Baby, You're the Best (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

Blake

 

 

 

“T
hank you for overseeing my new account.”

As I maintained my professional composure, a half smile parted my lips. “Mr. Sterling, you have been a loyal client for fifteen years. It’s my responsibility to ensure your needs are met.” I paused, then added, “Banking needs.”

He chuckled. “Blake, when are you going to accept my dinner invitation?”

This forty-year-old, single, six-foot-eight, dark and handsome man with light brown eyes and wavy hair made me grin on the inside every time he entered my branch.

The first three buttons on his crisp white shirt were undone. The cuffs were neatly folded above his wrists. Slowly, I inhaled, concentrating on making sure my breasts did not heave. The diamonds in his Rolex flickered each time he gestured with his hand.

I replied, “When you’re no longer my client. And don’t even think about transferring anything.” Why couldn’t I meet men like him outside of work?

Picking up my cell, I texted my VP, INU2. That was short for
I need you to rescue me.

Brandon strolled to my desk. “Hi, Mr. Sterling. I hate to interrupt but I have to borrow Ms. Crystal from you.” He looked at me. “Ready to start your two weeks’ vacation, birthday girl?”

“Oh, really,” Mr. Sterling said. “And you weren’t going to tell me, huh?” He smiled. “Dinner is now mandatory.”

If I were certain his intentions were strictly business, I’d have lunch with him tomorrow but I sensed they weren’t. I knew mine wouldn’t be. I was flattered but I was no fool. Going out on a date with a client could be viewed by corporate as unethical.

“I’d love to but I can’t accept.”

Twice, my bosses had denied my promotion to district manager. First I was told,
You haven’t been in your current position long enough.
Then it was,
You don’t have enough experience.
Now that my branch was averaging twenty thousand transactions per month, the next time there was an opening, I’d be prepared to challenge them or leave the company. If I resigned, I’d definitely go on a date with Mr. Sterling.

“You have my number. Enjoy your time off. I’ll wait for you. And please call me Bing when we’re on our date.” He stood, nodded at Brandon, then left.

Brandon scanned Bing up and down, waited until he exited the bank, then told me, “You know he’s family.”

My jaw dropped. “Shut the front door,” I said.

“You might as well, honey,” Brandon said, walking away.

For a moment I was confused, then I discounted his comment. Brandon suspected all men were bisexual, bi-curious, or gay. I removed my nameplate from my desk, locked it in my drawer, then headed to the break room. My gifts were on the table where I’d left them after lunch. The staff had surprised me with a Godiva cheesecake, catering from prettiplates.com, a bottle of champagne, and a dozen long-stemmed white roses.

“Let me help you to the car,” Brandon offered, picking up the roses and gift bags filled with goodies.

A few of my customers gave me cards. One sent a beautiful rubber tree plant. I left it on the credenza behind my desk as a reminder of how people I barely knew cared more about my birthday than the man whom I’d dedicated five years to. Brandon put the gifts in my car, then followed me to the driver’s side.

“Thanks,” I told him, opening my arms. “Now if you need me, call me.”

Brandon held me as he spoke into my ear. “You only turn fifty once, Blake. You take excellent care of everybody else. Tomorrow, make it all about you, honey. Forget about those grown girls and if you want to, get you some good, young, hung, succulent dick. Be a ho for a day, honey. If you need me to hook you up, I have a few straight friends that would love you.”

There was no shortage of dick in this metrosexual vortex. There was also no shortage of new HIV cases. And although there wasn’t a cure, Truvada—the HIV and AIDS prevention pill—was giving people a newfound comfort to have unprotected sex. The one thing I could testify to was I’d never contracted anything from Fortune. Not even a cold.

“If you don’t want me to find you a man, use the toy I bought you. You don’t have to wait until you get home. Pop it in your panties, tune in to Majic 107.5, and toot your horn at every bitch you drive by.”

“What in the world did you get me?” I laughed. “Mr. Cutter, you are a hot mess.”

A black sparkling Porsche parked next to my car. I redirected my attention to Brandon. He always knew how to make me feel better. He let go, opened my door, waited for me to strap in. Maybe I’d leave his toy in the car and use it tomorrow.

Closing my door, I lowered my window. “Thanks, Brandon. You’re a true friend.”

I heard a familiar voice say, “Hey, Blake. Glad I caught you.” It was Jeremy Hill hurrying toward me. He handed me an envelope with my name on it. “Happy birthday.”

My eyes lit up. A wide smile parted my lips. Brandon had stepped aside. His eyes were set in my direction but I knew him well. His peripheral was on Jeremy.

“You remembered. Thanks.”

“You thought I’d forget. You’re in VIP for Brick, Midnight Star, the S.O.S. Band, and Morris Day. Get there early. I gotta run. Enjoy the show,” he said. Getting in the Porsche, he sped off.

Brandon looked into my eyes, then said, “Blake Crystal, you have a lot to be thankful for. You raised four beautiful girls by yourself. You have a gorgeous home in Roswell that
you
paid off. You’re sitting in this all-white Mercedes-Benz sedan that’s paid for. You have a red Ferrari in your garage that you seldom crank up. Drive that bitch tomorrow, Blake. You worked your way up to president of this branch. Don’t worry. You’ll get the next DM position. You’re the best supervisor I’ve ever worked for, honey. And I’ma stop there, bitch, ’cause I’m getting emotional.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.” I was grateful for my accomplishments but I’d never celebrated them or myself. Starting now, I was making myself a priority.

“If it’s any consolation, honey, most people are in messed up relationships. Either they ain’t fucking at all, the sex is mediocre at best, or they’re cheating. Men are acting like women. The women want to be men. Do like me. I just fuck my way in and out of my problems. Having a good orgasm makes you feel better about everything, not everybody, honey. Bye, bitch.”

I watched Brandon strut into the bank. His broad shoulders complemented his slender muscular frame. His clothes were designed by one person; tailored by another. Neon-lime was his favorite color. His radiant glowing skin, high butt cheeks and cheekbones, made women take a second look. Brandon’s nails were always manicured to perfection. Hair never looked like it needed to be cut. He was a you-only-live-once kind of guy.

Brandon was right. Out of all the couples I knew, only a few seemed truly in love. I wanted to be in that minority. I wanted a man who sincerely loved me. I exhaled.

Was promiscuity the new normal nowadays?

CHAPTER 6

Blake

 

 

 

N
ot ready to go home to an empty house, I stopped in Buckhead at Posh Nails for a manicure by my favorite technician, Amy. While she pampered my hands, Anna massaged my legs and feet with hot stones. After they were done, I sat in the plush tan leather chair checking my Facebook and Instagram pages.

Sandara, my youngest daughter, had posted a video. She was holding up a pair of shoes.
Lawd, I’d better connect my Bluetooth before listening to this.
I tapped my screen and heard, “Raymond, these are too small! While you rollin’ in yo’ new ride, your son needs a new pair of shoes, ho. Size ten, ho!” She flashed five fingers twice.

I shook my head at how she’d handled the situation but she was right. Early birthday wishes were posted on my page from my siblings. Ruby, Carol, Peter, Walter, Teresa, Kevin, and Kim stated they wished they could be with me tomorrow. I became sad. Growing up, no matter how much we argued, we loved one another. I missed them. We’d all moved from our hometown of Charlotte but I was the only one living in Atlanta.

I started to open my work e-mail account. I locked my cell, dropped it in my purse. “Thanks, guys. See you in two weeks.”

Getting in my car I unwrapped Brandon’s gift. OMG! A pink Rock-Chick? One end was a G-spot stimulator. The opposite tip was a clit stimulator. Each time I pressed the button the buzzing got stronger. I touched it again and the toy started pulsating.

“This thing can’t be safe to use while driving,” I said, continuously pressing the button. “Lawd, how many speeds does this thing have? I can see myself crashing while having an orgasm.”
How do I turn it off?
Forget it. I tossed it in my purse, then talked a text message to Brandon.
LOL Thank You!

I circled Lenox Square Mall and Phipps Plaza several times until I was tired, then I headed home. The black BMW 750i was in my driveway. When I opened the front door, his cheap cologne greeted me. He didn’t.

Fortune was lounging on my sofa, drinking a beer, watching the game. “You ask Jeremy for those tickets? You know I want to take you to the Affordable Old School concert at Wolf Creek.”

My stomach churned making me want to vomit. I picked up the remote, turned off the television. Staring at Fortune, softly I said, “Get off of my sofa and get the hell out of my house.” Then I yelled, “Now!”

He stood, opened his mouth. I held up my hand, shook my head, then told him, “I’ll have your clothes delivered wherever you’d like. But right now, you need to leave. And
never
come back.”

“Blake—”

“I’m serious. Get out of my house.”

He went upstairs, returned with his keys. Slowly, he removed my house key, handed it to me.

I shook my head. “I don’t need it.” I dialed a locksmith. “Can you send someone to rekey my entire house right now?” I paused, then replied, “Great,” giving them my address.

Fortune stared at me. He took baby steps toward the door, placed his hand on the knob. His eyes drooped, then his head hung as he opened the door. Hesitantly, he crossed the threshold. He stared at me, closed the door. I watched the latch turn as he locked it with his key.

The first thing I did was go to the kitchen, get a metal bucket, and put my champagne on ice. Next, I went upstairs, changed the cotton linen on my king-size bed to a new set of white satin sheets, pillowcases, and Euro shams. I stuffed the white duvet with a white down feather comforter, then opened two bags of clean cotton potpourri. I spritzed my bathroom with the calming fragrance of home sweet home.

The doorbell rang. Trotting downstairs, I welcomed in the locksmith, gave him instructions on rekeying every lock throughout my home. While he did his job, I sat on my sofa. Soon as he left, I lit a few candles, drew my bathwater, undressed, stepped into my sunken tub, leaned back, and relaxed.

For Blake Crystal, a self-centered, unapologetic lifestyle was starting right now.

CHAPTER 7

Alexis

 

 

 

T
he parking lot at Pin Ups strip club was packed.

A dozen premiere reserve spots were on the first row. Twenty dollars to occupy a space in the front. Ten in the back behind the building. Either way everybody had to park their own shit. Big Z moved one of the orange cones. I zoomed in my convertible, raised the top. Getting out of my car, I grabbed my pink Michael Kors bag, then gave Big Z a hug.

“What’s up, Alexis? You looking fresh as always. When you gonna make that happen?” Big Z asked, holding my hand.

He’d been trying four months to get Chanel and me to double-dip on his dick. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to taste my chocolate-cherry-colored punany. He’d have to fall in a line that extended down the block and round the corner. Long as he kept giving me VIP for free, I’d keep stringing his anxious ass along. Walking toward the flashing sign with the club’s name in neon lights, I told Z, “I got you.”

“Yeah, but when?”

I blew him a kiss. “When the time is right. I have to get my gurl to say yes.” Opening the door, the cashier motioned for me to enter the club. She’d stopped hitting me up for the ten-dollar cover after I started dating Chanel.

The pool table room on the other side of black metal bars facing the entrance had a few guys hitting balls. There were female dancers grinding on the laps of men and women for twenty dollars a song. I never lingered in there mainly because no one inside that area could see any parts of the stage.

I made my way to the bar, stood at the end watching two performers. The girls here were not lazy like some I’d seen at Magic City or laid back like the ones at Strokers. The Pin Ups were in full effect every night.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” the mixologist said, handing me a mai tai. Peaches didn’t need to ask if I wanted my usual. I never deviated from this drink at this club.

“Thanks.” The tab was eight but I gave her a twenty to include my next cocktail, then I strolled to VIP where the round black tables and vinyl chairs were dining height.

The stage was eye level, which meant the higher the girls climbed the poles the more I had to tilt my head back to see them. This VIP setup was intended to accommodate lap dances during the show.

I sat at my usual corner table next to the stairway the dancers used to enter and exit the stage. In case some dumb shit jumped off I was in position to snatch my gurl and get out.

The identical twins, Kandy and Karmella, were cleaning the gold poles in preparation for their routine. They tossed the rags to the back of the stage. Soon as the first beats to “Turn Down for What” came on, one quickly ascended a pole to the lateral bar near the ceiling, tossed one ankle over the bar, kept the other leg around the pole, then started rubbing her pussy as though she were masturbating.

“Hey, Alexis. What’s up?” the security guy asked. “You looking tasty in pink tonight.”

“Thanks, Big Norm. I see you got your sexy on,” I said, adjusting my halter a little lower.

“When you gon’ call me, woman?” he said, scanning the room.

“Grad school taking up all my extra,” I lied.

“I’ma let you have that. Hit me up though. For real. I wanna take you out,” he said, walking away.

Bam!
The other twin hit the floor with a full split, bounced, flipped onto her back, twirled her legs in the air, spun, spread her thighs, then held her pussy lips apart. Dudes gathered at the platform, stood there until the song ended. Some of ’em never drizzled dough on her. I shook my head. Cheap bastards should’ve bought a two-piece chicken special, went home, popped in a DVD, and jacked off.

I chilled until my gurl made her way center stage. Entertainment was cool but Chanel was an entrepreneur. From the first beat to the last, she focused on making the customer farthest from her stop whatever they were doing, come up to the stage, and drop them dollars. It worked on me.

The DJ pumped up the crowd announcing, “You don’t want to miss this, people. If you’ve never witnessed a squirter in action, here’s your chance. Lady Waterfall is about to gush. You gon’ need a raincoat and I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no condom, fellas.”

“Here you go, Alexis,” Peaches said, sitting a fresh drink on my table.

Dudes and chicks flocked to the stage. The DJ teased the crowd with a few more songs before Chanel did her thing. She sat in front of guy number one, opened her legs, placed her knees behind her shoulders, gazed into his eyes, then rocked on her back.

His mouth hung open like he was thirsty. He stared at my gurl’s pussy. Twenty seconds later the only thing in his hand was the dick inside his pants. Lady Waterfall politely slithered to the opposite end of the stage. She did the same move for a different dude. He made it rain so heavy I thought my gurl was gonna gush for him. Dude number one could hold out for the next female to flash his cheap ass but I knew Chanel well. She was not spreading for him again. She worked every side of the stage until the stage was covered with paper.

The DJ said, “Who wants to marry this pussy? I think she’ll say yes to the guy that drops the most cash,” then he played “Throw This Money on You” by R. Kelly.

Chanel climbed the gold pole nice and slow. She hung upside down, slowly descended head first toward the floor. Ascending midway up the pole she spun sideways. Lady Waterfall made her way to the top, placed one foot over the bar. Her other leg was on the pole, then she gave the crowd what they’d come for.

Lady Waterfall gushed like a river bursting through a dam.

Men shook their heads real slow. Several had that glossy I’m-in-love look in their eyes. Married or single, Chanel could have any one of these guys, females included. After the song ended, it took her five minutes to gather our wet dough into a large bag. Another ten minutes was needed for two guys to sanitize the stage and poles for the next performers.

No one knew Chanel as well as I did. Offstage, my gurl was submissive. To make certain she didn’t stray, I had to keep Chanel in check.

I didn’t want to be hard on her. I had to.