West End Girls (22 page)

Unique couldn't wait to get downtown to Derrick's office. She could bring all the kids and he never even cared. It was funny how taking them all on the bus to his office didn't even seem troublesome. He'd be waiting with a smile at the bus stop in front of the office. Marquis even went once. They didn't talk as much as she would have liked, but Marquis was actually respectful and said thank you when Derrick fed them at the restaurant. He'd spent nearly thirty dollars on lunch at Sizzler. Marquis ate like a king, and it warmed Unique's heart to see him enjoying his food that way. She loved her baby boy and wanted him to know something better than the life of drugs, violence, and jail that lay in front of him every day. It was all there waiting for him. Maybe he was an angry boy, but Unique was even angrier that he had no hope.

“Where's Marquis?” Derrick asked.

Marquis had said he had something to do with one of his friends, and Unique decided she wasn't gonna push him. “He didn't want to come today.”

“Well, that's unfortunate because I really wanted to talk to him. I've started coaching this little league team and I wanted him to be a part of the project.”

“Baseball?”

“Yeah. He'd be great. All his pent-up emotions, shoot, he'd knock that ball into next week.” Derrick laughed, pretending to hit a ball.

Cammie laughed too and then did something inappropriate. Unique saw it. As they walked toward the building, she touched Derrick's on his thigh, real close to the crotch area. She did it on purpose. Derrick pretended it was an accident, Unique could tell.

“I'm just gonna check my messages, and then we can head to lunch, okay.”

Derrick left them down in the lobby, as was usual. No sense in giving them folks something to gossip about. Besides, they weren't dating or anything. Unique sighed at the pleasant thought of being with someone nice and sweet like him.

“I want Derrick to be my daddy,” Cammie said.

“What?”

“I don't want Curtis to be my daddy anymore. I want Derrick. Curtis hurts me too much, and I don't like it.”

Unique's head spun for a second. “Excuse me?”

“Curtis makes her cry when he comes in the room at night. He be”—Gina stuck out her tongue and swirled it around—“climbing on her and then he be”—she then thrust her hips forward.

“No, he don't!” Cammie screamed, covering her mouth, and backing away from where they were standing.

Unique said in a high pitch, “Cammie, what is Curtis doing to you?” Her heart was speeding up, and her legs were moving her closer to her child.

Cammie's eyes widened as Unique got closer. People were coming from the elevators, looking, observing, wondering what scene was playing out.

“What did he do?” Unique screamed.

“Nothing.” Cammie backed away toward the door.

“He touched her in her private place,” Gina said. “He touched me the other night, but he likes to touch Cammie the most because she calls him daddy, and I won't call him daddy because he ain't my daddy.”

Unique began to scream at the top of her lungs, and Cammie ran out of the building. “Cammie!” she bellowed.

Derrick came from the elevator. “What's happening?”

“Ooohhhh, Curtis been touching Cammie in her private places,” Apple answered.

Unique broke out the door after Cammie, who was headed across traffic to the bus stop. She screamed, “Cammie, stop! Please, stop! Cammie!”

Cammie stopped and spun on her heels. “Mama!!!!” she screamed, just as the driver slammed on his brakes.

“Cammie!!!” Gina screamed, breaking free from Derrick's grip.

Malcolm, stripped down to his boxers, turned on the shower. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Sinclair was again wrapped in his towel. She'd seen a movie where the lovers got in the shower together first. It seemed to just make it easier to get to the bed.

Two days at Malcolm's house had made up her mind. Last night they had actually slept in the bed together. Both stayed dressed for a long time, but during the night his hands had wandered where they had never gone before. Into her sweats.

Malcolm felt her heat. He must have, because he moaned softly. His hands felt good as they moved in circular motion down there on her heat. He rubbed fast and then slower, while doing something else with his other hand.

Next thing you know, she was feeling his hardness against her leg. He was being very quiet, and maybe thought she was asleep, but she was awake. It felt good, and she didn't want him to stop, so she kept quiet. Soon a wave of sickening sweetness came over her, and she felt a release. For a moment, she thought it was her period, but surely Malcolm wouldn't have kept his hand down there if he thought that was the case.

“Sin,” he whispered.

She didn't know if she should answer him at first.

“Sin.”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna do it.”

“You do?” Sinclair searched his face in the darkness.

He leaned his head against hers and nodded, his hands still on her.

She lay silent, wondering what was to come next. “I haven't ever done it,” she admitted.

“You want me to be your first?” he asked, fingering her pubic hair softly.

His hands felt so good on her. She could say nothing, so she kissed him. This time their kiss went beyond their playful games of years past. He tongued her and sucked on her lips, moving on top of her and kissing her the way the men did in the movies. She could barely breathe under him as he grew excited and began kissing her like crazy.

“Wait, wait. I-I don't know how to do this.” Sinclair eyes were burning as she fought back emotion. This wasn't going the way she thought it would. She felt awkward and stupid.

Rolling off her, Malcolm smoothed back his wild hair. He was breathing heavily.

“I know what we should do.” She raised up in the bed and took his hand.

Sinclair nodded, gulping air as Malcolm stood there, his erection growing strong, peeking through the slit in his drawers.

“Let me see your titties.” He pulled the towel away slightly, exposing her small breasts. He grinned. “They're pink. You must look like a white girl all over, huh. Wanna see Mr. Johnson?” he teased, pulling his monster from his shorts.

Sinclair stared at it, wondering again how all this was supposed to work. She'd heard sex through the walls plenty at Unique's place and had seen Hollywood's version of it a lot, the best being in
Jason's Lyric
between Jada Pinkett and that guy, when they did it in the grass. Malcolm was big though.
Is he really gonna lay on me naked like that? How is that gonna be good? It's hella hot tonight. He nearly suffocated me in the bed
.

They stepped into the shower. Malcolm got wet all over first and then pulled the towel off her. She again covered herself, but he pulled her hands away from what he wanted to see. “Touch it,” he said, pulling her hand toward his dancing member. “Grab it and pull on it a little bit.”

She tugged on his penis. “Like this?”

He flinched. “Not so hard. You gon' take it off. Shit! Pull on it like you would like it to go inside you, the speed, I mean.” He showed her his preferred stroke, holding his hands on top of hers. “Don't it turn you on touching it?”

“No, but I see it turns you on,” she joked, noticing the organ growing larger and harder.

He curved his lip before bursting into laughter. Then he got the soap and washed himself, slowly soaping up his firm hardness, stroking it the way he liked it.

Sinclair could see he liked jacking off, and so she took over. He spread his arms, bracing himself on the shower walls, as she ran her hands up and down the soaped penis. He was moaning like it was the best thing ever, and frankly, that was starting to turn her on. A lot.

Faster and faster she jerked at his erection, until finally he exploded.

Malcolm pulled her close and tucked his semi-hardness between her thighs, rubbing against her lower lips. He soaped his hands and felt her up, tugging on her breasts and kissing her neck. The friction felt good, and she couldn't imagine there being more to this sex thing, because, damn, this was enough. She squeezed her thighs together tight, holding his dick in place, as her lower region pulsated slightly.

“Squat down some,” he instructed, and he did the same. He then stuck his two middle fingers inside her.

She clawed at his arm. “That hurts, Malcolm. That—”

He shushed her and continued, moving his fingers in and out of her slowly, until finally the pain eased a little. Another small quiver caused her muscles to tighten around his fingers. He smiled, as if knowing how good she felt.

“You coming again . . . like you did in the bed?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, Sin, this is gonna be real good to you.”

Just then Malcolm's cell phone rang in the pocket of his crumpled Timbs. “Shit!”

“Maybe it's Finest,” Sinclair said. It was a reflex reaction. She surely she did think her first time was gonna be with him.

“I don't give a fuck about Finest right now.” Malcolm closed his eyes again, allowing the water to clear off the soap.

Sinclair did the same, wetting her hair.

Malcolm stroked her long, curly tresses, following them down her back, where his hands stopped on her butt. He ran his fingers in between her crack and then pulled her close to him again. “Let's go get back in my bed.”

Sinclair nodded.

As they dried off, curiosity must have gotten the best of Malcolm. He checked his phone. “Why is Mama calling me from the hospital?” he asked.

Sinclair laughed. Surely his mother must have been sensing something nasty going on in her house for real this time.

Malcolm opened his voice mail. His eyes widened as he listened and then pressed the number to repeat it on speakerphone.

“Malcolm, if you see Sinclair, you need to tell her something terrible has happened to her sister's baby and that she needs to come to the hospital right away. They done brought Cammie in an ambulance. She's in bad shape too. Might be dead. Don't tell her that though. Just tell her—”
He shut the phone.

Sinclair nearly fainted. The bathroom was suddenly unbearably hot. Too hot to breathe. She braced herself to keep from going all the way down, holding the towel around her. “I-I gotta go,” she said, gathering up her clothes and trying to dress quickly.

Malcolm began helping her, and dressed himself, to accompany her to the hospital.

Tanqueray stretched out on the big soft bed. She could tell the room had been professionally decorated because it looked just like one she'd seen in Oprah's magazine. She had never been so right in her life. The spiral staircase in the middle of the marbled floor led up to what she could only describe as heaven. The guestroom.

When they'd reached the airport, Mr. Sinclair was ecstatic to see her again. She just hated that she'd just been with Finest and looked so tore back. Coming off a raggedy high and full of come, she must've looked a sight, but he smiled at her like she looked like a dream.

At his huge house outside of Sausalito, he gave her some space and the use of a guest bedroom to fix herself up before dinner.

Mary, one of the personal assistants there, came in right away. “Your bath is ready,” she said.

“My bath?”

“Cecil called ahead. Everything is ready for you.”

Tanqueray followed Mary to the bathroom. “Oh my God!” The sunken bathtub that bubbled with the rhythmic jets of a Jacuzzi released a relaxing aroma. Tanqueray knew her scents. This was definitely jasmine.

After her long, luxurious bath, Mary was waiting again, this time to give her a pedicure and full manicure.

Tanqueray could only purr as the woman massaged her legs and feet to the sound of Michael McDonald pouring through the surround sound speakers, which relaxed her even more.
That white boy could sing!
Tanqueray swayed to the music, if that was possible.

After wrestling her hair into a presentable style, Mary slid back the heavy doors to a closet that hid top-of-theline designer dresses in all sizes and in beautiful fabrics of all kinds. “Here is some suggested attire,” she said.

Tanqueray found one that fit, a soft animal-print Kay Unger halter. She spun around in the mirror, holding up her hair, and Mary nodded in approval.

The dress flattered the definition in her nice arms.

Mr. Sinclair must have thought the same thing as he stroked her shoulder, running his cool hand down her arm as he pulled her seat out at the huge formal dining table before moving down to the opposite end. The table sat in a great room, which was nowhere near a kitchen.

When the French doors opened, Tanqueray walked in feeling like a queen. Mr. Sinclair's eyes lit up upon her entrance.

The butler, to Tanqueray's surprise, a white man, stepped up to pour her a glass full of water, and another of ice tea in. She thanked him politely, and he smiled.

The butler then did the same for Mr. Sinclair, who nodded his response. The butler then whispered in Mr. Sinclair's ear then walked away.

“Cory informs me we are having chicken for dinner. Chicken. Bah! I hate chicken.”

They both chuckled.

“They are always bossing me around.”

“Then why not ask for something else?”

“He's in cahoots with my doctor, and well, I'm a slave to them both.”

“Ah,” Tanqueray said, nodding empathically.

He smiled at her response, resting his chin on his wrist, his elbows propped up on the table. He was staring at her. Tanqueray could see his pale blue eyes dancing, even from where she sat at the end of that long table. She pretended to blush and fawn then fanned her hand at him, flirting.

He mouthed the word, “Stop.” He grinned and motioned for her to come down to his end of the table.

She picked up her glass of water and tea and quickly moved over to him.

That's when he noticed she had no shoes on. “You are a vision of sensuality, dear,” he said, taking the liberty to get familiar. “I see you met Mary.”

“Yes, and she was marvelous.”

“Did you meet Jason and get a full body massage.”

“Oooh, no, but perhaps after dinner you and I . . .” She paused suggestively.

Mr. Sinclair smiled and blushed.

“Perhaps. Or maybe I'll just watch.”

“Watching is good,” she purred. It was easy for her to play this role. She'd been practicing for it her whole life.

“What do you like about me?” he asked.

“Funny. I was going to ask you the same question,” Tanqueray answered with play in her voice.

He took her glasses from her, pulled her into his lap and kissed her shoulder. It was a nice kiss. Tender. Soft.

“You need to ask Jav—”

Suddenly Mr. Sinclair's words were cut short by the butler clearing his throat.

“Yes, Cory,” Mr. Sinclair answered, with laughter still in his voice. It was obvious he was used to being interrupted at any time.

Tanqueray's attention was on Cory too, because he was standing there empty-handed and she was starving. Chicken sounded good to her.

“Mr. Sinclair. Ms.”—He nodded at Tanqueray. “Your phone,” he said, holding up her small cell. It was blinking with a voice message. “Not that Mary was prying, but she happened to notice it was ringing from the Altadena Hospital.”

“The hospital?” Tanqueray asked, jumping up from his lap. She quickly went over to Cory the Butler and retrieved her phone. Swinging her hair off her ear, she listened to her voice message.

“Tanqueray, my God, I hope you get this message. It's Cammie . . .
” Unique's voice trembled and faltered.
“They aren't sure if she's gonna make it. Curtis was . . . I can't . . . just . . . Please, please, if you get this . . . come as soon as you get this. We're at Alta.”

Tanqueray hung up the phone.

By then Mr. Sinclair was standing as if he read the news on her face.

“I . . .” Tanqueray's lip trembled. She swallowed hard. “I have to go.”

“Cory, please call Cecil. Tell him to get the night car ready to take Ms. Tanqueray anywhere she wants to go.”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Sinclair. You have been so kind to me, and I want to . . . I want to be able to call you after I find out what's happened to my sister's daughter.”

“Of course, Tanqueray.”

“Just like the gin.” She smiled sadly before walking out with Cory out to where she would meet Cecil with the car.

Tanqueray Gin was Javina Nation's favorite drink, Mr. Sinclair remembered.

Mary met her at the car with a pair of slippers. “You'll need these, sweetie.”