Four Degrees of Heat - Softcover

Thomas, Brenda L.; Winslow, Crystal Lacey; Alers, Rochelle; Billingsley, Reshonda Tate

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1416526951 ISBN 13: 9781416526957

Publisher: Pocket Books, 2004

Synopsis

Four popular African-American authors come together to present a passionate collection of romantic summer tales in an anthology that includes Rochelle Alers's "Summer Madness," "Sex, Sin & Brooklyn" by Crystal Lacey Winslow, and other works by ReShonda Tate Billingsley and Brenda L. Thomas. Original.

About this title

About the Author:

Rochelle Alers is the two-time Gold Pen Award winning author of more than twenty-six acclaimed novels and short stories. She lives in Freeport, New York. Visit her website at www.rochellealers.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Prologue

July

What the hell was I doing in this place? Bad enough they'd screwed up and chosen the right club on the wrong night. Or so they said. It was clearly not ladies' night. Now here I was in a backroads country club taking shots of Crown Royal whisky. I looked around at the club full of women. They were expecting to be entertained by a stage full of dancing men, but unfortunately there were only about ten men in the club, including the ones that worked there. I hadn't wanted to come in the first place; exotic dancers played out years ago. But this was the South, and I suppose everything came late down here.

This was certainly not how I'd planned to spend the first month of my summer vacation. My mother had summoned me from Philly to Charlotte, where she'd been taking care of my grandfather for the last three weeks while he recovered from hip replacement surgery.

Mom kept reassuring me that Charlotte had changed since the early eighties, which was the last time I'd been there. After being cooped up in a Philly classroom with teenagers all winter, I didn't think the trip to Charlotte would be so bad. To add to my southern social life, Mom dredged up a few of the old girlfriends I used to play with as a teenager during my summer visits. This would be great. I could bond with a bunch of fat, ill-dressed, gold-teeth sisters.

As I sat across the table from them, I had to admit they weren't all that bad. Rita, Darla, and my favorite, Country Girl, were far from what I expected. Country Girl was probably even better off than me. At twenty-six, she was married to a physician and the mother of three children.

When the strip club went dark and the stage lit up with red and green flashing lights, I turned my attention to the runway. For an hour we watched as women strutted up and down the catwalk, wrapping themselves around a slippery pole, supposedly dancing. We were sitting near the front of the stage, so they could hear us cackling about how bad they were. They especially heard me when I said, after seeing one of the men put a twenty in a dancer's G-string, "Oh, hell no. I can dance better than that. Shit, I'll make him give me fifty."

The big-butt dancer flared back, "You think so, huh? I dare you to bring your high yella ass up here."

Embarrassed, I was just about to apologize when Country Girl spoke up.

"You damn right she'll come up there. And I got twenty dollars to say she'll outdance your fat ass."

Wide-eyed, I looked at Country Girl and whispered, "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not going up there."

The stripper stopped dancing, posted her hands on both hips, and shouted over the loud music, "Well, then, she needs to shut the hell up."

I was willing to do so, but the others chimed in. "Yeah, go 'head Maxie, strut your stuff -- show them how you do it in the city."

I still wasn't about to go up on that dirty stage and dance for anybody. But then the other women in the club started betting the women at my table, and before I knew it there was almost five hundred dollars waiting for me if I went up onstage and danced. Since I'm a math teacher, it was easy for me to calculate the per-hour rate of five hundred dollars for five minutes of dancing.

I downed another shot of Crown and told myself, What the hell -- I'm down South, and I can do whatever I want.

Week One

I so wanted to leave my head on the pillow. How could a person's head hurt so badly? What the hell had I drunk? And better yet, where was I? I opened my eyes, peeking from under heavy lids. I wasn't in my apartment, that's for sure.

"Maxine, when are you going to get up? The phone has been ringing for you all morning."

Hiding from my mother's screeching voice, I closed my eyes and pulled the covers over my pounding head.

"You look like you could use some coffee."

I put my hand outside the sheet to reach for it.

"What time did you get in last night?"

My mouth was dry, and my voice cracked when I asked, "What time is it?"

"You must've had fun last night, you little hussy, 'cause look at you. You slept in your clothes."

Sure enough, I was still in my skirt, which had shifted up to my waist, and my tank top had twisted itself under my breasts.

I couldn't do coffee this morning. I needed something cold to put out the fire in my belly.

"Look, sleepyhead, it's almost noon, and I have to take your grandfather to the doctor, so we're heading out. I'll see you later this afternoon. But do me a favor and pluck those string beans in the sink for dinner tonight."

With Mother gone, I stripped off my clothes and went in search of something cold. In the refrigerator I found a can of Pepsi. I pressed it against my forehead and my temples, then downed the entire can. I needed one more thing. I searched through my suitcase. Buried under my toiletries was my pack of Newports.

By the time I'd showered and had some coffee, my head had begun to clear up. I'd just sat down at the table to pluck my mother's string beans when my cell phone rang.

"Hey, Maxie baby, I'm on my way. I should be there in about three hours. Did you get the room?"

It was Lynn, my boyfriend of eight months, who lived in the apartment above mine but was rarely there because he was a tractor-trailer driver. I'd met him about a month after he'd moved in. His mailbox had begun to overflow, and when he'd come home later that week, I'd introduced myself and given him his mail. That night, after we'd ordered Chinese, we wound up in bed together, and we'd been there ever since.

Lynn had planned to stop and see me in Charlotte while he was en route to drop a load in Nashville. We hadn't seen each other in two weeks, and after last night I'd totally forgotten about his visit.

"Sure, it's all taken care of, but Mom wants us to have dinner with her. So can you come here first? You can park the truck on our lot."

"No problem, baby, as long as I can have you afterward."

I phoned the Westin in downtown Charlotte and reserved a room. Then I tried to reach Country Girl, but she wasn't around. I was desperate to find out what had happened at the club. All I could remember was getting up on that stage, closing my eyes, and dancing. I prayed that I hadn't taken off my clothes. Then I remembered the money. I found my skirt. Sure enough, stuffed in the back pocket was five hundred dollars.

Dinner came early in the South, so by four-thirty the food was done and we were waiting for Lynn to finish washing up so we could eat. I don't know what it was, but my mother's cooking changed when she was down South. It had a different taste -- a southern flavor. Maybe because everything was fresher. There were fluffy turnips, tender string beans, and the chicken was so fresh I was afraid there was a coop in the backyard.

"Ms. Tate, you really outdid yourself."

"Thanks, Lynn. You know Max can cook just as well if she puts her mind to it."

I knew what she was doing. Mother had a fear that I'd be single forever, so she was always dropping hints when Lynn was around.

"Lynn has tasted my cooking plenty of times, Mother."

By the time Mom had fed Lynn two servings of her peach cobbler and I'd packed him a bag of food to take on the road, I was ready to leave. That's when Country Girl came barreling through the screen door. But this certainly wasn't the time for her to recount last night's activities.

"Good evening, everybody."

I jumped right in. "Country Girl, this is my boyfriend, Lynn."

"Hey, Lynn. Welcome to Charlotte. Maxine, you look a little tired this evening."

"Just trying to get adjusted to the southern way of doing things," I said, ushering her out the door ahead of me and Lynn.

"Well, I just wanted to stop by and say hello. Max and Lynn, enjoy your visit."

I knew what kind of night Lynn and I would have. Sex with him was usually the same. About ten minutes of foreplay, and then he'd take me from the back before falling off into a deep sleep. I didn't complain because I knew he was usually tired from driving. But for once I'd like to see his face when he came.

In the eight months we'd been seeing each other, he'd only made me reach an orgasm twice. I wasn't even sure what he'd done, because everything was so new at the time.

I'd never told him because I didn't want to hurt his feelings or change the way he made love to me -- even without the orgasm he was able to satisfy me. I enjoyed being with Lynn, and all signs pointed to us having a future together. So there was plenty of time to discuss my sexual needs.

"Lynn, guess what I did last night."

"What, baby? Don't tell me. You been milking cows," he shouted from the hotel bathroom.

"It's not that bad. But seriously, we went to see some exotic dancers."

"I didn't know you were into that shit," he said, drying off as he came into the room. Lynn wasn't a tall guy, barely six foot. He was stocky and weighed well over two hundred pounds.

"I'm not, but I felt like I had to go out with them. But let me tell you the fun part." I wasn't even sure he was listening because he was busy cleaning his nails. "They were having a dance contest, and I won."

"C'mon, baby, stop playing. I know you can dance, but you didn't do no shit like that."

"Watch, let me show you."

Lynn sat on the side of the bed while I attempted to dance to whatever music was playing on the radio. I dropped my robe to the floor, and with my arms above my head, I shimmied around the room, rolling my hips to the beat. When he wouldn't stop laughing, I jumped on the bed and squeezed my breasts in his face.

"Maxine, you are a crazy woman. Looks like you're doing a bad imitation of Beyoncé to me," he said. In one swift move his strong arms lifted me onto his lap.

"Lynn, seriously, you don't think I could do it?"

"You can do whatever you want," he said, burying his face in the thick hair between my legs. His blanket, as he liked to call it.

I was enjoying the feel of his tongue, but he was ready, so he turned me over and mounted me doggy s...

About this edition

• Publisher: Pocket Books
• Publication date: 2004
• ISBN 10: 1416526951
• ISBN 13: 9781416526957
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 369