Snapped (11 page)

Toya dated several men, but each of them served a different
purpose. In addition to Alex, there was Larry, who Toya knew the longest and was most familiar with. They had been drinking buddies on Friday and Saturday nights for years. He had a long, picture-perfect penis and stamina like a man half his age. But he also had a live-in girlfriend and a son at home. He and Toya were friends with benefits, and neither of them ever tried to complicate that arrangement by involving feelings in the equation. Larry would come through with a bottle of Hennessy on a Saturday night, and it would be on and popping.

Last, there was Jameson Bartlett, an executive at Google who lived on the same block as Toya. His house was the big, sprawling one on the corner with the lawn that wrapped around from front to back and with four levels of luxury amenities. The house had been left to him and his older sister by their grandparents. His sister and her four-year-old daughter lived in the upstairs apartment. To Toya, he was nothing to stare at. In fact, they’d only struck up a conversation because he worked her nerves while riding the Long Island Rail Road to Midtown Manhattan one morning. The train had been crowded, and Jameson had sat next to Toya, squeezing his long six-four frame into the seat. Toya had given him a look of pure disgust as she was forced to put her Louis bag on her lap. Jameson had laughed, amused by how clearly her emotions were conveyed in her facial expressions. He loved black women and their bullshit. She hadn’t said a word, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was cursing him out in her head.

Jameson had apologized to Toya for inconveniencing her, and she had nodded. He struck up light conversation and that was when he impressed her. He was well spoken, using proper English and big words. And he seemed to have
amassed a considerable amount of success, considering the fact that he was only in his midthirties. Toya sized him up during their discussion, and couldn’t believe her eyes. True, it was Friday. Many companies allowed “casual Fridays.” Still, Toya couldn’t get past his pants, which were too short for his long-legged frame. Or his beady black sweater with
SEAN JOHN
screaming across the front of it. All of it was accentuated by his jacked-up haircut. She didn’t even dare to look at his shoes to see what he was working with. She could already tell that he was not the kind of guy she could ever be seen in public with. Her brother Derrick and her friends would have laughed her off the planet, especially with her high-maintenance ways. But his credentials impressed her. Before she knew it, she was accepting his invitation for dinner, except that she invited him to her house instead of going to some fancy, high-profile restaurant. She shuddered now at the very thought.

For their first date, Toya had him over on a Saturday night and she cooked a seafood feast. After dinner, she let Jameson feast on her, and she had never had her pussy eaten so well. He was a pro, no question about it. She couldn’t help the noises that escaped her lips as he licked and sucked her with perfection. She was sold. From that point on, every now and then, when the streetlights came on and the neighbors had gone to bed, she would invite Jameson over and command him to take her to ecstasy. She treated him like a slave, and he loved it.

Toya smiled and sighed as she thought about how wonderful her life was. She took no bullshit, she lived life on her own terms, and she was sitting pretty. Who could ask for anything more? Now if only she could get her hopelessly romantic friends to see things her way.

She drifted into bliss as Max massaged her stress away. She thought about her phone conversation with Dominique the night before. Dominique had been complaining that Toya was too condescending, too demeaning with her criticisms of her friends and their life choices. Toya knew that she often came across as mean or unapproachable. And she really didn’t intend to be that way. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that she had things all figured out and that everyone else should follow her program. She had explained to Dominique that she wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings when she pointed out that she was a “dumb bitch” for the hundredth time. She was only trying to get her friend to see that she was too good to be putting up with the likes of Jamel. But Toya had done something she rarely did—she apologized. She told Dominique that she would try to tone down her criticism of her love life. “From now on, I won’t say shit about the convict. Not a single word.” She knew it was bullshit. But it had made Dominique feel better, so the white lie was worth it.

When her spa session was over, Toya stepped out into the crisp autumn air and took a deep breath. Instead of heading for the subway, she decided to treat herself and she hailed a taxi. “Third Street, Park Slope,” she called to the driver as she climbed into the backseat. While heading for her home in Brooklyn, she gave Jameson a call. She pulled out her iPhone and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, sexy,” he said.

“Hello,” Toya replied, crossing her legs and getting comfortable in the backseat of the cab. “Come over to my house at seven.”

Jameson chuckled, tickled that she was ordering him
around. As a high-powered exec, he was the one calling the shots most of the time. But this sex kitten Toya was happy only when
she
was the one in control. Jameson loved it. He was happy to let her be her usual dominant self.

“Okay. For what?” he asked.

She looked out the window as they crossed the bridge. “So you can eat my pussy,” she said.

The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror, stunned. Toya ignored him and acted as if he didn’t even exist.

“I’ll leave the door open,” she continued. “Just come on in.”

“That sounds good. I—”

“When you get there, don’t say shit! Just come in and find me, get on your knees, and eat my pussy.” She knew the cab driver was listening, so she decided to have him drop her off at the liquor store a block from her house just to be on the safe side. That way his nosy ass wouldn’t know where she lived.

Jameson was aroused already. “Okay,” he said simply. “See you at seven.”

Toya hung up the phone and smiled. There wasn’t a single aspect of her life that she would want to change. Her love life, her career, her life as a single, successful New York City woman—she controlled it all. Her destiny was in her own hands. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Camille watched Frankie
pace the floor and couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her husband was. Dressed in just a wifebeater and a pair of Antik jeans, he walked back and forth
across the bedroom floor with the phone in one hand and a cigar in the other. To Camille, he had never looked sexier.

“I can’t wait till next week, son. I need it now. I’m agreeing to take less than what you owe me, even though we both know that’s bad business. The least you can do is get the shit to me when I need it. Friday. No later than Friday, four o’clock.”

Camille smiled as Frankie closed his mystery deal. It was times like these that she felt so lucky that he was her husband. He exuded power and strength. She loved him so much. Lately, things between them had been a little tense. Camille was longing for children, and Frankie was seldom home long enough to make any. All he did was grind, and she appreciated that. After all, they were living in very plush surroundings while many of their friends were struggling to make ends meet. Still, Camille longed for the old days when they just had to be near each other. They’d been inseparable once. And she would do anything in the world to get that back.

Ever since the barbecue, Camille had been determined to put the spark back in her marriage. Hearing Frankie tell another woman that he loved her, no matter how innocently he may have meant it, caused Camille to feel more insecure than ever. Whether she wanted to or not, she couldn’t help thinking about the things Toya had said. What if Frankie had begun to see Gillian as more than just a friend? She had made love to Frankie that night, and many nights thereafter, with a passion that he hadn’t seen from her in a long time. And things had gotten better between them in the weeks since then, but Camille was still hoping to change Frankie’s mind about making a baby.

But whenever Camille talked about this, Frankie couldn’t help wondering if her yearning for children was the only thing that fueled her passion for him each night. The thought of having a child scared him, though Camille couldn’t seem to get that through her head.

He hung up the phone and walked over to the ashtray sitting on top of the dresser. He snuffed out his half-finished cigar and came and sat beside her on the bed.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. Frankie never divulged any details of his business to her. He said it was for her own good. The less she knew, the better. And Camille rarely pressed him for details that he didn’t volunteer.

True to form, he didn’t tell her much. “Yeah. Gillian put me on to this dude and he’s playing games. It’s all good. Nothing to worry about.” He kissed her and she pulled him on top of her. Frankie ran his fingers through her long hair, and Camille was ready for him to take her to paradise.

But Frankie pulled back and sat up. “I’m going out,” he said. “There’s a poker game at Mikey’s house and I can’t miss it.”

Camille sighed and couldn’t hide the look of disappointment on her face. It was only six o’clock, and already he was leaving her. “Come on, Frankie,” she moaned. “You’ve been out every night this week. I miss you.”

He smiled at her. “I know.” He saw the sad expression on his wife’s face and playfully tapped her. “Don’t be like that. I’ll spend more time at home after this. I don’t mean to neglect you, ma.”

Camille shook her head. “It’s not just that,” she said. “You won’t even discuss the baby thing anymore. We’re getting older, Frankie. I’m ready for a baby and I think you should at least talk about it with me.” Camille was kinda
pissed. If she had known that Frankie was going out again, she could have accepted Toya’s invitation to join her for a massage at one of the best spas in the city. Instead, she’d be spending another night alone.

Frankie was annoyed that she was back on her baby shit. “Really . . .” He sat down on the bed and leaned in close to her. She smiled, thinking he had changed his mind about going out. That wasn’t the case at all. “Why do you keep bringing up this baby shit, Camille? Seriously.”

The look on his face was so menacing that Camille felt her heart pause.

“You think having a kid is gonna make everything perfect?” Frankie was looking at her like she disgusted him.

Camille seemed shocked by the question. She shook her head. “Everything is perfect now.”

Frankie nodded. “So what do we need a baby for?”

She responded meekly. “I’m just saying—”

“I understand what you’re saying. I’ll cut back and spend more time at home. But I’m getting tired of you constantly talking about kids. That’s not what I want right now. All right?”

Camille felt like she should apologize, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She should have never said anything to begin with. “All right,” she said, hoping that she hadn’t pissed him off too badly. She wished she had just kept her big mouth shut.

Camille never wanted to fight with Frankie out of fear that she could easily be replaced. She lived a life of luxury. No working, no school, no responsibilities other than to make her man happy and to represent him well. While most of the other women she knew had to work long hours and live by strict budgets to get by, Camille was living without
those obligations and boundaries. The last thing she wanted was to be replaced with the next bitch.

“I just love you, that’s all.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “I love you, too.” Picking his shirt up off the chair, he retrieved his cigar and headed out the door, leaving Camille praying that she hadn’t rocked the boat.

Toya sat up in bed and lit a cigarette. She glanced over at Jameson and wondered how a man who was such a cornball could eat her pussy like such a champ. “You’re the type of guy who’ll make a bitch pass out, Jameson.” She exhaled the smoke. “I like that.”

He laughed. “I know you like it.” He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and got comfortable in her big beautiful bed. Toya watched him get cozy and frowned. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that he could make himself at home in her sprawling Brooklyn brownstone. This was no long-term relationship. Jameson was her jump-off, no more, no less. He worked for Google and lived in a house that made Toya’s swanky home look modest. Still, she wasn’t impressed enough by that to let this son of a bitch spend the night.

“I don’t like it that much, muthafucka. Don’t get all comfortable in my bed!”

Jameson opened one eye and looked to see if she was serious. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I can’t spend the night?”

“No!” Toya took another toke of her Newport. “There will be none of that!”

Jameson propped himself up on one elbow. “Why not?”

Toya put her cigarette out and stood up. Her bathrobe was wide open, revealing her big breasts, flat stomach, and perfectly trimmed bush. “Because I said so.” She picked up his clothes and set them on the edge of the bed. “I don’t do sleepovers.”

Jameson was offended. “Damn!” he said. “It’s like that?” He sat up in bed and waited for her to say that she was only joking. But he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t playing. Toya was a woman who spoke her mind freely regardless of the circumstances. They had met a year earlier. Their relationship wasn’t serious—no dates, no long phone calls, and no “I love you’s.” Instead, it was simple. They called each other when they needed a sexual fix, and that was that. Hearing Jameson question their arrangement made Toya wonder what was wrong with him.

“Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can get together when I get back from the gym.” Toya walked out of the room, leaving Jameson to get dressed by himself. She went down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Bacardi and gave a doggy treat to her cute Pomeranian, Ginger. Jameson climbed out of her bed in silence, feeling slightly rejected. This was an unwelcome change of pace.