“Bastard,” I whispered to myself. Then my eyes closed, and I waited for the next day.
An hour before leaving for the airport, I picked up the phone to call Daddy. I wanted him to know that I’d be there to see him on Friday.
“What the—” I didn’t have a dial tone. “Shit.”
What a time for BellSouth to act like I was the only customer coming up short. I mailed out the check on Friday, which meant they’d get it today, Monday.
Suddenly my fury cooled into a smile. The phone was probably disconnected the day before, which would explain why I hadn’t heard from Tremel. I had only given him my home number.
In retrospect, if I wasn’t so proud and had picked up the phone to call him, I would’ve known. He may have even tried to come over, but with the hell I raised about Damian never being able to enter the building, security wasn’t letting anyone up before talking to me.
“What an idiot,” I said to myself. I looked at the clock and wondered if I had time to quickly stop by the school and say hi, but once I pulled onto the crowded highway, I knew that I couldn’t make it there without missing my flight.
Walking through the Fort Lauderdale airport, I didn’t give much thought to what was ahead of me. It hit me when I sat down in my coach seat—This venture wasn’t a regular business trip. I wasn’t traveling for WBIG and attending a concert or doing an interview. I was about to have sex with men for money—not just any men—pastors.
After this I’d probably never see a church again, not until they rolled me in on the big day. This deed was sure to send me straight to hell, no lines, no waiting.
“Sarai?” A woman walked up to the row where I was sitting.
When I looked up, I was lost for words. “Cherry?”
She was drop-dead gorgeous, light-skinned and not very tall, but thin, with long, curly hair and succulent lips that even a woman would fantasize about.
“Hi. How are you?” I extended my hand.
“I’m fine.” She leaned over and touched my weave. “I love your hair.” Running her fingers through my layered look, she winked at me. “Very chic.”
I couldn’t stop looking at her lips. “Thank you.”
If all of the other Elite girls looked like Cherry, I’d probably only make enough money to buy myself a Vanilla Coke and a smile. She was wearing a professional navy blue skirt suit. I quickly compared it to my beige slacks and plain white dress shirt and felt as though we weren’t going to the same meeting.
During the flight, Cherry’s mouth didn’t stop. She told me everything about her. Her real name was Yolanda Miller. She was a professional dancer and the choreographer for a local R&B girl group, which was about to get signed to a major label. Cherry, twenty-nine, had been working for Conrad for five years. She owned her own house, a BMW, and a Benz.
She didn’t offer me any excuses for why she was in the Elite, and I was glad. I didn’t want to have to explain my reasons.
However, she advised me about what to do, telling me never to let my two worlds collide. She said, “When you’re not working, don’t think of yourself as that woman, and when you’re working, don’t think of nothing but that woman.”
By the time we landed, I was feeling like what we were about to do was natural, empowering, and something we should be praised for. Conrad had her mind all jacked up, and she had me halfway there. I felt comfortable with Cherry. We exchanged numbers and promised that we’d hang out when we were back in Miami.
We were off the plane, in and out of the car, and knocking on Judy’s hotel room door by 7:00. Judy was an older woman who had too much attitude. It was probably because she was envious of us, since her body was 2000 miles away from being a moneymaker. There were four other girls in the room, and none of them was as friendly or nearly as pretty as Cherry or me.
When I settled into my room, I searched for my cell phone like a crackhead looking for a rock. I emptied everything from my purse. I needed to place a call, and nothing but death would stop me. “Eureka,” I whispered as I saw the silver flip phone.
The next thing I heard was Mel’s sexy baritone voice. “Hello?”
I couldn’t believe the smile on my face. “Hello there.”
“Sarai?”
“Yes. Hi.” I contained myself. “How are you?”
“I’m doing all right.” He sounded happy to hear from me. “I tried calling you and saw that you were having technical difficulties.”
I was a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, BellSouth is no joke.” I offered clarification. “I sent them a check on Friday, but I guess—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Believe me, I know.” Then he added, “Why do you think I don’t have a phone?” We both laughed.
“So how did the interview go?”
For a split second, I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t have a lie ready. “Well, that’s not until tomorrow.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.” Being deceitful wasn’t something I liked. “I’ll need it.”
“So you’ll be moving up there if you get it, right?”
“Yeah.”
He went quiet. “Then maybe I shouldn’t be wishing you good luck.”
“Maybe.” I jumped when the hotel line started ringing. “I better get that.”
He said, “Is this your cell phone number on the caller ID?”
“Yes.”
“May I use it?”
“Of course you can,” I answered.
“Cool,” he said. “Have a good night.”
“Thank you.” He had no clue what type of night I was going to have, and neither did I. “Bye.”
It was Stefani on the phone. She informed me that I had two hours to get myself together because at 11:00 I’d have a visitor. The ultimate rule was that the man had five hours or one “door slam,” meaning that once in my room, he had five hours with me. However, if he spent thirty minutes with me then needed to leave, when the door slammed, his time was up.
The guy who was coming up wanted to be called Henry. He was in his late fifties and was originally from Charlotte, North Carolina.
I took a shower and ordered a bottle of wine, in an effort to prepare myself. This Henry person was freaking me out, and I hadn’t even seen him. I did my makeup, oiled myself down in some smelly good stuff, then couldn’t decide what to put on, or if I needed to put anything on.
I drank the entire bottle of wine and decided that it really didn’t matter. There was no need to waste an outfit. He knew why he was coming here, so I jumped into some black spiked heels and skimpy, see-through lingerie.
Henry wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but I could tell that he was old. He was tall, slender, well-kept, had graying hair, and was very polite. After he introduced himself, I told him that my name was Sassy.
The first twenty minutes were awkward. He sat on the bed and I at the table.
I lied about everything; this was business, not pleasure. We could only dilly-dally around the real reason he was there for so long.
I took control. I licked my lips and winked. “So what do you want to do tonight?”
“Come over here and find out.” He stood up and started unbuckling his pants. “Get on your knees, Sassy.”
I made my way down to the floor. I helped him with his pants and boxers. When I saw what the old man was working with, it made me want to testify. Brotha pastor had it going on. “Very nice,” I said as I stroked him. “Very nice.”
“Show me how nice it is,” he said.
I wet my lips and gave him a few wet kisses before fully taking him in.
Henry was as quiet as a church mouse, but his body language spoke volumes. With his hands on my head, he thrust into my mouth and I felt him grow even harder atop my tongue.
When the time was right, I reached for a condom and started riding him like I grew up on a Texas ranch.
Henry left my room after four in the morning. He must’ve been popping super-strength Viagra because he never showed signs
of exhaustion, and he crawled back on top of me every twenty minutes.
During my entire stay in Richmond, I slept with four men. I was glad that things happened quickly because, had I stopped to think, I would’ve lost out on something I had my mind set on doing—paying Daddy’s nursing home for another four months.
I made $5,600 in just four days. My checking account could finally breathe a comfortable breath of relief. Cherry was right. This was an empowering position. In less than a week, I had just made a quarter of what many people make in a year.
On Friday it took me several hours to get to Dover from Richmond. Seeing the Welcome to Delaware sign reminded me of the best thing about the state, no sales tax. Once I hit the dull, old and dreary town, I headed straight to Concord Nursing Home, where I found my father sleeping.
I stared at him for a while and pretended that he was still the man he used to be. I talked to him, rubbed his head and his bony body. He used to seem so much taller in his younger years. Lying in the bed, he looked like he went from being a buck twenty-five to just ninety-five cents.
I wanted to take him to Miami with me, not leave him in the home. But instead, I walked to the administration desk and took care of his stay for another four months. As I forked over the check, I knew that my father would die if he knew what I was doing just to keep him in a decent place.
When I got back to the room, his eyes were open. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do or say. When he smiled at me, I smiled back and walked over.
“You came back,” he said.
“Yes, I told you I would.”
“What did you do with all of that candy I gave you?”
I had no clue what he was talking about, but I went on with it. “I gave it to some children that were playing outside.” I was close enough to touch him, and when I did, he held my hand.
We talked about nothing for hours, laughed at television, and ate.
When it got late, I was asked to leave, but I promised him I’d be back the next day, although I knew it meant another painful goodbye. I kissed him and told him that I loved him. I repeated my name a million times, hoping that somehow he’d remember me the next time I called. “I love you more than life, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Sarai,” he said as my fingers slipped from his hands.
I cried all the way to the Richmond airport. I wasn’t surprised that my eyes were red and puffy. I felt terrible about not being at least in the same state with my father. However, I was happy that I didn’t have to watch him deteriorate on a daily basis.
During my plane ride, I tried to be optimistic, thinking of the positive things that Daddy and I did together: tic-tac-toe, telling a few jokes, and we even sang a song that he still knew the words to.
I was walking through the Fort Lauderdale airport dazed, not remembering where the baggage claim area was and not seeing anyone from my flight that I could follow. In the distance, I spotted someone I thought I recognized.
As I got closer, I was smiling. “What are you doing here?” I asked Tremel. I had called him in tears the night before, when I left Daddy at Concord and checked into a local hotel.
“I know you don’t need a ride, but I figured you might need a hug,” he said as he walked toward me with his arms open.
“Thank you.” I buried my head into his chest. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.” He grabbed my hands. “Now, please tell me you didn’t get the job.”
I smiled. “The interview sucked.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” He embraced me tightly. His touch didn’t feel new. It felt as though we had been doing this every day for years.
I hated letting him go, but us walking hand in hand to the baggage claim area was remedy enough.
After we found my black suitcase in the sea of two thousand others, Tremel asked me to follow him to Dave and Busters.
We had a ball. We played tons of games, won a few prizes, and ate some of the best chicken fried outside of Nat’s kitchen.
Later that night we agreed to make it a Blockbuster night.
When we left the store, Tremel needed to stop and get gas, and I continued on to my apartment to get the popcorn popping. I told security that I was expecting someone and just to let him up.
I was in my room, starting to unpack, when along with that beautiful, buttery smell was Damian waltzing into my room.
“What are you doing?” I walked toward him and passed him to get back out into the living room, a safe area. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Sarai. It’s nice to see you too.”
“Hi.” I kept moving, not wanting him to know how afraid I was. “Did I forget to pack something of yours?”
“Naw. I just thought I’d stop by and check you out.”
I grew balls. “Or are you here to check up on me?”
“Maybe.” He looked me up and down. “You look real nice.”
“Thanks.” I was nervous. “But I need you to leave.”
“Why? You told them to let me up. You even left the door open for me.”
“No, I didn’t.” I walked over to the door. “Please leave.”
“Don’t you think it’s about time we sat down and talked this shit out?” He walked toward me. “We can work this out.”
“No, we can’t.” I looked away from him, my voice shaking. “Damian, you just can’t show up to my place like this.”
He got angry. “Why—you got company?” He began walking through the apartment. “Who’s in here?” He went from room to room.
“Damian,” I yelled as I unlocked the front door and turned the knob, leaving it open a quarter of an inch like I had before for Tremel, “you can’t stay. I’ll call the police.”
“Fuck the police. You’re not calling nobody.” He walked into the living room and pulled me against him. “Don’t you want some of Dwayne tonight?” He had a grip on me that I couldn’t get out of. He tried kissing me as I squirmed and squealed.
“Stop it, Damian. You’re hurting me.”
“Didn’t you like me to be rough with you?” He pushed me against the wall by the door.
As I screamed, “Stop,” the door flew open.
Tremel walked in. “Whoa! What in the hell is going on?”
Damian looked like he saw a ghost. “Who are you?”
“Are you all right?” Tremel looked at me and handed me the items in his hand like he was ready to crack some skulls.
I just stared at him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I was shaken up. “Tremel, this is my ex, Damian. Damian, this is Tremel.”
Tremel asked Damian, “Why are you here?” He looked him up and down.
“Sarai didn’t tell you that she had a man?” Damian asked.
“Damian, get the hell out of here,” I yelled. “Just leave me alone.”
Although Tremel was there, I was still scared. Damian had been calling me, telling me what he’d do to me if he found out that I was seeing someone.
“Please just leave me alone.” I was crying.
Tremel opened the door. “I think she just did.”
“So who the fuck you supposed to be, Tremel?” Damian was in his face.
I saw every muscle in Mel’s face tighten as he clinched his fists. “We’re friends.” He spoke like he wanted to say or do a lot more. “You have a problem with that?”
Damian ignored Mel’s question and looked over at me. “When you’re sick of having a fuckin’ friend and you want a man in your life again, holla.”
When he walked out the door, Tremel closed and locked all of the latches. “Are you all right?” His hands ran down my back.
“Yeah.” I wiped my eyes. “I’m okay.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “You came in at the right time.”
Tremel was upset for a while.
I laid my head on his chest, and I could feel his heart pounding away.
“How in hell d
id he get in here?”
“I told security that I was expecting someone and just to let him up. I left the door unlocked because I knew you’d only be a few minutes behind me.” I paused. “I was in the room unpacking and he walked in.”
He pulled me even closer. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself tonight.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said.
He looked down into my face and spoke slowly. “I’m not leaving you.”
With my hands around his neck, his stare intensified, and he lowered his lips to mine. My eyes were closed. He unlocked the gates, my lips parted, and our lips touched for the first time since our first kiss.
I took his tongue and made it a part of me. I caressed it between my lips and gave him mine again and again.
Tremel and I stayed up until 4:00 watching movies. Sitting on the couch eating popcorn, I nestled myself in his arms, but as I grew tired, my head fell to his lap, and I covered myself with a blanket.
We fell asleep just as we were.
Over the next five weeks, Tremel and I couldn’t stay away from each other. I delivered lunch to both him and Nat at the school at least three times a week. He was at my apartment every other night and slept over every Saturday night.
As bad as I wanted him in my bed, Tremel insisted on sleeping on the couch. He stayed in my bed long enough to watch me fall asleep, but nothing more. However, our kisses were getting more and more passionate. Like a volcano waiting to erupt, my lava was boiling.
Mrs. White didn’t like Tremel staying out late, saying that her front door shouldn’t be opened after 9:00. To appease her, we obeyed her commandment. So, for two weeks, Tremel was in Mrs. White’s house before 9:00. We laughed about it—I was dating a man who had a curfew. I felt like we were 15 years old.
We followed her guidelines not only out of the respect he had for her and her household, but also because he was living rent-free. It also made sense for him to be there on weeknights because the school was only a block away, versus him getting up at 5:30 in the morning to battle his way north in traffic from my place.
Going Broke Page 15
