“Who was Biz's girl?” Meisha asked.
“Some silly heifer that was riding around with a young fool with a death wish. Damn if I
know her,” Chanel said.
Vanessa was trying to digest what Chanel said.
Why kill a woman?
She glanced at Candy,
who seemed unfazed. Vanessa assumed it had to be Chase who pulled the trigger on the woman.
She wanted it to be Chase, or anyone other than the man she loved and shared a bed with. It
didn't matter that she watched Rich take a gun outside. The war stories that Rich reminisced
to her about did not matter. She had heard a lot of things about Rich, but she had rarely
witnessed him get angry, so she could not picture him shooting an innocent woman.
“They say who did it?” Candy asked Chanel.
Vanessa looked at Candy.
She must be fishing to see if anyone witnessed Rich do it.
Chanel snickered. “Go figure. Most people love they life more than they do kickin' it to police.”
“I ain't seen Chase since Pana got at him,” Meisha added.
“Who knows who did it.” Candy said.
“But you ain't gotta be a rocket scientist to narrow down the possibilities to the usually
suspects,” Chanel said.
“We don't need to be speculating,” Vanessa said.
“That's right,” Candy added. “A lot of people in the Feds for conspiracy based on
hearsay. And all that he-say-she-say is not even supposed to be allowed in court.”
Chanel looked at Candy. “You right, girl. Let's change the subject.”
Vanessa's heart was racing. Candy's talk of conspiracy charges and Federal prison kept
replaying in her mind. She knew if Chanel was making assumptions, other people were too. Harlem
was small, news traveled fast and bottom feeders were always trying to pull down the big fish on
top. That was one of the things Rich had taught Vanessa about the streets. Her hope now was that
Rich had not become a victim of the streets he knew all too well. Vanessa's anger
with Rich was being replaced by her fear for him. She could be mad at him later, after she was
certain he was not destined for a life behind bars. Now, she needed to help him.
Rich stood on the edge of his balcony, looking over Harlem, as if he were still one of the hustler who reigned supreme over the neighborhood. He was reflecting on the fact that he had flirted with
death and his freedom less than twenty-four hours earlier. He was questioning his ability to remove
himself from the street life he knew far better than his new life. Chase had showed him how easy
it was to be pulled back into the game. But Rich felt his debt was now paid to Chase. There
would be no more guilt trips…hopefully.
Rich had not spoken to Chase since the shootout. Under normal circumstances, they
would have met up the day after the action to discuss their performance and their next move. But
Rich knew these were not normal circumstances. There would be no rehashing the drama or
developing new plans. Rich wanted the madness behind him and the future open. His lack of
contact with Chase told him that Chase was ready to give him some space, or part ways with him
permanently. Strangely, Rich wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He went inside of his living room and flicked on the wide screen TV to CNN, so he
could check the financial markets. “NASDAQ is down,” he mumbled to himself, watching the
ticker float across the bottom of the screen.
Seconds later, Vanessa and Candy stormed through the door. “They said Pana, Biz and his girl got murdered last night, Rich,” Candy confessed.
“Chanel was running her damn mouth in the shop,” Vanessa said, before recounting the
scene, emphasizing how she and Candy stopped Chanel from practically mentioning Rich and
Chase as the killers.
Without disclosing any details, Rich assured the women that they had nothing to worry
about. “Baby, me and jail don't mix. I can't get no money if I'm sitting in Sing Sing.” He
grabbed the remote and changed the channel to the local news.
“Did you kill that woman, Rich?” Vanessa asked, looking square into his eyes.
“No,” he said, without flinching. “I don't even hit women.” Rich didn't like that Chase had killed Biz's girlfriend, but he understood that collateral damage was a part of street wars. “I
didn't kill nobody,” Rich said.
“Nobody?” Vanessa needed a confirmation.
“Baby, I'd ignore you before I lie to you.”
“Look!” Candy pointed at the TV screen. “Turn it up.”
Rich turned up the volume. A reporter stood at the crime scene
he and Chase had created:
Police say that at approximately one-forty this morning, a triple homicide
occurred on One-hundred and Forty-Fifth Street and Madison Avenue in Harlem.
There are no eye witnesses. Neighbors say they heard multiple gunshots. Police
arrived on the scene where the driver of an SUV, thirty-eight-year-old Bismarck
Jefferson of Harlem, was found dead from multiple gunshot wounds to the face
and head. Twenty-six-year-old Debra Foster of Queens was found shot to death in
the passenger seat. The third victim, sixteen-year-old Fernando Jimenez of
Harlem, was also found outside of the SUV, dead from multiple gunshot wounds. A gun was recovered from the scene, which police believe belonged to Jimenez. Police have no motives or suspects.
Rich turned down the volume as the reporter vanished from the screen. He noticed
Vanessa staring at him in shock. He knew she had never come this close to street drama, so he
anticipated her reaction. There was not only surprise covering her face, but also there was a look of
disgust. It served as a reminder to Rich how blessed he was to have her in his life. The fact
that she was not desensitized to death was something he valued in her. She was a reminder that
the life he had left behind was not normal, not to be tolerated.
Vanessa took Rich's hands into hers. “Please tell me you won’t get involved with anything like this again.”
“You got my word,” Rich said. He pulled her close and hugged her, then turned to Candy. “You kind of quiet over there.”
“Just observing.”
Rich sat on the coffee table, facing both women seated side-by-side on the couch.
He took a hand from each of them. He looked at Vanessa. “Baby, without you, I wouldn't know what love is. You taught me how to love and what it feels like to be loved, literally. And I gave you a picture of the pain in my life that nobody walking the face of this earth will ever get a peek at. Turning my back on you is something I couldn't do if I wanted to.”
“I love you.” Vanessa leaned forward and kissed Rich, then leaned back on the couch.
Rich turned to Candy. “When I asked Vanessa to bring another woman into our bedroom,
I told her it would only be a one-time affair that would benefit us both. But I had no idea how
important you would become to us in and outside of the bedroom. I would be lying if I told you that I loved you, but I got a feeling in my heart that's damn near as strong.”
“You know I feel for you too, Rich,” Candy said.
Rich took all of their hands and stacked them together with his. “We got something
real special going on here and we can't let our emotions get in the way of that. The three of us pleasing each other is no different than two of us pleasing each other. If I'm not around and y'all get hot and bothered, what they say? One man don't stop the show.”
“I see you got jokes,” Candy laughed.
“I'm serious as cancer,” Rich said. “If you're spending the weekend and Vanessa's not in the mood, you still need the same affection as me.”
“I got a confession to make,” Vanessa interjected.
She looked at Candy, then to Rich. She began telling the
truth of how she and Candy had been having an affair and how they fell in love.
Rich smiled. He thought about how comfortable they had been together since their first
threesome. Suddenly it all made sense. He wasn’t upset with them, just a little upset with himself that he
had not detected their affair himself. “I knew you was a freak, Vanessa. That's why I asked you to have the threesome.” He laughed.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said.
“You didn't know,” Candy added, then began mentioning how she felt about Vanessa
and how her feelings for Rich were growing.
Rich sat on the couch between the women, sliding his arms over their shoulders, as they huddled beneath him. They each talked and joked about their unique relationship. Rich understood that he had something many men only dreamed of having. But he wondered how long would it last.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
C
andy had been up since 3:00 a.m. and she had torn her bedroom apart during her search.
She had invaded every crevice of the
large room, but there was no sign of the video of her and Vanessa. It was obvious that Vera had
stolen it. She had been in the bedroom the day before she stormed past Vanessa into Candy's
office and announced that she wanted out of the relationship she and Candy had developed.
Candy now assumed that Vera had probably spent a night watching the video, mustering the gall and anger it took to confront her and announce their relationship was over.
Fuck!
Candy flopped down on her bed, wondering if Vera was planning on revealing the tape to someone, if she had not unleashed it already. They were living in an era of celebrity sex tapes and average Janes and Joes trading graphic photos and videos with camera phones. The last thing Candy needed was the video of her and Vanessa to go viral on line. She could withstand
the drama, but she doubted that Vanessa could. Vanessa would be crushed and Rich would be vexed.
Candy was at risk of losing the two people she cared about most.
Frustrated, Candy pulled out her cell phone and dialed Vera’s number. She got her voicemail, so she hung up.
She thought about going to Vera's apartment, but she changed her mind. She decided to try contacting her a few more times before tracking her down. Candy knew if she confronted
Vera in person, their interaction could become explosive. Risking an altercation that could
prevent her from getting the video was not an option for Candy. She would have to humble
herself to get what she wanted.
* * *
Candy dug through her office drawers. Since the tape wasn’t in her bedroom, maybe, just maybe it was in her office
.
“Damn, I knew that shit wasn't here,” she mumbled, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. She tried to clear her mind. She had twenty minutes left before it was time to open the shop.
Candy closed her eyes and dozed off. She was awakened by Vanessa tugging on her arm.
“Come on, Candy,” Vanessa said. “This is not the businesswoman I know.”
“I only closed my eyes a minute ago.”
“You look like you were out all night clubbing.”
All night searching for this damn video. Only if you knew.
She looked at her watch.
“Anybody out front yet?”
“Everybody's there and clients are already coming in.”
Candy stood up and turned toward her bathroom. “I'll be out there in a minute.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa said, then left the office.
Candy
never saw her attraction to women in the same light as gay men. She couldn't fully
explain it, but the feminine and sensual nature of a woman made lesbianism seem normal to her.
Yet as she watched and listened to the conversation in the shop, she pondered if there truly was a
difference. Despite her thinking, she still had a strong urge to be with a woman. The fact that she
kept glancing at Vanessa was adding to her desire.
Candy always had a different perspective than the norm.
And it was always laced with enough logic to get her point heard without creating an argument. There was so much Candy had learned from Vanessa, simply by listening to how she viewed life.
“Excuuuse me, Vanessa.” Chanel shook her head. “
What you think, Meisha?”
“I won't be surprised if they pop up on a sex tape gettin' it on,” said Meisha.
Candy peeked at Vanessa. Her mind was back on their video and Vera stealing it. She
pulled out her cell phone and dialed Vera. Voicemail again. She contemplated leaving a
message, but she didn't. She needed to hear Vera's voice to gauge how to handle her. She needed to see Vera face-to-face.
* * *
It was ten o'clock that night. Candy was growing impatient. Her shiny red BMW was
parked in front of one of the many buildings of Red Hook Housing Projects. It was her third time
there and her first time without Vera. On the past two occasions, Candy had simply double-
parked and dropped Vera off in front of her building, then peeled off before Vera's high heels hit
the sidewalk. Candy had heard enough war stories about the dangers of the projects to know it
was a place she wanted nothing to do with.
“Where the fuck is she at?” Candy mumbled to herself. She had called Vera a block
before she parked, getting her voicemail again. She had walked up to Vera's building and rang
the intercom, but got no response. Assuming Vera was out, Candy hoped she would be home any
second.
Candy stared at the group of teens forming in front of Vera's building.
Fuck it.
She got
out of her BMW. The click-clack of her Sergio Rossi pumps echoed as she walked the concrete
path leading toward Vera's building. Her statuesque figure was hugged by a Prada dress that
she had struggled to squeeze into. She could hear the whispers about her, as she got close to the
teens in front of Vera's building. She found it amusing, because the baby face boys dressed in jeans and fitted hats looked to be half of her age.
“Let me holler at you, shorty,” said a five-foot Latino teen that sported specs and peach fuzz.
“Shorty?” Candy smiled, staring down at the boy.
“Yeah, Mamita. What's good?” He stepped up to her. “Holler at ya boy.”
That's just what he is, a boy.
“I'm looking for somebody.” Candy said.
“I know, Mamita. I'm right here, you heard?”
“You're cute, but you're too young and I like women.”
“I like women, too. That's what's up.”
“I'm looking for Vera.”
“You talkin’ ‘bout short, dark-skinned Vera? Big ass and tits?” He pointed to the building they were in front of.” She live in 3-B.”
“Thank you.” Candy realized she had rung 3-D earlier. She walked past the other four
teens, noticing their eyes track her as she made it to the building lobby. She looked at the silver intercom and pressed 3-B.
“Who is it?” Vera's voiced echoed from the small speaker of the intercom.
“Candy.”
“Foul-ass Candy from Harlem?”
“I need to speak to you, Vera.”
“No you don't.”
“About the video.”
“Too late. I got plans for that.”
“What?” Candy frowned.
“Goodnight.” The intercom clicked off.
Candy screamed Vera's name into the intercom twice. Her slanted eyes were almost shut and her fists were balled tightly. She stormed out of the building.
“Mamita, you all right?” the Latino teen asked as he strolled beside her. “What's poppin'?”
“You live in this building?” Candy asked, still stepping forward with her fists balled.
“Nah. Over there.” The youth pointed to a distant building in the projects.
“So, you hustling in front here?”
“Nah, Mamita. And you asking too many questions. What, you writing a book or something?”
Candy stopped and smiled. She liked the youngster's style. “I see you got jokes.”
“I don't sell drugs.”
“What's your name?”
“Domingo.”
“I'm Candy.”
“Candy?” The teen smiled and licked his lips. “You know your boy got a sweet tooth.”
Candy grinned, giving him a thorough once-over for the first time. He had on at least $1,500 worth of clothes. Pulling down his left earlobe was a huge diamond—a baguette that was more
carats than most of the women who entered Candy's Shop could afford. Candy also noticed the
imprint of a gun on Domingo's waistline beneath his Gucci shirt. “You may not be selling drugs in front of this building, but I know your little ass is hustling somewhere.”
“I get it in any way I can, Mamita. Just not here, you heard?”
“Any way?”
“Just about,” Domingo said.
She looked back at the lobby of Vera’s building, then at Domingo. “Let me get your cell number. I think I got a job for you.”
Vanessa sat Indian style in bed, typing away on her laptop. She had been in Rich's
bedroom working on her novel for eight hours straight. It was her day off and Rich was out of town at a business convention. Candy was in the shower.
Vanessa was proud of herself for completing the first draft of her novel. She was now
rewriting it to tighten up, before letting Rich and Candy critique it. She knew they could both help her story with the authenticity of the streets she was writing about. The book, like her
experience with Rich and Candy, had started off as street erotica. But as Vanessa began to
experience love, her feelings unconsciously affected her writing. Her book was now an urban
erotic romance. She was aiming to create a new genre that was a mix of styles of authors Zane,
Wahida Clark and Eric Jerome Dickey.
Candy stepped into the bedroom in a robe with a peach-colored towel wrapping her hair.
She opened her Louis Vuitton travel bag, which was on the bed. As she began undressing, Vanessa peeked at her, then continued typing.
“You need to give that book a break,” said Candy, as she slipped on a tank top. You hear me?”
“I'm drained,” Vanessa said.
“You've been writing all day.” Candy crawled in bed, moving behind Vanessa until Vanessa's back sunk into her embrace. Candy leaned against the headboard. “Stretch out. You
and this half-lotus yoga shit.”
Vanessa laughed. She extended her legs and continued typing. Candy's hands began
massaging her shoulders and neck. “That feels so good,” Vanessa said.
“That's what I'm here for, to make your life easier.”
“Sometimes I feel like we're supposed to be sisters.”
“We are,” Candy said. “Sisters, lovers, friends and anything else that can mean
something that's real and shared between women.”
“You're right.” Vanessa shut her laptop and set it on the nightstand. She closed her
eyes and began to savor the soothing feeling of Candy's delicate hands. The pampering put her at
peace. It was always like that around Candy, almost too good to be true.
“Why don't you let me do your whole body?”
“You brought your oils?”
Candy pointed to her overnight bag. “Right in the Louie bag.” She removed two bottles
of oil, then left to heat them up. When she returned, Vanessa was laying nude, faced down on the bed. Candy slapped her butt.
“Stop playing.” Vanessa giggled.
“You know you like that shit.” Candy sat on top of Vanessa and dripped some of the
scented oil down her spine. She began working her upper back, rubbing the oil into her tension spots.
“You're a pro at this, for real. It feels so good.”
“I just know what your body needs,” Candy responded.
“Let me ask you something serious.”
“Go 'head.”
“You ever wonder how long we're gonna last? I mean us and Rich? They say fifty
percent of marriages end in divorce.”
“I wouldn't call this a marriage, but I do wonder sometimes.”
“And?”
“I can't predict. I know that I'll do anything I have to in order to make our relationship work. And I won't let anybody come between us.”
Vanessa was silent.
“What about you?” Candy asked.
“Sometimes I wonder could I handle losing just one of you. It's crazy, because I don't know if I could even be happy with just one of you in my life. I need you
and
Rich.”
“We're a team.” Candy smiled.
* * *
Vanessa pulled up in front of Mimi's home. She had not been there in what felt like
years. Vanessa had been overwhelmed with working on her book and maintaining her
relationship with Candy and Rich. But she had kept in contact with Mimi by phone and e-mail. On
occasion, the two had met for lunch. Since Vanessa had some free time, she decided to
pay Mimi a surprise visit.
Vanessa stepped out of her Altima and walked up the short staircase on the quiet SOHO
block. She rang the doorbell, then looked in Mimi's first floor window. She was shocked to see a tall, dark-skinned man with a bare chest open the window.
“Who you lookin' for?” he asked.
“Mimi. Tell her it's Vanessa.”
“One minute.”
Vanessa's eyes were still aimed at the window as the mysterious man ducked inside.
“What's up?” Mimi asked, seconds later when she opened the front door.
“I didn't know you had company,” said Vanessa. “I just stopped by to see what you were up to.”
As you can see, I'm busy tryin' to get busy.” Mimi licked her lips.
“Who is he?”
“He works with me. Been all over me for weeks.”
Vanessa's eyebrows rose. “Weeks?”
“I been meaning to tell you, but it's like when we kick it, the
convo is always about Rich and Candy.”
“Don't sweat it.” Vanessa smiled. “We'll talk later. Get back to your company.”
Vanessa strolled back over to her Altima and drove away with Mimi on her mind. She
felt guilty for pushing her best friend away. They had communicated about every guy they had
met since college. Now,
Vanessa didn't even know the name of the man who was comfortable enough to answer Mimi's
doorbell. She wondered if she would have learned about the mystery man had she not dropped by Mimi's apartment? The relationship Vanessa and Mimi shared had developed through open
dialogue. Mimi was an outgoing person who said what came to her mind, and Vanessa always
had an open ear. Vanessa was reserved, but comfortable revealing things to Mimi that had been
hidden in the depths of her mind. The two women had contrasting personalities that
complimented each other. But that cohesion was the result of open communication. Without that,
Vanessa knew that she and Mimi had nothing.