Nude Awakening II

by Victor L. Martin

  “What!” Trevon came to his feet. “Who told you some bullshit like that?”

  Jurnee shook her head. “No one. But I found this in the second bathroom.” She reached inside her jean pocket and pulled out the medical form.

  “What’s this?” Trevon asked, unfolding the paper.

  “She was—or is—still planning to have an abortion later this month.”

  Trevon’s entire world was crushed. Losing LaToria was one thing, but for her to kill their child to lay under another nigga was out of order. “How the fuck can she do this to me!” He shook the form in Jurnee’s face.

  “I’m on your side—”

  “Fuck being on my side!” he shouted. “She gonna kill my firstborn and push me out of the picture like my voice don’t count! This . . . this some bullshit! How can she even look at herself in the mirror! How!”

  Jurnee winced when he shouted.

  Trevon, even in his rage, saw the sudden fear in Jurnee. She had tears in her eyes, but Trevon knew the deeper fear that made her jump. Dropping his hands, he went down on one knee. “Don’t be afraid of me, okay? I . . . I shouldn’t be yelling at you, and I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “Kandi is wrong.” She sobbed, reaching for his hand.

  Trevon didn’t know the words to speak. Doing what he felt was right, he took her into his arms. “I can’t let her kill my child,” he said, meaning every word. “I can go on without her, but I want my seed.”

  Jurnee could agree with him. Making a quick choice, she spoke what was dwelling in her mind. “I’ll help you,” she said, tightening her embrace around his neck. In his arms she felt safe. Their closeness also made her feel awkward.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “No.” She lifted her head off his shoulder to look into his eyes. “Let me do this. What she is doing to you. You don’t deserve.”

  Trevon placed his hands on the bed next to her hips. Her arms remained around his neck, their faces only inches apart. “I don’t even know what I deserve.”

  “You deserve better,” she said with her eyes intent. “I know LaToria is my best friend and all, but right is right and wrong is wrong. It’s like . . . I don’t know who she is.”

  Trevon lowered his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Jurnee.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” she assured him, easing her arms from his neck only to rub his arms.

  “I gotta find a place to stay, and if—”

  “That isn’t Kandi’s place, remember? It’s Janelle’s name on the title, and I’m sure she’ll let you stay here once we explain what happened.”

  Trevon stood and then crossed the room. Stopping at the dresser, he saw a broken man in the mirror. “I was a fool to even think she really loved me.” He picked up a picture that he took with LaToria last year.

  “Don’t think like that. She’s the one with the issues, not you,” she told him.

  “Where do I start?” he asked.

  “You start by moving on with your life. You can’t let this eat at you, Trevon. I know it hurts because I know how you feel about Kandi.”

  He shrugged, placing the picture face down on the dresser.

  “You still have your career—”

  “I can’t—”

  “Yes you can!” She came to her feet. “Don’t let this break you!”

  He turned to face her. “Why do you even care?” he asked again.

  Jurnee looked at him eyes to eyes. “Why shouldn’t I care?”

  “Don’t answer a question by asking one.”

  “You want me to be honest?”

  He shook his head. “No. I need you to be honest.”

  She crossed her arms, lowering her eyes to the floor. “I don’t know why I care, but I do, okay?”

  “LaToria said she cared about me too, so how—”

  “I’m not her!” She looked up.

  Trevon shifted his feet. “I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

  “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “I guess. It just seems like none of this shit is real.” He shook his head. “One minute I’m about to get an engagement ring and the next . . . I just need to get outta this fuckin’ house before I spaz out.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, watching him pick up his keys.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Standing in place, she wondered how he would feel if she spoke the truth on why she cared about him. Assuming the worst, she stayed quiet as he made his exit.

  Trevon was trudging down the hall when Jurnee called out his name. Coming to a stop, he turned. She eased up to him, her eyes still wet from all her crying.

  “Do you want me to be here when you get back?” she asked softly.

  Trevon sighed. “I don’t care, Jurnee. I . . . I just don’t care.”

  “That’s the last thing you should do is not care,” Jurnee said.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  Jurnee smiled. “Let me go with you. How about we get out of this house and grab a bite to eat?”

  Trevon sighed and thought about Jurnee’s suggestion. “Why not?” he said as he fought to hide his pain over LaToria. “Let’s go before I lose my fuckin’ mind.”

  ***

  “She’s not answering any of my calls,” Trevon told Jurnee as they later sat inside his XJL outside of the Sushi Samba Restaurant.

  Jurnee could hear the pain in his voice. “She can’t hide,” she said, rubbing his shoulder. “Like I told you in the restaurant, Martellus has a record company, so we’ll just reach him—”

  “And say what?” Trevon looked at Jurnee. “You think I’ma ask for LaToria back?”

  “But I thought you wanted—”

  “It don’t matter no more. I mean, really. How can I stop her from having the abortion? Hell, I can’t even leave the state without going through a ton of bullshit with my PO! If she don’t want to be with me no more then fuck it. And fuck her!”

  “Do you really mean that, Trevon?”

  “Ain’t got no choice,” he said, looking up through the sunroof.

  “You always have a choice,” she pointed out.

  “Do I really?”

  Jurnee reached for his chin, turning it toward her. “Look at me, papi. You can waste your time running after Kandi, or move on with your life and become the superstar in this biz. Kandi made her choice, now you make yours.”

  Trevon released a sigh. “I guess this will be a life lesson learned, huh?”

  “Damn right! Get money over pussy. Stick with Amatory, and you’ll be rich and famous, papi. If Kandi was meant for you, or you for her, then this shit wouldn’t be happening.”

  “But what about my seed?” he asked wistfully.

  Jurnee turned in the seat. “I don’t have all the answers, papi.”

  They both sat in silence, trapped in their thoughts. Trevon was thinking of the disappointment his mom and sister would feel over the news about the breakup.

  As for Jurnee, her thoughts jumped back to weighing the option of telling Trevon the truth about why she really cared about him.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, looking at her watch. “Don’t you have a certain time to be in?”

  “Yeah, by ten if I ain’t working.”

  “I wouldn’t mind keeping you company. We could order a movie and just chill if you want to,” she suggested, smiling at him.

  “To be honest,” he said, seeing it was ten minutes past 8 pm. “I’d rather stop at the liquor store, get something to drink, and just get fucked up because being sober is the last thing on my mind.”

  Jurnee thought his suggestion over. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Minutes later, the XJL exited the parking lot with “Shot for Me” by Drake, pounding in the trunk. As Trevon drove with Jurnee sitting beautifully at his side, he willed himself to become cold-hearted toward that false item called love.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  Blame it on the Henny

  Killi
ng someone was easy when it was fully thought out and planned. Fritz was alone at an undisclosed location in the Northwestern area of Miami. In the one bedroom apartment, the wall in the tiny bedroom was covered with pictures of his new target. Fritz was shirtless, smoking a thick, genuine hand rolled Cuban cigar. Smoke wafted up near the stained popcorn ceiling marred by three bullet holes. Sitting up on the queen-size bed, Fritz took a close study of the man in the pictures. Rick had supplied the pictures and all the vital information that Fritz had requested. In the coming days he would begin tracking his new target to get a deeper knowledge of his daily movements. Being close but unseen was an easy task for Fritz to accomplish. Committing an act of murder seemed the norm for Fritz. There were men and a few women who took their last breath with Fritz’s grinning face in their vision. The others died by what was deemed as an accident. From the ungoverned streets of Zimbabwe, to the flashing lights of Hollywood, California, Fritz had proven his talent. A professional killer is how he viewed himself. At times he couldn’t determine what drove his urge to kill. The money, or the rush of stalking his target and seeing fear pooling in their eyes when they realize their life on earth has ended.

  Yeah, killing was easy in Fritz’s mind. The muted TV on a fake wooden stand was tuned on a bland sitcom that Fritz gave no attention. The cheap, outdated TV was being used for lighting in the stuffy bedroom with brown carpet torn in various spots. This dwelling was only temporary for Fritz. It would suit his needs until the job was done.

  Inhaling on the cigar, he picked up his cell phone. After dialing a local number, he placed the cigar in a chipped glass ashtray. His call was answered after the third ring. Knowing his number was known on the other end, he made no attempt to introduce himself. He also knew the person on the other end was strictly business as himself.

  “I need a new vehicle by tomorrow night,” Fritz explained. “And I don’t need anything flashy.” Fritz was flawlessly speaking without an accent now.

  “Not a problem. You’ll find what you need parked at our normal spot tomorrow at 7 pm. The keys will be taped inside the front left wheel well.”

  Fritz ended the call and then massaged the tight tendons in his neck. He was reaching for the cigar, when a knock rattled the iron cage on the front door. In the blink of an eye, a silenced Glock 19 appeared in his right hand. Easing off the bed, he moved quickly into the unlit living room with the Glock held in a steady two-handed grip.

  “I gotcha chicken, so hurry da hell up and lemme in!”

  Fritz relaxed his grip on the pistol upon hearing Jenny’s irritating voice. “Show some patience!” he shouted, thumbing the safety on the Glock and tucking it away behind his back.

  Unlocking the two doors, he stepped aside as Jenny flounced into the apartment in a glinty pair of black leather five-inch spiked booties. A heavy, cheap pineapple perfume and fried chicken filled his nose, causing his stomach to growl. “Anybody follow you?” he asked, scanning the streets outside.

  “Nooo . . .” she complained, rolling her green contact covered eyes. “Ain’t nobody important, and I don’t have no pimp runnin’ after my ass. Now let’s eat. And maybe we can have some fun after we finish.” She whirled her wide ass, unaware that her blonde wig was slightly crooked on her head.

  Fritz locked both doors and then joined Jenny on the tattered green cloth sofa. Like every man, Fritz had likings that he filled his downtime with. In Fritz’s case, his mind was at ease when he could entertain himself with a willing prostitute and chicken.

  ***

  “This was an excellent idea, papi,” Jurnee said, curled up on the sofa with her heels off. She kept her eyes on Trevon while sipping her third glass of Ciroc and Sprite.

  “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” he said, lounging back on the sofa with a bottle of Rėmy Martin VSOP between his legs.

  “Life is what you make it,” she replied, raising her glass in the air with a small grin. “Words from my girl, Mary J. Blige.”

  Trevon lifted the bottle to his lips to finish it.

  “Easy, papi,” Jurnee warned as Trevon gulped the drink until it was empty.

  Trevon savored the sweet cognac and the airy feeling it induced over his mind and body. He was feeling mellow. “Wh-what’s that song you got on?” he asked Jurnee. “Sounds so relaxin’.”

  “It’s called ‘Nothing Can Come Between Us’ by Sade,” she said, softly.

  “I like it,” he said with his eyes low.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but—” He paused, sliding a hand down his face.

  “But what?”

  “Nah, I was ‘bout to say sumthin’ stupid.” He grinned.

  Jurnee giggled. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not yet, but I’m damn shole’ tryin’.” He sat up, placing the empty bottle of Remy Martin VSOP on the floor. “What that Ciroc taste like?”

  “Like me,” she flirted, knowing full well that the cocktail was making her tipsy.

  “You’re crazy.” He smiled, reaching for a second bottle of Remy on the table.

  “Hey. I got a question,” she said, handing him her empty glass. “Say, if you were like . . . alone on an island with one famous woman . . . um, who would she be?”

  Trevon paused a second from opening the bottle of Remy. “Um . . . just one?”

  “Yes.” She giggled, tucking her feet up under her body.

  With a wide grin he said, “Um, I’ll have to pick the MSWA, Paula Abdul.”

  Jurnee exploded into a fit of laughter.

  “Why is that so funny?” he asked, enjoying the sight and sound of her mood.

  Jurnee couldn’t speak until her giggling ceased. “You’re just saying that because you said I favor her.” She nudged him on his knee.

  “So.” He shrugged, removing the wooden cork from the bottle.

  “And what does MSWA mean?”

  “Most sexiest woman alive,” he said, filling her glass with the new drink.

  “You love yourself some Paula Abdul,” she teased him. “Well, if I was alone on an island. I swear I’d love to be with Tyrese, and it ain’t because you look like him,” she lied.

  “Yeah, whateva.” Trevon handed Jurnee her glass.

  “Thank you, papi.” She waited until he filled his own glass before she spoke again. “Let’s um make a toast.”

  “For what?”

  “Um . . . to the future.”

  Trevon lifted the VSOP that filled his glass. “Why not? ‘Cause the past ain’t shit.”

  “Moving forward,” she said when their glasses clinked.

  They kept the mood laid back while consuming glass after glass of Remy. “What time is it?” Jurnee asked, rubbing her forehead.

  Trevon had to study his watch for a moment. “Uh, ten minutes past ten.”

  “I can’t drink another drop.” Jurnee stretched her legs out in Trevon’s direction. “Rub my feet.” She wiggled her neon blue coated toes.

  “What I look like?” he asked as she laid her feet on his lap.

  “My personal masseur,” she said with a slight slur.

  “Ain’t nothing free.”

  “And what is your fee?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  Jurnee pulled her feet back, grinning. “Well, if I have to pay then I might as well get my money’s worth and um . . . enjoy myself.” She giggled easily.

  Trevon remained seated as Jurnee slowly eased to her feet. His eyes roamed over her plump ass and small waist. “Hey. What are your measurements?”

  “Hold that thought, papi,” she said, steadying herself on the cushioned arm of the sofa. “Relax and give me a few minutes.”

  “Ain’t movin’ from this spot.”

  “Who said I wanted my foot rub in here? Since I have to pay, I get to set the um—guidelines and stuff like that,” she said with a sexy smirk.

  Trevon nodded. “Fine by me,” he said, undressing her with his eyes.

  Jurnee tottered with her fi
rst step, but caught herself, giggling. “I’m okay.” She motioned for Trevon to remain where he sat.

  When he was alone on the sofa, he kicked his shoes off and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His pain over LaToria was slowly drowning by spending time with Jurnee. His eyes stayed closed. There would be no more tears. Even in his current intoxicated state, he realized that Jurnee had spoken the truth about moving on through his loss of LaToria. Stress kept his eyes shut. Sleep crept up on Trevon several minutes later.

  Within fifteen minutes, he snapped awake when his smartphone rung. Sitting up rubbing his face, he retrieved the ringing phone off the table between the three empty bottles. “Yeah?” he answered, without taking the time to see who was calling him.

  “May I speak with Señor Trevon?” Jurnee giggled.

  “Speakin’,” he replied, grinning at the seductive tone of her voice.

  “I’m ready for my massage, and I hope you won’t keep me waiting.”

  Trevon could see where the night was heading. “I guess I should go and handle that, huh?”

  “That would be a good idea. I’m in my bedroom waiting for you.”

  ***

  Jurnee lay on her stomach when Trevon entered the bedroom. She had taken the time to set the mood by lighting seven mango passion scented candles around the room. After a quick shower, she coated her skin with some luminous gold dust body lotion that had her glowing.

  “Smells good in here,” he said, closing the door.

  Jurnee didn’t speak until she felt him sitting on the bed. “You like what you see, papi?” she asked as “Sweet Lady” by Tyrese played softly in the room.

  Trevon nodded at the sight filling his eyes. Jurnee was clad in a black honeycomb lace and fishnet teddy that exposed the bottom part of her phat bare ass. Looking at her back, he didn’t see a bra strap.

  “Can you start on my shoulders?” she asked, turning her head on the pillow in his direction.

  “I think I can do that,” he said, moving up on the bed.

  Jurnee knew she was putting herself on front street by wearing the sexy short teddy without any panties. She told herself she wouldn’t shelter any regrets tonight. No matter how far things went.