After Hours (21 page)

D
ina stared at her reflection in a room of wall-to-wall mirrors. The dance instructor, who went by the single name of Carlos, stood behind her. Sybil had called to tell her that she didn't have to come to work for the next two weeks because Carlos had rearranged his calendar to put her through an intense workout. As promised, Sybil paid her for her regular hours and the days when she would be in the studio.

Carlos, only several inches taller than Dina, met her gaze in the mirror. When she'd walked into the studio he'd set up in a room in the rear of his house, his first impulse was to recommend that she become a music video backup dancer. She had what most video producers and directors wanted—the look. What he saw was a dancer's body.

His dark eyes met hers. “First we're going to see how flexible you are. Hold on to the bar and lift your right leg.”

Dina hesitated. He was asking her to lift her leg when today was the first day she was completely pain-free. Dr. Howe had examined her, saying she was healing nicely. He also said she could resume sexual intercourse in two weeks.

“How high?” she asked.

“See if you can rest your heel on the bar.”

Slowly, as if testing how high she could raise her leg without experiencing some discomfort, Dina held on to the bar, leaned back slightly and rested the heel of the ballet slipper atop it. She felt a slight pulling between her legs but no pain. She shared a smile with the short, muscular man with a perfectly conditioned compact body in a black leotard and footless tights. When she'd walked into his studio, she'd had to force herself not to stare at the large bulge between his thighs. She'd known men who stuffed their briefs in order to look bigger, but she suspected Carlos's package was all his.

“Very good,” Carlos said. “Now try the other one.”

Dina lost count of the number of times she raised and lowered her legs. She was put through a stretching routine that made her feel as if she'd been pulled in every direction. Her tendons and muscles in places she didn't know she had figuratively and literally screamed. She ached—everywhere. Once back in her apartment, she took a hot shower and collapsed into bed.

 

After more than a week of stretching exercises, Carlos put on a CD of dance music. He sat on a chair, watching as Dina danced freestyle. She was familiar with the latest steps, had a natural rhythm…but something was missing.

Pushing a button on the portable CD player, he stopped the music while clapping his hands together. “Enough!”

Dina complied, glaring at the man with a curly ponytail that was as long as hers. At first she'd thought him soft because of the stereotype that all male dancers were gay, but there was something in the way he stared at her breasts and legs that told her he was definitely straight.

“What's the matter?”

“Are you a nice girl or a naughty girl, Dina?”

She blinked once. “Say what?”

“Nice or naughty?” he repeated.

“I'd like to think of myself as nice.”

Carlos closed the distance between them. “I'm a man, Dina, and I wouldn't give a dollar for that performance.”

Hands on hips, Dina lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. “What's wrong with it?”

Resting his hands on her shoulders, Carlos pulled her close. “You're a very sexy woman, but you don't dance like a sexy woman. You're going to have to learn to use what you've been given.”

“And that is?”

“Hair, tits, ass and legs.” He ignored her soft gasp. “You've good rhythm because you feel the music. Remember—when you're up on stage you're no long Dina Gordon but Sparkle. What you want is for every man in the room to think that you're dancing solely for him. In other words, I want you to give them a lap dance without sitting on them. I want every dick in the room to be standing at attention when you bend over and shake your ass. Have you ever seen a booty clap?”

Dina nodded rather than say she had. Not only did she know what it looked like, but she'd also done it.

Carlos smiled at Dina. “I want you to do it again, this time putting your hair, tits and ass into it.”

The driving, pumping bassline beat started up again, and Dina knew that if she didn't dance the way Carlos wanted, then she could forget about entertaining at Sybil's private parties. She'd do anything the relentless, overbearing dance instructor wanted her to do to get his approval. He'd told her that Carlos would discharge her only when she pleased Carlos.

She'd lost weight she couldn't afford to lose from the strenuous workouts and developed muscles in her legs and thighs that weren't visible before. What she didn't want to do is look as if she were lifting weights.

If Carlos wanted freak, then she was going to give him freak personified. She was no longer Dina Gordon but Adina Jenkins, popping, locking and dropping her ass in order to get a man's attention. She didn't see the smirk stealing its way over Carlos's face, but she heard his applause when the dance number ended. They shared a knowing smile.

Carlos kissed her on both cheeks. “You're ready.”

T
he morning of the Fourth, Karla slipped out of bed, leaving Ronald snoring loudly. She couldn't believe how loudly he snored until she woke before him. And it wasn't that he snored all the time—just when he'd been drinking.

He'd offered to act as bartender for the soiree and had mixed several new concoctions he wanted to try out on their guests. She'd been adamant about not getting anyone so drunk that they either passed out or ended up in a vehicular accident. It was the lawyer in Karla that had surfaced.

She showered quickly and threw on a sundress to go outside to survey the area where a tent had been erected. Eight round tables, each with seating for four, were set up around the brick patio.

All of her consternation as to whether the outdoor kitchen would be completed on time was alleviated when the contractor called to tell her he was finished and would send her a bill for the cost overruns. His crew had worked around the clock to put in the outdoor fireplace.

She put up a pot of coffee, then began the task of taking out individually wrapped bouquets of red and white flowers that would serve as centerpieces for each table. In keeping with the holiday color scheme, Karla had decided on white tablecloths with the red and white flowers in blue glass vases.

She'd taken several days off to prepare for the cookout because she wanted to put her personal signature on the gathering. Ronald had insisted she hire a party planner, but she told him she could easily handle a party of less than fifty invitees. The butcher had cut the differing meats to her specifications, and her favorite bakery had delivered a half a sheet cake made up of fresh strawberries atop shortcake.

The night before, she'd made coleslaw and potato salad using her mother's recipes; she'd also cooked a large dish of baked beans and marinated all of the meat. The only thing on her agenda was to make a fruit and tossed salads. The many ears of fresh, sweet bread-and-butter corn were shucked and in the refrigerator.

What Karla wanted was a traditional menu. No professional bartender or servers, no foie gras, caviar or sushi. Those she usually offered for a small cocktail party. She wanted her guests to eat, drink and have fun while doing it.

 

“Everything looks smashing.”

Karla turned around. Ronald had come out of the house completely naked. Her gaze went to his smiling face before lowering to the thick, heavy sex hanging between his muscled thighs.

She returned his smile. “What are you trying to do? Make me horny?”

He approached her, cradling his penis in one hand. “Bet you a dollar you're wet.”

Karla shook her head. “Now you know that I'm going to lose.”

Pulling up the hem of her dress, his free hand went between her legs. “Damn, baby, you're like Niagara Falls.” He withdrew his hand, the dress falling back around her knees; he rubbed his fingers together before putting them into his mouth and sucking loudly. Ronald winked at Karla. “Sweet,” he crooned.

Karla felt as if she were on fire. Ronald had started something only she could finish. Slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders, she stepped out of it. “I need a big, fat link before our guests arrive.”

Ronald achieved a full erection within seconds. He and Karla had made love the night before like starving people pouncing on food. It was as if they couldn't get enough of each other. His wife had complained of tenderness in her breasts, so he knew she was ovulating. It was during
that
time of the month that her sex drive kicked into an even higher gear. They always made certain to attend their swinger group whenever she ovulated because Karla always needed multiple partners. Even he had to get some sleep.

“How do you want it, baby?”

Karla moved over to the fireplace, bracing her hands against the solid stone structure. “Let's break in this baby,” she crooned as she turned to present Ronald with her back.

Looping an arm around her waist, Ronald eased her forward and pushed his blood-engorged sex inside his wife. He closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat. This was his favorite position, taking her doggie-style. He was able to watch his dick slide in and out of her sweet pussy while it also permitted him deeper penetration.

Each time he pulled out, he thrust deeper. The juices from Karla clung to the profusion of hair surrounding his shaft. And it wasn't the first time he was thankful that he'd met and married a woman who never complained that she was too tired for sex or that she had a headache or that she had cramps. Karla King was always willing and ready for sex.

He felt his balls tightening and tried thinking of anything else but the exquisite pleasure straining for release. He didn't want to come. Not now. Slowing his thrusts, he cradled her breasts in his hands, squeezing gently. Karla's soft moans had become his undoing. She pushed her hips back as he thrust forward, the slapping of flesh meeting flesh disturbing the early-morning silence.

He forced himself to think of another of his sex partners—someone he'd met during the last swinger party, someone who'd asked to see him without his wife. It'd taken Ronald all of two seconds to give his approval.

Just thinking of his next liaison made him harder, and then the dam broke. He pulled out, ejaculating all over Karla's firm, round ass. She wasn't finished, so he inserted his finger and masturbated her until she came all over his hand.

Moaning out the last of her passion, Karla turned and smiled over her shoulder at her husband. Wrapping both arms around her waist, he pulled her back against his chest. He buried his face in her hair. “There's nothing better than early-morning lovemaking with all of nature as a witness.”

“You're right. Will you join me in the Jacuzzi?”

He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes.”

They returned to the house and made their way up the staircase. Both knew they would make love at least once more before their guests arrived.

“A
re you sure you're not lost?”

Lance took a quick glance at the navigational screen. “I'm very sure, Dina. We should be there in less than two minutes.”

The drive from Irvington to Oldwick had taken longer than he'd anticipated because of a horrific accident that had brought traffic to a virtual standstill along a major road. The words were barely off his tongue when he turned off the narrow winding road to see a large white house built on a rise behind an overgrowth of old and newly planted trees. The Kings lived in one of the most exclusive enclaves in Oldwick.

Dina stared in awe at the house coming into view. Karla King lived in a mansion. Everything silently screamed opulence—from the professionally maintained landscape to the many luxury cars in a parking area at the side of the imposing white Colonial. Karla's house was the one she'd read about in her novels, a house with grand staircases, towering ceilings and filled with priceless objects that turned a house into a home.

She'd sent back her response card indicating she was bringing a guest. She'd debated whether to call Karla and ask if she should bring something to eat or drink, but in the end decided not to. What she didn't want to do was appear gauche. If Karla wanted her to bring something, then there was no doubt she would've noted it on the invitation.

It was to become her first social outing as Dina Gordon, and she prayed she would come through it without embarrassing Lance, her hosts and herself. Although an informal outdoor gathering, Dina knew it would not be the same as the ones she'd attended in the past.

 

Lance stopped next to a late-model Lincoln, cut off the engine and came around to assist Dina. He wondered how Dina had come to garner an invitation from someone who obviously lived quite well but hadn't asked because their relationship hadn't progressed to where he felt
that
comfortable with her.

He still found her an enigma. Just when he thought he was breaking through to get her to open up to him, she put up an invisible shield. What, he wondered over and over, was she hiding? Who was she hiding from? He'd done everything possible to get her to trust him, but she continued to keep him at a distance.

He reached for her hand and they made their way around the back of the house, where a small crowd had gathered under a large white tent. The rear of the house was as spectacular as the front. A large shaded patio area held an outdoor kitchen with a sink and stove, an inground pool and an unlit fireplace. It was apparent the Kings had spared no expense on their home.

Dina saw Karla with a tall man with wiry white hair, the two talking quietly in a corner. “There's Karla,” she said to Lance. She steered him in the direction of the woman responsible for changing her life.

 

Karla turned away from Rhys to see Dina Gordon and a man coming in her direction. She assumed the man was the friend she'd mentioned. “Excuse me, Rhys, but I must welcome another one of my guests.”

She came forward to meet Dina, who'd captured the attention of most, if not all, the men in attendance. Smiling, she shook her head. There were men who claimed to be “chick magnets.” Well, Dina Gordon was a “man magnet.” A pair of navy stretch cropped pants, a navy-blue-and-white-striped tank top and white-and-blue-striped espadrilles showed off her compact body to its best advantage.

She extended her hands. “Dina, I'm so glad you could make it.” She and the petite woman exchanged air kisses.

Dina returned Karla's warm smile. The attorney looked different. A pair of walking shorts, a loose-fitting blouse and sandals had replaced her tailored suit and pumps. Even her hair was styled differently. Today she wore it up in a ponytail.

“Thank you again for inviting me. I'd like to introduce you to my very good friend. Lance, this is Karla King. Karla, Lancelot Haynes.”

Lance nodded to Karla. “It's nice meeting you. I have something in the trunk of my car I need to bring in.”

Karla angled her head, studying the man. It was obvious he was older than Dina, but how old she wasn't able to discern. There was something about him that was familiar as she mused where had she met or seen him before. Was he, she wondered, responsible for Dina leaving her abusive boyfriend?

“You didn't have to bring anything, Lance. May I call you Lance?”

Lance smiled. “Of course I don't mind. As to bringing something, I was raised never to come to someone's home empty-handed.”

“True,” Karla drawled. “Then I thank you.”

Lance smiled at Dina. “I'll be right back.”

Karla waited until Lance walked away, then took Dina's hand. “I want to introduce you to my husband while we wait for your
friend.
Then I'll introduce the two of you to the others.”

Dina picked up on her tone immediately. “Just in case you're wondering, we're only friends.”

“I wasn't insinuating otherwise, Dina,” Karla countered. “I didn't invite you to my home to get into your business,” she countered.

“I'm sorry, but I suppose I still have a problem trusting people. It's not that I don't trust you,” Dina added quickly, “but—”

“Don't apologize, Dina,” Karla said, interrupting her. “I understand where you're coming from. Now come meet Ronald.”

 

Ronald King, wearing a bibbed apron that had
Griller Killer
stamped on the front, checked pieces of chicken and other meats for doneness. He was as casually dressed as the others, in a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and sandals.

Karla tapped his shoulder to get his attention. “Darling, I'd like you to meet a friend.”

Ronald turned, his eyes widening appreciably when he saw the woman with his wife. Her gold-brown skin, black hair and incredibly beautiful face called to mind the dolls sold in toy stores. Smiling, dimples winking in his chiseled cheeks, he put down a long-handled fork.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” he asked in a deep voice that seemed to rumble in his chest.

Dina extended her hand. “Dina Gordon.”

She'd figured out Ronald King in one sweeping glance because she'd met more Ronalds that she cared to remember. Tall, with unquestionably sensual masculine good looks and believing he was truly a gift to all women, he wasn't above using everything in his manly arsenal in his quest to seduce a woman. If she'd been Adina Jenkins, she would've taken special pleasure in bringing the cocky Ronald King to his knees. But she wasn't Adina, and Ronald was her friend's husband. And just as game recognized game, freak recognized freak, and she knew unequivocally that Ronald was a freak.

“Welcome to our home,” Ronald said politely.

Dina smiled. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Karla watched the exchange between Dina and her husband, reading his mind. She wanted to tell him that if he thought Dina would sleep with him, then he was sorely mistaken. There was no way she would agree to it.

“As soon as Dina's date comes back, I'll introduce her to the others,” she told Ronald. The spark of interest in Ronald's hungry gaze dimmed when she mentioned
date.

Lance returned carrying a case of imported champagne. “Where should I put this?” he asked Karla.

Ronald went completely still when he recognized the man holding the box of wine. “I'll take that,” he offered, taking the box and placing it on the floor next to a built-in refrigerator. “Aren't you Lance Haynes?”

Lance's eyes narrowed slightly as he met Ronald's gaze. “Yes. Have we met before?”

Ronald shook his head. “We didn't meet personally, but I was in your seminar in Vegas at the computer show a couple of years back.” He extended his hand. “Ronald King.”

Lance shook his hand, smiling. “Well, Ronald, you certainly have me at a distinct disadvantage. I hope I didn't make a fool of myself while up there.”

“No way, man. It was worth hanging out in Vegas in the middle of July just to hear you speak.”

Karla patted Ronald's shoulder. “I hate to break up what I know is going to turn into computer talk, but I want to introduce Lance and Dina to the others before getting them something to drink.”

Ronald acquiesced to his wife's suggestion, saying, “We'll talk later, Lance. And, thanks for the champagne.”

Lance nodded to Ronald. He didn't remember him, but it was apparent Ronald King knew him. What Lance found strange was that there hadn't been that many brothers at the computer show. It was possible that Ronald came to his seminar because he'd been the only African-American facilitator on the workshop schedule, so there was no doubt he'd wanted to hear what he had to say.

He'd spent two days in his hotel room writing, editing and rewriting his presentation. He'd been asked to talk to potential entrepreneurs who were contemplating going into business for themselves. His topic was “Begin small, think big.” The session was heavily attended because most wanted to hear how a black man had grown his company of one into one that employed thousands worldwide. Most of his company's employees lived in Malaysia and India because it'd become more feasible and profitable to outsource his business.

Karla introduced him and Dina to her guests. All were married couples, the women older than Dina and their husbands closer to his age. He'd discovered the Kings' guest list was ethnically and racially balanced.

“I'll leave Dina to introduce you to her boss,” Karla told Lance.

Sybil Cumberland turned when hearing Karla mention Dina's name. Her expression mirrored surprise when she saw her. “How are you? I didn't know Karla had invited you.”

Dina smiled at her boss, who looked completely different from the chef who ran CJS Catering like a drill sergeant. Today she wore a red slip dress over a matching bathing suit. Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders. She looked soft and very feminine.

“I didn't say anything because I didn't want to alert you. Maybe you didn't want to socialize with your employees.” In another week, she and Sybil would not only work together but also socialize together.

Sybil waved her hand. “We're not at SJC Catering, so that doesn't apply today.”

Dina felt completely relaxed with Sybil for the first time. “This is my friend, Lance. Lance, Sybil Cumberland.” The two exchanged handshakes.

“It's nice meeting you, Lance.” Her gaze shifted, her expression noticeably softening. “Here's my husband.” Cory Cumberland had returned carrying a plastic crate filled with glasses.

Dina thought him the perfect mate for Sybil. He claimed a nerdy type of conservative attractiveness that reminded her of her childhood friend Irving Gordon.

“The bartender returns,” he announced loudly. He'd worked his way through college waiting tables and tending bar. Mixing drinks came as easy to him as turning on the tap for water. There was never a need to hire a professional mixologist when he was in attendance.

He hesitated putting down the crate when he recognized the man standing next to Sybil. “Lance Haynes?”

Lance gave him a do-I-know-you? look. “Yes.”

Cory set down the crate. “Ronald and I sat in on your seminar in Vegas. Man, you were incredible.”

Lance wondered about the odds of meeting two black men at a party who were in the same field as he. He flashed a modest smile. “Thank you.”

Cory wiped his hands on the towel on the portable bar, then extended his right one. “Cory Cumberland.”

“I guess you know who I am,” Lance teased, shaking the proffered hand. His arm went around Dina's waist. “And this is Dina Gordon.”

Cory nodded, barely glancing at the woman with Lance. He'd never told anyone, but he envied Lance Haynes. The man had started with practically nothing and now he was a multimillionaire. He knew he'd never achieve Lance's earning status until he ran his own company. Whenever he bet on a horse, the roll of the dice, the turn of a card or a purchased lottery ticket, his wish was always the same—to win big so he could set up his own business.

Blinking as if coming out of a trance, Cory looked at Dina Gordon for the first time. What he saw hit him like a punch to the gut. The woman with Lance Haynes was perfect, just as the software genius's life was perfect. Talk about hitting the jackpot big-time. He wondered, if Lance wasn't who he was, would Dina be with him?

“Hello, Dina. What can I get you to drink?”

“I'll have a club soda.”

“A club soda with what?”

“Just a club soda.”

Cory reached into the ice bin under the bar and shoveled ice into a glass, then opened a bottle of club soda and filled it with the clear sparkling liquid. He handed it to her. “What can I get you, Lance?”

Lance perused the many bottles of top-shelf liquor lined up on a shelf behind the bar. “I'll have a scotch neat.”

Dina sipped her beverage, meeting Sybil's gaze over the rim. “It's strange not to see you cooking.”