Eighteen Forever?

"Never talk to me ever again, you bastard!"

And that was it.

Nadia slipped out of the apartment door almost as quickly as she had slipped out of her red satin dress. Almost as quickly. James knew just how to make the panties drop. Or so he told himself. In his mind, women stared at him as soon as he stepped in. He was magnetic, and they couldn't resist. Nadia just wasn't strong enough. She couldn't deal with the competition. Yet another fabrication of his mind.

Truthfully, James sucked at love - or anything associated with women for that matter. Granted, James was blessed with the equipment to please a woman, which is why he got multiple takers when he pulled his black Lexus to the corner of Forty-fourth and Seventh Avenue. Nearly half a dozen stiletto wearing women crowded around his car. The color and make of the car attracted them more than the dark figure in the driver's seat. The prospect of money drew them in. Better than gold diggers - they'd do anything for the cash, which he had.

First, it was Angela. James had seen her a lot when he was hooked on the regulars, Ada and Liz. She lingered back in the corner, subtly making eye contact. She was frail, hip-less, ass-less. But there was something about the way she titled her flat-ass against that wall. It enticed him. So much that his crotch betrayed him whenever he laid eyes on her. He had to have her and so she was his - for the night. Then, he met Deena. Now, Deena was something like the "mother whore." When she chose her car, there was no competition. The others watched in awe, star struck as the aged-woman worked her superior magic. James liked to remember her choosing him from a distance. In reality, Deena chose the stack of green papers that conveniently swayed in his brown hand outside the car window. She was a money type of gal, as most prostitutes are. After that night, James saw her periodically - whenever she was short on cash and he was looking to get blown. Deena might have been the top girl but she was no good on the top or bottom. She was best working from her knees, and she wasn't ashamed of it. "Ain't no shame in doing what I please." She would say. Whatever the reason, James lost passion in Deena's services, if that's possible. There were four others in the two weeks before he met Nadia. Perhaps it was the familiarity of having a woman on her knees that caused him to disrespect them. But James found a rationalization in the way he acted. How he would refuse to pay or worse, protect. Rumors said he knocked up three of them and knocked around one. No one knew for sure. No one truly cared. But no one went near that black Lexus, unless they were desperate.

Nadia was desperate. She left Russia to escape a life of young prostitution and here she was again, seventeen, selling herself. "Just her luck," she always told herself. She needed money quickly.

As she stepped into the passenger seat, her red satin dress slowly inched up her pale thigh, stopping its creep just below the 'v' of her legs. She was plump, wonderfully plump - pleasantly plump. She had a small round ass and a cute pudgy stomach, topped off by a double-d chest. The others glared from the outside, apprehensious eyes followed the car down Seventh. James had three orgasms that night. Nadia, five. It was a glorious night by both of their standards. Neither would admit it, yet both knew it. It meant more than just another fuck to him. More than just another job to her. They dated more or less for four months. To his young lady, James seemed extremely experienced for a boy of eighteen, which he hadn’t been in fifteen years. Maybe she was in love, as she often said. To be able to overlook the bald head, the already sagging eyes and the "pre-mature" erectile-dysfunction that happened occasionally. Nearing the third month of their relationship, Nadia's suspicions heightened. Having already moved in a month ago, she became curious in every sense of the word. Their relationship seemed too perfect. She went searching for secrets, hidden scandals, of which she found none for quite some time. James had covered up his deception quite nicely. Until the day she met the family.

"She's the one."

"She's beautiful."

"She's hot."

James' fifteen year old brother took a particular liking towards Nadia. No one would have ever guessed this conservative young lady in a Jackie O type outfit was a transformed hoe that usually sported dresses that barely covered her goods. Mrs. Randall instantly embraced Nadia, suggesting that she give her a tour of their house. Not that the house was nearly large enough for a tour. There were two floors, easily navigable. But Nadia figured that this was Mrs. Randall's way of getting bonding time with her, so she obliged. They passed a room with blue wooden letters on the door, spelling out the name "Jimmy."

"Is this one off limits?" Nadia asked, somewhat curious as to why Mrs. Randall skipped this room when she had showed off every other one possible.

"No baby. Not at all." Mrs. Randall turned the handle to reveal a completely blue room that looked as though it had been preserved for memory. It was Jimmy's old room from high school and on one bulletin board, newspaper articles were plastered randomly. 

"That's my Jimmy. The All-American." Spoken like a truly proud mother. The articles read "Roosevelt High School senior scores the winning 3 pointer for the Championship," "Jimmy Randall with a 500 meter dash record," "Our All-American has done it again!" Nadia smiled as she read on about the accomplishments of her beloved James. Now, she realized why she cared about him. There were pictures of parties among the articles, small notes written on post-its, and concert tickets to Notorious B.I.G and Snoop Dogg concerts. Her eyes skimmed most of the articles and pictures of him with his hands cupped big-assed teenage girls. When she came to his Prom King picture, she turned it over.

"Prom. May 21. 1991. Stay eighteen forever."

Nadia almost dropped the picture but instead she slipped it into her purse. Mrs. Randall didn't notice a thing, but kept rambling on about her fabulous son. Mrs. Randall's son, James, had graduated at the top of his class from Boston College in 1995 and given her two beautiful grandchildren. She was a proud grandmother even though she didn't like the woman that bore them. Evaline put her dear James though a bunch of shit that in her opinion "fucked up James' relationships with women for good" - that is until Nadia. After trying to pin her insignificant bruises on James, Evaline went on to accuse James of engaging in the institution of prostitution. Mrs. Randall was appalled by these accusations. She had raised her baby better than that.

"Some women will do anything for money that they don't deserve. And the judicial system always sides against the black males. Thank goodness the trial was never settled." When Nadia gave her an inquisitive look, Mrs. Randall finished, "Oh the girl just disappeared. For her own good, I suppose."

That was enough. Nadia's face turned a ghastly white. Not that Mrs. Randall had noticed. She was too busy defending her murderous son. The rest of the evening was a blur. During the course of the meal and the conversation afterwards, both James' father and brother had managed to break a record looking at her rack at least four times per minute. Mrs. Randall spent the entire encounter picturing James and Nadia as a married couple with several children, living next door with a white fence and a lab named Coco. Nadia heard bits and pieces of the conversations as they went on. She didn't really respond and she didn't dare look at the liar on her right side.

The ride back to the City was treacherous even though the traffic was almost non-existent, making the ride only twenty minutes long. It was almost as if James knew what was going on. He didn't say anything. Neither did he question his lover's silence. He simply opened the door to his Park Avenue apartment, dropped his keys and his wallet on the kitchen counter and headed towards the bedroom to undress. Nadia paced the living room for a few moments before her eyes narrowed on an object. James re-entered the living room and his facial expression changed instantly. Nadia stood there with the smile Prom King in her outstretched hand. He couldn't explain anything. There was no explanation.

"Never talk to me ever again, you bastard!"

The door slammed behind her as she exited without a single objection. James walked to his window and looked down to the empty street of Park Avenue. Solitary figures glided along the sidewalk. Making moves like he did. Untamed con artists like he now was, again. Alone as it seemed he was destined to be. A black Lexus pulled out of the parking lot beneath him and a white hand hung out of the driver’s window, dangling a leather wallet from the fingertips. The embroidery read "J.R." James tapped his pant pockets.

"Shit."