Sixty-Nine

by Pynk

  Rebe looked over at her baby-faced friend.

  Her first-time admirer.

  He gave a wink with his thick, long lashes.

  She winked back.

  And in one second she was backstage. “That shit made me hot,” she said to another dancer who was bent over in the mirror backward to check the correctness of the opening of her own vagina.

  “Oh, you must be new,” the tall, tanned dancer—a mix of German and Sudanese—sounded totally amazed, almost disgusted.

  Thirty minutes later, the champagne room was occupied by four other men, and Babyface. The men were getting private dances from their chosen ladies, at least for the current song, “Sexual Seduction,” by Snoop. And Queenie was Babyface’s choice.

  He asked while sitting on an armless chair, scooted back, strategically wearing loose gray sweatpants without underwear, with his legs spread wide open, “So, where’ve you been?” in a low, slow voice to the curve of her long back as she did a reverse cowgirl, moving her shape in a dance of erotic, simulated intercourse.

  “What do you mean? Like why haven’t you seen me here before? Is that what you’re asking?” She worked her ass cheeks along his crotch. His member was at full attention, and she could feel every inch of it. Queenie was wet.

  He said while fidgeting as though battling himself to not put his hands along her slender waist to guide her X-rated grind, “Exactly. Newbie. This is amateur night.”

  “Okay, so then why did you ask where I’ve been then?” She had a hint of a smart-ass tone to her words, like she’d been around.

  “I meant all my life.” His vision stayed on her cheeks that pressed against his lap. He looked like he had imaginations of his dick deep inside her while he’d play lazy, letting her do all the aerobic work.

  “I’ve been in my skin, how’s that?” She still spoke spunky, and raised her body inch-by-inch, enough to bring her leg around to straddle him, facing his torso. Her neck was right around the area of his mouth. He got ready to speak, but instead she said, “You talk too much.”

  “No rule against talking. Makes it seem more like you’re my girl, for real.”

  “Okay.” The tone of her reply hinted that his words were corny, but her body moved like he was a stud, saying all the right things. She readjusted herself so she could feel his total thickness between her legs. He smelled like manly mango. She breathed hard and exhaled soft. In her mind she said, Please song, don’t end yet.

  “Yeah, you’re new all right.” He pumped back and rubbed back as she slid along his dick. The fabric of his sweats was moist, and not all from his seepage alone.

  She talked near his ear, pressing her full breasts along his chest. “Well, I guess you’d know because I’m willing to bet you’re a regular.”

  She could feel his breath along her collarbone as he spoke. “You could say that. Been coming here for years.”

  She backed her chest away slightly and gave his virgin face a good once over. The full-grown occupant living below his waist didn’t match the puberty-like look above the neck. “Since you’re what, about twelve? ’Cause you certainly don’t look legal.”

  He raised his bushy eyebrows, looking assured. “I’m old enough, believe me.”

  She put her hands on her own thighs and raised her hips up and down, shoving her vagina to his dick, and moving it back, shoving it forward again. Her thighs flexed. “Just barely, I’ll bet.”

  “Speak for yourself.” He looked at the definition in her legs. “Youngster.”

  “Please. I’ve got bras older than you.” Queenie adjusted herself to turn around again and bent down to the floor with her hands grasping her ankles, making sure the exact point of her opening met his shaft.

  He sucked his teeth and said, “Ooooo.” And then spoke after a sigh. “I doubt that. But even if you do, I’m down for what I see. I’d put a ring on this, no doubt.”

  She giggled softly.

  He groaned and let her do her thing, looking like he could simply explode in his pants.

  She leaned her back against him, bringing her hands to the back of his neck, interlocking her fingers, with her long micro-braids draped behind the both of them.

  He smiled and sniffed her again, and his dick pulsated. He said with his eyes closed, “You like me, don’t you?”

  Her eyes were half-closed, “Feeling what’s in your pants, I’d say you’re the one who likes me.” She sat straight up just as the last beats of the song wound down. “But like I said, you talk too much. You’re done.” She stood and ran her fingers through her braids, readjusting her thong.

  He reached into his Nike shirt pocket and pulled out a hundred with a Post-it stuck to it, folding the bill into quarters. “I’ll see you later.” He handed it to her. “Take this and make sure you keep the note. Queenie.”

  She did, and kept it up in her hand. “Maybe so.”

  He looked down at himself, shook out all three legs, and stood up, readjusting his placement.

  She asked, eyes looking baby-girlish, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  She walked on and he followed. She knew it.

  His eyes zoomed in on her orgasm-prompting behind. He simply watched, looking like he was taking a mental snapshot.

  Rebe’s eyes said without blinking, Oh no, to him leaving, but Queenie simply said a carefree, “Bye.”

  Nine

  “Whenever, Wherever, Whatever”

  Magnolia

  INT.—MAGNOLIA’S HOME AND WORKPLACE— MIAMI BEACH—MORNING

  February 9, 2009

  Magnolia awoke on Monday morning after a relaxing weekend, getting her head right to go back to what she called the slave factory. She joked about the concept of working for the master, but loved her work and always seemed to head to her office with the realization that she was happy to be employed.

  She’d usually lie still for a moment after turning off the alarm clock. She liked to listen to the birds singing outside her window. When she was young, her grandmother would tell her to take the time to listen. That it always seemed as though birds sang in the early morning. That it may have been because at dawn, sound broadcasts can be more effective than at midday. But also birds use song to communicate, and that it’s usually the babies who awake to the light, looking for the mothers who’ve gone off to forage for food for their younglings upon the rising of the sun. It would make Magnolia think of when her own mother left. She wasn’t the type to come back, though. In her heart, she wanted a chance to be the “coming back home” type of mother. The type whose babies would anticipate her nurturing, and sing to cheer on her return.

  Still, with no husband or children after all these years, she accepted her reality and got up, placing her bare feet on the floor. She made her usual, slow trek to the walk-in closet to pick out one of her many business suits to wear to the bank. Today, it would be the black skirt and blazer with the yellow and blue watercolor print blouse. Teal pumps. Metallic bag. Hair back into a long ponytail, as usual.

  She was the vice president of branch operations for Ocean Bank in its Miami Beach office on Arthur Godfrey Road, a newer building that served as the southern headquarters. She’d worked there for over a decade, making her way up from opening new accounts, to regionally supervising branches, to being assigned as a director at a branch near her home, and then overseeing the regional branches. Magnolia had earned her own spacious office, with a spectacular ocean view from the eighth floor.

  A half knock sounded while Magnolia was at her oak desk at work, sitting in the brown ergonomic chair. Her door was ajar.

  His Old Spice body wash hit her nose a second before her eyes could manage their journey. She looked up and her heart thumped while she gave a large swallow, and then scooted her eyes back to her work.

  “Hey.” Her ex-boyfriend and co-worker, Neal Graham, stepped inside after saying the one word. The forty-two-year-old assistant director for the real estate team serviced the southern Florida residential lending
division.

  Clean shaven with keen features, Neal was the color of coffee with a lot of cream, six-foot-four, black low-cut hair with a tinge of gray, and had the physique of a model, long and slender.

  He wore his signature good-guy smile, flashed his perfect teeth and stood with one hand in the pants pocket of his Burberry, pinstriped two-button steel blue suit, looking as friendly as ever, as if nothing had even happened between them.

  Magnolia had managed to avoid him since their last conversation on her birthday, until now, nearly five weeks later.

  But still, she’d failed to ignore him emotionally.

  “Hi,” she said as bland as she could, on purpose.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Pen in hand, she looked up for a second and noticed the colors of his tie matched her blouse.

  “You’ve been avoiding me on purpose, huh?” His words were extra suave.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “You used to come over to the other side near my office once you got off the elevator. You’d even pass by my door when you’d go to the kitchen.”

  “What are you talking about?” A vertical line formed between her eyes.

  “It’s just that I never see you anymore. Just wondering if it’s on purpose. Seeing if you’re avoiding me.”

  “Wherever I need to go when I’m at work, I’m surely not thinking of, nor worried about running into you. Believe me.” She looked back down and began writing on a notepad.

  “You say so.”

  “I say so.”

  He stared.

  She gave him the evil eye. “What? What do you want?”

  “I want you.”

  She put her pen down and began talking with her hand. “Neal, do not start this with me at work. I’ve got a job to do eight hours a day, maybe even more today than usual, and I am not trying to fool with you.”

  “How about after work? Can we meet? I’ve been trying to call you ever since the last time we spoke.”

  “No. I said no then, and I’m saying no now.”

  He removed his hand from his pocket. “Look, all I wanna do is talk. That’s it. I think enough time’s gone by. I mean, we can just sit down and take a moment to understand each other from where we are right now.”

  “Nope. Sorry.” She sliced the sight of him and flipped though some papers.

  “Mag.”

  “No. What I do understand is that you need to understand that I don’t want to talk to you. Another thing I understand is that you have someone, someone you chose to be with. That’s all I need to know.”

  His face looked serious. “Maybe, but I didn’t want her more than you.”

  She flexed her hand. “You know, you really need to stop talking to me at work, I’m telling you.”

  “Then let me talk to you later. Please.”

  “No.”

  “Mag. I love you.”

  She pushed her chair away from her desk like she was prepared to stand. She struggled to keep her voice down, but her face looked like she was yelling. “Neal, cut it out, now. Don’t make me start to complain to corporate about you. I’m telling you I will. Now, this is hard enough on both of us, but I’m asking you nicely, just like I would with anyone whose conversation is unwelcome. Please stop.”

  He took a step closer. “I can’t believe you’re acting like what we had is gone.”

  She stood. “Neal.”

  “Mag.” He looked at her around her hip area, and then back up at her face. “I’m beginning to think even if you did tell HR, it’d be worth it. I need to talk to you. And I’m going to keep trying at work, on the phone, email, telefax, telephone, tell-a-friend. We are gonna talk. I’m not gonna stop trying.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well that’s pretty dumb considering you already got your boss on your tail for screwing your secretary. I doubt you’d want them to know you’re harassing me, when everyone knows what happened. They all know you live with her.” She sat back down and closed a file folder.

  “I do not.” He licked his lips and looked out the window for a second, then looked back at her. “And Mag, I’m telling you now, I don’t give a fuck what they think, to be honest with you.”

  Her tone grew louder again. “Yes you do.” She shook her head and downshifted one notch. “You walk around here telling jokes and acting like you’re campaigning for president. You don’t want anyone to know your dirt.”

  “You think so? If I need to, I’ll stand right here in front of your desk until you tell me we can talk away from work.”

  She pointed at him with her stare. “Neal, stop it. I’m warning you. Besides, your words are like a dull knife, baby. It just ain’t cutting. You’re talking loud, and saying absolutely nothing.”

  “Okay James Brown. But what you need to say is yes.”

  “No.” She fought off a smirk.

  Just then, a red-headed, stocky woman walked in, grinning from ear to ear. “Magnolia. These came for you at the front desk.” The woman moved a large flower arrangement away from her own face so she could see in front of her. “I told the front desk I’d bring them to you. They’re beautiful.” She held a tall vase of a dozen red roses in her hands. And randomly mixed in between the roses were Magnolia’s favorite flowers, white magnolias. “And they smell great.”

  Magnolia managed a small smile. “Thanks, Lynn. That’s sweet of you. You can set them right here.” She made room on the corner of her desk for the burgundy vase by moving a stack of papers.

  “Sure.” Lynn set the vase down and looked back, “Hello, Neal.”

  “Hi, Lynn. Those are nice.” He kept his eyes on Magnolia.

  Lynn stepped away and waved as she said, “See you later, Magnolia.”

  “Thanks.”

  Neal took a step closer. “Look at you. Somebody loves you.”

  She ignored his face and took the tiny card from the tiny envelope. It read the exact same thing. Somebody loves you. Happy Belated Birthday. Neal.

  She gave him a quick glance, and no smile at all. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I know what you like.”

  Her eyes told him to give her a break. “You really shouldn’t have. You should’ve sent these to your woman. But I’m sure she gets flowers from you all the time.”

  “I sent these to you.”

  She put the card back in the envelope, taking a second to sniff one of the velvety roses, and then scooted the vase over farther, again looking down at her work.

  Neal gave a lengthy clearing of his throat. “I’m still here.”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Okay. Yes.” And then she stared at him.

  “Yes, what? Yes, you’ll talk to me?”

  “I said yes.” Her eyes said don’t push it.

  “Good girl.”

  “Bye.” Her voice sounded like a shove.

  He faced the door and took one step with each word. “Tonight. Eight. My place.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’d better come.”

  She again resumed her work.

  He gave a tug on his jacket lapel and walked away with a GQ stroll.

  She looked over at the flowers and shook her head. What in the hell am I doing?

  INT.—NEAL’S TOWNHOME—UPTOWN MIAMI— EVENING

  “Why are you so uptight?” Neal asked his ex-woman, Magnolia Butler.

  It was half past eight that evening.

  Magnolia took a sip of Moscato d’Asti, placing the gold-rimmed wine glass back on the clear Lucite coffee table. “I’m not.” Magnolia sat on Neal’s white leather sofa in the great room of his one-bedroom townhome. The fifty-eight-inch plasma television was on, muted as usual, showing a Martin rerun, and Neal played the Anthony Hamilton CD, which was on “Can’t Let Go,” with Kem as his CD backup. Random candles were lit and it smelled like he’d sprayed his pumpkin pie air freshener, which mixed in the air with the smell of seafood and garlic from the kitchen.

  He lived on the fourth floor of the all-glass,
swanky twenty-eight story Onyx on the Bay condos on 25th Street. His was a split-level modern unit with vaulted ceilings, skylights, white floors, white countertops, white furniture, and white marble stairs, on the water’s edge with a direct view of Biscayne Bay.

  Neal, barefoot, who’d already changed into shorts and a T-shirt, checked out Magnolia’s body language—arms crossed, legs crossed, sitting forward, looking around. “You are uptight. I know you.”

  She suddenly sat back farther, in the same clothes she’d worn to work, only she had on high, sexy, black slingbacks. “Oh, you know, huh? Okay.” She tapped her foot, midair. “It’s just that last time I was at your place, I was your girl. And now, I’m not. So forgive me for seeming uptight as you say.” She looked around at the subtle changes, like the large palm tree near the window, and a few random chrome knickknacks and non-bachelor-like mink sofa pillows. She told him with authority, “This is the place of some other woman’s man. Not mine.”

  He nodded but looked as if she could possibly be mistaken. “Understood.” He walked from the CD player to the other end of the sofa and sat. He eyed her. “You look good. Showing those legs nowadays I noticed. Even at work. The last two times I saw you it looked like those skirts were getting shorter and shorter. Nice.” His pleased eyes went from her ankles to her thighs.

  “I wear what I wear.” She took in the moonlit window view of the beautiful bay.

  “You wear it well. You don’t want to take your shoes off?”

  “No.” Magnolia replied with an air of rude, and then said, “Thanks, though. I’m just here to talk.” She looked toward the open kitchen. “So you cooked yourself dinner? Smells like shrimp something.”

  “No.” He said as though matter of fact, “Keyonna cooked.”

  Magnolia turned her head askew. “Keyonna? When?”

  “Tonight.”

  Magnolia heard the sound of footsteps in the loft and glanced toward the stairs. “Neal, what was that?”