The Inda Lauryn Sampler
Inda Lauryn
© Conceding to Kismet for Inda Lauryn
2012
The Inda Lauryn Sampler
Published by Conceding to Kismet
Copyright ©2012 by Inda Lauryn
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher.
All rights reserved. EBooks are not transferable and can not be given away, sold or shared. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, faxing, forwarded by email, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, as this is an infringement on the copyright of this work. Brief quotations within reviews or articles are acceptable.
A Word from the Author
As a lifelong and avid reader, it never occurred to me to create my own stories and test my own talents as a writer. I had early ambitions of being a writer (discussed in the artist statement), but abandoned that track early in life. I rediscovered my pen during my tenure in graduate school as a way to amuse myself as well as keep sane. What I did not expect was to enjoy the control I had over these stories I made up, that came from my own imagination and experience. I was telling the stories I wanted to read about. I explored something in me I had neglected for years.
About three years ago, I completed my first novel and a few short stories. I kept writing through some difficult times and found that no matter how difficult things seemed, I could not stop creating the stories. The characters of my imagination would not go away. I brought them to life on paper and thought others might enjoy them as well. If not, I still find them fascinating and often revisit them. Some I even plan to continue writing about in the near future, so that tells me how strong they are in.
Even though I hope to make writing my full time profession, I still like to share and I still like to give away something every once in a while. I am presenting here a sample of work I have released so far and a couple of works in progress. There are many more cooking in the oven and I will bring them to fruition sometime in the near future. For now, I truly hope you enjoy this sampling of the past three years marking my development as a writer.
In Time (2009)
Amrita Lloyd fled her insignificant California existence in order to find a new chance at life in a cold Michigan college town. Within a few months, she has a steady job she enjoys, a new friend on which she can depend and a promising prospect of a love interest. She is on her way to having the life she always wanted. Only she can’t seem to shake the ghosts of her past, particularly those of a woman called Ingrid and Ingrid’s brother Malik.
With the experimental novel In Time, first-time author Inda Lauryn relays Amrita’s journey of self-discovery and acceptance as she struggles to exorcise the demons that threaten to make her become her own worst enemy. In the process, she chronicles one woman’s impact on those who come to love her, including her quirky and eccentric new friend EunJung Barton, her boss Monique Carson and boyfriend Kevin Patel with whom she literally collides on their first fateful meeting.
Anyone who has ever struggled with overcoming the past will find kinship in Amrita’s story. With the help of her friends, will Amrita reconcile her past trauma to see that the present she holds so dearly will translate to the future she always imagined for herself?
Amrita finished packing the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, lotion, hair grease, shampoo, conditioner, etc., etc., etc. She looked back into the apartment still full of Ingrid’s belongings. She gazed at the Last Supper clock on the wall next to the oval mirror. She remembered all the times she fell asleep on the lavender futon with the metal frame because she could not open her eyes long enough to trudge to her own bed. She wondered how much she would miss the tiny stove that she used more for lighting a friend’s cigarettes than for cooking. But she knew that even if she longed to stay in this place because she feared going anywhere else, she had to leave it behind. After all, she had killed Ingrid in this very room.
Amrita tried to block out the sound of the voice pleading with her.
“Just do it,” Ingrid’s tears flowed. “I don’t want to live anymore. I can’t take the pain. I just want it to stop. You have to kill me.”
Amrita took one last look then turned her back for good.
“She had to die.”
*****
She looked in the mirror and subconsciously thought about how much more well lit the mirror in the hotel was than the one in her old place. The flaws that she never really minded before became… amplified. Scars left from blackheads, dark lines inherited from sleepless nights. She knew something had to give.
“I know what will be first.” Amrita picked up the scissors and began cutting her already short brownish-red hair. “It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’ve been through chemo.”
Amrita cut until she was left with a close-cropped, respectable baby ‘fro. She never realized before just how golden-brown her skin was. She was not light enough for most people to automatically qualify her as beautiful, but she was not dark enough to be an exotic beauty either. She had always been plain but full-figured enough as a size 10-12 to get the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of men since she was about 12. Still, even with her facial flaws, Amrita had to admit she liked what she saw now. Besides, there were always other options if she got bored.
The hair and face were small matters. The question now was what she would do with her life. Where would she go? She left San Francisco only a few hours ago and knew she had not put enough distance between herself and that city.
Amrita picked up the shopping bag and laid out the clothes she bought nearly on impulse. She had to choose between the dark denim jeans and the camouflage cargo pants she had always wanted. Amrita decided on the jeans and cream-colored blouse accented with golden X patterns. The front was a little low-cut for her tastes, but she had the perfect heart pin to adjust it.
The shower was soothing. The warm water felt good against her skin. Tropical coconut shower gel stimulated her beyond her five senses and gave her just the boost she needed. She stayed away from scented lotions. She did not want it to clash with her vanilla fantasy body spray.
She got dressed and looked herself over in the full-sized mirror. She had gotten her desired effect. Amrita Lloyd was a completely different person.
*****
“Is there a library in the vicinity?”
Amrita was careful not to smile at the clerk, but she also did not want to appear siddity.
“Just a few miles down the highway, there’s a turn off. You take two lights and a right. That’ll get you to the public library.”
“Thank you very much.”
Amrita found the library without much of a problem. She went straight to the computers. Her savings could only last her so long, so her main objective was finding a job. Something that did not deal heavily with numbers. Ingrid worked primarily as an accountant and she really did not want to be reminded of that. Her next option, secretary or assistant. She was a good typist and when it came to work, anal about organization. She was convinced she could pull it off.
Unfortunately, there were not many jobs advertising for an assistant, but she did find something pretty close.
Receptionist. Amrita was sure she could make it work. She had spent enough time on the phone with assholes to know how to handle them. She could not shake the ingrown cordialness and hospitality she had learned during childhood. She was sure she could start there. Now if she could just talk herself into believing she could adjust from California to Michigan.
“Excuse me, ma’am. How much is printing?”
“Five cents a page.” The librarian peered up to look Amrita in the eye. “But we don’t allow the printing of explicit or indecent materials.”
“Mapquest.”
The librarian nodded and returned to whatever pressing demands she had. Amrita returned to her computer and tried to ignore the lecherous septuagenarian eyeing her while she figured out how to fake her resume. Some things never change.
So it was decided. Amrita would begin her new life in Michigan. New wardrobe, new job, hell new personality if she wanted. She had no family to come looking for her. No close friends, not even a job she liked. She was more than ready for this.
When she got back to the hotel, Amrita went over the mental list of what she had to do next. She knew she could not just get a new social security number like they did in so many television movies. She could just say that her previous job had been with her recently deceased husband, so she had not had her own bank account, credit cards or other assets because they had all been in his name. Before she left, she found the obituary of a man she could claim to have been her husband, hoping this would tie up that particular loose end if it came to that. She would say that she needed to get away from California so that she could move on and find her own means of support. Amrita was amazed that in this day and age, she could possibly get a new identity so easily. Still, she knew she had to be careful.
She wrote out the resume by hand before she typed it up. She had kept her laptop, one of the few things she already owned that she knew would not remind her of Ingrid Torres. Never again.
The next morning, Amrita re-packed her car and headed east. She had some shopping to do to prepare for the now cold winters ahead.
*****
“I told you to make it stop! Why didn’t it stop? Why does it still hurt?”
Four months. Four months was all it took for Ingrid’s voice to haunt Amrita’s dreams again. Four months, she was fine. She had no trouble getting the job. Carson and Webb was a small start-up legal aid office that focused mostly on tax law run by a husband and wife team finally fulfilling their own dream of starting their own business. Amrita hit it off immediately with the wife, Monique Carson. She spent the first two months helping them set up the office in addition to her duties as a receptionist which turned out to be receptionist/secretary/assistant with a much too low salary. She did not mind though. She liked the job and she was promised a reasonable pay raise once the firm got into the black, provided she still worked there.
Amrita had been happy for four months. She found a small apartment, one bedroom but two levels. She did not spend all her time in her bedroom like she had before. She set up her computer and entertainment in the living room. She even got the black futon with the wood frame she had always wanted. She found a decorative mirror of a very regal sister standing next to a leopard. She immediately fell in love with the mirror.
For four months, she collected cookware: non-stick skillets, baking pans, cookie sheets and pie plates. Cookbooks lined the counter dividing her kitchenette from her living room. She collected herbs and spices for recipes she wanted to try out. She was not that bad a cook, but she still did not feel confident enough to serve others her cooking. She knew that she would be a better judge of taste since she no longer had to inhale second-hand smoke from that one friend she left behind in Cali.
For one month, she slept under a comfortable navy blue throw she had found in a dollar store. Then she found the comforter set of her dreams. A black and red imperial dragon set. It came with its own sheet set, but Amrita preferred the black satin sheet set she picked out instead. The one luxury she never grew tired of was her queen-sized bed, the bed she had rested comfortably on for the past three and a half months.
Amrita Lloyd had started anew. But Ingrid Torres’ voice again cried out in her dreams.
She wanted to scream, just shout from the top of her lungs. “I did what you asked. I did what I had to. Why won’t you just leave me alone? Why won’t you go away?” She wanted to scream it, but she could not get it passed her choked whisper. Instead, she did something she had not allowed herself to do in months. Her tears were small, but they felt like torrents and could not lift the weight of Ingrid’s memory. The only thing that happened is that she remembered why she tried to stop crying in the first place. It always gave her an awful headache and never solved a damn thing.
Amrita went downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe a nice warm mug of chamomile tea would help. She was never much of a tea drinker before, but she discovered honey vanilla chamomile when the weather began to turn cold. For some reason, the privilege of sitting with a cup of hot tea made the crisp cool chill in the air bite a little less. It did not help much when insomnia kicked in, but she had given up finding a cure for that years ago.
No, she just learned to indulge in her late-night guilty pleasure: music infomercials. No matter what genre of music, soft rock, soul, classic country or disco, Amrita knew every song and would sing along to every one, glad no one was around to hear her. She thought about ordering a collection once but decided against it. Just seemed wrong.
Anyway, she sat sipping her tea and flipping through channels until her eyes felt heavy enough to convince her she could sleep. She knew it would not be long before she was up again with the tea looking for a new home. However, she thought it best to try to get some sleep since she had to be at the office at eight. If she fell asleep now, she could still get three and a half hours in. She did not notice when she drifted off that moisture continued to seep from her eyes. She just looked in the mirror the next morning and tried to get rid of the bags under her eyes.
*****
Jason Webb liked Amrita from the time she walked into the office even though she sometimes made him uneasy. He did not mind that she did not say much outside of business matters. He realized he and Monique knew almost nothing about her personally.
But he had to admit, she had been a godsend at the office. Amrita did not gripe about the extra work or the low pay. In fact, she seemed eager to get the job. Monique also quickly grew fond of her and was constantly trying to figure out which of her friends was a perfect match for Amrita. Still, at times, Amrita’s quiet nature left Jason more than a little unsettled. That feeling intensified as she walked into the office looking as if sleep were her enemy.
Amrita quietly said hello to Jason then quickly went to the break room to make tea. Like her, Monique and Jason were not coffee drinkers. They reminded her of new-age hippies. Monique’s locks made Amrita think of a waterfall cascading like Niagara Falls although she had only seen it in movies. Monique was not a large woman by any means, but her warm demeanor was enough to make Amrita feel home. Her burnt sienna skin reminded Amrita of her grandmother, who died long before she should have. She even had the same red hair although Amrita was sure Monique was covering a gray hair or two.
Jason on the other hand did not bother to hide the streaks of gray in his light brown hair and beard. He towered over both Monique and Amrita, so much in fact that Amrita was quite afraid of him for the first few days. He no longer made her nervous, but she always felt that he was not quite sure what to make of her. Kind of like he mistrusted her. She did not expect him to look at her the same way he looked at his wife. It was not only love in his steel-gray eyes. He truly seemed grateful to have more good days than bad with Monique. As much as Amrita liked the both of them, they constantly reminded her of what she would never have in her life.
“Peace and blessings, Rita,” Monique’s voice sang from the door as she glided in the break room. How the hell does she manage to be so damn happy this early?
“Hello, Monique.” Amrita knew her reply was a little curt, but Monique found her downright surly. Monique placed her hands on either side of Amrita’s face and turned her around to look her in the eye. Amrita was used to Monique’s directness. However, she hated when Monique’s brown eyes pierced her own. She was afraid Monique might see Ingrid there.
“Honey, you have enough bags under your eyes for a week’s vacation. Or else you could use one.”
Amrita’s weak laugh was definitely not convincing.
“Maybe it wasn’t original, but it’s true. Are you feeling okay?”
“I just had a rough night trying to get to sleep. Happens sometimes.”
“Rita, you’ve been with us for the past few months, helping us get this place started. Jason and I both appreciate your presence. You don’t seem like you’re using this job as a stepping stone until you can find something better, so we want you to feel like part of the family.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Why don’t you come over and have dinner with us soon…”
“I appreciate the offer, but I kind of don’t like being a third wheel…”
“You wouldn’t be. We’re having a few friends over next weekend and we’d love you to come, too. Get a chance for old friends to meet new.”
Monique happened to be good at reading people. Amrita’s hesitation emitted from every pore like a pheromone.
“Look, just think about it this weekend. No pressure, Rita.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
Amrita expected to be out of it because of her fatigue. Instead, she was wide awake, aware of what she was afraid to happen. So far she had avoided bonding with other people. She told Monique and Jason just enough so that they would not be suspicious of her. But a small party gathering was something she was not prepared for or looking forward to. There would be questions: Where are you from? What did you do? Why did you leave? She still was not prepared to answer questions about the past.
When she was not working, Amrita was busy trying to mentally prepare her background story. She had heard somewhere that it was easy to remember a lie when it was close to the truth. She decided to accept the invitation if she could come up with a plausible story. Besides, Amrita had not had many friends in San Francisco. Maybe this could be part of her new start, a regular cadre of friends or at least acquaintances.
Amrita was so used to being alone. She always had a fear of making a complete ass of herself. She seemed to attract weirdoes and jerks. That type truly gravitated toward her. She never really had any normal friends. Maybe that was why she could never keep any.
For now she thought it best to enjoy her regular after-work routine. Like most people, the first thing she did in an empty house was turn on the television. She hated the news, so she was content to watch reruns of The Simpsons while she indulged in a snack. More than often it was Häagen-Dazs. It filled her up just enough until dinner depending on whether or not she had to cook or had leftovers. Most nights, she cuddled under her comfortable, snow white throw with a book. She liked having time for leisure reading, finding herself in women like Gayl Jones and Octavia Butler. Wishing she had their gifts. There was nothing more Amrita envied and admired more than talent.
Every once in a while, she would do dinner and a movie. She found a new appreciation for black-and-white films. She did not care much for them when she first left San Francisco. They reminded her of why she tried smoking as a teen as well as what she had left behind, but since that was no longer an issue, she found them fairly tolerable. Amrita was amazed at how much more real the women used to look. They were well past size six, even the white women. Real womanly bodies. Real curves and rolls. She still hated romance though. She found it easier to believe that the earth would encounter E.T. in the next ten years than two people would meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. She had not believed in fairy tales since she was eight.
Amrita usually got to sleep by 11:30. She left the timer on her television, listening to the voices until she fell asleep. But last night would be the last time she would get to sleep at 11:30 for quite some time.
The People in My Head (2009)
A woman learns self-defense while a serial rapist terrorizes a small college town and meets the man of her dreams… or does she? (Shallow)
Two childhood friends come of age overnight when the world around them comes beckoning. (Before Night Ends)
A gigolo meets the ultimate hustler on what he thinks is a typical night out. (The Alaye Agency)
A young man learns his parents’ past as he begins to realize his own faith. (Something Sacred)
A woman and a younger man make a connection at her unusual place of occupation. (Strange Affair)
An office drone becomes a revolutionary in the not-so-distant future. (The Paper Trail)
In a future where dreams can be recorded and used, who will be the ones to suffer? (Black Level Recog)
Inda Lauryn presents The People in My Head, a complete novella and collection of short stories in various genres exploring the experiences of a vast array of African-American women and the people in their lives. Life, love and what the future holds are all subjects included in these sometimes funny and sometimes poignant representations of black women. Readers will either find themselves or explore the lives of others in this wonderful collection of stories.
Shallow
I had always liked these college towns, the ones where if you took the school away then the entire city would collapse because the money would run dry. The school owned practically everything, so all the entertainment was concentrated near campus. The buses took you anywhere else. I had no need for a car and no fear of walking home at night.
At least I didn’t until a few weeks ago. Like everyone else I’d heard about the young woman who had been raped near a campus resident and like everyone else I thought it to be an isolated incident, maybe an angry ex-boyfriend. Then there was another rape. And another. And another. Seven in all.
I was never really afraid for myself. These types of things just didn’t happen to me. My Aunt Tiffany didn’t feel the same way. I had to listen to her worried rants after every incident. Like my mother, she didn’t approve of me living alone so far away from home. Now with a serial rapist on the loose, she had evidence that I had made a terrible mistake coming here.
“Antigone, I told you crazy people stay in those places. You could have stayed close to here and found a good job near your people… and blah, blah, blah…”
That argument usually ended with me reminding Aunt Tiffany about the latest shooting that occurred within 15 miles of her home. I would never admit to her though that one factor worried me: there seemed to be no discernible pattern to the assailant’s victims. That was why it took the authorities so long to figure out the rapes were connected. With this in mind, I made a compromise: I promised my aunt I would take a self-defense class.
Okay, so I wasn’t as in good of shape as I had been in high school more than 12 years ago. My toned majorette body was a thing of the distant past. As much as I love my 140-pound soft, curvy body, I worried that walking up a flight of stairs tended to leave me a little breathless. So the workout just might help me build my stamina, at least until they caught the psycho. Perhaps I could stand to stay for the entire course no matter how long.
~~~
My first class started on Tuesday. I had to take the 9 p.m. course since the early afternoon and Saturday classes were full by the time I signed up. The school wanted to accommodate everyone, so this class was added at the last minute. Our instructor was some dirty blonde named Shayna. She had a stout build, so I believed she was capable of kicking someone’s ass if she had to. Shayna was friendly, too, but she was firm.
“This could be your very life, ladies,” she had said. “You have a right to protect yourself and no one has the right to violate you.”
I thought the first day would only be informative, but we were there for the full hour. The first half was talk and instruction, but during the second half we got to meet our punching bag for the next five weeks, Melvin. Although I couldn’t see his face under the oversize protective covering he was wearing, I found him scary as hell, perhaps because of the covering. How ironic.
Anyway, Shayna went through this whole scenario with him actually attacking her. She struggled with him until she finally was able to take him down and kicked him in the face until he’d had enough. She showed a couple of other women some moves, but I didn’t get called that night. Just as well. I hated being in front of groups.
I was one of the last to step outside. I wasn’t sure why since I never dawdled in places to gossip. I didn’t like people that much. I must have been looking like I was about to set off walking because I realized the lady calling across the parking lot was speaking to me.
“Hey, don’t you have a ride?”
She was cautious. She parked right under a streetlight. “Actually, I don’t live very far from here, so I walk. Thanks for asking though. Good night.”
I turned to head home and heard the sound of her car door slam then the engine turning. I was a little startled when I heard the car slow down and stop at my side.
“You’re not walking home. There’s a dangerous man out there. Get in.”
“Seriously, I’ll be fine. I hate someone wasting gas just to give me a ride.”
“Don’t make me get out in this cold to get you. I’m Chinese. I can channel Jackie Chan.”
I liked her.
“Since I didn’t plan on getting an ass kicking today, I guess I’ll have to get in.”
She fluttered her eyes and gave a fake smile. I really liked her.
“I don’t know why they held this thing so late. I understand they have demand, but something else could have given. I only signed up for this because I promised my fiancé.”
“I promised my aunt.”
“Oh, I’m Janet, by the way. Janet Lee.”
“Like the actress?”
“Well, l-e-e, but people always say that.”
“Antigone Maynard.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Antigone Titania Maynard. That was the name you got from parents with a love of world literature and theater.
“Listen. Don’t ever hesitate to ask for a ride. You may be the only sane person on the street.”
“Well, that’s most days, but yeah you’re right.”
It didn’t take long to make it to my place. Amazing how a 30-minute walk was only a three-minute drive.
“Thanks again for the ride. I really do appreciate it.”
I knew I shouldn’t leave the heat on so high when I leave the house, but being cold actually left me in physical pain. I could swear I left the heat on at least nine months of the year. Cold was not my friend.
Over time, I trained myself to be an early riser. I didn’t have to be at work until 8:30, so I got up at six for an hour walk. At least I did until the 30° weather hit. After that I enjoyed a nice mug of Swiss Miss and whatever I happened to be reading at the moment.
Work was the same every day. I couldn’t really say I liked my job, but I had somewhere to go and something to do from 8:30 until five on weekdays for a reasonable pay. I didn’t watch as much television as my coworkers so I was never invited out for drinks with the rest of them to discuss The Bachelorette or Gossip Girl. For some reason, they got really uncomfortable and downright offended when I pointed out things like how awful a singer Alicia Keyes was. Hell, it wasn’t my fault she’s famous but can’t sing worth shit.
Obviously, I spent most of my weekdays alone, which was just fine with me. Other people tended to make me miserable. I still had a couple of long-distance girlfriends who called me every once in a while to make sure I was still breathing. The only other company I usually had was Phillip who spent many nights and weekends keeping me sane. If he was alone.
That was pretty much my life these days. I hadn’t pictured it like this ever, but I always told myself things could be and have been much worse. So I didn’t complain. I paid my bills on time, I sat and people watched in a coffee shop every once in a while, I read books to keep myself intellectually stimulated. I lived my life and left others to theirs.
~~~
Dale Barnes had been on the city’s force more than 15 years. He had never seen a case like this one. Usually women were attacked by someone they knew: a husband, boyfriend or an acquaintance of some kind. He had never encountered a serial rapist. Not in this town.
He could not get the faces of the victims out of his head. One of them had been an inexperienced 16-year-old. She was so reluctant to let them collect evidence. Dale did not blame her. He did not blame any of them. He could not imagine the additional humiliation they must have felt having to endure questions, swabbing, photographs and medication.
Dale planned to go over the case at home over the weekend. He was disheartened to get a call Saturday evening letting him know their man had struck again much sooner than expected. He went over the facts of the case in his head as he drove to the scene of the crime. Dusk had already set in, but the officers reporting had begun canvassing and searching the area. He got out of his car and approached a younger officer.
“What do we know so far, Charles?”
“Oh, Detective Barnes,” William Charles said. “I got the call about 20 minutes ago. That kid over there called it in. Said he saw the young woman sitting on the ground like she was in shock. When he approached her, she flew into some kind of rage. That’s when he dialed 911.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Definitely doesn’t seem to be him. We got a partial footprint that’s at least a size 13. The kid’s barely a nine.”
“Alright. Thanks, Charles.”
Dale walked over to the latest victim, who was now calmly sitting in the back of a squad car. He could imagine what must be going through her head as she stared at the ground. The door was ajar, so he crouched down a few feet in front of the girl so that she could see his face. He also looked for the signs of a hand around her throat.
“I’m Detective Barnes,” he began softly. “We’re going to find who did this to you but we need your help. If there’s anything, anything at all you can tell us about the man who attacked you, we’d greatly appreciate it.”
He studied her face when she looked up. She could have been his 8-year-old daughter in another 12 years.
“I didn’t mean to go off on that guy like that,” she said shakily. “I know he was only trying to help.”
“Yes, he knows that, too. What’s your name?”
“Dalia.”
“Dalia, is there anything you remember?”
“My back was to him the whole time,” she shook her head as she spoke. “He said that he would cut my throat if I turned around. The knife was so close to my face. He threw me against the wall…” Her voice broke, but she continued. “I just remember he was wearing these brown leather gloves. I figured they were expensive because they smelled like real genuine leather. I tried to focus on that rather than the knife and what he was doing to me because I knew I couldn’t stop him. I remember him resting his chin on top of my head when he… when he was done.”
Dalia stared at the ground again silently manumitting herself to her tears. Dale knew she was done talking to him.
“Officer Reid is going to take you to the hospital now. They’ll need to examine you. There will also be someone there you can talk to if you need. She’s very good with these sorts of cases.”
Although he got no response, he took his cue to leave. He watched as Officer Reid drove off with Dalia in the backseat. He still had her face in his head as he joined in the search effort. He looked at the wall where it happened. Stone cold red brick hidden from view by a few trees. There was no view of it from the street. There were no windows on the building facing the area. No witnesses. He was about to move on when something caught his eye. He shined his flashlight at the base of the tree.
“Charles, bring an evidence bag.”
Bill was already snapping on the gloves by the time he got to the detective’s side.
“Did Laura already get pictures over here?”
“Yes, she started here first.”
“Good. Pick that up and bag it.”
Bill bent over to retrieve the small plastic package.
“Can you believe it?” he said. “The son of a bitch actually uses condoms then throws the wrapper away right where we can find it.”
~~~
“Honestly, Tee, you’ve got no vision.”
Phillip O’Neal. The one consistency in my life since I came to this place. Born in Ireland but raised in England, Phillip crossed the pond eleven years ago. He was a rather eccentric heir, so he pretty much did as he pleased. He spotted me on one of my people watching sessions and said he decided I could use a little flavor in my life. He made it his mission to see that I didn’t end up a crazy cat lady by age 30. So far so good.
I didn’t know why I let him drag me to these loud, obnoxious places. It was Saturday night and maybe I should mingle with other people, but this didn’t improve my view of the human condition. I appreciated Phillip’s intentions though. He was the only man who had ever loved me unconditionally. Of course he was a puff as he liked to say.
“What if he’s the man of your dreams and just waiting to sweep you off your feet? You’ll never find out because you’re too goddamn afraid.”
“I’m afraid? You’re the one always dragging me to these Godforsaken places telling me to make myself ‘available.’ Dragging me to guy places so that I can find myself a real man. Hell, even here in the sports pub, you’re the one their interested in.”
“I tell you that you need to envision yourself as a princess. See it so clearly that you start to believe it. Then be it.”
“Fool, I envision myself as a queen but that doesn’t mean someone else will see it that way. Trust me. It doesn’t work, you stupid git!”
“Oh, I love it when you talk British to me! Look at it this way: if you don’t meet someone soon, you’re going to end up with nothing to look forward to except these little moments here with me because I know there’s no way in bloody hell you’ll ever get yourself a cat like a normal woman would.”
“You know you love it as much as I do.”
“You’re right.” He raised his bottle of imported beer to me. “To my own personal fag hag. May you never find a man of your own.”
In spite of myself, I raised my domestic Sprite to him. I caught a glimpse of the local news tease during the commercial break for whatever sporting event was being broadcast from the six gigantic big screens that night, but I couldn’t hear it.
“Hey, you guys!”
Norm. One of Phillip’s many conquests. Apparently, American women weren’t the only ones whose drawers dropped at the sound of a British accent. It worked on some men as well. Maybe it was just Norm’s youth. He was nearly 6’5” and around 25, but his face said 16. Sweet kid, too.
“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You come to watch the game?”
“We came to change up her bloody miserable existence.”
“Nice one, asshole. Norm, did you catch what the reporter was saying just then? I couldn’t hear it.”
“Neither did I, but I can find out.”
He pulled out a Blackberry or something like it. I still didn’t own one and couldn’t navigate them. The only reason my cell phone had a camera on it was because it was the cheapest one I could find with a one-year plan.
“Ugh. Another girl’s been raped.”
“Christ. That’s the eighth one.”
“It was a couple of hours ago. Same as the other ones. They don’t know anything yet.”
“Well, that’s just what they say so they don’t give the guy away,” Phillip offered as he squeezed my hand under the table. “There has to be some clues they’re withholding from the public.”
“Yeah, but they don’t even have a description,” I said. “By now, they’d have released a sketch if they had a clue.” Please don’t be black. Please don’t be black.
“Don’t worry, love. You’re taking that self-defense class now, right?”
I nodded, but my mind was already starting to drift. Eight women and the cops still had no clue who this psycho was. I think I was mostly surprised it had gone on this long because I expected the school to be more involved. I couldn’t see the board taking lightly anything that might keep wealthy parents from sending their kids to their money machine. They owned the rest of the town. Why not the police force?
“Hey!” Phillip waved his hand in my face. “Where do you go when you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stare off into nowhere.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yeah, you do.”
I hadn’t seen Norm leave, but he had disappeared.
“I guess that means you’re ready to get home.”
Now I knew where Norm went. “Look. If you want to blow me off then just do it. Trying to spare my feelings doesn’t help.”
“Well, I don’t want to blow you off…”
Why did he always make me laugh like this?
“…but I’m not letting you walk home.”
When he dropped me off at my door a few minutes later, he still felt the need to apologize. He had it in his mind that I was lonely.
“Next time it’ll be you running home with a really hot guy and you can rub my face in it.”
“Have fun, Phil.”
“Don’t forget to lock your door.”
“I won’t.”
I wasn’t sure why he kissed me full on the lips all the time, but he never failed. I told myself it was a European thing.
Not that I needed his advice but I heard his voice as I set and double checked my bolts. Tuesday night seemed so far away.
Word of Mouth
“Hello. Ms. Chandler?”
“Primavera’s fine. You must be Charlie. Come on in.”
“Where should I set up?”
“I’ve cleared a space in the living room. I’ll go get my pillows.”
“No hurry. After I set up, I need to wash my hands.”
“The bathroom is the first door to the right.”
“By the way, I can provide my own towels or a blanket if you prefer. I guarantee you they’re clean.”
“Does it make any difference?”
“Not to me.”
“Fine. I’m not sure how this usually works, so I’ll have to take your word.”
“You just need to make yourself as comfortable as possible or else it defeats the purpose.”
“So do I need to lie on my back or what?”
“Your what.”
“Oh.”
“Ms…., Primavera, I can assure you that I am a professional. I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Whenever you want me to stop, just tell me. You’re my last client tonight, so if you want to prolong, you have that option, too. It’s all about you right now. Okay?”
“Sure. I guess we should get started. Um, do you mind if I play my own music?”
“No. What is this?”
“Just one of my own personal mixes. Lizz Wright, Cassandra Wilson, Anthony Hamilton, Maxwell. Stuff I find soothing.”
“Cool. Just lie here…. Relax…. You want me stop talking to you, I will. But I want to soothe you…. I need you to relax. I still feel the tension in your body…. Just let go…. Okay, let go for me…. I know this is only supposed to be lower body, but I think you could use upper body as well. I can actually see the tension in your back and shoulders…. Why are you laughing?”
“Seems like some type of ploy to extend your time. You get paid by the half hour.”
“Then how about I not charge you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. We really need to get out whatever’s causing all this stress in you…. Look at that. The mention of a freebie loosened you up already…. You have a beautiful laugh.”
“Thanks. You’re very good at this.”
“Like I said, I’m a professional…. Okay, let me adjust the towel. Don’t worry. You’re not going to be exposed…. Relax again…. That’s good…. Almost done…. One last pass for good measure…. There you are. You should feel like a new woman now.”
“You’re right. I think you took the entire past month off me.”
“That’s my job.”
“Is a check okay?”
“It’s fine…. Uh, this is for the full time. I told you the last half was on me.”
“No you earned it. I’m going to tell all my friends about you. They’d love your services. Besides, I’m always happy to help a brother out.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Thank you. Good night, Charlie.”
“Good night, Primavera.”
~~~
I know if Primavera recommended him, he must have the hands of David Copperfield. That woman probably wouldn’t let Jesus Christ himself lay hands on her if he came and gave her a lap dance. I was surprised as hell when she told me she was getting a therapeutic massage. She needed a lot more than a damn therapy session if you ask me. Good. This must be him.
Prima didn’t tell me how fine he is. Tall, built and milk chocolate. I bet he tastes just as good as a Hershey bar, too. Prima must have noticed, too, but knowing her timid ass, she let him walk right out the door without even sampling the goods. Damn fool.
“Hello. You must be Ms. Daie. I’m Charlie.”
His voice alone is bringing sexy back. “Please, my mother is Ms. Daie. Call me Winter.”
“All right, Winter. Where would you like to set up?”
Just the opening I need. “I thought we could set up in the bedroom.”
“Fine. Let me wash my hands.”
Now I know he gives full body, but I wonder if he gives sensual or erotic. That’s what I’m talking about. Winter Daie will be getting hers tonight. And it’s Friday, too!
“If you like, I can provide you with towels or blankets. I guarantee you they’re clean.”
“I think I’d prefer to just lie on my down comforter. That’s okay with you, huh?”
“Whatever you want. This is about you.”
I was hoping you would say that. “Good. Prima tells me you keep all your clothes on. Do I have any options there?”
Damn. He doesn’t even look that surprised.
“Well, for my adult treatments, I might strip down to the underwear if that makes the client feel better. Some don’t like to feel so vulnerable with a stranger.”
“I’d like to try that one.” I take off everything. Why not? I know my tits look good ‘cause I just had them done three weeks ago. He may as well go ahead and get a peek. I’ve been checking out his package like it’s Christmas in here. I definitely want to unwrap that.
His taut body is rock hard. I rest my head on his thigh and get comfortable. May as well let him go through the motions before we get to the real deal. I’m not playing my Let’s Get It On CD for nothing.
His hands sure do feel good though. I was about to sneak my own feel of his ass, but I really don’t want to move. Shit I feel good.
“Can we go a little longer? I’m not ready to stop yet.”
“Usually no, but you’re my last client tonight. Another half hour or so won’t hurt.”
Half an hour! If this man doesn’t put his hands on the good parts right now, I’ll have to fire his ass. If I just go ahead and put my hands down his skivvies…
“So, do you have to leave these on?”
~~~
Autumn was already a little nervous. She felt like she was cheating on Gregory, but it was just a harmless massage. Prima had given him a rave review. Winter had been a little more lackluster in her report.
Charlie arrived promptly and knocked on the door. Autumn Kravitz had scheduled him earlier in the day than most of his clients. When he saw her, he figured she wanted to have him in and out before her husband got home. He thought Kravitz could not be the sista’s maiden name.
Autumn invited him in and directed him to her living room. She wanted to know if he could give her an extended instant massage. She really needed him to focus on her head.
Her request was a bit unusual, but Charlie said he could comply. He asked if she had a hard back chair. If not, he could improvise.
She retrieved a wooden chair from her patio and grabbed a throw pillow as he excused himself to wash his hands. He observed the family photos subtly put out of place before he arrived. He knew once he left, they would again be prominently displayed.
Autumn removed her top shirt to reveal the pink cami that hugged every curve from her full breasts to her full belly. Her locks were still short, so she did not need to pull them up off her neck. She was glad. That would make it easier for him to navigate through her thick forest.
Charlie recited his declarations of professionalism almost by rote. He had gotten to the point where he could make this speech sound spontaneous or at least unrehearsed. He knew how to vary it to accommodate each individual client. He could tell Autumn only needed to be touched, particularly on her scalp.
He began kneading her shoulders with his forearms. When she was good and settled, he leaned her over onto her pillow and began at the bottom of her shoulder blades. He noticed she had a strong back despite the doughy appearance of her belly.
As he worked his way up, Autumn sank deeper into an abyss of bliss. Although she enjoyed the climb, she still felt the anticipation of waiting for him to reach the mountaintop.
Finally, he got to the hair. Charlie worked his way through every follicle drawing deep moans of ecstasy from deep within Autumn’s erogenous zones. He even made the kitchens seem a little more bearable.
He began putting the finishing touches on the nape of the neck. Sensing the end, Autumn asked if he could re-do the head. She still had time if he did.
Charlie onced over her scalp keeping in mind how good it felt to have another wash his hair. He figured that of all the spots her husband remembered, he most often forgot this essential one.
He finished. Autumn sat in the chair for a while relishing the residue of his fancy finger work. As he began to make his way out the door, she impulsively kissed him full on the lips. Autumn quickly apologized to Charlie, saying she had no idea why she behaved so deplorably. However, she would be sure to tell her friends about him.
Charlie quickly forgave her and headed for his next appointment. Autumn began placing the evidence of her family back together as she waited for Gregory to return with the kids.
~~~
If it’s one thing I love, it’s the sistas. Treat one right, they spread the word to anybody who’ll listen, even people they don’t know. I make good money, too. As stressed as some of them get, I’m surprised I don’t have too much competition. But supply is starting to lose track of demand.
Natsu Alvarez. I hope I say her name right. I’m betting this is another one with a rich husband. I can’t lie. I was surprised to see how many sistas got to the position of trophy wife. I’m not hating though. Those bored housewives are bread and butter. They usually pay in cash for services they want to keep discreet.
“Hello. You must be Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Call me Natsu. You must be Charlie. My friends tell me good things about you. Autumn said you worked wonders with some tension in her neck.”
“I’m glad she approved.” It wasn’t her neck with the tension. It was her marriage.
“Well I’m going to need full body work. Prima said you were good at that, too.”
Primavera Chandler. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. “Yeah, she really needed to get some weight off her shoulders.”
“That woman works all the time. Then she got passed over for a promotion. Her bosses told her it was because she worked too much already and didn’t want her moving too fast. Can you believe that? Hell, she stopped coming to hang out with us to focus on that job. Anybody needed a massage, it was her.”
Amen to that. “I’d like to go wash my hands.”
“Sure. Bathroom’s down the hall.”
She’s almost like that Winter chic. Winter Daie. Just as cold as one, too. Natsu just wants a little excitement, see what the rest of the girls are talking about.
“Okay, Natsu. Are you ready?”
“Well, I think I’d like to exercise that little option Winter told me about.”
I knew it. Full body-erotic combo. It doesn’t bother me though. Hell, I’ve had women give me blow jobs during an erotic. I would have let Winter do it except I had something else on my mind. Someone else rather. All these women talk to each other.
“I should tell you that I’m a professional. If at any point you want me to stop, just tell me. I need you to be completely comfortable. That’s the only way this works.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Let’s get to it.”
She didn’t need to be talked through it. Like her friend Winter, she had those fake tits she thought turned on every man. Their bodies are too hard though, too many sharp edges. It’s kind of disturbing to feel bones where flesh should be. Autumn had those curves telling that she hadn’t lost the weight yet from her last baby. I could tell from her back that she was one who stayed in a gym when she should be enjoying something else just so that rich husband of hers wouldn’t stray. Whatever. We all got to get ours somehow.
Primavera was soft all over. Grown woman thighs. I stayed on them a little longer than I should have. I still feel good when I think about her succumbing to my touch.
Not that the others aren’t attractive women. I’d take any one of them any day. But something about Primavera got me. I damn near offered her an erotic on the house just so I’d have an excuse to touch her all over, initiate something. She didn’t bite.
“Ummm. That feels good. You got any other clients tonight?”
“No. You’re the last.”
“Good. I want to keep you a little while longer.”
Like I said, you treat one right…. I need to call Prima and thank her. Maybe she’ll let me give her some complimentary body work.
One Last Dance, Little Sister? (2010)
Kyndyl Freeman has been a marshal for the past eight years. She has good working and personal relationships with her boss Thomas “Tommy” Stitz and her partner Clark Scott. When a major assignment is botched from the beginning, Kyndyl finds herself in the middle of a firestorm. She also finds herself protecting a man, a British investment banker named Maxwell Keane, who may hold the key to several murders and unexplained disappearances. Things become even more complicated when tragic events from Kyndyl’s guarded past begin to have an unexpected effect on her present and future.
Inda Lauryn's latest novel is a tale of trust and family. She weaves intricate characters into a tale of suspense and intrigue. This novel is a departure for Lauryn in subject matter but fuses her signature style of music and complex characters. Fans of suspense and literature will enjoy this character-driven tales of greed, secrets and family.
Prologue
She checked her watch. It was barely nine p.m. She ran her hands through her short brown twists before meticulously pinning them as closely to her scalp as possible. She affixed the shoulder-length honey-blond wig and raked her fingers through it. She checked the makeup again: the perfect shade of brown foundation set off the off-red lipstick but also did not detract from her light blue eyes, made all the brighter by the gray eye shadow so popularly used to give the smoky effect. The natural point in her brow usually gave the impression of a bad girl. Satisfied with the neck up, she walked across the room in her cleavage enhancing black slip and picked up her size 10 coal-gray dress off the bed. She stepped into it and expertly zipped the back herself. She decided to go bare legged to show off the thick but long legs that seemed to go on the forever. Her 5’8” frame became even taller as she stepped into the matching heels. She checked the full-length mirror, grabbed her matching clutch then walked out of the room.
Thirty-five minutes later, she was being seated at the city’s premier French restaurant, Colette. Despite the Saturday night crowd, she had no problem immediately getting a table. Out of the way of course. She also had no trouble turning heads as she walked across the room to her little out of the way table in the back of the restaurant. After taking her seat, she ordered her drink in flawless French. She began surveying the room and stopped at the man staring intently at her. She gave a coquettish smile then continued her visual survey.
“Excuse me.”
She looked up to find her admirer standing over her and struggling to keep his eyes on her face and off her ample breasts.
“Yes?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you. Are you here waiting for someone?”
“No, I’m not. I’m here alone,” she said with a feigned embarrassed smile.
“Well, I’m alone as well. I’d be honored if you would care to join me for dinner.”
She hesitated as if mulling it over.
“I can assure you that you’re quite safe with me. Terry Manx.” He extended his hand. She smiled sweetly and took his in her own.
“I think I would like that very much, Terry Manx.”
A little more than an hour later, they were headed back to his hotel. Their cab stopped a couple of blocks away and Terry got out. She rode to the front door. She walked in and took the elevator to the 15th floor. She walked over to a mirror and preened a bit while she watched someone carry an ice bucket to the ice machine. A moment later, the elevator dinged. She smiled at Terry as he walked over to her.
“Sorry I asked you to do that, but I’d rather not be seen going into a hotel room with a man I just met.”
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-32 show above.)