Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (16 page)

“Well, if it isn’t Keisha Beale, the little woman who knocked my ass out,” she says.

“Darnelle, I’m sooo sorry,” I say. “Tristan’s security team found evidence after the fact that it wasn’t you who drugged me. I’m sorry I even believed Blake’s lying ass.”

She sidled up next to me at the bar. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been clocked by a girl as pretty as you. I was ten and still lived in the hood. You feel me?”

“Yes, I do. I promise. There’s no way I would’ve done that to you under normal circumstances. I was drugged, and all I had to go on was a quick lie from an ex who planned to do me dirty.”

“Tristan told me the score,” she says. “Girl, I was about to send my legal team after your ass.”

“I know. Thank you for giving me a pass, sistah.”

“Well, Tristan took care of that in spades. So no worries.”

I feel sick. Tristan has shelled out a boatload of cash on me that I can never repay.
Fuck!

“What’s wrong?” Darnelle’s brow furrows.

“Oh, nothing.” I smile. “I just need to say hello to a few more guests. Excuse me.”

I make a beeline for Tristan. He and Nate are holding court with a couple other guys. In my Jimmy Choos, I’m only about a head shorter than he is, so I duck under his arm. When he looks down, I buss him square on the mouth. One of the men whistles low through his teeth and the other makes catcalls. Tristan’s just grinning like an idiot when we come up for air.

“What was that for?” Tristan asks.

“Saving my ass so many times I can’t count them.”

He nuzzles my ear and whispers “I love your ass, remember?”

“Get a fucking room,” Nate says good-humoredly.

I pull Tristan to me for one last kiss by the Kente tie I got him for the occasion, and he takes my breath away. “Later,” he says, his eyes shining with a carnal lust I know will be a force to be reckoned with when we return to his condo in the wee hours of the morning.

A few more of the acts we’ve selected to audition for music deals with KSR perform between nine and eleven. One band in particular has a guy whose voice is so smooth, everybody pairs up to slow dance. I’m moving through the crowd, trying to find Tristan myself, which shouldn’t be hard, because he and Nate are two of the tallest men there. I spot Jada and Nate practically dry humping on the dance floor. She doesn’t do that with just anybody. I grin at my roommate who happens to be a Dominatrix herself, but has taken on the submissive role for Nate. She winks at me, and I continue on my quest to find Tristan.

Finally, I see his blond head, but he’s not alone. A Barbie doll wannabe is in his arms.

Oh hell no!
My Triple-G tries to intervene with diplomacy, but my Fairy Hoochie Mama does some Matrix-style Judo warm ups in her miniature Gi. She even does the bullet-dodging thing that Neo did the first time he was confronted by the agents with
guns
.

I march my jealous ass over to them and tap sister girl on the shoulder.

“Cutting in,” I say with a brilliant smile.

Blondie looks me up and down and says, “I don’t think Tristan slums with hood rats.”

I see red, and my fists involuntarily form like Oprah’s did when she was surrounded by the white mob in
The Color Purple
. I am about to knock this chick into next week when Tristan sees that look in my eye, and pushes her behind him. He takes me into his arms.

“Keisha. Keisha. Baby, the party is going exceedingly well. Let’s not let an ex-sub ruin your triumph here, okay.”

I struggle to get to her, but he holds me fast. “Tristan, that bitch called me a hood rat. I’m going to give her a special piece of this hood rat.”

“Sara, apologize to Keisha,” Dom Tristan says through clenched teeth. “She is my new sub, and you will not disrespect her.”

The snide look on Sara’s face becomes surprise, but she does as Tristan commands her. “Please forgive me for insulting you, Keisha. I’ll step aside, so you can dance with your Dom.” She slinks off the dance floor.

Tristan gathers me into his arms, and we begin to dance. I am impressed with his moves. He smiles and tries to cajole me into a better mood. He palms my ass, and presses me into him until I can feel his appreciation. My vajayjay reciprocates her appreciation by throbbing on cue. However, I’m still pissed off with Sara, and more interested in figuring out how long ago he was with that bitch.

“Is she the one you dumped six months ago?”

“No, actually Sara got married three years ago. I invited her and her spouse to the party, but she tells me they’ve separated.”

“She’s not sniffing around hoping you’ll take her back, is she?” I don’t know why I should care. Tristan will likely tire of me as he has all the others, and we’ll eventually go our separate ways. He’s made that clear. We are supposed to have that understanding. Why am I sweating him about this?

He smiles. “That shade of green you’re wearing is clashing with your beautiful dress, Keisha.”

“Um, I beg to differ, Sir. I can rock green better than Ms. No-ass, Silicone-tits Sara.” I try to deflect him with humor. “As long as you and I are knocking boots, I refuse to share you with any STD-ridden skank-hos, or their mamas. Capische?”

“And I refuse to share you with any STD-harboring jocks, or their daddies. Comprende?”

Tristan White can even play the dozens. Who knew?

#

Jada and I take a bathroom break together when the party is almost over. We’re in our separate stalls taking care of business, when I hear two women at the sink talking.

“I think I’m going to Jenny Simpson’s Botox-silicone party next weekend. Are you in?”

I smile. White girls ought to quit, and be thankful for what the Good Lord gave them.

“I might be in the market for some filler in my glutes.”

“I think you’d better if you want to compete against Tristan’s new sub.”

These bitches know Tristan!

“Can you believe she’s black?”

“I know, right? And she’s not even from our country club set. She’s straight ghetto.”

I finish tinkling, and I’m fumbling with my dress trying to get everything back together, so I can surprise their asses when a stall door slams open so hard, I jump, and the harpies outside squeal.

“You cunts are talking about my best friend,” Jada says. “I’m not surprised Tristan doesn’t want either of you, because none of your shit is real. How much you pay for those tits, Blondie? And how about that ass, Ms. Brunette?”

I hear scrambling, and when I finally get out of my Jimmy Choos and exit my stall, I see the doorknob hitting them in the crack
s
of their proverbial asses.

“Damn I wish we could’ve cornered her ass in here,” I say. “That blonde bitch, Sara, had the nerve to call me a hood rat to my face.”

Jada shakes her head and pummels her hand with her fist. She dances around like she’s floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. “I wish I’d known. I would’ve swollen Blondie’s ass up twice the size she wanted it to be injected to.”

Laughing, I slip my shoes back on and dance on one leg to get them each fastened. “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m going home with Tristan. So fuck her.”

Jada offers me an arm until I get the last shoe fastened, and we leave to meet up with our men.

~*~

113

Three months don’t seem long, but being the sex slave, er, submissive of Tristan White makes time fly like a mofo. This man has no concept of the term,
stop and smell the roses
. He is a workaholic who just happens to play as hard as he works, and his work ethic has rubbed off on Jada and me, because KSR runs like a well-oiled machine
,
until we hit a snag that neither Jada nor Tristan could explain. We had been moving toward the eventuality of being in the black within a year from our first two months of accounts receivable. However, when our first quarter numbers came in, the forward trajectory stalled and we began hemorrhaging profits like mad.

I get a call from Tristan on the morning he receives the financial statements. Good thing Jada’s given me a heads-up; otherwise I would’ve been blindsided.

“Keisha, you want to tell me what the fuck’s going on over there?”

“I can’t say that we know right now, but Jada and I have our two best financial people going over the numbers as we speak. Hopefully, we’ll know in a day or two.”

“Not good enough,” he says. “You’ve got until close of business tomorrow to sort this shit out.”

“Hey, we’re just as anxious as you are to fix this. You don’t have to be so damned snippy.”

“I don’t do snippy,” he says borrowing one of my phrases. “This is me being the pissed off head of the company that gave you the start-up capital to build this business, not run it into the fucking ground.”

I sigh, knowing full well he is right. “Okay, we’re on it. Jorge and I will jump in too and see what we can dig up.”

I hang up and go in search of my cousin, whom I haven’t seen all morning. In fact, I’ve noticed he’s been uncharacteristically running late two to three days a week for the past few weeks. I didn’t get onto him about it, because he stays later and catches up, often doing more after hours than he gets done in the morning. However, since it looks like a pattern, I think it’s about time I nipped it in the bud.

His office is also our server room, for lack of a better name for it. He has a daunting setup of computer equipment and electronic gadgets designed to make our growing network run smooth
.
Because of the hardware in there, he
designed a state-of-the-art optimal arrangement in the workspace, with
a dedicated A/C unit to keep all the equipment cool. I knock and step into
the
frigid office. Again, it’s ten-thirty already, and
Jorge
isn’t in yet.

At
one-thirty, I see him shoot pass my door, and I call out to him. “Jorge!”

He puts the skids on, doubles back and pokes his head in the door. “Yeah,
minha patroa primo
?” Cue the chicken-shit grin he wears every time he calls me “my cousin boss lady” in Portuguese.

“Come in for a minute. We need to have a pow-wow.” The grin fades when he sees I’ve abandoned the cousin face. It is all boss-lady face today. He comes in, shuts the door, and plops down in the chair in front of my desk.

He begins to talk before I can get a word in. “I know I’ve been keeping crazy hours the last few weeks, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to be called on the carpet for it before I had some good news to tell you. Thomas and I have been having problems.” Thomas Sanders is Jorge’s boyfriend whom he’d elevated to exclusive partner status right around the time he came to work for KSR.

“Aw, Bug,” I say, using his nickname. “What’s going on? And why didn’t you tell me sooner, so I wouldn’t think you were using our family ties as an excuse to do your own thing?”

Jorge swallows hard, as if he’s trying to refrain from crying. His voice shakes anyway. “I didn’t want to burden you, meu
primo
. His recreational drug use is out of control.”

“Oh no.” I get up from my desk and walk around to him. I envelope him in my arms where he sits, and he wraps his arms around my torso. When I feel him shaking, I know he’s crying, so I let him have his moment.

“We had it out last night. He left the house. I didn’t get any sleep. Up half the night worrying about him. Then he dragged his ass in this morning just before time for me to leave for work and apologized, but I didn’t let him off with just an apology this time. I told him if he didn’t seek treatment, we’re through.”

“Good for you,” I say. “I know you care for him, but if he doesn’t get clean, baby, that’s a headache you don’t need right now
—
or ever for that matter.”

“I know. So, I stayed there until he made the calls and set up everything. Fortunately, his job has an excellent Employee Assistance Program, so he was off to see his doctor when I left to get the necessary medical leave forms completed.”

“I’m glad he’s getting help. So are we okay to talk about KSR business now?”

Jorge nods, and gathers his composure.

I begin our impromptu meeting. “Tristan’s riding our asses over the quarterly financial reports. Profits have dropped thirty-five percent. We’ve got to figure this shit out and quick. Didn’t you say we had something like 50,000 plus unique new users on the site this month?”

“Yeah, the last operations report was definitive,” Jorge says. “You need me to run it again?”

“Looks like we’re going to need to run every damn thing again,” I say.

“Okay, I’m on it,” Jorge says and stands.

“Bring everything to my office when you’re done and we’ll go over it with a fine-toothed comb.”