Luxe

by Ashley Antoinette

“Si, si,” he replied. “Cincuenta dólares.”

  She was lost, but she heard something that sounded like “dollars” and figured it was time to pay. She pulled out a hundred dollars, figuring that the run-down establishment wouldn’t charge more than that. Placing it on the front desk, she said, “Keep the change.”

  She walked up to her room, and when she arrived at her door she saw a girl smoking a cigarette sitting on the hallway floor.

  “The fuck chu looking at, puta?” the girl asked.

  Bleu didn’t respond. She simply put her key card in her door and walked inside. She set her bag on the raggedy furniture and cringed when she saw a cockroach crawling up the wall. She didn’t even know what she was doing here exactly. She had an idea of how to expand her hustle in her head, but she wanted to scope out the scene first. To her, China and Aysha’s operation was too elementary. They had almost been caught, and Bleu wasn’t with risking her freedom. She was more into paying people to do the hard work for her. The sound of sex filled the air as the headboard from the next room began to hit the wall. Bleu peeked her head out into the hall, looking left, then right. The girl was gone, so Bleu could only assume that she was the one making sex sounds. She was clearly a prostitute; in fact, Bleu had passed a couple of them on the way in. A smile spread across her face, and she walked next door. She knocked on the room door.

  The girl with the shitty attitude answered. “What the fuck do chu want?” she said with a heavy accent.

  “To help you make some money,” Bleu responded with a smirk. “And you ain’t got to lay on your back for it either.”

  * * *

  Bleu recruited ten women, all prostitutes with nothing to lose but everything to gain, and she waited patiently for them to get their paperwork together so that they could cross the border. She spent her first twenty thousand, investing in them. She cleaned them up, fed them, housed them, and when the time was right, she put each of them on a bus with a bag full of dope as her luggage. Bleu paid them $2,000 each on the back end of the deal. The women were so used to making 40 bucks at a time that the quick lick was enticing for them. Bleu hired her own mules, and with the lack of security on the bus systems she moved hundreds of bricks at a time. So while Aysha and China were making $20,000 a trip, Bleu was clearing $150,000. She didn’t go too often. She limited her trips to once a month, but when she did it, she did it big, and it didn’t go unnoticed. She was moving so much weight that she became Cinco’s breadwinner. Everyone had underestimated Bleu, but she was in the business of working smart, not hard, and it was paying off.

  16

  It didn’t take long for Bleu to acclimate to the world of the rich and infamous. She was young and getting it. “New money” was an understatement.

  She had never had anything, so when she acquired everything she didn’t know how to act. Clothes, shoes, a brand-new C-class Benz that she had leased without thinking twice, she had it all, and within the blink of an eye she had run through the money. It was crazy how quickly the money had gone. It had burned a hole in her pocket. When you spent it by the thousands, twenty grand truly didn’t go far. She was no longer on a beer budget, she had upgraded to champagne, and all of her purchases reflected her new tastes. Now she was playing on the same level as China and Aysha. There was no hierarchy. Bleu was no longer the poor little Flint chick on scholarship. Now they were peers and the material possessions on her back made her feel like they were equals. They defined her worth, and if the price tags that she popped were any indication of her value … she was quite expensive.

  The three girls sat in the VIP booth of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, popping bottle after bottle in celebration. “To being young and reckless!!!!” China screamed as she held up an entire bottle of Rose champagne. Fuck glasses. They didn’t need them. They were balling out as Aysha added, “And beat and unbothered!” She raised her own bottle. “And faded and upgraded bitches!” Bleu shouted over the music as she put her bottle in the air. The girls took the champagne to the head as if it were water, and Bleu swayed to the Kendrick Lamar lyrics that were blaring through the speakers. With her hands in the air she two-stepped coolly.

  “You’re a new bitch, with a new whip, and some new shit!” Aysha screamed drunkenly. “Might as well stunt. Get your pretty ass up here!” Bleu laughed as she watched Aysha climb atop the table and put her hands in the air as if she owned the club. Bleu looked around, waiting for security to tell her to chill, but no one ever came. Pretty women ran the world, or at least L.A., and Aysha did what she pleased. As Bleu looked down at her new appearance, a confidence she had never known bubbled over. She climbed up onto the table with China right behind her and the three women danced the night away. The evil eyes from the broke chicks in the club only added fuel to their fire. The threesome sparked every man’s curiosity because not only were they beautiful, but they also were ordering bottles of champagne nonstop, and at $500 a pop they were letting it be known that they were paid. They were burning through more paper than people saw on their paychecks and it didn’t go unnoticed. Every dope boy, jack boy, and fly girl in the building was looking, whether they wanted to or not. The attention fed Bleu’s ego like no other. She had never been a part of the elite or considered to be a part of the inner circle. Even in high school she hadn’t been a part of the popular crowd, but this feeling … this bad bitch, center of the universe, do whatever, whenever feeling … it was the shit. It was definitely something that she could get used to. She had lived dormant for so long. Walking a straight line had led her to boredom, and she had known nothing but struggle. As soon as she took a risk, she had begun to live, and the enormity of it all was intoxicating … wait … or was that the liquor? Either way, she was feeling it and didn’t plan on giving up this new hustle anytime soon.

  The smile faded from Bleu’s face when she noticed Cinco and his yes-men entering the club. Her ears went deaf to everything around her, her feet came to a stop, as she stared at him from across the room. The fear that crept into her chest was crippling. Their eyes locked and Bleu felt as if he was a predator … she, his prey. It was like he could smell her fear. An arrogant smirk crossed his lips, and he nodded, causing her to climb swiftly down from the table. “I’ve got to go!” she yelled to her friends.

  “What?! Now? But we’re celebrating!” Aysha protested.

  Bleu’s hands fumbled as she reached into her new Chanel bag and pulled out a wad of money. She unrolled a thousand dollars and placed it in China’s palm to cover her tab.

  “Hey, what up? Why you leaving? We’re just getting started,” China said as she held up a small vial of cocaine between her fingers. A mischievous grin accompanied the sparkle in her eye. “There’s nothing like catching this high and then riding the wave. You have to stay!”

  Bleu was stunned momentarily. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around drugs. Her mother battled an addiction to crack cocaine, so it wasn’t foreign to Bleu; she was just surprised that China freely admitted that she used it. Back home that shit was not the business, but in L.A. it was the drug of choice. Everyone who was someone floated high on “something.” A weekend thing … a party favor … whether it be Ecstasy or molly, hitting lines or popping pills, syrup or a little weed … everyone enjoyed the rush. There wasn’t anything taboo about it among the stars and socialites. She had just been inducted into the “famous for no reason at all” club. She was young, gorgeous, and now paid. She was expected to partake and the temptation was real. Maybe it would numb the disgust she felt from allowing Cinco to play her. She still hadn’t told anyone. A good high would erase her shame, even if only for the night.

  “Come on, Detroit,” China urged.

  Bleu looked back and saw Cinco drawing near. She shook her head. “I’ve got to go. I forgot I have a paper due tomorrow morning,” she lied. She looked over her shoulder and could see Cinco crossing the room. Her skin crawled as she thought of him between her legs. She cringed. “I’m out of here.”

  “Are you eve
n okay to drive?” Aysha yelled, concerned.

  Bleu nodded, but she was unsure of that herself. An entire bottle to herself had her stumbling through the crowd. She could barely walk a straight line as she made a beeline out of the club in her stilettos, but she would take her chances. She just wanted to get out of Cinco’s sight. She had made the mistake of getting too close to him before, and as she slipped out of the club she vowed to herself that it would never happen again. She had forgotten that this was his world, he reigned supreme … she would have to tread lightly to stay off of his radar. She knew that she should go back to campus, but when Iman’s name illuminated her cell phone, she found herself hopping on the highway, headed his way. He hadn’t invited her, but she wanted to do more than hear his voice. She wanted to see him, feel him … she needed comfort and, more important, she wanted to show him that she could compete with all the fancy girls who had owned a spot in his heart before her.

  * * *

  As she pulled her new car up to Iman’s home she quickly checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Smudging her MAC-covered lips, she inhaled sharply. She was a whole new bitch. Iman was a high roller around town and had countless women auditioning for the main role in his life. She now looked the part, and she couldn’t wait until he laid eyes on her. There was something to be said about $1,000 extensions and Italian threads. The enhancements seemed to bury the old Bleu. She was happy to put the homely version of herself to rest for good. That girl didn’t have a chance in this world, she thought. She feathered her hair with her hands and shook it into place as she stepped out of the car. Confidence on 10, she was riding a natural high as she sashayed in her new Loubs until she reached Iman’s door. Instead of knocking, she called him. He wasn’t expecting her and she wanted to surprise him. He had hit her up only once while she was away. She figured he wouldn’t be the type to chase, and in all honesty she hadn’t given him much to pursue. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl he had ever been with. Her body wasn’t the best. Her smile wasn’t the prettiest and she definitely wasn’t the most glamorous. Little did he know she was working on becoming all of those things. Money had opened up a world of possibilities. As she stood on his doorstep, butterflies dancing in her stomach, she realized that she had never been this girl. She wasn’t the pursuer; she didn’t make bold moves. As a result her dating life had been put on pause. She had never been down to let a nigga pay to play or up for competing with chicks over one guy, but here she was on Iman’s doorstep, throwing her hat in the ring for his time and affection.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  The sound of his baritone melted her face into a smile. “You wouldn’t believe how many times you crossed my mind these past few days,” she said.

  “Is that right?” he replied. “I find that hard to believe, seeing as how you’re just now hitting me back. I was starting to think you wasn’t feeling me. You quit fucking with me already, ma?” His tone was playful and she chuckled softly, blushing as memories of his face between her thighs came rushing back. She wished that they had taken things all the way that night. She wanted to feel him inside of her. She wanted him to make love to her … so that she could lock him down and get rid of all the other girls who were undoubtedly in his life. She needed to prove that she was better, prettier, more loyal. She just wanted to be his girl. Her Flint mentality had her thinking that she wasn’t good enough by L.A. standards. But as she tossed her twenty-four-inch weave over her shoulder she reminded herself that she now looked the part. There wasn’t a bitch in town giving her a run for her money, not tonight at least. She wore her new money well.

  “I don’t think I could ever quit fucking with you, Iman,” she admitted.

  “Don’t speak too fast. There’s still a lot about me you don’t know,” he said, suddenly serious.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said surely. “I know how I feel when I’m near you, and that’s enough for me.” She rang the doorbell and then said, “You expecting company or something? Am I interrupting something?” She placed her hand over the tiny camera that was within arm’s reach above her head. She didn’t want him to know it was her. Surprising him, drunk and sexy, in the middle of the night was more spontaneous. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought of her new look.

  She heard the hesitation in his voice as he replied, “Nah … nobody even knows I rock like that out here. Hold up a minute.” He paused and she frowned as she heard him moving about on the other end of the phone. “Let me hit you back.”

  CLICK.

  Bleu looked at the phone, taken aback, suddenly feeling like a pop-up visit wasn’t a good idea. She was playing games, trying to be coy and cute, but clearly Iman took his privacy very seriously. “I should have called first,” she whispered.

  She raised her hand to ring the bell again, but before she could, the door flew open and she found herself staring down the dark barrel of a 9mm pistol.

  “It’s just me!” she screamed, terrified, as her hands went up and she dropped her new Louis clutch.

  Iman immediately lowered his gun and breathed a sigh of relief. “What you doing, ma? I almost blew your fucking top off,” he said in exasperation.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to surprise you!” she shrieked. Her voice was shaky as her heart raced.

  He looked her up and down, noticing the dramatic transformation. She held out her hands with a hopeful smile. “Well, surprised?” she said unsurely. Embarrassment flushed her face as she suddenly felt like a little girl playing dress up. “You like it?”

  “I like,” he replied, not knowing how to take the drastic change. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the house, swatting her gently on the ass as she walked by him. The smell of her perfume awakened his senses as he felt his manhood jump. He admired the view of her voluptuous ass before walking up behind her and putting his arms around her small waist. He pulled her into him and placed gentle kisses on the back of her neck. “I love the heels, the dress, all that, but I also really really loved the skinny jeans, flip-flops, and backpack. That simple shit is sexy, ma.”

  “When I’m standing next to you I want to look like I’m supposed to be standing next to you,” she replied. She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It looks good, though, right?” she asked as she pulled her head back so that she could stare in his eyes.

  Iman could have told her that he found the slick ponytail she normally wore prettier than the weave. He could have said that when she didn’t try so hard she drew his attention more. He could have just spoken up and said he preferred her plain face to the one before him that seemed to be hidden under makeup. She was like a Barbie. Everything in place, sucked in, tucked, drawn on, accentuated. What she didn’t realize was that he loved her simplicity. She was trying to fit into the crowd and she did it well. She looked fine, but it was just more of the same. He wanted to tell her, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. She had tried to up the ante for him and he wasn’t in the asshole business. He would roll with whatever she liked; as long as the inside didn’t change he could deal with whatever aesthetics she preferred.

  “It looks good, ma,” he replied, giving her a reassuring kiss.

  She felt like an adolescent, because whenever he put his hands on her she creamed instantly. She could feel the silk as it melted from the folds between her thighs and she shuddered. Her body was his. He owned it, and not just because he had claimed it first. He moved with expertise, and as he reached down and began to rub on her pearl, she shuddered, wrenched with pleasure, and found her orgasm without even trying.

  “What are you doing to me?” she whispered, amazed at how she reacted to him.

  “Pleasing you, Bleu,” he replied. “Can I have you, ma? Tell me you’re ready.”

  The way he said it made it seem as if he would die if she deprived him any longer. “You can have me, any way you want,” she whispered, the liquor in her system making her bold.

  Her taut nipples were now victims to his fingers as he used her own
wetness to tease them. She didn’t even know how her dress had gotten on the floor. He moved with such finesse and skill that he had disrobed her without her even noticing. He had her drunk with lust. He got on his knees; she gasped, and her chin hit her chest as he pulled her throbbing cherry into his mouth. As her head fell back in complete bliss she realized there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do to keep this man. He was new, exciting, and she had a feeling that he was more dangerous than she thought. The thought alone made her come on the spot. He stood and scooped her up like a caveman, tossing her over his shoulder, causing her to shriek as he ran with her upstairs. She laughed uncontrollably as he tackled her onto his bed. The last time she had been in it they had kept it PG, but tonight things would be R-rated.

  “Play with it for me,” he said as he removed his clothes. He wasn’t shy, and for good reason. His body was amazing and she silently wondered if he would hurt her with what he was packing.

  Lust thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. Nerves made her body feel electrified as butterflies danced in her stomach. He eased between her legs, parting them like the Red Sea. He was her Moses. Her body needed no prepping. She had been waiting for this moment for eighteen years. She was wet, ready, wanting, but still she trembled.

  “You okay?” he double-checked.

  She nodded.

  “No head movements, ma. Tell me yes,” he whispered as he kissed behind her ear.

  “Hmm,” she moaned. “Yes…” was her reply.

  He thought about putting on a condom, but he wanted to feel every depth of her unspoiled treasure. If he put a baby in her, it would only be a plus. Iman wanted her … forever. He knew that as her first official lover, however, he was setting the stage for how she would allow a man to handle her afterward. For that reason alone he paused and reached into the nightstand by the bed. Iman was clean. Iman meant her no harm, but he couldn’t say the same for the men she might encounter should they not work out. He ripped the foil package and slid it over his length. “Make me strap up every time, ma. This is your temple. Make a nigga respect it,” he whispered as he positioned himself over her. He was an unselfish lover, as he slid into her gently. When he felt her tense, he paused. “Relax, Bleu. Just talk to me. Tell me how I’m making you feel,” he said, distracting her.