Going Broke (21 page)

I felt as though I let him down even more by lying, but one thing was certain—I was in love with him.

We didn't do any more talking. I fell asleep later, and he carried my motionless body to the bedroom, placed me under the sheets, and never left my side.

 

 

On Monday morning I checked my website e-mail and found a query from a customer named T.C. I knew that it was Tremel. He had paid fifteen bucks a few times to submit queries before. In the past, he jokingly asked about flying to Paris, Japan, and Rome. But this time he asked me to make arrangements for him and his girlfriend to fly back to his hometown of Cleveland in three weeks for Thanksgiving.

I researched the information and sent it to him as I always did. However, I was shocked when he sent me a return e-mail the following day with his credit card information and instructions to book the trip.

He stepped into the apartment after work looking as sexy as ever in his blue uniform.

The way I rushed him daily, you'd think he was wearing an Armani suit. “Hi, Tremie.”

He hated to be called that and would normally tackle me to the ground playfully when I did. “If I didn't have business to take care of with you, I'd hurt you.” He grabbed me by the waist and kissed me.

“What business do you have with me?”

“Our trip to Cleveland.”

I laughed. “You're such a jokester.”

“What?” he said. “Didn't you get my e-mail?”

“About the trip?”

“Yeah,” he said seriously. “Were you able to find an evening flight on that Wednesday?”

“Tremel, if I put your credit card number in, it'll really buy the ticket.” I giggled.

“Okay, and?” He looked at me strangely. “That's what I want.”

“Whatever.”

“Sarai, I'm serious.”

I looked at him. “You want me to go with you to Cleveland for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes.”

“Won't your family be there?” I was nervous already.

“Yes, that's the reason we're going.” He laughed. “You don't want to meet them?”

“No.” I was confused. “I mean yes. It's not that I don't want to meet them, but you don't think it's too soon?”

Strangely, the good thing about Damian was that he had no family. Therefore, I never had to worry about anyone judging me. Tremel knew that I wasn't a big fan of seeking approval. Whenever I saw the area code 216 on the caller ID, I shouted for him to pick up, and if he wasn't home, the call went straight to voicemail.

“We've been a couple over two months now.” Then he added, “I thought we were looking to be long-term.”

“We are, but I'm not good with parents, meeting family and all that stuff,” I said. “Why don't you go, and I'll just stay here? We can go together another time.” I wasn't the average woman; I couldn't even cook. “What if your mom asked me to help her in the kitchen?”

“Then I'll call the fire department,” he joked. “I'm just kidding. Relax. Everything will be all right.”

‘Relax'?
I was about to have an anxiety attack. “Maybe we can go for Easter or something.” I was making up anything, any holiday, just not the one that was three weeks away.

“I've told my mom about you.”

“You did?”

My heat skipped about eight beats. Mothers wanted their sons with girls who loved to cook, clean, bake, and sew. The majority of things I cooked were also microwaveable. Why bake a cake when you can buy it? If something had to be sewn, that meant it went to Goodwill. I was clean, but only where it counted. I didn't lift up the rug or move a chair to look for dirt more than once a month.

“My mother will love you.” He took my hand. “Let's book our flights.”

It was settled. We were flying to Cleveland late Wednesday night and coming back on Sunday afternoon. To me, the stay was too long. I had no idea what I could do with strangers for four days.

Tremel was pumped up about us staying in his old room, which meant even more time around his family. I wasn't thrilled. Thank God, when he called his mother and learned that both of his grandparents, an uncle, and a few aunts would also be there, he elected to stay at a hotel so that his older relatives could enjoy the comfort of his parents' home.

 

 

On Thursday as I cleaned, I stumbled upon the safe in my closet and found the camera and three rolls of film I stole when I left Norman's hotel room in Atlanta. Quickly I wondered what the pictures looked like. For a moment, I wondered what Norman's real intentions were, who the other guy was, and how many times they had done what they did to other girls. Call me foolish, but I wanted to see the pictures.

I jumped in my truck and didn't stop until I was thirty minutes south, in Kendall, in front of Will's house. William Tout, a gay white photographer I met in college, was a good friend of mine. Seeing some of the pictures he took and developed in his personal darkroom, I knew that my shots would be just another walk in the park for him.

“So what's on these rolls, missy?” he asked as I handed him the envelope.

“You'll see.” I grinned. “But this stays between you and me, Will.”

“Honey, I do more than gossip with these lips,” he joked. “When do you want them back?”

“When do you think you can have them ready?”

“In the morning, if George doesn't come over tonight.”

“And if he comes over?”

“Then next week.” He laughed. “I'm kidding. I'll have them tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I hugged him.

He waved his finger from left to right and left again. “I'm not charging you since I know that you're broke and shit, but you will be getting black and whites.”

“No problem.” I kissed him on the cheek and left.

He was ready to get into my business. He couldn't help it.

Before I even pulled back into my apartment complex, my phone was ringing.

“You nasty bitch,” Will said. “I am so jealous of you.”

“Why?”

“I only have two done right now, but they look great.”

“Which two?”

“Let's just say you have a mouthful.”

“Oh.” I sighed. “They get much worse.”

“One question—does he have a brother?”

“You are such a tramp. What about George?”

“I'm sick of Italian sausage. I think it's time for a long, fat, juicy African treat,” he joked.

I was about to throw up on my steering wheel. “Can you see my face in those two pictures?”

“Yes. But honey, I know that you aren't married.” He paused. “However, your friend needs to know that if he wants to be in pictures he should remove his wedding band, because a broke bitch like you might try to find his wife and sell these pictures to her to use against him in court.” He laughed. “I'll have them ready tomorrow. I just had to call you and tell you what a sexy slut you are.”

“Thanks.” A light bulb went off in my head. “I'll pick them up tomorrow,” I said. “Talk to you later, sweetie.”

“All right.” He hung up.

Will had turned on an idea that I immediately began to work over in my mind. I sat in my truck for about fifteen minutes, figuring out exactly how I was going to make Elite work for me.

I had made all the arrangements for the Elite girls to attend the ending of the Black Businessmen of America Association convention being held in Trenton, New Jersey this week. This was a big event. Thirty girls were set to arrive in Trenton the next day, which was Friday. I knew who would be with whom and at what time. I had all of the men's real names, hotel information, aliases, profiles created by Stefani, and their credit card information, which included their home billing addresses. I had everything I needed to put some money in my pocket and help some of these men's wives walk away from their men financially fat.

That's right, I was about to unleash havoc on the Elite. “In your face, Conrad.” I smiled as I looked at the camera.

I ran upstairs and used my site to plan my own trip. I was going to New Jersey the next afternoon to bring the pain.

I did a few loads of laundry and started packing.

Tremel walked in. “Whoa,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“To see Daddy,” I lied.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, a mild asthma attack,” I said. “I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. I'm flying into New Jersey. Everything else was costing way too much.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he didn't have to be hospitalized.” I actually did call Daddy. “But I just want to be sure that everything is okay.”

“How did he sound?”

“He sounded all right, but I just want to check him out, just to be certain.”

“And you
have
to go tomorrow?”

“Tremel, I want to see him. I'll be with you and your family during the Thanksgiving holiday, but Daddy will be all by himself. I know it's short notice, but I really want to be sure that he's all right.”

“Okay, I feel you.” He sat next to my suitcase on the bed. “I guess I can't keep you to myself all the time.”

“Aw, you're gonna miss me.” I smiled. “I'll be back on Monday.”

He picked me up around the waist and rested me on the bed. “I can't wait until Monday.”

For the next two hours, I thought of nothing, while Tremel put a move on my heart.

When we made love, it was more than just two bodies pressed up against each other. We were connected in every way; I could feel his inner man. He was the kind of lover that made a woman think there wasn't another man on the planet like hers. Whenever Tremel and I made love one thing was always certain—at the end I was in tears, not from physical pain or emotional angst, but tears of the purest joy.

 

 

In Trenton, I checked into the hotel and rushed to my room to get set for the big weekend. All weekend I wore baggy clothing, ponytails, glasses, hats, and anything else I could find to alter my appearance.

On the first night I strolled into the lounge with the camera and immediately befriended Javier, a young Latin guy. Javier had no clue that he was a part of a well-conceived plan. It was falling in line too easily.

After a few drinks, I told him that I was a photographer at a fashion magazine based in Miami and asked him if he was a model. I acted completely flabbergasted when he said that he wasn't. I pretended to be intrigued by his style and told him how I knew someone that was searching for a model with his look.

I convinced Javier that I was vacationing in Trenton and didn't have my professional equipment, but would love to take photos of him with my regular camera. I told him that I'd see to it that the right people saw the pictures and he'd be receiving a call.

Javier jumped at the deal.

While he posed, I pretended to be focusing on him, but his surroundings were really getting all of the attention. The zoom lens was a marvel. I had close-ups of the Elite girls and their men kissing, touching, bumping and grinding on the dance floor. I knew who each girl was by the pictures on their profiles on my computer at home, and it would be a cinch to go look up the man I had scheduled her to be with.

I told Javier that I wanted some other shots of him, and he decided on the pool. It was pure genius; this guy was in my head. The poolside was Black Businessmen paradise. They were everywhere, and had no shame as they partied with girls young enough to be their daughters or, in some cases, granddaughters.

Javier was acting like he had hit the rollover lottery with me. He even bought me a few drinks. The poor soul didn't even know that in most shots I only got his arm, the top of his head, or his kneecap, but there was big money to be made in the things going on in the background.

Javier and I went to the eighth floor, where the girls were staying.

I had him stand by an artificial tree next to the elevator. I snapped shots of men holding hands with their girls as they stepped off. The elevator doors opened up with not only girls wiping their mouths, fixing their dresses and hair, but also with men patting napkins to their mouths and zipping up their pants.

On Monday morning, I flew back to Miami with nine rolls of film. Four guys believed that they'd be hearing from a modeling agency within the next seventy-two hours—Error!

I drove from the airport to Will's house. Without giving too much information, I promised him two thousand dollars to develop the pictures and not speak a word of them to anyone.

I got home and researched on my computer. Jackpot! Everything was at my fingertips—phone numbers, addresses, and most importantly, names.