by iiKane
Alarms went off in Georgie’s head. He had inadvertently let the cat out of the bag, so he hurriedly tried to stuff it back in, tail and all.
“Just this chick down the hall; I meant Michael. I told Michael that I didn’t need one. I’ma do this my way,” Georgie huffed, watching a police car cruise silently by.
“Okay, Frank Sinatra, Mr. ‘My Way.’” she snickered.
“And speaking of chicks, do you know how many calls I’ve been getting from these drama ass heffas around here? Like my phone is a suicide hotline. Talkin ‘bout, ‘Why did Georgie leave? He said he loved me; we were getting married!’” His mother whining imitated a crying female. “Even Denise called me. She all crying, talking about, she so sorry, but she love you and she need to see you, finally admitting that y’all doing the nasty. I ain’t say nothin,’ I just acted like I ain’t known this whole time!” Stephanie cracked.
Georgie burst out laughing.
“You knew?!”
“Boy, what I tell you?! No-thing! You can’t get nothing past your Mama. If you think you slick, remember I’ma can of grease!”
They shared a laugh.
“Seriously Georgie, you can’t be lying to these females like that, telling them you love them.”
“But I’m not lying when I say it,” he reasoned.
“And when is this?” she asked, her tone sounding like it had its hands on its hips. “When you naked? When you lying down? Because you know, you men gotta be standing up to think straight.”
“No Ma, it’s not like that, forreal. I really do love ‘em; I just love ‘em all differently,” Georgie explained, trying to find words.
“Well, that doesn’t make it any easier when you wake up by yourself,” she replied, and her tone sounded like the voice of experience.
“I’m not tryin’ to hurt anybody, Ma.”
“I know you not, Baby… Well, let me go because I am being rude. I got this whole man downstairs simmering; now it’s time to put him on the plate!” she exclaimed.
Georgie took ear from the phone.
“Bye, Ma!”
“Bye, Baby! Don’t be mad ‘cause I still got it! I love you.”
Her voice filled the room with her Philly accent and motherly love, making him smile. “I love you, too.”
Georgie laid the phone on the windowsill and let the smile linger on his lips.
It didn’t linger long. A flash of color caught the corner of his eye. He looked down onto the street and saw Anya crossing, wearing a sequined miniskirt, a pair of see-through “fuck me” pumps, a halter top, and a long, blond wig. Her ass bounced with every step, igniting his passionate rage. All he could think of were the cigarette burns.
He gritted his teeth, grabbed his boom box off the floor and headed out the door. When he reached the living room, Bergman’s plane was leaving in Casablanca and Michelle was sniffling.
“Umm, if Momma say something about a girl named Michelle, just tell her it’s a chick that lives down the hall,” Georgie suggested.
It took Michelle a moment to realize what Georgie was trying to get at, as she dabbed her tears; but when she did, her eyes swelled.
“Georgie! Tell me you didn’t!”
“It was a mistake! She said Michael but I said Michelle, and she was like, who’s Michelle? I said, a chick down the hall. Don’t worry, if you stick to the script, we’re good,” he assured her.
Michelle jumped off the couch, pacing the floor nervously, hands clenched for emphasis.
“Georgie, how could you?!” she whined. “You know your mother, she’s like a bloodhound. She can smell it, and once she’s on the track, she can’t be stopped! She’s like the Terminator or something!”
Georgie cracked up at the drama queen scene that Michelle was acting out.
“Just relax, aight? Tell her what I said,” Georgie reiterated, as he opened the door. “Or you can tell her the truth.”
He walked out, leaving Michelle with something to think about.
Hey, you’re like a Hip Hop song, you know.
Bonita Applebum, you gotta put me on.
Georgie walked the streets while A Tribe Called Quest played on his radio player. The crisp night air was good for his state of mind. A constellation of thoughts about the license everybody kept urging him to get pervaded his mind. He resisted because from his perspective, a cosmetology license was like a validation of his skill but not of his competence. His arrogance wouldn’t permit his skill to be an assessment of him. To him, the proof was in the pudding and the ultimate proof were the smiles that adorned women’s faces and the cream between their legs—which often came together. Just the thought of why he should get a license made him determined not to get one. He would do it his way.
His thoughts turned to the upcoming hair expo. He knew that it would be his big chance to make a major splash on the scene. All the industry movers and shakers would be gathered in one place. He had to make a big impression, or toil in obscurity in a city that swallows the obscure, never to be seen again, until being found floating face down in the Hudson. He had no intention of seeing his dreams as fish bait, so he knew he had to do something. But what?
Anya.
The name pulsated through his mind like a hip hop song stuck in his head…stuck in his head…stuck in his head, a song with a haunting melody, one that you felt more than you heard.
He spotted her as he rounded the corner, working the busy back streets with several other women. But her presence was unmistakable, and if there was ever any doubt in what she did for a living, it quickly disappeared.
She was a prostitute. She sold pussy for money. Sold it to any man and let them do what they wanted to do to her, just because they had green pieces of paper, just because they had a license.
Cigarette burns…
A car pulled up to her, a grey BMW. The shadowy figure inside was just a blur behind the wheel. She approached the car, and as she opened the car door, she saw Georgie on the corner diagonal from her. She paused long enough for their eyes to converse silently. What she saw was concern, longing maybe? What he saw was…
Nothing.
Her eyes were blank, opaque. Dead. He knew then that wasn’t Anya getting in the car, and it brought him a strange sense of relief, but also brought on a strong impulse of urgency. He had to do something. As she got in and the car pulled off, he turned and walked away.
Back at the building, he sat on the stoop, resting the boom box across his knees. He turned off the tape and flipped on the radio. The bold voice of Wendy Williams boomed through his speakers. She easily became his favorite person to listen to on the radio since he landed in New York. Georgie found himself, arms crossed, lying on his radio. The last thing he heard was Boyz II Men:
I’ll make love to you.…
Like you want me to…
He awoke to the touch of Anya’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up. She was standing over him, the purplish-orange hue of the burgeoning dawn framing her figure like an aura. She smiled, an unsure, uneasy smile.
“What you doing out here, Georgie?”
“Sleeping,” he quipped, then added more sincerely, “and waiting for you.”
“Why?” she asked before she realized that she didn’t want to know the answer.
But Georgie sidestepped the question, not wanting to indebt her to the answer.
“Why not?” he simply replied.
As he got up from the stoop, yawning, Anya fumbled for her keys.
“Georgie, I – I don’t want to…”
“It’s not that, Ma. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
Humans have existed for thousands of years without the ability to speak, but never—not even for a day—without the ability to communicate. So for the oldest, deepest emotions, words are not only unnecessary; often, they are obstacles.
For the rest of the night, no words passed between them. They entered the apartment, shedding everything that wasn’t them and stepped into the shower. His hands were like the water casc
ading over her body, touching her everywhere in a manner too intimate to be sexual—almost motherly. He communicated emotions through his finger tips, until her back racked with sobs and tears cleansed her face. They dried each other, her towel-his back, his thumb-her tears. Then they laid down as the sun came up creeping through the window pane. Anya rested her head on his chest as they both fell fast asleep.
Hours later, Georgie woke up to find Anya sitting naked, Indian style, looking at him as she watched him sleep.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“Like what” she returned.
“Like, damn, where’s a butcher knife when you need one.”
Anya cracked a smile.
“Scared?”
“Should I be?”
She demurred, without a reply.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Georgie questioned.
“Depends on what it is.”
“It’s just that, I really gotta piss, right, but I’m too lazy. Hold it for me?”
Anya laughed and began pushing him out of the bed.
“Go pee. I’m the only one that can piss in this bed!”
“You don’t…really, do you? EWWW!” he remarked playfully, jumping up like her bed had the cooties.
He went into the bathroom, pushed up the toilet seat, then whipped out his morning hard on. All of a sudden, he felt Anya wrap her arms around him and grab his dick.
“You ready?”
“You aim, I’ll fire.”
His dick swelled subtly and a burst of piss shot out of the head. The surge threw Anya off a bit.
“Ewww, I can feel it,” she giggled.
“Look out.”
Being shorter, she had to look around him, and the angle made her miscalculate. Her aim made him piss on the ceramic edge.
“Spock, she’s losing control!” Georgie joked.
His crack made her laugh, her laugh made her jerk, and the jerk made her aim the stream and it sprayed across the toiled paper in a downward slant.
“Oh my God, you just shot an innocent bystander!” he yelled, in a voice that made her fall out laughing.
Piss went everywhere. Georgie grabbed his dick and Anya fell against the wall, laughing hysterically.
“Damnit Jim, this is a weapon, not a toy!” Georgie barked.
Anya was in tears, holding her stomach.
“Stop, I can’t—” She tried to catch her breath. “You are so crazy!”
Georgie smiled, shook, and then flushed. He cleaned up the piss then washed his hands. He turned to her and she noticed that his dick was still out. Anya grabb`ed it, using it to pull him to her, squeezing and stroking it to its full length.
“I bet I know where to aim this time.” She cooed, her voice soft and seductive.
She threw her arms around his neck and devoured his tongue, grinding her body against his so that his dick stimulated her clit. He grabbed her ass and lifted her up; she wrapped her legs around his waist and positioned herself so his dick slid straight up into her sloppy wet pussy.
“Oh fuck! Why am…I…so…wet?” she gasped, feasting on his tongue and lips.
“Because it’s right,” he gruffed, sliding his index finger into her asshole.
She cried out, body bucking up and down on his length while he fuck-walked her back to the bedroom.
He bumped down the hall like a staggering drunk, knocking a picture off the wall in the process, the smashing glass muffled by the sounds of her screams and his growls.
Anya covered his face with kisses as Georgie laid back on the bed so that she could ride him.
“What are you doing to me? You’re not supposed to be here,” she moaned, the words so deep in her throat. To him it sounded like tongues.
He ran his hands up her stomach, palming and massaging her breasts, kneading her nipples.
“Your heart is pounding. Tell me how good it feels,” he urged.
“Don’t…talk. Stop talking,” she replied through clenched teeth, head thrown back.
Her voice was so low, so deep when they fucked, it seemed to come out of his dick, up her spine and explode in her brain like the sledge hammer carnival game.
“You love when I talk to you with this dick all in you, don’t you? Make you wanna cum all over this dick, don’t it?” He growled and bit his bottom lip, giving every stroke more emphasis.
“Yesssss!” she squealed.
“Tell me you love it!”
“I love it!”
She groaned so deeply that her body shook.
“Look at me,” he barked, grabbing her by the throat, his grip tight enough to make her pussy twitch. “Tell me you love me.”
Her hazel eyes looked deep into his grays, making the connection electrify them both.
“I love you,” she cried, and her words sent her falling… falling…falling…
Her thick, milky juices coating his hard, thick shaft and making him cream her tight, pulsating walls.
“Goddamn, you beautiful, Ma.”
Anya, sweat glistening on her skin like sprinkled diamond dust, looked at him for a long time, before asking him, “Why…did you want me to say that?”
Georgie traced around her nipple with his thumb.
“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”
“Yeah, but sometimes it pays to take a closer look,” she shot back.
“What if I told you I loved you on first sight?”
Anya giggled.
“I’d say it’s just the fuckin’ talkin.’”
Georgie looked her in the eyes and replied, “I never just fuck, Anya.”
“Oh no?” She grinned, leaning over him so that her breasts swung in his face like ripe melons, ready to be picked. “What do you do, make love?”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Georgie remarked.
Anya shook her head, her eyes saying, “If you only knew…” as she dismounted him, laying flat on her back beside him.
“You’re young, Georgie. You’ll learn.”
He sat up on his elbow, chuckling.
“Ma, you ain’t but four years older than me.”
She looked at him and said, “You can do a lot in four years.” Her eyes said, Remember who I am, what I am. Challenge my experience if you want to.
Her gaze riled Georgie’s bravado.
“I know, ‘cause watch what I do in four years. Matter of fact, one. I’ma take this itty bitty world by storm and I’m just getting warm!” he rapped. Anya’s back arched with laughter.
“Okay, LL Cool J, I’m glad you have such faith in yourself, but what you think? New York’s supposed to throw you a parade ‘cause you came? ‘Cause you do hair? You’re good, baby, but it’s a million people in New York, all different languages, yellin’, ‘I’m here!’ How you expect to be heard?”
The look on Georgie’s face got distant, and Anya misread it as hurt.
“Look Georgie, I didn’t mean…”
He jumped up from the bed and began pacing.
“Naw, naw, I’m good…just say that again.”
“What?”
“About the language.”
She scowled, bemused.
“What? A million languages, yellin’, ‘I’m here.’”
“That’s just what I’ma do! That’s it!” he exclaimed, punching his palm for emphasis.
Anya sat up. She didn’t understand, but she could feel the energy bubbling and it created a sense of anticipation in her.
“What are you talkin’ about, Georgie?”
He stopped pacing and looked at her.
“Remember, I told you about the hair show?”
“Yeah, at the Jacob Javits Center.”
“No doubt. I’ma do like twenty heads, fifty—fuck it—a hundred and we all goin’ down there. All they gotta do is walk around talkin’ about, ‘oh Giorgio’ this and ‘oh Giorgio’ that and--”
“Wait, Giorgio?”
He smiled.
“That’s me on my fly shit,” he explain
ed, striking a GQ pose—hand to chin—then squatting like he was taking a hood flick.
Anya laughed.
“Stupid self.”
“Now, at the same time they gonna be dropping cards everywhere saying, Hair Designs by Giorgio while all I’ma do is walk around with my assistant,” His tone suggested Anya would be the assistant. “People gonna come up and try and talk to me, but you be like, ‘No, he doesn’t speak English. No, he doesn’t speak Spanish, French, Italian.’”
“Well, what do you speak?” Anya asked, caught up in his energy.
He smirked, helped up his hands and wiggled his fingers, “With my hands. You say, ‘Giorgio only speaks with his hands!’ Muhfuckas gonna eat it up, because people love that mysterious, aloof shit,” he reasoned, adding—in his mind—and nobody can ask about my license if the think I don’t speak their language.
Anya’s eyes blinked.
“Wow…okay. Yeah, that could work…it really could.”
“Could? It will! I’m tellin’ you, they gonna eat it up! I’ma be heard without making a sound!”
“You just thought of that?” she asked, her tone saying that she was impressed.
“And I’m just gettin’ warm!” he rapped, repeating his earlier point.
She laughed.
“With your country self,” he chuckled.
Anya leveled her eyes at him, leaned back and spread her legs. “I see you like my molasses.”
“Goddamn right; now where the biscuits!” he cracked, then dove in headfirst.
Georgie couldn’t wait to talk to Michelle. The fact that she had a column in one of New York’s top papers was a major part of Georgie’s plan. As soon as he walked in, he called out, “Yo Michelle, where you at? I gotta holla at you!”
Michelle came out of the kitchen, but before Georgie could begin, Denise came walking out from behind Michelle.
“Hey, Baby! Surprise!” she sang, wrapping him up in a tight, full-body hug. Georgie could hear his mother’s laughter all the way from Philly, but he transitioned smoothly from surprise to affection, lifting Denise off her feet and sucking her neck, making her giggle.
Michelle grabbed her purse and keys.
“Yo ‘chelle, I need to holla at you,” Georgie told her.
“I’ll be back soon. I have a very important meeting with my editor,” she replied, then paused after opening the door, adding, “and y’all make sure y’all spray somethin’. Some Lysol.”
