Naughty or Nice (23 page)

“Damn. She is working that guy out.”

Panther was heating up her customer. I chuckled because I felt betrayed, like she was cheating on me. Our religious experience had passed and I'd been reduced to being the voyeur. Watching her tease him with her tongue and breasts, rubbing her warmth all over him, spreading her legs, showing him her pussy lips, letting him imagine her excitement going down his throat.

Carpe went to the men's room. On the way back, he stopped and talked to Panther. She was finished with her customer, first tucking her money in her garter, then easing back into her thong. More smiles and laughs and nods. He touched her shoulder and a different kind of heat consumed me. My hands became fists when I imagined him fucking her. Taking the keys to the studio away from me, giving them to her, loving her twice a day until the ocean went dry.

Carpe came back, rubbed my hand, asked, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed, rubbed my hands on my legs. “It's getting late.”

He checked his watch.

When you were having an affair, you were always aware of the time, of every unaccountable minute. Always watching the clock and working on your next lie.

I staggered a bit when I got up. Still flustered. Tingling. Wet. Every nerve roaring.

On the way out, men looked at me with that one-sided smile. But the women, I mean damn. With Carpe in front of me he couldn't see how the women were watching me, a couple of them even winking and making bold motions for me to leave my lover and party with them.

I'd walked into this world a pauper and left feeling like Venus.

We had started this party around ten. Now it was after midnight.

Before I went out the door, I took one last look back at Panther.

 

The radio was on; car windows were cracked, cool air riding across my skin. Couldn't cool down, couldn't stop wiggling or tingling, and couldn't get this fire to die down.

I said, “You know what?”

“What?”

“Pull over and hook me up.”

“No.”

“I want you to thug me.”

He laughed.

I moaned. “Please?”

“No.”

Sirens punctured the night air as we rode under the streetlights and into the blackness of the urban track, riding pothole after pothole, passing by motel after motel, passing by women who have their merchandise on display. The true whores of the Southland. My breathing was strong, fists moving up and down my thighs, legs opening and closing.

He took my left hand, put my fingers in his mouth, and sucked each finger.

I doubled over and moaned from that feeling. “God, I need to come.”

“No.”

“Pull over.”

“No.”

Couldn't stop shifting side-to-side, trying to fan myself back to sanity.

“Right now or I'll do myself.”

“Wait.”

“Can't.”

“Wait.”

He touched between my legs, held my heat in his hands.

“Why are you torturing me?”

I squeezed his fingers with my legs; beat my thigh with my fist. He massaged, stirred, traced the outlines of my dampness and heat. I touched his erection; he moved my hand away.

 

Carpe undressed me, took away everything except for my shoes, carried me to the bed, lay me down, took my vibrator out, left it next to me, told me not to touch it; then he went to the armless chair, sat down. I knew what I needed, but I didn't know what he wanted.

Aching, desperate to have an orgasm, I reached for the vibrator.

He told me to leave it alone.

My hands came to life, fingernails raking up my legs, reaching to touch myself.

He came to the bed, moved my hands away, sat next to me, sucked my wetness from my fingers, my breasts, my toes, kept my fire on high, but never allowed me to cross that threshold.

I hated him.

For a long while he fed me kiwis and mangoes, rubbed juices on me, licked the sweetness away. Fed me, tongued my breasts, put three fingers in me, but never let me come.

I loved him.

There were two soft knocks at the door.

I jumped the way an adulteress jumped when a new fear gripped her heart.

He rubbed my leg, said, “It's okay.”

I lay back down, adjusting my legs and hands so my breasts and sex were covered.

The door opened and I saw the silhouette of a goddess.

Panther.

She came into our light, her face sending me a slow smile, one that made my back arch, made my legs want to move away from each other.

That familiar liquid sensation crept down my neck. My breath caught in my nostrils as the air turned electric.

In the sweetest voice Carpe asked me, “Yes or no, baby?”

For every reaction, there is an overreaction.

Read dat somewhere

I
rub you, I rub you, baby, I rub you!”

Frankie slapped the table and doubled over laughing. “Lawd . . . somebody hep that child.”

Days had gone by and Christmas was staring us in our faces. We were drinking wine and laughing. Me and Frankie had done some last-minute shopping at the Camarillo outlets, about an hour north of Los Angeles proper. Today I drove. I fought the 405 from the city and battled the madness on the 101 to get north of the valley because I wanted to get Carpe a special gift. On the way back we got off the freeway because traffic was a brick, then ended up at The Brass Monkey, a karaoke bar off Wilshire in the heart of Korea Town. Huge crowd. Mostly white.

“Baby, I rub you.”

We had gotten up and turned the house out McBroom style, jumped super dramatic and acted like we were the Supreme Destiny En Vogue and performed Aretha's
r-e-s-p-e-c-t
. Then this Korean girl started howling YMCA. She was dressed like Britney Spears, had on over-the-top Cleopatra makeup and when she started doing the letters . . . she was so small and perky . . . she was so hilarious. I didn't mean to laugh at her, but I couldn't help it. We were red in the face and dying. The poor girl couldn't say the letter
L,
so all of her
L
s sounded like
R
s.

“I rub you, baby, I rub you.”
The song ended and Miss Perky
threw on a wide grin and took a bow fit for Broadway. “Now I will sing a Ricky Martin song . . . Riving Ra Vida Roca.”

“Riving Ra Vida Roca!” Frankie cackled. “God, I wish Tommie could see this.”

I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee on myself. We couldn't take any more, so we headed out to the parking lot, then I drove up Wilshire and cruised the Crenshaw Strip.

Frankie said, “You're in a much better mood.”

“Am I?”

“Considering.”

“You'd rather see me depressed?”

“No. You're glowing.”

“Am I?”

“Like something . . . dunno . . . you're different.”

My cellular vibrated and I smiled.

After we crossed the 10, there were miles of sidewalk vendors and bean pie hustlers on every corner. Frankie asked me to stop down near Slauson. She wanted to go to a makeshift booth that had everything from bootleg Laker gear to Disney movies to XXX movies.

Frankie bought a couple XXX flicks.

I bought a Lakers jersey with Kobe's number.

When I drove us away, Frankie said, “Every time you get a message from your friend, you look like you're intoxicated.”

I laughed. “What's the wildest thing you've done?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. With a guy.”

“What did you do?”

“I think I had the sexual experience of my life.”

“I don't want to know.”

I laughed and left it at that.

She asked, “Is that who the present is for?”

“What present?”

“Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust watch. The one you just drove about one hundred and fifty miles to buy. The one with the diamond hour markers. Your memory coming back?”

“Why?”

“You just spent over five thousand dollars, that's why.”

“Back down, Frankie. Don't spoil our day.”

“Answer the question. Is that a present for Tony?”

“Tony already busted a nut and made his present.”

“So, are you leaving Tony for this new guy or what?”

I paused. “He's married.”

“What?”

“Now, let it rest.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You're dealing with a married man?”

I didn't answer.

“Fucking insane.” Frankie shook her head and sighed. “Five thousand dollars. If you're going to end your marriage, the last thing you need to do is spend that kind of money.”

“He spent more than that on me.”

“I don't give a shit if he bought you the twenty-three bridges in Paris.”

She kept shaking her head.

My cell phone vibrated and a fever came over me.

She said, “Guess somebody's looking for his concubine.”

“You know what . . . fuck you.”

“Don't disrespect me.”

“Don't disrespect me.”

“Livvy, I don't have to disrespect you because you're disrespecting yourself.”

“Oh, please. I've
only
been with two men the last six years.”

“Cancún.”

“Cancún doesn't count.”

“Oh, please.”

“You know the rule. Vacation sex doesn't count.”

“Whatever.”

I snap, “And even if it did, the dick count is still below the national average. Mine is anyway. You want to comment on that?”

“Whatever, whatever, what-the-fuck-ever.”

Then we were silent. Pissed off and silent.

When I pulled up in front of her place I said, “I'm not a concubine. A man doesn't spend six thousand dollars on you and—”

The car door slammed. She went inside without saying good-bye.

I drove away, thinking about Tony. Missing him more than I would admit. Six years were about to end and that was fucked up. On the way back to Tommie's I was remembering how we used to wake up in the morning and either he'd give me that look, or I'd give him that look, and we'd fall into each other and become husband and wife.

 

I was still awake when I heard Tommie's Jeep pulling down the driveway. She put her truck in the garage. Then she came up the stairs, came in the back door, rushing. The light in her bedroom came on, then she came in the living room, saw me sitting on her sofa in the dark.

She said, “You scared me.”

“Hey.”

“Thought you were staying at Frankie's tonight.”

“We got into it.”

“Figures.”

“I can leave.”

“It's cool. Uh.” She twisted her lips. “Livvy?”

“Yeah.”

“You. . .uh. . .”

“Have any more condoms?”

“Yeah.”

I handed her my last two.

She said, “I want you to meet Blue.”

“Not tonight.”

“I don't mean tonight.”

I winked at her, hoped my jealousy didn't show. “Have fun.”

“Livvy?”

“Yeah?”

“What's the longest you've—?”

“Had sex?”

“No, no. Kissed.”

“Kissed?”

“Yeah. What's the longest?”

“Oh. Dunno.”

“He mistletoed me for over an hour.”

I smiled and remembered when me and Tony were like that. When it was still new.

I asked, “You coming?”

“Coming where?”

“Not coming like that coming. I mean, you know, coming.”

“Oh, God. Yes. Three times. The first time, I thought—”

“You had died and gone to heaven.”

“
Yes.
I was like . . . my, God . . . like an epileptic with Tourette's syndrome.”

“Welcome to the club. You were in heaven.”

“Are you feeling me on that? Lord, I am so . . . so . . . so sprung.”

“Sprung? Not good.”

“It's cool because he's sprung too.”

Tommie took a shower, put on her flannel pajamas, then came back into the living room.

She said, “One more question.”

I sat up. “What?”

“How do you know when you're having too much sex?”

I told her, “No such thing.”

“Good. I was getting worried. Thought I might be a freak or something.”

She pulled on her housecoat, put on her duck slippers, and headed out the front door. I was in the living room, staring out her bay windows. She jogged across Fairfax and hurried up the stairs that led to her friend's apartment. I sat in her beanbag. His lights came on. I saw them laughing. Talking. Kissing like Billy Dee and Pam Grier. Then the lights went out.

I sent Carpe a text message.

He didn't respond.

First I was angry, wondering where he was, what he was doing.

Those were foolish thoughts.

I was having an affair.

An affair was a false world made of perceptions.

This wasn't the kind of shit I want to think about, but I couldn't escape my thoughts. I was awake and wanted sleep to be my friend, but not even sleep would come to comfort me.

Then it felt like I wanted to cry. I sat there in the dark trying to figure out my life. Twenty-nine years old. Thirty in four months. Sleeping on my sister's sofa. Starting over wasn't easy at thirty, not when you thought you had it all, but realized you had nothing at all.

And it was almost Christmas.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt so empty and alone.

Damn Depo. Had to be the fucking Depo.

I went back to the sofa. Picked up my cellular. Dialed.

He answered, “Hello?”

“It's Livvy.”

“I know. Surprised you didn't hang up.”

“I am too.”

I held the phone, breathing. He did the same.

I said, “Tony?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Why did it happen?”

“I don't know.”

“Why did you go to her?”

“We've had this conversation, Livvy.”

“And we're having it again. I really need to have it again. I really need this.”

“I don't have an answer.”

“There is always a reason. Were you lonely?”

“No.”

“Was sex with me that bad?”

“No, it's . . . It was wonderful. Every time we made love it was wonderful.”

“What happened?”

“I was tempted. I was weak. I was evil.”

I said, “Evil is a theological term, Tony.”

He knows the issues I have with the black and whiteness of religion. Always good versus evil and so absolute. I think humanity lives in that gray area where it all overlaps.

He cleared his throat. “But still, we reap what we sow.”

“That we do.”

“I got caught up in the moment and . . . fell short of the man I was trying to be.”

“Caught up in the moment.” I repeated and rubbed my temples. “Was it the excitement?”

He breathed heavily.

“Was it?”

“Livvy . . . this is giving me such a goddamn headache.”

“Welcome to the club. Now, was it exciting?”

“No, it wasn't exciting, dammit. Shit, Livvy—”

“Don't lie. All I'm asking for is honesty. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations.”

He took another hard breath. “Not like it is . . . was . . . like it was with you.”

“It was just sex.”

“Yes, with her, that's all it was.”

“How many times?”

“I saw her twice. Then I never saw her again, until . . . until I got served.”

“Were you expecting to get served?”

“Livvy, I had no idea.”

Silence.

I softened my tone, asked, “Was it exciting?”

He paused. “It was . . . new. So, in some ways, it was exciting.”

Silence.

I bit my bottom lip. “Thanks for being honest.”

“In the big picture, it was nothing. It was an illusion. Not even real.”

“It's real, Tony. Take the red pill, unplug yourself, wake up from the dream, it's real.”

A moment passed.

I asked, “How's Roomba?”

He laughed.

I laughed too.

Tony said, “Roomba misses you.”

I imagined my husband smiling a little. Not much, just a little.

I said, “We've been together a long time.”

“Yeah. I can still see you in that devil outfit. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.”

Again we paused.

I said, “The decorations, the Christmas tree, it all looks good, Tony.”