Going Broke (9 page)

Julian was fine, but when I closed my eyes, he was Damian to me. I was using Julian's body to show Damian how much he was missed. I allowed him access to places strangers shouldn't be allowed.

After two hours of drinking, dancing, and passionate fondling, he grabbed my hand. “Let's get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

He looked at me like I should know. “To the hotel.” He kissed my hand and worked his way up to my shoulder, then my neck, and then his tongue was back inside of my mouth. “Let's go.” Julian pulled me hurriedly out of the booth and through the club.

Outside, the black Lincoln pulled up, and before the driver could close the door, Julian had me sitting on his lap facing him. His fingers were like tiny snakes, slithering all over my body. They knew no bounds, and I knew no manners, so I welcomed it.

As he kissed my chest, I felt him growing solid beneath me. Right then I knew I either needed to put an end to our fervent play, or I'd have to give up my chocolate-covered goody. My decision?—I began grinding myself into his lump. My imagination ran wild; I wondered what it looked, tasted, and felt like.

This wasn't the cautious, respectable, think-things-out-logically Sarai Emery who got on the plane. My mind, my body, and my mouth were in three different time zones. I was like R. Kelly.
My mind's telling me no, but my body, my body's telling me yeah.
Then out of my mouth was the confirmation of my stupidity. “Will you walk me to my room?”
I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind.

“I wouldn't be a gentleman, if I didn't.” He smiled.

We were so worked up during the ride that back at the Atlantis, we trotted so fast we might as well have run to the room. We burst through the door to my suite like honeymooners. His hands were pulling clothing from my body before the hinges pulled the door shut.

I wanted him badly, but suddenly I couldn't look into his face. I wanted to believe that he was Damian or, better yet, Dwayne. As we bumped into the walls in our mad scuffle to get sweaty, I hit the light switch and watched the room fall into darkness.

“Tell me what you want me to do, Sarai.”

“I want Dwayne.” I didn't care if he didn't know what it meant. I just had to say it. “Be Dwayne for me.”

“‘Dwayne'?”

I pulled his hands back to my breasts. “Just play with me.” I kissed him. “Be rough and tough with me.”

“Is that how Dwayne was?”

“Yeah.” I was breathing heavy already.

He went along with me. “Then I'll be Dwayne.”

His lips still pressing against mine, I said, “Just do me like Dwayne does.”

“Are you gonna let me fuck you?” He didn't have to ask. I was already almost naked. “Answer me.”

I loved his aggression. “Yes.” I repeated the answer in case he missed it, “Yes.”

He spun me around. “I'll fuck you like Dwayne does.” He laughed as he removed my panties and rubbed in between my lower lips. “I'll fuck you like Dwayne, Rerun, and Rag.”

We both laughed at his reference to the show,
What's Happening
.

“I'll even fuck you like Big Shirley.”

I made it over to the sofa and pulled him along. He was out of his pants and jacket. I removed his briefs and asked him to unbutton his shirt but not to remove it.

“Is this what Dwayne does when he wants that ass?”

“Yes.”

Many times I had pounced on Damian when he walked in from the office. I didn't give him time to get fully undressed. A few times we did it with him still in his suit. I just unzipped his slacks and said hello to my little friend.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I thought you'd be prepared.” He walked back over to his pants pocket and returned, pulling the latex over his magic wand. “Bend over,” he said as he approached me, kneeling in front of the sofa. “Can I have this pussy, Sarai?”

“You know you can.” I was talking to Dwayne.

“Tell me.” He smacked my butt. He was really reminding me of my man.

“You can have this pussy,” I said in a very lustful tone. “It's all yours.”

“I'm fucking Dwayne's pussy, huh?” He rubbed the tip of his sword on my open wound and made my entire body tremble. He slipped in but quickly pulled it out, teasing me. “Sorry, Dwayne. This pussy is all mine tonight.” He plunged deep into me, and I let out a squeal.

Over the next hour, we moved from kneeling in front of the sofa to being on it. We went to the floor and then the bed.

Julian was a downright freak. He was also in great shape and worked me out for all the times I was too lazy to go to the gym.

After we were done, we lay side by side. He cradled me as I fell asleep, knowing that my body was aching from my acceptance of him.

As the sun began to rise, he kissed me on my back and woke me to have a little more. Afterwards, I drifted back into my sex-induced coma as he took a shower.

 

 

“Sarai.” I felt his fingers running through my hair. “Wake up.”

“What happened?” I opened my eyes and saw that Julian was fully dressed. “You're leaving?”

“Yeah.” He proceeded to the desk, sitting with his back toward me. “My flight is out of here at ten. Then I'm on a flight from Miami to Boston at two this afternoon.”

“Wow!”

Sexual acts from the night before played back in my mind, and I was ashamed. I'd probably never see or hear from him again.

“Have a safe trip.”

“Sarai, what is the spelling of your name, and what is your last name?” His back was toward me; he was leaning over the desk.

I was cheesing big. “
S-A-R-A-I
, and my last name is Emery,
E-M-E-R-Y
.”
Wow. Was he creating space for me in his cell phone? Maybe this isn't a one-night stand.

“Actually, I think it'll be better to use the name of your website. What is it?”

“
Y-O-U-P-L-A-N-M-Y-T-R-I-P
-dot-com.” I guessed having my web address in his cellular would be easier to explain, not that I expected a relationship with him, but the least he could do was call me if he was ever in Florida.

Julian stood up and walked toward the bed with a piece of paper that was way too long to be a business card. “Here you go.”

My mouth dropped open as I looked at the check written out to youplanmytrip.com for one thousand fifty dollars. “What's this?”

“It's for last night.” He smiled. “Thanks again.”

I didn't know if I should thank him or be offended. “What?” I was more confused than anything.

“Thanks,” he said. “You made me feel as though it was a real night out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean”—He sighed—“the last time I did this it just felt like I was paying for it.” He smiled. “But you were so real. At least until we got back here. Then the beast came out.” He laughed.

“What do you mean, ‘the last time'?” I sat up. “And why are you paying me?”

“Am I supposed to give it to Conrad?” he asked. “I wrote him a separate check. I always do.”

My heart fluttered. “Conrad?” My eyes sprung open. “Wait a minute!” I took a deep breath. “What in the hell is going on?” I looked at the check again. “What does Conrad have to do with anything?”

He glanced at his watch. “Look, I need to be on my way to the airport. Conrad and I agreed on the rate of fifteen hundred. He gets his thirty percent, which is four-fifty,” he said. “You get one thousand fifty. If you normally get more than that, then you need to take that up with him. But that is what I normally pay.”

I fell back against the pillow. “I'm not a fuckin' prostitute.”

“I know.” He kissed me on my forehead. “The politically correct term is
escort
. You're an
escort,
and a damn good one.”

I pushed his face away from mine. “I'm not a goddamn whore.” I jumped up from the bed naked and ran into the bathroom for my robe. “I'm not a whore.”

“I never called you one.”

“You're implying that I might be one. You just wrote me a check for sex.”

“What?” He seemed confused. “Would you rather cash?”

“No,” I cried out. “I didn't know that any of this was going on.” I hoped he believed me. “Conrad told me that you might be able to help me with my website.”

“Well, it looks like I just did.” He pointed at the check on the bed. “Sarai, I had a wonderful time. I need to get going.”

He gathered his things. “I'll get in contact with Conrad when I'll be in the area again. Maybe we can hook up. I'll be sure to bring Dwayne with me.”

He walked over to me and couldn't smell the hurt, embarrassment, and shame oozing from my pores. He kissed me on the cheek. “Stay sweet, Sarai,” he said as he walked away. He was out the door before I could say another word.

“When wealth is lost, nothing is lost;
When health is lost, something is lost;
When character is lost, all is lost.”

—German proverb

Bank Statement # 7

 

 

 

I
took a shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top. I was too upset to iron, afraid that I'd purposely burn myself as chastisement for being so ignorant. I called the front desk but didn't know the last name of this Conrad character, so they weren't able to tell me what room he could be found in. Maybe it was for my own good—my plan was to rip him a new asshole.

At 10:00 a.m., I was in the lobby, sitting patiently by the elevators with the check folded in my back pocket. Conrad would have to come down or be trying to get up to his room some time during the day. I couldn't believe that he was selling me without even telling me. Did he think that I was desperate?

I waited a little over two hours and heard the elevators cry “ding” many times, before the doors slid open and I saw the face I wanted to see. He was dressed in a navy suit garlanded with light-blue accessories.

I stood up as he walked toward me with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Emery.”

I couldn't say what I wanted to; the long waiting period had calmed me. I just took the check out of my pocket and placed it in his hand. “I can't believe you did that to me.” I turned and walked away.

“What are you doing?” He latched onto my arm and spun me around. “What are you doing?”

“I'm not being a whore, that's what I'm doing.” My words came out louder than I wanted them to.

He looked around to see if anyone was paying me any attention. “Let's talk,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to you.” I pulled away from him.

“Let me explain.”

“There isn't anything that you have to explain to me.” I gestured to the check in his hand. “Just take your fuckin' money and get the hell out of my face.”

I rushed to the elevators, and he was right behind me.

“So you're going to just let me keep your money?” He tried to whisper, because there were other guests waiting for the elevators. “That's stupid. You worked for this.”

I just stared at him until the elevator came. We got on with a group of people and exited on the seventh floor.

“Why are you following me?” I shouted as I walked to my room.

He was still a step behind me.

Before inserting my electronic key, I turned around. “What do you want?”

He extended to me the check with my name on it and $450 in cash. “I'll give you my share along with yours, if you'll just hear what I have to say.”

I stared at the money and the check. I was caught between a rock and a hard place—Here I was trying to pretend like I was so proud, when he already knew how badly I needed money. I snatched the check and the cash from his fingertips and opened the door. “You have fifteen minutes.”

“All I really need is ten.” He smiled as he straightened his tie and walked through the door.

“Start talking.” I sat on the couch and looked at my watch.

“How many times have you been to bed with a man and walked away with nothing?” he asked.

“That's none of your business.” I looked at my watch again. “Time is running out.”

He removed his jacket. “Instead of sleeping with a man and getting nothing but hurt, used, or abused, I give women the opportunity to turn the tables.” He smiled. “Stop giving up the goods for free and get paid.”

“Money isn't that serious to me.” As the words passed my lips, I realized that it was a lie.

“It is that serious, Sarai,” he said. “What in the hell are you going to do when you can't find a job in the allotted two months you've given yourself?”

I snapped, “I'll do something.”

He laughed. “You'll do what?” He didn't pause long enough for me to answer. “Are you willing to flip burgers? Want to make up beds at a hotel? You want to work as a cashier?—The economy is a piece of shit right now. Are you going to take your whorish man back just so he can pay the bills?”

“I'll do what I have to do.” I had no clue what I'd do. “I have a college degree.”

“You live in Miami and you don't speak Spanish, so that degree won't get you far.” He grinned. “It means nothing, and you know it.”

I had to think fast. “I'll start at the bottom at a station if I have to.”

He was laughing hard like I told a good joke. “You think other stations will hire you after all the drama you created at WBIG? You think other stations don't already know?”

“If it's not on radio, then so be it. I'll do what I have to do to get my bills paid.”

“Great,” he said with a smile. “That's the attitude to have.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?” I was getting back to the level of anger I was at before.

“You're going to have sex anyways, and you'll always have bills to pay. So why not incorporate the two?”

I didn't even bother answering.

“You're not a prostitute, you're a businesswoman. You are a walking, talking billboard; you are your own television commercial, and you're a very hot commodity.”

He sat next to me on the sofa. “You're a very driven person, smart, very funny, and extremely sexy.” He touched my hand. “Why would you let Julian come up here, fuck you, and go back to his wife without a care in the world? Why let him skip out of here to be a loving father and husband?” He stood up. “Hell no. Tax that bastard.”

“What he does isn't any of my business.”

“That's where you're wrong. It's your time, it's your body, and it's your business. Let him leave you with something. He couldn't go into a store and walk out with something without leaving some bills with the cashier, could he?”

“No.”

“So then why shouldn't he pay you?”

“Look, I just wish I would've known that I was being used.”

“You weren't being used, darling; you were given an opportunity.”

“But why me?”

“If not you, I would've gotten his regular.”

Julian's fine physique and face came to mind. “Why in the hell is he paying for sex?”

“He pays because he knows that my girls are clean, discreet, lots of fun, and he won't hear it on the streets tomorrow. Better yet, his wife won't hear it on the streets today.”

I laughed. “How do you know that I'm clean?”

“I know everything,” he assured me. “Including your middle name.”

“What is it?” I dared him.

“It's the word that brought your parents together.”

He couldn't know. “What word?”

“Jazz.” He spoke with certainty; he was right.

I stood up. “Who are you?”

He laughed. “I'm Conrad.”

“No.” I was nervous. “Tell me who you really are.”

“I'm Conrad Johnson.” He extended his hand as though we were meeting for the first time.

I shook his hand; then he graced me with a brief history of who he really was.

Conrad Johnson, a 50-year-old man, earned a living at what he called “profit-sharing.” The way he saw it was, he provided the clients, who provided an income for the women, who in turn “shared the profit” with him. He enticed young women with his charm and wealth, to turn them into employees. Their job was to sexually entertain men. He ran a very classy, reputable, and extremely profitable organization called the Elite Establishment.

He selected what he believed to be the best merchandise: women between the ages of twenty-one and thirty. They traveled to major cities during important events such as conventions, reunions, parties, and business meetings. Among the women, there was a high code of discretion, which was why Conrad's Elite Establishment was so popular. Names never leaked, prices were discussed privately, and his girls were never tacky enough to walk the street.

Conrad gained a thirty-percent profit from every “transaction.” Only under special circumstances would the money touch the hands of the woman. The men normally paid by credit card, check, cash, or money order to the establishment, then it deposited seventy percent into the woman's account. This was to avoid things appearing criminal. If one of Conrad's girls was working without his knowledge or without the man paying him first, it would result in a two-month suspension for the woman.

With girls working at all times all over the United States, Conrad never had to break a sweat. From a fully functional office in his home, his secretary took calls from members phoning to inform the Elite of their company's various events. They picked up a portion of the air, train, or rental car expenses in order to transport the girls to that city.

Conrad saw that the Elite girls stayed sexy and irresistible, but above all he stressed the importance of conducting themselves as ladies. His customers were mostly very wealthy African-American married men looking for excitement while they were away from home. The girls were considered “escorts,” but they did a lot more than frequent fine restaurants and clubs with their dates. They were encouraged to earn thousands in just one night by doing “whatever was asked.”

“The men that deal with me know that I don't half-step. They pay high prices for quality and discretion. They realize that in their professional positions, marriages or relationships, getting free sex could cost a lot more, like sexually transmitted diseases, unwanted pregnancies, divorce, and blackmail.” He paused. “These are men. Just like all men, they want to have sex with women that they find attractive, women that are wild, and women that are not like what they have at home.”

“They're all dogs,” I said, adding my two cents.

“So you've never cheated?”

Oops, he got me.
“What does that have to do with the price of cheese?”

“Everything,” he said. “Most men or women under the age of forty-five can't stand the thought of sleeping with one person for the rest of their lives. It doesn't mean that they don't love their husband or wife. They just have needs away from the relationship or marriage. It doesn't mean that they love the person they're doing it with. It's just the excitement of a different body, and releasing the sexual tension they've been suppressing.”

I hated to admit that he was sort of right. “Okay, I see where you're coming from.”

“Thank you,” he said with smile. “These men have no time to deal with jealous lovers or another relationship, having rumors sparked all over town. The grand he leaves on your pillow costs a hell of a lot less than a divorce where his wife walks away with half of everything he's worked for. These men pay high prices for beautiful women, but most of all, because they know that I don't kiss and tell, they're paying for confidentiality.

“This is not the love connection. You're not in it to think that you got yourself a man. You'll be in it to keep up your appearance, which will generate more business for yourself. But most importantly, you'll be able to stay in your apartment in downtown Miami, you can keep your truck, and your father's medical care will continue.”

“Are you trying to sell me on the Elite Establishment?” I joked.

“That's exactly what I'm doing.” He looked at the money in my hands. “Baby, you got enough money for another month's rent, in just a few hours.” He stood up and looked down on me. “Now that I see what you can do for me, let me see what I can do for you. Be a part of my establishment.”

I clapped my hands. “What a great speech.” I stood up and walked toward the door. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I opened the door.

“All right.” He grabbed his coat. “I can't force you. But at least keep the money.”

“One last question, though.”

“Shoot,” he said as he walked through the door.

“How did you know my middle name?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” He smiled. “If you change your mind, I'll have the answer to your question in the Cigar Bar tonight.”

I held my hand out and offered him a handshake to signify the end of our dealings. “It was nice meeting you, Conrad.”

I closed the door behind him then stared at the money, wishing that there were something I could do to undo the last two weeks of my life. I should've stayed in Orlando that night because what I didn't know about Damian wouldn't have had the opportunity to hurt me. I'd still have a job, and this vacation would've been a lot better.

Instead of playing the pity game with myself, I changed into a royal blue bikini, tied my black wrap skirt around my waist, and journeyed downstairs in search of the nearest pool. I needed to plunge into something therapeutic.

Once at the pool, I kicked off my sandals, undid my wrap, and dove into the far end of the pool, away from people. I swam back and forth like a shark was chasing me. When I got tired, I just floated about. The sun was shining down on me and I loved it.

When I bumped up to the pool's edge, I checked out the scenery. There were kids everywhere, and they all had one thing in common. Whether they were throwing beach balls, sliding down the waterslides, running through the sand, or swimming, they were all screaming.

I dipped my head below the water and was a little more thankful just to be alive. So what if I didn't have money? There were a lot of people that didn't, and they got along just fine. Actually, they were some of the happiest people I knew. I'd just have to learn how to get off my high horse; my whole life was a financial facade, a front that Damian footed the bill for.