“I still know you and Rich will never work.”
The women continued talking, but had changed the topic by the time clients began
trickling in.
Meisha was busy removing tracks from a woman's hair and Chanel was twisting another
woman's curly 'fro. Leah was plugging in a curling iron and Candy was shampooing a client's hair.
Leah glanced at one of the TVs and noticed President Obama was speaking. “Y'all think Barack ever
cheated on Michelle?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah!” Chanel blurted.
“Only one thing can stop a man from cheating,” said the middle-aged woman in Leah's chair.
“What's that?” Leah asked.
“Attica.”
The ladies erupted in laughter.
“You put Barack behind bars,” the woman continued, “and he'll be faithful, because
Michelle is the only woman that can come on them trailer visits. My sister was married to a man
in prison. Only faithful man she ever had. You know they only let them jailbirds go on them
conjugal visits with their wives. A trailer will slow Barack up. His ass cheat just like the rest of these trifling men out here. Think he ain't got him a black Monica Lewinsky, if you want.”
“That's right,” said Chanel. “God designed man's body for cheating.”
“What?” Meisha was puzzled.
“The clothing designers too,” Chanel said. “See, a man can unzip his pants, slip his dick
through his boxers into your mouth, bust a nut, zip up his pants and be out the door in less than
five minutes.”
“She right,” another woman said.
“It takes me damn near five minutes to pull down my pants and my panties,” Chanel
continued. “Then at least another twenty minutes to cum. And that's only if the brother knows how to work his tongue right. By the time I'm dressed and out the door, we talking thirty minutes
easy. In that time, my man done had his dick sucked by at least four more hos.”
“She's got a point,” said the woman in Meisha's chair.
“Come on, now. Y' all know Leah just got engaged,” Candy said. “She don't need us making her second guess her future husband.”
“I'm fine, Candy. Anything is possible, but I don't base my life on possibilities,” Leah
said.
Chanel sucked her teeth. “Shit, we ain't talking 'bout possibilities. A man's dick turning
up where it don't belong is a fact of life.”
The women talked about infidelity for a little while longer, until Candy switched the
conversation to her idea for opening a hair care business. Everyone in the shop vowed to
support her if she did. They felt developing hair care products was a natural progression from owning a hair salon.
Clients began trickling out of the shop. Others with appointments, who had been waiting,
took their seats. The cycle of exiting and entering clients replayed a few times. Then, a slim bohemian-looking sister with a large black and brown curly 'fro stepped inside. The young woman sported beaded bracelets that wrapped her neck and wrists. She donned a long denim skirt and a plaid button up shirt that fell below her waist. It was loose fitting, but there was a shapely petite frame that could be seen beneath it.
Candy had been watching every move of the unfamiliar woman since she entered the shop.
She is so sexy,
Candy thought. She wondered whose client the woman was.
“Excuse me,” the light-complexioned woman said in a gentle tone. “I'm looking for Candy.”
“Sookie sookie. PYT alert,” Chanel mumbled with a smile.
Candy saw the same serious look on Leah’s face that followed Vera’s exit earlier.
Candy's client was just sitting down. “Go ahead,” she said in her thick Spanish accent. “Speak to her. I'll be waiting.”
Candy stepped over to the sexy young woman with the angelic glow. There was
innocence about her that Candy was not used to. “I'm Candice Johnson, but everybody calls me
Candy.”
The woman shook Candy's hand. “I'm Vanessa. Vanessa Denay. I read your help wanted
ad on Craig’s list.”
“So you're interested in the job?”
Vanessa smiled. “Yes. I've been doing hair for six years.”
“Hold on.” Candy looked at her watch. “We run a tight
schedule around here.
Appointments only. That means I have to tend to my client.” She rolled her eyes toward the
Latina in her chair.
“I can come back later if you'd like.”
“We close at eight.”
“I'll be back at seven-thirty.”
“Perfect.” Candy shook Vanessa's hand again and fantasized about her body in the nude, as she walked off.
“Snap out of it,” Leah said. “You're lusting already.”
Candy snapped out of her daze.
“That heifer is at it again,” Chanel said. “One clit just ain't enough, huh?”
“Me and Vera got a understanding.” Candy giggled. “Nah, she's just interested in the job.”
“Oh yeah?” Leah sighed.
“Look like you interested in putting in some work too,” Chanel said.
“She is hot.” Candy licked her lips. “Slim, but sexy.”
“Should've never got her started, Chanel,” the woman in Chanel's chair said.
“For real,” Meisha sucked her teeth.
Candy said, “Y'all sit around here complaining about men all day. Y'all need to quit
bitchin' and start lickin'.”
“You know that's a sin?” Meisha said.
“Having some fool beat your pussy up until it's sore and you don't even cum, that's a sin.
Or some inexperienced asshole scrapping his fangs against your clit like he Jeffrey Dahmer, that's a sin for sure,” Candy snapped.
“It's nasty,” Meisha said.
Chanel turned to Candy. “The shit just ain't natural.”
“And you fucking every hustler in Brooklyn with a BMW is?” Candy laughed. “Get off the pulpit with the bullshit.”
“You know you gonna burn in hell, right?” Meisha asked.
“Go on,” Candy said. “Tell me what hell feel like. 'Cause these trifling ass men you mess with been putting your ass through hell for years. Shit, you must be a hell expert.”
“Okay, ladies,” Leah interjected. “It's time to change the channel.”
Meisha turned to Leah. “Candy know I'm just fucking with her. I don't care who pussy she eat, as long as it ain't mine.”
“Yeah, Candy,” Chanel said. “You one freaky-ass heifer, but I'll slap the shit out a ho for
violating you.” She pulled out a razor. The clicking sound resonated as she pushed it out of the orange plastic casing. “That's that East New York loyalty.”
Candy smiled. She had been in far more heated debates about her sexuality with the women in the shop. The ladies always ended up agreeing to disagree on certain issues. Candy
used to tell herself that she didn't care what people thought or said about her desire for women. But that changed after her family disowned her and the women at the shop became her family.
She had never been in a serious relationship with a woman. The intimacy she shared with
women was purely sexual, born through shared passion and raw lust. It was the women at the
shop who Candy was close to. They were the people she went shopping with, hit clubs with and
discussed her personal problems with. Candy did not doubt the love the women at the shop had for her.
Time drifted by until 7:30. p.m. when Vanessa stepped back into the shop and took a seat.
Candy watched the young woman observe what was going on in the shop. After laughing at a
few jokes, Leah invited Vanessa into a conversation in progress. Vanessa was reserved, assertive
about her views on life and seemed very open to the opinions of others. She told the group that she was a twenty-two-year-old poet and writer who lived in Greenwich Village and was pursuing an MFA online.
“I'm a pretty liberal thinker and I let people be,” Vanessa told Chanel. “I'm not going to school to be a judge.”
Candy
liked her style almost as much as she liked her sexy body. After the shop was clear, she took Vanessa into her office for a formal interview.
Vanessa sat on a seat in front of Candy's desk.
“So why should I hire you?” Candy asked bluntly.
“Because I'm experienced, I'm dedicated and I can make you a lot of money.” She smiled.
“Money is definitely a good thing.”
“They say business is about the bottom line.”
“You are aware that we work ten-hour shifts? Ten in the morning ’til eight at night. Lunch is from one to two.”
Vanessa nodded. “I'm aware.”
“Days off are Tuesdays and Wednesdays. We work weekends, because clients want their
hair done on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sundays, we're getting them ready for work on Monday.”
“Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, fine with me,” Vanessa said.
“If you want your hair done, it has to be between nine and ten in the morning. I'm always
here an hour before we open.”
“No problem.”
“Before I decide whether to hire you, I need to see you in action, plus know that you get along with the staff. We're a family here.”
“That's cool,” Vanessa said.
“So I need you to bring in five clients, and I'll be observing.” Candy paused, thinking
before staring directly into Vanessa's eyes with a serious look. “Under no circumstances will I
allow anyone to compromise the reputation of the shop.”
“Understood.”
“You gel with the staff and you impress me five times, the job is yours.”
“That's cool. I have a list of clients.”
“Six years in the business, you should.” Candy smiled. “One more thing, do you have a
problem working with people who are gay?”
“Not at all,” Vanessa said emphatically. “Virtually every shop I've worked in has had a guy who was gay.”
“How about lesbians?”
“I've never worked with one, but it's not a problem.”
“Good, because I am very much openly gay.” Candy looked for any sign of
apprehension, anger, or some other hint signaling a lack of tolerance. There was none. She analyzed Vanessa's demeanor and facial expression in hopes of spotting an indication of
some intrigue about girl-on-girl action. Again, there was none.
But I can change
all that,
Candy thought. “So you don't have any hang-ups?”
“I'm applying for the job of a beautician. I have no aspirations of being a judge,” Vanessa said with a grin.
“I like that.” Candy stood, shook Vanessa's hand, then handed her a business card. “As soon as you're ready to bring your clients in, e-mail me, call or whatever. I'll arrange a date
and we'll see what you're capable of.”
“Will do.” Vanessa smiled, before stepping off.
Candy's eyes zoned in on Vanessa's strut.
I gotta have her.
Candy envisioned Vanessa's
legs wrapped around her neck. She imagined what she tasted like, what aroma her slippery insides generated when stimulated.
Although Vanessa did not know, the job was hers the second she applied for it. Candy knew if she hired Vanessa, she would be one step closer to making her visions a reality and finding out the answers to her erotic questions.
CHAPTER TWO
V
anessa sat in her dining room eating a soy burger and a salad with croutons for lunch. She
had been a vegan for two years. It was a health decision spawned by the death of her mother from
complications due to high blood pressure. Her father suffering two heart attacks had also helped
push Vanessa toward eliminating meat and meat byproducts from her diet.
Vanessa's father was a wealthy real estate investor who lived on Park Avenue. He owned
the building in which she had lived in rent-free since her 18
th
birthday. He also footed the
bill for her education. Her Nissan Altima was a graduation gift from her brother who was a
successful marketing executive in California. With her family financing her most expensive
possessions, Vanessa had managed to save much of the money she earned as a
beautician and writer.
Dozens of articles and poems had been published in magazines, online and in anthologies
with Vanessa's name listed as author. Writing was her passion and way of life. It helped her
grow through questioning her thoughts on paper and challenging the things she learned during
the research process required for her writings. She also enjoyed being able to create something
from nothing. It also provided a vehicle for her to freely express herself without fear of being criticized or judged in person.
Throughout high school and college, Vanessa never seemed to fit in. It was part of the
reason she began taking classes online instead of attending school on campus. Her style of dress, the way she thought and her desire to question norms was something most people she met could
not relate to. Her relationships with men were short-lived and her friends were few. Although
people were not usually accepting of Vanessa, she always remained open to others. She had a
thirst for learning and she knew she could learn from anyone.
After Vanessa finished her lunch, she went into her second bedroom, which served as her
office. The walls were decorated with a couple of abstract paintings, an African mask and a Chinese astrological chart. Vanessa was a Scorpio who believed her life was guided by the stars.
She sat behind her desk and sparked lavender-scented incense. She folded her legs in
the lotus position and closed her eyes. Breathing in deep, while closing one nostril shut, she
started a breathing exercise in which she alternated inhaling and exhaling through each nostril. It was a yoga practice she learned as a freshman in college. After five minutes, her heart rate slowed and her mind was calm.
Vanessa opened her eyes and turned on her Mac. After the computer screen lit up, she
clicked on her playlist of India Arie and then opened the most recent writing she had been working
on. It was the manuscript for her first novel, an erotic tale of a young woman who was attracted
to powerful men. The men ranged from government officials to drug dealers. The young lady
found herself in an intricate maze of street drama and love triangles. The story was semi-
autobiographical. Vanessa often fantasized about submitting to the sexual prowess of men who
commanded authority. She was intrigued by their dominance in public and yearned to learn if
their forceful reign extended to their performance between the sheets. But Vanessa had never
attracted a powerful man and she was too afraid to approach one.
As she began to type, her iPhone rang.
“What's up, Nessa?” her best friend Mimi greeted her.
“Nothing. Just started working on this book and I'm listening to some music.”
“Erykah Badu, Maxwell or Floetry?”
“India Arie.”
“Same difference. Girl, you gotta stop this mother earth, incense-burning bullshit, you feel
me?” Mimi laughed. “I bet you burning frankincense.”
“Lavender.”
“Same shit. You stay cramped up in your crib like a damn monk in a monastery.”
“My spirit moves me, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, yeah. You need to come up with a better one liner than that, too. You been running
that shit in the ground.”
“Blame it on the stars.”
“You're gettin' better.”
“I don't dictate the truth, I just live. It's all in the stars.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Miss Astrology. Anyway, I called to see if you wanna go bowling
tonight?”
Vanessa looked at the computer screen. “Depends on how I do with this writing.”
“Girl, you ain't gon' be writing all day, and definitely not all night. It's Saturday and Bowlmor is open 'till three-thirty in the morning, you feel me?”
“Call me back at nine and I'll let you know.”
“Listen, Nessa. At nine o'clock I'm gonna be knocking on your door like a Jehovah's Witness.”
Vanessa giggled, picturing her best friend's facial expression and hand movements. Mimi
was the most animated person Vanessa knew. She seemed to do more talking with her hands
than her lips, sort of like she was a sign language expert and everyone in the world was mute.
“You heard me, Nessa?”
“Okay. Now leave me alone so I can take care of my business.”
“I'm gone,” Mimi said, before hanging up.
***
It was 8:00 p.m. and Vanessa was typing away when she got an e-mail from Mimi that read: BCNU @ 9. Not a Second L8. C 50 Cent's sex tape attached. CU L8R.
“Fifty Cent sex tape?” Vanessa was fascinated. She turned off her music and clicked on
the video attachment. Her eyes and mouth opened wide.
It's not him, but it sure looks like him, m
uscles and all.
Vanessa sat in awe, watching a 50 Cent look-alike plow himself into a young dark-skinned woman. She was bent over a glass table in a large dining room. Vanessa stared at the
close-up of all nine inches of the man ramming away. The woman's buttcheeks jiggled as she
screamed like she was being beaten to death.
Vanessa's finger tapped on her desk, while her juices began flowing. She had always
been easily aroused, and her long-standing crush on 50 Cent was overpowering her mind. She
began visualizing the look-alike as the real thing and the unknown woman as herself.
In minutes, Vanessa's hand was inside of her sweatpants and creeping beneath her
panties. She let out a deep moan, as she slipped two fingers inside of herself. She let her legs fall
to the floor.
Her body fidgeted. She grabbed the desk with her freehand, while shifting in her
chair. Her breathing accelerated, undoing the tranquility that came from her earlier breathing exercise.
“Ahh, shit.” She stared at the contorted look on the woman, wishing it was her being
manhandled.
The 50 Cent look-alike turned the woman over on her back. Her ankles stretched up
against his shoulders. He reached down, slid inside of her gently, and locked his arms around
her legs. He began a few slow strokes, and then started ramming her ferociously. The woman
yelled. Her huge breasts bounced wildly.
“To hell with this!” Vanessa stripped naked. She turned the volume on the computer as
loud as it could go. The moaning and screaming of the on-screen couple roared like they were
getting it on live inside Vanessa's office. She snatched one of the desk draws open and
removed a large neon dildo. Leaning back in her chair, Vanessa cocked both legs up until her feet were on the edge of the desk.
“Yeah… ahhh,” she purred, while sliding the dildo in and out, staring at the video. She moved faster in a turning motion, while rubbing her clit with her finger.
Vanessa closed her eyes and focused on the moans and panting of the woman on the video.
“Fuck me. Come on,” Vanessa whispered with each lunge of the dildo. “Come on, Fifty. Hurt me, baby.” Vanessa's whispers grew louder and her breathing sped up. She could feel
her blood pumping harder into a boiling passion. A surge of energy flowed inside of her as the
bald slit between her legs exploded with wetness. She took her slippery fingers and massaged her
small, hardened nipples.
“Damn, shit.” She opened her eyes, as she caught her breath, gazing at the ceiling with
her head tilted back. She thought about her ex-boyfriend Troy. She had broken up with him two weeks earlier and she had not had sex since. Even during the times she had sex with Troy, he
never satisfied her needs. No man had. The only time she had ever climaxed was when she
pleased herself. But she still craved a man's touch. She needed to feel firm hands grip her body.
Her problem was that she had trouble finding Mr. Right, and often settled for casual sex.
Her mind suddenly flashed on Mimi as she remembered that they would be going bowling soon. Perhaps her search for Mr. Right
would end then.
* * *
Bowlmor Lanes became a New York landmark in 1938, but it became the second home
of Vanessa and Mimi in 2007. Forty-two lanes, glow-in-the-dark bowling with neon bowling
pins, music while they bowled, music in the Pressure Lounge upstairs, lively crowds—Bowlmor
had everything they needed to unwind. As Vanessa and Mimi sat in the dimly-lit Pressure
Lounge, Vanessa was hoping Bowlmor had the man she needed in her life.
Mimi had been sipping on a lemon drop martini in between taking bites of one of her turkey club wraps. “You need some meat in your life, Nessa.”
Vanessa frowned. “There's so much better things to do in life than eat animals.”
Mimi removed the lemon slice from her glass and offered it to Vanessa with a smile. “Here you go, Earth Lady.”
Vanessa laughed, staring at her best friend. Mimi was wearing a pair of tight white jeans with a striped blue and white button-up shirt, both by Polo. She was the assistant director of public relations at Ralph Lauren, so her wardrobe consisted of everything from Polo and Chaps
to Rugby and Black Label. Mimi was Chinese, but had more soul than the average sister and far
more experience than Vanessa with black people in the 'hood. While Vanessa was growing up in the comfort of a Park Avenue condo with a doorman and concierge, Mimi was carving out a space for herself as the only Asian girl in Queen's crime-ridden Baisley Projects. While Vanessa was in private school with personal tutors and dedicated teachers, Mimi was running with crowds of future dropouts inside the halls of August Martin High School. But when the pair met at NYU,
they gravitated to each other like family. They were intrigued by each other's backgrounds and
struggle to fit in.
“You holler at that chick from the salon yet?” Mimi asked.
“I e-mailed her yesterday, but I didn't hear anything yet.”
“Don't sweat it. You gonna get that job.”
“Mimi the psychic.”
“I don't gotta be Cleo to know what you capable of, you feel me?”
“Tell that to Candy.” Vanessa shook her head, rolling her eyes across the dance floor in search of Mr. Right.
“I thought you said she seemed impressed with you?”
“Yeah, but who knows.” Vanessa sipped her club soda. “Tell you one thing, I'm sure she'll cut to the chase with her decision.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She sure didn't have a problem telling me she liked being licked.”
“Who doesn't?” Mimi chuckled.
“Oh, excuse me. I forgot, I'm talking to 'Ms. I-experimented-once-while-I-was-tipsy.'”
“Hell of an experience. Toes curled up like a Cheese Doodle.” Mimi rubbed her hands together and grinned. “But Mimi likes pee pee. Strictly dickly, you feel me?”
“Hard to tell.”
“I just understand how a chick could get caught up. It's like crack—very addictive.” She laughed.
“To each his or her own.”
Vanessa and Mimi strolled around Bowlmor after leaving the Pressure Lounge. They
flirted with a few men before heading home. Vanessa drove through Manhattan, craving to have
the itch between her legs scratched by a man. The two weeks that had passed since she had sex felt like two years. She wanted the real thing…fast. But she would have to settle for the fake 50 Cent waiting on her computer screen at home.
* * *
The following week, Vanessa stood in front of her bathroom mirror applying lip gloss. It was merely an enhancer of her natural beauty. Makeup had never touched her face. Her flawless skin was the product of Shea butter, tea tree oil and organic soap from the Body Shop. Vanessa
knew she was naturally beautiful and she felt her body deserved only the best “nature” could
produce. She slipped on some loose-fitting slacks and a long silk wrap over her tank top. Turning
off the light, she headed out her apartment.
She got in her black
Altima and steered into
Harlem. She had not been in the neighborhood since she and Mimi saw Anthony Hamilton perform at the Apollo months earlier. She now parked in front of Candy's Shop and looked around, expecting to see Mimi's car. “Damn,” she whispered. It was 10:00 a.m. and
Mimi was scheduled to be the first client that Candy would observe Vanessa work on in the
shop. Vanessa had stressed to Mimi the importance of her arriving at 10:00 a.m. sharp. The plan was to leave a good impression on Candy in an effort to secure the job. Frustrated, she pulled out her iPhone and called Mimi.
“Don't worry,” Mimi said. “I'm two minutes away. I got you, Nessa. Be easy.”
“Okay.” Vanessa smiled and hung up. She stepped out of her car and into the shop. She
was surprised to not hear music playing like the first time she had been there. All the ladies greeted her.
“You'll be working here,” Candy said, pointing at the second chair. Leah was working the first,
Candy held down the third, then came Chanel and Meisha in the row of large chairs. Candy
opened the drawers in front of Vanessa's chair. “There's everything and anything you
need in there. Combs, curlers, curling iron, blow dryer, you name it.” Candy pointed to the
cabinets, which contained assorted hair care products.