Lickin' License Page 3

  “Blame it on the stars.”

  “You're gettin' better.”

  “I don't dictate the truth, I just live. It's all in the stars.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Miss Astrology. Anyway, I called to see if you wanna go bowling tonight?”

  Vanessa looked at the computer screen. “Depends on how I do with this writing.”

  “Girl, you ain't gon' be writing all day, and definitely not all night. It's Saturday and Bowlmor is open 'till three-thirty in the morning, you feel me?”

  “Call me back at nine and I'll let you know.”

  “Listen, Nessa. At nine o'clock I'm gonna be knocking on your door like a Jehovah's Witness.”

  Vanessa giggled, picturing her best friend's facial expression and hand movements. Mimi was the most animated person Vanessa knew. She seemed to do more talking with her hands than her lips, sort of like she was a sign language expert and everyone in the world was mute.

  “You heard me, Nessa?”

  “Okay. Now leave me alone so I can take care of my business.”

  “I'm gone,” Mimi said, before hanging up.

  ***

  It was 8:00 p.m. and Vanessa was typing away when she got an e-mail from Mimi that read: BCNU @ 9. Not a Second L8. C 50 Cent's sex tape attached. CU L8R.

  “Fifty Cent sex tape?” Vanessa was fascinated. She turned off her music and clicked on the video attachment. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. It's not him, but it sure looks like him, muscles and all.

  Vanessa sat in awe, watching a 50 Cent look-alike plow himself into a young dark-skinned woman. She was bent over a glass table in a large dining room. Vanessa stared at the close-up of all nine inches of the man ramming away. The woman's buttcheeks jiggled as she screamed like she was being beaten to death.

  Vanessa's finger tapped on her desk, while her juices began flowing. She had always been easily aroused, and her long-standing crush on 50 Cent was overpowering her mind. She began visualizing the look-alike as the real thing and the unknown woman as herself. In minutes, Vanessa's hand was inside of her sweatpants and creeping beneath her panties. She let out a deep moan, as she slipped two fingers inside of herself. She let her legs fall to the floor.

  Her body fidgeted. She grabbed the desk with her freehand, while shifting in her chair. Her breathing accelerated, undoing the tranquility that came from her earlier breathing exercise.

  “Ahh, shit.” She stared at the contorted look on the woman, wishing it was her being manhandled. The 50 Cent look-alike turned the woman over on her back. Her ankles stretched up against his shoulders. He reached down, slid inside of her gently, and locked his arms around her legs. He began a few slow strokes, and then started ramming her ferociously. The woman yelled. Her huge breasts bounced wildly.

  “To hell with this!” Vanessa stripped naked. She turned the volume on the computer as loud as it could go. The moaning and screaming of the on-screen couple roared like they were getting it on live inside Vanessa's office. She snatched one of the desk draws open and removed a large neon dildo. Leaning back in her chair, Vanessa cocked both legs up until her feet were on the edge of the desk.

  “Yeah… ahhh,” she purred, while sliding the dildo in and out, staring at the video. She moved faster in a turning motion, while rubbing her clit with her finger.

  Vanessa closed her eyes and focused on the moans and panting of the woman on the video.

  “Fuck me. Come on,” Vanessa whispered with each lunge of the dildo. “Come on, Fifty. Hurt me, baby.” Vanessa's whispers grew louder and her breathing sped up. She could feel her blood pumping harder into a boiling passion. A surge of energy flowed inside of her as the bald slit between her legs exploded with wetness. She took her slippery fingers and massaged her small, hardened nipples.

  “Damn, shit.” She opened her eyes, as she caught her breath, gazing at the ceiling with her head tilted back. She thought about her ex-boyfriend Troy. She had broken up with him two weeks earlier and she had not had sex since. Even during the times she had sex with Troy, he never satisfied her needs. No man had. The only time she had ever climaxed was when she pleased herself. But she still craved a man's touch. She needed to feel firm hands grip her body. Her problem was that she had trouble finding Mr. Right, and often settled for casual sex.

  Her mind suddenly flashed on Mimi as she remembered that they would be going bowling soon. Perhaps her search for Mr. Right would end then.

  * * *

  Bowlmor Lanes became a New York landmark in 1938, but it became the second home of Vanessa and Mimi in 2007. Forty-two lanes, glow-in-the-dark bowling with neon bowling pins, music while they bowled, music in the Pressure Lounge upstairs, lively crowds—Bowlmor had everything they needed to unwind. As Vanessa and Mimi sat in the dimly-lit Pressure Lounge, Vanessa was hoping Bowlmor had the man she needed in her life.

  Mimi had been sipping on a lemon drop martini in between taking bites of one of her turkey club wraps. “You need some meat in your life, Nessa.”

  Vanessa frowned. “There's so much better things to do in life than eat animals.”

  Mimi removed the lemon slice from her glass and offered it to Vanessa with a smile. “Here you go, Earth Lady.”

  Vanessa laughed, staring at her best friend. Mimi was wearing a pair of tight white jeans with a striped blue and white button-up shirt, both by Polo. She was the assistant director of public relations at Ralph Lauren, so her wardrobe consisted of everything from Polo and Chaps to Rugby and Black Label. Mimi was Chinese, but had more soul than the average sister and far more experience than Vanessa with black people in the 'hood. While Vanessa was growing up in the comfort of a Park Avenue condo with a doorman and concierge, Mimi was carving out a space for herself as the only Asian girl in Queen's crime-ridden Baisley Projects. While Vanessa was in private school with personal tutors and dedicated teachers, Mimi was running with crowds of future dropouts inside the halls of August Martin High School. But when the pair met at NYU, they gravitated to each other like family. They were intrigued by each other's backgrounds and struggle to fit in.

  “You holler at that chick from the salon yet?” Mimi asked.

  “I e-mailed her yesterday, but I didn't hear anything yet.”

  “Don't sweat it. You gonna get that job.”

  “Mimi the psychic.”

  “I don't gotta be Cleo to know what you capable of, you feel me?”

  “Tell that to Candy.” Vanessa shook her head, rolling her eyes across the dance floor in search of Mr. Right.

  “I thought you said she seemed impressed with you?”

  “Yeah, but who knows.” Vanessa sipped her club soda. “Tell you one thing, I'm sure she'll cut to the chase with her decision.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She sure didn't have a problem telling me she liked being licked.”

  “Who doesn't?” Mimi chuckled.

  “Oh, excuse me. I forgot, I'm talking to 'Ms. I-experimented-once-while-I-was-tipsy.'”

  “Hell of an experience. Toes curled up like a Cheese Doodle.” Mimi rubbed her hands together and grinned. “But Mimi likes pee pee. Strictly dickly, you feel me?”

  “Hard to tell.”

  “I just understand how a chick could get caught up. It's like crack—very addictive.” She laughed.

  “To each his or her own.”

  Vanessa and Mimi strolled around Bowlmor after leaving the Pressure Lounge. They flirted with a few men before heading home. Vanessa drove through Manhattan, craving to have the itch between her legs scratched by a man. The two weeks that had passed since she had sex felt like two years. She wanted the real thing…fast. But she would have to settle for the fake 50 Cent waiting on her computer screen at home.

  * * *

  The following week, Vanessa stood in front of her bathroom mirror applying lip gloss. It was merely an enhancer of her natural beauty. Makeup had never touched her face. Her flawless skin was the product of Shea butter, tea tree oil and organic soap from the Body Shop. Va
nessa knew she was naturally beautiful and she felt her body deserved only the best “nature” could produce. She slipped on some loose-fitting slacks and a long silk wrap over her tank top. Turning off the light, she headed out her apartment.

  She got in her black Altima and steered into Harlem. She had not been in the neighborhood since she and Mimi saw Anthony Hamilton perform at the Apollo months earlier. She now parked in front of Candy's Shop and looked around, expecting to see Mimi's car. “Damn,” she whispered. It was 10:00 a.m. and Mimi was scheduled to be the first client that Candy would observe Vanessa work on in the shop. Vanessa had stressed to Mimi the importance of her arriving at 10:00 a.m. sharp. The plan was to leave a good impression on Candy in an effort to secure the job. Frustrated, she pulled out her iPhone and called Mimi.

  “Don't worry,” Mimi said. “I'm two minutes away. I got you, Nessa. Be easy.”

  “Okay.” Vanessa smiled and hung up. She stepped out of her car and into the shop. She was surprised to not hear music playing like the first time she had been there. All the ladies greeted her.

  “You'll be working here,” Candy said, pointing at the second chair. Leah was working the first, Candy held down the third, then came Chanel and Meisha in the row of large chairs. Candy opened the drawers in front of Vanessa's chair. “There's everything and anything you need in there. Combs, curlers, curling iron, blow dryer, you name it.” Candy pointed to the cabinets, which contained assorted hair care products.

  “Okay,” Vanessa said.

  “Money to blowww. Gettin' it innn,” was blasting from a car stereo.

  “Damn, that shit loud,” Meisha said, looking through the shop windows to see where Drake's singing was coming from. She pointed at the shiny black Audi A4 parking in front of the shop. “Is that Rich out there?”

  Chanel peeked outside, followed by the rest of the women. “I don't think so,” she said. “But that shit is hot.” She paused as the music ceased and the driver's side door of the Audi opened. “Oh, shit. An Asian broad pushing a kitted A-Four, rocking hip hop. Ain't that some shit?”

  “That's my friend,” Vanessa said.

  Mimi stepped inside the shop donning a gold Black Label halter and matching skirt with a black Prada bag and shoes.

  “Hey, Mimi. Right over here.” Vanessa's eyes lit up like a child with a new toy.

  “Nessa, what's good?” Mimi hugged Vanessa. “It's bakin' out there.” She pointed outside. “Shit hotter than Jamaica, Queens after that cop got murdered back in the days.”

  Vanessa noticed everyone staring at Mimi in awe. It was a look she had seen many times when people first got a glimpse of Mimi’s swagger. “Everybody, this is my best friend Mimi,” Vanessa said.”

  “Hey, girl. I'm Leah.”

  “Candy.” Candy smiled.

  Chanel also introduced herself.

  Mimi was smiling and nodding her head as she returned their greetings. “All right, I want y'all to know off the rip, Vanessa's my heart, you feel me? But that shit don't mean nothing when it come to this `do?” She pointed to her silky hair. “So since I'm letting her touch my hair, you know she get busy, you feel me?”

  “I feel you, girl.” Meisha clapped her hands, grinning and pointing at Mimi. “You the truth.”

  “Shit, I'm just keepin' it a hundred. I gotta be at work with these crackers when I leave here. So I gotta talk like a white girl, hair gotta be right, everything. ‘Cause they be just looking for a reason to fire yo’ ass if your eyes ain't blue. And Mimi is not gettin' rid of her A-Four and moving from SOHO back to Baisley Projects, you feel me?”

  Everyone burst into laughter. Chanel asked Mimi if she knew a guy whom she used to date from Baisley. Mimi started telling war stories about the guy, who she had grown up with. Then Vanessa and Mimi began reminiscing about their college days and the men they dated. Everyone in the shop started rehashing tales from their past. By the time clients began trickling inside the shop, hip hop was banging from the speakers and Mimi was rapping faster than Twista.

  After Vanessa was done styling Mimi's hair, Candy stood, inspecting the style from different angles. She was impressed. Vanessa had transformed Mimi's straightened burgundy hair into a black French bun with gold streaks that complimented her outfit.

  After finishing with Mimi, Vanessa completed three other clients perfectly. She converted one woman's afro puffs into micro braids. Vanessa styled another woman's Shirley Temple curls into a short Anita Baker 'do. The third woman left the shop with a weave that hung to the small of her back.

  “I see you puttin' it down, Vanessa,” Chanel said.

  “Since I was sixteen,” Vanessa responded, sitting down to

  wait on her last client's arrival. “How old are you?” asked Chanel.

  “Twenty-two,” Vanessa said proudly. Her eyes drifted to the

  man waltzing up to the shop in a crisp Armani suit. Damn, he's handsome. His body looks kind of toned underneath that blazer, too.

  Chanel noticed Vanessa's roaming eyes. “That’s Rich,” she announced.

  Vanessa watched Rich. He sat on one of the chairs in the row reserved for clients awaiting service. He folded one leg over the other, like a business professional in an executive meeting. His green Mauri alligator shoes shined under the bright lights in the shop. He began reading The Wall Street Journal.

  “Hey, Rich,” Meisha said. She was trimming a woman's hair. “You got about five minutes before I'm done.”

  “I know I'm a little early,” Rich said, peeping over the newspaper.

  “How you doing, Rich?” Leah yelled.

  “Leah, how you, baby?”

  “Can't complain.”

  “Ain't you supposed to be switching your last name?”

  “Just engaged, for now. Two more months and I'll be in that long white dress.”

  “Just give me the date and the address. You know I gottta watch you walk down that aisle.”

  “You know you're invited.”

  “All right, all right.” Rich smiled, then looked at Candy. “Big Candy, what's going on in your world?”

  “Progress. I think I have a new stylist,” she said, putting her

  hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. Vanessa turned to her with a wide smile.

  “You got the job,” Candy whispered.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don't sweat it.”

  Rich's eyes were sizing up Vanessa. “And what might this lovely new lady's name be?”

  Vanessa responded with her name.

  “Well, Vanessa, I'm Rich.” He grinned. “Let me rewind that. My name is Rich, but I am fairly wealthy.” He chuckled.

  “Tsss,” Chanel sighed.

  Rich turned to Chanel. “Somebody get a spare, ‘cause ol’ girl got a flat tire.”

  “Not tonight, Rich.” Chanel waved her hand.

  “Not tomorrow morning, afternoon, or night either. It will never be nothing between us but air.”

  “What. . .ever,” Chanel said, rolling her eyes.

  Rich pointed at Chanel. “I'll take that as a cue that I can continue talking to this lovely young lady.” He turned back to Vanessa.

  “Vanessa, right?”

  “Correct,” she answered.

  “Well, Vanessa, I wish you success on the new job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank yourself, 'cause you made it happen. It's all about you, baby.” He smiled.

  “That's one way to look at it,” Vanessa said, as she sized up Rich. Her eyes took in everything from his trimmed mustache and sideburns, to the diamond stud in his left ear and the bulge between his legs. She could tell that Rich was the type of man who women feared introducing to their friends. He had a strong presence and sense of style that could cause the most loyal woman to cross her best friend. He was a smooth talker, not just because of what he said, but how he spoke. Words rolled off his tongue with an air of confidence and preciseness that Vanessa had never seen. She was itching to know if he handled himself as smooth in the bedroom.
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br />   “What's up, Vanessa?”

  Vanessa looked up, spotting her last client strolling through the door. She helped the young man to his seat. Vanessa started by shampooing his 'fro. Next, she dried his hair and greased his scalp, before braiding his hair into cornrows. When she was finished, Rich was walking past her.

  “You have a good night.” He winked at Vanessa and was out the door before she could respond.

  “Girl, you don't want to mess with him,” Candy said.

  Vanessa turned to Chanel. “So what's it with you and Rich?”

  “Nothing,” Chanel said.

  “She thinks she's God's gift to this world and Rich thinks he is God,” Candy said.

  Chanel huffed. “You know when you were little and a boy liked you, so he was always messing with you? Pulling your hair and all type of crazy shit? That's Rich. He want to be a part of the Chanel Legacy, but he don't know how to approach me.”

  “Don't forget the part about you wanting to give him the pussy,” Meisha said, laughing. “And everybody know you fucked his homie Chase.”

  “I didn't fuck Chase; he just ate my pussy. But that's another story. You like him, Vanessa?” Chanel asked.

  Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. “I don't even know him.”

  “And you don't want to. Trust me,” Candy said, emphatically.

  Vanessa listened to the ladies rehash stories about Rich dogging women. They told her that he was one of Harlem’s most celebrated drug dealers. Vanessa learned about the rumors of people found dead after Rich had ordered them killed. There were tales of family members who had been kidnapped and held for ransom by Rich's henchmen. Vanessa heard the chronicles of crooked cops who turned a blind eye to Rich's criminal enterprise, because he had lined their pockets. The narratives never involved Rich getting his own hands dirty. The stories always pertained to Rich ordering that dirty work done.

  Vanessa interpreted that as him being the ultimate boss. The more she heard, the more she was attracted to him. By all accounts, Rich was the dominant man who reigned with power. He was the man Vanessa had been writing about, the man she fantasized about, the man that could now become hers if things worked out how she wanted them to.