Sweeter Than Honey (18 page)

L
ying in Sunny’s bed at my house, curled underneath the comforter, I must’ve read her letter a hundred times praying some stranger hadn’t raped and killed my sister. Picking up the yellow envelope beside my pillow, I retrieved the bank statement. If I procrastinated and my sister really was dead, it might be too late for me to get the $326,000. I blinked repeatedly to make sure it wasn’t thirty-two or twenty-six thousand.

God only knew what my sister had to do to earn this kinda money. Expecting the worst, the feds would probably place a hold on her account and I’m sure the police would trace any transactions back to me. Be my luck to get dragged out of our house in handcuffs and with my son crying having to explain to my parents again that I’m not crazy as I’m being stuffed in the backseat of a patrol car. What if I closed Sunny’s account and she was alive and needed her money?

I removed Sunny’s birthday bracelet from my wrist and placed it on the windowsill next to the white candle. Looking down, I retrieved the business card from my wastebasket and held it in my hand. I wondered who was this person and if she knew my sister.

I dialed the number from our home phone, and a raspy voice answered, “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

Hesitantly I asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m a close friend of Sunny’s. I can’t talk to you over the phone. Meet me at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse on Tropicana Avenue in twenty minutes and don’t bring your parents.”

“My parents aren’t speaking to me right now anyway. They’re upset because I saw a body bag at Sunny’s house and when I took them back to the condo, the body bag was gone. Benito Bannister followed me home and I’m sure he’ll be back to try to kill me and now you’re asking me to trust you when I don’t even know you. Good-bye, I can’t talk to you anymore. Why am I saying anything at all to you? Who are you? I think I’m going insane,” I cried into the receiver.

“Wait. Do you know Anthony Valentino James? Don’t answer that. We’ve said too much already. Just trust me. You’re not going insane. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Placing the phone on the charger, I didn’t know what to do so I eased farther under the covers. A gust of wind blew Sunny’s bracelet onto my pillow. Fingering the charms, I thought I couldn’t give up on Sunny. What if this person knew where my sister was?

Sneaking out the garage exit, I drove to the place on Tropicana. The restaurant was packed with diners and I didn’t know who I was looking for so I sat at the bar.

“A tequila sunrise, please.”

“Can I see your ID?” the bartender asked.

“Put it on my tab,” a raspy voice echoed from behind me. “Hi, I’m Sapphire Bleu. Join me at my table. Harry, send her drink over.”

Following this Sapphire woman dressed in a gray sweatsuit with a hoodie on her head, dark sunglasses, and white tennis shoes, I glanced at the food on the tables. The juicy steaks, fresh asparagus, mashed potatoes, and cheesecakes suddenly made me hungry.

Taking my drink from the waiter, I sipped through the straw, sat at the table, then asked, “Where’s Sunny?”

Sapphire whispered, “There’s so much we have to cover. Best if you listen and I talk.” Removing her glasses, she let her eyes roam the room.

“How do you know—”

Her narrowed eyes interrupted my question as she asked, “How do you know Anthony Valentino James?”

“I don’t.” I lied to protect Anthony in case he was in trouble. I hadn’t seen him in years, but recently I started missing him a lot.

Firmly she replied, staring into my eyes, “Well, Anthony killed your sister.”

“You liar! Anthony could never kill anyone,” I yelled, pushing my drink toward her and my seat away from the table.

The restaurant patrons became quiet.

“So you do know him,” Sapphire said, placing her badge on the white linen tablecloth alongside her police identification. “I have no reason to lie to you, Summer Day.”

She knew my name? “I’m confused,” I cried, covering my eyes. “All I want is my sister.”

“We can’t bring Sunny back, but you can help bring justice to the man who killed her. Her body is at the morgue and someone will contact your parents tomorrow to identify her…Save your tears for the funeral. You have got to be strong for Sunny and the other girls who might end up like Sunny if you don’t cooperate. Now, tell me exactly, how do you know Anthony Valentino James?”

I exhaled, my eyes darting in several directions before I looked at Sapphire. “He was the best boyfriend I ever had, but at the time I met him I was sixteen and he was twenty-one, so my father made me stop seeing him.”

“Summer, stop being so naive. Valentino is ten years older than you, not five. Your father is a wise man. Too bad he couldn’t protect Sunny, but the best parents can’t always shield their children from harm. I see young, beautiful girls battered, murdered, or left for dead almost every day here in Las Vegas, but nobody publicizes the dark side of Sin City. Generally older men exploit younger women in some way or another. My research on Mr. James shows he’s been pimping women since he was sixteen.” Sapphire’s voice became sultry as she continued. “So he knew all the right things to say to you. All the right places to touch you and make you feel really good.”

Her hand caressed mine and my body tingled with weird pleasure.

“He probably gave you your first orgasm and I’m sure that blew your mind.”

Drawing my hand to my glass, I knew she was right. I felt my face turning feverish. “How did he meet my sister? Did he think she was me?”

“Good question. Your sister was introduced to Valentino by a madam who hires young beautiful girls to prostitute. The same madam who’s going to hire you. The lifestyle Valentino affords his girls is glamorous and the money is more than the girls could imagine making on their own.”

“I don’t need his money. Sunny gave me her bank—”

“Statement. Yes, I know, and I know exactly how much is in that account. Sunny wants you to have everything she owned. I’ll arrange a private banker and Realtor to assist you. But first I need for you to help me nail Valentino.”

“I’m not a prostitute. What if someone kills me too?”

“Summer, this is bigger than you. I have a promotion riding on arresting this piece of slime and I’d love nothing more than getting revenge for your sister. I can’t put you in a witness protection program, but I’ll do my best to make sure you and your family are safe.”

“Your best? What if your best isn’t good enough?”

“You’ll be the first to know. Don’t call me again. I’ll be in touch,” Sapphire said as she walked away.

A
fter visiting my sister, Valentino could kiss my ass. I pretended I was happy to throw him off, but I had to hang up on Valentino before I started crying. Seeing Honey so frail instantly changed my perspective on life, on women’s rights.

There should be a universal code of ethics that every woman upheld on how men must respect women. No respect. No pussy. I’d bet those no-good motherfuckers wouldn’t seem so tough if they had to beat their meat, get fucked in the ass, or have another man suck their dicks. Those sorry asses who took pleasure in beating women should be thrown in cages with grizzly bears, then forced to fight their way out.

No man was perfect but some men were scum, and a few good men were better than the others. Benito had clearly made a mistake putting his hands on me. I wasn’t accustomed to giving second chances, but B’s misdirected anger was an accident I could learn to forgive him for but one he’d best not repeat. Fuck three strikes. If B valued his life, strike two meant his ass was going down in round one.

I didn’t care where Benito had gone last night. Whatever he’d done was history. And no matter how much I complained, if I stayed I couldn’t possibly undo whatever had happened at Immaculate Perception. Nor did I believe Sunny was dead. Sunny was alive. Honey was going to fully recover. I was safe and all that mattered was I kept my word to both of them.

Seeing Reynolds with his dick in Onyx reminded me of all the times I’d been taken against my will. Forced to bring pleasure to a man, men, I disliked, despised, downright detested. Hearing Honey say what Don had done to her re-filled my soul with hatred for Don and compassion for women.

Something inside me, for the first time, made me see Onyx and the other escorts as human beings instead of chattel. My vision, perhaps my heart, was becoming clear, or should I say clearer? I saw Onyx and the others as women worthy of having control over their bodies and their lives. Easily I could’ve killed Don like I’d done Reynolds. Not just because of what they’d done to Honey and Onyx. I could’ve killed Don for the same reason I’d killed Reynolds, because their outlook on how a woman should be treated was fucked up. But so was mine.

The sunset faded through my bedroom window. I sat staring at Benito’s slightly rounded face, his cheeks blending into his chin. The broadness of his shoulder nestled into the mattress as his elbow curled under his side. His chocolate dick lay limp against the white sheet next to his hip. His muscular thighs stacked perfectly, bending at the knees, creating a V shape that resembled a check mark as his feet slanted upward. A wheezing whistle escaped his parted lips as he pulled the covers over his naked body as if he didn’t want me watching him.

Poking his chest through the sheet, I said, “Wake up. We need to talk.”

“Huh. What?” Frantically he scrambled the sheet into a ball. “I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t touch that girl! She was already dead when I saw her!” he shouted before nestling back into the fluffy pillow, cuddling the sheet in his arms like it, or he, was a baby.

“What in the world are you dreaming about? Get up, B. Now. I need to talk to you.” It was now or God knew when.

Slowly he sat up, propping the pillow behind his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I had a bad dream,” he said, trying to widen his closed eyelids.

“Me too,” I said, folding my legs as I sat facing B, stroking his hand. “I feel like I’ve been in a twilight zone these past two days. What’s wrong with you? You’ve changed a lot over the last forty-eight hours too. You never forget your house keys. And you’ve never taken my minks to the cleaner’s.”

Scooting away from me, B squinted, then said, “Ain’t nothing wrong with me. I ain’t changed. Whatever you’re thinking, I didn’t do it. You’re the one acting like a black man can’t ask questions in his own house. You the one out there giving my pussy away to some other nigga. I keep telling you you have no idea what it’s like being a black man in America. And all you’re doing is adding to my frustrations.”

Patiently I waited until B got tired of hearing himself talk, then said, “I’m sick and tired of hearing black this and white that. B, I wish you were a real man. A real man doesn’t lead with his mouth or by manhandling his woman the way you did me last night. By the way.” I cleared my throat, then continued. “I wouldn’t do that shit again if I were you. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. A real man handles his responsibilities, provides for his woman, and leads by example. If you want me to respect you, you have got to give me the same respect. Like it or not, this is my motherfuckin’ house, not ours, and damn sure nuff not yours. I pay the mortgage, the bills, and put food on the table. All the things you do for me, B, I could hire Merry Maids…and sex, I can get that anywhere in Las Vegas from lots of men for, I mean with, tons of money. Look at this body. I know men go crazy over me, yet I pretend not to notice just so you won’t feel insecure. Do you have any idea how much—”

Damn, I almost slipped on that one, flashing back to my Pussyland days.

This time B slid away from me toward the edge. Another inch and his ass was headed for a landing on the floor. Benito knew what I’d said was true; he just didn’t want to hear the truth. Most black men didn’t want to hear the truth, especially not from a black woman.

Black men thought that because they hit the gym, pumped iron, and looked good, every woman in the world wanted them. But that was that slavery mentality how the white master actually devalued everything the black man had on the inside. And because the black man accepted that his true value wasn’t inside in heart, head, and soul but on the outside in his body and clothes, the black man’s shallow view of himself made him worthless to the black woman. Maybe the sistas should cross over and forget about saving black men.

Um, um, um. I was starting to sound just like Benito.

B was satisfied living in fantasyland pretending he was the man, a man, while I was the one getting up every night going to work to support us. Glancing at the clock, I reached over to my nightstand and pressed the button on my cell to verify the time. I had a decent three hours before picking up the girls.

“Just like Valentino said, your balls are bigger than mine. I’ll just pack my stuff and leave. That’s what you obviously want.”

B was masking more of his insecurities. Why couldn’t he just say what he honestly felt? Motioning for B to come closer to me, I asked, “Why do you always have to get defensive? Valentino doesn’t run shit over here. If you were to ask me what I want, I’d say, ‘I want to get to know the real Benito Bannister. I want to talk to you. B, there’s so much you don’t know about me. I want you to know the truth about my past.’ The reason I trip out about sex sometimes is because I’ve never forgiven my stepfather for molesting me. He stuck his raggedy-ass fingernail…” I paused for a moment feeling like that little sixteen-year-old girl again dressed in pink shorts. The memory of my mother stepping on me taught me that anyone was capable of walking all over me if I’d let them. Looking at B through watery eyes, I resumed my confession. “He finger-fucked my pussy, scratching the shit out of me only to find out I was a virgin. My mother took his word over mine and kicked me out.” I wanted to tell B about my sister, my nephew who might come to live with us, my abusive exes, and how I sold myself for eleven years at a brothel, but I feared B might get defensive, then somehow blame me for being dishonest with him. Men always turned shit around, making it seem like they were the victim, so I got quiet for a while. I really don’t know what came over me or why I felt the urge to share at this point in our relationship, but B and I had to get closer or I had to let him go and find someone else to help me raise Jean.

“Lace, baby, why you act so hard all the time? Talking down to a black man and stuff. I had problems growing up too. I never told you I was adopted. I haven’t spoken with my adoptive parents in years, I don’t know my biological parents at all, and I can’t stand my stepbrother.”

Straddling B’s lap, I hugged him, sinking into his childlike embrace.

B pressed his lips against mine, then said, “Baby, you know I never want to hurt you. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get a manicure every other day.”

Yeah, but at my expense.

“And I promise to stop treating you like a child,” I said as tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know B had a stepbrother and I wasn’t ready to talk about my conniving mother, Rita. I’d tried extremely hard to forget about my family on my plane ride back to Las Vegas. All of them except my father. And Honey, who made me afraid of losing my only sibling. I felt strange when Honey and I reunited.

Were we united because of Don’s abuse, Rita’s lack of love, or were we two broken hearts that needed one another to mend? Like B and me. I never knew he was adopted. Like breaking a toe and suppressing the pain, I wondered how many loved ones were secretly emotionally shattered into a million little pieces.

How could I tell B I thought he should try to make amends with his family when every cell—red, white, and other—in my body hated my mother?

Focusing on my man, I decided heart-to-heart confessions were a good place for B and me to start over. Although we’d lived together for more than a year, I realized we knew so little about the wounded children that lived inside our subconscious minds.

Ninety-seven percent of who we were was embedded in the subconscious. That’s why folks say, “Once a whore, once a pimp, once a dog, always will be,” because we manifest, successful or otherwise, our strongest desires or our deepest fears. Living a grown-up game of hide-and-go-seek, I hid behind my insecurities and B hid behind his inferiority. Neither of us felt good enough for the other. I didn’t want Benito to leave, but no matter what I had to deal with we couldn’t continue down this road of self-destruction.

“I don’t want to lose you. I love you, B. But what’s gotten into you? It’s like you’ve changed overnight and I don’t understand why. Am I not satisfying you?”

“Lace, no woman has ever made me happier than you.”

“Don’t tell me, B. Right now I need you to show me.”