The Devil in Apartment 13

by Tiana Laveen

  “You’ve got a beautifully shaped face. It’s perfect!”

  They said their goodbyes, thanked the stylist, and walked out hand in hand. 5th Avenue was a wonderland of high-end stores, delicious smelling French pastries from swank eateries that were often open late into the night, and of course, tourists piled in buses that rode about making up stories to intrigue gullible visitors. As they strolled about, he led her to a store that had bright red writing in Japanese symbols on the window. He opened the door and led her inside a room so white, it was practically blinding. To her left were white plush chairs and rugs, and to her right a series of dressing rooms and mirrored walls. Two men and a woman approached them, all dressed impeccably. One was holding a measuring tape.

  “Hello Ms.—”

  “Yeah, let me guess… You know my name.” She gritted her teeth.

  “Yes. Your name is Vivian Carver and we’re personal stylists.”

  Suddenly, a set of white curtains opened, showcasing suits, evening gowns, and an assortment of expensive heels and other footwear. Alongside these were two long glass display cases with so much bling in them, the whole thing rivaled the inside of a Southern rap star’s mouth. She spun around, heated to her core. Shahzad had a silly smile on his face, seemingly shocked that she would be anything less than enthused.

  “Shahzad, I told you when I agreed to this date that I could not be bought. I told you that your money doesn’t impress me. Yet, you’ve taken me to a thousand dollar restaurant, you’ve paid to have a celebrity stylist do my hair—there’s no telling how much that cost, too—and now here we are, in a beautiful boutique that undoubtedly is by appointment only where you are more than likely planning to have me measured, primped, and overhauled. And then I will walk away with a couple outfits that look amazing but cost way too much, along with a diamond bracelet, too.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I had in mind!” He smiled wider, as if something great was going on – a prize had been won.

  “I can’t with you… I want to go home.” Angry, she brushed past him and made her way to the doors.

  “Excuse me just a moment, please,” she heard him tell the peanut gallery as he raced after her.

  She rushed out onto the sidewalk, angry, hurt, confused. Her emotions were all over the place. On one hand, it was a nice gesture; on the other, it felt controlling, or perhaps he wanted something from her in exchange…

  Of course he did.

  Crossing her arms, she paused, threw him a glare, prepared to go off on him if he said anything stupid.

  “Vivian, I—”

  “I am not property! I do not know what you’re used to, but this is too much! It began with the roses and the swan pendant. Then it escalated to my apartment being redone and additions that I know damn well other tenants didn’t receive. Then here we are this evening. Yes, I wanted to go somewhere nice, but that was extravagant.”

  “I thought you said you enjoyed it.” She didn’t miss the extra bass in his voice, as if that was even possible.

  “I did! I loved the dinner in the kitchen. It was creative and beautiful. I enjoyed the walk – which was free! Cost no money at all. I swallowed my pride and allowed my hair to be done, figuring, ya now, I’ll just accept this and move on but now you’ve done this, too! I’m overwhelmed!”

  “So, you don’t like it?” The man’s smile slowly faded, as if his heart were broken into pieces. “What you’re accusing me of is exactly what I was trying to avoid. This is a downplayed version. You have no idea what I initially had in mind.”

  She shook her head.

  “Shahzad, yes, it’s nice, okay? But no one wants to feel like you are putting a down payment on them. I’m not a house, a piece of real estate. This… this is wrong!” She got ready to take off like a plane. Where she would go, she had no idea, but she wanted out of there.

  “It’s not wrong! All women should be treated like this!” he yelled. “We live in a backwards world where good is thought to be bad, and bad is thought to be good. I’m not apologizing!”

  “I didn’t ask you to!” she screamed.

  “I didn’t try to buy you, Vivian. I tried to make you happy!”

  She faced him, unflinching.

  “I’m already happy!” She walked back towards him, closing the gap. “Yes, I am struggling, worried, and sometimes things aren’t going well, but I am genuinely happy, Shahzad. My broke ass is sometimes even thrilled if you catch me at the right hour! I can be just as content with an old VHS movie playing, curled up in a warm blanket on my couch, eating stale popcorn, drinking flat cola, and watching re-runs of ‘Law and Order’. A man aids in a woman’s happiness, Shahzad, but he should never be the reason she wakes up in the morning.”

  “You’re not the reason I wake up when the sun rises, either, but you are the reason why I smile in the morning, and to me, that’s okay. Why are women so complicated? I wanted to impress you so badly, Vivian. I paid attention to you, listened to you, and still failed… but I tried my best.” Innocence shone in his eyes, and it surprised her so. “Vivian, money doesn’t buy love or happiness. I’m not stupid, I know that.” She looked away for a spell. “I’ve been around a while… I know what’s going on. I didn’t make it this far in life by being naïve. I also know that you’re a simple woman with simple pleasures. You just want your needs met and everything else is a cherry on top. You don’t want to rely on anyone because then you feel as if they may think they own you, and that’s a legitimate concern. But that’s not my intention.” He pointed to himself. “I’m just being me. This is who I am. You want me to accept you, I do. My intentions were never to humiliate you. They were to uplift you. All men should cater to their women.”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  “You will be by the end of the night…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lightening in a Bottle

  Have you ever thought you’d died and gone to heaven? No? Me neither… until tonight…

  Vivian stood inside a sprawling, multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment in Manhattan. The sight of it, both gaudy and gorgeous, made her speechless. How many gold accents can one have?! Putting down the two shopping bags she was holding, she floated on cloud nine.

  “Make yourself at home. Have a seat.” Shahzad stated, removing his watch and dumping it in a gold bowl he had on a black foyer table. Typically, she wouldn’t have ever gone to a man’s home on the first date, but she’d seen this guy practically every day. They’d gotten to know one another and at the very least, exchanged pleasantries in the apartment building.

  Tonight, he had opened up like a book, and she learned so much more… He was truly a fascinating man, chapter by chapter. He owned his own company that created custom magical experiences and was also quite successful in real estate. He’d even showed her his plans for creating a rooftop bar in her apartment building. She was concerned about the noise level that would bring, but he assured her it would take a couple years to complete, and this would be a good thing for the area. At this point, all things considered, she believed she knew quite a bit about Shahzad. One could always tell much more, however, by a person’s home.

  As she took cautious steps on the glossy floor that sparkled like glass, she fell into a state of awe. She found her way to an ivory couch adorned with luxurious throws and accent pillows.

  “Thank you for inviting me up here. I can see the Moroccan influence in the décor here. Very nice. I really like your place.” She took notice of a vast collection of glass bottles and lamps along the living room fireplace mantel. Boy, were they unique and pretty.

  “Thank you. Yes, it keeps me close to home.” He lit a white and silver cigar and much to her surprise, the smoke didn’t have the typical smell; rather, it reminded her of a sweet, cherry vanilla aroma. Of course she knew why she was here. Would be silly to deny it.

  She knew what was wanted of her, and worst of all, she wanted it too. Perhaps even more. The double standard of woman not supposed to want or initiate
sex is ridiculous and stupid. We’re supposed to appear to be modest and all of that shit. It really gets on my nerves! Why do I have to worry about whether he’ll call me in the morning? Will he respect me? These motherfuckers out here don’t care if we call their asses back! Why can’t it be reversed? Why can’t he be concerned about me thinking he’s a ho?!

  He left the room for a spell, and The White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army’ began to play through the speakers. Clouds of smoke surrounded him when he returned. She gasped because the smoke vanished almost as soon as she noticed it. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen this.

  “Smoke bath?” she asked.

  He nodded, then began to unbutton his shirt. She closed her eyes, placed her hand across her heart, and tried to catch her breath.

  Are you doing this or not? He isn’t making his intentions a secret. She continued to straddle the fence, to wrestle with herself…

  “Just getting a bit more comfortable… Do you want something to drink, beautiful?” He practically floated away into his silver, white, and black kitchen. It was an open design with a nice mini-bar and modern appliances. She fiddled with her purse, realizing she wasn’t really thirsty… at least not for liquor.

  …But I’m definitely in the mood for some Dickor.

  “Water is fine.”

  “Sparkling? Lemon? A wedge of lime?”

  She turned her back to him and stretched her legs.

  “Sparkling sounds good… just plain.” She could hear the refrigerator door close and then the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. In no time, he was sitting right by her side.

  “Thank you for the incredible meal, the haircut, and the shopping trip, Shahzad. This date was definitely different!” She ran her hand along her arm. “You really do know how to make an impression.” He handed her the glass and she took a sip.

  “That was my intent.”

  “You do realize though that I have nowhere to go where I’d need to wear such attire? I mean, those clothes are far too formal.” She pointed to the two bags now sitting by the loveseat across from them.

  “You need to dress the part. If you want to be a bar critic, then you’ll also be testing appetizers, wines, beers, things like that. Some places you go to will be elite, high class. Not all will be dives or holes in the wall, and you’ll be expected to look a certain way. The people in the profession you seek more than likely look sharp, even in a bar. Dress how you wish to be perceived.” She never really thought about it that way. “Even at your current job, you can throw on a necklace, put on a little lipstick… your tips, from men and women alike, will be bigger. I guarantee that. Superficial or not, that is one way money is made. You’re a bartender, but you’re selling your image, too. It comes with the territory.”

  “I don’t feel that I have to be someone I’m not though, Shahzad. I’m not a dress-up type of girl.”

  “How do you know that’s someone you’re not?” He shrugged, his brows slightly rumpled. “There are many sides to all of us. I have gotten to realize that even more as I’ve tried to convince you to date me, and I’ve gotten to know you in that process. My typical approach to dating wasn’t working. So, I changed it up. I didn’t become someone I’m not; I showed another side of me. It was as simple as that.”

  “All right, point taken, but that still doesn’t mean I want to look like I’m going to the prom every day.”

  “I saw how you gravitated towards the expensive gowns, the white designer pant suits… You have great taste. You knew exactly what you wanted and what flattered your shape, what looked good against your complexion. The designers needed to do very little with you. One even remarked that you had a good eye. This wasn’t a shopping spree. It was to prove to you that you’re top sirloin living as a day-old hamburger.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. She took another sip of her drink.

  “Can I ask you something personal, Shahzad?”

  “Of course. If we’re going to fuck, and obviously we are, then all questions are allowed.”

  She chuckled and rolled her eyes.

  “Why don’t you follow the Muslim religion? I read up on this. Ninety-nine percent of your home country is Muslim. I found it interesting that you’re not.”

  His eyes grew darker, then he smirked. “Well, to put it simply, I’ve been ostracized.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they don’t trust people like me.”

  “They? People like you?”

  “Muslims… They think I’m bad – my family that is. Well, not all, but many do.”

  “Bad?” She giggled. “I don’t understand. This is super confusing.”

  He sighed and leaned back, crossing his legs. “It’s complicated but my family, my tribe, however you wish to see it, is feared. We don’t deserve that. Some of us have done what you’d consider not so wonderful things and others have been nothing but helpful, but we get lumped all together. As far as my being Muslim, I just don’t like the restrictions, Vivian. I smoke, I drink, I curse. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want. I have a lot of power and influence; it’s been passed down from generation to generation. It can be used for good or evil. Therefore,” he shrugged, “I just stay in my own lane.”

  “Okay, so you’re not Muslim, but do you believe in a higher power?”

  He arched a brow at her. “Do you?”

  “I asked you first.” She shifted her weight and stared at the man. Waiting.

  “Do you need to know that before I slide my tongue along your sweet pussy, taste you, consume you…? Does it somehow make you feel more comfortable if I address this first? Just so you know, this conversation would be a turnoff for many.”

  “That’s true. But in a way, I suppose it does make me more comfortable because it just tells me more about how you think, what you believe. I won’t hold it against you, no matter what your answer is though.”

  He nodded, but it was obvious he wasn’t buying what she was selling.

  “This is a test, isn’t it?”

  All she offered was a smile.

  “Yes. I believe in a higher power.”

  “Okay. See, that wasn’t too hard, right?”

  He sucked his teeth and glared at her. His gaze made her heart stop… His eyes appeared to be glossing over, but he didn’t look saddened. It was as if he were in some way invigorated. “You’re hiding secrets, aren’t you? I think you’re a little devil…” She winked at him as she placed her glass and purse on the coffee table.

  “I hate being called that.”

  “What? Devil? I used to call you ‘the devil in apartment 13’ when I’d speak of you to my friends. So I’m not the first to call you that, huh?” She removed her shirt, tossing it onto the floor.

  He reached for her glass of water and took a sip.

  “No, you’re not the first. I doubt you’ll be the last. Let’s change the topic. Take off your bra,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he unzipped his pants, the sound echoing in the room.

  She did as he asked, and flung her black bra down atop her shirt. She felt beautiful in front of him… the way he looked at her, the hunger in his eyes. He stood and discarded the rest of his clothes. Naked with the exception of one ring on his right hand and a thin chain around his neck with some Arabic lettering on the pendant, he was magnificent. He had a tattoo on his right bicep of a lamp with smoke emitting from it, the art done with incredible detail. He had amazing abs, a perfect body… She glided her fingers along her breasts, anticipating what was to come, then gasped when her eyes landed between his legs.

  “Oh my God…”

  Shit! That’s got to be at least nine or ten inches and he’s not even completely hard!

  She slipped her finger into her mouth and sucked as she ogled the large, thick cock that curved ever so slightly to the left. A neatly trimmed thatch of jet black hair grew above it. Her pussy pulsed and heated at the mere sight of it.

  “You, uh, definitely aren’t short of inches, are you?”


  “Can’t say that I am.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her away, her hands snaked around his neck.

  They walked down a long hall with gold and silver framed paintings hanging on both sides. Some appeared to be renderings of Moroccan buildings and others were more abstract in nature. Simply gorgeous art. A sense of warmth and comfort fell over her as they locked gazes. He smiled down at her, and she relished his hard, muscular, gorgeous body pressed against hers. He carried her like she was an angel, something to love and protect. Reaching a door, he leaned forward and placed his right thumb against a small glass square. It was just like the one at his front door. A red laser went from left to right, then she heard a clicking sound. That triggered his bedroom door to slide open.

  She craned her neck, eager to see what lay behind the threshold.

  “Holy shit! Look at this place!” She cracked up.

  Sporting a lopsided grin, he placed her down on his large, round bed covered in navy blue and gold satin sheets.

  “I’ll be right back.” He walked through another door, probably his bathroom.

  Crossing her ankles, she sat up, taking in the large mirrors, the huge television mounted on the wall, and the granite statues. Curved walls embraced the room, made of a tangerine, cream, and tawny marble, and a large diamond-shaped skylight was cut into the cloud-painted domed ceiling. Alongside that hung a wide gold and diamond chandelier. With a sigh, she removed her shoes and stockings, deciding to leave her panties on until he returned.

  Shit. I left my purse in his living room. My phone is in there.

  “Shahzad!”

  “Yeah, babe?” he hollered back.

  “I left my purse. Be right back.”

  “Okay.” She hightailed it out of the bedroom, making her way down the hall, tits bouncing and as happy as she could fucking be. She now noticed the paintings of lamps on the walls – a lot of them, like the kind genies would come out of. That struck her as rather odd, but perhaps it had to do with his cultural upbringing in some way. Shrugging the thought away, she finally reached the living room and paused. Some of the bottles on the fireplace were now glowing, pulsating as if they were alive. One even emitted green smoke. She picked up her purse and took careful steps towards the display. The first thing she noticed was the incredible smell… so familiar. Just like Shahzad himself, as if the smoke were perfumed.