Decadence (26 page)

With a smile on her face, her unsmiling eyes hidden behind her Jackie O sunglasses, my mother had been chastising, and arguing with her former husband. I smiled a nervous smile. Dad returned it, uncomfortably. Mom nodded, telling me that she was under control.

I said, “Mom. Dad. I would like to introduce you to my dear friend who has just flown in from London. This is Prada Rambachan. Prada, this is my mother, Mrs. Hazel Tamana Bijou-Wilson—”

She corrected me, “
Miss
Hazel Tamana
Bijou
. Surely you haven't forgotten the horrible divorce.”

“And this is my stepfather, Francois Henri Wilson, who just flew in from France.”

My stepfather stepped forward and extended his hand. “So what are you to my daughter?”

“We are presently dating, have been dating for quite some time, and I am trying to persuade her to love me as I love her.”

That shocked me and paused us all.

My stepfather grinned. “You love her? That is a very bold statement, one that leaves me feeling uneasy.”

“We have known each other for a while. Four years. But I live abroad and I travel on behalf of my company. I apologize for us never having met. But I am here in hopes that we can become acquainted.”

Dad said, “Then we must chat. Let's excuse ourselves and have a seat and talk man-to-man.”

I said, “Dad, believe it or not, I'm not a little girl nor am I in high school anymore.”

“No matter what your age, you will always be my little girl. Every man has to be vetted. If you are sixty and I am still alive, he has to be vetted.”

“You don't have to do the fifty-question drill.”

In French my mother said, “
He likes to drill. Usually a younger Italian woman, but let the man drill. No one invited him anyway
.”

I said, “Stop it, Mom. Don't embarrass me.”

My stepfather smiled at my mother. Then he nodded.

She nodded in return. She remained vexed.

Francois Henri said, “Just a few questions, Nia. Simple questions that should be easy to answer, Mr. Rambachan. Like what is your purpose in dating my daughter? What are your spiritual beliefs? What are you doing to protect the purity of my daughter? How do you provide for yourself? Have you ever hit a woman? Can you protect my daughter if another man becomes violent? Easy questions.”

Francois Henri needed to exert his power as a man. Like Prada, he was a man of business, a man who was used to being in charge. Yet I knew that he was a man and had a fragile ego. A man was a boy who grew up and absorbed culture and became what he thought a man should be. On behalf of culture, on behalf of what he believed, I submitted to Dad. Because he was my dad. Before the pain, before the divorce, he had been my god. And he had left. That's what gods did. My mother was silent. She didn't know Prada, didn't approve of a man just showing up and being so brazen that his first words were how he was in love with her daughter. Four years. Sixteen seasons. If I had never told her about him, his words of flattery had not flattered her. She hated my stepfather, but in this moment they were in agreement.

My stepfather kissed my cheeks, then put a hand on Prada's shoulder and pulled him to the side. They spoke in French. It didn't matter how powerful Prada was abroad, not to the man who saw me as his daughter. The moment Prada was pulled away, a crowd again descended on my mother and me. My mother gave a look, accompanied by a smile that was as sharp as the claws of a wolverine.

Nude,
her chest heaving, breasts beautiful and round, skin flushed from three sequential oral orgasms, each orgasm grander than its predecessor, she remained splayed across the bed, a cat squirming in her own heat, purring and smiling as she watched us follow her command, as she watched us kiss. Her husband and I kissed for the first time. There were one hundred times more nerves in the lips than fingertips, each nerve a desire stimulator. The kiss became heated, desperate. My nipples ached. His lingam stood strong, pressed against my belly. We emoted. Then as we became physically acquainted, as he became aggressive and sucked my earlobe, as he traced the outline of my ear with the tip of his tongue, she eased off the bed, pulled the white covers down to the carpet with her, and lay back on the floor. While he stimulated my yoni with his mouth, teeth, tongue, throat, and chin, she spread her legs and played with her sex, the tips of her fingers rubbing circles, pulling at her fleshy folds as her eyes tightened and her mouth made an
O
, then grinned and bit her bottom lip as her hips moved up and down. He stopped tasting me and raised his head. We looked at his wife and she nodded the nod of permission, owned the intense expression of heightened sensitivity. He put me on my back for a moment, thrust his lingam between my thighs, engaged in interfemoral intercourse for a moment, then turned over, he too was severely aroused.

I straddled her husband, his lingam craving, ready, but not inside of me. He owned the ideal-size lingam, a wonderful length with an impressive circumference. Perfect. He was on his back and the way that I straddled him, when I glanced down it looked like I had grown a lingam, looked like his lingam was part of me, sticking straight up in the air. I wondered how many women had sat on their lovers and for a moment imagined themselves as men. We all started out as women, as females, then some of us changed into men, that was a simple fact of science, and another wonder of the world. With a rapid heartbeat and academic eyes I studied that human phallus, looked at that peculiarly shaped part of a man, his tool, his device, his manhood, that instrument of internal fertilization, and grinned, felt shy, almost snickered for being so curious. I reached and masturbated his penis, pretended I was a man masturbating, imagined him as a woman. His wife came to me and kissed me, took his penis from my hand, and masturbated him, then leaned over and took the mushroom of his erection into her mouth, sucked his long rigid shaft, regarded me and smiled, saw my delighted expression, and sucked him, took more of him inside of her mouth, the wetness, the sounds causing me to touch her hair, stroke her face as I watched. Again it looked like she was sucking my upside-down lingam. It aroused me. He looked at me as she sucked him, looked at me with glazed-over eyes. My hips moved. My itch was strong. As she sucked and licked his lingam, I moved against where he and I touched, moved like I was feeding her my upside-down lingam.

My cellular buzzed again. And again. And again.

We changed positions; the master became the willing slave. She did the same to me. Soon she and I were on our knees, asses up high, severely aroused, our thighs touching, sides of faces in the soft white pillows so we could look at each other, be with each other on this journey, holding hands, and as we held on to each other, her husband owned us, went back and forth, first eating us, then fucking us doggie style, fucking one while he fingered the other, fucking one while he slapped the other on the ass. He teased his wife and made her moan to Jesus, then he teased me, their unicorn, and made me call out to God, went from her to me, from me to her, gave both of us measured strokes, both of us singing that hour like orgasms were rising, then he left me empty, left me crazy and returned to her, did the same to her and returned to me, then back to her, to me, to her, to me, to her. She kissed me as he stroked her, tongue soft, her kisses smooth yet intense, nibbled my lips as his erection thickened, as his control waned, his need to come clawing at him, making him strain, making him pant and grunt and growl. We kissed. Our kissing excited him to no end. I enjoyed kissing her, enjoyed her tongue on mine, and loved the way she sucked my tongue, made me chase her tongue, and responded when I sucked her tongue. We ebbed and flowed, sometimes I was the one more aggressive, the one with masculine energy, and then I was submissive, become the über feminine one. Soon I was high on kissing, high on feeling, tasting, hearing, on the visual, on our blended aromas that created a unique erotic fragrance. Hated the way he made me come. Hated the way my body was made, how it relished this type of pleasure. She squeezed both breasts, then let one go and grabbed my hair, grabbed it roughly, pulled my face to hers. I chewed her lip, I sucked her lip, I growled. We devoured each other. She bit me and I bit her in return. She shuddered. He slapped my ass. Singsong moans and weeping sounds rose from my mouth, and my sounds were mirrored when I pinched her nipples.

I pinched her harder.

She wailed.

He grunted.

We all owned the same fire.

My cellular buzzed again, back-to-back, like a chain of orgasms.

Moments later came the back-to-back calls that aroused the
Sex and the City
ringtone.

My garments and jewelry
had been removed before we engaged in the sharing of pleasure, before we loaned one another our bodies, everything I wore was folded or hung up. I didn't want any stains, no baby gravy on my attire. It would be a tell of my bad behavior. I hurried into the bathroom; left both of my lovers on the bed, spent, satisfied. Mouthwash. Toothpaste. Floss. All of those were lined up. After snowballing I would need to freshen up. After I smeared toothpaste on my teeth and tongue, I gargled as I turned the shower on and selected a big white towel and hand towel. After a while all centers of wickedness were the same. I showered, wondered how much time had elapsed since I had arrived here, since I had left everyone at the bar, since I had left Prada with my stepfather, had left my mother chatting with others, eased away from the conversation, snaked through the congratulatory crowd, and then come to this room. My cellular vibrated; my heart galloped. We'd gotten carried away. When luxurious self-indulgence was that good, space and time shed their meaning. I had disappeared for the better part of an hour. I touched my knees. Rug burns. I was always damaging my knees. No time to worry. Had to keep it moving. After I sprayed on a touch of perfume and began to dress I looked at the husband and wife on the bed. Even though it had been through a session of rigorous sex, her Afro was as stunning now as it had been at Decadence. I had owed her a debt of satisfaction. With my tongue, before I had gone to her husband, before the ménage à trois had commenced, I had paid my bar tab in full. In fact, I had overpaid and now she was indebted to me. Anaïs had taught me well, and I had paid that debt with enthusiasm and brilliance. My zipless lover was no longer zipless. I knew him. Ricardo was born in Curaçao. He was wrapped around Yesenia, her deep brown skin, her severe height, and extreme beauty in his arms, as if moments like these made their five-year union stronger. She was born in Geronimo, Oklahoma. Married for five years. And like me, I'd bet that she was surprised at some of the things that she had done. Feeling proud of myself, the dark side of Gemini grinned in victory. I had been to her what the Brit had been to me. Fair was fair and a promise was a promise and now that debt had been erased from my ledgers.

Those doctors snuggled like they lived in a world of communication, understanding, trust, support, and love. With a deep, rich plum lipstick I drew a heart and a happy face on the bathroom mirror. If I could have drawn a picture of a happy unicorn, I would have, but drawing unicorns wasn't in my skill set.

Then purse over shoulder and phone in hand, I eased out of the door and hurried down the empty hallway, trotted back toward the after-party. Rosetta and the rest of my friends might be in their connected suites now. My cellular hummed like a jealous vibrator. It was a text from Bret. That surprised me.

He asked,

HOW DID THE EVENT GO?

I typed my response as I walked, sensitive from the marvelous sex, knees stinging because I needed a pair of Band-Aids.

THE EVENT WAS ORGASMIC. PARTY IS STILL GOING ON. WISH YOU WERE HERE.

HOPE I'M NOT TEXTING YOU TOO LATE.

I paused.

YOU'RE NOT IN LOS ANGELES, ARE YOU?

ATLANTA.

I exhaled and sent a text.

OKAY. COOL. HOW IS THE A?

NOT MUCH FUN WITHOUT YOU. I WAS GOING TO GO TO BRUNSWICK LANES ON DELK ROAD, BUT I ENDED UP IN STONE MOUNTAIN OUT ON MEMORIAL DRIVE AT DUGAN'S BAR AND GRILL WATCHING THE WORST KARAOKE ON THE PLANET. THEY DO IT APOLLO STYLE AND EVERYONE IS GETTING GONGED. OLD WOMEN ARE ONSTAGE SHAKING THEIR ASSES LIKE THEY ARE TWENTY-ONE. THIS IS A TRAIN WRECK. OH, AND EARLIER I DROVE OVER TO MARIETTA AND ATE AT THE TASSA ROTI SHOP. THE TRINIDADIAN FOOD WAS EXCELLENT. I'VE EVEN PUT AWAY THE COUNTRY MUSIC AND I'M LISTENING TO MUSIC BY SY SMITH AND ALISON HINDS. ALL THAT TO SAY, WISH THAT YOU WERE HERE WITH ME.

A phone call. Now a long text. I shook my head. I didn't have time to process mixed signals. We had spent the night in Florida. Nude. No intimacy. And not even a kiss on the shoulder. Bret was calling and texting me now. I wondered what the fuck all of that meant.

I turned my cellular off.

I didn't want to start a back-and-forth text message exchange.

Inhaling air that lingered at the borders of the entertainment capital of the world, I exited the elevator to glitz and glamour, to music and chatter, to more congratulations and hugs in the land of boutiques, cafés, and movie houses. The rain had ceased and the night air had a sexy winter chill to it—the kind made for cuddling—Hollywood's finest were spread out amongst the bungalows. There were more people at the hotel, party seekers and potential social climbers who weren't here because of the premiere, but wanted to be here to hand out cheap business cards and rub shoulders with those they thought were either rich or were likely to become famous. There were several groups of women sporting super-short dresses and super-long front-lace weaves and they wore counterfeit fashion items like Jimmy Choo, Rolex, UGGs, Burberry, and Coach. Moments later I saw Panther and Driver near the front. They said my mother was inside and hadn't sent a text as of yet. I moved deeper inside of the W's party atmosphere, said hello to people I had gone to high school or had acting classes with. I eased by socialites at the world-class restaurant, squeezed by others holding colorful and trending drinks as they grooved to house music at the iconic bar, then peeked in on tipsy lovers smooching in the vibrant Living Room. That's where I found Prada, in the dimly lit sexy area, where one-night stands were created over martinis, mingling with the beautiful, chatting amongst social alcoholics.

I felt evil. I felt as if I were now capable of doing to men all of the things that men had done to women. And it was exciting. It was thrilling. Empowering. Living on the edge was a new kind of high.

Prada saw me when I came into the crowded room. My mother was no longer in sight. My stepfather had set him free. I could only hope that my mother and stepfather weren't somewhere causing a scene that would end up on YouTube and being tweeted. But I smiled at Prada, waved. He motioned for me to come to him. I wondered if he had become liberal, if he had found a unicorn. Before I could get to him someone tapped my shoulder. Pushing my lips up into the practiced smile that ruled Hollywoodland, I turned around and faced a man who had a dazzling grill, gleaming eyes, full lips, and possessed the confidence and energy that Denzel did when he was in the movie
Glory.
Like mine, his mother had married a foreigner; only his stepfather had been a man of Irish, Italian, and German blend, then brought him here to the States when he was a child. I remembered that conversation, what we had in common.

In perfect Spanish he said, “
I just wanted to say congratulations. I enjoyed the film
.”

I responded in the same language. “
Hey, stranger.
What are you doing here in Los Angeles?
”

His voice trembled and I heard his accent, heard the Dominican Republic rumble in his voice, heard the Caribbean that lived in his soul, and heard his motherland. “
I live here in Los Angeles.
”

“
Jesus. I went to USC for grad school. Have you been here since college?
”

“
I have only been here for a few months. I'm traveling the world. Will only be here for six more months. I played baseball abroad, for the Netherlands, only lasted two seasons, then went back to college. I went to the Netherlands and studied at the University of Amsterdam, then I lived in Willemstad a few years. Now I speak Dutch and Papiamento.
”

“
You're a well-traveled polyglot now.
”

“
Just like you. You inspired me.
”

“
Never knew that I inspired anyone to do anything worth doing.
”

“
You always inspired me to want to learn more. You always worked hard, were down-to-earth. Inspirational. And this evening, what you have accomplished only serves to inspire me more.
”

“
Thanks. I'm speechless. And very surprised to see you.
”

“
Your Spanish has improved.
”

“
You were a great tutor.
”

Without warning, he leaned into me, kissed me on my cheek, gave me a soft kiss, a kiss that carried memories and emotion. Then he eased an envelope into my hands, in Spanish told me that for him it was now as it had been then, as it would always be. With that, he walked away, his high-fashion attire turning heads, as if he were nude walking the halls of Decadence. Prada watched us, then said a few words to the beautiful-yet-perpetually-unemployed talentless actress with whom he was chatting, a woman whose cleavage stood out as she held on to his arm. He finally freed himself from her grip and made his way over to me. As Prada walked away she looked pissed, until she saw that he was coming to me, then her bitchy expression changed immediately, became apologetic, became ass kissing and intimidated.

Prada asked, “Who was he? Another famous actor from your project? Or someone else that your stepfather will need to accost with one hundred questions regarding his intentions toward you?”

I slid the envelope that he had given me inside my purse, remembering so much that I had longed to be able to forget.

I said, “He's just an old friend . . . from college. Surprised to see him here. Hollywood events bring out people that you'd never expect to see. Actually he was the best friend of this jerk that I used to date when I was in college. I think that that guy's name is . . . Rigoberto. If I'd remembered that, then I would've introduced you. Rigoberto. Yeah.”

“Latin?”

“Dominican. I don't remember his last name, but he and my ex were best of friends. Inseparable. Anyway. I see that you found the bar and right away beautiful women were keeping you occupied.”

“Rigoberto. The way he looked at you, the way he was staring at you, the way that he was waiting, I thought that he was your lover.”

“Again, he was the best friend of an ex from my college days.”

“Were you intimate with him?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The look in his eyes. Your expression. Your body language.”

In a state of mild shock, I looked in the direction that Rigoberto had walked, but he was gone. If only the past would do the same, greet me kindly, then walk away, vanish with ease.

My cellular buzzed again. I thought that I had turned it off, but it buzzed and saved me.

It was my mother. She was looking for me. I called her.

“Mommy, I'm down by the bar. Where are you?”

“I'm leaving. Shall I send Panther back for you?”

“No worries.”

“You sure you have a ride?”

“I have friends here and taxis run all night. Where is Dad?”

“Probably with someone half his age.”

“Are we going to meet and talk as a family, or will we keep avoiding what feels uncomfortable?”

“Maybe tomorrow for lunch, if he stays in Los Angeles and has the nerve to phone.”

We ended the call.

As drinks were raised and chatter and music filled the room, I turned to Prada.

I asked, “How did it go with my stepfather?”

“The CEO of the Chevalier Group. You didn't tell me.”

“Would it have mattered?”

Prada asked, “Where were you?”

“Turned out that I had to do junkets, which are a series of interviews. They are chatting up the actors as well but they pulled me in. Last minute thing. They dragged on. But my part of it is done for the night. I have paid my debts. Are you enjoying this elaborate ritual of self-congratulation? Hollywood loves to masturbate for the media.”

“This is grandiose and with you being practically at the center seems like a lot of work. But since you are done, we can be alone.”

I said, “Bad news. While I was gone, I got my period and didn't have any tampons, so I had to stop by a girlfriend's room and take care of that. I know, too much information, girl stuff.”

“If you desire that I please you, there is always the shower.”

“Would bother me. Hate blood, even my own. Plus I'm staying with my mother. You should've told me that you were coming and I could've made arrangements. Still, I would have loved to hear about your recent travels, the business side and the personal side as well.”

“I should've had better timing.”

“It's been forever. At least it feels that way.”

“Same here.”

“Well, look at the bright side; at least I'm not pregnant.”

“I would love it if you were. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Liar.”

“I would marry you. We could marry first thing in the morning.”

“I'd slit my wrists up, down, and sideways. Married because I was preggers. That's the last thing that I want.”

He grinned, not thinking that what I said was funny at all.

His British accent was smart and stimulating, and smart and stimulating was an aphrodisiac. “Nia Simone, I have adored you since you were in Trinidad at Zen nightclub and I saw you walk into the room.”

“You took your time. It took you years to get into my bed.”

“You were worth it.”

“Ha. Like you were not having relations with anyone while you waited. You tried to get me into your bed the night I met you, Prada, so that tells me a lot about you. You go to bars and pick up women.”

“Were you not there to pick up a man?”

“Picking up men in bars in Trinidad is not part of my character.”

“The night we met in Trinidad, I live that over and over in my mind. Sending you drinks. Reading your body language. Waiting for the proper moment to come introduce myself. You were closed off. I was surprised you let me take you to dinner. Was even more surprised that you came back to my room. I wanted you so badly that night. But you did the right thing. You made me want you like no other.”