Dangerously In Love (22 page)

Repressed emotions instantly began to bubble to the surface. Dayna wanted to make a quick U-turn, afraid a closer look would bring on the pain and the awful yearning. But she swallowed her apprehension, bit her lip in determination and bravely continued on—though at a very slow crawl.

When she finally reached the building and parked the car, the beauty of the mural was so astounding that she quickly got out. Standing before the exposed wall with her mouth agape, Dayna was awestruck by the intricate details in the painting that were now revealed.

Cars whisked past with music blaring from open windows, horns honked, brakes squealed, screeching tires made sharp turns, laughing children passed by, the wheels of a shopping cart piled high with freshly folded laundry rattled by. These sounds of urban America sounded muted and distant as Dayna stood transfixed, interpreting the mural.

The eyes of the man in the portrait were closed as if in ecstasy; his face buried in the woman’s braided hair as if intoxicated by the scent. The woman’s face, the picture of pure bliss, smiled down at the child, which she held close to her breast.

The man’s closed eyes spoke of a love supreme; his bulging muscles declared him the protector of this woman and child. The woman appeared to be in a state of rapture…peaceful and secure in the knowledge that she and her child were loved beyond measure. In the background was a magnificent landscape—the sun beaming brilliantly through tall leafy trees; pebbles and rocks washed by a running stream.

Nothing this extraordinary could be accomplished by man alone. Surely, God and his angels had inspired this painting.

Dayna approached the wall, taking tiny, awe-inspired steps. Kneeling on one knee, she read the caption: “Family” by AMMON 2005.

Tears streamed down Dayna’s face. Her heart ached for what she’d thought she’d found in Reed. She mourned the loss of the child she would never have.

“Sensation!” Hershey said with a smile in her voice. “I got another date for you.”

Chanelle wasn’t so sure this was good news. If Hershey was calling to tell her about a date with someone other than Marc, she might as well just hang up the phone.

Why didn’t Marc ask for my number?
she wondered, brooding. She couldn’t understand why he insisted upon using Hershey as the middle man. Didn’t he know she’d see him in a heartbeat; it didn’t matter whether or not he paid the required fee?

That’s right!
she boasted to herself, feeling the cockiness of a dick-whipped woman who didn’t give a damn what other people thought. Fuck Hershey and fuck her commission; if she could get her hands on Marc right now and if he permitted, she’d climb on him and ride him like he was a horse named Trigger, all day and all night long, absolutely for free.

Chanelle shook her head incredulously. What the hell was happening to her? As much as she loved and needed money, how could she even entertain such a crazy thought?

Maybe she was in love? If so, love was nothing like she’d imagined. Over the course of the past three days, she’d been lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head, feeling hollow and lost and keenly aware of each hour that ticked past without a word from Marc.

“Hellooo, are you there?” Hershey asked, snapping Chanelle from her musing.

“Oh, yeah…I was just thinking about something. So tell me—whassup?” she asked, hoping to sound indifferent.

“I’ve got a client lined up for this evening. He’s so sweet; the hour session is so easy; girl, dealing with him is a piece of cake.”

Chanelle was instantly deflated, anyone who was described as being easy couldn’t possibly be Marc. However, holding on to the thread of hope that the client might still be Marc, Chanelle muttered, “Uh-huh…” in a tone that came out sounding as if she were only vaguely interested at best.

“His name is Wes. If you’re smart, you’ll grip him up and keep him as a regular.”

Overtaken by disappointment, Chanelle wanted to bang on Hershey, but reality had begun to set in.

After paying her rent, cable, and cell phone bill, she was practically broke. And embarrassingly, she’d run out like a nut and bought a pair of three-hundred-dollar sunglasses to accessorize the ensemble she was planning to put together when she went sailing with Marc on his boat. Her eyes rested on the sunglasses, gleaming on top of the fancy case. She sucked her teeth at the ever-present reminder of her stupidity.

“Your version of easy isn’t necessarily the case,” Chanelle said saucily. “That guy, Barry, turned out to be a real jerk. Dressing up like a damn woman…umph, umph, umph. What an asshole!”

“If I remember correctly, you liked that asshole’s cheddar and his generous tip,” Hershey hissed. Chanelle had forgotten about Hershey’s short fuse and her sharp tongue. “Shit,” Hershey continued her harangue, “I let that shit slide when I could have easily taken my money off the top before I paid you for the date you had with Marc Tarsia.”

Her money!
This was the second time Hershey had mentioned Barry’s tip. Chanelle made a mental note to address the issue at another time. At the moment, however, she was in the throes of severe lovesickness. Just hearing Hershey speak Marc’s name made Chanelle weak in the knees, while at the same time giving her an inexplicable glimmer of hope that the mention of his name would compel Hershey to start spillin’—to give up the tapes and reveal that Marc had admitted he had fallen hard for Chanelle.

But no such luck. Hershey went on jabbering about Wes. “He claims he’s a doctor, but who knows, who cares. As long as he’s spreading money, he can tell me anything. He can claim to be a fuckin’ brain surgeon,” Hershey said, giggling.

Chanelle failed to see the humor. “Where am I supposed to meet this guy?”

“At his house; he lives in Bensalem.”

“His house!”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I’ve sent dozens of girls there. Girl, trust me…I wouldn’t send you anywhere if I didn’t think it was safe. But safe or not, you should still pack some heat. I mean, in the world we live in, you never know.”

“What are you talking about—a gun?” Chanelle asked, clearly alarmed.

“Yeah, I’m talking about a gun. I used to carry a little .22, but not anymore. With all the money I’m handling, I stay strapped with a baby nine.”

Chanelle was disgusted and decided to ignore any further mention of guns. “Where the hell is Bensalem?”

“Girl, it’s way up there—way past the northeast. You gotta hop on the Roosevelt Boulevard and stay on that bitch forever. Eventually you’ll end up in Bensalem.”

“I don’t drive and you know it,” Chanelle said sullenly.

“My bad; I forgot. By the way, what’s up with that?”

“I can’t drive.”

“Well, pay for some driving lessons; I need you to be able to get around. I already told you that ninety percent of my clients are white and in case you haven’t noticed, there ain’t hardly no white people left in Philly. Yeah, girl, the ones handling the real paper done hauled their asses the hell outta Philly and moved to the peaceful suburbs.”

After listening to Hershey’s commentary, Chanelle’s thoughts ricocheted back to Marc. She wondered where he lived, but fought the compulsion to ask Hershey to give her the 411. There was no way she would play herself like that.

“Do you want to get someone else for this guy, Wes?” Broke or not, Chanelle was feeling so depressed, she doubted if she had the energy to put up with a paid date.

There was silence while Hershey thought about it. “No. Take a cab; I’ll tell Wes he has to pay for your transportation.”

Chanelle’s shoulders sagged; she really wasn’t feeling this Bensalem trick. But she’d be a fool to turn down money outright while she was so badly in need.

“Oh, be sure to pack some exercise wear—a tank top and a pair of sweats.”

“Why?” Chanelle asked wearily.

“Wes is into physical fitness.”

“And…”

“I guess he wants you to exercise,” Hershey said sheepishly.

Chanelle sighed. “I thought you said this dude was gonna be easy.”

“He is easy,” Hershey said defensively. “You won’t have to even work up a sweat. He’ll probably want you to strike a pose while you’re holding a two- or three-pound dumbbell.”

Already regretting her decision to date this pervert, and unable to think of a coherent word to express her disdain, Chanelle simply uttered, “Umph!”

“Oh yeah, Wes likes his girls to arrive on time, so why don’t you order a cab now to be on the safe side,” Hershey suggested.

Fuck what Wes wants
. Chanelle was really starting to hate Wes. Not because of his penchant for fitness, but because he wasn’t Marc.

The cab ride came to sixty dollars plus a tip.
I could have rented a damn limo for this kind of money
. As Chanelle paid the cab driver, she reminded herself she’d get her money right back from Wes.

“Can you pick me up in an hour?” she asked the cab driver. Thankfully, he agreed.

The crib was cracked; Wes was really living large. He even had an indoor pool, which was where their little rendezvous would take place.

Unfortunately, Wes was a creepy little thing and none of his material possessions could change that fact. Standing at about five foot three, he looked like he weighed about a buck twenty. A
fitness fanatic, my ass!
Chanelle thought snidely. The puny little wimp didn’t have an athletic bone in his body.

“There’s a bathroom right down the hall if you want to change,” Wes said, raising both brows double-time in a creepy, suggestive manner.

Eew!
He repelled her; this had to be the worst night of her life. How could she do anything with this awful little man after being with someone like Marc?

Though she was fuming inside, she picked up her duffle bag indulgently. Careful not to swing her hips sexily, Chanelle left the pool area, striding as stiff as a soldier as she marched to the bathroom. Wes, as far as she was concerned, did not deserve a tantalizing rear-end view.

She emerged from the bathroom wearing a skintight white tank top that bared her navel and tight abs. Hip-hugging white nylon capri sweatpants and a pair of white Nikes completed her titillating athletic look. Although her appearance was wasted on the likes of Wes, Chanelle’s spirits lifted when she saw her reflection. All that white fabric against her dark brown skin provided a very attractive contrast.

Her mood instantly darkened again when her eyes rested on Wes, who was swimming in the pool naked as the day he was born.

“Do ya like skinny dipping?” he called out with a twinkle in his eye, and then he did the creepy double brow lift again.

“Not really; I can’t swim,” Chanelle replied. She could barely disguise her revulsion.

“I’ll tell you what.”

Chanelle cocked her head inquiringly.

“I’ll do the swimming and you do the flexing. What do you think about that?” He dove underwater and swam a while, as if to give her time to mull over his request. His tiny feet kicked and splashed water as Chanelle jumped out of the way.

Flexing?
She didn’t know what he was talking about and she refused to try to figure it out. The hell with the money; she didn’t deserve this shit. She was a second away from picking up her cell phone to call the cab and get the hell out of this nut house.

Wes popped out of the water, causing another great splash. Chanelle rolled her eyes at him.

“Ready to do some flexing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, make a muscle. Wait a second, I’ll show you.” Holding on to the ledge of the pool, Wes pulled himself up and hopped out. Chanelle averted her gaze from the unattractive sight, but he called out, “Look…flex like this.”

The naked little man bent over and flexed a bicep like he was posing for the cover of
Muscle Magazine
. “See…I want you to flex like this,” he said trying to pump up his puny bicep.

It was clearly time to leave, but she’d have to wait for the cab. She sighed. Hershey was right; she really needed her own car. Learning how to drive was now a top priority.

“Hershey said you wanted me to do some arm curls or something with a dumbbell.”

“I don’t know why she told you that; I don’t have any dumbbells. I just want you to flex like this.” He did the pose again and Chanelle wanted to throw up. On second thought, maybe she should throw Wes’s dwarfed ass in the pool and drown him.

She thought about how much Hershey was paying her for this supposedly easy gig and suddenly four hundred dollars didn’t seem like enough. “I can’t do that, I don’t know how,” she protested.

“It’s easy! Do just like this.” He bent over to give another demonstration.

“Okay, okay. I got it. You don’t have to show me again,” she shouted. She could not bear to see him do it again. Feeling more than ridiculous, she balled her fist and flexed her bicep. She didn’t, however, perform the pose bent at the waist like Mr. Fucking Universe.

“Not like that! You’re doing it all wrong. I said. do it like this.”

Sighing and flustered, Chanelle endured another demonstration from the bossy little dwarf of a man. Satisfied that he’d given a thorough demonstration, Wes stood straight up and beamed with pride.

“All right; I see what you mean, but that’s gonna cost you extra.”

“How much?” he asked with a forlorn expression. “None of the other girls ever asked me to pay them more.”

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care, but you’re gonna have to give me another bean if you want me to act like a damn bodybuilder.

“Another bean?”

“Another hundred bucks,” she said with frustration. Having to decipher street jargon was annoying.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you before you leave.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Sorry, I need it now.”

Sloshing over the wet tiled floor, Wes, still naked, stomped out of the pool area to go get Chanelle’s cash.

Looking perturbed, he returned with the money. “Here,” he said in a gruff voice and handed her two fifty-dollar bills.