While Byron slowly traced the lifeline inside her palm with his manicured fingers, a different waiter in the same style tuxedo placed small salads before them.
“I always order roughage. I hope you don’t mind.” Byron immediately started eating the mixed leafy greens.
“Not at all.” Hopefully Byron wasn’t a control fanatic. One thing Fancy did not like was an inconsiderate man.
“So tonight I need you to greet my guests with a smile,” he mumbled while chewing. “And charm them into making large donations. No man can resist your beauty. I know I can’t.” Byron swallowed, sipped his wine, then smiled.
She guessed that meant her breasts because that’s exactly where his eyes were focused, again. “What exactly are these donations for?”
Munching on the freshly baked bread he said, “Lobbyist.”
“Lobbyist?” Fancy reached for her half-full wineglass.
“Absolutely. Every major organization needs people willing to support their cause. I happen to own a company that dumps toxic waste. We have to have a place to dump and we need prior government approval. Unfortunately, there are activists who oppose every site we propose so my company pays lobbyists to represent us on Capitol Hill. Got it?”
“That’s interesting. Yeah, I do get it.” If lobbyists received all-expenses paid trips to D.C., Fancy wanted to represent Byron’s company. Hopefully, being his wife wouldn’t be a conflict of interest. Fancy didn’t think Byron noticed or cared that she hadn’t touched her food. She chose to sip on the merlot instead since she’d be sharpening her skills, pippin’ rich men all night.
“So how’s a woman like myself to benefit from such an ordeal?”
“Five percent,” Byron said, right before swishing a gulp of wine inside his mouth.
Fancy felt her eyebrow raise a notch. “Of what?” she casually asked.
Byron swallowed, then said, “Everything you collect.”
Shit, Adam could fuck himself tonight.
“After the checks clear, my accountant will send you a check. Usually within ten business days.”
Damn, her rent was due in two days. Fancy didn’t want to sound desperate so she chilled until it was time to head to the fund-raiser. Adam was off and back on her schedule in less than sixty seconds.
They finished eating, then rode less than a mile to another hotel. Byron educated Fancy on how to approach each potential donor.
“If he’s shorter than you, the three-three rule applies. Compliment him three times in the first three minutes, then stop. Do not shake his hand. Now, if he’s taller than you, shake his hand. Hold it for six seconds, then cover the top of his hand with your left hand and hold it there for nine seconds. That’s the six-nine rule. Always get the pledge commitment within five minutes. Anyone who stalls longer than five minutes is only interested in you and the only thing he’ll commit to if you keep talking is a date. Regardless if he’s interested in contributing or not, fill out the form for him, then ask him to pledge an amount and sign the card. Always get the signature. A pledge is no good without a signature. If he keeps talking and never looks at the card, tell him you’ll be back and move on. Got it?”
Fancy’s smile widened. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”
Fancy propositioned one guy so well he offered to take her to China. She wasn’t interested in seeing China but she did take his business card. In fact, she collected quite a few cards. The next guy she met was taller.
“Hi, I’m Fancy Taylor.” Fancy extended her hand. “And you are?”
He had the sexiest half smile Fancy had witnessed all night. “If you don’t know who I am, you’d better ask somebody.”
With locks covering the back of his neck, Fancy doubted he was anyone worth knowing.
A pale-complexioned female with hair flowing almost to her butt shook Fancy’s hand and said, “Don’t pay him any attention. He’s always that way.” Then she handed Fancy a check for seventy-five grand. The man started scanning the room when the woman who had just handed Fancy the check tapped him on the shoulder. “This is Darius Jones and my name is Ashlee Anderson.”
Fancy looked at her and smiled, trying not to choke. Couldn’t be. That couldn’t possibly be him. Fancy quickly responded to Darius, “Excuse me. Do you have a card?”
He looked down at Fancy and replied, “I’m highly visible but hardly accessible. I don’t even carry ID.”
Darius walked over to Byron and a small group of men. The other men damn near bowed to Darius, greeting him with wide smiles, handshakes, and pats on the back. Ashlee gave a sort of toot-a-loo grin and walked over to a group of women who started kissing up to her.
Damn, his ass was arrogant and fine. Fancy’s heart raced faster than her thoughts, wondering how she could get him to notice her the way she wanted him to. Fancy was amazed and perplexed at the same time. “Thanks for your generous contribution,” she whispered.
Was that woman his wife? She wasn’t wearing a ring.
Fancy walked over to a different group of men and listened to them ramble on about politics. Across the room she watched Darius closely, studying his confident mannerisms.
Byron eased beside her and whispered in Fancy’s ear, “Don’t even think about using those numbers. You’re mine.”
Fancy smiled as her heart throbbed, not for Byron, but she was no man’s fool. Fancy always had backup. If Byron didn’t screw up like all the rest, he had nothing to worry about. Except, Darius. Fancy decided at that moment, she would meet Mr. Jones again under more favorable circumstances.
At the end of the night, Fancy couldn’t believe she’d collected almost five hundred thousand dollars. That meant she had earned nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in one night. Damn. A few gigs a year like that one and Adam, Tony, and Steven could fuck each other.
“You did well,” Byron said. “So well, I want to take you to my place and celebrate.”
“I’d love to but not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I have to get up early.” Fancy lied, then said, “I promised my mother I’d go with her to Cache Creek. She loves that casino.”
“Well, tell your mother I said gambling is wasting money on someone else’s dream. Never gamble. Always invest. Remember that. Like you. You’re an investment.” Byron kissed Fancy on the cheek. “I’ll have my driver take you home. I’ll call you next week.”
Yeah, hopefully about her check. Fancy smiled and kissed Byron on the cheek, close to his ear. She kissed square on the jaw when it was innocent. She kissed close to the ear or lips when she wanted to send sexual undertones. At the moment her clit was riding her thong like a jockey on a racehorse.
Darius walked by with Ashlee, patted Byron on the shoulder, and said, “See ya at the crib in a few, man.”
Damn. She couldn’t change her mind without being obvious. The ride back to her place was a blur.
Shaking her from her thoughts the driver announced, “You’re home, Ms. Taylor.” Fancy glanced around the neighborhood and noticed Adam’s car parked across the street. She hurried to her door pretending she hadn’t noticed him since the driver waited for her to get inside. Adam banged on the door.
She jumped like he’d startled her. “Damn! What’s up with the banging?” Fancy asked, letting him in.
“Who was that? Why are you dressed up?” Adam asked.
Fancy wiggled her naked ring finger in front of his face, then unlocked the door. Adam proved having money didn’t always make the man. Although he owned a construction company, Adam often spent more hours on his job sites than his employees.
Fancy laid out the bath towels. Adam knew the routine. He showered. She showered and lotioned her body and slipped into her lingerie.
Leaning back on the down-feather pillows, she ran her hands over her feet. Adam shifted his eyes to the corner of his sockets and eyed her silver pole. Not tonight. In fact, not ever again. This was a new year and Fancy wasn’t starting any unwanted habits. She softly scratched her inner thighs. Her body ting
led. She parted her legs. Inserted her finger into her vagina. Tasted herself. Imagining she was fucking Darius, Fancy repeated the motion several times. Before turning on her vibrator, she let Adam suck her fingers. Fancy inserted the humming tip at the mouth of her vagina as Adam sucked the juices from her clit. Adam took control of the vibrator and massaged her G spot.
Fancy rotated her hips and moaned, “Oh, Adam. I want you. I want you to fuck me. Fuck your pussy, Adam.” For a moment, Fancy’s mind was like a puppet performing for a ventriloquist. Empty. She performed his song, “Adam. Adam. Oh, Adam,” as she ripped open Adam’s pants. Sat on his lap. Straddled him. Moved up and down on his dick now mimicking a puppet on a string. She glanced over at her clock. Adam would finish in about fifteen more minutes but five minutes would be better so Fancy said, “I’ve been a bad girl, Daddy! Spank me! Spank me until I cum all over your big hard dick.” Adam’s dick wasn’t nearly as big as his wallet. Each time Adam’s hand landed on her ass Fancy jumped and yelled, “Yes, Daddy!”
Please hurry up and handle your business so I can go to sleep, Fancy thought, but her lips said, “Oh, baby, you feel so good I can’t stop cumming. You’re the best big daddy.” Fancy moaned his name again. She grabbed the headboard and slammed her ass into Adam’s pelvis. Fancy switched positions. She mounted Adam and rode him fast, pressing and curving her shoulders, waist, and hips into every movement. “What’s my name!” she yelled, grinding harder. Cum on! Hurry up! Fancy bounced on his dick. Hurry—the—fuck—up! Fancy worked up a sweat. She worked Adam as fast as she could until he’d exhausted each of his three condoms. Pretending Adam had worn her out, Fancy collapsed on her bed.
Adam showered, then placed twenty one hundred dollar bills on her dresser. He kissed her forehead and said, “I love you, woman.” Fancy didn’t move, so Adam stumbled up several stairs into her foyer and out her front door.
Fancy grabbed the yellow Lysol can and began fumigating her room. She opened her patio window. Showered. Pampered herself with body oils and lotions. She sat on her vanity stool, tilted the mirror, and checked Miss Kitty. All was well—no irritations, redness, or swelling or abnormal discharge—so she snuggled under her covers, and gazed at the lake, fantasizing about Darius Jones until she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 7
SaVoy Edmonds best described herself in two words: Daddy’s girl. For two reasons: one, unlike some people who didn’t know their father, SaVoy never knew her mother. Secondly, she loved how her father spoiled her. Any man who wouldn’t treat SaVoy equal to or better than the way her father did would never share her heart, her mind, or her body.
SaVoy worked part-time cashiering at her daddy’s grocery store, and went to church every Sunday. Well, almost every Sunday. Most guys who knew she was a virgin practically auditioned to be her first lover, especially the ones at church. They couldn’t figure out why she was so happy about celibacy. But SaVoy read straight through them. They weren’t interested in her. They merely wanted bragging rights to pronounce their conquest.
Glad it was Wednesday and almost time for Tyronne to deliver her order, SaVoy smiled at the neighborhood regular customer when he walked up to her cash register with a bag of potato chips and an orange soda.
SaVoy opened her hand and said, “That’ll be two dollars and ten cents.”
He unfolded a roll of two twenties that covered about forty one-dollar bills. As he placed three singles in her palm he held on to SaVoy’s hand.
SaVoy frowned and pulled away. “Don’t do that.”
“Let a broth holla.”
“Why should I?”
He licked his lips and replied, “ ’Cause you look good. That’s why.”
“You think so?” SaVoy said, dropping his change in his hand.
He smiled and said, “Fo sho,” chasing her hand’s every move.
“Why?” SaVoy asked, knowing she wasn’t interested but curious to hear what he’d say. James wasn’t her type. He didn’t have a job. Wasn’t looking for a job. Always had lots of cash and he still lived at home with his mother.
He kept smiling and replied, “ ’Cause you get it from your mama? Hell, I don’t know, girl. So you gon’ give me the digits or what?”
SaVoy drew a letter C followed by a down stroke and ended with a period. He walked away singing his usual tune. “ ‘I’m gonna make you love me. Oh, yes I am . . .’ ”
SaVoy didn’t feel she was better than him or anyone else. She enjoyed trying to outthink everyone. Thinking was something SaVoy believed not enough people did. At least not very well.
Someday she’d meet a guy who was down to earth and down with her. SaVoy wanted to marry a black man who loved her. Not the facts that she looked white and was still a virgin. She loved black men. The way they sagged their pants. The way they dipped one hip lower than the other while walking. The way they articulated their words and wove slang throughout their sentences. She found most young black men were sharp. Intelligent. They could talk politics, sports, and play her favorite video games. SaVoy could beat any guy’s butt when it came to playing Madden football. With the Rams as her team she seldom lost a game. Papa had bought her the network adapter and ordered DSL so she could whip her opponents on-line from the convenience of their family room big screen TV.
The hum of Tyronne’s truck engine shutting off commanded her attention. SaVoy leaned over her counter and watched him unload six of the ten cases of sodas she’d ordered. He’d have to make a second trip for the remaining cases.
“Hey, you. What’s up?” Tyronne asked, opening the cooler.
SaVoy especially enjoyed whenever Tyronne stopped by the store to “shoot the shit,” as he said. If he agreed with her he’d nod real slow and say, “Jeah,” instead of yeah. Or if he asked her a question, and she responded incorrectly, Tyronne would say, “You’re fired!” and then he’d place his hand flat in front her face with his fingers spread wide apart. SaVoy intentionally got fired at least once a week.
“Nothing much. Just studying.” One more semester at San Francisco State University and SaVoy would complete her bachelor of arts courses.
Tyronne would be gentle. SaVoy could tell by watching how meticulously he stocked each soda, rhythmically twisting all the labels face out. His head bobbed like a song was playing inside. It didn’t matter that Tyronne hadn’t been to college. Tyronne had dreams. Big dreams! They sometimes dreamed together. He had an honest job so SaVoy made sure every week she placed an order with his company. And on his delivery day she insisted on working alone at the store.
Tyronne closed the cooler, rolled his dolly over to her register, and said, “You’re fired!”
“Why?” SaVoy asked, not caring. “I didn’t even do anything.” Tyronne had no idea how many times she’d wanted to kiss his hand. His lips. Ears. Neck. Tyronne aroused things inside her she’d never felt. Her nipples tingled. Her stomach churned. Her heart palpitated at the sound of his deep penetrating voice. Although SaVoy didn’t know much about sex, she felt like sexing Tyronne.
“Because your backpack is on the floor and it’s closed. So you can’t possibly be studying, woman.”
As Tyronne walked away SaVoy thought, Oh, yes I was. I was studying your muscular biceps, triceps, quads, hamstrings, and tight behind.
Tyronne never tried to impress her with what he had or what he was going to get. He didn’t seem to have much but he was thoughtful. Unlike her friend Fancy, the way SaVoy saw it, whatever material possessions Tyronne owned, belonged to him. She didn’t want it. If he cared to share, that was cool but that was his choice.
SaVoy’s dad always said, “If you can’t put it in your pocket and take it with you, don’t worry about it.” Made a lot of sense once she was old enough to understand. So she thought about Tyronne often when he wasn’t around but she didn’t worry about him.
She didn’t worry much about her mama, either. Daddy said, “You can’t miss what you never had.” SaVoy disagreed because she missed her mama. Especially when she saw other mother
s and daughters holding hands. Laughing. Shopping. Dining. She missed her mama on Mother’s Day. On their birthdays. So she said a special prayer every night hoping that God would someday answer. SaVoy didn’t know her mother’s birthday. Age. Nationality. She didn’t know if her mom was dead. Alive. Sick. Well. She wondered if her mom thought about her at all.
SaVoy couldn’t comprehend why her best friend Fancy disliked her mother so much. But she realized she wasn’t in Fancy’s position. Just seemed as though Fancy should’ve loved her mother while she could instead of hating her mother for what she didn’t do.
“Love. Love. Love,” SaVoy whispered as she wiped water from the conveyor belt. “The cemetery is no place to start loving anybody.” One day Fancy wouldn’t have a mother to hate or to love.
Tyronne returned with a floral bouquet filled with tulips: white, lilac, deep red, and yellow. “You got a stapler?”
“Sure,” SaVoy said, handing him the black stapler.
Tyronne took an Almond Joy, that he hadn’t paid for, from the candy rack and stapled it to a card that read “2 Remember the Times.” He handed her the flowers and said, “Peace. I’m out. See ya next week.”
SaVoy placed the card and the candy bar inside her backpack. Tyronne had never asked her to be his lady. Maybe he already had one, but if he did he never talked about her. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t have given her flowers.
SaVoy loved Papa. That’s what she called her daddy, and he called her Baby Girl. Tyronne was the first man, other than Papa, to give her flowers. Papa gave her flowers all the time. SaVoy was his only girl but she had an older brother, Samuel. They were ten years apart. Samuel came home every Easter and SaVoy visited them every Christmas. Samuel lived in Chicago with his wife and two kids.
Papa also said, “People will only do what you allow them to do.” He never said, “Baby Girl keep your panties up and your dress down.” Or “Don’t get pregnant.” Sure, they talked about sex. He said the choice was hers. But to remember that there would only be one first of anything in life and seldom would she have control over choosing someone to be first. Daddy emphasized how losing her virginity was special. He said, “It’s one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make, Baby Girl.”
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