Trey (The Jacksons Book 3)

Chapter One


The first time he went to a strip club, he went to a bachelor party for his friend, Wayne. The second time he went alone to see her. He didn't sit at the dance area where the poles were, nor did he sit at the bar. He sat in the booth in the dark and watched as she sensually wound herself around a pole with a vacant look on her face.
Usually, there were five girls on the stage in the man cave lounge. Jaded had three lounges. The man cave was the place for the so-called ‘tame’ viewer. There were no lap dances, the girls did not interact with the patrons, and they kept most of their skimpy clothes on.
“Technically, they aren't strippers, just dancers,” The friendly man at the door had said the first time he came into the semi dark room.
The man cave lounge was popular with couples and those attending bachelor parties. Go figure. Someone should analyze why that was, the tamest lounge had the most patrons. He wouldn’t be the one to do any analyzing, though. His brain was tired, and he was slightly stoned, not high, just mellow. He had just taken his first-year med school exams, and he wanted to relax and feel the buzz.
So here he was. In the dark. Watching her.
“So you like Angel, eh?” A gravelly-voiced man slid into his booth and asked. He looked like the boxer, George Foreman. “She’s new.”
Trey looked at him lazily. “There are five girls up there. How do you know which one I am looking at?”
“I’ve been watching you as you watch her. Your eyes are always on the left side of the stage. Besides, she looks like her name.”
Trey snorted inelegantly. “They all look the same. Same wigs different colors, same moves, and same come hither looks designed to tantalize without any follow-ups.”
The man laughed. “You sound bitter, but a money-man like you should never be. If you just come out of the darkness and go closer to the poles, I am sure all of them will be crawling over you like ants on honey. You are not bad looking either, that alone will have them flocking to you.”
“A money-man.” Trey laughed. “I am not a money-man, just a poor med student who just finished his exams.”
“You are,” the man murmured. “I can smell it on you. All of you well-to-do people smell alike.”
“Like marijuana and Bleu De Chanel?” Trey turned back to the stage; he didn’t like taking his eyes off her for long.
“No, like money and prestige.” Tony guffawed. “Angel has the prettiest legs on the stage.” The man said, a satisfied sound to his voice as if he had designed her legs himself. “And the best dancer’s body. The only one who knows what she is doing.”
Trey narrowed his eyes at the man in the half-dark. “What are you, her pimp?”
“Pimp?” The man feigned shock. “Angel is not a sex worker, but if you want a date, I can arrange for you to meet her.”
“If I want to meet her I’ll arrange it myself,” Trey said stubbornly. “I don’t want a middleman. What’s your name again?”
“Tony Kyle, everybody calls me TK,” The man said without hesitation. “I knew you were a good sort the moment I saw you. I hear how you speak when you ask for a drink, and I see you gravitating to the classiest girl here.”
Trey was getting bored with the conversation and with Tony. He just wanted to watch Angel.
Tony was right. She was undoubtedly the most interesting one to look at. She was lithe and toned and moved like there was some professional training behind her moves. She had the skin tone of powdered cinnamon and the sharp cheekbones of Naomi Campbell. She was truly outstanding.
At twenty-four, he considered himself a connoisseur where women were concerned. And this one, without having met her, had piqued his interest to the point of obsession.
It was such a pity that after this, he would go home to his empty apartment and drink himself to sleep.
He had finished his first year of med school and reasoned that he had earned the right to celebrate. He didn’t want to celebrate alone. He wanted to celebrate with Angel.
“Here is her number,” Tony said, sensing that he had zoned out of the conversation.
Trey took the number and looked at it. “What time does she get off?”
“In a half-hour,” Tony said.
“Tell her to meet me by the black Mercedes in the parking lot,” Trey said, “I don’t particularly want to spend my night alone, and I am not paying for it. Got that?”
Tony grinned. “Got it.”
Trey unhurriedly made his way to the car. He didn’t want to admit it, but he anticipated meeting Angel maybe a little more than he cared to admit. It was perplexing the way he was feeling. He usually didn't have an inexplicable attraction to women. They were usually the ones that chased him. This was a unique situation for him.
He walked to the car, thankful that he could inhale some fresh air. He didn’t particularly like enclosed dark spaces and as classy as Club Jaded was, he wasn’t totally comfortable going inside.
Maybe it was his Christian upbringing or the many lectures about objectifying women that his mother and aunts had drummed into his head over the years. He tried to shake it off now. He didn't want the drumbeat of common-sense to interrupt him now; he was anticipating meeting Angel.
Nothing could cool his ardor as he casually leaned on the car, anticipating her coming through the door that was marked employees only.
He did not have long to wait. She exited the side door and sauntered toward him with the kind of sensuality that she had demonstrated on the stage.
She was prettier close up better than he had even imagined. Trey looked her over keenly as she stood in front of him. She had taken off the make-up but kept on the wig, which hit her somewhere near her shapely derrière.
“Tony said you wanted to see me.” Her voice was husky and smooth, like someone who could do voice-overs for documentaries.
He looked into her eyes. There was something about her that was unsettling. Maybe it was the sharp intelligence that he saw there and her direct stare. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but he felt that there was more to her than what he was seeing.
He folded his arms. “Who is Tony to you?”
“My father.” She shrugged.
“Do you do this kind of thing often?” Trey asked, “meet men in the parking lot because your father-pimp Tony arranged it?”
She laughed. Genuine mirth lit up her eyes. “You sound possessive, and you haven't even told me your name. I tend to stay away from possessive men.”
“My name is Trey Jackson,” he said, getting more fascinated by the minute. “What’s yours?”
“Angel Rose,” She said and then gasped. “I meant Kenya Kyle.”
“Getting your stage name and real name mixed up.” He grinned.
“A hazard of the profession,” she muttered. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“So which one is it?” He asked.
“I… er…”
“Doesn’t matter,” Trey said, “I think I’ll call you Angel. You strike me as someone who has some angelic qualities.”
Angel smiled. “That’s a common pick up line around here. Sometimes I wish I had chosen the name Blaze.”
He laughed. “Then, there would be the corny fire references.”
“So true.” Angel changed the subject. “I feel parched, and I am starving.”
“We could go to my place and get something to eat.” Trey murmured. “I have leftovers, and I can even make you breakfast in the morning.”
“Nope.” Angel shook her head. “I have standards. You take me out. I don't care if it’s fast food. Then we have a couple of conversations you know get to know each other, and then maybe if I like you, we move on from there.”
“I have no time for this," Trey said regretfully. “I want to have a lost weekend, smoke, drink sex. I don’t do courtship and all of that nonsense. Relationships are boring and tedious and inevitably comes with a whole bunch of responsibilities. And then people break up and do it all again.”
Her eyes darkened, and she glared at him. “I thought you were different.”
“Me?” Trey raised an eyebrow, “what on earth would you give you that impression. I am a man. I would think I am quite indistinguishable from the loads of men that come by here every night to see you strip down to your itty-bitty underwear and lust after you.”
“It’s just a gut feeling,” she said disappointment rife in her voice. “When I saw you first, I…
“Go on,” Trey said huskily, “when did you see me first?”
“When you came to a bachelor party here with your friend. There were a few of you, you stood out.”
“I am a tad taller than they are,” Trey said. “I am six-two.”
“It’s not that,” She shook her head, “there was something about you. Even though your friend was the one getting married. He was acting like a single man, and you were the one to hold him back.”
“I am Wayne’s voice of reason. He is marrying my cousin Abby. I have to juggle the responsibilities of being a best friend to him and not letting him hurt my cousin. For the record, I am against the marriage, but those two are determined to get hitched.”
“Why are you against it?” Angel asked.
“They are too young and immature and not ready for a commitment. They like the idea of getting married, but I don’t see them ready to put in the work.” Trey shrugged. “And I know Wayne. He is my housemate. He is not ready to be faithful or loyal to one woman. He still comes here every night, and his wedding is in six weeks. I strongly disagree with that.”
Angel was nodding after every statement and looking at him with approval.
He had to get the conversation back to them. “You know I thought you were different when I saw you first too,” Trey said solemnly, “it’s basic sexual attraction. I am pretty sure that you have been propositioned before, and you have experienced it with a couple of other men.”
“No,” she murmured. “I don’t usually talk to the guys here. Tony makes sure that they don’t get too close.”
“Ah, Tony, your father.” Trey looked around, “he is lurking around here, somewhere, isn't he?”
“More than likely.” Angel sighed, “but it really doesn’t matter. I am not one of those women that just goes off with a man because he drives a pretty car and has a decent looking face.”
Which meant nothing was going to happen between them tonight.
Trey gave her a half-smile. “I inherited the car from my uncle. He died recently.”
“Oh,” Angel murmured.
“My other vehicle was a constant pain to tinker with.” He grinned at her, “I was banking on my decent face to get you to come home with me, but…”
He glanced over near the building; there was Tony with his arms folded, foot braced apart, pretending that he wasn’t watching them.
He could write the night down as a dud.
She had a bodyguard that looked like George Foreman in his heyday. Only a fool would want to take on Tony, and he was no fool. Besides, she was looking for conversation and courtship, and he just wanted sex. He needed light and frivolous. It was as basic and as primal as that.
He searched his brain for someone else in the club to have his lost weekend with, but he was coming up blank. He was curiously not interested in anyone else. Maybe he should just go home and sleep. He was feeling a little weary; it was after two in the morning after all.
He glanced at his watch and then looked at her regretfully. “Goodnight, Angel.”
“Goodnight Trey.” She said, a hint of surprise and disappointment in her voice.
He almost laughed. She had expected him to chase her, but he had never pursued a woman, never had and never will.
He drove off, leaving her behind in the parking lot.

 

Chapter Two


“How do you blow it with a stripper?” Wayne asked him incredulously a week later. They were on the back patio of their two-bedroom apartment, passing a blunt between each other. “You have never blown it with anyone. Models, doctors, lawyers, university lecturers, all flock you like you are honey-coated. I can’t believe this, strippers are easy. The easiest women to get with if you have cash. They are all about money. It's because you didn't offer her any money or flash your cash around, isn't it?”
Trey leaned back in the rickety chair that they had gotten at a garage sale last year when they had decided to move in together and were forced to get furniture. He tried not to react to Wayne’s dramatic incredulity.
“Did she see the car?” Wayne asked. “I mean, when I drive that thing, even old ladies want to get with me, much less a stripper!”
Trey chuckled. “That’s why you keep borrowing it, huh?”
Wayne laughed. “I am engaged, didn’t you hear?”
“I wish you would remember that.” Trey looked at him lazily. “Abby deserves better than you still going to Jaded Night Club every night.”
Wayne looked away from him guiltily. “I don't go to the club for the girls, man. I have some business on the side with Milton.”
“Milton Black. The manager of the place? I thought you said he was dangerous.” Trey frowned at Wayne. “I thought you said he had ties to thugs and gangs.”
“I may have said that,” Wayne said faintly. His brown skin flushed, and his ears turned red. A telltale sign of guilt. He had known Wayne since they were in prep school together. The red ears were a serious indicator of guilt. Usually, they only appeared when he was embarrassed or had gotten himself in trouble.
Trey frowned at him. “What kind of business do you have with Milton Black?”
“It’s nothing illegal,” Wayne laughed uncomfortably. Trey noted that his ears were still red.
“You know I have an uncle in St Thomas with mangoes. Milton asked me to get as many mangoes as he can for him, so I go to St. Thomas to get the mangoes.”
“Mangoes?” Trey raised an eyebrow. “He manages a nightclub what does he want mangoes for?”
“He sells them.” Wayne got up and started pacing on the patio, refusing to look at Trey. “I get them cheap from my uncle. I charge him a couple bucks on it, and he sells them back; he knows someone who can’t get enough. It’s quite lucrative.”
“I see," Trey said doubtfully. It sounded like a rational explanation, but he couldn’t understand why Wayne was pacing back and forth jerkily like he was guilty.
“You know, I was wondering if you would be in on it.” Wayne said, “but I thought, nah, you are loaded, you don’t need the money, you never needed to hustle, you have a well-off father and your rich granduncle left you a lot of money. I wouldn’t do this if I had a rich granduncle who died and made me a multimillionaire.”
Trey shook his head at him. “Your family is not poor, Wayne. Your father is a high-ranking police officer, and your mother is a lawyer. They live in a mansion in an exclusive area of the city and you are their only child. What on earth are you talking about?”
Wayne shrugged. “My parents' money is not my money.”
“Okay.” Trey nodded. “I get that, but didn’t you brag to me the other day that you were making loads of money all by your lonesome and that I should quit med school and join you in pharmaceutical sales?”
“Yeah, but that was before your granduncle croaked, and you suddenly got rich. I thought you would be interested in a side hustle. You have no idea the amounts of money people are willing to pay for mangoes. Rich people, very rich people go crazy over them.”
Trey instantly felt uneasy. “Are you sure we are talking about the fruit here, Wayne?”
“What else would I be talking about?” Wayne asked him, still refusing to look him in the eyes.
“Drugs?” Trey raised an eyebrow. “You are into pharmaceuticals and Milton Black is as slimy as they come. He doesn’t strike me as a person who would be into mango of all things.”
Wayne stopped pacing and gave him a contemplative look. “It’s not drugs. It’s mangoes. I would tell you more about the operation, but you are still too good and finicky about certain things.”
“Too good?” Trey folded his arms. “What does that even mean?”
“You are always the voice of reason, even when we were younger, like a little conscience.” Wayne glared at him. “I don’t want reason, I want money. I am getting married to Abby, who is very high maintenance and thinks I have your level of wealth.”
“What are you talking about?” Trey’s mind was racing. He had to admit that Wayne was right. He was the voice of reason in their friendship.
They had met in prep school and have been close friends ever since. Almost from the beginning, when they were boys, he had been the one to curb Wayne's over the top tendencies. From shoplifting to drag racing to drunk driving, he had been the one to prevent the accidents and them from getting thrown in jail as juvenile delinquents.
One would think that with a high-ranking police officer for a father and a lawyer as a mother, Wayne would want to be on the right side of the law, but that was not always the case.
He had serious misgivings about Wayne and Milton being in business.
“Not telling you this sucks because you would be perfect for this,” Wayne murmured, “you know how to pick the right ones.”
“Pick the right mangos?” Trey asked, getting more and more confused by the minute.
“Yes,” Wayne ran his fingers through his braids and then tugged at them. It was a hairstyle he had started sporting in university ever since someone had told him, he was a dead ringer for the rapper Ludacris. His hair had grown pretty long since then.
“You know what, forget it.” Wayne sighed. “Forget I said anything. All you need to know is that I am making some serious money with this and I am quite happy doing it. At the end of the day, I can afford the honeymoon in Bali that Abby is constantly gabbing about.”
Trey narrowed his eyes at him. “So why do you look so tortured?”
Wayne slumped his shoulders. “I am just a little tired, man.”
“You sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?” Trey asked sharply.
“I am sure," Wayne said less than convincingly. “Even your mother’s pastor is a customer of Milton’s. He loves the mangos green. See, it’s legit stuff.”
“Pastor Ray Honeyghan,” Trey asked doubtfully, “does business with Milton Black?”
“Yup.” Wayne nodded.
“He is one of the good guys, my parents have been friends with him for years,” Trey said a warning in his voice, “don’t be dragging his name and linking it to Milton.”
“I am not linking him to Milton, he is just a customer, one of many, including my dear old dad.” Wayne stretched and turned his back to Trey. “Can I borrow your car tonight?”
“I am not going anywhere.” Trey yawned. “I start my research job tomorrow.”
Wayne looked at him proudly. “I can’t believe it, you did one year of med school and got straight A’s. All the time partying like a rock star.”
Trey grinned. “I wouldn’t say I partied like a rock star. My photographic memory helped. This year I am going to lay off the parties, and the drinking and the smoking.”
“Not yet!” Wayne looked at him, shocked. “Your liver is nowhere near addled enough to quit yet.”
Trey chuckled. “I have to quit smoking. They randomly test the students for drugs at the lab where I am going to work. Last weekend was supposed to have been my lost weekend before the summer job.”
“And she turned you down.” Wayne shook his head. “What was her name again?”
“Angel Rose," Trey said her name almost reverently.
“The doctor and the stripper.” Wayne grinned. “I can’t imagine the likes of Celia Jackson and Ace Jackson Senior appreciating you dating a stripper.”
“Who said anything about dating her?” Trey murmured. “I am not about to get trapped in a relationship like you. Horror of horrors, I might even get married!”
“I don't see it as being trapped," Wayne smirked. “I can’t explain it to a cynic, but…you know the song, I’m a Believer by the Monkees.”
“The who?” Trey frowned.
“It’s an old group that my dad loves. He was always playing I’m a Believer when he dropped me off at prep school. We would sing it together at the top of our lungs. Wayne grinned, my last loving memory of Gregory Dexter.”
“I can’t imagine your dad being light-hearted.” Trey frowned.
“He was, a long, long time ago,” Wayne sighed. “Anyway, because he loved the song, I made an effort to learn the lyrics. It says, then I saw her face, now I'm a believer, not a trace of doubt in my mind…I’m in love...”
Wayne started singing and dancing at the top of his voice. “Then I saw her face…”
Trey threw an empty can of beer at him. “Shut up, Believer.”
“You know what?” Wayne said finally sitting down. “I am going to throw you a party. One last party before you go clean. I will invite her, so you can experience being a believer with your stripper.
“And,” he looked at Trey seriously, “that is my password, don’t forget it.”
“Huh?” Trey asked.
“Believer is my password," Wayne repeated and then moved on to another topic: the long legs of their neighbor, Jean.