The Black Door (10 page)

TREY’S EMOTIONS
were all over the place. He was conflicted. On the one hand, he was still enjoying the afterglow of having explosive sex with Meri Renick, but on the other hand, he had broken house rule
numero uno.
When the club opened, Trey promised himself that he wouldn’t get involved with any of the members. He felt that if he was going to have a successful business, then he would have to conduct himself like a businessman, not a gigolo. But nature had called the shots that night when he saw Meri sauntering through the club dressed in that red, seductive, “come-fuck-me” outfit, and that’s exactly what he did. His libido was in overdrive as he pulled her into a utility closet without saying a single word, because his body did all the talking. He had sensed from that first night on the steps that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The space that he pulled her into was as tight as a pod, with just enough room for them to find Utopia. Trey came so hard that he saw stars. He always thought that cliche was a misnomer, but he actually saw a few celestial beings as cum rushed out of the head of his penis. Just thinking about being inside of her was making him hard, and he began to crave her body, like a dope fiend craving a crack pipe. His attraction to her was disconcerting. He wasn’t into older women, yet he was irresistably drawn to her and couldn’t get the feel of her smooth ass off of his mind.

I
have the perfect antidote to cure this craving,
he thought, as he looked at the cell-phone number scribbled on the back of a crumpled-up business card. He dialed the seven digits. The only thing better than pussy was
new
pussy.

“Hello,” cooed a sweet voice on the other end of the line.

“It’s Trey,” he said, as if his first name were enough of an introduction.

“I’ve been waiting for your call. What took you so long?” she asked.

“I didn’t know there was a time restriction,” he teased.

“You’re so fine that I’d wait forever and then some.”

That was the response Trey had gotten all of his life from women—young and old—and the compliment fed his soul. He never had a problem getting a girlfriend; his problem was staying interested in one woman long enough to make a commitment. He was the consummate bachelor, always staying one step ahead of the C-word.

“You want to get together tonight?” he asked, knowing fully well that she wouldn’t be able to resist his invitation.

“Sure,” she said eagerly. “What did you have in mind?”

Trey had only one thing on his mind at the moment, and that was sex. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and
dessert?”
he said suggestively.

“Okay,” she answered readily, not skipping a beat.

“I’m at 128 East Thirty-eighth, right off Park. See you around nine.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, and hung up.

Contrary to his character, Trey’s apartment wasn’t the typical bachelor pad. He lived in a tony co-op on the East Side in a beautifully restored, prewar Art Deco building. His unit was a spacious duplex with blond hardwood floors throughout; three balconies— two on the main floor, and one off of the master bedroom; two guest suites; and maid’s quarters. Since he worked in a sex-laden environment, he didn’t want that same look at home, so for the decor, he chose a soothing monochromatic theme of earth tones with a smattering of color. Trey’s Italian furniture was sleek, with clean lines, as were his electronics, and his artwork consisted of original gouaches by Dalí, Erté, and Pollock.

After a quick shower, Trey put on a pair of silk drawstring pants and a ribbed tank, splashed his face with his signature Bvlgari cologne, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Trey was an amateur chef and took pride in his unique pasta creations. He looked in the fridge to find something to whip up, but there was only a head of wilted butter lettuce, a wedge of brie speckled with mold, a half-empty can of whipped cream—that he used between the legs of his last dinner guest—and a bottle of Moët & Chandon Nectar.

“Guess I’ll have to order in,” he said, taking the champagne out of the refrigerator. Trey took the menu for Table for Two out of his kitchen drawer and read over the entrees. Not knowing if his dinner guest was a carnivore, vegan, or vegetarian, he ordered surf, turf, and a spinach souffle.

After ordering dinner, Trey lit votive candles throughout the apartment. The glow from the flickering flames, reflected off of the alabaster walls, creating a cozy, romantic feeling in the cavernous space. Once the ambience was set, he brought a silver bucket filled with ice, the champagne, and two crystal flutes from the kitchen into the living room and set them on the cocktail table.

The doorman rang just has as he popped the cork. “Perfect timing,” he mused. Trey gave the okay to let his guest enter, and cracked the front door slightly before walking back into the living room. He sat on the sofa, poured two glasses of champagne, and casually took a sip.

“Hello . . . ? Trey . . . ?” she called out from the foyer.

“I’m in here.”

She followed the sound of his voice, and within seconds was standing in front of him. He handed her a glass of champagne.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He smiled.

“Nice place,” she said, looking around the dimly lit room, put the flute on the cocktail table and then took off her coat.

Trey’s dick pulsated and began to rise the moment he saw her outfit. She wore a black satin minidress with shoestring laces running down each side, exposing her thighs, with the glossy fabric accentuating her firm nipples. She looked good enough to eat, and he wanted a taste, but he played it cool. Trey knew if he appeared unaffected by her seductive outfit, then she would work harder to get his attention. And sure enough, when he didn’t comment on her sexy number, she bent over, picking up her glass directly in front of him, so he could peek at her cleavage. He swallowed hard, but didn’t say a word as he watched her juicy titties hanging loose underneath the dress. He could see her nipples brushing against the fabric, and wanted to suck them so bad that his mouth began to water, but he ignored the urge. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said suggestively

Her eyes zeroed in on his crotch, and though the room was only lit by candlelight, she could see his semierection. She put the glass to her lips, drained the contents in one fast gulp, licked her lips, and then said, “I’m starving.”

It took all of Trey’s willpower not to pull her down on top of him, but he had to maintain his composure; otherwise, he’d lose his control and appear desperate. Trey had lost his cool with Meri, and that was enough to snap him back to reality. And in his reality, he would never become pussy-whipped—though he loved sex—and be controlled by one woman. “Good. I ordered dinner from Table for Two. It should be here soon,” he said nonchalantly.

She looked confused and didn’t know quite how to read him. One minute he seemed to be flirting, and the next he seemed indifferent. She assumed he’d be all hands the second she removed her coat, but he wasn’t. Normally, she didn’t have sex with a man until they’d known each other for at least thirty days, but she’d make an exception for Trey. She walked over to him, spread her legs, and sat directly on top of his growing rod.

“I want an appetizer before dinner,” she whispered in his ear.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked casually, as if she weren’t sitting on his cock.

She reached down and massaged his dick through the thin silk fabric. “I have a taste for beef sausage.”

“Is that right?” Trey was trying desperately to maintain his cool, but his dick was as hard as a copper pipe and he was dying to bust a nut.

“Yep, that’s right.” She slipped between his legs onto her knees, released his penis through the pants’ opening, and began to lick the shaft. She trailed her tongue around the circumference of his head, and then slid his dick into her mouth.

Trey grabbed her hair as she sucked him off. “Yeah, baby, that’s it. Don’t stop.”

She bobbed her head up and down frantically until she brought him close to climax, then replaced her mouth with her hand and jerked him off.

“Now that’s what I call an appetizer,” she panted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

After he came, Trey was satisfied and ready to toss her out, but he had to tread carefully since they traveled in the same circles. “Yeah, baby, that was good.”

She got off her knees and cuddled next to him on the sofa. “I wanted to do that the first time I laid eyes on you,” she confessed.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he teased.

“Like I told you before, I’d wait for you forever,” she said, dreamy-eyed.

When he heard the sincerity in her voice, Trey knew he had to make his intentions clear, otherwise, she’d get hurt and he’d have to deal with the backlash. “Listen.” He moved away slightly. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Neither am I,” she lied. “I just want to hang out.”

“That’s cool. We can hang, as long as we’re on the same page.” Just as he made his statement, the doorbell rang. “There’s dinner,” he said, and excused himself to answer the door.

They ate in silence. Trey’s mind was still on Meri. He felt as if he was under some kind of hypnotic spell, and his attempt at breaking free had proven futile. He hated to admit it, but what he needed was more hair of the dog, and that hair belonged to Meri.

ARIEL GATHERED
an armload of case files and put them in the out-box for JoAnne to file; her workday had come to a close, and none too soon. She’d been dragging around for a few days. She still felt drunk from too much vodka and hedonistic anonymous sex and just couldn’t seem to pull herself together. The B-complex vitamin she’d taken that morning had long worn off, and all she wanted to do was go home, take a bath, and get into bed. But to her chagrin, Preston insisted on taking her to dinner. Normally, she would have jumped at the chance to have a night out with him, but her feelings were beginning to shift. Ariel hadn’t expected to make a connection at The Black Door; she was just supposed to be an innocent bystander, but she had become a willing participant instead. Now the connection she made had her questioning her feelings for Preston. She dictated one more letter for her assistant to transcribe, then gathered her belongings and headed out the door.

“JoAnne, can I have this in the morning?” she asked, giving her assistant the microcassette.

“Sure, no problem. Have a good night, Ms. Vaughn.”

“Thanks, JoAnne, and don’t stay too late.” JoAnne, a single mom, had been with Ariel since she started with the firm, and was a hard worker who clocked serious overtime to keep her daughter in private school.

Ariel didn’t feel up to tackling the subway. Instead, she hailed a cab outside of the office. In the back of the taxi, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She instantly flashed back to the encounter with Mr. Black Mask. No one had ever manhandled her like that before; it was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Frightening because he snuck up from behind, caught her off guard, and pulled her into a pitch-black room; exhilarating because excitement surged through Ariel’s body the moment she realized that it was the man she’d been hunting for all night. But she was also perplexed by his sudden disappearance. The other male servers she encountered at the club were verbally aggressive— practically begging her for sex—but he didn’t say one word, just fucked her and walked out. She should’ve been offended by his abruptness, but Ariel found herself drawn to his mystique, and wanted to know more about the man behind the mask. His body was perfect, as if Michelangelo had carefully sculpted him out of marble. She could feel the hard muscles of his arms when he grabbed her by the waist. And the smell of his cologne was like an aromatic aphrodisiac that made her horny with lust. Just the thought of him was making her wet. Ariel pressed her legs together in an effort to quell her mounting desire.

The muffled sound of ringing disturbed her lustful reverie. She rolled her eyes at the interruption, dug the tiny cell phone out of her purse, looked at the caller ID, and sighed. “Hello, Preston,” she said, with about as much enthusiasm as a sluggish mollusk.

“Hey, honey, where are you?” he asked excitedly

Ariel was still upset at the way Preston had dismissed her accusations when she had confronted him at his town house. He practically laughed in her face when she quizzed him about Michele. “On my way home.”

“We have an eight o’clock reservation at Spice Market. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty, so be ready. I can’t wait to see you, honey,” he said.

The Invasion of the Body Snatchers
quickly flashed through Ariel’s mind. Did someone replace the real Preston with a replica? It wasn’t too long ago that he was pushing her away, focusing on his precious career. His attitude had suddenly shifted, and he was practically hunting her down for a date. She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or suspicious. “Okay I’ll be downstairs at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll see you then, honey.” Then totally out of character, he made a kissy sound into the receiver before hanging up.

Ariel looked strangely at her cell phone.
What’s gotten into him?

Traffic was snarled in midtown, as usual, and the taxi sat motionless for what seemed like fifteen minutes, before inching at a snail’s pace toward Ariel’s building. Three-quarters of an hour later, she was finally home.

Once inside her apartment, Ariel went into the bedroom and threw herself across the bed for a catnap. She’d planned on sleeping for twenty minutes, take a shower, and get dressed, but when the phone rang, she looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was ten minutes after seven. She’d been asleep for almost an hour.

“Hello,” she said frantically.

“Where’s the fire, darling?” Meri asked, picking up on her panicked tone.

“Hi. Can’t talk. Running late,” she blurted out. Preston was a stickler for time, and though she was still miffed at him, she didn’t want to start the evening off on a negative note.

“Oh.” Meri sounded offended.

“Listen, I’ll call you later,” Ariel said, rushing her off of the phone.

“Okay, darling,” Meri said, and hung up.

Ariel didn’t have time to shower, so she quickly refreshed her key areas by sponging off with a washcloth and soap. She then rushed to the closet and snatched a black jersey dress off of its wooden hanger, then put on a pair of black sling-backs, sans hose, and a strand of pearls. She brushed her hair in a neat chignon, patted her face with translucent power, and applied a layer of Russian Red to her lips. She threw her ID, cell phone, credit card, and the tube of lipstick into an evening bag, spritzed her neck with ENJOY and flew out of the door in record time.

Preston’s Towncar was waiting curbside as she exited the building. Ariel slowed her gait and exhaled. She didn’t want to appear eager, even though part of her was thrilled that her man had taken the initiative and actually planned a date. Nevertheless, she remained cool as she got into the car.

“Wow, you look great!” he exclaimed, as he took her hand and helped her settle into the backseat. He took a deep whiff. “And you smell great too!”

“Aren’t you full of compliments this evening.”

“And you’re deserving of every single one and
more”
He smiled.

Unable to withstand the pleasantries any longer, Ariel blurted out, “Look, Preston, we need to talk.”

He lightly touched her knee. “I know, honey, but let’s wait until we get to the restaurant. We’ll have a great dinner, wine, and a wonderful conversation that’s long overdue.”

Ariel reluctantly relented. “Okay, Preston, whatever you say.”

In an effort to ease the mounting tension, he pressed one of three buttons on the armrest and instantly, soft jazz filled the air as they focused their attention on the passing scenery instead of on the pink elephant that sat awkwardly between them. The limo floated south on Fifth Avenue toward downtown, while they remained silent, listening to sound of vintage Billie Holiday singing softly in the background.

Twenty minutes later, the car was pulling in front of one of Jean George’s acclaimed restaurants. The Spice Market was located in the Meatpacking District, Manhattan’s newly crowned trendy area. It was formerly a desolate commercial zone populated by butchers and bloody carcasses hanging from meat hooks in the day and cat-size rats prowling the streets at night. Over the years, the neighborhood made a drastic change, converting abandoned warehouses into million-dollar lofts with art galleries and avant-garde cafes drawing the “beautiful” people by the masses. Now the once barren area was swarming with uptown types splurging at overpriced boutiques and dining at some of the finest restaurants in the city.

“Hendricks, table for two,” Preston said to the hostess.

Ariel stood back and marveled at the cavernous, bilevel space. Though grand in scale, the room had a romantic, slightly erotic feel. The decor was Malaysia meets Manhattan, Zen-like with a flair of urban chic.

The hostess seemed to immediately recognize his name without referring to her reservation list. “Right this way, sir.” She led them up an elongated staircase into a cozy, softly lit private chamber. “Your server will be with you momentarily.”

Ariel positioned herself on the russet cushions, and Preston followed suit. The waiter appeared in the doorway looking like a genie fresh out of the bottle, dressed in a smock and harem pants. “May I bring you cocktails?”

Knowing exactly how Ariel liked her martini, Preston took the liberty and answered for them both, “We’ll have two ice-cold, extremely dry Belvedere martinis. I’d also like to see your wine list.”

The waiter returned shortly with their drinks and went on to explain the specials. “For starters, we have a succulent crabmeat salad with vermicelli; Thai fried fish cakes; and spring rolls. And for the main course, there’s the onion-and-chile-crusted short ribs, or grilled snapper served whole on a bed of lime and sesame noodles. And just so you know, the dishes are meant to be shared and are brought out when ready, not necessarily in any particular order,” he informed them.

“Everything sounds good, so I’ll leave the selections to you,” Preston told the waiter.

“As you wish, sir.” He nodded genie-style.

Once the waiter was gone, Preston raised his glass and clinked it with Ariel’s. “To us.”

She took a sip and, as the icy cold vodka slid down her throat, she began to finally relax. Ariel couldn’t remember the last time that she and Preston had had a romantic dinner, and it felt good to be pampered.

Preston slid closer and softly kissed her neck. “I’ve missed you, Ariel,” he whispered into her ear.

“You’ve been so pre—”

He kissed her lips to stop her talking, and instinctively finished her sentence. “I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but I promise, things are going to change. You are the most important person in my life, and I—”

“That’s funny, I thought Senator Oglesby was the most important person in your life,” she said, cutting him off.

Preston looked wounded, as if her words had cut him to the quick, but he immediately recovered. “I’ll admit that sitting on the Supreme Court has been a dream of mine for a long time, and the senator has been an inescapable part of this tedious process, but—”

Ariel cut him off again. “What are you trying to tell me, Preston? That our relationship has to simmer on the back burner until you’re confirmed?” she asked, raising her voice half a decibel. She could feel the vein in the middle of her forehead start to sprout, and downed her martini in one swift gulp in an effort to cool her jets.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” he reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small aqua box, “is that I love you.” Preston opened the tiny lid. “And I want you to be my wife.”

Ariel looked into the plush little box, and looking back at her was a four-carat, princess-cut diamond engagement ring. Her jaw dropped in complete shock. A proposal was the last thing she had expected. Even though they had been dating for years, he never once alluded to marriage, and she never pushed the envelope. The way Preston had been acting lately, she assumed that the last thing he wanted was a permanent commitment. “I . . . I . . . don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

He took the ring out of the box and placed it on her finger. “Just say yes.”

She stared at the ring and admired the way it glistened in the candlelight. The rainbow-colored rays were mesmerizing, rendering her speechless.

“Ariel, will you marry me?” he asked, anxiously awaiting her answer.

“Preston, don’t you think we need to have a serious discussion about what’s been going on lately, before we dive headfirst into a situation that neither one of us is ready for?” she asked.

“If you’re talking about Michele, I’m going to tell you once and for all that nothing is going on between us. It’s strictly professional. Besides, she’s dating my son.”

She looked surprised. “Little Preston?”

“He’s not so little anymore. He’s a grown man now. And he and Michele are dating,” he said again to bring the point home.

“Wow, I haven’t seen him since . . .” she hesitated, trying to recall their last visit, “. . . since, I don’t know when.”

“Actually you did see him, the other day at the town house. He was coming in when you were going out.”

Once again, she looked surprised. “That was Little Preston?”

“Yes, in the flesh.” He took her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “Now do you believe me when I tell you that I’m not sleeping with Michele?”

She nodded her head yes. “But . . .”

“No buts, honey. Just say yes.”

“Preston, you’ve been pushing me away so much. Now you do a complete about-face and propose marriage. This has taken me totally by surprise, so I’m going to need some time to think about this unexpected turn of events.” In the back of her mind, she could hear her foster mom’s voice telling her to say yes, but after her encounter at The Black Door, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

He slumped back in his seat, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs. Preston knew Ariel was upset with him for being preoccupied, but he didn’t think that she would actually mull over his proposal. “Take all the time you need,” he said, trying to sound sympathetic to her feelings.

“Thanks for understanding.”

But Preston didn’t understand. He knew most women wanted nothing more than white lace and promises, but Ariel had practically turned him down cold. Well, he wouldn’t pressure her tonight, but he wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers either. He had too much riding on her decision, so one way or another she was going to be Mrs. Preston Hendricks.