grown up on the shopworn side of L.A. and stolen to put food on the table. This was the picture-perfect life we all wanted. You wanted them fucking palm trees, that damn pool, the Jacuzzi, the eight bedrooms. You wanted the woman. You wanted all of that shit. I’d savored another man’s wine and loved its flavor.
Lisa kissed me. “Love you.”
“Love you back.”
She pulled me on top of her, put me inside her. I moved slow and easy. Moved like that until her back arched, an orgasm heated her spine, and she sent her soft message to the moon.
She caught her breath, held onto me, whispered, “You come?”
“Nah.”
“Don’t. Save it for me.”
We went into the steam room. She rubbed me down with a sugar scrub, massaged me, cleansed me, then took me in her mouth again. Got me firm then mounted me. She was on fire, horny as hell, filled with desire to please. Had me whimpering, moaning, holding her ass. She came strong then went down to her knees again, took me back in her mouth, licked me like I was made of candy. I vanished. Reappeared. She wouldn’t stop until I came again. Came so hard.
She swallowed my seeds, posted up her wide smile again. “Love the way you taste.”
I couldn’t talk. Hadn’t caught my breath.
The steam was so thick we could barely see each other. She adjusted the settings, did the same with the temperature on both the side and overhead showerheads.
I said, “What you’re talking about ... killing a man ... that shit ain’t easy.”
“As easy as we make it.”
“I was locked up with men who thought putting somebody in the dirt was a good idea.”
“Those were stupid people. I used to be a cop. Still am in my head.”
“Lot of cops are on lockdown. Ask Rafael Perez.”
“I know what to do, how to do it. Keep it simple.”
“The simple art of murder ain’t that simple.”
“It can be. Christmas, he sends everybody home. Stays at the office a little while to make sure everything is cool. Then forwards all calls to a service. He gets killed in his office.”
I ask, “On Christmas?”
“You’re agnostic. It’s just another day to you.”
“But still ... Christmas?”
“When everybody has their spirits up and guards down. Make it look like a robbery at Christmas. Shoot him. Stab him. Drown him. I don’t care as long as it gets done.”
“Shooting him would draw attention.”
“Stab him O.J. style. I can show you how to do it.”
It was getting hot.
She whispered, “Like you said, you’re my backdoor lover. A phantom. You’d never be a suspect. A year from now your nights will begin with blow jobs followed by a lavish dinner.”
“Is that right?”
She nudged me and gave up a short, erotic laugh. “I’ll be sucking your dick to put you to sleep then sucking it again to wake you up to have breakfast in bed.”
“You’re gonna cook for a brother?”
“No. I’ll order in. Me and the kitchen ain’t friends like that.”
“What would I have to do? What would fair exchange be?”
“Just give me babies.” She sounded small, vulnerable. “Love me like I love you.”
“I can do that.”
“You love me?”
I nodded. “Love you.”
I wanted to have a kid too. I’d had a stepson. My ex-wife had been a package deal. I was getting older, looking at forty in the mirror like it was an evil bastard. Hard to get a job at forty, let alone get one with one big strike on your record. Old age was creeping up on me. Old age and no real promises to better my situation. People looked at a man like me and thought I didn’t feel. I felt every-fucking-thing. I just wasn’t allowed to show it and still be called a man.
We left the steam room. Went into the house. Antique mirrors. Artfully stacked books. Chinese carpets. Chandeliers. Marble everything. Pictures of her and her husband standing with celebrities like George Clooney and Magic Johnson decorated the family room. What caught my eye were the pictures of his two kids, Brandon and Fiona, ages five and seven. The little boy looked like Wolf with a black man’s skin. The little girl could pass, go either way.
Lisa dried her feet on the carpet, grabbed bottled water from the kitchen, then took me upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. Never to her marriage bed. That didn’t bother me. The bedroom she took me to had golden walls, vibrant pictures, and red velvet curtains. The room should’ve been in a museum,