Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  Tasha had squared up and landed some firefighter for a husband. The man was so smitten with her ass, he spoiled her rotten. Paris couldn’t have been prouder of her. She was happy being square, to have hung up her fur trimmed G-string; well, at least when it came to other men…

  Things were truly turning around. Juniper worked for an escort service ran by the notorious Madam Blanca. Blanca was a middle-aged, wealthy white woman from Russia who wasn’t nearly as generous as Paris had been, but definitely loved her girls and kept them under lock and key. April had moved out of state, she wasn’t certain where. Most of the other women Paris had under her ho-house roof seemed to have fallen off the planet; she couldn’t find her ladies, and neither Tasha nor Juniper knew where they were, either. She feared some may be strung out, but she tried to remain optimistic. Most women in prostitution were stuck in a vicious cycle. They fucked to get high, and got high to fuck. But where had they gone?

  It was as if they’d vanished into thin, perfume-scented air. This wasn’t unheard of, especially considering their line of work, but her heart hurt, tugged and burned with sorrow at the thought. She wished they could all celebrate with her, to share in enjoying one of the most important days of her life.

  She pushed one foot forward and adjusted the strap on her shoe, forcing her way out of the torrid, terrible cluster of depressing thoughts, and then, a sad smile formed on her face. She had at least one additional thing to celebrate. She’d picked a hell of a spot! Aqua Dulce Vineyards was the scene of the crime. This was where it paid to have wealthy clients once upon a lifetime, for one of the johns that frequented her establishment happened to be part owner of the fabulous wedding venue she’d selected. Normally they didn’t host weddings there, but he made an exception, just this teeny, weeny time, and it tickled her to no end. He even offered a spectacular wine and dessert reception and seemed almost happier about her upcoming nuptials than her and Smoke.

  “They’re all out there. Hurry up, Paris!” Tasha screamed as she raced towards her in her light blue shimmery dress. It hugged the woman’s curves, making her look even more beautiful than she naturally was. No wonder someone had seen the potential in Tasha. They understood that just because she’d spent time on her back, didn’t mean she wasn’t worth much standing up. Juniper cast a lazy glance over her shoulder.

  “I needed to fix her train, Tasha…she’s ready now.” Juniper gave it a final fluff. She took a step back, pleased with her handiwork.

  It was such a perfect day. Paris tried hard to not pause and pinch herself. Her beautiful mermaid style-wedding gown embraced her in all the right places as she made her way out the small tent dressing room and took Frank’s arm, the man she’d chosen to walk her down the aisle.

  The lovely gentleman with salt and pepper hair winked at her, leaned in close and said, “Oh doll, you look beautiful! You’re marrying my son, making him such a happy man!” Everyone knew Frank acted like the father to the world; it was just his way, and his old southern Italian charm, mixed with an East Coast flair warmed the soul.

  “Thank you, Frankie!” she whispered in his ear, planting a kiss upon his dark tanned cheek just as the music queued.

  “The Color of Love” by Boys 2 Men started to play, serenading her as she made her way down to her towering, azure-eyed fetching gentleman, who waited for her fifty feet away. Smoke stood with that smirk on his face, his hands crossed loosely over his crotch, and clad in a borrowed, second-hand Ralph Lauren black and blue tuxedo that looked as if it had been created just for him and made from a pair of busy wedding angels. He looked as smooth and debonair as he had during his pimping days. It took everything in her to not go down a path of mental debauchery as she eyeballed the sexy son of a bitch. He winked at her, as cool as he pleased, and shot her a gleaming grin, as if he were just relaxing, waiting for a bus to catch…

  Damn, my man is fine!

  She wanted to shout it to the world, but surely anyone with eyes could see he was a generous helping of exquisiteness. As she drew closer, her off white Badgley Mischka discounted, clearance sale pumps sunk into the plush light blue runner, making her feel as if she were bouncing about on clouds. He smoothly traced his chin with the side of his hand, his hungry gaze fixed on her. He didn’t try to hide it, either. That expression made her sweat and yearn for him in the worst damn way. She’d forgotten that weddings made her horny because all she could think about was how much the bride and groom loved one another, and would be ripping each other apart later that evening… Romance books…romance…a happily ever after that she never thought she’d have; yet, it was happening, with her own deviant twist. Yes, Paris turned everything into a sexual exploit…

  …And she was in the mood to toss her damn flowers aside, and be torn from limb to damn limb by the beast known as Brent. But please, Sir Smoke, leave my treasured collar in one piece…

  *

  I AM NOT about to stand here and cry like some damn punk…

  Smoke watching this picture of fucking perfection stroll her fine ass towards him like a never-ending dream. A pimp was getting married, and to make it all the more bizarre, he was getting hitched to a beautiful Madam who had his heart, mind, and body by the goddamn balls. The sadistic woman would twist ’em, bend them to her will with just a simple wink of her large, slanted eyes.

  A Pussycat attack was always subtle, but landed the victim torn to bits…

  He couldn’t make this shit up if he tried. In the audience sat other pimps, whores, madams and the like. This was their damn family, a population chock full of people with various bachelors, masters and PhDs in pussy, the streets, erect cocks, fresh meat…

  Track and trade, concrete.

  Skirts tossed up, pussy trimmed and neat.

  Cash flow, diamond show

  Pimps up

  and hos down

  Golden chalice,

  Platinum crown…

  Fur coats

  Yacht boats,

  All the letters

  a lovesick john wrote…

  These were the people who loved them and still showed tremendous support, even after they left the life and made a go at trying to be on the straight and narrow. They respected his decision to bow out of his own frailty, so he could stand up in the face of esteemed greatness. He breathed for this damn woman. He was alive for this woman, he’d give his life for this woman, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He loved everything about her, and his obsession with her grew stronger, never lessening as time passed. He found himself in a perpetual state of disarray, and he liked being a mess just fine…

  Frank loosened his grip on the bride. The minister cleared his throat and went into his wedding spiel. Carl stood by his side, his best man, taking it all in no doubt. Smoke wasn’t paying a lick of attention; he hated that he couldn’t focus, but he simply couldn’t help it. Such a stunning woman, she made him feel some type of way, like he might faint because he had reached a level of happiness impossible to achieve. He’d read about the shit but never thought he’d get a chance at bat… but he had her anyway, and since he did, he was Never. Fucking. Letting. Go. Also, she made it clear that she would never leave his damn side.

  He’d asked the woman to marry him, and she said yes…

  She said ‘yes’ to a former pimp who had lived a lifestyle of corruption and immorality.

  She said, ‘yes’ to a man who didn’t have much money anymore…but he had potential…

  She said, ‘yes’ to a man who was going to school, busting his ass to make sure she didn’t have to worry about a damn thing, ever again, if she would only trust him…

  She said, ‘yes’ to a man who was broken like an egg yolk, shattered like a mirror and full of smoke to hide his true self from everyone until he met her…

  SHE. SAID. YES.

  “Did you hear me?” the minister repeated, motioning towards him, causing light chuckles to roll throughout the seated audience.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,”

  “Da
ydreaming again! You’ll never change!” Carl teased, causing more laughter.

  Smoke smiled, turned towards her and took her hands, then repeated the vows as he was supposed to. But clarity soon flew out the window for it happened again—he slipped right into another damn daydream. This one included horrendously sensual and kinky things that sparkled in a darkened closet filled with beautiful contraptions and Pussycat enchantment, shit that made his dick go bump in the night. They made love constantly, but it never seemed enough… He anticipated their wedding night, as if he’d never been inside the woman before…

  When the time came, he slid the brilliant wedding band on her slender finger, and she did the same. He tried to keep his damn hand from trembling during the whole process, but it was no use! His fingers had a mind of their own, vibrating like a strummed guitar string. As she slid the thick golden band on him, she looked deeply into his eyes and caught him in the throes of weakness. She grinned ever so softly, acknowledging how caught up in his feelings he was, rolling around in the shit as if in the spin cycle of the laundry…saturated, wet and soppy with admiration, adoration and yearning. But she saved him, averting her gaze from him just in time, before he did something he regretted, like lose his cool and fall to his knees. He wanted to bury his face in her damn gown just to make sure it was really her and not some mirage, or worse, a cruel self-inflicted daydream he’d concocted just to ease his ailing heart. She had his number, he’d been busted, booked and locked away.

  But he was thrilled that his secret was safe with the woman, never to be discussed then or in the future.

  Suddenly, murmurs and whispers began amongst the crowd, ruining the vibe, the beautiful moment in peril. He and Paris turned simultaneously towards the commotion, and his heart throbbed in his damn chest. For right there down the aisle, in the damn flesh, stood Felicia.

  *

  Chapter Twenty

  HER HAIR PULLED back, she allowed him to see every nuance of her face. She looked rather calm, but so did the quiet before a storm…

  The woman gripped the back of a chair so hard, he worried it may topple back.

  What the hell is she doing here?!

  He had feared this. He’d relaxed when Paris told him they’d left each other on a good note, but he knew Felicia! The woman could hold a grudge tighter than a dog to his own fucking nuts. Why couldn’t she move on?! Why couldn’t she accept that it just wasn’t meant to be?! He’d shown he cared, but he simply could not connect with her on that level. He had who the hell he wanted, he’d been chosen by a woman named Paris!

  He’d heard about the little number she’d pulled on Carla. He would have been lying if he said he didn’t derive some pleasure from the story, but not the aftermath. Felicia was arrested for assault a few days later, and she’d acted as though the shit didn’t matter to her because she achieved what she wanted: she ran Carla’s ass clear out of town as soon as she was released from jail. She went right back, and Lord knows what she said to her, but whatever that was, Carla left soon thereafter…

  Did Paris invite her?

  He could see by Paris’ expression, she had not.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt…” Felicia said softly.

  “Then don’t!” Frank barked, turning towards the woman he once called his baby girl.

  “Frank,” she said politely. “It’s not what you think. I just wanted…” She dropped her head. “No one asked if anyone objected, and I don’t.” She threw up her hands, as if in surrender. “But I wanted to tell Smoke and Paris that I’m happy for them. Paris is a good woman, and Smoke is a good man and just because…” She looked as if she were fighting back tears. “Just because you love someone, doesn’t mean y’all supposed to be together. That’s all…” She backed up to leave. “Not tryna crash your party…just saying congratulations, ’cause I love you Smoke…and I love you enough to let you go in my heart now, not just in my mind.” And then she walked away and disappeared, the same way she’d appeared, as if on a cloud of dust.

  For a few moments, the air hung so thick with somberness, it left them all speechless. Felicia had simply come to say goodbye…

  Everyone was quiet for a while, looking into each other’s eyes and all around. What had happened was a clear testament, a true declaration of one of the many pitfalls of being in the life.

  “Can I speak for a minute?” Smoke whispered to the minister.

  “Of course…”

  He cleared his throat and looked at Paris, then out into the crowd as he wound the microphone chord around his hand. He took a moment, scratched his head before he began.

  “We just had an uninvited guest. She’s in her car now, driving away.” He took a deep breath. “She wasn’t uninvited because she wasn’t wanted as a person, but because of what she symbolized. Some of you didn’t know her, but most of you do. That woman who just spoke used to be a close friend of mine. She has a name, Felicia Dawson, and I’ve known her almost for as long as I was in the life. When I was in the game, she and I became somewhat attached, we had a close friendship. Unfortunately, it was pretty one-sided. You see, she fell in love with me, or who she thought I was, who I portrayed but I didn’t fall in love with her.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure. “When I was a little boy, I witnessed the same thing in my house growing up—a man who wasn’t in love with a woman who saw him as some sort of God, and when he fell off the mountain she put him on, he crushed her too, on the way down.” He ran his hand over his forehead.

  “You see, that’s the problem with Felicia and women like her. She put me on a high pedestal that I didn’t deserve. I did little to earn it, but she gave it to me anyway, because she is searching for something, and someone, to fill a hole.

  We all are…

  “I…I used her.” He looked down at his shoes. “I used her mind, her body…and abused her trust. Even if I was a better person at that time, I don’t believe I would have loved her…because, you either love someone or you don’t, you know?”

  Several people nodded in agreement.

  “It’s not something you can force.” He looked over at Paris. “And it’s not something you can control. For when it hits you, it hits you hard, and you’re just gone.” He smiled tenderly. “This woman right here, standing beside me, I love her. And it wasn’t something I had to try to make happen, to invent, or to create. It just happened! I was looking at her, we were talking here and there, getting to know one another, and before I knew it, I woke up one day and said, ‘Oh my God, I’m in love with her and better yet, I like how this feels. I won’t run, because she’s a gift to me!’”

  Applause rang out as he shook his head.

  “Some people thought it was funny, some felt it a stupid move on my part since I was the pursuer and I lost street cred, others thought it was sweet, but most didn’t know what to think of Paris and me getting together.”

  He heard some chuckles.

  “I have a lot of friends, who I consider family, still in the life.” People nodded. “It’s in our blood! It’s where we come from, and what we do! Sex is beautiful! But…one day, I realized…” He looked back at Paris and wiped a tear from her eye so softly…so delicately. “I understood that I only wanted to be with one woman, and she’d…she’d be enough.” He shifted his gaze back to the crowd. “That woman was Paris. I didn’t care about the flashy cars, the money, the prestige, the acknowledgement anymore. I didn’t care about making my dead dad proud anymore, living up to his legacy, his name. I didn’t care about the big, fancy houses and sucking in the street life like cocaine up my damn nose! Paris became my cocaine!” He pointed to her. “And she became my rehab, too…”

  People jumped to their feet, applauding and cheering as he handed the microphone back to the minister. In moments, the noise died down, he was told he could kiss his bride, and before the minister could finish the sentence, he reached for his Pussycat, curled his arms around her small waist, and hoisted her against his body. His cock throbbed against her, and a
split second fantasy of ripping her damn dress off crossed his mind, but…it was only a fantasy. That would simply have to wait until later. He curved his lips in a naughty grin as he pressed his lips hard into hers, claiming her, while people jumped out of their seats and applauded.

  Yeah…he was married now. He was married to Paris Ramón Patterson, and she was the love of his life, the co-pilot of his heart, and the blue around his clouds.

  She was his living, breathing daydream, and in his heart, she’d always fly first class…

  *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two years later…

  HERE HE STOOD. After two years, he’d just completed the hardest challenge he’d ever tried to accomplish in his life, because the dedication to tediousness was not something that happened for him naturally. Regardless, he could hold his chin high. He’d made it. The college courses, the extensive pilot training, the back-to-back court cases, fighting for a clean record that finally came to be—all over. Meanwhile, he’d done his best to be there for the woman he owed everything to, while surviving on several cups of coffee and two hours of sleep a night. Needing and desiring to be a husband, a lover, a friend, when many times, all he had in him was the urge to sleep, and even that was compromised. The worst of it came when his aunt contacted him, a woman he hadn’t laid eyes on since the age of twelve, to let him know that his mother had died.