Going Broke

by Trista Russell

  On Thursday as I cleaned, I stumbled upon the safe in my closet and found the camera and three rolls of film I stole when I left Norman’s hotel room in Atlanta. Quickly I wondered what the pictures looked like. For a moment, I wondered what Norman’s real intentions were, who the other guy was, and how many times they had done what they did to other girls. Call me foolish, but I wanted to see the pictures.

  I jumped in my truck and didn’t stop until I was thirty minutes south, in Kendall, in front of Will’s house. William Tout, a gay white photographer I met in college, was a good friend of mine. Seeing some of the pictures he took and developed in his personal darkroom, I knew that my shots would be just another walk in the park for him.

  “So what’s on these rolls, missy?” he asked as I handed him the envelope.

  “You’ll see.” I grinned. “But this stays between you and me, Will.”

  “Honey, I do more than gossip with these lips,” he joked. “When do you want them back?”

  “When do you think you can have them ready?”

  “In the morning, if George doesn’t come over tonight.”

  “And if he comes over?”

  “Then next week.” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ll have them tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged him.

  He waved his finger from left to right and left again. “I’m not charging you since I know that you’re broke and shit, but you will be getting black and whites.”

  “No problem.” I kissed him on the cheek and left.

  He was ready to get into my business. He couldn’t help it.

  Before I even pulled back into my apartment complex, my phone was ringing.

  “You nasty bitch,” Will said. “I am so jealous of you.”

  “Why?”

  “I only have two done right now, but they look great.”

  “Which two?”

  “Let’s just say you have a mouthful.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “They get much worse.”

  “One question—does he have a brother?”

  “You are such a tramp. What about George?”

  “I’m sick of Italian sausage. I think it’s time for a long, fat, juicy African treat,” he joked.

  I was about to throw up on my steering wheel. “Can you see my face in those two pictures?”

  “Yes. But honey, I know that you aren’t married.” He paused. “However, your friend needs to know that if he wants to be in pictures he should remove his wedding band, because a broke bitch like you might try to find his wife and sell these pictures to her to use against him in court.” He laughed. “I’ll have them ready tomorrow. I just had to call you and tell you what a sexy slut you are.”

  “Thanks.” A light bulb went off in my head. “I’ll pick them up tomorrow,” I said. “Talk to you later, sweetie.”

  “All right.” He hung up.

  Will had turned on an idea that I immediately began to work over in my mind. I sat in my truck for about fifteen minutes, figuring out exactly how I was going to make Elite work for me.

  I had made all the arrangements for the Elite girls to attend the ending of the Black Businessmen of America Association convention being held in Trenton, New Jersey this week. This was a big event. Thirty girls were set to arrive in Trenton the next day, which was Friday. I knew who would be with whom and at what time. I had all of the men’s real names, hotel information, aliases, profiles created by Stefani, and their credit card information, which included their home billing addresses. I had everything I needed to put some money in my pocket and help some of these men’s wives walk away from their men financially fat.

  That’s right, I was about to unleash havoc on the Elite. “In your face, Conrad.” I smiled as I looked at the camera.

  I ran upstairs and used my site to plan my own trip. I was going to New Jersey the next afternoon to bring the pain.

  I did a few loads of laundry and started packing.

  Tremel walked in. “Whoa,” he said. “Where are you going?”

  “To see Daddy,” I lied.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, a mild asthma attack,” I said. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon. I’m flying into New Jersey. Everything else was costing way too much.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t have to be hospitalized.” I actually did call Daddy. “But I just want to be sure that everything is okay.”

  “How did he sound?”

  “He sounded all right, but I just want to check him out, just to be certain.”

  “And you have to go tomorrow?”

  “Tremel, I want to see him. I’ll be with you and your family during the Thanksgiving holiday, but Daddy will be all by himself. I know it’s short notice, but I really want to be sure that he’s all right.”

  “Okay, I feel you.” He sat next to my suitcase on the bed. “I guess I can’t keep you to myself all the time.”

  “Aw, you’re gonna miss me.” I smiled. “I’ll be back on Monday.”

  He picked me up around the waist and rested me on the bed. “I can’t wait until Monday.”

  For the next two hours, I thought of nothing, while Tremel put a move on my heart.

  When we made love, it was more than just two bodies pressed up against each other. We were connected in every way; I could feel his inner man. He was the kind of lover that made a woman think there wasn’t another man on the planet like hers. Whenever Tremel and I made love one thing was always certain—at the end I was in tears, not from physical pain or emotional angst, but tears of the purest joy.

  In Trenton, I checked into the hotel and rushed to my room to get set for the big weekend. All weekend I wore baggy clothing, ponytails, glasses, hats, and anything else I could find to alter my appearance.

  On the first night I strolled into the lounge with the camera and immediately befriended Javier, a young Latin guy. Javier had no clue that he was a part of a well-conceived plan. It was falling in line too easily.

  After a few drinks, I told him that I was a photographer at a fashion magazine based in Miami and asked him if he was a model. I acted completely flabbergasted when he said that he wasn’t. I pretended to be intrigued by his style and told him how I knew someone that was searching for a model with his look.

  I convinced Javier that I was vacationing in Trenton and didn’t have my professional equipment, but would love to take photos of him with my regular camera. I told him that I’d see to it that the right people saw the pictures and he’d be receiving a call.

  Javier jumped at the deal.

  While he posed, I pretended to be focusing on him, but his surroundings were really getting all of the attention. The zoom lens was a marvel. I had close-ups of the Elite girls and their men kissing, touching, bumping and grinding on the dance floor. I knew who each girl was by the pictures on their profiles on my computer at home, and it would be a cinch to go look up the man I had scheduled her to be with.

  I told Javier that I wanted some other shots of him, and he decided on the pool. It was pure genius; this guy was in my head. The poolside was Black Businessmen paradise. They were everywhere, and had no shame as they partied with girls young enough to be their daughters or, in some cases, granddaughters.

  Javier was acting like he had hit the rollover lottery with me. He even bought me a few drinks. The poor soul didn’t even know that in most shots I only got his arm, the top of his head, or his kneecap, but there was big money to be made in the things going on in the background.

  Javier and I went to the eighth floor, where the girls were staying.

  I had him stand by an artificial tree next to the elevator. I snapped shots of men holding hands with their girls as they stepped off. The elevator doors opened up with not only girls wiping their mouths, fixing their dresses and hair, but also with men patting napkins to their mouths and zipping up their pants.

  On Monday morning, I flew back to Miami with nine rolls of film. Four guys believed that they’d be hea
ring from a modeling agency within the next seventy-two hours—Error!

  I drove from the airport to Will’s house. Without giving too much information, I promised him two thousand dollars to develop the pictures and not speak a word of them to anyone.

  I got home and researched on my computer. Jackpot! Everything was at my fingertips—phone numbers, addresses, and most importantly, names.

  Tremel walked in.

  “Hi, honey,” I said from the living room as I approached him.

  “Hey.” He wasn’t as enthusiastic as I imagined he’d be.

  I grabbed his hand. “How have you been?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I could tell that something was wrong.

  “How is your father?” He let go of my hand and walked to the kitchen.

  “He’s okay.”

  “He’s okay, huh?”

  “Yeah.” This was the trip where I really hadn’t done anything wrong. “Why?”

  “Nothing.” He opened the refrigerator and poured milk into a glass.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Sarai.” He looked at me for the first time since walking into the apartment.

  “Tremel, what’s wrong?” I regretted lying to him. “Why are you giving me attitude?”

  “Attitude?” he asked. “I’m not giving you attitude. I just asked how your father was doing.”

  “But why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Probably because the nursing home called here early this morning looking for you,” he said calmly.

  “Oh my God.” My heartbeat was off the chart. “What happened? What did they say?”

  “You tell me, Sarai.” He raised his voice at me for the first time since I’d known him. “Where were you?”

  I was speechless. “I told you where I was.”

  “Please don’t lie to me.” He looked at me with eyes I knew needed to know the truth. He begged me. “Please tell me the truth.”

  I still wasn’t giving it up. “What did they say when they called?”

  “It was a Nurse Gray. She said that it was an emergency. She also said that you needed to call her and oh, she said that she hadn’t seen you in a while.” Then he repeated, “She hasn’t seen you in a while.” He got closer to me. “Tell me where you were.”

  I dialed the number to the nursing home on the speakerphone, while Tremel stared at me. “Hello, may I please speak with Nurse Gray?” She had never called me before. I just hoped that everything was okay. I was shaking by the time she picked up the phone. “Nurse Gray, this is Sarai Emery. Did you call me? Is everything okay?”

  “Ah yes, Sarai,” she said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I rushed. “Is my father all right?”

  “Oh yes, he’s doing great.”

  “Okay. Was there a reason you called?”

  “Yes, it seems that every time you come to town to see him, I’m off. I haven’t seen you in quite a while. The only reason I knew that you were here this weekend is because I was processing the check that you left, but you forgot to put your driver’s license number on it.” She continued, “I can’t put the payment through without it.”

  “Oh, okay, hold a sec. Let me get it.” I grabbed my purse and fished through it.

  I did visit my dad on Sunday. I drove from Trenton to Dover, 160 miles roundtrip. I spent four hours with him and paid for another two months, so he was good until March.

  I returned to the phone and gave Nurse Gray what she needed. “Anything else?”

  “No, darling,” she said. “Just call me the next time you’re coming so that I can plan to see you.”

  “I will.” I pressed the speaker button off.

  Tremel was quiet. He had the word embarrassed written all over his handsome face.

  I made a move to leave the kitchen, but he reached for my hand and pulled me over to him. “Oops,” he said.

  “Where did you think I was?” I punched him on his arm gently.

  He smiled a little. “You weren’t here.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully and said, “You owe me fifty apologies.”

  As I looked at the tiled floor, he lifted my head with his hand beneath my chin.

  “I just missed you.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “I’m sorry.” He slid his mouth down to my neck. “I jumped to conclusions.” Tremel lifted my shirt above my head. “I was wrong.”

  My bra was unhooked next, and I watched it fall to the floor.

  “I just allowed my mind to over-think.”

  His fingertips roamed my hills and valleys, and I allowed my body to enjoy his touch.

  “I was dead wrong, baby.”

  He unbuckled my pants and pushed them toward the ground. “I apologize.”

  He didn’t remove my panties, but he picked me up, laid me on the dining room table, where he pulled my thong to the side and I became his five-course meal. He penetrated me with his tongue, and I trembled.

  “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he said.

  We moved to the loveseat, where he gave himself to me for dessert. I was facing him, as I lowered my body to him and wrapped my hands around his neck. I felt him within me, as I softly bounced up and down on him.

  “Do you accept my apology?” he asked, his hands on my waist.

  “No,” I said as I grinded myself into him.

  “You don’t?”

  I shook my head from side to side. “Nope.”

  Tremel suddenly stood up and lifted me, putting my back against the wall. As he slid more of himself in, he looked me in the face. “So you’re never going to forgive me?”

  I wrapped my legs around him and looked into his eyes. “Why should I?”

  He began poking me hard and fast.

  “Shit.” I thought I had died and gone to some sort of heaven. “Oh my God,” I said as I held onto him around the neck.

  “You forgiving me now, huh?” He smiled.

  Lord, he felt good. “Damn.” He moved a little faster, and I thrust myself to him each time.

  “Tell me that you’re sorry for not believing me,” I said into his ear.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Say it again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I made him apologize about ten times, and each time he sunk himself deeper than the time before.

  I wasn’t going to be upstaged. I started wiggling, jiggling, and whipping him with it.

  “Damn, girl,” he groaned. “Oh yeah.” He kissed me. “I love it.”

  Just when I thought I had control, he sped up and ran me out of power. “Ah, you can’t take it,” he said. “You can’t handle me.”

  My eyes rolled back, and my body began shaking like I couldn’t remember it doing before. He completely filled me. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I yelled over and over. I didn’t care if the folks in the next apartment could hear.

  He slowed down and looked at me. “You forgive me now?” he groaned.

  “Why should I?” I asked him with a playfully intense stare.

  He guided his chocolate wand deep into me again and made magic with it. He cast spells of love, lust, passion, and screams within my walls.

  My flesh called out to him, and before long, my mouth was doing the same.

  He kissed and felt me everywhere, but one thing remained the same—he kept asking my forgiveness.

  In my heart, I had forgotten the situation, but the passion that built by saying no was incredible.

  He knew the game I was playing; it excited him too. He asked me over and over and continued to make mad, fervent love to me. “I’m not gonna stop until you say yes.” He thrust himself faster and deeper into me. He seemed hotter and thicker than ever before. “Do you accept my apology?”

  He was too good. I was biting my lips, digging into his back, screaming, groaning, and grinding him. I lost the battle. He was the victor, too much of a challenger for me, so I succumbed to him.

  “Yes, baby. Yes, I forgive you.”

  “Say it again.” There was
sweat coming from every pore.

  I moaned. “I forgive you.”

  Tremel let out a loud grunt, closed his eyes, and fastened his lips to mine. I felt his body freeze, shiver, and then collapse onto mine, as we slid down the wall together.

  Our night was far from over, though. Tremel apologized to me four more times, using his body as the peace offering.

  “A man who loses his money gains, at the least,

  experience, and sometimes, something better.”

  —Benjamin “Dizzy” Disraeli

  Bank Statement # 14

  Account Balance: $29,489.30

  On Monday I sent overnight mail to sixteen different women. The packages all included pictures. The pictures that they received were innocent yet questionable. I was hoping that it’d make them want to see more. In the photos their husbands were talking to, touching, or having dinner with another woman. Each envelope also contained a note that read: Shh! Be expecting my call.

  I wasn’t phoning Tronquesha up the street. I had to know what I was doing to get through to these women. It was going to take more than street smarts, Ebonics, and old-school girl talk. These women were probably highly educated, self-sufficient, and not easily intimidated. They had money; their husbands were partners at law firms, physicians, business owners, producers, and dentists. I was praying that they were smart enough to see past my obvious blackmail scheme and see that their black males were scheming.

  Tuesday afternoon, using my cellular phone, I reluctantly dialed through my calling card to the first number. My breakfast was gone, butterflies overtook my stomach, and I was shaking like a leaf. I had written out what I was supposed to say and practiced the script numerous times. What were these women going to say to me? “There is only one way to find out,” I said as I pressed the final digit.

  Before I placed the phone to my ear, someone was already on the other line.

  “Hello?”

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” the middle-aged female repeated.

  “Yes.” I tried hard not to use my regular voice. “Hello, may I please speak with Mrs. Stewart?”

  “This is she.” She sounded pissed. “Who are you?”