The Secrets of Silk (7 page)

The room stank of dirty socks and armpits, but that didn't deter Silk. She had stripped down to her panties before Julius had even taken off his shoes. She pushed him on the bed and climbed on top of him, gyrating, while her tongue traveled from his neck to his ear. With her lips cupped around his earlobe, she used the tip of her tongue to sensually probe the small orifice. Heated up, Julius moaned as he caressed Silk's tummy and breasts.

“You want some poontang?” she whispered.

“Some what?” Julius's voice was hoarse with lust.

She reached for his hand and steered it down to her crotch. “Poontang,” she repeated.

“Oh, yeah, I definitely want some of that.”

“I wanna give it to you, but I can't…” She tugged at his crisp, white uniform. “You can't get to this poontang with those sailor pants on.” She rolled off him and sat back on her haunches, rubbing her crotch circularly. Smiling alluringly, she slowly pulled her knee caps apart, welcoming him into the space between her opened thighs.

Tripping over his pant legs, Julius hurriedly removed his uniform. Easing Silk down until she was flat on her back, he positioned himself on top of her and awkwardly attempted to get his dick inside her.

“I like to be on top,” Silk said, gently nudging him with the palms of her hands. “I'm the driver and you're the car.”

“I'll be the car, as long as I'm a Cadillac,” Julius said with a chuckle. They switched places, and as Silk expertly guided his stiffened member into her moist warmth, she began bucking and humping desperately.

“Whew! I didn't figure you'd be such a wild cat.” Julius smiled in wonder and appreciation of his good luck.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” she moaned. “So much blood, so much blood,” she murmured, replaying the murders of Nathan Lee and the exterminator in her mind. She blocked out the imagery of what she'd done to Big Mama.

“What're you saying about blood?” Julius asked worriedly, halting his thrust. “It's not that time of the month, is it?”

“Naw. Keep fucking me, boy; don't stop 'til I tell you to!” she demanded, riding him savagely until they both collapsed and lay panting, trying to catch their breath.

Julius pulled himself up, sat on the edge of the bed, and lit up a Chesterfield cigarette. Silk swigged down more bourbon, trying
to rid herself of the memory of Big Mama grunting in determination as she struggled to use her last bit of strength to hex her. She wondered what kind of curse Big Mama had put on her. Whatever it was, it had to be mighty powerful being that it was done while in the act dying.

Feeling the afterglow of good sex, Silk smiled as she chugged down more liquor. One thing was for sure: Big Mama's curse hadn't messed with her nature.

“You want some more?” Silk offered the half-filled bottle of Wild Turkey to Julius.

He waved his hand, declining. “Girl, you're something else. You can eat and drink a man under the table.”

“And I got a nature that's stronger than most men,” she said with a smirk.

“Are you trying to say that you can fuck me under the bed, too?” Julius said with humor.

“I'm ready to go again, what about you?” Silk said challengingly.

“Let me take a quick nap. Fifteen minutes is all I need to get my engine revved up.”

“I'm gon' hold you to it,” she said, glancing at the alarm clock next to the bed. Julius dozed off quickly and Silk was left with her thoughts.

Why'd you try to delay me by asking for the special treatment when you
knew I needed to make fast tracks? Why, Big Mama?
Silk wiped away the tears that slid down her face and straightened her shoulders.

She turned the bottle up to her lips again and took big swallows of the burning liquid. Every time she thought about Big Mama, she took another sip, drinking herself into oblivion. Sprawled on the bed next to Julius, she was barely conscious when someone knocked softly and then used a key to enter the shabby hotel room.

In that shadowy state between wakefulness and sleep, she imagined Big Mama was on top of her getting some thrills, but when someone jammed a hard dick inside her, she remembered that Big Mama was dead. Silk cracked an eye open and glanced at Julius, who was still asleep beside her. Though confused as to who was fucking her, that bewilderment didn't prevent her from accommodating her mystery lover with widened thighs and energetic pelvic thrusts.

At some point she heard angry male voices. She sat up a little and drunkenly observed Julius and his sailor buddy throwing punches at each other.

“What are you boys fighting about?” she inquired in a slurred voice.

“I caught him raping you,” Julius said in a voice full of indignation.

“I didn't rape her; she gave it to me willingly,” Hank retorted.

“No need to be at each other's throats. There's more than enough poontang for y'all to share,” Silk offered with a drunken smile.

“See! I told you she gave it up on her own free will.” Hank glared at Julius.

“She doesn't mean it; that's the liquor talking.” Julius covered Silk's nude body with the sheet.

She flung the sheet off. “Who's next?”

“Ain't gotta ask me twice.” Hank dove on top of her. Silk welcomed him by wrapping her legs around Hank's waist.

“I can't watch this,” Julius uttered in disgust. “I'll wait in the bathroom…call me when it's my turn.”

The fact that Silk drifted in and out of consciousness didn't bother Hank. He didn't require her awareness or active participation to have a good time. Proving to have more stamina than Julius, Hank went quite a few rounds with Silk before collapsing next to her prone body in exhaustion.

“We better start packing up and head back to the naval base,” Hank said, breathing heavily.

“What about her? We can't leave her in this condition,” Julius said worriedly.

“She needs to sleep it off. She'll be all right in the morning…isn't that right, Sweet Cakes?” Hank patted Silk's derriere.

“Mm-hmm. I need to sleep it off,” she mumbled drunkenly, and snuggled beneath the covers.

S
unlight invaded the hotel room and cut across Silk's face. She grimaced and muttered profanities as she placed a forearm over her eyes, trying to block out the unwanted light. Flopping onto her belly, she pulled the covers over her head and attempted to go back to sleep, but the sunrays were strong and relentless, forcing her to sit up and face the new day.

Disoriented, her blurry eyes bounced around the unfamiliar room, landing on an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and an empty pack of Chesterfields. Next, she zoomed in on a nearly empty bottle of Wild Turkey, which jogged her memory. That sailor boy had brought her here. She jerked her head back and forth, wondering where the hell he'd gone. Her mouth was dry and her breath smelled like pig guts. She picked up the bottle of liquor and used the last dregs of bourbon as a mouthwash, swishing it around in her mouth, and then spitting it back into the bottle.

She wondered if that sailor boy, whose name she couldn't recall, was in the bathroom. “Hey, sailor? Are you in there taking a crap?” There was no answer, and her full bladder demanded relief, so she swung her legs off the bed. At home she would have simply reached for the chamber pot, but that wasn't an option this morning.

The bathroom could have used a good scrubbing down, but she'd seen worse. She squatted down on the toilet seat and relaxed her
muscles, releasing an everlasting stream of urine. In the midst of pissing, there was a thunderous pounding on the hotel-room door.

“Who is it?” She figured that sailor fella had probably gone out to get her some coffee and breakfast and had most likely left his key behind. “Hold your horses,” she called out in irritation.

“Check-out time,” yelled a surly voice.

She came out of the bathroom and pulled the threadbare blanket off the bed and covered herself with it before opening the door. “Say, what?” she questioned the beer-bellied white man standing outside the door.

“Check out time was at ten. If you're staying another day, you have to pay in advance.” He held a receipt book in his hand, and a pen was tucked behind his ear.

“This ain't my room; I'm visiting that sailor boy…you know, whatshisname.” That damn sailor hadn't been as good-mannered as he'd appeared, cutting out on her without so much as a goodbye.

“Pay up or hit the road,” the man said, speaking to Silk as if she were a derelict.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the honky that he could kiss her ass and keep his funky ol' room, but then she remembered that she needed a place to stay. “How much does this room cost?”

“Two dollars a day, the weekly rate is twelve bucks.”

Silk pondered the options and decided to pay for only one day. As soon as she found a night spot where highfalutin' Negroes frequented, she'd find herself a Cadillac-driving sugar daddy who'd set her up in style. Meanwhile, she'd use the money that was stacked inside her luggage very sparingly, in case she ever fell on hard times.

“So, what's it gonna be?” the beefy white man inquired irritably.

“I'll pay for a day. Hang on; I got two dollars in my purse.” Silk
scanned the room, wondering what she'd done with her patent leather clutch. She scowled when she located it on the floor with the clasp open. She'd obviously had a wild night, and hoped she didn't have to get down on her knees and scrounge underneath the bed, searching for the scattered contents of her purse.

“Dammit,” she muttered when she picked up her purse and discovered it contained only a comb, a tube of lipstick, a few scraps of paper, and a stick of chewing gum. Although alarm bells were sounding in her head, she chose to ignore them. Down on her knees, she lifted the tangled bed covers and peeked beneath the bed. Unwilling to accept what her eyes could clearly see, she stretched out her arm and felt around the dusty floor, grasping nothing but cobwebs.

She stood up, and with a burst of strength brought on by desperation, she shoved the bed several feet across the room. She swiped a hand across her face. The money that had been tucked inside her purse hadn't fallen under the bed, nor had the key to the locker. In a panic, she yanked the sheets off the bed. Frantic, Silk's eyes swept the room, but the key was nowhere to be found. Her eyes glistened, but she stubbornly refused to allow them to fill with tears. Crying meant she'd given up, and she hadn't. The key to that locker had to be somewhere in the room.

She overturned a waste bin and poked around in the rubbish.

The man with the receipt book stepped inside. “What're you doing, Miss? Cut it out before I charge you extra for trashing the place.”

Arriving at the terrible conclusion that she'd been robbed of all her worldly goods, Silk wrung her hands and said in a distressed tone, “Listen, mister. Those two sailors who rented this room robbed me. Can you give me their full names and addresses? I need to locate those fellas.”

“No one who checks in here gives out their true identity,” he said, slightly amused by Silk's dilemma. “You can go to the nearest police precinct and fill out a theft report if that'll make you feel better, but I'm going to have to ask you to clear out of this room in the next five minutes.”

Her heart began to pound. She was penniless and without shelter in a strange city filled with smooth-talking wolves in sheep's clothing.

•  •  •

Unwilling to give up easily, Silk found her way back to the bus terminal. She searched the banks of lockers, looking for number 105. Her heart jumped when she saw it. The door was closed with the key jutting outward. Mistaking that as a good sign, she yanked the locker door open, but her shoulders sagged when she found it empty. Those damned sailors had made off like bandits with her windfall of money.

Hit with a burst of enlightenment, she came to the conclusion that Big Mama had put a money-loss curse on her. Folks from Devil's Swamp preferred a harsh illness or the love-gone spell over the dreaded money-loss curse. Silk covered her face with both hands and shook her head in regret. Somewhat dazed by her tragic predicament, her knees were about to give out. She took a seat on a bench and sat amongst the travelers in the bus terminal.

Having nowhere to go, she stared into space as if entranced. The aggravating sound of a baby crying snapped her out of the altered state, and she was suddenly reminded of Clara and her cranky baby.

Like a dog digging for a bone, Silk plowed through the various slips of paper in her purse until she found the receipt with Clara's brother's telephone number.

Silk gave a quick sob story to an old woman sitting next to her and asked if she could bum a dime to make a phone call. Even though the woman agreed with a sympathetic smile, Silk wanted to backhand her for taking so long to give her the coin that jangled along with others inside a handkerchief that was tied in a million tight, little knots.
You'd think that in a big city like Philadelphia, folks would be modern enough to keep their small change in a coin purse instead of a wrinkled, old, knotted-up handkerchief.