Insatiable (21 page)

K
ai had been prepared to lash into Marquise for not telling her his girl worked at the nursing home, but when she heard his low sexy voice on the phone requesting to get together on Friday night, she decided to let it go—for the moment.

She surprised him with a trip to Borgata, the largest and newest casino in Atlantic City and gave him five crisp one hundred-dollar bills to play with. His eyes lit up like she’d given him five thousand. Amazingly, he’d never even been inside a casino before. What a hood rat!

Later, pretending to be too tired to drive home, she convinced him to stay over. She secretly reserved a plush room with a panoramic ocean view and other amenities. He was so impressed, they stayed the entire weekend. Heating up the sheets and steaming the windows, Kai and Marquise tried practically every position in the Kama Sutra. Kai had intended to check out the spa and fitness center, but whenever she and Marquise came up for air from their sexual marathon, they’d order room service and soak together in the luxurious oversized sunken tub, and start all over again.

“Now, this is whassup!” he said, referring to the sunken tub. “I ain’t sat inside a bathtub since I was a little kid. It’s too uncomfortable. My legs are too long for a regular-sized bathtub,” he said, reminiscing.

“Aw, poor baby,” Kai said before dunking her head underwater to give him an aquatic blowjob. After their bath, she rubbed him down with the oversized complementary cotton bath sheet, and Marquise’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as if she were still giving him head.

Despite the expensive good treatment and all the good sex she was giving him, ever so often, she’d catch him whispering into the phone—no doubt, talking to his girlfriend—concocting some story for his absence. Ha!

Kai didn’t mention the clandestine calls. She refused to insult herself by questioning him about a woman who scooped poop for a living. That girlfriend of his was tacky beyond belief. She had hairy legs and hair on the side of her face—sideburns for Chrissakes! She seriously needed some electrolysis. Kai shuddered to think what her furry muff must have looked like.

The poop-scooping wanna-be nurse would find out soon enough that she was no competition for Kai.

Marquise was where he wanted to be—with her in Atlantic City and he wasn’t going back to his dreary abode any time soon. Apparently, little nursy had no power whatsoever. Kai would send Marquise back when she was good and ready, and judging by the way that he continually hit her spot with his long-lasting big dick, only God knew when she’d relinquish him—perhaps she’d keep him for an additional week, Kai thought maliciously. No one had ever made her cum like he did. She paused and gave that admission some thought and agreed with herself: nope, not a soul. Marquise had the dick of life.

That Ms. Nubia bitch may have gotten away with stealing Kenneth, but Kai would be damned if she’d let another black bitch take a man from her.

The mood was tense when they checked out of the hotel on Sunday afternoon. After such a great weekend, Kai was surprised by Marquise’s gloomy disposition. On their way to the elevators that would take them to the parking garage, Kai chattered gaily, but Marquise, in a pensive mood, barely uttered a word. Kai assumed he was worrying about that hairy hussy he’d left at home; he was most likely trying to contrive a plausible explanation for his three-day disappearing act.
Well, he’s shit out of luck if he expects me to rush back to Philly just to appease his girlfriend
.
I’ll take him home when I’m good and damn ready
.

After experiencing the luxurious Borgata, why in God’s name would he wish to hurry to some uninhabitable hole in the wall to be with a snot-nosed child and a disgruntled ghetto girl? And where the hell was home? He’d vaguely mentioned living somewhere in Southwest Philly, but was extremely secretive about the precise location. Kai wanted his exact address, but his morose mood discouraged her from pressing the issue. She’d bide her time and find out everything she needed to know about Marquise Whitsett and that girlfriend of his.

“Want some lunch?” she asked cheerfully as they walked toward an Italian restaurant inside the casino.

“Naw, I’m tryin’ to get back to Philly. I got some business to take care of.”

Kai wanted to laugh.
Business my ass!
“Oh yeah? What kind of business are you involved in?”

“Personal business. Whassup with the third degree?” Marquise said contemptuously. An uneasy silence hung in the air.

Feeling offended by his tone, Kai left Marquise standing alone as she crossed to the other side of the crowded shopping area. Looking through the window of a jewelry shop, she leisurely browsed. She’d be damned if she would allow Marquise to hurry her along. He had to be crazy if he thought she was going to zip through traffic so he could rush home to his little urchin and his so-called fiancée. The hell with him and his fucked-up little family.

Relying on Kai for a ride home, Marquise had no choice but to follow her, but refusing to stand next to her and gawk through the glitzy window, he stood with his back turned.

“Look, Marquise. Do you like that ring?”

He turned around reluctantly, then seeing that it was a man’s ring, he nodded, but with minimal enthusiasm. She pointed at a variety of interesting pieces of jewelry and then suggested they go inside. His ugly mood switched to jovial the instant they crossed the threshold of the jewelry shop.

For over an hour, Kai insisted he try on a number of rings, but his eyes kept resting on the wristwatches behind the glass case. Then, she remembered his penchant for watches and asked the salesman to open the glass case that displayed men’s watches.

They chose a classy Cartier watch. It cost twenty two-hundred dollars. The dick-on-demand was getting expensive!

After a pleasant lunch in a posh restaurant that provided Marquise with a jacket and tie, they jumped on the Expressway and headed for Philly. Marquise popped a five-dollar bootleg CD into the player. Risking a migraine, Kai endured listening to the endless ranting by the various rap artists featured on the CD.

They rode over the Benjamin Franklin Bridge and instead of intersecting onto I-76, a route that would lead to the University City exit, which was somewhere near the vicinity of his home, Kai detoured to Penn’s Landing. She decided that having to listen to nonstop insanity for over an hour entitled her to another shot of dick.

Marquise, focused on the enclosed booklet that came with his new Cartier watch, did not notice that they were en route to Kai’s condominium.

T
erelle brought her leg up high as she climbed inside Saleema’s SUV, Jezebel. “I can’t believe I’m letting you drag me out on a Sunday night to go hang out with the old heads at Club Beyond. I’m really not feelin’ no damn oldies tonight,” Terelle grumbled.

“Stop complaining. We’re just gonna fall back, have a few drinks and kick it with the old heads. I might make a new connect and your dumb ass won’t be sittin’ around the house lookin’ depressed waitin’ around for Marquise.”

Changing the subject, Terelle said, “Club Beyond has a black clientele.”

“So!”

“I thought you didn’t mess with black men.”

“I don’t—not usually. But I’m doing this for you. You wouldn’t want to go where I usually hang.”

“And where’s that?”

“Various hotel bars. Yeah, girl, I be gittin’ it in with the rich white tourists at the Ritz-Carlton, the Four Seasons…but I know that ain’t your type of party, so we gonna hang with our own peeps tonight.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to sit around in no oldies dip; why can’t we hang at Chrome or somewhere that’s poppin’?”

“Because them young bucks ain’t tryin’ to part with their cash—you can’t even get a damn drink outta their tight asses. Them old heads might not be rich, but they sittin’ on somethin’—they been on their jobs for years and most of ’em have phat bank accounts and a decent amount of credit cards.”

“It just don’t feel right to be goin’ out when I know I’m not gonna have a good time,” Terelle whined.

Saleema gave Terelle a long disgusted look. “How long has Quise been MIA? Three damn days…right?”

“He called a few times. This isn’t like him—I’m worried. Something probably happened…”

“As your best friend, I refuse to allow you to sit home stressin’ over Marquise. He’s been lying and telling you he’s on his way home ever since seven o’clock Friday night. What I gotta do…smack you upside your head or somethin’ to make you see the light? Any nigga that’s been gone that long has to be layin’ up with some chick—somewhere.”

Terelle flinched and grimaced like she’d been sucker punched dead in the face.

“If you plan on being with Marquise, you gonna have to change
you
’cause he ain’t nevah gonna change. If you wanna straighten his ass out, you gotta start treatin’ him exactly the way he’s been treatin’ you—like shit.”

Terelle shifted in her seat. Treating Marquise badly was not an option; she might as well have been asked to jump off a cliff.

“I wish I could be a fly on the wall and see Quise’s face when he comes home to that empty-ass apartment.” Saleema giggled maliciously. “And since your Aunt Bennie is watching Keeta overnight, you should really give him your ass to kiss by spending the night at my crib.” Saleema cut her eyes at Terelle, trying to gauge her friend’s response.

Wearing a troubled look, Terelle massaged her temples. “I don’t know, Saleema…”

“Why not? Give me one good reason? Why don’t you turn the tables and let him try to track your ass down for a change.”

“I can’t sleep right if I’m not…”

“Up under Marquise!” Saleema said, finishing the sentence for Terelle. “Do you know how dumb you sound? You ain’t slept with him for the past couple of nights and you ain’t guaranteed he’s coming home tonight, so stop looking for excuses to take more of his shit.” Saleema backed up, pulled out of the parking spot and whipped Jezebel onto Woodland Avenue.

There was a crowd hanging around outside Gorman’s Bar. “Slow down,” Terelle ordered, thinking one of the loiterers might know of Marquise’s whereabouts.

Saleema pulled to the curb. “Y’all seen Marquise?” Saleema yelled out the window.

“Naw,” said a grinning young buck named Pookie. Pookie was on his grind outside the bar. He approached Jezebel—ogling the SUV as if Marquise’s absence was an invitation for him to hop in and take a ride with the two women.

“’Sup, Saleema? How ya doing, Terelle? What y’all gittin’ into tonight?” His eyes gleamed with expectation as he leaned on the passenger door.

“None of your business, Pookie,” Saleema said. “You said you ain’t seen Marquise, right?”

“Damn. Why you gotta come at me like that?” Pookie said. He looked hurt.

“My bad. Feel better? Now…have you seen Marquise?”

“Naw, I ain’t seen that nigga for a minute.”

“All right. Thanks. Now back the fuck off my ride.” Saleema pulled off, causing Pookie to lose his balance and stumble backwards.

“That was mean,” Terelle said, shaking her head.

“The hell with Pookie. He knows I don’t fuck with no broke-ass bitches. Did you see those cruddy-ass boots he had on? That nigga be outside huggin’ the block all day and all night. Now, you would think with all those hours he’s puttin’ in, he’d be able to at least buy hisself a new pair of Tims.”

“They don’t wear their fly gear while they on their grind,” Terelle said. “Them young bucks know whassup—the cops would be all over them if they was out there flaunting their shit the way niggas used to do,” Terelle explained.

“Whatever. I don’t give a fuck what they wear. All I know is fools like Pookie be gittin’ locked up—doing three…four years for selling little dumb-ass nics and dimes. They barely make enough loot to buy a new Dickie set yet they’re willing to risk gittin’ popped and having to give up years of their life for a little bit of chump change. Now that’s downright pathetic and I ain’t got no rap for no dumb-ass, broke-ass niggas.”

“All right, Saleema. You’re feeling yourself right now ’cause you’re doin’ good, but who knows…you might need Pookie one day,” Terelle cautioned.

“Shit, if I ever have to depend on the likes of Pookie, we both know I’m gonna be up shit’s creek.” Saleema and Terelle both fell out laughing.

Then turning serious, Terelle said, “Maybe Quise is chillin’ over his cousin’s house. Make a left on Conestoga Street. I wanna check that out before we go to the club.”

Saleema sighed in disgust, but complied. When she turned onto Conestoga Street there was a blue and silver truck parked in the middle of the narrow street. Saleema leaned on her horn. The driver of the truck was apparently inside one the houses on the street. “Why niggas can’t park their shit instead of leaving it running in the middle of the damn street,” Saleema complained.

A door opened and a woman came running toward the truck.

“Here I come; I’m sorry,” she called out cheerfully.

“That’s Miss Norma!” Terelle exclaimed.

“Hey, Miss Norma,” both young women yelled happily.

Norma Towns walked over to the driver’s side. “Hi, girls!” she squealed. “Look at my girls all grown up and beautiful.”

Saleema and Terelle blushed like teenagers. Norma Towns, a pretty, brown-skinned woman in her early forties, was the manager at the neighborhood KFC. She’d given Terelle and Saleema their first jobs and had acted as a mother figure to the young girls, counseling and providing guidance during their turbulent teens. They hadn’t forgotten her kindness and always gave her the utmost respect.

“We were out here tellin’ you off, Miss Norma. We didn’t know that was your truck,” Saleema admitted with laughter.

“That’s Rocky’s truck; he just bought it,” Norma explained.

“Are you and Mr. Rocky still together?” Terelle wanted to know.

“Uh-huh. We’ve been together since we were twelve years old. I guess you could say we’re soul mates.” Norma paused in thought. “How’s Marquise? I heard he was out. You two still together?”

“Uh-huh. We’re gonna be just like you and Mr. Rocky—together forever,” Terelle said proudly.

“I know that’s right. Well, let me get home before Rocky starts blowing up my cell phone. You girls take care.” Norma got in the truck and drove away.

“Why’d you lie to Miss Norma?” Saleema asked.

“You know Miss Norma don’t like hearing no bad news.”

“That’s true,” Saleema agreed. She slowly cruised Conestoga Street and stopped in front of Marquise’s cousin’s house. “You gonna ring the bell?”

“No, he’s not there; I can feel it. And I’m not tryin’ to let his nosy aunt and cousin be all up in my business.”

Without hesitation, Saleema pressed on the gas pedal.

They parked in an outdoor lot near Club Beyond. Saleema scoped out the expensive cars in the lot and nodded with approval.

“Damn! Niggas is out thick,” Saleema observed inside the club as she and Terelle squeezed through the crowd. “That’s Butterball,” Saleema informed Terelle, pointing to the DJ hosting the club for the evening.

Terelle did a double take. “Damn, I didn’t know Butter was white. I’ve been hearing that voice on WDAS all my life and I never had a clue he was white.”

“Yup, he’s Italian. I heard he’s married to a black woman. And I also heard he’s loaded. Practically owns the radio station.” Saleema was pensive. “I wonder if Butter gets his trick on? Shit, fuck these waiting-for-a-paycheck niggas. I should go hollah at Butter,” Saleema said laughing.

As it turned out, Butter wasn’t interested, but Saleema was able to make a connection with one of his friends.

Twisting and turning, unable to sleep in Saleema’s spare bedroom, Terelle grabbed the phone and called home. Marquise picked up on the first ring. Feeling a mixture of anger and relief, she hung up without saying a word. As much as she would have loved to be home in her own bed with her own man, Terelle knew Saleema was right.
She
had to change if she expected Marquise to treat her as she deserved.

Judging by the theatrical moans and groans emanating from Saleema’s bedroom, the girl was doing her best to coochie-whip Butter’s affluent friend into becoming a regular customer. In a futile attempt to muffle the torturous sounds, Terelle covered her head with a pillow. Miserable, she flopped from one side of the bed to the other until sweet sleep finally claimed her.