Tears on a Sunday Afternoon Read online

  The short Mexican lady at the front desk asked if I had a reservation; I told her no. Instead of paying $159 for the night, they charged $259 to my corporate American Express card. I took the white pass key with the Hilton logo emblazoned on one side and a magnetic strip on the other up to the room. The hotel cashier asked me if I knew how to use the keys. I smiled because I spent more time in hotel rooms than in my own bed. My rule of thumb was to never sleep in a woman’s house unless she could give you the keys to the front door. A woman giving up the keys to the front door doesn’t mean that she loves you or anything like that. It just makes the insanity plea work both ways. Like I said before, there are always rules to the game. I put my keys down on the small table in the hotel room next to the chair that I hung my jacket on. I picked up the remote next to the TV and lay down on the bed, my feet on the floor. I flipped through the stations, going from reality shows to dramas. The pay-per-view selections were of recent Hollywood duds. I settled on an Asian porno flick. I selected buy so that the $12.95 would be charged to my room. The first scene was two Asian women eating each other out in bed. After they had finished doing each other orally, the dildos came out.

  “Fuck!” I turned the TV off and got up from the bed. I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door as if the smoke alarm had gone off in the room. I took the elevator and went to the first floor. The hotel bar was located to the left of the main lobby. I needed a drink like a motherfucker.

  There were about ten people in the bar. Three middle-aged white men sat on bar stools, their wrinkled suits providing evidence of a long, exhausting day at the office. They each sat with a chair between them as if they were afraid of spreading their tiredness. There was a group of four young people sharing a pitcher of beer and Buffalo wings. NYC College of Technology logos were imprinted on their gray sweatshirts.

  I ordered a Hoodlum and took it to a table with two chairs located three tables away from the college students. I was angrier with myself than Julie. Julie was my rock and my salvation. Life at home was becoming totally unbearable but I needed to stay put until I could leave for good. The Hoodlum tasted like the Hilton was following in the footsteps of Delta. In this case, the bartender had skimped on the alcohol. I thought about going back and asking for more alcohol but my butt felt like lead. The dramatics of the day were taking their toll on my body. It was the replay of my day that had taken me away from my reality. I didn’t see when she came in and I was startled when she spoke.

  “You look like the only one here who doesn’t need to be carried to his room. Do you mind?” she asked, pointing to the chair opposite me.

  “No,” I said, looking at the blonde white woman pulling out the chair. She rested an apple martini on my table. She was dressed in a sheer white blouse with no bra, her perky breasts pointing at me. Her short denim mini-skirt disappeared under the table, allowing me only a fleeting glance at her legs.

  “What’s your story?” She wiggled herself in the chair as her eyes looked through me.

  “Life and all its complications.” The ice had melted in the drink, leaving me with water that tasted like unsweetened iced tea.

  “My life is the opposite of complicated. I’ve been married for six years to my high school sweetheart. We have two children; Anthony, five, and Mary, two. This was supposed to be the weekend when we got the magic back in the big city.” She stopped to take a sip of her drink. “Magic is the same as lust. Once it’s gone, forget about it.”

  “Where’s your husband now?” I asked, glancing over at the bar. I was still trying to decide if I was going to get another drink.

  “He fell asleep, after he screwed me with his semi-erect penis,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.

  “Maybe you should’ve given him a blow job.”

  She laughed, as if I was about to replace Dave Chappelle.

  “Look at me. I’m a white girl; our specialty is blowjobs. I sucked that man for half an hour to get his penis semi-erect. I stopped because I was getting dizzy from going up and down and his penis was starting to deflate.”

  I stared at her small, thin, pink lips. My dick had begun to itch. “So what do you want to do?”

  “Aren’t you the one from big bad New York City? What do you think I should do?” She continued to hold my gaze.

  “We could go upstairs and fuck,” I said.

  “What would that do for me?” She bit into the slice of apple they had put in her martini.

  “I’m not a psychiatrist. You implied that you were tired of semi-erect dick so I offered a hard one. You could take it or go upstairs to your husband.” I pushed my drink away.

  She picked up my glass and drank the remainder from her glass. “Life is complicated.”

  I watched as she walked to the bar. Her legs were long and well-toned. Her butt lifted up the skirt; making a nice indentation. I was going to fuck her.

  “Hoodlum, you don’t look like one,” she said, placing the fresh drink in front of me. “You look more like a pretty boy.”

  This small talk was getting us off the topic. “Is your husband going to be up soon?”

  “The hotel has to be on fire for my husband to wake up.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I put the glass to my mouth and finished the drink. She followed suit.

  “What room are you in?” She pushed the chair back. I followed her action.

  “Room 224.”

  She smiled. “Maybe life is not that complicated after all.”

  I followed her up the stairs to my room. She leaned against the side of the wall, next to my door, while I slid the card in to unlock the door.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “We’re in room 220.”

  My dick became erect immediately. I grabbed her hand and rested it on the door knob. I came around behind her; lifting up her skirt. She didn’t have on any panties. I slipped a condom onto my penis and I entered her immediately. I pounded into her fast and furious. As her decibels increased, I became even more excited. I was thinking about her husband, maybe asleep, maybe not, two doors down from us. It was giving me an erection that Viagra couldn’t compete with. This was a good release from the tension of the day. I didn’t know her last name and most likely I never would. We were two strangers reaching out for solace in a cruel world. Tomorrow belonged to no one right then. The sweat from my brow was dripping onto her pale butt. As I felt her body shiver, my scrotum started to itch and together we were about to collapse onto the floor. As we did, she let go of the door as if her hands were useless to her. I absorbed the force of the fall as I turned toward my right side and she fell on top of me. My penis lay flaccid against my leg as a door slammed outside. I got up off the floor, extending my hands out to her to lift her up. She clasped her hands around mine and, for the first time, I felt the warmth of her hand. I pulled the condom off and pulled up my pants as she adjusted herself.

  “Can you open the bar and bring me one of the small bottles of Bacardi?” she asked.

  As I went toward the small refrigerator, I sighed. I didn’t need any more company for the night. “You want another drink this late?”

  “No, but I need to do something.”

  I opened the cheap bottle of Bacardi and gave it to her.

  “Thanks.” She took the bottle and threw it down the front of her dress. The small remainder she drank quickly.

  “Tricks of the trade?” I asked.

  “No. Believe me or not, I’ve never cheated on my husband.”

  Normally I would’ve replied that Bush loved poor black people but I didn’t.

  “A girlfriend of mine told me about this. I have to go directly to the shower when I get in the room and I don’t know what state my husband will be in when I get in. Now I don’t care since I have every reason to go and take a shower. And God forbid he picks up my clothes, the smell will totally disgust him. You’re a man so I’m sure you have some secrets.”

  “Yeah, I do, but this is a good one.” I smiled.

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sp; “Thanks.” She opened the door and poked her head outside.

  “Maybe I’ll see you again.” I lied.

  She looked back at me as if to say that I was dreaming. “No, it’s time to go home forever. But thank you for everything.”

  I nodded and she walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.

  After she left, I walked to the door and tested it to make sure that it was locked. I threw myself on the bed and night turned into day. The ringing of the cell phone jarred me awake and I stumbled toward the table. I picked it up and flipped it open. I didn’t look at the number on the phone.

  “Donald, get Emerald to school right now.” The voice made me sit up on the bed, the events of the night becoming a distant memory.

  “What?!” I exclaimed as the recognition of the voice came to me. “I am taking Emerald to school but we’re not going back to the house.”

  Maybe a dial tone from a house phone would’ve made me realize that he wasn’t on the phone anymore. With cell phones, it was different, a click and dead silence. I kept the phone to my ear, waiting to explain myself, but there was no one but me in the room. I looked at the time on the phone. It was 7:30 a.m. I grabbed my jacket and ran to the bathroom. I hung it on the bathroom doorknob as I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth. I ran my hand through my hair and looked at myself in disgust as I opened the bathroom door. I picked up the bill that was slipped under the door and realized that they had already charged my card so there was no reason to stop at the front desk. I took the stairs two at a time and I was quickly in the parking lot. I clicked the car alarm and pulled the door open. I didn’t get it more than halfway opened before it was slammed shut, the force almost taking my hand with the door. As I turned around, I barely saw the hand that ripped into my stomach, making me grasp for air. The second punch was even more vicious than the first. It dug into my ribs as I fell to the ground.

  “Enough.” The voice was the same one I had heard on the phone. I looked up to see the shiny, black, pointed shoe and gray head of my father-in-law, Mr. Malcolm. On either side of him were two big men; one Spanish and the other black. The black man, who looked like a rejected NFL line-backer, was rubbing his knuckles, eager to continue inflicting pain.

  “Don’t talk,” Malcolm said as if I had the strength or desire to do that.

  “You know I hate repeating myself. Look at me, Donald. I’m an old man. I hate hurting people.”

  The two men snickered when he made that comment. He looked at them and they quickly clamped their mouths shut.

  “I will call to talk to my grandson at home at six o’clock this evening. I would like for him to tell me how great school was and, besides being a little late because his father had an emergency, that everything was okay.” Malcolm reached down and lifted me up to the car. “It’s all right. You don’t need to thank me for helping you up.”

  I watched them drive off in a tinted Lincoln sports car. I opened the trunk of the car and lifted the covering for the spare tire. The gun that the PI had given me lay between the tire and the wheel lug. I slammed the trunk down and pounded on it. Every dog has its day and I was sure that mine was coming. Today my name was John, but one day soon it would start with a P.

  Chapter 5

  “When did you stop seeing faces?” Donna asked, lying naked on the bed next to me. Her gray suit was folded neatly on the chair at the foot of the bed. We were at the Hilton on 42nd Street.

  “A long time ago,” I replied, understanding exactly what she meant. I couldn’t recall ever talking to a girl with the intention of anything more than sex. Well, my wife was an exception. When I looked at her, I saw green. I had never been in love and the closest female friend I had was Julie.

  “You are sad.” Donna rocked her body on the bed.

  “And you are better than me?” I asked, wondering what made her any different.

  “You can’t place me and you in the same class. At home is a husband whom I love dearly and it is reciprocated. I’m not perfect and I don’t say that I am.” She spoke in a monotone like Mrs. Silver, a boring history teacher I had in high school. She was merely stating facts and nothing but the facts. “If I wanted dick, I would be next to Brian right now, not you. You know the reason why we’re here. This is business. The fact that we fuck is all good, but I’m not confused. Every man I have given this pussy to got it for a specific reason. They might get confused because it is so good but I never do.”

  The silky voice that made my loins tremble when I had first met her was gone. Unlike my experiences hundreds of times before, this was not about my looks. Even though her body was a million times better than my wife their interest in me was the same. “Your boss?”

  “That’s quite obvious. Without the white man getting a piece of my chocolate, we wouldn’t be here right now. And do you know my salary? What secretary makes over seventy grand a year with perks? My husband and I get to go on vacation every year for free and I’m not talking about the Bahamas. Look at this pussy.” Donna turned over and spread her legs. She was clean-shaven as usual. She took her fingers and parted the lips of her pussy, running her index fingers down the middle. Her eyes fluttered for a second as she laid her head on the pillow.

  I had always maintained that I would not eat pussy and married pussy was definitely a no-no. Besides being the usual sperm bank reservoir for their husband, married women are always dangerous. Their lack of protection in dealing with their mate leaves you in a game of Russian roulette. I didn’t know what Donna’s husband was into and these days the propensity for the brothers to go in the wrong direction was suicidal. There might have been a reason why Donna had so much free time on her hands. She and her husband might’ve both been getting off, but maybe not with each other. I ran my hands up and down her legs all the way to her toes. She continued playing with her pussy, this time squeezing her pussy with one hand to expose her clit. She licked the finger on her other hand and started to rub her clit. We had finished having sex about an hour ago and my body was ready for another go-around. I reached down to lick her freshly pedicured toes.

  “I see this is as far as you would go,” Donna said, smiling.

  My tongue traced down the sole of her feet.

  “You are a freak.”

  “Yeah, I go where no other man has gone before.” The tip of my tongue traced between her toes; then one by one, I took them in my mouth. Her body moved restlessly on the bed. A weekly pedicure appointment schedule and clean hygiene had left her feet looking and smelling deliciously clean. I had been with women that I would not even kiss but I would fuck them all night. Don’t ask me why. Someone once said that on “any given Sunday,” you would fuck almost anything. There are always Sundays in the week.

  “You are insatiable,” Donna whispered as her hands left her clit to take hold of her breasts.

  “The last time you left much too early.” I traced my tongue up the inside of her right leg. As my head lifted above her belly button, she held my head with her pussy-wet hands.

  She gazed deeply into my eyes. “Fuck me.”

  I slid my condom-covered dick into her wet pussy and as she raked my back I pushed into her as hard as I could.

  “Yes, fuck me hard. I want to feel you in my dreams.” She wrapped her legs around my waist, clenching her teeth down on my right earlobe.

  I pushed her back down on the bed and lifted her legs over my shoulders for maximum penetration, lifting her sweet butt as I drove into her. I had experienced good pussy before, but Donna’s was excellent. I could understand a man falling in love over her pussy and I felt sorry for him. Her white boss had fallen for some sweet black pussy. Most men who have been with a few women would tell you that vagina wetness ranges from dry to a fucking river. Donna was in the perfect middle. And while she wasn’t tight, her clasp was indeed God’s gift to man.

  I stopped and turned her over. I was stuck in awe. In front of me was a perfectly rounded ass. I hesitated for a second before I slowly eased myself into her.
With every inch inserted, there was an ‘ah’ until my thighs collided with perfection, drawing me even deeper inside. It didn’t take long until I realized that I was a mere mortal. I collapsed quickly behind the great wonder of humanity. I was a spent and broken man.

  “Donald, can you hand me the plastic bag next to my hand bag? Donna said as if nothing had just happened. She was the consummate business-woman.

  With great labor, I rose off the bed, feeling the effects of not being an eighteen-year-old man. Two orgasms for a man in his thirties were all she wrote. There are men who could tell you that they could go all night, but most will explain the pointlessness of it all. To not know a beautiful woman is to love her, but knowledge always comes with understanding. I understood Donna; therefore love was nonexistent.

  I brought the bag back and threw it beside her.

  Donna almost jumped off the bed. “Be careful.”

  “Why? What’s in there?” I picked up on the concern in her voice.

  She lifted the bag that had settled next to the white pillow. She reached into it and pulled out a long, slim, surgical knife. The eight-inch blade was sharpened on either side. She held the knife in her hand and twirled it around.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Kathleen wants you to use it in the robbery,” Donna said, continuing to play with the blade of the knife.

  “Hold the fuck up. What do you mean, she wants me to use it in the robbery?”

  “Relax, Donald. Let me explain.” Donna sounded like a schoolteacher repeating something to a hard-headed kid.

  “What do you mean by that?” I was getting pissed.

  “That white bitch is not in this robbery for money. Her intention is to make certain that her husband never leaves her. And the only way she knows how to do that is to cripple the motherfucker. Now here is the fucking knife.” Donna handed me the knife.

  “Cripple!” I looked at her in disbelief. “I’m not crippling anyone. I don’t like white people, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to go around killing them. All I want is some money to take care of my business.”