by Kiki Swinson
“Adrianna, this is Yoshi…the woman I owe my life to, and, Yoshi, this is my wife, Adrianna,” Mr. Santana said, rolling his R’s as he introduced me to the beautiful woman.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied dryly, eyeing me up and down.
“Same here,” I said, just as dryly. I wasn’t going to show any signs of intimidation, but I did take my hand out of his. It was just rude to hold another woman’s hand and introduce her to your wife.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. This is all for you…. You made it possible, so indulge yourself,” Mr. Santana said, opening his arms wide to show me that all of the food, drinks, flowers, cakes, and candles were a result of my hard work. I took a seat on one of the couches and he sat right next to me. His wife got up and walked away. Maybe she was used to him being rude as hell and inappropriate with other women. As I looked around, that is when I noticed it. A silver platter sat on the table in front of me, piled high with cocaine. I hadn’t ever seen that much coke in my entire life. My hands immediately got sweaty and my head started to spin. I had not gotten high since my whole addiction ordeal in college. Maria would’ve killed me if she saw me sitting like a queen in front of a silver platter filled with my chemical archenemy. My stomach began to churn and I felt like I would throw up right there on the spot. There was one difference between me and Maria—she was disciplined and could say no to things. I wasn’t that strong…never have been. I could excuse myself and run the fuck away, but then I reasoned that I would lose other rich client referrals from Mr. Santana. So against my better judgment, I sat there, stiff, like a beautiful porcelain statue about to be cracked. For some reason everything in the room seemed like it had been stopped, and my heart thumped loudly in my ears, drowning out the salsa music. I wanted to scream. There weren’t many things that I couldn’t handle, but my addiction to cocaine was something that could get the best of me. As strong-willed as I was, that shit always made me weak, no matter what the circumstances.
“So, how is business?” he asked.
“Business is good,” I replied as I became mesmerized with the mountain of coke in front of me.
“Got any other crooks like me off lately?”
I gave him a shylike smile and said, “Come on, now, you’re not a crook. You’re just an honest businessman who works extremely hard to get what he wants.”
He burst into laughter. “Good answer! Good answer!” He then took a sip from his glass.
I took a sip from my glass, too, and then I put my focus right back on the pile of coke. But Mr. Santana quickly redirected my attention back to him. “So, what big clients are you representing now?” he continued.
I thought for a second and then I said, “Well, I haven’t had any clients as big as you. But I have taken on this fellow by the name of Enrique Hernandez and this Black guy named Eugene Wallace. One of them was charged with drug trafficking, and the other one was charged with gun possession. They are not as rich and powerful as you, but they can hold their own.”
“I’m sure, but I want you to be very selective about what clients you take on. You are very special to me, and I would hate for you to get caught up in another scandal like that one you got mixed up in behind Mr. Choo.”
“Come on, Luis, I’m a big girl, so I am going to be fine,” I began to say. “Speaking of which, I had this Haitian fellow by the name of Sheldon Chisholm come by my office requesting for me to represent him on a drug charge.”
“So you’re going to represent him?” he asked strangely.
“Of course I am.”
“Do you think it’ll be worth it?”
“There is no doubt in my mind,” I told him.
“Be careful,” he warned me.
“I told you, I’m a big girl,” I said, and then I took another sip of my drink and diverted my attention back to the pile of cocaine.
“I see you keep eyeing the richness of my product,” he said.
“I’ve just never seen so much at one time,” I told him.
And before I could get out the words “No thank you,” he lifted the platter and a small, pretty gold-metal straw-looking contraption right to my face and offered it to me. Shit, when I snorted coke in college, I’d steal straws from McDonald’s, cut them up, and use them. Now, here I was being offered a golden straw. I guess you could say a golden straw for a golden opportunity. There was no reason for me to take that straw. I’d already gotten paid by Mr. Santana; it wasn’t like my career depended on him or anything. My logical brain told me that the white powder that shined so beautifully from that tray could ruin everything I’d worked for; my logical brain also said, “Yoshi, run as fast as you can out of this fucking VIP room and never have contact with Luis Santana again.” But the pressure from the part of my brain that said, “Yoshi, you can handle this. You are in control. Just take a dab and you can shake it off. This might land you some rich motherfucking clients”—well, that section made me smile, pick up that golden straw, and sniff an entire line of cocaine.
“Aha! I knew you were a pro,” Mr. Santana exclaimed, taking his turn.
Now I really couldn’t hear anything except my heart racing like crazy. My head lolled back and forth, and the rush from being high again made my pussy wet. I remembered how much of a fiend I was for this feeling, an escape from everything. The demons of my present and my past. I could hear Maria in my head saying, “Yoshi, what the fuck!” But the feeling I had right now could not be matched. It was like good dick on a rainy day, or like the best chocolate cake when you have your period and were craving chocolate. I looked out into the smoky, crowded room and noticed bodies moving close to one another. It was then that I noticed men kissing on necks, women feeling crotches, and mouths pressed together. The party suddenly seemed like one big orgy to me and I wasn’t excused. The drugs had me feeling hot and horny; I wanted someone to press their dick up against me. I had busied myself with fucking old judges and nasty-ass Paul for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to fuck a real man and be attracted to him at the same time. Luis Santana was a sexy-ass Cuban. His dark skin and wavy hair were attractive, not to mention that fucking accent that drove me wild. I was suddenly compelled to look down at his crotch, and the bulge seemed to be staring back at me, like maybe the dick was calling me.
“More?” Mr. Santana asked, passing the silver platter back in front of me and breaking my train of thought.
“No, I’m good,” I said, barely able to get the words out. My mouth was dry. I wanted to drink a gallon of water. I also wanted to feel him near me; I felt an overwhelming urge to fuck him.
“C’mere,” he said, grabbing onto me. He kissed my neck and slid his hand down my back to my ass.
“Wait!” I said, pushing him in his chest. Didn’t he know I was his fucking lawyer and not one of these bitches in here? I didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Yoshi, I’ve been wanting you since I saw how you worked that courtroom. You looked so sexy when you railroaded those fucking DAs. That shit turned me on. And I couldn’t help but think about you day and night. I told my wife about it and she wants to get in on the action, too,” he said, and that is when I noticed his wife sitting next to me on my other side. At the same time she placed her right hand on my left breast and gently ran her fingers over my nipples. My head was really spinning now. I really wanted to leave, but my body and my weakness for the drug wouldn’t let me. I had let out a beast, but I had to get it under control.
“Hold up…,” I said, reaching for the platter despite my resolve. Just this one time wouldn’t hurt. I sniffed another half of a line. I hadn’t gotten high in so long, I thought that if I took at least a half of a line, it would probably put me in the mood to hear what Mr. Santana was throwing my way.
“That’s it. That is how you do it, Yoshi,” Mr. Santana whispered in my ear. Suddenly I felt excited. I wanted to jump up and dance. That coke had to be laced with some other shit. For real, I felt like dancing and dancing. I stood up and started moving my body
. It was like I was a puppet on a string and someone else was controlling my movements. I swayed my hips seductively in front of Mr. Santana and Adrianna. I didn’t care. My long, shiny hair flowed in the smoky room. I threw my arms up to the music, which I really couldn’t even hear that well. I was clapping and Mr. Santana stood up to join in my wicked mating dance. He rubbed his dick across my ass and my pussy thumped. I looked down at Adrianna, who was still sitting on the bench. She smiled. For some reason, her smile seemed more evil than inviting. With the drugs completely in control, I bent down and kissed her. It wasn’t the first time I had experimented with a lesbian encounter. During my drug-haze days in college, I had all-out fucked a girl named Candy…just for drugs. Was I doing the same thing again? Although I had a reputation to uphold, I couldn’t care less who was watching me—and little did I know, I was being watched.
Adrianna invited me into her mouth with no resistance. Our tongues flicked together and I grew extra excited now; my inner thigh became damp with my own vaginal secretions. My pussy was definitely ready for a dick now. Adrianna squeezed one of my nipples as her husband held on to me from the back. I could feel the gropes and kisses all over my body, but I could not defend myself. I was all in, but my mind kept telling me: “Yoshi, you got this shit under control.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Mr. Santana whispered in my ear.
“I can’t. I gotta go. You have done enough, really,” I said with my mouth—although my actions told another story. Now as I moved my body, I made sure to slide my ass on his rock-hard dick.
“Look, I have a hotel room at the Mandarin Oriental. You can rest up. We don’t want you crashing your new car,” he joked, chuckling.
“I’m good,” I assured him, but he would have none of it.
“No, Yoshi, you’re coming with us. We are harmless,” he demanded, grabbing my hand again and leading me toward the exit. I felt like a little kid, I couldn’t get my mind clear enough to make my own decisions. I followed Mr. Santana and his wife to their hotel room that night, and for the low price of the best coke I’d ever had, I unwittingly sold my soul to the Devil. And for that very moment, I had the time of my life.
Mr. Santana and Adrianna both had me feeling intoxicated. It felt like I was trapped in a web of lust, especially after Adrianna started licking every inch of my body while Mr. Santana watched. The whole experience of having this woman give me foreplay was unbelievable. It was a moment of ecstasy. “Uhhhh!” I screamed, biting down on the bed’s pillow as she teased the tip of my clitoris while I crouched down on my knees in the doggy position. I rode her face until I released every ounce of juice I had left in my body, and soon after, Mr. Santana was pounding the hell out of me with his dick. I couldn’t tell you if he had a condom on or not, that’s just how fucked-up I was. I do remember him trying to fuck me in my ass, but I wasn’t having that. There’s not enough money in the world to make me want a man to do that shit. So I gave him the thumbs-down and he pushed himself inside my pussy.
Thank God our little fucking spree didn’t last more than a couple of minutes. After about four or five strokes, his dick erupted like a fucking volcano. And when I looked back to see his facial expression, he looked like he was mad at the world. I asked him what was wrong. And he told me that he was upset because he came too fast. I immediately dismissed that dumb-ass remark because I found that men say that same shit all the time. To me, it’s just a lame-ass excuse to cover up the real truth that they were just mere minute men. It’s just that simple.
After our little escapade I rolled over in the bed and watched him and his wife as they both exited the room. And before I even realized it, I was out like a light.
Dealing wit’ My Demons
I couldn’t tell you how I got home, but it had been two days since the party and it had been the awakening of my cocaine addiction. They say old habits die hard. Or in my case, they never do.
I vaguely remember Ophelia calling the office to let them know I’d be out sick. After that, everything for me was moving in slow motion. It felt like my life was sand, dripping grain by grain through a broken hourglass. I was sick as a dog, throwing up and shitting. Not using cocaine for so long, and then trying it again, had fucked up my stomach. I had been willing myself to stay inside, because all I’d thought about since the night of the party was getting high. I was ignoring all my calls, especially the twenty I’d gotten from Maria. During her last voice mail she said if I didn’t answer, she was coming over. I’d promised myself that I had to take the next phone call that came in. I was too ashamed to speak with anyone. I had made a complete asshole out of myself. I thought maybe Maria would be able to tell something if I spoke to her. I had to buy myself a few days. I promised myself that I was not getting high anymore and that I would pull myself together. After all, I am Yoshi Lomax.
Dozing in and out, I finally jumped out of my sleep and caught an instant headache. Sunlight streamed through my glass patio doors and beamed directly on my face. I could barely open my eyes, my head hurt so bad. I finally looked across my bedroom and noticed that my party clothes were rumpled in a pile, still in the same place I’d pulled them off. I guess Ophelia wasn’t trying to come into my room to clean it up, with me sleeping for days. Or she was probably avoiding me. I knew she thought I was crazy, because she had never seen me behave the way I did the morning after the party. I felt like crying as I thought about how embarrassing it was the morning I came home from my night with the Santanas.
The morning after the party, Ophelia had woken me up. My mouth tasted like paste, and my head spun in circles as I struggled up off the floor. It was as if she and I had noticed at the same time that I was butt-ass naked except for my heels. Although she didn’t say a word, the look on her face—one of disgust and shock—had said enough. After she helped me up, it was like paranoia had taken over my mind. I had run around, looking all over my penthouse, frantically wondering who was in my house, wondering how I had gotten there butt-ass naked. I was thinking that I had to have fucked somebody…or else I would have on some sleepwear.
Ophelia had asked me several times if I was okay, while I was in my frantic nutty-ass state. She watched me like I needed a fucking psychiatrist. I don’t think I ever answered her. Just like in the past after I got high, I was paranoid as hell. I continued to run through my house looking for God knows whom. Ophelia kept asking me if I needed a doctor. After searching my place and not finding anyone, I had raced into the bathroom. I looked up at myself in the huge vanity mirror and what I saw staring back almost broke me down. My eyes were puffy, my hair disheveled, and worst of all, I had huge purple hickeys all over my neck and titties.
“What the fuck!” I screamed. I couldn’t remember shit. I dropped to my knees and started crying. Ophelia knew me so well; she didn’t try to comfort me. She just walked me to the bed, helped me into my favorite Victoria’s Secret soft pajamas, and left me alone.
My thoughts of that horrible night were interrupted when I heard my BlackBerry going off. I picked it up and it was Donna, my assistant. I pressed the ignore button. I couldn’t possibly go into the office looking and feeling the way I did. I scrolled through my messages and there were about fifteen messages from Donna. The last one said: TODAY AT 1PM IS MR. CHISHOLM’S PRELIMINARY HEARING.
“Oh shit, I forgot all about the preliminary hearing!” I screamed, even though it was just a brief formality. The preliminary is only for the judge to get acquainted with the attorney and the DA on the case and to set an actual hearing date, but I wasn’t up for that shit. My head was thumping like mad and I had to be in court at one o’clock. If I wasn’t so fucked-up after Mr. Santana’s party, I would’ve remembered. It was not like me to forget my high-profile clients’ court dates or meetings with prosecutors. I hurriedly called Donna and told her to reach out to any of the court clerks I had on my payroll to ask them to push my time back. If Brad was going to live up to his word, I probably wouldn’t have to worry. However, I hadn’t heard back from him
on the status of the case, so I knew I had to appear in court and go through the motions. Besides, I had agreed to a trial acquittal with Brad, not an all-out dismissal of the charges, so I had to do a little bit of work. I needed to pull myself together. I called for Ophelia and asked her to lay out some court clothes for me. I jumped in the shower and let the hot water stream over my body. My skin was sensitive and it felt like someone was pricking me with needles. I told myself that I needed one more quick snort of coke and I’d be fine for court. I hurried and got dressed. Although I had only forty-five minutes before I needed to be in court, and I had not even spoken to my client, the addict in me told me that I could go to the West Side, find some coke, and still be in court on time.
Ophelia had called down to have my car out front, but when I got down there, the valet had pulled up in my Benz and not the Aston Martin that I had received from Mr. Santana. Where the fuck is the other car? I thought, willing myself to remember. My mind drew a blank. I didn’t have time to worry about it right now. I hopped behind the wheel of my Benz and peeled off. Shit! There was so much fucking traffic. Living in the heart of South Beach was sometimes annoying. I couldn’t believe that just moments ago I wanted to get my fix. I was better that that—I had a life and a demanding client, and coke could not fit in the picture.
The courtroom was packed and I rushed in to find Sheldon sitting at the back waiting for me. He looked angry and so did his two goons. Just as I noticed him, I noticed Maria.
“Shit!” I cursed under my breath. There was no way I was going to get out of this fucking courthouse without her giving me the third degree about where I’d been for the past couple of days.
