Jessica Watkins Presents
Black Butterfly
Book 2 of the Black Burlesque Series
TIFFANY PATTERSON
Copyright © 2015 by Tiffany Patterson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Black Butterfly Playlist:
https://open.spotify.com/user/patters434/playlist/5mdbC7PwC4wwvappqjolRS
Chapter 1
“What brought you to burlesque?”
Jazmine bit her lip and ran her thumb across the tiny scar on top of the knuckle on her left pointer finger. Feeling the almost imperceptible abrasion reminded her of how far she had come in healing. It reminded her that she was a survivor. But, it also reminded her of the time in her life that ultimately brought her to burlesque. A time she rarely talked about with others.
Sitting under the spotlight of the camera in the dimly lit club with Shirley Bassey’s Diamonds Are Forever playing in the background, Jazmine thought about how the song matched the personality of Mistress Coco, owner of The Black Kitty, and reason she sat in the spotlight of the camera now. Lifting her brown eyes to meet the documentarian’s expectant gaze, Jazmine decided to give a simple answer to his question.
“I’ve always loved to dance and a few years back a friend took me to a show. I fell in love and decided to look up classes in my area. Now, here I am,” she responded with a lift of her shoulders. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the full truth.
“How nice. What’s your favorite part of doing burlesque?” Sean continued.
This was an easy answer for Jazmine. “That’s easy, the camaraderie. I’ve made some really great friends through performing. The Black Kitty has become like my second home because it feels like our own little family with the performers, Mistress Coco and even some of the regular audience members.” Jazmine’s full lips turned upwards in an effusive smile.
“Great, we have just a few more questions before we stop and set up so we can record your performance later tonight.”
“That’s my favorite part of the day,” Jazmine chuckled and winked teasingly.
For the next ten minutes, Jazmine answered Sean’s questions about her participation in burlesque. She was relieved when he stayed away from questions about her past or her life before burlesque. When the interview was over, Jazmine headed backstage to don her costume for tonight’s performance. Tonight she was introducing a new set. She would be performing to Michael Jackson’s Dirty Diana. Jazmine strolled down the long hallway of the Black Kitty towards the dressing room, dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans and a white v-neck. Over her shoulder was the strap of her bag that held her elaborate costume.
“Hey, girly how did the interview go?” Mistress Coco, owner of the Black Kitty asked as Jazmine passed her office.
Jazmine stopped, poking her head in Mistress Coco’s office. She briefly admired the walls that were adorned with famous burlesque performers of yesterday and today, including pictures of the club’s own performers, which included Jazmine. She loved that Mistress Coco took so much pride in showing off her “girls” as she referred to all her performers.
“It went well. Was only about twenty minutes. He’s going to record my performance tonight. Gotta make sure I make it memorable,” Jazmine joked.
“Oh, girl, if you weren’t memorable already there’s no way you’d have lasted in my club so long. Just give ‘em the show you always do.”
That was Mistress Coco, always supportive of her girls. She was tough and expected the best, but she was quick to give praise when it was deserved. Jazmine admired the five-foot-three, light caramel-complected woman who, though in her sixties, could easily be mistaken for someone twenty years younger, even with her silver hair.
“Thanks, Mistress Coco. I’ll remember that when I’m on stage,” Jazmine responded.
“You better. Now shoo. Go get ready,” Mistress Coco said, making a shooing motion with her hands.
“Okay, okay,” Jazmine responded, laughing and heading to the dressing room. Once inside, Jazmine stripped down to her thong. She covered her dark, chocolate-colored nipples that were a few shades darker than her own chestnut complexion, with a pair of black tasseled pasties, adorned in colorful rhinestones, and covered them with a black lace bra. Moving down, she slid a pair of black fishnets up her long, toned legs before stepping into her three-tiered Victorian style black skirt, and paired it with a ruffled white button-up shirt that she tucked in at the waist. After sliding on a pair of black four-inch stilettos, Jazmine examined her appearance in the full-length mirror. Once satisfied with her look, Jazmine placed a black masquerade mask over her eyes, latching it around her long Senegalese twists. She applied a generous amount of dark lipstick, but decided to forego any other type of makeup since she was wearing the mask.
Giving herself one last glance over in the mirror, she admired the small curves of her hips and bust. Curves she’d been ashamed of years before, even though by most she would be considered thin. Thinking of that time in her life, her gaze slid down to her knee where she could barely make out the scar that was mostly covered by her fishnets. She fluffed her skirt and smiled, getting rid of thoughts of the past. Right now it was time to perform!
****
“All right! All right! All right! Y’all having a good time tonight!?!” Mistress Coco’s raspy voice boomed through the speakers around the club.
The audience clapped and cheered.
“Good!” she said in approval of their reaction. “Next to the stage, we have the illuminatingly illustrious...the tantalizingly sexy….and the raucous applause worthy...Jazmine Nooiiir!!!” Mistress Coco departed the stage as the audience cheered, leaving room for Jazmine to make her entrance.
The audience revved up as the opening chords began playing, and Jazmine stepped onto the stage. She moved slowly at first, crossing the stage, languidly letting her skirt drag across the hardwood.
Seconds later when Michael Jackson’s voice began, Jazmine moved her hands to the top buttons of her shirt, and deftly undid the top two. She rotated her hips to the beat of the music, dipping her head and whipping her twists as the crescendo of the music built. Lifting her head back up, she spun around towards the other side of the stage.
The audience oohed and ahhed at her ability to spin and move so gracefully without getting dizzy. She stopped just at the edge of the stage, and the audience gasped, fearful she’d topple off the edge, but Jazmine simply smiled mischievously. She knew better. Years of training taught her to be aware of her positioning on any stage. Even when she couldn’t see the edge, she knew where it was.
Jazmine finally undid the bottom buttons of her top, removing it and spinning it above her head while rotating her hips. She tossed the shirt to the side, moving back to the middle of the stage and placed her hands on the button of her skirt. The audience reacted approvingly with stomps and claps as she continued to tease them. She turned her back to the audience, wound her hips as she completely undid her skirt button, and slowly tugged it down her hips and thighs, finally letting it drop to the stage. She stood up, dressed now in only her black thongs and bra. She dropped to the stage floor on her knees, pumping her hips and whipping her twists to and fro. As her departing move, she undid the front clasp of her bra, stripping down to her pasties, giving the audience one final shimmy and letting the tassels of her pasties twirl before she departed the stage.
“He
ll of a performance tonight, Stace.”
Jazmine looked up to see Devyn, also known as Black Pearl at the club, enter the dressing room about fifteen minutes after Jazmine’s performance. Since becoming friends with Devyn and her best friend, Mercedes, outside of the club, the women now often referred to each other by their actual names instead of their stage names.
“Thanks, Dev. You weren’t looking too bad yourself,” Stacey complimented as she pulled Devyn in for an embrace.
“Thank you. And before I forget, you’re coming to the barbecue next weekend right?”
Stacey nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I can’t wait to see Mercedes,” Stacey said, referring to their friend who’d recently married and spent her entire summer in her new husband’s native country of Brazil. Stacey had performed at the same club with Devyn and Mercedes for years, but only within the last year had they developed a deeper friendship outside of the club.
“Me either. Andre should be back from all his traveling this summer too, so the whole family will be back in Atlanta after a busy summer,” Devyn said. Andre was Devyn’s brother-in-law and former boss. Apparently, he’d had a busy summer traveling for work. Stacey met Andre at Mercedes’ wedding.
“Oh, really. That’s nice,” was all she said, not able to think of anything else. She hoped Devyn hadn’t picked up on the slight hitch of her voice at the mention of Andre Collins. She’d only met him once at Mercedes’ wedding, but he’d left an impression. An image of a pair of cerulean eyes that, while holding a hint of laughter could also give the impression of reaching down to her very soul, passed through Stacey’s mind.
For his part, Andre had been cordial, yet standoffish, though Stacey suspected he may have felt the pull as well. There were a few occasions when she had turned and found his gaze on her. But since he’d had a date—one that had clung to him like a second skin throughout the reception—Stacey figured he was taken, making him off limits.
“All right, well great. I’m glad you’re coming. Are you gonna stick around for the rest of the performances?” Devyn asked.
“Yup. You know I love seeing everyone do their thing.” Stacey forced thoughts of Devyn’s brother-in-law out of her mind. Despite trying to direct her attention to thinking of the remaining performances that night, she still couldn’t fully ignore the slight giddiness she felt just thinking of seeing Andre Collins again.
Chapter 2
Maria sat up on her knees, putting her small, yet perky, alabaster breasts on full display.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” she purred, attempting to unbuckle Andre’s Ralph Lauren belt and pull him back in bed.
Andre ran his gaze down the long, dark-haired vixen. She was beautiful, no doubt, but it was time to go.
“No can do, sweetheart. You know the rule. No over—”
“—night stays. Yeah, I remember,” Maria pouted, plopping back down on her king-sized bed.
Andre was just barely able to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He and Maria had had a thing off and on for a few years now. Whenever they weren’t seeing anyone, and they were in each other’s city or needed a date for an event, they hooked up. He’d been working hard for the past week and had found himself in need of some female company. Tonight, after his final meeting of the day, he’d called Maria and asked her out to dinner, which she happily agreed to. After dinner, they’d gone back to her place and indulged in a few rounds of adult activity.
Andre had fun, but that’s all it was. He didn’t do overnights with any woman, and Maria knew that. He looked down into those hazel eyes and pouty lips, which would make most men quiver, but Andre wasn’t most men. He wouldn’t be bogarted into a relationship with anyone.
“I was just thinking that maybe you could…” she trailed off.
Andre paused buttoning his shirt to look down at her skeptically. “Could what?” he asked lifting a dark eyebrow.
“You could spend the night. Have breakfast with me tomorrow morning. You know, like real couples do,” she said hopefully, rising to kneel in front of him again and letting the five hundred thread count sheets fall from her body. She tried reaching for Andre but he stepped back, shaking his head.
“No, you know the agreement. I…don’t…do...overnights,” he said sternly. He slid his foot into his Steve Maddens and began heading to the door with barely a backwards glance. He felt his jaw tick as his frustration increased. Lately, Maria had been demanding more and more of him whenever they saw each other. It was the reason he’d avoided calling her until today although he’d been in Boston for the past week.
“Will I see you before you leave, at least?” she asked.
Her voice sounded too close to a whine for Andre’s comfort. He turned and looked back at her still kneeling in the center of the bed, naked. He saw the hopeful look in her eye, but he was not swayed. She was a nice girl and all, and they’d had fun in and out of bed, but Andre remained undeterred.
“Maybe. I’ll call you,” he said before turning and walking out of her bedroom, down her spiral staircase, and out the door of her tenth floor luxury condo.
When he reached his hotel suite at the Boston Harbor Hotel, he kicked off his shoes and undressed to take a quick shower before settling in to review some work documents. He’d been in meetings all week with a mid-size finance company trying to negotiate the terms of an acquisition. As Chief Financial Officer of Excel Financial Corporation, the financial services company his father started going on more than thirty years ago, Andre often worked long hours and could be very type-A when it came to making sure all the I's were dotted, and all the T’s were crossed in the paperwork. He’d been working on closing this deal for months now and he felt it was in his grasp. As he opened his laptop and settled in at the desk in his suite, he pulled up the financial reports he’d been pouring over for months. He wanted to get in one last look before bed, so he could go into the next day’s meetings fresh and prepared.
Looking over the financial reports, all thoughts and annoyance with Maria’s latest attempt to elevate their relationship status, became an afterthought.
****
Andre stepped into the downtown office he was using for the week. Excel owned a satellite office in Boston due to the company’s growing business dealings in the Northeast.
“Thanks, Margaret,” he said as the older receptionist brought him his morning coffee. He’d made it into the office just before eight to review more documents and prepare for his meetings.
“You’re welcome. I’ll buzz you around nine. I know how you can lose track of time,” she told him smiling.
“Hey, Margaret, let’s say you dump that husband of yours and run away with me to Atlanta so you can be my assistant,” he said wiggling his eyebrows. He’d gone through three different assistants in the last few years ever since his now sister-in-law quit after marrying his brother, and giving birth to his nephews. Most days he was happy to have gained Devyn as a sister, but it’d been difficult finding an executive assistant who worked as well with him as she did.
Margaret giggled. “I don’t think Richard would go for that. Or my kids.”
“Bah,” Andre waved her comment off. “You’ll get to look at my handsome face every day. That will surely make up for any loss in family ties,” he joked.
Margaret shook her head. “I can see how so many young women find themselves in trouble over the likes of you, Mr. Collins,” she smiled.
He laughed. “What’s life without a little bit of trouble? And you know to call me Andre.”
“Okay, Andre. I’m going now. I’ll buzz you in a half an hour,” she said, turning to leave, a big grin still on her face.
Andre knew the effect he had on women, even women who were much older and married. At six-foot-two with piercing blue eyes, dark hair, a muscled frame from regular workouts, a year round tan from his mother’s Mediterranean heritage and the short beard he’d recently grown out, he saw the double takes he often got from women. Luckily, this was a burden he w
as all too happy to carry. He enjoyed women’s company just as much as they enjoyed his—that is, when they weren’t looking to get involved beyond a casual affair.
Andre checked the time on his Cartier Roadster before returning his attention to the papers on his desk, taking one last look at his documents before going into the meeting. He knew these forms would be the key to finally settling the acquisition.
“Hey, Nik, what’s up?” Andre asked, answering his cell phone about twenty minutes later.
“Hey, Dre, just checking in. How’s it going in Boston?” Andre’s older brother, Nikola asked.
“All’s fine on the western front. I have another meeting this morning with Jennings. This should be the last one before I get back to Atlanta,” Andre said in reference to the meeting he’d been preparing for when Nikola called.
“Good, so that means you’ll be back in town for the Labor Day barbecue, right? Mama’s been nagging me about all the traveling you’ve been doing this summer.”
“Well, since your slacker ass got married and had a family, someone has to make sure the family company doesn’t go belly up,” Andre joked.
“Haha, very funny. Just make sure you have your ass back here by this weekend for the barbecue. Speaking of which, are you bringing anyone?”
Andre paused, wondering where this question was coming from. Nikola knew Andre frequently dated, but he rarely inquired about his romantic life. He began to wonder if their mother, Iris, hadn’t set Nikola up to ask the question.
“What’s it to you?” he asked instead of responding to Nikola’s question.
“Well, you are in Boston, and you’ve been seeing Maria off and on for a while now,” Nikola let his statement hang in the air, waiting for Andre to jump in.
Andre snorted, “Whatever, bro. Since you and Raul got married, it’s like you both are conspiring with mama to see me down the altar. Not...gonna…happen,” Andre insisted.
Black Butterfly, Book 3 of the Black Burlesque Series Page 1
