A Taste of Honey

by Darren Coleman

  I stopped being amazed a long time ago at how much money men, and sometimes women, were willing to part with just for the fantasy of having the unattainable. More often than not I became that fantasy. No matter how famous or rich a person was. All you had to do was tell them no, and it drove them to do the most insane things.

  One investment banker even took me along on his honeymoon to Spain with him. My room was two doors down from his and his wife’s. I wound up meeting her when he’d booked us both hot-stone massages at the same time in the spa. She was nice I thought. For him though she was either too nice or not nice enough. I never bothered to figure it out. The three grand per day I was paid to lounge around was what it was all about for me.

  As a young girl I’d always felt cute, but as the years went on my looks became my business. I ate right, worked out religiously, and spent thousands of dollars of other people’s money to make sure that my body was flawless and that my face was always Cover Girl–worthy. My breasts naturally sat up like two grapefruits, my ass looked like I ran track for a living, I had legs for days, and my skin had been pampered by the finest creams and lotions money could buy.

  I had capped teeth like most of the Hollywood celebrities and my hair never needed much work since it was jet-black and fine like silk. It meant nothing to me that I could have worked as a video ho-fessional if I chose, but the idea of sitting on a set waiting on the “man next to the man” to notice you so that you could possibly get screwed by a rapper or some R&B fag didn’t appeal to me at all. To top it off most of those girls made five hundred for an entire day, which was a joke to me.

  I lived by the motto “Use what you got to get what you need.” A bunch of women all over the globe had it all wrong. They were using what they had to give others what they needed. Never that for me.

  My cell phone rang. “Hello, this is Honey.”

  “Honey, we’ve arrived.”

  “I’m in 2024.”

  “Thank you.”

  Priest played point guard for New Jersey. Usually I hated ballplayers. Too cocky, too ignorant, and they all thought you should want to have a baby with them. I had a strong preference for quiet money, but I made an exception for Priest.

  When the knock came at the door I was dressed in a robe, a corset, and five-inch heels. I opened it and he was standing there, tall, in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a platinum chain hanging down to his belly. “Hey, Honey,” he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

  I noticed that he had a small entourage with him. One thick-bodied guy who looked like a bodyguard, and two women—one white, one black. They were both dressed and looked like a couple of typical groupies in that they, like most groupies, never realized that going half-dressed could be done with style and class. “Honey, I brought a few friends with me. This is my man, Big George. That’s Jan and she’s Reese,” he said as he’d fingered each of his cohorts. “They’re going to hit the club with us. I thought we’d have a couple of drinks and get loose before we roll.”

  “Oh, okay.” I was pissed. I wasn’t into crowds and didn’t like my face seen by a bunch of random folks but I tried to stay professional. And I definitely didn’t like the look of the big guy. He began eyeing me like a smothered pork chop the second he stepped through the door. The more I looked at him the more uncomfortable I became. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell if it was the cliché beady-eyes thing he had going on or if it was the he-looks-like-a-serial-killer thing he had going on.

  Priest leaned in and said, “As good as you’re looking, Ma, I’d rather stay here with you but they can’t get in the party without me. And they flew all the way in from L.A.”

  “I’m fine. I’m with you,” I said. “But I’m going to need them to step out while I get dressed.”

  “Honey, they okay. They with me, baby.” The look on my face gave him a response and he quickly said, “Can I at least take them out to the pool. C’mon, I did pay a couple Gs for the room.”

  I excused them out onto the balcony to drink while I dressed in a raspberry-colored Cavalli dress and a pair of matching rhinestone Chanel sandals. When I stepped out of the room to alert Priest that I was ready he smiled as he stared at me. I caught the shade from the two women. I was used to it, plus they looked like they were high already.

  We headed down to Washington Avenue to a brand-new club called The Point. When we arrived the line was wrapped around the building and the police had blocked off the street. Big George was driving the Denali we were in and we were able to get through the barricade and have him drop us off at the front door while he parked right on the street. We were whisked through a VIP entrance and up a side stairway that was made of marble. We had a section reserved for us, a plush couch and a table in front of it with a flat-screen television mounted to it and two three-hundred-dollar bottles of Veuve Clicquot champagne in the buckets of ice. Priest seemed fascinated that ESPN was on. The VIP had white carpet on the floor, which I thought was crazy, except for the walkways and the bar area, which were wood. The lighting, the artwork, and the furniture all rivaled that of the finest homes I’d ever seen.

  “This club is hot, right, Honey?” he’d asked for the fifth time in ten minutes. He was drunk from the drinks at the room and seemed to be playing me really close. I didn’t mind him hugging me and giving the appearance of us being together, but he was practically smothering me.

  Under his lanky arms all I could do was sit and observe. This section of the club took up an entire floor except for the railing where you could look down on the stage, dance floor, and bar on the general-admission folks. The music had the entire club vibrating as Dem Franchize Boyz’s Lean Wit’ It, Rock Wit’ It pounded through the speakers. I’d been in some of the world’s nicest clubs, but this one topped them all.

  I hadn’t realized that there were live performances scheduled for the night, by Yung Joc and Lil’ Wayne. We’d arrived relatively early but in South Beach the clubs fill early and it was important to Priest that he make a decent entrance. He’d just signed a new contract, his name was ringing, and he needed to be seen.

  What I didn’t realize was who he wanted to be seen by. As another group came up the steps into VIP a small commotion was created by the groupies, both male and female, who found a way to make it up there. Big George tapped Priest when he realized who it was.

  His ex had just walked in among the entourage of the boxer Nate Montgomery. Nate was from D.C. and I’d followed his career and rooted for him, growing up in the area. Now he lived in Miami and had recently regained the championship after a several-year hiatus. While stealing a few glimpses of the champ, I overheard Priest and Big George talking about her. It was obvious that Priest felt some kind of way about her. So much so that his whole mood had changed.

  I could tell that Priest hadn’t been planning to start any trouble but he desperately wanted her to see him with me. When I saw her I realized why. She was drop-dead gorgeous and just her coming in with Nate had made him jealous.

  For the next half hour Priest dragged me across the floor to the rail and back, trying to get her attention. I was convinced he had when she and I made our first eye contact. She’d cut her eyes at me and I’d smirked at her, playing the role. I knew what Priest wanted so I planned to give it to him. I was paid well and there was a reason why. If he needed to feel like the man then he would, as long as he was paying for it. Even though I found his insecurity extremely annoying.

  As we stood by the rail I said to Priest, “Do you want me to go over there and put a bug in her ear?”

  “Say what?” he shot back.

  “You know, go kick off some drama. Act as if I’m the insecure new girlfriend. If she thinks you have me, she’s gonna want you back. Or at the least wanna fuck you.” I played on his tremendous ego as my respect for him waned more each second.

  He grinned then he stopped grinning and asked, “You for real?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “If you want me to be.”

  “How much is that gonna cost me?�
� he asked. I was glad he knew what time it was. Everything extra cost extra.

  “How much you got on you?”

  “You’ll have to do more than that to get this,” he said tapping his pocket.

  “How about if I take you in the corner over there afterward and let you make love to me right here in this club?”

  His glassy eyes were now wide open as he broke into a slight grin. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” Then he blurted out, “Two more Gs.”

  I shook my head. “We might ruin this dress. It cost fifteen hundred by itself. This is a public display and I’ll be the one to wind up looking like a whore. You…you’ll just look like the man. Let’s make it six,” I said, knowing he’d probably agree to five. I knew how much money he made per game and how much he could afford to blow, so I always pushed him.

  “Deal,” he said, shocking me. “Go do your thing and I’ll meet you in the corner.”

  I stuck my hand out and watched him peel a knot of hundreds. At thirty years old he was a complete fool. I’d seen him spend money like water and wondered how many years it’d be before he was destitute.

  A minute later I walked right up on his ex, Miranda, and told her flat-out that Priest wanted her to be jealous. She replied that he was a nut. “Get away from him while you can.”

  I explained to her that I wasn’t attached to him and wasn’t thinking about getting into a relationship. I stopped short of letting her know that this was strictly business. Looking back I saw that Priest and Big George were all gazing in our direction. “Do me a favor. Can you point in my face and curse me out? I’m going to point back then I’m going to walk off. You do that and I’ll meet you in the ladies’ room and drop like five hundred dollars on you. How does that sound?”

  She nodded. “Cool.”

  “But I’m going to need about ten minutes, because he wants me to have sex with him in the corner first.”

  “F’ing pig,” she said. “You’re going to do it.”

  I tapped my purse and then she nodded in understanding.

  I rode him hard and fast. I felt nasty as Big George stood with his back to us wishing that he could stare or join in I’m sure. I blocked it all out, even where we were as I went into my zone.

  As far as the sex went, it was all an act for me. My performances were all Oscar-worthy even though I’d yet to fully enjoy sex with any man. Manny, of course, had come the closest to pleasing me and that was more from what he did orally. I did however know how to fake it like a porn star and I got paid to play, so I played on.

  That’s exactly what I did and had Priest crying out and filling the condom with his sperm in a couple of minutes. He loved the dirty talk and couldn’t handle me riding him controlling the rhythm.

  Priest had gotten so excited when he’d seen Miranda taking a peep at us. What he didn’t realize was that she was merely waiting on the five hundred I was dropping to satisfy my inexplicable urge to humiliate him as I got more money out of him.

  I kept my word and met her in the ladies’ room for the exchange. “Thanks,” she said.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I got to tell you. You did get me a little horny. I might even give him a call.”

  I told Priest that she’d confronted me in the ladies’ room and mentioned calling him. Everyone was happy. Until he saw her kissing on Nate and another woman a few minutes later while he was heading out of the men’s room. It was like he’d been sent into a rage as he began to rant uncontrollably until we left the club ten minutes later.

  We left the club and went back to a condo in Coral Gables. I could have calmed him down I believed but he insisted on bringing the Bobbsey Twins along. The two of them had spent the entire time getting higher and higher on the drugs that Big George had on hand. He’d offered me some as we drove toward his condo and I’d looked at him as if he, his momma, and his mamma’s momma were crazy.

  “Priest, you should know better than that. Plus your two groupies are doing enough drugs for all of us. You’d better slow them down before one of them winds up in the hospital and you wind up on the front page.”

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re only here for the show. Who cares what happens to them?” I shook my head in disgust. “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I responded. He was a pig.

  Not that I’d never gotten high, because I’d dabbled, but I never took drugs that I didn’t watch the person with everything to lose take and I didn’t witness Priest using anything but liquor.

  Once we made it to the condo more partying and more drug abuse by the girls took place. I sexed Priest once more and then I walked around the place looking for somewhere to relax as the party continued without me. Unnoticed by the men who were now enjoying the girls who were so high that they could barely speak, I moved to one of empty bedrooms and saw that it had a balcony on it. I stepped out onto it and sat on the thick patio chair. The champagne and the breeze must have kicked in and I dozed off. When the sunlight began to hit my face it proved to be my alarm. I got up and was prepared to catch a cab back to my room, knowing that it was early.

  I reentered the condo and began to walk around. I didn’t see anyone and was shocked that Priest had left me as if I were some nameless groupie. When I made it to the living room it looked like a real party had broken out as the furniture was disheveled and the pillows were thrown about.

  Angry at being left behind, I stepped out onto the street and headed toward the bagel shop that sat on the corner. I would get a bagel, some coffee, and get back to my room so I could quickly pack for my flight back to D.C. Priest had gotten his money’s worth from me and if I never saw him again I couldn’t have cared less. When I stepped inside the Einstein Bros Bagels everyone’s eyes were on the television that was in the corner as they buzzed about the story.

  “That’s a damned shame,” one of the customers said.

  “What happened?” I asked the girl on the register as I paid for my coffee.

  “The police found some girl’s body an hour ago. It wasn’t too far from here.”

  The family had just been notified and they are on their way from Los Angeles, the newscaster said. I took a look at the screen, at the photo they plastered on the screen. The deceased had been identified as Janice Sears. The police suspect a drug overdose but won’t have anything concrete until an autopsy is performed. She is believed to have been accompanied on the trip to Miami by a friend, whom authorities are trying to locate at this time.

  My mouth dropped open when I recognized the girls. One Bobbsey was dead and the other one missing.

  8

  KHALIL

  She caught my eye when I noticed her standing by the window as we waited for the announcement to call for boarding. The entire time she seemed to be frantically debating on the phone with someone. I had to admit that I studied her simply because she was so beautiful that she could have been a movie star. I didn’t see a wedding ring so I figured that it was probably a boyfriend that she’d been arguing with. Once we’d boarded and I’d taken my seat I was surprised that she was in fact traveling alone and that like me, she was seated in first class.

  When she walked past me with her carry-on I was a little disappointed, but then she quickly came back and said, “Excuse me.” The empty window seat next to me belonged to her. She scooted by me and made no effort to keep her rear end from my view. She had the word Juicy stitched across her ass. Though I recognized the brand, I loved the double meaning. In the two seconds it took for her to pass me I immediately wondered if what was in those pants was, in fact, juicy.

  “How you doin’?” I asked once she had gotten seated.

  “I’m fine,” she said and then turned her head toward the window. She made it clear that she didn’t want to be bothered, and I wasn’t the type to push. I was flipping the pages of a magazine and was resigned to letting her be invisible. I was looking forward to us getting into the air so I could put on my iPod and completely zone out. If I had to sit next to a beautiful w
oman that I couldn’t at least chat with then I’d completely ignore her. It wasn’t like I wanted anything other than conversation from her.

  Thirty minutes after the takeoff we began to experience some turbulence. I pulled my headphones off in order to hear the flight attendant’s announcement. Up to that point, I hadn’t even noticed that she’d opened her eyes but I heard her sniffling and when I looked over she had tears in her eyes.

  “You all right? You aren’t scared are you, because I fly all the time and this is totally normal,” I said, attempting to comfort her.

  “I’m fine,” she said for the second time, without expression. “I just have a lot on my mind. Really I’m okay.”

  “Well, how about you let me get you a drink?” She paused for a few moments then nodded her head. “Cognac okay?” She nodded again. “A Coke to chase it?”

  “No, straight,” she replied. I smiled, as I knew this was how the conversation would get started.

  I asked for six of the mini-sized bottles of Hennessy and placed them in the pocket in front of me. She downed the first one as if it was a bottle of water. The second, she sipped slower. I didn’t say anything, to let on that I wasn’t trying to do more than just be a kind stranger. My head began to bob as I put my headphones back on.

  “What you listening to?” she asked.

  “Ne-Yo.”

  “How is it?”

  “Not bad. I really like a couple of the songs.”

  She was sitting there next to me but she had a faraway look in her eyes, which were an amazing hazel. “I thought about getting it. Maybe I will.”

  “So, listen. I know I’m a complete stranger but I’m a really good listener. You might not get the opportunity to tell another stranger what’s weighing heavy on your mind.”