Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

“He’s white,” Carla spoke up as she looked lazily down at the hem of her long, gray tank top with silver studs around the middle, forming the shape of a star. “He can’t be trusted, for that alone. I would take all this shit back and dump it in his fuckin’ yard. Make sure he is on the clock, inside the place so he can see you do it, too.”

  “You sound so fuckin’ stupid, Carla.” Tasha shot her a glance. “Wit’ yo’ hatin’ ass! You’re just jealous.”

  “Jealous of what?!”

  “That Smoke is payin’ Paris attention and not you. He ain’t never tried to approach you, even back all those years ago when we worked over on Hollywood Blvd. and he was scouting. He’d walk right past you, like you didn’t even exist, ignored you, ’cause he knew you wasn’t about shit and you still ain’t.”

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  “Stop it!” Paris put her hand up.

  “Naw, fuck this shit! Paris,” Tasha spat, pointing at the woman. “It’s time you know the truth! This low life, down low, trifling ass bitch right here tried to go to Smoke and choose him just the other day! He turned her ratchet ass down!”

  “Is this true, Carla?” Paris asked calmly, a smirk on her face as she traced her chin with the tip of her index finger.

  The woman said nothing, instead turned away, staring blankly out a window.

  “Yeah, the shit is true,” April admitted, throwing the woman completely under the bus. “She’s been wanting to be with Smoke for awhile now.”

  “The white tricks treat me the best, and even tip!” Juniper broke in from her sleepy personality, coming alive.

  Paris suspected she was trying to get the attention off Carla, who was her best friend. She was a gorgeous, smooth chocolate-skinned girl, with natural, long, thick lashes, and looked like a walking, talking baby doll. “These black sons of bitches try to short change a ho, ask for discounts and get rough, like I don’t need to use this same pussy an hour later and I don’t have bills to pay, like I fuck for fun! Now yeah, I’ve had some crazy white johns too, insanity comes in all colors, but all in all, my experiences have been far more positive than negative. Matter of fact, I told Paris I didn’t want any more black clients because they’d try to be cheap, but she wouldn’t allow it.” Juniper crossed her arms and grimaced, apparently reliving their argument several months ago about the concept of discriminating based on race.

  “Carla, you and I will have a private discussion in my office in an hour.” Paris glanced down at her watch. “As far as these flowers, and all this Smoke business, I will address that privately as well,” she said coolly. She removed her sunglasses from atop her head, placed them on her face, and walked out the front door into the beaming sunlight. She marched like a one-woman band across the street…on a motherfucking mission…

  *

  JOHN MAYER SANG, “Waiting on the World to Change’, while Smoke sat back in one of the bedrooms of his new pussy haven. He got comfortable under the thick black and tan comforter with a weak strip of sunlight peeking inside, running across his leg just so. His next appointment would be in two hours, a double whammy, two girls on one guy, and it was so much easier doing business from the apartment than at the hotels. He could simply turn on a camera and keep watch, make sure no funny business was going on from the comfort of his suite. He’d pat the fuckers down after they’d parked a block away, as was demanded. They paid in advance with credit cards and cash, no checks, and the money was directly deposited into his account. He ran a classy show and if his girls didn’t feel comfortable with a motherfucker, all they had to do was say the damn word.

  The money flow was even smoother, and as he salivated over thoughts of Paris butt naked bouncing up and down on his cock, he got a hard on daydreaming about his cash flow, too. He had a filled to capacity safe, hidden and locked away in a closet. Comfort. That was where he found his temporary reprieve.

  He was snatched out of his tranquility upon seeing a figure on one of the cameras that captured the area just outside his front door. He narrowed his gaze on the screen.

  There aren’t any appointments planned right now. Everybody’s with a trick right now anyway… I know I didn’t double book… I wonder if Felicia messed up the schedule? Shit, maybe someone came early.

  The woman, dressed in a feminine white sundress and large dark sunglasses pushed the doorbell as if he owed her ass some money. Her form looked familiar, but he wasn’t close enough to make out her features. He scooted nearer, and his heart thumped. From the other cameras, he spotted Felicia saunter towards the door, pause, then put her hand on her hip, clearly harboring an attitude. She opened the door to reveal the person on his porch, crystal clear.

  Paris!

  He jumped up from his position, bare-chested and in a stupor, and raced around as if his life depended upon it. His chain necklace smacked against his flesh as he moved about, completely out of sorts. He never expected her to stop by out of the blue and figured she’d give him a call regarding his special delivery. Cursing, he struggled to find his damn shirt and shoes. He soon gave up on the idea and made his way down the steps just as he was, almost tripping over his bare feet.

  “I got it,” he said smoothly as he got to the bottom of the stairs, watching his breathing, trying to pretend he hadn’t been chasing the wind. Felicia grimaced, turned away, and disappeared. The lady in white stood at the open door, a gentle breeze blowing her pretty, slightly see through, dress just so. Her beautiful shape shone through the material…

  Goddamn.

  Delicately removing the sunglasses from her face, she looked up at him with a gorgeous smile. With her neutral make-up and her hair pulled back in her signature bun, she was the picture of perfection.

  “Hey.” He looked down at her, noting their height differential and enjoying it. He liked towering over the woman, looking down upon her, offering her nonverbal protection. He leisurely placed his hands on hips, taking her in. “How are you? You wanna come in?” He pointed to the inside of his foyer area as John Mayer now crooned, ‘Vultures.’

  “Sure.” Still smiling, she stepped over the threshold.

  Incense stick smoke swirled in the air from a nearby large clay vase filled with white sand. The sweet scent mixed with her perfume, creating an earthiness he found intoxicating.

  “Nice.”

  She looked around, nodding with approval. After all, he’d spent a great deal of time, effort and money to transform the place. The expensive interior decorator took the drab apartment dwelling and turned it into a luxurious business with a comfortable and elegant front area.

  “…Thank you.” He stepped closer to her, practically blocking her into the corner.

  “Uh.” She turned her face away, nervous, a tilted smile on her mug as she placed her soft hands against his chest, pushing ever so slightly, trying to widen their gap.

  He reluctantly stepped back and sucked his lips as he waited for her to declare what she’d come for—and prayed it was to get fucked. He’d gladly do the honors. Anytime. Any place.

  “I believe you are the one responsible for making my apartment vestibule look like a funeral parlor. There was no name, but I’m just assuming based on some comments you made the other day that…”

  “Yeah, it was me.” He kept his gaze on her, not caring to hide the way he undressed her in his mind. “I didn’t leave my name on a tag. I left a card instead, and I signed it. Check the bouquet of baby red roses with the white satin ribbon. And uh, happy birthday.”

  “I will look for the card. Oh, and thank you. They’re very pretty. A bit much, but,”—her smile grew slightly larger—“truly lovely. As I confessed to you in a previous conversation, I like to garden, so I have some ideas on what to do with a few. I appreciate that many still had their bulbs.”

  He nodded and crossed his arms. They stood there quietly, staring at one another.

  “So.” She clasped her hands together and took another quick glance around before facing him once again, her back extra straight and a studious look on
her face. “Smoke, pick me up at six sharp tomorrow night. I like Italian food and I hate tardiness. I’m certain you have my home address by now.” Her eyes narrowed on him. He didn’t respond—for there was no need in restating or confirming the obvious. “I have to go now, need to help one of my employees pack. Peace.” Throwing up the deuces sign, she brushed past him and walked fast as fuck through the open door, her juicy, high ass switching and swaying under her sheer dress as she sauntered down his path. She kept on going until she was back to her place of business, closed the door behind her, and that was that.

  He stood there for the longest, a silly grin on his face, shaking his head. Once he could no longer see her, and the realization of what had just happened sunk in, he shut the door and locked it securely behind him. When he turned around, he caught his reflection in a large, oval shaped golden foyer mirror. This time, he kinda liked what he saw…

  *

  PARIS SAT IN the limousine waiting for her newest girl, Marie, her replacement for Ms. Carla, to finish her extravagant lingerie-shopping spree. Carla had been kicked out on her damn ass soon after Paris burst back through her door after leaving Smoke’s brothel. As for Paris, she didn’t shed one tear; she barely blinked an eye. Fact of the matter was, she’d been rather sick of the woman for quite some time. All of her complaining and carrying on, when she had it much better than most, had taken its toll. Paris realized that with her being a woman, sometimes her kindness and empathy were mistaken for weakness in the game by her personnel and peers alike, when that was the farthest thing from the truth. You only had one time to disrespect her in the manner in which she’d experienced, and that was it.

  Now that Carla had been given her walking papers and was out on the street where her ungrateful ass belonged, Paris relished in the notion that maybe the woman’s memory would be jogged about how rough and tough it could be out there. Carla had so easily forgotten the time when Paris had plucked the subjugated ingrate from a ruthless pimp that was beating her ass as if he was getting paid for that alone. Turning insane, the bitch had threatened to take the entire house down in flames after her banishment, making a big scene after Paris told her to kick rocks. Good riddance was the order of the day. Her substitution, however, had a promising future.

  Marie was taking her sweet time, giddy with excitement as she entered the store. Paris was eager to take the spirited young Latina under her wing but the weather was so hot, even inside the vehicle, that she felt tested to the sweaty limit. She felt her make-up liquefy all over her face, making her skin tingle. This had to be one of the worse summers in L.A. history. She dabbed her face with an ivory Kleenex and asked Art to pump up the air conditioner to the max. As she sat there in silence, melting like a lit candle atop a fiery hearth, she found herself alone with her twisted, thorny thoughts. They rested on Smoke…

  Specifically on when she’d seen him the day before. The man had stood in his damn foyer, no shirt, no shoes and a pair of distressed dark jeans that hit his long, muscular legs in all the right places. She’d never seen him dressed down before, and though she loved a man in a suit, that right there did something to her. He may as well have snaked his big hand up her gown and fingered her to orgasm, for his laid back appearance set her ablaze. His chest looked like it had been carved out of granite and he showcased a six-pack that she wanted to roll her tongue over, dip into every damn groove in between the clear definition of his taut, faintly tanned flesh.

  Damn he is fine!

  He was muscular, but not overly so, and looked like he could walk through a fucking brick wall unscathed. On top of that, for some odd reason, he’d seemed even taller, despite not having any shoes on his feet. She smiled and dropped her head a bit, toiling with the tissue on her lap as she sank deeper into her thoughts. She glanced at the make-up now stamped on the Kleenex and studied it, taking note of the light brown color against the white of the cotton. That’s us…

  Her cell phone shrieked an instrumental ringtone of Vanity, “Nasty Girl”. She grabbed hold of the iPhone and snapped it open while stifling a yawn.

  “Hi, Tasha,” She glanced out the window, noting the cars going by.

  “Hey Paris, just calling you to let you know that my guy cancelled but I have another one in like an hour.”

  “Oh okay, did you have Bruce today? If my memory serves me correctly, that’s who was coming.”

  “Yeah, he said something came up. Still out with Marie? I bet she is having a blast.” Tasha chuckled.

  “She is.” Paris snickered. “She’s got stars in her eyes, but thank you for agreeing to help mentor her.” She tossed her glance back in the direction of the store, sighed, then leaned back on the black leather limousine seat.

  “Of course, Paris, no problem…you know what?”

  “What, sweetie?” Paris stifled another yawn, wishing she had time for a nap, but duty called.

  “I want to thank you again for treating me and the other girls how you do. Marie is lucky she showed up at the right time, because most of us don’t get a Madam like you. I know I complain about stuff sometimes,” she said with sincerity, “but you are a really good Madam, Paris. The best. I remember when you approached me on the street. That was the day my whole life changed.”

  Filled with emotion, Paris dropped her head, and ran trembling fingertips along her temples. This girl was not only an employee, but family.

  “I would see you, and no one knew who you were at first. Some of the girls around me were in physical pain from standing on their feet for far too long. Others were so strung out, they were willing to give a blow job with no rubber for only five bucks!”

  Paris nodded in agreement, recalling thinking at that time,

  If these women are going to do this, like I did, why can’t we do it better?

  “What I admire about you, Paris, is your business sense. You took your business knowledge from college, merged it with expertise of the damn streets, and set up shop.”

  “I had to.” She laughed sadly. “After saving a bit of money from that nine to five I hated, I knew it was time to make a move.”

  “Yeah, I remember the story well. You bought a bigger house and got rid of the one you’d been renting right after you graduated. You’d walk the streets late at night and place a business card in some of the girls’ hands. People started talking, but I didn’t know what you were doing right away. I figured you were some cop or one of those religious nuts wanting us to join their church.”

  Paris shook her head, a crooked grin on her face. Tasha was right about all that happened and then some. Then, little by little, her phone began to ring and she’d conduct her sales pitch. She remembered it like yesterday, it would go a little something like this:

  First, I want to thank you for calling me. My company is called, ‘Raven Rendezvous’ and I’d like to conduct an interview with you, but before we do that, let me tell you a few facts about me and RR. You called me for a reason. That means you know you have more to offer yourself than what you are currently getting from your pimp or by working independently. Secondly, you were hand selected. I see potential in you. Instead of having someone ride your ass, beat your ass, harass your ass, fuck your ass and then throw your ass out on your ass, you can run your own show. You can come live with me, and you will have privacy with your johns and be able to keep 37% of your money, versus the 5% or less that you probably are currently receiving. I can protect you and help you with the legal system, should that matter arise. You will have health insurance, including dental, after you have been with me for two months.

  After one year, your take-home portion will go up to 45%. Your work clothing will be provided. You may purchase all of your lingerie, sex toys, lotions and lubricants via the company. Best of all, I’ve been where you’ve been, and I know where you’re going if you don’t get off those streets. You’ll either end up dead from a trick that is a lunatic, dead at the hands of your pimp, or dead from drug abuse or after contracting HIV and allowing it to turn into AIDS. With
me, you’ll get doctor visits and compassion. All I ask is that you stay loyal, keep our private business out of your mouth, and not work the track. It is far too dangerous. All of your johns will come here, a safe haven. No more back alleys or cars where the police bust you or you are easily harmed and all alone, with no one to help. Now, how does that sound?

  More times than not, these women took her up on her offer. Some were too terrified to leave their pimps, and she completely understood that fear. After six months, she had five girls living in her house, and all but one respected her and did as they were told. After five years, she had twelve, with ten more on a waiting list, so she decided to purchase an apartment building in which all of her girls could reside. She was doing shit the local pimps either didn’t have the wherewithal to accomplish, their money wasn’t good enough, their credit destroyed, had a police record so long it prevented them from owning anything at all, or were too strung out to even go that route. She was running the damn show.

  Not all things were so splendid, however. Through the years, she’d been threatened and beaten up due to other pimps’ insecurity, jealousy and ugliness. So, making a decision, she’d gone and purchased her first gun, which she already knew how to use.

  “I just think that we, as your girls should tell you more how we love and appreciate you, Paris. You aren’t trying to break our backs or rob us blind. That’s not common in the game.”

  Paris was definitely not tooting her own horn, but she had to agree with Tasha’s sentiments. Most pimps, and a decent amount of Madams, would do all sorts of unscrupulous things to control their stable. It was a pimp’s and madam’s job to provide a bullshit concept called ‘guidance’—essentially a slow and steady mind fuck for the ignorant and insane.

  “In part, Tasha, I owe my style of being a Madam to my experiences.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, due to my upbringing, I learned quickly the difference between a Beta and an Alpha Pimp and all the ones in between.”

  “Oh yes, baby!” Tasha cackled. “That’s rule mothafuckin’ number one! The Alpha pimps are hardcore!”