Ladies Night (8 page)

As Amp swept up the store toward closing time, Mr. Lam was behind the counter finishing up some paperwork. He was swaying his head and nodding every now and then to the Asian music that was playing from the mini boom box between the two registers on the counter. From the looks of it, the artist must have been singing about something quite interesting, to Mr. Lam anyway.

“Hey, Mr. Lam, are you ever going to play anything else besides this stuff?” Amp stopped sweeping momentarily.

Picking up the papers and tapping the bottom of the pages on the counter to even them up, Mr. Lam replied, “I'm leaving, so you can play whatever music you want. Just no cursing. Customers no hear that.” With papers in hand, Mr. Lam headed to the back office to get his personal belongings. A couple minutes later, he was leaving for the night. “See you tomorrow,” he said to Amp as he left the store.

As soon as Amp finished sweeping and put away the broom, a customer came into the store. While the dude walked over to the freezer, Amp made his way behind the counter, prepared to ring up his purchases and then lock up the store.

The customer came over and set a twenty-two ounce beer on the counter. Amp's eyes went from the beer to the lit cigarette in the customer's hand.

“I'm going to need you to put that out, please,” Amp said.

The customer paused for a minute, staring at Amp, then he threw the cigarette on the ground and put it out with his foot.

Even though Amp had just finished sweeping the floor, he let it slide. It was near closing time and he didn't want any issues. He was going to encounter assholes for the rest of his life, but it didn't mean he had to react to them. He even refrained from shooting the customer as much as a dirty look, staying focused on the transaction.

“Can I get you anything else?” Amp asked after ringing up the beer and placing it in a brown paper bag.

“Yeah,” the customer replied. “You can hit that money button and open the drawer.”

“My bad. I didn't hear you.” Amp had yet to turn off the Asian music, so he wasn't being funny; he really didn't hear the guy. He couldn't have said what Amp thought he'd heard.

The customer showed Amp his machete, holding it flat across the counter. “You heard me. Hit that money button.”

Amps eyes stayed glued on the weapon. “Oh, that button.” Amp didn't even think about not hitting that button. He'd been locked up with dudes who'd had no problem using one of those things on somebody, and he was not about to risk his life when he was just getting it back together. He hit the button and opened the drawer. “There's money in that register too.” Amp nodded toward the second register. “You want me to hit that button too?” He wanted to keep this dude calm, and he figured the best way to do it was to make it clear he was cooperating. It might not have been proper procedure, but neither was the machete that was staring him in the face. Amp just wanted this all to be over with sooner rather than later.

“Why not?” the guy replied with a shrug.

Amp hit the button on the second register as the robber reached over and emptied out the first one.

“You need a bag to put the money in?” Amp asked.

“That's a good idea.”

Amp handed the man a brown paper bag as the robber emptied out the second cash register. With his hands raised in the air, Amp watched silently. He didn't want any problems. “You smoke Kools or Newports?” Amp asked.

The robber looked confused.

“We got cartons of cigarettes back here.”

“Newports,” he replied, shaking his head. He'd probably never had such a cooperative robbery victim.

“I'm gonna grab you a couple cartons, if that's cool.”

The robber said, “I wish all my robberies went this smooth. I had to shoot the last guy.”

Amp slowly placed the cartons of Newports on the counter, feeling sure that he'd made the right move by cooperating. If this guy had shot someone, then obviously he was unstable enough to use the machete. Amp backed away, keeping his eyes on the blade. “If you need some cereal and milk for the kids in the morning, it's in aisle two. Whatever you need, help yourself.”

“Why you so damn helpful anyway?” The robber started tapping the machete against his leg.

“'Cause I'm not trying to die over no minimum wage job.”

“What are you gonna do when I walk out that door?”

“Wait about five or ten minutes then call the cops.”

The robber bobbed and weaved his head in an attempt to get Amp to focus on him. It was useless, as Amp kept his eyes on the weapon.

“Why ain't you looking at me?”

“I don't wanna know what you look like. That way you don't have a reason to kill me.” Amp turned his head toward the wall, looking in the opposite direction from the man.

The robber didn't respond. As a matter of fact, for the next few seconds Amp didn't hear anything. When a few more seconds had passed, he heard the sound of the door closing. This made him nervous. If another customer was walking in on the robbery, no telling what could happen. After a moment of uninterrupted silence, Amp finally decided to risk a peek at the spot where the robber had been standing. Discovering that the guy had exited the store, Amp hurried over and locked the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

“This is some bullshit here!” he swore. “I was safer in prison.”

 

 

For the second time since Amp had arrived at the halfway house, a cop car with flashing lights was pulling up into the driveway.

“Damn it. Now what?” Paul said as he walked out onto the porch. He was surprised to see Amp being let out of the back of the car. Of all the guys in the house, Amp was the one he would have least expected to see in this situation. He had gotten a job so fast, and Paul really thought he was on the right track.

Paul stepped off the porch to go ask questions. He went straight to Amp, rather than talking to the cops. After all, LAPD had a reputation—a not so stellar one—and Paul still wanted to give Amp the benefit of the doubt.

“What happened?” he asked Amp.

“I got robbed at the store. I gave them my statement,” Amp replied, holding his hands out to show Paul that he wasn't wearing handcuffs. “They ran my name, found out I'm on parole, and brought me here.”

A look of relief passed over Paul's face upon hearing that Amp hadn't messed up. He looked toward the two officers who had walked up behind Amp. Introducing himself as the one in charge of the house, he thanked them for bringing Amp back. They nodded, but neither one had much to say. These guys were a little too uptight for Paul's taste.

“Okay then . . .” Paul said, breaking the awkward silence. He looked to Amp. “Well, unless you're too shook up, shouldn't you be headed over to your other job?” Paul looked back to the officers. “That is, if you guys are finished with him.”

The officers nodded silently again.

“Yes,” Amp replied. “I should get going. I'm gonna go get changed.” He hurried into the house without looking back.

Paul looked to the officers. “Thanks again.”

One of the officers finally spoke. “No problem. But keep your eye on that one.”

Paul looked over his shoulder then back at the officer. “I think that one is going to be just fine. You have a good night, officers,” he said then headed back inside.

 

 

The next day at the store, a glooming feeling hung in the atmosphere. After the robbery, Mr. Lam had been called back to the store, so he'd been there when Amp gave his story to the cops. This morning, for some reason, he'd already asked Amp to reiterate the story twice. Since the non-working security cameras were just there for show, Mr. Lam had to take Amp's word for how things went down. The fact that Mr. Lam continued to ask questions gave Amp the feeling that his boss was suspicious of his story.

Amp had been on the clock for a couple of hours and was busy stocking beverages into the cooler, wishing there wasn't so much tension in the place. Mr. Lam had gone in the back to take a phone call. Amp looked up to check out the black car with dark-tinted windows just sitting out front in the store parking lot. It had pulled up a few seconds ago, but no one had gotten out. Amp felt his heartbeat speed up. What if it was another robbery getting ready to take place? Amp couldn't imagine coming out of a second robbery unscathed like he had the first one.

He walked toward the front of the store, wondering whether he should lock the door. Just then, Mr. Lam came out from the back.

“I need to talk to you, Amp.” Mr. Lam's head was down; he wouldn't even look Amp in the eyes.

“What's up, Mr. Lam?” Amp had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and now it wasn't because of the car outside.

Mr. Lam shook his head, finally making eye contact. “I'm going to have to let you go.”

“What?” Amp felt confused and a little pissed off. As far as he was concerned, he'd done a hell of a job in the little bit of time he'd been working there, and had even come close to dying while doing it. “You don't think I had anything to do with that robbery, do you?” All of a sudden it made sense to Amp. Mr. Lam probably had him repeat the story to see if he could catch him in a lie. He probably thought Amp had set everything up with one of his buddies and had benefitted from the robbery.

Mr. Lam shook his head. “It has nothing to do with that,” he explained, proving Amp's theory wrong. “I filed my claim for the robbery with the insurance company. They found out from the police report that I have a convicted felon working at my store.”

A look of shame slid across Amp's face.

“Sorry. You good worker.” Mr. Lam continued. “It's no big deal to me, but they double cost of insurance if I keep you on. I can't afford that.” Mr. Lam shot Amp a stern look and wagged his index finger. “Why you not told me?”

“You didn't ask, so I didn't think that it mattered.” Amp hadn't been deliberately trying to withhold information from Mr. Lam, but after his experience trying to find a job at the mall, he hadn't been in any hurry to divulge his status as a convict. It was sort of an “If they don't ask, I don't tell” policy.

“Sorry. Nothing I can do.” Mr. Lam walked over to the cash register, opened the drawer, and counted out some money. He walked back over to Amp and handed him a wad of bills. “Here's money I owe you for this week.”

Amp paused for a moment, trying to conjure up any words that might convince Mr. Lam to change his mind. It was useless, though. Deep down, he knew he would have done the same thing if he were in Mr. Lam's position, so he did not fault him. Without counting it, Amp took the money and put it in his pocket. “Thank you.”

Mr. Lam nodded sadly and watched Amp leave.

“Two steps forward, one step back,” Amp said to himself as he walked back toward the halfway house with his shoulders slumped and his head hung low. Just as he was getting back on track, some fool with a machete had derailed his plans. The whole situation left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Babyface stood at the foot of the California king-sized bed in the luxuriously decorated bedroom, pulling up his pants.

“You mean you're really going to leave?” the woman lying in the bed asked. “But we make such good music together. What do you say we spend the day dancing to the beat of our own drum?”

Even with her hair scattered, a couple pieces sweeping across her face, she still looked beautiful. What Babyface couldn't figure out was how in the hell that same sexy red lipstick that covered her pouty lips and had lured him to her home last night was still visible on her lips. Sure, it was a slight pink now, but it was still there, even after all she'd done with that mouth. A chill ran through Babyface's body just thinking about it.
Whoo-wee! She should get a patent on that thing!

“I wish I could stay, uh . . .” He tried his best to recall her name. The last thing he wanted to do to a woman who knew how to strike a chord on his musical instrument was offend her by not even recalling the songstress's name. Oh, and how she could blow. She'd hit high notes that Babyface had never heard any other woman reach. Whatever her name was, she was definitely an octave above the rest.

“Babydoll,” the woman offered, as if she couldn't bear to watch him struggle to remember.

“Excuse me?” Babyface said. Had this woman just called him Babydoll instead of Babyface?

“You can call me Babydoll,” she told him. “Get it? Babyface”—She pointed to him—“and Babydoll.” She pointed to herself.

Clearly Babyface had given her his name and she'd remembered it. That made him feel even more embarrassed. Caught up in her lustful web, at least he'd remembered to give her his dance name instead of his given name. He never knew what type of chick he'd be dealing with by the end of the night, so just like how some women gave out their middle name instead of their first when they weren't sure about a dude, his dancer name came in handy for that same purpose.

“Oh, what a great duet we make, wouldn't you say?” Babydoll didn't speak her words. She cooed them in a sexy mixture between Toni Braxton's singing voice and speaking voice.

He nodded. “Yes, we do . . . Babydoll.” Spotting his socks, Babyface scooped them up and then sat on the olive green bench at the foot of the bed, his back now toward Babydoll. “But I have to go. Trust me, sweetheart, when I say there is nowhere else on earth I'd rather be.”

“Really?” she purred.

Babyface paused just long enough to look into her big, dark brown eyes that actually reminded him of a baby doll. It was those eyes that had him frozen like a deer in headlights from the moment he'd seen her. Well, those eyes and those legs.

On his way home after dancing at the club last night, Babyface had stopped at the gas station. Fortunately, that last little bit of gas in his car had gotten him to the gas station before the tank ran dry. He soon discovered that his luck was truly just starting to unfold when he watched a red sports car pull up and then a pair of long, sexy legs step out of it.

Dressed in a pair of shorts with a tank top, the woman proceeded to strut over to the pump in her four-inch heels, swinging her hips as if she knew he was watching her. As she swiped her credit card at the pump, Babyface looked in her car at the passenger's side. Surely, if a man had been accompanying this beauty, he wouldn't be allowing her to pump her own gas. Happy to see that she was in fact alone, Babyface offered to pump her gas. She declined at first, but he insisted. She was playing hard to get, and her sexy antics were working like a charm.

This chick was a bold one. Babyface could feel her standing there, leaned up against her car like she owned the entire gas station, staring him down. Even when he looked up and caught her staring, she didn't blush or try to turn the other way. She obviously wanted there to be no doubt that she liked what she saw.

Afterward, she insisted on thanking Babyface for his act of chivalry, and she had—real good, at least three times—which was why he was now in the bedroom at her house.

“I understand you have to go,” Babydoll said, “but before you do, can I get one last dance?”

Babyface heard some movement behind him. He looked over his shoulder and watched as the naked woman underneath the sheets reached over and pressed the button on her CD player. The long arch of her back and a single butt cheek peeking out from underneath the sheets as she reached over had Babyface mesmerized. Suddenly his last concern was getting those socks on his feet; he was more interested in getting another condom on, so they could go for another round.

Some old classic R. Kelly came on and the sheets came off. There she lay, in all of her womanly glory, both sets of lips smiling at him, beckoning him to let the music play. She raised up on her elbows, bending her knees and holding them open, unashamed and unembarrassed. She knew what she was working with and was proud of it. The Brazilian wax was definitely worth showing off. Babydoll just knew she was irresistible.

“I'm sure you call yourself Babyface for lots of reasons,” Babydoll murmured, “but, baby, right about now I know where I want that pretty little face of yours.” She bit her bottom lip and flung her head back, raising her finger to beckon Babyface to her.

He began to move toward her while undoing his pants. “You sure you can handle another round?” he asked.

“I hear you talking.” She lifted her head and looked him dead in the eyes. “So put your money where your mouth is—or your tongue anyway.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Babydoll. You just might get it.”

He climbed in between her legs, and within seconds her head was thrown back in ecstasy. It didn't take long before she was hitting those same notes she'd hit last night, as he used his tongue to kill her softly with the song he was playing on her clit.

Babydoll moaned as he pressed his tongue hard against her magic spot. She twisted, turned, and squirmed, trying not to lose control. When he buried his tongue as far inside her walls as it could go, she squeezed her knees together just a little too hard, putting Babyface in a headlock. Her mind was on the beautiful sensation going on between her legs; she forgot that it was Babyface's head between her legs causing the feeling.

Babyface pushed her thighs apart as he continued to flick his tongue on her clit at a rapid speed. She could no longer control herself, as she lifted her waist up off the bed, rolling her hips gently, feeding herself to Babyface.

“Oh, Babyface,” she said. “Baby, baby . . .” She began to tremble and pump herself against his mouth. “Encore,” she cried out after her sweet melody dripped from her precious part. She rested herself back down on the bed and exhaled, so relaxed that she could have just curled up and fallen off to sleep.

“Oh, no you don't.” Babyface came up from between her legs. “Not after what I just did. You better get on over here and handle this.”

Babydoll was not one to back down from a challenge. She sat up and pushed him back, her long, painted nail jabbing into the flesh of his chest. It hurt so good.

She slid his pants down and climbed on top, kissing him all over his chest, tracing the trail her lipstick had left from the first time she'd traveled that path. Her hand had made it to his manhood before her lips, so she stroked him gently, then started teasing his tip with the flickering of her tongue.

Babyface did all that he could to restrain the note he wanted to release. He'd just declared security in being a man, so he wasn't about to go out curling his toes and calling out her name, even if he was damn near close to it as she took in inch after inch after inch.

“You know you want to say my name,” Babydoll crooned in between licks. “But that's okay. I'm sure you don't remember it.” She giggled and then continued to handle her business.

Babyface couldn't even argue with her. He could hardly remember his own name.

Up and down her mouth went on his vessel as she played with his balls with her free hand. Thank goodness this woman couldn't see him biting down on his bottom lip in order to lock in his vocals. It felt so good it hurt! He gripped the sheet as he exploded in ecstasy.

She kept going after he came, when his manhood was extremely sensitive, and he couldn't help but moan loudly.

She sat up on her knees with a look of victory on her face, but Babyface wasn't about to let her think for one minute that she'd won the battle. He'd figured out last night that she loved being manhandled, so he raised up and flipped her over forcefully. Her satisfied smile let him know that she liked that shit.

Babyface put another condom on and entered her from behind. “Scandalous” by Prince came on—the perfect song for the moment.

“You real slick with that mouth,” Babyface said as he entered her from the back. “So I think it's time for you to get a spanking.” As Babyface moved in and out of her, he smacked her sexy chocolate ass. Between the sound of their skin slapping together and his hand slapping her ass, they were both going crazy, and it didn't take long for them to begin moaning in unison as they climaxed.

“Oh, shit.” Babyface rolled over onto his back, out of breath.

“Oh my God, that was sooooo good,” Babydoll said as she rested her head on his sweaty chest. She felt like she had been baptized in his sweat, but she didn't mind.

If you're not sweating, you're not doing it right
, she thought.

Babyface smiled proudly. He knew he had strung her violin just right, plucking in all the right spots. “Yes, it was. We make beautiful music indeed,” Babyface said as the two lay there, eyes closed, marinating in the lingering lust.

“I'm going to have to be a bad girl more often if that's the kind of punishment I have in store.” She rubbed her hand up and down his chest.

“I like the sound of that,” Babyface said as he twisted a dampened strand of her hair around his finger. Eventually they were making a whole different kind of music: a chorus of
Z
's and slow, heavy breathing.

Babyface's eyes shot open and immediately landed on the clock, which read 9:59.

“It's morning already,” he said, somewhat dazed. Feeling the weight on his chest, he looked down and spotted a sleeping Babydoll. He glanced over toward the window, where he saw no sign of the sun that had been shining before he closed his eyes, which felt like only minutes ago. Babyface closed his eyes again, but then reality set in.

“Oh, shit!” He moved Babyface's head off his chest and jumped out of the bed.

Babydoll opened her eyes. “What's wrong?” she asked groggily.

“It's ten o'clock. That's what's wrong.” Babyface had put his pants on, and was hopping around on one foot as he tried to slip a sock on the other one. “I gotta get to work.”

“Call off,” she said nonchalantly as she fell backward. “And get your fine ass back in this bed.”

“I wish I could,” he said, now putting on his other sock. “But I can't.” He spotted his shirt and slipped it over his head. “I have to get to work. I'm late. It'll be my second time this week.” He picked up his shoes, opting not to sit down and put them on, but to carry them with him and put them on in the car. “Sorry, but I've gotta go.” He exited the room.

Then, just as quick, he poked his head back in and said, “My boss is going to have my ass.” He blew her a kiss and then ran off again.

Babydoll pulled the cover up to her neck. “She can have your ass.” She smiled wickedly. “But I had it first.”