Sinful (20 page)

“A penny for your thoughts,” Kim whispered.

“Don't look at me like that,” he said. “It makes me…nervous.”

“Like what, Marvin?” Kim replied, moving closer to him.

“Like I wished Chandelle would.”

“Then you'd probably want to stop looking at me…like that,” she countered.

Marvin licked his lips and swallowed hard before continuing in their dangerous game. “And how is that exactly?” he groaned softly.

“Like you were wishing I were her. It really makes me…well…I think you'd better go. Good night, Marvin.”

“I'll see you at the office,” he said, exhaling heartily over what almost jumped off with his boss. “Are we still cool?”

“Very, let's keep it that way.”

“Agreed,” he answered with a shining new resolve. “Good night, Kim.”

Surveying their long good-bye at the door, Dior glanced down at her watch. She didn't believe that they got into anything that required getting undressed, because she knew that Marvin typically had Chandelle going twice as long as he'd been on the inside of Kim's home. Since it appeared that her trickery with Marvin hadn't worked in her favor, Dior decided to work it from the other end. If Chandelle didn't break up with Marvin over the hint of infidelity, she'd have to see to it that he found himself on the bad end of a good tryst.

“I
'm coming,” Marvin shouted from the kitchen in his apartment. He noted that his cupboards were bare again, although his bank account was swelling like the mumps. Dooney had viewed three of Dave's rental properties at lunch that day and wanted to look at financing another one. Marvin instructed him to relax until he'd seen them all before making applications to Kim's brokerage service for the mortgage loans. Marvin also planned a marketing strategy to reel in more clients like the McClellans, mature buyers with salaries equaling their aspirations and taste. He was clicking on all cylinders and it seemed that nothing could stand in his way. “I said I was coming,” Marvin reiterated, as he hustled to answer the door when the knocks grew louder. A quick look into the peephole put a curious sneer on his face.
What is she doing here?
he thought.

“Come on, Marvin, open up!” she complained. “I brought you something nice and I can hear you breathing. Come on, I've got to pee.” Reluctantly, Marvin unlocked the door and invited her in.

“Hey, Dior,” he said, looking her over like a nightclub bouncer who was wise to keep his eyes on a seedy character. Marvin stood in front of her, contemplating whether he should allow her in past the living room area, remembering that whenever she just popped up he always regretted it later on.

“Whew, thanks a lot,” Dior sighed, handing him a gift box with expensive cognac and two crystal glasses. “Here, this is for you. I've heard how hard you've been working and thought maybe you'd want to chill a minute and reflect on your success.” When Marvin cradled the wooden box, still eyeing her suspiciously, Dior held her cheek toward him so he would feel obligated to plant a kiss on it. Marvin smirked, objected initially, then thought it ridiculous to be standoffish with Chandelle's cousin, who probably for once in her life meant well. “You're welcome. Now, can I use the restroom, or should I drop my pants and let her rip right here on the carpet?”

“Sure, Dior, go on back and do your thing.”

“Ooh, my coat,” she said, slipping a brown leather jacket off her shoulders. She darted past him with her handbag in tow.

When she laid it on the sofa, Marvin caught himself clocking the way her dress swayed effortlessly with her curvy hips.
Yeah, that's Chandelle's cousin all right
, he thought.
They've got the same moves
.

Behind closed doors, Dior stuffed something in a black nylon bag underneath the cabinet, camouflaged it with a stack of bath towels, then flushed the toilet in case Marvin was listening. After washing up and primping her new hairstyle, with longer weave tracks cascading past her shoulders, she smiled to her reflection in the mirror. “You are something else,” she said to herself, “and then some.” She exited the restroom much in same way she'd sashayed down the hall to enter it, with both hips slow dancing in perfect rhythm. “I'm about to bounce,” she announced, as if he cared what she did. “I have a hot date and it might last all night, if you know what I mean.”

“Huh, I'd be surprised if it didn't,” he smarted back. “Thanks for the gift, Dior. I have been doing nothing but putting in work. It'll be nice to kick back and take a pinch out for myself.”

“Well, what are you waiting on?” she asked. “Pour me a swig so I can kick back too.” Dior begun unwrapping Marvin's gift.

“I thought you had to roll out,” he said, with a nervous hitch in his voice. He couldn't help thinking about the last time she pranced through the kitchen, wearing nearly next to nothing.

“I do, and don't worry, I'm not gonna drink it all. There's just something about popping a cork that appeals to me.” She let her comment hang in the air momentarily for full effect. “So, here is a li'l for me and, of course, two fingers for Marvin Hutchins, the real-estate tycoon.” Dior tossed a mouthful of sipping liquor down the back of her throat like an old pro. “Ahhhhh, that was smooth,” she gurgled with her mouth on fire. “Very smooth.”

“You're getting too big for your britches,” Marvin joked, as he sampled a measure as well. “Yes, this is smooth. You did good, Dior.”

“Cool, now it's time to do some good for myself. Help me with my coat,” she prodded, when he purposely stood a safe distance from her. “Come on, boy, I don't bite…no more.”

Marvin sat his glass down on the counter and obliged, holding the jacket behind her so she could easily slide her arms in the sleeves, in the same way he'd done for Chandelle too many times to count. “This is a very expensive jacket,” he said, noting the quality and design.

“My new gig is paying well. I've already started treating myself to some of this and that.”
I can't wait to treat myself to some of you
, she thought, with him located mere inches away. “Be careful if you can't be good,” Dior told him on her way to the door.

“You should take your own advice,” Marvin replied.

“I have been. I do. And I will. Enjoy,” she said with a carefree flip of her wrist, an indication that her good deed for the day was done. As soon as she jumped in the car, her trusty Ford Escort with a fresh paint job and shiny rims to set it off, Dior called Chandelle to orchestrate the back end of her covert operation. “Hey, Cuz,” she said, loudly and jubilantly, “I'm on my way to swoop you. Get something on so we can step out tonight. Naw, I'm not going to drag you to some hole in the wall with roughnecks pulling all on you. I don't go there anymore. Besides, the police raided that joint the night after we fell up in it. Hush and get dressed. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Bye.”

Dior didn't ask Chandelle to join her for an evening out on the town, nor did she allow her to decline the offer, she couldn't afford to. After weeks of surveillance, plotting, and engaging herself as a provocateur, Dior had her stars aligned and devilment mapped out to the letter. She had devised a stunt so devious that no one would see it coming.

 

“Ooh, girl, look at you,” Dior squealed with excitement when Chandelle answered the door fully dressed. She fussed over her cousin's navy wool jumpsuit that would undoubtedly turn heads. “You know I gots to get me one of those.”

“Hey, Dior, I knew you'd be superfly so I shrugged on something cute.” Chandelle took in Dior's burnt-colored cocktail dress and matching animal print shawl. “That dress is hot.” Although she couldn't remember the last time Dior adorned herself in anything other than tight pants, this was a great change of pace. “Oh, hold on. I'll get my car, then come through the garage.”

“No way am I letting you push your whip tonight. This is a girl's night out and I'm the designated driver. Lock the door and let's be out.” Again, Dior's fast-talking theatrics negated the opportunity for Chandelle to think for herself, just like Dior intended.

“Why not,” Chandelle agreed. “I can drink what I want and relax too. I hope they have some crab claws where we're going. I'm in the mood for seafood.” She sauntered toward Dior's pimped-out ride in her high heels, admiring the racy metallic custom makeover. “Sweet paint job, but these rims are gonna fool around and get us jacked,” she predicted.

“Just get in,” Dior grumbled. “Ain't nobody gonna jack me up for these, they only look choice. I don't part with my pennies that easy.”

Chandelle turned the radio on, then cranked it up louder. “So says you, new sounds, rims that bling, and tight polish to turn it out. Appears you've been tossing pennies all over the place.”

“Not any that I'll miss,” Dior said, dismissing the talk about her frivolous spending. “What I have missed is sharing
we
time, Chandelle and me time. Promise me that you'll loosen up and ride with me tonight, nothing wild but super chilled.”

“True be told, I could use some we time too. Since Marvin…”

“Ahh-nah-nah, no Marvin talk,” Dior whined. “One minute into our
we
time and you're already bringing a man into it. It must be difficult to have him on your mind, but for one night, just one, could you please…hold it down on the
y'all?
Thank you very much.”

Chandelle laughed at Dior's insistence, feeling like she was a young girl, footloose and fancy free, hitting the strip for some fun times and carefree laughs. That was pre-Marvin; of course, she'd begun to reminisce until Dior's orders chased those renegade thoughts away. One night, without the mention of Marvin coming out of her mouth, that would take some doing no matter who was opposed to it. That man was still her heart. “Okaaay,” Chandelle acquiesced after pretending it pained her to do so. “That gives us plenty of time to discuss where all of your new pennies are coming from?”

Dior glanced at Chandelle from the corner of her eye. She was salty over the question but played it off. “So, how is Marvin doing these days?” Both of them howled over her witty stay-out-of-mine comeback.

The valet attendant at Café Bleu, an ultraposh restaurant and bar, grinned when he saw two very attractive women inching forward in a candy-painted Ford. He straightened his red jacket as they approached. “Good Lawd,” he exclaimed through clenched teeth. “Welcome to Café Bleu where heaven must be missing two angels.”

“Isn't he a sweet little boy?” said Dior, to back him off her. “Didn't me and your mama go to school together?” The young man took his ribbing in good fashion as she handed him the keys.

“My bad, that's an angel and another somebody from the other place,” he said to himself, thinking they were out of earshot.

“I heard that!” Dior spat over her shoulder.

“So, I hope you did,” he replied with a wicked smile. “I bet my mama didn't like you either.”

Chandelle doubled over laughing at his retort. “He got you there, Dior. Should have quit while you were ahead.”

“And you should have had my back. I can't let some goofy valet clown me. I've got a rep' to protect. I'm known on these streets,” she testified proudly.

“Oh, I don't know you,” said a burly doorkeeper when she tried to stroll past him. “IDs please.”

“I thought this was a restaurant,” Chandelle contested, while fishing in her purse. “Y'all got a cover charge too?”

“No cover tonight,” the doorman grumbled. He checked the birthday on each of their driver's licenses. “We don't like drama at the Café. Cool, go on in,” he decided, with one eye tracing the snug fit of Chandelle's jumper.

“Some people take their jobs too seriously,” Chandelle snapped. She held her wallet opened to insert her ID. “I thought he was going to strip-search us.”

“In his dreams,” Dior quipped. “Fat boy already pictured you naked on a plate with a scoop of grits and a hot-buttered biscuit to sop up the juices.”

Dior flagged a waitress down, then asked for a table for two. She was rudely told to find herself an available table and she'd be over to serve them. “I hope that means I get the tip too,” was Dior's response. “That's what I figured,” she said when the waitress recanted her earlier statement. After sitting down, Dior appraised the talent in the room. “Hmm, hmm, hmm, it's raining men and I forgot my bucket.”

“I'm glad we came for some
we
time,” Chandelle reminded her, “because there are a lot of handsome distractions.”

Dior rolled her eyes until she saw that same lazy waitress beckoning to them. “Ooh, come on, our table is ready.”

Several single men ogled while they trekked across the restaurant. It had been a number of years since Chandelle felt like she'd forgotten to put on any clothing before leaving the house. Men with female dates were the worse, undressing her with their eyes.

Dior wasn't fazed in the least by the overwhelming attention; she was accustomed to being around horny grown men with their objectives written on their faces. “Men are so transparent,” she mocked, making eye contact with a well-dressed gentleman near the end of the bar. When she winked at him, he headed over toward their table. Dior quickly held the dinner menu in front of her face. Chandelle blushed unexpectedly after recognizing him. His name was Tony Jones, Chandelle's last ex-boyfriend.

“Tony?” she said, standing to give him a cordial hug. Tony was Marvin's age, near the same size, and drop-dead gorgeous. At thirty-one he was a perfect picture of health and masculinity. “Wow, look, Dior, it's Tony Jones.”

Dior lowered the menu slowly, like it was a bother to speak. “Hey, Tony,” she spat hurriedly, faking her enthusiasm.

“Hey, Chandelle, Dior. Thank you for supporting a brotha. It's a treat having y'all dine with us.”

“Us?” Dior repeated, manufacturing her surprise with a broad, open-handed gesture.

Tony blushed, attempting to shield his modesty, a character trait Chandelle admired about him in the past. “Actually, us is me. I bought this place about eighteen months ago.”

“All of this at Café Bleu belongs to you?” She tossed a phony “I'm very impressed” smile his way, but it was meant to smack Chandelle upside her head to get her thinking the same thing.