The Business of Lovers Read online

  ALSO BY ERIC JEROME DICKEY

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  Bad Men and Wicked Women (Ken Swift)

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  The Blackbirds

  Naughtier Than Nice

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  A Wanted Woman

  Decadence

  An Accidental Affair

  Tempted by Trouble

  Resurrecting Midnight (Gideon Series)

  Dying for Revenge (Gideon Series)

  Pleasure

  Waking with Enemies (Gideon Series)

  Sleeping with Strangers (Gideon Series)

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  Drive Me Crazy

  Naughty or Nice

  The Other Woman

  Thieves’ Paradise

  Between Lovers

  Liar’s Game

  Cheaters

  Milk in My Coffee

  Friends and Lovers

  Sister, Sister

  ANTHOLOGIES

  Voices from the Other Side: Dark Dreams II

  Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing

  Mothers & Sons

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  Copyright © 2020 by Eric Jerome Dickey

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  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Dickey, Eric Jerome, author.

  Title: The business of lovers / Eric Jerome Dickey.

  Description: New York: Dutton, 2020.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019013455| ISBN 9781524745202 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781524745226 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PS3554.I319 B87 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019013455

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  For Uncle Darell and Auntie Carol

  CONTENTS

  Also by Eric Jerome Dickey

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1: Brick

  Chapter 2: Brick

  Chapter 3: Brick

  Chapter 4: Dwayne

  Chapter 5: Dwayne

  Chapter 6: Brick

  Chapter 7: Brick

  Chapter 8: Dwayne

  Chapter 9: Brick

  Chapter 10: Brick

  Chapter 11: Brick

  Chapter 12: Brick

  Chapter 13: Dwayne

  Chapter 14: Brick

  Chapter 15: Dwayne

  Chapter 16: Brick

  Chapter 17: Brick

  Chapter 18: Dwayne

  Chapter 19: Brick

  Chapter 20: Brick

  Chapter 21: Brick

  Chapter 22: Brick

  Chapter 23: Brick

  Chapter 24: Brick

  Chapter 25: Brick

  Chapter 26: Brick

  Chapter 27: Brick

  Chapter 28: Brick

  Chapter 29: Brick

  Chapter 30: Brick

  Chapter 31: Brick

  Chapter 32: Brick

  Chapter 33: Dwayne

  Chapter 34: Dwayne

  Chapter 35: Dwayne

  Chapter 36: Brick

  Chapter 37: Brick

  Chapter 38: Brick

  Chapter 39: Brick

  Chapter 40: Brick

  Chapter 41: Brick

  Chapter 42: Brick

  Chapter 43: Brick

  Chapter 44: Dwayne

  Chapter 45: Dwayne

  Chapter 46: Brick

  Chapter 47: Dwayne

  Chapter 48: Dwayne

  Chapter 49: Brick

  Chapter 50: Brick

  Chapter 51: Brick

  Chapter 52: Brick

  Chapter 53: Brick

  Chapter 54: Brick

  Chapter 55: Brick

  Chapter 56: Brick

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old Age a regret.

  —Benjamin Disraeli

  Broken crayons still color.

  —Ihadcancer.com

  No man’s born ready for marriage; they have to be trained.

  —Joan Crawford as Harriet Craig

  CHAPTER 1

  BRICK

  THE TIMER ON my iPhone went off.

  An hour had passed, but I didn’t see Penny at the gate to the mansion. Feeling ill at ease, I called her cell. By the second ring, I’d opened the glove box to get my snub-nosed revolver. By the third ring, I was out of my car, heading down the driveway to that mansion, ready to kick down the front door, but then Penny answered. I took a breath but didn’t turn back around. There was laughter and erotic moans in the background.

  I said, “Code phrase.”

  “Your cockeyed momma eats Mexican food and farts the third verse of the national anthem.”

  I turned around, headed back toward my car. “You wrapping up in there?”

  High heels clip-clopped across either wooden or tiled floors.

  She said, “One second.”

  She put me on hold long enough for me to get back in my ride.

  Penny returned to the line, caught her breath. “Clients want another hour.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Hollywood heads from a big-time casting agency getting coked up and talking about actors and shit. They know who has swallowed to get a five-and-under and who took it up the ass to get a movie deal.”

  “Get paid first.”

  “There are three other dates-by-the-hour here.”

  “I didn’t see them come in.”

  “They were here first. They’re staying too.”

  We were in the prestigious Hancock Park neighborhood, a palm-tree-lined, melanin-deficient area off of Wilshire Boulevard. It was a luxurious bubble, the type of place where owners complained about immigration while a team of immigrants was cleaning their estates, babysitting, and cooking them five-course meals.

  I said, “The next hour I wait will be at my overtime r
ate.”

  “You know I have to pay my car note, rent, and tuition for next semester.”

  “My rent ain’t free and my student loans are not going to pay themselves. Time and a half or call an Uber.”

  “You’re a jerk, Brick.”

  “You know what you are?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Penny hung up.

  I put my daddy’s snub-nose back in the stash spot; then I kept my eyes out for the local George Zimmerman.

  My phone buzzed. A text message came in from my ex. Feelings rose.

  Hi, I have a missed video call from you. Not sure if it’s in error. Hope all is well on your end.

  I checked my phone. I hadn’t accidently sent her a call. Hadn’t called her in six months.

  * * *

  —

  FIFTY-SIX MINUTES LATER, a thick white girl jogged out of the estate, phone at her ear. She was a ginger rocking UCLA sweats, a very sexy size twelve. A Kia pulled up. She eased in and the car zoomed away.

  The clock hit fifty-seven minutes and I reached for my gun, but Penny appeared near the palm-tree-framed gate, a shadow carrying a USC backpack. When I had dropped her off, she’d dressed like she was going to a dinner party at the White House. Now she rocked a gray pullover, skinny jeans, colorful socks, and Doctor Who high-tops. I assumed the elegant gear was in her backpack. I turned my timer off just as Penny paused mid-driveway. Two women caught up with her. A congregation of beauties. Minorities standing around in one of LA’s preferred zip codes turned on a white man’s bullhorn. I stepped out of the car and waved for Penny to hurry the fuck up. She headed toward the car. The other two girls sashayed right on her heels, dragging along duffel bags. One girl looked Latina and wore a UCLA sweatshirt, black jeans, and ballet flats. She had dark eyebrows; her hair was Hitchcock blond.

  She grinned. “Good evening.”

  Penny said, “Christiana, this is Brick.”

  With a nod, Christiana evaluated me, then yielded a dazzling smile that could lure a man to Jesus or to the gallows. My suit was light gray. The Latina’s eyes told me she liked my contemporary style. I liked hers too.

  Christiana laughed. “Penny, is this gorgeous man your boyfriend?”

  Penny said, “We’re neighbors. I hire him as a chauffeur-bodyguard when I work.”

  A girl carrying a Moschino bag came up next to her. She wore New Religion jeans, pink Uggs, and a pink Gap hoodie. She rocked Goth makeup and shades. Her hair was short and natural, dyed a dark red.

  Penny said, “And this is my girl Mocha Latte.”

  Her expression was terse. Something had happened in there and she wasn’t happy about it.

  I didn’t see any other rides pulling up, so I asked, “What’s going on?”

  Penny turned to me. “They’re rolling with us.”

  “Ass, gas, or cash, and I don’t accept the first two on that list. Same for EBT.”

  “Stop popping off and open the trunk so we can put our stuff in Miss Mini.”

  My ride was a red-white-blue UK-branded 2005 Mini Cooper, about 138,000 miles on the odometer. Paid for since 2009. Worth about four grand. Clean as a whistle; looked new. I wasn’t a fan of UK politics, but riding around like a billboard for Brexit was less trouble than riding around in something Africa branded.

  I stuffed the weighty duffel bags inside the trunk and regarded the women. They smelled freshly showered and sweet, like trouble.

  Mocha Latte and Christiana took the back seat.

  Mocha Latte couldn’t get relaxed, made a face like she was living in agony. Already I didn’t like her.

  I asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

  Penny replied, “A little proctalgia.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “Every job is a pain in the ass.”

  CHAPTER 2

  BRICK

  WESTBOUND TRAFFIC ON Wilshire was horrible, which was par for the course, day or night.

  Penny said, “Hope you don’t mind my coworkers coming along.”

  “Kinda late to ask since you’ve already invited the brood of chicks, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t call them chicks. That’s disgusting.”

  “Not tall enough to be a tower of giraffes. Pride of lions, a pace of asses, a romp of otters.”

  “Don’t insult my friends.”

  I asked, “How’d the band of coyotes get here from where they were before they came here?”

  “Uber. And stop with the stupid grouping.”

  “Convocation of eagles. Charm of finches. Leash of greyhounds.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m going back to pace of asses. I like the sexy way that sounds. Pace of asses.”

  “Stop it. Last time.”

  “Even when women work in pairs, it’s not wise. Bad shit happens.”

  “But it’s safer. If I keep doing this, I need a work buddy. Need a partner.”

  I asked Christiana, “Where do you and your friend live?”

  “We were roommates in Santa Monica. Now we are homeless together.”

  Penny said, “I told them they can crash at my place for a couple of days.”

  Christiana said, “We lost our apartment; got evicted two days ago. Landlord didn’t like us. Asked me for my fuckin’ immigration papers, and when I didn’t show them, said he would call ICE.”

  Mocha Latte’s phone rang. She answered with a frowning face but a fake-cheery voice. “Hello? Who is this? Oh, you. I remember. You liked to do that thing. Whassup? Well, yeah, it’s been a while. Thought you had forgotten about me. When do you want to meet? Let me check my schedule. I’ll have to move some things around, but I can be available for two hours. Two minimum. Pay through PayPal. PayPal. Yes. Once the payment clears, I will call. I will come to you. No, I don’t work out of my home. Hotel or your place. No, I don’t do bareback. No, you can’t pay me enough for that. I don’t care if you saw it on Brazzers. No watersports. Mild BDSM is cool. No slapping. Do what? Slavery reenactment? No, I don’t get down like that. We straight, then? How much to do what? Well, double that number and let me think about it. But no promises. Okay. Yes. Love you too. What’s your name again? Ethan Shine.”

  I peeped in the rearview mirror. She hung up, frowned out the window. I knew that irritated look. That silence. Penny wore that expression the first time she did this. She hated herself for what she was doing.

  As I battled traffic I asked, “Roscoe’s, T.G. Express, Tim’s Kitchen, or Pann’s?”

  Penny beamed. “Roscoe’s is calling my name. I love my Obama Special.”

  I asked Christiana, “How long have you been living here in California?”

  “In Los Angeles, only a few months. I came from Miami.”

  “You’ve done this gig the whole time?”

  “Before Miami, I was an attorney. I wore business suits and heels every day.”

  “An attorney? Really?”

  “Yes. De veras. Once upon a time I was attorney. An attorney. Excuse my English.”

  “Your English is fine.”

  “I make mistakes. I forget words. That is why I say my English is horrible. I like to talk to people, so I can practice. Everyone’s English is very different. Everyone uses different words, phrases.”

  Christiana laughed a little, then leaned to Mocha Latte and whispered in her ear.

  Penny asked, “Okay, what was that all about?”

  “I told Mocha Latte that the energy I feel tells me that you and Brick are lovers.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “There is no energy between us, other than hostility.”

  “Am I wrong, or am I right?”

  Penny said, “Once.”

  “Once?”

  “Once.”

  I said, “Twice.”

  “Long time ago.”

 
“Not that long ago. Five months ago, more or less.”

  Christiana asked, “Really?”

  Penny said, “I was drunk. Emotions were all over the place. Needed a fix.”

  “You like him?”

  Penny said, “I used him the way men use women.”

  I said, “I guess I was just doing a brokenhearted neighbor a ten-minute favor.”

  Penny kissed her teeth. “You couldn’t keep it hard.”

  I said, “Why would I stay hard for a drunk woman blowing snot bubbles over a dude that bankrupted her and left her for some other chick that he married in Vegas a week later? You think that was a turn-on?”

  “I was upset, dammit.”

  “When you stopped crying I had your ass on your sofa going, ‘Ay ay ay.’ Like Shakira. ‘Ay ay ay.’”

  “Dios mío.” Christiana smiled. “That’s the cute noise you make. You were moaning loudly and saying ‘ay ay ay’ a lot tonight. Especially when the fat bald man was behind you while you and Mocha Latte—”

  “Shut up, Christiana,” Penny snapped. “Never talk about work in front of Brick.”

  “You said that Brick was cool.”

  “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  I said, “I was in Vegas.”

  “No, you were in Barstow.”

  Mocha Latte shifted again, made another pained sound.

  Christiana said, “Penny, you and Brick may have been lovers twice—”

  Penny cut her off. “For the last time, the only reason it happened was because I had broken up with Javon, that jerk. He spent all my money, dumped me, then married some thot the next week. Yeah, that left me fucked-up in the head. Drunk dialed Brick to talk and cry on his shoulder. I was so damn drunk. Wasted. Stressed. Depressed. Heartbroken. Lonely as hell. I trusted him not to try and sleep with me, and he violated that trust.”

  “You called me over.”

  “Not to smash.”

  “You answered the door naked.”

  “I had a towel on.”

  “Then you were as naked as Erykah Badu when she was looking for a window seat.”

  “I had just showered and didn’t expect you to show up so damn fast.”

  “You told me to come right over.”

  “The way I remember it, you pushed me back onto the sofa, gave me head like Jill Scott on the mic, and—”