Games Men Play

By W. C. McGhee

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 W. C. McGhee
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-2305-8

Chapter One

Kalar Hargrove ran up the front steps of his Philadelphia home nestled in an upscale bedroom community. An enraged Letitia, a woman whose body had become an aphrodisiac to the beleaguered surgeon, paraded through the halls in black lace lingerie. Her black patent leather tap pants, silky black hose on long slim legs stomping back and forth on 6" platform heels caused his heart rate to accelerate. He wanted to pick her up and take her where she stood.

It would have been nice to present her with flowers, tell her how beautiful she looked and plan an evening that would make her succumb to his charm, but that's not the kind of relationship they enjoyed. That kind of relationship was a distant part of a past he shared with a woman who stole his heart, crushed it beneath her arm like an oblong piece of deflated pigskin, and never looked back. So he spent his time in relationships that would only bring pleasure, never pain.

Allure for such pleasure had become Letitia's calling card. Her perfume hit his nose like ammonia beneath the nostrils of a semiconscious man, snapping his neck with desire.

"I don't understand you, Kalar," she said. "You'd rather spend time with your patients than with me." Letitia had a dark chocolate figure men dreamt about. Her breasts were small, but her eager panther like obsession with Kalar's erections more than compensated for her lack of cleavage.

He pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her waist and shoved his hand deep into her pants. "Take me," she gasped.

Desire in his body grew. She ran up the stairs, he behind her, pulling her tap pants down over her firm derrière with urgency. She fell over his bedroom bench, kicked the pants over her heels, screamed in laughter, and called out his name as they continued to undress.

Kalar ripped the corner of the condom package open with his teeth, slid the latex sheath over his rock hard penis and moved into her voracious undulating pubes with acuity. She gasped as he repeatedly hit those triggers that made her body shudder. He felt her hands tremble as she pressed down on his buttocks enjoying the velocity of his penetration. Sounds of their erotic coupling permeated the quiet serenity of the hot room. Sexual abandon overruled all decorum as he clasped her hands and threw them over her head. Slim hot legs wrapped around his waist and hot hips that palpitated beneath him caused Kalar to perpetually lunge like a rod of steel to the depths of her erupting pubes until his body quaked in spasm and could take no more.

Kalar rolled off the divan and fell onto the Egyptian rug his hand resting on his broad heaving chest. He was the perfect specimen of a man. One that exercised his body to exhaustion and his mind to greatness, his broad shoulders narrowed easily over slim hips and muscular thighs. His skin the color of cream infused with honey was drenched with perspiration.

Kalar stood beside the bench extending a hand to Letitia. But she wasn't looking at his hand. She was looking at one region of his body with open adoration. He knew better than to think a single serving of his love would ever satisfy the nubile beauty's desire. So he lay back on the rug, lifted his arms in surrender and gave in to her unbridled hunger.

Chapter Two

Kalar arrived at the Den the next morning, a restaurant/bar for the medical set, forty-five minutes after he kissed Letitia goodbye. Sales and media professionals knew to get the scoop on hospital activities, and nourish deals that would eventually be made by the hospital's purchasing decision makers, meant making their presence known at The Den. More contracts had been negotiated there than any allocated location for such deals in the hospital.

The reconstructive surgeon knew his way around The Den like he knew his way around the surgery suite. A white buxom brunette with an overtly forward personality and thick feathery lashes blocked his path. She seemed more suited for a jock's locker room than a doctors' den. Shamelessly batting her eyes she said, "Good morning doctor. I've been looking for you."

"Jonie Corket ... looks like you're busy researching another story." He looked through the throng of people gathered around the bar and spotted the sandy-haired specialist she'd been dating drinking orange juice. Breakfast was the morning fare.

"I'm not letting you off that easily," she said. "Anything newsworthy I can televise? I heard you made a big difference in another young woman's life yesterday."

"Only doing what I do best," he said.

"So when will you clear time for me on your schedule doctor?" She sidled up to him her firm breasts jutting into his personal space.

"I'm off duty, Jonie."

"I'm not, remember? I do some of my best work impromptu."

"I'll never forget." He said, and he wouldn't. One night they were flirting shamelessly aboard a yacht during a medical convention and the next morning they were awkwardly rushing off in opposite directions. She played on his mind like a song; her brunette hair moving like an ensign in the wind while sailing into the Cabo San Lucas sunset.

"I'll let you go this time," Jonie laughed, "but you better hurry before I change my mind."

Jonie went back to her date. She lifted a glass to her lips never lacking admirers. Starry eyed interns hoping for fame associated with her stories stood near awaiting her acknowledgement.

Kalar made his way to a corner table where his friends had gathered.

"I thought we'd need to call a paramedic to get you away from that ambulance chaser," Greg, the tall dark brown anesthesiologist laughed easily. He had an easy going demeanor and good looks that made women want to spend a lifetime in his arms. His clothes were as impressive as his features adding to his good guy image. "What's she masquerading as today: reporter, sex-crazed maniac, or attention starved newcomer?"

"A woman with a mission," Kalar said shaking hands with his friends.

"I'd be her mission of mercy any day." Shelton, the tall light lanky architect whose laughter resonated from the depths of his larynx, stood to greet his friend.

"You'd run for cover, man," Kalar smirked and clasped Shelton's shoulder good naturedly.

"Sorry I'm late my brothers," Ron stepped toward the table. Shorter then the rest, the fast talking lawyer had an ego that mirrored Johnny Cochran's and a lust for women that matched Ray Charles'.

"I bet she's sorry, too." Kalar said.

"You know I don't roll like that." Ron fell into a seat at the table.

"I wish you'd roll in on time," Kalar said.

"What's time got to do with it?" Ron asked.

"What's it?" Greg and Kalar laughed.

"A vise grip, my brothers. My head was stuck and I couldn't get it out."

"What was your head doing stuck in a vise grip?" Shelton skeptically looked at Ron his friend of many years.

"Drilling for oil in mother Africa, baby," Shelton and Kalar groaned as Ron received a little dap and pegged laughter from Greg. "I had to drill down deep until I triggered an eruption followed by gratuitous screams of pleasure."

"She was placating your ego is what she was doing." Kalar said.

Ron ignored him, "I'm talking major orgasmic tremors reacting to this big rig being thrust to her depths."

"You're talking lust!" Greg said.

"I'm in lust, but she's in love." Ron laughed.

"In love with the maintenance man," Greg laughed.

"Hey! I don't write the rules, my brothers." Ron continued, "I simply enjoy them."

"We're all maintenance men." Kalar said under his breath.

"Since when, are you a maintenance man?" Shelton asked Ron.

"Since it wasn't, Zima," Ron called his wife's name under his breath as he looked around to ensure no one out of his circle of friends heard.

"Man, she's your wife." Kalar said.

"I know that!" Ron retorted. "But that well's run dry." He whispered; agitation in his voice.

"You're not making sense." Shelton looked away in disgust and back. He'd often vent with displeasure at Ron's blatant disrespect for his wife and the mother of his two children. "You and Zima were making all kinds of noise at the resort a couple weeks ago."

"Look, different people do different things and this girl loves to do those things. All I want to do is maintain a relationship she finds acceptable, and enjoy myself in the process."

Shelton shifted uneasily in his seat. "Trouble is going to catch up with you one of these days." He mumbled.

Shelton, his wife Tricia, Ron and his wife Zima were the best of friends. Their children went to school and day care together. Tricia and Zima were on the same committees, volunteering for the same organizations. They were neighbors by choice. But Zima turned her back on reality. Her short brown Willie Garret look alike husband was a full time philanderer, part-time father and nanosecond husband.

For years Ron made it home long enough to sleep four hours, take a hot shower, shave, change clothes and read the morning paper in silence while their children ate breakfast. He'd grunt his goodbye to Zima then spend another sixteen hours tangled between boardrooms and bedrooms with a menagerie of people in between. Ron had moved his family to the suburbs amidst doctors, lawyers, and CEO's. But the people who patronized his law firm were from the streets. So in order to "keep it real", he made a surrogate wife out of nearly any woman who would have him.

* * *

The four men moved their razzing to the adjoining golf course. Working their way slowly around the Saturday brunch buffet, Greg said, turning his head briefly in Kalar's direction, "I thought you weren't going to make it today. Figured Letitia had your agenda booked through the weekend."

"Will never happen my brother, she's probably home sleeping like a baby." He rolled his head in mock slumber.

"Or out tossing around that credit card," Shelton, laughed.

"She can do whatever she wants with her money."

"Man," Ron spoke from the other side of the oblong buffet, keeping his eyes peeled on the steamed shrimp, fried trout and grits while he filled his plate. "A few weeks ago you were sprung. Letitia had your nose wide open. We couldn't get you away from that girl."

"Everybody's not like you Ron," Kalar laughed. "You catch the scent of potential tail and go running behind it."

"You're right," Ron said tapping his forefingers against his thumb, "As long as it's safe, damn if I let it go to waste."

Chapter Three

Rain met Kent while tending bar part-time at the Sheraton Hotel. Clad in a neat black and white uniform, the petite young woman mixed cocktails then set them on a server's tray.

Kent sat easily at the bar, surveying his surroundings, quietly watching the bartender. He was impeccably dressed. His skin the color of toffee, his face marked and pocked like a prize fighter's, his eyes unforgiving. He had a couple drinks and left his business card on top of a hefty tip like a chip on top of a stack of played cards at a black jack table. A multi-carat black diamond adorned his pinky finger. His starched white shirt had long cuffs, fastened with thick gold links, while a thick gold linked chain hung from his wrist. The back of the card read, in rich wet black ink leaving its imprint on the front, `Your monthly salary doubled in one night.' There was an address and an appointment for 7:00 a.m. that Tuesday morning.

Rain was familiar with the location. It was a small exclusive address in Rittenhouse Square. She flipped the card over, following his name were the initials MD. She showed up on time. Good thing too, because he opened his office door precisely at 7:00, and ushered her into a small traditional office.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Amy." He said. "My company Berkshire, LLC owns an exclusive night club in New York City. I'm always scouting for good talent. I liked the way you conducted yourself Sunday at the bar. There were all kinds of people doing all kinds of things, yet you worked as if you had no interest in what your patrons did. Is that true?"

Rain scanned the neat office and kept her tone low, "I'm hired to bartend. What patrons do should have no effect on my ability to deliver good service." Those words were imprinted in her memory amidst the hundred and fifty-two cocktails she'd memorized in Bartending School.

"What's your full name, Amy?"

She looked at her watch and then up at Kent. "Rain Aming Bailey."

"Are you Asian?"

"No. I'm bi-racial. My momma's white and my daddy's black. My momma said I looked part Indian and part Chinese, so she named me Rain Aming."

"Rain," Kent stood and circled her chair. "I like that name. I'm surprised you don't use it." He stopped behind her, massaging the fingers of one hand into her shoulder. They were firm caressing fingers.

She felt as though she should respond, "My grandmother wouldn't let anyone call me Rain. She said rain made people cry."

"I'd prefer you use it, should you work for me." He moved over to the desk then bent down so he could look directly into her face. "You're beautiful," he said incredulously, then softened his tone. "Are there any circumstances in which you wouldn't work?"

"I won't work for free." Amy checked her watch again. They were already fifteen minutes into the meeting and she needed to make another by 9:00 a.m. The location was an hour away. Her meeting with Kent could end up a mistake, but she tried hard to suppress any noticeable anxiety.

"Do you have another appointment?"

"Yes."

"May I ask where? Can I call a cab for you?"

"I have a car. Dr. Jackson you mentioned a position that could double my salary? How is that possible?"

"As I said Rain, my company owns an exclusive club." He circled the desk. "Every employee must sign a strict confidentiality agreement. If you choose to take a bartending position you will receive the same benefits my medical staff receives. That includes dental. I guarantee you will never be harmed or threatened. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen. However, to protect our clients we have our staff undergo bi-monthly mandatory disease tests."

"Is sexual activity involved in the position? Is this why you're paying so much?" She was ready to leave at that point.

"I'm paying you to keep your mouth shut. I'd like to give you an opportunity to work in the fast lane and see if we can make some of Rain's dreams come true."

"Is there nudity involved?"

"Do you get nude in your present job?"

"No, but I have been propositioned."

"Okay, I must now ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement. It guarantees everything disclosed during this meeting and after, whether or not you decide to join my employ, as strictly confidential."

"That's fine," she said.

Kent opened the door and asked his medical secretary, perched at her desk, to notarize the document and make copies. The secretary watched as Rain signed the document. Then left returning with a much thicker document, the stipulations quite entailed.

Kent asked Rain if she would like to have the contract reviewed by her lawyer. She shook her head no. He then went on to tell her about the club. As she listened to the details the room began to spin around his words. She had heard of such clubs, but had never been approached by any proprietors. She needed time to think through the outcome of such an alliance, consider the money, and the type of reputation she would have if she stayed in the city. She also needed to consider the impact the club, and its reputation, would have on the rest of her life. She was a bartender and a damn good Mixologist. Rain knew from past experience that some roads led to the future and some roads led nowhere, even when they seemed to lead somewhere. She had no idea where this road would lead.

She stood abruptly, "I have to go. I don't need a lawyer to look over these papers, but I do need time to think. It sounds like you need a lot more than a bartender Dr. Jackson. I'm not sure I can do that."

"Look." He put his hand on her shoulder again, this time he was close enough to smell the perfume in her hair, see the hint of glitter around her eyes, the true length of her neck and the curvature of her breast against the fitted sweater.

"If I wanted some bartender who didn't know her way around I would have asked that bubbly blonde co-worker of yours, so anxious to please, to join my organization. I need somebody who's willing to walk the walk and talk the talk. I need somebody who won't let it get to her when she sees something she doesn't want to see, or hears something she doesn't need to hear. I need someone who wants to work on the inside, but who comes from the outside, maybe even the wrong side. Somebody who knows what its like to be accused of a crime, before she even commits it."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Games Men Playby W. C. McGhee Copyright © 2012 by W. C. McGhee. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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