Unconditionally Single (13 page)

“H
oney, come here, baby,” Hunter called from the living room couch. “We need to talk.”

Propelled by my endorphins, I kangaroo-hopped from the bedroom cheezing, titties and ponytail bouncing. A lot had transpired since our sexcapade this morning. I kissed Hunter on the lips. “What is it, you?” I plopped in his lap, gave him a hug.

Emotions were complicated. I loved Grant and I was falling for Hunter. Was proximity the reason coworkers had affairs? Working long hours side by side, sharing energy and stimulating intellect could ignite a sexual spark that ordinarily wouldn’t exist. Even Valentino’s sexual charm lured me to sex him once. Would I have fucked him again, had we continued working together?

I knew I’d only met Hunter a few days ago, but spending every second of every day with him made me appreciate him emotionally, sexually, and intellectually. With the exception of Sapphire’s random drop-ins, we had zero distractions.

Hunter had a huge heart, a fantastic sense of humor, and a nice size dick with thickness and a slight hook to it. He knew when to take me seriously, when to hold me, when to brutally tell me the truth, and when to kiss me in the right places. And he’d orchestrated a brilliant plan for my parents’ arrival tomorrow.

I still couldn’t believe I let him talk me into flying my parents to Atlanta, but I did. “Yes,” I said, kissing him again. “You summoned?”

“Sit here,” he said, patting the sofa.

Okay, here we go. I knew things were going too well. Was our time up? Had Sapphire replaced him? I moved from his lap, snuggled close to him, then flatly asked, “What’s up?”

“Here, read this,” he said, handing me an article with the headline,
GA. LAWMAKERS PROPOSE FEE FOR STRIP-CLUB PATRONS.

Patrons, not strippers. I scanned the article once, and again, searching for my name, Red Velvet’s or her ex-boss Trevor’s name. I hunched, shook my head. “What’s this all about?”

“Stop skimming and read the entire article.”

“Fine.” I read, “‘A bipartisan group of Georgia lawmakers wants to slap a new fee on strip-club patrons to help fund rehabilitation programs for child prostitutes and sex abuse victims….”

Many proposals had been introduced from cutting budgets to increasing the legal stripping age from eighteen to twenty-one to expanding the definition of child abuse to include any person who allowed a child to engage in prostitution. All great, if you asked me.

“It’s about time the government held all adults who exploit children accountable. Long overdue. And I support the five-dollar increase over three dollars. The patrons are going to make it rain on somebody with more than a few dollars so why not save a child in the process?” I looked from the newspaper to Hunter.

He held my hand. “Honey, don’t think I’m crazy but hear me out. You want to help women in a big way, right?”

“I am helping women. That’s why I started Sweeter than Honey.”

“Is your company a nonprofit?”

Okay. Hunter was methodical and full of bright ideas. I’d learned that much about him. But it was too early for Q and A. He needed the point. “No, it’s not. Please, Hunter. What is it?” I was on the verge of going back to bed, going to take a shower, or walking out the front door.

“Baby, you want everything instant.”

“If that were true, I’d be gone. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Honey, stop being so defensive. Everything is not about you. You personalize things too much.”

I stood. “How dare you treat me like I’m a child!”

Gently he held my arm. “Please sit down. Hear me out. I’m not you. Our uniqueness brings us together, baby. But if we want to clone one another, we might as well be by ourselves.”

Hated to admit he was right, so I didn’t. I sat waiting, willing to hear what he had to say. Patience was making me impatient.

“You know I like to take my time. You have to learn patience and I need you to trust me.”

“Can you get to the point, please?”

“Honey, I want you to create a five-oh-one C three. I’ll help you. My friend has a business that does all the legal paperwork for setting up nonprofits. Then I want you to take every penny Sapphire gave you of Valentino’s money—”

I threw up my hand. “No,” I said, shaking my head. I wasn’t giving back or giving away anything. “Are you in cahoots with someone?” I wasn’t very trusting. Refused to let him complete my last will and testament. He might have forged my signature and made himself the beneficiary.

He shook his head. “Can you be quiet and listen, woman? You’re carrying this guilt for having Valentino’s money. It’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s not.” I was a sensible woman. Guilt was not the right word.

I was empowered knowing Valentino was stripped of what most men worshipped…money. Men spent their lives, chasing money and pussy, and when they got either or both they didn’t know what to do with it.

Valentino had hid all of his cash in body bags in his basement. He seldom left home fearing someone would rob him. He was a prisoner to things he perceived elevated his self-worth. In less than one day, one woman took every dollar. Men who worshipped things and money over women were idiots.

“Here’s what I suggest you do. Set up your nonprofit bank account. We’ll set up an account in Valentino’s name. Make a lump sum contribution to Valentino’s account, then transfer the money from his account to your nonprofit in the name of Valentino James. Transfer all of his money you have in your account, including the interest.”

“It’s not his money. It’s in my possession and it’s my money.”

“I’m trying to get you to establish a track record that proves to the IRS you’re legit.”

“I didn’t steal it. Sapphire gave it to me.” What was this all about? Hunter was pissing me off.

“You’re in the best position. Sapphire may not survive this ordeal when our boss gets the details. My job is to protect you but I’ve also signed a confidentiality statement that prohibits me from disclosing to you everything I know,” Hunter said, peering into my eyes. “Your green eyes are gorgeous.”

Back to not trusting anyone, I played along with Hunter. “Make the contribution in his name?” I maintained eye contact.

“Yeah. Valentino won’t attack a nonprofit, if he’s smart. The money you gave your former escorts was generous. You gave them more than enough to make it on their own. Let them go. The ones who want to work for you will stay. The others will leave. What you don’t want is for them to feel obligated. Honey, you’ve got to let them go. They’re not indebted to you.”

“Next you’re going to tell me to come out of hiding.”

Hunter smiled, touched my ass. “And share this booty with Grant? No way.”

Hunter was so intriguing, I’d almost forgotten about Grant. I’d heard enough. Softly I kissed Hunter’s lips. “I want some more.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Honey?”

“Yes.”

“Let me make love to you,” Hunter said, kissing my neck. “Let me start with an all over massage.”

“Hunter?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t ever stop caring for me. You make me happy.” I had to keep him close until I learned his motive. Did he think I was going to listen to him? What if in the middle of transferring my money, it got sucked into a black hole with the name Hunter Broadway on it?

We heard a familiar rattle, looked toward the front door. Sapphire walked in.

“At it again, huh? I give up. I stopped by to give both of you an update,” she said, sitting between us.

“You could call first,” I told her, scooting to the edge of the sofa.

“You’re getting cuter by the day, Honey. Anyway, all the girls have been strolling the last two nights trying to track down Valentino. He’s somewhere in Atlanta but Atlanta is huge. Red Velvet bailed on me last night. I’ll handle her personally. And—”

I interrupted, stood in front of Sapphire. “Wait one damn minute! You put my girls on the street? My girls are not street girls. And you will not handle Red Velvet! She’s not a prostitute. She has the lead in a big movie and she needs to get her ass in LA. Good she left. This is all a mess. Sapphire, why are you mishandling everything?”

Sapphire stood inches from me, breathing in my face. “Bitch, I’m busting my ass for your safety and this is my thanks!”

Slap!
I had no problem hitting first. Any bitch bold enough to get in my face and call me a bitch had it coming.

Slap!
I expected her to hit back. I grabbed her hair.

She snatched mine.

I’d developed a lot of tension being on lockdown. Sapphire had built up animosity toward me because of my relationship with Hunter. I could fatally beat her. She could shoot me. Hunter stood, grabbed Sapphire. I slapped her ass again. A slap between two killers was an insult.

“Honey, stop it!” Hunter held Sapphire behind him, making it clear his loyalty was to her. She smiled as if victory was hers.

Sapphire’s cellular rang. She checked the ID, then announced, “Lucky for us it’s my man, Santonio.”

“You wish you had a man,” I said.

Answering the phone, she said, “Hey, daddy. We still on for dinner tonight?”

As she walked out the door, I yelled, “You need some dick in your life! Fuck him tonight!”

B
itches did not stick together.

Put money, a dick, or a good man between females and there was a guaranteed ten-round catfight underway. But a mismatch wouldn’t last long. One bitch had signed up for a fuckin’ knockout but she wouldn’t know it until it was too late. I’d always bet on Lace’s lucky ass to win. What was so damn straight-up lethal about her? Her ability to make alliances with every fucking body? Lace should’ve taught Red Velvet that shutting the fuck up was sometimes best. Bitch’s mouth was more polluted than a septic system.

Red Velvet, that stank bitch was from a mutt breed. A little bit of this and a little bit of that all fuckin’ mixed up together between her yipping and yapping. I sat in a dining chair, faced her ass sitting in a dining chair, staring at me. Benito had pulled up his chair, sat staring at her, then at me. Back and forth his head pivoted every few seconds.

“Nigga, cut that shit out,” Red Velvet said.

“Bitch, don’t talk like me,” I told her.

“What the fuck your bitch ass gon’ do? I’m not telling you where Honey is.”

“You know I’ma let you go on with all that. But trust me, your mouth has a ass whuppin’ on layaway.”

Sarcastically, she repeated, “Your mouth has a ass whuppin’ on layaway.”

I swear I could beat her with no reservations or regrets. Red Velvet was not my type. Her ass was so humongous I could sit on it. Waist so small, I could hug her with one arm. Lips too big for my liking. Nose pointed like a white woman’s. Brown eyes hiding behind hazel contacts. Red Velvet was fine according to a black man’s standard. Mine too if I was going to put her ass on a stroll to make me some change but she could never be my main piece. Lace could but she wouldn’t. The one woman sexier than Lace was Sunny Day. Sure wish Sunny hadn’t committed suicide. Wished Red Velvet would kill herself.

Fuck!
Reflecting about Sunny made me think about my wife, Summer. I hadn’t called her since I’d left Las Vegas in her car with Benito. Oh, well. Too bad for her car. She’d probably reported the car stolen and bought another one with the insurance money.

“Hey, nigga. Stop staring at that bitch and get me the cell phone,” I said to Benito.

“Yeah, nigga, get the phone. I need to make a call too,” she said, staring me down.

Red Velvet was a weak opponent but her ass could outsmart Benito in a hot second. I had to watch him, watch her. She wasn’t protecting Lace. She was protecting her own ass. Bitch kicked me in my balls last night when I dragged her in the condo. I would’ve backhand slapped her if I didn’t need her to tell me where the fuck Lace was.

This was some fucked up sideshow circus shit. Grant suspected us. That nigga wasn’t slick, he was keeping a close watch. I suspected Sapphire. And Sapphire, who did that bitch suspect? If the answer was nobody, then her ass was using Lace as my bait. Sapphire was the only person Lace would go to for help.

“Here you go, V. Be careful, man. It’ll slide right out your hand.”

“Whatever, nigga. Keep your eyes on that slick bitch,” I said, dialing Summer’s cell phone.

“Hello, this is Summer speaking,” she answered, sounding all happy and shit.

“Hey, baby. It’s your man, what’s up? How’s my seeds?”

“Who’s calling? To whom would you like to speak?”

All right, maybe a nigga deserved some friction but her ass had better be joking. “It’s your husband, Anthony Valentino James. Don’t play, gurl.”

“You definitely have the wrong number.” Flatly she said, “I don’t have a husband.”

Red Velvet watched me, smiling, even fucking chuckling.

“What the fuck you looking at? Don’t make me beat that stupid grin off your ugly face,” I told her.

She smiled wider. Laughed out loud.

“Are you done with me? With her?” Summer politely asked. “I have to go to the hospital for my checkup.”

I knew Summer would warm up to me. On the under she was trying to tell me she had a doctor’s appointment for our twins. What kind of father would I have been if I’d stayed with my wife instead of coming to Atlanta?

“Bye. I believe you said your name was Anthony,” Summer said. “Wait, Anthony Junior, mommy is coming.”

“Sum—” before I got her name out, that bitch hung up on me. All women were bitches. Summer had probably sold the house, moved, and filed for an annulment. Advertised that shit in the paper and divorced my ass without my knowing.

Red Velvet hunched her shoulders, smiled at me with a blank “what now, nigga?” kind of stare.

“Tie her ass up,” I told Benito. “Tie her ankles to the chair, her waist to the back of the chair, and tie her wrists together tight as you can, nigga. And this time do not use no fuckin’ Scotch tape.”

I stared down on Red Velvet. “I don’t give a fuck if your ass never speaks another word. Get comfortable, bitch.”

Red Velvet was smooth. No kicking, screaming, fighting; no reply.

“You don’t seem so bad now. What happened to all that smart-ass talk you were spittin’ before I got on the phone?” I asked her.

Red Velvet sat with her ankles bonded to the legs of the dining room chair, her wrists tied together, her hands in her lap. “Shut the fuck up. Your woman don’t even want your sorry ass.”

“V, I say we untie her. Let her entertain us, man. You know, booty clap for us,” Benito suggested, nodding like a bobble head waving two dollars in the air.

Maybe if I was nice to the bitch. “Red Velvet, tell us where Honey is. We’ll find her, then we’ll let you go. You think Honey wouldn’t give you up in exchange for her freedom? You crazy,” I said.

Silence. Now the bitch was a mute mutt.

“Nigga, here. Take this scarf, wrap it around her mouth, and you shut the hell up.”

Benito tied the scarf, I slapped a piece of tape over her mouth. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Benito asked, his forehead wrinkled. “Shouldn’t one of us stay with her?”

Smack!
“Look at her. Does she look like she’s going anywhere?”

An incoming call on the cell saved Benito from another smack upside his head. “I’ma take this outside, nigga. You stay here.” I stood on the balcony.

“What’s the deal now?” I asked. Sapphire was playing too many fucking games, procrastinating and shit.

“Grant has the money in an account but we have to deliver Honey to him first,” she said.

“First, how the fuck we gon’ do that when we don’t know where she’s at?”

“I might have a lead. But you have to split the fifty with me straight down the middle,” she said.

“Your ass know where Lace is? Why you trying to fuck over everybody?”

“Not everybody, just you. Because I can. The money won’t do you much good for long. You’re still going to get your ass arrested. Where are you?”

Ain’t that a bitch? A nigga had to consider making Benito custodial over my ends until I did my time? “Your psychic ass know so much, you tell me.” I was so fucking heated I ended the call before I cursed that bitch out. That bitch wasn’t fooling Valentino. Sapphire had no idea where Lace was. That bitch was just tryn’a get paid off my back, Grant’s back, every damn body’s back. I went inside.

“Where we going?” Benito asked.

That nigga was my fucking shadow. “Out to look for Lace, nigga. Let’s go.”

Benito pivoted Red Velvet’s dining chair toward the television, turned up the volume. “That way if she tries to say something, no one will hear her.”

On an occasion or two, that nigga made sense.

We headed out the door. “My brother owns a lot of real estate,” Benito proudly said, stretching his arms.

“Yeah, nigga, keep it in perspective. Until I get my money back, I don’t own shit.”