One Safe Place (28 page)

“She said, ‘You're a nice guy, really sweet, and I love that we talk for hours…after we have sex.' Her eyes filled with tears for a while, and then she said, ‘You pay me well, but…I'm getting out of doing this. I found a man to marry me.' She ran into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later and left.

“Man, I sat there for hours, asking one question. Was I supposed to ask her to marry me? Was I?” Mintfurd leaned back in his chair and took in the city lights flickering.

Psalms went to the Magnavox stereo, pulled an LP from the side-bin, and put it on the record player. A Marvin Gaye LP dropped, and “Trouble Man” played. He came back to the table as Akilah brought two more beers, and removed their empty food platters.

Psalms jumped in with what he had wanted to get to from the start. “Ms. Darcelle Day is that woman. She is going to do whatever
she can to please a man even if it inflicts heartbreaking pain. I want you to meet her. I'm going to give you her number, and you call
her and ask her out.

“This is a smart, intelligent, nonjudgmental woman. I think you'll find you'll have a lot in common. I know for a fact she is digging on you. Mintfurd, I think you can experience reality with her. She's gonna give you every opportunity to be the man you are and not change how you are, I have to believe. One of the blessings is she wants a man who won't lie and play games, and, well, you know that's not who you are.

“Dude, I know you're a humble man. And she's going to put energy in to having you be happy and pay attention to your relationship, first and foremost. I think you'll see rather quickly neither of you is going to want to stay away from enjoying each other.

“I can't speak on whether she is going to be able to handle you in bed, but her experiences with the men she's been with…well, she has an open desire to please.

“I think you should put that out there from the get-go, about who you are, and what you want, so you don't waste each other's time. Let her know, you ain't a little boy inside and out. As far as that goes, there is nothing that you shouldn't share. If you're not sharing everything, you could end up sleeping with an enemy. Some people are sleeping with strangers. Be each other's best friend. Why, of course, that's if you like her.”

Another LP dropped, and a few pop and click sounds entered the room. People left and more came into the twenty-four-hour restaurant. “Strawberry Letter 23” by The Brothers Johnson made Psalms' foot tap, as his hand played a little air guitar.

“Oh, man, you playing a jam from way back. Look, check this out. PB, I know you ain't a matchmaker, so I'll give it a try. I'll call her and ask her out. This may sound strange, but I have never asked a woman out on a date. I've asked women to hang out, but they were in the friend camp all the way.

“I may not know much, but I do know how I would love to be touched, and how I would love a woman to talk to me. I may not know how I'll be heard and understood. I don't know what it feels like to be adored, and how would I inspire a woman to adore me, yet I know I need to find all that out.”

The two men sat back in the chairs. Psalms went back to looking at the art on the walls. Mintfurd noticed a couple.

A man and woman sat across from each other with the table lights setting them aglow. He saw what he thought look liked love on their faces as their lips pursed. They leaned in toward each other while they held hands under the table. Smiles adorned their faces, and their lips never parted to speak words. He saw a lot being said in their time and space, in them staring at each other. Mintfurd pushed his lips to the side. He sensed that the woman loved the man in front of her, and he assumed the guy was in love because he had a silly little boy look on his face. Mintfurd chuckled, thinking he might be jealous at heart. At least he was hopeful for a change.

T
he room filled with a scream so loud it may have buckled the floor boards. Evita screamed with her body now tied at the ankles and the bed posts. Two leather straps held her wrists tied to the other bed posts. Naked. Oiled. Front and back.

A female with a strap-on dildo entered into Evita. Evita could not see because of the black hood, but she felt the woman's breasts on hers. She smelled the scent of a woman. The rubber dildo felt like a cold penis. Her vaginal walls and depth were not fully developed to take on an average-size penis, much less an artificially large one. Her own penis actually developed to a healthier size, relatively, but she was a female, physically and psychologically.

She had sensitivity in both of her genitals, but her female insides were less developed and made sexual intercourse difficult. She would set the conditions for a man and make sure he understood how deep he could go inside her.

She preferred sex with a woman, but she longed to be touched by man whom she could dominate. It became a skill of knowing and finding men with small penises. Part of her skill was in finding men with the right kind of freakdom to want to be with a hermaphrodite. She enjoyed being with a woman but had no desire to be with a woman wearing a strap-on, much less a big one.

The room filled with a scream again.

“Shut her up,” The Voice said. Evita felt the sting of a needle, and it took only seconds after the needle prick to feel relaxed and tranquil.

This was the second day in a row of horrible violation. Yesterday she'd felt a man humping her and jacking off on her pretty feet. It had happened twice, two different men at different times. Each time they'd jacked off on her feet, and then each time she could feel a woman's touch and mouth on her feet, licking and fondling. She could tell it was two different men. One had a tight small ball sac, and the other one had heavy balls that hung down.

Each time she'd lain there and made no sound. She'd barely moved.

The pain of having a body humping between her legs with a strap-on going too deep inside made her lose her control. She screamed. Now, shot with drugs, she felt her body slow down. Her heart had pumped hard before, but now it slowed as she felt warmth encasing her small penis, as if someone was sucking on her. Her body went to sleep, and her mind followed.

“S
peaking for the Washington, D.C. Royal Chamber Society, we want to thank the former Secretary of State, Madam Brandywine, for coming to the John F. Kennedy Center, here in Georgetown.

“Madam Secretary, I found an excerpt from your speech quite noteworthy. If I may quote, ‘We as people have become consumed by pop culture, instead of having a culture that's lasting and positive.' On that note, that concludes the program for the evening. I thank everyone for coming out.”

• • •

Damn. Forty minutes later and I'm still shaking hands. I want to get out of here. Damn Bob is over there on the phone. He has seen me waving my hand repeatedly, signaling him. “Hello, Bob, hey, Bob, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need to be moving along.”

“I'm sorry, Madam Secretary; I was on the phone with GB. He wanted to know how your speech went tonight, and whether we are planning any other events for you while you're back here in D.C.”

“You say GB? You are referring to our former president, whom I served under.” I knew the answer, but it caught me off-guard. He may think I'll say something about me not wanting to support that mess down there in Texas. I know he's upset with me, because
I will not come out publicly and support giving federal funds to some mess he created by letting that company operate with no oversight. GB had better tread lightly with me. I don't work for him anymore. I'm a private citizen and I may start expressing my own personal views on his horrible domestic policies and the after-effects…I'll do it professionally if I do—”

“Madam Secretary Brandywine, did I say something funny?”

“No, Bob. Life has a funny way of telling you factors you already knew, but failed to recognize the importance.”

“Well, I'm sorry you had to endure the long line of well-wishers; we just love you. Your town car is in the back, and I'll escort you out.”

“Thank you, Bob, but I'll need to go to the restroom first. Please have my car meet me in the front. Always come in the back for security, and leave out of the front, even though a black person coming in through the back has a sad historical significance.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but now that we have a man of color in the oval office, things are equal for all—that's the greatness of America, don't you think? Even though you and I don't agree with his policies.”

I can't wait to fly out tomorrow morning. I don't miss D.C. and the phony over-the-top plastic people. You have to talk different languages here; the language of the real, and the language of the unrealistic. I just want to sit in this limo for a while and decompress, and fix me a drink.

“Driver, I need to make some phone calls, and I don't want to drop any of them, so stay parked here. I'll let you know when we can go.”

“Yes, Madam. Should I let the security in the front and behind us know we'll be sitting here for a while?”

“Yes, please. Tell them it won't be long.”

My security team has been hired as independent contractors. A service provided to me after serving in an administration. It's on the taxpayer's dime for life when I have to come to D.C., and certain other public appearances.

I love this town for the sights. I'm sitting across from the Potomac River, and even at night, the cherry blossom trees are beautiful. The eats are the best in the world, and there are some places to go hang out, but you're going to run in to plastic people.

I assume some people ask, what is my problem? I'm sure they look and think of me as a black woman with an elitist attitude, when I'm not that way. I wish I had the ground under me to walk and talk as I please. Many times, I'm that plastic person smiling at assholes trying to keep them from sniffing up my ass trying to get a favor.

I'm in a bad mood. Gin and cranberry juice over the rocks is my choice tonight.

This has been somewhat of an upsetting trip. I shared some news with Psalms before I flew out here. I thought he might like the news, but he didn't take it too kindly. I couldn't wait to talk to him about it, so I called, and I guess he has other things going on, but I had to tell him. When I told him, he became cold and distant.

He wasn't upset with me, and I do understand what I told him could be troubling, but he needs to look forward in a more positive way.

My sister, my dear baby sister—she loves Psalms with all her heart. She was there when I finally talked to him. Oh, no worries about Psalms and my little sister. She's devoted to me and loves me, and Psalms—he has only misled me once, and I think it was an omission. He didn't tell me Evita was going to be at a social function. I don't like their relationship, but I've put up with it. It's coming to an
end. It has to; it can't go on as it has. I've come to that conclusion.

My sister Faelynn has several problems that leave me shaking my head. She's an airhead with looks. My little sister is a pretty girl. Men lick the bottom of her feet just to be close to her. But, she's clueless about having to function in the real world. I've bailed her out of trouble, and I babysit her, and yes, I do love my sister. She is giving, and she is loyal to me, but her problems in life are often brought on by her being just not that bright.

Our dad spoiled her because she was an accidental baby—Mom and Dad thought they couldn't have any more. In some ways I raised her, so I laugh at myself that I was part of the problem.

She's irresponsible with money; she blows cash like a person with a weak bladder flushes—all too often. She is the mother of my niece and nephew. Two almost perfect kids. We know kids are hell, but Faelynn birthed two beautiful children. Now the children's father, it brings me tears and fears. He is an ass, and in my sister he found a naïve girl he could run over, and he did. The man worked her mind, and had the kids with him when he traveled, or when he went to their other house. He left Faelynn at the main house. She thought he was a good father. Clueless as she is, she didn't realize the dutiful dad was a shiftless husband who didn't want her.

Pretty or not, some men have more than their fair share of cute bimbos. Now he has the kids eighty percent of time, and he takes them around the world and around his whores. Unacceptable.

I'm in a bad mood. I didn't put enough gin in this drink. Sweet is nice, but I'm not in a nice disposition to sugarcoat anything.

Faelynn is in Seattle, hanging out to help relieve the stress she gets when she has to take her kids back to their father. This last time she had the kids, she received disturbing news about their
last trip with their father. Supposedly the kids heard their dad having sex. In the Spanish villa where they stayed, there were no doors. Designed to look like a Moorish castle, the villa had no private enclosed rooms. Now I understand the father well enough that he didn't make his kid watch or promote them watching, but he needed to be more careful. Kids are going to hear moms and dads going at it, but they should not hear different women getting a piece from dad. He has different women coming and going, and that's not a good look around my niece and nephew. Something has to be done.

I'm in a bad mood. I'm biting on the ice from my drink. I had to slow down on the alcohol since I have another meeting tonight.

Psalms—what's going on lately with his jobs? He seems to be more involved than just setting up security. I've procured things for him that are not the norm. Then when I call lately, he's busy, and I get the “I'll get back to you.” I'm a submissive woman to him. There is no other man on this earth before him. For the most part, I enjoy being that woman for him, but I'm a woman, and sometimes I need to be first when I call. In the past week, something is different.