Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I have a crash on Miss Thyng. Every night at around 8:45 you'll find me looking down from my apartment on the 6th floor at her door way. Coz that's when she's going out. She's got her own car, a Bentley, diamond black, souped up, Boschmann music system; interior, dark boa skin covered seats, automatic gear, though she never used it, she liked how the smooth short dark penile shaped ebony wood gear lever felt, so she liked changing the gear manually. I don't know her real name but I heard how the neighborhood dudes say she's a pretty lil thing so I thought I'd call her Miss Thyng.
I could be a man with a wife and kids who acts like he's just lookin down at his car seeing if the chauffeur had parked it alright, or the night shift janitor who steals five minutes every day to stare down when no one's watching, even the boy who's just hit puberty and discovered his sensuality and looking down at this miss brings out some of it, I could be the teenage girl who likes girls more than she does boys but isn't ready to come out of the closet yet but looking down, at 8:45 every night, she sees the lady she'd like to share and explore with; that's what they all do at 8:45. But I'm not any of them, you see, all these people feel guilty after they've done all the fantasizing about Miss Thyng, coz they've got obligations to their families, or society wouldn't support their preferences; me, I'm justified, I'm 26, a lawyer, live in my own house, and most importantly, I'm single.
The Bentley's engine came to life, there's only one word that can describe the roar, sexy. She was smooth, she handled it well; maneuvering her way out of the parking lot. It had crossed my mind, more than once, to follow her, see where she goes; I know it's creepy, unethical. It's the nature of infatuation, get's one doing things he'd never do, involuntarily, somehow subconsciously: I won't deny it, I know there's infatuation at play here, but I knew the line, drew it myself, the line between common infatuation, which everyone experiences at one point or another in their lives and a psychopathic sort of addiction; a craze.
What kept me on toes with her is she was unpredictable, some days as she get's ready to go out she leaves the bedroom window open, sit at the dresser that was on the adjacent wall of the one with the window and stay there for about twenty minutes doing her make up, she sat there in what all prudes and some tolerant people would term as uncouthly short white silky lace sleeping dress . She then comes to the window and stands there for a moment, as if she knows someone is studying her; she has the body of a Grecian goddess, the first woman I can really describe as breath taking, features are firm and perfectly outlined, she closes the window and draws the curtains to go and dress. On other days she dressed before she did her make up, she'd draw the curtain and stand right behind it, her silhouette image would be seen undressing, she did it slow, did it sensually, pausing at suggestive angles, playing with the lace of her undergarments as she pulled them down, she'd then walk away leaving my mind wanting and needing.
I shifted into fourth gear as the Bentley overtook the ice truck and accelerated, I did the same thing but forgot to indicate left as I went back in and the ice truck driver honked furiously in contempt as he could have bumped into me if I hadn't been lucky, my mind was in a mess; my conscious battered, I was following Miss Thyng. The small red, horned devil at the top of my head was beating the hell out of the small haloed angel who was trying to talk sense into my head.
So after a 15 minutes drive and a lot of dodging skills I thought I'd never use, the Bentley slowed down as we were approaching Santos Club. As she entered the parking lot, she stopped the car as one of the uniformed valets approached it, he then opened the door and helped her out taking the car keys simultaneously. He then carefully drove to a parking space with a reserved sign planted at it's end; the only reserved space in the whole lot. As she approached the entrance one of the well dressed patrons at the door walked to her and helped her up the steps with her right hand gently placed on his left. Something was a miss here, of all the other ladies I saw going in, non got the kind of treatment Miss Thyng here was getting; I couldn't help but speculate: could it be that she's some rich dudes wife or mistress, could it be that she's got some status in the Latino society that I don't know, or perharps her family's respected which means they had ends.
Of all the other nights that I saw Miss Thyng, this one night, she out did herself, any player out there who could have seen this woman tonight, must have thought of changing his ways and settling down with a fly mamacita like that. She stood tall, dressed in the kinkiest thing I ever saw. Picture this, fly Puerto Rican Chiquita, glossy dark red lips, beauty mark on the left side of her mouth, standing about 5 foot 6, long black hair flowing down to the mid-back section, bosom like wow and booty like damn, custom made Lui Vuitton dress revealing a cleavage that would have the most stoic stallion staring, tight at the top but flows gradually from the abs going down and ended right below her thighs. How she managed to balance all that on the complementary suede stilettos from the Vuitton store is so beyond me.
I'd managed to make my way up into the club, the place was crawlin with Latino chics, a few black ladies were representin too. Flippin through recent FHM magazines a few weeks back I'd read of celebrity sitings in this club. I'm not much of a 'rave' dude; but seeing this place and the sort of thyngs that were up in here I had to recognize. The DJ was keepin people up on their feet with beats that was classical, jazzy and them that make you move your body involuntarily and from time to time you'll catch yourself bumping your head to the beat, just slightly. Unlike many other joints my pals invite me up to, this place is not mean with the nachos and crispies, men they all over the place in big bowls.
The next thing I saw was like a hoard of hot young men, all dressed in expensive suits, flocking around Miss Thyng all taking their chances to spit game, I'm talking hot black men clones of Michael Ealy, white boys like twins of Robin Thicke, i'm talking Latino replicates of Enrique Iglesias. Wouldn't you be curious to find out what was up with this woman, who didn't seem interested in all this guys who were hurling themselves at her. Today I'd played many roles including stalking, taking up Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be hard.
"Dry Martini on the rocks please, two olives" I shouted over the music to the dude at the bar where I was seated.
"Got it" he shouted back with a courtious nod as he was pouring the previous order and giving back the change. Within a few short seconds he was serving my drink.
"There you go sir, enjoy your drink".
"Wait', I said 'who's that lady over at VIP, the one with the ..."
"Miss Juentes, Jennie Maria Juentes, she owns and runs this place" he said as he walked away to the end of the bar to take another order. I wasn't shocked, but I was surprised. My curiousity was satisfied, now at least I knew where she went every night. But I still wanted to know more about her, there was an itch I couldn't quite satisfy.
The bartender, Joe, as it turns out was a quite cool fella and he was down for a chat, it was about his break time now.
"I'm taking five" he hallad at the fellow bartender, a pretty lady, as he walked toward me.
"How's your drink" he asked cordially as he leaned at the white marbled bar.
"Best Martini I've had in a while" I replied.
"You see all those guys', he said as he threw a sideway glance at VIP where the guys were trying to court Miss Thyng, now Maria, 'she knows that they're just after her family's money, that's why she ain't interested".
I mused over those words and started "So I could say they're just a bunch of ..."
"Whores? Yeah" Joe finished.
"See, her father's Italian, her mom Puerto Rican. Her dad's a very wealthy man, real estate, shares, ware houses, the works. Only problem is he doesn't have a son, a heir. So if there's anyone who's gonna inherit his money, it's gonna be that pretty little thing seated over there." He said as he took out a shamie from his back pocket and wiped away the little drops of perspiration that had been on his forehead, I could tell he was tired coz from time to time he'd look away, cover his mouth and give small discreet yawns. It was 10:00 now, most bartenders work the 3:00 to midnight shift, it had been a busy night, being a Friday and he still had 2 hrs to go.
"Breaks over Joe" said Monique, the lady bartender as she tapped his shoulder and gave me a wink as she whispered "Sorry for breaking up the chat"
"She's jealous" Joe said as he stepped back, we all giggled at his remark.
As I came to find out, Maria's father, Mr Juentes had 3 daughters, Maria was the eldest. Her siblings were still in school, prestigious universities abroad. They were not much interested in their father's wealth or businesses. One wanted to be a doctor and practise oncology, the other wanted to be a lawyer and work at the Hague sometime in the future, Maria was quite smart herself and incredibly mature beyond her age but she preferred being closer to daddie. Her mother passed away when she was fifteen, and her sisters were younger, it happened before her father had another shot at trying to beget a son.
"Dad, I miss mom, and I don't want anyone taking her place, at least not now" She told her dad one night, (about a month after her mother passed), as Mr Juentes was tucking her in as he always did even if now she was a big girl. She brought this up as she realized that a few women were dropping by the house to talk to her dad.
"I know Maria, I'm not ready for another woman too, I loved your mother so much, no one could take her place" he said as he kissed her forehead. He hadn't talked about their mother's death since the funeral, and realising how much he still missed her, tears welled up in his eyes, he wouldn't cry infront of her, he gave her another peck at her soft cheek and whispered good night, he turned off the lamp light before the first tear trickled and walked out and closed the door.
From then on, her father didn't get engaged in a relationship with any other woman, apart from respecting the memory of his wife, he knew that most of them just wanted to be with him for his money, so he kept off, and business kept his mind off such things.
"What's like your general opinion on sex." Lizzie shot at me, we were at Santos, in one of the well furnished VIP lounges. There was about 4 gorgeous ladies and like 3 fellas. It was one week after I'd first gone to Santos, it was Friday and the place was packed. See, on that first Friday as I was getting ready to leave I was feeling a little bit tipsy, (though not too drunk to drive and I knew I was safe coz traffic wouldn't be an issue at that time of the night), so as I was making a bee line through the crowd I happened to bump into a lady who had a glass of Crystal in her hand and the drink spilled on her white crazy short silk dress.
"I'm really sorry' I started as I took napkins from one of the waitresses passing by and made an attempt to dry the dress where the drink had spilled from her torso all the way down to her abs, 'I really didn't mean to, was just a little tipsy".
"It's ok, I wasn't looking where I was going too, it's my freaking bad, I have another dress in the car, I'm just gonna change' she said as she was trying to hold the dress away from her body as it was now getting clingy and a little bit see through; 'I was tipsy too", she added.
"The least I could do is walk you to the car, coz I was just leaving". I said, trying to look sorry.
When we got to the car I offered to wait till she was done changing then I could leave, when she was done and got out of the car she was like " I see chivalry aint completely dead' she said as she ran her hands over the dress to straighten it and with a little smile on her face as if nothing happened;' what's your name".
"Call me Joe' I replied as I put my hand forth for a shake, 'Joe Foster".
"Joe, I'm Lizzie', she said as she shook my hand lightly, 'I let you off easy coz you're a cute guy, you sort of disarmed me".
"Guess I've got to thank my mama for that, she is the cute one, dad is the tall one" I said with a smile that expressed how flattered I felt.
"I guess yo mama' s responsible for the nice dimples too', she said, leaving me blushing ( something which i've been trying to stop ever since high school to no avail); 'hey, why don't you join me and some of my friends for drinks next Friday, you'll like them".
"Sounds like an invite I can't turn down, I'll catch you next Friday then, your friends must be looking for you inside". I said as I stretched my hand out again for a shake, she lingered for a while as she looked at my hand. "You've earned yourself a hug', she said as she pushed my hand away, came close, too close, gave me a hug , held me there and whispered 'you're a nice guy, can't wait to see you again".
As she let go, I was clearly daunted, "Ok, looking forward to it too". As I was half way through my words she was already walking back toward the club entrance.
So here we are, this Friday, and Lizzie brought her friends, and she was right, I liked them. When Lizzie had mentioned that they're all models, that's when I remembered the face of one particularly familiar one (who was introduced as Amber), on the cover of the previous weeks issue Q Magazine. This was unnatural, I was sitting here flanked by models, Amber to my right and Keisha, an African-American model who's been on the cover of Ebony to my left. My boyz of course wouldn't believe it unless I brought a picture, and even then they'd say it's doctored, that's why I brought Mike, as my witness, as the only friend who I knew wouldn't lose his cool in the presence of such divinity.
Going back to Lizzie's question which was unexpected but not surprising since we were at our 6th round of tequila shots and people were starting to get loose.
"I know sex is overrated, but I'm sure if two freaks get together, the possibilities are crazy". I answered, as I watched sexy smirks surface on the ladies faces.
"Would you call yourself a freak?", Amber asked, and I could swear I heard her purr under her breath when she asked the question.
"That's something that I can show more than I can say". I answered, to the expected drool of everyone present.
What happened next somehow surpassed my every fantasy, Amber leaned close to my ear, her lavender perfume filling me up and said "I wanna be your freak, if you think you can handle it". Then she made this little purring noise with her tongue. Crazy, she was playing kitty with me, take that back, considering the intensity, I'd say tigress. She leaned back into position leaving me wordless.
"Wow, could you guys like get a room" said Lizzie.
"Darn right, we don't want a 'make love in the club' scene up in here", said the forth chic, Mona, who'd been quiet up until now; a comment which brought on giggles.
Mona sat next to Lizzie. As I came to find out from one of the isolated intimate chats with Amber, Mona, who's full name is Monique has her own clothing line which she'd named after her self, Amber added that Mona once worked as PA to Giuliani himself who had encouraged her to grow after working 5 years under him. He had offered to finance her first year of business and also endorsed the Monique brand on several occasions in interviews. The line, a fledgling, was getting noticed and people were buying its unique leathery, bare back look.
At times you wonder how evenings like this are gonna end, most dudes would cross their fingers and toes and hope for a happy orgy (I know I pushed it) with ladies whose judgments have been compromised by the alcohol or at least being able to take a model home (more likely). But that would never happen here; these are women who've got there own, besides the paparazzo were hanging under the guise of club patrons, just waiting for a little embarrassing moment, you know, the obvious, show of a little underwear or non (this hunger by the paparazzo of course inspired by Britney), waiting to see whose gonna go home with who, follow them home, stake it out for the night waiting to spot silhouettes of people getting they freak on through the window. Amber and Keisha were sort of new to the industry and the last thing they wanted to do was come off as loose.
My naughty trail of thoughts was stopped by a sultry soft voice
"Are you guys ok?"
Looking up, I saw her, Maria, being the good host, checking on the regulars at the other table in the lounge; and she was heading this way, I sat up easily, ran my fingers through my hair to straighten it and a palm over it to make it look sleek.
"Hey girl, you look great" Lizzie said as she stood up and gave Maria a tight hug.
They new each other, damn, how more awesome could this get.
"You look fabulous too", Maria said as they gave each other small sisterly pecks on the cheeks.
From the way they held hands after hugging I could tell they hadn't seen each other for a while, it's a good thing they didn't start jumping around in that annoying way most chics (mostly blonds) do when they are excited.
"Come meet my new friends" Lizzie said as she stretched her hand out toward us.
Maria turned and faced as; the way my jaw dropped, if I was walking I could have stumbled over it; I knew I was noticeably overwhelmed but I tried to keep my composure and held my jaw back up.
I hadn't seen her face to face before. Apart from when I saw the Grand Canyon last year, this is the only other thing I can describe as breath taking and almost tear drawing. I mean if cute, sexy and hot had a threesome and somehow the kid borrowed DNA from each, this is exactly how the freakin kid would look.
"Hi guys' she said an almost erotic voice 'I'm Maria".
"Hi" we all hallad back with the cheerful voices of slightly imbibed people.
"Guys, names please", Lizzie said as she gestured Maria to us.
So Maria came round shaking our hands as guys made small chit chat with her while giving out their names. The last time my mind was this blank was when I sat for that algebra paper (which I didn't study for BTW) back in 5th grade.
A million things which I could say once she got here flashed through my mind. What seemed so far out of reach now is so near and I didn't have an effin idea how I was gonna do dis.
"Hi" damn she was here already,
"Aah... hi" I said as I held my hand up. Then there came the blank stare. I was looking at her but I quite wasn't, I absofuckinlutely froze.
“I’m Joe, Joe Foster, excuse the blank stare, lil hazy, Lizzie here’s trying to get me drunk”.
“Nice save Joe’, she said with a smile “for a moment there I thought I had you dumbfounded” she added in sarcastic jest. It’s like she could see right through me.
The next statement out of her mouth made me feel completely busted.
“I make a point of knowing my neighbors, and you in particular have been naughty.....”
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Dingy bars, the smell of cheap hooker perfumes, drunks in tattered cloths. Not the kind of place he normally picked up overdue debtors. Taverns and back alleys, they roused memorize of hardship; when he was starting out.He was looking for Lamie, that was the nick name for Lampani the son of the late powerful Don Gusto who's legend had now been soiled by his sons who squandered the empire which he left behind.
Now Lamie owed both Russians and the Italians.
Seth had been hired separately and rarely jointly by the Italian Mafia families and the Russian drugs and arms dealers for hits on people who owed them money.
He had now been established as the most efficient hit man on the streets, untraceable, clean and untouchable.
This night had been thought out and preplanned detail for detail. Seth hoped for Lamie's own sake that he would be drunk. That the alcohol would dull the gut wrenching and tear drawing pain that he was going to administer. By Pius.
From time to time over the last few months Seth had thought of how his 'work' had affected him and how now he had almost gotten used to it. An analysis of the development from the novice to the dexterous. In the beginning the nightmares were horrible almost unbearable; being woken up by screams of men who he had tortured, he saw blood on his hands in each and everyone of them, he jumped up in the middle of the nights screaming, the sheets of his bed drenched in perspiration, his fingers folded into firm fists. The frequency and intensity of the dreams had reduced over the years. He had become hardened, a few things, no matter how skewed and warped, phased him.
It was 1:43am when he walked into the inn, almost all the patrons were heavily imbibed; Seth knew it would be so by that time; this would ensure the vagueness and obscurity of future accounts by all present if anyone came asking over the next few days. One of those present who was not drunk was Mickie who owned the den and who was also at the counter. Mickie was one of those who used Seth when he was new. Now Mickie had nothing but the utmost reverence for him. Now when Seth walked in a sheepish smile disgustingly graced Mickie's face.
People like Seth, they live and thrive on fear. It was this that brought him here. Mickie's Tavern was just a front for pushing cheap drugs and old guns that had been sold over and over again. Mickie knew more than anyone how a man with ties like Seth's would make business really bad for him and Seth sensed it...this is why Seth came here for his first clue on where Lamie would be hiding..... By Pius.