Before We Were Wicked, page 30
“Why did you sleep with her?”
“Kept hoping she would bring Margaux.”
“I don’t believe that’s why.”
“All I do is about Margaux.”
“I should go get her, tell Jimi Lee I want her for the weekend, let you come to my house and see her.”
“You’d only be able to do that once. Margaux would tell.”
“Yeah. She tells everything.”
“Why did Jimi Lee leave me, then come back to be in my bed?”
“I think she fell in love with you after she left you. I think she was in love with you all the time, but the family she has, she never knew how to stand up to them. Her father is a mean man. She and her siblings are afraid of him.”
“I’ve hurt men for less than what he’s done.”
“Jimi Lee told me you were capable of doing some . . . dark things. But you were always gentle with her.”
“Let’s talk about me and you.”
“Is there a me and you?”
“There is now.”
“Since when?”
“Since I went in you raw and skeeted.”
She laughed. “Oh my God.”
“You asked.”
“This was unexpected.”
“Just like the rain.”
“Feels surreal.”
“The liquor?”
“The weed.”
“I’m serious. This have traction?”
She paused. “How would that work out for my goddaughter? Seeing me with her dad like this.”
“She’d adjust. Just like I have had to adjust and change my life year after year.”
“It’s different for kids.”
“Kids adjust.”
“My father cheated on my mother.”
“This isn’t cheating.”
“But it’s wrong.”
Those soft words paused me. “Your father messing around impacted you?”
“Yeah. I walked in on my dad while he was having sex with a woman in our Jacuzzi.”
“At your home?”
“Yeah. Came home from school. I was skipping school, and he had skipped work.”
“How did that work out?”
“The next day he bought me a brand-new, fully loaded red Corvette.”
“Wow. That was when you were in high school.”
“I sold out for a shiny red Corvette.”
“You didn’t tell your mother.”
“It would destroy her. She loves my father. I couldn’t open my mouth and break up our family. I would’ve been the bad one. My father put me in a bad position. Same as Jimi Lee put me in a bad position with you.”
“Hopefully I put you in a good position.”
“Oh, yes you did. A few good positions. You put me in a couple I had never tried before.”
“You’re flexible.”
“Had me climbing the walls like Spider-Man.”
I paused. “I thought life in Malibu was a lot better, especially for a girl as rich and pretty as you.”
She wiped her eyes. “I might have money, might look a certain way, but my life has been complicated.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Eye of the beholder. White people still find something wrong with every aspect of my physical being.”
“You’re always confident, always strong, and always smiling.”
“The people who smile the most are the least happy. The ones who smile the most have the darkest secrets. Confidence is an insecure person’s shield. And you have to be strong or the world will mess you over. People like me, we keep liquor and weed nearby. We medicate with drugs and sex. We find a way to escape. Some keep a razor blade near, in case they want to put small cuts on their thighs, or just go all the way and slit their wrists.”
“You cut yourself?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
I nodded. “What did Jimi Lee say about your father’s affair and the Corvette as hush money?”
“She doesn’t know. No one knows but you. I’ve never talked about it.”
“Why?”
“Still traumatized. I don’t want her to not like my father or behave differently in front of my mother.”
“You’re not going to snitch?”
“I’m serious. I don’t want people to dislike my father or think less of my mother. They’ll think she’s not a good wife, that she has done something to cause my father to be the whore that he is. I have to protect my mother.”
“Family first.”
“Everything is about family because family is everything.”
“You okay?”
“Get your shower. I’ll be finished crying by the time you’re done.”
“Okay.”
“Pour me another tall glass of Spumante before you go.”
CHAPTER 38
I FLOSSED, BRUSHED my teeth, showered in cold water because she’d used up all the hot, and came out naked. She was on the bed, inebriated, waiting. She finished her Spumante and pulled the covers back. She turned her back to me and scooted up against me. We cuddled. No words. We listened to the rain. We listened to the winds as they sang. I held her until we went to sleep. In the middle of the night, I jerked awake. The rain had stopped. A ghetto bird was flying over the Crenshaw District. It woke Lila too. She turned and faced me. She eased her hand down between my legs, moved her hand until that part of me stood halfway at attention.
She whispered, “Ken?”
I moaned. “Yeah?”
Her breathing was thick, curt like mine, passion making her pant like she was in need. She gave me her tongue, kissed me hard, and I held on to her breast like it was a gift from God to man.
She bit the corner of her lip, whispered, “Soixante-neuf. Show me how you did Jimi Lee.”
I gave her what she wanted, gave it to her until tongue wasn’t enough to please her, until her mouth was more than I could handle; then she mounted me. She knew how to shake the bed.
“Oh Ken oh Ken oh Ken.”
Her orgasm was beautiful, progressive, came in the key of E major. Eight minutes later, the fever was broken, the bed was almost broken, and she fell away from me panting. I rubbed her back for a moment, rubbed her until her breathing normalized. I hadn’t come, was still hard enough to not be able to sleep. I eased on top of her, pushed her legs open, and put my hands in the nexus of the place she opened to receive pleasure.
She reached down, held my erection, stroked me as she whispered, “I’m dying to know.”
“What?”
“So, who is better in bed?”
“Really?”
“Me or Jimi Lee?”
“Is it a competition?”
“We’ve been competing all our lives.”
“All girls compete.”
“All women compete. Boyfriends. Weddings. Marriage. Children. It’s all one big competition.”
I whispered, “You’re better.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I love the way you use your tongue.”
“Yeah?”
“You make me feel like I’m canvas and you’re creating art, or writing love letters with your tongue.”
With the sounds of LAPD’s ghetto birds and the slave catcher’s sirens riding into my world, we fell into fevered kisses. We consumed each other again. Lila wasn’t a pillow queen. She liked her sex dirty. Once she started, the fire was hard to put out and it was like she was under a spell. I wanted to be inside of her forever. I could love her. With each stroke, it felt like I did love her in some way. I tried to make her come a dozen times. I tried to make her fall in love with me. And if I couldn’t do that, I wanted to empty myself of what I felt for Jimi Lee. I wanted to orgasm the love I had for Jimi Lee out of my system.
CHAPTER 39
WHEN I WOKE up the next morning, Lila was wrapped around me, cuddling, her warmth mixing with mine. I rested like that, felt the alcohol and weed fading from my system, then woke Lila with kisses. I’d never seen her this way. Blemishes. Pimples. All the makeup gone. Away from the little red Corvette. I saw her imperfections.
With the biggest smile I’d ever seen, her morning voice coarse, she said, “I didn’t wrap my hair.”
I ran my fingers through her mane. “Hungry?”
“Famished. You said you had breakfast food?”
“Eggs. Bacon. Bread.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll cook you something.”
“I’ll grab us some breakfast from Simply Wholesome.”
“What’s that?”
“They only serve healthy food. Black-owned. Only five minutes away.”
“Can you get me an egg-white omelet? Make it vegetarian.”
“To drink?”
“Orange juice.”
Her big smile was contagious. I leaned to her, kissed her breasts, sucked her nipples.
I asked, “What do you have to do today?”
“Nothing. I’m free today.”
“Rain is gone.”
“Sun is coming out.”
“Let’s hang out.”
She hummed and kissed my lips. “I have some more clothes in my car.”
“Single women always ready.”
“Yeah. We are.” She laughed. “I can wrap my hair in a scarf.”
“Leave it down.”
“It’s out of control. I look like who did it and what for.”
“You look like a queen. Leave it open. Let’s ride to Beverly Hills and get a hotel room.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. I can get us a room. Pamper you. We can take a bath together.”
“Sounds like fun. Maybe we can eat at an Ethiopian restaurant on Fairfax.”
“I’d like that.”
“I know several. All have good food.”
“You can choose.”
“Go get food.”
“Or I can just eat you and feed you again.”
“Get me a different kind of protein.” She hummed, the big smile bigger. “I let you put your penis inside me.”
“Over and over.”
“You are a good lover.”
“So are you.”
“We have amazing chemistry in bed.”
“We made love all night long.”
“And I still want more.”
Lila kissed me like she was my wife. I wished I had met her, not Jimi Lee. I moved to get out of bed, and she pulled me back, opened her legs for me again, took me inside her, put me inside her, put all of me inside her, made me rise like never before and moan like a man who had lost his goddamned mind, and while her passion wrestled with mine, I made the headboard rock and roll. I looked in her eyes as she came, stroked her as she shuddered and begged me come with her.
Then we were in the shower, cleaning each other, laughing, talking.
All the while I wished the door would open and Jimi Lee would walk in on us.
CHAPTER 40
WHEN I CAME back with breakfast, music was on, but Lila was gone.
I knew she had left before I came upstairs. The little red Corvette was gone from its spot downstairs. She had been gone long enough for someone to fill her parking space.
Janet Jackson sang to me. Told me about the principle of pleasure.
I stood in the kitchen, ate my pancakes, nibbled her omelet, drank my apple juice, sipped her orange juice.
I understood. We had crossed a line.
Inebriated, she felt desire. Sober, the shame was greater.
She got to see what she had missed out on when we met that night at Club Fetish. I got to imagine I had made a different choice.
One day Lila would have to look Jimi Lee in her brown eyes. She’d have to play with her goddaughter.
What we had done could take that all away.
I’d pretend that night didn’t happen.
I’d been with my daughter’s godmother. I had bedded my ex-wife’s best friend, had put Soul Stealer balls deep inside the woman who had helped my disgruntled wife lie and cheat and destroy my family.
Some revenge had many levels.
If Lila had come back, I would have made love to her again.
It wouldn’t have been my intent, but she had a conscience, and I would have destroyed her.
There was a time to plant. A time to reap. A time to build. A time to tear down.
There was a time to dance. A time to sing. A time to laugh. A time to cry.
And there was a time to walk away.
My beeper danced. San Bernardino called me.
An hour later Jake Ellis was at my front door, just off the plane from Africa.
He said, “Bruv, I have a Senegalese girl in Ghana waiting on you to come over.”
“Yeah? What she look like?”
“The kind you like. And I showed her your photo, so you’re the kind she likes.”
“She smart?”
“She’s attending university now. She speaks English, Spanish, German, Italian, a mix of Wolof and French. Bruv, you hear her tell you, Bonjour, one time and you’ll be buying another wedding ring.”
“I might get on the next plane with you.”
“You should have been on the last plane with me.”
“If I was a single man with no responsibilities, I would’ve been sitting in first class next to you.”
“Bruv, you won’t come back to this side of the Atlantic Ocean, not to do more than visit.”
“Bonjour.”
“Bonjour.”
“Senegalese.”
“Straight out of Dakar.”
We did what men do and talked about women.
I told him about Jimi Lee, about her Wednesdays, our affair, about Yohanes coming to my door.
Jake Ellis said, “If you ever want to go to Diamond Bar and settle the score . . .”
I shook my head, thought about Lila, said, “Nah. Far as I’m concerned the score is settled.”
Jake Ellis told me about the women he’d entertained in Ghana and Nigeria.
I almost told him about Lila. Almost.
But I kept that to myself, between me and her.
He showed me photos of the home he had built in Ghana. And he’d gotten his bachelor’s degree.
After a few laughs, I packed a few things and asked, “Where we off to?”
“Vancouver. San Bernardino doesn’t like being robbed.”
“Three-day drive.”
“We can do it in two. But we’ll do it in three.”
“Safeguards in place?”
“Yeah, bruv. We can’t have another Florida.”
“Word.”
“I don’t plan on getting shot again.”
“You didn’t plan on getting shot that time.”
“I don’t want to have to feed another alligator.”
“Or crocodile or whatever was out there.”
It was time for me to work. I had child support to pay. I had to make sure my daughter had food on her table. I kept my word. I took cash and went to the Bank of America, wired three thousand dollars to Jimi Lee’s account. I was angry with Jimi Lee, dreamed about killing her father and siblings both day and night, but I made sure Margaux had food, clothing, shelter, and wipes for her tender ass. Each day I hoped Jimi Lee would call. That never happened. I had to go on with my life.
People lived with shrapnel in their bodies all the time.
I had to learn to do the same.
I asked Jake Ellis, “Know any girls up that way?”
“Oh yeah. I know a model from Lodwar, Kenya, and an actress from Durban, South Africa.”
“Call ’em up.”
“Already did, bruv. Already did.”
* * *
—
I DIDN’T CALL Lila.
I’d take the blame for what happened between us.
I was drowning and had tried to cling to her like she was a life preserver.
We had crossed a line. It couldn’t be undone.
I doubted if she would ever call me again.
But she had my address and mailed me about two hundred photos of Margaux. That had meant more than the world to me.
She had felt something.
And that something would keep her away.
I was going to send a thank-you.
I didn’t.
That might have been too much.
It might have started something.
Those photos of Margaux were all that mattered to me.
I bought four photo albums from Costco, added those pictures to the ones I had.
I was a man obsessed with his own child.
A man with a war in his mind.
Then I stood in my window, looked out at Leimert Park like I was its pope.
I watched Leimert Park refuse to change.
I watched it hold on to its past.
And it watched me refuse to change.
It watched me hold on to my past.
But we changed.
Bit by bit, in ways we never noticed.
Like it or not, want to or not, we changed.
I was no longer the man I had been at twenty-one.
Jimi Lee was no longer the girl she had been at eighteen.
But whoever she was, whoever I was now, I still loved her.
CHAPTER 41
A YEAR WENT by.
Then two.
Then three.
Pain lessened with time.
But time never erased all pain.
For that to happen, time would have to be able to give a man amnesia.
Jimi Lee never went away from my thoughts, but she was reduced to a low hum.
We had a child, so I was sure that a low hum existed for Jimi Lee as well.
That hum wouldn’t ever go away.
That hum reminded me of my obligations. That hum told me whom I had loved once upon a time.
