Sweeter Than Honey (22 page)

“A
nthony, please tell me what they’re saying is a lie. Please tell me you didn’t kill my sister.”

Edging toward the swing, I thought a G like me wasn’t supposed to get all soft and shit on the inside, but this was the same warm, loving, caring Summer I knew years ago. I removed the mask and said, “Summer, is my son really alive and do you really have a twin? Don’t fuck with me. Straight, tell me what’s going on.”

“Yes, our son is alive and…” Summer paused, swallowing hard, then said, “But my twin sister, Sunny, is dead.”

The more questions I asked the more I had. Why hadn’t Summer mentioned a twin back when we were dating? Or was she lying? But I had watched a bitch kill herself. But how or why could Summer’s twin end up working for me as religious as Mr. Daniel was?

“How do you know your twin is dead for sure?”

Tears streamed down Summer’s flushed cheeks as she cried. “I saw her body.”

“When? Where? Who showed it to you? Where’s she at now?”

Hugging the swing, Summer started crying louder, but I didn’t give a fuck about that sentimental bullshit right now. I needed my fuckin’ questions answered. Cupping her hands, I begged, “Talk to Daddy. I have to know.”

“Sapphire. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you her name. That’s not her name. I can’t remember what her name is. All I know is that I saw my sister at the morgue. She was shot twice. And I hope the bastard that killed her burns in hell! Her funeral is tomorrow. It’s all my fault. I never should’ve let her leave home.”

Summer backed into the corner. Her back slid against the wall until her ass touched the heels of her feet.

I wanted to reach around the leather straps, bend over, and slap the fuck out of Summer. Her emotions were all over the place and a G didn’t have time for the nonsense. One minute calm, then screaming, then calm again, all the while crying every other word out of her mouth between sniffles.

“Baby, it’s all right. What you should’ve done was told me five years ago that you had a twin and you really should’ve told me that you didn’t abort my son.”

If Summer had told me the truth back then, Sunny would be alive. Our lives would’ve been different. I would’ve been different.

Fuck. For once that nigga Benito wasn’t lying. For once his dumb ass had his facts straight. I’d break him off something later for his loyalty.

Summer’s voice deepened and her eyes widened, then scrolled up staring at me before disappearing behind her lids. I swear all I saw was the whites of her eyes and that shit freaked me the fuck out. That bitch looked possessed.

“Now answer a question for me,” she growled angrily. “Did you or did you not kill my sister?”

Moving the swing from between us, I told the truth. “No, I swear I did not kill your sister.”

“Then do you know who did? Because when I find out, I’m going to kill them the same way they killed Sunny.”

Summer wasn’t brave enough to hold a gun, let alone pull the trigger. She nestled her face between her knees.

Calmly I answered, “No, I don’t. Look at me, Summer. All I know is I’m happy you came back to me. I need you. Let me hold you in my arms again. Come to Daddy. Let me make love to you, baby.”

I knew just how to stoke Summer’s cheeks, gently kiss her lips, massage her neck, which I could’ve snapped for her making that threat, but I cradled her into my arms because if only for one night this was the love I needed in my life. The strength I needed to hold on to in order to let all that other shit go. I led my baby to the bed, and we lay together in silence for a moment.

Interrupting the quietness, I said, “Summer, I’m gonna marry you. Let’s make our own twins tonight.” I searched Summer’s body, relieved I didn’t see any of those egg-killing birth control patches, then asked, “Are you on the pill?”

Summer shook her head as tears streamed from her beautiful big, brown, innocent eyes. I definitely recognized the personality difference from her sister, but if Sunny was here too, aw, shit, that would’ve been amazing to fuck both of them at the same time. Sunny was a woman. Summer was a girl trapped inside a woman’s body. Great balance for a threesome.

Focusing on my baby, I was happy that Summer didn’t resist me. Whatever drugs they’d given her to set me up worked in my favor.

Easing the straps over Summer’s shoulders, I kissed her nipples, grazing my tongue over the tip. “Lie down, my love. I’m here for you and I’m never letting you get away from me again.”

Removing the packet of white powder from my pocket, I saturated my tongue, parted Summer’s thighs, then pressed the magic chemicals against her clit. Instantly Summer’s juices flowed. Glancing up at
my
bitch, I watched her eyes roll to the back of her head. Lifting her hood with my tongue, I mashed more powder on her clit.

“Anthony, that feels so good I can’t stop coming.”

“I know, baby,” I said, dabbing the powder on my dick before climbing on top of Summer.

Spreading her legs, I eased inside. “Damn, baby, you’re tight.”

Inching my dick along her cushioned walls, I wanted to make love to Summer, not hurt her. And I was serious, I wanted her to have my baby again. Just knowing I had a son made me proud. I couldn’t wait to see him, hold him, toss that lil’ sucker in the air. That was my seed and this was my lady.

My dick finally curved into Summer’s pussy pocket. Pressing as deep as I could, I moaned, “Come with me, baby. Come for Daddy.”

I didn’t want to hold on to this nut. I wanted to explode every sperm in my nuts deep into her stomach.

Locking her legs around my ass and wrapping her arms around my shoulders, Summer kissed me. “I love you, Anthony. I never stopped thinking about you. You were always good to me.”

“And you were always good for…Urgh!” I grunted several times, shooting all the come I could thrust inside Summer, praying for her to have my child. “I love you too, Summer. Always have. Always will.”

Gazing into my eyes, she asked, “You mean that?”

“Yes, I really do.” And I did. In my special way.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Go the fuck away,” I said. “A nigga can’t have a moment of peace and relaxation. Whatever the fuck it is handle it. That’s what I pay you motherfuckers for.”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Stay right here, baby. Do not get up and spill my seeds. Let me see who the fuck needs an ass whuppin’.”

Quietly stepping to the door, I leaned my eye over the peephole, then stood there for a moment. Shit outside the door was too fucking quiet for a G.

“Police! Valentino James, we know you’re in there! Open up!”

Scrambling, I quickly put on my pants, shirt, and shoes.
Should I take this bitch with me as a hostage, or leave her ass here? Because her drugged ass is going to slow me down.

“Hurry up,” I said, tossing Summer her dress. “Put this on.”

“What’s going on?” Summer asked, trying to put on her shoes.

“Bitch, you gon’ break your damn neck.” If I didn’t break it for her. “You can’t walk, let alone run in those shoes. Here, put on my socks.”

“They don’t match my dress.”

Bam! Bam!
“You’ve got three seconds! One, two—”

By the time that fuckin’ cop got to three, I’d slipped behind the clothes in the closet, made my way through my hidden door, down three flights of stairs, and to my underground tunnel.

“Hurry up, girl, you gon’ get us killed,” I told Summer, regretting I’d taken her with me.

Easing my way through the secret door, we stepped into my private home I’d never told anyone about, not even Lace’s nosy ass. I bet that bitch was behind this shit. That or she’d fucked up and led the police to me, ’cause those motherfuckers knew my name and exactly where I was. I guess all my bitches were locked up by now too.

Or,
I thought, staring at Summer, “Bitch, did you set me up? Think before you open your motherfuckin’ mouth, because if you had anything to do with this, you’re one dead bitch. Who in the fuck is Sapphire?”

L
ife was less risky at the Pussyland Ranch. I’d be safe there, but there was no way at the age of thirty I could go back to fucking men to make a living.

I’d learned so much since Rita had kicked me out of her house. Girls who were given every material thing they wanted were cool as long as they didn’t want their parents’ love. True love, that is.

People, men, johns, families with money somehow thought they could buy affection, some saying, “Aw, honey, I’m sorry I have to fly off again but happy anniversary, I bought you a new car. Good-bye.” Not caring, not even noticing if the person was truly happy with the car. She might have been happier with a candlelight dinner sitting next to, not across from him. A stroll in the park reminiscing and creating fond memories would’ve given her an emotional tune-up that might have exceeded the joy of her having yet another material object of affection while she struggled by herself to raise their children.

Some of my regular johns actually fell in love with me. Or so they’d said. But no amount of money can buy love. Happiness? Yes. Love? No. What I finally realized was it was okay to love somebody but longing to love and having no one to love created heartbreaks that caused death.

For the girls who were given love even though their parents might have not had money to buy them nice things, generally those girls grew into women who cared about themselves and others. Since I didn’t have parents who gave me money or love, Sunny’s death awakened me from my conscious coma. I wanted to love and be loved before I died. The way Sunny’s family loved her. I knew I shouldn’t go back to my house, Valentino’s, or his mansion, but I wasn’t relocating from Las Vegas to Atlanta until I was certain that Summer was safe. I owed Sunny and her family that much.

Thank God. If there was a God. I was smart while working for Valentino and over a one-year period was able to add more than a million dollars to my Sweeter than Honey business account.

Selecting my business name was a spiritual movement for me. Although I was a prostitute, I knew the work I’d done did not define me. Sometimes a woman has got to make a choice. And that choice may not always be one that she is proud of or the best in someone else’s eyes, but those naysayers aren’t the ones offering any type of support either. If all somebody had to give me was their opinion, I’d tell them, “Fuck you. Kiss my ass,” to their faces, not behind their backs.

They didn’t pay my bills and if I begged for food, most of them would walk by with leftovers in their hands shaking their heads while mumbling, “Get a job.” Did they realize how fuckin’ hard it was to get a job without an address? Live in a shelter sleeping on sheets where bugs ate away your flesh? Or what it was like to sleep on the streets and have no sheets at all? Waiting for someone to throw their food in the garbage, the same food they wouldn’t hand you, just so you could fetch a meal? And the saddest part was that most of the ones who wouldn’t help were women just like me…trying to fake it till they made it.

I’d started my business while working at Pussyland because regardless of whether I was a prostitute, a madam, or a whore on the street, I knew retiring from prostitution was a dream for most women but I made sure it became a reality for me.

I understood how difficult it was for women to sell their precious bodies for twenty, forty, or a few hundred dollars and struggle to make the mental transition to get a decent job paying minimum wage. That shit was hard and for most women in the game, illogical and impossible. I was once told a woman’s only ways out of the game were incarceration, confinement to a mental institution, or death. I disagreed but at that time I wasn’t prepared to make a difference. Now that my perspective has changed, I know that when I start providing consultation, a safe clean place for women in transition to live, and teaching women that their pussies have more brain cells than any other parts of their bodies, most women will get it…Pussy isn’t about sex, it’s about control. Not control over others but control and greater self-esteem for themselves.

As I approached airport security, folks around me started mumbling. An old lady pointed, then whispered in an old man’s ear.

What was her problem?

Waiting at the gate to board my flight to Flagstaff, I sat next to a gentleman dressed in a gray suit. “You smell like you could use a friend. Soap,” he said, abruptly standing.

Soap? A friend? Hmm. Both were something I didn’t have. But what I did have was a lot of shit on my mind, so I’d left my car at the casino where’d I’d checked in last night and walked to the airport. As prideful as I was about my body the last thing I wanted was some guy twice my age making fun of my hygiene. Ignoring him as he walked away, I buried my face in the morning newspaper. I flipped to the local news section to see Summer’s face…on the front page!

H
ENDERSON WOMAN ABDUCTED AND HELD HOSTAGE BY PIMP.

Fuck! Calmly I folded the paper over Valentino’s picture, feeling torn knowing I had to bury my sister so I couldn’t return immediately to help Summer, but there was something else I could do.

Walking to the nearest customer service counter, I handed the woman my credit card and driver’s license, then said, “I’d like to purchase thirteen one-way open tickets from Las Vegas to Atlanta.” One by one I gave her the names for each of my escorts, Summer, and myself.

Fumbling through my purse for a pen to sign for the charges, I noticed my nephew’s photo. Where was I going to take him? How was I going to raise him? The envelope I stepped on at the hospital was crumbled. Smoothing the paper, I poked my finger between the opening, ripping apart the top.

Unfolding the paper, I saw it was Honey’s birth certificate and mine. I’d never seen either before. Rita never showed it to me and Triple D, based on Rita’s address, somehow got me a driver’s license before I knew how to drive. The two most important leverages in life were people with power and people with money. The combination of both could circumvent any system. Oh well. At least Rita was our mother and Jean St. Thomas was our father.

Interrupting me, the ticketing agent said, “Excuse me, miss. You need to sign this. There’s a line behind you.”

Without looking up at her, I mumbled, “Oh, sure,” scribbling my signature, then stuffed the electronic confirmations into my purse.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, walking toward my gate. Next to our father’s name was his address on South San Francisco Street only a few blocks away from Rita’s house.

“Okay, Lace. Honey is dead. Summer is alive. There’s nothing you can do to bring Honey back, but you can do your best to save Summer…but my daddy’s address is right here and I could find out once and for all why he abandoned us…shit!”

I froze, standing between two rows of black vinyl seats.

B
REAKING NEWS
! scrolled across the flat-screen television at my gate. I moved closer so I could hear the anchorwoman who announced, “The Henderson woman missing overnight was found an hour ago by Sergeant Sapphire Bleu. The victim, Summer Day, was unharmed. The pimp, Anthony Valentino James, who allegedly abducted Summer, is now under arrest for abduction, rape, illegal prostitution, and he’s being charged with the murder of Summer’s identical sister, Sunny Day, who was shot in the head and the heart. Her body was discovered days ago by Sergeant Bleu in Sunny’s condo located in North Las Vegas.

“Sergeant Bleu, tell us how you solved this case.”

“Well, there’s a lot of illegal prostitution going on in Las Vegas. I figured why waste my time busting johns one at a time? My strategy was if I could arrest the pimps with the largest operations, I could prevent women like Sunny from being killed.”

“That’s highly commendable. We hear you’re up for a promotion. Well, after this case is settled you’ll probably become chief. Before we return to our regularly scheduled program already in place, two more questions. What about the prostitutes who were working for Valentino—were any of them arrested? And are there any more people working for Valentino’s operation that you’re going to go after?”

I held my breath awaiting Sapphire’s response.

“None of the prostitutes were arrested. Valentino’s security guards are out on bail, and—” Sapphire looked directly into the camera as if she knew I was watching, then firmly said, “No. There’s no one else involved. We’ve got our man.”

Suddenly I heard, “Last call for Lace St. Thomas.”

“Oh my.” Tucking my purse under my arm, I raced to the ticket agent and handed him my boarding pass.

On my flights and my layover, I thought about meeting my father for the first time. Would he hug me? Hold me? Give me the love Rita couldn’t or wouldn’t? Anxiously, I wanted to drive directly to his house, but I had to go to the funeral home first and view Honey’s body. Parking in the lot next to a stretch limousine, I sat still for a moment remembering some of the good times Honey and I had shared as little girls. I felt myself smiling. We played with dolls, watched scary movies, then slept on the living room floor together. The nerves in my shoulders crept up the nape of my neck, then stabbed the back of my head.

Getting out of the car, I wondered if I would ever forget that Sunday morning lying on the living room floor crying with my legs spread open. Even in the midst of good memories, the bad things that men had done to me made me angry and sad at the same time.

Entering the air-conditioned empty room, I saw Honey laid in a plain silver coffin dressed in a saggy black suit.

“You’ve got to change this,” I said to the funeral director. “She’s dead but she doesn’t have to look it.”

“Well,” he replied, pinching his nostrils, “I’ll see what we can do if you see what you can do. You know what I mean?”

Damn, I forgot about my appearance. Rushing to the Flagstaff Mall on the other side of town, I made several stops at Victoria’s Secret, Bath & Body Works, Dillard’s, and JC Penney to buy enough clothes for three days and an outfit for Honey. I’d decided to stay in Flagstaff until I received a call from Sapphire.

Hurrying to the Hilton on Highway 89, I showered, put on the best new clothes I’d bought, and drove back to the funeral home.

“Here, put this on her,” I said, handing the director a beautiful honey-colored, long-sleeved lace dress with a matching head-wrap.

“This is beautiful but not nearly as heavenly as you,” he said, staring at my juicy red lips.

Ignoring his comments, I replied, “I’ll be back in a few hours for the services. You need to stay focused.”

“I am focused,” he said, nodding. “Oh, we need a copy of her birth certificate.”

Digging in the envelope, I handed him the certificate, then walked away.

My next stop was my father’s home. Matching Jean’s address to one on…Honey’s birth certificate? Oh, shit! I realized I’d given the director the wrong paper.

Or maybe not,
I thought. My lips curved so high I swore they’d touch my nostrils.

Lace St. Thomas was officially dead, and Honey, middle name St. last name Thomas, was strutting up to my father’s door to introduce myself.