Duckie Capri, with his liberal views on sex, for some reason had taken issue with anyone who wasn’t monogamous. This had prompted his bad habit, the one he’d tried a gazillion times to quit, to resurface. Gossiping!
Eight minutes. That was exactly how long it had taken for the news of Kiki’s poly family to hit Brill, Inc.
Sensing what the humiliation had done to her esteem, Taddy had urged, “Kiki, darling, let’s turn this negative situation around.”
“How?” Kiki had faced ridicule her entire life.
“By accentuating it into a positive. Let’s have a Polygamy party! Now, what is your Bible Belt known for other than Sister Wives?”
“Jell-O,” Kiki had replied.
In Kiki’s honor, Times Square had been turned into a Poly block party. They’d sported pastel prairie-style dresses and had worn blonde wigs. Taddy’s friends, Lex and Vive, had served green Jell-O jigglers.
Funny? Heck yeah, especially when Kiki had found out weeks later that they were actually vodka Jell-O shots. Leave it to Vive!
Poor Hannahette, who’d flown in from Provo for the occasion, had no idea what a Jell-O shot was. She’d gotten herself wasted. To this day, her mom bragged it was the best time she’d ever had.
So Kiki didn’t push the issue with Dejon about her polygamist family. He could take it or leave it.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said Master Roane is collaring another slave.” The fastest eater she’d ever seen, Duckie shoved the last bite in his mouth. Then he put the plate in the sink.
“Maybe you should entertain the idea of letting this Dom have other subs.”
“No way, José.”
“Those who lead life with an open mind have an open heart, Duckie.”
No matter how many times Brill, Inc’s BDSM client Madam Queen Dick Dupree had tried to school Kiki on D/s culture, she didn’t get it. One thing for certain, she’d grown tired of humoring Duckie’s Master Roane drama.
“Whatever!”
“I’d rather talk about what you have versus what you don’t. Such as your job, which is still yours if you get your underfed, oversexed, sunburned heinie up to Times Square.” On that note, Kiki marched over to Duckie’s closet, pushed through his leather pants, and yanked out a navy Hugo Boss suit for him to wear with a festive autumn tie.
Duckie was going to the office with her whether he wanted to or not. She couldn’t afford to cover his half of the rent if he got fired. Especially if Master Roane was no longer in the picture to pick up Duckie’s tab.
“Bietch, that sling is work. It’s Queen Dick’s new toy. We’re putting it on the Lifestyle Network and taping it right in our offices. So I’m takin’ her for a ride. Besides, Mr. Morgan is out of town this entire week, so my absence will go unnoticed.
“Where’d Mr. Morgan go?”
“After he admitted Miss Farnworth back into rehab yesterday, he and his hubby took off on Warner’s jet for Brazil to adopt their baby.”
“Ahhh, right.” Kiki grinned as the images of helping Taddy organize Blake and Miguel’s speedy baby shower, which had followed their impromptu wedding, focused in her memory. “I can’t believe they got an infant so quickly. I mean, before poor Vive gets outta rehab even.” Taddy had sent her an email the night before letting her know they’d found Viveca in the North Folk Long Island wineries, begging for booze.
“Two weeks is all it took. I heard Mr. Morgan shelled out major cashola for their lil bebê. But not as much as that Iced Sherbet diamond was worth, huh?” He sauntered over to the fridge and grabbed a can of Miller Lite.
When they’d first moved in together, Kiki figured he’d drink Don Perignon as Taddy had. But as foo-foo as Duckie seemed, he’d forever be a native Milwaukee boy at heart.
“Huh?”
“Can you stand it? You were in Stockholm at that very Truman property and now it’s vanished.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kiki transferred the box from the suitcase to their kitchen table and opened the lid with her keys. She knew what her mom had sent without even looking inside. Regardless, the enthusiasm was there, considering there’d been a time when her parents had stopped talking to her, hoping she’d pack up her New York dreams and come back to Provo. This gesture reminded her that while she might never return home to Utah, she’d always be their little girl.
Duckie popped the tab off the can and chugged.
Thank you, Mom. “I smell a homemade honey candle in here. This room freshener should mask that stinky beer. You know how sensitive my nose is.”
“Puhlease, you don’t even like the smell in here when I brew coffee.” He burped. “You seriously have no effin’ clue what I’m talkin’ about with Stockholm, do ya, girlie?”
“Nope.” She caught the lighter Duckie tossed her way from his hookah stand. She lit the wick. Mmm. “Isn’t it wonderful how the scent of this honey candle reminds me of home, when I’m not even in Provo? Here we are on Fifth Avenue but if I close my eyes, it’s as if Mom is right here, in our kitchen.”
“With Hannahette’s bees? Making honey?”
“Yes! Home smells so good.” Kiki missed Hannahette and her hobbies, beekeeping for starters.
“You sure your magic underwear ain’t on too tight?”
“Please. Do not start in with those cookie cutter Mormon jokes, Duckie.” Ever since Broadway played The Book of Mormon musical, every homosexual took liberty with poking snarky one-liners at her. She wished they’d all go back to watching Kinky Boots or Wicked. “Sorry, boo. It’s just…how many times do I gotta say it? New York is your home!” He cackled antics at her while taking out his iPad from his fake Gucci bag.
Ignoring him, she emptied the box of treats on the table. “Mom sent me another Marie Osmond doll.” Dressed in a bridal gown, the porcelain toy’s tag read ‘Princess Rose.’ Hannahette had collected the dolls since 1991.
He turned on his iPad.
Kiki pulled out a box within the bigger gift package. It was the board game The Settlers of Catan. She’d played it a million times as a kid but the fun never grew old. A dozen mint chocolates and a card rounded out the gifts.
She read the note. It was signed by her immediate family then also by her sixteen siblings from her father’s four other wives. The littlest of the Izatt clan, birthed by her father’s youngest wife, Jordan at age three had scribbled with the letter ‘J.’ Hannahette was her father’s first and oldest wife. She’d finished having her babies after Kiki. Grabbing a magnet, she stuck the card on the fridge.
Dramatically shaking his head, Duckie held up the screen.
“What is it?” Kissing Princess Rose on the cheek, she walked the doll over to the far wall and placed her with the hundred or so others.
“Pay fuckin’ attention already.” He shoved the device in her hands as she came back into the kitchen.
Glancing at the screen, her heart sunk. Oh, no…. She read the online article out loud. “Forced Back to Rehab, Farnworth Liquor Heiress Found Wasted at Winery.”
“Skip that one about Vive. Scroll down.” Duckie pressed the screen, bringing up the next article.
Whoa! She continued, “Iced Sherbet Diamond Stolen at Truman Stockholm Hotel.”
Nice ‘n’ Nasty
Kiki
The diamond was stolen?
“Forreals, you didn’t hear about it?”
“Air Sweden didn’t have cable on board, only movies.”
“Authorities on TV were sayin’ the case is tied to the Tivian Diamond that was lifted in Dubai a few months ago. They blew the safe right open. Same fake stones left in its place to distract people long enough so they could get away. Security has no idea how the robbers got in, or out, of the building.”
“How come?” Dizzy from the jetlag, she leaned against the kitchen counter, turned the iPad off, and rubbed her temples.
“The surveillance cameras’ wires were cut.”
“Who’d do such a thing?”
“Beats me. You’re the
one who was in Dubai and Stockholm at the time of the robberies. It’s not you, is it?”
“Ninny, it’s me. I’m busted. I’m a diamond thief.” Rooming with Duckie made his sarcasm contagious. Kiki couldn’t imagine anyone having enough cajones to waltz in to the Euro Expo and steal the Iced Sherbet pink diamond.
“Anyway…I got the email yesterday that you’re now in charge of the Paloma’s Gems account. Congrats, boo.” Duckie didn’t appear sincere. He wanted that promotion, too. Instead, Duckie had been put on Blake’s lifestyle team, which meant BDSM toys and dog food, not Paloma Gems or Baden Beauty products.
“Isn’t it great? I’m excited. I can’t wait to tell my parents. Dejon was with me when I got the call. There’s so much to do. First—”
He clapped his hands then snapped his fingers. “Kiki! You know Paloma is doing that big publicity stunt at The Style Gala with The Great Nova of Africa. They’re gonna split the gem right at the conference.”
“Yup. It’s never been done with any stone that size in public. Paloma told me all about it yesterday. She’s invested everything she has into this launch. I’ll get all the press to come. Celebs, too…Rihanna, Ke$ha, you name it.”
“Okay, gurl, now I’m gettin’ excited.”
“My career is riding on this event. I was even thinking of asking Lex Easton to co-design some fashionable diamond items with Paloma.”
Lex Easton had outranked Calvin, Marc, Donna, and Betsy in apparel sales the previous quarter. Easton Essentials, the brand Lex had created, was number one in the world for all things design. It was also Brill, Inc.’s largest client.
“You don’t think…?” Duckie took back the iPad. Plopping himself on the leather sofa with his Miller Lite, he huffed dramatically, “Ahh, nevermind.”
“What? Tell me.”
“All I’m gonna say is that Miss Brill had better hire extra security for your event. But I’ll help ya as much as I can.”
“Come on. You don’t think the robbers will come to New York, do you?” She walked over to him and straightened the pillows that were thrown about.
“Ya never know, gurl. If my business was to steal sparkly things, my pussy sure would be at the Style Gala. Wouldn’t your pussy be there, too, boo?”
“Duckie! You don’t have any girl parts. I hate the way you throw that word around. It’s vulgar.” Except when Dejon had said it directly to her pink spot, because then it was rather hot.
“What word?” Playing coy, he mocked her. “P-u-s-s-y?”
“Knock it off.” She pushed her suitcase over to her side of the apartment.
“Ha ha ha. I do, too, have one. I have a boy-pussy!” He lifted his left leg up like some kind of dog getting ready to piss on a tree.
Kiki screamed into a fit of laughs while taking out her clothes. She sorted the ones for dry cleaning against the ones she’d have to wash later. “You are so nasty. Nice ‘n’ nasty!”
Wiping the beer from his lips, he lowered his leg and sat up on the sofa. “Where’d ya hear that term?”
“Eh?”
“Do you know what ‘nice ‘n’ nasty’ means?”
“Not really. I was hoping you’d tell me.” She sat the empty box near the door and slipped off her shoes. Toe wiggling never felt so good.
“You heard it from one of Birdie Easton’s old glam metal songs, didn’t cha?” Duckie started to sing “Save Me.”
“While I adore Lex’s mom as a person, I don’t care much for her music. All that sex talk makes my heart jump outta my mouth in ways I’m not familiar. Dejon said it to me the other day.” Taking a fresh towel out of the closet, she headed for the bathroom.
“Why the hellaballoo would Dejon Turay utter such raunchiness while in your sweet presence?” Duckie shouted across the apartment. His voice carried even when he whispered.
Popping her head back into the main room, she answered, “We were, umm. I was giving him a…you know….”
“A view of Utah Valley?” he shrieked with a smile she’d never seen on his face before.
“No, silly. I was giving him a BJ.”
“O. M. F. G!” Duckie screamed. “No fucking way!”
She nodded, leaned against the wall, and tried to act as if what had happened was no biggie. But her mind returned to that special moment with Dejon. He’d told her she was perfect. His sex in her mouth was a huge deal for her. There’d be more to come, and soon. On the flight home and more recently in that cab ride, she’d made up her mind—anal sex with her fiancé would happen the second he came back from Africa.
While masturbation was fun and all, it actually didn’t alleviate squat but made her yearnings much stronger. Her vaj was pushing her closer to Bellevue. Plus, they were getting married in a few weeks. She had to keep Dejon happy. He’d moved all the way to New York for her. And to be honest, she loved the intimacy with him. Close to having an orgasm a few times, she felt that moment bonded them all the more.
Duckie leapt over to her so fast he nearly knocked her down. “Spill it, bietch. I want the deets. Is Dejon Turay—hottest man I’ve ever seen, muscular, British accent-speaking and disc jockey famous—as hung as he looks?”
“What makes you say such things?”
“I’ve often tried to picture his cock in my mind. He must have a third leg.” Duckie grabbed her shoulders as if it was life or death.
“Why would you assume that?” Come to think of it, she sorta understood the third leg thing. That would be a yes, but she wouldn’t tell Duckie.
“Miss Brill, Mr. Morgan, Vive, Lex—fuck, pretty much everyone has noticed Dejon’s alien-esque fingers.”
About to howl, she bit down on the towel. Oh, my gosh.
“Similar to ET in that Steven Spielberg movie. If Dejon’s digits are as long as fuck and go from here to Hollywood, then his dick must hang from here to Africa, boo. Tell me!”
“No way.”
“I bet his nuts are the size of grapefruits.” He blew up his cheeks as if he had a mouth full.
“Stop.”
“Is he cut or uncut?”
“I’m going to take a shower now.” Still laughing, she turned back for the bathroom.
“Dammit. You’re no fun. I had bets lined up on this one.”
“Get dressed. We’re going to work.” Kiki closed the door and started the shower. She realized she still didn’t know what ‘nice ‘n’ nasty’ meant, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore.
Air Rage
30,000 feet in the sky, somewhere over Morocco
Dejon
Seven Weeks Ago
The warm stale air on the Boeing plane mixed with the vibrations from the jet’s engine had caused Dejon to drift off. His father’s passing, along with the stress of the blood diamond missions, working with Dash, moving to New York, and marrying Kiki all had made the Hanzfeld Experiment nightmares return. Often they felt real because they had happened….
Age nine. Dejon rested on that special bed. Pillows blue. It was his first week at The Telepathic Institute. His mom said she’d be proud. There was even talk of Daddy visiting London, if he was good. Daddy always said he’d visit. He didn’t. He missed Daddy.
Hungry. Unable to fall asleep as they’d been at this for hours.
Pushing the microphone button next to his bed to speak to the scientists, who observed him from the glass walls other side, he asked, “Where’s Dash?”
“Number Two, your brother is on a bed, similar to the one you’re on. He’s in a room, just like this one. Number One is waiting for you to communicate with him. Use your mind like we showed you yesterday.”
It made him mad that the people in the white lab coats didn’t address him as Dejon Turay, but with a numerical number. Dash got Number One. Dash was always first.
“Okay. I’ll try again….” Closing his eyes, he inhaled in the way they’d taught him to relax. In through his nose, hold it for three seconds, and then out through his mouth.
“Doing good, Number Two. We’re going to turn on
a sound. It’s a thumping noise. You’ll feel the bed vibrate to the music.”
“Will Dash have this in his room, also?”
“No, Number Two. This is just for you. Listen. Feel. Then tell your brother what you’re experiencing. Keep relaxing. Try to sleep.”
It wasn’t fair. He got all these bright lights, racket, and things flying at him all the time.
The base increased. The bed shook.
How could anyone sleep with this?
He couldn’t. He had to see Dash. “Can my brother come see me? I need my twin. I miss him. Is he okay?” Eyes sprinkling with tears, Dejon tugged at the goggles the doctors had made him wear.
“Number One is fine.” Dr. Hanzfeld spoke tightly over the other scientists who told him what to do. “Let’s put to use the telepathy communication techniques we worked on. Talk to Number One. Share with him what’s going on in your mind.”
The room darkened. He didn’t think it could get any darker, but it did. Solid black, and then the trippy lights started.
“Not again. I can’t do this!”
A few curse words came from where the scientists sat and watched. They swore like his mum did every time she’d talk on the phone with his daddy. “Number Two, put the glasses on.”
When he didn’t do as they said, a white box attached to the ceiling glowed. The prompter flashed ‘Secure Eyewear.’ Then a timer blinked: 30, 29, 28, 27—
“Where is my brother’s room?” Seventy-two hours, that was the last time he’d seen Dash. It was the longest they’d ever been apart.
“His bed is downstairs. You may see Number One when we’re done here.” The scientist seemed to be getting what Dejon’s mother had called ‘grumpy.’
Grumpy reminded him of their mean neighbor. Anytime he’d kick the ball over the fence and into their neighbor’s backyard, Mr. Grumpy Guy had come over and hollered. All he’d wanted to do was play ball with Dash.
“When is my mummy coming to take me home?”
“Jilly arrives tomorrow to pick you up. We’re starting now. Number Two, lie back on the bed. Don’t make us strap you down.”
Another night spent without his mummy.