Hot Girlz: Hot Boyz Sequel Read online

  Actually, to Sequoia, little Kyle Jr. looked like he could be the big brother to her and Torino’s five year-old son, Torino Jr.

  And that had nagged the hell out of Sequoia for years.

  Colette was light-skinned with light eyes herself, and Kyle was the spitting image of Derek Jeter, yet Kyle Jr. was chocolate brown with dark brown eyes.

  Kyle had been Torino’s best friend, until Torino, who owns the nightclub called Foreplay, fired Kyle for pocketing door money. That was right around the same time Torino’s then girlfriend, Colette, got kicked out of the club for acting psycho after catching a case of her usual jealousy fever. When Torino got off work at three in the morning, he drove by Colette’s apartment and saw Kyle’s car parked outside.

  Revenge sex was something Colette told him she believed in. And it was clear to Torino that it was on.

  Months later, pregnant Colette tried to pin the paternity on Torino. Once she found out Torino was dating Mercedes’s best friend, Sequoia, Colette showed up at Mason’s house during a family dinner, holding a knife to her belly, threatening to end her life and her unborn child’s life if Torino didn’t stop seeing Sequoia.

  Claude and Torino talked her out of it, she seemed to move on with Kyle, and for the most part she had been quiet. But when the child was nineteen months old, Sequoia saw Colette, Kyle and Kyle Jr. at Magic Johnson’s Fridays in the Ladera Center. It was just a feeling. Maybe instinct. But Sequoia became convinced that Kyle Jr. was her husband’s son, though Torino still denied it.

  Today, having traded in his long dreads for a low, Mohawk haircut, former football player-slash-retired playboy Torino sat on the gray loveseat in the den next to Sequoia. They’d just finished playing Scrabble on their laptop in their Spanish-style, three-bedroom, lower Ladera home on Halm Avenue just around the corner from Mason and Mercedes’s old house. It had Brazilian hardwood cabinets, coffered ceilings, and a lap pool with a lanai. It was built in 1929 and was worth more than nine-hundred-thousand dollars when he bought it in 2005, but now it was only worth about seven hundred-fifty, which was the norm considering the economic slump. But forty-one year-old Torino was doing very well for himself. After all of his years of financial setbacks, he now had amassed a good amount of savings.

  Most of the money he made was from managing the rapper, Lady Di, who he discovered in the club years ago. But last year she signed with Epic records, got a new manager, and moved on. Torino swore he would focus his attention on real estate, and shift more of his efforts into the club he bought from Mason and his business partner Cicely, who also turned out to be their half sister.

  Last year, Torino, who was named after his father’s 1975 blue Ford Torino, opened a new club in El Segundo called Wilson’s. Both clubs catered to everyone from the occasional nightclub person, to the actors, athletes, and musicians of the world. He also owned second house on Shenandoah that he rented out for five-thousand per month.

  It was a Friday night.

  A smooth Hiroshima CD played.

  Sturdy, curvy Sequoia, wearing only an oversized white tee shirt, just the way her husband liked it, spoke like she had just won a round of Jeopardy on television. “I beat you again. Face it; I’m just smarter than you.” She bounced up and down as she sat on the sofa in their den, shaking her brown, straight hair back and forth.

  “Why is it that you can come up with words no one’s ever heard of?” he asked, sitting right next to her, dressed for work in a blue suit.

  “Sore loser.” Her pear-shaped solitaire sparkled as she waved him away with her hand. “Poof, be gone.”

  “Cheater.”

  “Oh, so I’m making the game give me points? I’m in cahoots with the Scrabble game makers? Torino, how would anyone cheat on a computer version of Scrabble?”

  “I don’t put anything past anyone who comes up with the word gelation.”

  “The process of gelling, Torino. I told you.”

  “That’s bogus.”

  “You’re a trip.”

  “I’ll get you next time. You and that damn computer.”

  “Yeah right.” She popped her lips.

  He told her, “You went away to Vegas with Mercedes and ain’t been the same since.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Yeah, you’re trippin’ all right. Right TJ?” TJ was Torino Jr.’s nickname.

  “Yes, Daddy,” TJ said, with his dark brown skin, hair in a tightly curled Afro. He sat on the floor playing with his racecar set, making vroom, vroom sounds.

  Sequoia placed the laptop on the coffee table and sat back, watching her son. “I did miss you guys while we were gone.” She patted Torino along his thigh.

  He kept looking at her thigh. “I never asked you, but how’d the fashion show go, anyway?”

  “Great. You know Mercedes is an expert at that. She can do all that in her sleep.”

  “What else did you guys do? Gamble and hit the nightclubs?”

  “We did. We went out. But it was nothing like Foreplay or Wilson’s.”

  “Good answer.” He scooted forward after noticing the clock and then stood. “Hey, I’m gonna see you later tonight. I’ve gotta hold down the fort at the club.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  “I might even cut out early.” He grabbed his keys and wallet from the end table and then patted TJ on his head. “Goodbye, TJ.”

  “Bye, Daddy.”

  “You be good. Listen to Mommy.”

  “I will.”

  “He’s always good,” Sequoia said, curling her legs under her, getting comfortable.

  “See you later.” Torino eyed her down, looking at her legs. “That’s some sexy shit right there.” He leaned into her and gave her a peck on the lips.

  She returned it with tongue until she heard, “Daddy. Leave Mommy alone.” She pulled back laughing. “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “It’s a conspiracy. My own son is blockin’ me.”

  “You just bring it on back home so we can continue,” she said just as her cell rang from the sofa table.

  He headed to the door and blew a kiss, exiting as she grabbed her phone.

  She said, “Hey, Mercedes. What’s up?”

  “Hey there, not much. You?”

  “Torino just left. He’s headed to work.”

  “Okay. I thought he might leave around this time.”

  “Where’s Mason?”

  “He’s in the bedroom watching TV, taking a break from his book. He’ll get up again and go back in the office.”

  “I still can’t get over how much he’s home now. He was never home before.”

  “That’s what retirement will do for you.”

  “I guess so. You talk to Claude and Venus lately?”

  “I stopped by the other night. Why?”

  “Why? Why do you ask why? Just the fact that you asked why, means you must tell me why you asked why. What is it that you’re trying to see if I know first by asking why?”

  “Oh, no. You are so wrong.”

  “Please. I know you.”

  “Not.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever. You being all secretive and stuff. Anyway, from what Torino tells me, Claude’s still trying to get Venus to quit working. And while I can’t say I’ve always been a fan of Venus, he needs to lighten up. She’s got a dream job.”

  “She does. But some women wish they had an old-fashioned man with those types of rules. A man who doesn’t want you to work? Please.”

  “Claude isn’t old fashioned. He’s controlling, and you know it.”

  “That he is. But she knows what she’s got. It’s working.”

  “Is it? I mean, maybe something might be up over there between the two of them. So, what’s up over there, huh?”

  “Sequoia, stop fishing.”

  “You stop tripping.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Are, too. Forget you. Listen, I know what I wanted to tell you. I think I’m going to spend some time with Mattie tomorrow, maybe around noon, if that�
��s okay.”

  “Sequoia, you don’t have to ask. You come by anytime. If we’re gone, Lucinda will be here with her.”

  “Good.” Sequoia paused. “Girl, you know I’m still thinking about Vegas.”

  “Really?”

  “Did Mason ask for details?”

  “No. He knows it was work. No biggie.”

  “I’m talking about him asking you if we did anything else.”

  Mercedes sounded like she knew her man for sure. “No. Mason doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He trusts me.”

  “Well, Torino asked me.”

  “About me?”

  “No. About us. About the show and the trip. I told him we went out for a minute.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’d you tell him that?”

  “Why not. I thought you said Mason doesn’t care.”

  “What else did you tell him?”

  “That you had a grind-fest with a boy-toy.”

  “No I didn’t. That’s not even funny.”

  “Oh, excuse me. It wasn’t a grind-fest. It was straight up sex on the dance floor.”

  “Sequoia. You know it was not that deep. It was just dancing.”

  “Okay. But I didn’t go into all that. That’s for you to tell. I’m just saying, it’s not like you two went any further afterwards, right?”

  “Of course not. When would I have had time to go further than that?”

  “Beats me.”

  Suddenly, TJ asked, “Mommy, will you play with me?” sounding tired, actually yawning.

  “Now how are you going to play when you’re about dozing off, TJ?”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Oh, Lord. A child’s famous last words before they conk out. Listen, girl. I’ve gotta go put this boy to bed. I’ll talk to you later. Maybe I’ll see you while I’m over there tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Talk to ya. And watch yourself, with your big mouth.”

  “Wow, if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black? You’re Wilson family central.”

  ~~

  The clock struck three in the morning when Sequoia heard Torino walk in their master bedroom and then head to the bathroom.

  There was an amber light shining next to Torino’s side of the bed. The room smelled like her angel-food body oil.

  Torino took off his clothes, all but his boxers, and before Sequoia could even turn over to look his way, he came back out. He headed to their walnut-framed bed and got under the covers, planting a kiss on her nose.

  She looked over at the digital clock. “Wow. That was a long night.”

  “It was.”

  She turned her body toward him. “Was it crowded?”

  “Yes. Way too many folks.”

  “Too many?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

  “Let’s just say one too many.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, giving him a look. She sat up and scooted herself all the way back against the headboard.

  “It was Colette. Colette came in tonight with a couple of her friends.”

  Sequoia frowned instantly. “I thought you’d asked the bouncers not to let her back in after all the crap she pulled years ago.”

  “I did. But that was a long time ago. I’ve got new guys, and a new cashier. I’d forgotten about it, actually. I just never thought she’d have the nerve to come back in there.”

  Sequoia began massaging her temples. “Anyway, I’m not surprised.” Her voice grew deeper. “Did she at least behave, Torino?”

  “In a way.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Colette wants child support.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Child support? She wants you to pay child support for Kyle’s son?”

  “She’s still insisting I’m that boy’s father.”

  “Oh, please. I thought after she showed up in Mason’s backyard threatening to stab herself in the stomach when she was pregnant, she’d go away and live her tripped out, wacky life and focus on her so-called modeling career. Now, all of a sudden out of the blue she wants child support. That’s just crazy.”

  “Honestly, I think they’re having problems. For her to come up with this now, she’s obviously suddenly worried about money. And, she said she wants something else.”

  “What?” She braced herself.

  “She wants to give Kyle Jr. the Wilson name.”

  Sequoia paused and took a moment to breath. She looked at Torino like he was just as crazy as his ex. “Kyle Jr., would be a Wilson.” She shook her head. “I’ve heard it all now.” She fidgeted with her wedding ring, twisting is back and forth while looking into nowhere.

  “Makes no sense to me, either.” He sat up.

  “Torino, I’ve never brought this up before, but I’m going to tell you something. Venus and Mercedes talked to me about the fact that Kyle Jr. has your eyes, your face and your skin tone. Not Kyle’s, but yours. And Colette, well she looks like a busted Vanessa Williams. That child looks just like you. Actually, he looks just like TJ.”

  Torino simply said, “I know.”

  She titled her head. “You know?”

  “I’ve thought about it more and more the older he gets. I saw him and Kyle at Starbucks last month.”

  “Oh you did? And you stood there watching him with a kid who could be your own son? And then you go back and live your life like that’s just gonna go away.” She scooted over to face him, turning her torso his way. “Don’t you think it’s kinda fucked up that Kyle’s playing house without really knowing it?”

  “First of all, like I’ve told you, I don’t know how I could be the father. I just can’t be. Either Kyle’s the father and the light skin, light eyes skipped a generation, or someone else is the father. But I am not. And second of all, I could not care less about Kyle.”

  “And why is that, Torino? Because he slept with Colette on the night you two argued after the club? Right before you and I hooked up? Have you ever gotten over that mess?”

  “I left Kyle in charge of the VIP passes for the club and he was charging people cash money before they ever hit the door. Cash just for adding their names to the VIP comp list. Kyle’s a thief. And yes, I’m over that.”

  “Oh, so you still despise him for only that reason and nothing else?”

  “Like I said, I do not give a damn.”

  “Looks like that thief stole your son.”

  “Sequoia.” Torino turned to face her.

  “Look, I’m going to try and be cool through this.” She took a deep breath. “One thing I know for sure is you need to take a paternity test. That woman could end up with half of everything you’ve worked so hard for, everything we have, and she’s just the type to do it. Not to mention the fact that her little boy needs to know for sure who his real father is. Is he a junior to Kyle or not? The name Torino Jr. is already taken.” She fluffed her pillow to lie back down, securing herself under the covers.

  “Sequoia, like you said, there’s only one Torino Jr. and he’s in the next room sleeping.”

  “I’m just telling you to handle your business. Don’t allow this to get us off track after all these years. It’s long overdue for you to handle this and get a paternity test.”

  “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.” He lay down, as well, and got under the covers facing her, hugging her around her waist.

  “Torino, are you sure you wore a condom every time you slept with her before we started dating?”

  “I’m absolutely sure I did.”

  She sighed.

  “Look, baby, we’ll get through this. Come here.” He placed his hand on her thigh and began rubbing between her legs, aiming his middle finger toward her middle split.

  Her voice was bored. “Good night, Torino.” She moved his hand. “You know I’ve gotta get up early in the morning and take TJ to the doctor to get his brown eyes checked.” Her sarcasm reeked
.

  He looked at her like no you did not.

  “Good night.”

  He said, “I love you.”

  “Turn off the light.” She sounded bossy.

  He twisted himself around, reaching over and turning off the light, lying down again.

  She faced him. Eyes closed. Silent.

  He faced her. Eyes open. Silent.

  She looked at him briefly, almost through him and turned to face the other way, scooting to the far side of the bed, assuming the fetal position. She eased into the comfort of the mattress with the covers to her chin. “I love you, too,” she said barely.

  Then he said, “You should know. Colette said she impregnated herself with sperm from my condom.”

  4

  Mercedes

  “Are you cheating on Dad . . .”

  On a bright Monday morning, the second day of August, Mercedes rushed off to work.

  Her office was in a high-rise in Century City on Century Park West that overlooked Beverly Hills, Hollywood, and Downtown L.A. She owned Simpson Models. Simpson was her maiden name and the name of the business she inherited.

  The work space was designer quality, mainly chrome and off-white with two large offices and eight cubicles. Black and white photos of the many models she represented and shows she had produced lined the hallway entrance that led to the desk of her long-time assistant, Vicky.

  “How’s it going?” Mercedes asked, dressed in a black double breasted with wide leg pants, briefcase in one hand, fuchsia shoulder bag hanging along her arm.

  “Good. I see you’re not answering your phone,” Vicky said to her boss, sporting a Madonna tee shirt, vintage jeans, and black and white checkered Vans.

  “I heard it ringing when I got out of the elevator, I just couldn’t find it.” She held up her purse. “It’s lost amongst all of the useless clutter I’ve got in here.”

  “Well, Star is on line one. We’ve both been trying to reach you.”

  She walked fast, saying, “Oh, okay. She never calls here. Thanks. Did you send me photos of the new shoe line for next week?”

  “I did. I emailed it to you a minute ago.”