Tami looked at Charyn out of the corner of her eye, noting how dangerous he appeared. She shivered, and Charyn, being a gentleman, turned up the heat. She wasn’t going to do much better. Not only was his background passable, there was also old money in his family. But at this point, she couldn’t manipulate him to her desires, and she needed a man she could play to her advantage. Let alone that freaky crap he kept asking her for. That was why men had mistresses, so they could indulge fetishes with women just as nasty as they were.
“Will you come inside?” Tami tossed her skein of hair over one shoulder and batted her eyelashes. He hemmed and hawed, making every excuse in the book. She saw through the transparent reasoning he gave for not fucking her brains out tonight.
Angry, the beautiful blonde made her way inside. Tami was fuming and wanted to make her fiancé feel the burn of insult. The same way he left her feeling tonight. There was only one way to do it. He wouldn’t care about any random man fucking her, most likely would freeze up and leave in silence. But…he did have two really gorgeous brothers. Which one would be willing to play into her hands for a game of revenge? She twisted the delicate engagement band laden with a huge multifaceted diamond, deciding what she should do.
At three in the morning, Tami climbed out of bed, refreshed from her beauty nap. She had to look her best, as she was plotting seduction and had to get going if her plan was to work. She made her face up with care, dressed to kill. She climbed into her BMW Roadster and made her way to Wilmington. Parking in the reserved-guests slot at the youngest Moreland brother, Marques’, downtown condo, she slipped inside using the key under the welcome mat. Charyn always came over on Saturday mornings for a game of one-on-one basketball, and she saw him use the key more than once. It wasn’t until she climbed in bed with her chosen lucky man that she saw a major problem with her plan. Her quarry was drunk as a skunk, and it would take an act of god to bring his cock upright. After a solid hour of working on his cock, it still only raised to quarter mast. Frustrated, Tami settled down for a nap, tired wrists and sore mouth notwithstanding.
That morning Tami knew she made a mistake when she heard the door open, but it was too late. Not only was she going to exit this situation humiliated, but she didn’t even get what she came for. The bright lights of post-dawn and the open floor plan of the loft would easily reveal her in bed with his brother. She had no place to go and hide. Now she had no options but the one she established with the initiation of her plan. She didn’t know how to be honest, and a lifetime of lies made it impossible to tell the truth. The first lie spilled forth. The rest just heaped on top of the first, and she knew she was caught. Looking out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Marq stirring awake. She just hoped he was too drunk to realize that he didn’t fuck her. Maybe then she could still make her wrecked plans work.
“I’m sorry, Charyn. I just couldn’t help myself. I was angry and got drunk and…” Tami sobbed crocodile tears, face tilted into her hands. She knew the jig was up when he ignored her and took her lovely ring. Damn it, she really loved that ring. Rare, it was a refitted heirloom Winston. She should have left it at home, she thought, and Tami mentally castigated herself as she got dressed. The entire time Marques was silent, until she was forced to do the walk of shame to her car. Then his laughter followed her out the door and across the lot. Tami even imagined hearing Marques laughing when she had to give her father the white-washed version of what happened to her perfectly suitable fiancé this time, when she cited his extreme sexual habits as the reason for the split. What the hell, daddy was used to it. Charyn was only the most recent broken engagement. There had been several over the years.
Chapter 2:
Mission Makpossible
Thursday afternoon, present day
“You know, Charli, you need to get moving, girl. I gotta get back on the jack for the escalation queue,” Makenzie said, pointing to her live headset, a canned recorded greeting playing in her right ear.
“Either way, Mak, you need to make a choice, your art or this dead-end job. You have too much talent to waste it here…”
Whatever Charlene said next was drowned out with the voice of an exasperated rep asking for her to deal with a particularly angry lawyer. She wished she hadn’t said yes, as she heard the ridiculous cursing of the male on the other end of the phone.
“I hate you! What the hell is wrong with you people! The nerve to turn off my fucking phone! I’m a businessman and I need my damn phone so hel—”
Before the situation could get any tenser, Makenzie interjected, “I’m here to help, sir, if you will allow it.” Calming the irascible man took fifteen long minutes, but calming herself took much longer. Squeezing her favorite stress ball labeled “I hate workdays,” Mak walked down a couple of flights of stairs, headed to the bus stop often claimed by smokers during cold or inclement weather. “I’m gonna quit, soon,” Makenzie said ruefully to herself. “Just not today.” She wasn’t a frequent smoker, but when she was having a bad day…
After her smoke was finished, Mak rode the freight elevator back to the fourth floor, which the disgruntled employees dubbed the “seventh realm of hell.” The slow ride was lengthy enough to send a quick text message to her mom. A natural-born worrier, if she didn’t get regular messages and phone calls, her mom saw no problem lead footing the three hours from Charlotte to Wilmington, just to “make sure my baby is okay,” as her mom loved to put it.
Makenzie was once again muttering to herself as she stepped off the elevator. “Why do you do this to yourself, Mak? You know you’re better than this J.O.B. As is, that’s why Charli is mad at you now. You could have gone somewhere else, with more for black folks or flava, something better than this. Like mama loves to say, you made your bed, now you gotta lay in it. Next time, don’t lay down with the dog, and you won’t get bit by fleas.” Forgetting the job for the moment, she walked back to the desk slowly, lingering on the last few steps until the break was over and she was once again tied to the phone. With no end in sight, the remaining hours crawled by, until finally the day was at a close.
Her temperamental ride, which had been begging for a new radiator, coughed and died, leaving her stranded on the side of the road after overheating. But with a jug of antifreeze and time, Mak was able to rest her tired bones with a solo supper of crab salad and greens, and a savored snack of Ben and Jerry’s finest Aloha Macadamia. Eating at a snail’s pace, she channel surfed, looking for something better than what was on. “Why is it,” she pondered aloud, “that I have a thousand-plus channels and nothing’s on but reality TV and the news? Even Netflix sucks right now. New movies, my ass…9 1/2 Weeks, while great, is definitely not new. Uggh!”
Sucking air between her teeth, Mak decided to pull out her new toy, an e-book reader by a popular book retailer. While it definitely set her bank account back a few coins, the thing was awesome. She loved using any chance she got to show it off like a proud mother flashes innocent strangers her kids’ pictures. Turning on the hot-pink-skinned reader, several hours went by unnoticed, until midnight, when her smartphone buzzed reminding her of her date. The late-night conversations with Charli were a holdover from when she lived in New York and they made a standing date every night for old-fashioned gossip. Grabbing a few key items, namely her bath bubbles, a glass of moscato wine, an earpiece and phone, she headed for her garden tub. Making the bubble spa of her dreams by rote, she pulled her ’fro into a quick bun and climbed in. The water was hotter than most people could stand, but the extreme heat calmed her tight muscles and relaxed her with its spicy and sensual sandalwood-jasmine scent. Popping the earpiece in her left earlobe, she grabbed the phone just as it rang.
“Missed me?” The female voice was husky and trying to pull off a terrible cheesy male accent.
“Hell no, I didn’t,” was Mak’s chortling reply back. Reclined in her tub watching bubbles floating by, Makenzie went silent, knowing where tonight’s conversation was likely to go considering Charli was worse than a dog with
a bone.
“Stop lyin’ to yourself. You know I’m the highlight of your day.”
Laughing harder, Mak agreed. “And you’re right, but you can still kick rocks with Jesus sandals, wench!”
“Look, Mak, you are wasting away your youth on someone else’s phone.” Makenzie heard Charli exhale a puff of smoke. If the choking were any indication, Charli was indulging in a favored pastime, some exotic weed and a Newport.
“You think I don’t know that? But when mom was sick, I needed a job with benefits for elder dependents, and this company was one of the few that offered them.” Makenzie grew silent, thinking about grim memories of her mother almost dying from breast cancer a few years before. The blessing that the lord didn’t want her yet still amazed her daily.
“It’s all right. She’s okay now. You did what you had to, then, that is. But what about now? Not so much. I think it’s just easier for you to stay because you’re used to it. Not because you have a burning desire to give an asshole reasons to wake up and smell the coffee.”
“Touché, Charli, I haven’t done anything yet because I couldn’t give myself a reason to think about the future, not without mom, and it was just easier to be satisfied with the status quo.”
“I’ll give you that, Mak, but what about now? Don’t be one of those people holding out for a pension and a plaque. You were made for more than that, and your art should be in a gallery somewhere, with folks running in gaggles to gawk at your paintings and sketches.”
“Geese gaggle, Charli, not people,” Mak said, sotto voce, covering her natural response to snicker with a snort instead, failing miserably.
“Yes they do honey, ’specially the types that would buy your art. You know the ones, thin with angular glasses and asexual outfits, the guys and girls look alike, but the girls wear less makeup? Definitely sounds more like a gaggle to me because imma giggle when I see them at your show.”
Sputtering, Mak laughed. “Ha ha ha ha, so funny Charli. Bet you won’t be laughing when you see the one I made of you.”
“What! You didn’t tell me anything about that. Damn heffa, I wanna see.”
“Maybe if you’re good, Santa will show you, instead of a lump of coal like I already brought you.”
“Kick rocks, Mak, you know I’m going to get my way. You may as well pony it up. Either way, please don’t think that I forgot we’re off topic. I haven’t forgotten anything. You know you can do better with yourself. What happened to the girl who was so gung ho to make something of herself? As I recall it, you were the one that said you were going to get out of here, that north kakilaki didn’t have the artistic presence you needed to get your jump-start. Am I wrong, or am I right?”
Makenzie could hear the smirk creeping in her best friend’s voice, but chose to ignore it, for the moment.
“Yes I did, but family comes first.”
“That’s why I love you girl, but you shouldn’t defer your dreams any longer. Who knows how long any of us are going to get? I think it’s time for a little challenge. Your mission is”—she hummed the Mission Impossible theme song briefly—“to take the portfolio of your art to a gallery and get them to take at least one piece of your work.”
Makenzie, even knowing where the conversation was headed, was struck silent for a moment. Old fears climbed to the forefront, reminding her of the failures she had during her stay in New York, trying to succeed in the competitive art world. Yet another endeavor in a short list that she would rather forget she had indulged in.
“It’s not that easy Charli—”
“Why not? You’re talented, and I know that you must have nearly fifty completed pieces on standby. You really think that you can’t off-load just one? Don’t try to hustle a hustler, boo. You know that is gonna be a waste of time.”
“Okay, okay you convinced me. You gonna take pictures with me? I haven’t taken any of the new series yet for my portfolio.”
“Sure, why not? At least that way we can be sure you won’t chicken out…” Charli made a chicken sound, and snorted once.
“That’s cold-blooded, Charli. I said I would go along with your crazy idea. The least you could do is shut up now.” Makenzie was vainly hoping that her agreement to this insane pact would at least silence her best friend’s mocking tones.
“Either way, Mak, you’re game or you’re lame. Which is it? Because I’m not letting my BFF sell herself short. As the saying goes, friends don’t let friends drive drunk,” Charlene quipped.
“I don’t even want to know what that is supposed to mean. You must be higher than a kite, Charli, and I’m not much better, wasted as I am off this wine. But yes, I’m game, but you gotta be game, too.”
“First off, it is what it is. You want better for yourself, and I know you do. At this point, you’re like a drunk, unable to navigate your life due to the mental blocks that you let stand in your way. Second of all, what chu’ talking about, Mak? Of course I’m in. I am the diabolical creator of this enterprise. Where else am I going to be? But in, that is?”
“No, I mean, if I’m going all in, you’ve got to, too. Your mission is to open a legit business. No more selling weed. We’ve gotta be grown with ours now…I know you’ve got enough stashed away for a rainy lifetime, but still, you need a real business you can pay taxes on and make Uncle Sam happy, so he don’t raid your house. For real, the college kids have made you rich, so may as well quit while ahead, right?”
“True, true…” Charli seemed to ponder her next words carefully before responding. “Okay, I’ll take that. Seems like there are a few too many coincidences lately, and I could end up with one time.” Makenzie chuckled at Charli’s offhand slang term for police. “Or the feds roosting at my doorstep. Give me two months and I can offload my grow houses. Another two and I can go legit, maybe open a pizzeria or something.”
“Yesss! That’s the spirit, ’cause I don’t want to visit my BFF in the clapper, see,” Makenzie said mockingly in a roaring-twenties bootlegger voice.
“Mak, you’re a dumbass. You know you ain’t right. Boo, I think you need to call social services for your back pay, ’cause your seven thirty check is late!” Charli joked, referring to a stipend given to the mentally unstable.
“It’s all good, Charli. Since you’re my friend, can I borrow some of yours?” Makenzie rolled forward, laughing at her own joke so hard her head hurt and her eyes watered.
After her late-night date with her best friend, Makenzie finished bathing and climbed in bed. She admired the sensual feel of her bedding, which, aside from her art supplies, was her single selfish indulgence. But after several hours spent tossing and turning, she ached from arousal deep inside and the pain kept her from enjoying the luxurious bedding. She was horny and lonely, a bad combination on any given day. But the longing was worse tonight, and none of her toys helped the need burning through her veins lately.
Makenzie couldn’t help but to think that after five years of abstinence, a toy couldn’t quell her needy pussy. Climbing out of bed and padding to the kitchen, she located a hidden cache of Girl Scout Cookies which went with her to the spare bedroom used as a studio. Burning with unexpressed desires, Makenzie decided to sketch the rest of the night away, hoping to leave her unmet needs behind.
Chapter 3:
Hi, My Name Is…
Friday morning
Makenzie woke to the sound of a distant rooster crowing, so faint she barely heard it and thought she dreamed it. Jumping up from the shabby-chic dining table, repurposed to serve as a work and craft table, she headed to the bathroom, knowing two things. First, she was dog tired, and second, she was late as heck. Peeking through the living-room wall cutouts to the kitchen, she saw the time, 8:30 a.m., flash in fluorescent green. The blinking numbers mocked her sleepless night.
“Crap, I should be walking out of the door now!” Mak exclaimed, scurrying about the house, eschewing a shower in favor of a duck bath.
No time for makeup, her afro only half picked out and covered with a
hairnet in lieu of styling. Her clothes were slightly wrinkled, although she took her childhood lessons to heart and hit the seams up with the iron. Eight minutes later, she was in the driver’s side door, untoasted half-bagel in her mouth and keys in the ignition. The late-model Saturn’s engine turned over sluggishly, and, with a small amount of coaxing, came to life with a sickly purr.
“Love you, Bessie.” She petted the car’s dash and backed down the drive into the cul-de-sac. Clicking right, she hit the road headed for work. “Damn it! The one day I’m running late, and every light is red! If that jerk hadn’t cut me off, I would have been on schedule,” Mak ranted to herself, creeping up to the stoplight. After a few harrowing minutes, she parked her car and half-jogged the length of the lot. Arriving at her Dilbert-esque cubicle, she noted the time and signed in while throwing a quick prayer heavenward as she sat down, grateful she was only three minutes late and her pay wouldn’t be docked.
By the end of the day, Mak was exhausted and absolutely needed something stronger than wine tonight. The chill in the autumn air had her wishing she had the foresight to grab a jacket before leaving that morning. Since making a stop at the ABC store would take her only a few minutes out of the way, she decided to grab a small bottle of high-end vodka to jump-start her weekend. Purchase made, she ducked back in her car and headed for home. When she pulled through the lot, a black Hummer was attempting to turn and let her pass. Makenzie tooted her horn in a quick salute to thank the polite driver. As she left, Makenzie sang along with one her favorite songs, speakers loud as they could go, when a black blur streaked in front of the car to the left of her. The driver swerved right, lost control, and T-boned her car, punting her car across two lanes, and left her pinned inside her vehicle against an oak tree. She could feel her consciousness give way to the dark, and she let it, mind fluttering away.
Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 2
