Dear Summer (6 page)

Tommy hesitated before speaking. “You know what? I think you and Tonya would make a great couple.”
“Hell, yeah. I was just thinking the same thing.”
Tonya turned to Ditty. She didn’t say anything, but the look on

her face said it all. It was like he stunk or something. He wasn’t good enough for her.
Summer tried to pull Tommy’s dick out again.
Tommy slapped her hands then announced, “I got to use the bathroom.”
“Me too,” Summer said.
“Yeah, ho. Go wash your damn hands.” Tonya laughed.
When Summer and Tommy were gone, Ditty asked, “What’s with the attitude?”
Tonya turned and faced him. “Nigga, I don’t know you, so therefore I don’t owe you no damn explanation.”
“I mean, at least be nice.”
“I’m being nice,” she said, then folded her arms and turned away.
“Why did you come anyway, if you were going to be antisocial?”
Tonya sucked her teeth. “Just doing a friend a favor. That’s all.”
Ditty turned his head away, wondering why he came in the first place. It was always the fine ones that acted so stuck up. He looked at the next table. An old white couple was sharing a plate of french fries.
Tommy and Summer reappeared, smiling. Tonya made eye contact with Summer. “I’m ready to leave.”
“What?” Tommy said angrily. “We haven’t even begun to eat yet.”
“I’m ready to go too, nigga.” Ditty stood and Tonya scooted from the booth. Her perfume lingered and Ditty wondered why in the hell she had to be so damned difficult. Damn, he wanted to fuck her.
Tonya clutched her handbag tightly. “So…you going or what?”
“Yeah,” Summer said, looking in Tommy’s eyes. “I have to take her home.”
Tommy dug into his pocket, pulled out a one-hundred dollar bill and offered it to Tonya. She didn’t accept.
“What is this for?”
“Catch a cab home.”
She flung her hair over her shoulders and stuck her chest out. She didn’t say anything, but her expression said that catching a taxi was beneath her and that Ditty wasn’t on her level.
Summer grabbed Tommy’s hand and they made eye contact. “Tommy, I really have to take her home.”
“What? Are you fuckin’ this bitch? I want to see you, and just because she’s acting like a Nazi…”
Summer massaged Tommy’s hand. “Come on, Tommy. Why would you say something like that?”
Tommy pulled his hand away. “I mean, you taking her side.”
“Tommy I ain’t taking nobody’s side, but I have to take my girlfriend home.”
“Call me later.”
Summer leaned forward and kissed Tommy on his jaw.

J.C. was smiling when the younger teller flirted with him. He knew she didn’t want him, but it was always good for his ego when he could catch the eye of a young woman—especially when the woman was so damned sexy. Jessica, the young Hispanic teller, had an ass that you could have a card tournament on. “Mr. Coleman, do you want large bills or small?”

J.C. smiled, revealing his newly capped teeth. He liked to show off his smile. One of the first things he did when he was awarded his money was to get his smile fixed. $18,000—sixteen caps and four veneers later he had a perfect smile.

Now J.C. walked out of the bank with an envelope containing $8,000. The bank had given him an equity credit line. His plans were to catch up on some of his bills with the money, and he would, but first he would have to call his supplier. He wanted to get high and he needed to get high fast. He opened the door of his Jeep Cherokee, pulled out his cell phone and dialed his supplier. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at his supplier’s drug house. The man peeked through the curtains and minutes later he and J.C. were face to face. The supplier had a Crown Royal bag in his hand, which he opened. It contained small packages of coke.

The man looked surprised. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re a fuckin’ crack head.”
J.C. wanted to dispute it, but he couldn’t. It was the truth. He hated words like crack head, junkie, and addict. He hated his addiction too, but he couldn’t help it. He had to have a fix.
“So, what you gonna do, old man? Are you going to get some of this fire, or no?” The dealer dug into the bag and pulled out three baggies of coke. “This is the shit, man. I’m telling you, you better get it before I’m out.”
JC looked the man in the eye. He couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. He didn’t know. He knew that dealers were like car salesmen. They bluffed a lot. He had plans to meet with a young escort tonight and party. “Hey. Couldn’t you just sell me an ounce one time?”
“What’s the point?”
“I can get more for my money.”
“I will sell you four eight balls for $800.”
J.C. walked back to his car. Then he turned back to the dealer and said, “I’ll take it. And if you got any pills, I’ll take a few of them, too.”
The dealer smiled then disappeared into the house and came back out with the pills. The exchange was made.

nside his hotel room at the Westin, J.C. waited on Shantelle, the $750 an hour escort. He dug into his pocket and pulled out three Cialis tablets. He wondered if he could get his dick up today. The last few times that he’d seen her, he hadn’t been able to get it up without the help of Cialis. He quickly dismissed the thought of the Cialis, not because he didn’t need it, but because he knew he’d be smoking crack later that night. He didn’t know if his heart could take it at his age.

When Shantelle arrived, she was wearing a black, backless dress with 5-inch heels, making her already long legs appear longer. When she walked inside the room, she greeted J.C. with a hug. He grinned, thinking,
this young bitch looks spectacular
.

Shantelle walked past him. He examined her incredible body once again. Her waist was so damn tiny, and her ass just bubbled out like two cantaloupes. She was twenty-four and in incredible shape. She had been a track star, but lost her scholarship because her grades had dropped. She walked over to the bed, grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Crossing her legs, she revealed her muscular calves and beautiful toes. She asked, “So, do you want to handle our business first, Daddy?”

J.C. frowned. He knew she wanted to get paid first. Every time she’d come to see him she wanted her money up front. She’d seen him six times, and every time she wanted to get the payment out of the way. He pulled the bank envelope from his pocket, counted out seven $100 bills, two twenties, and a ten.

Shantelle was smiling and J.C. wondered what she was thinking. Did she think he was weak? Did she think he was an old fool? Or was she simply happy she would make $750 in one hour? There was a time when he wouldn’t have given a dime to women, but then that was a time when he was working as a janitor. He desired pretty women, but he knew women were attracted to money, and at that time he simply didn’t have it.

He handed her the money and she disappeared to the bathroom carrying her bag. When she reappeared, she was wearing a tiny silver G-string with a pair of clear, 5-inch heels. Her breasts sat upright and she was wearing a wig.

J.C. turned the TV off and eased over to the other side of the room. He sat in a chair next to the window and opened the curtain. He wanted to think someone could see them. This turned him on in a weird way.

When Shantelle walked, she swayed, sex appeal oozed as she looked at him seductively. She licked her full lips. J.C. unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out. She got on her knees and stroked it, but it still wouldn’t rise.

J.C. felt embarrassed. He tried to concentrate to make it work, he looked at her brilliant ass again and her beautiful face, and remembered the last time they’d had sex. He had used Cialis and fucked her on the balcony, and she was screaming so hard he had to put a towel in her mouth. Even with his vivid imagination he couldn’t make it rise.

She looked up at him as if she were glad, and he figured she probably was glad she didn’t have to fuck an old man and happy she had made a quick $750. But he wouldn’t let her off that easy. “Baby, I want to rub baby oil on that ass of yours. Maybe that will get it up.”

She rose from the floor, kissed him on the jaw and winked. “Anything for you, Daddy.”
Shantelle disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared wearing a yellow G-string that contrasted with her dark skin wonderfully. One thing was for damn sure; the young woman was sexy as hell, and this fact made J.C. even more frustrated. How could his dick not perform for
her.
He could feel himself rise, and when his dick was fully erect, she put the baby oil on the floor and got on her knees, again taking him in her mouth. She spat on his instrument and continued to suck until he wanted to stick it inside her. His condom was inside his wallet and he quickly dug, trying to come up with it before his erection went down. He had the purple Trojan packet in his hand and he ripped into it with his teeth, spit the condom packet out and slid the condom on. Meanwhile, Shantelle had peeled her underwear off. Her thong was now under the heel of her shoe. She turned her ass toward him. He looked at the tattoo of a rose at the small of her back.
This young bitch is going to get it now
, he told himself.
She smiled at him then licked her lips and opened her pussy.
When he pushed himself inside, she was wet. He sat back on the chair and she began to ride him, and he slapped that ass.
“Oh, Daddy.”
“Damn, slow down,” J.C. said.
“This dick is so good,” she said.
Again J.C. looked at her tattoo and when he pulled her hair, he saw her facial expressions. Two minutes later he came and Shantelle didn’t know. She kept throwing herself into him until his dick slipped out.
She turned and asked, “Was it good?”
Reluctantly, he shook his head. “Yeah. It was good,” he said, but the fantasy was far better than the reality. This was always the case. In sex and in life. He knew this, but he was weak. He was a fiend for pussy, drugs, and a good time. He didn’t want this lifestyle, but he had accepted that he’d been wired to like this. His father had died of alcoholism and chasing women and he figured if he didn’t get a grip on himself, he probably would, too.
Shantelle was in the shower. He picked up his pants that were lying on the floor, and the bank envelope in his back pocket. He counted his money again. He’d spent $1,000 on the coke, the room was $140, and he’d given Shantelle $750. “Damn!” He cursed himself. He couldn’t believe he’d become so weak.
Steam was coming from the bathroom. J.C. glanced at the door. He was now disgusted with Shantelle. Why in the hell couldn’t she take a shower at home? She hummed some song by Usher. J.C. didn’t know the name of the song, but he knew he’d heard it before.
“Daddy!” Shantelle yelled.
“Yeah. What do you want?” J.C. asked. He walked over to the table.
“Did you get something for me?”
He knew she was referring to the pills he’d bought for her. She loved pills and she loved him buying her pills. J.C. dug into his pocket, retrieved the pills and wondered why in the hell was he buying her pills when he had just given her $750.
Also in his pocket was his crack pipe, which was wrapped in aluminum foil. He pulled it out, broke off a piece of crack and put it on the end of the pipe. He flicked his lighter, trying desperately to light his pipe, but the lighter was dead. He had another in his jacket pocket. Inside the jacket pocket was a purple lighter. He flicked, and the flame was torch-like. The crack sizzled from the heat. J.C.’s heart rate increased. Damn. He felt good. He didn’t have any worries. He liked feeling like this. The stench from the crack filled the room.
Shantelle yelled out, “Daddy, what you doing?”
J.C. didn’t answer. The flame from the lighter burnt the tip of his finger and he let go of the button, paused for ten seconds, then lit the crack again.
Shantelle came out with a white hotel towel covering her body. J.C. didn’t notice her. He just kept holding his torch as he sat in the chair.
Shantelle quickly closed the curtain. He was still flicking away. She dropped to her knees, pulled J.C.’s manhood from his boxer’s and placed it in her mouth again. He glanced at her and wanted to tell her to stop but it was so pleasurable… intense. He enjoyed the feeling though his heart pounded violently.

Country nudged Q when he saw the two women enter the margarita bar. “Hey, ain’t that the bitch that was with your boy Tommy the other day in the park?”

Q lowered his Versace frames and peered over at the woman with the tight revealing dress. He strained his eyes to see what kind of panties she had on. In his mind he pictured her in black thongs. For a second he imagined him hitting her doggy style. “You know what? I don’t know and I don’t care. If she walks toward me, I’ma holla at her.”

Q shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck about him. All I know is my nigga is downtown because he was driving a car that nigga sold him.”

Country nodded his head in agreement then drank his water. He really didn’t care for margaritas. He always figured they were for girls.

Seconds later, a thin waitress appeared at the table. Her name tag read
Meagan
. She smiled a bright smile and asked, “Are you guys okay? Do you need anything else to drink?”

Q pulled out a wad of money then pointed to the two black women on the other side of the room. “Here is a hundred for you…” He lowered his glasses and beamed in on her name tag “…Meagan, and I want you to take this other hundred to the women across the room. Tell them that I’m covering their drinks for the rest of the evening.”

Meagan put the money in her apron. “Thanks a lot.” She disappeared to the other side of the room. She told the women what Q said. Both women waved and smiled.

Q held his cool and winked.
The two women walked over to the table and introduced themselves. The lighter skinned woman offered her hand. “Hi. My name is Summer and this is my friend Tonya.”
Q held her hand for a long time. He looked at her face and realized Country was right. This was Tommy’s girlfriend.
Damn. This bitch is bad
, he thought.
“I’m Quentin, and this is my boy, Country.”
Country smiled at Tonya but she turned her head.
“Have a seat,” Q offered.
When Summer sat down, she crossed her legs, and Q couldn’t help but stare. He wondered how in the hell did a fat ass like Tommy have a woman like this. Then he realized it had to be the money. His mission was to show them that Q had money too. He held his platinum Rolex watch up for a long time, wanting everybody to look at it, before finally saying, “I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“It’s only six,” Tonya said.
“It’s late for me because I’ve been working all morning.”
Summer smiled then asked. “What is that you do?”
“Music business.”
“Rapper?”
“No, executive. I have two artists and I just inked a multi-million dollar distribution deal.”
“With who?” Tonya asked.
Q looked at her with suspicion. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He knew a lot of those groupie gold-digging chicks knew about music and record companies. “I don’t understand your question.” Q stalled for time.
“Who is your distribution deal with?”
“Hood America Records—a subsidiary of Virgin.”
Tonya shook her head. Her face said she didn’t believe him but she simply said, “Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“So can we be in a video?” Summer asked.
Q’s mind went straight to the gutter.
Oh yeah you definitely can be in my video
, he thought, as he pictured himself sexing her from behind with his video camera going.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Q asked Summer.
Summer shrugged her shoulders. “Kind of.”
“How can you kind of have a boyfriend?”
Summer put her hands over his lips. “Shhh. Let’s not talk about him.”
“Fine with me.”
Country turned to Tonya who was looking like she was bored.
“So what ya’ll got planned for the evening?”
Summer toyed with her hair then wrapped her full lips around the straw in the margarita glass. Q’s dick stiffened as he thought of her giving him head.
“Nothing; we’re just chillin’…having a few drinks.” “Where are you from?” Q asked.
She smiled. “Texas…but I have been here for about four years.”
“I can tell you weren’t from here.”
She frowned. “What you trying to say? I’m country? This ain’t hardly the city.”
“No I ain’t trying to say you country. Calm you nerves. I’m just saying you sound different.” Q massaged her hands and looked into her eyes. “I like it actually.”
Tonya turned and laughed. “She don’t like nobody calling Texas the country.”
Q strategically placed his hands on the table so the women could look at his canary yellow diamond ring, then he faced Tonya, who was looking down at the table. “So, you feeling my man Country? Because he was the one that spotted ya’ll… particularly you.”
“Why can’t he talk for himself?” Tonya asked.
Country had always been kind of clumsy around women. Q was the ladies’ man. He had the talk and the game. He had always been responsible for Country’s girlfriends. Country wasn’t an ugly guy, but he had no talk… no game, and women didn’t like the fact that his conversation was whack.
Q smiled and then pulled his Versace sunglasses from his pocket and placed them over his eyes. Again, this was done purposely. He knew they wanted getting-money type niggas. “My boy has his mind on his paper, that’s all.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” Summer said.
“I can talk for myself,” Country finally said.
“Do you like what you see?” Tonya asked.
“Hell yeah.”
“Let’s go back to my penthouse,” Q said.
“We don’t know ya’ll like that,” Summer said.
“Listen, baby, I ain’t no serial killer. You are safe with Q.”
“Is that what they call you?”
Damn. Q didn’t mean to let his nickname slip out. He knew she was Tommy’s bitch and if ever Tommy discussed him, it would be easy to realize who he was.
“Yeah some people call me Q, but I prefer the ladies to call me Quentin because that’s what my mama calls me.”
“You a mama’s boy, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, that nigga’s a mama’s boy. His mama still cooks for him. She prepares his food for the week,” Country said.
“Ah, how sweet,” Tonya said.
“That’s a good thing. It means you respect women,” Summer said.
I wouldn’t say all that,
Q thought. He glanced at Summer’s toned calves. He pictured himself fucking her on his balcony, pulling her hair and smacking her ass.
“So, can I call you?” Q asked her.
She blushed and then said, “I don’t know. It depends.”
“Depends on what?” Q asked. He knew he had more money than Tommy, and he knew he was more charming and good looking.
What the hell could it depend on?
he thought.
“If you’re a player.”
“You have a boyfriend, ma. What you talking about?”
“I don’t exactly have a boyfriend.”
“First of all, that player shit ain’t me.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, smiling.
“Seriously. That’s old and I’m about to be thirty next year.”
Summer pulled out her cell phone, smiled politely and asked, “Quentin, let me have your number. I think it will be better that way.”
“I understand,” Q said, then he spit out his digits.