by T. Styles
Crazy Kind of Love
T. Styles
Leo Sullivan
Copyright The Cartel Publications 2014
Published by The Cartel Publications at Smashwords
Crazy Kind of Love
By T. Styles and Leo Sullivan
Copyright © 2014 by The Cartel Publications. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission
from the author, except by reviewer who may quote passages
to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
Organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the
Author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of
Actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933606
ISBN 10: 0989790134
ISBN 13: 978-0989790130
Cover Design: Marion Designs www.mariondesigns.com
Inside Book Graphics: Davida Baldwin www.oddballdsgn.com
www.thecartelpublications.com
First Edition
Printed in the United States of America
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Styles, Toy, 1974-
Crazy kind of love / by T. Styles and Leo Sullivan. — First edition.
Pages ; cm
ISBN 978-0-9897901-3-0 (alk. Paper) — ISBN 0-9897901-3-4 (alk. Paper)
African Americans—Fiction. 2. Urban fiction. 3. Love stories. I. Sullivan, Leo L. II. Title.
PS3619.T95C73 2014
813’.6—dc23
2014006701
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What’s Up Fam,
I’m not gonna take up too much time because I know you’ve been waiting for this one. So let’s get right into the novel at hand, “Crazy Kind of Love”.
This book was a long time coming. Veteran author, Leo Sullivan made it known that he wanted to write with T. Styles for years and she was honored. Besides, one of her favorite novels was “Life” and he appreciated many of her books. After some time and preparation, they finally made it happen.
Both authors, who originated from the same fallen publishing house, put their heads together and penned what will soon be deemed as a hood classic love story. I know you’ll love it!
Keeping in line with tradition, we want to give respect to a vet or trailblazer paving the way. With that said we would like to recognize:
Danielle Santiago
Danielle Santiago is the veteran author of such classic novels as, “Little Ghetto Girl”; “Grindin” and “Allure of The Game”. She also has short stories in the books, “Cream”; “Street Love” and “Fantasy”. Her most recent work, “The Circle: Fallon’s Story” is now available.
Danielle continues to prove that she belongs in the game and The Cartel Publications supports her work fully. Make sure you do the same and check her out.
Aight, go ahead and dive in! I’ll get at you in the next novel.
Be Easy!
Charisse “C. Wash” Washington
Vice President
The Cartel Publications
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
NOTE TO READERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
Note to Readers
This is a single book, not an anthology. The chapters titled, ‘Preacher’ were written by Leo Sullivan. The chapters titled, ‘Lourdes’ were penned by T. Styles. Although the novelists may have critiqued their dialog in the other’s chapters, the creation is mostly their own.
CHAPTER ONE
LOURDES “DES” BEAUMONT
HOUSTON, TEXAS
I could feel the air rushing under my tiny yellow mini skirt and tickling my mound. No, I wasn’t wearing panties. I wasn’t being nasty or nothing either. Besides, the sky was still baby blue, and I reserved that type of behavior for when it turned mostly black, and could hide my shame.
No, now is not the time for all that. In fact, I dressed up my whore’s skirt with my best navy blue suit jacket, and my red patent leather pumps, the only shoes without glass heels I own. I cleared my throat several times before even approaching my potential customer while trying to calm my nerves.
“This is my new eye shadow…Sweet Plum,” I said holding the purple cosmetic in the tiny pink container in my hand. “We just got these in today, so they’re fresh off the truck. You’re the first person I’m showing them to.” I smiled but she didn’t. “So you’re getting this exclusive.”
My black briefcase holding my entire collection sat on the wooden bench at the bus stop, as I tried to convince the tight-lipped woman that she should spend her money on me. I could
feel my face heating up, which happened every time I was nervous.
She stared down at the eye shadow as if I just shit and pissed all over it. “Why would I want to buy anything from you, Lourdes? You ain’t nothing but a washed up ass whore who would fuck somebody’s husband quicker than you can walk by him.”
“I would never sleep with someone’s—”
She threw her hand up in my face, cutting me off. “Whether you would or you wouldn’t is not the issue. I don’t like you and I don’t want to buy anything from you.” She frowned and looked at me from toe to head. “I can smell the stank of your pussy from over here.”
My chest caved in and any pride I felt before I presented my product rolled to the ground, where the rest of Houston’s dirt lives. Candy Girl Cosmetics was not just something for me to do to get some money; it had been a dream of mine since I was a child.
My Mama passed down two things to me before she was murdered by her own cousin in church for sleeping with her ex-husband. The first was how to make a man feel so good that he would want for nothing, including his wife and kids. But unlike mama, I never slept with a man I knew was married, although sometimes they lied to me. The second thing my mama gave me was my love for Candy Girl Cosmetics.
Before I came into this world, there wasn’t no Candy Girl Cosmetics for Mama. I was born Lourdes Beaumont to my Creole mother and the French daddy I never laid eyes on. They met twenty-five years back, when my daddy was breezing through Louisiana in search of a pretty black woman in an alley, with a mouth wetter than the bayou. My Mama had ‘em both.
Before I was born, Mama was still whoring to make a living. She stopped when she saw what she described to me as the prettiest little girl with green eyes she’d ever seen in her life—that would be me, of course.
I was due two weeks after she took her last John. Said she wanted me to have a life of fairytales, and after getting the door slammed in her face in employment offices, she happened upon Ms. Maurine, the owner of Candy Girl Cosmetics.
Not even a year later, Mama was off her knees, and had started her successful business as a consultant for Candy Girl. She was good, real good, and could convince anybody to buy anything twice. Mama was the first person I ever saw drive a candy apple red Mercedes, with a drop top in our neighborhood. When the weather was right, she would drop her top and allow her long, silky hair to caress the wind as she sped down the highway.
Before long she was one of the Candy Girl All Stars, and made so much money I was the only girl I knew who had a pink balcony extending out of her bedroom. As far as I could see, pink roses bloomed in the garden all around our white house. My home looked like one of them pictures out of a children’s book. Life was good, but there was one thing. Mama had a penchant for pretty men with promises of marriage and love.
Our life was sweet until Mama met Mr. Shannon Vale, a pimp with a bevy of beautiful girls, and a mouth that could talk her out of anything, including her daughter’s virginity. It wasn’t long before he sold our house, took our money, and gave me my first kiss and sexual experience at seventeen. Well, I guess you could say things changed for me after that. I learned that beauty was to be used and not to be loved or respected. It took me a minute, but I’m okay with that now I guess.
“I know what I do, Shanti,” I said as I stood at the bus stop with a smile on my face. Mama said the customers were always right and I didn’t see why now should be any different. “But I don’t want that lifestyle for myself no more and despite what you believe, I never slept with a man with a ring or a line on his finger. All I’m trying to do is the right thing and make something of myself. And I’m asking for your support, if you would help me.”
“Bitch, did you think about this new idea before or after you fucked my sister’s future husband?”
I stood back. I had been with so many men I couldn’t recall whom she was talking about. And, even if she did tell me his name, I still wouldn’t remember him. I choose to forget what I do for a living the moment the customer is fulfilled.
I exhaled softly. “Shanti, if I wronged anybody, you know I’m sorry. But right now I’m talking about adding to your life, with cosmetics to enhance your beauty.” I raised the makeup again so that it was in her view.
She broke out into laughter and slapped the eye shadow out of my hand before pushing my briefcase to the ground. The pink cases with gold hearts that held my product smashed on the ground. I dropped down and the concrete scratched the first layer of skin off my knees. I scooped up all I could save and left about one hundred dollars worth of damaged product behind.
“You can sell as much makeup as you want, Lourdes. You could sell a million if you could find enough fools to buy it from you. But that still won’t hide who you really are. A dirty whore, who nobody loves or likes.” A bus pulled up to the stop and she stepped on, smirked and left me behind.
I sat on the bench and cried for a while until it ached to even think about crying. Suddenly, I needed my own form of medicine. I turned my head to the right and when I saw a yellow bus pull into the school four blocks down from me, I walked in its direction.
As I entered the gate of Berry Mills High School, I sauntered past a few teachers, and some adult looking children who were giving me evil looks. I tugged at my skirt and it popped back up, reminding me of what I was wearing — a uniform for prostitutes. Remembering what my Mama said about never letting those with wrong opinions believe they are right, I clutched my briefcase like a fortune five-hundred business woman and raised my head so high I could smell the clouds.
Once I was behind the school I marched down some steps leading to the basement. Knocking three times, I waited for Coach Grison to open the door. He was an older man, in his forties I believe, with a balding head and bulging eyes. He ain’t nothing to look at for sure, but he humors me from time to time if he’s in a good mood.
When he finally opened the door, he walked back inside with an attitude. Today must be a bad day, but what could I do? I needed some money and I didn’t have any. “What do you want, Lourdes? School just started and I’m busy right now.”
I closed the door behind me, the smell of rubber basketballs and dirty gym mats filled my nose. “You need me to do anything here today?” I looked around the damp place. “Like wiping the mats down with bleach, or checking the pressure in the dodge balls?” I sat my briefcase on a table and stood in place.
“No, Lourdes,” he said rolling his eyes. “We have a cleaning crew for that.”
“What about throwing them soiled gym clothes in the washing machine over there?” I pointed at the square appliances behind him. “You never were good with cleaning them shorts right,” I giggled. He didn’t. “It wouldn’t be a problem at all. I got the time.”
“No, Lourdes,” he repeated as he sat at the small desk, which was crowded with so many papers I could barely see the evil in his eyes.
I steered toward his chair. “I need a few bucks, Gris, just a few to hold me over until I sell my product. I ain’t asking for nothing big, anything under twenty bucks will suffice. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need it.”
“I don’t have no work around here to give you no money, Lourdes. Get a fucking job like the rest of us taxpaying citizens.”
“Please, Gris,” I continued in a low voice. “I haven’t had my medicine in—”
“Who you think you fooling?” he shouted. “Me? You? We both know what the fuck you on and it damn sure ain’t no medicine.”
“I wasn’t trying to fool you I was just—”
“You and your mother, before she was killed, smoked so much crack you single handedly supplied jobs to half the dope boys on this block,” he continued, interrupting me. “It’s a wonder you still got your beauty.” He grinned a little. “Now, if you want to earn your keep around here, you know there’s always one thing you can do. But you better do it now before I change my mind.”
He shoved the desk and his legs were suddenly positioned away from it. His body was now faced in
my direction and he grabbed the gold zipper on his jeans. With a firm tug he pulled it down, releasing his dick. Gray hairs sprouted from around his balls like grass around a tree stump. I was grossed out.
“Lower that pretty little head of yours and get down to business. That’s the only Candy I want today and I know you knew that when you came here.” He said grinning slyly as he stroked himself to an erection.
I reluctantly pulled myself from the place my feet were planted. I hated this part of my life. The part where I was forced to prostitute myself instead of people allowing me to reach the heights I knew I could reach.
“What about your fiancé, Gris,” I said softly. “I got some new eye shadow that she may like. It’s called Sweet Plum and it just came off the—”
“Do I look like I give a fuck about that bitch?” he asked. “I’m holding my dick in my hand. Now, get over here before I throw your ass out on the streets. I’m tired of fucking around now. I got someplace to be in an hour.”
I kicked off my red pumps, one by one. They get in the way and make it hard for me to work sometimes. My toes pressed against the cold concrete floor and my heart tip tapped inside my chest. I eased closer to him; head hung low, heart heavy, mind confused. I dropped to my knees, which still stung from the way the concrete brushed against them earlier at the bus stop. I placed both of my hands on his knees, craned my neck over his dick, and allowed him to pump his stiffness into my narrow throat.
He grabbed my head and pushed so hard into my face, that I thought it was gonna poke out the back of my head. He moaned loudly, as if somewhere inside of this school building innocent children weren’t playing or getting an education. I guess I’m no better than he is though because I allowed him to use me like an animal.
While he got his rocks off, mentally I went to the last time I saw my Mama alive. We were sitting on a park bench, sharing a turkey burger on a poppy seed roll. Since we were both prostitutes at that time, and rarely saw each other, I relished moments like that because they were few and far between. She told me I was beautiful and that someday I was gonna find someone to love me. She warned me not to be like her, and to never give my heart to someone because of what they said, but how they treated me. Mama was hardly wrong, although I can’t say that she was always right either.
