Apparently, Chase brought out the new party favors before he went upstairs to join us in the shower, because when I got back downstairs and outside, I noticed the paper bag full of poppers sitting on the table with two of the bottles out beside it. DeDe and Rey were still naked, but had moved to the swimming pool and were joined by a few others, with the bright subsurface lights illuminating their bodies.

“I don’t know if we’re using this shit right, Nikki,” Dede said. She explained that the rush was intense for about two minutes after they opened the bottle and inhaled, but faded quickly after that.

“Well, they’re supposed to fade quick like that, but they’re best for sex,” I told her, savoring the lingering warmth of sex against the cool water. “And don’t let Rey take it, or he might not stay hard.” Rey looked over, alarmed, and I laughed. Obviously, they didn’t know what the fuck poppers were. Mingling around, trying to keep some track of who all was at my house, I occasionally cut a glance up at the third-floor windows for any clue of what might be going on. The lights stayed on, but who knows beyond that?

-

DeDe and I were sharing a pool float, where she was getting the scoop from me about my friend Annabelle- omitting, of course, the part about the three of us in the shower together- when Omar appeared in the open doorway to the living room, then plopped down into a patio chair.

“Having a good night, baby? I see you reloaded,” Omar said loudly, picking the bag of poppers about two inches up off the table, then dropping it back down for effect.

“Mi poppers, su poppers, Omar,” I said, hopping off the raft and stepping out of the pool to go say hello. The pool lights illuminated his face like the reflection from a blue moving picture. Omar raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at my nudity but was otherwise subdued. On the table in front of him, beside the brown paper sack was his brightly glowing iPhone, open to the text screen, and a glass of Patron with the bottle beside it. His white designer button-down was wilted from a night around town, and he wore his hat slightly askew, completely by accident.

“It’s a perfect fucking night for a swim,” I said, leaning in for a hug, then cooed into his ear: “Glad you graced me with your presence after all, wanna join me?”

“Damn, Nikki...you should dress like this all the time,” he said lowly. His heavy-lidded eyes rose to meet mine when I came around to peck his lips, and asked if I wanted to go inside instead. He was drunk, and I was damn near sober, but we were both more than willing.

I led him into the library, carefully maneuvering my bare feet around a guitar, an empty beer bottle, and some cords to the chaise lounge in the corner. He picked me up and tossed me onto it, then sank his head between my legs to give me very wet, very sloppy oral fuck. The sensation of his saliva on my skin against the cool air conditioning made me shiver uncontrollably, and his tongue dragging heavily across my clit and around my chamber gave me a second set of violent shudders from the inside out, leaving me a shaking mess. My pussy flooded, never having fully come down after the shower sex, and my hips bucked, lifting me up off the cushions. Omar struggled to hang on, then forced me back down. He sucked on my clit, coaxing it roughly out and erect until I screamed as the sensitivity was too much to withstand. I relaxed my white knuckle grip on the armrest and pushed his head further down and away from my painfully tingling pink bud.

Omar sucked on my swollen labia and reached his tongue into my box, flicking back and forth, then back outside. My insides churned and the butterflies swirled. Fuck, he was good at this, as he always was- it was how he won me over, really- and I couldn’t deny that I got an extra charge from knowing that he was eating me out right after Chase’s cock had been there. He, of course, had no idea; as drunk as he was, plus whatever else he might have sampled that evening, his senses were too shot to have picked up on the scent of another. My upper body went limp, spent but still buzzing like hell from the waist down at his relentless oral attack. The pleasure was hitting a ceiling, though, teasing me with a climax that wouldn’t come. Maybe it was all the drugs, but I doubted it. My body just needed something else.

“Fuck me,” I said, still shaking as his mouth slathered my sex, making a mess, smearing our fluids all over both of us. I stared at the ceiling, beginning to lose concentration and sensing a repetitive cycle to his technique. I also started to feel a little chapped, and wanted it to stop before it actually got uncomfortable.

“Omar, come on, I want you in me,” I said, louder, just in case he hadn’t caught it the last time. He shoved his pants down his legs and crawled on top of me. His mouth tasted like hot beer and tequila halitosis. I turned my head, hoping he would raise up on his elbows to mount me, but as he shifted his weight, I felt the soft flesh of flaccid penis brush across my leg. He moved in for another kiss that I reluctantly accepted, hoping his libido would spring to life. Moving it side to side across and between my legs, Omar was trying to to coax himself into an erection, but it wasn’t working. In the meantime, I was trapped between the furniture and rotten drunk-breath.
“Have a little too much to drink there, babe?” I said, unable to disguise my contempt. He huffed under his breath and abruptly stood up.

“Shut up, Nikki, just fuckin’...suck it for a minute,” he said.

“Shut up and do fucking what?” I said, drawing my legs in and sitting up. “Hey I’m not the one unable to perform, don’t fucking snap at me, you prick!”

“You want what you...” he stammered, unable to put his sentence together. I raised my eyebrows. “I just need a little help, and it will be fine to perform,” he said, rubbing his noodle in vain. I was drying up by the moment. Goddammit!

Despite myself, I knelt in front of him and took his penis into my mouth, feeling it stretch down the length of my tongue as I applied suction, then roll across my tongue as I relaxed it. Unfortunately, there was no amount of saliva, heat, or pressure that was going to bring him to erection, and after narrowly talking myself out of taking a spiteful nibble, I pulled my face away from him, letting him bounce free and come to humble rest again.

“C’mon, a little more,” he said, slurring his words. I slapped his dormant dick and stood up, about to tell him to get the fuck away from me when I heard Chase’s voice two rooms over and approaching. When he appeared in the doorway, we both turned to face him: me, totally nude and flush with anger, and Omar in a near-stumble with his pants around his ankles with his flaccid member on display. Chase, wearing a towel around his waist, stopped for a beat and couldn’t conceal a sly smile, having gotten the gist of the situation in a glance.

“Here, call your cousin back. That little shit is blowing your phone up every five minutes while I’m taking care of business upstairs,” he said, tossing my phone to me. “Or else he’ll probably call me, and I’m not likely to extend family courtesy to him at two in the fucking morning.”

“How’s business going?” I asked with a pursed grin, glancing at the missed call log.
“I think you have a good idea of how it’s going,” he said with a wink, after which I felt Omar look toward me. A new wave of dread threatened to flare up, but I suppressed it.

“So I’ll leave you two to...do whatever the fuck you’re doing,” he said, then turned to leave. Omar said he’d be right back and went to the bathroom with more than a hint of urgency.

Go sleep it off when you’re done, Omar. Fuck!” I yelled through the door before stomping away, the sounds of his sickness fading quickly behind me. I clicked on one of the five calls I missed from Pete, completely ignoring a handful of texts and voicemails from the same number.

-

I sat down on a couch in the den, only to notice that the greek god of fucking was laying on the across from me in his Diesel t-shirt and shorts, watching Inglorious Basterds on the television. This flummoxed me to the point that I momentarily forgot who I was calling, leaving a frantic Pete to say my name three times before I finally answered him.

“Pete, it’s the middle of the goddamn night, what the hell do you want?” The greek god gave a sideways glance and a smirk.

“Thank god you called back,” he said, noticeably short of breath. “I need your help really fucking bad, Nik!” I rolled my eyes, even though a hint of panic streaked through me from the tone of his voice. I asked him where he was and what he needed.

“Six thousand dollars,” he said, without answering the ‘where’ part.

“Why the fuck do you need six fucking grand?” I asked, earning another amused glance from the god. “What’s going on, Pete.”

“It’s a big stupid bullshit...I just need it, and then I can go home,” he said, attempting to be resolute. He told me he owed the money, and I figured out on my own that he was being held until whoever he owed got it from him. He couldn’t tell me where he was, beyond that it was in ‘the valley’, but some other guy who was fluent in asshole-ese managed to give me the directions. I told him I was on my way, then hung up the phone.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, through a deep exaggerated sigh. “My fuck-up cousin,” I said, holding up my phone for indication. “He needs my help.”

“So you gotta go?” he asked. I nodded. “You know it’s none of my business, but if you want somebody to tag along...” His voice was so deep it nearly made me wet. I wished our first chance to talk wasn’t going to be in the process of pulling my cousin out of whatever morass he decided to step into next, but I wasn’t going to turn him down, either. Besides, I might need the back-up.

“If you want,” I shrugged, then jogged toward the stairs and told him I’d meet him at the front door in five minutes. I felt his eyes follow my bouncing naked body until it disappeared up the steps and around the corner.

Dressed in a tank top and shorts with flip-flops, having fought off the urge to check on Annabelle, I went down to the wine cellar to count out seven thousand dollars and put it in my purse, then met the god at the front entrance as planned. DeDe, Rey, and the rest of their contingent were in the living room playing a drinking game with the Patron, giving a quick wave in mid-laughter.

We climbed into my Porsche convertible at 2:25 a.m., pulled past the others getting into their cars, and out the gate toward an address somewhere in the sprawling subdivisions of the San Fernando Valley.

-

We were descending out of the hills and into the endless glowing grid of gold and white lights when Pete called me again, asking if I was on my way.

“Yes, Pete,” I said. “And I was so glad you called, because I was really unsure of what to do with myself between now and fucking dawn.”

“I know, I know,” he said, noticeably hushing his own voice. “Did you bring a gun?”

“A gun?!” I said, nearly stopping the car. “Fuck no I didn’t bring a gun, damn. Tell me this: do I fucking need one?” This got the god’s attention in a hurry.

“Nah, forget it. Gotta go,” he said, then hung up.

“Where are we going again?” the god asked me, with more than a hint of concern. I chuckled at how utterly unprepared I was in nearly every way for whatever awaited us at the address scribbled on the sheet of paper in my hand.

“Just to bail my punk cousin out of trouble,” I said.

“Like, from a drug dealer, or what?” he asked.

“Probably,” I said. He kept looking at me while I kept my eye on the road, watching for my turns as we navigated the near-empty streets.

“Damn, girl...I figured we’d be plucking him out of some party or something. I might wish I hadn’t volunteered,” he said. I looked at him and smiled.

“Yeah, you probably will,” I said, just as we pulled onto Medina Way.
-

Pete was my dad’s sister’s kid, and lacking any blood siblings of our own, we treated each other as if we were, for better and for worse. He was three years younger than me, but did his best to keep pace with whatever I was into at the time. Unfortunately for both of us now, that meant a fair amount of drugs and partying. I didn’t mean to be a bad influence, but I was never going to pretend to be something other than what I was, even if I probably should have, for his sake. So, I let him hang around the house whenever he wanted to, and helped him out here and there when he needed it.

But lately, I noticed he was needing it more and more. There was something about Pete that gave me a sinking feeling, like no matter what I did, he’d meet his own demise sooner than later. Maybe for that reason more than any, I never wanted to make him feel like he couldn’t count on me for whatever he needed, no matter how much I bitched about it. Pete was my cross to bear.

-

The house that sat at 122 Medina Way was a sprawling stucco-walled ranch home, similar but not identical to its neighbors as far as one could see. Four blocks away, the old-school diners, motels, and storefronts lined both sides of Ventura Boulevard. All was still, as if frozen in time.

I noticed that every light in the house appeared to be on, but as we knocked, I couldn’t hear much going on inside. The greek god of fucking stood one step behind me, and a young white guy with greasy blond hair peeking out from under a skullcap answered the door.

“I’m looking for Pete,” I said. “Where is he?”

“Come in,” he said, then vaguely motioned for us to stay near the door while he went down the hall. In the living room nearby, two teenage girls were on the couch, topless, playing video games with a laptop open nearby, streaming what appeared to be lesbian porn. A moment later, the kid with the skullcap came back and told us to follow. We walked into a big bedroom at the end of the hallway, where Pete was sitting in a chair, looking wilted and defeated, with one cheek reddened from an apparent scuffle. Two tattoo-laden guys sat on a couch, keeping watch.

“Hey Nik,” Pete said sheepishly, making the minimum eye contact before looking away. “You brought the money, right?”

“You two get the fuck over there with him,” said another guy from behind us, pushing us then jostling around to face us. I saw his gun waving in the air before I saw who it was.

“What the fuck?” said the greek god, as we both shuffled over toward Pete. I recognized the gunman and glared at him. He glared back at me.

“Mickey, what the fuck?” I asked.

“You want to know what the fuck? I want to know what the fuck too! Your crew owes me money so you bring your muscle?!”

“My crew?” I asked

“Well muscle this, baby,” he said, pointing his 9mm handgun at the three of us. He was in the midst of a manic coke high; I wasn’t even sure he recognized me.

“Your dumb ass friend here apparently thought we were a motherfuckin’ charity,” he said, slapping Pete’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Do I look like a motherfuckin’ charity to you rich fuckheads? You think I give a fuck? You think Jimmy gives a fuck?!”

“I was gonna have it in like two days,” Pete said incredulously.

“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey screamed at him. Pete still had a lot of lessons to learn: among them, when to shut the fuck up. The greek god was cursing under his breath where only I could hear it. I was piecing the situation together in my mind, strangely unconcerned with the pistol being waved in my general direction; probably because it was a ridiculous measure for a lousy six grand. But it was business, and we weren’t dealing with a sane or sober drug dealer.

-

I was introduced to Mickey through a friend of mine at a party when I was still in high school. Back then, he didn’t look any different from any other semi-rebellious rich kid trying to project some toughness. Jimmy Redwine counted on him to deliver a share of the gold mine that was the Hollywood hills drug market, accessed through the parties that dotted the houses every night of the week. He sold me my first bag of weed, and in the three years since, he’d fully embraced his thug side, and recruited a network of local kids to do his selling for him.

Pete was just the kind of kid he was looking for, too: not focused on schoolwork, always wandering from place to place, and essentially ignored by his family. I knew he was dealing, if only to people he knows from school, and wasn’t sure why I was surprised that he was doing it through my dealer. Predictably, he’d fucked up, but at least I knew these guys.

-

“So what were you gonna do, Mickey, just hold his ass here until he shit six grand?” I asked.

“No, you stupid bitch, I was going to hold him until somebody showed up with the money,” he said.

“Does Jimmy know you’re keeping my cousin hostage for a little bit of weed money? You know how much business I give that prick?”

“Jimmy don’t know shit, this is between me and your boy here. I don’t give a fuck about your business,” he said, clearly relishing Pete’s flinches every time he pointed the pistol at him.

“Mickey, put down the gun, for fuck’s sake,” I said.

“You got my money?” he asked. His eyes were dark, soulless. At the end of the day, the money was all he cared about.

“Yeah, motherfucker, what do you think I came here for?” I said, then pulled the cash out of my purse. “Put the piece away,” I reminded him, tilting my wrist away until he pocketed the weapon.

Mickey got his money and nodded as he half-counted the cash, then folded the bills and stuffed them into his front pockets.

“See how easy that was, Petey boy?” he said. “My business here is done, I can grab my bitches, and I’m outta here.” He pointed at Pete as if to say ‘watch yourself’, then disappeared down the hallway.

“So you guys want a joint, or what?” asked one of the tatooed guys after a moment of tension-relieving silence. I nodded and shrugged, and the greek god looked at me like I was crazy.

“What?” I asked. “It’ll calm my nerves.” Pete, looking like he might throw up, asked if he could sit in the car instead, so I threw him the keys, then followed the guys into the kitchen with the god in tow, shaking his head.

-

The golden-orange streetlight glow of Ventura Boulevard slowly got closer as we walked along the dark side street. I didn’t wear a watch, and my phone was in my car, which Pete had taken, leaving us stranded. The greek god’s phone and wallet were back at my house, and the tattooed guys claimed to not have phones.

“Really, guys? No phones?” I asked, to which they shrugged.

I did, however, have my purse, and the greek god of fucking wasn’t inclined to hang at a random drug house around any longer.

“Was that enough excitement for three in the morning?” I asked him, as we walked under the purple night sky.

“I think that’s enough for one night, yeah,” he said in his deep baritone, after a moment’s pondering. “Your cousin, there...”

“Pete?”

“Yeah...kid’s lucky to have a guardian angel watching out for him,” he said.

“Well he did have to call me,” I said. “That makes me a pretty shitty angel, right? I think guardian angels are supposed to just know when to swoop in.”

“Well, he could do worse,” he said, followed by another silence. “That was a ton of money. Then he thanks you by taking your car? That’s messed up.”

“He’s not so bad, I know where to find him,” I said. “He just needs looking after sometimes.” The soft scuffle of our shoes against the asphalt and the gentle rustle of the warm wind among the palms were the only noises in the air. “You were cool as ice in there,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Not what I expected.” I smiled.

“What’s the matter, never had a gun pointed at you by a coke freak?” I asked, teasing. His mouth curled on one end, giving me a sideways glance at a smile.

“Oh I have, once before. Not sure he was coked out,” he said. “I was with my boys one night late in Venice Beach. We went back into the neighborhood to get some cheap tacos or something, and there he was, just like ‘gimme your shit’. I thought he was gonna take all our money, but after I gave him my wallet, he just ran.”

“Lucky you,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said with a single chuckle. “Probably high, just not on coke.” I didn’t tell him that was my first time at gunpoint, or that I couldn’t remember when I last time I really feared anything. I gazed at the dark houses, wondering why it didn’t affect me the way I thought it probably should have.

-

A defunct gas station-turned-comic book shop sat at the corner of Ventura and Medina, with four metal newspaper boxes and a pay phone outside. We stood together looking at the metal phone from about two paces away, as if it were dropped from outer space.

“Ever used one of these?” I asked the greek god.

“Yeah, when I was a little kid,” he said. “You got any quarters?” I didn’t, but with no dial tone at all, it didn’t matter. A neon sign reading “motel” glowed in bright red letters a few blocks to the east, so we figured that to be our next good bet for an operable phone. On the way, we passed a policeman asleep in his car, and a carload of teens in an oldsmobile painted lime green screamed “motherfucker!” at us as they sped by, missing us by only a few feet.

Only the wireless router on the service counter kept me from thinking we'd been transported back in time a few decades when we stepped into the motel lobby. The furniture was blocky, upholstered in monochromatic tangerine-orange, and lit by the sickly green tint of old flourescent tubes. The clock on the wall read 3:43, but I couldn't keep my eyes trained on it long enough to see if it was really working.

"You have a pay phone around here?" asked the god.

"No phone," the Indian-looking clerk responded. He then asked if we could borrow the use of the clerk's phone, explaining that it was a local call.

"Sorry, sir, no phone," he said, though clearly not the least bit ‘sorry’ at all.

"Okay, can you just call us a cab, then?" he appealed. "We're just trying to get home." The clerk sized us both up as if considering an act of kindness, then shook his head.

"Only phones are in rooms," he said. "You rent room, you make free local calls." Suddenly, the thought of a bed just a few feet away sounded very good, never mind the working phone.

"Okay," I said, handing him my American Express card. "Run it.” He gave us a key and pointed around to the side.

-

The problem with not having our cell phones is that we didn't actually know anybody's number; they were all listed by contact name. In the dusty-smelling but otherwise clean room, we huddled around the ‘90’s-era motel phone, trying in vain to remember numbers for Chase, DeDe, Annabelle, and even the main house, where somebody would answer no matter what time it was. The god tried to call Rey after finally remembering his number, got no answer, then suggested again that we just call a cab.

"I'm tired as fuck," I said, laying down on the king size bed with my legs dangling off the side. "I'm not waiting on a cab to show up here in a half an hour, plus another half hour home. Fuck that. I bought this room, let's just get some sleep and call a cab in the morning." I was whining, but didn't care. After a moment, he nodded his head in agreement, and said he was going rinse off first. I was stripped down with the television on, fighting off the urge to join him in what had to be a tiny shower judging by the space that the walls carved out into the rectangular room. When he came out in his boxers, I was under the covers watching a Jersey Shore rerun with the lights off.

The cheap mattress and bed springs listed toward him as he lowered his weight onto the bed. He laid on top of the bed spread, pulling the sheets and blanket taut. I asked him if he wanted to get under the covers, but he said he was still hot from his shower.

“Besides,” he said, the smile coming through in his voice. “I have a feeling you’re not wearing anything right now.”

“Of course I’m not,” I said. “And that’s a problem?”

“Not for you, no,” he said, chuckling in that bed-vibrating low voice.

“You don’t sleep naked?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, turning to face me. “But I shouldn’t even be here, much less in bed with a sexy naked young woman like yourself.”

“You had other plans?” I said, softly raking my fingernails down his arm.

“Nah, just other obligations,” he said. “My imagination tells a different story, believe me.” His big hand rested on the side of my hip, squeezing it through the linens, then let it go. “But I can’t.” I did my best with my limited 4 a.m. arsenal, but his resolve and my exhaustion won out. I fell asleep leaned up against his broad back with my arm draped around him, wondering when and how Annabelle’s night finally ended.

-

The dream rose up from the unearthly quiet of my sleep. Approaching with vague sounds and images, getting closer and clearer, I could see and feel everything that happened to me. I was with the greek god of primal fucking, and he was fucking me up against the wall, his beautiful muscular body pounding me mercilessly. My legs tried to wrap around his waist, trying to give myself any semblance of stability to offset his deep, steady strokes, but could only flail and reach, suspended as I was between hot flesh and the cracked paint of the motel wall. His shaft rose far into my body, jutting forcefully, shaking the walls, making me scream. My pussy flooded, soaking his massive cock as it slid deeply inside, making me his own, and sacrificing this pussy on the alter of the god of fucking. My body was rushing toward orgasm, spurred on by his deep kiss, feeding my hunger, and taking whatever resistance I had far away.

I opened my eyes as his stubble brushed my cheek, lifting his lips off of mine for a delicious moment before locking them together again.

His tan body blended with the dark beige sheets in the earliest of dawn’s dim light, stirring hungrily against me, giving me goosebumps as his skin slid past mine. Like a wild animal that tires of toying with it’s meal and finally pounces, the greek god rolled on top of me and took both of my hands in his and stretching them up over my head. Our knuckles, locked and squeezing urgently together, pressed against the padded headboard.

His cock bobbed stiffly between his legs, dragging across the tops of mine before dropping between them. I was sopping wet, and felt my petals begin to part as he pushed. We both grunted as his thick head slipped snugly inside me, then paused before arching his back and turning his hips, sliding his shaft within me, then back out. Like waves rolling onto the shore, each thrust washed over me, only to be followed by another, and another. His dick was fully buried on his strokes, his balls softly resting against my ass before retreating. He wasn’t that long, but his shape was heaven: his head turned upward, raking my g-spot, and the base was thicker, giving delicious punctuation each time he bottomed out inside of me.

My hands clutched at his bulked-up shoulders and my legs hooked around his, savoring his weight on top of mine as I pressed my hips into his, seeking the tiny explosion each time the force of his weight pressed into my clit. It was almost slow, but completely intense; the greek god of fucking was living up to his name. His hands moved down my body, coming to rest on my ass. Clutching it from below, he was holding me in place while his thrusts grew harder with each passing minute. I spread my thighs and lifted my legs, opening myself in a semi-orgasmic trance. Then, with a held breath and a grunt, he came: shooting his sperm in my pussy as he held me fully buried and still, unable to stroke at the height of his climax, but panting like the winded, sated beast that he was.

I laughed with pure joy, loving the sensation of being filled, and clinging with both arms to his body atop mine. He kissed me until his cock finally slipped out, then laid down beside me. Still working only off of a couple hours sleep, we quickly drifted off to sleep again, this time with his arms around me, warming me with his body heat while his seed slowly seeped from between my legs.

-

He was just about to walk out the door when I finally awoke for the day. He was on the phone, talking in a near-whisper; I pretended to still be asleep.

“Yeah...well the first thing we’re gonna do is come up with a story for where I was all last night. Otherwise, Melanie’s gonna go crazy, and she won’t give up until there’s blood. You know what I’m talking about...Okay, good, yeah, you’re almost here. When you see the sign that says ‘motel’...Great. I’ll meet you out front.”

Then the door opened and closed behind him; he was gone.

-

As I showered, letting my fingers linger in my cooze as the rest of the god’s cum trickled out, I couldn’t combat my sadness. Not just because I didn’t, and likely wouldn’t ever, get another chance with the greek god of fucking, though I’d never felt quite like that during sex, and knew I’d be chasing that dragon for a long time. But also at the way real connections appear so clearly, then streak out of sight just as you start to get an understanding. In his case, he belonged to somebody else from the start, anyway. This was why it was easier to simply not feel. “After all,” I thought with a smile, “I’d gotten my nut, and that’s all I’d really wanted anway.” I laughed at how after all that time, I still didn’t know his real name.

I called a taxi and told them to show up forty-five minutes from then. I wanted to give the god time to get his things in and out of my house without having to deal with me. I kicked off my flip-flops and sat out by the motel pool in the early-morning sunlight, serenaded back to a temporary sleep by the Mexican ballad playing on a nearby AM radio.

-

When I got back to the house, I was disappointed not to see my Porsche in the driveway, but saw that DeDe’s Honda was still parked there, right next to Annabelle’s Chevy. In the great room, the housekeeper was trying to dispose of empty bottles and trash without waking Rey, who was face down on a sofa. DeDe was barely awake at the breakfast table, nursing a cup of coffee in her tight halter and panties.

“Girl,” she said in a gravelly voice, managing a near-grin. I knew basically what she meant by that already, but sat down anyway to listen to her accont.

“You left right before things really went crazy here,” she said. “We were into a crazy game of California Kings, and your girl Annabelle, she came down to play. Girl can hold her tequila, that’s for sure. Then Marcus and a few of his friends came, and they were really into Annabelle.”

“Oh really,” I said, smiling. Marcus loved the white women, so, big surprise there.

“For sure,” she said, continuing. “She teased the fuck out them, too. The whole black crew, just frothing at the mouth, you should have seen that shit. She was sitting in his lap, getting his drinks, just milking it up.” I asked Maria to bring DeDe a refill and some fruit for me, sensing that the story was about to catch fire. “So then your cousin Pete shows up with some...well, a spade’s a spade: some skank ass hoes that he goes to school with, or something. Not bad looking girls, but damn.”

“Did he start some shit?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“I don’t think he started it, really. It was just kind of in the air by then,” she said. “Annabelle got too drunk, and was dancing with Pete, then he got a little bit grabby, and she dissed him.”

“Par for the course,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then Marcus and them really turned the heat up on Annabelle, so Rey and his boys intervened, saying she was too fucked up to be messing with like that, and took her away. Me and two other girls carried her upstairs while a fight breaks out between those fools. Just too much sex and trouble in the air.” I looked around for evidence of damage, but didn’t see any.

“Anyone get messed up?” I asked.

“Nah, couple fat lips and maybe a black eye. Nobody got a shot on Rey,” she said with a hint of pride. "I came back down and our friends were leaving, and Rey wanted to hit the hot tub with me, so I went down to the basement to get one of the poppers out, and Marcus and two of his boys are fuckin’ those girls like there ain’t no tomorrow. Not your normal shit, either. I mean, like, spread eagle on the top of the couch, takin’ it up the ass, and the other girl’s taking it at both ends, and hard too, damn. I stood there, looking around the corner, like unable to look away, you know? That was some big ass dick taking over some little bitty white ass. Little bitty sore ass come this morning.” I could tell the story was reinvigorating her.

“Are they still down there?” I asked.

“Oh, hell no. They all took off together. Hell, they might have taken them back home to keep fuckin’ ‘em all day,” she said. “But the part I was gonna say is, when I went back down to check after they left, the poppers, the coke, the pills- it was all gone.”
“Your phone, Ms. Glissant,” Maria said, setting it down in front of me, with the coffee and fruit set to the side. The woman knew my priorities.

The screen preview said I’d missed 17 texts and 12 calls, but was interrupted by Annabelle calling me right then.

“Oh my god, you’re alive,” she said with a voice nearly as croaked out as DeDe’s.

“And in the flesh,” I said. “Everything go alright last night?”

“Oh yeah...I got so fucked up,” she said, relishing her own profanity. “Hungover, need something for that, but...what are we going to do today?”

“A lot, babe,” I said. “Care to help me out?”

“Of course I will,” she said. “Come on up. I need some help with something first.” Then she hung up. The subtle wave of dread circled through my belly yet again as I took a bite of passion fruit, not knowing what I was capable of resisting on any front.

"Why do things always gotta get so damn crazy over here?" asked DeDe.

"I don't know," I said. "But it keeps on getting crazier, I do know that."

My phone buzzed, and a text appeared on the screen: from Chase.

“Waiting.”