Smoke and Mirrors (52 page)

Their food came out. How uncanny that they were actually laughing sharing jokes and memories about Smoke, so much that the interruption to eat felt just like that—an interruption versus a much needed distraction. Felicia had some hilarious stories to share about the man, some of which made Paris feel even more blessed to have him than she already did.

“I heard he was starting over from scratch. How is his case going?” Felicia asked between bites of her pad Thai.

“Yes, that’s true. The first lawyer he had wasn’t doing a good job, so he got a new one. He’s done a full disclosure, hasn’t tried to hide that he is a pimp to his legal defense. He knew everyone would find out anyway. I’ve been going everywhere trying to get advice and help for him. It isn’t right, Felicia.” She slammed her chopsticks down on her plate and shook her head as she swallowed a piece of spicy tuna sushi. “I can’t believe they are trying to pin a second degree murder charge on him. Even the witnesses said he came up
after
Royal had fired at least two shots. If ballistics hadn’t already proven that Royal shot Frank, and not Smoke, they would have pinned that crap on him, too! They just don’t care! That prosecutor is out for blood.”

“Just like Carla…” Felicia’s eyes narrowed. “This is
all
her fucking fault. None of this would have happened had she not gone to Royal’s crazy ass in the first place!” Her voice rose so loud, people turned to see what she was going on about. “Now Smoke’s in prison and if he gets caught up to do a long bid, that bitch would be laughing her ass off.”

“Yes.” Paris sat back in her seat, suddenly feeling emotionally exhausted. “You have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had of beating the shit out of that woman.” She sighed. “Even if I were to do that, it wouldn’t help Smoke.” She shrugged.

“But it’ll help me feel a hell of a lot better,” the woman said between clenched teeth as she tossed her napkin down indignantly onto the table. The two stared at each other for a little while. Felicia’s eyes turned deep, dark and distant.

“I need to have a meeting with my girls, and make some other calls. I want to thank you for having lunch with me, Felicia.”

The woman simply nodded.

Paris stood, the check in hand. “And I’m glad you got your grandmother’s necklace back.”

“You know, Smoke sent me some money after I left.” Felicia rubbed her hands nervously together. “I’m using some of it to get my GED, and the rest I will use to help pay my way through school. I need to get a job though, and get settled.”

“Oh Felicia, that is wonderful. What are you interested in studying?”

“I want to go into pediatric nursing.”

“Felicia, I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to be okay.”

“I think you are, too. Matter of fact, I know it.”

She winked at the woman and waved goodbye, knowing in her heart she’d fulfilled her man’s wishes, and helped Felicia—as well as herself—get some closure on a situation neither of them had any control over in the first place. Besides, Paris had learned one lesson the hard way, and would never have to be taught again.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. They were in love with the same man, and true love never dies…

*

…Several weeks later

“I still can’t
believe it.” Juniper stood there with tears in her eyes and her luggage packed beside her. “I’m going to miss you, Paris.”

Paris gave a round of heavy-hitting, emotional hugs to all of her ladies. Though she’d been detaching herself hours prior, to make the sting a bit less painful, she still was not handling it well, as evidenced by the soiled, balled up tissue in her hand. She’d trained herself to not care, and now, it was time to put that knowledge to use, or she’d be swallowed by her own tears.

“I’m going to miss you all, too. But remember, we’re still friends. You can call me.”

“This is so drastic.” Tasha looked behind her at the apartment, most of the space clear and void of any signs of life. The damn thing sold after being on the market for only two days; the same with Smoke’s across the way. An investor wanted to turn them into places for the elderly. That made Paris feel good inside.

At least it will go to a good cause…

“Paris, you still haven’t told us what you’re going to be doing with your time. Your life was here at the brothel, and then you shared that life with Smoke. Now he’s gone, too.” April said sadly.

Paris looked sorrowfully down at the ground and scooted a ball of dust to and fro with the side of her heel. “Yeah, but we gotta keep livin’, right?” She threw on a big smile to mask her pain. “I’ve enrolled in a program to become a Certified Floral Designer at the American Institute of Floral Designs.”

“Paris, that’s perfect for you!” Tasha beamed. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” The woman threw her arms around her once again. “I know you’re going to do well. Of course, you won’t be making nearly the same amount of bank,” she said with a shrug, “but I guess you can’t really put a price on happiness.” Tasha released her, still wearing her beautiful smile, but it, too, was tinged with melancholy.

“You can’t.” Paris nodded in agreement. “If this works out for me, I think my life will be completely different. Anyway, enough about that.” She clasped her hands together. “You all try to be wise with that money. I wish I could give you more, but hopefully it will help until you get on your feet—and remember, your health insurance runs out at the end of the month so get those last checkups in.”

“Yes, thank you. We appreciate it, Paris.” Juniper smiled sweetly as she waved her envelope. “I don’t want a pimp, but maybe I can get on with an independent escort service.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do, too,” April agreed. Some of the other ladies moved to and fro, gathering the rest of their bags.

Paris sucked her bottom lip to help suppress the growing emotions that threatened to break free once again, despite her inner protests and self-control. It was much harder than she thought. Since falling in love, she found herself unable to cling to her same old coping mechanisms. The man had opened something up within her…revealed her beating heart. Suddenly, Juniper took her by the arm and led her a short distance away from the others, forcing her to push her worries aside.

“Paris, I need to tell you something.”

“Yes? What is it, Juniper?”

“I think this is all my fault.” The woman chewed her gum a bit faster as her eyes narrowed and became shifty.

“
What
is your fault?”

“What happened with Royal and Smoke and you.” She gulped, her expression full of shame. “Carla called me one day, and she sounded down in the dumps. She asked about how everything was going over here, and I was kind of excited, you know,”—she shrugged nervously—“about the new rooms, our apartments, the money, all that shit. So I must’ve gone too far. I didn’t realize she was with Royal at the time though. Last I’d heard, she was still looking. Anyway, I’m sorry, Paris.”

Paris slid her tongue to the opposite side of her mouth and parked the joker as she deliberated. Just as she suspected, one of her own girls had run her mouth. Though she ended up second-guessing herself again, she believed Juniper had simply made a poor judgment call. Regardless, it was the push that the canyon ball needed before everything exploded.

“Juniper, it happened, it’s over now. All we can do is focus on today, right now. Thank you for telling me though.” She patted the woman’s shoulder affectionately. Thirty-two minutes later, the place was clear of people, things and laughter. Paris looked all around, hit by the realization that she was all alone…no longer a Madam…

But who was she? She’d singlehandedly shut down the only thing she’d ever done that was successful, the only thing she’d touched that hadn’t crumbled to bits—besides her roses.

When she’d waved her final goodbye, she stood out in the yard of the apartment building, the ‘SOLD’ sign mocking her as it stood so erect, for the world to see. Amongst the yellow roses she’d planted from Smoke’s generous gift, one red one, bright as Smoke’s Lexus, stood amongst the crowd. She didn’t recall planting it, yet there it was, daring to be different. She smiled at it, bent low and inhaled its rich aroma. In a way, that rose reminded her of herself at that very moment…

Who walks away from such a fast lifestyle, one that affords fancy things and fun times, though often perilous to one’s safety and soul? No more high heels clicked about the property. No more panting and moaning from any given room… No more satisfied johns sailing out of various rooms, buttoning their shirts, zipping up their pants, and returning to their wives as if not a damn thing had happened. But even in the midst of tragedy, there was some good news.

Frank had pulled through, the soldier that he was. He was finally back home, on the road to recovery, and he’d let her know nothing was going to keep him away from the blessing of life. She made a mental note to tell Smoke in the next letter she’d compose to him. For now, she was going back to her house to take it all in, to find out where Paris died, and where she could be reborn.

She needed to get back to self, to look in the mirror and not only ask, ‘Who are you?’ but also, ‘Who do you
want
to be?’

*

Felicia had nothing
but time on her hands. She’d just come from the gym, a habit Smoke had instilled in her and the girls, and a routine that helped her concentrate and blow off some damn steam. However, she was still amped up, especially as she watched Carla working her way around Hollywood Boulevard. A part of her hated that the bitch was still standing there, taking in air, alive. She also hated that she was even close enough to see the shit, to watch her beat her feet against the track. She wanted to believe that her days of selling her pussy, beating people up, and being in love with the streets were over. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad. She cracked her knuckles and approached the ho. Carla gave her the once over.

“Felicia, what’s up?” She slicked her tongue over her lower lip and gave her a cautious gaze.

“Nothin’ much, bitch. Everything is good…” She sucked her teeth and put her hand on her hip. “What about you?”

Carla’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want? If this is about Royal and Smoke, I didn’t have shit to do with that.” The ho knew what time it was.

“Oh I
bet
you didn’t. Now, you got one fucker dead, another in the hospital, one behind bars, and a bunch of bitches out of work. All ’cause of one tired, stankin’ ass whore by the name of Carla.”

“Felicia, fuck you, okay? You were Smoke’s girl but you should be thanking me because he turned on you, left your ass for Ms. Gold Pussy. Now bitch,
move
! Get outta my way!” She brushed past her, shoving her about the shoulder. “I’m trying to work.” The woman huffed, not giving a damn. Felicia looked down at her arm, the part where Carla’s body touched her own, and smirked. She had a problem when people touched her in an aggressive manner; she had a
big
problem with that.

Turning on her heels, she grabbed Carla by the back of the neck, digging her long, silver nails into the woman’s flesh. She smiled so wide, she thought her damn face would crack.

“Ahhhhh!”

The bitch’s screams were music to her damn heavily pierced ears.

Felicia dragged her like it was no effort at all towards the wall of a small, run down liquor store. The Vietnamese clerk inside began to scream as he caught sight of the commotion.

“No! No! No fight here! I call police!” the man screamed, his accent thick. Felicia simply wasn’t concerned. She’d be finished before the cops arrived and they didn’t give two shits about a couple of whores fighting in the middle of nowhere.

“Get off of me!” Carla screamed frantically as she clawed and fought, twisted and turned, trying with all her might to break free.

All this did was get Felicia’s rocks off; she’d been itching for an altercation, and this fit the bill to a mothafucking ‘T’.

Felicia wrapped Carla’s hair tightly around her hand and jerked the shit out of it, forcing the whore’s head forward—then slammed it back against the wall two times, back to fucking back, with all of her damn might. Carla whimpered; her eyes rolled back. She slowly slid down the beige stucco wall, losing complete control of her used-up, heavily perfumed and tattooed body, flirting with unconsciousness. Felicia tossed her head back, the same as her favorite pimp had done with so many johns that decided to test him, see what he was made of. Working a wad of spit in her mouth just so, she cast it on the woman’s face before storming off and tossing up her middle finger.