By Rosemary Okafor
“Lovely night, huh.” The driver said, glancing in the rear-view mirror, his narrow eyes busy checking her out. “How did it go?”
“I’m not in the mood for conversation,” she said crisply, turning him out because he bothered her, he always had. There was something about him that unnerved her each time he came to pick her. Maybe it was the sinister grin that seemed to have found a home on his lips, and the way he kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, sticking out his tongue suggestively when she locked gaze with him. He was a white man with a longish dirty blond hair. The only white man working for Bernard—not that she knew all his staff, just a handful that were always around whenever she visited his palace.
“’Scuse me for existing,” he muttered, still grinning at her.
Damn! How she desired to kick him in the crotch. That would wipe off the dirty idea of having sex with her she knew he had been nursing for only God knows how long now. Men! She thought. The only thing that rushes into their heads each time they see beautiful women like her is sex. Sex and domination.
“You don’t look too good.” The driver ventured, narrowly avoiding a meandering jaywalker. “Anything bad happened back there?”
“Just be quiet and drive,” she said, seething with anger. Turning her head to the left, she saw the coat she’d left in the limo. Grabbing it, she slipped her hands, clutching it around her to conceal her ripped dress. How she managed to walk out of the house where Bernard— if that was indeed his name, and his foolish friends had held her captive for the last two hours, looking like a cheap prostitute who was engaged in a fight… she didn’t want to think about it.
What they did to her was unthinkable. She’d been more or less raped and brutalized, treated like an object to their pleasure. They were more than rough with her, exhibiting no respect at all. As far as they were concerned, she was a souvenir, which wasn’t how Bernard treated her before. What changed?
Her pleas of, “Stop! No! This isn’t going to happen,” didn’t affect them one bit. She’d struggled, but to no avail. Those bastards treated her like one of Madam Charlotte’s whores.
With shaky hands, she retrieved from her purse, the cell phone she used only when she wants to call those that would save her live if need be and speed-dialed her lawyer.
“Mr. Chip will be with you in a moment,” replied the velvet-toned voice of his ever-efficient secretary.
Scarlett waited. Her lawyer liked keeping people waiting, she’d seen him do it before. ‘Builds character,’ he would say with just a hint of the European accent he had never managed to get rid of.
Nervously, she leaned forward and asked the driver if he had a cigarette.
“I thought you don’t smoke,” the man said with a nonchalant shrug.
She used to smoke, but had given it up a very long time ago. But tonight, she could do with a long deep drag of the stick.
“Do you want me to stop and get you a pack?” The driver asked.
“No.” She shook her head vigorously.
“Scarlett.” Her lawyer’s voice. The slight accent. The oily thickness. “You called.”
“Yes.”
“What’s up?”
“I need you to sue someone.”
“A client?” It’s always a client. Mostly those that didn’t treat her girls right. Now it was her that was abused and she wouldn’t have it.
“What he did to me… I can’t… I can’t.” Teared welled in her eyes. Swallowing a sob, she glanced at the rear-view mirror and caught the driver watching her. “I want… I want…” Trailing off, Scarlett realized she didn’t know what she wanted anymore. An apology from Bernard? More money? Or for the pig to rot in jail?
“Who is this man?” The lawyer asked.
“We have to see and talk.”
“Where are you?”
“Still in Danforth.”
“You are in Toronto? It’s your lucky day princess. Meet me at ‘One King West Hotel.’”
“I don’t know my way around here.”
“Get a cab and give the driver the address.” She was busy complaining about how she wouldn’t be able to see him in her condition and didn’t hear the click on the other end of the line.
When she discovered he was no longer there, she was enraged.
“Going to meet another client?” The driver mocked.
“Shut your trap.”
The man laughed, infuriating her more. “I know One King West Hotel. I can take you there.” She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need his help because she knew that soon, he would want to ask for something in return of that favor.
Sex. That’s what he would demand from her because she was a hooker, a whore, a prostitute.
And she would slap his dirty face if he ever opened his mouth to ask her for that. Because she wasn’t any of those things. She was a stylish Montrealer, who’d succeeded on her own without any help from anyone.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she remembered what she’d been through to get to where she was.
Some minutes later, the driver stopped in front of the hotel. “Should I wait for you?” He asked.
“Go to hell.”
The man’s laughter lingered as he drove off.
Clutching her coat around her to hide her torn dress, she started walking into the hotel, fishing out her phone again to call her lawyer. “I’m at the entrance of the hotel, about to get in now.” She stepped on the porch, “How do I find you?”
She was about to walk into the lobby when she collided with some… who the hell? “Hey! Can you watch where you are going?” She blurted at the ginger-haired man, ready to unleash all her frustration on him, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“Sorry.” He was down on one knee, already gathering her things scattered all over the porch. The packs of condom, her panties, black hose, lipsticks and a mask. She watched him push the items inside her purse and stood, offering the bag back to her. “I’m really sorry.”
Those eyes… damn! His perfume was… that’s it… so enticing. She wanted to abandon herself in his arms and inhale his scent… what? Scarlett!
“Please, forgive me.”
Beautiful pale-skin. Ginger-red hair. This man gave new meaning to the word, ‘handsome,’ and the only way to describe him was ‘beautiful,’
“Are you okay?”
Tongue ties, she cleared her throat. “Not really…” was it his eyes or his scent that was holding her in servitude?
“Where you attacked?” Placing his hand on her arm, her breath caught in her throat as she became very aware… very sexually needy… Damn! How could it be?
“Are you hurt?” A sudden weakness and shame came upon her as she stared back at him. And a sudden urge to hide, to cry. A few minutes ago, she was brooding over what was done to her by some idiots… how she was sexually assaulted. Yet here she was, staring at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life and was feeling as horny as a sex maniac after quarantine.
“How can I be of help?”
She didn’t need his help. What she needed was to get away.
“Madam…”
“I’m, I’m fine,” she murmured. “Seriously, I’m okay.” Snatching her purse from him she walked briskly through the lobby, into the elevator without giving him a glance.
****
****
Paul
Alighting from the rented SUV after bidding his manager and the crews goodnight, he was relieved to see that upon stepping on the hotel’s porch, there was no welcoming committee to greet him.
Great, he thought. No one to bother him here. It would take a day or two for Torontonian to recognize him on the street as the man that held the audience spellbound in tonight’s concert. He wanted it so. At least he would have peace for once after a concert.
Or not.
Someone collided into him.
“Hey! Can you watch where you are going?” She shouted.
He didn’t blame her for losing her cool, it was his fault. He wasn’t looking. I’m so sorry,” going down on one knee, he began to gather the clutters from her bag. Done, he stood to hand the bag back to her and… Jesus!
He must have stared at her face moronically, longer than was appropriate.
Mentally shaking his head, he blinked severally. The lady standing before him was an exotic beauty. Brown eyes with sharply etched cheekbone. A wide luscious mouth and a deep brown complexion. Her dark hair swept in a curtain to her shoulder—curly and shining. She was curvedly built. Very curvy.
And she seemed like she was in trouble. Her dress was torn too, what was remaining of it barely covered her body. But for the coat she had on, she was almost naked.
“Are you Okay?” he asked.
“Not really.” She was trying not to stare too much just as he was trying to. But obviously, she was as unsuccessful as he was.
He didn’t know if it was the instant attraction or just concern— she seemed, uhm, ruffled— that spurred him into reaching for her arm and God! She had skin so smooth that he would love to run his fingers from her hand up to her slender neck… Jeez, where did that thought come from?
Biting down on his lip, he lowered his gaze for a brief second and then looked up again. “Were you attacked?” He was beginning to hear the bell in his head, a warning signal. And that should be a sign enough for him to dismiss whatever this was… this funny, thrilling feeling, and disappear fast. However, something in him was gradually melting as he continued gazing at this beautiful lady. An overwhelming desire to stand there with her and never lose the magical moment.
“Are you hurt?” he asked for want of words. The lady seemed to be tongue-tied. “How can I help?” He wished she could open her mouth and make a sound at least. Her sudden silence, while her eyes ran through him, was beginning to disorient him. “Madam?”
Murmuring something he didn’t quite grasp, she snatched her bag from him and hurried away.
Phew! Running his hand through his hair, he glanced at the elevator where she disappeared into, somehow hoping that the door would open and she would step out and… and what?
What was wrong with him?
He should be finding his way to his hotel room not standing in the lobby thinking about a scantily dressed beautiful black woman who might be here to sleep with a man.
“Hey.” A red-head white woman approached him. “I know you.” Oh, Jesus. “You are the guy at the concert.” Another woman that was speaking with one of the receptionists turned and started walking toward them.
“Sarah,” The first woman called. “It’s him.” The guy from the concert.”
Did he think he would sneak into his room unnoticed? He was wrong. It wouldn’t take a day or two for people to recognize his face outside the concert auditorium.
To be continued
