Stroke (A Miami Lust Novella Book 2) Page 10

  “I’m okay. Thanks for asking,” he shares. He’s always polite, and I admire that. ”Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for the costumes. They are amazing and beautiful; a true representation of your talent.” And with those final words, he walks away leaving our awkward conversation unfinished and hanging in the air. The urge to run after him and demand an explanation for the past few weeks is the strongest it’s ever been. It takes everything I have to stand still and watch him go.

  The lounge begins to fill up with dancers. Some are eating, fueling their bodies for the night to come. Others are applying makeup; while a few adjust their hair or costumes. Everyone seems to be happy and excited. Music is pumping in through the speakers. It’s definitely a party atmosphere, and I’m caught up in it pushing thoughts of Mat way deep down into the furthest recesses of my heart. I’ll haul them out later when I’m alone and can cry.

  Lindy walks through, giving cues to the different groups. Looks like we’re about to go live. The mood kicks up another ten notches and dancers flood the backstage area, leaving the lounge a little quieter without the verbal noise. I remain in my seated position for the next two hours, waiting for any sign of costume malfunction, but none come. I did have to hot glue a few props, but I’d rather that happen than a body part fall out of my designs when it’s not expected.

  After packing up my machine and sewing kit, I turn to leave and spot Mat coming towards me with another gentleman. He looks familiar but I can’t place his face.

  “Cassee, can you wait a moment?” Mat asks, as he and this other man approach. “I’d like you to meet Julian Chiange.”

  “Hi, Mr. Chiange. I’m a huge fan of your designs. They are light and airy and represent Miami fashion perfectly,” I blurt out, not remembering to slow down my words before I spoke them. Be professional, polite, and calm, Cassee because Mat has my heart racing right now.

  “Thank you, Cassee. It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well,” he admits, his eyes are clear and expressive telling me he means what he says. “I love the costumes you have designed for this event. I’d love to discuss some business opportunities with you, if you have the time later this week?”

  “Business opportunities? Sure, I’d love that,” I respond nervously. What in the world could Julian Chiange want to discuss with me? The butterflies in my stomach are doing a crazy dance now. I don’t know if it’s Mat being near or possibly meeting with Julian later. Suddenly, I feel sick. Nervous knots are expanding exponentially in my belly. He hands me his business card, and I tuck it into my bag securely, too afraid to lose it.

  “Great. I look forward to it. Please call at your earliest convenience,” he says and they both begin to walk away.

  “Umm, Mat. May I have a moment with you?” I ask, both men turn back towards me. Mat whispers something to Julian and I hear him say that he can find his own way back to his seat, and he departs. Mat comes towards me and my whole body suddenly feels like jell-o, soft and shaky.

  “Mat, I want to know what’s going on. You’ve ignored me for weeks. You’re the one who asked for more, and when I want to give it to you, you run away. I’m confused. Don’t you want me anymore?” I ask, faltering my way through my words, but locking my knees and preparing for the worst possible answer.

  I watch him shift his legs where he stands; he’s uncomfortable with this conversation. His facial expressions change a few times with several emotions flickering in his eyes: regret, sadness, and frustration.

  “Cassee, I was wrong when I asked you for more. You’re young and innocent and need a better man than me in your life. This world will bring you nothing but heartache and hatred, eventually. You don’t deserve that. Go build a life you can be proud of. Make me proud by doing that,” he pleads, touching my face with the lightest touch of his fingers. Without another word, he walks away.

  “Mat, come back,” I beg. “Mat, please!” My bag drops off my shoulder and I crumble to the floor on top of it. He’s gone. His words revealing his dilemma and I can’t change his mind. Surely my face is branded with the caress of his fingers. I can still feel the heat of his touch, or is that the sting of my tears?

  Several of the dancers come into the lounge and stare at me sprawled on the floor. They don’t offer to help or ask what’s wrong. It’s like they are numb to someone’s personal catastrophe having experienced it too much themselves. They don’t get too close, afraid of being sucked into my drama. I guess this stripper world is hopeless and pathetic, drawing out all the demoralizing qualities in a person.

  I remain on the floor for an unknown time as it seems to have stopped. My legs are numb and needle-like pricks shoot down my foot. The lounge is silent and empty. The shows have ended and the bars should be closing down for the night. I stand, like a baby giraffe wobbling on untested legs. The back hallway leads me to a quiet corridor that I recognize - this is the way to Mat’s apartment. I re-adjust my bag hanging on my shoulder, squeezing it with a firm grip as I stand and stare at the security door.

  A man looks up from his newspaper and raises his eyebrow in curiosity to me. “I’m Perry, the security guard. Are you okay ma’am?” he asks with sincerity in his voice. My first reaction is to shrug my shoulders because I honestly don’t know if I’m okay. I don’t know where to go or how to move forward, but I suddenly remember that I need to make an appointment with Julian Chiange, and that somehow propels me forward. “I’m gonna be okay.”

  ***

  New York City in the fall is one of THE most beautiful places on earth. I’ve had a whirlwind trip, and have made several friends here in the fashion industry. This city knows how to hustle and bustle.

  Karen, the head designer at Blushing Babes loves my designs and has offered up several collaborative opportunities to work with her team on a few honeymoon projects they have coming up in 2018. This experience has been beyond measure, and my network has expanded a hundred times in the past week. She even begged me to stay for a while and enter their Blushing Babes Mentor Program. Eek! But I explained that I have already committed myself to Julian Chiange. She was truly thrilled for me and gave me some great advice, “All things in good time.” My gramma used to tell me that all the time. Funny how I ignored it until it actually meant something to me.

  Tonight is my last night here, and it’s also the Bushing Babes Fashion Show at Moynihan Station. During the day, the sunlight beams through the glass prism ceiling making it a light and angelic venue, but the theme for this year’s show is dark and sexy, so the show doesn’t start until after twilight. The mood is sensual and erotic. Excitement thrums through my body at times feeling like an orgasm that I can’t control. I’m reminded of my nights with Mat, and I stop those thoughts before they get the chance to consume me. I’ve not heard from him or seen him. He’s moved on, and so have I.

  Karen let me switch out my winning Savannah piece for the red bustier design I made for The Glass Stripper. It was more in-line with the theme of the night. I’ve met with the model who will be displaying my piece. She was so excited to be wearing it, we did a little stomp dance together when I presented it to her. Of course, she’ll be wearing many other pieces over the course of the evening but she proclaimed mine to be her favorite.

  “Are you ready for tonight?” Karen asks, patting me on the back as she sweeps through the backstage area performing last minute checks on everything.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I can’t stop the butterflies in my belly,” I admit.

  The show’s producer starts yelling for everyone to take their places, and the models all line up. My piece doesn’t go on until close to the end, so I have a lot of time to wait and take in the experience. Music with a heavy sexual undertone begins and off they go. Every now and again, I can see across the stage and out into the crowd. Even though it’s dark, I can feel the enthusiasm of the crowd building with each succession of clapping.

  Activities backstage are quite chaotic, with clothes strewn everywhere in the model’s h
aste to change and get back in line with the timing of the music. I recognize some of the necessary fashion items backstage, like butt glue and breast petals that hold everything in proper place. I’ve seen more exposed breasts, vaginas, ass cheeks, and penis’ in one hour than I’ve seen my entire life. There is no modesty in the modeling business. I’ve learned quickly to get past my naiveté.

  It’s finally time for my piece to be fitted, and it hugs her like a glove. She looks exquisite and sensuous in it. Pride swells within me until I could explode. I roll on some butt glue to hold the tapered panties in place and off she goes. I take a deep breath, cross my fingers and start praying that nothing happens. She returns within a few minutes successful, my time in the spotlight is now over and done. It’s a feeling like no other, second only to the feeling of being in Mat’s arms. Stop it Cassee. That ship has sailed.

  Everyone lines up for the final walk and bow. Karen comes up beside me and grabs my hand, pulling me with her to the stage. “C’mon. You’re a part of this show too!” she shrieks. I’m a mess and hadn’t planned on being on display, but I can’t stop this train from rolling now.

  Epilogue – Mateo

  New York ~ Six weeks later

  The alarm emits a loud screech, and the entrance door swings wide rattling and clanking like the opening of a very large cage. It’s exactly like you see and hear on television when someone visits a prison. I find a seat off in the corner and wait.

  “Prisoner 12020831, booth 9,” is announced over the loudspeaker in the waiting room. That’s him. I push myself up off the cracked and torn leather seat. Some unknown substance sticks to my hand and I squirt some hand sanitizer onto my palm as I pass through the door. It goes away, but somehow I get the feeling the germs of this place remain. Like all bad things refuse to die here. Suddenly, I need a shower. I sit on the chair at booth 9 waiting for what seems forever. Is he not coming? My eyes peer through the thick safety glass and back down the corridor on the opposite side of the partition. Suddenly he appears, ambling...almost like he’s hurt.

  “Well, well, well...of all my sons, I never expected you to visit,” my father says.

  “And why not?” I ask. “I’m probably the only one who actually cares.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got your mama in you, boy,” he grunts like that’s a bad thing.

  “Why are you limping?” I ask, feeling a genuine concern for him.

  “I’m old, God damnit. It’s cold in here. The only warm place here is the fucking kitchen,” he complains.

  “I can check on that for you. Maybe get you an extra blanket or something,” I offer.

  “Don’t do me any fucking favors. That shit will get your ass whipped in here. I’m too new to rock the damn boat. You hear me? Don’t do a thing for me,” he demands.

  “Okay, I won’t,” I inform him.

  “Did you need something? Do you have news for the trial or something?” he asks. “Last I heard, you and the other boys headed south with your tails between your legs.”

  “We settled in Miami. We own a strip club there,” I tell him, “one that’s clean and legitimate.” I don’t know why I felt the need to rub that in, but it came out before I could stop it. His smug smile widens.

  “So, what did you want? Or did you come all this way to be social?” he asks again gruffly. Anger and disdain emanate from him. “Well, talk to me. Tell me.” He bangs on the glass to get my attention. Spit escapes his mouth and lands on his overgrown beard. I don’t recognize this man in the bright blue jumpsuit. This is not my father. This man belongs in the cage he just came from.

  “Tell me about Mom. How did you two meet?” I ask, getting to the heart of my reason for visiting. The sooner I ask, the sooner I can leave and never return.

  “What the fuck do you want to know that for?” he asks, rolling his eyes and chuckling under his breath. He slouches down in his chair and relaxes for a moment, clarity dawning in his eyes.

  “You’ve gone and fallen in love, haven’t you?” he inquires, preparing to tease me like he’s always done. The look on my face sobers him up quickly. He leans forward and aims his words directly toward the holes in the partition.

  “You’re mother was given to me as payment for a debt,” he whispers before releasing a wicked cackle from his throat. “I was the lesser of two evils, and she viewed me as her savior. Fucking wouldn’t leave me alone, so I gave her three babies to shut her up.”

  “You’re a vile motherfucker and deserve every piece of hell you get in this place,” I bark, rising from my chair, but I sit down again quickly trying to contain my own anger. The guard is watching us now.

  “Yeah, just like your mother,” he chuckles, finding the whole conversation amusing. “You listen here. Women are nothing but a place to release your manhood into. You’d be wise to remember that. It’s just sex, my son. It’s natural. Enjoy it while you can still get it up.”

  I take another long look at him. His eyes are dull and wrinkled with age. His skin is weathered and rough. His hair is unruly, and the white of his beard is stained yellow from tobacco. He’s beyond redemption in his soul, and now I know. Just because he planted the seed that I grew from doesn’t mean he’s my father. That title belongs to Thiago. I’ve never counted my blessings, but I will start today.

  My chair scrapes along the concrete floor as I rise. The tight set of my jaw and disgust in my eyes let’s him know I’m done with him. “It was nice seeing you, Son. Send the others up if you can,” he teases, his wide smile crinkling his eyes when I shiver from feeling the coldness of his sinister heart.

  ***

  I hop on I-495 and pray to God I can make my way to the Blushing Babes Fashion Show in time. It starts in an hour, although without traffic, it should only take a half-hour. Rush-hour traffic in New York City has been known to last until midnight without any events. It’ll be a miracle if I make it. The only thing on my side is that I’m a native New Yorker. I can bob and weave and flip people the bird with the best of ‘em if they don’t get outta my way. It’s funny how my accent comes back when I hear it in other people, but it disappears in Miami.

  The brakes of my rental car are jammed all the way to the floor, as I sit here. My patience is running thin, as I watch every freakin’ tourist in the city cross the street in front of the Empire State Building. “C’mon people,” I holler. “I’ve got a woman to get to.” Some of them hear me and turn, but ignore my words.

  I just need a few more inches and I can pull into this parking garage. C’mon, c’mon. Fuuuuck. I practically push the car in front of me with the Vermont license plate out of the way. Whew! There we go. “Thank you! Thank you! Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I’m an asshole. Welcome to New York,” I holler as they flip me off.

  I grab the e-ticket from the automatic dispenser, and pull into the first available parking spot, throwing the ticket down on the dash. Hopefully I’ll make it in time, praying as I run north up East 34th Street. Taking the stairs at Moynihan Station two at a time, I locate the venue and hand my ticket to the usher who directs me to stand against the back wall until the break happens in a half hour.

  The show has already started, but I haven’t missed much. I have absolutely no clue which piece she is displaying here, so I focus my energy on thinking about what I’m going to say to win her back. The last six weeks have been hell on earth. I’ve not slept much, constantly dreaming of her in and out of my life. The dreams of her ‘out of my life’ were more like nightmares.

  After a long talk with Thiago about life and love, I started seeing that I’ve been a complete idiot. I’m a good man. The discussion I just had with my father seals it for me. He’s a fucked up piece of shit and in no way do my brothers or I carry his ideals inside of us. Although a recent conversation with Dante has me worried, I will speak to him about his actions as soon as I get home.

  I look down the length of the runway to the far side of the room and see flower vendors. Perfect, that’s exactly what she needs after today. I purchase two dozen
red roses with other various flowers mixed in, and make my way to my seat along the side of the runway.

  The music changes and the mood heightens as all of the models make their final walk. A red bustier catches my eye, and I know it’s Cassee’s. I recognize it from our new shows. I’m so glad she chose that one - it’s my favorite. Suddenly everyone around me stands; here comes the designers. An older lady has Cassee in tow, linked arm in arm they walk the length of the runway, finally stopping to take their final bow right in front of me. She glances over and sees me.

  Flash photography is going off everywhere, and she doesn’t get to focus on me for too long. I walk to the stage and hand her the roses, as tears fall down her rosy cheeks. “I’ll meet you backstage,” I holler over the music and noise, but all she can do is shake her head in agreement before she’s caught up in the crowd moving to the back of the stage. She’s beautiful in the spotlight and deserves every happiness she gets. I just hope she’ll give me a second chance to make her mine.

  The crowd starts to disperse, and the photographers are packing their equipment away. One approaches and asks, “Sir, who was the lady that you gave the red roses too?”

  “Her name is Cassee Moore. She’s a recent graduate of the Savannah School of Art and Design. She’s a rising star in the fashion world, mark my words,” I advise.

  “Can you tell me which piece was hers? Do you know?” he asks.

  “Yes, the red bustier at the end. She designed that for the dancers at my club,” I boast, a swell of pride puffing out my chest.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he says, jotting down the information before leaving.

  “Hey,” she says in a timid voice from across the stage. I walk towards her, the bright lights illuminating her eyes. I smile when I get close enough to see they’ve turned purple with her excitement. “What are you doing here?”