Ice Heart Ch. 03

"Muslim women are not permitted to have any physical contact any man that is not their husband or their father," Amaan said in way of explanation.

"You're Muslim too?" Cris asked Alicia directly.

"I am," Amaan said tersely.

"Muslim or not, fucking kid is loud," Cris said. "Starts his piece of shit car, the ground shakes from that stereo of his."

"That ain't a Muslim thing; that's just an 'I'm a punk ass kid ain't got no respect for no bodything," Sweet William said and slowed to turn around to head back to the office. "I seen some Cat Licks do that shit too."

"Oh screw you, Baptist son of a bitch," Cris laughed.

"Hey, know why you take two Baptists with you when you go fishing?" Sweet William asked.

"Why?" Cris asked, matching Sweet William's pace.

"So they don't drink all your beer," Sweet William said and the two men laughed.

"And I thought Muslims don't drink," Cris continued to muse aloud.

"They don't; least the Muslims I know don't, it's against their religion," Sweet William agreed. "That's why, in Iraq and Kuwait, the liquor stores there are owned by the Christians. Muslims don't have anything to do with alcohol."

"Well, every time he throws anything into the dumpster, it clinks a lot, like beer bottles," Cris said. "Don't think he's drinking that much apple juice."

"And he's living with his girlfriend?" Sweet William asked.

"Yeah, cute little white girl," Cris said. "About six months pregnant too."

"Huh," Sweet William said. "That ain't right neighed; sex outside of marriage is strictly a no-no for Muslims."

"Think I ought to call Bin-laden on his ass?" Cris asked.

"Nah, he's kind of busy, hiding in them caves and shit," he said and put on a burst of speed, just to antagonize Cris.

****

For what Ann Marie had been paying in rent, she could put toward a monthly note and when condominium eleven twelve went on the market, she bought it, putting it in Nicole's name; that lawyer was still sniffing around.

Fred didn't say it, but he was happy to have his living room back. He was also happy that he could walk around in his own home unmindful of whether he was decent or not.

"First thing I'm going to do is do you right here," he whispered into Nicole's ear. "Right here, on this couch."

"Shut up," she giggled and swatted at him.

"Need me to watch Freddy so y'all can have a 'first night alone?'" Ann Marie asked as she lugged a box of Sophia's toys down the stairs.

"You go to leave some of her stuff here, right?" Nicole asked, worriedly.

She did want to have some privacy, some time with her husband, but dreaded the thought of losing Sophia.

"Yes, Honey; kid's got so much crap she doesn't play with half of it," Ann Marie said and looked around carefully to name sure the girl wasn't lurking around the door.

She'd gotten out once, wandered off toward the swimming pool; she loved the swimming pool. But to get to the swimming pool, she normally went out into the parking lot for a short distance. That was no problem if Nicole or Fred or Mommy were with her; they watched for cars. But on her own, unable to hear an approaching automobile, the short distance was dangerous.

Ann Marie screamed when she realized the child had escaped and Fred leapt to his feet and sprinted out of the condo to search for the child. Ann Marie was nearly hysterical when Fred returned, holding a struggling, agitated child.

"So, yes or no, want me to baby-sit Freddy?" Ann Marie asked.

"Yes," Fred said.

"Um," Nicole hesitated, and then acquiesced.

****

Cris gritted his teeth; he could hear the music, or what that punk called music as he killed the engine on his bike. It would seem that Amaan was getting an early start on his weekend; Cris picked up a discarded box and tossed it into the dumpster. 'Coors Light' was emblazoned on the box.

"Muslim, huh?" he sneered.

Two hours later, he had a splitting headache from the non-stop thumping of Amaan's music and stomped upstairs and knocked forcefully on the door of Apartment 3.

An obviously drunken Amaan opened the door and glared spitefully at Cris.

"Yeah?" he demanded.

"Hey, think you could turn that down a bit?" Cris asked in a tone of voice that let Amaan know he wasn't asking.

"Why, mother fucker downstairs bitching?" Amaan demanded to know.

Yes I am," Cris said.

Amaan looked surprised to hear that Cris was his downstairs neighbor, slammed the door in Cris's face, but turned the music down a fraction. Cris knocked on the door again.

"What?" Amaan demanded.

"More than that; I'm tired, been a long day, and I want to sleep," Cris said.

"Man I got a right play my music," Amaan yelled, getting in Cris's face.

"Step back NOW, before I make you regret getting in my face," Cris said, not backing down. "You got a right to play your music, but not when it infringes on my rights to peace and quiet."

"Amaan, please," Alicia quietly begged.

"What?" Amaan screamed at her. "Taking his side?"

"No, but I'm tired; I want some peace and quiet too," she whined.

"All y'all white ass mother fuckers kiss my fucking ass, that's all I got to say," Amaan muttered to himself as he sullenly stomped over to the stereo and turned it off. "Disrespecting me, in my own fucking house and shit."

"Hell of a way to be talking to a queen," Cris commented as he walked away.

****

Ann Marie listened carefully. There was no sound coming from the children's room. A quick peek in confirmed it; they were both sound asleep. She left the door open in case either one woke up then bustled down the hall to her bedroom.

Her own bed. It felt so good to lie down on her own bed and luxuriate in the feeling of the satin sheets against her skin. A moment later, she struggled out of her clothing and lay nude on the satin sheets.

A look down her body made her realize she was no longer the petite woman she used to be just three years ago.

"Of course, having a baby will do that to you," she said aloud, justifying the bit of a paunch she now sported. Her breasts were also quite droopy, still a thirty six C, but sagged quite a bit lower than they did only three years ago when Tom Sampo had seduced her. There were also a few bruises here and there mottling her pasty skin.

She reached down and stroked up and down the thick profusion of pubic hair. She felt her slit growing wet and concentrated her fingers on her lips; up the left side, then up the right side. She purposefully kept her fingers slow, purposefully kept her fingers away from her clitoris. When her abdomen was tense, straining for release, she yanked open her nightstand drawer and found 'BOB,' her 'battery operated boyfriend.'

"Shit, shit, shit," she hissed as the orgasm welled up, and then flooded her consciousness.

She masturbated twice more, reveling in the fact that she did not need to keep quiet, did not have to worry about Fred coming downstairs and catching her.

****

"Third of the month," Cris said affably.

"Um, yeah, yeah, um 'bout that," Amaan said, not making eye contact with Cris. "Um, look here, um, it's like this, we um, we had us an unexpected expense just pop up on us, know what I'm saying?"

"Um, rent is an expected expense, know what I'M saying?" Cris said.

"Yeah, yeah, um, so, um, look here, I got this three hundred I can give you right now and when I get paid up on next week, I catch up the rest, right?" Amaan said.

"The rent is four hundred a month; it's right there in the rent agreement," Cris said. "Read it; you signed it. Says its twenty five dollars a day late fees if the rent ain't paid in full."

"Aw man, you going to jack me like that?" Amaan yelled.

"And if it ain't paid in full by the tenth, I change the locks and put your stuff out on the street; just like it says in the lease," Cris went on, over Amaan's outburst.

He turned and went back downstairs, not listening to Amaan's pleas and threats.

He fixed himself a meal using the crawfish that Cam Pao had brought to him, along with her four hundred dollars rent. He was glad he'd taken the Chinese cooking class, although crawfish could also be used in Cajun cooking, or even Mexican cooking, but he was in the mood for Chinese tonight.

He could hear the spirited conversation taking place right above his head; Amaan did not know how to do anything quietly. He could not hear Alicia's replies but that wasn't surprising; he rarely heard her. Amaan, however, was getting louder and louder, although he couldn't make out the words.

He was heating up the peanut oil to fry the rice when he heard a soft knock at his door. He turned off the burner and walked to the door.

"Who is it?" he called out.

He heard a murmured reply, although he didn't hear the words.

"Who?" he demanded, louder.

"Alicia, um, from upstairs, apartment three," he heard the girl speak up a little louder.

Sighing, he opened the door a crack. He kept the security chain on just in case this was a 'Trojan Horse,' some sort of ruse on Amaan's part.

The chain was extra strength stainless steel, as was the catch. Both catch and chain were secured to the reinforced door and doorjamb with extra long screws. Sweet William would have a hard time kicking in Cris's door.

"Um, Mr. Dumas, I um, Amaan sent me um, to ask you if um there's any way we, you and me could work out some kind of you know, some kind of deal?" she timidly asked.

"Yeah," he said, irritated at being interrupted. "Amaan can find that other one hundred dollars and pay me the rent in full; that's the only kind of deal I'm interested in."

Cris shut the door and twisted the deadbolt shut. He walked back to the stove and prepared to turn it on when another knock interrupted him.

"Yes?" he asked, clenching his jaw tightly.

"Um, Mr. Dumas, it's me, Alicia," she sobbed. "Please, let me; don't make me go upstairs, I need to..."

"Let me see if I got this right," he said through the cracked door. "It's against his religion for me to touch you, have any physical contact with you whatsoever, but it's not against his religion for him to send you down here to prostitute yourself?"

She just stood in the tiny foyer of the apartment building, sniffing back her tears. Cris felt sorry for the girl. He was also grateful for the door; it hid his erection from her view.

She wore a small tank top that was obviously not a maternity top; it showed a good expanse of her belly, and her shorts were of a denim material, unbuttoned underneath her belly, showing off her stubby thighs. Her hair was loose and he could imagine combing his fingers through it while he plunged in and out of her young, pregnant pussy.

"Tell you what, Alicia," he finally said. "Go up there and tell Amaan I'm not in the mood to fuck some little white girl, but I am in the mood to fuck some black boy up his ass. See how quick he sends himself down here to make some kind of deal with me. Oh, and remind him it's HIS name on the lease, not yours."

He shut the door, and again twisted the deadbolt in place.

He was finishing the rice when again he heard the soft knock, but it was slightly harder, slightly more rushed this time.

"Please, Mr. Dumas," she begged.

His blood began to boil; he could see that her bottom lip was split.

"Get in here," he commanded and she shrank away at the outburst.

"God damned punk ass spineless bastard," Cris spat as he got an ice cue out and wrapped it in a paper towel.

"Here," he said gently and pressed it to her lip, shutting off her nearly whispered pleas to let her fuck him for the hundred dollars Amaan' owed him for the rent.

He guided her to the leather loveseat, made sure the door was shut and locked, and then rapidly strode back into the kitchen.

He was preparing to pour the majority of the food into plastic containers (he always made too much) when he looked over at the girl.

"You eat yet?" he asked her.

She looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders.

What's that mean?" he demanded, almost angrily, shrugging his shoulders. "Yes? No? Maybe?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head no and looked down at the coffee table.

"Come on, you like Chinese?" he sighed and got out another plate.

"Yeah," she agreed softly "Amaan don't like Chinese; says they ain't clean but..."

"I really don't give a shit what Amaan likes or don't like," Cris said, shutting her up.

She sat down at the table and looked at Cris as Cris quickly spooned the food.

"Here," he said and put a full plate in front of her.

She looked at the food then began to eat as if she hadn't seen food in weeks.

"Careful, there's peppers in there, kind of spicy," Cris said and she nodded her head, but didn't stop.

"Can I use your bathroom?" she suddenly asked.

"Sure, you know where it is," Cris said and she bolted for the bathroom.

She did not close the door and he smiled sardonically; Nickie was like that too. Nickie would run into the bathroom --sentence and continue the conversation while peeing.

Oh!" he heard Alicia sigh contentedly, and then heard the toilet flush.

He smiled; unlike Nickie; Alicia did wash her hands afterward.

"I like that toilet paper Mr. Dumas," she commented and dug into the food again.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry!" Cris said. "What you want to drink?"

"I don't know, what you got, Mr. Dumas?" Alicia asked.

"Please, Alicia, call me Cris. Not much," Cris agreed. "Tomorrow's grocery day. Let's see, got wine, beer, got, oh, here's some orange juice."

"Can I have the wine?" Alicia asked.

"Um, pregnant?" Cris asked.

"A little wine is actually kind of good for the baby; that's what the clinic said anyway," Alicia said.

She also wanted the alcohol to fortify her; if Mr. Cris didn't let her fuck him for the money Amaan owed him, there was no telling what Amaan would do. He had been slapping her from the moment they began dating, then he'd apologize and promise not to do it again.

This was the first time he'd ever drawn blood and it was the first time he'd not apologized.

She sipped the wine; it was a dry white wine which went well with the crawfish.

"This is good," she said, meaning both the food and the wine.

"Thanks, buddy of mine out in Crowley has his own vineyard. He and his wife, they're from the old country, that's what he calls Italy, and they make their own. He also makes this 'grappa,' it's like this brandy, made from the grape mash" Cris said.

"Oh cool!" Alicia said. "You got any of that?"

Ah, that's right, Muslims don't drink," Cris said sarcastically.

"Shit!" she spat contemptuously. "He's Muslim when he wants to be! He don't even pray at prayer time and eats pork whenever he feels like it."

Cris wasn't surprised at this announcement, but he also wasn't paying much attention to her words. Alicia's large breasts were not encumbered by any brassiere, and he could see her large nipples, darkening with blood and getting puffy, preparing them for delivering milk to the child that grew in her belly. He could also see something dark adorning the tops of Alicia's breasts through the thin white tank top, but couldn't make out what it was.

"Kids these days," he thought. "No one had tattoos when I was a kid, except for sailors and bikers."

She caught his eyes and smirked slightly. Old or young, black or white, they all loved boobs.

"So you got any of that grappa stuff?" she asked and toyed with the hem of her shirt, edging it up.

"Yeah, finish your dinner and I'll pour you a shot," Cris offered.

"Okay," Alicia said and resumed eating until she'd scraped the last bit of rice from her plate.

He set out two small shot glasses, located the bottle and poured them each a shot.

"Want to make a toast?" she asked.

"You're the guest; you make the toast," he smiled.

"To love," she said simply, clinked his class and tossed the liquor back.

"Son of a, whew!" she coughed and laughed. "That's some stuff, huh?"

"Yeah it is," he agreed and slowly enjoyed, savored the flavor of it.

He picked up their plates and stacked both in the small dishwasher.

"Mr. Cris?" Alicia asked quietly.

"Yes?" he asked, dreading the conversation that was to come.

"Please, Amaan will be, I want to, could we um, you know, work SOMETHING out?" she begged.

"Alicia, it's pretty clear to me," Cris sighed and grabbed the sponge to wipe down the counter. "I mean, I stood right there and spelled it all out, and he read the lease before he signed it, right?"

"Yeah, but then we had that little bill come up," Alicia mumbled.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that," Cris said and turned around to face Alicia.

She wasn't looking at him; was absently playing with the hem of her tank top, mindless of the fact that her nipples kept flashing into view. She slowly looked down at the table top, focusing on the empty shot glass.

"Please stop that," he smiled and put his hand on her hand. "Hard to think when you keep flashing your boobs at me."

"Like that?" she smiled playfully and moved to raise the hem up again.

"Love it," he admitted. "But, about that 'unexpected expense,' what exactly was the unexpected expense?"

"His stupid piece of shit subwoofer wasn't working any more," she spat. "'Aw Baby, got to have my tunes, know what I'm saying? Ain't shit without the boom, know what I'm saying?'"

"I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for my rent because he had to get his subwoofer fixed?" Cris asked angrily.

"Uh huh," Alicia said, realizing she'd said too much; Amaan would not be pleased.

"Come on," Cris sighed and held out a hand to help her to her feet.

"We going to do it?" Alicia asked, almost hopefully.

"What? No, no, you're going to go up there and tell him if he gets me the hundred tomorrow, I won't charge him the twenty five dollar late fee," Cris said.

"He'd rather not have to pay the hundred," Alicia said.

"And I'd rather not have to listen to his God-awful music, know what I'm saying?" Cris said.

"Thank you, Mr. Cris," Alicia murmured and softly pressed her lips to his before leaving his apartment.

He bolted the door behind her and raced for the bathroom. He did not make it before his cock throbbed once then flooded his silk boxers with his discharge.

He wondered what it was that she had tattooed on her back; the large black letters were very nearly visible through the material of the tank top.

****

It wasn't the long hours; she was tired, had no energy on her days off too. And lately, it was getting harder and harder to carry the heavy tray to the tables.

"You looking a bit rode hard and put up wet," Harriet commented to An Marie.

"Yeah, I just don't know what's wrong with me," Ann Marie agreed. "Wake up even tireder than when I lay down. Poor Nicole has to take care of Sophia even when I'm home."

"Aw, poor baby," Harriet mocked. "And we all know how much she hates doing that."

"Shut up," Ann Marie laughed.

"Lucky to have yourself a built-in babysitter right downs the way," Harriet smiled. "My two boys? They'd rather kill each other than have to look out for each other. Thank God for the military; let Uncle Sam look out for them now."

Ann Marie pasted a smile on her face as George came in. He was one of her regulars and kept pestering her for a date. She wasn't opposed to the idea of dating, would have loved a pair of arms around her, lips on hers, a nice cock in her.

George, however, was at least one hundred pounds overweight, and had questionable bathing habits.

""You know, I done looked all up and down this menu and ain't your phone number nowhere on here," George said when Ann Marie asked what he wanted.

"And it ain't going to be; what you want to eat?" Ann Marie said, suddenly woozy.

"You okay? Need to sit down?" George asked, concerned.

****

"Um, hey, um, look here," Amaan said, agitated, as Cris walked to the mailboxes. "I um, I thought we had this here deal and..."