Aida gave her a twisted look of confusion. She thought about what Vivian Steele wanted: her naked on the bed, with Griffin and his nakedness beside her. Nothing more, nothing less. Then she thought about what Vivian Steele didn't want: Her naked on top of Griffin, riding him, or laying beneath him as he pounded her. She said, “You want to walk in and find us on the bed, but you don't want us doing anything?”
Vivian shook her head. “No. I couldn't deal with that. I'll barely be able to handle seeing him naked with you, but I need to catch him that way. He needs to be caught like that.”
Aida thought about Marlene's ex, Steve. Lisette had told her how they'd set him up. How Marlene had walked into her home and found Lisette riding him. She'd had a friend with her. Someone to witness the act of infidelity.
Aida looked down at the picture. “You're going to need a witness,” she said.
“A witness?”
“Yeah. Someone to catch him with you. That way there's no room for any kind of his word against your word bullshit.”
Vivian nodded. “I hadn't thought of that.”
“Definitely something to think about.”
“I guess I can walk in with my friend or my sister.”
“Sister . . . friend . . . who you choose doesn't matter to me. Just make sure they're with you.”
“OK.”
“I guess you want this to happen in your house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Would two Saturdays from now be too soon? Or would you need more time?”
“No. That's not a problem.”
Aida took a sip of her drink and looked down at Griffin's photo again. “Have you discussed the pricing with my associate?”
Vivian nodded. “Yes. Forty thousand. Half now, correct?”
Aida nodded. “That's right.” Her expression was all business, but on the inside she was smiling. $40,000 to set up a man. $10,000 went to Lisette. The rest was hers to keep.
Strippers showcased their bodies in front of horny-assed-single, and, more often than not, married men day in and day out. Some made a few thousand a weekâthe ones working in high-class clubs. The majority of the “dancers” made a few hundred. Just enough to pay the bills, buy food, and keep a roof over their heads. They would be dancing on poles for years to make any real money.
Prostitutes sold their bodies to horny and, oftentimes, dirty, perverted, and yes, married assholes looking to bust a quick nut or do shit, or have shit done that they couldn't do or have done at home. Some made good money, but ninety percent of them didn't.
In both cases, the strippers and whores had to bust their asses figuratively and sometimes literally to make the money that Aida was going to make off of Vivian alone.
She looked down at the photo of Griffin one last time. Vivian wanted to catch them just about to have sex. She thought about that.
Just about to.
She took a breath and wondered if Griffin was as big as he looked. As thick. She thought about feeling him inside of her.
Just about to.
Aida laughed on the inside heartily.
She was going to fuck Griffin and make $40,000.
To hell with the “just about to” bullshit.
20
“Lisette, can we talk?”
Crossing the parking lot. Headed to my car. I'd just finished my weekly kickboxing class. I had thirteen people in my class. Eleven women and two men.
Four of the females were in college. They were fit, thin with damn near zero percent body fat. Looked like they could have been contestants on the next season of
Survivor
. They came to class in tight Spandex and sports bras, revealing belly rings and perky breasts. They threw punches and kicks with vigor and attitude. They had the bodies and the youth that everyone else wanted and they knew it.
Six other women were housewives who used the class as a weekly escape from the husband and kids. It was also their hardworking attempt to burn off the extra fifteen to twenty pounds they'd put on after giving birth. They smiled and played nice, but each one of their punches and kicks were directed at the college girls and their pre-baby bodies.
The two men in the class were life partners who saw the class as a way to learn to protect themselves. It also gave them quality time together, as they both worked long hours as lawyers. The taller of the two was six feet three inches, in his forties and was the “woman” in the relationship. The shorter partner was five feet five inches and had one hell of a Napoleon complex. He clearly ran the show. I allowed them to take the class only because of their sexual preference. They were loved by all of the women.
My last participant in the class was the star. A woman with a mean right cross, a nasty uppercut, and a knee thrust that I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of. She gave me a run for my money in the stamina department, some days daring me to work her and the rest of the class harder. Her three kids were grown and had families of their own, and her husband of fifty years had passed away two years earlier. There are a few women in life who I admire. Michelle Obama for being the most powerful woman in the country. Oprah for being second in line. Queen Latifah for her talent. Sharon Stone for revealing her pussy in the interrogation room scene in the movie
Basic Instinct
, with a big “Fuck all of you” in her eyes. That was powerful.
My last class member may not have been in as powerful a position as the first lady, nor had the money that Oprah had, nor the acting and singing/rapping ability that the Queen possessed. She may not have even had as tight a pussy as Sharon Stone. But one thing my seventy-five-year-old star had was spunk. I could only hope to be as energetic when I reached her age.
As usual, I'd run the ladies and men through an intense hour and a half. They came to work, to release, to sweat, and I made sure they di,d in abundance. Ryan had been on my mind during class. My punches and kicks were backward and forward thrusts. Hard. Intense. Kicks meant to be felt. Punches meant to cause eruption. I'd been thinking about Ryan since our night together at the hotel. His dick had left an impression. One that I wanted to feel again. I hadn't pulled his card out and called him yet. I wanted to make him wait. Just as he had with me, I know I'd left an impression too, and I knew that his desire to feel me again was strong. It didn't matter if I made him wait a day, a week, or a year; he would beg to be inside of me regardless of the lag of time.
My plan was to conduct the class, go home and shower, and then call Ryan and arrange a meeting for later that night. Tomorrow I would call Shante with an update as she'd requested.
Seeing Steve, Marlene's ex, was not part of the plan at all.
I looked at him and balled my fists. We were at the scene of the crime. A little over six months ago, he'd paid me a visit here. A visit I would never forget.
I said, “What the fuck are you doing here?” My tone was harsh, biting, and promised violence.
Steve wisely took a step back and put up his hands. “I just came to talk,” he said.
“You wasted your gas. We have nothing to talk about.”
“I just need ten, fifteen minutes of your time.”
I squared my shoulders. Planted my hips. Tensed my muscles. “The only thing you need is to get the fuck away now and make sure my money is deposited.”
“That's why I'm here,” Steve said. “I need to talk about the money.”
Weeks after Steve's visit, I paid him a visit he'd never forget. One that placed his balls in a very uncomfortable vice.
In this parking lot. In the midst of a rainstorm. Steve had attacked and then raped me. I'd put up a fight. Would have kicked his ass had I not slipped in a rain puddle and fallen backward, hitting the back of my head on the concrete. I was dazed and barely conscious as Steve got on top of me, gave me regards from Kyra, forced my sweats down, and proceeded to drive his dick into me while he pressed his forearm down against my throat to keep me from screaming. His clothing had been black and he'd worn a black ski mask.
The rain had fallen in torrents that night, and because of my semi-consciousness and the rain drops, I'd been unable to focus on his voice as he'd whispered to me, or his eyes as he stared down at me.
But I'd caught his scent. His cologne. Contradiction for Men by Calvin Klein. I'd smelled it on him two times before under very intimate circumstances. Circumstances that I'd made happen as I was in the process of setting him up for Marlene.
Steve had left me bleeding and barely cognizant on the ground of the gym's parking lot. I would have probably died had it not been for a strangerâa man I would forever be indebted to. He took me to the hospital where the doctors took care of me and the police collected sperm that Steve had left inside of me. The police had asked me question after question in an effort to find the person who had attacked me. The only name I had to give was Kyra's, but at the risk of giving up my profession, I gave up no information.
For three weeks after the incident, I was in a daze. I said to hell with the world and had even started saying to hell with myself. I'd never had control taken away from me in that way before, and it got to me. I stayed in my condo for three weeks, trying to hide myself from the reality of what had happened.
Three weeks would have been longer had it not been for Marlene and her insistence to bring me back to the land of the living. She'd forced me to accept reality. She'd forced me to realize that Kyra had given me her best shot and had failed. I was still standing. Still breathing. I was still me.
On that day, I recalled the scent of the man in black.
On that day, I realized that it had been Steve.
I paid him a visit weeks later and with my visit, I fucked him in way he had fucked me, only instead of shoving something up his ass, which is what I would have loved to do, I fucked him where it truly hurt him.
$50,000 a month.
I went to Steve's office and gave him that ultimatum. $50,000 a month or I would go to the police and give up his name. The move I would or wouldn't make was up to him. Knowing that he wouldn't choose jail time over my silence, he signed over a check for the first monthly installment before I left.
In six months' time, he'd paid me $300,000. I turned over more than half of that anonymously to numerous rape and abuse clinics. I took Steve's money not because I needed it, but rather as a reminder. I wanted him to remember each and every month when he signed that money away that he'd chosen the wrong bitch to fuck with.
Steve said, “I . . . I can't afford to pay that amount anymore. I lost my job.” He looked at me with eyes pleading for sympathy.
I asked, “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
Steve sighed and clenched his jaw.
I readied myself in case he decided to be stupid.
There were no rain puddles this time.
“Lisette . . . shit. My company went under when the economy tanked. I'm looking for work, but investment banking isn't exactly a booming field right now. The money I'm paying you is bleeding me.”
Again I gave him a look devoid of sympathy. “You raped me, Steve,” I said.
Steve dropped his chin to his chest for a moment before looking up at me. “I know,” he said, his voice low. “It's something I truly regret.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I bet you do.”
“What happened that night, Lisette, I swear it wasn't me.”
“That's not what the sperm sample the police have on file says.”
“Lisette . . . shit . . . can't we come up with another alternative?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Cutting your dick off would be the only other alternative.”
Steve frowned. “Come on,” he said, “There's got to be another deal we can make.”
I looked at him. His forehead knotted together in the middle. His jaw was tight. His shoulders were slumped. Desperation reeked from his pores.
It gave me the chills to see him so defeated.
“Please, Lisette? I still have Marlene to pay.”
Shit.
I'd helped Marlene come up with a way to become unforgettable to Steve too by instructing her to become pregnant. She did and six weeks after that we fucked up his world. In addition to paying me, he was also paying a hefty amount in child support for their son, Benjamin. I was Benjamin's godmother. Didn't ask to be. Marlene had just given me no choice.
Benjamin.
He looked nothing like his father. Lucky break for him.
I had no kids and didn't want any, but I loved the little man, despite where half of his DNA had come from.
Shit.
I glared at Steve.
Asshole.
Fucking asshole.
I'd gotten past the incident, but the level of my contempt for him hadn't dwindled.
“I could just go to the police,” I said, meaning it.
“Please, Lisetteâ”
“Stop begging me, asshole.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it.
“The police have your sperm.” I stopped talking and looked at him intensely as he stared at me. “Today, I don't feel like going to them. Tomorrow I may. Or maybe the day after. Possibly next month. You think about that shit, Steve. Think about it every fucking day.”
Without another word to him, I walked past him and headed to my car.
When he came at me before, he'd attacked me from behind.
I didn't worry about that this time.