Smoke and Mirrors (18 page)

T
asha, Juniper, April
and Carla stood in the foyer looking at the room full of rare hybrid calla lilies, fragrant hyacinths and an array of magnificent blossoms as if the shit was for them. Everyone appeared to be in awe, and Paris attempted to hide her own amusement mixed with great appreciation for the gesture. She stood amongst the purple, pink and white petals, smack dab in the middle, overtaken by the strong, sweet aroma. What a perfect birthday…

“Uh, you do realize he had to have spent a hell of a lot of money to do this! Look at all of these. It looks like a florist shop in here!” April laughed gregariously, tossing her blond weave back in dramatic fashion over her shoulder before bending at the waist to sniff a lavender petal.

“I can’t…believe… he did this,” Paris stated as she continued to take it all in. It took the delivery guys thirteen trips inside of the apartment complex to transport the entire load. They shot strange glances at her and her scantily clad girls, too—the kind of glances that meant they’d planned to return in the near future.

“Let me ask you something, Paris, and I mean no disrespect.” April switched her sparse weight to one hip. “What are you so afraid of? I mean, do you think he is going to try to turn you out? Now, I know these mothafuckas out here aren’t shit, they can’t be trusted.” She rolled her eyes. “But from what
I’ve
heard, he is actually a pretty good guy, as far as male pimps are concerned. I would
never
work under another man again, but if I
had
to, it would be Smoke,” she finished, raising an eyebrow.

“Me too,” Tasha cosigned, nodding in agreement. “He lets his women keep a lot of their money and he invests it, too. I ain’t never heard of him beating some bitch up either but I
have
heard of him fucking a lot of johns up that tried some shit, or having to physically defend himself on occasion with a fuckin’ simp or two… and that’s all right in my book.” All the ladies moaned and nodded in agreement.

“He’s white,” Carla spoke up as she looked lazily down at the hem of her long, gray tank top with silver studs around the middle, forming the shape of a star. “He can’t be trusted, for that alone. I would take
all
this shit back and dump it in his fuckin’ yard. Make sure he is on the clock, inside the place so he can see you do it, too.”

“You sound so fuckin’ stupid, Carla.” Tasha shot her a glance. “Wit’ yo’ hatin’ ass! You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous of
what
?!”

“That Smoke is payin’ Paris attention and not
you
. He ain’t
never
tried to approach you, even back all those years ago when we worked over on Hollywood Blvd. and he was scouting. He’d walk right past you, like you didn’t even exist, ignored you, ’cause he knew you wasn’t about shit and you still ain’t.”

“Shut up, bitch!”

“Stop it!” Paris put her hand up.

“Naw, fuck this shit! Paris,” Tasha spat, pointing at the woman. “It’s time you know the truth! This low life, down low, trifling ass bitch right here tried to go to Smoke and choose him just the other day! He turned her ratchet ass
down
!”

“Is this true, Carla?” Paris asked calmly, a smirk on her face as she traced her chin with the tip of her index finger.

The woman said nothing, instead turned away, staring blankly out a window.

“Yeah, the shit is true,” April admitted, throwing the woman completely under the bus. “She’s been wanting to be with Smoke for awhile now.”

“The white tricks treat me the best, and even tip!” Juniper broke in from her sleepy personality, coming alive.

Paris suspected she was trying to get the attention off Carla, who was her best friend. She was a gorgeous, smooth chocolate-skinned girl, with natural, long, thick lashes, and looked like a walking, talking baby doll. “These black sons of bitches try to short change a ho, ask for discounts and get rough, like I don’t need to use this same pussy an hour later and I don’t have bills to pay, like I fuck for fun! Now yeah, I’ve had some crazy white johns too, insanity comes in all colors, but all in all, my experiences have been far more positive than negative. Matter of fact, I told Paris I didn’t want any more black clients because they’d try to be cheap, but she wouldn’t allow it.” Juniper crossed her arms and grimaced, apparently reliving their argument several months ago about the concept of discriminating based on race.

“Carla, you and I will have a private discussion in my office in an hour.” Paris glanced down at her watch. “As far as these flowers, and all this Smoke business, I will address that privately as well,” she said coolly. She removed her sunglasses from atop her head, placed them on her face, and walked out the front door into the beaming sunlight. She marched like a one-woman band across the street…on a motherfucking mission…

*

John Mayer sang,
“Waiting on the World to Change’, while Smoke sat back in one of the bedrooms of his new pussy haven. He got comfortable under the thick black and tan comforter with a weak strip of sunlight peeking inside, running across his leg just so. His next appointment would be in two hours, a double whammy, two girls on one guy, and it was so much easier doing business from the apartment than at the hotels. He could simply turn on a camera and keep watch, make sure no funny business was going on from the comfort of his suite. He’d pat the fuckers down after they’d parked a block away, as was demanded. They paid in advance with credit cards and cash, no checks, and the money was directly deposited into his account. He ran a classy show and if his girls didn’t feel comfortable with a motherfucker, all they had to do was say the damn word.

The money flow was even smoother, and as he salivated over thoughts of Paris butt naked bouncing up and down on his cock, he got a hard on daydreaming about his cash flow, too. He had a filled to capacity safe, hidden and locked away in a closet. Comfort. That was where he found his temporary reprieve.

He was snatched out of his tranquility upon seeing a figure on one of the cameras that captured the area just outside his front door. He narrowed his gaze on the screen.

There aren’t any appointments planned right now. Everybody’s with a trick right now anyway… I know I didn’t double book… I wonder if Felicia messed up the schedule? Shit, maybe someone came early.

The woman, dressed in a feminine white sundress and large dark sunglasses pushed the doorbell as if he owed her ass some money. Her form looked familiar, but he wasn’t close enough to make out her features. He scooted nearer, and his heart thumped. From the other cameras, he spotted Felicia saunter towards the door, pause, then put her hand on her hip, clearly harboring an attitude. She opened the door to reveal the person on his porch, crystal clear.

Paris!

He jumped up from his position, bare-chested and in a stupor, and raced around as if his life depended upon it. His chain necklace smacked against his flesh as he moved about, completely out of sorts. He never expected her to stop by out of the blue and figured she’d give him a call regarding his special delivery. Cursing, he struggled to find his damn shirt and shoes. He soon gave up on the idea and made his way down the steps just as he was, almost tripping over his bare feet.

“I got it,” he said smoothly as he got to the bottom of the stairs, watching his breathing, trying to pretend he hadn’t been chasing the wind. Felicia grimaced, turned away, and disappeared. The lady in white stood at the open door, a gentle breeze blowing her pretty, slightly see through, dress just so. Her beautiful shape shone through the material…

Goddamn.

Delicately removing the sunglasses from her face, she looked up at him with a gorgeous smile. With her neutral make-up and her hair pulled back in her signature bun, she was the picture of perfection.

“Hey.” He looked down at her, noting their height differential and enjoying it. He liked towering over the woman, looking down upon her, offering her nonverbal protection. He leisurely placed his hands on hips, taking her in. “How are you? You wanna come in?” He pointed to the inside of his foyer area as John Mayer now crooned, ‘Vultures.’

“Sure.” Still smiling, she stepped over the threshold.

Incense stick smoke swirled in the air from a nearby large clay vase filled with white sand. The sweet scent mixed with her perfume, creating an earthiness he found intoxicating.

“Nice.”

She looked around, nodding with approval. After all, he’d spent a great deal of time, effort and money to transform the place. The expensive interior decorator took the drab apartment dwelling and turned it into a luxurious business with a comfortable and elegant front area.

“…Thank you.” He stepped closer to her, practically blocking her into the corner.

“Uh.” She turned her face away, nervous, a tilted smile on her mug as she placed her soft hands against his chest, pushing ever so slightly, trying to widen their gap.

He reluctantly stepped back and sucked his lips as he waited for her to declare what she’d come for—and prayed it was to get fucked. He’d gladly do the honors. Anytime. Any place.

“I believe you are the one responsible for making my apartment vestibule look like a funeral parlor. There was no name, but I’m just assuming based on some comments you made the other day that…”

“Yeah, it was me.” He kept his gaze on her, not caring to hide the way he undressed her in his mind. “I didn’t leave my name on a tag. I left a card instead, and I signed it. Check the bouquet of baby red roses with the white satin ribbon. And uh, happy birthday.”

“I will look for the card. Oh, and thank you. They’re very pretty. A bit much, but,”—her smile grew slightly larger—“truly lovely. As I confessed to you in a previous conversation, I like to garden, so I have some ideas on what to do with a few. I appreciate that many still had their bulbs.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. They stood there quietly, staring at one another.

“So.” She clasped her hands together and took another quick glance around before facing him once again, her back extra straight and a studious look on her face. “Smoke, pick me up at six sharp tomorrow night. I like Italian food and I hate tardiness. I’m certain you have my home address by now.” Her eyes narrowed on him. He didn’t respond—for there was no need in restating or confirming the obvious. “I have to go now, need to help one of my employees pack. Peace.” Throwing up the deuces sign, she brushed past him and walked fast as fuck through the open door, her juicy, high ass switching and swaying under her sheer dress as she sauntered down his path. She kept on going until she was back to her place of business, closed the door behind her, and that was that.

He stood there for the longest, a silly grin on his face, shaking his head. Once he could no longer see her, and the realization of what had just happened sunk in, he shut the door and locked it securely behind him. When he turned around, he caught his reflection in a large, oval shaped golden foyer mirror. This time, he kinda liked what he saw…

*

Paris sat in
the limousine waiting for her newest girl, Marie, her replacement for Ms. Carla, to finish her extravagant lingerie-shopping spree. Carla had been kicked out on her damn ass soon after Paris burst back through her door after leaving Smoke’s brothel. As for Paris, she didn’t shed one tear; she barely blinked an eye. Fact of the matter was, she’d been rather sick of the woman for quite some time. All of her complaining and carrying on, when she had it much better than most, had taken its toll. Paris realized that with her being a woman, sometimes her kindness and empathy were mistaken for weakness in the game by her personnel and peers alike, when that was the farthest thing from the truth. You only had
one
time to disrespect her in the manner in which she’d experienced, and that was it.