After Hours (22 page)

Sybil smiled. “I offered, but the grill-meister threatened me with bodily harm if I even breathed on his grill. You'd think I'd slapped his newborn.”

Cory handed Lance his drink. “Lance, perhaps you can explain to the ladies that a man's grill is like his car—you don't touch it without permission.”

Lance raised his glass, touching it to Cory's when he lifted his. “It's as easy as ABC. You don't touch a man's grill or a man's car, and please don't touch a knob on his home theater unless you have security clearance.”

“Here, here, my brother,” Cory chanted.

Sybil placed her wineglass on the bar and looped her arm through Dina's. “I don't know about you, but all this man talk is turning my stomach. Let's get something to eat.”

R
onald waited until everyone sat down at the tables under the tent to eat before he turned off the grill. He made his way over to the bar for a drink. “Wait up, Cory,” he called out as Cory came out from behind the bar. “I need something to quench my thirst.”

“What do you want?”

“Make me a double martini.” Resting his elbow on the smooth surface, he turned and stared at the people who'd come to his home to eat, drink, relax and enjoy a day off from whatever it was they did. “I can't believe
the
Lance Haynes is sitting in my backyard.”

Cory nodded, filling a shaker with ice. “No shit. I truly want to pick the man's brain to find out how he set up his own business.”

“He told us how he did it in Vegas.”

“No, he didn't, Ronald. The man's real slick. He alluded to it, but he never actually said how he did it. Don't get me wrong—I loved his presentation. But he didn't give up anything concrete.”

“Why should he, Cory?”

“Why shouldn't he?”

Ronald leaned in closer. “Just because he's a brother you think he should spill his guts? The rest of the guys don't do it, so why should he? Walt Disney didn't let the cat out of the bag when it came to animation until he actually perfected it.”

“What happened to helping a brother out?”

“Fuck a brother!” Ronald said angrily.

“Yo, man, lighten up,” Cory said, shocked at Ronald's outburst. “I'm not saying he has to give away his secret for success.”

“That's exactly what you're saying,” Ronald insisted. “We all start out on equal footing, but it's the ones who go the extra step, work a little harder than the others, who become success-story heroes and heroines. Just look at you and Sybil. You've worked hard to get what you want. You didn't stand around with your hand out begging for scraps off someone else's table. You worked your ass off to put yourself through college. Cory, man, you made it because you wanted more than just enough to get by. You didn't become a baby daddy or piss away your money by snorting shit, like so many others do when they get more than two nickels to rub together.”

What Cory wanted to tell Ronald was that he wanted his own business; he wanted to be in charge of his own destiny, like his wife. Sybil had the luxury of accepting or rejecting whatever client she chose. He wanted to deal with projected profit margins the way she did. It'd been Sybil's money that had purchased the West Orange property, not his.

He hadn't wanted to move to West Orange yet had relented because she held the purse strings. When it came to Sybil, it was never his money or her money but
their
money. But that didn't make things any more palatable because he believed the man should be the breadwinner. He knew his way of thinking was archaic, but Cory Cumberland had turned into Gavin Cumberland. His father had worked odd jobs while his mother had had a secure position in hotel management. In the end, because his father couldn't feel like a man, he left.

While Ronald admitted that he didn't mind that Karla had the greater earning power of the two, Cory didn't feel the same. Many thought he was living the American dream with a talented wife and a house in an upscale suburban community, but he was miserable. He wanted his own business and he wanted children. He didn't know why he'd agreed to the five-year stipulation to wait before starting a family, but he realized Sybil wouldn't have married him unless he went along with her carefully mapped-out plan as to how she wanted to run her life.

“I know you're right, Ronald, but—”

“If you know I'm right, then why are you whining like a bitch?” Ronald said, cutting him off.

Cory glared at his friend. “I am not a bitch.” He'd enunciated each word.

Ronald knew he'd stepped over the line. “I'm sorry, man. I wasn't calling you a bitch. It's just that I've learned to be grateful for what I've been given and I think you should do the same. It's hard out here for our folks, especially in our field. Remember—we counted the number of brothers at that convention. There wasn't enough to make two teams for a baseball game.”

Cory stirred the martini and poured it through a strainer into a chilled glass. “That's why I suggested setting up an organization of black software engineers like the black accountants and the other professions.”

“I don't agree with you. This field is too new for us to isolate, alienate and segregate ourselves. How are we going to know what's going on if we're on the outside looking in? Lance Haynes is the exception, not the norm. Once there're more Lance Hayneses, then I'd be glad to step up and join up.”

“Here's your drink.”

Ronald raised the glass to his mouth and took a deep swallow. Iciness, then warmth, spread throughout his chest. “Damn, that's good.” He took another sip. “What do you think of Haynes's woman?”

Cory gaze shifted to where Dina and Lance sat at a table with an older couple. “What about her?”

“Karla said they're just friends, but I find it very hard to believe he's not sleeping with her.”

“Why can't you believe it, Ronald?”

Ronald shook his head. “She has a certain innocence about her, but I think it's all a facade. Did you see the way she walks?”

A smile found its way over Cory's face. “Who could miss it.”

“I tell you, man, she's a freak. Every woman I've known with a nasty-ass walk is a freak.”

“How can you tell?” Cory asked.

“I just know.” He stared at Dina as she smiled at something Judge Weichert's wife had said to her. He felt the flesh between his legs stir restlessly. It'd been a long time since he'd wanted to make love to a woman he'd just met, and Dina Gordon definitely turned him on. The last woman who'd turned him on like that he married.

“Shut down the bar, Cory, and come eat.”

I
t was late afternoon when Dina found herself sitting next to Karla under the shade of a large white umbrella. Most of the other guests were either reclining or sleeping on lounge chairs set up around the pool. Several men, Lance included, had retreated to an area of the patio to watch an action movie on a large built-in screen in an enclosed alcove next to the pool house.

Karla ran the back of her hand over her forehead. “I think I drank too much. Did you get enough to eat and drink, Dina? Because if you didn't, then I'll—”

“I'm good,” Dina said, cutting her off.

Karla stared at Dina under lowered lids. Her former client appeared totally relaxed, and no doubt having an incredibly wealthy
friend
made her life less stressful. Ronald had told her that Lance Haynes was known in the computer world as the black Bill Gates.

“How's work, Dina?”

Dina smiled at Karla. “It's good.”

“How many hours a week do you put in?”

“Right now I'm clocking between ten and fifteen.”

“Is that enough to pay your rent?”

“No. But I'm going to be working with Sybil when she hosts private parties, and what I'll earn from them will more than pay my rent for the month. If I work two or three times a month, then I can really save some money.”

Karla sat up, her curiosity piqued. “Private parties?”

Dina also sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the lounge chair. “Yes. I'm going to work as an exotic dancer for bachelor parties.” She'd lowered her voice so she wouldn't be overheard by another woman sitting close by.

Karla pushed off the chair. “Come into the house with me,” she ordered Dina. “We need to talk.”

Dina followed Karla into the spacious coolness of the opulent mansion filled with furnishings she'd only glimpsed in magazines, wondering if she would ever live as grand as Ronald and Karla King. And there was no doubt that Cory and Sybil Cumberland also lived well. She'd discovered that all of the Kings' guests were professionals: lawyers, doctors, college professors and a state judge. Several were CEOs of their own companies.

She made certain not to call attention to herself. She responded when spoken to, mouthing what she knew were the appropriate quips when women smiled while their men gave her lecherous stares. If Lance noticed their hungry gazes, he didn't reveal it. Most times she could find him nearby but not so close as to stifle her. Whenever she wanted something, he'd do her bidding. Publicly he was as attentive as he was whenever they were alone together.

Karla led her into an in-the-home office, closing the door behind them. “Please sit down, Dina.”

She complied, sinking down to a sand-colored suede love seat. “What do you want to talk about?” Dina asked Karla when she took a matching chair a few feet away.

“Sybil's private parties.”

“What about them?”

“When you say work—exactly what type of work will you be doing?”

Dina stared at Karla, wondering how much she should divulge about her upcoming gig as an exotic dancer for a ballplayer's birthday party. There was no doubt she and Sybil were good friends—why else would Sybil hire someone without a social security card or with prior work experience? Besides, she trusted Karla implicitly because how else would she have gotten her name changed legally without a court appearance.

“I'm going to become an exotic dancer.” Lowering her voice conspiratorially, even though there was no one in the room to overhear them, Dina told Karla about her training and commitment to perform for Sybil's clients.

Karla felt a rush of excitement as she listened to Dina tell what she had to go through with a professional dance instructor to get her body in shape to perform for rich men living out their sexual fantasies by watching women prance around in next to nothing. She knew firsthand about entertaining men, finding it a power trip. Karla was as good at what she did because she made certain every man in attendance thought she'd become his private dancer. She was smiling when Dina revealed the costume that had been created expressly for her.

Dina's eyes were sparkling with excitement. “I can't explain how I felt when I tried it on for the first time. And the moment I put on the mask I truly felt as if I was Sparkle, the green fairy.”

Karla nodded, smiling. “Make them pay, Dina. The men you're going to dance for aren't the guys who hang out at the tits-and-ass bar on the weekend because they have nothing else to do except watch sports channels. And I know Sybil well enough to know that she's going to charge them through the nose, so in addition to what she's going to pay you, you should match it in tips.”

Eyes wide, Dina stared at Karla as if hearing a language she didn't understand. Was the lawyer saying that she could possibly make a thousand or more in tips? “How much do you think I can make in tips?”

“If you don't come away with at least a grand, then it's not a good night. Most of these men will blow that much banging Vegas hookers with fake breasts that make her look as if she's wearing basketballs. You're young, pretty and everything about you is natural. Even within the realm of fantasy, men want reality.

“You'll learn to convey that without opening your mouth when they tuck a bill into your G-string that the bidding starts with fifties. If someone gives you a twenty, then give it back until he ups the ante. If you think top-shelf, then you'll be top shelf.”

“How do you know so much about this?” Dina asked Karla, thinking perhaps that at one time she'd had a client who was an exotic dancer.

A faraway look filled Karla's dark eyes. “I used to dance.” She ignored Dina's slight gasp. “I needed money to supplement my partial scholarships.”

Dina nodded. Like herself, Karla did what she had to do to survive. “Were you good, Karla?”

A secret smile softened the lawyer's lips. “Yes, Dina. I was very good.” Her eyebrows lifted. “I suppose you should get back to your friend before he comes looking for you.”

Dina stood up. “He probably doesn't realize that I'm missing.”

Karla wanted to tell Dina that she was wrong about Lance Haynes. Although he hadn't hovered over her, he'd been aware of where she was at all times. “Even if he doesn't, I don't want him to think that I'm monopolizing his woman.”

Smiling, Dina averted her gaze. It felt good to be referred to as Lance's woman. She wanted to belong to him in every way possible. It'd been more than four weeks since her procedure and she was ready to sleep with Lancelot Haynes.

“It was nice talking to you, Karla. And thank you for the tip about tipping.”

“Anytime you want to talk to me—about anything—then call me, Dina. I was where you are now, and if it hadn't been for one of my professors, I certainly wouldn't be who I am today. We all need mentors and I'm personally appointing myself your mentor.”

There was a moment of silence as Dina bit down on her lower lip. “Thank you.”

Karla waved a hand. “Now go and get your man before some of these sex-starved heifers try to seduce him.”

“But—but—they're married,” Dina sputtered.

“When does marriage stop a man or woman from straying? Those so-called nice folks lounging around my backyard all have closets filled with rattling skeletons, yours truly included in the mix. So don't fool yourself into believing they're above reproach. What you'll eventually discover is that beyond the mansions and manicured lawns lies a moneyed world filled with sex, power, seduction and an occasional scandal. But we do what we do best—we bury our shit before it starts to stink.

“Lance Haynes is a part of that world, even though he's low-key. When you invited him to come with you, you had no inkling that my husband and Sybil's would know him. It's a very small world in which you're going to become a major player.”

“How do you know this?” Dina was certain Karla could hear her heart beating inside her chest.

“You're going to marry Lance, and the moment you do your life will never be the same. You've changed your name but not your face. Now what I'm going to say to you is free advice.”

“What's that?”

“You can run from your past, but you can't hide it. When you become Mrs. Lance Haynes, I suggest you keep a low profile. No unnecessary photographs. What may save you is that Lance is quiet and unassuming. Try and live your life away from the spotlight and you'll have your happily ever after.”

“Do you think I'll jeopardize my future with Lance if I go through with my commitment as a private dancer?”

Karla shook her head. “No. Right now you're not married to him, and as a single woman you have a right do anything you want. Even when you marry, you should always maintain a measure of independence and autonomy. The man's your partner, not your jailor or keeper.” She waved her hand again. “Go, Dina.”

Waiting until the door closed behind the younger woman, Karla walked over to the window and stared out at the beginnings of a Japanese garden. Talking with Dina had sparked memories of her eye-popping, jaw-dropping routine as Chocolate Ice.

She'd loved the money, but craved the attention she got from the men who'd come to see her perform. She'd cautioned Dina about independence and autonomy. In her marriage with Ronald they claimed both. The problem was she was getting bored with their open marriage because there wasn't anyone in their Open Door circle she wanted to sleep with. Sex with her husband was not only satisfying but fulfilling.

The rules for the Open Door mandated couples only, so Ronald wouldn't be able to attend without her or vice versa. Maybe if she told him that he could get another member to sleep with him off-site, then he would be amenable to her opting out.

The urge to return to dancing was something she thought about occasionally. She'd challenged herself when she pushed her body to extremes executing splits and contortions; she'd also loved the attention from the men who were enthralled by her physical prowess and she'd loved counting her tips at the end of the night. The high she'd derived from dancing was something that couldn't be duplicated—not even when she had sex with her husband.