“Everybody pays, but not everybody pays the same amount or in the same way. For some, the loss isn’t felt, while for others it’s emotional bankruptcy. But everybody pays. Love changes us all.”
I asked, “What if love is theater created by the gods, for their amusement, to watch the foolish struggle while the gods drink and make bets on how long before humans realize it’s all a farce?”
“Then the gods are thoroughly entertained. And will be amused perpetually.”
CHAPTER 28
BRICK
MOMENTS LATER I was standing outside Room 1237.
I knocked twice and the doctor answered, glass of red wine in hand. She looked surprised, then let me into her suite. Now she had on Yale Bulldogs pajamas, her hair damp, fresh out of the shower. Mocha Latte’s voice was behind her, mewling and moaning. The doctor’s Samsung was on the dresser, the video of her and Mocha Latte playing, the volume up loud. Mocha Latte was having a level-two orgasm on the screen. The client took my hand, and I followed her. The video played on, sensual, erotic sounds audible. We sat on the rumpled bed, watched Mocha Latte ascend as she earned her duckets. The client winked at me, grinned, then looked back at the video and frowned.
She said, “I went through so much trouble to see her. I lied to my job. To my husband. I sat on the runway for hours. When she was here, I paid her well. I needed her. She knew I needed her. She could have canceled her next fucking appointment and made me feel special. I would’ve compensated her. She’s cheating on me right now.”
“I’m not her, can’t offer what a woman has to give, but what can I do to make it better?”
She went to her purse, put money on the dresser.
I was about to tell her that I wasn’t here for her money, only her company, but she spoke first.
She said, “BBFS. Greek. K9. Around the world. DATY. I’ll DT and give you a BBBJNQNS.”
“Outside of Greek, I don’t know what any of that terminology means.”
“They call you Brick.”
“Most people.”
“With that name, the way you fucked us both, were you really her chauffeur?”
“I know nothing about what happens in these rooms. Not before tonight.”
“My name is Maureen. Maureen Asuryasparsh.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Asuryasparsh.”
“Maureen.”
“Maureen.”
“Mind a little role-play?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Let me pretend I’m the escort. I’ll show you everything from AR to 69.”
I nodded. “I need to shower.”
“I want you just like this. I want to smell and taste her on your body.”
“What do you want me to do? Without all the acronyms, acrostics, and abbreviations.”
“Take me back to Camelot.”
“Camelot it is.”
She smiled. “How longeth can thee stayeth with me?”
“Until sunrise, if’t be true thee shall has’t me.”
We took to the bed, and she took control. My cellular rang. As the client moaned, she handed me my phone. I think the client had hoped it was Mocha Latte calling me, and she wanted her jealousy and disappointment known. It was Coretta. She jumped right in, cursing, going off. Said someone had vandalized her and her lover’s cars.
“Look, Coretta, whatever that’s about, I’m on a date right now.”
She paused. “Are you smashing?”
I held the phone as the client entered level three the second time, her hallelujahs strong.
Coretta sounded all shook up. “You’re smashing some bitch right now? Brick, seriously?”
“Why do you keep calling me? You’re a millennial. You’re supposed to send text messages.”
“We’re done, Brick. We’re so fucking done.”
“We were done six months ago.”
I hit the red button, ended the communication.
When I was about to blow my load, the client suckled me until I was too sensitive and had to push her away. That time it had lasted seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds. She pushed me down south, and I pleased her for six minutes and some change. She panted, held my head, and cursed. I’d had enough of her. I prayed we were done. I imagined this was how Penny, Mocha Latte, and Christiana felt. I was her whore. This was what she had paid for.
This was Vegas.
I could do this. Keep it professional. Stay out of my feelings. Walk away unscathed. And caked up. I could get the kind of cake needed to buy paint at Home Depot. I was learning to see life the way Christiana did.
CHAPTER 29
BRICK
THE MAIN ROOM at the comedy club in Long Beach fell apart in laughter. It was the next night, after midnight, and André was onstage. I was in the back, sipping on a beer. André finished his set to explosive laughter and a standing ovation; then he made his way to where I was seated, shaking hands and giving high fives along the way, the emperor of comedy.
I congratulated him. “Contemptuous. That last bit about lazy white people was scathing.”
“You know I was a big fan of George Carlin. Still study Pryor’s concerts.”
His phone buzzed.
He said, “Have to go see this girl. Joëlle. She lives in Culver City.”
“Same girl you were riding around on your bike last time I saw you?”
“New girl. Her daddy has a blues bar out in Riverside. She’s an engineer at Dan L. Steele. She’s a rebel, wild as fuck. Loves to cosplay and loves to role-play. Should see her dressed like Storm.”
“Engineers and librarians, Comic Con nerds . . . aren’t the square ones all wild as fuck?”
* * *
—
WHEN I PARKED Miss Mini in front of my apartment, Penny was outside, and she wasn’t alone. She was holding flowers, arguing with a guy who was tall enough to play for the Lakers. It was her ex. He was back, the one who had ruined her financially. It was his fault that she spent time on her back to get back on her feet.
She snapped, “What do you want, Javon? Why are you bringing me flowers?”
“I miss you, Penny. I want to see if we can work something out.”
“Go miss your wife, Javon. Only reason you should be here is to pay me what you owe me.”
I walked up the steps. “Penny.”
“Brick.”
“It’s almost two in the morning. Everything okay?”
Javon said, “What, you’re friends with Coretta’s nigga now?”
I warned, “Javon, I suggest you shut the fuck up; otherwise your wife will collect you from the emergency room, and what will be left of you will fit in a shoebox.”
“What the fuck you gonna do?”
“Try me, motherfucker. Say one more word. One word.”
Penny stood between us. “Brick, I got this.”
Javon asked, “You fucking this nigga, Penny? You messing with Coretta’s nigga?”
Penny snapped, “Javon, we’re neighbors.”
I took my daddy’s gun from the small of my back, and that move startled him. I kept it aimed at the ground. I took my temper inside my place, left the lights off, stared out at Penny and Javon as they argued like lovers. She walked him back to his car. Kissed him good-bye. Ran back to her place, tears in her eyes, flowers in her hands. This time next week, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had moved back in.
Not long after, Penny knocked on my door. I didn’t answer. She used her key and came in. I was at my dining room table, in the dark, glass of eight-dollar wine in front of me.
She said, “You’re mad.”
“You still love him.”
“Like you still love Coretta.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“I will too.”
I shrugged. “I was out of lin
e. Nothing to be mad about.”
“I do love you.”
“I know.”
“As a friend.”
“I know.”
“We never should have had sex.”
“But we did.”
“Too bad I didn’t meet you before I met Javon.”
“Yeah. Too bad.”
She poured herself a glass of wine, sat with me, and drank.
I asked, “How much longer will you work with Christiana?”
“Not long.”
“You feel safe?”
“As long as you’re around, yeah. Doing this scares me, but you make me feel safe.”
“I only did this, the only reason I got involved driving you, was to make sure you were safe.”
“I know.” She sipped. “Should I spend the night?”
“Really?”
“Just to cuddle. I’m sure Mocha Latte and Christiana will be over here in your bed before long.”
“What does that mean?”
“You make us all feel safe.”
CHAPTER 30
BRICK
FRENCHIE PUT OFF letting Dwayne see Fela. Said she needed another week or so. She wanted to tête-à-tête with her expensive lawyer first. Dwayne was left in an indefinite holding pattern. For the next few days, I stayed busy as a beaver with the pace of asses. Christiana kept the client list growing. She was the most ambitious woman alive.
The next weekend we mixed with celebrities and had breakfast at Beverliz Café in Beverly Hills. We ate poached eggs, pancakes, egg white omelets, and the best lox ever. Living in luxury, we talked up a storm.
Mocha Latte swallowed the last of her orange juice. “If Christiana had it her way, we’d have more regulars than the number of tourists that go to see whatever it is they see at the Grand Canyon.”
Christiana picked some omelet from my plate. “We are a better sight to see. And we’d be richer than rich.”
Mocha Latte laughed. “We’d be more tired than tired.”
Penny added, “With worn-out coochies that look like mud flaps.”
Christiana picked at her spinach. “We’d be able to afford vaginal rejuvenation.”
I said, “That’s a thing? Can you autotune a coochie and get rid of years of bad remixes?”
Christiana said, “We could make it brand-new and so tight we’d be virgins all over.”
I asked, “Would that be tax deductible?”
“Of course. Like if you use Viagra, you can deduct that as a business expense.”
“I was joking.”
“I do not joke about money.”
At the same time Penny and Mocha Latte said, “We know.”
* * *
—
LATER THAT EVENING, watching the pace of asses get dressed in all white was an intimate affair. An erotic privilege. They adjusted one another’s saintly dresses, made them sit right on one another’s butts, adjusted tits, touched one another’s hair. I watched them gild the lily and put on makeup. I took in the show as they helped one another with lipstick, mascara, perfume, blush. Women owned a level of closeness never shared by men.
Penny seemed different now. She had two new best friends. Girls who understood her plight.
The pace of asses wore incredible plunging dresses, kinds that if they coughed once would fall off and leave them as buck naked as Eve before she bit the apple. The pace looked like they were heading to the red carpet at the VMAs. Those dresses gave their toned figures bear hugs that would make men groan as they passed.
I said, “Y’all are putting in the work, staying in shape.”
Christiana said, “Physiques are our calling cards, the determiner of our worth in a capitalistic society.”
Penny whistled at me. “You’re looking very handsome, Brick.”
I rocked a two-piece single-button white linen suit accented by beige, paired with brown shoes.
We hopped in Miss Mini. Christiana was up front with me, in control of the music and chatting me up while Penny and Mocha Latte had their own conversation. I chauffeured the pace of asses about nine miles, from inland to the edges of the Pacific Ocean. Christiana had arranged clients for them all at the Viceroy Hotel. The hotel was so sophisticated, I was apprehensive. As we walked in the joint, soulful music throbbed like it was our theme song, Ari Lennox singing “Whipped Cream,” the bass line seductive and erotic.
Mocha Latte sang along, “Yo deceiving, receiving, non-giving-head ass.”
I strolled behind the pace and entered a world decadent enough for the king of Rome. We mixed with six hundred upwardly mobile, melanin-blessed professionals wearing all white.
I said, “Ladies, you already know my rules; I’m not going to repeat them.”
“Whatever.”
“Sí, papi.”
“Go to hell, Brick.”
Very serious, I said, “My phone will be on. I will be down here waiting in Barstow, just in case.”
Christiana said, “We will be fine, Ladrillo. Enjoy yourself until we return.”
Christiana headed toward the elevators, and the attorney from Cuba vanished with a middle-aged black married couple. He was a watcher. Penny left with three black men, an embarrassment of pandas smiling, talking, and flirting with the college student. One was getting married tomorrow. Mocha Latte was greeted by a distinguished gentleman, and the out-of-work engineer left, hanging on to his arm like a happy daughter. The pace of asses headed to the swank luxury hotel’s seven-hundred-dollars-a-night suites that had pillow-top beds and ocean views. I knew them all, knew them all in intimate ways. Jealousy stirred in my heart, for all three. Each was a unicorn in her own way.
I heard an arrogant voice I recognized booming behind me. People hurried toward where a stage had been set up. The way everyone in white hurried, it was like a flock of angels scurrying to Jesus.
“Santa Monica. My people are looking good tonight. Give yourselves a round of applause.”
I stood and watched my little brother draw the crowd in. Baby Bro was onstage. Dressed in the royal color of the kings of France, his shirt trimmed in kente patterns. I cursed André for not telling me he’d be here, then cursed myself for muting his overtweeting ass on social media. I moved back into the crowd and away from the side with the stage. I didn’t want to be seen tonight, not when I was working with Penny, Mocha Latte, and Christiana.
The crowd opened long enough to let the help push a cart loaded with more exotic foods toward the extravagant set. During that two-second interruption, I saw an old girlfriend of André’s. I’d met her a couple of times. Never asked her name. Another woman was up front, laughing like she was André’s biggest fan. She was in super-sky-high heels and white shorts that showed off her amazing thighs and legs, all accented by reds and pinks that flowed with her red-and-yellow hair. Just like Nameless, her eyes and smile were focused on André, a curvaceous woman in awe.
Soon as I checked my phone to make sure all the girls had messaged me saying they were okay, someone tapped me on the shoulder. Startled, I jumped. When I turned, fuck, I was facing Dwayne. He was in all white for the affair too. We were surprised to see each other and made it known. We hugged, then turned to watch André.
I said, “Didn’t know you were coming here.”
“I didn’t either. Agent got me a ticket at the last minute. Cost a grip to get up in here.”
“The three-hundred-a-pop cost at the door weeds out the chavs and the riffraff.”
At that same moment, across the open space, I saw Coretta and Maserati Mama. They were just arriving. Short skirts. Plenty of cleavage. Dressed like twins. Holding hands. They didn’t see me. Even if I wanted to, I was here working, so I couldn’t leave to get away from a memory that kept showing the fuck up everywhere I went.
When we could hear each over the hilarity, Dwayne commanded
, “Buy me a drink.”
“What do you want?”
“A greyhound. Vodka. Meet you at the food. Going to get a bowl of fruit cocktail and glass of chili.”
As Dwayne headed away from me into the crowd, my phone vibrated, and it was a 911. One of the girls had a problem. I had to get there now, but six hundred drunk and party-minded people were in my goddamn way. I fought to get to the elevators. People were coming in, standing room only, and I was a salmon going upstream.
I spotted Frenchie in a white skirt and shimmering top, talking to a black guy who smiled at her like she was the one. Couldn’t believe she was here too. She saw me, looked surprised, and we waved as I squeezed through the crowd. I wanted to tell her that Dwayne was here, wanted to ask about Nephew, but now wasn’t the time.
I bumped into two guys from my neighborhood, Ken Swift and Jake Ellis. They were in a hurry going left and I was in a hurry to go right; had to fight my way through the sea of black dressed in white. Then a few steps later I was face-to-face with Eigengrau, Dwayne’s ex from back in the day. She was at least six months pregnant and was holding hands with a handsome guy ten years her junior, one who looked like an underwear model. This was the biggest party of the year. Right now, I wouldn’t be surprised to run into Dwayne Sr. up in here with a sister one-fourth his age on his arm. Then I was finally out of the thick of the crowd, could maneuver without knocking a drink out of someone’s hand. I raced for the elevator. My phone rang as I moved.
I heard the issue and said, “I’m on my way up. No, don’t call the fucking police.”
CHAPTER 31
BRICK
ONE OF THE pandas with the bachelor party opened the door. He looked like he’d been through hell, and I knew that was because he had laid hands on Penny and she had fought back. If I had my gun, I would’ve double-popped, but instead I’d have to go Krav Maga to neutralize the threat that might come from three pandas.
Right eye swollen, the panda frowned at me. “You with that crazy African?”
I had no idea what he meant, and I didn’t care. I hit him in the face right away. My blow made him stagger backward and plop on his fat ass. He raised his hands to hide his wounded face from any more blows.
The Business of Lovers Page 20
