away from her.

  His mocha skin stood in stark contrast to the whiteness of his starched shirt and his closely cropped hair, parted on one side, gave him a boyish quality.