Smoke and Mirrors (8 page)

Brent repeated it in his mind a thousand damn times. Was this a dream? As he stood there dumbfounded, his naïve mind finally finished weaving the quilt, got the whole goddamn thing put together piece by piece until he was able to lay it across his lap and hold it tight. But there was no comfort…

Dad is a pimp…

*

Eight years later/Present Day…

F
elicia hopped on
Brent’s lap with a giddy bounce and did a spin, squealing and carrying on as she draped her freshly manicured hands around his neck. He looked briefly into her eyes, then moved his head to and fro, ducking and dodging, trying desperately to see the television as he gripped the remote with his free hand.

“Hey, Daddy!” She grinned at him and swung her multi-colored, galaxy print legging covered limbs. “What have you been up to? I missed you today,” she cooed as she ran her fingertips along his upper back, her cue to him that she wanted to fuck.

“I missed you too…” he said distractedly as he strained to listen to the news. “Did you find out that information for me?”

She jammed her bright red fingernail into her mouth, dug in her tooth, looked at it and flicked whatever the intrusive food was clear across the room.

“Felicia!” He scolded. “This is my damn house! Why do you do stuff like that? I hope you don’t behave this way in front of the tricks…so fucking disgusting.”

“I’m sorry!” She giggled. “It was bothering me. A piece of broccoli, I think. Gotta eat my veggies!” She ran her hand up and down his face, a demure smile on her grill.

“I can’t believe you’re touching me like that after you just dug in your goddamn mouth.” He smirked.

She tossed her head back in an exaggerated laugh, and continued on with her endless flirtations. Fact of the matter was, he’d grown fatigued of her ‘little girl’ act. He wanted the
old
Felicia back. Felicia was his bottom bitch, and if he said so himself, she was the pick of the damn litter. She had brains, beauty, brawn and bravado. One of his first scores, he’d plucked her fresh out of rehab. She’d been clean and sober for eight months straight when he happened upon her. And just like he swore he’d do so many years ago, he’d landed a prize. He’d gotten a hold of a solid bottom, one that brought him in crazy amounts of money. Felicia was black, African American to be exact, but could ‘pass’ for a multitude of races and due to that ambiguity, she stacked more dough than Pillsbury. She appealed to a vast clientele, making him a proud and prosperous man. If a guy had a thing for Hawaiians, she was his best bet. Smoke would say emphatically that that was what she was—‘Aloha!’ If the john wanted an East Indian babe, the woman would take a flat iron to her hair, and voilà! She came into existence, fake accent, sari and all… The possibilities were endless.

Normally he would have stayed away from such a pain in the ass, but he knew the woman had a strong constitution, she had grit, and she had previously belonged to one of the hardest and most notorious pimps on the west coast. Problem was, that man liked to lay hands on her, did not appreciate what he fucking had…and Felicia couldn’t have that. She started fighting back, and her revenge was scorching like desert heat. Taking a pot of hot water from the stove, she’d thrown it on that man’s damn face while he slept, leaving him with second and third degree burns after he’d beaten the living dog shit out of her for allegedly back-talking one rainy afternoon. Most pimps wouldn’t touch her with a twenty-foot pole after such a thing; she was blackballed and coined ‘off her fucking rocker’, but his radar told him otherwise. She’d entered a treatment facility soon after, and that’s when he scored. Smoke was chastised for his decision, told he had walked into a chamber of horrors by letting her choose him, but his radar was rarely wrong. Now, they were going on over five years strong. She was true to the motherfucking end…and she’d remain so. She rarely caused him any problems, and she knew her place. There was just one rule regarding Felicia: Never. Ever. Hit. Her.

That wasn’t the only thing to be leery of as of late, though. He witnessed firsthand a change in her over the last few weeks, one he wished to get to the bottom of. She’d developed another personality, one he found to be aggravating, naggy, possessive and clingy. This wasn’t the Felicia he knew. He hoped she was simply going through some things, maybe some female hormonal shit that would resolve itself soon, but it seemed to go on and on and on like a country road in the middle of Nowhere-ville. They’d shared some good times, and she’d been with him during his more challenging experiences, so for that, he gave her extra allowances, let some shit slide. But what the hell had happened? He’d attempted to broach the subject, but she was dismissive, telling him she didn’t know what he was talking about.

This was a prime example as to why he’d become so selective about the women in his circle. He went through in-depth screenings; the shit was brutal, but his formula worked. After he verified the potential whore’s legal age and name, he’d move on from there. First, if they chose him, he’d conduct an intensive interview. He wanted to know where they came from, what they were doing, and what they liked and didn’t like. He wanted them to disclose
every
damn thing about themselves, even the last time they took a piss. If they passed that hurdle, they’d take a psychological exam of his own rendering. It included questions about what they’d do if a john requested a certain sexual act they weren’t accustomed to. His questions always delved into home life, as well. He wanted to know about their mother, father, siblings, and possible children. He wanted to know all the gritty, nasty shit they’d done, when they lost their virginity, if they had an issue taking it in the ass, gagged during deep throating, and were opposed to an occasional spanking.

He wanted to know if they shot up drugs with their cousins, if they made straight As or flunked out of school, and if they were ever bullied or possibly the bully themselves during their younger years. EVERYTHING mattered. If that portion of the interview went well, he’d go on and arrange for them to see a doctor. He’d drive their ass right down to the clinic, get them checked out, and see what came up on their bill of health. Sometimes, it would be the first time the woman found out she was HIV positive, or so she’d say. Other times, she might be clean as a whistle. If she had something that some shots or pills would knock out, he’d keep tabs on her. If she had an incurable STD, however, he had to let her go, simple as that. He’d wish her the best of luck, and would keep steppin’.

If, on the other hand, everything went well, it was time to move to the next phase. He’d take her to a hotel and give her the fuck test. He conducted the shit so cerebrally and had become so accustomed to it, he no longer saw it as just a sexual encounter, but as business as usual. The fuck test would include an appetizer—the striptease. Then he’d instruct them to perform a lap dance. He made it perfectly clear that the process of seduction, the illusion that you
really
want and desire that bastard, was imperative to garner return clients. Afterward, he’d see how they handled their blowjob skills, or lack thereof. If they needed improvement, he’d tell them so, and explain how.

After the blowjob test, he’d lay them down in various positions, holding, cuddling, rubbing, and showing them the damn importance of a buildup. This established two things—a bond between him and the potential whore, and the feeling of confidence that she knew what the hell she was doing. Smoke knew how to fuck well. This was a no-brainer because it proved essential to his success. Using it to his advantage, he’d have a bitch swooning, thinking he’d actually made love to her ass, versus just fucking her with precision and care. He’d never made love to
any
damn body, but reality was ninety-nine percent perception…

He made it clear that some johns are nervous or older, suffering from erectile issues, and they needed a girl that would be patient with them. Smoke set himself up as a damn teacher, their surrogate professor and everything in between. After the first lesson was complete, he proceeded to the intercourse part. He demonstrated various techniques, and explained in great depth how they should respond to different personality types. If the woman already agreed that she’d provide anal services, he’d do that as well, get a feel for how she moved and handled a dick in such a fashion. He would again remind them about the importance of hygiene and condom use, and how they must be used at all times. He also prompted them that they must stay on an additional method of contraception unless their tubes were tied, and even then, he advised it, for one simply never knew. He’d already had one girl get accidentally knocked up after a condom burst, and he’d never fall into that situation again.

Over the course of the working relationship, he’d discuss progress reports with the ladies. Sit down meetings, round table discussions, and the like. He set his shit up professionally and ran it tighter than a virgin on prom night. If someone got out of pocket, he’d nip it in the bud, rarely raising his voice. He’d simply look at the woman and tell her she only had
one
more chance, and he meant it…

Women wanted to be with him because of the organized, unique and fair way with which he ran his business, but also because he wasn’t a damn simp, some pussy-whipped fool or wanna-be-ladies man. He knew how to get his point across without being a brute. He walked that tightrope like a pro, and he walked it well. He was sensitive to their needs, but not a punk. Women didn’t respect men they could walk all over, and he refused to be ‘that guy.’ He listened. He even occasionally cared, but
never
loved. Hos came and went. It was up to him to always be of the mindset that this life he led, the game, was a revolving door industry, and those that rolled in one way could roll out the next. He had a couple leave, believing the grass was greener on the other side, only to attempt to come back with their shame tucked between their quaking legs. He
never
let them return. It was policy, procedure. He’d lose street cred and it would set a bad example for the other women in his stable. For the most part, his women listened to him, and his Bottom Bitch helped keep them in check. Felicia facilitated in keeping his appointments straight; she was dedicated, but something had surely set her off as of late…

He looked at her bouncing around on him and abruptly turned down the television, causing her to settle down, poke her lip out and brandish a look of confusion. She draped her long dark hair with auburn highlights over one creamy, smooth shoulder.

“Felicia, I’m only going to ask you one more time. What is going on with you, huh? We’ve known each other a long time, and your behavior is erratic. What is this shit all about?” He waved his hand around, emphasizing his bewilderment.

“I don’t know what you—”

“No.” He cut her off at the pass. “I told you this was the
last
damn time.” He angrily pointed at her, waiting.

She dropped her head, looked down in her lap like a child who’d been caught stealing. Slumping to the side, she resigned herself to finally tell the truth.

“Smoke, I just…” Her eyes began to well up with tears. “I feel like I’m losing you. You’ve been distracted, like your head isn’t in it anymore. You’re distant. I don’t want to lose you, baby!” She shoved herself into him, sobbing on his chest. Her hair flowed against his body while she wrapped her slender arms around his neck again, this time gripping him possessively.

“Felicia, you
aren’t
losing me. If I decide one day that I’ve had enough, you’ll be the first to know, alright?” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “What I need you to do though, is get back to the way that you were because this clingy, insecure shit is stressing me the hell out. You know I don’t like all that begging and moving around me, getting in the way. Just relax, okay?”

She nodded in understanding, sadness still spread on her face.

“Okay, perfect. Now.” He turned the television off and gave her ass a friendly spank, causing her to relax a bit and giggle. “Tell me about the other apartment building. What did you find out?”