by Emery, Lynn
2013 © Lynn Emery
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“Lagniappe” - A little something extra
On a sunny Thursday afternoon in June, Charmaine sat across from her newest “client” and stared back at her. A small air conditioner worked to keep the humid New Orleans heat at bay. All the bad vibes from this woman made Charmaine feel claustrophobic, as though her usually pleasant home office was stuffed with greasy smog. From the top of her flaming red hair to the tips of her gaudy rhinestone encrusted acrylic fingernails, Kiesha Front screamed “gold digger”.
Keisha got up and started making a circle of the room examining the decor. She started by reading framed degrees and certifications on the wall. Charmaine proudly displayed her diplomas. She loved being a therapist with a little something extra, psychic ability. Her gift of sight gave her a rare insight into her clients. She’d had terrific success helping them find the source of their pain and recover. Others she’d helped avoid dangers creeping toward them from the past. Despite her attempts to keep that part of her practice discreet, the word got out.
For the past year most who came to her wanted more of the supernatural help than therapy. Most couldn’t pay much. Charmaine’s professional reputation among her more conventional colleagues had suffered. Referrals from local psychiatrists and other counselors dried up. Three insurance companies removed her from their provider networks. Charmaine had had to supplement her income with part-time jobs for the past two years, including a stint working at a local dollar store. And now this.
“Impressive credentials,” Keisha said as she leaned closer to stare at one document. “You’ve re-invented yourself since we were kids in the projects.”
“So have you I see,” Charmaine said in a dry tone. She remembered Kiesha from high school, though she’d been a year behind Charmaine. Keisha had always been determined to get attention and get ahead.
Keisha gave a short laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.” Then she turned and read out loud from another framed document. “So you’re a ‘Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist’. Bet that comes in handy.”
“It does at times,” Charmaine replied.
“Don’t think you can try it on me. I’m resistant to that kinda mess,” Keisha said, tossing the words over her shoulder without looking at Charmaine.
“Would you like a glass of sweet tea?” Charmaine asked.
“See, that’s what I mean. You start off with a simple request. Nothing important, but you establish a connection and start a chain of me doing what you suggest.” Keisha came to a decorative mirror on another wall. She gazed at her make-up, patted her hair and turned to Charmaine. “No, I don’t want tea. Can’t stand the stuff.”
“I offer everyone some form of refreshment. Maybe you’d like…”
“I’m fine, Ms. Joliet. Hmm, that sounds too formal. I’ll call you Charmaine,” Keisha said and smiled. “Nice how you turned this addition your mama used as a beauty shop into your office.”
Charmaine smiled back at her. “Thank you. And of course you can call me Charmaine. You’re right. No need for formality.”
Keisha raised an eyebrow. She strolled back to the chair facing Charmaine’s desk, sat down and crossed her shapely brown legs. “You’re good, but it still won’t work. Look, I’ve done my homework on you. I have… friends who specialized in… Let’s just call it research.”
“Research, right.” Charmaine folded her arms.
“Okay, don’t get an attitude. This proposal can do good things for both of us,” Keisha said. She sighed and uncrossed her legs. “My husband has a lot of money. He’s as mean as a bucket of rattlesnakes, and he has lots of enemies. You need money, and you have skills and experience in making a man… disappear. I’ll keep your secret, pay you money and you’ll have something on me.”
“So we’ll both have to keep our mouths shut,” Charmaine added and clenched her teeth.
“Exactly.” Keisha nodded with satisfaction.
“Why shouldn’t I just go to the police? You don’t have proof that I made anyone ‘disappear’ as you put it. Or I could go to your hubby and tell him of your sincere desire to get rid of him,” Charmaine shot back.
Keisha’s expression hardened. “You don’t really want to put your dear, emotionally fragile baby sister through the stress. She’s had a few issues since that ugly incident back when you were kids, hasn’t she? Poor little Jessica. In the past two years alone she’s been arrested twice for soliciting, three times for possession of weed, three times for assaulting her male customers. One might even wonder if she’s about to become a female serial killer. Girlfriend has some serious anger issues.”
Every hair on Charmaine’s body stood at attention. A prickle of fear mixed with loathing shot through her. “Don’t threaten my sister.”
“We don’t have to be enemies. You two had it hard growing up. I’ve been there, girl. I’m like you, Charmaine; a survivor. I learned to use men for what I want, instead always being used by them,” Keisha said with a grimace.
“No, you’re not like me. And you’re damn sure not going to be my friend coming in here trying to blackmail me into killing your rich husband,” Charmaine hissed.
Kiesha stood and looped her expensive gold metallic leather purse over the crook of once arm. She actually almost looked elegant, minus the hair and fingernails. “Jessica is in trouble again. She’s going to need a good lawyer.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Charmaine gripped the imitation leather covering the arms of her cheap office chair.
“Call her hooker pal Diamond if you don’t believe me. You haven’t talked to Jessica in three days. That’s because she’s in the Orleans Parish lock-up, sweetie. She knifed a guy over drugs or something.” Keisha picked up a small note pad from Charmaine’s desk. She wrote down a phone number and held out the pad. When Charmaine didn’t take it, Keisha tossed it onto the desk. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”
“You’re lying,” Charmaine said trying not to panic. Dread washed over her like bone chilling water on her skin.
“You already know I’m not. Go help your sister. I can give you the bail money as part of your payment. We both know she won’t do well in a jail cell,” Keisha replied. She put on designer sunglasses and walked out.
Shaking, Charmaine went to the office door leading to the outside and slammed home both deadbolts. She went back to her phone to call the parish jail. Then she stopped and put down the cordless handset. Charmaine’s second sight, the gift that was both a blessing and a curse told her that Keisha, aka Mrs. James LeLand Front, had not lied. Jessi needed to be rescued. Again.
****
Club Mellow lived up to its name and then some. No loud music or rowdy patrons allowed. Saturday night at seven thirty Charmaine sat in a booth with seats upholstered in real leather the color of red wine. She was drinking whiskey. Her good friend Scotty stood behind the bar. Scotty, Jessi and Charmaine; they’d been family for over fiftee
n years. Their bond had been forged on the street, three homeless kids living hard to escape hell at home. When he turned eighteen Scotty joined the Army. He’d been Special Forces, skills he brought back to the street after serving for six years.
Despite being the owner of the club and three other thriving businesses in Orleans Parish, Scotty still liked playing bartender from time to time. At six feet four and with muscles all over, he could also be the bouncer. One of several professions he’d had in his murky past. But his formidable presence wasn’t the reason Club Mellow was so peaceful. The clientele kept it that way. They needed a discreet safe harbor to meet like-minded people. Upscale hook-ups is how Jessi sarcastically described it. Singles and couples retreated to the softly light elegant club to live out their fantasies.
Charmaine came to ease the sexual tension that gnawed at her when she felt threatened, lonely or stressed. A psychologist had helped Charmaine understand that her hyper-sexuality resulted from years of sexual abuse. She and Jessica had suffered at the hands of their two successive step-fathers. They’d come to associate sex with all emotions.
For Jessi, sex became a means to an end; a way to be in control. Of course the sense of control wasn’t real. It only lasted the few hours she spent servicing her clients; tying up men or women, ordering them to surrender to Jessi’s every whim until they screamed in ecstasy. Then she plunged back into a dark place that only drugs could banish.
All this insight came from six years of therapy for Charmaine. Dr. Lance told her that one day she’d accept true intimacy and love, and then she wouldn’t need Club Mellow. Charmaine knew differently. Unlike Jessi, Charmaine loved sex. The physical pleasure of being with someone as an adult and by her own choosing was Charmaine’s drug. Charmaine didn’t have all of the answers. She didn’t need them. Her life worked for her. Mostly.
Scotty strolled over to Charmaine’s booth after his employee, the real bartender, took over. He held two short tumblers with dark gold liquid in each hand. He plunked one down on the table in front of Charmaine’s almost empty glass. Then he eased his tall frame onto the leather seat across from her, took a swig from his own tumbler and sighed.
“Hello Charming Charmaine,” Scotty rumbled in his basso voice and winked at her.
She finished off the last bit of whiskey in one tumbler and picked up the full one. “Beam me up, Scotty.” Charmaine took a sip and let the whiskey tickle down the back of her throat.
“Jim Beam,” Scotty said completing the old joke they shared.
They shared a companionable silence for another ten minutes, watching couples and some threesomes get acquainted. Everyone chatted as though they were just out with friends. Soft laughter and conversation floated around the room. Smooth jazz mixed with R&B tunes played over the sound system. Through an archway was another room with a dance floor and a stage raised a foot higher. The regular Saturday night band would start to play at nine o’clock. Scotty and Charmaine exchanged a few sentences of small talk the way southerners did before getting down to business.
“So was I right?” Charmaine asked and studied Scotty.
“On target. Keisha is a grifter, a con artist who hit it big time when she married James LeLand Front, an older man with money. Good money, too,” Scotty said. He raised his glass in a mock salute. “Go on with yo bad self, Miss K.”
“How good?” Charmaine asked.
“He sold his packaging business in 1983 for a cool ten million to a Fortune 500 company. At thirty-five he was too young to just put his feet up. Dude started a high tech company three years later. Four years later he sold that company for one hundred million. Set his four kids up and did consulting. He had a heart attack and a stroke in 2006. Divorced his fourth wife in 2009 when he met the lovely Keisha Grant.”
“I knew from the way she talked to me that first day that Keisha had been in the game. She summed up the ways of a player and jail house philosophy without missing a beat,” Charmaine replied.
Scotty nodded. “She’s served time, but I see you figured that one out. Keisha hasn’t been able to drop her ghetto so easy. She didn’t blend with polite society as she’d hoped.”
Charmaine snorted. “Once a hood rat, always a hood rat; at least for some.”
She was about to go on when a tall, fine looking man with skin like caramel candy walked into the barroom. Her body hummed, and not just from the psychic vibes. He wore a short-sleeved olive green cotton knit top that clung to his muscled chest. Dark khaki denim slacks hugged his narrow waist and molded to his thick thighs.
“That’s him, huh?” Charlene murmured, covering her comment by raising the glass to her mouth.
Scotty didn’t glance at him, but kept his back to the man and his voice low. “Mr. Slick. I told him I’d point you out. Got me a fifty for doing it, too.”
“You backstabber,” Charmaine quipped and managed not to laugh.
“Enjoy your drink, Charmaine, and don’t stay away so long next time,” Scotty said in a normal volume and smiled at her.
Then Scotty moved to a table a few feet away and quietly chatted up more customers. Scotty didn’t look in her direction again. He seemed very relaxed as he played the role of the good business owner. Charmaine made a mental note to suggest he take up acting. Then she switched her attention back to the man.
She guessed he was about six feet one. He sat down at the bar and pretended to finally notice Charmaine was staring at him. He took the glass the bartender put on bar in front of him and lifted it in salute to her. Charmaine matched his gesture. He got up and walked to her.
“Good evening. I…”
“Yes, you most certainly can join me,” Charmaine broke in. She brushed her shoulder length hair with her fingers.
“I’m Lorenzo,” he said and sat down. His gaze covered Charmaine from head to toe. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” Charmaine gave him an appraising glance in turn. She moistened her lips and smiled at him as though appreciating the view. “If you’ve been hanging out at the club lately, then Scotty is right. I have been away too long.”
“Well, let’s not regret the past. We’re here now,” Lorenzo replied smoothly. His dark eyebrows framed cocoa brown eyes perfectly. His lips curved up in a handsome smile.
Lorenzo Thomas, afro-Latino, age thirty-five; three years older than Charmaine. Scotty had filled Charmaine in on him a few days earlier. Lorenzo Thomas was a private investigator of the shady variety. Scotty had easily dug up the background on him when Charmaine asked him to track down the scoop on Keisha. But Scotty hadn’t mentioned that he looked like a male supermodel and oozed sex appeal. Charmaine’s libido set her body humming again. Playing with him was an added bonus. The alluring smile she flashed at Lorenzo was totally genuine.
“I agree, Lorenzo. Ahh, that name rolls off the tongue,” Charmaine said softly.
“I’m half Puerto Rican,” he replied and sipped more of his drink.
“And the other half?” Charmaine leaned forward as though eager to hear his every word.
“Pure Houston ninja from the Fifth Ward, baby,” he replied and grinned at her. “And you?”
Charmaine shrugged. “New Orleans East.”
“Alright then. I use to visit friends that way. To what NO used to be, the good and the bad,” Lorenzo said and tapped her glass against hers.
“Co-sign,” Charmaine said and they both took deep pulls from their drinks.
For the next two hours they exchanged small talk about their favorite hip hop artists from back in the day, movies and more. When the band started they followed the music and danced a few times. As the night grew older, the band played slower tunes. Charmaine pressed her body to Lorenzo and didn’t object when his wide hands moved lower on her body. By the fourth song he gently cupped her buttocks, rubbing his hands over the soft fabric of her red leggings.
“You look damn good, Charmaine,” Lorenzo breathed in her ear. “I’m in pain because of you, girl.”
“Then let’s
make this party private. Scotty’s hotel is right next door; a classy place,” Charmaine whispered, her lips brushing his ear lobe. She did a bump and grind against his pelvis that made him moan.
“Let’s go,” he croaked.
Lorenzo swiped perspiration from his forehead and led them down a softly lit hallway leading to the hotel lobby. In a few minutes the efficient registration clerk had them checked into a room on the fourth floor. They went to the elevator, got in and immediately started kissing and groping each other. Charmaine giggled as the strong man pressed her against the wall.
“Slow down, baby. We don’t want to finish up before we get started,” Charmaine said.
“No worries, girl. I’m an all night man, just like that bunny with those batteries. I can keep going,” Lorenzo bragged. He licked her neck and rubbed her breast roughly.
“Well alright then,” Charmaine replied with enthusiasm.
The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slid open. Another couple brushed past them into the elevator, the man with his face averted. The man didn’t have to worry. Lorenzo barely noticed him. He was too intent on pulling Charmaine to Room 407. He mumbled a few curse words when they had to walk farther down the hall than he’d expected. Lorenzo shoved the key card into the lock.
“We’re in the House of Pleasure, girl. Now come here.” Lorenzo pulled Charmaine against his body with one long arm and shoved the door shut with the other.
“Take charge,” Charmaine whispered as he lifted her from the floor.
She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him hard. Lorenzo moaned, breathing hard in between trying to pull open her top with his teeth. He let her slide to the floor and Charmaine pushed away from him. She dropped her small purse on the dresser against one wall. Then she undid the tie of the sheer cardigan she wore over a black camisole. Lorenzo pulled at his clothes without taking his gaze from Charmaine’s striptease performance. She went to the night stand and hit the button on a clock radio. A thumping R&B tune poured through the compact, but excellent speakers. Then she resumed her dance. Charmaine took off her cami and leggings. She swayed to the music wearing only panties and a bra the color of Louisiana hot sauce.
