Smoke and Mirrors (27 page)

Paris was graceful, controlled, cool under pressure, took care of her business, and always managed to come out on top. Born from pimp and prostitute stock, this shit was in her damn DNA. And now, the self-serving bitch had stolen her man. Felicia made a decision at that moment. If his ass didn’t come back to her, make this right, she’d leave. No questions asked. He knew damn well no one else in his stable could run the house like she could. The ultimatum hung in bold letters on the horizon. He’d be in a world of hurt and if anyone found out he was fucking and getting all googly eyed over a Madam, he’d seethe at the teasing that would ensue and he’d lose street cred. His reputation would be flushed down the damn toilet.

She continued to look out the window, letting the minutes roll by. A slow tear ran down her face, but she didn’t wipe it away for it reminded her she was alive, this was happening, and the shit was real. Her man wasn’t coming home anytime soon. She could feel it. Smoke had done the unthinkable. He’d run off and fallen in love…

*

“Why did you
drag me out here?” Smoke chuckled as he looked at his huge plate of fluffy buttermilk pancakes and turned it slowly from the left and right, studying it like one of his model airplanes. “I could have made this for you, you know. Instead, you want to show off and bring me to this fancy place, shake your money around,” he teased as he placed his short glass of orange juice to his lips. The pulpy grit raced up the side as he tilted it just so. If only it were filled with the climactic liquor of her pussy that he’d relished all evening and morning long, but for now, he simply had to settle for this.

“Look.” Paris said between chews of her Belgian waffle doused in pecan syrup. She wore a satisfied smile on her beautiful face, proof that he was like milk with extra vitamin D; he’d done the damn woman’s body good. “They have the
best
breakfast in town. We worked up an appetite.” She grinned. “My housekeeper doesn’t work today so neither you nor I would be messing up my kitchen. No, sir! I’m a clean freak.” The woman sliced into her waffle and sank her fork into the gooey piece of waffle.

“Hmmm, is that so?” He winked at her before taking another sip and returning his glass to the table. “I believe it.” He shot a quick glance around the place and lowered his voice for her ears only. “Especially with the way you cleaned my dick dry this morning. Goddamn, woman!” He was suddenly having flashbacks of the woman’s head game.
The rumors were definitely true…

She smiled proudly, as if she’d been nominated for an Oscar. She sure should have been; she deserved that and more. But soon, she went back to eating. Clearly Paris didn’t give a flying fuck about her notorious reputation, evident by her dismissal of his compliment as she dug her fork into her scrambled eggs and took a hearty bite.

“Smoke, can I ask you a personal question?”

He nodded as he picked up his cellphone, seeing yet another call from Felicia that he was prepared to ignore.

“Sure, what’s up baby?” He kept his eye on the phone, which was now being besieged by angry text messages from the woman.

SMOKE! WHERE ARE YOU?

I THOUGHT YOU RAN THIS DAMN HOUSE?

WHO ARE YOU FUCKING? I KNOW YOU’RE BALLS DEEP IN SOME BITCH’S PUSSY!

WHO ARE YOU WITH? IT SURE ISN’T ME!

He grimaced and placed the phone on vibrate, returning it to the table, face down.

“You know, this whole thing between us is new to me, and I’m just learning as I go.” She covered her mouth with one hand to block the food she’d shoved inside.

“Me too, Pussycat.”

“Yeah, in that aspect though, just like my work, and all that I do, I like to research
everything
, unlock every hidden detail. It unnerves some people.” She swallowed heartily then picked up her glass of cranberry juice and took a small sip before continuing. “But, because we’re doing this, you know, trying to move forward together, that means we need to do some catching up, feel each other out…just like you asked of me, last night.”

“I agree. I have no problem with that.” He waved the waitress over, wanting a refill on his coffee. “I’m always going to be real with you. This is
me
right here, Brent, not Smoke.” He pointed to himself.

She nodded in understanding.

“That’s good because I want you to tell me who I’m
really
in love with, Smoke. Some parts of you are a complete mystery.”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to catch and hold onto her drift. Seemingly sensing his confusion, she leaned in, placed her hand on the table, and elaborated.

“Tell me about where you grew up, what it was like? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve let me in some, I can feel it, and I applaud your efforts but I want to understand how you came to be the person that I smile about in my dreams.”

He gave a weak smile as he cocked his head to the side and sighed.

“I knew of your father, I think
everyone
did. You look so much like him too,” she grinned, a bit of sorrow in her expression. “I didn’t even know he had a son though, but of course, I was still a kid back then and then I left and went to college, removed from the life. When I returned, I heard he had passed. I’m sorry…”

Smoke glanced out the window and crossed his arms. Cars moved about, but he only saw blurs… He wanted to escape, fly away from the current scene. He thought he was ready, but was dead wrong. Leave it to Paris to not only dig, but dig deep. What did he expect? He’d done the same exact thing to her. Did he not believe she’d be coming for his ass in due time? He was still swimming in the afterglow of their sexual marathon. They’d been fucking practically non-stop steady since he stepped foot into her house, until twenty minutes before they’d left the place to get a bite to eat. Hyped and amped, his mind now floated in a pleasant fog. But suddenly, the smoke had cleared…

What he loved about her, her curiosity and fine-tuned perception, had turned on him, causing him to hate those traits which reflected his own personality. She was everything he was in female form, with a few twists along the way. And she was right. If she was going to take a chance on them, she deserved to know about from whence he came. He needed her to take a chance on him, too, and she finally had; there was no point in derailing everything, fucking up his long, hard efforts.

“Alright.” He swallowed, placed both palms on the table and decided to handle this shit head on. “I grew up in Monroe, Ohio… Ohio is the birthplace of aviation. That little detail means something to me.” He offered a slight grin as he cleared his throat.

She shook her head, encouraging him to continue.

“Thanks,” he said to the waitress as she poured fresh coffee into his cup. “Monroe is a strange place.” He took a breath. “It’s not quite Southern in the way many believe, you know.” He leaned a bit forward, feeling the swirls of heat rising from his mug and warming his face. “There’s a lot of land, and it is just small town America. Some would call me white trash, some would call me a hillbilly, and that’s fine. I don’t really care because no one defines me but me, but I’m no redneck.” He stroked his chin as he deliberated and looked into her eyes. Paris gave a light chuckle before biting into her slice of bacon.

He traced the table with his fingertip, gearing up to continue, to expose his core—to reveal more of the
real
Brent to her.

“My parents had a shotgun wedding. Now, my mother’s version of this varies from my father’s. … My mother told me they were madly in love; my father said no, he got her pregnant with me and tried to do the right thing. Regardless, the truth is probably somewhere in the middle. They had bad blood between one another, so as the years passed, drugs came into the picture, as well as bitterness and pride. People sometimes see their past differently than how it actually occurred, and things just never fully recovered. It is what it is.”

“Yes, I understand.” She nodded in sympathy, her expression soft and comforting.

“So anyway, things were not good for me in Monroe.” He sighed. “Not that I thought I was better than anybody, but I always felt like it was too small for me, that I wouldn’t get anywhere in life if I stayed there. I knew that if I reached adulthood there, it would be so ingrained in me, I’d never leave, like so many others. I kept begging my mother to let me go live with my father, but she refused. She didn’t know he was a pimp though by the time she conceded and let me go. If she had, I think it’s safe to say she would have never let that happen.

“Regardless… wait a minute, let me back track a bit.” If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. “My mother and I were very poor, Paris. When I say poor, I don’t mean California poor, I’m talking
no
food in the house, lights off, about to be evicted poor. We lived in run down rental homes or busted out trailers for the most part. Sometimes there was no running water. It sucked. I wanted to look nice. I wasn’t materialistic by a long shot, but like a lot of kids, I wanted clean clothes, preferably ones that were in fashion. Instead, all of my shit came from the Salvation Army or discount stores and my toes would hurt real bad because my shoes were always too small.

“You see how fucking tall I am…” He laughed mirthlessly. “I was going through shoes faster than rain falls from the sky. My mama couldn’t keep up with that. Everything on me was far more expensive because I was taller than most of my peers. One time I remember walking to school and feeling wetness on the bottom of my foot because the sole was so worn out, my skin was completely exposed, and I didn’t even know it until the rain came… It was real cold, too. I ended up getting frostbite.”

Paris tilted her head to the right, and her eyes glossed over as she reached for his nervous, tapping fingers.

“So, anyway, that’s just how it was. I knew there had to be something better. I was a bit naïve though, so when I got to California, this place was like a whole ’nother world to me. I was fifteen, but acted probably ten or twelve and by the time I was here a year, Paris, I had aged ten years. I saw so much in that short period of time, I had no choice but to grow up.” He touched his chest earnestly. “I’d been robbed, mugged, beaten up. I never told my father, because I was so afraid he’d think I was some pussy. I wanted to act like a man around him. I really looked up to him, you know? He had a bunch of women,
nice
looking women, too. He had a lot of money, too, and I didn’t have to worry about shit anymore. Even better, he and I got along really well. We rarely argued. I was so much like him, I hated that my mother hadn’t let me visit him earlier in my life. Instead, she kept me tied to her in that depressing little house.

Dad was in prison anyway…wouldn’t have worked out…

“So, Paris.” He clasped his hands, “All in all, that’s what I came from. I am the son of an egotistical, somewhat confused, pretty boy pimp and a psychotic, emotionally deranged mother who despite all of that, in some twisted way—they both loved me.

“You know they say all pimps have mother issues.” She looked at him with a keen eye, pushing, pulling, going where he had the door sealed, fastened, glued and nailed shut.

He shrugged, took a sip of his coffee and placed it back down.

“I believe that is more true than false.” She offered as she continued to probe.

“Hell, maybe we do.” He sucked his teeth and shrugged. “It would make sense. Our first time dealing with a woman is with our mothers, you know? If she fucks up, that sets the bar in a young boy’s mind. The only problem is, if you don’t
know
she’s messed up, then your thinking gets kind of warped.” He made a circular motion close to his head, as if he were confessing to being psycho. “I’ll be the first to admit to you that I’m fucked up, Paris.” He chuckled sadly before looking away, feeling vulnerable. He hated that. He was making himself ill and if he saw his reflection in the window, he’d be tempted to bust it out with his bare fists.

“Why don’t you take a minute or two, or we can stop talking about it altogether…” She rested her hand completely on his, so in tune with him, compassion in her eyes. She could certainly sense he wasn’t digging this part of the conversation. Matter of fact, his spine seemed to lock up, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into his own worthless self, like a turtle inside of its safe shell.

“Nah, nah, I’m going to finish… I’m going to finish because I love you.”

He didn’t miss the way her cheeks warmed with color as he uttered those words. He was determined to see this through to the end. He wanted this woman; they’d made a commitment to one another. Now was the time to be honest, before he was in so much deeper, to the point that it would hurt all the more if she pulled away.

“You asked.” He paused, worked through his thoughts. “So I’m going to give you what you want.”

“Okay…” She ran her hands over his a bit more. “I’m still listening, baby.”

“Paris, I’m going to tell you some things now, some things I have
never
told anyone else. Because you’re worth it.”

He immediately noticed a sad smile crease her face as she slowly nodded.