Smoke and Mirrors (19 page)

Now that Carla had been given her walking papers and was out on the street where her ungrateful ass belonged, Paris relished in the notion that maybe the woman’s memory would be jogged about how rough and tough it could be out there. Carla had so easily forgotten the time when Paris had plucked the subjugated ingrate from a ruthless pimp that was beating her ass as if he was getting paid for that alone. Turning insane, the bitch had threatened to take the entire house down in flames after her banishment, making a big scene after Paris told her to kick rocks. Good riddance was the order of the day. Her substitution, however, had a promising future.

Marie was taking her sweet time, giddy with excitement as she entered the store. Paris was eager to take the spirited young Latina under her wing but the weather was so hot, even inside the vehicle, that she felt tested to the sweaty limit. She felt her make-up liquefy all over her face, making her skin tingle. This had to be one of the worse summers in L.A. history. She dabbed her face with an ivory Kleenex and asked Art to pump up the air conditioner to the max. As she sat there in silence, melting like a lit candle atop a fiery hearth, she found herself alone with her twisted, thorny thoughts. They rested on Smoke…

Specifically on when she’d seen him the day before. The man had stood in his damn foyer, no shirt, no shoes and a pair of distressed dark jeans that hit his long, muscular legs in all the right places. She’d never seen him dressed down before, and though she loved a man in a suit, that right there did something to her. He may as well have snaked his big hand up her gown and fingered her to orgasm, for his laid back appearance set her ablaze. His chest looked like it had been carved out of granite and he showcased a six-pack that she wanted to roll her tongue over, dip into every damn groove in between the clear definition of his taut, faintly tanned flesh.

Damn he is fine!

He was muscular, but not overly so, and looked like he could walk through a fucking brick wall unscathed. On top of that, for some odd reason, he’d seemed even taller, despite not having any shoes on his feet. She smiled and dropped her head a bit, toiling with the tissue on her lap as she sank deeper into her thoughts. She glanced at the make-up now stamped on the Kleenex and studied it, taking note of the light brown color against the white of the cotton.
That’s us…

Her cell phone shrieked an instrumental ringtone of Vanity, “Nasty Girl”. She grabbed hold of the iPhone and snapped it open while stifling a yawn.

“Hi, Tasha,” She glanced out the window, noting the cars going by.

“Hey Paris, just calling you to let you know that my guy cancelled but I have another one in like an hour.”

“Oh okay, did you have Bruce today? If my memory serves me correctly, that’s who was coming.”

“Yeah, he said something came up. Still out with Marie? I bet she is having a blast.” Tasha chuckled.

“She is.” Paris snickered. “She’s got stars in her eyes, but thank you for agreeing to help mentor her.” She tossed her glance back in the direction of the store, sighed, then leaned back on the black leather limousine seat.

“Of course, Paris, no problem…you know what?”

“What, sweetie?” Paris stifled another yawn, wishing she had time for a nap, but duty called.

“I want to thank you again for treating me and the other girls how you do. Marie is lucky she showed up at the right time, because most of us don’t get a Madam like you. I know I complain about stuff sometimes,” she said with sincerity, “but you are a really good Madam, Paris. The best. I remember when you approached me on the street. That was the day my whole life changed.”

Filled with emotion, Paris dropped her head, and ran trembling fingertips along her temples. This girl was not only an employee, but family.

“I would see you, and no one knew who you were at first. Some of the girls around me were in physical pain from standing on their feet for far too long. Others were so strung out, they were willing to give a blow job with no rubber for only five bucks!”

Paris nodded in agreement, recalling thinking at that time,

If these women are going to do this, like I did, why can’t we do it better?

“What I admire about you, Paris, is your business sense. You took your business knowledge from college, merged it with expertise of the damn streets, and set up shop.”

“I had to.” She laughed sadly. “After saving a bit of money from that nine to five I hated, I knew it was time to make a move.”

“Yeah, I remember the story well. You bought a bigger house and got rid of the one you’d been renting right after you graduated. You’d walk the streets late at night and place a business card in some of the girls’ hands. People started talking, but I didn’t know what you were doing right away. I figured you were some cop or one of those religious nuts wanting us to join their church.”

Paris shook her head, a crooked grin on her face. Tasha was right about all that happened and then some. Then, little by little, her phone began to ring and she’d conduct her sales pitch. She remembered it like yesterday, it would go a little something like this:

First, I want to thank you for calling me. My company is called, ‘Raven Rendezvous’ and I’d like to conduct an interview with you, but before we do that, let me tell you a few facts about me and RR. You called me for a reason. That means you know you have more to offer yourself than what you are currently getting from your pimp or by working independently. Secondly, you were hand selected. I see potential in you. Instead of having someone ride your ass, beat your ass, harass your ass, fuck your ass and then throw your ass out on your ass, you can run your own show. You can come live with me, and you will have privacy with your johns and be able to keep 37% of your money, versus the 5% or less that you probably are currently receiving. I can protect you and help you with the legal system, should that matter arise. You will have health insurance, including dental, after you have been with me for two months.

After one year, your take-home portion will go up to 45%. Your work clothing will be provided. You may purchase all of your lingerie, sex toys, lotions and lubricants via the company. Best of all, I’ve been where you’ve been, and I know where you’re going if you don’t get off those streets. You’ll either end up dead from a trick that is a lunatic, dead at the hands of your pimp, or dead from drug abuse or after contracting HIV and allowing it to turn into AIDS. With me, you’ll get doctor visits and compassion. All I ask is that you stay loyal, keep our private business out of your mouth, and not work the track. It is far too dangerous. All of your johns will come here, a safe haven. No more back alleys or cars where the police bust you or you are easily harmed and all alone, with no one to help. Now, how does that sound?

More times than not, these women took her up on her offer. Some were too terrified to leave their pimps, and she completely understood that fear. After six months, she had five girls living in her house, and all but one respected her and did as they were told. After five years, she had twelve, with ten more on a waiting list, so she decided to purchase an apartment building in which all of her girls could reside. She was doing shit the local pimps either didn’t have the wherewithal to accomplish, their money wasn’t good enough, their credit destroyed, had a police record so long it prevented them from owning anything at all, or were too strung out to even go that route. She was running the damn show.

Not all things were so splendid, however. Through the years, she’d been threatened and beaten up due to other pimps’ insecurity, jealousy and ugliness. So, making a decision, she’d gone and purchased her first gun, which she already knew how to use.

“I just think that we, as your girls should tell you more how we love and appreciate you, Paris. You aren’t trying to break our backs or rob us blind. That’s not common in the game.”

Paris was definitely not tooting her own horn, but she had to agree with Tasha’s sentiments. Most pimps, and a decent amount of Madams, would do all sorts of unscrupulous things to control their stable. It was a pimp’s and madam’s job to provide a bullshit concept called ‘guidance’—essentially a slow and steady mind fuck for the ignorant and insane.

“In part, Tasha, I owe my style of being a Madam to my experiences.”

“How so?”

“Well, due to my upbringing, I learned quickly the difference between a Beta and an Alpha Pimp and all the ones in between.”

“Oh yes, baby!” Tasha cackled. “That’s rule mothafuckin’ number one! The Alpha pimps are hardcore!”

Yet, they had a despicable magic about them.

“Paris, these damn Alpha pimps out here on the street could convince a nun that she’d fucked before in a past life, so she may as well continue and next time, get paid for it!”

Paris burst out laughing; it was funny but oh, so true. Tasha knew her way around the back alleys, the posh hotels and the government offices, stowed away like a mistress between meetings. She’d done and seen too much to not be hip to the game, and though she’d never vocalize it, Paris had to admit that due to this, and Tasha’s personality in general, she had a special fondness for Tasha that surpassed her relationships with her other ladies. And she was dead on about the Alpha Pimps, too. They were the worst, but the best, all at the same time.

An Alpha pimp would give a whore a percentage of the cut, but would often find excuses due to her ‘bad’ or ‘poor’ behavior to take it out of her next payment so that the bitch ended up having little of nothing left. Such a man would be so damn convincing, Hollywood moviemakers should have been beating his goddamn door down. But of course, it was easy to fool others when one has already fooled themselves…

When Paris came on the scene, her competitors soon realized she was there to say. They’d tried her, and she prevailed. Initially, she saw herself as a godsend to her stable. Some sort of savior, she’d even gotten a big head over it, walking about as if she shat out golden nuggets. But as time went on, she realized she was only a step or two above the pimps putting their hos on the track for they still lived in degradation. They still wrestled with emotional issues. She remained a prisoner of her own hidden emotions. No one could be all right after selling their pussy, their body, but it was all many of them had in order to survive.

“You saved me; you saved Marie, too;” Tasha praised, but little did the woman know, it didn’t make her feel good, boost her ego, make her head swell.

The words hit her in a new way, made her feel ashamed. In her mind, so many years ago, her philosophy was simple:
Someone has got to do it, may as well be me…

But those thoughts were now on the chopping block, an axe swinging above them, bludgeoning her internal rhetoric. Something had to change, but she didn’t know how. She was feeling different, a new sense of self emerged inside her, but it proved a hard, internal battle, and she feared she was losing before the race had even begun. She’d been out of the job market for so long, and her girls had nowhere to go should she up and leave.

But she was getting so very weary…

All of the calls about rouge Johns, attempted robberies, abuses… All of the girls who’d left and got strung out after she’d gotten them clean in a rehab… All of her issues with the police, despite the fact that many of them were some of her girls’ regulars. It was becoming way too much. She kept wrestling with herself, trying to understand why she couldn’t leave this lifestyle alone! The thoughts called to her, owned her hair lock, fishnet stock-ings and gun barrel. Her concerns were her prison, were her pimp. She felt at peace and at war in this environment, but how long could she keep up the battle?

“Well, didn’t mean to talk your ear off.” Tasha laughed. “Just wanted to give you an update and ask you to bring me some chicken tacos when you return!”

Paris burst out laughing.

“No wonder you were being so nice on the phone!” she teased. “Now the truth has come out. You wanted something!”

Tasha burst out laughing, “True, but I meant every word of it. Love you and see you when you get back.” And then, she disconnected the call.

Just that moment, the door opened, and Marie playfully hopped inside before Art had a chance to do the honors. She held two shiny salmon and beige colored bags, chock full of lacy, pink and black fancy panties and other assorted items, and showed them off, proud of her purchases.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Paris threw on a sweet smile, forcing herself to once again swallow her pain from her recent stroll down memory lane.

“Yes, I did. Thank you!” the twenty-five year old squealed.

They pulled away from the curb and headed to a taco joint to pick up a bite of lunch for themselves as well as her favorite girl, Tasha. Once there, she only ordered an iced tea and a small salad, for she had a date tonight, and he’d promised her a good time…

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