Pimp Theory by Patris Gordon

Patris Gordon

PIMP THEORY PATRIS GORDON

Pimp Theory

Patris Gordon

To all the pimps, prosititutes, pushers, players and people who think that somebody elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life is better than their own. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true...

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted without written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage. Printed in the United Kingdom Published by Blank Screen Publishing First published in 2004 by First Century/ Vista House Second edition published in 2011 blankscreenbooks.co.uk info@blankscreenbooks.co.uk ALSO BY PATRIS GORDON The murder of... Patris Gordon Life without Mirrors â&#x20AC;&#x201C; The edited biography of Madyson Peck Ghetto Music

Patris Gordon

Chapter 1 9:30pm

‘You’ve got a fine woman there, cuz. Be good and don’t blow it.’ These were the wise words of Kimroy Marshall, Terrence’s cousin. They weren’t really related but from a young age, their families in Ampthill, Bedfordshire had remained close throughout the passing years. Kimroy stood lean and almost legless after guzzling a few rounds of rum and coke. This was clearly not a regular drink of his. Dressed in a casual Tommy Hilfiger sweater and some black trousers, nametag appropriately ripped off, his slim but sturdy frame jostled excitedly in the dimly lit environment of Wacko’s wine bar. A new establishment in New Cross, south-east London and the perfect spot for Terrence to hold his first and only stag party. The small speakers, placed in various locations across the bar, released soulful US house music, and the bartenders, all women, were dressed in a less-to-impress request of the Indian bar owners, in hope to garner more customers. Terrence surrounded himself with his closest buddies. These were the friends that he had known the longest. All eight of them. These were the guys, except Kimroy, he had known since he moved to London after graduating Hull University with a degree in Media Relations, a virtually unrecognisable course by UCAS but he managed an upper-second in the subject. He had lived with a few of the guys before – this was before he met Deborah, and she became pregnant. Anyhow, his friends were all young and 3

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professional, grown-up and working, getting paid and searched for sex and pleasure with women over the age of twenty-three. Well, so the theory went. The large hands of Jon Aduka, an attractive Nigerian of 28 years, slapped his back and insisted that being the first guy out of the group to be getting married, next week not the next day, that Terrence should explain to the round table of testosterone, what it was like to be so in love that you’d want to actually marry a woman! Terrence gulped a shot of Bacardi and something else, and shook his head. The sound of banging glasses on the wooden table in front of him rushed his concentration, bringing an unedited version of his thoughts. ‘Well, fellas,’ he started. ‘When a brother finds that something he has been holding onto for the longest amount of time, the logical thing to do...’ ‘Fuck logic!’ screamed Kimroy, interrupting. ‘Is she a good bone?’ The guys exploded with laughter and yells of agreement, but seconds later, they returned their jeers with an awaited silence. ‘What?’ Still silence. Many of them had commented on how good Deborah looked. Terrence had even surprised himself at the quality of Deborah. It amazed him how he had made her the mother of his child, Jamie, and how she looked elegant despite working shifts at the dentistry and still managed to rush after their son. Cleaning, cooking and...sex. She was a superwoman, and he had her. She was the best sex he had ever, and more. Man, he gushed, she exceeded perfection. She was a dental nurse with a BA degree in Psychology, raised in an affluent household in Chorlton, Manchester. She had grace, integrity, and poise and always captivated that rugged energy of street culture when she needed to. Terrence wanted to blush at the thought of her. 4

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‘Come on, boss, we’re waiting,’ roared Kimroy. ‘Yeah, but it’s not all about that, is it?’ wheezed Terrence in response. The group exploded again, with a raucous noise filtering the small wine bar. Terrence caught eyes with Kimroy as they both swallowed on another shot. He had shared private details of his relationship with Deborah to him before, and now couldn’t understand why Kimroy would dare ask such a question in public. It defied the meaning of being the family’s best friend. What was his, was Kimroy’s sort of thing. Terrence’s squashed brow read concern. The others didn’t see it. They just guzzled their juices, chirpsed the barmaids and spoke about their often-uneventful lives, despite the draining of loud house music. Terrence asserted his gaze on Kimroy. He delved into retrospect, thinking about the days when he had returned home from work to see Kimroy there joking with his missus. Or how he would notice the hugs and kisses goodbye Kimroy demanded from her, or even the taps and touches on the knees they always exchanged after every spoken sentence – nearly every sentence. Terrence blinked his eyes. ‘Yeah, she is a fantastic bone,’ he said quietly. Kimroy reached for his leather jacket hanging off the back of his chair. He swigged in another rum and coke from his glass, and told Terrence that he was leaving for a bit. He would return in half an hour, but he just wanted to go home and record Match of the Day on his video. Of course, it seemed like a bait move, and it definitely had Terrence equilibrating in thought. An excuse to sneak away and see Deborah, he imagined. And because Kimroy was a sexy, smooth geezer of a dude, and was educated, rough yet handsome, the man quietly possessed it all, thought Terrence as Kimroy flew out of the bar’s revolving doors. The rest of the stag crew continued to act rowdy 5

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at Terrence’s expense, dominating the little venue and attracting puzzled and bemused stares from fellow bar hoppers. It was an inevitable jealous streak on Terrence’s part, that lead him to feel obliged not to trust his friend of thirteen years, since they had bumped into each other at school in Ampthill after Kimroy had transferred schools. Because five minutes after Kimroy had made his excuses and left, Terrence followed suit, with much hassle, however, from his chosen stagees. ‘20 minutes, only 20 minutes, I’ll be,’ he promised, stepping out of the bar. They didn’t really care, continuing with the influx of booze from another round that was coming from Terrence’s tab. The dark sky made it impossible for Terrence to keep track of Kimroy. His car, a 2001 BMW, was not as swift as Kimroy’s 2002 Lexus, a company motor, and with five minutes head start it would be impossible to find the rascal now. Or would it? Swerving around a tight corner into a minor road, Terrence sighted a spot and parked neatly into the opening. It was on Kimroy’s road. Terrence decided to knock on the door and just confront him. Ask Kimroy the truth about the secret affair Terrence had suspected for a while. Why would he do it to his best friend? Why? Terrence’s hand extended towards the door buzzer located on the right edge between the smartly decorated door and the adjacent kitchen window. No answer. I bet they’re doing it, he thought, as he pressed the buzzer again. That’s why they can’t hear the bell, that’s why, he thought, his mind racing. Unfortunately for the 26 year old, his wild guess at the situation behind closed doors was far from reality. But Terrence didn’t know that, especially as Kimroy opened the door on the third buzzed attempt with nothing on but a towel around his slim waist. ‘What’s up, cuz?’ asked Kimroy, innocently. ‘What...?’ 6

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Terrence didn’t even hear the rest of the sentence. Steam exerted from his cranium, and his mouth wobbled with foam. He stared at his best friend, sorry, former best friend. If he wasn’t as tipsy as he felt, Kimroy would have been laying on the floor from a right-handed hook shot, but Terrence somehow restricted himself. He just had to see her there. She was there, he thought, unquestioning himself. He brushed aside Kimroy in anger, his veins popping out the side of his face. ‘Terrence,’ wailed Kimroy, in protest. Where was she? He stomped into the living room, surveying its surrounding, studying the impeccable quality and the obvious attention to detail paid by Kimroy and his matching furniture and ornaments. Lovely, just lovely. He peaked around the leather sofa. No joy. He squeezed his head behind the television and DVD stand. No joy. He yanked the main door, just in case she stood behind it. No joy. Terrence grimaced slightly. Kimroy finally rushed into the room, with sweat and water dripping simultaneously from his dark skin. Terrence had gone mad, he believed. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked Terrence. Terrence wanted to reply, but he knew that Kimroy would slow down the process of him finding his unfaithful spouse-to-be. He mumbled a response, as he bounced towards the staircase, still damp from Kimroy’s wet feet. Terrence slid up the stairs in a matter of seconds, grabbing the banister twice to prevent a possible fall. He released a gruff noise, like a sheep about to lose its wool. Each time he opened a particular door, he made this sound, half-knowing that she would be there hiding behind it with a guilty expression. The bedroom door creaked violently as Terrence pushed it. Kimroy was confused and decided to sit at the bottom of the stairs and listen to his drunken cousin (not his real cousin, of course) slam doors, make weird gestures and 7

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think that his bride-to-be, within seven days, was actually screwing him. The guy had gone completely insane. Terrence gruffed even louder as disappointment smacked his logic and pre-judgment of a secret affair between his best friend and his wife (not official wife, of course). She wasn’t there. He remained still at the top of the stairs, staring at the back of Kimroy and lost in his thoughts, breathing rapidly at the exhaustion of the exercise. Gradually and slow, he flopped his left leg and then trailed the right a second behind, and began to trek down the steep and slippery steps. Reaching the bottom, he edged himself next to Kimroy and gave him an ‘I’m sorry’ look. Kimroy stretched his arm and placed it around Terrence’s shoulders. ‘It’s okay, bruv,’ Kimroy offered. ‘You’re about to be married. It’s natural to be weary at this time.’ Terrence took a glance at the speaker of these wise words and squeezed a half-smile. A ‘yeah, you’re right’ look covered his anxious mosh. ‘I mean,’ continued Kimroy unwisely. ‘Me and Deborah, please, How unlikely is that?’ A spate of a laugh from Kimroy followed to add emphasis to his point, but it clearly had a strong sense of being false, just like Prince Charles at a pop concert. It didn’t seem right. Terrence sighed and apologised to his best buddy for his behaviour and for suspecting the worst of him. He planned to return to the wine bar and have a couple of drinks to soothe his mind and clear the air. Kimroy sped into the front room, set the video timer and declined on returning to his shower so he could join Terrence for the drive back. Slamming his front door shut, Kimroy joked with Terrence about his antics. Terrence shrugged, pulled his Ericsson 2010 mobile phone 8

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from his pocket and dialled Deborah’s number. Approaching his blue sparkling BMW 4.0, which came with central-locking, a/c, alloys, sunroof and more but no navigational screen, Terrence frowned as he received her voice-mail. He hung up and contemplated the option of going to see her. ‘Not tonight, man,’ begged Kimroy, He saw the concerned look on Terrence’s mug. ‘It’s all about you, c’mon.’ ‘Alrig...’ The ht failed to come from his big bouncy lips when Terrence spotted Deborah’s radiant Renault Megane parked in a dark desolate spot under a Docklands Light Railway bridge. He knew it was her car from a mile away. Its red colour beamed brightly, apart from a tag of blue paint on the boot he had spilled on it while painting the garage door two months earlier. What was it doing there, he wondered He darted across the road, over to the car, again leaving Kimroy puzzled by his actions as he avoided the on-coming traffic by a whisker. He crept up to the car, reading the number plate for confirmation, and touching the blue dab where he had left his mark. He walked slowly to the front of the car only to be stopped by ‘ooh, ahh, ahh, ahh’ and ‘ooh!’ Terrence blinked his eyes furiously so he could get clear vision. His eyes took forever to focus. They were lost in a mixture of tiredness and booze. ‘Ooh, hmm!’ A male voice interrupted Terrence’s daze as he stood next to the passenger side door. The front seat had been reclined to its full potential, and was occupied by two people. One was Deborah. Her hair flicked back on the seat headrest as she gasped for breath, oblivious to Terrence standing there. The two people kissed intensely with saliva hanging loosely from their tongues. The guy arched his slim body within the confined space, penetrating her to a shared joy. He pumped and pumped to Deborah’s moans of delight. One of her 9

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legs covered the driver’s seat. Bare and shiny brown, Terrence watched the man run his hands over her body in a steady motion with an almost unreal perfection. She trembled at each touch, her veins on edge with a thrilling expectancy. ‘Aah!’ She let out. Her breasts were on display, peaking just over the obviously adjusted blouse and bra that rested between her face and firm lils. She joined the man in a kissing flurry when he dipped his mouth onto each nipple, arousing their sensitivity and then becoming hard in the process. He even held a breast so Deborah could lick it as he watched. Terrence’s bubble was about to burst. He had just resigned to the fact that he had pre-martial nerves by exploding into Kimroy’s flat, and now there he was, watching his girlfriend having the best sex of her life in some dusty spot, he never would have thought of. He had never done it in public, and never would. But it seemed evident that Deborah would. He studied the way her hands squeezed this guy’s dark skin, clawing her path to orgasm. He didn’t know what to do. He felt like a fool. ‘Yo, Terrence, what’s goin’ on?’ shouted Kimroy, emerging next to his best friend panting silently. The couple in the car stopped. They heard the voice. Kimroy stared into the car. ‘Oh shit,’ was all he could say. The man slipped himself out of her and fell awkwardly into the driver’s seat. Terrence twitched as he swore he heard a pop sound. Deborah quickly covered herself up fumbling with the wrong buttons before looking out of the window. She looked up, spelling the name ‘Terrence’ in dry breath across the steamed window after seeing his face staring directly at her. She had been caught. She wasn’t alone, she thought, and she turned her head to the guy she had been caught with. Like a pan shot from a Martin Scorcese film, Terrence and Kimroy followed her glare. The dude was fixing his jeans and he could feel the 10

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pressure of watching eyes beaming upon him. He raised his head up. Kimroy shook his head and Terrence flinched. Of all people, Terrence asked himself, why did she have to go with Jon Aduka? Lucy sank into the sofa, flopping her head back, freeing the tension from her body into the furniture. She had met Jon Aduka just the one time in a second of sloppy shopping madness. She and Terrence bumped into Jon while they were hunting for a pair of shoes to celebrate her new bonus at work. As normal, the Shelly’s on a West End corner was cramped and seriously overcrowded. Terrence playfully held up a knee-length boot to Lucy, only to be mocked by a booming voice – Jon’s. Lucy stopped reminiscing. She didn’t know why she hated Jon but she did. Her eyes analysed the room. It was remarkably spacious for a relatively small house. Beautifully decorated, by Deborah, a smooth coating of beige paint with careful stenciling of butterflies and insects covered the walls. Green and black wallpaper borders separated the beige into two, and prettily wrapped the walls behind the three-piece chairs, television, the lamp and the bookcase. Her clock hung centre between two large pictures. An old African woman holding a stick wearing dried leaves over her breasts and vagina was in one of them. The woman faced sideways on-looking the two small children playing near her feet. A blistering sun shone dominating the left side of the drawing. Yep, Deborah bought this one, thought Lucy. She wanted to pull one of the curtains, which allowed the outside darkness seep into her space. She shivered, in a pretend reaction to an assumed coldness that came with the darkness. Lucy ran her fingers through her curly hair and huffed at why the lamp failed to diffuse the outside dark. She kept her fingers in her hair and 11

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felt for dandruff. Her brain had no answers for this mood she was in. She just felt trapped within a whimsical softness. She loved the house, Terrence, Jamie, everything but she hated losing herself as a result of such pleasure. A draining sensation had swamped her soul in recent weeks and tonight she felt like shit. None of her good friends had called in the past week, and when she rang them, they were too busy to talk. Her life was slipping away and she knew it. She wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t happy. She had everything she wanted except herself. She looked up; the other picture on the wall was a portrait of her. A simple black and white drawing that captured her essence. Clear, white and beautiful.