BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) (5 page)

She laughed. “That’s what I want to hear.”

“So what are you in here for?” I asked, smacking my lips. Now that I was used to it, the taste of the hooch wasn’t so bad.

“Drugs,” Willow said. “That’s my poison of choice, but getting drugs in prison is another animal. I’ve been in and out my whole life, but this stint is going to be longer.”

“How come?”

“Because I’d just scored a shit ton of coke when I got caught,” Willow said, sounding almost sad. I wondered if she was sad that she got caught, or sadder that she’d left all that coke on the outside. “Enough to be charged with intent to distribute. Yep. I’m going to be here for a good long while. It’s been kind of like a second home to me, though.”

I started to ask her another question, but stopped as her face twisted, shifted, changed.

“What’s wrong?” Willow asked, but it wasn’t my cellmate anymore. It was Johnny French, in the flesh.

“You’re what’s wrong,” I told him. “You could’ve sent me a lawyer, at least. Try to keep your ass out of the hot seat. I would’ve appreciated it, Johnny. I would’ve lied for you, too, if you’d shown me one ounce of fucking courtesy. I thought I deserved that with as much as I did for you through the years.”

“How would I have done that?” he asked, stroking his smooth chin. He had to shave twice a day to keep it that silky, I knew. I used to shave it for him after we got through with sex and he got cleaned up, ready to put his cop’s face back on to complete his shift.

“You would’ve found a way,” I said. “You always find a way, Johnny. Shit. I’m disappointed in you. I can barely stand to look at you.”

“Then stop looking,” he said, grinning. He knew I couldn’t stop. He knew that I actually liked him, unlike the customers I’d simply pretended to like. I hated him having that on me.

“I’m not going to stop looking, as long as you’re here,” I said. “Why don’t you come here, honey? Give Mama a kiss.”

“I think that probably counts as contraband,” he said, but he sidled closer all the same.

“Am I a bad influence on you, Johnny?” I asked coquettishly, licking my lips at his broad shoulders, his dark hair. He always set my heart beating, always.

“You’re the worst,” he said, smoothing my wild hair, tracing the line of my jaw with his fingers. “You make me a dirty cop, Mama.”

“Not yet I haven’t,” I said. “But I’ll make you dirty. You just watch.”

I kissed him, probing his mouth with my tongue, stroking his own tongue gently with mine in the way that drove him crazy. He slipped his hands into my jumpsuit, working me out of it, palming my large breasts. They’d always been big, even when the rest of me hadn’t matched. Johnny loved them, loved tweaking my purple nipples until they stood out, hard nubs. He put his mouth on them, teasing them with his tongue, nibbling them with his teeth. It drove me nuts, made me wetter than anything else.

“I’ve missed you, Johnny,” I breathed, pushing his hand down between my legs. “Touch me, sugar. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me like this. Make me feel good.”

“The door swings both ways,” he said, smiling against my mouth, rolling my clit between his fingers. I arched my back at his demanding touch, my body having no alternative other than to respond to his every touch. He wormed first one finger, then two into my slick pussy, seeking out my G-spot and finding it with deadly accuracy. He always knew just what to do to get me off, treated the idea of getting me off as just a part of the routine. I’d known customers who stopped as soon as they got their jollies with me, but not Johnny. Johnny kept going until we were both satisfied.

“You know I’ll take care of you, sugar,” I said, my head lolling at the liquor and the pleasure, my breathing ragged, my body right on the edge of ecstasy. Then, it came all crashing down, my climax shattering me into a million pieces. It had been so long, so long since someone had given this to me. I’d had no idea I’d needed it so badly.

“Now you, sugar,” I said, parting my legs for him, drawing him to me, taking his hard cock from his trousers.

“Seeing you,” he said, caressing my sensitive breasts. “That was enough for me. I don’t need another thing.”

“I want to, Johnny,” I said breathlessly, hooking his body with my legs and bringing him right to my entrance. If he could feel that warmth and that wetness, he wouldn’t be able to resist me.

His eyes fluttered closed and he thrust forward, penetrating me with one swift, smooth moment. Oh, God. It felt incredible. I could make any man believe he was incredible in bed, but I didn’t have to pretend a goddamn thing with Johnny. He was perfect in every way. I had practically already forgiven him for keeping his distance during the trial.

“Fuck me, sugar,” I gasped as he thrust into my violently. It’d been a long time for him, too, apparently. “Yes, sugar, fuck me good. Yes. Yes.”

“You’ve always been mine,” Johnny said. “Always.”

We finished at the same time, my second orgasm less desperate and less life altering than the first, but no less welcome. My Johnny had come back to me. Life was good.

He withdrew from my body, leaving me feeling creamy and sticky, but I didn’t mind. It belonged to Johnny. It was all him. It was all I wanted.

“I’ve gotta go, Mama,” he said, his face sad as he pulled on his uniform again.

“Why?” I asked. “We have hours. We have years. Stay here with me.”

“You’re in prison,” he reminded me. “And I’m a cop. It can’t work.”

“We can make it work,” I protested, gathering my jumpsuit around myself. All I wanted to do was fall asleep in his arms. That’s all. Was that so illegal, so wrong?

“It’s not going to work, Mama,” he said, but it wasn’t Johnny French anymore. His face was morphing into someone I didn’t recognize, his body shrinking away from me.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“What’s happening?” the little boy in front of me asked. “Where are you going, Mama?”

Jesus. My own son. I hadn’t recognized my own son. It’d been long—too long. I didn’t want him to see me this drunk, but I couldn’t turn him away. I didn’t have any kind of choice.

“Come here, baby,” I said, holding my arms out, relieved that I wasn’t naked in front of my child. “Mama’s here. You come give your Mama a big hug. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You left before,” my sweet child said. “You left me.”

“Marshall, I left to make sure we had a good life,” I said. “I did it for you, baby.”

He shook his head. “I wanted to go with you, Mama,” he said. “Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“You couldn’t go where I was going, baby,” I said. Especially since where I was going ended up here, in prison. “I need you to understand that.”

“I want my Mama,” he said, that full bottom lip getting puffier and puffier as he pouted, the tears brimming in his eyes.

“No, no,” I said, enveloping him in my arms. “None of that. I don’t want any crying, you hear me? Not here. Not when Mama’s here. Mama’s here, baby boy. She’s here.”

I rocked my precious son in my arms, hugging him tightly. I’d left for him, tried to make a living so that we never had to worry about money again. The nightclub, everything, was for him. I wanted to make a good life for us both.

“You left me,” he sobbed. “You left me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I’m right here, baby. Look at Mama. I’m right here, son.”

But he wouldn’t stop crying. It broke my heart. He clung to me, but I gently extricated myself, holding him at arm’s length to get a look at his face.

It wasn’t my son.

“Cocoa?” I asked, in absolute disbelief. “Is it you?”

“It’s me, Mama,” she sobbed, hiccupping for breath, wiping the tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Cocoa had been something of a lieutenant to me in the nightclub. She’d been my liaison between the business side of the nightclub and the personnel—my girls. She told them things I asked her to, and became like another mother to several of them. I trusted her—I used to trust her—with everything. Whenever we took on a new girl at the boarding house, it was Cocoa I always put her with. Cocoa was patient and kind and always showed the girls what they were supposed to be doing—if not by telling them outright, then by showing them through her example. She was one of the most talented, highest paid girls in the nightclub.

But then, she betrayed me.

“You betrayed me,” I said, scooting away from her. “You fucked me over, Cocoa. Why?”

“I didn’t,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “I’d never, Mama. It was you who betrayed me.”

“Not true,” I insisted. “That’s just not true.”

“You turned your back on me,” she said. “I needed your help, Mama, and you weren’t there for me. I needed you, and you turned me out.”

“You stole from me,” I said, choking on my rage and my grief. Cocoa had been like a daughter to me. The betrayal had been absolute.

“How is collecting some of my wages stealing from you?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “All I took from you was two grand. I bet that was what I made in a week, Mama. You knew how good I was. Why couldn’t you have helped me?”

I shook my head furiously. It didn’t make sense. Cocoa lied to me, she endangered the nightclub when she let some fool of a customer take photos of her while they were having sex. The customer’s wife found out and ended their marriage over it, and he returned to the nightclub, seeking revenge and exacting it on Cocoa. Cops had been called—cops I hadn’t known. It had put everything in danger.

“You could’ve cost me everything,” I said. “You could’ve brought the entire nightclub to its knees.”

“Where do you think the nightclub is right now?” she asked. “It’s over, Mama, and it wasn’t me. It was you. You.”

“Lies,” I said. “Pure lies. That nightclub was my life. I cared for all of you girls. I did.”

“No,” Cocoa said. Her face was dry, as if she’d never shed a tear. “The one and only thing you ever cared about ever since I first met you was money. Cash was your first and only love, Mama. We were just vehicles to get you toward what you wanted. And you’d toss us aside if you thought we were getting in your way. You tried to kill me just for asking what was rightfully mine.”

“I didn’t,” I protested. “I’d never. You—you’re lying.” Even as I tried to dispute Cocoa’s version of events, foggy memories surfaced—memories I’d tried to keep deep within myself. A gun in my hand. Cocoa running from me. The crash of glass. Cocoa jumping out of a window to get away. Rage. The chase. And absolute despair.

“Get out of here!” I screamed at her. “Get out of here!”

“You think about your sins, Mama,” Cocoa said, rising gracefully and walking toward the door to my cell. “You have plenty of time to remember each and every one, I think.”

“Out!” I screamed. “Out! I don’t want you here! Get out of here! Leave me the fuck alone! I didn’t ask for this.”

I sobbed myself to sleep. What had happened? Why was everyone angry with me? I’d done nothing wrong. I’d only tried to make a business, tried to make a life for myself so that I’d never have to worry again. I was a single mother, after all, one who’d only known how to do one thing to make money. I needed the nightclub as much as it needed me, and I’d fight to protect it.

When I woke up, I wasn’t in my cell. I wasn’t anywhere I recognized.

I was sprawled on a concrete floor, my head pounding, my mouth like cotton. When I tried to stand, my world was upended. My stomach heaved and I puked on the floor before I could manage to drag myself toward a toilet. There, I emptied the contents of my stomach and then some. I dry heaved for several long minutes before I got myself back under control, flopping back down on the floor, not caring that I was lying partially in my own vomit.