Play It Safe

Say you love me, Ivey.

Then I heard my voice reply, I love you, Gray.

I held his stare and didn’t move.

Neither did Gray.

And then he dealt the death blow.

“I told you tragedy would strike. What I didn’t know when I was sayin’ that shit was that the tragedy would be the sweet, funny girl who was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen would turn into a hard bitch in fancy clothes gettin’ paid to pretend every night, twice a night she was a whore.”

I held my breath.

Gray finished, “Fuck me. Tragedy.”

Then he turned on his boot and walked away.

I watched him until he rounded the corner of the building and disappeared.

Then I walked to the car, opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

I was buckling my seatbelt when Brutus asked quietly, “Everything okay, Ivey?”

“Everything’s okay, Freddie,” I whispered, felt his shock when I used his real name but looked out the side window.

We got five miles from my house before it overwhelmed me.

Brutus helped me up to the house, took the key from me, opened the door and held me on my big, expensive, comfortable couch while he called Lash and I sobbed.

Then Lash came over.

Lash slept in bed with me mostly because I cried the whole night clutching him in my arms until I passed out.

Freddie slept on my couch.

Chapter Twenty

A Barrel of Laughs

Four years and two months later…

“Ivey, babe, phone!” Lash shouted and I looked from watering the big pots of flowers with my hose to Lash who was standing in our French doors.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Don’t know. A lady. Says it’s urgent.”

Great.

A mysterious lady calling the home phone saying it was urgent.

Clearly, I urgently needed a timeshare in Boca.

Lash was such a pushover. How he became a millionaire was anyone’s guess. The only thing I knew was that regardless of being g*y, he had a good eye for gorgeous women, a talent for finding ones who had what it took on the stage, no aversion to essentially selling tail for a living and, not unusually for a g*y guy, a flair with costumes and interior décor.

I released the handle, the spray stopped, I set the nozzle on a lounge chair and headed to Lash.

We’d made it official. We didn’t get married or anything but we moved in together three years ago. We did this because I was a determined celibate who had sworn off men and Lash, for his own reasons, needed to keep his reputation as a ladies’ man when he was anything but. I personally thought his reasons were a little screwed up. But they had a lot to do with the fact that he had a ball-buster of a mother who lived close who made Grandma Miriam look like a sweet, old granny who baked cookies (which she did), crocheted doilies (which she did) and pinched your cheek, smiling at you with bright eyes that shared irrevocably that anything you did was hunky dory with her (which she did not). Lash got to brag his lie that he nailed down the finest piece of ass in Vegas and I got relief from men thinking they could best the challenge that was me.

Luckily, Lash wasn’t only hot; he was also big and had learned to take care of himself so most men didn’t mess with me.

And anyway, if they did, Brutus had my back. I didn’t dance anymore, I managed the house. Still, Brutus had my back. He still picked me up and drove me to the club every night but Lash took me home seeing as we lived at the same place.

Brutus did this now because he was my second true friend in the whole world.

See? Totally told you shit like women sobbing their hearts out because the man they loved with everything that was them crushed it then unexpectedly showed up at a performance where you were stripping, ripped it out and crushed it again would do that shit to you. Hot, strapping g*y guy. Big-ass, badass black guy. Anyone.

I made it to Lash; he handed me the phone then leaned in and kissed my cheek before he wandered away.

Seriously. Who needed a real lover when you had a handsome, affectionate man who adored you, put a beautiful house over your head, gave you a great job, lavished you with fabulous clothes, shoes, purses and jewelry and would never break your heart?

On this happy thought, I put the phone to my ear and greeted, “Hello?”

“Ivey?” A somewhat familiar but I couldn’t place it voice asked.

“Yes, this is Ivey. Can I help you?”

“This is Janie. The Rambler? Mustang? Do you remember me?”

My heart spasmed, clenching so tight I could barely breathe. I reached out a hand, practically stumbling until it caught the back of a chair and I held on.

Something had happened to Gray.

She’d never call me unless something had happened to Gray.

Something bad.

“Of course I remember you, Janie,” I said quietly.

“Right,” she said efficiently. “Well, I don’t reckon you’ll give a shit but you should know that Gray’s about to lose his land.”

My body jerked and my heart spasmed again and it didn’t hurt any less than the first time.

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s about to lose his land. In fact, he’s about to lose everything. All of it, the house, the trees, the horses, everything. Shim and Roan came back after Roan’s thing and told everyone about you then Roan goes back to Vegas all the time and heard you hooked up with a millionaire so you’re the only one we know who’s got the kinda money who could help him out. I know you probably don’t give a shit and Gray’d lose his ever-lovin’ mind he knew I was even makin’ this call much less tellin’ you his troubles but this is Gray, this is Mustang and it’s the least you could do.”

There was a lot there.

First, it killed me everyone knew I danced for a living.

Second, it killed me she thought I wouldn’t give a shit about Gray.

Third, it killed me that Gray would lose his ever-lovin’ mind if he knew she was calling me.

And last and most importantly, it killed me that Gray was about lose his land.

“For you,” she went on, “probably a drop in the bucket, seein’ as you’re shacked up with a hotshot. But for Gray, it’s his land. And you should know, the bank that holds the note is Buddy Sharp’s bank.”

My body jerked yet again.

Oh God.

She wasn’t done.

“And you should also know, Buddy Sharp is scrapin’ together money to buy that note. So, they foreclose, the bank won’t own it and Jeb Sharp won’t own it. Buddy will.”