Lies Lovers Tell (11 page)

Sean didn’t mean to kiss her ankle. His mind was focused on easing her stress but suddenly it switched to easing his. The opportunity presented itself in the form of her smooth, slender ankle, and before he could stop himself, his tongue was gliding toward the sensitive spot he knew existed just behind her knee.

“Sean, please.”

Maya could say no more as his hands joined his tongue’s journey and headed to her thighs. She moaned in spite of herself as she felt her dress riding up over her hips, her legs being spread apart. Was this moment what she’d thought of subconsciously as she showered and changed just before coming over, putting on a satiny red thong underneath her silk poncho dress? It may have been then, but now there were no thoughts at all; only the feel of Sean’s talented tongue as he buried his head between her legs and released the last of her tension. She rubbed her hands over his soft, cropped hair, murmuring his name, pushing back from the assault, only to be locked in place by strong, firm arms and made to endure his lavish attention to her pleasure. Only after she’d cried out for the second time did he roll over, undress, and then once again take her in his arms. She tried to break the embrace so she could return the love in the way she’d received it, but he held her tight.

“No, my hot chocolate, tonight is only for you.” He entered her swiftly then, deeply, completely, and led a dance of love that lasted all night long.

“Good, you’re home. I’m coming over.”

That’s all Trish said before she hung up the phone. Maya stared at the receiver a moment, shrugged her shoulders, and placed the headset back on its cradle. She was glad Trish was coming over because whatever her friend had to say couldn’t top all Maya had gone through in the past twenty-four hours.

Less than ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “That was quick,” Maya said aloud. “Hey, girl,” she said as she opened the door. “What did you do, call me from the end of the block?”

“Just about,” Trish said, oozing excitement as she breezed into Maya’s home. “I was on Manchester when I called you, picking up a special outfit for…my shoot tomorrow!” Trish spun around before breaking into her best rendition of the ’90s running man. “Go, Trish, go, Trish!” she continued. She returned to stand in front of Maya. “This is the break I’ve been praying for, girl, this is a national commercial! A national ad campaign for Champion’s Chicken! And yours truly is the principal actor. Do you know what this means? It means that in about six months I can quit my crazy ‘a’ job, trade in my hoopty ‘a’ car, and move out of the gangsta ‘a’ hood!”

Trish’s excitement was contagious and soon Maya was twirling around with her friend, sharing her joy. Trish had been languishing in actor obscurity for almost ten years; an occasional regional commercial here, a video there, but mostly she’d kept her chops honed in local theatrical productions that were long on rehearsal hours and short on pay. If anybody deserved a break, it was Trish. Maya was happy for her and told her so.

“Thanks, Maya,” Trish said sincerely. “Can you believe it’s finally happening? The dreams we talked about all those years ago, living our lives at the top of our game—vacations in Paris, holidays in Rome; two fine honeys on our arm? We’re almost there, girl! Well, except for the honey part.” Trish walked over and plopped on Maya’s couch. “What’s up with you and Sean?”

An excited Trish was hard to follow but Maya did her best, shifting gears as if she were in a ’65 Mustang.

“Girl, so much happened yesterday. Let me start at the beginning. Zeke and Jade are screwing.”

“Who’s Jade? Oh, that girl lying in the cut waiting to take your job?”

“The very one.”

“Dang…are you sure?”

“Positive, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Girl, stop it!”

“That’s what I wanted to say to them, moaning and groaning like pigeons on the coo. She handled his ‘d’ like it was special delivery, but once they started skin slapping, I was out of there.”

“Oh—my—goodness, right there in his office?”

“Not exactly.” Maya told Trish about the private area behind the conference room. She retold the experience down to the last detail, with Trish hanging on every word.

“I went from seeing Zeke and Jade screwing in the afternoon to getting my own groove on with Sean last night.”

Trish screamed. “Ooh, I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to drop that fine ‘d.’ Maybe I’ll finally get to meet him.”

“Yeah, maybe the four of us can go out. You heard from Tony?”

“No, and you know what? Now is not the time to piss me off. He needs to put up or show up before I blow up, because once I turn A-list, it’s going to be me and Jamie Foxx, or Terrence Howard, or that fine ‘a’ Shamar Moore.”

“Girl…”

“I’m just saying, it’s easier to know a man wants you for you when you don’t have money. After that you don’t know who he likes more, you or Ben Franklin.”

Their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“I wonder who that could be,” Maya wondered aloud as she went to open it. She looked through the peephole and gasped. “Stretch!”

Stretch and Maya hugged and rocked back and forth as if it had been years instead of days he’d spent in jail. They were different as night and day but as with many twins, they had an unexplainable bond, one that could never be broken, not even with him in jail. He’d called her every day.

“You didn’t tell me you were getting out when we talked last night.”

“I didn’t know last night.”

Stretch came fully into the living room and plopped down on the couch next to Trish. He’d known her as long as Maya and gave her the grief that big brothers reserved for little sisters, even though Trish was only two years younger than the twins.

“What up, girl?”

“Get off me, boy,” Trish said, laughing. “You still smell like jail.”

“Trish, you know you ain’t right,” Maya said, laughing. She walked over and sniffed her brother. “You do smell a little like C-block, son.”

“Forget both of y’all,” Stretch said. He jumped up and headed for the kitchen. “What you got to eat in here, My?”

“I don’t know. Make yourself at home like you always do. And how did you get out anyway?”

“How old is this chicken?” Stretch asked, instead of answering her question.

“Just day before yesterday, I think.”

Stretch rifled through Maya’s refrigerator and when he returned to the living room, it was with two large pieces of chicken, a stack of bread, and a bag of chips. “Thanks, sis,” he mumbled through a huge bite of leg.

“Did they let you out on your own recognizance?” Maya asked.

“No, a friend helped me out.”

Maya’s antennae immediately went on red alert. Nothing came free in Stretch’s world, in the one she lived in either for that matter. “Who?” she asked pointedly.

“You don’t know him,” Stretch replied. “Trish might, though.”

“Me? How do you think I could know him?”

“’Cause he’s friends with your boy, Tony.”

Trish sat up. “I didn’t know you knew Tony.”

“I know him better now. He was a couple cells down from me.”

“What?” both Trish and Maya cried simultaneously.

“You saw
my
Tony in jail? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

“Unless there are a bunch of Trishes walking around. That’s what he told me his girl’s name was. Said she was probably pissed too, ’cause he didn’t want to call you while he was locked down. Ah, man, I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Stretch added with a twinkle in his eye, not at all sorry he was spilling the beans. “But then again, you like a thug.” He reached over and tried to kiss the woman he treated like a sister.

Trish couldn’t deny that she liked them rough, but she’d rather her man’s connection to thug life stop at baggy clothes and gangsta rap. She could do without records of the jail variety. At least now she knew why she hadn’t heard from Tony; and unless he was swinging both ways, he hadn’t been cheating on her. “What’s he in for?” Trish asked. “Which jail is he at? How much time did he get? Can I call him, go see him?”

“Whoa, girl, slow your roll. All of your questions are of an unnecessary nature. Your dude’s out now. He’s a cool brotha too, has friends in high places.” He looked at Maya. “And he knows Cuz.”

“He knows Eddie? How? Oh, never mind, I probably don’t want to know.” Eddie was the felon first cousin with whom Stretch, by mandate of his probation terms, could not hang around and how in doing so he’d landed in jail. It was a well-known fact that Eddie was at one time a major player in the Crips gang. Tony’s affiliation with him did not bode well for Trish.

“Look, everybody who knows Eddie isn’t gang-bangin’,” Stretch said, reading Maya’s mind. “I think he and Tony were doing some…business ventures together.”

“What, selling crack is better than bangin’?”

“Why you got to think a brotha’s only hustle is the drug trade?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. What’s their business?”

“It’s not crack,” Stretch said, with an air of annoyance. Then he looked at his sister sheepishly. “It’s weed, ecstasy, lightweight stuff.” Maya rolled her eyes. “But not that corner-to-corner shit,” he continued. “Eddie and Tony are just bankrolling the enterprise.”

“Wait, did I hear correctly?” Trish asked, coming out of the bathroom. “Tony is a drug dealer?”

Stretch ate the remaining chips, took the plate from the coffee table, and stood up. “It’s getting too hot up in here for a brotha. I think it’s time for me to bounce.”

Trish stopped Stretch with a hand on his arm. She looked him in the eye. “Is Tony dealing? I need to know. I just landed a good gig and can’t be riding around with someone who might be carrying. Well, is he?”

“You need to ask him,” is all Stretch said. He hugged Trish, walked over and hugged Maya, and left.

“Well, well, well,” Trish said after Stretch left. “We’re finding out all kinds of information today.”

“What are you going to do?” Maya asked.

“I tell you what I’m not going to do, get caught up in some bullshit and blow my big break. We’ll see what’s up when he calls me, see how I’m feeling after I talk to him. I mean, brotha man packs a punch, but I’m not letting his ten get me twenty.”

Maya laughed once Trish explained she was referring to her man’s extraordinary penile length. Then she sobered. “That makes one person who’s not choosing sex over sanity. Wish I could say the same for Zeke.”

“You think he’s a pussy pushover? He doesn’t strike me as being that easy, not from what you’ve told me.”

“Zeke is business first, that’s for sure. And his wife is certainly not going to stand idly by and watch someone come in and try to occupy the empire her sacrifices helped build. No, I think Jade offered herself up on a silver platter and Zeke decided to dine. It’ll be interesting how it plays out, though.”

Maya got quiet, her eyes looking far into the distance.

“What else is wrong?” Trish asked quietly.

“I’m worried about Stretch, and whoever it is that got him out of jail. Financial favors are rarely free. I just hope Stretch can afford whatever price he has to pay.”

Stretch gave a casual nod here and there as he rode down Crenshaw Boulevard. This had been his territory since he was six, seven years old; almost every face he saw was familiar. He sat in a perfectly restored 1980 Cadillac La Cabriolet convertible lowrider: two-toned pearl maroon and cream custom two-door rolling on color-matched powder-coated fourteen-inch spokes with Remington rubber dipping on air suspension. In other words, he sat in one of the baddest cars cruising the block.

If the bounce from the Cadillac’s four pumps and sixteen batteries wasn’t enough to attract a passerby’s attention, then the booming bass from the car’s Bose stereo definitely would. Stretch rapped over a beat produced by one of his many wannabe rapper friends.
I got my finger on my Glock, tick-tock, stop the clock, ’cause I’m gonna roll up on ya like I wanna…
Stretch pulled an expertly rolled blunt from behind his ear, lit it, took a long drag, and continued bobbing his head to the beat.

“That’s fire, huh, Tone?” he asked as he passed the joint.

“Yeah, that’s ai-iight,” Tony replied in the signature low, slow drawl that had prompted his friends to nickname him “Tone.” “I hear somebody in Timbaland’s camp liked it. Slip that rhyme up in there and ya’ll might get signed.”

“That’d be cool right there. Blow the bump up and get out of this madness.” Stretch blew a kiss to a particularly hot looking female standing at the bus stop. She smiled and waved back. “Hey, let’s go pick up that sista…give her a ride home.”

“More like to your place,” Tone said between puffs of the joint. “Ain’t got time for that today, cuz. There’s somebody you need to meet.”

Tony turned off Crenshaw on to Martin Luther King Boulevard and continued his slow trek through the streets of south Los Angeles. Seeing a police car elicited a string of expletives from his otherwise placid demeanor. He turned off MLK abruptly and continued toward his destination, a chic community called Baldwin Hills, in a circuitous fashion, one that could only be driven by someone who’d grown up navigating these streets. He reached a gated cul-de-sac at the very top of the hill. After having the gate buzzed open, he pulled into the circular drive of a stunning white brick mansion.

“Who lives here?” Stretch asked.

“Your benefactor,” Tony replied.

“The dude who bailed me out?”

Tony nodded and opened the car door. Stretch followed suit.

A housekeeper opened the mansion’s unusual steel door and ushered Stretch and Tony inside a massive foyer housing an equally immense crystal chandelier. Just beyond it, Stretch could see a living room with large, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a picture-perfect view of Los Angeles, a view that on this clear day included the famous Hollywood sign more than five miles from where they stood. Stretch prepared to comment but turned back around at the home owner’s greeting.

“What’s up, dogs? What up, Tone?”

Tone walked over and gave a brotha’s handshake to the handsome, fifty-something stranger.

“And you must be Stretch,” the stranger said. “As for me, you can just call me Money.”

Stretch gave Money dap. “Man, for springin’ my ass out of lockdown…I’ll call you whatever you want!”

Money smiled and motioned the men into the living room. The housekeeper made no sound as she brought in three glasses of iced tea.

“You want anything with that?” Money asked both men.

“You got any Courvoisier?” Tony asked.

Money nodded toward a fully stocked bar positioned between the living and dining rooms. “Help yourself.” He turned to Stretch. “What about you?”

“Naw, I’m good,” Stretch replied. “I’m not too much into the dranky-drank.”

Money smiled. “I like that. It’s good to keep one’s wits about him.”

Once Tony returned to the pristine, elegantly appointed living room, Money continued speaking. “Tone gives me a good report about you,” he said to Stretch. “You’re loyal, smart, know the game. You’re also well connected street-side. That’s a huge asset for those who join my organization.”

“Your organization?”

“Yes. I run a diversified business that stretches across the United States and into Mexico and Canada.”

“Drugs?” Stretch assumed.

Money smiled. “A variety of enterprises,” was all he offered by way of response. “Should you decide to work for me, you’ll soon find out that the job you’re working on is the only one you need to know about…regarding my varied businesses.”

“Cool dat,” Stretch said, no offense taken. “I might be interested…. What you got?”

Money smiled again, the patiently enduring kind a father might give a child. “Let’s be seated, gentlemen, shall we?”

He walked them over to an oversized black leather sofa, love seat, and chair ensemble, positioned in a style perfect for intimate conversation. A uniquely shaped stainless steel coffee table between the furniture pieces was softened by a lit, scented candle sitting in a vase surrounded by colorful stones: in Zen-like style. Brass coasters were already on the table, ready for their tea glasses. What could have been a dark, manly setting with all the black furniture was muted by accent colors of beige and powder blue, blond wood floors, and three large, genuine white tiger rugs. Stretch casually took in the understated show of wealth in Money’s home, his eyes stopping on the only thing that looked out of place: an attractive yet outdated velvet style painting of a Black guitar player hanging over the fireplace.

“That’s Robert Johnson,” Money offered with pride in his voice, sitting in the large recliner while offering the couch to the two men. “But I bet y’all don’t know nothin’ ’bout that, about the blues.”

Tony and Stretch looked at each other.

“No,” Tony drawled slowly as he chose the love seat over the couch. “Can’t say I do.”

Money looked at Stretch, who sat at the end of the couch nearest Money’s chair. “What about you?”

Without hesitation, Stretch replied, “Of course I know about the blues, I’m a Crip!”

Money laughed at Stretch’s attempt at humor. He liked this young man’s intelligence and charisma. If he could take direction, be discreet, and stay out of prison, he might have a solid, prosperous future within Money’s empire.

He proceeded to give Tony and Stretch an abbreviated history of the Delta blues in general, and Robert Johnson in particular. “He was the most influential bluesman of all time. The popular music that came after that, rock, pop, soul, even the foundation of your hip-hop music, rests on the strings of that man’s guitar.

“But that’s not the only reason that particular piece of art is so valuable,” Money went on. “It’s a collector’s item. There are only two of these that exist in the world. Eric Clapton’s got the other one.”

“That picture must be worth a grip!” Stretch said, getting up to take a closer look at the artwork with a new appreciation.

“Its value would surprise you, but you can’t put a price on a piece like that.”

“So, yeah, man, about this job?” Tony said, trying a soft prompt for Money to get to the business at hand.

“Are you in a hurry?” Money asked.

“Not especially,” Tony said. “Just, I know you’ve got other business and all.”

“My other business will wait,” Money countered easily. “I haven’t spent a lot of time with you and am just meeting Stretch. Since I’m looking at both of you for more than this particular job, I’d like to take a little time getting to know you. Is that all right?”

“Cool,” Tony said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Neither Money’s voice nor his facial expression had changed. Yet Tony got the distinct impression he’d just been reprimanded…and reminded of who was in charge of this meeting. “I think I’ll refresh my drink,” he said, to cover his sudden nervousness.

“You want your tea freshened?” Money asked Stretch.

“No, thanks, dog, I’m cool.” Stretch relaxed against the back of the premium leather sofa, stretching his arms across the length of it. As he did so, a movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned and beheld one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life. Hers was a smoldering, dark beauty: long, wavy brunette hair, dark olive skin, full, naturally pink lips, thick eyebrows, and long lashes. The year-old or so baby she held in her arms didn’t hide the voluptuous curves behind it: packaged to perfection in a black, fitted knit dress. Her shapely calves tapered down to slender ankles and manicured toes inside three-inch-high sandals. Stretch’s relaxed position didn’t change, his head barely moved, and he didn’t look at her for more than three, four seconds tops. But he’d drunk in this vision of lovely in an instant, and she was more potent than anything Money had at his bar.

Money walked over to her, and they conversed in low tones. He pulled out his wallet and placed a considerable amount of bills in her hand. Then he kissed her lightly on the forehead, kissed the baby, and walked with them toward the foyer as they headed out. The woman never once looked in their direction.

Tony looked at Stretch, put his hands out in front of him, and made a pumping gesture. “That’s what I’d like to do to that,” he whispered, taking a sip of straight Courvoisier. “That’s a fine mamacita right there.”

“Watch yourself, son,” Stretch said in an equally low tone. “Money saw you checking her out and he looked none too pleased.”

Tony’s response was interrupted by Money walking back into the room. “Excuse that interruption, gentlemen,” he said, once again taking his seat.

“That was a beautiful interruption,” Tony replied. “What is she, Latina or Middle Eastern? I couldn’t tell.”

Money gave Tony a look that was hard to discern, tinged with the merest hint of a smile. “She’s mine,” he said simply.

“Bet you’re proud of that baby,” Stretch said, shifting the subject to safer waters.

Money’s chest almost visibly swelled, as if to prove the truth of Stretch’s statement. “That’s my baby girl,” he said, his smile unapologetically broad. “I waited ten years to get a girl. My son lives with his mother in another state.”

“Well, she’s a beautiful baby, man,” Stretch replied.

Money’s posture changed quickly; he sat up, to the edge of the chair in which he’d been reclining, put his elbows on his knees, and linked his fingers together. “Okay, here’s what I have in mind, gentlemen. I’ve just come across a rare opportunity, one that could set me up as a major player in the Los Angeles real estate game, especially in this area and further south. Ingle-wood, Gardena, Hawthorne, Long Beach…One of the biggest dogs in the business has a problem. He’s looking for someone who can bring some heat and…solve…this problem.” He focused his attention on Tony. “Understand what I’m sayin’?”

Tony nodded that he understood. Stretch didn’t say or do anything, but he understood too.

“As you can imagine,” Money went on, “this client will be extremely grateful for our eliminating the competition and in addition to the six figures he’s offering for the job itself has agreed to help ease me into the biz. I’m willing to spread the wealth and help set up legit business fronts…if you’re interested. It’s a high risk for a high reward.”

The meeting ended about fifteen minutes later, after Money had given additional specifics on the job required. Plans were made for a second meeting after which Stretch and Tony exchanged Money’s air-conditioned interior for the hot August sun.

“How long you known that dude?” Stretch asked Tony, once they’d driven out of the affluent, gated community.

“Two, three years,” Tony replied. “He was good friends with my uncle, who did a job for him one time, similar to the one he wants us to do.”

“Where’s your uncle now?”

“Doing twenty-five to life.”

“Damn.”

“This is not a game, son. The stakes are high, which is why the payoff’s so good.”

“How much is that?”

“A hundred g’s apiece.”

“That makes no sense, man. You can get somebody offed for a couple g’s.”

“Not like the somebody Money’s talking about.”

“You know who it is?”

“No, but it’s somebody major with that price tag. The risk goes up, and so does the time if you get caught. Court may even try and throw the death penalty in and shit.”

Stretch looked out the window, saying nothing.

“You in, son?” Tony asked after a long pause.

“Man, I don’t know. A hundred g’s is hella money but doing life is hella time…feel me?”

But then he thought about Maya and all he owed her. This payoff would go a long way toward paying her back.

“Man, one of these days I’m gonna put Trish in a place like that,” Tony continued, as he turned from Martin Luther King Boulevard and entered “The Jungle” a neighborhood that was the exact opposite from the one in which Money lived.

Stretch was glad for the change of subject. “Trish would look fly as hell in a house like that, no doubt. But then, baby girl looks fine whenever. And speaking of your girl, man, you need to call her. She’s freaking about where you at.”

“I been calling her ass all day. You seen her?”

“Last night, over at Maya’s.”

“You tell her I was locked down, man?”

“She figured it out.”

“Damn, dog, why didn’t you cover for a brother?”

Stretch looked at Tony. “That’s my sister’s best friend, dog. Trish is family. Go on and tell her what’s up. She ain’t all highfalutin’ and shit…she’ll be down with you. But lie to her and…well…I don’t know.”

“Now, that Maya, that’s a highfalutin’, fine piece of—”

“That’s my sis, son, watch yourself.”

Tony smiled and turned up the bass as a gangster rapper spewed curse words and death threats across the neighborhood. “Oh, I know she don’t go slum-min’…I’m just saying she’s fine.”

“Hey, man, let me off on the corner. I need to cop a hookup.” Stretch kept his posture casual as he bobbed his head in time to the beat. But he needed to get away from Tony, needed time to think. He’d been waiting for a break to take him out of the little leagues and into the majors. To pocket a hundred g’s would feel like an out-of-the-park home run, but if he struck out, there wasn’t enough money in the world to justify life without parole…or worse.