"If you do, then that would give us something to talk about," Mrs. Childers said softly. She was seducing me with the sound of her voice and her eyes. "But not while you work for me. Isn’t there some type of ethical thing that says we shouldn’t become personally involved?"
"No, that’s doctor/patient confidentiality that you’re talking about. It’s almost required for you and me to become personally involved."
"Maybe, Nick. But not tonight. Besides, I’m ready to go."
"Where do you want to go?"
"It’s not where I want to go, it’s where I’m going. And that place is home."
I signaled for the bartender and paid the tab. We walked slowly to her car and talked. Talked about nothing really.
"Good night, Nick."
"Good night, Mrs. Childers." What else could I say?
* * *
Chapter Eight
Thoughts of that night haunt me like a bad dream that never goes away. I know I’ll never forget that night. Bobby with his gun in my mouth, screaming that he was gonna kill both me and Camille. It should have never happened. But I was gone, too far gone. Camille had me, and I couldn’t leave her alone. I knew when I met her that she was with Bobby, but it didn’t seem to matter to me. It definitely didn’t matter to her.
I had never met any woman like Camille. She was fascinating to be around and to talk to. And her voice, the way she spoke with that Barbados accent, Shit! It simply blew me away. Her dark complexion, her flawless body, and those dark eyes. The way she’d look at me when we’d make love. For too long after that, when I’d close my eyes, I’d see those eyes looking up at me.
It began the first time I saw her. I was with Black in his office at The Late Night when she came in with Bobby. Camille walked right up to me. "Bobby, introduce me to this handsome specimen of a man."
Bobby’s eyes narrowed when he looked at her. "That’s, Nick."
That look was my first warning, but I ignored it and each warning that would follow. Camille stepped closer, put her left hand on my chest and looked up at me. "That’s no way to introduce somebody, Bobby. My name is Camille Augustus. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and what is your name?"
"Nick Simmons." I answered, and quickly backed up off her. But she had me then and she knew it. Each time I saw her after that, Camille made that point clear.
When she’d call me, I’d come.
What she wanted, I got for her.
What she said, I did, without so much as a kiss.
I was riding with Black the night Camille decided she would have me. She paged me at 2:45 in the morning and I quickly called her back.
"Come see me. I want to talk. We never have enough time to just sit and have a chat."
"Now?"
"Of course, now. Now is when I want you." Camille hung up the phone and I turned to Black.
"Booty call," he said.
"No, just a chat."
"Yeah, right. Nobody calls at damn near three in the morning to just talk. Talk about fuckin’ maybe."
I don’t know if he knew where he was dropping me off and at the time, I didn’t care. I knocked on her door, but there was no answer. Maybe I had taken too long and she had fallen asleep. I waited awhile and knocked again. She opened the door dressed in a red gown and robe, which left nothing to the imagination. "Come in, Nick. I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming."
We talked and laughed until the sun was shinning brightly the next morning. I admired her beauty, the way her dark skin over powered the red of her gown. Camille commanded my attention in more ways than one. Then she touched my hand and drew me to her. I ran my hand across her shoulder. "Kiss me, Camille." She patted my hand and stood up. "Stand up, Nick." I complied. Camille looked up at me and undressed me without breaking eye contact.
I stood naked before her and she ran one hand across my chest while the other glided effortlessly along my length. She gently grabbed the back of my neck and drew our lips together, but only for a second. Camille eased me back down on the couch and ran her tongue over her lips. Then Camille introduced my length to her moistened lips. Her eyes still locked in mine. She slid her lips across what seemed to be every inch of it. Then she smiled and opened her mouth. It was soft and wet; if she had teeth I never knew it. She moved her head up and down in a very slow almost methodical motion. My excitement only intensified as I watched her, watching me. It was like slow motion, prolonging each stroke.
"Nick!" Wanda yelled.