Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  But this was quite an emotional day for Wade, too. Enough to surrender to whatever Brenda decided was right. Inevitably, Brenda had Wade take her home. She issued him a promising, loose kiss and then dashed out of his vehicle into the foyer of her midtown address. After Brenda disappeared past the doorman and through the lobby of the building, Wade found himself caught up and mystified. He felt the warmth of Brenda’s presence when she was there, and empty once she left. That ole familiar sensation was back again. There was a knock on his car window. He jolted from his dreamy state of mind. Eyes wide.

  “Sir . . . is everything alright, sir?” the doorman.

  “Oh . . . sure.” Wade flashed an assuring smile. He took his hand off his revolver and pulled off as if to escape the emotions consuming him.

  South Beach

  The girls felt like they were part of a traveling dance troupe of a sort. There were 7 of them in all. And baby made 8. Four men. Three women. The crazy thing about it all was that Debbie, Mechelle and Valerie, while having 4 good, strong, able men with them, the women were devoted, in love with and giving love to only one of them; lucky Douglass. And there wasn’t so much as a hint of jealousy among the others. Greg was smiling all the while on the JetBlue flight to Florida. Whether it was back in New York or now, here in South Beach, the setup was simply novel to him. Somehow (he knew) being by Douglass’s side would bring him similar good fortune. Demetrius was still murmuring, “Blasphemy!” and “Y’all are going straight to hell.” However he always smiled when he said that; like he thought this was all cute. Danni was here in Florida as well, and he was content; now in his mid-40’s, all he knew was how to roll with the show. He’d been there, done that, if you heard him tell it. And no, he had no interest in any part of Douglass’s world—not that world, anyway—although he was still very protective of Debbie, keeping his vow to look out for her. So, Danni coming to work for Douglass fit just right. And, speaking of which, Douglass was half past the point of no return, watching over Destiny, fanning the infant, certain not to let the warm Florida climate aggravate her. He was beyond happy these days; he was a free man, with the loves of his life, and he had all the luxury one man could dream up. This was the world according to him. A portrait that he painted, and, by and large, the paint would harden just as he intended.

  The trip down here was specifically for the vacation, although the dancers couldn’t help but venture out to various clubs to compare the action to what they were accustomed to. The bigger plan here was Douglass’s announcement regarding the future of his family.

  The group stayed at the Fountain Blue Hotel in 2 doubleroom suites. Demetrius was alone in one room with Destiny. Danni and Greg shared the adjoining room. Next door, Valerie and Mechelle shared a water bed in that adjoining room, while Douglass was in the master bed. Debbie paired with Douglass for the first night after winning a coin toss. Sex was like that for these three—nothing new to anyone else—and they were all content, with everything else so damned convenient. Mutual love and respect between them all. Any spats that surfaced were immediately squashed thanks to Douglass’s iron-clad commitment to unity. And, of course, with all the money floating around, who had time to argue?

  All the while, for the past 3 months, the most satisfying, selfless sexual encounters were exercised whenever time permitted. A lot of fun, a lot of experimenting, and a lot of soiled towels. Naturally, there were interferences like work, keeping the townhouse in order, and caring for the baby. But this Florida vacation was no reason for the sex routine to change. After Debbie came Valerie, and after Valerie was Mechelle. It was like this for the first 3 days. And in between the romps at night, Douglass took time to plan out his address to the group.

  It was near sundown when Greg was going over the plans with Douglass in his suite. He popped a surprise on him at what he considered to be the right moment.

  “Who?” Douglass asked in response to Greg’s surprise.

  “Some . . . friends from New York.” Greg was evasive, a little leery and uncertain as to whether he’d done the right thing.

  “Okay, Greg . . . come on. No time to beat around the bush. Everyone is supposed to meet out on the beach in an hour or so.”

  “Ahh . . . . I sort of invited them.”

  “On my bill?”

  “No—of course not. They paid their own way. That is . . . Brenda and Walter did. They wanted to surprise you.”

  “Brenda Feather . . . Walter Wade? Together? Here in Florida?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll let them share that with you . . . nothing serious, though. Nothing about Moet or that whole mess.”

  “Alright . . . this oughtta be good. They’re coming down later, too?”

  “If it’s okay with you.”

  Douglass huffed and wagged his head. “This was supposed to be just a family thing, Greg. But, whatever . . . Wade was helpful with springing me from the bang; so he’s a friend in my book. Now, we need to get back to the business at hand.”

  Greg was looking like Don Chi-Chi, with a cell phone to his ear, a short-sleeved, colorful Hawaiian shirt and yellow swim trunks. Douglass was just ahead of him, with the blue trunks and a white t-shirt on. The two were on the ground level of the hotel, walking out onto the patio, around the in-ground pool and lounge chairs into the warm evening air. Just beyond a line of palm trees, with multi-colored lanterns strung between each, Demetrius, Danni, Valerie, Debbie and Mechelle were relaxing quietly in lounge chairs facing the ocean. Destiny was awake, gulping at a bottle of milk in Demetrius’ arms. Demetrius, the nanny. There was a small flaming campfire on the ground next to them, sending a pleasant aroma of pine into the air and providing a glow under the darkening sky. Now, as the group formed a perimeter outside of the fire, Wade and Brenda were seen strolling up the beach like lovers. Douglass looked at Greg.

  Greg shrugged a “don’t ask me.”

  Danni was the first to speak. “Hey, Wade.”

  “Wade. What’s up?” Demetrius was just as surprised.

  “What’s up, guys . . . you all know Brenda Feather.” Everyone acknowledged her, while the group made room for the couple to join them. They remained standing like targets.

  “So, Wade . . . what brings you to Florida . . . South Beach, Florida . . . The Fountain Blue—in South Beach, Florida.” Douglass was making a big deal of the coincidence, looking again at Greg, and then back towards Wade, still curious nonetheless. Wade smiled and Brenda chuckled under her breath. The two embraced each other, side by side. Danni looked at Demetrius with that “ooh-brother” drawl.

  “We just came for the fresh air, of course. To, uhh . . . to escape the cold weather and the rat race in New York . . . aaaand to announce that we’re getting married.” Wade unveiled their secret casually, pulling a blushing Brenda closer still.

  “Wooow,” Danni said, having gotten to know Wade pretty good.

  “Well . . . do we have the glasses and Dom P to celebrate, Greg?” Greg took a second to whisper to Douglass, reminding him of their agenda.

  “Oh right . . . right. Okay, very well, Mr. Wade and Miss Feather—or shall I say Mr. and Mrs. Walter Wade, we’ll toast in a moment. You may be seated.” Douglass was being jovial, recalling his days in court.

  “I also have an announcement to make. Sorry, I don’t have a drum roll for all of these fabulous announcements . . . we will be opening our own nightclub. A new, state-of-the-art, topless club . . .” The ladies brightened with excitement. “. . . the club will be called Gilmore’s, Black Beauty. I intend to raise 2 million dollars over the next 90 days and to have the club opened for business by next spring.”

  All in attendance were happy about the announcement. Brenda was still glowing and googly-eyed from Wade’s announcement. Greg was standing just behind Douglass. Proud. The dancers were already into their own conversation about the club, wondering this and wondering that.

  “There’s more . . . we’re gonna give a big presentation; we expect . .
. no, scratch that . . . we will have the investment dollars necessary to go on with the project. When that happens . . . I’ll let Greg share this part with you.”

  “Once the investment has been affirmed, all of us will be off again; this time on a recruitment crusade. I think Chicago. We figure that if there are more fine women like Debbie in Chi-town, they can definitely come and work for us. We’ll be scouting for forty dancers . . .”

  Debbie twisted her lips, wondering how realistic he was being.

  “We’ll put out a big ad campaign and we’ll have a video presentation. We’re gonna be professional, like this was a big ole movie casting day. We’ll have hundreds of girls, and we’ll get to pick the cream of the crop. In New York, we’re going to put the dancers up in houses. Ten to a house. They’ll have fitness regimens, good diets and routine health and dental services. Five day, eight-hour work weeks. Equal salaries, investment incentives. G and I have worked out a compensation plan that can beat any other . . .”

  “Now there’s more—” Douglass cut in. “But those are the basics. Greg and I will hammer out and fine-tune, but you should get the idea. The ball is rolling. Ads have been placed in the Sun Times and Tribune, and we’ll be doing some radio ads in about a week. We’ve sketched out responsibilities for everyone, and I’d like to toss those at you tonight . . .”

  The most compelling words to come out of Douglass’s speech that night were: “. . . We don’t ever want a tragedy like what happened with Moet.” He was adamant about his intents and the group felt it. He took suggestions, concerns and critique as genuine, while keeping an eye on his prize. They popped the bubbly amidst the moon’s glow, the crackling fire, the water and the waves, the seagulls in the air, all of it setting an incredible atmosphere for the unveiling of this ultimate dream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ascension

  Meetings of this sort were made for warehouses. Meager light from hanging bulbs. Cavernous. High windows; a lot of them. Crates. Wooden platforms. Lots of cement surface, enough for an execution, a dismemberment or a top-secret meeting. The Tocci family used this particular warehouse for all of the above—and for hijack storage as well. Being just off of busy Rockaway Boulevard and minutes from JFK Airport, the Queens location was also a convenient one. Inside, to the rear, at a classy wooden banquet table that was a remnant of a hijacking from years past, Jay and a crew of henchmen looked on as Sal listened to the onslaught of spitting invectives.

  “. . . what do these ginnies think we’re running here, a fuckin’ boarding house, where’s they can come and go as they please without payin’ dues? Then they’s got the nerve to threaten us . . . what was dat you told me, Sal?”

  “Peace of mind, boss.”

  “Ohhh! So the BIANCOS are gonna let the TOCCIS have peace of mind, huh?!” The Don was red hot, and his pound of graying hair shook out of place like swaying grass in the ocean deep. Sal seldom witnessed the Don get angry. Tense, yes. Aggravated, indeed. But angry . . . that meant a body would be floatin’ in Sheepshead Bay within hours. And all things considered, he was close to the edge right about now.

  “This is the highest form of disrespect. To come to OUR territory without so much as a whisper . . . that’s SHIFTY! And DAMNED DISRESPECTFUL! And to top it off with a threat? AAARRRGH!” The Don was foaming at the mouth now. This tantrum had already gone into an hour. Long enough. And Sal just stood there, content that he wasn’t to blame. He’d personally witnessed the Don pull a weed-whacker out of nowhere one night and slice a henchmen’s head clean off. So this was a good night. Now everything seemed to move in slow motion. Sal was watching and listening, but the arms waving and the mouth moving in front of him were a hazy vignette of slow motions and deep, growing echoes. Sal turned to look at Jay, the tyranny reflected in his eyes as well. Jay returned the glance and they both leveled their eyes back at the big man. The word “respect” drilled into both of them. Then, before Sal could blink, the Don pulled his forefinger from under one earlobe, across his neck towards his opposite ear. That was the gesture. Terror unleashed.

  Even When You Win, You Lose

  “Look, Ma. No hands!”

  Gil was headed down a steep hill on a bicycle with no breaks. The mob wanted him out so that they could build and grow with no competition. He had virtually chased his son away, and gave his staff all access. He became negligent with the lease option on the New Rochelle home—six months in arrears, to be exact. The club payments were a few months behind, giving the property owners the wherewithal to void the contract and raise the rent.

  And just so, since Gil wasn’t holding up his end, the property owners did indeed raise the lease payments to $10,000 a month. TEN THOUSAND! And poor Gil had no choice but to pay it. Blood money. Everything he had accomplished though the years, the peanuts he had gathered and the money he had invested was tied up in Fool’s Paradise. To add fuel to the fire, representatives from S.L.A. came and launched an investigation relating to sexual propositions made by a few dancers.

  “It’s Dino, Gil . . . pick up.” Dino was speaking to Douglass’s answering machine at the Main Street office in New Rochelle. He was so accustomed to calling him by his father’s nickname. It was late in the evening, otherwise Sharon, his secretary, would be in to take the call. There was a beep, but Douglass caught the call just in time.

  “Hey . . . just got back about two hours ago. You comin’ over? There’s a lot to talk about,” said Douglass.

  “Gil. They closed your father. The S.L.A. came in . . . some undercover shit. I didn’t even recognize them.” Dino was hyper. Demetrius was wide-eyed as he listened to the speakerphone voice.

  “So, what happened?” Douglass was casual, not a nervous bone in his body.

  “They made some propositions to a few of the girls—everyone turned them down; cop was written all over them.”

  “So who . . .”

  “Claudine.” Douglass smirked at the mention, as if he should have known.

  “Never fails. You lay with ’em, you live with ’em. Funny, my father used to say if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

  “Gil . . . the shit is broken now. They locked your pop and Claudine up overnight. Let ’em out the next day. But they padlocked the club . . . sledge-hammered a hole in the wall; sawed a hole in the door and wrapped a big ole thick-assed chain through there. They weren’t playin’.”

  “Dino, I hear you talkin’, but I told you this would happen a long time ago.”

  “I know. I know. I think Gilmore’s is over, Gil. For good.”

  “Where you at now?”

  “Yo, man, I’m on the job. I begged my boss to give me extra hours. The closing fucked up a lot of people, man. Gil even lost his house. Everybody’s out looking for jobs. A few are auditioning at the new club across the street . . .”

  “Across the street?”

  “Yeah. The Pretty Girl. They’re not open yet, but it looks like mob money all the way. Listen—I’ll get with you Saturday.”

  “Dino, we gotta talk.”

  “Okay, I promise, Saturday.” Douglass hit the speakerphone button and the connection went dead.

  “I knew something was up across the street, Doug. Some of the girls have been tellin’ me about it. Some Italian named Tony is at the wheel. They say he doesn’t know what he’s doin’.” Demetrius seemed to be right on top of things, not at all thinking about the job he just lost.

  “Yeah? Well, let ’em go. They can’t touch what we’re about to do. It’s always been that way, ever since I was a youngster there were copycats. But they could never quite match my juice. Now come on, let’s go over some more of the details for Sunday.”

  The day was fast approaching. Douglass titled the event “Investor’s Day.” The ad in the papers boasted a 50% return on investment within one year. The sell was designed to provoke action.

  And did it ever.

  Greg handled the particulars, reserving a small ballroom at the Ramada Inn Hotel, picking the best dancers to be ho
stesses, making copies of the business plan, arranging for the refreshments and organizing the schedule for the day. He called a few of his Georgetown alumni, “The Fabulous Five,” to assist with the publicity on the Investor’s Day event in New Rochelle, and also the Black Beauty Day in Chicago. The guys would handle most of the work remotely, but Greg assured them that they could be physically present for Black Beauty Day in Chicago. That got them excited and working even harder. Finally, Greg devoted $2,200 to a meager publicity stunt which the Fabulous Five perfected. He hired 13 stretch limousines from a local company, and directed them to show up at 11:30AM—the presentation was scheduled to begin at noon. While investors straggled into the hotel, they couldn’t help but to be impressed by the blitz of stretch limos which virtually reached around the perimeter of the hotel. The cars added prestige and significance to the event, so much so that men who happened to be rooming at the hotel—diplomats and businessmen alike—came to the event. By 12:30, the hard work, clever tactics and precise planning paid off. Close to 100 investors or their representatives were in attendance. Some came in their own limousines or at least a high-priced foreign car. There were ladies in business outfits, men in suits and even lawyers. Some attendees brought attache cases, many were taking and making cell phone calls, while others were empty-handed and skeptical. The welcome committee made the visitors feel comfortable. There was soft jazz music and bunches of red and black balloons floating high above each round table. Chairs filled rather quickly and the anticipation was on high. There was a sense of modesty amongst the staff, yet somehow they all knew that this presentation would have to swim or sink. And because there was only a sprinkle of women amongst the sea of male investors, the dancers on hand felt most comfortable, knowing what they knew about men and how most of that first impression was but a facade. They were pros at seeing through men and their smoke and mirror games.