Never Again Once More (22 page)
Read Never Again Once More Online
Authors: Mary B. Morrison
What if they were all infected? Damn! Jada grabbed her purse and stormed out of her office. “Shannon, I’ll be out the rest of the day. Call Jazzmyne and ask her to take over.”
“What about Zen?” Shannon inquired.
Jada cut Shannon a sharp look and squinted her eyes, then said, “Jazzmyne.” Reflecting on what Theo had just told her, Jada slowly walked away with all of the letters in her purse.
Chapter 30
S
omebody’s daughter was going to pay. Whenever a woman caused a man to suffer, another woman had to endure equal or greater pain. Emotionally. Physically. Sexually. Sometimes a female got slammed with all three, a triple dose. That wasn’t part of DL. That was just the way some men were. Women shouldn’t personalize unexplainable bullshit and beat downs as much as they should generalize the shit. The trickle-down effect struck most women at least once in their lifetime. And if she didn’t have enough sense to leave after the first encounter, she’d better be on guard for the triple double because that kind of crap was like a bad penny.
omebody’s daughter was going to pay. Whenever a woman caused a man to suffer, another woman had to endure equal or greater pain. Emotionally. Physically. Sexually. Sometimes a female got slammed with all three, a triple dose. That wasn’t part of DL. That was just the way some men were. Women shouldn’t personalize unexplainable bullshit and beat downs as much as they should generalize the shit. The trickle-down effect struck most women at least once in their lifetime. And if she didn’t have enough sense to leave after the first encounter, she’d better be on guard for the triple double because that kind of crap was like a bad penny.
Darius was grateful his Wednesday flight to New Orleans had been hassle free. Surprisingly, his driver had showed up at his condo on time, and when he’d handed the L.A. ticket agent his confirmation number, she’d handed him his firstclass seat assignment.
When Darius exited the seven forty-seven at Louis Armstrong International, Heather was waiting with open arms. Unexpectedly, everything had gone according to plan, and their driver was there, too.
“How was your flight?” Heather asked after kissing Darius on the cheek.
“Fantastic.” Darius played it off and walked side by side with Heather as if they were in town on business. He knew enough about the dirty South to avoid any racial confrontations. Forget the cops. The sistahs were the ones issuing the threatening looks.
The Big Easy had an eerie feeling in the air. Before Darius stepped outside of the automatic sliding glass doors that led to the garage, the morning humidity surrounded his body like an electric blanket set on high, sticking to his sweaty flesh. Massive pollution from cars and taxis of all colors—red, blue, black, white, green, purple—was trapped under the overpass that resembled a cave but with two openings, one at each end.
Nudging Heather, Darius said, “Notice how every cab is different.” He pointed to his left, then to his right.
Heather’s head followed suit. “Yeah, that’s neat.”
“Well, that neatness represents how divided this place is. Jews. Blacks. Whites. Creoles. Catholics. Baptists. Episcopals. And unlike Californians, they all speak their minds. Remember that.” Darius appreciated the directness, because he never had to guess what a Nawlins’ native was thinking.
A woman bearing four front gold teeth between the largest lips Darius had seen smiled, waved, and yelled, “My dear, I’m over here.” The combustion invaded his lungs as he covered his face to hide his burning, watery eyes. He missed his My Dear more than he’d ever imagined.
With all the pressures riding on his shoulders, Darius would have sworn he’d died and gone to hell, because it was sinfully hot. The only thing that was missing was Satan sitting on his shoulder with a pitchfork yelling, “Burn in hell, Darius Jones, and bring as many victims with you as possible. Your My Dear can’t save you now. Your soul is mine!” Laughter rang out as four little boys, each wearing shorts with no shirts, whisked by Darius and Heather. One day he would truly have to account for his sins.
“Are you okay?” Heather asked.
The feel of Heather’s hand on his back made him more paranoid. Darius wanted to sacrifice his locks so his scalp could breathe, and if he did kiss his dreads goodbye, it would be a first. Suddenly, Darius realized he had never surrendered anything. He scratched his head and replied, “I’m fine. It’s just too damn hot here. Didn’t anybody tell them summer was over? I can’t wait to get back home.”
The limo escort, who had remained silent until now, chimed in, “Man, dat’s why we move so slow. Look around. See anybody in a hurry? If ya do, they ain’t no native for sho’.”
“Aren’t you sweating with that black suit on?” Heather asked the driver as he loaded the trunk with their bags.
“Baby girl, JT don’ sweat. Don’ drink enough wadah fo’ dat. A sip here and a sip der’. Drink alcohol instead. In Nawlins that’s the law, ya know. Everybody’s gotta one-drink minimum, pe’ day. And the chillins ain’t no exception. Oooooouuu wee.” JT bucked his eyes wide right in front of Heather’s face. “JT got a li’l taste waitin’ for ya wid some ice in the limo. Try it for ya self.” JT opened the door. Darius motioned for Heather to get in. The ride in the limo to the Ritz Carlton downtown on Canal Street was about a half hour with traffic. Darius checked in and let the driver—who delivered to the doorman, who delivered to the bellman—deliver their luggage to the suite. Unlike Wellington, Darius was conservative with tipping. He handed each of them a ten-dollar bill.
When Darius unlocked the door, Heather walked in, glanced around, and said, “This is the type of room I want for the conference.” Then she fell backward on the king-size bed and pretended to make a snow angel. “I’m starved. Let’s get some crawfish and oysters on a half shell.” Heather reached over, palmed Darius’s ass, and laughed heartily. She had dyed her brunette hair blond for several years because it made her appear younger. The tapered style showed off her catlike eyes and girlish freckles.
Darius straddled Heather. He unbuttoned, then unzipped her black cotton slacks. The salt-and-pepper-colored hairs between her thighs didn’t match the ones on Heather’s head. Her pant legs were turned inside out as Darius dropped them to the floor. He unbuckled his baggy black jeans, kicked off his tennis shoes, the pair Miranda missed her chance to see, grabbed his penis, and started penetrating Heather as if this would be their last time together. That was the way he felt.
Heather’s hands forcefully pressed against his chest. “Darius, wait. You forgot to put on a condom.”
“I didn’t forget.” Darius leaned into Heather’s hands as if he were doing calisthenics as he thrust harder. “You know you’ve wanted to feel this big dick inside you with no wrapping for a long time. Don’t fight it, bitch. I bet it feels better than the one you have at home.” Darius moved toward the bottom of the bed, carrying Heather with him until he was standing. Heather’s back landed against the wall, and her legs dangled about his waist. Darius braced her with his hips as he clinched her breasts. He bit her nipples harder than the way Heather liked it. As Darius released himself inside Heather, he dug his fingers into her titties as though kneading a lump of dough to make a dessert.
“Darius! Not so rough. My husband will be furious if he sees any marks.” Heather unsuccessfully tried pushing him away again.
“Welcome to the city that care forgot,” Darius said as Heather’s feet hit the floor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Heather asked, slapping Darius upside his head.
Without flinching, Darius said, “Oh, if you stay in New Orleans long enough, you’ll find out.” He slapped her on the ass. “Let’s shower and get dressed. You said you were starved.”
Heather passed on dining out and ordered room service. That was fine by Darius because he needed to clear his head, so he had JT drop him off at the Riverwalk. Darius had replaced his T-shirt with a white muscle tank to adjust to the heat. As he stepped out of the limo, he experienced a Mardi Gras flashback. Darius pictured King Zulu and King Rex meeting up at the riverfront for Lundi Gras last year. That was his best stateside vacation ever.
Darius roamed down to the tall Jax building that used to be a beer factory but was now a huge mall. As he walked by, an air-conditioned breeze made its way through a crowd of shoppers entering the renovated brewery. Darius sat at the bank of the muddy Mississippi, watching the
Cotton Blossom
boat sail away. The contaminated water may have well been running through his veins, because he felt bad about how rugged he’d handled Heather. Surrounded by strangers, Darius held his head in his hands and allowed the tears for My Dear to flow freely. Then he picked at his nails. “Oh, fuck! I really did scratch Heather.”
Cotton Blossom
boat sail away. The contaminated water may have well been running through his veins, because he felt bad about how rugged he’d handled Heather. Surrounded by strangers, Darius held his head in his hands and allowed the tears for My Dear to flow freely. Then he picked at his nails. “Oh, fuck! I really did scratch Heather.”
Drying his eyes, Darius keyed in the numbers to the hotel. “Darius Jones’s room, please.”
“Hello.”
“Hey, Heather. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was really scratching you. Are you okay?”
“My back is a little sore, and my boobs look like sliced beets; but other than that, I’m fine.”
“You want to meet me at The House of Blues? The show we were supposed see starts in an hour.”
“Sure. That’s why we came here, right? To have a good time.” Heather’s voice lacked excitement.
“I’ll have JT pick you up. I’m already near Café Du Mondé, so I can just walk from here.”
Darius made his way down Decatur Street and over to The House of Blues. The entrance was tucked away in a French Quarter alley. There was no waiting, so he decided to sit on the restaurant side and order some red beans and rice to coat his stomach for the alcohol he’d consume later. When Darius lifted his head from the menu, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Ginger was standing at the bar staring at him. Shit!
“You know what you want yet?” the waitress asked.
Darius shielded Ginger’s view with the menu. “Yeah, an exit out the back door.”
“Oh, your woman must be here. This happens every night. For fiddy dollars I can bail you out.” The waitress opened her hand.
“How?” Darius didn’t hesitate to pull out a fifty.
Stuffing the money in her bra, the waitress said, “Move over to the table in the corner.”
When Darius stood, Ginger called out, “Darius? Is that you?” Her ass knew damn well who it was.
The waitress stopped Ginger in her tracks and said, “Excuse me, miss, Mr. Marley would like his pri-va-cy.”
“Who? What? Who are you?” Ginger scanned the room as though looking for a manager.
“I know you want to say hello to him, but he’s asked not to be disturbed. Don’t have me get security on yo’ ass.”
“Certainly, just give him a note for me. Can you do that?” Ginger scribbled a message and handed it to the girl along with a five-dollar bill.
The waitress pointed at Ginger. “Okay. But no more notes.” Then she walked over to Darius. “I don’t know how long this is going to work. I think you’d better leave before your other woman gets here. You are expecting another woman, aren’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be hidin’.”
“Yeah, and she’s standing in the doorway.” Darius slumped in his seat.
“Brother, if you mean that white woman? You are on ya own.” The waitress took his menu, stuck Ginger’s cash and note in her bra, and went into the kitchen.
“Oh, hey. There you are,” Heather said as she slid in the booth with Darius. “Have you ordered yet?”
“No. Let’s go.” Darius tried to stand before Heather completely sat down.
Ginger walked over and sat in the same booth facing Darius and Heather. “Funny meeting you guys here.” Ginger winked at Heather. “What’s up?” Then Ginger stopped the waitress and said, “I’d like to have a menu and my five dollars back.”
“Gladly.” The waitress handed Ginger a menu and kept walking.
“Ginger, you look lighter. Did you get a facial today?” Heather returned the wink and attempted to spark a conversation.
Darius felt Ginger’s heel pierce into his shin. “Ouch! Damn! Heather, excuse me. If you ladies don’t mind, I’m going into the other room.”
Heather stood so Darius could get up. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go back to my hotel and rest.” Heather stretched and yawned.
“Bye.” Ginger waved to Heather and followed Darius.
Sitting on a bar stool next to Darius, Ginger said, “What’s up with you and Heather?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the boss. We’re on business.” Darius motioned for the waitress. His stomach was fiercely growling.
Ginger sarcastically said, “You mean like our business trip tomorrow?”
Darius sighed heavily.
“Are you staying for the blues show?” Ginger positioned her leg between his.
“That’s why I came to this side. Are you staying for the blues show?” Darius mimicked Ginger’s tone.
“Only if you
want
me.” Ginger kissed his neck.
want
me.” Ginger kissed his neck.
“Suit yourself.” If Ginger knew what was best for her, she’d stop coming on to him. His dick was getting hard watching her give head to a cherry stem she’d snagged from the bartender’s stash while the dude wasn’t looking. How did Ginger know he was in New Orleans? And what was up with the winks between Ginger and Heather? Was his game getting sloppy?
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