The Charade (16 page)

“Tyson, I’m coming,” I screamed. Sounds were muted. Taste vanished. Vision fogged.

My pussy spasmed and a rapture of violent heat surged through my body, flooding his shaft with hot, sticky liquid. “Ohmyfuckinggoditfeelssogood.” I cried until I could cry no more.

Tyson wasn’t far behind. He grabbed me and lifted me in the air, clutching my ass tightly as I wrapped my quivering legs around his back, opening up my pussy as he aggressively thrusted, finally violently jerking, groaning my name and rocketing his hot seed into the latex. “Tasha,” he moaned. My tight slit still vibrated around his pipe, orgasm after multiple orgasm rolled through every nerve inside of me like a locomotive which jumped off the tracks.

We held each other tightly, slightly shuddering on the downswing of our salacious ride. He pecked moist kisses on my dry, cracked lips; sweat streaking from our bodies, our lungs pleading for air.

“You’re so beautiful, Tasha,” he said faintly. Strands of hair stuck to my forehead. He brushed them again. I fought back tears. I collapsed onto his body. He still penetrated me, still on his knees holding me tightly.

We stood that way for several minutes, silent except for the faint drop of water falling from the faucet in the short distance.

***

“I was driving down Hartford Street the other day and there’s a frozen yogurt place that just opened up,” I said as I lay on the bed and he cleaned up in the bathroom. “We should go there later.” I envisioned the orange sorbet melting on his lips.

“I’d love to, but I have to head up to the office,” he said.

“On a Sunday?” My face contorted in confusion. “But you love frozen yogurt. Lemon right?” There it is. Another lonely Sunday. Time to bury my head in my lumpy pillow and sulk all day.

“But I love making money more. I have to finish up a few things. Unfortunately. Duty calls, you know?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“You know I’m up for promotion. You want to come with me?”

“And work when I don’t have to? Hell no.” He smiled. “You can’t just do it from home?” He plopped down on the bed. “We can veg out. Order some wings. Maybe watch football or binge-watch a TV series we’ve never seen.” I grabbed his forearm and stroked it up and down. I gave him a face resembling a seven year old who broke her father’s camera, guilty enough that she knows she did wrong, but innocent enough to make him soft as silly putty.

“Coming in on a weekend might be the extra push I need to get the position. Victor has kind of taken a liking to me and I want to impress him.”

“You
know
him?” A jolt of terror ripped through my body.

“Well, how well do you know your CEO? I’ve had lunch with him a few times. Over the years, we’ve become good friends. At least that’s what I’d like to think.”

“Really? How good?” I swallowed hard.

“We’ve been to Vegas together. We golf. We go workout. He comes over and plays video games. He’s met some of my family. He’s invited me over to his home before. It’s a beautiful place.” Christ, I hadn’t even his seen his place before. My lips pursed together. He invited people on his payroll he barely knew, but he couldn’t invite me – who he’d been intimate with? What an asshole.

“Sounds nice.” I tried my best to feign politeness. It tasted sour.

“Everybody thinks I’m a shoe in for the position.”

“What position is it?”

“Junior vice president.”

“Wow. As young as you are? That would be a huge opportunity.”

“We’re about the same age, so I think that plays a big part.” He got up and went towards the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be, but you can stay as long as you want. Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen.” He slipped on a pair of high top tennis shoes. They looked designer. “And it’s not just beer and tortilla chips in there like the guys you normally date.”

“How do you know what kind of guys you date?” He winked at me. “I know you Tasha. I know you. Can I get a raincheck on the yogurt?”

“You name the date, handsome.” I think I hid my disappointment pretty well.

After Tyson left, I stayed in his bed, dozing off and on for the next two hours. My brain churned with anxiety.

They
knew
each other? I seriously needed to get another job. It was just too stressful for my taste. I needed something less spine-tingling, like bee keeping or teaching knitting to old ladies. Handsome men don’t seem to frequent those places. Maybe I’d needed to look into those fields. Just my luck, some old man would want to spend his social security check on me. Why me?

Chapter 11

After a long Monday at work I figured I’d quell my sweet tooth before the hectic commute home.

There was nothing sweeter than the pure joy of walking out of a café with crepes and an oversized, expensive cup of frozen, sugar-laden caffeine and chocolate drink. I walked back to where I parked and found my bliss momentarily interrupted. My car was missing.

I thought I parked on Washington Street instead of Main. I walked back to Main to find out it wasn’t there either. I took a long sip and waited for waited for a light bulb to flash in my head, but it never came.

I took another sip.

Was my car stolen? Oh no. Couldn’t be. This was a ritzy suburb. Who in their right mind would want my jalopy of a vehicle? Out there no one drove anything less than an Acura. I made sure I vacuumed and got a car wash before I even passed through the city limits.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The icy freeze from my drink wasn’t enough to prevent my blood from boiling. My heart rate steadily rose from a soft beat, to a thunderous rip.

Fan-fucking-tastic!

I saw a police car parked on the corner. The officer was in his car typing.

“Officer,” I said running over to him. “My car’s been stolen. Somebody stole my car. They took my car. They took it.” I couldn’t have sounded more pitiful.

“Ma’am. Calm down,” he said. “Where was it parked? When did this happen?”

“Just now,” I shrieked.

“Ma’am, I going to need you to relax.” He stepped out of the car.

“Relax? How can I relax? I need it to get to work. I need it to see Tyson. I have to feed my mother’s cat, Pimples while she’s on vacation. He’s going to die from starvation.” I slammed my drink into the trashcan. “Somebody stole my car.”

“Miss,” he let out a huge sigh. He’d seen this one too my times I guessed. “Where was your vehicle parked?”

“Right outside the café here.” I pointed to it.

“What vehicle was it? Color, make, and model.”

“A 2003 Ford Focus. Black.”

“When did you find it missing?”

“Just now.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t stolen, Miss. It was impounded.”

“Impounded? How? Why?”

“Unpaid tickets and suspended license.”

“Tickets? What tickets? I don’t have any tickets.”

“Yes. You do. I suggest you go over to the traffic division and get it sorted out.”

“How could this happen?” I knew exactly how it happened. I had a bad habit of not paying tickets. It all started when my cousin Melinda borrowed my car to do laundry and got ticketed for smoking a joint. She promised me she would pay for it and never did. Guess who had to pay for it? I always would park somewhere, forget to pump change into the meter because I’d only be a minute, run in and run out, and what do you know? A cute pink slip rested on my windshield, under my wiper blade. Pink used to be my favorite color before I started racking up ticket after ticket.

Two thousand, two hundred fifty-one dollars, and eighty-nine cents. That was the amount to get my vehicle out the impound.

I thought they would at least put a boot on my car first. I was so embarrassed. I thought people only got their vehicles impounded for smuggling heroin or had a murder weapon stashed under their seats. I cringed at the thought of the amount of money I had in my bank account. I was lucky I had enough money to buy those sweets earlier. I would get paid later in the week, but it was still nowhere near what I owed.

I wouldn’t have dared call my mom. She got me out millions of jams. And besides, she was out of the country. Chandra didn’t have that kind of money. Or did she? She claimed the escort business was booming. The clerk at the front desk was gracious enough to let me use her cell, being that mine was in my purse still in the car. I called Chandra and her line was disconnected. Weird.

No way I could call Tyson. We were friends, but I didn’t want to burden him. I didn’t want to come across like a needy girl - begging for money - especially one who had a job. And someone who worked for him. What would I look like? Things were going so good between us and I didn’t want to look like that girl who couldn’t manage her money. Even though I did. One day it’s unpaid tickets, the next it’s a maxed out Visa that’s in collections and my wages are being threatened for garnishment. Next I’m in rehab for a cocaine addiction. I sat in the corner of the traffic office next to the coffee maker. I wrapped my arms around my purse and tears welled up above my eyelids.

All my fault.

There was only one person left to call.

One person who wasn’t lacking for money. One person whose phone number I knew by heart. One person I absolutely dreaded calling.

I swallowed my pride and dialed his number, hoping for the worst. What sort of lewd act would he make me perform to repay him?

Without a hitch, Victor obliged. It was a simple, what happened, where are you, and I’ll be there in ten minutes. It was strange behavior for him.

He wrote a check for my owed amount and we were out of the building in twenty-five minutes. It was if it never happened. I reluctantly asked how I could make it up to him and he vehemently denied any and every attempt, saying I owed him absolutely nothing. I insisted on buying him dinner, as a way to repay him. Nothing fancy; just an order of buffalo wings. After getting on my knees in the parking lot, he caved in.

As I got into my car, it dawned on me that he was very withdrawn. It didn’t seem like he was mulling over something involving business; this was something deeper.

He followed behind me in his Lamborghini as we pulled in to Louisiana Red’s. A barbeque rib, fish, and chicken joint. After all the stress I endured, I needed to wash it down with something greasy and spicy. The wings there were cheap and disgustingly delicious. The mango habanero sauce was so good it made my face frown as each drumstick melted into my mouth.

“Why are you looking like that?” I asked. His eyes trailed every car that zoomed by. It was a look that was foreign to me. Possibly foreign to him as well. “Victor what’s wrong?”

“Sometimes when you think you own something, you really don’t,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He was never this abstract. I needed answers.

“I’m not really sure.” I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of his, stroking it gently.

“Victor, what’s wrong? You can tell me. I’m here for you.”

“I’ll be okay. Nothing a bottle of whiskey can’t solve.” Whatever he was hiding must’ve been a big deal. He never was a big drinker.

“Just know that whatever’s on your mind, I’m all ears. Anytime?”

“I’m delighted you called.”

“Delighted is a strong word.”

“Thank you for being a lifesaver. I didn’t know who else to turn to. It’s a miracle that I got my car back in the same day.”

“Wealth affords you friends in high places. Plus…it’s the least I can do, considering all that I’ve put you through.”

“I can pay you back. Aside from the wings. You can have the money withdrawn out of my paycheck until it’s paid in full.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He sat forward in his chair. “I can’t stress how delighted I was to hear from you.”
“You didn’t sound like it.”

“Perhaps.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

“Well, I don’t know how that’s supposed to work out with us working in the same building.”

“Easy. I avoid you.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so cut and dry.”

“I apologize. I haven’t been in the office lately anyways.”

“Another business venture?”

“I’ve been…soul searching.”

“Soul searching? What are you trying to become? A Tibetan monk?”

“That night…the night I called you and texted you.” His eyes trailed out towards the street again. People buzzed by, walking dogs, holding hands, barking into their cell phones. “That night.” His voiced wavered. “That night…a business associate…a dear friend, died.”

“Oh my word.”

“He died suddenly. Doctor’s still don’t know from what or why. Just happened. He was twenty nine.”

I wiped my hands with a napkin and grabbed his hand. It felt cold. “I’m trying to wrap my head around it. He had everything, a great family, wonderful kids. And just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He’s gone, scratched from the earth.” I didn’t respond. I just listened, never letting go of his hand. “We were the total opposite. He had more money than people could imagine, but it never impressed him. I swear if he worked at a gas station, he’d be just as happy.” His brown eyes became misty, mirroring raw umber. “He adored his wife. Two beautiful babies. A brilliant mind. Great friend. He’s gone. I’ve never met a more fantastic person.” He quickly wiped a tear from his eyelid as if he didn’t want me to see it. The mask had not only fallen – it had broken. He clenched my hand tighter.

“Victor, I’m so sorry to hear that. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s made me realize what’s more important in life. What if a man had more riches than sand in the desert, but no one to share it with?” I felt his hand trembling. “The money was never the aim for me, but I realize the people in your life are what truly matters the most. If I died tonight, what would I be remembered for? Software programs? Who would show to my funeral? Business associates, employees, and a couple of models I dated. No family, no wife, no children to leave behind. His wake was - and I’d never thought I’d say this - but it was beautiful. The grieving was beautiful. Yes, he passed, but to see how much people cared for him…they really cared for that man. No one would do that if I died. No one. My parents are dead. I have no brothers and sisters. Just me.” He dashed around the table into the seat next to me. It frightened me. “Come with me.”

“Victor.” My shoulders fell forward.

“I’m leaving. For a month. To my island. It’s private. In the Caribbean. Going to clear my head. Change of pace.” His voice was jagged. His eyes jutted from me to around the room to back on me. “Come with me. Please.” He grabbed my hand and placed it on his face. He stroked the back of my hand on his cheek. The stubble poked against my hand. He probably hadn’t shaven since he heard the news of his friend.

“Victor. I can’t.”

“That night…the night I called you. I needed you. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I don’t have many people I consider friends. Ben was the closet one. And now he’s gone. You’re all I have. Just you.” His response was loud and his voice cracked. The lady’s eyes behind the counter intruded on our conversation.

“You’re just emotional. You just need to grieve. You just need time.”

“I just need
you
, Natasha.”

“Victor. Please.”

“You were right all along. You never cared about the yachts, the tailor made suits, none of the bullshit. You just wanted me. You just wanted to be around me. And I never saw it.” He was right. I bit down on my tongue. I wanted to be there with him. Just me and him on the island, alone, becoming closer. Caring for him. Being there for him. Being what he needed. But I couldn’t.

“You just can’t come into my life like this. I have a life…I’ve moved on.”

“You don’t care for me?”

“I’ll always care for you. As a friend.” I couldn’t tell him the truth.

“It’s a guy isn’t it? Fuck, I knew it. Who is he?”

“It’s
not
a guy, Victor.” The truth would destroy him. I was scared of what it would do if I told him. “Our time has passed.”

“Tell me you don’t miss me.”

I shuffled in my seat. Letters shuffled in my mind. I couldn’t find the right ones. I looked up at the ceiling fan, too afraid to look him in his eyes and lie to him. “I don’t…miss you.”

“Well.” He smirked and cleared his throat. He looked around and he smoothed his hair back. He shot up form the table, kissed my forehead and walked out. He got to the door, looked back at me, like he looked at my soul or through it, swung the door open and dashed out.

***

After I left the restaurant, I went over to Tyson’s house. I sat in his driveway for a few moments to gather myself from what had just transpired. I took a couple of deep breaths and I knocked on his door.

Tyson greeted me with a kiss and a warm hug. I worried if he would call me out on being distant but as soon as I stepped in the door, he went on and on about how stressed he was about the promotion.

His house was much different than the average working, twenty-something male. Gone were the hexagram, yellow stop signs nailed to the wall. Quite the opposite. Hardwood oak floors were below my feet. Abstract art hung on the walls. Miniature African statues stood firmly on a huge bookshelf. Pictures of his family and him in various, touristy places around the world dotted the television stand. All what was missing was a picture of him and a cute young lady smiling. Maybe one day it would be me in frame with him.

On a large, brown coffee table in front of me were a couple of books. One of photographer Gordon Parks, an anthology of Ishmael Reed, a picture book of Paul Newman, and a book of famous last words.

I had to get him to stop talking about work. “Who is Ishmael Reed?” I said cutting him off.