Black Buck(56)

“I didn’ forget,” I said, still staring out the window. “I didn’ forget any of it.”

He sank back into his bed. “Good.”

“I’m sorry, Batman. For everything.”

“Sorry don’ fix my jaw, nigga. Or the fact that Imma be off the corner for a minute now. My momma can’t eat ‘sorry.’”

“I know, but—”

“But nothin’, son.” He turned toward the window. “When you see me in the street, don’ try dappin’ me up, talkin’ to me, or even lookin’ at me. I meant what I told that white girl on TV. You still over here steady thinkin’ you one of them. But you’ll see. You ain’ shit, and now you less than shit. You dead to me. Now get the fuck up outta here before I tell my nurse to get security on your bitch ass.”



* * *





“I guess we have to buzz up,” Soraya said, as she scanned Shangri-La Palace’s directory. The door clicked open and we packed ourselves into a claustrophobic elevator.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m good.”

“We don’ have to do this if you don’ want to. We can jus’ chill.”

“I said I’m good, Soraya.”

The elevator bounced before it came to a stop and opened on a reception area. Sounds of flowing water, birds, and a harp filled the humid air.

“How may we help you?” a smiling Korean woman asked.

“Um, we have a reservation. Darren Vender?”

The woman scrolled through her computer and frowned. “I’m sorry, we have no reservation under that name. We do have one for Buck Vender, though, made by Mr. Daniels?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me. That’s my, uh, other name.”

“Okay, perfect. Mr. Daniels put you down for a body scrub, facial, massage, and couples jacuzzi. Does that sound right?”

I raised an eyebrow at Soraya. Her brown eyes grew larger. She mouthed, Seriously?

“Yeah, I guess that does.”

“Okay, follow me, please.” The woman led us down a set of stairs to a changing room with lockers, sinks, and what looked like an operating table.

“Please place your belongings in the lockers and change into these,” she said, handing us each a white robe and slippers. “You can also freshen up with a warm towel, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Soraya said.

We changed in silence, and even though we wore robes, I felt naked under Soraya’s stare.

Someone knocked on the door. “What would you like to do first?” the smiling woman asked. “Couples jacuzzi, body scrub, facial, or massage?”

“Massage,” Soraya declared, pushing past the woman into the hallway.

Getting the hell beaten out of me by an older Korean woman was not relaxing. All I could think about was the front page of the Daily News, how fucked up Jason was, and the fact that I came within an inch of being fired—losing everything I had worked so hard for.

“Okay,” she whispered after what felt like an hour. “Body scrub time. Please follow us.”

Soraya silently rose from her table, took a sip of her iced water with orange and apple slices, and left.

The “body scrub” was more of a “body flay.” The women threw buckets of hot water on us, applied copious amounts of cold gel, then went to work with coarse mitts, scraping off thick pieces of skin that looked like folds of grated cheese.

After the torture ended, the women moisturized our bodies with yogurt lotion. I cautiously glanced at Soraya, who was admiring her skin. No bullshit, it glowed like brown suede—so slick, it reflected the blue tiles. With her hair wrapped in a towel, face massaged and polished, she was sculpturesque.

A woman led us to a door and said, winking, to take our time. Without a word, Soraya pushed the door open. In the center of the room was an oversize circular jacuzzi. Across every wall were recessed shelves that held lit candles. A table next to the jacuzzi bore chocolate-dipped pineapples, strawberries, apricots, a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, and two glass flutes. At the front of the room was a flat-screen TV.

Soraya dropped her robe as she walked toward the table. She delicately brought a chocolate-dipped strawberry to her mouth and turned on the TV. Her body, thick, smooth, and tight, was irresistible, but I couldn’t even allow myself to enjoy the moment.

“The TV, really?” I asked, grabbing a piece of pineapple.

“You obviously have nothin’ to say, so why not?” She poured herself some champagne and settled into the jacuzzi.

I took a swig straight from the bottle. “Whatever, man.”

“Whatever is right. Look at you. Since when did you start drinkin’ champagne?”

I pointed at her hand holding the glass above the water. “Tha’s funny. So what? You can drink and I can’t?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She set her glass down on the jacuzzi’s edge. “You used to be so against drinkin’, sayin’ it wasn’ for you and was never gonna be for you, but once you start workin’ at this company, you suddenly drink. If you ask me, that’s funny.”

“Yo, what the fuck is your problem? We get this expensive-ass spa day, which, by the way, is from the CEO of my company, and you’re tight the whole time. Shit makes no sense.”