Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

  When she stepped inside she spied Tirrell bending down to retrieve a soda from the machine’s receptacle. He had his work shirt off, tied around his waist, and his wife-beater T-shirt slighted soiled with grease and oil. His biceps glistened with perspiration. She pulled her designer glasses down and they made eye contact. “Hi.” She smiled.

  “How’s it goin’?” he responded, popping the top of the can of cola.

  The woman took a seat facing a frumpy house frau fussing with an unruly child, and leered as Tirrell chugged the cold drink. She flicked her French-tipped nails through her highlighted spiky bangs and pixie-cut tresses, suggestively crossing her legs when he looked in her direction. He stuck his tongue out just far enough for it to graze his upper lip, sucking in the excess of soda.

  Her cell phone rang. Without taking her eyes off him she fished into her bag and pulled it out. “Travis . . . What did they say?”

  As the woman chatted on her cell the other woman, noticing the nonverbal exchange between Tirrell and the leggy temptress, interrupted.

  “Do you know when my car is gonna be finished? I have to go,” she directed to Tirrell. “Excuse me . . . Excuse me . . . Did you hear what I said?”

  Tirrell shot the woman a side-glance. “I’ll go see how much more they have to do on it.”

  He exited through a side door that led to the work area of the garage, and the irritated customer cut her eyes across the room toward the other woman as she ended her call and put her phone back in her purse.

  Within minutes Marquis came in to let the woman know that a nail had been found in her tire. “We patched it up. You’re good to go.”

  “I don’t believe this,” the unnerved customer scoffed. “I’ve been sittin’ here for almost an hour. How come you got done with her car so fast? I knew I should’ve taken my car somewhere else. You try to support your own and look how they treat you.”

  “Ma’am, all we had to do was take a nail out of her tire,” Marquis said evenly. “There was more to do on your car.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Well, y’all need to hurry up. I can’t be sittin’ up in here all day.”

  Marquis escorted the fashionable beauty out to her vehicle.

  “How much do I owe you?” the woman asked, looking around for Tirrell.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Marquis smiled. “We didn’t have to do much. But those are pretty expensive tires so if you got a warranty you may wanna take your car back to the dealer.”

  “Thank you. I intend to do just that.”

  Preparing to get into the Denali, she spotted Tirrell under the carriage of a truck. To Marquis’s disappointment, but not surprise, the woman strode over to him. Tirrell poked his head out from under the truck, scanning the length of her legs. She smiled and removed a card from her purse and pressed it into his grimy hand. She then turned on her Gucci heels, being careful to sidestep the grease stains on the ground, and sashayed back to her vehicle. As she drove off, a couple of the guys, including Marquis, gathered around Tirrell to see what she’d given him.

  “Event Planning, by Alex,” Tirrell read aloud.

  Marquis was peeved. “Ah, man. She gave you her phone number.”

  One of the others asked. “You gonna call her?”

  “I don’t know.” Tirrell smirked.

  “Shit, dude. That babe was fine as hell. If you don’t want to call her give me the number.”

  He reached for the card and Tirrell slapped his hand away.

  “She don’t look like the type of woman who would be into corn-fed white boys, Scotty. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like that.”

  “Man, shoot. I’d climb up in that and—”

  “Cry like a little girl.”

  They all laughed.

  “Hello. Can I speak to Alex?”

  “This is Alex. Who is this?”

  “This is Tirrell. I was the guy at the garage earlier you gave your number to.”

  “Your phone came up with a nine-one-oh area code. I almost didn’t answer.”

  “It’s a North Carolina area code. I’ve been meanin’ to get that changed.”

  “You’re from North Carolina?”

  “Somethin’ like that. I could tell you about it if you want to get together some time.”

  There was silence on the phone.

  “Hello . . . Alex . . . You still there?”

  “You should know, Tirrell, that I’m not a beer and wine cooler kind of girl.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured that out already.”

  “Do you know where the Omni Hotel is?”

  “Down by Centennial Park?”

  “That’s the one. Would you like to meet me at the Overlook Bar at nine tonight?”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  Tirrell hung up the phone and stripped. He dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower, taking extra time to scrub the grease and dirt from his hands and under his fingernails. The water beat down on his flaccid erection, causing it to stiffen with anticipation. Following the shower he rummaged through his inadequate selection of clothes like a nervous teenager getting ready for the prom. There wasn’t a thing suitable enough for him to wear to meet a woman like her. “Dammit,” he spat, trying to decide between the one good suit he owned and his favorite pair of slacks. He opted for the suit. He checked himself in the mirror, glad that he at least had a fresh haircut.

  It was Friday night and Betty hadn’t made it home yet or he would have begged her to use the car again. He thought about calling Marquis, but he didn’t want to add salt to his wound, given his reaction when the woman chose him. He ultimately decided to catch the MARTA.

  There are several significant holidays throughout the year when the energy and the pulse of Atlanta comes to a frothy head—Labor Day weekend is one such occasion. There would be hundreds of parties, reunions, festivals, and cookouts, and the clubs and bars are overrun with locals and tourists alike.

  The Overlook Bar in the south tower of the Omni Hotel offered a spectacular view of the hustle and bustle of the park below, but it could have overlooked the city dump for all Tirrell cared. Having only arrived just minutes before his date, he was seated at the bar trying to pull himself together when she walked in, dressed in a royal-blue silk sheath of a dress that complemented her buttery, smooth complexion. It hung loose around her shoulders and clung snugly to her hips, the hemline cut just below her pleasure zone, a look that could have made any other woman look cheap, but Alex Solomon had the poise and exuded the confidence to pull it off.

  “Hi.” She smiled.

  “Hi.” He smiled back.

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, not really.”

  “So, how about that drink?”

  “Lead the way.”

  They commandeered a table near one of the windows where a male server quickly approached them.

  “May I get you something from the bar?”

  Tirrell deferred to Alex.

  “Grey Goose on the rocks with a twist of lime.”

  “Make that two,” Tirrell added.

  “Are you trying to impress me, or keep up with me?”

  “Both.”

  Alex inhaled. “What’s that cologne you’re wearing?”

  “Egyptian musk. It’s not cologne, it’s actually an oil.”

  “I like it. It smells like sex.”

  Tirrell’s dimples popped when he smiled and he blushed.

  “Too direct for you.”

  “Not at all.”

  “How old are you, Tirrell?”

  He thought about the tired dictum “how old do I look,” but decided this wasn’t the game he wanted to play with her. “I’ll be twenty-three in November.”

  “Young and hard, just like I like ’em.”

  He covered his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

  “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

  “Should I be?”

  “If you are, then you’re not the man I thought y
ou were.”

  “And what kind of man is that?”

  “The kind who can appreciate a woman like me.”

  The server returned and put their drinks down on a table. Tirrell reached into his pocket for his wallet.

  “We’d like to start a tab, please,” Alex said to the man.

  “Certainly,” he responded, noticeably and shamefully eyeing Tirrell.

  “He must know a good thing when he sees it,” she teased as the server left the table.

  Tirrell scoffed. “I’m not gay.”

  “Don’t be so defensive. You’re a very handsome man, but you know that already. Your eyes alone probably get you a lot of play, and those dimples don’t hurt either.”

  “Is that what attracted you?”

  Her eyes smiled and scanned him. “That and a few other things.”

  “So, why would a classy woman like you want anything to do with a grease monkey like me?”

  She ran her manicured nails up his thigh. “I’m willing to bet that there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

  “You know you caused quite a commotion today when you came into the shop ridin’ in that big Yukon.”

  “What can I say? I like riding big things.” She picked up her drink and they toasted.

  There was no doubt in Tirrell’s mind where this evening was going to end up, and he was enjoying the journey just as much as he was sure to benefit from the destination. They chatted for over an hour, each seemingly feeling the other out.

  “So, you have a North Carolina phone number?” she noted.

  “I used to live there.”

  “For how long?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “Is Atlanta your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “What brought you back?”

  “Family.”

  “No girlfriend? No wife?”

  Tasha briefly crossed his mind, but she wasn’t worth mentioning. “Not anymore. What about you?”

  “No. I don’t have a girlfriend or a wife either.”

  He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. I was just teasing you. I’m currently single and I’m not seeing anybody.”

  “You from here?”

  “New York.”

  “So, why are you here?”

  “I needed a change of scenery.”

  “I feel you.”

  “Not yet, but you will.”

  He licked his lips and smiled.

  “I don’t like to play games, Tirrell. I see what I want and I go after it—usually. I haven’t gotten this far in life sitting on the sidelines waiting for things to happen.” Alex paused and took another sip from her glass. “I want to have sex with you, but you already knew that too, didn’t you? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to analyze it. I just want to do it.”

  Tirrell swallowed hard. He hadn’t encountered a woman so candid before. It scared him a little and stimulated him a lot.

  She removed a key card from her purse and handed it to him. “I’m in room nine-thirteen. If you want to join me, use the key. If not, no hard feelings.”

  “How do you know I’m not some kind of psycho killer?”

  “How do you know I’m not?”

  Tirrell’s heart beat faster. The invitation or the alcohol, possibly a combination of both, made him lightheaded. He wished he had cocaine to help enhance the whole of the experience. He flipped the room key in his hand, wondering if he should take her up on her offer. Maybe she really was playing some sort of game. Maybe she was married and this was her hideaway. Her mystery intrigued him and he felt he owed it to his manhood to find out more.

  Once Alex exited the bar he got up to pay—cringing at the near hundred dollar tab. “This ass better be worth it,” he whispered on his way to the elevators.

  He slid the plastic card key in the door lock and it clicked open. Alex stood naked at the large uncovered window with her back to him. There was no need for questions—the answers lay bare in front of him. He anxiously undressed and stepped up behind her—their reflections mirrored in the glass. He pressed his rigid penis into her backside and cupped her ample breasts in his hands. She was shorter without heels. Her petite frame fit nicely in his arms.

  “You’re a little freak, aren’t you?”

  “No, sweetheart. I’m a big freak. Is that going to be a problem?”

  He inhaled with anticipation. “Not for me.” His hands caressed her, and his lips found delight in the taste of her skin.

  She moaned appreciatively when his fingers explored her inner walls. “I want you to tie me up.” She sighed.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You like rough sex?”

  “Tie me up,” she repeated.

  Tirrell grabbed her, needing no further incentive, and threw her on the bed. He kissed her deeply, passionately, and then he found silk scarves on the nightstand and went to work. He was gentle initially, tying her wrists, trying to find something to secure them to. The scarves were long enough for him to anchor them to the bed railing.

  “No. From behind,” she insisted.

  “Damn, girl.”

  She turned over and raised her hips up ever so slightly, yielding to his touch. “Take it.”

  He was emboldened. It almost sounded like a dare. He deftly slid into a condom and unhurriedly mounted her. He held his breath and almost lost it as he eased into her, shuddering with each thrust. The sensation was mind blowing.

  Forcing her to her knees he worked his fingers back into her vagina and skillfully massaged her to climax. Alex bucked, jerked, and cried out with total abandon.

  “Bite me,” she screamed.

  “Huh?”

  “Bite my neck.”

  On the verge of ejaculation, Tirrell sank his teeth into the back of Alex’s neck just hard enough to gratify, but not to break the skin. A primal cry exploded from his gut as his loins spewed forth equal amounts of pain and pleasure.

  Alex had an insatiable appetite. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

  It didn’t take much coaxing for him to venture into a sexual exploration that lasted well into the night. He had more of an affinity for her hunger than he would have thought. Just before the smoldering dawn broke over the downtown Atlanta skyline, they collapsed in a heap of satisfied, sweaty flesh.

  “Wow,” she sighed, her fingernails gliding over the perspiration on his chest and tracing the scar on his arm. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Most of the time you had it in you.” He panted and laughed.

  The rapid beat of his heart slowly returned to normal. His heavy breathing eased into a shallow snore. Nestled in his embrace, she drifted off as well.

  When her internal body clock sounded, Alex opened her eyes and slid out from under Tirrell. She was showered and dressed by the time her cell phone rang and gave him a start. She clicked it off.

  He rose up on his elbows, yawned, and wiped his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Checkout time,” she threw over her shoulder as she continued to gather her things.

  He glanced at the clock next to the bed and fell back on the pillows. “It’s seven-thirty.”

  “It’s time to go.”

  “Give me a few more minutes.”

  She moved close enough to the bed for him to reach up and grab her.

  “Come back to bed.”

  She recoiled and forcefully pushed him away. “I said it’s time to go.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Realizing that she may have come off a bit too terse, she relented. “Look . . . I’m sorry. I just can’t lie around all day.”

  “I thought . . .”

  “Last night was last night. We kicked it. It was fun, but I got a business to maintain.”

  “I was hoping . . .”

  “You were hoping what, Tirrell? We were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend, or something?”

  Her cell phone rang ag
ain. She stepped over toward the window to answer.

  Maybe it’s her husband calling, Tirrell thought. She was cold and distant now compared to how strong she’d come on to him before. He had to laugh to himself when he thought about how many times he’d acted much the same way after a one-nighter. Who’s the bitch now?

  Alex continued her hushed conversation, not looking at him. He threw the covers back and sluggishly rolled out of bed. He pulled on his boxers and grabbed his pants as she ended the call and turned to face him.

  “Aren’t you going to shower?”

  “I thought you were in such a big hurry,” he said; the words came out sounding poutier than he intended.

  “Awww,” she said as she moved toward him. “Did I hurt the baby’s wittle feelings?” She took the pants from him and tossed them onto the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I’ve got some things to take care of. Maybe we could get together later.”

  He smiled, feeling a little less dejected. “I gotta go to work anyway, but my brother is havin’ a barbeque later this afternoon if you wanna come with me.”

  “That’s a little more than I want to commit to right now.”

  “Tell me the truth. Do you have a husband you’re creepin’ on?”

  “I told you I was single.”

  He’d chastised Tasha for encroaching in his life; now here he was inviting a woman he just met to a family gathering. He could just see his grandmother grilling this woman and putting her on the defensive.

  Alex kissed him again. “Why don’t I just call you and we’ll play it by ear, okay?”

  “She did what?” Marquis shrieked.

  “I’m not kiddin’. It was like she was some sex-crazed vampire. She was givin’ me head and the next thing I knew she had her tongue in my ass.”

  “Dude, that’s nasty.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it, bruh.”

  Marquis hung voyeuristically on Tirrell’s every word, trying not to show how envious he was. Over the years he’d become quite adept at suppressing the little green monster. He wasn’t bad looking, and he too had his share of trysts, but the vicarious exploits of his friend seemed many times the things he only fantasized about. Much of what he shared was the exaggeration of truth: the tales men brag about with each other when one attempts to best another in an effort to keep their pride and masculinity intact.