Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  “Noooooo! He didn’t do anything wrong!” she kept hollering, while the police repeatedly urged her to settle down. And then there was Frank. His body was placed on a gurney, limp and unmoving. He knew Frank like the back of his hand, he understood how and why the man acted the way he did. Frank was the motherfucking man. He was head of security and had knowledge of how to get things under control in seconds flat. The run down went as such: After they’d cleared the house of all evidence of sex trafficking, even got rid of the johns on the scene via the back door, the man called the police then set his sights on what was happening outside. Thanks to Frank’s diligence and thoroughness, Paris would never be put under the spotlight as far as why Royal was firing at her door in the first damn place. That was all Smoke could ask for—that his lover, his best friend, the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with, was safe, sound and secure.

  After a while, the car pulled away from the curb, the blue and red lights spinning, making him dizzy. He kept his head somewhat down, but he could still hear her… She called out to him, over and over, and it ripped out his heart, made him want to bury his face in the palms of his hands and cry the hurt away.

  “Smooooke! Smooookkkke!” she wailed.

  Lowering his face a bit more, he allowed himself to feel it—one single tear formed in his eye, then fell down his face. He cried, not because he knew he was going to prison for Lord knew how long, but because he was leaving his baby behind. Alone. And she’d already been abandoned one time too many…

  Pussycat, I’m so sorry…

  *

  Several months later…

  PARIS CLUTCHED HER cream and pale orange purse to her chest. Her vanilla suit with small pearl buttons was her attempt at trying to stay low key. Smoke had been in court three times, and things didn’t look good. She sat across from him in that prison, the thick glass cock-blocking, wedging itself between them. She hadn’t looked into her man’s eyes in so long, and when she finally laid eyes on him, she ached to break down and cry. He looked fine, especially considering the circumstances, but her soul knotted up all the same. She was astonished at how long his damn hair had grown, to well past his shoulders, and cloaked part of his face. She shuddered a bit, for he looked exactly like his father now.

  “Smoke…” She grabbed a tissue, expecting to not get through the discussion with any semblance of composure. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m good, baby.” He nodded slowly, a sad little smile on his handsome face. “How are you?”

  “It depends on when you ask me.” She chuckled lightly. He nodded in understanding.

  “Are our girls okay?”

  “Yes, everyone is fine, and everyone misses you.”

  “Look, baby.” He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together, the orange jumpsuit on his body bunching a bit along the arms. “I need to get right to it. I’ve hired a new attorney, but because of that, he has to get acclimated with the case. The state wants to charge me with second-degree murder. The prosecutor is pushing that. It was self-defense, and that’s what I’m hoping and praying will be proven in a court of law. Unfortunately, because of my affiliations, I won’t be believed without a legal army around me. Now, here’s what I need you to do.”

  “Yes, I’m listening, baby.” She clutched the phone a bit tighter.

  “We’ve talked about it a couple of times, so far only fuzzy daydreams that neither of us had the guts to deal with, but we must do that now. Because despite all the shit that happened, baby, you made everything worth it. I’d serve a life sentence just to spend these eight months with you again. You’re everything to me, Pussycat.”

  She smiled and swiped at her nose, fearing it may start running.

  “I have some accounts that I told you about. When you get out of here, call Felicia and tell her I told you to contact her, so she knows it’s okay. I’m sure she has an idea what’s going on, so just tell her I need some help. I will send her a letter in advance, just stating for her to believe what you say, nothing more, nothing less, so she’ll know it’s on the up and up. I want you to get into those accounts and pay your girls and mine a little something, and send them on their way.”

  Paris felt the blood drain from her face. “Smoke, what are you talking about?”

  “You heard me, baby. I need you to start living your life. I’ve been in here thinking…” He hung his head for a moment. “You need to square up, just like we fantasized about. When you and I sat together in my car watching the planes fly by, I saw how you looked when we discussed leaving the life. In your eyes I saw the truth, no matter how we both tried to run from it at the time. I’ll never forget how you looked when you told me about your trip to the vineyard and garden in elementary school. That was the last time you were really free, the last time you were truly happy… I know you have plenty of money, but you’re burning through it, trying to get all of my affairs in order. This legal shit costs a hell of a lot of money and here I am starting fresh on my defense, which is only going to make it worse.”

  “Smoke, I don’t understand. I mean—”

  “No, baby. You understand me completely. What’s your dream?”

  She hesitated, looked down at the pearls on her suit jacket then back into his eyes. “To own an upscale floral shop.”

  “Exactly. Now is the time. You were never meant to be a ho, a Madam, none of that shit! You were never supposed to be used and abused, Paris. Nobody was, but it happened to us all the same. You’re like a prisoner of war, stuck in your own way. This is all you’ve known for so long, but it doesn’t look good on you, it doesn’t suit you. I need you…” He closed his eyes real tight, as if trying to muster strength, but only briefly. “I need you to follow your dreams, to set yourself free. So you get into those accounts, and you do whatever it is you need to do to part with the girls. Line their pockets with enough so they’ll be okay for a while. You get rid of that damn apartment building. Mine, too. Go home, to your house, and stay safe and comfortable. You think about me, and remember that I love you more than I love my own damn self. I’d die for you, Paris. You think about that when days get too hard.”

  Tears streamed down her face.

  “Baby, I don’t know how long I’ll be in here and because of that, I’m not trying to hold you back if this drags out too much longer. I love you so much it hurts, and it would kill me a hundred times over if you got with someone else, but I won’t trap you. Just give me a bit more time though, baby. I have this new defense now, so if you can just hold on until I get a good grasp on this, I think—”

  “Have…you…lost…your…mind?!” She seethed, gritted her teeth as more angry tears fell. “I don’t care if you’re in here for a hundred years! I’m never leaving your side, Smoke. Never!”

  He smiled, the relief stark on his face. “Okay, baby…okay.”

  “Smoke.” She placed her hand on the glass. “You’ve got me. You own my heart. I can’t escape you even if I wanted to.” She sobbed, even more when she witnessed the man’s eyes glossing over, but boy was he fighting it—he was fighting it so hard. “I love that you thought about me and my wellbeing, about what would make me happy. Funny thing, I was thinking about it too. I’m tired, Smoke.” Her voice trembled.

  “So am I, baby. I want to relax against your body. I fantasize about us waking up in a nice house together, and I go to work somewhere, like a regular ol’ square. Shit, if I’m flipping hamburgers or glazing donuts, so be it.” He shrugged. “Just having a normal life appeals to me so damn badly now. A day when I clock in and clock out, then come home to you, kiss you, make love to you, and we fall asleep together watching T.V. That’s what I want, Paris. I just want to be Brent. The messed up part of all of this is that I don’t even know who the hell Brent is anymore!”

  Slow tears streamed down his chiseled face. He’d fought and lost, and she was relieved on his behalf. Even a stone feels rainfall every now and again…

  “That’s what I’m here for,” she offered. He s
lid his hand against hers over the glass. “I’ll help you, baby. One step at a time. You can help me find Paris, and I’ll help you find Brent, and they’ll be a couple, and madly in love…in a house, with nothing but love between the walls. No more late night calls, no more johns and tricks. None of that…just you and me.” The sobs wracked her body now, uncontrollable, undeniable. She was really going to do this, step out on faith.

  He hung his head, choking, crying his damn heart out. She watched the man fall the hell apart, his shoulders moving up and down as he sighed and lost it before her. She knew he wasn’t crying because he was prison. Her man wasn’t crying because he’d killed another. Smoke shed tears because in killing that man, he’d killed Smoke too, and he felt so damn relieved…but it came at a hefty price. Brent could no longer kiss his Pussycat goodnight…

  *

  Chapter Fifteen

  PARIS SAT UNDER Felicia’s scrutiny. The woman stared at her as if lost for words. The whole damn thing proved beyond awkward. She hoped Felicia didn’t show her ass, clamp down and refuse to budge, then add insult to injury by running off with the information, never to be seen again, as her last act of vengeance. They stood outside the bank, and she took note that the woman had some papers in her hand.

  “Smoke had these accounts, but he never told me the account numbers, what bank they were for, or anything. I think he figured if I thought hard enough, I’d know where he may hide something like this in his building. He couldn’t tell you over the phone… The conversations are recorded.”

  Paris nodded in agreement. “Yes, you two seemed to have a unique understanding of one another.”

  “We did, Paris. I loved him, you know that right?” The breeze blew the woman’s long, tawny hair around, exposing a lovely face half masked by spiraling tresses until the wind blew once again. Felicia was a beautiful woman, and it also seemed that under the tough exterior, she was a decent person too, but severely emotionally traumatized and damaged. Paris could relate…

  “Of course I knew, Felicia.” Paris sighed and reached into her purse, removing her lipstick to refresh her look. “It was apparent.”

  Felicia stood there in her black button down shirt and loose gray pants, just staring at her. The woman’s lower lip twitched—the only sign of emotion on her face.

  “Well, let’s go inside and take care of this…”

  Forty-five minutes later, Paris had transferred all of the money into a joint account she and Smoke shared. She’d followed his directions and kept her composure, trying to not bring attention to the fact that she was dying inside. The man had saved up so much dough, it was truly astounding. What she found doubly strange was that Felicia didn’t ask for one dime, despite all her efforts and broken heart. As they walked out the bank, Felicia turned to leave, without so much as a goodbye. Paris called to her, feeling as if they were not quite finished with one another yet.

  “Felicia!”

  The woman paused, then turned back around. “Yes?”

  “Come here, please. Can we uh,” Paris placed her sunglasses on her face and peered around. “Can we go get a bite to eat across the street here?”

  Felicia tilted her chin upward as if to say, ‘You have a lot of nerve, bitch.’ But she didn’t say a word.

  “Paris, we really have nothing further to say to one another.”

  “I think we do…”

  “Why?” She arched an eyebrow. “The only thing that stopped me from trying to beat the living daylights out of you was that Smoke loves you, and it would upset him if I were to do something like that. It was one thing for him to fuck another bitch, so what? But he gave his heart to someone, you! That is totally different! Why in the hell would I want to go out to eat with the woman that stole my man?”

  “Because I’d like to talk to you, woman to woman, clear the air. And I have something important to share with you.”

  Felicia turned away, appearing to mull it over. “All right.”

  The two women walked side by side, crossed the street, and entered a restaurant called, ‘Sushi Park.’

  “I can’t afford this,” Felicia grumbled as she flipped through the menu.

  “My treat.” Paris grinned. “Get whatever you want.” She clasped her hands together to wiggle her fingertips against one another as a slightly nervous vibe crawled up her spine. “Now, I’m going to keep it one hundred with you, Felicia. I didn’t know that you were in love with Smoke when he first approached me. However, after finding out, I wasn’t surprised. It isn’t uncommon for the main woman of the house to be head over heels for her pimp.”

  Felicia said nothing. She simply stared at her with her self-possessed hazel gaze.

  “I believe you are still in love with him, and that’s why you’re helping him. We know this isn’t for me or my benefit; it’s for Smoke.”

  “That’s right,” she said coolly as she slipped her napkin over her lap.

  “I appreciate it nevertheless. It’s hard to watch someone you adore fall in love with someone else.” Paris lowered her head. “I hadn’t been in that exact situation, but close enough, a time or two. What I want to say to you,”—she sighed, closed her eyes for a moment and regrouped—“is, ‘thank you.’”

  Felicia nodded, picked up her glass of water from the table and took a generous sip.

  “I know it will take some time, but I hope one day you can get over this, and please understand that neither he nor I set out to hurt you. I know everyone who is caught in a similar predicament would say the same thing, but I am telling the truth… It just happened, Felicia. Neither of us was planning to be in a relationship. But, it happened and…I love him.”

  Felicia remained quiet, her eyes hooded. The woman swallowed then looked away, as if she couldn’t stomach looking Paris in the eye one second longer.

  “Oh.” Paris held up a finger then reached into her purse. “This is from Smoke.”

  Felicia looked at the fat envelope, back into Paris’ eyes, then back at the envelope. She gingerly removed it from Paris’ hand, and opened it. Paris knew what it was, but had no idea why Smoke had purchased it for the woman. Nevertheless, she trusted him, and was carrying out his wishes. Inside sat a large emerald necklace…

  “I didn’t have time to wrap it or anything, but he said you’d want it. He had it in his safe.”

  Felicia’s eyes watered something fierce. The poor woman covered her face and sobbed so harshly, Paris was worried she wouldn’t be able to catch a breath and may need a ventilator.

  “Felicia.” She reached for her hand, trying to calm her down. “Felicia, it’s okay…here, drink some water.” She handed the woman her glass, and she only held it in her trembling hand a second or two before it had to be set down once again.

  After a few moments, the woman looked up, her face reddened and her eyes streaming with tears.

  “My grandmother raised me,” she began, sniffing and choked up. “When I started messing with drugs, I stole her emerald necklace that my granddaddy had got her when he was away at war. It meant everything to her. She told me I could have stolen her eyes, all of her China, and wiped out her bank account, but it would have paled in comparison to me hawking her necklace for fifty dollars of blow.” She shook uncontrollably for quite some time. Finally, she settled. “This is the same one, I can tell! Look at the inscription.” She handed the thing back to Paris, blew her nose, then pointed to a dull golden circle ornament on the clasp.

  “To Diane…” Paris smiled proudly then placed it on the table between them.

  “How’d he find it?”

  “Felicia, I have no idea. All I know is that it happened fairly recently because a week before…well, you know,” she said, swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat, “he told me he was waiting for a hit on some jewelry that he had reported missing. He found it in Las Vegas, actually. The necklace was up for auction, but how Smoke got this information is beyond me.”

  The woman reached for the thing and clutched it close to her chest. “My
grandmother is still alive. She got dementia, but she’s still here. I can’t wait to show this to her, to bring her a little peace. This is one of the many reasons why I loved Smoke, Paris. Yeah, he’s a pimp. People hate pimps, but he was good to me!” Her voice quaked. “He took care of me, protected me, we rarely argued. He was a stone cold gentleman. He had the right mix of Midwestern style and California swag. He was fucking amazing!”

  Paris nodded in agreement.

  “Not to mention, making love to him was the best sex I’ve had in all of my life. Damn that man can fuck! Oh, I’m sorry…” She lowered her head, oblivious she’d gotten caught up in the moment until it was far too late.

  Paris smirked, holding back a full-fledged grin. “Felicia, that’s okay. Of course I agree.” Both women looked at one another and burst out laughing.

  “Oh God,” Felicia sighed on a grin. “But yeah.” She nodded and smiled sadly. “Smoke and I had some good times, some really good times. Though I miss him.” She played with the edge of her fork, running her fingers along the points as it lay sideways across her extra napkin. “I only want him to be happy. If he found happiness in you, then that’s something I have to accept. He chose you.” Her eyes narrowed. “That meant he and I were done.”

  Paris nodded in sorrowful understanding. Yes, Smoke did choose her. From the moment he laid eyes on her, she could feel the mutual attraction. His stare was so intense, his magnetism so raw, there was no denying what transpired between them.

  “I wasn’t jealous of the other women he was sleeping with. Matter of fact, towards the end there, I was hoping he was still having sex with all of us. That would mean he hadn’t fallen in love. But I found out just the opposite. He hadn’t touched any of them in weeks. That’s how I knew he’d lost his shit over you.”

  Inwardly, Paris smiled, though not at Felicia’s expense. She’d wondered a time or two if Smoke had told the truth when he said he’d be hers and hers alone. Who would blame her? The man lived with seven to thirteen gorgeous women at any given time. He was unusually handsome, the kind of attractiveness that is genuine, with a rugged flair. He towered above the world, had a presence about him. The way the man moved also blew her mind—slow, on time, in rhythm, as if he were drifting on some fucking invisible cloud. His voice alone could make an ocean ripple and he was intelligent, slick, good with money and responsible. Above all, he stood by his damn word. But Felicia was right. The only thing anyone who didn’t know him would remember was that he was a pimp.